“Bath Of Bright Silence” By David Chaim Smith (2018)

Repeat after me:

The first draft just needs to exist

The second draft needs to be functional

The third draft needs to be effective

The first draft just needs to exist

The second draft needs to be functional

The third draft needs to be effective

The first draft just needs to exist

The second draft needs to be functional

The third draft needs to be effective

Remember, the second and third can't happen if you don't have something to work with. Your first draft will always be shit compared to your third, but at least it exists. The worst first draft is an unfinished one. The best first draft is a just completed one.

You read books/stories not in their first draft form-- only in their finished form (third, fourth, sometimes fifteenth draft). So stop comparing your first draft with a final one.

So, just write--you can make it better later. Perfectionism is the greatest weight a creator can carry.

PLEASE TELL ME NO ONE ELSE MADE THESE FIRST

Season 3 promo posters!

Ah, tumblr. Where someone follows you who has a normal name and you know they must be a porn bot, then someone else follows you called "cannibalmurdercock" and you think, awww, a friend!

Looks like a cinnamon roll, is a cinnamon roll: Lanyon

Looks like a cinnamon roll, but could kill you: Jekyll

Looks like they could kill you, is actually a cinnamon roll: Utterson

Looks like they could kill you, could actually kill you: Hyde

today feeling like Emily Dickinson (have a thunderstorm inside your head, poison in the veins, dancing with a death, adore your weirdness, being a genius)

therapy can't replace getting so angry alone in your room you feel lightheaded

Will Graham not being scared of Hannibal, but so, so scared of loving Hannibal, being loved by Hannibal, wanting a life with Hannibal and what surrendering to that means about him. Gouging my eyes out btw.

“your poems are too powerful. they’re like snakes. they slither into me, and they coil around my heart, and they squeeze me until I can’t breathe. they are glittering and venomous, and they bite. I got scared, emily. of you, of the way that you grip me, of the way that you poison me.”

sometimes i think about sue saying this to emily and then i have to take a minute to breathe again.

And it is possible that I am alone in an empty universe, speaking to no one, unaware that the world is held aloft merely by my delusions and my smooth, sonorous voice