e-morgan-row

[e-morgan-row]

What is Writing?

I'm going to start here, because personally I find this to be the most important question when it comes to becoming a writer and getting into writing itself. What I believe and have come to learn through the years and my journey of being an author, is that writing is more than just putting pen to paper. Or pencil; whatever writing utensil you prefer. It's an art. Now, not a lot of people see it as a "normal" art, but I like to disagree with that statement based on what it means to make art and be an artist.

Art is what's created from the heart and from the mind. It's the object in which a creator puts time and effort into just to make their imagination and inner worlds come to life. Their ideas spring into reality to share with the world. An art has a specific style that's dedicated to the artist themselves, and so, it should only be right to call writing an art.

An author, though given the specific name, is an artist if we're calling what they make art. Now, not every artist has ideas that are 100% their own. A lot of artists have references or gather inspiration from other artists. When it comes to writing, we often start off as readers. Books speak to us differently because we soak in the words like a sponge. We observe and learn. But when we squeeze out that sponge, we might have different contents that have collected like droplets of water inside. That's the beauty of it.

Writing is such an underrated art, and I'd go as far as to say probably also the most forgotten. It's sad really, but we still have dedicated readers and writers that want to become more in the art. So here we are, to anyone curious about the process and wonders of becoming a potential writer. And I'm here to teach you that with enough time and practice, anyone can become a great one. Better day by day.

[e-morgan-row]

What is your best advice for someone who would like to write poetry, but catches shit for it since "it's not masculine"?

There's honestly a lot of ways you can go about that. The obvious answer would be to ignore any hate you're getting because society norms don't consider that men have feelings in general compared to women (which just isn't true) and so when a man writes poetically, they end up bullied. The second thing to understand is that writers are told to "write what you know" and you'll go far. Whether you've experienced whatever you're writing about or not, I believe this to just be false in the writing community. How is one supposed to know how to cast spells for instance or take down beasts? So you might not even be writing what you know - like perhaps from the perspective of a woman. As a female writer, I find more comfort in writing from a male perspective myself, though I have no clue what it's like being a man. I can conjure up as much as I like and still have so much wrong.

Then there's the fact that you're writing poetry of all things. And majority of writers also tend to be women. Some very poetic male writers that I admire myself are Hans Christian Anderson and Jack London. Both are older writers and don't get nearly as much attention as they did back in the day. But they were phenomenal at creating what they didn't know and approaching their writing in very poetic ways.

Poets aren't always romantic. And most would assume this to be the case because that's what they've known and read. I'm curious what you write, though it really shouldn't matter when people are giving you shit about it regardless. There's more to poetry than just whimsical rhymes and love though. I would love to check out some of your work and look further into it.

All in all, society has really ruined the process for writers that are going in a different direction or have not so normal takes. Just because you're not writing adventure stories like J.R.R. Tolkien, you're not being "masculine" enough is absurd. There's so much more to masculinity than just brawn and burying emotions. I tend to do that as well and I'm a woman.

I guess what I'm trying to do here is explain it more because it's not your fault and what you're writing - it doesn't mean it's bad or shouldn't be written. I'm sure it's fantastic and people are just looking at it the wrong way because you're not what people normally see. Which is 100% a good thing in my opinion. It highlights the fact that you're different.

So, I would say the best approach would to just continue to be you. As a writer, we don't find our audiences. Our audiences find us. If it makes you uncomfortable, however; what you could do is make a neutral sounding pen name.

Here are a few questions though to consider the best approach:

1. Do YOU enjoy the pieces you write?

If yes, then don't worry or stress over what a few people say because overall, they don't make up the majority of the population. There will always be readers out there who envy you as a writer, look up to you, and admire your writing because they genuinely love your style.

2. Have you personally experienced what you write or incorporate themes that you've seen yourself in your poetry?

If yes, then know that not a single person has the right to say anything against your writing because these are things that you in fact do know. Any trials you've faced, you are human and you should be seen as such.

3. Do you enjoy writing (in general)?

If you do, then write what YOU want to write because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if you're a woman or if you're a man. As a writer, it's awesome to write and get feedback from others, but you're writing what YOU want to write and it should be kept that way.

Overall, if it bothers you at all, you can always try writing something different. But I suggest sticking to your style because once you find what you like to write, it's hard enough as is to try and alter it. You're a poet. And who cares if a few people tease you for sounding feminine? There is no feminity or masculinity in writing. There's just you as the author and words written on the page. That's the bond you have. Not with the audience. Not with any individual reader. It's the bond between writer and your story.

So write strong. Be proud of the work that you put out. The right people will find you and stay for your writing. You are right to be wary of course, but people have just been far too shaped by the corruption of society to see the human behind your poems.

🌹 All of this being said, if you want another reader, please feel free to let me know and I can go further in depth with this topic if you think it will help you along the way. Keep writing. Be yourself. And know that no matter the gender you are, the most important thing is how you feel about the words you put down for not others, but yourself.

[e-morgan-row]

Unfortunate Ruins : Chapter One

>>> Previous Post <<<

        There was a hush on the air as the crunching of twigs echoed through the clearing. The boy glanced over his shoulder for reassurance, his mother nodding her head encouragingly. His hand lifted from his side and he drew in a shaky breath, excited but nervous as he approached the creature. It's eyes widened and it's tail swished against the ground. Focused. Alert. The sun rays shimmered down upon the scales that shone brightly, a mix of vibrant green and aqua. From his perspective, the boy noted that it camouflaged well with it's surroundings, blending with the brush around it and the creek running behind. It had spines that resembled vines and bright cat-like eyes. 

        "Easy now, Abir. Don't wanna startle 'er," his mother cooed, to which the boy hummed in response. Keeping his footing careful and away from any dry leaves or branches, the boy brought his other hand up and inched his way closer. Taking a retreating step back, the Changewing let out a huff of breath, glancing between the boy and his mother. Pausing, the boy dropped his hands in defeat and looked over his shoulder at the older woman, who shook her head and urged him to go on. Sighing, he made eye contact with the dragon again, her head turning swiftly to meet his trained stare. Closing his eyes, he collected himself and let his hand guide him. Peering through his eyelids, he stepped toward the creature, who pressed herself against a tree. Her lower half almost immediately swapped to a chestnut-brown color. 

        "She's beautiful, mother..." the boy said in awe, opening his eyes fully now as he inched closer. The silence thickened between them and for a moment, the boy was sure she would turn tail and completely become one with the forest out of sight. Instead, the dragon tilted her head and pawed at the soft earth below her, the spines along her back gently waving in the breeze like branches on a tree. "I'm not gonna hurt you..." Abir murmured, admiring her chameleon-like scales. He couldn't help the smile that graced his features as his hand came within mere centimeters of her muzzle. Nostrils flared and scales flickering with the natural color it bore, she lowered herself from where her haunches rested on the stump and planted all four feet on the ground. "Atta girl," the boy offered a flat palm out and tilted his head as she had. 

        When the dragon's nose met his fingers, his breathing hitched and he swallowed the exhilaration that rose within him, pride swelling in his chest. He was so entranced with the creature before him that he didn't bother to look back at his mother, who he was sure was just as proud. His hand grazed along her muzzle and towards the bridge of her muzzle, thumb grazing to trace her scales. Breaking the moment, the Changewing lifted her head abruptly and without a sign, she opened her wings and took flight, blending in with her surroundings. Abir frowned deeply and he looked back towards the edge of the clearing.

        "Mother?" he called, brows furrowed as he searched the terrain. Silence followed and he made his way over to the spot he had left her, finding it clear of any traces that she was there. "Mother!" His voice carried through the forest, but nothing answered back. Confused, he started back toward the hut they shared, curious if perhaps she had returned to make dinner. Still, nothing showed itself. A knot tickled in the pit of his stomach and he tried to keep the tears from slipping. Only once had he seen someone vanish, and that had been is father when he was twice as young. She had promised him to never do the same. Something must've happened.

        Picking up the axe they primarily used to chop wood amongst their other chores, he surveyed the area, crouching down to examine any potential prints she may have left. But there was nothing. It was as if she hadn't ever been there. Several times he shouted out in hopes that she would respond. To no avail. Abir found himself sleeping alone that night in their hut, hiding himself away in the bundles of his blankets.

        The aggressive flapping of wings could be heard from above and Ollie found herself weakly lifting her head to listen. The space around her was empty and cold, shivers racing violently down her body. She realized her forehead was beaded with sweat and she had hot and cold flashes coursing over her. How long had she been out? When was the last time she had any food? It felt as if days had passed since her father had injected her, and she groaned out a sound that sounded foreign to her. Voice hoarse and unused and mouth incredibly dry, she tried to push away the thought of dehydration. Would he really leave her to die like this? Scrunching up her nose, she focused on the wings again, hearing a series of chaotic screams and roaring. What was going on out there? 

        Squaring her shoulders, Ollie tried to move, finding it unfortunately very difficult. Blinking and letting out an angered huff when her vision blurred, she closed her eyes again. The sounds were coming closer and everything was growing colder. Where was Mother? A soft hand reached her cheeks and she leaned into the warmth. The pain she had felt was fading and everything around her was becoming brighter. She hardly felt the binds that held her being released and her body being lifted away from the dirty cell she had been kept in. 

        A low hum filled the eerie silence and she listened to the rushing of waves below her. Soft rain kissed her pale skin and she blinked open her eyes to meet the brilliant gleam of the moon above her. It was beautiful amongst the black abyss that surrounded it. Had she managed to find the energy within her, she would've reached out to it. To feel the freedom that it offered. But she knew how far away it was. How it taunted her as her father watched in the shadows. Probably satisfied with how afraid she was. Would she die here? All alone? She'd hardly had much time in this world. Hadn't even made her mark on it.

        Her fingers splayed out against the cool scales below her and she closed her eyes again, allowing this moment of peace to pass over her. A perfect dream under such horrible circumstances. That's all this was. But she was grateful for it. This sliver of hope she still had within her blazing bright. Perhaps she could still get out of this. She felt her mother's hand again, fingers brushing over her forehead. If she wouldn't die from starvation or dehydration first, surely this fever would suffice. Take the misery from her and crush it away. 

        "You're alright now little one..." her mother whispered beside her, and tears pricked at her eyes. Surely, she would be seeing her again soon. Reunited with the only person that had ever loved her. And so she allowed herself to drift off to sleep, unaware of the guardian that now looked over her. 

>>> To Be Continued <<<

[e-morgan-row]

Under My Wings : Prologue

>>> Previous Post <<<

        The rag tasted as though it'd been soaking in some unknown musk for weeks before being shoved into her mouth and forced between her teeth. Her attempts to gnaw through the thick fabric were useless and thrashing about was futile. Hot tears filled her eyes, cooling once they had disappeared into her soft cheeks. Stained and remembered. How long she had been sitting with her back against the wooden stake was beyond her, but she knew she was exhausted and starved. Having had her wrists bound in rather itchy rope, they had no doubt left harsh marks after digging into them. Her body was sore and ached all over. If only she had listened. Perhaps this was going to be her fate no matter what she had done, but if she had just held on a little longer...kept her mouth shut and her curiosity buried...she would be bundled up in her sheep wool covers with her stomach full of tender mutton. Saliva coated the rag at the thought and she sucked in a breath, tugging at her binds again. 

        There was hardly any light in the room once noon passed and the grate above her no longer allowed the sun to beam down on her. The faint voices of the clan was the only thing she heard and the clanking of metal as they worked. She was cold and felt like she was on the verge of getting sick once darkness engulfed her and she was alone with the starry night. It beckoned to her, teasing her with a sense of freedom. Closing her eyes and lowering her head to the ground, the girl waited. It was all she could do. Sooner or later, he would be back. For a moment, she wondered if she would rather rot...to see that man's slimy face, smirking down at her knowingly sent shivers down her spine. He was cold and ruthless, something she couldn't quite grasp. And it terrified her. 

        She didn't hear the door open as her memory flashed before her again, like a reoccurring nightmare that wasn't going to end. Her insides twisted as her mother's voice rang out: Run Ollie, and don't look back! Really, she should've done it. She shouldn't have tensed up and watched as the woman that she had held so dear was murdered before her. But how could she have? Legs having buckled beneath her, the ground seemingly swallowing her whole, running was hardly a realistic option. He was going to catch up to her regardless. He would never stop looking for her even if she were to escape. It was a part of who he was. 

        Sweat beading along the side of her head, she raised her gaze to the shadows that greeted her. And there he sat, watching in amongst them in the corner of the room. She struggled to make out the features on his face, save for the hair that the two of them shared. As he crossed one leg over the other, studying her, the girl tugged again at the ropes behind her. Why she even bothered was beyond her. Whether it was to actually escape or to free her from having to stare at him, she couldn't be sure. A small vial was being tossed in his palm, brilliant and velvety. She knew exactly what it was, but she refused to show fear, focusing primarily on what bound her to the stake. The friction caused them to dig deep into her flesh, something she knew wouldn't heal well at all if she managed to get out of this alive. 

        As young as she was, she knew that he fed on fear. And she wouldn't allow him the satisfaction. He was a mad man. She could feel the salty substance trickling into the corner of her lips from the tears that spilled wildly from her piercing eyes. He had that same intense look behind his own, sharp and alert. Lifting his abnormally thin body from the chair, he clasped his hands behind his back and took a step toward her. Then another. Slow and precise. His head tilted to the side as he analyzed her, as though trying to figure if she was truly worth anything to him. Tutting, he shook his head in an almost mocking way,

        "A shame...really..." he began, his voice disgustingly calm. The girl watched him, eyes wide as he moved the vial through his fingers, admiring the small waves it made from within the glass. "You could amount to...so much more. If you just...listen-" he slammed a fist to the stake right above her head, nostrils flaring as he peered down at her with fury. A look she knew all too well. Looking down, she breathed heavily through her nose, trying to block out the tone behind his words. He wouldn't kill her. Would he? But he'd done it so easily before..."I suggest..." his head came into view as he brought himself down to her level, keeping his gaze trained on the vial as he popped it open. He stared for what seemed like minutes before he hummed with delight and flicked his attention back to the girl, "You heed my warnings about those beasts if you want to live..." a long bony finger brushed against her cheek and she jerked herself away, biting down hard on the rag that filled her mouth. 

        "Or perhaps...this will be much easier..." taking a needle, he injected it into the liquid and removed it, tapping it lightly before throwing a smirk at her, "What do you say, Ollie, dear?" With a swift movement, he removed the fabric from her mouth and finally allowed her to speak. Tossing a few strands of hair from her eyes, she raised her head to glare up at him, 

        "I'll never be like you." Her words stung on the inside, but not because it was something she had always wanted. But because it was something she knew couldn't be avoided. Even if she stood strong on her morals. No matter how big of a hero she tried to be. It was inevitable that she would become somewhat like him...and the thought made her sick to the core. He shook his head and puffed out his bottom lip in a pout,

        "Tsk tsk tsk...is that any way to talk to your father?" But before the girl could reply, the comeback boiling down in her chest, her voice was silenced by the sting of the needle that was stabbed into the back of her neck. And everything went black as the scales of the dragon she had tried so hard to protect. 

>>> Next Post <<<

[e-morgan-row]

Introduction

⸻ »» Under My Wings

𝐁𝐲 E. Morgan Row «« ⸻

☾   ☽

⸻ »» Under My Wings

𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑟 & 𝐶𝑜𝑝𝑦𝑟���𝑔𝘩𝑡 «« ⸻

... I do not own How to Train Your Dragon, How to Train Your Dragon 2, or How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World. All rights go to the developer and publisher Dreamworks. This is nothing more than an interactive adventure story with the inspiration of this beautifully written work. Please do not copy or claim this story as your own. ...

☾   ☽

⸻ »» Under My Wings

𝐴𝑢𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑟'𝑠 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒 «« ⸻

... If you are a new reader, I want to give you a special thanks for taking the time to check out my story, even if it's just out of mere curiosity. If you decide to stick around and read any more of my works, I'd like to officially welcome you to my profile and progress. Happy reading! ...

☾   ☽

>>> Start Reading <<<

This can also be read on Quotev as of now.

[e-morgan-row]

About Me and My Work

Interactive Fanfictions . Original Fiction . Poetry . Story Reviews

Hello there, fellow readers. I'm E. Morgan Row, a young female writer who's been at it for over ten years now. I've jumped around from creating works online to reviewing what others have written in my free time. This has been a dream of mine for a good chunk of my life and has yet to waver from my heart.

I've always had a vivid imagination which has created worlds inside my head to escape to. When it came to writing, it was something that came naturally, wanting to share my experiences and thoughts with either my parents or my teachers. I owe a lot to my biggest cheerleader, Mr. H, who encouraged me to the fullest with my journey.

Nowadays, I focus primarily on interactive fanfiction and my original fiction. I also enjoy reading what others have to offer and leaving lengthy reviews on their work, so if this is something that interests you, please feel free to reach out to me.

From my original work to my interactives, this is the list that will remain pinned and updated whenever something is posted.

You can also check my work out on Quotev or Ao3

⊱ ─── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─── ⊰ Interactive Fanfictions ⊱ ─── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─── ⊰

Red Dead Redemption - Gone Away Gone - Start | Most Updated

Harry Potter - The Doe and the Moth - Start | Most Updated

Moana - Beyond the Reef - Start | Most Updated

How to Train Your Dragon - When Skies Align - Start | Most Updated

⊱ ─── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─── ⊰ Fanfictions ⊱ ─── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─── ⊰

The Last of Us - Harrowing Hearts - Start | Most Updated

Timeless - What Are the Chances? - Start | Most Updated

God of War - Pierced with Arrows - Start | Most Updated

Sherlock - Foreseen Tragedies - Start | Most Updated

How to Train Your Dragon - Under My Wings - Start | Most Updated

⊱ ─── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─── ⊰ Originals ⊱ ─── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─── ⊰

Original Characters - Start | Most Updated

Blind Insight - Sci-Fi/Tragedy - Start | Most Updated

Torn Like Fabric - Memoir - Start | Most Updated

Rain on Ice - Poetry - Start | Most Updated