kiraawrites

[kiraawrites]

yo guys i am alive!! and i will be posting more soon (hopefully)

sorry for the LONG hiatus oopsie <3

[kiraawrites]

thinking about why i relate so much to men drowning in their vices- who sit in silence with their heads in their hands, brought down between their knees, of men who mouth cigarettes and beer bottles like they’re making love. of men who’d rather drown in the silence than broach that impenetrable distance between two people who know if they open their mouths, they’ll hurt each other- so they fall into bed with each other in the dark, laving tongues over scarred skin, hands gripping hard enough to leave their fingerprints bruised inky against hipbones. 

why i find myself nodding along to men who have tension woven taut between their shoulder blades, and knees that ache from old wounds, and sternums that’ve been cracked asunder more than once. men who are all battlefields, all fault lines ripped straight through god’s good earth, all hurt and callused hands and tired, sad eyes: stained dark by grief, etched out misery thumbing lines by their mouths, between their eyebrows. 

(maybe it’s because these men are allowed to wear their grief so transparently, and no one thinks less of them for it.)

[kiraawrites]

Fantasy Guide to Addressing Nobility

It can be hard to remember how to properly address your noble or royal characters when writing a fantasy court. Here is a quick guide:

1. King/Queen:

Usually addressed as either “Your Grace” or “Your Majesty”. Consort (married to a ruler and not reigning in their own right) can be addressed the same. Sire or Madam can be used also.

2. Prince/Princess:

They are addressed as “Your Highness”. They are NEVER addressed the same as a King or Queen

3. Duke/Duchess:

These are addressed with “Your Grace”. This was a common term also used by royalty before Henry VIII got to big for his codpiece.

4. Earl (Count)/Countess:

Are almost never referred as the “Earl of Narnia” but “Lord Narnia”.

5. Lord/Lady:

An easy one. They are called “My Lord” or “My Lady”.

6. Emperor/Empress:

These may be equal to a King/Queen for status but the have a grander title. They are only addressed as “Your Imperial Highness/Majesty”

I hope this helps when writing your court or fantasy novel.

[kiraawrites]

3 goals for 2020

rules: write three goals for 2020 and tag 10 people!

tagged by @bahay-kubo (thank u!!)

get in control of my mental health - i’m still really prone to instability and it affects my closest relationships more often than i would like to admit. so i hope to learn how to avoid my triggers and deal with them when they do pop up.

fit writing into my daily/weekly schedule - a former teacher told me that the difference between a person good with words and a writer is discipline :”)

be as kind as i can - bc everyone matters <3

tagging: @galaxy-charm @flyingfalconflower12​ @icedcoffeewriting​ @wildler​ @re-writing-h​ @whorizcn​ @limassol-writes​ @fairy-tale-king​ @jiynix​ @ajbrooks-writes​

[kiraawrites]

thank u!! i want to do justice to her backstory uwu

2MSS #25: Fleeing the Present (Part 2)

i didn’t end up following the prompt, but here is the post that inspired me!

this is the post for part 1.

Day 25 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 833

Constructive criticism welcome!

“Henry. You have any flowers?” asked Helene, leaning against a brick wall.

They were on the outskirts of Henry’s school compound. She snuck in easily — Henry had loaned her a set of uniform clothing to wear. Someone that’s 400 years old yet acts and speaks like my age. After a fortnight of hanging out daily, she still bewildered Henry. 

“No. Are you asking for a bouquet?“ 

Helene ran a hand through her dark hair and rolled her eyes at him. Henry wondered what secrets and stories those brown eyes held. She had probably witnessed everything from the Protestant Reformation to the Industrial Revolution, or even the reign of Cleopatra given her ability to manipulate time. He had struck gold upon meeting her. 

"Don’t try me.”

“You could just tell me. I’ll get them.”

“Do it, then. We’ll need it to travel through time." 

Keep reading

[kiraawrites]

welcome!! <3

also relate w/ the roleplaying thingie haha that brings back so much memories!!

knock knock, can i come in, writeblr community??

hi!!! i’m crow … you can call me roo too idm. :> 

i’m 16!! i am a lesbian and i have recently come to terms with being nb, though none of my friends know yet. so this is a place for me to explore my gender identity?? idk man. my pronouns are they/them 

my first language isn’t english, but i suck at my mother tongue so woohoo.

and i’m actually not writing a novel… but a webcomic!! (multiple in fact)

i’ll do a wip intro post… someday… soon hopefully. 

my writing interest stems from being a warrior cats roleplayer… 

my stories contain a lot of lgbt+ characters!!! most of them are wlw/nblw because i cannot for the life of me write Man ™.

i suck at tagging stuff so my blog is probably going to be an unorganized mess, but i’m trying :’>.  

i need writer friends and a writeblr mentor ( bc i have no idea how any of this works ;v; ) i’m always down to scræm about stories and characters. <3

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #25: Fleeing the Present (Part 2)

i didn’t end up following the prompt, but here is the post that inspired me!

this is the post for part 1.

Day 25 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 833

Constructive criticism welcome!

"Henry. You have any flowers?" asked Helene, leaning against a brick wall.

They were on the outskirts of Henry's school compound. She snuck in easily — Henry had loaned her a set of uniform clothing to wear. Someone that's 400 years old yet acts and speaks like my age. After a fortnight of hanging out daily, she still bewildered Henry. 

"No. Are you asking for a bouquet?" 

Helene ran a hand through her dark hair and rolled her eyes at him. Henry wondered what secrets and stories those brown eyes held. She had probably witnessed everything from the Protestant Reformation to the Industrial Revolution, or even the reign of Cleopatra given her ability to manipulate time. He had struck gold upon meeting her. 

"Don't try me."

"You could just tell me. I'll get them."

"Do it, then. We'll need it to travel through time." 

Henry frowned. Flowers? Time travel? What? He rummaged through his memory for a place to pick them. There was no money for a professionally arranged bouquet, nor was there a place to hide fancy flowers. His mother would rage if she thought he was dating someone. "No girls before you graduate university." She never lets me live. 

"There's a group of flowering trees deeper in the park where I met you. Let's go there today — a nice outing for both of us."

--------------------  

The cobbled path was comprised of irregularly-shaped stones, smoothened at the edges for safety. Soft clicking of people's shoes echoed all around Helene and Henry as they made their way into the depths of the park. Henry was looking at Helene, who had her eyes set on the sky. A temptation rose up in his heart to pull her aside to tell her how much she intrigued him. She was unforgettable; he savoured every second with her. I want to know what she knows.

Helene was short, at the height of his shoulder. Her face was broad and her expression was one of enduring patience. She seemed to study the world with eyes of caution, but because of experience instead of paranoia. 

They were approaching the trees heavy with scarlet flowers. Their branches pointed to the ground like welcoming arms. Henry reached up and plucked five from a tree, giving them to Helene as he picked five more. 

"Ten flowers is more than enough. Eight's the minimum." 

Henry took a flower and stuck it behind Helene's ear. She cocked her head to the side, not sure of what he was doing. Filled with nervous energy, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her in for a hug. Barely a second passed before she pushed him away, snarling. 

"What do you think you're doing? I told you to not try anything with me. You barely know me." 

"You — you're just like nothing I've ever seen before. I'm sorry... I really just — just want to know more about you." 

He put a hand out, hoping for reconciliation. Seeing that she remained stoic, he withdrew it and let out a sigh. 

"I don't get close to just anyone. You know why? Because way back, I was dating this wizard. About to propose and all that," she spat, shaking her head. Her body had stiffened as she tensed her limbs. 

"Helene, calm down. You look so angry. Really won't do it again, I promise." 

"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at him. I came home with a bouquet of roses, only to find that he had hooked up with a bar girl. Oh boy, he didn't say sorry. I dropped the flowers because I was goddamn furious." 

"I'm sorry. I wish I knew... Gosh, I really shouldn't have done that— " 

"That fool cast a disappear-and-forget spell on me! But it didn't work. If it did... Wouldn’t be here today." 

Helene held her breath and then dragged out a sigh. Red had blossomed on her cheeks as sweat ran down from her temples to her jaw. As calmly as possible, she told Henry how she had blacked out and woken up in an Ancient Roman street. The countless hours that ticked by as she figured out how to replicate the spell with the bit of magical knowledge she had obtained from her ex-boyfriend.

A circle of intact flowers, freshly picked and vividly coloured. A cup of tea using the petals of two flowers — as well as a bit of belladonna — made in an enchanted pot. Helene recounted how she burst with ecstasy upon discovering the spell inscribed on a wall. 

“It’s so that everything the pot cooks fills the eaters with extreme agony,” she said with a proud smile. “I wish you knew how hard it was.”

“Honestly, I’m scared now. But I can’t wait for you to show me.” Henry put his hand out again and Helene took it, her soft palm pressing against his cold hands.

“You’re the first person I’ve told about this. I really do feel better now.”

“Well, friends?”

“Friends.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting @jiynix

[kiraawrites]

How to Workshop Writing (and be supportive doing it)

Inspired by @madammuffins​ and @nintendonianrose​, because everyone deserves kindness and support. 

“HELP! SOMEONE HAS JUST SHARED THEIR WRITING WITH ME AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.” 

Oh, well, it’s a good thing you’re here. 

It’s actually pretty simple. 

LEVEL 1: THIS PERSON HAS NOT ASKED FOR FEEDBACK? DO NOT PANIC. THIS IS NOT ABOUT YOU.

A person has done something creative and is sharing it with the world! Yay! Good for them! The act of sharing does not necessarily mean you need to comment on it or provide feedback. The joy of creating and producing is a beautiful part of being human, and this person is living it up. 

Quick (optional) actions:

Did you like what they made? It’s always acceptable to say, “How cool/imaginative/wonderful! This made me feel _______. Thank you for making it,” or similar. Eternally great examples on this come from @quilloftheclouds​, who has an endless stream of beautiful compliments for writers. (Mine are always so much more frustratingly generic. Quill, you elegant starfish, you have to teach us your ways.)

Did you dislike what they made? You don’t need to make an evaluative comment, but if you want to say something supportive, you can praise the creative process and production because that matters more than your opinion anyway. You can say something like, “I’m so proud of you for publishing! This must have taken so long! Congratulations!” You can also just keep scrolling and say nothing.

LEVEL 2: “I’M BEING ASKED FOR FEEDBACK/REVIEW AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY.”

Maybe your friend has sent their writing to you and asked for feedback, or a review and reblog. Maybe you’re a part of a writing community where that kind of response is expected. Maybe someone has produced their little writing baby and asked the dreaded question: “What do you think?” 

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH PANIC TIME~~~~~

Just kidding. It’s going to be fine.

Just follow these simple steps:

Ask what kind of feedback they are looking for. 

Listen to what they tell you.

Ask follow up questions if you need clarification. 

Give them the feedback they’re looking for without an evaluative statement. 

WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!

An evaluative statement tells whether something is good or bad. The trouble is, good and bad are relative. They depend on whether or not we are the target audience for something. They depend on whether or not we have a personal connection to the subject matter. They even depend on our level of language learning!

So, instead of trying to make an evaluative statement (such as, “It was really good because ____”), give an impression of your experience to the writer. Think of it like a sports play-by-play. The writer needs to know what effect or impression their work has on a reader, so that they can make an informed decision about whether or not they were successful with what they were attempting with their work. 

Ex: Saying, “I don’t like [character]” is not helpful, really. Saying, “[Character] fully creeped me out when ___ and I can’t shake the feeling that ____” helps the writer know if they met their goal. Maybe they wanted that character to read as romantic. Or maybe creepy. Or maybe something else. Who knows? 

Here are some possible ways to give non-evaluative statements as feedback:

I felt really connected to the moment when …

[This character] felt real to me when…

I didn’t understand when… 

I found myself losing focus when… 

_______ was confusing to me because… 

I felt ________ when ________ because… (good emotional feedback words here might be: frustrated, victorious, depressed, anxious… anything that packs a punch)

As a reader, I wanted to know more about… 

Words/phrases to avoid: 

I liked/I disliked: Your liking doesn’t matter. Maybe the author wanted you to dislike something. This is too superficial and/or arbitrary. It’s not helpful to editing or improvements.

You should: My writer friend and I used to joke that this was people “should-ing” all over the place. Don’t tell something that they should change their work a certain way. Just let them know the impression it made on you, and the writer can make that decision for themselves. 

Good/bad: Evaluative. These are unhelpful.

LEVEL 3: “THEY JUST ASKED ME WHAT I WOULD CHANGE ABOUT IT AND I DON’T WANT TO HURT THEIR FEELINGS.”

First of all, congratulations on being someone that the writer really trusts. Most of the time, writers don’t just open themselves for editorial possibilities like that. It’s a good move to thank them for their trust and openness, and stay gracious about the opportunity to join them in their creative process. 

Secondly, trust the writer. Some of us have pretty thick skins and have been through the workshop processing a lot. Speaking from personal experience, it’s now easy for me to filter out feedback I want from feedback I don’t want. (It wasn’t always that way. I was pretty brutalized after my first few workshops, until I realized that I actually did have a long way to go as a writer. Checkmate, ego.) My dear one @elizabethsyson used to apologize to me for going over my short stories with a fine-toothed editorial comb, while I was on the other side of the computer practically vibrating with excitement that my online friend cared so much about these stories to spend time helping me improve them in meaningful ways. It meant the world to me (still does) and I loved it. 

My favorite response to a request for edits/changes is to do a sample paragraph or two. You can say something like: “In order to improve [clarity, rhythm, characterization, what-have-you], I might change it to something like this. Obviously it’s just a rough go at it, but maybe it will spark some ideas for you! Feel free to trash whatever you don’t like.” Low pressure, experimental, fun. The way all friendly edits should be! 

THE BOTTOM LINE

Stay warm, stay kind, stay supportive. 

Writeblr Community: Did I miss anything? 

@madammuffins @mvcreates @dove-actually @pens-swords-stuff @undinisms @royalbounties @kaatiba @whymanwrites and everyone else, regardless of whether I tagged you or not… Add your two cents! How do you ask for feedback? What have your experiences been? 

[kiraawrites]

My favorite form of redemption arc is “I hate that I have morals now”

[kiraawrites]

Medusa in culture

(Medusa c. 1618 Peter Paul Rubens, Medusa: Solving the Mystery of the Gorgon - Stephen Wilk, Medusa On Her Throne Reza Sedhi, Female Rage: Unlocking Its Secrets, Claiming Its Power - Mary Valentis and Anne Devane, Medusa c. 1640 Gian Lorenzo Bernini, The Laugh of the Medusa - Helene Cixous, Medusa Robin Isley)

[kiraawrites]

[kiraawrites]

when she says she doesn’t send nudes

[kiraawrites]

Can we just… normalize teens loving their parents? Like obviously you’re not obligated to if your parents are shitty, but damn, I love my mom. She’s there for me all the time and sure we have rough patches but honestly she’s the greatest. Like. We need teens to know that they don’t have to hate their parents just cause.

[kiraawrites]

maybe today, if my plot idea works out :D

2MSS #24: Fleeing the Present

From @writingprompts365‘s post: A character refuses to tell their name to someone.

Day 24 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 382

Constructive criticism welcome!

Henry slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed off to the park. There was too much time in his hands and he needed a break from studying for the next academic year. Math equations and classic texts were fun to study but not for the whole day. Mum had waved him off with a smile, thinking he was going to the library.

University is so soon. Mum wanted him to go into something profitable. Something people could get a PhD in. Henry would rather paint. Flowers, people, places — anything that captured his interest. Recently, nothing had. People were predictable. The city never had anything new. It was like living in a black-and-white film.

The park was quiet for a Friday afternoon. An old couple sat at a bench, conversing. Beneath a tree sat a girl reading a book. Her waist-length hair was as dark as a raven’s feather. Its thick mass wrapped itself around her, curls forming by her chin. Like she’s covered in a protective blanket.

Something about her expression pulled him in. I wonder what she’s thinking about — she obviously doesn’t care about the book. The girl glanced upwards and locked eyes with him. A look of surprise swiftly faded into an expression of boredom. No point not talking, now that she’s seen me.

“Hey. You look bored. What’s your name?”

“What if I don’t want to tell you It’s for your own good, trust me.”

“And why is that? I’m Henry. I like painting.”

“‘Cuz I’ll be gone real soon. Don’t bother with me — I’m no muse.”

“You’re moving? Wish I could too. This place is boring.”

She’s got spunk. Haven’t seen that in a while. Henry hoped she was joking. The girl went silent for a few seconds before speaking again.

“That’s exactly why I’m moving. I’ve been searching for something interesting for centuries. Literal centuries,” she replied, resting her icy gaze on him.

“Literal centuries? Are you joking, immortal or a time-traveller?”

“Two out of the three things you’ve just said are true.”

Henry had been scouring the city for someone different. And there she was: the time-traveller. His pulse pounding in his throat, he pleaded, “Take me with you.”

“Damn, it’s been 400 years and I’ve never had a pal. It’s Helene.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting @jiynix

[kiraawrites]

2MSS #24: Fleeing the Present

From @writingprompts365‘s post: A character refuses to tell their name to someone.

Day 24 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 382

Constructive criticism welcome!

Henry slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed off to the park. There was too much time in his hands and he needed a break from studying for the next academic year. Math equations and classic texts were fun to study but not for the whole day. Mum had waved him off with a smile, thinking he was going to the library.

University is so soon. Mum wanted him to go into something profitable. Something people could get a PhD in. Henry would rather paint. Flowers, people, places — anything that captured his interest. Recently, nothing had. People were predictable. The city never had anything new. It was like living in a black-and-white film.

The park was quiet for a Friday afternoon. An old couple sat at a bench, conversing. Beneath a tree sat a girl reading a book. Her waist-length hair was as dark as a raven’s feather. Its thick mass wrapped itself around her, curls forming by her chin. Like she’s covered in a protective blanket.

Something about her expression pulled him in. I wonder what she’s thinking about — she obviously doesn’t care about the book. The girl glanced upwards and locked eyes with him. A look of surprise swiftly faded into an expression of boredom. No point not talking, now that she’s seen me.

“Hey. You look bored. What’s your name?”

“What if I don’t want to tell you It’s for your own good, trust me.”

“And why is that? I’m Henry. I like painting.”

“‘Cuz I’ll be gone real soon. Don’t bother with me — I’m no muse.”

“You’re moving? Wish I could too. This place is boring.”

She’s got spunk. Haven’t seen that in a while. Henry hoped she was joking. The girl went silent for a few seconds before speaking again.

“That’s exactly why I’m moving. I’ve been searching for something interesting for centuries. Literal centuries,” she replied, resting her icy gaze on him.

“Literal centuries? Are you joking, immortal or a time-traveller?”

“Two out of the three things you’ve just said are true.”

Henry had been scouring the city for someone different. And there she was: the time-traveller. His pulse pounding in his throat, he pleaded, “Take me with you.”

“Damn, it’s been 400 years and I’ve never had a pal. It’s Helene.”

Taglist

@galaxy-charm @rhyseoshaughnessy @icedcoffeewriting @jiynix

[kiraawrites]

aah, thank the person who came up with the prompt!! i can’t take credit for their genius :D

2MSS #23: Quality of Life (?)

From @writingprompts post.

Day 23 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1978

Constructive criticism welcome!

I want money, a mansion and a pretty girl. That day was Life-Switching day. The day our souls would switch in a manner so unpredictable that it was nicknamed The Great Casino. We would enter new bodies, with different genders, ages and wealth levels. This system was supposed to address inequality. But I was not sure how, as it seemed to boil down to how well-off one was. 365 days to make it big, or bust.

It was my first time in America. Over the past few years, I had a streak of Eastern European lives, followed by four years of being in China. I was a James Luther, living in a small apartment in a city full of people adjusting to their new lives. There were many smiles but twice as many sad faces. Guess I’m really not alone in this struggle. The apartment was outfitted with furniture that seemed older than the apartment itself. In the cracked bedroom mirror, I studied my new self. Last year’s Luther definitely didn’t make it.

Judging by the poor furniture, unemptied wastebasket and an emerging beer belly, I had a lot of things to do. To my luck, there was a gym next door. With the few dollar bills in my wallet, I got a membership card and started on the machines. Did I really deserve this life? I’ve never liked anything I got — except when I was an attractive Chinese guy. Well, I suppose I did flunk my college final exams last year… Sweat was dripping off me as if I had walked through a thunderstorm. My arms were shaking. Flexing my biceps turned into a fit of agonising pain. I gave up and returned home.

“I hate this new life,” muttered the man behind the counter.

“I hate my new life too.”

Keep reading

[kiraawrites]

sCreAMs in ConFuseD

2MSS #23: Quality of Life (?)

From @writingprompts post.

Day 23 of the 2 Month Short Stories Challenge w/ @flyingfalconflower12

Word count: 1978

Constructive criticism welcome!

I want money, a mansion and a pretty girl. That day was Life-Switching day. The day our souls would switch in a manner so unpredictable that it was nicknamed The Great Casino. We would enter new bodies, with different genders, ages and wealth levels. This system was supposed to address inequality. But I was not sure how, as it seemed to boil down to how well-off one was. 365 days to make it big, or bust.

It was my first time in America. Over the past few years, I had a streak of Eastern European lives, followed by four years of being in China. I was a James Luther, living in a small apartment in a city full of people adjusting to their new lives. There were many smiles but twice as many sad faces. Guess I’m really not alone in this struggle. The apartment was outfitted with furniture that seemed older than the apartment itself. In the cracked bedroom mirror, I studied my new self. Last year’s Luther definitely didn’t make it.

Judging by the poor furniture, unemptied wastebasket and an emerging beer belly, I had a lot of things to do. To my luck, there was a gym next door. With the few dollar bills in my wallet, I got a membership card and started on the machines. Did I really deserve this life? I’ve never liked anything I got — except when I was an attractive Chinese guy. Well, I suppose I did flunk my college final exams last year… Sweat was dripping off me as if I had walked through a thunderstorm. My arms were shaking. Flexing my biceps turned into a fit of agonising pain. I gave up and returned home.

“I hate this new life,” muttered the man behind the counter.

“I hate my new life too.”

Keep reading