shewhowrites-stuff-blog

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

Me too.

wish women’s fitness was more about boosting our energy and getting our bones and joints ready for our old age and getting strong enough to punch men and less about losing weight while getting a bigger ass

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

To live, to experience, to write, to leave a legacy. No one ever knew that what they wrote would touch someone's heart. No one ever thought that their writing could positively influence the world. No one ever imagined the impact their writing left on the world was possible. No one ever fathomed the power of writing. So go on and write; your writing alone could make you feel empowered. To experience, to write, to leave a legacy.

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

Sounds helpful. Perhaps I should try it.

Writing Characters with Enhanced Senses

Characters with extraordinary senses come up a lot. Maybe your character is of supernatural or alien origin, or maybe they were just born with a genetic quirk. Maybe they have a sensory disorder that only makes their hearing seem extraordinary. There are lots of reasons why a character might have extraordinary senses and a lot of different ways those senses might be put to use, but here are some of the drawbacks you might consider when writing a character who has a super sniffer, excellent eyesight, or high-quality hearing!

Sight: If your character has super sight, chances are that they can see farther and more clearly than anybody else, which is pretty cool except that the human eye can still only really focus on one thing at a time…so your character might want to be careful not to get distracted when they’re, say, crossing the street. If they’re watching a burglary occur a thousand yards away, they might not notice the car that just whipped around the corner behind them. Other super-drawbacks might include heightened sensitivity to light, color, or movement - and you have to remember that nobody can see three-hundred-sixty degrees at all times, so your character is probably going to have a blind spot (unless they’re an owl). Also, they may frequently look like they’re staring off into space when they’re really just watching something very intently.

Hearing: Have you ever been standing in a crowd of people who are all talking at the same time? Now imagine if you had super hearing! It can be hard to pick out individual pieces of information or even follow a single conversation when you can hear everyone in a six-block radius…and it’s not just conversations. You can also hear every car, every pet moving around, every jingle of a key, the air moving through the vents, and so on and so forth. This is another one of those abilities that may make it look like your character is just really easily distracted - it’s not that they don’t want to pay attention to their friends, it’s just that they’re playing “name that tune” with a radio four blocks to the southeast!

Smell: Think about your shower routine, whatever it might be. How many scented products do you layer on your skin? Soap, shampoo, conditioner, lotion, deoderant, maybe perfume or cologne, shaving cream or aftershave - the list goes on and on. If you had a super nose, you might be able to smell every single layer a person was wearing, and that kind of assault on the nose could be eye-wateringly overwhelming. Consider your reaction to someone wearing strong perfume! There are a lot of other types of smells in the world too, from cut grass and shoe polish to rotting garbage…and a lot of bodily functions have smells too: passing gas, excrement, or urine, menstruation, or sweating, for example. Your character might even be able to smell disease. This type of character might have to wear a mask or a scarf over their face to dull their super-sense, which might give them an odd appearance, but just imagine how much weirder it would look to be standing on a street corner sniffing at the air when all anyone else can smell is car fumes.

Taste: What’s the strongest flavor you’ve ever tasted? Maybe it was something fishy, or spicy, or sour. Everyone’s answer is bound to be different, but imagine if every single thing you ever ate or drank tasted that strong. Eventually you might get kind of tired of it and start preparing food that is more bland, right? Alternately, imagine if nothing ever just tasted like itself to you: you’re eating a french fry, but instead of tasting “french fry” you’re tasting potato, salt, oil, the metal of the fryer, the latex in the gloves used to scoop them into the paper tray, the paper tray itself…that would be pretty overwhelming! The major drawback to super taste is that your character might have trouble eating out or eating in front of other people. When you taste a lemon, your face puckers up…just think of how much more sour it would taste with a super tongue!

Touch: Did you know that every day you suffer a million tiny hurts and your brain just ignores them so that you can keep on functioning normally? If you had an enhanced nervous system, that might not be the case. Think about the number of tiny things we ignore every day: actions like walking, scratching, accidentally biting your tongue, or blinking could hurt pretty bad if you were super sensitive to touch! People with super touch might have a hard time getting comfortable all the time, and they might have to deal with not liking the feeling of clothes, being annoyed with air moving over their skin, or being extra-sensitive to physical contact. If a hug felt to me like someone was trying to break my ribs, I’d avoid them too!

So what are some things to keep in mind when writing about characters with extraordinary senses, other than drawbacks? Here are some things to consider:

Set limits. Your character shouldn’t be able to see past the curve of the earth - that’s just silly! Likewise, if they can hear something happening through the entire planet, you may want to rethink. Consider things like range and clarity when you’re setting limits on super senses: how far away can they see things and how clearly can they see them, for example. When it comes to touch, this is a little more tricky, and you might want to think more about the direct effects of pressure on the character: how much pressure does it take before it hurts?

Enhanced senses require enhanced brainpower. I don’t mean that they raise your character’s IQ level, but consider how much effort it takes to sort through and process sensory information. If your character’s brain can’t handle it, they might be in a constant state of sensory overload.

Speaking of sensory overload, that might happen to your character sometimes anyway! Everyone faces extreme situations in their lives where their brains just can’t keep up with the workload, and the threshold for that point is probably lower for people with super senses. If you’ve got a character with super hearing and four people are trying to talk to them at once, they might experience sensory overload and have to go recover for a while, so do your research into sensory overload and what to do to help them.

Finally, their super sense is going to impact how they experience and relate to other people. Maybe your character doesn’t remember a person’s name or face but they’ll never forget her voice. Maybe they just can’t even be in the house with Great-Aunt Helen because she always wears the same musty old perfume and it gives your character a headache. Maybe your character appears to be constantly zoning out when really they’re just looking closely at peoples’ jewelry. How your character perceives others, and how others view your character, is going to be impacted by their ability - count on it.

If you’re writing about a character with super senses, I hope that this has been helpful and maybe even inspiring to you, and I’d love to hear your thoughts too! Thanks for reading, and good luck!

-Kyo

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

This is the second chapter of one of my first novels. The story takes place in Seattle, Washington D.C. The main character is a 14 year old Jamaican ballerina who has been adopted by a white family.

It's Saturday morning, light streams in through the one window our dorm room has. The room is a total mess with clothes sprawled out on the floor, shoes randomly lying everywhere, chocolate wrappers, soda cans, and lots of other things. The result of the blast we had yesterday.

So I see, you're one of those girls! Henry's words haunt my conscience.

Which girls was he talking about? And what do I have to do with them? I suppose I'll never know. 

"... don't turn your back on me, you!" Melissa murmurs in her sleep.

Somewhere in her mind, I think she's playing a video game, and losing. I am not sure what backs have to do with video games, but I do know that they're relevant to Melissa. She and I have been roommates since we were freshmen.

She was strangely the only white person in Pencey to steal a glance in my direction or do so much as to utter the six magic words that made her my best friend: "Hey, I'm Melissa. What's your name?"

I remember that day as if it were yesterday. In the loud cafeteria, plates chattering, people giggling, forks scraping bowls, full mouths wide open, the lonely dark-skinned Jamaican girl with a huge afro sitting all alone in the corner, a chubby white girl in waist high jeans, plaid shirt, and sneakers advancing towards her... Her red hair just spoke to me then. With her tan arm outstretched and a wide, bright smile across her face, she lured me into our friendship. I couldn't resist her special uniqueness (is that a word?). One thing I liked about her, besides the fact that she demanded attention, is that she respected my preference to not speak at first. A solemn hand shake, shy laugh, and slight nod was all it took for her to understand me. Even now that I am comfortable enough to speak, I still do that. And she understands. I walk over to Melissa's side of the room and gently tap on her shoulder. "Ash, turn the lights off and go to bed," she mutters. I giggle, she still thinks it's nighttime. Melissa tends to be grumpy right before she wakes up. "But it's 10 a.m. in the morning." I try to reason with her, placing emphasis on the word morning. She rolls over and stares with her bloodshot eyes wide open. "Oh my GAWD! I had a date with Charlie scheduled over half an hour ago." Who schedules a date at that time of day? And isn't fifteen to early to early to date? That's Melissa. Free-spirited professional social rule breaker. She claims nothing has happened and nothing will happen between them when I try and warn her. Anyways, she's not foolish; I can trust her... to some extent (that extent does not go very far). "You could tell him that you overslept." I advice her.

"Ash, rule number one of dating boys: don't show your crush the quirky side of you. Charlie can't know that about me. It's just the same as me telling him that I actually drool in my sleep -- utterly and irrevocably embarrassing!"

"Send him a text then, apologise, make an excuse, craft a lie, get creative... or just speak the truth." I say matter of factly.

"Like I said; I can't do that. I will have to make it up to Charls." She yawns and stretches, then she walks to the bathroom and starts getting ready to leave. I should probably do the same since my parents will be here in 4 hours or less. Our school's closing today, that's why we decided to have a blast yesterday. 30 minutes later. "No, mom. Okay. I can walk there myself. That's fine.--But I am not a baby." Melissa's standing at the door of our room speaking to her mom, well rather arguing whether she should drive here or not. They live in ___, a town which is 4 hours away from Pencey. Her mother driving here means waiting, and Melissa tends to be very impatient. Melissa sighs and expostulates, "That's great mom. Drive safely." Her mother replies with something I can't hear, then she hangs up. "Jeez, quite a drag. I'm going to have to wait for HOURS on end. Wanna go have a blast?" It takes me a few seconds to realize that she's talking to me. Either my eavesdropping or Henry's words had me in a trance. I smile and nod, my eyes feeling glossy. I was wondering when she would ask me that. Again, it's enough to let her know that I agree.

"Wait, what about Charlie?" I ask, feeling curious.

"Don't worry about him, I can send him a text. And you know, it's been a while since you and I had fun." She places air quotes on the word fun and winks mischievously. To anyone else, this gesture is covert, but to me, it's totally normal for Melissa to sound so ominous. It's another thing I love about her. "I have to change. And fix my bed. And pack up. And call my parents. And then I--"

"You don't have to summarise all of your tasks," Melissa interrupts my sudden excuses to stay back. "We've got the whole day ahead of us. Besides, your parents won't be here for the next 2 hours." Does it sound like we're arguing? Well, this is how we communicate. "My clothes are all dirty. What am I going to wear?" I ask myself out loud.

"My jeans, your sneakers and a t shirt. Simple." I frown. Melissa's clothes would be too big for me. Somehow, she talks me into it and I end up wearing a white baggy t shirt and light blue waist-high jeans, (it looks better than it sounds). Note to self: No matter how ugly your clothes may seem, never ever wear Melissa's. I might have said it's not as bad as it sounds, but it's not good either. I had to shower and dress in 15 minutes because Melissa kept nagging me to hurry up. She believed that the sooner we got out of here, the more time we would have to spend doing fun things. "All set." Melissa says after studying my appearance. I look around, expecting to see nothing but a huge mess, only to find that she cleaned it all up. I repeat: Melissa fixed my bed, stuffed my laundry in my laundry bag, threw away the soda cans and plastic wrappers, put the shoes in their compartment, and folded her own clothes. Considering that she's naturally a messy person, this is impressive. She gets up to all sorts of unusual things when she's excited. I just wonder where she's taking me and why it's gotten her so hyped up. She grabs my hand and says, "Let's bounce!" I didn't even notice her walking over. We're the only ones around, accept for the janitor, a few teachers, and the principal. Once our door is locked and checked, we saunter into the street. En le calle. That's Spanish for In the street. I learned it from a book I read when I was nine. Doesn't it sound fancy? Melissa stands on the pavement with her right arm extended, waving up and down like a flag, beckoning a none existent taxi. This is futile. "Why don't we call a cab?"

"Oh, I should have thought of that." She takes her phone out and dials a number. I don't bother eavesdropping this time. In 20 minutes, the cab has arrived. We spent the entire time staring at people passing by. It's funny how quickly people can come if there's food and money involved. In the yellow cab, an old lady with a lot of makeup and a church outfit is half asleep, the driver is playing soft jazz, (which makes me gag) and Melissa's on Pinterest. I suddenly wish that I had brought my phone. After a while, things get boring and I start wondering whether coming along was actually worth it. Just as I am about to suggest that we go back to Pencey and its high walls and loud cafeteria, we have reached our destination. Melissa pays before I can even think of it. Wow, I forgot to bring money, too. She cracks some joke about high school, which makes the driver release a forced laugh. It probably wasn't funny. She does that sometimes, trying to entertain people, and not succeeding. "Ash, where are you today? Wait, you don't have to answer to that." She's standing at my door, a look of concern on her face, clearly waiting for me to get out. I nearly prance my way out and fake a grin. "I'm in love. " I joke, my eyes falsely dreamy, then shut the door. The cab leaves. She nudges me in the ribs and takes my hand in hers. "That's so not you, Ash. Seriously, where is your head today? Earth. To. Ashley." She's obviously not buying this. "Mel, I am sorry if I have been mentally absent lately, but Hen- this boy, he said something... to me. About my personality."

"What was it that he said?"

"He said that he sees, I am one of those girls."

"The w word?"

"No, just that,--in his own words."

"You should have told me sooner."

"If I did you would probably eat him alive."

"You bet I would!" She exclaims. We're both silent for a moment. I can feel her genuine disappointment towards my delay.-- I usually tell her things right after they happen, but not this time around. I look down at my feet, she lets go of my hand and hooks her arm around me instead. "You know you can tell me anything, kiddo."

"I know, mother." It's only funny because she's ten months older than me. She laughs quietly, then louder, until her voice is a full-on forte (Latin for loud). Once she realises that I'm silent, she puts both of her hands on my shoulder, leaning against me. "Ash, it's fine. I don't mind." Then I laugh, really laugh. She stares at me blankly, as if she doesn't believe me. But then seconds later, she's giggling again, now we're both crazy. "Let's go. Remember, you had something to show me." I finally speak. Sometimes Melissa struggles to believe that I can talk. I do too. By now, you must have had enough hearing about Melissa and feel like putting down this book, but now I will stop. If you will, please don't get annoyed with the word Melissa; she's my best friend. In fact, she's my only friend. Perhaps I should start talking more about myself.

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

This is the second chapter of one of my very first novels, centered around a fourteen year old ballerina.

Melissa

It's Saturday morning, light streams in through the one window our dorm room has. The room is a total mess with clothes sprawled out on the floor, shoes randomly lying everywhere, chocolate wrappers, soda cans, and lots of other things. The result of the blast we had yesterday.

So I see, you're one of those girls! Henry's words haunt my conscience.

Which girls was he talking about? And what do I have to do with them? I suppose I'll never know. 

"... don't turn your back on me, you!" Melissa murmurs in her sleep.

Somewhere in her mind, I think she's playing a video game, and losing. I am not sure what backs have to do with video games, but I do know that they're relevant to Melissa. She and I have been roommates since we were freshmen.

She was strangely the only white person in Pencey to steal a glance in my direction or do so much as to utter the six magic words that made her my best friend: "Hey, I'm Melissa. What's your name?"

I remember that day as if it were yesterday. In the loud cafeteria, plates chattering, people giggling, forks scraping bowls, full mouths wide open, the lonely dark-skinned Jamaican girl with a huge afro sitting all alone in the corner, a chubby white girl in waist high jeans, plaid shirt, and sneakers advancing towards her... Her red hair just spoke to me then. With her tan arm outstretched and a wide, bright smile across her face, she lured me into our friendship. I couldn't resist her special uniqueness (is that a word?). One thing I liked about her, besides the fact that she demanded attention, is that she respected my preference to not speak at first. A solemn hand shake, shy laugh, and slight nod was all it took for her to understand me. Even now that I am comfortable enough to speak, I still do that. And she understands. I walk over to Melissa's side of the room and gently tap on her shoulder. "Ash, turn the lights off and go to bed," she mutters. I giggle, she still thinks it's nighttime. Melissa tends to be grumpy right before she wakes up. "But it's 10 a.m. in the morning." I try to reason with her, placing emphasis on the word morning. She rolls over and stares with her bloodshot eyes wide open. "Oh my GAWD! I had a date with Charlie scheduled over half an hour ago." Who schedules a date at that time of day? And isn't fifteen to early to early to date? That's Melissa. Free-spirited professional social rule breaker. She claims nothing has happened and nothing will happen between them when I try and warn her. Anyways, she's not foolish; I can trust her... to some extent (that extent does not go very far). "You could tell him that you overslept." I advice her.

"Ash, rule number one of dating boys: don't show your crush the quirky side of you. Charlie can't know that about me. It's just the same as me telling him that I actually drool in my sleep -- utterly and irrevocably embarrassing!"

"Send him a text then, apologise, make an excuse, craft a lie, get creative... or just speak the truth." I say matter of factly.

"Like I said; I can't do that. I will have to make it up to Charls." She yawns and stretches, then she walks to the bathroom and starts getting ready to leave. I should probably do the same since my parents will be here in 4 hours or less. Our school's closing today, that's why we decided to have a blast yesterday. 30 minutes later. "No, mom. Okay. I can walk there myself. That's fine.--But I am not a baby." Melissa's standing at the door of our room speaking to her mom, well rather arguing whether she should drive here or not. They live in ___, a town which is 4 hours away from Pencey. Her mother driving here means waiting, and Melissa tends to be very impatient. Melissa sighs and expostulates, "That's great mom. Drive safely." Her mother replies with something I can't hear, then she hangs up. "Jeez, quite a drag. I'm going to have to wait for HOURS on end. Wanna go have a blast?" It takes me a few seconds to realize that she's talking to me. Either my eavesdropping or Henry's words had me in a trance. I smile and nod, my eyes feeling glossy. I was wondering when she would ask me that. Again, it's enough to let her know that I agree.

"Wait, what about Charlie?" I ask, feeling curious.

"Don't worry about him, I can send him a text. And you know, it's been a while since you and I had fun." She places air quotes on the word fun and winks mischievously. To anyone else, this gesture is covert, but to me, it's totally normal for Melissa to sound so ominous. It's another thing I love about her. "I have to change. And fix my bed. And pack up. And call my parents. And then I--"

"You don't have to summarise all of your tasks," Melissa interrupts my sudden excuses to stay back. "We've got the whole day ahead of us. Besides, your parents won't be here for the next 2 hours." Does it sound like we're arguing? Well, this is how we communicate. "My clothes are all dirty. What am I going to wear?" I ask myself out loud.

"My jeans, your sneakers and a t shirt. Simple." I frown. Melissa's clothes would be too big for me. Somehow, she talks me into it and I end up wearing a white baggy t shirt and light blue waist-high jeans, (it looks better than it sounds). Note to self: No matter how ugly your clothes may seem, never ever wear Melissa's. I might have said it's not as bad as it sounds, but it's not good either. I had to shower and dress in 15 minutes because Melissa kept nagging me to hurry up. She believed that the sooner we got out of here, the more time we would have to spend doing fun things. "All set." Melissa says after studying my appearance. I look around, expecting to see nothing but a huge mess, only to find that she cleaned it all up. I repeat: Melissa fixed my bed, stuffed my laundry in my laundry bag, threw away the soda cans and plastic wrappers, put the shoes in their compartment, and folded her own clothes. Considering that she's naturally a messy person, this is impressive. She gets up to all sorts of unusual things when she's excited. I just wonder where she's taking me and why it's gotten her so hyped up. She grabs my hand and says, "Let's bounce!" I didn't even notice her walking over. We're the only ones around, accept for the janitor, a few teachers, and the principal. Once our door is locked and checked, we saunter into the street. En le calle. That's Spanish for In the street. I learned it from a book I read when I was nine. Doesn't it sound fancy? Melissa stands on the pavement with her right arm extended, waving up and down like a flag, beckoning a none existent taxi. This is futile. "Why don't we call a cab?"

"Oh, I should have thought of that." She takes her phone out and dials a number. I don't bother eavesdropping this time. In 20 minutes, the cab has arrived. We spent the entire time staring at people passing by. It's funny how quickly people can come if there's food and money involved. In the yellow cab, an old lady with a lot of makeup and a church outfit is half asleep, the driver is playing soft jazz, (which makes me gag) and Melissa's on Pinterest. I suddenly wish that I had brought my phone. After a while, things get boring and I start wondering whether coming along was actually worth it. Just as I am about to suggest that we go back to Pencey and its high walls and loud cafeteria, we have reached our destination. Melissa pays before I can even think of it. Wow, I forgot to bring money, too. She cracks some joke about high school, which makes the driver release a forced laugh. It probably wasn't funny. She does that sometimes, trying to entertain people, and not succeeding. "Ash, where are you today? Wait, you don't have to answer to that." She's standing at my door, a look of concern on her face, clearly waiting for me to get out. I nearly prance my way out and fake a grin. "I'm in love. " I joke, my eyes falsely dreamy, then shut the door. The cab leaves. She nudges me in the ribs and takes my hand in hers. "That's so not you, Ash. Seriously, where is your head today? Earth. To. Ashley." She's obviously not buying this. "Mel, I am sorry if I have been mentally absent lately, but Hen- this boy, he said something... to me. About my personality."

"What was it that he said?"

"He said that he sees, I am one of those girls."

"The w word?"

"No, just that,--in his own words."

"You should have told me sooner."

"If I did you would probably eat him alive."

"You bet I would!" She exclaims. We're both silent for a moment. I can feel her genuine disappointment towards my delay.-- I usually tell her things right after they happen, but not this time around. I look down at my feet, she lets go of my hand and hooks her arm around me instead. "You know you can tell me anything, kiddo."

"I know, mother." It's only funny because she's ten months older than me. She laughs quietly, then louder, until her voice is a full-on forte (Latin for loud). Once she realises that I'm silent, she puts both of her hands on my shoulder, leaning against me. "Ash, it's fine. I don't mind." Then I laugh, really laugh. She stares at me blankly, as if she doesn't believe me. But then seconds later, she's giggling again, now we're both crazy. "Let's go. Remember, you had something to show me." I finally speak. Sometimes Melissa struggles to believe that I can talk. I do too. By now, you must have had enough hearing about Melissa and feel like putting down this book, but now I will stop. If you will, please don't get annoyed with the word Melissa; she's my best friend. In fact, she's my only friend. Perhaps I should start talking more about myself.

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

World building - The land of the mighty trees

The land of the mighty trees is the magical world The Knights of the Alder mainly takes place in. It is the world of fae and all things magical.

It lies next to the world of humans but in another realm. Only magical beings can wander between the two worlds without a problem. For mortals to get to this world however, they need a faerie ring or path and the guidance of a magical being to make it through. The land of mighty trees is a land of great beauty. Its nature is vibrant, colorful and full of live. It is more enchanting and livelier than the human world. And it’s home of the fae ever since their creation.

History: 

At the beginning, there were three great goddesses of creation: The earth goddess, the sun goddess and the moon goddess. Those three divinities created two worlds existing right next to each other, but on different planes of existence. One world for themselves, their children and other magical beings and one world for their non-magical creations (one of them being the humankind).

The land of the mighty trees is part of the magical world the goddesses created. It got its name from the six mighty trees Alder, Ash, Willow, Aspen, Birch and Oak, children of the great goddesses and creators of fae and other mythical creatures. Those trees are like gods, immortal and powerful. But they are more of a magical essence than actual persons. They’re bound to the magical world and give it their life energy. The mighty trees and the mother goddesses created all magical beings from their own essence and made the magic world’s beautiful nature. And ever since that day, their descendants live in the land of the mighty trees.

 .

There are two regions in the land of mighty trees: the five kingdoms and the wild woods. They exist alongside each other. The dwellers of both of those regions are living in peace, even though they all have their own customs, rules and morals and are vastly different from each other. Mostly they avoid each other, all minding their own business.

The five kingdoms: 

Those kingdoms are the home of the fair folk, the fae born from the mighty trees themselves. There’s one kingdom for one mighty tree: the Ash court, Willow court, Aspen court, Birch court and the Oak court. Formerly there used to be the Alder court as well but it was dissolved after what happened with the Alderking. Those kingdoms are like big civilized cities with several smaller villages gathered around them.

The fair folk: The fae living here are known as the fair folk. They look similar to humans but are more ethereal and “pristine”. They live in a civilization and have their own hierarchy. They are ruled by kings and/or queens and have gentry: a royal family and several lower nobility families. Each kingdom has their own royal guard and of course the normal citizens. Their rules and customs are clearly defined but differ from kingdom to kingdom. So does their lifestyle, but all live life at its fullest. What all kingdoms share is the love for feasts, as well as their holidays. The fair ones do not often cross path with humans. Still there are cases where they help a human, or kidnap them, or take one as their lover.

The wild woods: 

The wild woods are home to the other kind of fae living in the land of mighty trees: the wild folk. The faeries who were born from nature itself and don’t belong to any of the kingdoms. They live scattered across the woods and don’t have cities or a common civilization. They just live on their own or in flocks and guilds or families.

The wild folk: The wild folk is separated in many different groups of fae, whose appearance differs depending on their kind. There are little faeries with wings, hobgoblins, nature spirits, kelpies, so called forest demons, fae that are half animal half person and more. They do not subordinate to either of the rulers of the mighty kingdoms, or anyone, really. They are their own masters. They do have their own culture and rules just like the fae of the kingdoms, again depending on the group of wild fae they belong to. But they keep their own customs a secret. The wild folk also has their own celebrations. Once a year all of them come together for a big feast. No one knows what exactly they are celebrating though, that is a secret only they know. They also interact with humans more than the fair ones, playing pranks on them or helping them depending on their mood. Often when there’s word that something like a mysterious disappearance of a child occurred, they are involved somehow.

.

This was the first world building post for The Knights of the Alder! If you guys have any questions, go ahead and ask! :D

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wip intro / wip tag / character intros

tag list: @shattered-starrs @awordonthepage @soupopoireau @a-ray-of-moonshine @quill-of-doom @faesongwrites @heyabella @bigger-than-goofiest-fish @elisabethrosewrites @bloomseey-writes @iced-ginger-tea @hell-yeah-fantasy @violetcancerian @that-one-potato-blep @kineildwicks @annoyingwritingtrash @stardustspiral (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know!)

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

Every writer is likely to feel this way.

Me, in tears, halfway through writing a 300 word essay: I can’t do this anymore

Person on A03 who’s writing for fun:

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

The post itself says more than enough

Science fiction and fantasy books that are f/f! 

Similar posts:

Trans SFF books

Bi and Pan SFF books

Ace spectrum SFF books

If you want more queer science fiction and fantasy, you can visit my queer SFF database. 

I’m not transcribing all the text, but you can find the titles, authors, information on TW, etc beneath the cut.

Keep reading

[shewhowrites-stuff-blog]

Arg, fellow poets, why do you have to write these nuisances that you claim are based on 'true love'? Whoever wrote this, you are talented. Please don't waste it on stuff like this. Cliché is sometimes unnecessary.

Dear Lover,

I wish I had the courage to tell you how I feel. I wish I was able to hold you close and whisper all the reasons on why I fell in love with you. I wish that you loved me as much I love you, I know I’m not easy to love. But I wish that you would give me the time to build myself up, because I am broken. But even though I’m broken does not mean I’m not capeble of loving. You just won’t let me take care of you, because you are just as broken as I am.  We might both be broken, but maybe we can be eachothers reason to not give up. We can be broken together.  I wish so deeply that you would believe me when I say I love you, and when I say that I think you are the most intelligent and the most beautiful person I could ever imagine. How I could spend a decade looking into your eyes and never be bored. I want to lay down with you and listen to your heartbeat just to make sure you are real, because to me you seem too good to be true. Maybe even too good for me. I’m scared to tell you about how you make me feel. How broken you make me feel and how in the next second I feel like the happiest person alive. Dear lover,  I wish that you would believe me, when I say I love you. Because I love you, more than life itself. 

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True. As Kendrick Lamar says, "poetic justice." Tragedies occur, and all we do as lay low and write poems based on them.

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It's appalling how black Americans take this lightly. It's almost as if they have a fetish. HEAR ME OUT: 1. No one deserves to be shot dead like a dog, regardless of their race. 2. This is racism, just like that thing where white Americans will tell black Americans to go back to 'Africa'; honey, you're mayonnaise asses came from Europe, the greatest manufacturer of the least prominent race, white. 3. This is NOT your country, white Americans; you literally stole it from the people you sold, (as if they were merchandise) murdered, raped, enslaved, and last but not least, sent to reservations. KNOW YOUR PLACE, it's just that simple. 4. Where do the police get their guns? The black market? Serial criminals? The last time I checked, an officer usually possesses a glock pistol, which is a gun that makes a right-handed person aim to the left. Meaning that to kill someone with this particular gun, you would have to aim precisely, and it wouldn't be a mistake. Hey, popo, not so smart now are ya? That whole "he/she seemed and looked very hostile/I thought he/she was going to pull a gun on me/ it was self-defense" bullshitty stunt is just another way of saying, "You deserved it, monkey!" 5. This is not going to be adressed any time soon, and you know why? Because officials like that peace-making back-stabbing white people-pleasing traitor called Obama lead America, (which is not really a great nation once you think about it). And if it's not them, it's concubines like Donald Trump.

“The top of the food chain has never been in danger, but I know for a fact that they might kill my brother today. Just because he’s black. Because he’s still alive.”

— Imani Cezanne, "Protest"

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From Rudy Francisco’s incredible book, HELIUM.

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Rudy Francisco, “Rifle II”.

Don’t miss Rudy’s debut book, HELIUM.

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“We survive on recollection alone.”

— Michael Lee, from The Only Worlds We Know

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This applies to EVERYONE.

“At first, an artist who loathes her work won’t throw it away. She’ll stare at it on the shelf to remind her of the time wasted.”

— Raych Jackson, from Even The Saints Audition

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I would like to personally apologize to every teacher whose projects I overthought as a kid to the point that I could barely do them