FenrirKin

So my original works were hosted on Wattpad, because tumblr and Wordpress allow AI scraping for profit, and deviantArt is... well. it exists, I guess? But it's utter shite for writers nowadays.

Anyway I got a tip that there's a site, teenfic[.]net, that is basically set up as a mirror site of Wattpad, and is utterly riddled with viruses, malware, the works. So I've pulled everything off Wattpad, and I'm now in the process of posting it here, on my Ao3, and on my dreamwidth, until I can get my arse in gear and sort my own website instead.

So I may end up filling your feeds a little bit as I transfer stuff over. Sorry about that!

So last night I had the absolute horror show of a sleep paralysis episode TWICE. Woke up into one, shouted myself awake, calmed my breathing down, went "well that sucked" as I went to get comfy... and slid right back into a second episode. Pretty much watched it happen.

Sleep paralysis was bad enough on its own but I have now felt the moment my limbs stop being my own and let me tell you, every story you come across about possession? Being trapped in your body unable to do anything except watch The Horrors? Doesn't even come close. Feeling that numbeness and disconnect settle in was one of the most horrific things that I have experienced. I didn't even need the sleep paralysis demons, just that one feeling was enough.

Anyway guess who is now too afraid to sleep

... here i am again.

Because someone at tumblr, in their infinite wisdom, greenlit the site for AI-scraping, and wrapped it up as the freedom to opt out of that.

So here we go with Cohost!

I am having one of those nights where I 'what the fuck is the point' my way through everything and it's probably winter blues again but fucking SERIOUSLY.

I'm 6k words behind on NaNo. Not doing anything tonight will mean I'll be 7.5k behind tomorrow. So? What the fuck is the point? No-one's gonna read it.

I keep oscillating violently between "create art for you and stop being so demanding" and "the whole point of art is be experienced" and -

It's like if I'd managed to go through with my original goal of being an actor, on the stage, right? I memorise my lines, get the beats down perfectly, shove every ounce of emotion through me and out into the audience, and when it's time for curtain call...

... nothing. The audience are there. I can see them. They're right there. Not a clap. Not a cough. Not a fucking sound. There's no indication that they actually heard anything I just did.

If I wrote and wrote and wrote and never shared any of it with anyone that'd be one thing, can't expect a reaction from an audience of 0. But I'm sharing it, again and again and again and all I am getting is deafening silence.

This isn't a guilt trip. Or at least, it's not intended to be one. Some of you reading this will feel guilty, and I'm sorry for that. I've been here before, been at my wits end before, raged and screamed and cried over this exact thing before. So it's not a guilt trip, just a remix of a repeat of a song recorded off the radio.

Goddamn I want to be able to write and share and not have to beg for scraps of attention.

What the FUCK is the point.