emilyoracle

[emilyoracle]

So true

[emilyoracle]

I've been astonished by how much people seem to love my weird and experimental project held together by duct tape and string, especially since so much of it flies in the face of the way I've been taught publishing is supposed to work. The conventional way authors survive online is to release books for sale as frequently as possible - whereas I've been focusing on giving each project as much time as I can, and releasing them slowly (so far I've done a Dracula-inspired novel.) I’ve been making the sort of transgressive queer writing that mainstream publishing is too nervous to touch right now, and I've been giving it away in my newsletter for free.

I want to keep telling stories for free, forever. Only there's one problem: I'm going to need A Lot more subscribers to my newsletter. I have just under 5000 readers right now - I’m going to need at least double that.

Conventional wisdom also says that Tumblr is a dead end, but I'm convinced that this is one of the last places on the internet that capable of fostering real, counter-cultural queer expression - precisely because we are so often left out and forgotten by the mainstream. Half the reason I'm on this website is because of the culture of absolute resistance to advertising. Unfortunately, that also makes my job here rather hard. If things continue to go well, between Patreon, sales of special editions, and a couple small ads, I think I can just about get away with doing this. But I need your help.

If you're someone who's hungry for good stories and:

❧ You're sick of being sold superficial, safe, and sanitized queer stories that shy away from genuine expressions of socially unacceptable desire

❧ You see sexual freedom as inseparable from queer liberation, and you want to see that explored in metaphor via a vampire seducing a priest

❧ You want to read modern queer fiction that's aware of the deep and rich history of queer culture

❧ You want to help foster a project that would create new avenues for underground and transgressive forms of queer expression

Then you should subscribe to What Manner of Man! It's sexy and boundary-pushing and kinky, with fire in its veins.

If this works, I'll be able to take on bigger and more ambitious projects than I ever have before (it's mad scientists next, and I have some pretty mad ideas!)

Thank you for your time! Reblogs deeply appreciated.

[emilyoracle]

If you're looking for writing tips

My guides and tip posts are still getting lots of reblogs despite my inactivity, and I'm so glad people are finding them helpful!

However, if you'd like to read the more updated, polished versions of my old tumblr guides and have access to new ones, I have a Substack where I've put them. A lot of points in the old guides have been expanded upon or clarified, so I think it would be beneficial to take a look even if you've already read them!

Lots of people are continuing to follow my tumblr and I assume it's for my writing guides, but I likely won't be posting any more here. Future writing tips will go on my Substack, so please take a look!

Here's my newest guide:

[emilyoracle]

this is advice I've given friends directly before and I've probably also posted it but I really like giving it so here it is potentially again: do not create something for an imaginary bad faith reader.

there will always be someone who finds fault in your work. there will be people who read the messages on it wrong. there will be people who will take every compelling aspect about your work off of it so they can put in their own.

you cannot make art for these people.

you will never write a story that is free from criticism. you will never draw a piece that everyone finds appealing. you will never compose a song that everyone enjoys hearing. you cannot, fundamentally, set out to create something and only think of how you can avoid someone not liking it.

because, and this is key, there will be someone who sees every angle of your story and feels its intent in their heart and gushes to their friends about it. you will draw someone's favorite art and they will make it their phone wallpaper because they want to see it every day. someone will fall in love with your song and loop it on their way to work because it gets them through the day. and THOSE are the people your work is for. THOSE are the people you have to care about, because they love what you make for what it is - because it's itself.

if you set out to create something and file off every sharp edge, prune every thorn, you will be left with something fragile and weak, and it will be fragile and weak for the sake of someone who does not exist but that you were scared of anyway.

sharing art is complex and tangled and powerful, and anything you care enough to create deserves to flourish as itself. get sillay.

[emilyoracle]

LESS LESBIAN COPS MORE LESBIAN COCKS AMIRIGHT!!!!!!!!

[emilyoracle]

The Hildspel of Athelhyrst | Chapter One

I don't know what else I would do with this if not share it here, so here is Chapter 1, the culmination of an entire year's worth of work!

I don't know how easy it will be to read both because, well, it's a language that doesn't exist and also because I can't exactly do footnotes. But you're more than welcome to try! I did put notes for things that may not have needed them because some of them are still words we have but either we use them very rarely or use them in a different way than they would have been. And some things were executive decisions or me explaining world building I can't get to yet. I figured it was better safe than sorry.

I'm genuinely very proud of not only the fact that I wrote this whole chapter, but of some of the sentences in particular. I think it still manages to have a little flair! Also before you say "but isn't this familiar…" yes, it is sort of me filing the serial numbers off of my Binding Blade fanfiction. But only kind of. I am going to be taking the plot and story in a very different direction, because in the end my fanfiction didn't really resemble the original plot that much anymore anyway.

Edit: I'm in the process of updating this to have a glossary instead so my notes will be disappearing. I will link the glossary below.

Tagging the people I know or think are interested, even if you just want to look at it.

@almedha @thegoddesswater @emilyoracle @magefaery @outpost51 @sam-glade @did-i-do-this-write

2,226 words.

Anglish Wordbook

Cynefrith stood next to her father, gazing out over the heathfield. Under the bright sun she could wellsee the witherwin heer, their swords gleaming with witting evil. The sight chilled her, although she knew that to them, her own shire's heer must look the same.

"Why would they set here?" She asked him.

The witherwin's motherland, Hyllworth Rich, was all highlands - full of barrows and firrows. Their heer fought afoot, horses not being behooveful in such a land, and so a flat lowland field was far from a wise kir. A gouth like this could only be won with fullbore work and hardship. Cynefrith may be young and seldom acosted, but she knew that their king was said to be cunning, and this was not.

Lord Wulfric, frea of Lindingham and highfrea of all the Weared Shires, laughed. "My beloved daughter," he said, "they know we would never bestir our heer to meet a foe cowering amongst the barrows of their motherland."

"But-"

He held up a hand to forestall her. "Yet just as true, such mistrust is the burden of a highfrea. Sunngifu!"

At his call, a harwickner hied to his side from a gathering of ferdmen standing afar. Sunngifu was a tall woman of middling years, a stern demeanor, and seldom seen skill with spear and bow. She dropped to one knee in front of them. "Yea, my lord?"

Lord Wulfric kept looking at the field in front of them. "This land should have been well sifted, is this true?"

"Down to every blade of grass, my lord. High harwickne Osgar saw to it."

"And is aught amiss?"

"Nothing, 'tis but a field."

"Mayhaps King Lanzo is not so clever as he thinks. That is as it is with most men." He ruffled Cynefrith's hair, as he had been wont to do all her life. "Still my lass, keep your wit about you. Lo! Sunngifu, I entrust you, also, to keep my daughter hearty and hale."

“As you say, my lord.”

"Father!" Cynefrith said. "Don't bid(order) such a needless thing! Who will wield Sunngifu's horse?"

It was needless indeed to her. Sunngifu belonged where all of the harwickners belonged - on the heathfield. Cynefrith on the other hand was a dry, and her stead was to be afar, helping the ferdmen with her drycraft. There was little plee to her life, nor was she so frough as to need unyielding warding. To bangle away Sunngifu's time with such a behest was truly hyeless.

But in this she and her father were unthwear.

"As erfward to the highseld of highfrea, you are always a worthwhile target. Any ferdman would be happy to put a witherwin harfrea to the sword. Never forget this. And your face, my daughter, is well known to them."

Indeed she could not withsake this soothquid. More than being Lady of Lindingham, more than being the next highfrea of the Weared Shires, she was known because of her mother. The wedlock of a frea to a sellsword would alone be tidings. But that sellsword also happened to be from the eastern eltheed of Skulata. Cynefrith shared some of her mother's outlander looks, being smaller of build and lighter of skin and hair than oftseen. Yea, she was known everywhere. Anyone who saw a girl of Skulatan look outfitted in high Lindingham godweb would know it was her.

Sunngifu broke in. "My underwickner will stand-in to wield my horse for me. There is no hitch in this."

"Yea, I understand."

Wulfric laughed again. "My clever daughter! But look there, they begin to stir. It is time for me to speak to the men." He strode away back to the main body of the heer, leaving Cynefrith and Sunngifu alone.

Lord Wulfric spoke to his men from atop his horse, cutting a truly helethish ansen outfitted as he was in thick gouthhedden fratowed with markings in hues of dark hewn and whelkred, bright iron cloth peeking from beneath, a hackle slung about his shoulders, his great poleaxe at his side.

She did not stop to listen to his speech but went to stand with the other dry who stood aside from the main body of the heer. Drycraft needed clear sightlines, it would not do for them to be fanged by the dwolm of a gouth in full swing. Sunngifu followed after her.

She would not be the only ward standing by the dry that day, indeed not, for dry were often main targets. Why not, when they fought so well from afar, full farlen of even the strongest, swiftest arrows. Some dry were also arade in healcraft and could undo even the most dreadful of heathglembs.

She was not one of them. Indeed, how could she be? Cynefrith was the child of gouthrink on both sides of her blood. Her drycraft was never that of frith, but that of the dwolm of the heathfield.

There were not many dry, only some few handfuls. Many of them were known to her, if only by anlet. She nipped her head to them the barest whit – she was, after all, the daughter of a frea. Those who saw byed in anqueath.

Cynefrith watched her father and looked over the heer. It was not small. She knew that over half the heer of the Weared Shires came from Lindingham alone. Lord Wulfric wielded five high harwickners, each of whom wielded three harwickners.

She misliked it, this happening. She asked of Sunngifu, "King Lanzo's heer was sifted, yea?"

"Yea, my lady."

"How many men does he wield?"

"To my knowledge, nigh on twelve thousand."

Twelve thousand, to abide a witherwin of nigh on fifteen thousand. Cynefrith misliked it. King Lanzo was wise, and sarecrafty, of this he was namecouth. But his deeds now were hyeless. To strike a bigger heer, on land they well knew, in weather which could only give them the upperhand? It must have shown on her anlet, because Sunngifu spoke.

"Lord Wulfric is oft accosted on the heathfield."

"Of this I am aware. But to my kin, overmood is no comeling. It fells great men and lackwits alike. Indeed, more of the latter, as all men are lackwits under its yoke."

"Shall you speak to your father again?"

Her hands clenched the woof of her rooc, rimpling it, but she shook her head. "Much may it misqueme me, I have spoken and he has not heeded. To do more is not yet my bailiwick."

Her father had stopped speaking, and now shied his horse to stand forward from his men. She could see him watching the foe, seemingly at eath. He was hewed in fire and iron, the winner of a thousand heathfields alike to this one.

Overmood, Cynefrith thought to herself sourly. She could not wile the days to come, nor could anyone. But there was a trap here, she knew it. Something was wrong, and there was nothing that she could do about it.

The lift wended then, in the way it does before a storm breaks. It was neither leven nor thunder but the long, low call of a horn. Both heer bestirred, alike nothing so much as two great wilders from the folktales, roaring to seethe their alderdom.

It was not her father who stirred first, but when the men of Hyllworth overflowed from their barrows thwarst the plain like so many ants, his own horn sang out sweet the call to take up weaponing.

The horses' great hooves shook the ground as they raced forward, making Cynefrith's heart bever in her chest. She did her best not to heed, her craft needed as much mindfulness as that of any swordsman, mayhap more. A swordsman may see his weapon as a stitch of himself, and wield it as such. A dry could call upon all the might of the earth and sky, but it was ever itself - its true hearsomeness never was to man.

Of all the world's many showings, leven most eathfully came to her hand, and it was this she now called. On a day with a hoder sky, leven seemed made wholly for this end.

It came willingly this day, prancing about her in the wary wise of all half-tame wild things – throwing off sparks from her hands as it did so. It would not bide long, nor would she ask it to.

She set her sights on a seemingly worthwhile man – one with a loth of bright goldbloom about his shoulders, a great sword at his hip, and a rooc of iron cloth. The leven saw him too and flew to his side, sword and iron cloth both made an outstanding roost for it to land upon.

She could not hear him scream, but she saw him jerk and fall, bringing about a fit of groor in his horse. That would spread, as would the leven – leaping from copper to iron to brass, anything that would hold it. It may hit fere as well as foe were they near, but such was a plee of drycraft. At least she could say leven did not outlast its welcome as did some. Leven would soon tire of this game she set and flee, unlike hungry fire, who could always find more to eat.

She went to her wicken with a willing heart, but it was not long before she once again felt something was amiss.

On the heathfield beneath her the heers were stirring – both wending towards the barrows afar. As they did, her father and his men drew further and further from their starting set – far enough that her drycraft could no longer reach.

When first her spell did not land, she felt a hard lump of dread make in her a home, though she could not give steven to why. But then she heard once more the mournful call of a horn which seemed to her a roop from death itself, so unalike was it to the horns up until that brightomwhile.

At first nothing happened.

But then, from behind those sharp fangs of the earth they rose – drakes in sere score, with riders weaponed for gouth.

"Nay!" She did not underyet her reard until it throughwent her lips, but she knew – lo, how well she knew – that her father's heer was not reacon of withstanding drakes.

How had Hyllworth Rich gotten them? They did not live there, they were from – as her mother had been – far eastern Skulata.

In truth it did not dow. The drakes were here, and making for her father and his heer at speed.

"My lady." It was Sunngifu, who grabbed her arm and fanded for her to heed.

Cynefrith shook her off.

"We must leave."

"I cannot! My father-" Cynefrith took a few steps and fanded to raise a strong wind. Wind did not care for her ofttimes, but to-day it came, to no freem. They were too far. They were too far, and she was not strong enough. Was she or was she not the daughter of Lord Wulfric, of the namecouth sellsword Arite? Was she or was she not the afterbear of a hundred or more gouthrink?

She fanded anew, to the same outcome.

"My lady," Sunngifu said again. Her reard was frithful, but her grip was not as she hent once again Cynefrith's arm and began to pull her away.

"I cannot, I beseech you, let go!"

Sunngifu was stronger by far, and drycraft was not behooveful so near lest she wish to hit also herself. Cynefrith had naught but her words – which fell on deaf ears.

"Your father may yet live, but you cannot fall here, my lady. It was his behest of me. We must eftcome to Lindingham Borough."

Arrows and spells flew and the drakes swooped low as Sunngifu both pulled and shoved Cynefrith to where their horses stood.

"Unhand me at once!" Cynefrith yelled as Sunngifu lifted her into the saddle.

"Nay, my lady. For now I still must follow your father's hests."

She swung with eath into the saddle and, upon grabbing the leads of both horses, gave hers a mighty kick which sent them both leaping away in the bearing of home.

Cynefrith could only watch as the drakes – now quickly growing small – began to land.

[emilyoracle]

That thing you had to force yourself to do-the actual act of writing-turns out to be the best part.

Anne Lamott (via writingdotcoffee)

[emilyoracle]

Wip intro made on canva with images from the windswept picrew by Elena-illustration.

Not quite a fairy tale retelling, but an exploration of fairy tales and fairies.

If any character looks familiar, this wip started out as an au of my own ocs.

[emilyoracle]

for the love of god, write all the self-indulgent scenes you want.  be utterly  shameless about including every last fantasy.  i know everyone likes to share quotes and quips about how miserably hard writing is, but please please try thinking of it as a joyful act where you get to be a messy human who makes art rather than some pain filled quest for icy perfection.

[emilyoracle]

[emilyoracle]

IT'S PUB DAY 🗣️‼️

HAPPY 10/10 ΔΆΙΟΣ (my baby) IS OUT IN THE WORLD!!! Δάιος is the first book in the Call Me Icarus trilogy! It is an Anti-Establisment retelling of the fall of Icarus.

It's also what I've made my entire about! The whole reason I joined writeblr! It is my everything, I have chronic CMI brainrot at this point. Icarus is a rotisserarie chicken in my mind

Are you a fan of trans men being the worst? Queer people making bad decisions? Blood?? Good, ΔΆΙΟΣ has it all!! Just check out this nifty little graphic I made:

ANYWAYS I just got confirmation that the Hardcovers and paperbacks are on their way to me so that I can do some signed editions with ✨goodies✨

Hopefully that means hardcovers will be available on like amazon and b&n soon (idk how these things work), but at the very least paperbacks are available on amazon!!

idk what else to say here, i'm just super excited that my word baby is out in the world. Have some links i guess?

Δάιος on Amazon Δάιος signed copies on my website Goodreads page! The most beautiful image of my book in existence (and a review of it) a secret 5th link

[emilyoracle]

making up oc lore: fuck yes a little guy just for me

writing down oc lore: what the fuck

[emilyoracle]

2 genres of fanfiction:

1) put that guy into situations

2) take that guy OUT of situations for the love of GOD let them REST 

[emilyoracle]

I'm Launching a Free Course for Writers

I'm excited to share with you my first-ever course for writers. It's two weeks long, delivered via email and completely free.

It's called Writing Habit for Life.

Who Is the Course For?

Every writer needs a regular writing practice. Whether you write every day, three times a week or every weekend, you must do it regularly to produce enough words and make progress.

I struggled with this for many years. First, I tried to impose a writing routine on my life. Later on, I figured I needed a writing routine that would fit around my life.

In this course, I share everything I learned along the way — the strategies, tools and processes you can use to create a writing habit that lasts.

If you feel like you don't have enough time or struggle with writing regularly, this course is for you.

Here's the full list of lessons:

How It Works?

The course consists of 14 lessons. One will be delivered to your inbox every day over two weeks. You can, of course, unsubscribe at any time. There's no catch.

Over the first few days, you'll set up your goal and writing schedule. The later lessons focus on building a support system that will help you keep going even when your motivation dips.

I structured the course so you can start your habit on the very first day and build it up as you go.

Sound interesting? Learn more about the course here:

https://www.writinganalytics.co/writing-habit-for-life/

[emilyoracle]

Hello darkness my old friend…

[emilyoracle]

[emilyoracle]

hey hellsite