#i have already yelled at various people about this one while writing the first/second drafts

[havoc-warband]

Oh, so I- I see, I’m too incompetent for you, is it?

Trahearne picked up another sheaf of papers, desperately hoping the document he was looking for would be underneath. 

It wasn’t.

He was certain it should’ve been somewhere around here. No such luck: he’d have to go through the whole pile.

Sitting down with a sigh, Trahearne grabbed the first several dozen pages and started leafing through them.

I see. No, it’s fine. I’ll leave you to it then, Marshal. Go and cleanse Orr. I’ll work on my skills in the meanwhile. Maybe I’ll be good enough to be your paper-boy the next time we meet.

The Marshal stared at the papers with unseeing eyes. He forced himself to wake from his daydream - day-mare would be more accurate - with a shake of his head, and put the papers back down. He would just have to put the lot of them into his messenger bag and sort through them on the airship. It would be heavier like that, and his shoulder would not be happy with him the morning after, but at least his heart wouldn’t be alone in that anymore, then.

His last conversation with his Comm- with Vikaros had gone so terribly wrong. He couldn’t get the sour aftertaste out of his mouth whenever he started thinking about it. It was already more than two years ago, and he hadn’t heard anything from Vikaros since. Nor had he sent anything himself. Every time he’d picked up a quill and some parchment, all words had fled him. He knew that he should apologise for the truly tactless way he’d brought it up. He knew that he should assure Vikaros that he was one of the most competent warriors and leaders he’d ever seen. The rage on the charr’s face during that horrible conversation had been burning, but it didn’t entirely hide what was underneath - surprise, betrayal, and worst of all, shame. Trahearne thought that maybe he could invite him to view Orr, once it had been cleansed, or go visit him himself, but it had taken much longer than he’d thought: once reanimated, even without a leader, the Risen proved incredibly stubborn. It didn’t help that they didn’t seem to feel pain or fear anymore, either. Just hunger.

Their efforts had paid off, however, and the continent was nearly completely cleansed of Risen now. Grasses had started sprouting up here and there, and birds were nesting in the elaborate coral structures. Last week, right before he’d left, he’d even spotted a daisy springing from the still-sickly-looking soil. He might have even cried a little at the sight, such a bright sign that his Wyld Hunt was finally coming to a close after a quarter of a century of hard work, if he hadn’t been so busy. He had been sketching flowers into the margins of whatever he was reading since.

Then, they received word that Mordremoth’s activity had surged dangerously. Trahearne had sent word for his commanders to start preparing the fleet already, so that he could join them as soon as he’d returned from Orr. He had even sent a missive to Vikaros, awkwardly leaving out personal touches. He was resigned to rebuilding their friendship from nothing, but he had not received anything in response.

All of the others had sent back confirmations. Except for Vikaros. The messenger had come back empty-handed, but at least said that he’d received and read it. Trahearne supposed he’d see if the charr headed his summons or not once he arrived at Camp Resolve.

A bit rougher than it really warranted, he shook out his head again, and shoved another folder into the by-now-overly-full bag. He did really not have time for-

No, not for a knock at the door, either. It was probably just Caithe, anyway. He had arrived in the Grove only a day ago, but had been too busy to contact her, and hadn’t planned to before he left again. He supposed she could carry a few stacks of paper for him, since she’d disturbed him.

“Come in,” he said, back still to the door. He heard it open and close.

“I’m sorry, sister,” he began, “as you can see, I’m really quite busy, I’m afraid I don’t have the time to-”

His sister wasn’t purple, nor did she have yellow slitted eyes.

The stranger had been as silent as Caithe usually was, and Trahearne suddenly realised, didn’t have a presence in the Dream either. Soundless?

“Who are you?” he demanded, reaching for his staff.

“Firstborn,” the stranger greeted, “I was hoping to find you here.” Daggers glinted from where they were strapped to his legs, but he made no move to grab them. The stranger seemed at ease, a stark contrast to Trahearne himself, and the situation.

“Why?” Trahearne asked, suspicious. He finally found his staff, one-handed and without removing his eyes from the intruder, and raised it, ready to defend himself.

Normally, he would not be this suspicious of a sibling, but years of dealing with the Nightmare Court and, more recently, being a prominent political figure, had taught him distrust.

“You should not go to the Maguuma Jungle,” the other said. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth - did he find this humorous?

Trahearne scoffed, trying to hide how unsettled he was. “Do you think you can stop me?” he asked.

“Yes,” the stranger said, his smirk fully breaking through, a touch unhinged at the edges, “because you’ll doom the whole damned Pact if you go. And my friend - he’s in the Vigil, and loyal to a fault - I won’t put his life in any more danger than it already is, stuck in the middle of the Jungle with your idiotic Commander. I won’t allow you to put his life in any more danger.”

“What?” Trahearne said, lowering his staff a little, confused. The fleet hadn’t even launched yet, how were they already-

“Mordremoth has awoken,” the intruder continued, “and it wants to control every sylvari it can reach. If it could touch you, and find the knowledge in your head about the Pact’s supplies and movements, it would destroy everything. It’s almost worse than Zhaitan and the Risen.”

“What?” he repeated. This was impossible. “But the Pact-”

“Launched days ago,” the other said, and his smirk turned into a snarl. “Without you. And that’s a good fucking thing. As it currently stands, I had to- nevermind the details, I’ve saved my friend from the dragon, and I hope to the Pale Tree that the charr I’ve left him with - your rogue Commander’s warband - haven’t killed him yet, because being sylvari just became an extremely undesirable trait in a soldier.”

Trahearne fully lowered his staff then, placing the butt on the floor so he could lean on it. This was… entirely too much information, none of which he had been prepared for. “The fleet launched without me?”

The stranger groaned. “Yes, old man, keep up. It’s also the least of your problems, or have you not been listening?” He spoke with such venom behind his words, but Trahearne got the feeling it wasn’t aimed directly at him. As it was, it was only barely missing him, though, and he was tiring of it rapidly.

“Who are you?” Trahearne asked again.

“Not one of your pawns, Firstborn,” the other spat. He had been calm at the beginning, but was getting more worked up by the minute.

“Can you give me a detailed report of the situation?”

“What do I look like to you, a soldier?”

Trahearne graciously didn’t point out the daggers at his side, or the rifle on his back. 

“Why are you even here?”

“I have a letter from Vikaros,” he said.

Trahearne only just managed to resist throwing his staff at him. “Why didn’t you open with that?!”

The other only laughed at his reaction, and his face fell back into the slightly insulting grin from earlier.

“And won’t you please just tell me who you are!”

“My name is Renfrac,” he said, seemingly calm now that he’d had his fun.

But now it was Trahearne’s turn to be angry. “If you say that Mordremoth claims all sylvari that come near the jungle, how come you have a message from my Commander, who you claim is in the jungle?”

Renfrac raised an eyebrow. “You did pay attention!” he praised.

“Either you are a jokester with a horrible sense of timing, or you’re already corrupted yourself,” Trahearne said, voice low, “either way, I think it’s time we end this.” And he followed it up with a shout, “Wardens!”

Renfrac’s eyes were suddenly wide, and he dropped the cheerful smile. He raised a hand towards Trahearne, and opened his mouth to say something, but the Marshal had raised his staff again, intending to keep him immobile and harmless until the Wardens arrived, already hearing commotion on the hallway outside his Grove office.

Something in the other’s face hardened, and he was suddenly directly in front of Trahearne, too close to attack with the staff. He barely had time to recover, before he was roughly grabbed by the back of the head and his forehead was colliding with-

The jungle, tall and dark and spine-shiveringly wrong

Tendrils in the earth, slithering and alive but dead, preying on the soldiers crawling over the many skins of their master

The silhouette of someone who might’ve been Nightmare Court, except not even they corrupt a body so heavily, distort it so much as to

Fire-warm metal chunks, half-buried in the loose, upturned soil, stinking of blood, surrounded by corpses, survivors, medics, a camp built on the wreckage

My friend, my other self, my- attacker, possessed by the jungle itself, trying to eradicate me, hints of power, of corruption, testing my defences, overwhelming the lessers, but I caught it, and I fought it off from him

Fangs and snarling and the Commander and a missive don’t come to the jungle don’t enter the domain of the Dragon don’t risk it just help me help me please doubt/worry/regret/guilt

He is bodily pushed backwards, and takes a minute to remember that he is Trahearne, and he’s in the Grove, and not currently in danger from anyone except a madman with some daggers, a gun, and the ability to project a vision immediately into his head.

“What?” Trahearne said, eloquently.

A knock sounded from the door. “Marshal, are you alright?” someone asked through the door, and he vaguely recognized the voice of the captain of the small personal Pact squad that was assigned to him. Cigna, he believed she was called.

Renfrac’s eyes bored into his, not moving away, not betraying any emotions. Trahearne took a step back instead, still bewildered.

The vision had been bleeding searing intensity and sincerity. He had difficulty reconciling it with the sylvari before him.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you, just a- a nightmare,” he said, raising his voice a little to penetrate the door. He wasn’t known for sleeping at regular times, or for experiencing particularly calming dreams.

“Okay,” she called back, sounding tired, “the airship’s due to leave soon, Marshal, let us know if you need help packing,” and then the metal-clank of Vigil armour faded into the distance.

Renfrac still hadn’t moved, posture or expression.

After another few moments, to be sure Cigna was no longer in earshot, Trahearne spoke up again.

“What in the name of the Pale Tree was that?”

“That’s the current state of the Maguuma Jungle, and the remains of the Pact that are in it,” Renfrac replied, visibly on edge.

Trahearne sighed. Sure, okay, they weren’t going to talk about what that was, then. He did not think interrogating this sylvari was going to yield anything but frustration.

“Fine. So, if I understood… that… correctly, I should not go to the Jungle?”

Renfrac’s stance lost some tension, but not all. “You would likely doom the world.”

“And your friend lives in this world,” Trahearne smiled. Renfrac’s worry and affection had stained the entire vision.

To his amusement, the other blushed violet for a moment, but did not look away. “He does,” he agreed.

Then the implications of the situation started sinking in. Trahearne grimaced and turned around to start pacing the small office.

“I will be unable to command directly; that’s going to be difficult,” he thought out loud.

“Just different from the war on Zhaitan,” Renfrac said. His posture had relaxed completely, and he had moved back to slouch against the doorpost, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ve made a deal with your Commander, to act as messenger. I have a raptor, and I can defend myself against Mordremoth’s mental attacks.”

“All of these things would have been great to lead with, you know,” Trahearne grumbled, but this time, Renfrac just laughed. “Down to business then, I guess.”

He sat down at his desk. When he looked up, the other was still by the door, not showing a sign of intending to move.

Trahearne cleared his throat. “Did you have an actual report from the Commander as well, or did you just come to warn me to stay away?”

“Oh!” Renfrac said, jolting away from the frame, shrugging off his rifle to access a pocket on his belt, and producing a slightly-crumpled envelope from a pouch. He walked up to the desk and handed it over. It still had bits of moss on it.

“Uh, thank you,” Trahearne said, somewhat awkwardly. “I need to read this, perhaps unpack some documents to be able to write a reply - I’d nearly boarded the airship, you were lucky I still had one document to find - and then I’ll send captain Cigna to find you when I’m done, if you’d like to, uh, go and enjoy the Grove?”

Please leave me alone for a moment, I still need to process whatever that vision was and if possible find three books about similar phenomena, Trahearne didn’t say. But Renfrac just cringed a little, and said, “I’ve never felt particularly at home here, if I’m honest, so I’d rather just, if you perhaps have a book I could-”

And by the Pale Tree, if that didn’t hit right home. “Sure,” Trahearne said, pointing at a bookshelf to Renfrac’s right. “Those should be fairly digestible human history books.”

“Human history?” Renfrac made a sound of disgust at the book he’d just picked from the shelf, but didn’t drop it or put it back.

“Necessary for diplomacy,” Trahearne smiled. He was reminded of when he was still starting out in this. He had learned to enjoy the various topics related to his current occupation since, but he could still vividly remember the first months, when struggling through even one desiccated tome felt like a victory. It wouldn’t do for even a messenger to insult allies unknowingly.

Renfrac sent him a long-suffering glare, but sank to the floor with the book in his hands, crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t seem to enjoy the concept of chairs, Trahearne noted, before looking down to his own task, breaking the seal on the envelope, pulling out the letter, and reading the worst news he’d received in a good while.

[desiraypark]

A Long Night...

Clyde x Sherri Content: Kinda N*FW - no intercourse - sexual innuendos; kinkiness and mischief; teasing/torture. Sherri started it, Clyde finished it.

It was a cool Tuesday afternoon at Strafford’s Kitchen. It wasn’t hectic, but still busier than most restaurants between that “after lunch and before dinner” section of the day.  And the bar was nothing like Duck Tape. People weren’t yelling at the TV or laughing loud enough for the neighborhood to hear them. The entire restaurant’s guests were always corporate looking--wearing their slacks and shirts; Oxfords and those shoes with the red on the bottom. Sherri had a pair of ‘em--Luba something. They talked among themselves like a cafeteria monitor was walking around the floor ready to write them up for loud-talking. 

Clyde poured drinks for various well-dressed people in his own shiny black slacks, black shoes, stark white shirt, and skinny black tie. Sherri said she wanted to “climb him like a tree” when he wore this outfit the first time. Of course, when he got back home, he let her do just that. But anyway...

Most patrons would get quick glances at his arm--especially new ones--but unlike the rare harassers at Duck Tape, these business folks were more “quiet” with their judgement. They would stare him down like they were worried he was going to drop something, or more importantly, like he was going to mess their drink up. Basically, anybody that wanted to talk shit had either changed into decent people by the end of their visit, or they waited until they got outside. Plus, he worked early in the day. The night bartender, was the one who usually had to deal with the most assholes. But overall, every day for Clyde the bartender was smooth-sailing. 

He was refreshing a man’s glass of wine when he felt his phone buzz. Of course, he ignored it. The man nodded a “thank you” and took a sip as he stared into his phone. As Clyde put the bottle away, he felt his phone buzz again. But he walked to Mr. Rollins--a regular--who was eating a burger and drinking a beer, first. “Need me to fill you up again?” he asked. Buzz...buzz...buzz...

“No, thanks, Clyde. I think I’d better stop while I’m ahead,” Mr. Rollins said. Clyde pulled his phone from his pocket. “Excuse me.”  He unlocked his screen with a single swipe and opened his text messages. His eyes were greeted (and treated) with five photos of Sherri. Five angles of...various body parts. His eyes widened and he stuffed his phone back in his pocket. “Everything alright?” Mr. Rollins asked. Clyde nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” He suddenly felt a rush of heat over his face and in his ears, too. “You sure? You’re turnin’ beet red, Clyde!” Mr. Rollins said with a chuckle. Clyde bit his bottom lip, causing his deep dimples to show. He nodded again. “Yeah. Everything’s...fine.” ABOUT TWO WEEKS LATER

Sherri: Your package is here. Mr. Strafford tended the bar as Clyde took his lunch in the back. He was looking at football highlights when Sherri’s text came through. He thumbed to his messages screen. 

Clyde: Thank you. Clyde: I’m taking you out to eat tonight. Sherri: What’s the occasion?  Clyde: Just wanna take you out. Clyde: Don’t put no pants on until I come home. I’m gonna wear that pussy out first. Sherri: 0_0 ******************** Clyde got home at about six o’clock. Sherri usually kept the front door unlocked for him so he could just come right on in through their encased foyer. Today, the door was locked. When Clyde got in, Sherri was sitting on the sofa butt naked. Clyde smirked and hung his jacket up on the coat rack.  “Evenin’,” he said. “Evenin’...” Sherri responded. Clyde walked past her and through the dining room and into their kitchen. He found a little box on the kitchen counter. He grabbed the letter opener they kept on the counter, opened it up, dug through the bubble wrap and pulled out an egg shaped vibrator. He carried it to the bathroom--past Sherri again--and ran the hot water. “I thought I was about to get fucked, Clyde?!” Sherri called. “You are,” he responded matter-of-factually. 

He let the water run over his fingers and rubbed it over the bar of soap by the faucet head. He wiped the toy down, turned off the water, and went back into the kitchen. Sherri watched him with raised eyebrows. Clyde pulled the remote out of the box and opened the back to see if batteries were already in it--they were. 

Finally, he went into the living room--holding the toy and the remote in his right hand. He knelt in front of Sherri and pushed her right leg open. Without any build up, he leaned in and flicked her clit with his tongue for exactly ten seconds. He pulled his lips away. “Remember when you sent me them pictures a couple of weeks ago while I was at work?” he asked. Sherri looked down and swallowed. “Yes...”

Suddenly, she felt something hard stretch her walls out--and it wasn’t Clyde’s dick. She squealed and jumped back a little. “This is about to be your punishment,” he said. He pressed a button and Sherri’s eyes widened, and her thighs snapped shut. 

“What the hell is that?!”

Clyde turned the vibrator off and rubbed the back of Sherri’s thighs. “We gon’ go upstairs and change into some comfortable clothes, okay?”

Sherri let her legs fall and Clyde stood up. He helped her off the sofa, then wrapped his arms around her waist and yanked her close to him.

“And I don’t want you puttin’ on no dress or no skirt, either,” he said lowly--eyes full of lust. “Put on them jeans I like.” Sherri changed into the dark blue and form-fitting jeans Clyde loved, a pink sweater, and her leather jacket. He, too, changed into something more comfortable.

Clyde held Sherri’s door as she climb into the car. When he walked around to the front of the car, he stopped and dug in his pocket. Sherri was digging in her purse when he saw her shoulders jump and her head fly up—wild eyes meeting his. He smirked, hit the power button, and climbed into the car--avoiding Sherri’s glare.

“Is it comfortable?” he asked with a grin.

********************

Sherri was a bundle of nerves as she and Clyde walked into the rib joint. It wasn’t the fanciest place--but it was full of people. A lot of elders. 

“Oh no...” Sherri mumbled to herself. 

The host led them to a booth and a perky waitress came right to them.

“Welcome to Cat Daddy’s! My name is Rachel and I’ll be serving you this evening! Can I start you two off with something to drink?”

Sherri was looking over the menu’s drink section when she felt a vibration right at her g-spot. She didn’t look up. Her two front teeth pressed into her bottom lip.

“I’ll have a Bud draft,” Clyde said. He rubbed his fingers over the hard plastic remote until he found the button he was looking for. Sherri’s head flew up. “Water!” she said a little too loud. 

“Ooh, I’m sorry...” she chuckled nervously. She pressed her hands into the leather of the seat. “I don’t know why I said that so loud.” Rachel smiled. “That’s alright. Two waters and a Bud draft...” Clyde turned the vibrator off and tucked it under his thigh. “Yes, ma’am.” “Yes, for now...” Sherri said, her face softened. “I can’t decide between a cocktail or a peach lemonade.” “You take your time. Let me know if you need help choosing,” Rachel said. Sherri smiled and nodded, and Rachel bounced away from the table. Then, Sherri wiped the smile from her face and playfully glared at Clyde, who was looking down at the menu. He didn’t look up, but she could see him smiling to himself. “You want a starter?” he asked.  “Fuck you, Clyde,” Sherri said through clenched teeth. He looked up with raised eyebrows; then his chin tipped downward and one of his eyes narrowed.  Sherri’s jaw fell. “I didn’t mean that, I’m so--ahh...”  She felt the buzz inside of her, then it stopped right away.  “Watch yourself, Babygirl...” Clyde said. Sherri pressed her lips together and sighed. 

He looked back down at the menu. “I’ma get us a starter. We gon’ have entrees. Drinks. And dessert. And I don’t know about you, but...” 

Sherri looked over the menu, then jumped again. Her toes curled in her boots and she pressed the pads of her fingers into the laminated menu.  “...I’m gon’ eat every bit of my food right here...” he said.  “Here’s your Bud and two waters,” Rachel said. "Are you ready to start your order or do you need a little more time?” “What you want to drink, Baby?” Clyde asked. “I’ll just get the Peach Lemonade,” Sherri said, taking shallow breaths through her nose. “Peach lemonade...” Rachel repeated, scribbling in her pad. The vibration suddenly stopped, and Sherri sank in her booth. “We still don’t know what we want to eat, but I definitely wanna get the sampler platter,” Clyde said. He glanced at Sherri with mischief written all over her face. She pressed her lips together again to hide a smile. “I’ll go on and put that in for you,” Rachel said, scribbling once more. She disappeared again.  Sherri flipped the menu over to look at the starters. She read the description under the Cat Daddy Sampler Platter: “Get a lil’ taste of everything good! The Cat Daddy Sampler Platter comes with six blazin’ buffalo wings with ranch, six cheesy mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce, fried shrimp--and not the kind where it’s more bread than shrimp--and beer-battered onion rings that won’t get you drunk, but will make you feel some kinda good!” 

It was going to be a long night.

[rkmeiqi]

—may 24th, 2020.

today is a very important day for me! ♡ and so, i come with an extremely long and semi-emotional post (for me, at least) that follows under the cut.

three years ago today, i was accepted into my first tumblr krp ever—rookies. ♡

it was a difficult decision moving to tumblr rp. for starters, i was a 16 year old who had never tried properly rping, and that too on a platform like tumblr. so everything was completely new to me. and, quite frankly, it was scary. and while i dabbled in fic writing, at some point i felt like it wasn't enough for me. i wanted to challenge myself and my writing. luckily, my sister convinced me to give rookies a shot, because it had been running for a while and she had heard good things about it. so, after about three weeks of convincing, we joined together: me with rkmeiqi, and my sister with meiqi's now-npc cousin, vivi.M/small>

the experience was quite overwhelming. in a good way, because everyone here has always been so welcoming, and i've noted that with every second muse i have brought in since i first joined. however, it was extremely overwhelming in a bad way too, because i was a teenager with bad anxiety and it was an unfamiliar environment and i didn't know anyone. everyone was older than me and i couldn't help thinking "no one wants to write with a kid like me."

because it was my first time in a tumblr krp, i was so self-conscious that i didn't even know what to do with rkmeiqi; i had to look at everyone else's old acceptances and blogs to see what was normal—what i should do—instead of deciding things for myself. i didn't know how to write for rp, or what a script was, or how to plot. i was a mess. you could see that much in my app (and i apologize to the mods for making you read that shit).

honestly speaking, if you look at my acceptance and compare it to the threads i write nowadays, the change and growth is glaringly obvious. it's a little embarrassing, to tell you the truth. scratch that—it's super embarrassing. but it's also kind of amazing to see the struggling newbie blossom into someone who can pump out a 5-paragraph reply in less than half an hour. sometimes i don't even recognize myself.

i wanted to drop rkmeiqi so many times, i even made polls on twitter to ask you guys if i could! surprisingly enough, it's my sister who yelled at convinced me to keep going no matter what, because i had already lasted a few months and if i dropped rkmeiqi, i would lose all that progress (the gall my sister has, forcing me to keep rkmeiqi when she had dropped her muse within the first few weeks!).

so i held on. i kept holding on, and then meiqi got signed by nova in december of 2017 and i was over the moon. but i also felt guilty, because i hadn't been in rookies for too long and i didn't put in half as much effort as some other people, but i was getting an offer too good to pass up.

i still feel guilty sometimes, because i've been extremely lucky with rkmeiqi—she got signed pretty early on, she got big opportunities like the sn project, and now she's a debuted idol with and*roma. all in the span of three years. it feels surreal, and it's also a little unnerving to think that i've actually done all this, and that i've been in one place for so long. this has never happened to me before!

along the way, i tried my hand at various second muses, since i love rookies so much, but i always failed with them. only recently have i picked up hangyulrk, but he's lasted longer than any other attempt. i love writing for him as much as i love writing for rkmeiqi, and i fully intend to keep him around for as long as i can. (please plot with him♡)

i guess what i'm trying to say (and failing at saying, because i'm too caught up in emotions and reminiscing and it's 3am as i draft this post) is that these past three years have been... pretty darn good. i can't think of any other way to put it. while stressful at first, i have really blossomed in my three years here. rookies has given me the chance to develop my writing to a level i never thought would be possible; rookies has given me an outlet and an escape from real life; rookies has introduced me to a lot of wonderful people.

while my muse (just rkmeiqi, because i haven't decided to torture hangyulrk just yet) has definitely grown and changed, it's not an exaggeration to say i've also grown and changed while here. it's only three years, but i've gone from a high schooler who struggled to get out of bed in the mornings, to an adult who has learned that the world isn't perfect but it can still be nice once in a while. i've learned a lot of things in the past three years, and i've overcome so many hurdles, and i couldn't be happier to be celebrating all this progress—both in my life and with my writing—with you guys.

i never thought it would happen. but i'm here, i'm grateful, and i hope i can continue to write with all of you for many more years to come.

to everyone at rookies, whether we talk daily or we’ve never even interacted, each and every one of you in this beautiful rp, thank you for making the past three years into something that is precious to me! ♡

love, sunny!!!

[vercopaanir]

This is probably a silly question 🥺 but do you ever get writer's block and if so, how do you deal with it? I feel like I struggle so much with focusing and pressuring myself into writing that it doesn't come out the way I would like for it to. Do you listen to music or just prefer a silent background? I'm just genuinely curious since TLM is written so beautifully and you're constantly updating it. It literally takes me a week to write a 5K chapter.

This is not a silly question at all.

Unfortunately, I have a lot of thoughts about this, so they’ll be under a cut!

I get writer’s block in various forms. Typically, it’s one of two kinds.

The first (and rarest for me) kind is when there is just a complete blank as to what I want to do with the story. This can be really frustrating if you don’t know your personal rhythm in the creative process, but it can also be really fun to discover what inspires you. I call it letting the story “steep.” 

Usually, I need to flush it out with more when this happens. The character needs to want something, the conflict doesn’t have high enough stakes, etc. The Lovely Moons didn’t happen on a whim, trust me. I spent nearly a month thinking on it, developing the character, gathering bits and pieces of lore, and doing general research. 

Recently, @di-kut and I compared how we prep our stories. She is very visual because she’s also an artist, so she told me she likes to make mood boards, finds pictures, and even makes art! I’m not as visual, because everything is in my head so I’ll never really find the pictures I’m wanting. So I end up frustrated. I personally prefer making playlists for my stories like it’s a movie soundtrack, and I tend to only listen to those songs when I write. The Lovely Moons has a lot of empowering and dystopian inspired songs on it, because the main character was a slave and overcomes a lot as a person.

If you’re into visuals, I say make a folder and save some images that inspire you. Costumes or clothes your characters might where, scenery where certain plot points happen, pictures of people you envision for different characters. If you want to make a playlist, start with some movies or TV show soundtracks that move you and pick through there. 

The second kind of writer’s block, and the one I most often fight with, is when a scene just isn’t coming together the way I want it to. I know that I want to get the story from Point A to Point B, but it just doesn’t feel right, or it’s like pulling teeth.

There are several ways to deal with this.

-Write a few sentences, even if you don’t think they’re good. Just get them into the document, as much as you can manage, and save and close it. Go back to it later, or even the next day. Sometimes you can’t force it to happen, and that’s natural and completely okay! What two sentences you can manage today might help spark you tomorrow to write 5k out of nowhere. 

-Accept that what you’re writing down is your first draft, and if you’re worried it might suck, it probably does. This is also okay. It’s supposed to suck and be imperfect. Editing yourself will always stop you from writing. That isn’t writer’s block, it’s fear of failure. Don’t listen to it! Just write. Honestly, this is probably the most important thing that has gotten me through writing TLM. Just getting it down and writing a little bit each day. There have been some days I can only manage a sentence, but it’s the best sentence I’ve written in a while. The more you do it, the easier it comes, and the less often you’ll find your blocked.

-So, you’ve done the previous two steps, and the scene still isn’t working. Well, friend, you are a real writer and are now in the arena of the story trying to tell YOU where it needs to go. And you should listen to it! I know that sounds super cheesy, but it’s true. There have been several times in writing TLM that I expected a scene to go a certain way, and it’s not working because my gut is trying to tell me “Yeah, this isn’t natural” or in character, or flowing. Those are your instincts, and you need to listen to them.

What I’ve done is sometimes open a new document and say to myself, “Self, what would happen if instead of Din shooting Toro Calican, Cyare did it instead?” And then I write that, and boom. It works, it flows, it makes narrative sense.

Sometimes you have to throw yourself a curve ball and be open to having your plans be changed for you. It can suck at first, but when you feel that rhythm take over, it’s worth it. And if you’re not sure what to change or tinker with, try a few things. Does the scene start in the woods and you need to be at the ocean? Try starting the scene somewhere else. Does your character need to go from peaceful to yelling? Start the scene with the character already yelling.

I’ve had several chapters be born from what I only expected to be a sentence, and I’ve had several chapters become a paragraph. And it ends up working out to the story’s benefit, because if something needs to be longer, the words will come. If you’re finding you’re struggling to find the words for something, it probably doesn’t need to be as long as you think it does.

And, two of the biggest weapons to combat writer’s block are this: read and befriend writers!

Read the kinds of stories you’re trying to write! We will only ever grow as writers if we continue to write and continue to read. Reading and supporting other peoples’ art will inspire you and it will also help you carve out your own style.

Being able to talk about your stories and ask for feedback from other writers is imperative to becoming a better author. You’ll never change, never grow, never get better without someone you can count on that you feel comfortable with discussing ideas. Sometimes they’ll be GOLDEN ideas, and sometimes you’ll be talking about Paz Vizla sipping a capri sun and going by in heelies. But it’s a huge confidence boost when you can befriend awesome people by supporting each other’s work, and it helps sometimes to talk out the kinks with someone else.

I hope something in this long, long answer was helpful for you, my love. Be kind to yourself, don’t beat yourself up, and just keep writing! ❤️❤️❤️

[seromreven]

Would you be willing to write a non-smut fic where its Paul's birthday but they're so caught up filming Let It Be that they forget and it sours his day until John suddenly remembers and decides to throw something together real quick? Much thanks ^_^

here ya go, here ya go, here ya go,

1969,

Paul showed up early at Abbey Road Studios the morning of the eighteenth of June. Ha hadn’t needed too but he had woken up in such a great mood early that morning and just couldn’t keep it to himself so he had left the house well before anyone else had even woken up.  It made him hope Linda hadn’t planned anything special because, well, he wouldn’t be there to experience it.

He got up the clean stone stairs leading to the entrance of the studio, full of anticipation. It wasn’t an especially exciting age he was turning. Twenty-seven. Hopefully just another of many years left for him. It made him wonder with excitement what he would be ten years from now. In twenty years. In fifty years! Imagine that! Him at seventy-seven. The thought made him all giddy and anxious at the same time.

He rushed to the studio itself and, unsurprisingly, he was the first to arrive of The Beatles. The cameramen and the miscellaneous crew was already there setting things up while looking at him with stunned faces or raised brow. While, yes, Paul showing up early wasn’t uncommon. It was to this degree. He was, in fact, very early.

He shrugged it off and continued his way to the front of the pianoforte where he placed his briefcase and jacket in a small bundle next to the small stool and sat down in front of the piano with a crack of his knuckles. Might as well warm up and look over some songs while he waited for the others.

Michael, the director of the film, came to his side and placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him with a flow of well wishes and happy birthdays from him and the crew. It gave him a warm sense of wellbeing he knew to only be surpassed by that of his bandmates.

They hadn’t been getting along together well lately but Paul had hoped, and hoped and hoped, so intensely that it could be pushed aside for this one day. That for this day they could have a calm and easy time making music. Hanging out and hopefully, for once, eat dinner together like they used to before all this animosity came over them like a vengeful tsunami.

Paul played music for about an hour or so before the rest shoved up one after another. Only Ringo really said anything to him, much to his dismay. Only a ‘mornin’, and nothing else. He hadn’t recalled doing anything recently to piss off the other two but there must have been some reason for their avoidance. Maybe they were all much too into their work mindset already that they didn’t think of anything else but getting down to it. So that’s what they did when the hours rolled by. Singing and playing. Occasionally looking over lyrics and notes. The usual.

Paul felt his mood gradually dampen at the lack of… anything from the other men. Had they forgotten? Could they forget? They had known each other for over a decade so surely this wasn’t a date easily forgotten? He was getting right bloody sour and was quickly packing his things to go back home to his wife and kids who he knew for sure wouldn’t have forgotten like some people.

Turning towards the door; he saw that the room was already empty of any other Beatle. Which made him pause; he hadn’t noticed any of them leave. Last he had noticed (which was something that he found, in a way, peculiar now that he was giving it some thought) was that John had been whispering to the other two in hushed voices. Paul had wondered about that but had been far too depressed about the lack of any birthday greetings or attention to put any deep thoughts to it. Until now. What had that been about? Hopefully nothing too serious. Paul just couldn’t handle any more band related drama today.

He slowly made his way out of the studio and as he was nearing the front door was stopped by a heavily breathing John who suddenly appeared out of a corner down the long hallway. He wasn’t wearing the (his wife’s) coat that he had been wearing that morning and now was showing off his skinny arms in a tight-fitting t-shirt as he stood with his hands on his knees, trying to get his breath back.

“John... We were taught in school not to run indoors, y’know,” Paul joked, despite the mood he was in. He couldn’t help himself, really. John waved a hand at him as he finally straightened himself out.

“When did I ever do what the teachers told me to?”

He said with a snicker and Paul, again despite himself, joined in on it. Well, no matter how much he wanted to be mad and hold a grudge about what had happened (or not have) today; he also had found it hard to be mad at John for too long.

John’s slender, calloused hand came to rest on Paul’s bicep and started slightly tugging at it as he started to go in the direction from where he had emerged from not too long again. “Come along now, Paulie,” he said with a slight grin as he dragged the younger man along with him.

Paul questioned him as to where they were going but to no avail. John had apparently decided to stay mum the entire way to… wherever he was bringing him. It was all very… strange for Paul who much rather just wanted to go home after the rather exhausting and… lacking day he had had. John stopped in front of the door Paul knew to be belonging to the small kitchen and breakroom of the studio and looked to his old friend with a raised brow. Why had he led him there?

It was quickly found out once John slammed open the door (the force was pretty unnecessary, Paul thought) to a sudden influx of yelling ‘happy birthday” with small bundles of shredded paper thrown at him. It took a second or two before it really registered with Paul what was going on. He looked around the room to find a small, probably quickly done, birthday party done in his honour. Ringo and George stood behind the wide table with bags of white shredded paper (homemade confetti, apparently) and a small store bought cake that looked to be from the small grocery down the road.

He looked at the duo in gaping shock before turning to John. John, who seemed uncharacteristically nervous, glanced from Paul to the cake and back again. When their eyes connected; he smiled nervously to Paul as he awaited some kind of reaction.

Paul laughed. Laughed in relief. Laughed at the rather ridiculous sight the trio made. John smiling awkwardly by the door while Ringo and George held clear bags of shredded paper that was still flowing around the room due to the draft the open door and window made. It had gotten in their long brown hair for which they seemed oblivious.

“So you did forget!”

He managed to get out in the midst of his laughter and John started stammering in response. Most likely thinking of some kind of denial or excuse but it was clearly all very obvious to Paul what had happened in the proceedings of this impromptu birthday party. He dragged John into a hug, something he soon after realised hadn’t happened in… years, with a fluttering of thanks to both him and the confetti wielding duo.

And as he pulled back from the hug; both John and his own cheeks slightly pink, he admitted that whatever this was… it was much better than whatever they could have done if they had remembered his birthday in advance. That this small impromptu intimate affair was much closer to what he would have wanted from the three of them.

So, they celebrated in the small cramp room. Eating the strawberry cake, which wasn’t all that good but Paul didn’t mind, while throwing clumps of confetti at each other occasionally. Soon, Ringo and George each had to leave, leaving John and Paul alone. Sadly, a rare occasion these last few weeks. There were always people from various jobs and duties. Or Yoko, who seemed to be an eternal shadow to John’s figure. Paul didn’t exactly mind that. She was nice enough, but there were times where she needn’t be in the studio (admittedly that was most times) but she was.

“Again… thank you,” Paul said to John who sat across from him, scraping off the last few pieces of frosting off his plate as they sat talking. He shrugged with a shake of his head and licked his fork clean.

“It’s the least we could do for being such gits and forgetting your birthday, yea?” he glanced to the still open door. “In all the years we’ve known each other… you’ve never forgotten mine,” he muttered and looked back at Paul, looking distraught. Paul sighed, “it’s alright. We’ve been all very… stressed, y’know. Backed up with work and the like.”

John shook his head again and got up to collect their plates; putting them in the sink while saying in the midst of the porcelain clanking; “don’t excuse our actions.”

Paul said no more, knowing it to be a losing battle and satisfied himself in the feeling of content the small gathering had brought. It had been so long (too long) since the four of them last had been in a room alone with no fighting or threats of leaving the band.

So he got up; feeling a content sense of calm he had not expected to end the day with just a little earlier said day. He turned around to face the sink and almost bumped into John, whom had not heard near him at all. They followed each other out the room in serene silence but Paul was stopped by John before they reached the corner where they had almost crashed into each other earlier that day. Paul looked at him, feeling confused at the sudden interruption.

If his silent question was answered or not remained to be seen as John whispered a last ‘happy birthday’ before placing a chaste, bearded, kiss to his own soft lips. Paul knew not how to react and when he finally snapped out of his bewildered haze, John had disappeared out of sight. He heard a door slam but didn’t yet move out of his laconic state of being as he silently felt his lips with the tips of his fingers; trying to discern if that had really happened.

He blinked before lightly shaking his head, trying to snap himself out of it. Had John really kissed him? He took one step. Two steps down the hall before stopping again to, yet again, feel his lips that still tingled from the soft touch and rough tickles John’s lips and beard had left. It was certainly a birthday that both ended and started in a way he hadn’t expected.

[bentchcreates]

Beyond Light and Darkness, A Kathbute Anthology (Part 2)

Let me begin 2018 with an awesome review of our awesome book! I’m very proud of this – I was part of the new writer judging, the editing, and I wrote the preface! – and if you want to know this book’s journey from conception to publishing I wrote a lengthy blog on that last year.

In this second part of the #BLaD blog posts, I’ll be reviewing it as a reader and I’ll try to review it as objectively as I can. ;) Here’s what I think of the 11 stories by the Kathbute Authors, because while a general review of the book is appreciated, it always feels great for anthology authors to read about their works individually.

I. Love Bits

1. The Watch Repairman’s Son – H. Bentham Prompts: A broken wristwatch, peppermints, and a hug that goes too far.

LOL at reviewing this objectively! XD This is my work and for me it’s the best! Hahaha!

Anyway, a trivia about this story: This is actually my first Sancho de Guerra story. I finished writing this almost a full year before “Guide for A Day” appeared in Summer Feels but this took a while to see the light of day. The town I envisioned here is a wee bit different from the one I imagined for the later story, but you wouldn’t really notice. All the bits that got published can go together, and as of this writing, I declare it as canon. ;)

2. Can I Stay? – Nigel Libranages Prompts: Tarot Cards, the coming winter, a pair of old leather boots

This is more of a romantic fiction than romance but the feels, especially the melancholy, is on point. The tone seems levelheaded, but there’s something subtle in how it’s presented that tugs at the heartstrings just right. I must commend both the clever interpretation of the given prompts and the vivid visualization of the settings. Sandra’s characterization is also well fleshed out, justifying her decisions through the end of this short story.

II. Spell Crafts

3. Potion Lunacy – Irina Jean Prompts: The first day of school, a love note, a recipe with a significant mistake

The YA Fantasy theme in this one is cute and reminds me so much of quirky 2000’s anime. Feisty Portia is stubborn but also a bit insecure and her love interest, Gelen, is just the right amount of clumsy and torpe to be endearing. The fun and fast-paced banter depicts the youthfulness of the characters accurately. And the magic parts, though light, are solid and well thought of.

4. Etienne and Amelie – Johanna Lee Prompts: A supporting fairytale character, a lake, pretenses

This retelling of your favorite fairytales retains the fantastical magic of our childhood reads. I’m not going to say which tales get beautifully mashed-up because I think the figuring out is part of the story’s charm. The visualization and choice of words are commendable, as well as the surprising twist at the very end. You have to read this carefully. Blink, and you’ll miss it.

5. Man in Between – Trix Luna Prompts: old train, jewels, an inconvenient truth

This story wasn’t in the original manuscript I got to read in the editing phase so reading it for the first time in the book is quite an experience. It is told in the second person POV, something I rarely get to read and the spec fic theme is also somewhat fresh to me. I don’t know how best to describe it without spoilers except that I thought it felt transcendental. The choice of words really got to me and it was…unsettling, in the way good fiction affects readers even after the story ends.

III. Distortions

6. The Time Banker – Raine Rillera Prompts: A name, a prison cell, music

The sci-fi/spec fic concept for this one has been wonderfully executed, and the interpretation of the prompts, though subtle and downplayed, were key elements in the advancement plot. This is one of the stories chosen after our writing contest and I remembered that even the rough draft of this one was solid so the edited version in the print made for an awesome reread.

7. The Trial of the Tainted – Trix Luna Prompts: A heroic villain, an old parchment, an unforgivable sin

Space and time-travelling were the themes of this interesting short story. I loved the world-building in this one and the twist and turns it took to get to that ‘heroic villain’ bit. There is also an underlying subtheme of a familiar story that everyone knows by now so the marriage of sci-fi elements to that story kind of updated the mysterious plot.

8. Word Wisp – AlaraChan IDA Prompts: aerobics, a secret diary, something unpleasant under the bed

With prompts like those, familiar stories immediately come to mind about monsters and inner demons, yada, yada…but this interpretation of the boogeyman trope is fresh and brilliant. The monster here isn’t a thing, more of a concept, and it doesn’t kill, but rather consumes something everyone often takes for granted. I especially loved the world apocalypse scenes and the people’s reactions to it in this story’s universe.

IV. Penumbra

9. Allegro – RK Sanchez Prompts: A name, a prison cell, music

Our cover artist also contributed a story here, and it is one on the darker themes. This time the mystery is more psychological and less fantastical but is just as interesting as all the other stories.  The author takes a different turn with the interpretation of the prompts and offers a sweet twist toward the end.

10. Thirty-Seven – Yelle Felicenny Prompts: A stolen ring, fear of spiders, a sinister stranger

This was one of my anticipated reads in this book because I only got to read the first part during the editing phase. There’s a bit of action, adventure and mystery here but what really got me was the dark turn of events at about the final quarter of the story.

11. Darker Than Night- AlaraChan IDA Prompts: a campfire, a scream, a small lie that gets bigger and bigger

This is uniquely written in epistolary style/journal entries, and is a dark but captivating read. I don’t read a lot of horror stories (everyone knows I’m a coward, lol) but I couldn’t put this down! I wanted to know what happens to the aswang and the military party that’s pursuing it!

5 of 5 Stars. Because I’m super proud of our work, and it is an honor to have worked on this with awesome writers and awesome people!

Blurb: The 11 stories in this anthology showcase the interpretations of the Kathbute writers to the theme of light and darkness in the genres of Romance, Fantasy, Science Fiction, and Mystery.

Buy Links:

Right now it’s only available in print here: bit.ly/BLADBatch2

I’ll update this when the Kindle version is released. J

For the meantime, put it in your GoodReads TBR shelf? https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36995364-beyond-light-and-darkness-a-kathbute-anthology

About the authors:

Nigel Libranages Nigel Libranages is a licensed chemist but dreams of becoming a marine biologist and take care of sea turtles. Born as a genuine sinker, the closest that he can do about his dream is own an aquarium. He has pitcher plants for pets, and he loves reading about myths and folklore. He writes before he forgets. Dedication: To those who are strong enough to hold on, and brave enough to let go.

Wattpad: @libranages

Raine Rillera Born and raised in Baguio City, Raine has a natural affinity to cold weather and “vintage” clothing (i.e. ukay). Her first paying job was as a puppeteer, when at 8 years old she staged her own puppet show at a birthday party. Since then, she has been telling stories through whatever medium was available.

Wattpad: @purple_porpoise

H. Bentham H. Bentham was born and raised in the Philippines but now resides 1,481 miles away from home. He battles homesickness with his various hobbies and (mostly) procrastinating on the internet. When he's done being bored, he writes stories; and when he's feeling particularly profound, poems. He adores turtles and bettas, enjoying the slow, quiet companionship they provide.

Wattpad: @bentchbites|Facebook: H Bentham Writes | Twitter: @bentchbites| Instagram: @bentchbites

Irina Jean Irina Jean is an elusive mushroom who indulges in anime, manga, video games, and most of all, art. She believes that writing is a unique form of art too, for she can express herself with words as her paint and her laptop as her canvas. When she's not writing, she's usually binge-gaming with friends. She dreams of being a webcomic artist and, if possible, a space witch. (Actually, any kind of witch would do.)

Wattpad: @Cygneux|Facebook: Irina Jean

Trix Luna Trix is the self-proclaimed duchess of the East of the Sun and West of the Moon, a place where there is always light when you need it. She’s still waiting for her Hogwarts acceptance letter even though she is already sorted to Ravenclaw. She’s not adept at any game ending in –ball (basketball, football, volleyball, etc.) other than Quidditch and Scrabble. She has a one-sided relationship with music and strongly opposes to divorce with it, believing that music will learn to love her singing voice…eventually.

Wattpad: @lunatrix|Facebook: Trix Luna | Twitter: @3xLuna

AlaraChan IDA AlaraChan IDA is a kabute who like books, cats, and hot chocolate. She takes long quiet walks, bike rides, and binge-watching a number of TV series to keep her muse alive and kicking. She dreams of becoming a pod racer, a dragon-tamer, and a space pirate. She recently took up watercolor painting and is now torn between writing and the arts.

Wattpad: @AlaraChan| Instagram: @alara_arts

Johanna Lee Johanna Lee is a Filipino writer based in Western Australia who writes poetry, and fictional stories in the genre of Chicklit, Romance, and Paranormal. A published Tagalog Romance author, Radish Fiction writer, and a Children’s-storyteller-wannabe. She finds joy in her collection of toys, books, stationery, and old-fashioned writing tools.

Twitter: @ilivewritenow| Instagram: @ilivewritenow

Yelle Felicenny Felicenny is an awkward melange of multiple extremes: an artist hemmed in a thriving tycoon’s body. While business is her field of study and training remote communities is her passion in public service, her heart belongs to art, poetry and travelling. Bus rides, sunsets and coffee shops are among her favorite things, for the untamed muse beckons the most - inked on bus tickets, receipts and table napkins.

Wattpad: @Felicenny| Facebook: Yelle Felicenny

R.K. Sanchez R.K. Sanchez is a teacher by profession, but is fond of learning a lot of things from her students. Her hands are often dirty as she is a right-handed artist and guitarist, often having guitar string marks on her left hand fingertips and paint stains all over her right hand. She is an introvert who has always been afraid of meeting and approaching new people, but never afraid of approaching stray cats and dogs.

Wattpad : @PrivateHeroine| | Facebook: Skribsinner | Instagram: @skribsinner

[spideyswebhead]

Writing 7 Prompts For 15 Minutes

I thought of publishing these here for my writing class.

We were given 10 prompts to write to for 15 minutes everyday, here’s what I wrote for that week.

Something I’ll remember when this quarantine is over

The nights I spend time with my friends and family, talking about literally anything on our minds and just going off.

I was never good at communicating and making sure to talk to people, especially through text message, and I definitely still need to get better with texting and checking in with my older siblings who are away from me at this time.

But being stuck in this house with my little sister and parents is making me get closer to my younger sister, both of us having to be there for each other as she deals with school and missing school, and helping my mom around the house as she still goes out there and help other families take care of their children.

I’ll remember the nights I was curled up in my chair, a Christmas blanket I got on Christmas - green with snow and snowmen - wrapped around me to keep warm in my cold room. Lou, my little sister, sitting on my bed as she fills pages of paper to put paper hearts for her friend's birthday.

We were both watching Grey’s Anatomy, occasionally we would make comments and jokes on the ridiculously things that’ll happen or they’ll say, but sitting quietly until 1 in the morning. Lou finally noticing the time, finishing up filling the jar she had been placing the hearts in, saying sorry for losing track of time and we both exchange our good nights before we both go to bed.

Even though I was exhausted the next morning from waking up so late, I still enjoyed that time of spending time with my little sister. We never spent much time before this quarantine just for the fact we are both in different stages in our lives, and we’re completely different people.

Lou needs to be around people all the time, go to events for her school, and be out of the house to explore the world and have fun creating memories.

While there’s me who enjoys spending time at home, writing my little projects or making art pieces, spending time on social media and talking with friends about fandom stuff, and enjoy cuddling with my dog.

I’ll remember the nights of talking with my friend Charna on PlayStation, watching her play some kind of game, be it “Dead By Daylight” or “The Last Of Us,” and just talking about literally anything. Sometimes we’ll just be talking on PlayStation and be playing separate games all together. Her playing “The Witcher” games while I played the Marvel Spider-Man game, occasionally making small talk or she’ll laugh at me being frustrated over Peter Parker getting stuck on walls or yelling “Fudge Cake!” As I make a mistake with a challenge. My way of cursing but not really.

-

What’s familiar to me about all of this

Is the many movies, shows, even books who touch on subjects like diseases, quarantine, and protest.

Except it feels like the author decided to take all these subjects and mash them together, take their readers for a whirlwind of emotions.

Looking back at subjects like quarantine and diseases is interesting, now knowing how people react when we’re under a type of threat we can’t see or even see coming. Usually people freak out and drive everywhere and hoard things that would make sense, like food and water, but now I always look at the toilet paper in those kinds of scenes and it seems they haven’t been touched that much makes it seem unrealistic. Seeing how today people went insane and hoarded it to the point of fighting old women for one even though their carts are already full, seeing the worst of humanity as they work their their anxieties that tell them how to survive.

The racism that comes out of it when a sickness is attached to a race (like the Spanish Flu).

I’ve been spending time in quarantine listening to audio books and I have been reading “The Diviner’s” series, the second book dealing with a disease and racism. “Lair of Dreams,” one of the characters - Ling - being Chinese and living down in Chinatown in New York, a sickness more popular down there called “The Sleeping Sickness” where you don’t wake up from your deep sleep until you die.

Quarantine was everywhere, burning bodies and giving out curfews, and how Ling was targeted with racism to the point of being beaten by a group of college boys until a friend of Ling’s came over and helped her.

It made me feel terrible for Asian people that these things still happen when a disease gets attached to a race, but also keep my attention on movies where their surviving some kind of things, see what they grab now that COVID-19 has happened and we’ve been in Quarantine these past 3 months and see how the world has reacted. Positively or negative.

-

I don’t like to think too much about

Anxiety, I try to ignore it as much as I can when it comes creeping up in the back of my mind, whispering worries and dark thoughts. Catching me at the worst of times, like doing the dishes or trying to take my dog out for a walk.

Am I washing this dish right? If I lose my grip will it break and scatter glass everywhere? Is that man staring at me, is he going to follow me? Are those people going to respect social distancing and leave me and my dog alone? Am I doing this right?

Trying to go through my day without anxiety whispering in my ear and slowly getting louder is hard nowadays, with everything feeling so much bigger now with the pandemic and the movements happening. The grief of what’s happening making anxieties voice louder in the back of my mind and anxiety is freaking out more about everything.

But I know ignoring anxiety makes it worse, making it come back bigger and harder to pass the next time it comes around again. But yet I find myself being lured by anxieties worries and believing their words, following them more in the dark and not able to stop myself until I catch myself being engulfed by their worries. Then I have to remind myself to breathe and try to talk anxiety down.

Sometimes anxiety is hard to calm down when I talk back, way too wind up in a knot it’s hard to unravel them enough that I can undo the knot and we can both go on our merry way. Instead we both just end up crying in the darkness by ourselves, letting each wail out and stressful tears roll down and join the others in a puddle on my sheets.

But sometimes on those days I have to remind myself, crying is as important as talking back. Cause maybe Anxiety needs somebody there just to let out all that stress so we can go back to reality and thrive another day. Let those wails out and tears be able to roll instead of holding them in and having to deal with another bigger one. Especially if we’re in public and not able to find a place so nobody can bother us.

Those nights where I’ll indulge anxiety when they creep up I try to be there for them, let us both hold each other tight before I’ll take the first controlled breath and mumble to them “We’re okay, we got this and can go through another day, together.”

-

I love thinking about

The dream I had a couple days ago.

I’m an artist and writer, I love doing both and learning on being an artist and growing those skills have really helped my writing grow, finding more words to describe something and being able to see my characters or scenes in my head, be able to really see them and write them in those details. Sometimes able to bring them to life on page through drawing by just my words.

Back in May it was my Dad’s birthday and I had made this popcorn holder where I painted various things on there, Darth Vader and Kermit the Frog singing “Rainbow Connection.” I was so proud how it came out and was really excited to show it to him and see his reaction.

The day I gave it to him, shaking with anxiety for his reaction, and he looked at it, turning it in his hands as he looked over it and then the words were told to me, piercing through me and felt like he was ripping apart my heart.

“I don’t know why you think you’re a writer.”

I just stood there completely bewildered, not knowing what to say or expecting that at all, just tears beginning to roll down before anger started to swirl inside me as he continued talking telling me how my pieces and name should be in a museum when I see mine in bookstores and libraries.

Since then I’ve been having a hard time writing and doing art, only able to hear his voice in my head on how I should be doing Art and ignore this whole side of who I am, to the point I’d just start crying and get frustrated, not able to finish what I was doing.

While this was going on I went to bed one night, feeling frustrated as my father’s words echoed in my head and not able to shut off, I eventually was able to get myself to some sleep and felt myself drift off to dream.

It started out with my dad sitting in that chair with me standing over him, yelling every word I wanted to at him for even thinking to utter those words to me on not being a writer. I took the popcorn holder for him and held it tightly in my grasp as I looked at him with fiery eyes and said the following with venom dripping in my voice. “This is mine, not yours. I can do what I want with it.”

Then I woke up.

The feeling of relief and a giant weight slipping off my chest was intense. I felt like I came to the surface and could breathe again, my Dad’s words not echoing in my head anymore, the anger I had been feeling the past couple weeks disappearing finally.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I couldn’t help but have the biggest smile on my face, the itch I felt to create a character or write a scene for my many projects returning.

-

This is the best time for me to work on my writing because

I finally have the time to sit down, write and develop my characters, finally get going with writing my first draft and create my stories. With Quarantine and staying inside I can give them my complete devoted attention.

Turn on that music to get myself in the mood for the scene, nice and indie pop for a nice fluffy scene or really intense hype up music if it’s a fight or intense scene I’ll need to write. Make myself some cozy to drink or eat and just make myself comfortable in my room as I just transfer myself to their world and move on with their story.

It sometimes feels like I’m Harold with his purple crayon, drawing various things as I go on my own little adventure, creating objects, little furry friends, or making little friends places to help with the adventure with such ease.

Sometimes I just stare at the dreaded white page as my mind feels like static, switching between topics. Sometimes it was about the project I was working on or it’ll be about a little dinosaur stuck in traffic as they tried to get home from a long day's work. Munching on whatever snack I had as I spiral.

Those days I will try to focus on filling the notebook I assigned to each of these stories with notes of various things, Characters facts, and develop more rules to magic systems or schools so they're somewhere for me to follow.

But those days I’m Harold with that purple crayon, feeling the itch to write them and just be drifted off in their story are days I love and they’ve been happening more since we’re in Quarantine I guess cause I feel like I can finally work on it while the world around me is paused in certain things. But those days I cherish and make sure to indulge myself in those days to fall in the story and just be wrapped in it as I let myself be swept away as I write.

-

The most comfortable thing for me right now is

Indulging in the things I used to love to do as I kid or would give me joy as we’re stuck in Quarantine, stuck in the house with my family after years of having it to myself, blast music and act like an idiot as I dance around while I do chores, try to teach my dog how to dance or snuggle him while we watch something.

But now stuck in the house with everyone I have to share everything and think of everyone, like if I’m bothering my Dad or if he’s on a phone call if I go downstairs since he uses the living room as his workplace right now, or my little sister if I’m making too much noise in my room since our walls are so thin and we can hear every little thing each of us say.

So one of the few joys I have is indulging in those things, especially with having Disney+ and Netflix returning “Avatar: The Last Airbender” and getting to binge that show while eating Oreo’s in my pajamas.

Sit in front of my mirror and explore ways I can do my makeup, adding a tiny star to my cheek or making the LGBTQ+ flags on them too.

Sometimes it’s hard to escape and ignore the world right now. Death, riots, and the choices this world makes that breaks my heart and makes me feel for people who are suffering. Trying to enjoy those things like a childhood show or watch gamers on YouTube be weird and play a game doesn’t work, I’ll find myself looking at Twitter or the news to see what is happening. Or try to figure out why Twitter is “Canceling” someone and seeing how much of a horrible person they were and how they hurt the people around them in some way.

Those days I try to turn off all electronics, plug my phone and set it across the room, as I curl up in my bed as I try to read the Percy Jackson series again or finish the Grisha series. Try not to tempt myself to watch or read anything on my phone that could cause me more pain and more in that dark place in my mind again.

Or if I can turn on YouTuber’s who just have fun with their friends while they play a game or do some weird thing, distract my mind and show how there are good people in this world. Watch video after video of their content and seeing how they make me laugh or bring light to a situation, even the good of a situation too sometimes.

I’ve been grateful for these comforts and being able to indulge myself in them at these times, show the goodness in this world and that feeling of nostalgia. Make me feel like a kid again.

-

When I think of Dream Kid, I think of

A small child, just a chaotic ball of energy, jumping off the walls and their diet consisting of all the candies they could eat.

Maybe it’s my younger self, when I had no filter or what was good storytelling or good art. Just wanting to know what kind of fun I could get from it or let their imagination run with the images of the story or what kind of story could be told with the art piece.

Dream Kid feels like the definition of ADHD/ADD, jumping from topic to topic with the snap of their fingers, whether that be a serious essay to one second wondering what kind of fluffy love story you could write involving two cactus. One second your writing peacefully, jamming out with some music or munching on some kind of snack, than one second you find yourself being transfixed with this rainbow contraption that switches shape before you realize it’s been 5 hours and you’ve stopped writing and lost your train of thought completely and forgot where the story was going completely. Same goes with writing with Dream Kid as you jump around and run around with them as you jot down the ideas, ignoring Logic as they scream at you how wrong this is with a sentence or you used “then” or “than” wrong and need to fix it immediately.

Compared to Logic who wants it perfect now, Dream Kid is the perfect person to tap into when you're just trying to have fun and get that idea now before it moves on into the void and you lose it forever. Until that idea returns at the worst of times, like late at night when you're trying to sleep, or stuck in traffic and not able to jot down the idea on time as the cars start to finally find a steady speed and move accordingly.

There’s a saying in the art community that makes me think of Dream Kid, the perfect little sentence that’ll explain Dream Kid exactly: “You must make it ugly first before you can make it beautiful.”

Dream Kid can help you put all those ideas now, making it as ugly as you can just so you know every point you need to make before they disappear into the void again, then bring in Logic to come fix all the ugly and make it beautiful so you and the reader can know what you're trying to say.

[jenniferfaye34]

#Giveaway + Excerpt ~ Lady Rosamund and the Poison Pen (A Rosie and McBrae Mystery) by Barbara Monajem... #readers #CozyMystery #books

Lady Rosamund and the Poison Pen: A Rosie and McBrae Mystery by Barbara Monajem

About Lady Rosamund and the Poison Pen: A Rosie and McBrae Mystery

Lady Rosamund and the Poison Pen: A Rosie and McBrae Mystery Historical Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Publisher: Level Best Books (April 21, 2020) Paperback: 244 pages ISBN-10: 1947915274 ISBN-13: 978-1947915275 Digital ASIN: B087BBLLNL

Lady Rosamund Phipps, daughter of an earl, has a secret. Well, more than one. Such as the fact that she’s so uninterested in sex that she married a man who promised to leave her alone and stick to his mistress. And a secret only her family knows—the mortifying compulsion to check things over and over. Society condemns people like her to asylums. But when she discovers the dead body of a footman on the stairs, everything she’s tried to hide for years may be spilled out in broad daylight.

First the anonymous caricaturist, Corvus, implicates Lady Rosamund in a series of scandalous prints. Worse, though, are the poison pen letters that indicate someone knows the shameful secret of her compulsions. She cannot do detective work on her own without seeming odder than she already is, but she has no choice if she is to unmask both Corvus and the poison pen.

EXCERPT: Nothing gets in the way of an enjoyable meal quite as much as a tantrum. I had just finished a sustaining breakfast of ham, eggs, and plum cake when the front door slammed, its echo reaching all the way to the breakfast parlor. My husband stormed into the room. “Who the bloody hell is responsible for this?” He snapped a rolled-up sheet of paper against his palm. His beak of a nose twitched in fury. “Albert! What a surprise,” I said brightly, recognizing the warning signs of a fit of temper. “I thought you were at a meeting.” “At which some kind soul presented me with this…” He snarled, words evidently failing him, and threw the offending paper down. “The broadsheets will make a laughingstock of me.” The lugubrious countenance of our butler appeared in the doorway; no doubt assorted servants hovered right behind. I shot him a look suggesting that they all make themselves scarce, but Albert caught my glance and turned, roaring, “Go!” He kicked the door shut. Albert in a tantrum is such a bore. However, in other ways he is a satisfactory spouse. I unrolled the paper and spread it on the table, setting various cups and bowls on the corners to hold them down. It was a caricature which featured not so much Albert, but me! I stood at the top of a staircase, a scowl on my face, in the act of pushing a tall, handsome footman down the stairs. “What in heaven’s name?” “By God, I’ll make whoever did this pay!” Albert raged. The caption read: The Desperate Wife Scorned. The doomed footman was saying, “Sorry, mum, just can’t bring meself to do it.” His words faded to a scream, while I said (to quote the caricaturist—let me make myself clear), “I can’t even pay the help to t__ me!” I burst into laughter. I couldn’t help it. The entire notion was absurd, although the portrait of Albert, off to the side with his monstrous nose in Cynthia’s magnificent bosom, was delightfully accurate. Apart from the scowl and the lewd implication, the portrait of me was quite flattering. No one had chosen to mock me before. I suppose, being so ordinary, that I’m difficult to caricature. Even more interesting, this portrait was by no ordinary caricaturist, but by the artist who had taken London by storm a year or so before. He signed himself Corvus (which is Latin for ‘crow’) and so far no one had unmasked him. Whoever he was, he knew a great deal of what went on in society, often behind closed doors, and commented upon it most wittily. It was no small honor—and rather fun—to be mocked by this mysterious man, or so I saw it. “It’s not funny!” yelled Albert. “How dare this—this Corvus person make a fool of me?” I controlled my whoops, since Albert was practically foaming at the mouth. I didn’t see why. “It’s me he’s making fun of, not you.” Or at least not much. “If I don’t mind, why should you?” “You don’t mind being accused of murder?” “When you look at it like that, I suppose it might be annoying, but it’s utterly absurd. Cynthia and I are the best of friends. I encouraged her to continue to be your mistress. I’m not the least bit desperate or scorned, as everyone knows—everyone who matters, that is. As for those who don’t matter, who cares what they believe?”

About Barbara Monjem

Winner of the Holt Medallion, Maggie, Daphne du Maurier, Reviewer’s Choice and Epic awards, Barbara Monajem wrote her first story at eight years old about apple tree gnomes. She published a middle-grade fantasy when her children were young. When they grew up, she turned to writing for adults, first the Bayou Gavotte paranormal mysteries and then Regency romances with intrepid heroines and long-suffering heroes (or vice versa). Some of her Regencies have magic in them and some don’t (except for the magic of love, which is in every story she writes).

Barbara loves to cook, especially soups, and is an avid reader. There are only two items on her bucket list: to make asparagus pudding and succeed at knitting socks. She’ll manage the first but doubts she’ll ever accomplish the second. This is not a bid for immortality but merely the dismal truth. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia with an ever-shifting population of relatives, friends, and feline strays.

Author Links

Website: http://www.BarbaraMonajem.com Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/barbara.monajem Twitter: http://twitter.com/BarbaraMonajem Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1chhzpf ** Sign up for her occasional newsletter here: http://www.barbaramonajem.com/contact.html

Purchase Link - Amazon

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[thecosydragon]

My latest blog post from the cosy dragon: Interview with Christopher Slayton

An Interview with Christopher Slayton, author of Chaos Company

Everyone has a ‘first novel’, even if many of them are a rough draft relegated to the bottom and back of your desk drawer (or your external harddrive!). Have you been able to reshape yours, or have you abandoned it for good?

I’m glad you asked! I’ve had a rough draft of my first attempt at book writing still saved in my files and I’m currently finishing it in hopes to have it published this fall! I wrote the first few pages back in 2009 while in college but didn’t feel confident to write a full manuscript for it. The story follows a young man who is forced to become a masked vigilante after his brother, a gun-wielding batman-like hero suddenly dies. I think with the complexity I wanted to put into this story was more than I was able to handle then. I believe that after writing Chaos Company I have what it takes to deliver a complex story within my first manuscript.

Some authors are able to pump out a novel a year and still be filled with inspiration. Is this the case for you, or do you like to let an idea percolate for a couple of years in order to get a beautiful novel?

Well, the truth is I know I have a number of stories from start to finish I can’t wait to get to! I even have a dozen of them outlined! I can’t speak for other writers, but inspiration isn’t a problem for me. I try to find it everywhere, from current events and life experience to traveling. The biggest issue for me is time. Until a year ago I didn’t have the time to write, mostly because after working a 40hr/week job, exercising and being social I didn’t have enough to put my ideas down. But now since I work for myself I have the time needed to put my ideas into writing.

I have heard of writers that could only write in one place – then that cafe closed down and they could no longer write! Where do you find yourself writing most often, and on what medium (pen/paper or digital)?

I often write on my laptop either in my bedroom or the living room. That being said I have written in other places such as the common area of my former college, and even at my old job while I was on break. Heck, I’ve even written when I was on vacation in Spain lol. To me there isn’t really a special place for me to write. There is however a mindset I like to put myself in through music in order to write. For example, if I’m writing a lot of dialogue I like to be listening to alternative rock or instrumental music, and when it comes to me writing action scenes I find it easier to do so while listening to hardrock or EDM.

Before going on to hire an editor, most authors use beta-readers. How do you recruit your beta-readers, and choose an editor? Are you lucky enough to have loving family members who can read and comment on your novel?

Unfortunately I can’t trust my family to read for me because most of them see critiquing me as them being rude. When it comes to beta-readers I have only one. Her name is Tessa. She’s been a friend of mine for seven years now and I can trust her to not only tell me exactly how she feels about my work, but also provide ways on how I can improve on a story. I trusted her taste in storytelling and her suggestions when I had her take a look at Chaos Company, and I know I can trust her going forward.

Now when it comes to hiring an editor I am very picky on whom I choose. I got lucky with Chaos Company. Before being let go with publisher Desert Breeze Publishing they had already edited my book for me and had spent over five months and two editors on the project. But now that I am on my own again I’ve learned to ask various questions before hiring an editor, and have them edit a chapter of my work before hiring them. That way I know what I’ll be getting from when they are working on an entire manuscript.

I walk past bookshops and am drawn in by the smell of the books – ebooks simply don’t have the same attraction for me. Does this happen to you, and do you have a favourite bookshop? Or perhaps you are an e-reader fan… where do you source most of your material from?

I am an e-reader. My mom got me a device years ago and I’ve been using it ever since. That being said, I am a sucker for having a physical book in my hand from time to time. I usually get my physical copies from amazon and the same for ebooks.

I used to find myself buying books in only one genre (fantasy) before I started writing this blog. What is your favourite genre, and do you have a favourite author who sticks in your mind from:

1. childhood? – Dr. Suess. His work was and still is a great stepping stone for young readers. I could do without the films made from his work though lol

2. adolescence? – R.L. and the Goosebump books. Especially the choose your own adventure stories. I remember when I choose the wrong page and quickly flipping back to the previous page to try again! I also remember reading the Halo series based on the video game because I wasn’t allowed to play those games as a kid so I thought reading the stories was the next best thing.

3. young adult? – The Alex Rider novels by Anthony Horowitz. That series really got me through high school and inspired me to try my hand at writing, which I would later fall in love with. I read somewhere that Mr. Horowitz wrote a James Bond novel and I can’t wait to get to it!

4. adult? – As a fan of The Walking Dead show and Graphic novels I am currently making my way through the tie-in novels for the comics. The novels are written by series creator Robert Kirkman and Jay Bonansinga who both do an excellent job portraying a dreadful and cruel world in these stories. I’m almost done the second book now and am grateful to have 6 more books in the series to go!

All that being said, I am a sucker for a good action novel. If it has anything to do with spies, bad-ass one man armies, super heroes or epic individuals, I am all over it!

Social media is a big thing, much to my disgust! I never have enough time myself to do what I feel is a good job. How do you manage it?

If I’m being honest I don’t spend too much time on social media. I have a facebook and twitter account so that’s about it. And my facebook is used mostly for personal reasons, which only leaves me with twitter to promote myself and my work. I may put 2hrs towards social media a month because I just don’t have the time for it right now. With my schedule the way it is and how many projects I want to release by next year I have to put social media on the back burner. When it comes to twitter I at times feel like I’m just yelling into a void hoping people catch wind of my words. That is why I tend to stay away until I’m ready to promote more material and announce when I will be making appearances. Hopefully when writing is my official full-time job I’ll be able to be more active with social media. But until then I refuse to be a part of something I believe has gotten out of hand when it comes to making it as an artist. A true artist’s work should be based on their artistic merit and vision and not how many followers they have.

Since you don’t use social media to promote your work, what do you do? What do you do instead?

– I work as a driver for Uber/Lyft and do odd jobs through the website Taskrabbit. Both jobs require me to meet so many new people on a daily basis and to me that’s a potential new reader/fan I can introduce my work to. It may seem like a slow way to draw in a fanbase, but I get to have a one on one conversation with potential readers and fans and I believe that is worth more in the long run. But, with this method only time will tell if it works.

Answering interview questions can often take a long time! Tell me, are you ever tempted to recycle your answers from one to the next?

No. Well, at least not yet lol. When people are kind enough to interview me the least I can do is be as authentic as possible when answering them. Now if someone asks me a question I’ve had before then yes there will be a few points I may repeat from a previous interview. But I do not just copy and paste an answer and I will do my best to never do that in an interview. It’s not fair to the people interviewing, or the people who have read previous interviews I’ve been in.

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