Hmm. I made a first chapter of a fic. But it is unpostable, as it is greater than 200,000 characters. And you can't link RTFs here. I could put it on Google Drive, but I use scrivener and... desync. Any ideas?
@BaseDeltaZero i think scrivener has an export to word function. Or is that functionally the same as gdocs?
That is less functional than gdocs, since it can't be shared (well, okay, I think Word added that feature at some point.) In any event, I don't have Word/Office.
I highly recommend 4thewords - with it, I've gone from writing 0 to 1k+ words per day. Let's see if I can increase that even further this week.
I think the point is that Google Docs has a Word doc import function, so you don't need to have Office to do this.
Right, I also have WPS writer, which, now that I think about it, can read .doc/docx files. But to get things from Scrivener to Google Docs I'd just use rtf, or copy them outright. The proprietary format doesn't seem to do *too* much if you aren't getting into pretty advanced features. Anyways, I've got a story that I'll probably be posting on AO3. Any tips in that regard?
depending on what you're copy-pasting from, AO3 might add a bunch of empty space in between paragraphs. if this happens, go into the HTML and delete any empty <p> tags (that is, with no text in between <p> and </p>), which look like this: HTML: <p></p> just yeet those and it should fix the spacing problem. this is probably one of the most common formatting errors i see on ao3. (it usually happens when copy-pasting from a single-spaced document, because you hit enter twice to start a new paragraph, but ao3 parses that first "enter" as its own empty paragraph.) also, if you want to insert a horizontal line for scene break purposes, you can do that either through the rich text editor (it's the button next to the Blockquote " button) or in HTML it's just HTML: <hr /> in general, comb through the preview a few times before posting and make sure it looks right / that it preserved your formatting.
Okay, AO3's recommendation is to copy HTML from Scrivener, which... seems to work, though I don't actually *want* to preserve the font, necessarily.
In other news, I came up with... a theory. MGLN referenced her but I think it also works with others.
"He looked like he had spent most of his life getting hit in the face with bricks. He looked like eventually, the bricks had given up and started breaking on impact." little snippet of description popped into my head and I like it but have nowhere to put it, so I'm putting it here
(A little venty poemy thing) Even the library was a minefield. Magical, but a minefield. I see you talk about how safe it was, The great bookish escape. I wish I could relate. It was a forest in a fairytale - Wonderful, liminal, Full of monsters I haven't met yet. My mother claimed to be my guide. Stay on the path, read this not that, You'll find all the treasure And none of the teeth tonight.
I wrote! A (very) short story! Its been very literally 23 years since I've tried with real confidence because of a horrible experience as a child, and about three weeks ago I finally said "fuck it" and wrote. And edited, and wrote, and edited some more, and wrote some more. It's helping me process things I'm going through in the current. It's a little over a thousand words long and just came from a random prompt (which is the title) if anyone wants to see it: Spoiler PROMPT: with dawning horror, you realize you'd been this way before You swore up and down to everybody and nobody that this was your first time in this city. The faceless crowd streaming past you in uncoordinated droves slowly bumped you further off the common roads and into the alley, with it's familiar stench from a rusting, greasy dumpster. You knew if you looked around the edge you'd see a ratty cardboard box with a few children's board books in a neat stack, though the pages would be swollen and warped with water damage and who knows what else. You laughed. It held a twinge of hysteria, as you backed away towards the entrance of the alleyway. You couldn't do this again, not here. You froze. "Again?", you thought. Stock still except for a shudder down your frame. "I've never been here. I haven't, I haven't!". You looked again at the dumpster. It smelled like soured milk and mold; your mind supplied pictures of the contents, a split bag of trash with its contents on display over a pile of old pizza boxes, though you had never touched this dumpster in your life. Your hands trembled, afraid to confirm memories you knew to not be your own. You steeled your nerves and creeped over to the dumpster. You lifted the lid with trepidation practically flowing through your veins. You peeked inside with caution, a hand covering your nose and mouth from the offending smell. Fear as cold as ice shot through you. It's contents were nearly exact besides one of the pizza boxes, one that you knew would be stained by fresh grease and the least dirtied. You screwed your eyes shut. "It's a coincidence. Besides, I'm behind a pizzaria, of course there's boxes inside..." , you reasoned to yourself though you couldn't quite recall how you knew this. You push the thought away. Slowly, you turned towards the other side of the dumpster and walked further into the alley. You leaned around the edge and your paranoia gripped you tighter. A young woman lay sleeping inside a very familiar yet unfamiliar cardboard box, the last damning pizza box open on her lap. Next to her lay a stack of boardbooks, warped and weathered. The book on the very top had a faded drawing of a crescent moon, the words hardly legible. You make out the words "Waking Dreamer" before you head a rustling noise to your right - where you'd taken your eyes off the sleeping woman. You looked over only to make eye contact as her dark eyes snapped open. You blinked, and - Your ears pop as you look around. You see a stewardess standing at the front of the plane, immediately bored of watching her go through the safety procedures and how to use the seatbelt. You've seen her do this many times, she wasn't as enthusiastic about it as other stewards, but you supposed that after this many flights you'd been on with this company that it'd get dull for them, too. But. You'd never flown before. You were going to the City from the Town for the first time to meet someone. You were nervous, but also not. It was making you nauseous. You tried to remember what you were doing before the plane. You saw... Someone. What were they doing? Sleeping, you remember. A loud, low growl came from beside you and your head whipped around to see a middle-aged woman wrapped in what seemed to be several blankets, head resting on a well-loved neck pillow as she snored without abandon. You couldn't quite comprehend how she was sleeping through the absolutely apocalyptic wailing of the kid behind her. The... What kid? The only noise was her (very probably) over-medicated, deep sleep noises. You rubbed your head and fought tears. Why was this happening? The stewardess wheeled out a cart of meals, phantom tastes of chicken and potatoes on your tongue before she even asked the question. A wail broke out behind you. Panic swirls in you like an unbroken tempest as you look around jerkily. The other passengers act as if they hear nothing, low and monotonous voices calmly responding to the stewardess's equally flat question of, "chicken or beef?" as she cruises down the lane. A soft and soothing voice sounds behind you, almost singing, "rest, my dreamer". You turn to see behind you and catch the eye of the now frighteningly awake woman beside you. You open your mouth to apologize - "Sorry", you stutter out. The ancient cab driver turns slightly towards you, not taking her eyes off the road, and grunts out an annoyed huff. "It's not like you can control the rain" she snaps as she pulls to a stop at the light, "I don't want to hear any more sorries out of you. This ride has gone on like this for long enough. Grow a spine!" She turns away and drives straight on, headed onto a highway that looks almost frighteningly empty. You try to recall your earlier conversation, or even how you came to be in the taxi at all. You look out the rain-streaked window as unfamiliar landmarks fly by, your eyes catching an ominous and striking tower as you pass. No lights whatsoever around it as you barely make out the true shape and height of it as you pass. You shudder, suddenly cold. You turn back to the front and question your destination to her. The driver doesn't look back but seems... nervous. "To the airport?" She parrots, unsure. She looks ahead and you swear she's sweating. You try and meet her eyes in the mirror but she flinches away. You glance out the window again and see the tower. It's closer but you pass it again. Some how you know it's the same one, as lightning flashes to illuminate a crescent moon plastered on the front. The driver turns on her blinker and merges with no one. The highway is still devoid of anyone else as she turns back to you, and looks - You wake up. Blearily, you look around and see everything upside down as you try to move. Your arms are pinned to you and you look at yourself as you shuffle, finding yourself tangled in sheets as you hang over a bed with your head brushing the floor. The moon shines confidently through an open window, bloated with light as it hangs full in the sky. You twist your way free ungracefully but effectively and stare out the window across the empty, freshly-shorn field that seems to spill out forever in all directions. The only thing breaking up the horizon is a lone figure standing perfectly still not fifty paces away, featureless and clothed in ratty plaid pajamas. You look closer to see bits of straw poking out at odd angles as the figure seems to be hanging on a pole. "The scarecrow", you blurt; all at once calmed and disappointed that you were alone as you fully woke up. And you knew you were, without checking the rest of the building you awoke in. You glance at your suitcase propped at the door of the room, ready and waiting for your flight. You trotted into the kitchen and with a familiarity only seen from years of routine, you confidently shuffled around in the dimly lit room grabbing things for coffee. Two sugars and enough cream to stir in til your coffee matched a color you would call 'Havana Tan', brewed strong enough it would wake a god. You ruminated on the long trip ahead of you to Crescent City, hoping this time it would stick. That this time the dreams would fully stop. Maybe this time, you could finally forget her. Spoiler: Themes Was going for disorientation and feelings of displacement and regret. Dunno if I captured it
