So far this month I’ve done - 

I’m calling it a productive 17 days! :D

congrats!!! 🎉🎊🎉🎊

So far this month I’ve done - 

I’m calling it a productive 17 days! :D

congrats!!! 🎉🎊🎉🎊

Looking for beta-readers for a short fantasy story! It’s <500 words, and it’s about a boy getting his father’s magical book, capable of bringing people in and out of a magical world. 

I’m just looking for comments on whether or not it flows nicely, and if you think it’s clear enough to be fully understandable! 

It shouldn’t take more than 15 minutes, maximum. If you’ve got a moment, I’d appreciate your help!

Ekphrastic Fiction Contest Winner (August 2020)

The winner for this month’s contest is…. Emily @emilyelizabethfowl​ ! Congratulations!!! Emily is an incredibly talented writer who previously won this contest twice in 2019. You can see those two entries here:

January 2019

June 2019

If you like Emily’s writing, make sure to check out their page here.

This month also had some pretty interesting pieces submitted, so please make sure to look for my Honorable Mentions post later today to see more unique interpretations of this piece!

As a reminder, the artistic piece for this month’s contest is titled, “G'Nar the Raven"  and was created by Nataly Lanier @nataly-lanier​. This character is actually part of a larger world called “The Lane of Vos” that was created by this artist. You can click here to learn more about this world, or click here to see more of Nataly Lanier’s original work.

  The Crows returned in a flurry of loose feathers and tightly wound rolls of paper, their wings beating in tempo with the clashes of armies outside the keep.

G’Nar gathered the rolls, kneeling to avoid the pain in his back. The constant ache was more annoying than he had ever expected it to be.

Of course, usually there was Alton around, but now-

”You taught us well, Master G’Nar.”

Ah, well. G’Nar straightened up with a sigh, missives safely tucked away. He still had his duties to fulfill, even in the midst of war.

Especially then, really.

The Crows showed no impatience, perched on the long stand; they were far too well taught for that. G’Nar filled their bowls with an assortment of dead mice, nuts and fruits. Only the best after their twenty long years of servitude.

“But we’re big birdies now.”

One, two, three, four, five-

Seven? Scrambling to put on his reading glasses, G’Nar head-counted them again.

Ryss, Ida, Cora, Kallia, Rhonda.

Owain. And… Lilly.

G’Nar touched her head with his trembling hand, half-convinced she was just a ghost coming back to haunt him.

“My sweet Lilly,” he sobbed out, “After all these years-!”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as Owain preened pointedly, awaiting praise. No wonder he didn’t make it last month. The Ritual was done mere days after G’Nar had assumed him dead, and now he returned, having accomplished the impossible-!

If only G’Nar had waited…

“Ready to leave the nest.”

But how was he to know? There were five Crows left, and the baker’s dozen of teens had been more than ready to step in.

Centuries of careful experimentation, optimization, sacrifice, to ensure both the Crows and the Handler would be prepared for anything, ready to carry on the Order’s Mission, to keep peace across all the worldly kingdoms…

Years he had spent with these children.

Dozens of scrapes healed, hundreds of stories told, thousands of hugs exchanged… and yet, he had never seen it coming.

They had all been ready for the Ritual. All aware of their role in the Order, of the lifetime of spying they were willing to give, to keep balance in the world.

Or so he had thought.

“Ready to spread our wings.”

He had watched last month, full of pride, as they morphed within the Circle, faces extending into beaks, bones bending, black feathers covering their bodies, no complaint to be heard.

G’Nar had turned to Alton, to share this joy; To officially give the power to the new Handler, to the new generation.

The blood-thirsty smile had frozen him in place.

“Keeping balance sounds rather boring,” Alton had said then, the new Murder of Crows perching upon his shoulders, circling around his head. “We have something different planned for this world.You taught us well, Master G'Nar.”

Ever since, there was only chaos. War. Destruction. Everything in direct opposition to the mission of the Order of Crows.

“Although your teachings will no longer be required.”

Beta-Readers needed

I am looking for beta-readers to read through a short story (495 words). 

Genre: Fantasy. 

It is intended as response piece to August 2020 Ekphrastic Fiction contest. You can see the artwork it was based on via the following link: https://tcstu.tumblr.com/writingcontest

The story contains a light description of human-to-animal morphing (a single sentence), mention of chronic pain (due to old age), mention of war and mention of dead animals (in the context of feeding birds). 

There is no explicit gore, no sexual content and no on-screen death (just a mention of a character being believed to be dead). 

If you are interested, please either respond to this post (via a reply or a reblog) or send me a message. You will receive a link to a google docs document with the permission to comment. If you’d prefer not to use Google Docs, or not to read in Comic Sans, let me know your preferred medium/setting and I’ll adjust accordingly.

This call will be open until 20 August 2020 (thursday). 

So, how did everyone do at nano?

I, for one, failed miserably. But I have learned a lot about my wip. What about all of you?

failed as well! got less than 3k on the first day and couldn't write anything more for the rest of the month x'D

there’s dozens of stories about some kid from our world falling into a different, magical one,  being the chosen one or the close companion of the chosen one and saving the world, and then going home where they’re delighted to see their family again and have a new appreciation of their own life. but what about someone who didn’t miss it? what if you save the world and you’re given your medal and stripped of the magic you learned and put back in a world you never missed? and you’re furious.

maybe you gave up a few years of your life. you have callouses and muscles and a few scars and maybe a missing eye or something. you definitely have some blood on your hands. you might have PTSD you can’t talk to anyone about. and suddenly you’re fifteen again, in a body that’s too soft and too short and too complete. you’re always cold because there’s no magic burning in your veins anymore, and even as you grow up the feeling of not fitting doesn’t go away because when you look in the mirror at eighteen you look all wrong: this is not what you’re supposed to look like at eighteen. the sky clouds and you rub at the phantom ache of injuries this body never received. you wake up screaming sometimes remembering the sorcerer who burnt your hand to ashes, or the final battle you almost didn’t make it through, or the moment you felt the magic in you go out.

but here’s the thing: they took you and made you into a weapon that was determined enough and powerful enough to save a whole world. they can put you back where they found you but they can’t undo everything. and there’s this, too: the place between worlds clings to you. you can’t tease fire out of the air but you can feel the pull of the doorways all the time, although none of them so far go to your world.

but you try to make it work for a decade, anyway. you’re dutiful. but one night you leave work late and for the thousandth time you catch yourself searching the sky for firebirds. and you break. of the three portals within five hundred miles, one is a howling, frozen wasteland and one is a deep violet void, but one opens into a misty forest that you step into and don’t look back. it’s not your world, but if you keep going long enough, you’ll get there.

(and maybe much, much later, hundreds of worlds later, you climb through a window, or a door of woven branches int he middle a field, or push aside a curtain, and as you set foot on new land you feel the fire in your veins and sparks at your fingertips and finally, finally, you’re home)

Okay sure I’ll cry in the break room at work now

What would you rather see in a horror story protagonist?

Chronic fatigue or chronic pain? I feel like I would write fatigue better, because I have that, but I feel like pain would be better for readers. The story I'm planning for nano has a disabled lead who relies on a service robot for day to day tasks and will have to work alongside his body's restraints throughout the story.

both would be a lil over the top, do you think?

Aye can y’all reblog this if I can do a friendship with you and we can ramble about our WIPs together? 

It’s okay to not finish projects.

Maybe your project isn’t finished now, but it will be someday when you go back to it. Maybe some projects aren’t meant to be finished. That doesn’t make them any less meaningful — they still are important, and they still contribute to who you are today, and who you will be in the future.

Finishing doesn’t have to be the end goal. You’re not a failure for never having finished a WIP draft, and you’re not any less of a writer if your goal isn’t to complete something.

And if your goal is to finish something, good luck! You’ll get there someday!

That is absolutely true. If you have a project, an idea, that you just can't seem to be able to approach from the right angle, it might be just that you're not ready for it right now. there's been several project i've had on the backburner of my mind for years, that only now I am ready enough to even start