writewritebolly

[writewritebolly]

Latest chapter of Bad Humors is up on Royal Road (and Ko.fi, Patreon, Scribblehub). If you're enjoying the story so far or want to check it out, please leave any feedback you'd like on the story. https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/103435/bad-humors/chapter/2129358/chapter-12-missing

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Latest Chapter of Bad Humors finally done https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/103435/bad-humors/chapter/2114345/chapter-11-spring-is-dead

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Feeling awful this week, but finally shattering some of that writer's block. Here's an excerpt from my current chapter of Bad Humors.

“In the fall and winter, one sees all creatures for what they really are,” Lord Grace remarked, pausing beside a rose bush at the edge of the path, just beyond the trees. Another frost or two and it would begin to shed its leaves. The flowers had long since been pruned. He drew his free hand over one of the branches, fingers just grazing some of the hidden thorns. His skin was unblemished. She noticed he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“I think spring and summer are beautiful,” Victoria said, attempting to follow his line of thought. She wondered what it was about the rose bush he found particularly interesting.

“Spring is fleeting,” the viscount replied, his voice suddenly taking on a sharp edge. For the first time, she found it didn’t sound quite as enchanting as before.

“So is winter and fall,” Victoria pointed out, attempting to smile. She didn’t know what she could have done to upset him.

He looked at her for a good long while. She almost felt like those sharp blue eyes of his were cutting her to the bone, stripping her apart layer by layer. Her fear of a reluctant tryst in the garden seemed silly, all of a sudden. There was nothing romantic or lascivious about this man. He was–

“--death is forever. Winter and fall never leave us, my dear.”

[writewritebolly]

Hi! I've been editing away on chapters this week, going back and tidying. I'm planning to get another one done in the next 7 days, but I just want to avoid inconsistencies and plot holes forming until I'm done with edits. If you'd like to help spreading the word, please check out the Royal Road post of Bad Humors and feel free to comment, rate, or even review. It really helps. www.royalroad.com/fiction/103435/bad-humors

[writewritebolly]

You never really know how intense your ADHD is on a given day until you go back to edit your writing.

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Ok, I've got to start paying better attention to which blog I'm posting on.

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Excerpt from upcoming chapter of Fun to Be Dead, Chapter 21

“Shit,” he cursed. He plucked at his camo jacket, looking down at his outfit. Alan had really put in an effort tonight to dress up. White t-shirt. Jeans that passed the sniff test well enough to last another night. His best black beret. Fine. Whatever. If the mirror didn’t have an opinion, he didn’t need it. Alan knew he looked good. 

He was a killer. 

He was a creature of the night.

He was the coolest badass to ever stalk the boardwalk!

He was also, sadly, not an only child. So Alan finally left the bathroom to check on Edgar. He was still ticked off at his brother, but that was honestly nothing new. Undead. Alive. They butted heads constantly. They were siblings. This temporary roadblock was just one of many. If that Maria chick showed up again, Alan would just eat her and get it over with. Edgar would get over it.

[writewritebolly]

Me: *trying to figure out if I have writing slump, writer’s block, or writing burnout “aren’t those the same things?”

Me: I think I’m screwed-

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today i wrote zero words! but i did think about my story twice in passing. that probably counts for something

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“I’m a writer” I mumble to myself as I type “what defines a war crime” into the google search bar

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That last post was supposed to be on my other blog, but I don't regret it. Anne Rice really didn't like Daniel lol

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every description of devil’s minion in the books: the Preternatural Angel beautiful magnificent armand wluld carefully wash off his lover aka the FILTHY MAN and carefully choose from his FILTHY FUCKING CLOTHES gross because he was BROKE BROKE BROKE AND sleeping on BENCHES did i mention he was DRUNK

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Bad Humors, Chapter 10 Posted

In this chapter, we eat some biscuits with thick slices of foreshadowing (and cheese).

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Excerpt from latest edited draft of the Prologue of Bad Humors

Raw, torn fingers poked through the soil first, nails lengthened and packed with grime. Her new grave was as fresh as baked bread, crumbling away easily even as the rain had begun to create a muddied froth around her. She pulled herself free. Making quick work of it, her arms burst through, dragging the rest of her body to greet the air with a feral energy. Desperate. Starving. She looked up at Lord Grace and his servant beside him. There was nothing behind her eyes but pure, unadulterated hunger.

The Viscount’s smile grew into something genuine, albeit tinged with a vicious cruelty.

“You’ll need a little work,” he remarked, sizing her up. Deaf to his remark, she crawled towards him, her petticoats and dress completely ruined. Shredded. Muddied. A far cry from the prim and neat maidservant he’d been speaking to the night before last. The kerchief holding back her wild mane of black hair was nowhere to be seen. He couldn’t remember if Aldman had buried her corpse with it on or not. The whole affair was a blur.

She was not likely to remember much of tonight. Only a vague shadow of something would prod at her mind; the image of a pale wrist offered and taken greedily. Lord Grace’s glittering fangs. A soothing word or two that did little if anything to quell the aching pain in her body and stomach. She burned with that need.

Feel free to check out the whole story (so far) at https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/103435/bad-humors

[writewritebolly]

Writing a period vampire story is like having ALL THE OPTIONS. So hard to resist ‘oh, but I’d like 10-20 years arbitrarily pass, I could have them fleeing a revolution! Oh man, that would be cool. Maybe there can be another time pass and they’re in a depression era dance competition…is this relevant to the plot? Meh. Cool anyway.’

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Take Me With You

[writewritebolly]

A writer's ego is different than your average ego. It boosts itself higher than the heavens when someone compliments my work.

But tell me something as small as "is that comma meant to be there?" or "that's not the correct way to use that word" and I will go into a writing hibernation-sesh for the next century in a fit of self-doubt.

We are fragile creatures.