thegirlfrombrowneyedcounty

[thegirlfrombrowneyedcounty]

Fumbled (1925) by Norman Rockwell (1894-1978).

My family and I have many traditions when it comes to Super Bowl Sunday. Whether it’s setting up TV trays in the living room or ordering sub sandwiches with as much lunch meat and cheese that the bread can cradle, the game is another way we can make memories—and fill our bellies.

The game is also a chance for me not to write. Although discipline is key as a writer, I think us creators often forget that in order to write, we must live too.

So writers, ditch the paragraph that’s been giving you trouble and enjoy the men with tatted up biceps as they toss around that pig skin!

Let’s go Philadelphia Eagles in Super Bowl LIX!

[thegirlfrombrowneyedcounty]

Teenager Sitting on Stairs Talking on Phone (1944) by John Gannam.

Hi writers who may or may not be in a bit of a story-idea drought! When I’m searching for my next big novel idea (which is usually benched for a year before I actually start fleshing it out), I look to the media I view: movies, t.v shows, and, most importantly, paintings. Though not an artist myself, I’ve always held an appreciation for those magicians with paint brushes, those individuals who see the potential of a blank canvas before anyone else. Naturally then, when I don’t have any writing prompts at my disposal, I turn to paintings, specifically those with bright colors and readable facial expressions circa the 20th century. There’s something so exciting about staring at a painting and reading the characters, for I’m left wondering what their story is. Or what it could be. In other words, I look at paintings as a writer. Since adopting this method in the last couple of years, I’ve been able to exercise my imagination during a dry spell—and cement myself as a Tom Lovell fan. So, for my first official writing tip on my Tumblr page, I’d recommend to everyone, regardless of level, to try considering the work of different kinds of artists when you’re in need of inspiration.

Who knows, one artist’s masterpiece might be the seed for another’s novel.

[thegirlfrombrowneyedcounty]

One interesting fact about me is that I’m not just a lifelong House of Anubis fan—I’m a multi-fandom girl! And I’m excited to give a shoutout to a one-shot I wrote on Archive of Our Own last year on my favorite Law & Order: SVU (almost) couple, Joe Velasco and Grace Muncy. “Mac ‘N’ Cheese and You” takes placing during Season 24, Episode 22, and below is an exclusive snippet taken directly from the story itself. Enjoy, and if you’d like to read on, you can find the full story on my Ao3 profile (username in bio).  Excerpt from “Mac ‘N’ Cheese and You,” about 1k words: 

“If you need to keep it, that’s okay,” Velasco’s head leans against the doorframe, and Muncy nearly jumps out of her shoes. Usually she can hear when someone has wandered up the stairs—even Lassie’s declawed paws are no match for the seventy-year-old hardwood—yet she must’ve been too busy rummaging through her closet to hear him. 

“No, I’ve got something,” her answer is rushed—and premature—for she claws through at least another five different tops until she pulls out an old Knicks jersey that Teddy bought her for Christmas one year. Knowing that it’s all she has, she glances at Velasco, who, realizing she is about to change, turns his back on her and steps out of view. 

She gets to work immediately. At first, pulling her arms out of the hoodie’s sleeves and letting them hang on either side her half-naked torso seems easy; however, when Muncy reaches the bottom of the hoodie with her hands and tries to lift it over her head, what feels like a hook stretching her abdomen causes a curse to tumble from her lips. Trying again, and again, she fears she will become intoxicated by the hoodie’s fabric softener combined with Velasco’s own scent—musky with a hint of sweetness, like vanilla—as she tries to squirm out of the hoodie painlessly. 

Finally, Muncy calls the last person she wants to. 

“Velasco, can I have a hand?” 

He appears in the doorway, and if his expression is meant to be stoic, then he fails considerably at it, for a smile dawns ever so slightly on his lips. Without a word, Velasco walks into her bedroom, not once looking at her bed and its chenille bedspread that used to be her mother’s. If he had, Muncy thinks she would lose all support in her knees. 

Standing in front of her, Velasco instructs Muncy to drop her arms at her sides underneath the hoodie, and when she does, he grabs the bottom of the hoodie and lifts it over head. Muncy’s world is black for a moment while a chill blankets her exposed arms and her heart beats loudly in her chest. Once the hoodie is off, Muncy instinctively covers her chest as it’s clothed only in a white, t-shirt bra. 

Neither Velasco nor Muncy dare to speak, with the only sound being the pendulum from the Cuckoo clock on the wall opposite her bed swinging back and forth. She can hear Velasco take a deep breath as he keeps her eyes fixated on her face. 

He’s trying. 

Left with this afterthought, Muncy sends him a smile, and almost jokingly, says: “I feel like I’m in a locker room.” 

It comes out more dryly than she expects, and Muncy can see the intensity in his gaze fade. Scratching the back of his neck, Velasco lets out a cough and looks down at the ground. Taking this as her cue to dress herself, she grabs the jersey off her bed and, seeing a similar dilemma as before, hesitantly holds it out to Velasco. He takes it with just as much delay and steps even closer to Muncy. 

Holding out her arms not much higher than the space between her belly button and breasts, she watches as Velasco takes each one of her wrists and slips it through each hole. Gently, he shimmies the jersey up her arms and shoulders, and Muncy dips her head so he can get it over her head. Once he does it, she grabs the end of the jersey to pull it down the rest of the way, though Velasco’s hands seem to have the same intention. Despite this, Muncy doesn’t stop him when his hands fall protectively over hers, but she should. 

Just like how doesn’t stop him when, once the jersey is secure and her hands rest on the waistband of her jeans, he grabs her hips, but she should. 

For if she would have, she wouldn’t be stepping even closer to Velasco, her chest touching his; she wouldn’t be letting his breath, still minty from the gum he worked through on the plane, fan her face. 

“Grace—” Velasco’s voice is low enough to reawaken a butterfly in her stomach, and while she would love to hear the rest of his line, Muncy stops herself. 

Remember your work commitments. 

“Like I said, you probably want to head home,” she recoils from his embrace, practically clawing his hands off her hips so she can grab his hoodie. Muncy doesn’t mean to embarrass him, but she can tell she has. “You also probably want to wash this too. I may have gotten drool on it when I nodded off.” 

Velasco looks at the hoodie as if she is handing him a lifeless white dove. Eventually taking it from her grasp, he says nothing else as he turns his back on her, his shoulders slumped. 

“Maybe we’ll bump into each other after your transfer,” he says quietly, and his words remind her that she hasn’t told him about her decision to stay at SVU. 

She wants to tell him, she does, and while the words form themselves in her brain, her eyes spare another glance at her perfectly-made bed, and something else entirely jumps off of her lips. “Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat.” 

Surprised, Velasco tosses his head over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. 

“I insist,” Muncy responds and claps a hand on his shoulder before descending the stairs. She crosses her fingers that he will follow her, and when she reaches the eat-in kitchen and hears Velasco’s footsteps behind her, is relieved because, despite everything, she doesn’t necessarily want Velasco to leave.  

“How about some macaroni and cheese?” 

[thegirlfrombrowneyedcounty]

I had a feeling that my Tumblr page would occasionally harbor a somber post or two, and this is one of those occasions. A year ago to the day my dearest German Shepherd, Joy, passed away abruptly due to a cancerous tumor on her spleen discovered the same day. At the time, I had other commitments that had drawn my attention away from my writing. Joy’s passing ended up prolonging this break, and it would take time for me to find solace in a keyboard and a pair of earbuds again.

But I did. Because for me, writing had always been a safety net under tight-rope, an awning in a rainstorm. Amid my grief, I needed my writing as badly as my characters needed me.

And once I revisited them, I found that my depictions of death and tragedy had become more genuine and my inclination to show love between my characters more pronounced. I knew I had to credit Joy’s chapter in my life, a chapter of boundless, resilient love and deep loss, for my improved connectivity to the human experience that found its way onto a page.

Even now, I feel in a better position to write about the good and the bad parts of what it means to be human, what it means to let the ones we love cross a bridge without us. I thank Joy for this often, for though I wish we would’ve had more time, she showed me what a beautiful life looks like from beginning to end.

So, for all the writers out there going through a loss, I hope by sharing Joy and I’s story, you see that painful goodbyes can make you more human, and eventually, your stories and your characters will reflect that—something your readers will thank you for.

As always, keep writing everyone, and keep flying high with the angels, Joy Bear.

I miss you with every breath.

Joy (9/30/2016-1/16/2024)

[thegirlfrombrowneyedcounty]

Calling all House of Anubis fans! Ever fancy seeing Mick Campbell & Patricia Williamson together? Or ever wonder why Patricia is so rough around the edges? My five-part fanfiction, “How to Kiss a Heartbreaker Like It’s the Second Time (Because It Is)” on Archive of Our Own offers a fictional glimpse at what made Patricia, well, Patricia. Along with some help from a certain footballer (English football, that is), this story is set in season 1 right around the time the Anubis residents participate in the school play written by Nina. Four out of five of the chapters are currently published, with the fifth on its way! Thank you all for the support! I’d love some fanfiction recommendations in the comments (Peddie is my #1 HOA ship, but I’m open to anything). 

xoxo

[thegirlfrombrowneyedcounty]

Hi Tumblr! My name is Stephanie, and before I start posting random story excerpts or fangirl over some of my favorite shows & movies I’m currently writing fanfictions for, I thought a brief introduction would be suitable as I plan to post weekly on this platform.

I first realized I wanted to be a writer some time in 2015 or 2016 when I posted a fanfiction on Fanfiction.net. Despite being riddled with capitalization errors, misspellings, and even inconsistent verb tenses, “Till the end” was my first solid piece of work, and boy was I proud! I went on to write multiple fanfictions after that, eventually migrating to platforms like Wattpad and Archive of Our Own. Although it would take me until 2022 to grow serious about writing original work (a newfound love for historical fiction also helped) and for my post-WWII short story, “The Doughertys’ Home Front” to come to fruition, I have since then been able to push out additional short stories and a novella, many of which have seen recognition from ambassador-led Wattpad contests. Today, I feel more secure than ever in calling myself a historical writer specializing in twentieth-century history.

Now on to the real story.

As much as I’d like to portray my writing journey simply, going from a fanfiction writer to a original fiction writer, that is not the case. Throughout my teen years and into my twenties, I struggled to write the stories I wanted to tell. I’d write fanfictions to appease certain audiences, and before I wrote historical fiction, settled on YA because it was “safe” and what I saw selling. I suppose I could sum it up like this: I fought the notion that my writing should grow with my body, my mind, and my interests, and instead, wrote stories that were not true to me.

But that continues no more.

Frankly, I never thought that I’d be writing fanfiction AND historical fiction side-by-side, with the former focused on a show that ruled my childhood for half a decade. Yet, here I am, doing exactly that, and I couldn’t be more excited to share my work and my love for certain fandoms with all of you. So, on my Tumble page, expect news about upcoming stories (maybe even some full-length chapters), tips and methods that keep me disciplined as a writer, and “interesting” facts about me.

Bear with me on that last part—I might just end up sharing some twentieth-century history facts with you all! :)

You can find my aO3 and Wattpad usernames in my bio.

xoxo