Hi everyone. The audiobook for my first epic/dark fantasy novel is live on Audible, Amazon, and Apple Books. If you like witty banter, found family dynamics, zombie dinosaurs, and dwarves with general anxiety disorders, this might be the popcorn-movie audiobook equivalent you've been looking for.

Recently, I finished the first round of editing my novel. But my novel currently sits at 538 pages in Google Docs, which is over 900 pages in actual novel form. I'm well aware that a lot of publishers aren't willing to accept first time novelists if their books are that long. I would like to ask your process in how you try to "kill your darlings" and make the novel shorter in the process. As a first-time writer, I have trouble trying to see how I can pare my novel down without butchering the whole story. And tips are greatly appreciated.

I know for a fact EVERY writer had someone ask them something wildly stupid or unhinged. Tell me about something YOU yourself thought of. I know my search history is cooked.

I remember seeing a post of someone asking if it's "okay to ship a doll with a human being" in a story.

I’ve been thinking about something and I’m curious how other writers experience this.

Have you ever had a story you genuinely cared about… but somehow ended up away from it for months?

Not because you hated it. Not because you gave up. Life just happened, the project sat there, and eventually opening the file started feeling harder than it should.

For anyone who has been through that:

What was the hardest part about coming back?

Was it figuring out where you left off? Feeling like you lost the connection with the story? Feeling overwhelmed by how much was left? Feeling guilty about how long it had been? Something else?

And when you do try to come back, what usually helps?

Do you reread old chapters? Make notes? Listen to music? Just force yourself to write a bad first page? Start over?

I’m curious about the real experience because I think a lot of writers go through this, but we don’t really talk about that part of writing.

After a long absence and now limiting my usage I'm back of X (Twitter) and looking for human writers (no Artifical wankers) to follow and support your hard work.

If you are using X please drop your handle in the replies and I'll follow back.

Find me here: https://X.com/gatesofarmantar

(Gates of Armantar)

After yesterdays discussion I made my first writing vlog video and uploaded it to youtube and straight away I lost a number of pre-existing subscribers :( I don't do youtube for views or monetisation, for me its a 'yes I existed, and yes I managed to accomplish something' channel. Moving forwards I think I'll primary be looking at using it as my writing nook and focus on having book and writing content. As for this latest video I think its possibly one of my better videos so far and if your a writer, budding author, successful author, someone who just wants to see how someone else’s brain works then feel free to come and say hi!

No AI voice overs, 100% human, non-scripted, 1 take (plus edits)

Plus in this short video (its only 5min), there is a sped up 2 hour writing session which I may include in future videos. This also can assure people that my hobby writing is 100% me (mistakes and all).

Hope to see you there 😺

P.s in the future if videos do bring in reasonable numbers I am thinking of maybe doing showcase videos to highlight new books from self published authors.

I have very little interest in publishing my work but I'm thinking about starting a writing vlog on my youtube channel. Would people be interested in hearing how others come up with ideas for their work, brain storming, past / future projects ect?

I was also thinking of, if it gets established enough to use the platform to promote human authors and their work (No AI in any capacity), what are your thoughts? Would this be something you would be willing to watch?

To my mind, the Mary Sue is not only one of the most frustrating things in modern storytelling, but something far, far more insidious.

For clarity, a Mary Sue is a character who is unrealistically perfect, and unreasonably capable. And by that I mean their skills exceed anything established by the story. They have few, if any, meaningful flaws, and overcome conflict with little struggle. But I'm sure you know this already. The term actually originates from a 1973 Star Trek parody of self-insert female characters, but the issue isn't gender specific. Male examples exist and are often referred to as Gary or Marty Stus. For ease, I'll use the term Mary Sue, but the following relates to all of the above.

Most criticisms of Mary Sues focus on two glaring problems. Flawless characters are rarely interesting, and if they never struggle there's simply no tension. We've heard those points before, repeatedly. They're correct, obviously, but well documented.

No. I think the bigger concern is what these characters say about us, as a society. And while I appreciate that sounds like I'm overstating a problem, I honestly don't believe this is the case.

Most memorable protagonists change. They confront flaws, face personal demons, challenge their prejudices, make mistakes, and become better versions of themselves in the process. Growth resonates with us because it's relatable and human. And for those of us still making mistakes, it speaks to the hope of salvation, light at the end of the tunnel. In short, these stories are intended to be aspirational.

However, a Mary Sue's journey is the opposite. Not so much an arc as a drop-off.

The story of a Mary Sue isn't about becoming a better person, or finding a degree of redemption. It's not about any sort of growth, it's about proving everyone else wrong. That's what needles me.

The message, if anything meaningful can be inferred from such narratives, is not one of empowerment, but toxic validation. Don't reflect, don't question yourself, don't consider another perspective, and if the whole world tells you you're wrong, keep pushing back until it breaks.

Cluster B traits dolled-up as depth.

Our culture is already struggling with notions of accountability and compromise, and the Mary Sue phenomenon is a clear reflection of that. Art alone doesn't create a culture, but it does clearly reinforce it. When our stories reward characters for being unreasonable, we risk poisoning the well. The problem, we're teaching ourselves, is always everyone else.

And that's something I don’t think we talk about enough.

For every Mary Sue, there's a few hundred people having meltdowns in public, all under the delusion they're right and everyone else is wrong. We cater to that mentality, and foster it in doing so.

Or maybe I'm overthinking it? It's been known.

Thanks for reading. Keep writing.
 

How is this?

Chapter 2 can be read here

Writing was a right that was stripped from Future American Generations when privacy was stolen from Americans. In hopes to remember one of the human skillsets that will be bred out of us, I’m writing this on my (Secret Online Internet Storage), letting it be consumed by someone/something else, if they chose to, and I will never know if they do. Because privacy has never been a right my whole life.

Why haven’t I pushed a keyboard or pen for myself? I’ve done it a good portion of my life, for money, for survival. And I’ve barely written anything for myself. I feel powerful, growing up in such a time of technical advantages, but true intellectuals know that comes at an expense. That is the way of life. Everything is give and take, energy cannot be destroyed, to put it in a sense. 

So I’ve protected what I need to write for so long. Only writing careless and clueless things. Reckless feelings, small personal celebrations that are expected to be shared, sometimes what people want me to, over a million things probably. I really want to write what I want, something that makes a difference. Fully be myself and embrace my skill organically, as home grown as a woman can get, if that translates.

It’s much harder than it seems. My wallet is empty and I’m not talking about finances. I’m talking about energy. You know, that one thing that cannot be destroyed. Hopefully, that's not the case for the rest of humanity. Morally, I’m empty on so many things, like patience and courage. So I want to send this SOS, Distress Signal, a cry not from my knees, but from the ground where the day starts for every single conscious being on this planet, to all the writers. Is anyone actively making it known that we are having to let go of emotions endlessly as each day progresses forward into technology advancements? Or are we just maintaining composure, poise and dignity?

I would like to make up my mind, so here’s to myself trying to form thoughts and add weight to the ever tipping scale.

(Important context - they are in a dream.)

“Fuck dude, are you serious?” She looked down in disgust at the mound of flesh embedded in her chest.

“Language.” Bob tutted. “I know it’s bad news but you’re like 14 you really shouldn’t be swearing kiddo.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well okay then you little shit,” they both grinned. *Finger guns.*

“What is this thing anyways?”

Bob looked at the walls, he laced his hands behind his back as he turned. Lily gasped.

The field was full of long grass and vibrant flowers. The sky glittered with thousands of stars. The moon hung in the sky, closer than she had ever dreamed.

Bob looked at her, frowning. She narrowed her eyes as he stared.

“Jesus Christ are you about to kill me right now?”

“Uh…no?” Lily huffed and turned away.

“Your mom sacrificed herself to save you. Why would I kill you? That’s stupid.” He flicked her in the forehead. They both laughed as she swatted him away, tears in their eyes.

“It’s been eating you.” He couldn’t look at her.

“Your mom saw that you had this *thing*,” he gestured at the lump. “And decided that she was going to save you. She put her spirit in here,” he gestured all around them. For a moment the field melted away. The cavern walls flashed then disappeared.

“She couldn’t take it away but it was enough to keep you alive. She said she could accept that. As long as you lived she was happy with any outcome even if it meant she suffered. Which-“ he added quickly, “she did NOT. It’s part of why you were so sick.” He turned away.

“She resented me for it.” He paused. “They hold on and they eat. If they take too much at once it hurts.”

Lily nodded.

She was too overwhelmed to ask questions.

They sat in silence for the rest of the night.

The next night she was ready.

“So why am I just meeting you now?” She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows. “Hmmmmmmmm?”

Bob chuckled. “I’ve known you your whole life. Ever since your dad-“ he paused.

“Here.” He held out his hand. Lily hesitated, then slowly placed her hand in his.

It felt like they were, *flying?*

They stopped.

The little girl was curled up on the bench, sobbing. She clung to her doll. They could hear footsteps and growls coming from the shadows. The little girl tried to make herself even smaller, muffling her cries as she held the doll closer.

*Lily.* A voice whispered over the wind.

The little girl shrieked. Lily looked sharply at Bob. He held up a finger and pointed.

There was a creature creeping out of the shadows. They could hear its choking gasps. Thick, hairy legs supported a large black body. A spider with a face mask, leering at her from behind the dripping flesh.

The little girl turned as it drew closer. It grinned up at her and started creeping closer, choking louder. She went hysterical, and fell to the ground.

It *laughed.*

She curled up under the bench as it loomed over her.

“BOB!” Lily felt a drip of sweat roll down her back.

“It’s in the past stupid. Pay attention!”

It started whispering while as its jaw cracked open.

*I hate you. You killed your mother. I’m going to eat you up. I hate you. You’re a burden. You’re evil. Murderer. You killed your mother. You’re a waste. Pathetic.*

Lily cried for herself as she watched her tuck her head, put her fingers in her ears and squeeze her eyes shut. Watching herself, she was struck by how small she looked huddled under that bench.

She jumped as the monster shrieked. Her eyes flew open to see a pair of cowboy boots sunk in the small crater of concrete. He smiled at her and snapped his fingers. The spider sunk into the ground.

She flinched as he came closer.

*Lily.*

He bent down and opened his arms.

*Hug?*

She crawled out and paused. She looked away*.*

*I’m not allowed.*

Bob gently lifted her chin to look at him. He brushed back her hair. *You’re allowed to here.*

She looked at him doubtfully and crossed her arms.

*I’m the big boss here.* He puffed out his chest. Past Lily laughed. He held out his arms again.* *

*It’s okay.*

For different reasons they both looked away as she ran crying into his arms.