#WordWeavers 2405.12 — Who is the best friend in your story?
The MC is incapable of seeing that it is her.
For most of her story arc, she's suspicious of making friends having been a prizefighter and then working in the mob. She's also somewhat autistic, but trained to deal with people. The problem is that when she's amongst people, working with them, even the baddies, she's the type that gets the job done, teaches those that need teaching how to get the job done, and will always protect her teammates and subordinates, taking responsibility. You don't get in her face, however; certainly only once, anyway. Strangely or not so strangely, those in her orbit see her as a leader and personable. (All she wants is to go home to be alone with her books, but she'd never complain.) She goes along with it when others are friendly with her, not really knowing how to say no and understanding this was what she was trained to do.
To say she's well liked is an understatement. Not many people support you as she does, or will straighten you out and make you fly right when things are bad for you. She saves one marriage by punching the husband in the nose. She's there for others. She'll enjoy a meal with you if that's what you need and listen to you vent. At least one guy has a crush on her. Others fight for her. Some will risk their life for her...
#PennedPossibilities 313 — Is your MC or SC one to confess romantic feelings early on, or to conceal them for long periods of time?
It's hard to know for sure. She has worked in a world were such attactions are a tool to control others, and she's controlled others with them. Having transitioned from being a criminal to operating in a similar capacity on the other side of the law, she ended up tailing a snobbish dandy... who went on, after various provocations, to being someone quite different than his affectations indicated. She thought to pin him in a wrestling hold to get information out of him, but he threw her off and she fought him only to a draw (not easy for anyone to do since she's a former prizefighter). When later that day she got him to drop his façade, she found him actually adorably vulnerable. Not really knowing her own reactions, she obsessively took him from dinner, to dancing, to... um... dessert in one evening.
Well, that's done. First draft of the hard chapter, the one I kept on sticking on for these last few months. Complete! 5,500 words. Wintereyes even surprise kissed him! It is a romance after all... The rest of the novella ought be much easier.
3D printing everything,
copying it bit by bit.
Filament is made from
bits of real world”,
the ad says. The duplicate
will be indistinguishable
from the original. My
evil plan is afoot. I
don’t worry about
fidelity. My
predecessor
didn’t either.
Evil hands wring
“muahahah.”
#PennedPossibilities 311 — What is a memory that makes your SC swell with pride?
That armor. The black dragon armor, light as an autumn breeze. The last who owned it, legends say, a million died to take it away from her, but failed in the end.
She gave it to me: The ruler of the world, the most powerful thaumaturge alive. I was the one who nearly killed her, when we fought for our lives incidentally breaking the Curse of Harmony upon her.
I didn't break the curse but was the one who nearly killed her. Yet...
My friend—whose life I saved by pushing her out of the way of a plasma bolt and getting my flank burnt as a result—reminded me of the legend. Made me test the magic, which let me fly like an arrow and loop and dodge more agilely than a sparrow. She added, "She told me it's the first time anyone's got that close in a century. It's a bribe, you know, A loan. She wants you to work for her. You impressed her. "
#PennedPossibilities 312 — Is your MC or SC a leader, a follower, or something in between?
Wintereyes is not a leader, nor is she a follower. She knows her mind and will state it when needed to help someone, or protect to herself. She's human, but also a member of the Blue Feathers wolf pack—and she's bitten its leader when he's abused pack mates. She's not omega, not low status; wolves respect her knives in the hunt. She knows when to help, and when to stay back. She's a mediator, as she's demonstrated between a dragon and people. It's that she truly cares to do her best for others. Those that know her know this; they listen; they protect her.
Why you don't want to piss off a #novelist (#writer, #author) or an #artist (or people who have them as friends). They may get #creative all over your face.
#PennedPossibilities 310 — MC or SC POV: What was your favorite day or holiday when you were a child? Favorite Day Remembrance CW: Sad.
Why are you making me remember this now? My favorite day? When I was a child? It was /that/ day, each time Mom returned home. She would sing to me, but she belonged to the world, the theatre, to the concert hall. Plenty of her albums proclaimed that. "Midnight, the Voice and the Heart of the Nation." Those albums, they're all I really have of her. She wasn't one for family pictures. Or family. It's why I can't listen to them any more, and walk out of restaurants when any of her show tunes play.
I do sing her songs in the shower, unthinkingly. My roommate doesn't know who I really am, but she's told me my voice is just like hers. Stupid memory. Stupid reflexes.
I remember being /so happy/ when she'd return home. She'd sing to me, but wasn't at all "hands on." She'd sing and she'd listen to me telling all the things that happened that day with friends and nannies—always with a smile, but I was always on the floor or in my bed or in someone else's lap. Her manager—with whom I share my hair color and skin color so he likely fathered me—would hold me while she sang sometimes. He'd read to me. He'd call me his little tomato, since that was the hair color we shared.
I remember the pair once laughing after I'd been put to bed, not sleeping. I'd peeked through a barely opened door to see. /Him/ she held.
I loved them both.
You've made me remember. Are you happy now? How many times could it have been that I remember her returning? A few dozen? They died before I was five, and now I remember /that,/ too.
[That's the Aurora Midnight, the devil girl from the Reluctance stories. Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]
#WordWeavers 2405.10 — Antagonist POV: What do you like the most about yourself?
[A short tootfic. Likely canon. Her Highness speaking. From /Inklings:/]
My jaw almost dropped at the shear gall of the question, but the Midlands plenipotentiary was, if anything, expert at being jovial. His smile was disarming. He was a diplomat. I didn't gape, but put the tea cup down carefully.
"You're referring to the dragon incident, aren't you?"
He nodded. He plunked a couple lumps of brown sugar in his tea, stirring. It accounted for his corpulence, something rare amongst his gaunt brethren who spent much of their day running on forest paths. He'd made it from the Midlands in just weeks, on horseback I guessed. Poor horse. "It's on everyone's tongue. You'd mobilized the militia. Detailed reports hit the Forest Ridge High Tower as if carried by a thunderstorm."
He was making sure I knew "people" kept him well informed, and that my military wasn't what interested him. Much, anyway. I sighed, crossing my legs as I sat back.
I'd mobilized the best and most radiant of my magic users. None could best me, but we expected to face a wyvern the size of my in-town mansion. It had burnt up part of the Fell Woods. A good thing, thinking about that unassailable haven for monsters and wild beasts. Then it attacked a farm.
"The attack on the farm was an accident," I said off-handedly, steepling my fingers.
He paused. Blue eyes speared me. I'd never announced the details of what happened because if I made them official rather than rumor, the public might panic. Nobody died.
The Midlands ought know, I decided then and there. It'd be to my advantage. I'd let him decide the implications. "The grain silo had a moisture problem. It had started to ferment. Who would have thought a dragon might like beer?"
He chuckled, then, "You're serious? You know this? /How?"/ He put down his tea cup with a loud clink, spilling some of the reddish liquor.
I'd rode in with an elite company of my army, through a wood arch that proclaimed "Cornfeld," into a farm yard. I'd been ready to use my radiance to repel fire; dragons of all shapes breathed fire. My troops had the best spears, but it had been centuries since anyone had needed weapons against dragon scale. Would newiron even work? Drowning the beast by swirling airborne the farm's pond was almost our best offense, if the magical beast decided to fight. I knew they disliked fighting. I hoped that I had that much correct. If I had to resort to radiant kinesis to heave rock from a stone fence, it might decide to retaliate against my Townships—if I failed.
What I found was a half-naked girl, barely a woman though very tall, mollifying a distraught farmer and mediating with a red dragon who looked to be hanging on her every word. I could tell this, even though the dragon had the form of a giant bat.
Apparently, with her mediation, both parties were apologizing to each other!
Worse, though covered with mud and ash, visibly scarred, the young woman was devastatingly beautiful. The type of beautiful that made a seasoned and well worn woman like me think of a different kind of bedmate. I wasn't a man...
Wintereyes was her name. She had befriended a dragon.
Innocent and kind.
And immeasurably dangerous.
The ingénue now attended my magic university, despite being uncomfortable around people and wearing clothing. Learning to be human. One of mine.
I said, "What I like about myself is that I know when to fight and when to make friends."
Wintereyes has reasons to like the guy, besides him liking a woman as shy and strange as she is. He has a cat, and then this (hot off the press, as it were):
The siamese mewed and pawed the air, looking at the dropped photo.
"You can show me were his secret pictures are?" I asked.
The cat zipped off, tail an S shape in the air.
"Wait!" Caramello said as I swiftly followed the beast. Past the grotto bath. Past the metal door that might have once been a large closet but was now a darkroom. Past an inset library barely big enough for the square desk and an easy chair, considering the spiral stair. A clear dome and mirrors directed orangy sunset sun down the stack. Three stories of hardback volumes and a few silvery grimoires made me pause, but Flash meowed. I pushed open an oaken door as Caramello reached for my shoulder, but not touching, giving one last dispirited, "Wait!"
His bedroom...
The guy has his qualities. Cats and books are a good sign? Right?
#WritersCoffeeClub Ch 9 Nbr 09 — What's the minimum time you can work on your writing? Do you need a long, clear period?
This isn't something I've ever measured, though I can recall having an idea of something to add and, because of the ease of bringing up my writing on any platform, spending a few furious minutes writing. Left to my druthers, I will spend hours. Once I spent 15 hours straight, but that was because of a deadline (Clarion critique the next morning) and a story (fantasy romance) where the characters demanded I live their story. 2 to 4 hours is average.
Were I to need to clear a long period to write, I'd never write.
More to the point for me, I really need to clear my mind. Anxiety tries to creep in. To the extent I push that aside and quiet the monkey voice in my head long enough to let the words fill the blank page, time simply does not matter.
As an #sf, #sciencefiction, or #military#fiction#writer, you need the gif image of Tonga exploding in an eruption that can be found in this article. The article is interesting, too.
Wintereyes (the MC) is great with beasts, magical, monstrous, and mundane. She /befriends/ them, which without revealing spoilers means they get along very well with her. Being friends with animals she may well eat does make for an interesting personal philosophy.
Caramello (the SC) has never had to get along with animals, but he does have some familiarity with dolphins as a sailor and birds as a Crab Islander. However, him wanting Wintereyes as a girlfriend, he is learning to tolerate them more than he would have ever imagined. Not only is she worth the effort, it may save his life.
#WordWeavers 2405.06 — Who is your most fun character?
Wintereyes.
She's a free spirit unlike any of my previous characters, but she's always kind. Despite being shy, she's incredibly courageous but doesn't understand how impressive that is. Having lived amongst wolves (she's human), she doesn't understand what it means to live amongst people, but is learning. She's sticking to her "friendly" principles when challenged with unerring innocence, integrity, and passion. It does make her more-than-occasionally NSFW, however...
The MC is employed by her main antagonist, who is an absolute ruler. Theoretically, the MC is second in command, but reality begs to differ. One of the reasons the MC accepted the troubleshooter job is that the MA informed her that her supposedly dead father is actually a political prisoner in a nearby country. In the back of her mind, the MC wonders whether she can use some of the MA's power to pay certain miscreant warlords a nasty visit...
This is a possible sequel I've set up in the current story by having the MC befriend a very talented up and coming military officer.
The main antagonist. This is the person she once considered as the person who ruined her life. She once worked for someone whose stated goal was assassinating her, and didn't care if they succeeded. For the last few months, the MC lived in a roommate situation that made them neighbors. Her roommate was being trained by the main antagonist, but also had a bad relationship with her. Their proximity was always a background tension in the story. In the current story, the MC is now working for the main antagonist and understands the MA's "evil" reasons better, but still dislikes her. The MC could ask for her own suite, free of charge, in the same building but is planning on taking her new salary to live elsewhere.
#WritersCoffeeClub Ch 9 Nbr 08 — When writing technical or scientific detail, how much is plausible versus imagined?
Everything in a story must come across as plausible, full stop. It doesn't matter whether it is imagined or factual. This is as true for writing technical or scientific detail as it is for writing about social interactions. Here's my secret sauce recipe:
If I don't or can't understand the details necessary for the story, I don't write it. I won't write a story about a convenience store clerk because I don't know what that is like, nor am I willing to commit the brain cells to learn. This is one of the reasons I write fantasy and not mainstream or historical stories.
If I understand in layman's terms, I rely on subject matter expert characters to relate what's necessary. For example, I wouldn't explain in a story how the combustion engine works any more than I would explain how the star drive works. I rely on my mechanic, who at the most technical says I replaced a part and here's the bill.
If I am making up the details—which can be how the magic works or the social details for a society that exists only in my head—I rely on consistency and limits to build plausibility.
If something minor occurs that I can't explain, I lampshade it—I hide the bare electric bulb with pretty fabric enough so that the characters in the story believe what happened is plausible. Generally, readers will accept this. See item 6.
If I end up researching something for the story, as I did to write a story about prizefighter, I present only the technical details I know and use items 2 and 4 otherwise. Yes, I learned how to punch a speed bag and train as a fighter, but I'm not one. Since the story involved "mixed magical martial arts," I made s**t up, also, which is item 3.
Most importantly, I work to not stretch the reader's credulity and base everything I can in the common reality the reader shares with me. This promotes plausibility.