sfwrtr, to Prompt
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SuzyShearer, to books
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AskPippa, to random
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sfwrtr, to 13thFloor
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324 — SC POV: If you could relive one day of your life without changing anything that happened, which day would you choose? Tootfic: Reframing the Experience

[When my SC says armor, it's really a weightless magical exoskeleton that melds with her body. It looks like blackened bones, because it is. —R.S.]

Oh, there's plenty of days I'd relive unchanged. Like the day I fledged, when I first flew on my own. Or the day learned the thrill of hauling things through the sky. Both good events in a rather dull and awful childhood that turned to cinders when my parents disapproved of the way I wanted to live my life. Said I aimed for the dirt not the sky. Maybe they weren't so dumb—I ended up badly, working for mob for a dozen years. But, then, there was that day last week...

I've told you a few times how I ended up with the armor and a new job training as a pretorian, you know, having faced down the greatest thaumaturge who ever lived, having nearly killed her. Impressed her.

I thought.

Well, my drill instructor was training me that dawn. I wore the armor. The thaumaturge dove at me, full speed. She's a monster flier, taller, more massive, immortal. I jumped into the sky. Fled.

She followed.

Though the armor let me fly like a sparrow, change direction in a heartbeat, and take a thumping only slightly changing my course, it had been her armor once. She kept appearing before me, striking at my face or heart, sending me into spins toward the ground, stalling me out, almost panicking me into flying into trees or buildings. For all her mass and the inertia that implies, I barely avoided her, half the time with her cackling at my barrel rolls or dives that sent down feathers flying. She had muscle; I tired despite the armor until I thought my heart would burst from my chest, at which point a flyby pitched me into the ground.

I skid across the running track on my belly right up to my instructor. I don't know how I didn't break a wing or my neck. Ok, I do: The Armor.

She landed beside me with a loud thump. She wasn't even winded! She told him, "She lacks stamina. Train her harder."

She leaned down until her face was in my face. I smelled maple syrup on her breath. She said, "You need to use the magic in the armor. There's a class at first bell in the Ivory building, room B7. Shower and be there ON TIME."

I have wings.

I don't do magic.

I showered though, once my legs stopped shaking. I slunk into the class still half-frightened out of my wits. My new friend was there, the curse breaker, a former prizefighter, the one I'd fought beside against Her, that ended up with me getting the armor. It was some sort of advanced special Ed class for mages. I suddenly felt totally inadequate and I cried. Me. At the age of 27, I cried telling her my story, pointing to my purpling bruises, complaining that had She gotten in a good strike She would have caved in my rib cage.

My friend was having none of it. She said, "You're a day angel who just went ten minutes fighting Her. Somehow, you're still alive."

I hadn't thought about it that way. I later learned the word, "Reframing."

The instructor came in with a truckload of tomes and grimoires. She had prepared him for me. He gave me a magic primer. I knew it was a primer because it had PICTURES of youngsters playing. Despite the stares of the other students, I read the book.

Half hour later, I got the armor to glow dull red, like iron out of a forge. Truly. Awesome. Didn't know what it did except look intimidating, but still...

Awesome.

I felt my heart grow large in my chest, and it struck me. Someone (okay, the ruler of the nation) wanted me for who I was and who I could become, and because I was capable. She wanted me to aim for the sky. My new friend supported me and pushed me forward. I liked this, who I was, what I was finding I could be, could become.

And.

Oddly.

I realized, for what it was worth, my parents would approve. (And flap them if they didn't!)

Best. Day. Ever.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]

and




nicolewolverton, to books
@nicolewolverton@zirk.us avatar

Hey, who wants to see me almost disembowel myself while revealing the sprayed-edge version of A MISFORTUNE OF LAKE MONSTERS? Doh.

#books #Writer #HorrorCommunity #Horror #amreading #reading @bookstodon #BookStadon

middle aged blonde gleefully and gracelessly unboxes a sprayed-edge version of A MISFORTUNE OF LAKE MONSTERS.

literarypug, to poetry
@literarypug@mastodon.world avatar

How is it possible to
have writers block?
I’ve been trying to
stop the words for
years. Nasty, insidious
things.

Oh I closed my mind,
but they bribed the
doorman. More like
I’m in the elevator
and words want
to talk. “How’s
yer day?”, they
ask. I’m jabbing
L, repeatedly.
Then <>
.




literarypug, to poetry
@literarypug@mastodon.world avatar

Eyes half open.
I bolted steam
actuated movements
to my skull.

Do you believe me?

Sure, it’s minimalist.

Hey, I tried a Rube
Goldberg machine, but
speed overwhelms me.

I’m saving up for
a blink attachment.

Until then, eye drops every 20.




rorystarr, (edited ) to story
@rorystarr@mstdn.social avatar
FODMAPeveryday, to Blog
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jdmccafferty, to Stoicism
@jdmccafferty@mastodon.online avatar

23 May 1667: Margaret Cavendish Duchess of #Newcastle #writer, #philosopher & #scientist invited to attend the Royal Society #otd She went along one week later on 30th May.

image/jpeg

andrewblasco, to pixel

"Empezó por una puesta,
siguió por un devaneo,
engendró luego un deseo,
y hoy me quema el corazón".

José Zorrilla

#Zorrilla #Valladolid #Escritor #Writer #Atardecer #Sunset #FotografíaNocturna #PixelDroid #FotografíaMóvil #MobilePhotography #Pixel #Pixel6 #TeamPixel

dilmandila, to writing
@dilmandila@mograph.social avatar

I have so many short story ideas, but I write only the first paragraph and just can't continue, yet the entire story is sitting there in my head anxious to come out. Because I've thought so much about the story that I know how it starts, how it ends, who the main characters are, but I can't get it out of my head..... Not sure how to get out of this state. It's been going for about a month now 😭

sfwrtr, (edited ) to 13thFloor
@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe avatar

323 — What's a piece of advice for writers that you listened to and are glad for?

An Australian author, Lucy Sussex, told us at Clarion West 1998 to be shameless in promoting ourselves. Being a shy person, networking and promotion has been a heavy lift, but I'm working on it and I know it's going to help. Mastodon: ☑️

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]

and


jdmccafferty, to london
@jdmccafferty@mastodon.online avatar

22 May 1598: Anthony Munday examined in a testamentary case in consistory court Testifed to being 38 years old and having been born in St. Gregory's parish (eebo)

image/jpeg

literarypug, to poetry
@literarypug@mastodon.world avatar

A sea of clock hands
grab at time,

seeking arms.

Had it been different
long ago,

the little hand
being named
the big hand

and vice versa

then we’d have
five dozens
to win it

and what seems
like ours, could
take hours

rather than minutes.

#5amwritersclub #poetry #poet
#poetrycommunity #writer
#writingcommunity #poem
#poetrylovers #poems #amwriting #smallpoems

sfwrtr, to 13thFloor
@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe avatar

322 — What piece of advice, as an author, did you once receive but hadn’t followed? Looking back on it now, you might wish that you had.

Advice: Don't only write novels. Write lots of shorter pieces.

When I started I saw that you could only make a living if you sold novels, so I wrote novels. That completely discounted the fabulous practice you get completing lots of smaller stories. Completing a novel takes lots of time and there's a mounting anxiety that in the end the plot will fail or no publisher will be interested. Yeah, true with short fiction, but the investment is far lower (or should be if you're doing it right). There used to be lots of magazines you could sell short fiction to... for pennies a word, but it was something, and it offered a chance to build a brand name and a following. Such notoriety could help you sell novels, too.

Today, I'm writing lots of short fiction.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]

and


sfwrtr, to 13thFloor
@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe avatar

2405.22 — Is your antagonist more a dragon or a dragon rider? CW: Innuendo

This question has me rolling on the floor laughing, but then you'd have to know the context of the story Fire Brand is in. The antagonist's type of human is called a... You guessed it. The MC has described his "attributes" cough intimately, having let herself be captured by him... And, well... "riding" is a euphemism she's well acquainted with. So, will she become a dragon rider...? 😊

I wrote about the dynamic between these two characters in the tootfic Ms George and the Dragon
https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/110603595653290409. Please read it, if you haven't already. It should amuse you in this context...

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R..S.]

and



THEDAILYHAIKU, to Haiku
@THEDAILYHAIKU@mastodon.world avatar

SLOW RENGA Respond with using the suggested first lines & start each haiku with the same first lines below: DISSONANCE… or LISTENING TO RAIN… Post haiku in comments, enjoy mulling over the first line and considering your options at different points during your day. Look forward to reading your haiku and seeing where these lines take you.

MarjoleinRotsteeg,
@MarjoleinRotsteeg@mastodon.nl avatar
literarypug, to poetry
@literarypug@mastodon.world avatar

Hold callus in your hand.
Catch abrasions on knees.
Prepare skin for laceration.
When it comes, cradle it.
Gaping wounds don’t appear
overnight. Reassure it, aside
from the callous of the world,
it will always have a home
with you, as it weeps.

#5amwritersclub #poetry #poet
#poetrycommunity #writer
#writingcommunity #poem
#poetrylovers #poems #amwriting #smallpoems

metin, to writing
@metin@graphics.social avatar

From the ar(t)chive…

"The pen is mightier than the sword." ✒️⚔️

Two 3D illustrations, made in the 2000s for the site header of the Dutch writer and columnist Luuk Koelman.

sfwrtr, (edited ) to 13thFloor
@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe avatar

Ch 9 Nbr 21 — Do you format as you write or do that at the end?

I am writing a manuscript for a fiction book or short story. Since I use a computer and now use , the question is, what formatting? If you mean do I /italicize/ words? Yes. If you mean to I occasionally indent for stylistic meaning?

Yes.

I do.

It's ard to show on Mastodon.

Centered chapter breaks? I use a style.

Beyond that? What formatting? Scrivener blats out a manuscript when I'm done. If I want a book, I'll likely find someone to edit and design for me, if a conventional publisher doesn't buy it first.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]

and


sfwrtr, to 13thFloor
@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe avatar

#WordWeavers 2405.21 — Do you consider how your MC’s appearance may contribute to stereotypes?

Yes. Which is why I leave most details vague. Since I write fantasy or SF that's generally in the far future, I discuss issues like racism and inequality from different angles. For example, my devil-girl (her term for herself) in her internal dialogue might call a day angel a featherbrain, but if one of them should call her a /devil/ (it's not the "official" term for her kind), them's fighting words...

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R..S.]

#BoostingIsSharing and #CommentingIsCool

#fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory

sfwrtr, (edited ) to 13thFloor
@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe avatar

321 — Did your SC once admire their parents? Who else did they admire growing up? What about today?

Caramello admired his mother. He felt loved growing up despite a difficult situation with hostile step siblings and a status as the youngest child of the chieftain that kept children his age away. The chieftain took her as a second wife because he needed help ruling Crab Island; his first wife, though she gave him many children, had him on disaster patrol keeping her from ruining things. The business marriage required a child, Caramello. His mother did everything to protect him while she worked, saw he had a good life and a real childhood, ensured trades folk trained him in fishing and sailing (he admired them, too), and the mainland traders schooled him in letters and numbers. She saw him safely away on the mainland when it looked like a succession bloodbath might start between his siblings. Today, he misses her a lot, and fears the next letter he might receive via ship.

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]

and



literarypug, to poetry
@literarypug@mastodon.world avatar

Dialed a phone
(schick schick schick)
and called a friend.
We hailed a taxi to
a silent disco where
we played loud music
above the silence.

It had never been
done.

We reveled in our
rebellions.

As we spoke easy.




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