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Small fantasy worldbuilding elements you might want to think about:

A currency that isn’t gold-standard/having gold be as valuable as tin

A currency that runs entirely on a perishable resource, like cocoa beans

A clock that isn’t 24-hours

More or less than four seasons/seasons other than the ones we know

Fantastical weather patterns like irregular cloud formations, iridescent rain

Multiple moons/no moon

Planetary rings

A northern lights effect, but near the equator

Roads that aren’t brown or grey/black, like San Juan’s blue bricks

Jewelry beyond precious gems and metals

Marriage signifiers other than wedding bands

The husband taking the wife's name / newlyweds inventing a new surname upon marriage

No concept of virginity or bastardry

More than 2 genders/no concept of gender

Monotheism, but not creationism

Gods that don’t look like people

Domesticated pets that aren’t re-skinned dogs and cats

Some normalized supernatural element that has nothing to do with the plot

Magical communication that isn’t Fantasy Zoom

“Books” that aren’t bound or scrolls

A nonverbal means of communicating, like sign language

A race of people who are obligate carnivores/ vegetarians/ vegans/ pescatarians (not religious, biological imperative)

I’ve done about half of these myself in one WIP or another and a little detail here or there goes a long way in reminding the audience that this isn’t Kansas anymore.

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Chateau de Val, Lanobre, Cantal, Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes, France,

Pierre Holey Photography

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*thinks up an idea for a silly quick piece* okay haha let's whip something up real quick

*idea gets more complicated*

*idea gets more complicated*

*idea gets more complicated*

*idea gets more complicated*

oh no

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“you’re a writer, right?”

me, staring at the one sentence i’ve managed to add in the last hour and the 12 open tabs on the specifics of shoes in 1845 Ireland: In theory.

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“Be curious about what you’re writing about” is not stock Common Writing Advice but it really, really should be. There are a lot of written works that fail due to the authors just being obviously incurious about what they are writing about.

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people when a canon ship involves a black woman

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Here's something interesting: I was going through my drafts when I found a diary-like stream of consciousness that I started writing about a week before I separated from my husband. According to the version history, I didn't touch it again until we'd been separated for almost 2 years – which is when I started to describe the running – but I still left it unfinished. I think the reason for that was the fact that we hadn't yet finalised our divorce, so I didn't have closure from the subject matter. Regardless, after more than 4 years of being separated, I finished and edited it today. I no longer relate to what I am describing, but I remember it all... too... well.

Spite I never would have described myself as spiteful. If I had put any thought into it, or arrived at the conclusion that I was, it would have thrown me straight back into the hole you had dug – once home to the two of us – and further down still, into the gaping maw with its acidic breath, jagged teeth, bones decaying on its tongue. That monster you’ve created to sit beneath you, writhing with unsated hunger, a manifestation of your perpetual false victimhood. I wasn’t keen on revisiting the sensation of being mauled by the creature you kept leashed to your shattered hip, so I ran, and I ran hard. I ran until the hole disappeared from view, until your face vanished from my memory, the blazing trails of fire you left on my skin extinguished by the cooling winds of autumn whipping at my body. I ran for too long, longer than I needed to. My legs gave out and I had no choice but to keel over, panting for breath, punching my aching knees. Then came the most agonizing realization: I had taken the venom from your eyes and injected myself with it, the needle finding the artery in my inner thigh, numbing me from feeling what I needed to feel and replacing it with a safe kind of hedonism. It whispered to me that I needed to fill the hole with new bodies, new words of kindness, or flattery; anything to keep the feelings of self-hatred from eating away at my heart. Because in my heart of hearts, I knew that I hated myself for running, but even more so, I hated you for giving me something to run from. Why’d you insist on keeping that thing leashed to you? We could have stayed warm in the hole, forever.

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My brain tilts sideways. Someone inserts a pump into my ear and starts filling my head with fluff. Making me their Build-A-Bear.

It takes me an hour to check in and see the mess upstairs. I check my phone. 1pm.

Fuck, I haven't taken my meds.

I reach over my laptop to grab my drink bottle off the floor. Well, my kid's drink bottle. I've not found the fucks needed to wash my own.

Then I waddle into the kitchen, cast my eyes around. I need to clean. No, I need chocolate.

No, you need to take your meds.

The fluff suffocates my brain. I move to the laundry, move dry clothes out of the dryer, move wet clothes into the dryer. Lint into the bin.

Then into kiddo's room, strip his bed. The sheets haven't been washed in a month. I'm a shit mother.

Take your meds take your meds take your meds.

I stuff the sheets into the machine, put in the requisite powder, hit "play". Walk back to the kitchen. Fumble with the blister pack.

The tablet perches on the slide of my tongue. I unscrew the lid of the pilfered bottle. It washes down without issue.

There, it's done. Now can you shut up?

But the panic doesn't abate. I break off some of that chocolate. Wobbly thoughts swim through my head and I forget to savour it.

I then see I've taken my last tablet in the pack. I throw my pharmacy box into the bin on top of the lint.

Idiot. Don't forget tomorrow's meds.

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Oh my gosh. I just found this website that walks you though creating a believable society. It breaks each facet down into individual questions and makes it so simple! It seems really helpful for worldbuilding!

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Pondering my orbs.

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A greeting for negligent penpals and procrastinating authors. Postcard from my collection, 1911.

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Scarborough, North Yorkshire, England

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Please stick to ONE TASK, brain!!

🧠: No. :)

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Sleeping at the Beach, Eyes Wide Open

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José Villarrubia, Teen Angel VI, 1993

@maschiio

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my OCs are sooo cool you guys don't know what you're missing. if you could see the show i'm watching in my head rn you'd go so crazy i'm telling u

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French Wedding dress (1869)