tryingtofindthestories

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So, good news and bad news.

Good news: I love my WIP enough that I want to keep reading it to see what happens with the characters.

Bad news: I have to write my WIP so I can keep reading it and find out what happens with the characters.

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As we all know Wikipedia isn't a great resource for historically accurate research. Do you have some recommendations of alternatives/good history websites with a good range of content about different countries and time periods?

(Context: I need to do some serious research for my novel, but don't know where to find good and accurate information online)

Primary sources are your best friend and failing that, secondary sources that are written and researched by those who have studied the primary sources. Here are just a few good websites:

JSTOR

National Archives

This website from Queens University Belfast (https://libguides.qub.ac.uk/history/onlineresources)

New York Public Library

The Labyrinth

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opening your writing doc and immediately scrolling back 3 pages like "alright what the fuck is this story about again?"

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Me: Okay, Brain. Think about what happens next in this chapter.

Brain: *Skips three chapters ahead*

Me: No, no. This one, this chapter, the one we are writing right now.

Brain:.......*47 scenes forward*

Me: NO

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From the article:

NASA has released a free, original tabletop role-playing game, and it’s one part educational experience and another part sci-fi/fantasy epic with magic and dragons. The crux of The Lost Universe, the organization’s first TTRPG,involves a mystery: What would happen if the Hubble Space Telescope disappeared? It’s a simple premise and one that hides the complex backstory underscoring the events of the role-playing game. Without getting into the weeds, the game takes place on a planet called Exlaris, which was once thrown into chaos when a black hole moved too close and kicked it out of its orbit. The planet has since gone back to some degree of normalcy and is now almost completely dedicated to academia. In one city, a scholar named Eirik Hazn made a spell to connect with Earth to study the Hubble Space Telescope, which has famously collected data on black holes. However, the spell and telescope are stolen by a dragon, and researchers working on the project have been disappearing, so the players — Earthlings who worked on the telescope at NASA who were brought through a portal to Exlaris — have to save the day. The official 44-page gameplay book is available to download for free on NASA’s website. You can play it in a party with 4-7 players, but you may need to fudge a few things to graft this narrative onto your TTRPG system of choice. The book says it’ll take around 3-4 hours to get through the adventure.

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“There’s no plausible evidence that Republican voters are opposed to acts of sedition but will begrudgingly tolerate them if that is the only option available. Trump’s Republican competitors had been parroting nearly all of his flamboyantly ridiculous policies, only to be shot down by those very voters. You can offer up a Nikki Haley, but it will go nowhere. You can lob a Ron DeSantis onstage, full of hydraulic fluid and have him mimic the same Trump mannerisms and grievances and demands for violence—not just persecution but bullet-to-the-head violence against immigrants—and they won’t bite. They like Trump. They want Trump, and when presented with candidates who are not facing 91 criminal charges, not found to have committed sexual assault, not proven to be a lifelong tax and bank cheat, and not the ratbastard personification of malice, they will not bite. This is a movement premised on ending the government itself if that’s what it takes to assuage paranoia about globalist cabals and plotting immigrant hoards.”

—

The GOP is about to officially coalesce around a seditionist for president

yikes

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website

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@writing-prompt-s Thanks for the prompt. Had a quick idea on it.

Squinting against the bright light of the screen I grumble. With frustrated sluggishness I send out a mass text to all the numbers who have sent me this 'walrus'. I respond with one sentence.

Go to sleep already!

Then I carefully mute all notifications, place my phone back on my nightstand, and cuddle back under my warm comforter.

"The only thing good about getting woken early," I mutter sleepily to myself as I snuggle my face into my pillow in a way reminecent of a cat settling down, "is getting to go back to sleep."

Which is exactly what I do. To think I would willingly be making decisions at 3 in the morning! And when I have class at 8 as well! Closing my eyes and letting the hazy lull of exhuastion pull me back under all I feel is vague amusement. Whether I look at a walrus or not is a decision for future me. And I wish her all the luck with it.

It’s 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says “DO NOT LOOK AT THE WALRUS”. You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending “It’s a beautiful walrus. Look.”

[tryingtofindthestories]

That Little Girl

What happened to that little girl who loved softball. The little girl who would have played right through the winter if she could find the 15 other girls to join her. The little girl who would have spent hours clearing the snow off the field herself, just to play one game with freezing fingers and a Rudolph nose.

She was trampled by the sharp cleats of her coaches who hurled fastballs and too tight screwballs of broken promises straight at her. 

What happened to that little girl who loved learning? The little girl who read the history textbook like a storybook. The little girl eight chapters ahead of her peers in the assigned reading because it was too fascinating to put down. The little girl whose voice filled the classroom with questions that weren’t on the test.

She was poisoned by standard tests who cared not for her curiosity and understanding of the material, but ability to fill in the pre-determined bubble answer. She was strangled by the tightrope of expected high grades, an environment where Bs were minimum.

What happened to the little girl  who wanted to a be leader. The little girl who wanted to inspire and guide the next generation. The little girl who wanted to call the shots and make the big decisions. The little girl who wanted to lead by example and be someone others could look up to and emulate.

She was drowned by an ocean of responsibilities and unreal expectations she wasn’t ready to handle. Her back was broken and her shoulders bowed under the too heavy burden that she had no safety bar on which to set it down.

Where is that little girl now. Is she buried in a beautiful, marble mausoleum surrounded by flowers and encased by glass like a sleeping Snow White?

No, she lives in a hospital now, in the middle of nowhere. She is surrounded by mooing cows and injured dreams that love talking about the future. She is resting there, protected from the scrapped knees of fallen aspirations.

Why doesn’t that little girl come back. Is she in critical condition and bound to her bed day and night. Do doctors hover nervously over her, afraid she won’t make it any further.

She was seriously injured once. Her heart went wandering one day in a park at night and got beat up by some vampiric assholes who hoped to turn her into one of them. That’s why she went away, to heal so she wouldn’t become like them. But she’s better now, mostly healed though still a little tender. That’s not why she hasn’t come back.

Why didn’t that little girl come back. With her injuries healed, why does she stay away in a hospital in the middle of nowhere. Why does she forsake us for the company of mooing cows and injured dreams.

At first she  wanted to come back as quickly as possible. She rushed through treatment and physical training because she knew that she would be missed. The day the doctors cleared her raced for the hospital doors, mindless of her still fragile heart. She threw open the wide double doors and threw out her arms to embrace the world she left, only to recoil in horror at the sight in front of her. In front of her was something so very different from her memories of a world bright and joyful and cotton candy sweet, a baby proofed house that had padded the corners and blocked the electrical outlets to protect from harm. Instead of that sunshine paradise she was greeted by something much darker and grimmer, the world she was to return to was rough and harsh and jagged, a seedy, New York City alley littered with broken glass and nasty muggers tucked away in shadows. A scary thing to return to, no one would argue otherwise. So, afraid of the claustrophobic corners and impersonal glares of her fellow citizens, she retreated back into the safe warmth of the hospital. She closed the doors shut tight against the frigid outside world with the intention of gathering her courage before plunging head first into these new, freezing waters.

Why has that little girl not gathered her courage yet. Is she so sensitive that she cannot survive the less than tropical way of the real world. Does she sit tight on a smartly made bed, counting the days until her courage, like a long over due Fedex package, arrives on her doorstep for her to open and use.

When she left, the world continued spinning and so demanded a substitute be found for the little girl while her wounds were bandaged tight. In her place an older, more jaded young woman took her place. A young woman who thought herself tougher, wiser, superior to that little girl because she could walk across the shattered glass bare foot without flinching. She says that the little girl, more hazy dream and rose tinted memory rather than flesh and bone, doesn’t belong here anymore. That she is a relic of the past that did not have the good sense to die out with her kind.

So is the little girl never coming back. Is the only thing we get a jaded, broken young woman who thinks cynical is cool and passion is stupid. What an unequal trade we have been given.

No one knows what will happen. If the young woman is now permanent where previously she was temporary. If the little girl will resume her duties and come back to brighten the lives of others. No one actually knows what will happen. But I don’t believe in either. You see, neither the young woman nor the little girl belong in this world permanently. They cannot survive the roller coaster of life that flows up and down, happy and sad, exciting and scary. They are good at their respective extremes, but cannot do well at the other end of the spectrum and struggle too with the middle ground area between. So I think that someone will come, a new person, in the future. Neither a little girl, naive, but excited about the world around her, or a young woman, jaded and guarded against even the most innocent of things. Instead, from them will spring a new person, an older woman who has weathered both the good and bad of this world, who can live everywhere in the spectrum of life. She is who these people will go to be, and I don’t think she is here just yet. But I think she is well on her way. 

I hope so at least.

[tryingtofindthestories]

Even Demons Have Ethics

An unlucky demon who continuously possesses terminally ill people. To make the possessed body work to their needs, the demon cures the illness. The newly cured bodies are then strong enough to kick out the demon, and the cycle repeats.

(I deviated a little from the prompt, sorry. Also, I don’t remember where I got this, so if anyone recognizes where this comes from let me know so I can give credit where credit is due. Thanks)

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There is a running bet going on in Hell among all the demons, young and old, as to what could be the cause of my bad luck. Because at this point, they have decided, it cannot just be that I’m unlucky. There must be something or someone who is cursing me. Some argue that I must have been born under a divinely blessed sign. Others swear up and down that I must have cracked too many mirrors during that painful exorcism back in 1467 and that all those bad vibes got bottled up until they finally exploded. The majority whisper that Satan, the man we’re all supposed to work for, yet like God is never seen by us mere demons, must hold a grudge against me or something and that is causing all this. A few crackpots actually think I was cursed by a witch or something, but nobody ever listens to them. It’s none of that I’m pretty sure.

Oh, wait. I’m being a bit rude. Should explain what I’m talking about, shouldn’t I? Yes, well... you see, I’m the Terminal Demon. Mother demons tell their little ones that they’ll get stolen away by me and tossed into the pit of eternal happiness if they don’t practice their shenanigans and monstrous skills. A most terrible fate I reassure you. 

When I say I am the terminal demon however, I do not mean I kill my host or anything, that would be unprofessional. No, my name comes from the people I possess. Ever since that weird trip in 1894 I only ever possess terminally ill humans, the ones determined by doctors to be incurable. Honestly, you would think that would be great and all. People so close to the grave should be easy to turn in favor of the devil. Eh, but that’s not how possession works you see. 

I know what you thinking, you’ve seen all the exorcism movies, you know what happens. Tie ‘em to a bed, chuck some holy water, shout some Latin, and you’re all good. Only thing is, that’s not how it works. We demons try to keep it real hush hush, even spread a bit of misinformation around too. The kind you see in Paranormal Activity for instance. So I’ll let you in on the little secret.

You don’t need anything to have an exorcism. All those bibles and chants and holy water and crosses. Nah. You don’t need any of those things. And if you do? I’m sorry to tell you, but the host doesn’t want us leaving. That’s the kicker really. The demon can only stick around as long as the human wants them there, whole bodily autonomy thing. Even Satan doesn’t allow his minions to violate someone else’s space, we need explicit permission to stay. So trust me, if you need a whole intervention whatnot, that person wanted to do all that stuff and we just gave them the power to follow through.

That also means that our ‘victims’ need the ability to consent. Like they need to be able to kick us, so it’s actually a choice for them. Otherwise we’re violating the rules and that ends with a great big mutual smiting from God and the Devil himself.  Permanent extinction, no comeback for anybody. One of the few collaborations they ever do. 

So we demons get real good at figuring it out, if a person can make those kinda decisions. Like if the person possessed is in an abusive situation. Well, they’re too consumed with survival to be able to think through our propositions, can go asking them. 

So we got to fix that problem. There are a couple ways to do this, but the most popular one is a little DOPE. Demon Out of Possession Extermination. You know, step out of your human for a little bit, send that abusive shit to where they’re going a little sooner than planned. Cause demons can walk the Earth just fine without you folks, we just don’t have a corporeal form then. Which can make some things a little tricky, like pouring a glass of milk or robbing a bank. You know, the usual. So you go and play a little DOPE and wait a couple months for them to get a little used to their safer environment, then you make them a deal. 

See what they do.

It might surprise you how many abuse survivors don’t want to perpetuate that cycle on others. Go figure. 

The same goes with my guys. Terminal cases. The incurables. They’re spending so much effort trying to fight for life, well they don’t have even a moment to go looking over the kinds of long contracts we have for possession. Nothing super complicated, just long. Gotta cover all the different situations that we could go through. Are you will to commit mass murder, does this willingness extend to children. Do you want to be conscious during this or unconscious for more plausible deniability. Is cannibalism agreeable with you or are you vegetarian/vegan. Are you willing to make an exception for human flesh or is that a solid no. You know, the typical issues. 

So what’s a demon going to do when stuck in a terminally ill patient who can’t make that kind of decision right now? Well, I cure them of course. Those out of the blue miracles you might have hear of? Yeah, at least a few of them are my doing. I get in there, fix up whatever needs fixing, makes sure nothing can come back that would be bad for the person. Then once that happens and they get back in their own homes, I go and ask them a question. A couple of questions actually. Got to see if the demon and host is compatible after all, possession is for life you know. Or, at least your life. I tend to last a little longer than you guys.

A lot of the patients don’t want to do that kind of thing. Causing pain and death and destruction. Not everyone’s cup of tea. And with them being so good at fighting things, they knock me outta them real quick and easy. Though they’re usually nicer about it then plenty of other hosts I could mention. A few of them though, the ones that got knocked around in the hospitals, that didn’t get treated right. Well, they’re the ones who like keeping me around, to get back at those folks who might be harming others now that they’re gone. But that usually only lasts for as long as that person’s still around. Once they’re gone, well the host usually kicks me out real quick. 

And contrary to popular belief they’re allowed to do that too, part of the contract you see. Consent can be revoked at any time. Then we go through our version of divorce and bata bing, bata boom I’m on my way back to hell to look for my next assignment.

Now, most of the demons think I must be real sour about all that. Always getting knocked out of my people like that. My mom is all upset, lamenting why her little demon just can’t find a good host to settle down with for a couple decades and how all the younger demons just play fast and loose with possession now. I can almost hear her right now, complaining how they don’t make hosts like they used to anymore and back in her day. Well, part of that problem is that I don’t go dispelling the idea that I’m unhappy about the whole situation. It makes things easier at home you know. But really, I don’t mind. I even kind of like it. It’s nice seeing folks like mine get what they deserve and I’m really too young to go settling down with just one human for that long. Maybe when I’m older. Until then, I’m happy to stay the Terminal Demon. Just don’t tell my mother.

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Role Models

In this world the role models are celebrities and athletes and charismatic leaders who all work incredibly hard to make all the work it took to get to their level seem effortless. They minimize the pain and struggle and work required in order to maintain a certain image or reputation. Growing up looking up to them can be ridiculously daunting because of that. Because they make it seem like, through innate skill that I was never born with, they got where they were and it makes you feel small and worthless. It makes you feel like you can never aspire to their level of influence because, unlike them, you weren’t born one of the lucky ones. It can make it hard to dream when it seems like you can never accomplish it, it can crush you to see no one else struggling like you are.

That’s why my relatives are so important to me, so important in steering me the way I have gone, because they were real. They were people with skills and talent and knowledge yes, but they were blunt about the work that went into earning all that. They told the little girl that I was about their struggles in accomplishing their dreams and their doubts that plagued them. I could look up to them because they were not gods seated on Mount Olympus, too high for a mere mortal such as I to ever reach. They were students who struggled with learning material, forfeiting their weekends and Friday nights in the name of studying, yet still only raking in C+s instead of advanced As or brilliant Bs. Looking to them I realized that I could also accomplish what they had because I was willing to work, because I knew how to work and was willing to admit my stupidity in order to progress up the path to knowledge. Looking to them, it was like they were granting me permission to dream and dream big again. They were proof that all I needed was the determination to actually do something and the willingness to work past when everyone else had quit in order to accomplish my dreams, not innate talents that I could never hope to ever gain no matter how hard I worked. For that I will be forever grateful to my family, for they showed me that gods are not the only ones that can reach the highest heights, so too can we mere mortals.

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What Stops You?

In so many words, the world tells you to chase your desires and dreams. Yet there you stand, rooted at times, when it feels too bold even to walk toward your wish, to whisper softly your request. The teacher’s office door you paced in front of instead of knocking on. The card game of strangers you left back in the dorm kitchen instead of asking to join. The blank page you exited out of instead of typing your soul in.

Each and every time is just like the last one, so easy to recognize the moment you are far enough out of range to be safe from its enticing reach. A bitter poison, like unsweetened chocolate, spreading over your tongue to drown happy words. A misery digging heavy into your shoulders, like a school backpack, bowing the brave head to cowardice. A restless fire riding through your veins like Paul Revere, crying for action that will never be taken. 

Those times, when it feels wrong to even occupy your small smidgen of space, the only comfort is the excuses a condescending little voice in the back of your head whispers to you. A bully afraid of getting caught doing the wrong thing yet unable to keep themselves from doing it anyway. The idea was trivial and stupid, no one would want to hear it. They seem old friends, it would only be intruding. Don’t make a second request, it would only be burdensome. 

In your head these sound so valid and real, maybe they are, after all there is a time and place for everything. How many though, are only excuses meant to justify your fear? To remove yourself from the conversation without even joining it?

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Yes or No

I asked a vaguely simple question. You skipped over it without realizing I didn’t follow your logic. In your mind my yes or no question was a race straight into a brick wall two feet in front of the finish line. To try and circumvent the moment of impact you took a different path that I didn’t know to follow.

The problem with this idea is the abrupt end associated with it. The belief that a period lurks right after your one word answer. In reality the answer resembles a medical form. If no move on to the next question. If yes, please explain. That was what I was trying to tell you.