#writeallthethings

[wickedlittlecritta]

Prompt #3:  Garden, Teeth, Bright

"Is there a difference between a maze and a labyrinth?"

"Mazes have a separate entrance and exit. Labyrinths don't," I said. The old landscape garden matched the old manor house it belonged to for levels if shabbiness and neglect, and the fact that the manor was settled in the midst of wild moors made it look all the smaller and more haunted.

And it was even more haunted than it looked.

"Is this a maze or a labyrinth?" Julie asked, peering into the passage between two massive rosemary hedges.

"Maze, probably. They're more common in England, I think." Julie raised an eyebrow at me.

"You say that like they just grow of their own accord."

"Are we sure they don't?"

Julie frowned at me. "I'm going in."

"Have fun."

"Coward."

"Oh absolutely," I agreed. She stuck her tongue out at me and went into the maze.

And I waited outside. Alone. While rain threatened the moorlands around me. "Julie?" I called after a moment. I peered into the maze. Nothing but shadows and silence and the overwhelming perfume of rosemary.

"Shit," I said, and followed after her. I'd never hear the end of it if I lost her in a hedge maze. I was still hearing about losing her at a horse race, and that was ten years ago.

It took me a while to realize anything was off about the maze. I'm half in the Gray at the best of times, right? And it came on slow. Just a whisper, a feeling, a color that wasn't right. There was a breeze that didn't rustle the hedges so cold it bit into my bones. The sky overhead slipped from slate clouds to an inky black night studded with stars.

"This is...weird," the Grim murmured, following me with a solidness he rarely had out of the Gray.

"What the fuck happened here to make a place like this?" 

He shrugged.

"Julie!" I called, and my voice felt thin and wispy, like a cloud torn apart by the wind. I swallowed and called again, imagining my voice carrying through the rosemary. "Julie! Julianna Knockwood!"

"Devin?" she called back.

I found her frowning at the ground, hands on her hips. She shimmered, sometimes a girl in black overalls and big boots, sometimes shrouded in a mantle of crow feathers and a crow skull mask. I wondered if I did the same when she looked at me, and what form Nettle took. Rabbit skull? Betta fins? Jay feathers?

"Thought you were a coward," she said.

"I am," I said. "What the entire fuck is this place?"

"I don't know."

"It was a rhetorical question."

"You know I'm bad at those."

"I know, you goddamned encyclopedia."  I joined her and looked down too. 

"What are we—ah. I see."

The earth was full of bones.

Some were human. Some were only mostly human. The teeth gave them away.

"We should go," I said.

"They aren't doing anything."

"Yet."

I didn't have to tell her that the dead didn't always stay quiet. She knew as well as I did.

Julie looked at me, dark eyes bright behind her skull mask. "What's the point of being a shadowcatcher if you run away from a pile of bones?"

"I'm not worried about the bones. I'm worried about the things they turned into."

Cowards live longer, and I'm still working on my self-preservation skills.

"Devin," the Grim whispered anxiously.

There were so many goddamned teeth.

A skull with an elongated mouth like a wolf near my foot rattled.

“Of course,” I said.

Julie drew her sword.

“Oh, come on.”

It wasn’t the bones that came for us, but the things they turned into. I hate being right sometimes. It was a massive thing, a mess of darkness and gaping mouths and glinting teeth.

“You had to go in the fucking maze,” I said, and pulled my bow from my back.

“Shut up,” Julie said, and dove right in.

“Doesn’t she know it’s a bad idea to get in front of you?” the Grim asked.

“Yes. Does she care? No.” I aimed over her and shot, catching one of the wide mouths. The thing whined and shook, and lashed out at us with its many many mouths.

“Get it off the bones!” I called. I couldn’t tell if Julie heard me or not, but she pressed into the creature anyway, and I kept firing arrows that vanished into the murk of the thing. Julie drove her sword up and into it, where its heart could have been, and it screamed, stumbling back.

My big old officer’s coat had many, many pockets, and I reached into one and pulled out a bottle of salt. It smelled like the lagoon when I unstoppered it, like the kitchen had when Armand had made it for me, wide and dark and deep. I spread it over the bones and then replaced it and reached into another pocket.

How do you kill a spirit? With salt and fire and spirits of your own.

The thing turned several mouths on me to hiss and squeal when I dumped vodka over the bones over the salt.

“I know,” I said, lighting a match. “I’m a big ol’ bastard.”

Its voice was very, very human when it screamed, going up in flames. Julie stood next to me by the bones as they turned into a pyre.

“Maybe we should get out of the maze before we burn it down?” Julie suggested after a moment of silence.

“This is why you’re the smart one,” I said.

[allthekngshorses]

Time to attempt to not bawl like a baby. Character deaths are the worst. . I take no joy in killing characters, nor in writing how their deaths impact the friends left behind. I tend to weep a lot. Do you tend to cry whenever you have to write a character’s death scene? . . #writing #writingcommunity #writewritewrite #writingcommunityofig #thewritelife #thewritestuff #writer #writersofinstagram #writersofig #fantasywriter #fantasywritersofinstagram #writeallthethings #amateurwriter #deathscenes #writingwhilecrying #havethetissuesready #book3 #thejoysofwriting #fantasywriting #fantasywriters https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx0_ZbfJEvv/?igshid=1v33vrr9hu9u5

[dracosfavoritepuff]

Now this is a father daughter to be proud of!! #lordoftherings #flyyoufools #katlongromance #katlongauthor #bookstagram #newromanceauthor #indieallday #igwriter #indieslayallday #writeallthethings #ishouldbesleeping https://www.instagram.com/p/CStQT9Xr7-k/?utm_medium=tumblr

[josiejette]

Such a wonderful and inspiring evening listening to @neilhimself speak as part of the @melbwritersfest - not to mention sitting under that wonderful ceiling at the Capitol Theatre! #magical #neilgaiman #inspiration #beinspired #author #books #writing #amwriting #imagination #readallthebooks #writeallthethings (at Capitol Theatre, Melbourne) https://www.instagram.com/p/B8_PuUKBxX3/?igshid=ei8qr5bomcz5

[spunkymermaidv]

Enjoying some amazing Florida weather at the park across the street from the library in Largo today! A lil journaling, a lot of reading and of course basking in some Sunshine! I know, I should be at the beach but I had a to make a library trip cuz I'm also a bit of a bookworm!#mermaidv #mermaidinapark #floridalife #thankgivingweekend #iheartreading #journaling #outsidetime #innerstrength #writeallthethings #mermaiddowntime #loudsquirrels #conqueringoneself #readmore #parktime #largo #florida #sunnydays #detour #bookwork #mermaidsreadtoo #readmorethings (at Central Park Performing Arts Center) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5gN8L7hp_O/?igshid=p6xx5zmge98l

[massillonlibrary208]

Writing Prompt of the Day!

When I first saw her I didn’t really see her, just the pile of books she was carrying. You could really only see her slightly stubby legs poking out below the stack, I wondered how she could even tell where she was going. I got up from the table and walked over to her hesitantly, this wasn’t like me at all, I don’t walk up to random people, especially when I couldn’t even see their face. “Can I help you carry those?” I was near enough to her now that I could see the top of her head, her eyes just peeking over the top of her towering stack. “Um, sure, I mean, if you want to, thanks.” Her sentence came out in pieces, like she was second guessing herself. I took a little more than the top half, I could see now that she was wearing a gray sweatshirt and had brown wavy hair that hung over her shoulders. Her face was round and she looked cautious. “I’m just going over to that corner.” she motioned with the remaining books in her arms, I followed her as she wove through the people and tables to the back corner of the coffee shop, glancing at the top book on my stack, ‘If You Feel Too Much’, I looked at the girl who had set her books down at the table and was reaching for the stack I was holding. “Thank you so much, that was really nice of you. It’s kinda crowded in here, I was afraid someone was gonna run into me and make me drop them all!” She gave a soft smile and gestured to the room that had a rather loud din as she said this. I nodded and pushed my hands into my pockets glancing at her face, “Yeah, of course, just thought that this was an awful lot of books for someone your size to be carrying.”

[ashelam]

so many things that I need to post... ⏳📬 • March 22 2017 • #writeallthethings #epistolary #philately #philategram #snailmail #hummingbird #handlettering #practicemakesperfect #prismacolor #brushlettering #postcardlove #postcrossing #stamps #LEP #write_on #LAshLetters #latergram #cleaningouttheroll (at Glen Allen, Virginia)

[queenshebaphoto]

When you get a present during your workout! Thank you @tactivision for making my day! #ishouldhavebeenbatman #newnotebook #writeallthethings #imsoexcitedfortousethis

[rok-voodooqueen]

NaNoWriMo Day 11, dispatch from the front: My hands hurt. My lower back hates me. Doggie snuggles and coffee help. 15165 words, and yet I'm behind. Send cookies. #nanowrimo #amwriting #morecoffeeplease #lovemydog #writersofinstagram #writeallthethings http://ift.tt/2iNJ2UZ

[wickedlittlecritta]

Prompt #1: Wild animal, Thief, Winter

Kostya’s ears hurt. 

It was only November, and winter hadn’t even really started, but it was snowing in Saint Petersburg, and Kostya’s bare ears and bare nose ached in the cold.

Maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe he ought to go back to the orphanage. 

He swallowed and rubbed his hands through his thin mittens.

He didn’t want to go back.

In the interest of thawing out his face Kostya slipped into a grocery store just after a big family, hoping no one would ask him where his parents were. 

The good thing about going back to the orphanage was being warm. The bad thing was everything else.

Kostya rubbed his hands in his mittens and wandered through the store, doing his best to look unlost and purposeful. And he was purposeful, carefully slipping fruits and cheeses and anything else that looked tasty into his sleeves and pockets for later.

The bakery was full of cakes.

Kostya slowed to peer at them. 

It was November, and it was almost his birthday. Didn't he deserve a cake?

He glanced around, feeling a little guilty—but that was silly, wasn't it? what was the difference between a cake and the apples already stuffed in his pockets?—and lifted one of the smaller cakes down from the display table.

He didn't run until someone called, "Boy!" in a voice like thunder. Then he ran like hell into the snow. 

No one followed him, or at least, no one followed him far, and Kostya tucked himself behind a dumpster in an alley. The cold kept it from stinking. He balanced the cake on his knees, stuffed his mittens in his pockets, and pried the plastic cover off before realizing he didn't have anything to eat it with but his hands. He sighed, shrugged, and tore a handful of cake off.

It was Prague cake, with three layers of chocolate cake and cream, so rich that his teeth hurt, but he kept eating until he didn't think he could eat another crumb.  

"Hrroo?"

Kostya looked up. The pigeons sat on the roof line, feathers fluffed up against the cold.

"Hello," he said. "Are you hungry too?" He took another handful of cake and crumbled it between his fingers. It scattered against the snow when it landed, and the pigeons flew down to devour it.

He couldn’t remember if chocolate was bad for birds like it was for dogs, but he supposed it wasn’t very good for him either, was it?

“It’s my birthday,” he told the pigeons, tossing more cake at them. “I’m nine.” He wasn’t sure what day it was, but he knew his birthday was soon, so he didn’t think it counted as a lie if he got the day wrong.

One of the birds landed on the tray still balanced on his knees. It was a scruffy thing, missing a toe, and it eyed him before eating the crumbs. Kostya stayed very still to watch it.

“Thank you for coming to my party,” he told the bird very softly.

[allthekngshorses]

I can be so stinking snarky sometimes. . . Book 3 rewrite is gonna be soooo interesting because everything I knew was wrong. . . . #write #writing #writerslife #writers #writersofinstagram #writingabook #writingabookishard #amwriting #writer #writers #writersofig #writersofinstagram #writerscommunity #writerscorner #writersfollowwriters #author #authorsofinstagram #authorlife #authors #authorssupportingauthors #writeallthewords #writeallthethings #bookstagram #books #book https://www.instagram.com/smarkloff/p/BwPtRnIlh_J/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1xa0bp9jtc7nl

[dracosfavoritepuff]

Yep... Sometimes size matters!! 🤣🤷💜 #heartsize #katlongauthor #bookstagrammer #authorslife #writeallthethings https://www.instagram.com/p/CSrYMdnrAMc/?utm_medium=tumblr

[adventuresindissertationland]

When I make a wonderful plan at the beginning of the semester to finish a chapter with plenty of time to write a conference paper on a new topic by early April

When the chapter takes MUCH longer than expected and I have to write the paper much faster than anticipated

[drtanyasamuel]

#mycurrentsituation It’s time to zone out and do some journaling #writeallthethings #plannergirl #plannernerd #plannercommunity (at Barnes & Noble Northwest Vegas)

[ashelam]

Brush lettering practice whenever I can... grocery list! • May 16 2017 • #handwritten #brushlettering #writeallthethings #tombow #prismacolor #bujo #lists #theletteringtribe #orange #handlettering #practicemakesperfect #LAshLetters #mojitoplans #foodgoals (at Glen Allen, Virginia)

[wickedlittlecritta]

Prompt #2: Jewel, Water, Contrast

The house always smelled a little like the ocean, seeing how the first floor was mostly underwater, but when Marina stepped in the back door Magpie House smelled overwhelmingly of sea salt. She found the culprit in the kitchen, heating sea water in her old glass pans over the antique stove and fogging up the windows. It was a chilly February day, and despite the smell the kitchen seemed very warm and cozy, with the ovens going and the old lights glinting off the copper pans, and the soft patter of rain on glass, and on the canal below.

“What are you doing, zuccherino?” she asked. Her son looked up from the stove guiltily, as if he’d been caught doing illicit alchemy.

“Making salt,” he said.

“Any particular reason?” she asked, going over to join him.

“It seemed like fun.”

“You have strange ideas of fun,” Marina said. She squeezed him around the shoulders, and Armand looked mournfully at her.

Sometimes she wondered how she’d made such a soft, sweet thing. Cris she could understand. Her daughter was a harsher, sharper version of herself, like a young wine in need of aging. Armand was a mug of coco. Maybe it had something to do with their fathers. “It’s certainly made the kitchen cozy.”

“I thought so,” Armand said, sounding satisfied. Marina squeezed him again. He was as tall as she was, and getting round in a way that hinted at a second growth spurt. “What are you going to do with your salt?” 

“Cook with it, I expect,” he said evenly. Marina laughed and kissed his cheek.

“Ask a stupid question,” she said. “Well, while you’re busy, let me make you some hot chocolate.”

“Okay,” he said, and went back to stirring a pot of sea water.

The little radio on the counter was from the forties or fifties, and it played Clair de Lune softly while Marina took one of the copper bottomed pots down and poured milk from into it. The kitchen hadn’t changed much since she was a little girl.  Longer, she imagined. And why should it have? Even when the rest of Magpie House started falling into disrepair and neglect, the kitchen was its heart. Even so, it seemed brighter when Armand was in it.

She wondered how long the kitchen would smell like the sea, and hoped it would last a while.