Madness is Hell

I struggled to print my first draft. This printer literally had ONE JOB. And it wouldn't do it.

My ride-or-die Brother HL-2070N is no longer riding. I've used that workhorse successfully for probably 2 decades, at least, and it was the only one that didn't kill itself rather than print my stories.

Unfortunately, it's now obsolete, and my MacBook (which I needed as my powerhouse writing program, Vellum, is only available for Mac) cannot communicate with it. There are no drivers new enough to be compatible with my MacBook. :( Not super sure what happened between last July and now, but ... whatever.

It was with heavy heart that I bought a new printer that was supposed to be amazing. Took forever to get it to be willing to print my story ... and then I ran out of the black ink that came with it before this draft was even fully printed (it had 7 chapters to go).

It's like the story is lengthy, or something. Pfft.

So how long is it?

So as of Feb 24th, the first draft of my second Hazbin Hotel fanfic is done. This was 5 months and 8 days of work.

This is currently the 4th longest story I've written and while my goal with editing is always to shorten the end product, I have a feeling this one is only going to get longer. As it turns out, taking a deep dive into the budding relationship of two profoundly messed-up people (one who struggles to form any kind of real attachment to anyone else, the other who has a lot of demons left to battle) is ... well, it's involved.

Have a sample that illustrates the above observation

He finally spoke, his voice low but filtered. “You’re quiet.”

You’re observant.

“Are you angry with me?”

Grace met his gaze. “Are you kidding me?”

“No? What would I be kidding you about?”

You cannot possibly be this oblivious. NaÏve? Whatever, whichever. “I’m not angry with you,” Grace said softly although she really wanted to yell it. I’m angry with my-dumbass-self.

“You’re lying.”

Oh, fuck you! “I’m just thinking.”

“I think you’re just regretting.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Radio Demon.”

“So then I’m right.”

“Yeah. You’re right with all the confidence of a mediocre white man who is, in fact, very wrong. But ... just for shits and giggles and to make conversation … what if I was regretting?”

His eyes went wide, then narrowed and his ears shot back. 

Did I say that out loud? I said that out loud. Shit.

Alastor made no verbal rebuttal.

“Still think my voice is like Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata?”

His eyes still narrowed, he glanced off to Grace’s side and replied through clenched teeth, “Yes.”

Her heart thudded.

“I’d convinced myself you didn’t actually hear any of that; I thought it just as well that you hadn’t.”

Grace blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

She was inclined to cross her arms over her chest but she caught herself just in time and, instead, crossed them and rested them on the table. Not that wrought iron was particularly comfortable; at least resting her forearms on it didn’t hurt like resting them on a half-eaten tit. “I don’t think I want to ‘never mind’ that.”

“I’m not giving you any choice but to never mind it.”

“Are you having regrets?”

They challenged each other with silent stares.

But then Alastor’s gaze softened and his eyes widened. “You annoy me endlessly.” 

Good.

“And I hate that I don’t hate it.” 

Well, that makes one of us. She gritted her teeth, hoping to pass it off as some sort of smile.

He looked unconvinced.

As chipper as she could, Grace said, “Consider that the small price of possessing me.” Bastard.

“My immortality is worth every irritant.”

Grace replied sarcastically, “Oh, you’re so romantic.”

“Listen. I may be Hell’s most powerful soul but I’m no mind-reader; Tell me, Little Fawn: what is it you want from me?”

Love. The word stuck to her tongue. I want you to care about me beyond the terms and conditions of our contract … which … is … basically the same as asking for you to love me. Oh, fuck. “You didn’t give me time to think through our agreement. At least give me time to figure this out.”

“Don’t take long.”

She glared.

“I’m teasing you. That’s almost as fun as denying you what you want most. Which is almost as fun as scaring you. Take all the time you need. We have eternity, after all, my dear.”

The waitress dropped off their dishes; Grace had to look away from Alastor’s. Even sitting outside, the smell of the meat in it was especially strong and turned her stomach.

“Do you think your parents would be pleased to see what you’re doing these days?”

What the fuck kind of question is that?! “I think my parents’ opinions don’t matter.”

Alastor’s eyebrows shot up.

Grace picked up a falafel ball and studied it. “My parents told me that I should, and I quote, ‘just get over it’ when they insisted on having my way-too-touchy, zero-boundaries, incest-denying cousins over for Thanksgiving dinner. Every. Fucking. Year.”

“Yet you became a nurse.”

Yes. I get it. You know all about me and continue to withhold all information about yourself. You win. She popped the falafel into her mouth and replied, simply, “I did.”

“Even though you were mistreated.”

“I wanted to do what I could to keep other people from feeling the hurt that I had.” Is that really such a foreign concept to you? Tired of being Alastor’s focus, Grace changed the subject abruptly. “It bothers you to think I’m regretting my decision to let you have my soul. Doesn’t it?”

Alastor scoffed. He actually scoffed. “Don’t give yourself that much credit, Grace.”

And yet you used my given name. Interesting. “Do you enjoy taking advantage of souls when they’re at their lowest point? Wouldn’t it be better to possess them because they want to be yours rather than being desperate for your help?”

“It’s no matter.” He shrugged. “Either way, they’re mine.” His perpetual smile creeped wider and more wicked as his eyes narrowed on her. “Either way, you are mine.”

All at once, Grace lost her appetite entirely. Someday. Somehow. I will win one of these conversations.

I'm also planning on some fun, random video updates for upcoming blog posts.

Until next week, deer friends!