Writing Processes

I’ve had an unhealthy dose of sugar and caffeine.
Among other un-shocking things though, today is Monday, which means another ginchtastic writers square.
Now usually, I want to give writing tips, only, it’s hard to give writings tips when you aren’t a very…what’s the word…reliable writer yourself?
That being said, I’ve recently become incredibly self aware (I’m a highly intellegent AI), that I have a writing habit.
So here’s the process of a natural Hazi in her unnatural habitat (anywhere except a dark, dark abyss of deep thoughts and melodramatization), doing her natural habits, of writing.
It’s also just occured to me that it’s actually Monday, and not Tuesday, which is why I started school today.
Let’s not acknowledge that I knew today was Monday, and therefore a Writers Day.
No wonder people were posting Monday motivations.
Right, my writing Process.
Step One: Idea Conception
Along with my late night decisions that I’ll get up early, and start a morning routine (I won’t), I also scheme up some pretty bomb writing ideas.
It’s like, in the middle of the night’s silence, in between my Guinea Pig trying to move his cage around, my baby heater having an identity crisis about whether or not it wants to be a heater or fan (the little heater that could), and the sounds of some person having a tire blow out RIGHT in front of our house (it’s like living in New York, minus all the benefits), a light appears, shining brightly, and I am bubbling with an idea. Usually it just starts with voices, and personalities, saying things, and I’m not crazy, but I usually “hear” the characters before I see them, because it takes me a bit, I give them temporary names and scenarios.
Step Two: Rising with a Clatter
I spend the entire morning (who am I kidding, it’s usually the afternoon), conceiving and conniving, and plotting, naming and scheming the characters. This is usually done until…
Step Three: The Drafting
Now I’m the type of writer that stays up late, usually to avoid bad dreams, and being stressed about small things that don’t matter (no amount of breathing in and out has helped with that), I stay up late and fill my minds with the story. Unfortunately, much like having a conversation with me, and this blog post, the story is ALL over the place, I’ve killed off three characters, brought them back, and then, it occurs to me that I was originally aiming to write a comedy, not an action film, which means I then have to go back, and re-write, however…
Step Four: The “Break”
I allegedly need a “break” from the story, and spend a good while breaking, and thinking about writing it, but never actually, you know, writing it.
Step Five: The Dream
And then I have a dream, that reminds me of this story…OH YES, this story that I had no idea why I left. At this point, I cut the entire original story plan, convince myself that this is a healthy writing habit, and re-write the ENTIRE thing, in one swoop.
Step Six: Editing
And that concludes a very Hazi-way of writing things. How do you write things? Do you have process, are you persistent with your writing? What style do you write the most?
Thanks for reading!
Remember to live your life like the ginchy story that it is!

I’m Okay Without A…

*Okay, before I jump into this, I want to apologies for slacking on my blog, I’ve just felt like crap emotionally, and I know that when I tried writing, it wasn’t my fullest (since last year, summers have been the worst for me), but I’m back, getting ready to reboot the blog for fall (I feel like I do this every year, reboot for the cooler seasons, which is like the start of a year for me), so stay tuned for that.

Now let’s jump into this post that I thought was actually pretty clev

I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity to clap back at all the people who have been getting on me about dating.
Because, to be honest, I don’t need a boyfriend, except for one reason.
Me-(Screams, jumps back, staring at threating looking spider) Holy-
(Spider moves some)
Me-(Whips out phone to call prince charming) Hey! Answer your phone! Did you seriously forget to add me to your contacts?
Imaginary Boyfriend- Hazi, I’m literally right here. What’s the matter now?
Me- (Screaming and shuttering some) It moved. The spider is big and it moved.
Imaginary Boyfriend- (Unimpressed) Hazi, that’s legitamately just a clump of hair.
Me- (Looking around) How is that even possible?! We’re at the bookstore!
Imaginary Boyfriend-You’re hair is literally everywhere. My mom found it in her shoes this morning, and you’ve never been to our house.
Me- Yes, yes I have….oh wait…never mind…
To be Frank give me a crap load of bug bomb, some raid and a bunch of heavy things to throw at spiders, and I’m self sufficient. So here’s why I don’t need a boyfriend/husband
I don’t need a guy, because I can be totally money-savvy and sufficient.
Me(Looking at brother with pride)-Dude, you would not believe what I just managed.
Brother(Looking up from book)-What?
Me(Holding up three packets of Raman)-I just got these three packets of Raman for 20 cents. I’m so responsible.
Brother(Frowning)-But mom let you borrow twenty dollars.
Me(Nodding)-Yeah, I brought this dog(holds up guinea pig) And a toilet brush. And this take-out container along with this pair of reading glasses and these flip-flops.
Brother(Staring in disbelief)-You don’t even like flip-flops. And how the heck did you get all that with twenty dollars-and you don’t even need glasses.
Of course, we could reverse this situation.
Me(Looking at brother with pride)- Dude, you would not believe what I just managed.
Brother(Looking up from book)-What?
Me(holding up three packets of Raman)-I just managed to score these three packets of raman.
Brother(Frowning)-But mom let you borrow fifty dollars.
Me(Nodding)-Yeah, I know. Prices are crazy right?
Brother(Staring in disbelief)-But you could have brought groceries for a week.
I mean, to be blatantly honest, I can make 20 dollars stretch, but for the life of me, if I’m given’ one hundred dollars, I suddenly forget everything I need and want and manage to buy three cheap things, and I’m still broke within a few days. Another post for another time, eh?
Anyway, I can buy my own meals.
Me(Examining the restaurant in my area)- Right, so, I’m kinda feelin’ like I could use some fries…
Brother(Giving me an exasperated look)- Just about every place sells fries.
Me(The clear genius)-Yeah, I know, but I need the right fries. I can’t figure out if I’m in the mood for burgers and fries, or just fries, or fries and-
Brother (Looking at phone)-Yeah, but theirs legitimately three places you can afford, and McDonalds isn’t one of them.
Me(The strong independent girl that I am)-Right, going to call dad and smooth talk him into getting me fries.
I can fix my own car. Seriously, I can change the tire, check the oil, replace ball bearings and joints in larger cars, check the antifreeze, get into arguments with it, jerry rig the door. I’m a master at it.
Me-Looks like I need to pry these bolts off. I’ll need a monkey wrench.
(Picks up wrench with Guinea Pig attached)
Me-Seriously, Squishy, you’re ruining my pun.
(Pulls Squishy off of to reveal a monkey wrench with a monkey painted on it).
Me-Much better.
I can make myself laugh. Seriously, I could be lying in bed, and next thing you know I’m comedian.
Me-Ah yes, I shall now set fire to their house…
(Evil Laughter)
Me-Yes, burn, burn baby, burn.
Brother-(Busts into room)Two Things, one, You’re getting a little concerning with the Black Widow challenge, and two, about Atlantis.
Me- I’m not playing the Sims 4. I’m writing a story. I just set fire to their house. I’m the grand-master of evil.
(Evil Laughter)
I’m not really lonely. I don’t actually have desperate desire’s to marry someone so that we can cuddle. I have that covered.
Me(Sitting up groggily, looking over a long-pile of blankets, almost human shaped)-You take up the whole sugar cookien’ bed.
Dog(Lazily crawls out from under the covers, unimpressed)-Growl.
Me(Frustrated)-I am so done with this relationship. You’re hogging the entire bed, and you don’t even go to bed at a reasonable time. You’re the only creature I know that can sleep for twenty hours and still be tired.
Dog(Rolls on back)
I can do my own lawn work. Not that I have any to do yet, but I can take care of that stuff when I get older.
Me(Staring at grass in disdain)-Geez, it’s getting so tall. It needs to be cut.
Me(Calls brother)-Dude, I need you to come cut my grass.
Brother(Being the totally compassionate guy that he is)-Uh…Okay? You live in an apartment.
Me-Just cut the grass. I’ll pay you in Hot Tamales
(A few minutes later)
Brother (pulls out sheers, cuts small patch of fake grass I’m “growing” in a pot)-There?
Me(Proud, and released)-Excellent. C’mon, I got the Hot Tamales in the fridge. Didn’t want them to melt.
Brother (groaning)-Well that was your worst pun yet.
I can compliment myself. I’m secure in who I am. I have the ability to compliment myself and make myself feel like I’m drop dead gorgeous.
Me-(Rolls out of bed, stumbles to nearest mirror) Geez, I look like crap today. Really good crap, I mean, to be honest, my hair’s not to shabby, and I’m not so revolting that I need a paper bag over my head so…
Me-(Getting dressed for the day) Now this is something I like, and won’t totally regret wearing in the next two years.
Me-(Staring at myself in the mirror) Yes. I shall no longer be humble. I shall rule the world with confidence-
I can pick myself up out of an emotional rut.
Me-Wow, I look terrible.
Me-Wow, I feel terrible.
Me-Wow, I sound terrible.
Me-Wow, I’m terrible.
Me-Right but God made me, so how terrible can I be? I mean, He doesn’t exactly make mistakes.
Me-No, but you can turn yourself into a making a mistake.
Me-Exactly. So if I can continue to screw up and convince myself that I’m a mistake, and I can make good decisions, and convince myself that I’m not a mistake.
Me-Woah. That’s some deep thoughts right there. I’m feeling so amped up! I’m gonna set my alarm for seven thirty, and get up early, work out, eat healthy, be happy.
Me-Slow it down, take it one step at a time. Don’t forget that God’s suppose to help you through this stuff.
I can handle my own bills and taxes. I mean, I don’t have any personal ones yet, I’m still a minor, but I’m sure I can.
Me(Walking up to front desk of bustling building people are housed in)-Hey, can I get a hot meal and a room with a window toward the Cafeteria? Also, could I share a room with that one chic who is really good at singing the alphabet backward? And can I get the complimentary outfit in stripes, because, to be honest, orange is never my color.
Front Desk Worker-Ma’am, this is a jail, are you drunk?
Me(Clearly not drunk)-Love, my card was declined when I went to buy the half-off sale of Raman noodles. Do you seriously think I could buy alcohol? Also, is that stuff even legal?
Police Officer Friend-Oh, it’s you, what bill is it this time?
Me(Removing earrings)-Medical bill. Doctor thought I had severe food poisoning, so I got sent to the E.R.
Police Officer(Clearly intrigued by my fascinating story)-Well what was it actually?
Me-I have a dairy intolerance and I ate an entire ice cream cake by myself in one thirty minute sitting, so you tell me.
Police Officer (Nodding knowingly, turns to front desk person)-Right well, this one’s a regular. You know, broke student, no clue what she’s doing with her life, other than breaking a bunch of things and racking up bills and taxes she can’t pay. Give her a room with the best window of the house, and make sure she get’s an extra minute and half in the shower.
I can get into arguments with myself. Really, I don’t need a guy for that. I can argue and annoy myself just by complimenting someone.
Me-Right, that person has some really nice shoes. I’ll just let them know.
(Compliments shoes)
Me-But how cute were those shoes? Do we really like those shoes? I mean logically, they kinda have that animal print look.
Me-Yeah, but they’re boots. Boots are attractive even when they’re muddy. A little animal print never hurt anyone.
Me-That’s not what you said when you went book cover shopping.
All joking aside, I can take care of myself. It’s how I was raised. So to all the people out there that think that I need a guy in my life to make me special, then you’re wrong.
It’s not like I’m generally saying I’ll never have a boyfriend, I mean, I’m totally open to it, unless the guy’s a patriots fan- I’m friends with some, and while yes, I can excuse them because everyone makes mistakes, I can’t date a fan. Ever.

When your a Writer

The second part to my totally ginchtastic post is, well, when your a writer. So let’s just jump into this.

1. The talk.

As a writer, your destined to get a talk, specifically the talk. You know, the one where people inform you that writing can’t be your sole career, and you need a back up. It happens soooo many times.


This one is flat out self explanatory-it’s the pressuring every writer loathes, but deep down inside longs for, in hopes of some great writer asking to read your work.


You kinda wish this, I should say.

3. Between the Lines

Now, for me, personally, I’m a between the lines kinda gal.

If I let you review my work-and you give me a vague over view, but I’ve also read about six different sub-texts-heck, I’ve translated it through the scraps of varying languages I know (I pick up words from conversations and TV shows). It’s a problem, and from what I’ve heard, its an all-around-writer deal. So note: When Reviewing a Writers Piece, don’t leave room for subtext parcing.

4. We’re never here.

Legit, I’m almost positive every single writer has a tendency to get a little…daydreamy, and when we do, good luck bringing us back-because we’re never really here.

5. We’re late

Because we came up with an idea, not because we overslept.

In fact….

6. We never Really Sleep

Sleep is over rated, finishing this chapter, this, this is important.

I can get my nine hours when I’m retired-or dead. Most likely when I’m dead.

7. We’re exhausted, and hungry, All.The.Time.

Really, the entire reason is we’ve become one with writing our characters, so really, we’re living as someone else (but not in a creepy way).

8. Ships for All

As a writer, you’ve gotta be clever, specifically, you’ve gotta be able to make a ship-name, and pull up ten different fan-fic ideas for anyone-at the drop off the hat.


Because we’re writers, and you’re there for our romance fix.

9. We pull from life

If you ever get the blessing of reading our pre-edited/published work, and you notice pieces of our life in our work-thats because it is. Don’t freak out if you find yourself in the story; go with it, because nine times out of ten, it’s not half bad for the story.

10. We aren’t Confident

Don’t get us wrong, we believe our stories can make it, we believe these stories are world changers, we just aren’t confident in ourselves yet. I’m seeing that this post is geared to writers in my generatkon, mainly because we’re an emotional generation, and despite societies thoughts, we know when and when we can’t handle things.

So if you think the stories good, support the author, not just the work, because they’re the non-confident ones.

And that’s what happens when I’m a writer. I swear I’m one in a million, but I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say theirs others.

Anybody find these relatable? If so, which ones? Also, what’s the hardest part for you with writing-I’m editing, and then I have a query letter.

I hate it, so, so much.

Stay Ginchy!


Things I do when I’m upset

Hey guys, sorry my postings have been shotty, it’s been such a weird few weeks, I’m either sick, studying, or trying to recuperate from volunteering, being sick, and studying. Anyway, recently I had a bit of an upset (nothing major, just a bit of a hit-hard review on a story, they were totally nice, but you know, the whole putting myself into writing part makes it hurt a bit more), and I realised that I have weird mechanisms to co-op with my problems. I mean, I know my mom’s response is cleaning, and my brothers is mowing the lawn or bike riding, but for me, I have a tendency to let myself simmer, and keep my problems to myself.

I mean, I though.

Until I realised I have cooping mechanisms.

(And that friends, is how you pull out of a writing funk-you come up with better ideas).

So I give you, how I handle things when I’m upset.

1. I take showers.

Now, I like showers, but I’m not into the showering twice a day, but when I’m upset, I take a shower, get out, and want to take a shower again despite the fact that is a waste of water and I have a two weird fears;one of water, and one of falling through the bathtub.

(Never tell a six year old that someone fell through a bathtub at the hotel, it emotionally scars them).

2. I organize…not properly, really it’s just removing things from shelves and replacing them. I also hang up clothes, I don’t know what’s with this family and cleaning when they’re mad, but let me tell you, when it’s a bad week and everyone’s cranky, we have one very clean house.

3. I use it as an excuse binge eat and watch TV.

I use this to justify something that I already do to much of when I’m fine.

4. I rage trash, get rid of and throw away things.

No, this doesn’t count as cleaning. I deleted a story once when I was really angry.

I really could use those 30,000 words I deleted.

I’ve also gotten ride of good clothes just because I feel terrible.

*Stares at Goodwill pile*

*Considers pulling out clothes.*

*Thinks about all the hard work I put into it.*

*Lays back and continues procrastinating*.

5. I lose it. I have a temper, and while the last time I lost it was four months ago, when I’m really mad, I just loose it, and let’s just say that I know what to say to make someone hurt.

6. I rage write.

I’ve killed off multiple charcters.

It’s a good thing I have no social desires or, like to be around people when I’m upset.

7. I listen to music and Journal.

This is what’s kept me from losing it-when I’m upset, I Journal, and they can be long entries, up to ten pages.

8. I cry.

Mainly I do this while I’m doing all of these. I cry easily.

“Hazi, those shoes don’t look too great…”

*Breaks out in tears*

“Well okay then.”

9. I hold my Guinea Pig. It’s theraputic, until he tries to eat your tears…and then it’s just terrifying.

10. I talk to God.

I’d call his prayer, but it’s more of a full-on-rant-sob-story, and even though I do all of these things, it’s the only thing that helps me. I don’t do well talking to others about my problems, but I need to talk, and this is what I need.

So what do you do when you’re upset? Anybody else rage cleaners? Its so weird because I’m a slob, but when I’m mad/sad/anxious I’m a maid. You have never seen a more organized bookshelf.

Okay, so maybe books are the only thing I organize, but whatever.

Thanks for reading, and I’m so sorry for being such a lazy bum for posting, I promise I’ll try harder. Thanks for staying loyal!

Stay Ginchy,


When your Friends a Writer

I feel like I’ve written this before…but I don’t actually remember…

So anyway, I feel totally blessed to have e some awesome friends some of them I only ever talk to online, while others I see on a regular basis, but the point is, their great. Except when they’re the writer ones, because while they to possess a greatness that is incomprehensible, I aslo feel intimated, and somehow, my friends will always and forever make me question if I’m going places with my writing.

So here’s what happens when your friends a writer.

1. They’re grammar police.

It hurts.

It hurts so bad-thats suppose to my job.

But really though, their grammar is just, so impressive-in a terrifying way. As in, her can make Emily Dickerson sound like she’s an inexperienced dork.

2. They have a tendency to make anything sound really interesting.

“Ya’ll, something really crazy happened today.”

*Friend launches unto crazy story about clothes.*

*Friend gets laughs*

*Friend gets applause.*

*Friend gets spot on one-man Broadway show, staring, writing and producing in*

*Friend goes global*

And that, my friends, is how a star is born.

3. They have a tendency to get distracted.

Because they’re writers and daydreamers

They get distracted, very easily, and well, good luck pulling their attention back in.

“Fred? Hey Fred? No seriously, FRED! Oh my gosh, FRED!”

*Throws baseball at friend*

*Throws cantaloupe at friend*

*Throws Lego at friend*

*Throws Lincoln log at friend*

“You know what forget it!”

“What? Sorry, was totally distracted for a second.”

———Really Fred, I was talking to you.——-

4. Reading their stories is a pain…and an honor.

Now as a writer, I get it. You don’t want other people to read your writing

At the same time, I’m still waiting to find out what happened to Carter, Fred. You can’t give me the first three chapters, and then leave me hanging, that’s not how this friendship works.

5. Writing stories with them sucks.

Let’s face it, your part is child’s work, while theirs is like Kerri Maniscalco. You’re doomed.

And yet, you still love it, because you’re secretly crazy about putting yourself in awkward situations, like dancing, and writing stories with the Masters.

Really that’s all I can think of, so stay tuned for more blog posts. Sorry for the delay, guys. I went through a foggy faze, but I’m all good now.

Stay Ginchy!


When You’re a Reader

Growing up I had major problems with reading. Mainly because starting in second grade, I was staying up until twelve at night to read, even though I had to get up for school….five hours later. Of course, there are just some things that others never understood when it came to being obsessed with reading…so I mean…heres what happens when you’re a reader.
1. All the actual skeletons in your closet. Seriously, at this point, you’ve had to move your clothes and shoes out in order to fit the skeletons from the dead bodies that are actually linked to the next point…
2. Murdering people that interrupt you while your reading. Seriously, it’s beginning to smell right now.
3. Spoilers… now I stand on the very unpopular side of ‘I could care less if you tell me how it ends because I won’t believe you until I read it myself’. So go ahead, give me some spoilers. Even if I don’t believe you, that doesn’t mean you’re going into the closet.
4. You take forever to get dressed…mainly because you’re actually reading.
Okay, so as a girl, people have often expected me to be the one that takes the longest because of makeup and hair, and well, other stuff that confuses me on how long it takes. (Even now, after adding makeup and throwing my hair into a half-ponytail and hairband, it only takes me fifteen minutes to get dressed). When I was younger my mom had to get me up earlier than my dad or brother just because I would get up to get dressed, and read at the same time, turning a usually five-minute process into two hours. So anyway, besides my personal experience, as a reader, your going to take longer to get dressed. It’s just fact-boy or girl, you’re going take months, years, decades, centuries, even.
5. You’re cool with car trips. Because you can read. And motion-sickness is totally worth it. However, that Arby’s sandwich you ate, isn’t.
6. Finishing the chapter actually means “finish the book”. However, asking to finish the chapter works a whole lot more than asking to finish the book. I mean, it’s really the same thing in our eyes, but a lot of people just don’t get it.
7. Bookstores are the one place you feel at home. All the other places make you uncomfortable-mainly because you’re not entirely sure how to react in a situation when your best friends aren’t around.
*Looks around for the hidden door to an alternate world.*
*Frantically searches for someone you recognize*
*Finds Bookstore*
*Screams with joy*
*Gets kicked out for screaming because you’re actually being disruptive*
8. Going anywhere without a book is illegal, and a little strange.
“Just because it’s a dance doesn’t mean I can’t bring a book. I mean, what if their’s a crazy mad-vintage dancer that pulled out a marshmallow gun and won’t let us use our phones? Then how is my kindle going to help? Therefore, I need this book. This book I will take.”
9. Bathroom trips take forever. Because you’re not actually on your phone, or even doing your business. You’re reading the book you stored under the bathroom sink.
Oh, wait…is that just me?
Well, Sugar Cookies.
10. You actually always have to be reading something. Subtitles are your best friend. You see, it’s not so much as what you read, but the act of reading. So really, you’ll read anything. A hardware manual, the back of a shampoo bottle, the ingredients in cooking oil, how to install a wifi/cable modem, the menu to your least favorite restaurant.
*Flips over a bottle of shampoo you’ve been using for years*
“Wait a minute! This is supposed to be tear-free! Oh, wait..that’s tear-free. That doesn’t actually make any sense. Why would shampoo tear your hair?! Okay, anyways-holy sugar cookies! I need to get a new shampoo brand!”
So I’m not entirely sure how relatable this is, but for me and my brother, it’s pretty relatable. And we’re a majority of the almost-extinct reading community. Let me down below if any of these are relatable, and if you’re a reader. We’re a dying breed, and if people don’t understand us, then they aren’t worth being around.
Stay Ginchy!

When Your a Fandomer

Last weeks post was about when your friends are Fandomers.
This week, the tables have turned.
You’re entering the twilight zone in peaks unimaginable.
Welcome to the Dark Shadows.
Welcome to our Blue Box.
Welcom to our strange abilities.
Meet our half-cyborg princess.
Introducing everyones favorite wizard.
Enjoy our jokes.
Enjoy our pranks, our referances, and most of all…
Welcome, good friend, to the dark side.
1. Your social life involves characters from your fandom.
You know, Harry, Hermoine, Percy, Annabeth, Cinder, Iko, Clara (I still am depressed at how they wrote her off), and a miriad of other characters that, for some odd reason, other people don’t know as well as you do.
2. You don’t remember what the sun looks like.
Mainly because you’ve been traveling around in space.
And saving the world.
At night.
Because your a vampire.
3. Nobody actually understands you.
This isn’t a clique teenage line, my friend. No body unsterstands us fandomers.
“Seriously, it’s concerning how obessive you get.”
“Hey! This is comming from the person that flipped out when your car broke down. I lost someone close to me! GOSH! NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME!”
*storms through house*
*slams bedroom door accidently*
*Reshuts the door more softly in fear of meeting mothers wrath*
*Flops on bed, curls up under covers*
*Cries hysterically*
4. Your bedroom resembles Lane Kims closet in the first few seasons of Gilmore girls.
Very hip, very cool,
obessive about your OTP.
5. Fanfiction is your reality.
As a fandomer, fanfiction is going to most certainately be your reality, whether it be your own incredible works, or the disturbing works of others (okay, at what point did Amazing Spiez, my favorite childhood cartoon become rated R?), it’s your life, and once again, no one seems to understand that.
6. No body understands the excitement of finding someone in the same group.
Someone finally understands you.
After years of soul searching, some one finally understands you.
They don’t get creeped out when you talk about your relationships with your alternate reality characters.
They advice it.
In fact, they probably wrote themselves into the alternate reality, they’re the spunky side kick, and wing-person.
7. Your responce to rerlationship questions are a little less than average.
Well, okay, if someone was to slap a normal happy couple, beside you, it wouldn’t be normal, but what you say? Nine times out of ten, the author has killed off your better half, or at least turned them evil.
(Unless your clever like me, and you developed a crush on the cartoon version of Peter Parker, mainly due to his wittiness-the new one, whilst an unpopular oppinion, was incredibly nieve, which was disapointing).
And while there are hundreds of things when it comes to being a fandomer, the key one, is really, that, in the end, you’ll still die happy, which is more to be said than all the normies around us.
So that’s all that I have for this post! I hope ya’ll enjoyed it! Are you a fandomer? What are your biggest flaws with being a fandomer? What are the biggest perks?
Stay Ginchy!