#writing non fiction

[novlr]

I've recently moved from the city to the country with my family and want to write a memoirs based on my experiences with nature. Do you have any tips on nature writing? I don't want to write fiction, but i'm not sure how to make non-fiction interesting.

We've actually got a great series of resources in the Reading Room on all types of non-fiction writing, created for us by a commissioning editor from Penguin Random House! Here's the one specifically on nature writing:

The entire series is well worth reading, and she also created a completely free non-fiction book proposal course for us too, which will teach you what a book proposal needs to include for you to best pitch to publishers.

[jolenes-book-journey]

Dr. Pamela Grey - St Johns County Writer

Dr. Pamela Grey was kind enough to join me on my Jolene’s Book and Writers Talk Podcast as a guest. She is a St. Johns County Florida Non-Fiction writer. We spoke about her first published book called “Power Your Decisions Self Study Workshop” which she created as a guide to the 1968 Book by Dr. Raymond Charles Barker called “The Power of Decision – A personal journey to discover how you train…

[cynosfunnyjokes]

A Heart’s A Heavy Burden

Characters: Howl x Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning: None that I can think of.

Summary: Loving Howl Pendragon isn’t easy.

Word Count: 827

Summary: Not really edited or anything- I’m sure there’s mistakes all throughout but I wrote this while watching Howl’s Moving Castle for the umpteenth time lmao. No pronouns are used for the reader!

Apprenticing under Howl was such a joy- never was there a dull moment. He would brighten up the room with his smile- his laugh. It was so contagious that you and Markl couldn't fight the grins growing on your own faces.

Meeting Howl on its own was nothing but luck- you had found yourself in some trouble with the guards, their stupid remarks making you nothing but uncomfortable- and then poof, a stranger was there, whisking you away.

How strange that the random man was Howl himself- a well-known sorcerer and someone you looked up to. Of course, you nervously asked him to take you on as an apprentice, eagerly telling him about your interest in magic since you were young.

He simply laughed, smiling that bright smile everyone adored, and simply agreed to take you in.

All went well- he was a great teacher after all. Even with him being gone at random times throughout the day, you had Markl to spend time with to practice. And then there was Calcifer and his witty remarks. They never bothered you, simply jokingly throwing one back at him.

It didn't take long for feelings to grow for the mysterious sorcerer- everyone noticed it but Howl himself. Not that it was surprising.

Even Calfcifer noticed but never said about it, unlike Markl who made random remarks during the day in whispers, causing you to hide your face while the blush crept up to your ears.

Although one day, while cleaning up the firepit during the time Howl was away, Calficer clicked his tongue at you.

Raising an eyebrow, you turned your head to the burning ball of fire in front of you, silently asking him “what?”

“You really do love him, don't you?”

It was so sudden, it felt so random-

But that’s all he said. That's all he needed to say.

You were undeniably in love with Howl, and you could only hope the feelings were reciprocated. Maybe, just maybe they were.

All hope went down the drain the moment Sophie showed up. Suddenly, Howl wasn't around as much anymore- and when he was, he was with her.

It was always her. Sophie this, Sophie that.

Slowly, the feelings of sadness crept in, their sharp nails jabbing into your heart.

Is this what heartbreak felt like?

Eventually, you stopped leaving your room- opting to just study the days away instead of focusing on the pain residing in your heart.

Markl would stop by to check on you, dropping off food that would stay nothing but untouched, slowly growing cold as time passed.

Even though you appreciated Markl’s company, it didn't help that he often talked about Sophie- how cool she was. All this, all that.

It was all too much.

Howl never stopped in to talk- to check on you. Not that you expected him to. He was his own person who had his own things to do. He was a busy man after all. But still, you found yourself clinging to that hope- just to have it crushed.

Eventually, even Markl stopped popping in, choosing to set the food down on your table before retreating to Sophie.

It was fine. It was all fine. That's what you always told yourself.

But yet... Why did it hurt so much?

Pressing shaking hands against your tear-filled eyes, the only sound that could be heard was small sobs that you were trying oh so hard to muffle.

It was so unfair.

You wanted him to look at you like he does her. To experience the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, to feel his loving gaze.

But that would never happen.

There wasn't much point in staying there anymore- you refused to leave your room unless it was to quickly run to the bathroom, refused to even leave your bed unless it was necessary.

What was the point of staying there? Where the reminder of your unrequited love stayed?

It was raining outside, the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the window helping drown out any sounds that escaped you.

Bag in hand that was full of a few necessities and a small photo of you and Howl, you stopped to stare at Howl’s bedroom door for a minute.

Loving him hurt- but it wasn't something you regretted. If only things were different, maybe it would've been better. Such a false sense of hope.

Howl seemed happier with Sophie- even Calcifer and Markl were happier.

You weren't needed anymore.

So without a single thought, you turned on your heels and climbed out the hallway window to avoid Calcifer knowing.

Landing on the muddy ground below with a let thump, you looked at what used to be your home one last time, thoughts racing a thousand miles per second. You didn't want to stay and be reminded of how much happier everyone was without you.

So you left, the rain being your only company as you sobbed into the night.

[galina]

Uh oh, they’re reading/writing/thinking about love again

[yandereheathen]

The Cost of Protection [Yandere elf guard x Fem Reader] 18+ Chapter #1

Based in Barovia (Curse of strahd, some dusk elf lore spoilers) Warnings: Non-con touching/kissing/ some violence, obsessive treatment, death threats necromancy?

Living in Barovia was hard enough; trying to do business in it is quite the other. Besides all of the ghosts, Undead creatures, and living under the tyranny of a centuries-old whiny vampire, everything was complicated. Still, you had your own set of struggles. Your Tavern was not necessarily famous, but it did good business. You had your regulars, Travelers who would sometimes come and try their hand at defeating the vampire lord Who you never saw again unless it was their Undead body, and some other travelers who were peddling wears pies, toys, weapons, anything that you could imagine then there was the common folk and Crafts People. Everyone was welcome in your Tavern. You offered a warm smile, a glass to drink, and whatever you could scratch up to cook that day; however, you had one unwelcome guest who changed your path forever.

 Maverick

 It wasn't uncommon that Dusk elves would come into your Tavern. They followed Vistani and often went through the cities of Barovia on a standard route, and more and more did you feel like you saw them integrating with the town, so seeing one dressed in a guard uniform was unusual but not unheard of. His long dark hair was braided up in leather twine, and his eyes were the standard golden color, but you did see a tiredness in them. He was only an inch or two shorter than you. After all, you were pretty tall for a human, but he was well-built and had hands that showed both work and strength. His smile and his voice were the things that stood out most. It had a ruggedness that you admitted caused a little heat in your cheeks the first time you spoke with him.

  Speaking of the first time, You remember clearly the first time he stopped by your Tavern. You treated him sweetly, flashed a smile, and put your arms down in front of him, looking up at him with innocent eyes leaning at the bar.

"Anything to drink, sir?"

You Tend to be flirty with everybody. It was basically in a bar person's job description. Still, you noticed that some visitors would give you an extra coin or became regulars if you gave them special treatment. However, his smile made you a little uneasy, almost excited. It was a smile that said he appreciated your treatment and wanted more, how much more you didn't quite understand that time. Did you know that that smile would lead to many other things? He just put your hand just under your cheek and, tilted his head, and said

"I think a beer or mash number 8 would be okay before I have to eat. I could live off your voice and those beautiful eyes forever.

 You just left thinking he was making some flirtatious joke, pulled his draft, and handed it to him. From what you've gathered, asking him simple questions about his life gave you non-committal answers or general mods. He was pretty new around town and it was just getting to know all of the local businesses, and he heard that you could get a good cup for cheap and that a cute shop girl was serving the drinks. You laughed again at his flirtatious joke, but you noticed that his eyes never left you from your lips to your shoulders, down your neck to your chest. Even to your backside, when you were turned around and helping other customers with their drinks, you didn't think much of it then. Still, it definitely left you a little unnerved.

 After that, he became one of your regulars. You knew his drink by heart, you knew what he liked to sit in at what time, and you learned exactly how to speak with him. Not too much, but he did enjoy hearing a little bit about your day. He wasn't much of a talker, but you don't mind, or you did not have the time. 

One night, a set of particularly Rowdy young men was causing ruckuses in your Tavern. You tried to compile them with free drinks and sweet words, but you needed more. It all came to a head when one of them tried to get handsy on you, and he was greeted with a sword to his neck. The man went still as Maverick whispered in his ear, pressing the dagger a little bit closer enough to cut into his neck. He looked at the other two men and said in his low, deep voice. 

"Oh, did you both want to be next? As much as I would joy putting all your heads on a platter and making it for the next stew, this one would not appreciate making a mess of her Tavern. How about all of us be nice to you all? Get the hell out of here before I make an example."

 They tried to avoid messing with a guard, let alone a dusk elf. There were rumors of them knowing dark magic. Magic rants to them after the travesty of their women being wiped out, dark magic that was taught to them by Rahadin, the right-hand Master of the lord of the world. The ability to raise the dead and control minds are abilities right from hell."

 They all scurried off. You were thankful, bowing to Maverick and taking his hand, promising free drinks for the rest of the night. Still, he took your hand and looked at you, his golden eyes hidden behind something mischievous, something lustful that weighed heavy on your heart. In your chest, you felt the heat rise up from your stomach.

"Darling, we can make a better arrangement. How would you like me to offer my protection?"

 You looked at him, confused, but still held his hand, your head tilted. 

"I would always be thankful, but isn't that what you usually do? I wouldn't want you to give me special treatment."

 "Oh well,"

 He takes your face and his hand. Squeezing your cheeks ever so slightly, 

"If you give me special treatment, I'll give you and your customers special treatment. After all, you wouldn't want anything to happen to you, your Tavern, or your customers, would you, darling?"

 He forces your eyes up to his and brings your lips closer. The rest of the Tavern, already daunted by the commotion, looks away. You simply nod in agreement, and he lets you go, patting your shoulder and laughing good-heartedly. 

"well, perfect, I think I'll take my first payment tonight."

 You panicked, thinking about how much she could get into the day, and said, 

"How much are you asking for? I've already offered you free drinks. I don't know what more I can do.-"

 He cuts you off, putting his finger to your lips. 

"Don't worry. You have everything that I could want to need."

 And he walks off.

 After closing, when all of the lights in the streets were out and the spirits were already roaming the streets, you clutched to your apron, putting up the last of the chairs. The candle lights were just barely about to go out. You counted up all of your money from the day, and while you made enough of an earning, you were very worried that he would not have enough to pay for this new extortion. You had heard stories of guards and heroes extorting young men and women for protection. You did not think it would happen to you that living in a place of cold and darkness was curse enough, but it looked like the fates had a little more for you. 

You almost didn't hear him come in as he stuck his hands around your waist and up your throat. You tried to yell out, but his hand covered your mouth, and he kissed just the side of your ear as you immediately felt yourself wanting to flee. Then he whispered in your ear, 

"Oh, now that's a pleasing darling. As much as I would have so much fun chasing you, I don't have the time tonight to have my cute little rabbit." 

He put his hands down your hip, lifted your dress, and ran his hand up your thigh as he kissed your jawline and neck. You stammered, still trying to get free. 

"You said you wanted payment. I'm really to pay. The draw is open. Take what you want. I don't care. Please, just don't hurt me."

 You cry through your struggles, but he just laughs, nipping where your neck and your shoulder mean, 

"Oh no, my little rabbit. As much as it delights me to hear you after having to endure hearing you simper over every man who can give you coin, I'm finally able to take the prize that is Rightfullymine after all that will be our deal."

 He lifts you up and plenty down on the closest table, the wood scratching into your shoulder, your head banging painfully on it. You cry out in pain. It is silenced by his mouth crashing into yours in a kiss. A rough kiss. He pins your hands down, holding his fingers In times with yours as his tongue searches into your open mouth, wrestling to pin it down. You see his golden eyes boring into yours like a beast unleashed. You stand there stunned, unable to move with his weight pushed against you. Even with your slight height Advantage, his trained muscle and sheer force can do nothing. 

He breaks apart, your lips bruised and your tongue hanging out of your mouth, a stream of saliva connecting both of your mouths. 

"Please, why are you doing this?"

 You manage to choke out as you feel him grinding into your lower half just underneath your dress. 

"Well, it's pretty simple, my cute little rabbit. I only joined the guard because I was bored, and I thought I could find some fun beating up the locals or helping young maidens. Still, I saw you, a bright Lily, and a swamp of muck to see simpering and pampering to everybody who entered your Tavern was so endearing I knew I needed to have you. I knew that you were mine, don't you understand? When elves mate, they mate for life, so that means."

He cried to you rougher you feel his hard cock rubbing into your own sex with a need want to be inside you. 

"You will be mine for the rest of your life. I will ensure that. If you don't want to be mine, it's pretty simple- you don't have to."

 You blink this as he lets you sit up, but he still stands between your legs.

"You mean you'll just let me go. You won't do anything?"

 You look at him, hoping that this is some weird pass, and you would know he would just leave you alone. But your hopes are soon crushed.

"oh no, my darling, if you say no," 

he moves in closer, and his sword falls at the back of your neck. 

"I will kill you and make sure you are raised as a zombie who has no free will and who is forced to do my bidding for the rest of your Undead life. Do you understand me, my cute little rabbit?"

 At that, you feel a heat emanating from his sword, a Blackness clouding around the edges of your eyes, and you know that his promise holds truth. Your body goes rigid and shakes, and tears silently stream down your eyes as he takes you in his arms, rubbing your back oddly comfortingly or trying to be with his sword. His other hand grips your bottom, pulling you closer as he snuggles into your neck, inhaling your scent.

"so you decide to make, my darling. Either I can have you here of your own free will, where I will love and protect you in this Tavern, or I will have the pleasure of seeing your beautiful blood dripping down your chest. I can have you as my perfect little Undead doll."

 "The choice is yours. You pretty little rabbit."

[gilly-moon]

"Real people don't talk like that" well hey did you ever maybe consider that it's because

THEY'RE FICTIONAL

[watchoutforintellect]

easily becoming, through an open eye, monstrous and beautiful.

Patti Smith, from Woolgathering

[idontcarecarebear]

🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩A red flag in any book I read that makes me instantly put it down is when an author goes into detail describing the chest or sexualising the body shape of an underage female character. I hate it whether it goes into a heavy detail or does it offhandedly, I just have to stop reading it. Especially if the point of view is from a grown man who is supposed to be the protagonist I support while reading. 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

[lightningfiction]

I'm not going to talk about the loneliness of switching countries. Of counting your possessions and deciding which ones you want to carry into a future you have been picturing for years without knowing what it'll look like. I'm not going to talk about the dozen timezones you have set in your phone's World Clock, and how you need to scroll down a screen to know if it's okay to call the friend you grew up with. I won't talk about how everyone seems to know everyone already, and they use words like The Maritimes that you've never heard before. I won't talk about that because I've loved this loneliness and the way these new words feel in my mouth, I suck on them like hard candy until they dissolve, leaving flavour traces on my tongue. I hate these extreme distances between us yet I love how expansive our love has become, ballooning across the surface of a planet, a planet—do you know how astronomical our friendship has to be to be able to do that? I will start measuring my heart in lightyears.

What gets messy is the return home. The way old landmarks have been torn down, new ones built, and the shape of an uncouth neighbourhood becoming a manicured topiary. The way my old phone number doesn't receive text messages anymore so I can't access the parts of my life I walked away from. The way my bloated city is empty because my friends have flown the coop. The way I clutter my old room in the same old way, and go slowly mad in the burning afternoons, because being home, doing nothing, invites the same dangerous ennui I was trying to escape. Comfort creeps up on me and I start to doubt the decisions I've made, the path I've chosen for myself.

Will I make it out there? When my room is so soft, so messily me, so easy to hide in? Will I lose everything I've bet on my one little, irrelevant dream? The future is devouring the industry I want to work in, the oil companies are slow-roasting the places I want to call my new home. Will I survive? Will I be okay?

I don't want to talk about switching countries, immigration, going away and coming back and leaving again, and the way my identity keeps fracturing, hyphens like cracks in ice.

I must remember that winter will come again, in some form or way. The water will freeze over, again. And I will see my reflection, again. Whatever it has become.

[michaelwriston]

Juice

This story is true. I have proof, but I cannot show you.

In 2020, I was having a hard time finding my photographic voice after moving back to Baltimore. One night, just before Christmas, I was taking a long exposure of Club Larae in Oliver. An SUV sped into frame and then stopped and the driver threw open his door. I immediately assumed the worst.

The man said are you a photographer. I said yes and stammered something about how cool the club looked lit up at night. He reached into his dashboard and hastily produced a Nikon DSLR and a 4x6 photo album. He started talking to me about making photos, and showed me his collection of boudoir Mrs. Claus photos he had made with women from around the neighborhood over the years. Then he said he would grant me the juice - the power and essence - of photography if I could pass his test.

The test was this: I had to sing along to a song of his choosing. If I could do it, I could take his portrait and gain the Juice. Fail, and I would gain nothing. The only catch was this: I could never share that portrait for as long as I took photos, lest the Juice be revoked. I agreed.

He cued up his CD player, and I started recording a video from my iPhone. And there it was: “P-I-M-P” by G-Unit ft Snoop Dogg. I had worked at Finish Line in 2002-2004. I had belted out this song while stacking boxes in the stockroom my senior year of high school.

The Juice was mine. And it still is.

I found my photographic voice that night. I just can’t show you the proof.

[burning-academia-if]

Hello, I blinked and March was over. Another busy/hectic month in regards to Real Life things + I got pretty sick at the end of it (because being sick in February wasn't enough lol). With that being said, here's what I did get done:

Wrote 16.1k words (Chapter 2 total word count: 27.4k )

Started editing/coding in the start of Chapter 2

Did some more coding/tweaking for stat pages

Fixed some variables in Chapter 1 + added piercings and facial hair options to character customization (these will all be added when Chap 2 releases)

Posted Rhea's bday art

With that being said, I thought Chapter 2 would be a max of 30k words, but all the small branching and flavor text in this chapter is really adding up lol. Of those words written, most of it went towards the Lars/Student Warden path. I did however write one of the three endings, and one of two of the RO pov ending scene variants.

With that said the Rhea/Student Government path should be a lot shorter since it's more straight forward, and once that's done, all that's left is a handful of smaller scenes/variants to finish up and then Chapter 2 will be done! I'm guessing it'll end up being between 40k to 50k words in total. I'm hoping to finish up the writing in April and then code everything in to release it by late May! This is obviously very tentative, but unless the universe decides to cause mayhem once more, that's what I'm aiming for!

Lastly, here's another little preview for the confrontational MCs this month (ft Lars):

[uncanny-tranny]

I know this is a very unoriginal observation (much like any other), but I'm finally reading The Great Gatsby, and even I wouldn't describe men the way Nick does.

[snakebites-and-ink]

So sick of fantasy where erasing/modifying the normies' memory when they find out abt the magical world is considered the ideal solution. Where's my fantasy story where doing that without permission is considered a violation. I want a movie about a magical lawyer helping some non-magical average joe take someone to court for a memory spell. Please.

[fandom-space-princess]

Title: "Today my grandmother is 94 and does not love me."

[file under: pseudo-autobiographical short fiction. things that are neither essays nor poems.]

“Call your grandmother,” my father says. Over the phone his voice is a flat buzz. “It’s her birthday.”

———

The last time I spoke to my grandmother, she asked me if I know what will happen to me after I die. I admitted uncertainty. This was the wrong answer. My grandmother’s devotion is unassailable — her devotion to her God, that is, to her religion. Uncertainty is foremost among the many things devotion cannot abide.

She told me I did not love my family. I had no idea how to respond.

———

“She’d love it”

———

I do not call my grandmother. I am trying to write a piece of science fiction, by which I mean that I am daydreaming about Venus: imagining lofted cities adrift in the Venusian troposphere, skittering away between clouds like daughters cut free of their families.

Science (noun): knowledge, especially that gained through experience. Fiction (noun): something invented by the imagination or feigned.

Venus is always accepting prayers. You can petition her for adoration, validation, for partners of every kind to know you with wanting hands and willing minds.

When my grandmother looks at me she sees a ghost of the person she wishes I had become. Here I stand, miserable revenant thing, un-woman, in the place where she expected a granddaughter to stand. She does not know me. I think perhaps she never has.

———

“if you’d call.”

———

If I didn’t love my family, wouldn’t I know it?

(Science: a girl is born with all the eggs she’ll ever have. My grandmother’s body knew me while I was only potential within her not-yet-daughter.)

Evangelicals love eggs, because they love nothing so much in other people as the potential for them to become what the evangelical wants them to be.

Potential is what you call uncertainty when it wears its Sunday best. Genetic destiny is what you call the gifts you inherit from your grandmother: broad hips and the ability to carry a grudge, predisposition to diabetes and the inability to hold a single civil conversation with your distaff relatives.

I talk to my grandmother like I talk to god, which is to say: mostly in my head. Because I am trying to cultivate kindness of spirit, and given that an inclination to forgiveness was not among her heritable traits, I also pray that no one is listening. ———

My father tells me to call my mother’s mother. On this same subject, my own mother is silent.

———

(Fiction: one day, my family might know me for who I am, and find this person worthy.)

The heat, the pressure — to stand on the surface of Venus would destroy a person utterly. Science tells us that once, the goddess’ world may have had an atmosphere very like our own, before a runaway greenhouse effect rendered her planet uninhabitable to life in the forms we understand. My grandmother does not believe in climate change, but she does believe that the path I have taken through life has ruined me.

Someday soon I will ask a doctor to reach into my body and excise my own womb. I will complete the divorce from potential I began on the day I started to become my own person (on the day I was born). I am motherland to no one: I will bear no daughters.

———

My grandmother asks me if I love my family. I hand her a page torn from a Bible, on which every word is crossed out save “begot.”

[the-bar-sinister]

I want more non-porn fics where most of the cast is known to be having or have had casual sex with one another and it's not a big deal.

*writes a bunch of these fics myself*