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[theoreticallyawriter]

been a while since i posted here, but this work continues to haunt my days

Guess what, I’m still a menace who never knows when to leave things alone. So I’m redrafting my rewrite for like the 3rd time. God please let it be the last.

[theoreticallyawriter]

Hey look, another chapter after a thousand years

[theoreticallyawriter]

In which things change

[theoreticallyawriter]

A possible Mimi redesign that I may change the manuscript for. It would also involve making Carolina Black and John and Jeanine Japanese. Thoughts?

[theoreticallyawriter]

After a thousand years, here’s a new chapter!

[theoreticallyawriter]

Me, the author, as I make my characters suffer as though there’s no other option:

[theoreticallyawriter]

When you check your word count, and it’s only at 20 words:

[theoreticallyawriter]

there are two wolves inside you

[theoreticallyawriter]

WIP Writing Asks

What made you write your WIP?

How long have you been working on your WIP?

How has the WIP changed between starting it and where it is now?

What came first, the title or the plot?

Where did you draw inspiration from?

Is your WIP part of a series or standalone?

What genre is your WIP in?

When creating the characters for your WIP, what came first to you?

Who is your favourite character to write?

Do you have an outline? Do you stick to it?

How do you structure your plot?

What part is the hardest to write in your WIP?

Are there scenes that you cut already?

Tell us about an upcoming scene in your WIP, that you’re excited about.

Post a line from a WIP that you’re working on.

Give a spoiler for your WIP.

Post the last line you wrote in your WIP

Give a brief character description of your main characters.

Do you know how your story ends before you start writing?

What’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

What’s a common writing tip that you mostly ignore?

How many projects do you usually have going at once?

What’s more important: characters or plot?

Do you have any abandoned WIP’s? What made you abandon them?

What authors and books have inspired you to write your work?

What is the worst writing advice in your opinion?

What is the best writing advice?

Are you planning on publishing your WIP? If so, how?

Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer?

[theoreticallyawriter]

[theoreticallyawriter]

Finally fixed my external hard drive, putting me exponentially closer to finishing this beast of a manuscript than I ever really thought possible. Here’s where things start to take a turn for our heroes.

[theoreticallyawriter]

A very long chapter to follow up the previous extremely long chapter. It's good to be back.

[theoreticallyawriter]

This was hands down my favorite chapter to write and one of the first concepts I came up with when creating this story. I'm so excited for y'all to finally get to it.

[theoreticallyawriter]

Visage: an image prompt story

Curious, she was always so incredibly curious. He often caught his niece attempting to get at his books despite his countless warnings. She wasn’t ready, it was the kind of knowledge one needed to take care with; bloodline was irrelevant when reckoning with the things their family dealt in. Her mother -  his sister -  had asked him to watch after her daughter when she went away - to keep her away from their family’s true talents as much as he could for as long as he could. He had warned her she’d only take their dodgy answers for so much longer, that they would either have to explain it to her or run the risk of her finding out herself, and it seems now that choice had been made for them. He hadn’t anticipated the lengths she would go to to satiate her curiosity and that was his mistake.

He found her early in the morning lying in her bed, the book still open beside her and now there were vines crawling from the crease between the pages. He shook his head; he had warned her about the book and now it was too late. The Chrysalis had already begun to form and all that was left to do now was wait.

Though the vines were curious, he’d never seen that particular kind before.

“Never could take ‘no’ for an answer, could you, Junebug?” He booped her nose.

June, unsurprisingly, did not respond.

Heaving another sigh, he began to make the preparations. He stripped the covers off the bed and moved her onto her back, resting the open book on her stomach. Then he cleared her other belongings away from her bed, and moved what might be damaged by the formation out of the room entirely. As he worked, the vines continued to grow and by the time he was done one side was spilling onto the floor. With that done, there was nothing else for him to do but take on the unenviable task of attempting to explain what happened to her mother. Oh she was so going to kill him.

Sure enough, two days later Lucretia showed up at his door with purple energy already crackling off of her.

“What did you do?!” She steps into his house before he can invite her in, forcing him to take a step back or be struck by the volatile energy.

“Now hold on,” he starts, “let’s not get ahead of our-” One of those purple bolts scorches the wall beside his head.

“I asked you to take care of her!” She exclaims. “I was only meant to be gone for a few weeks, Laurence,  you promised you would! She isn’t ready!” She sounds more scared than angry now.

“There’s nothing we can do now, ‘Creesh.” He put his hand on her shoulder and the sparks that jump to his arm make his eye twitch. “The Chryllias has already taken.”

She stiffens and her face relaxes by degrees. “Fine. Then you can make me some tea and tell me exactly what happened.”

“I’m sorry I had to call you here.”

She turns toward his kitchen. “Me too.”

Lucretia spends the next six months with him, a bed made up in his sitting room but she spends more sitting in June’s  room, holding her hand through the vines of the Chrysalis until they grow thrones and he insists she stop when he notices the cuts. Together, without June to protect or anyone else to find them, the two of them are able to let their true forms show in a way that they very rarely do. Raw power allowed to be free instead of trapped beneath a human visage. Lucretia’s brought her rain with her, and thunderstorms shook the house day and night as soon as she let go of her shroud. Her eyes pulsated with a dangerous purple glow and light lightning bolt patterns ran up and down her dark skin. He has wings and feathers in places where hair should be and his eyes all inky black, some of it even spilling out of his eyes and running down his face in perpetual rivulettes. Crows took up posts outside the house, watching them through the windows with their beady eyes never leaving the general area despite seeming upset by the constant rain. When not attending to his niece, the twins prepared for the Chrysalis’ breaking. 

When they had gone through it their parents had invited the whole Linden family and they threw a party. But they agreed that that the emergence should be a private affair; there would be plenty of time for celebrations later. In the days following the long months spent preparing, the twins spent most of their time in their ceremonial garb at Lucretia’s insistence. It was a pain to get ready every morning but there was no way she would allow them to be caught unawares. Time seemed to slow as the window of emergence grew nearer and the storms grew rougher as Lucretia’s anxiety grew. One day, the vines no longer obstructed the door but sealed it off completely and when that day came Lucretia wept worried tears.

“She’ll be fine,” he tried to comfort her. “The metamorphosis has to be a private affair, you know that.”

One of those purple bolts knocked a picture of the twins as young children - before their change - with their parents off of the wall as she let out an anguished scream. Then a massive roar of thunder made the whole house shake.

“Lucretia!” he exclaimed. “You’ve got to control yourself!”

And then, as she was shaking and crying, as he tried to calm her so her storm wouldn’t bring down the house, there was a bright flash from the hallway. Both of them scrambled to their feet; him throwing on his feathery cloak and her sweeping the skirts of her indigo dress behind her, and then moved toward the overgrown bedroom.

The door was open now and someone new stood in the doorway. She looked like the young girl he had found months ago, but she her her long black hair was tinged with a violent shade of red. That could be considered the least extreme of the changes. Her extremities had turned green and there were deadly looking thorns growing out of her body. But by far the most striking thing was the blood red rose blossoming where her left eye should be. With her free hand, she combed some stray vines from her locs.

She looked sleepy for a second but then seemed to become alert at the sight of them, the real them. When she first opened her mouth all that came out was a small croak. Then she cleared her throat, spit a handful of rose petals out onto the floor, and said, “Uncle Laurence? Mom?”

Lucretia gasped and held out her hands to her daughter, but then retracted them upon thinking of what those thorns might do. With delight in her voice, she said, “Hello, Junebug!”