#Short Fiction Authors

[gildedbearediting]

Short Story Day (Africa)

Celebrating the Day June 21 is a day to celebrate diversity in writing, and authors across Africa. The people who write about what it’s really like in Africa, and speak on the issues faced by the African people. In the past, authors didn’t capture Africa as it was, and it can be hard to shake long-lived stereotypes and old narrow perspectives. I’ve seen it even now as African Social Media…

[springstick]

Every time I try to write dialogue my eyes glaze over and I fall on the floor convulsing like a victim of the dancing plague

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Creating Compelling Character Arcs: A Guide for Fiction Writers

As writers, one of our most important jobs is to craft characters that feel fully realized and three-dimensional. Great characters aren't just names on a page — they're complex beings with arcs that take them on profound journeys of change and growth. A compelling character arc can make the difference between a forgettable story and one that sticks with readers long after they've turned the final page.

Today, I'm going to walk you through the art of crafting character arcs that are as rich and multi-layered as the people you encounter in real life. Whether you're a first-time novelist or a seasoned storyteller, this guide will give you the tools to create character journeys that are equal parts meaningful and unforgettable.

What Is a Character Arc?

Before we go any further, let's make sure we're all on the same page about what a character arc actually is. In the most basic sense, a character arc refers to the internal journey a character undergoes over the course of a story. It's the path they travel, the obstacles they face, and the ways in which their beliefs, mindsets, and core selves evolve through the events of the narrative.

A character arc isn't just about what happens to a character on the outside. Sure, external conflict and plot developments play a major role — but the real meat of a character arc lies in how those external forces shape the character's internal landscape. Do their ideals get shattered? Is their worldview permanently altered? Do they have to confront harsh truths about themselves in order to grow?

The most resonant character arcs dig deep into these universal human experiences of struggle, self-discovery, and change. They mirror the journeys we all go through in our own lives, making characters feel powerfully relatable even in the most imaginative settings.

The Anatomy of an Effective Character Arc

Now that we understand what character arcs are, how do we actually construct one that feels authentic and impactful? Let's break down the key components:

The Inciting Incident

Every great character arc begins with a spark — something that disrupts the status quo of the character's life and sets them on an unexpected path. This inciting incident can take countless forms, be it the death of a loved one, a sudden loss of power or status, an epic betrayal, or a long-held dream finally becoming attainable.

Whatever shape it takes, the inciting incident needs to really shake the character's foundations and push them in a direction they wouldn't have gone otherwise. It opens up new struggles, questions, and internal conflicts that they'll have to grapple with over the course of the story.

Lies They Believe

Tied closely to the inciting incident are the core lies or limiting beliefs that have been holding your character back. Perhaps they've internalized society's body image expectations and believe they're unlovable. Maybe they grew up in poverty and are convinced that they'll never be able to escape that cyclical struggle.

Whatever these lies are, they'll inform how your character reacts and responds to the inciting incident. Their ingrained perceptions about themselves and the world will directly color their choices and emotional journeys — and the more visceral and specific these lies feel, the more compelling opportunities for growth your character will have.

The Struggle

With the stage set by the inciting incident and their deeply-held lies exposed, your character will then have to navigate a profound inner struggle that stems from this setup. This is where the real meat of the character arc takes place as they encounter obstacles, crises of faith, moral dilemmas, and other pivotal moments that start to reshape their core sense of self.

Importantly, this struggle shouldn't be a straight line from Point A to Point B. Just like in real life, people tend to take a messy, non-linear path when it comes to overcoming their limiting mindsets. They'll make progress, backslide into old habits, gain new awareness, then repeat the cycle. Mirroring this meandering but ever-deepening evolution is what makes a character arc feel authentic and relatable.

Moments of Truth

As your character wrestles with their internal demons and existential questions, you'll want to include potent Moments of Truth that shake them to their core. These are the climactic instances where they're forced to finally confront the lies they believe head-on. It could be a painful conversation that shatters their perception of someone they trusted. Or perhaps they realize the fatal flaw in their own logic after hitting a point of no return.

These Moments of Truth pack a visceral punch that catalyzes profound realizations within your character. They're the litmus tests where your protagonist either rises to the occasion and starts radically changing their mindset — or they fail, downing further into delusion or avoiding the insights they need to undergo a full transformation.

The Resolution

After enduring the long, tangled journey of their character arc, your protagonist will ideally arrive at a resolution that feels deeply cathartic and well-earned. This is where all of their struggle pays off and we see them evolve into a fundamentally different version of themselves, leaving their old limiting beliefs behind.

A successfully crafted resolution in a character arc shouldn't just arrive out of nowhere — it should feel completely organic based on everything they've experienced over the course of their thematic journey. We should be able to look back and see how all of the challenges they surmounted ultimately reshaped their perspective and led them to this new awakening. And while not every character needs to find total fulfillment, for an arc to feel truly complete, there needs to be a definitive sense that their internal struggle has reached a meaningful culmination.

Tips for Crafting Resonant Character Arcs

I know that was a lot of ground to cover, so let's recap a few key pointers to keep in mind as you start mapping out your own character's trajectories:

Get Specific With Backstory

To build a robust character arc, a deep understanding of your protagonist's backstory and psychology is indispensable. What childhood wounds do they carry? What belief systems were instilled in them from a young age? The more thoroughly you flesh out their history and inner workings, the more natural their arc will feel.

Strive For Nuance

One of the biggest pitfalls to avoid with character arcs is resorting to oversimplified clichés or unrealistic "redemption" stories. People are endlessly complex — your character's evolution should reflect that intricate messiness and nuance to feel grounded. Embrace moral grays, contradictions, and partial awakenings that upend expectations.

Make the External Match the Internal

While a character arc hinges on interior experiences, it's also crucial that the external plot events actively play a role in driving this inner journey. The inciting incident, the obstacles they face, the climactic Moments of Truth — all of these exterior occurrences should serve as narrative engines that force your character to continually reckon with themselves.

Dig Into Your Own Experiences

Finally, the best way to instill true authenticity into your character arcs is to draw deeply from the personal transformations you've gone through yourself. We all carry with us the scars, growth, and shattered illusions of our real-life arcs — use that raw honesty as fertile soil to birth characters whose journeys will resonate on a soulful level.

Happy Writing!

[duckprintspress]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH, EVERYONE! We are thrilled to announce our second-annual Pride Bundles for Charity with two all-new short story bundles – 30 stories total! – that we are selling at a discount to raise money for our chosen queer charity!

Last year, our debut Pride bundles raised almost $350 for queer charities. This year, we’re back with a new General Imprint Bundle and a new Explicit Imprint Bundle, each discounted 20% from their list prices (and each including multiple stories that aren’t for sale and are usually only available to our backers on Patreon) and with 20% of the net profit going to Rainbow Railroad.

How This Works

you buy one or both bundles between now and July 8th, 2024.

we tally up all the proceeds earned and do some math-e-magic to figure out how much we’re donating!

before the end of July, we donate the raised money to Rainbow Railroad, we post the proof we’ve done so.

you get fantastic stories!

we all get that happy, glowy feeling of knowing that money has been well-spent on fantastic causes!

About the Press

Duck Prints Press is a queer-owned indie press, founded to publish original works by fancreators. We’ve been in operation for over 3 years, and in that time we’ve worked with well over 150 creators to publish six anthologies and almost 100 other stories, from shorts to novels, and we’ve got more on the works (our next anthology, our first erotica collection, will be crowdfunding within the next month!). The vast majority of our creators and their creations are queer/LGTBQIA+ (maybe even all, but we don’t out anyone and we don’t ask demography because, frankly, it’s none of our business).

25 of our authors have chosen to include their short stories in one or both of these short story bundles, and all our short story authors nominated potential charities and voted to select Rainbow Railroad as the beneficiary for our 2024 Pride Bundles.

About Rainbow Railroad

In countries around the world, LGBTQI+ people face violence and oppression simply because of who they love or who they are. Rainbow Railroad helps them get to safety! Rainbow Railroad is a global not-for-profit organization that helps at-risk LGBTQI+ people get to safety worldwide. Based in the United States and Canada, they’re an organization that helps LGBTQI+ people facing persecution based on their sexual orientation, gender identity and sex characteristics. In a time when there are more displaced people than ever, LGBTQI+ people are uniquely vulnerable due to systemic, state-enabled homophobia and transphobia. These factors either displace them in their own country or prevent them from escaping harm. 

Note: This charity isnot affiliated with the Press, do not know we’re doing this fundraiser, have not endorsed this in anyway and are, as such, utterly uninvolved in this beyond being the beneficiaries of our efforts! Text is from the Rainbow Railroad website.

About the Bundles

We are offering two bundles, one with 18 short stories published under our General Imprint, the other containing 12 stories published under our Explicit Imprint. The shop listings include details about and excerpts from all the stories. Here’s the gist…

Titles in the General Imprint Charity Bundle:

The Princess and the Maze by A. L. Heard

Of Loops and Weaves by Catherine E. Green

Glass Slipper: A Dance by Cedar D. McCafferty-Svec

Songs, Suppers, and Stories by D. V. Morse

Waiting for the Tide to Turn by Genevieve Maxwell

Chinaski’s Dirty Work by J. D. Harlock

Foundations by Johnathan Stern

Seal Island by K. B. Vimes

Into the Wyvern’s Lair by Mikki Madison

Sarisa by N. C. Farrell

Whispers of Atlantis: A Tale of Discovery and Belonging by Neo Scarlett

Be Not Afraid by Nicola Kapron

Awkward and Oblivious by R. L. Houck

Washer Wars: A Laundromat Feud by Samantha M. Piper

The Wayward Timekeeper by Terra P. Waters

if it’s meant to be by Tris Lawrence

Meet C(omm)ute by Violet J. Hayes

Chrysopoeia by Zel Howland

18 stories. 254 pages. 82,462 words of fiction!

Price: $22.50

Approximately 20% of the list price of this bundle will go to Rainbow Railroad.

Titles in the Explicit Imprint Charity Bundle:

Brambles, Pollen, and Other Natural Disasters by A. L. Heard

A night such as this by April Steenburgh

Theirs All Along by boneturtle

Orchidelirium by Dei Walker

Old Kings and New by Lyonel Loy

Weather the Storm by Lyn Weaver

Pretty 7 Days a Week by R. L. Houck

Adventures of the Scarlet Sentry: After Dark by Samantha M. Piper

Worlds Apart (but Still Close) by Sanne Burg

Taken at Sea by Shea Sullivan

Warm Anything You Want by Tris Lawrence

LA Photographs Itself by YF Ollwell

12 stories. 198 pages. 69,550 words.

Price: $21.50

Approximately 20% of the list price of this bundle will go to Rainbow Railroad.

Come get some great stories, support a queer-owned business this Pride, and benefit two fantastic causes. Win-win-win situations don’t get much better than this!

These bundles will only be available for one month, so don’t miss out. Visit our webstore between now and July 8th and get yours!

[subjective-raven]

Hey everybody! I wrote a book! It comes out on September 17th 2024.

It’s a magical realism thriller anthology of four short stories and five poems! Each stand alone short story is set in a different season. Each story says something different about the human condition.

In “Dottie’s Final Day,” a reaper comes to Dottie Lyre in her garden. What does an elderly mother choose to do on her last day alive?

“The Door,” appears suddenly and disappears just as fast. What’s on the other side? Why won’t the door sit still? Jane’s going to find out.

Please share this with anyone you think might be interested! You can preorder the e-book on Amazon now for .99c and the paperback will be available SEPTEMBER 17th for $10.99! The price will go up a few dollars September 28th but I’ll also be getting a larger percentage of the sale.

I’ve been writing my entire life and this is my first published book so pleaseeee if you are reading this, this book is for anyone middle school to grave. It’s only like 142 pages and the cover is really pretty if you would rather just have a pretty trophy and leave me a review on Amazon like you read it and it was awesome then I also love you.

[pickledillytea]

Untouched

Photo credit: @/lesbeanlatte

Fan art that inspired fan fiction.

Untouched

~*~

Vi’s skin is soft, the softest thing you’ll ever get the privilege to touch. Despite it being made up of hard tendons and bulging muscles painted in intimidating permanently black marked mechanics and robot-like designs, Vi is anything but just brute force.

In fact, Caitlyn is the only one that sees through the tough exterior, sees past the chronic stiff posture, always ready to fight. It is rare if she finds Vi completely relaxed. When it’s just them however, Vi lets her guard down a little but really Caitlyn only sees the real Vi when she’s asleep, when she’s completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

Only then does Vi succumb to the comfort Caitlyn is trying to give her in this new life, only then does she temper down and let her body be. Caitlyn often wakes up before Vi for exactly this reason. She revels in the relaxed state of her lover; wishes she could offer her more of it, to tell her she can be herself now, but until then, Caitlyn only has these stolen moments.

Every morning she would look at the sleeping Vi, whether she’s on her back or facing Caitlyn or away from her, she admires every angle. Her fingers itch to touch every inch of Vi regardless of her peaceful dreams but Cait refrains, she lets Vi rest, deservedly so, on most occasions.

Today, Vi is turned away from her, the expanse of her back on full display while cast in soft hews from the still early morning sunlight slowly streaming through the sheer curtains. Cait traces the oil black cogs and gears with her eyes at first, memorising every swirl of the billowing smoke clouds that make up her tattoo, not that she hasn’t studied it in depth already but she finds something new every time.

The depiction is such a stark reminder of Vi’s past that Caitlyn’s heart aches, not for the first time, for the Zaunite and she wonders if that feeling will ever go away. The feeling to protect her from the world.

For some reason Cait feels especially overprotective of Vi this morning. She can’t help but slowly reach over, tracing the outline of the tattoo with her finger tip but never touching, not yet. She feels a tingling all the way down the extremity hovering over skin, memories of its previous encounters flashing through her mind which in turn has a visceral reaction on her body, her touch remembers all the moments. Cait yearns to press into her, to let the ink bleed into her touch and stain her skin, to melt into Vi wholeheartedly so that she can just have a little part of her forever marred into her flesh.

Not only does Cait feel protective of Vi’s body but she’s also very much attracted to it - drawn to it. Every contour of her body, every curve, every line, every defined muscle sensually pulls her in. The slow breathing of her torso, lifting, expelling and expanding of shoulders in slow succession distracts her from her initial task of ghost painting Vi’s tattoo and instead has her needy, wanting, aching. 

The hand that was suspended in the air, slips underneath the covers and Caitlyn reaches the place feeling neglected all of a sudden. She’s surprised to learn how wet she already is and Vi wasn’t even awake to have caused this effect on her. Just her mere presence alone had her in tethers. Cait slips her fingers between her own folds, a pool of wetness welcoming her at the base and she swallows the moan threatening to escape at the sensitivity of her cunt.

She gets lost in the feel of her fingers slowly moving up and down, collecting her own fast accumulating juices which she spreads over her hardening clit. This paired with watching Vi sleep peacefully, unbeknownst to her activities behind her back, somehow has her eager and panting already. Her hips slowly start to gyrate against the mattress, riding, rocking, rolling against her hand. The moan this time escapes before she can suppress it and Vi twitches. Cait stills, waiting to see if she woke Vi but sighs with relief when she doesn’t turn around, scolding herself at the slip.

Slowly she starts back up, a pulse quickening her ministrations. It wouldn’t be long now. She finds her pace and again focuses on Vi solely, the long pink hair she’s letting grow cascades down her defined back, sliding down her spine and it looks so soft. Cait has a sudden urge to run her fingers through the tendrils, pull at them while she plasters herself against Vi’s back. She imagines herself grinding into Vi’s well shaped ass that fits against her perfectly like a puzzle piece, bouncing back and forth and burying her nose in the back of Vi’s neck, consuming her while fucking herself harder.

Caitlyn jolts at the first sign of her pending orgasm shooting down her groin and hurries her administration, rubbing faster, messier and with abandon. The sound coming from her sopping cunt is sinful as hell and filling the room in stereo but she didn’t care about that right now, quiet be damned. She bites down on the pillow just as something snaps deep within her and then she convulses violently.

She lets her orgasm wash over her in wave after wave. She soothingly circles her clit, prolonging her orgasm until she can’t stand the stimulation and removes her soaking hand. Her skin now sweaty and covered with a light sheen of sweat is already cooling over her naked back. She waits for her heartbeat to even out too before she finally resurfaces for a much needed breath, a dark spot of her spit left behind on the pillow case.

For a moment she basks in the bliss, her body humming with pleasure. If only it had been Vi’s fingers fucking her. She shudders at the thought, contemplating whether she should wake up her still sleeping girlfriend and beg for a proper release. The thought of Vi’s deft fingers filling her up like only she knows how has her positively salivating and she clenches around nothing. The hell with it, she thinks and reaches over to touch Vi’s back in the hopes of waking her up but she pauses before ever reaching her destination.

“Having fun without me, Cupcake?”

[bellesdreamyprofile]

cowboy feels with elvis and y/n 

“Are you my yittle honeybee?”, Elvis tickled his daughter’s tummy on the changing table. The little girl let out a delighted squeal at the feeling of her daddy’s fingers on her little tummy. A big smile framed her little face as her hands reached out for Elvis.

“I know, babygirl, daddy knows.”, he cooed, gently picking her up. “Daddy’s bestest girl. After your mama, of course.”, they walked out her nursery and then made their appearance known to their guests.

“This yittle baby is finally up.”, Elvis said in a happy tone - your daughter waved her little hand at the Mafia members. The men laughed at her little gesture and waved back, earning more squeals from the little girl.

“Jerry, I ain’t seeing my wife in here.”, Elvis said, looking around the room. The wives of the Mafia were in their own area minding their own business — everyone but the wife of the King.

“You know where she is E.P.”, Jerry said and Elvis shook her head with a small smile. The little girl in his arms almost sensed who her daddy was looking for as she also started looking around wide-eyed.

“Even on a Monday morning.”, he muttered and found his baby girl’s jacket as the air was a little too cool for her. A little bucket hat was placed on top of her little head, making her delightfully touch it. Elvis smiled at her little movements and picked her up again. “Let’s go find mama.”

Walking out of the house with his baby girl was almost a routine for him. He didn’t remember the last time he spend a morning in bed with his wife, cuddling her warm body. She took off before dawn and spent most of the early morning at the stables, feeding all four horses and brushing each of their soft manes. Y/N was an early bird by nature - she thought that sleeping longer than she needed to was a waste of her time as there were so many things that needed to be done. That was what she claimed anyways. Elvis preferred slow mornings - waking up towards eleven and finding his baby girl in the nursery, who was luckily a heavy sleeper like her daddy. An abundant breakfast would follow, accompanied by a large, black coffee and some baby talk.

He tried waking up earlier and she tried sleeping in, but that only seemed to disrupt their baby’s schedule. And they weren’t in the best moods either. The best possible solution seemed to adapt to each other’s morning as well as they could. Slowly but surely, they found their pace.

“Mama!”, the little girl wiggled in Elvis´ arms, making him yelp in surprise.

“Hold up, baby girl.”, he adjusted her on his forearm and moved closer to the fence dividing them from the horses and her mama. Y/N appeared almost instantly as her name was called.

“Mama horse.”, the baby tried to reach out to her with her little hands. Y/N hopped off the horse and walked with it to the fence, closer to her little face. A smile framed her face at the sight of her husband’s bed hair and their little girl in his arms.

“Hi.”, she muttered with another smile and once she was close enough to him, placed a kiss on his lips.

“Missed you in bed.”, Elvis muttered against her lips. The little baby fisted his thick, brown jacket, almost asking for his undivided attention.

“You always say that.”, she noted with a small smile. “She woke you up, didn’t she?”

“Daddy don’t mind his little baby. Right, my little bee?”, Elvis blew a raspberry on the little baby’s cheek, the little girl squealing in delight. Y/N looked at the two with a growing smile on her face.

“Let me close up the stables and I’ll be right there, okay?”, she smiled at the two and patted the horse.

“Say oki doki mama.”, Elvis grabbed little honeybee´s hand and waved it at her. “She said she’ll be back, honey. Ain’t no need to get all fussy.”, the little girl whined at the sight of her mama leaving.

Elvis jumped a little and there was his little happy baby again, squealing in delight at her daddy’s silly actions. Moments later the lady of the hour came up to the two, one of Elvis´ cowboy hats on top of her head. Her husband let out a low whistle.

“Alright mama, so this is what’s going on when I’m sleepin´ in, huh?”, his teasing tone made her chuckle, though the way his blue eyes moved up and down her figure made her flustered. 

“Aw, shut it.”, she said gently and grasped the cowboy hat, placing it on top of his head.

“Oh.”, their little baby said, making the two parents laugh.

“Mama is so silly, ain’t she baby?”, the little honeybee squealed and waved her minuscule arms around, almost wanting to grasp the cowboy hat herself.

“Let’s go cowboy.”

A/N: cutie pie chapter - I love dad elvis so much ; if you got any requests, feel free to write them down!

MASTERLIST

elvis presley masterlist elvis presley digital 2025 calendar

[writing-with-sophia]

Writing a novel: Step by step

Most writers aspire to publish at least one book in their lifetime, but writing a novel is not easy. From new writers to experienced writers who have published hundreds of books, everyone must follow a step-by-step process to create their work. These steps are based on the wisdom of famous writers, so while they may not be entirely definitive, they will certainly be helpful to you.

Step 1: Generate ideas

Start by generating ideas for your novel. This can involve brainstorming, keeping a journal of potential story concepts, or drawing inspiration from real-life experiences, books, movies, or current events.

Once you get an idea, hone it.

Step 2: Create characters

A novel cannot be successful without unique and charming characters. Create compelling and well-rounded characters for your novel. Develop their backgrounds, motivations, personalities, and relationships. Consider their strengths, flaws, and how they will evolve throughout the story.

Remember, the more realistic the characters, the better the novel will be.

Step 3: Build setting

Establish the setting or world in which your novel takes place. Whether it's a real location or a fictional world, provide enough descriptive details to immerse readers and make the setting feel vivid and believable.

Step 4: Define plot and make an outline

What is your story about? How will it unfold? How does it begin, develop, and conclude? What and how many scenes will be included? Make an depth and very depth outline, even going so far as to outline every chapter.

Step 5: Write

Begin writing your first draft. Don't worry about perfection; the goal is to get the story down on paper. Embrace the creative process and let the ideas flow. Please remember, don't go back and make changes. Just write!

Step 6: Revise and edit

Once the first draft is complete, take a break (for 3 days) before revising and editing. (This will keep you from overediting or not editing enough.) Then, read through your manuscript with a critical eye, focusing on plot holes, inconsistencies, pacing, character development, and overall storytelling. Revise and rewrite sections as needed.

Step 7: Get beta readers

(You must) seek feedback from trusted individuals, such as beta readers, writing critique groups or your friends. Their input can provide valuable perspectives on areas that may need improvement. Consider their suggestions while maintaining your unique voice and vision for the story.

Step 8: Polish and refine

Polish and refine your novel based on the feedback received. Pay attention to sentence structure, grammar, punctuation, and overall prose. Ensure clarity and coherence in your writing.

Step 9: Publish

You can research different publishing options, such as traditional publishing or self-publishing. Remember to evaluate the pros and cons of each approach and decide which is the best fit for your goals and circumstances.

That's all. I hope you success in publishing your novel!!

If you want to read more posts about writing, please click here and give me a follow!

[aloof-cold-hands]

Angelo "Hitman" Ramsey (short story- Gene)

A short story from Gene's childhood in which a trip with his father becomes more difficult than expected

Just behind the house, during the summer, Gene had decided to fell the ponderosa pine tree that had developed wood rot. It once held up the hammock, but after the bark where the rope was tied turned from red to black, Gene decided to chop it down. 

With each thunk of Gene’s axe the tree would sway and needles would speckle the ground. Cicadas buzzed and the chug of a kid’s scooter echoed from the front of the house. Gene was sick with a fever, and had been since he woke up two hours ago.

The back of Gene’s neck was glossy with sweat. There was a pinch behind his temples that would sting briefly, then mellow, the sting again. He could feel it pressing against the back of his eyes and against the top of his skull. 

He breathed deep and heavy through his nose, pulling his axe back behind his head then sinking it into the bark again. He kept the axe head in the wood and let go of the handle. He then swayed, then placed his calloused palm against the tree to steady himself with a hand on his hip. He spit on the ground, grunted, then ran a hand through his hair.

And as he stood there, sick, he pictured his father sinking a chainsaw into the body of a spruce tree.

Sometime in the morning, during the early fall- if Gene remembered correctly- his father brought him into the garage to prepare for tree felling. The garage was always hot and thick, and smelt like corn chips. On one wall, the wooden bones of the house were exposed with black construction paper stabled between the planks. On another wall hung small framed newspapers in black and white. They read; “Angelo Hitman Ramsey” or “The Big Bull in Chicago”.

Cardboard boxes stacked atop one another crowded a corner, and dumbbells laid abandoned beside a bench. Below a hanging lightbulb was Ramsey’s work table which was powdered with wood shavings. 

The steps beneath Ramsey creaked as he stepped down to the concrete garage flooring. He breathed very slowly and heavily through his nose, and he grunted to clear his throat. 

He motioned to the garage door.

“Open,” he said.

Gene hopped down the steps and jogged to the front of the garage. Robin’s paws clicked against the ground as she followed him. Gene squatted, took hold of the metal knob attached to the garage door, and began to lift. It chugged as it began to raise, running on a track in the ceiling.

Gene paused halfway through, adjusted the heel of his palms against the knob, then pushed to send the rest of the door up. The outside air was cool against his face and the tall pine trees outside were swaying from a calm wind. Their dirt driveway was scattered with needles and pine cones.

Across the road Aiden was outside with his mom and brother pulling weeds. Aiden looked up and waved with a gloved hand, and Gene waved back. 

Robin trotted out from the garage to Ramsey’s light blue truck, which had rusted at each corners. She stared at the door, then looked back at Gene with round black eyes. Her tail began to wag.

“Can Robin come?” Gene asked.

Ramsey walked past Gene, holding two brown paper bags. Ramsey moved Robin aside with his boot, then opened the truck door to toss the bags into the front seat. 

“Dad,” Gene said.

“Mmh?”

“Can Robin come?”

Ramsey scratched his stubbled jaw and walked past Gene back into the garage. He knelt down and reached under his workbench, and when he stood he was holding the orange handle of a chainsaw.

“No,” Ramsey said.

“Alright,” Gene said, and followed Ramsey to the car.

While Ramsey loaded the chainsaw into the back, Gene scooped an arm under Robin’s white belly and lifted her. Her legs flailed while he maneuvered her to hold her in a cradle then looked down at her face. He blew a small puff at her, and she bit the air. He blew again, she bit again, then she sneezed.

“M’alright, cmon.” Ramsey said, and Gene put Robin down

“Inside,” Gene said to her, pointing to the house.

She stared at him and wagged her tail.

“Inside,” he said again.

Robin hesitated, then trotted away to the back of the house where the dog door was.

It was a forty minute drive from home to get to land available for lumberjacking. The trees grew dense and tall, and even when Gene leaned forward to look out of the front window he could not see their tops. Beside him, Ramsey was smoking a big cigar which made the hairs of his thick mustache bristle.

Ramsey slowed the truck and pulled it off the road, and the car wheels began to crackle over gravel and twigs. The car stopped, the hum of the engine shut off, and Ramsey pressed the grayed end of his cigar into the ashtray on the dashboard. Gene watched him.

“M’alright,” he said, cranking back the emergency break.

He opened his door, and so did Gene.

As they walked Ramsey held his chain saw in one hand with his other sunk into his back jean pocket. And when Ramsey looked up at the trees, so did Gene. 

Ramsey placed his palm against the wood of a thin but tall pine tree. Gene could fully wrap his arms around it if he wanted.

“M’okay,” Ramsey said, placing the chainsaw down. He knelt then looked at Gene. “We’re gonna cut here,” he motioned a horizontal chop across the wood, then raised his hand and angled it. “Then here.” And he motioned another chop. He then began to stand and his left knee popped. 

“Okay,” Gene said, but he didn’t understand.

Ramsey picked up the chainsaw and pinched the pull cord between his thumb and pointer knuckle. The cord chugged when he yanked it back once, then twice, and on the third pull the engine inside the chainsaw kicked and began to rumble. Ramsey motioned Gene to step back.

Gloveless, and without ear muffs, Ramsey turned the saw blade and sunk it into the tree. The razors began to catch and rip into the wood, and birds in the trees above them took flight. Gene reached up and plugged his ears. 

Shavings spewed from the base of the saw and dusted the forest floor in white. And after coming nearly to the center of the tree, Ramsey pulled the blade back.

Ramsey made three cuts into the tree, a horizontal, an angled, and another horizontal on the opposite end of the tree. This left uncut wood in the very middle, and when he pressed his palm into the bark the center began to snap. The tree came free, tipped, then hit the ground with a cloud of dust. 

“Alright,” Ramsey said, and rolled his shoulders back.

With the engine still humming, he held out the handle of the chainsaw for Gene.

Gene looked at his father, and his father looked back down at him. Ramsey shook the chainsaw once, then Gene reached for the handle with both hands. When Ramsey let go Gene’s arms dropped from the weight.

Ramsey moved Gene to another tree with a clear line to fall, then stood back and crossed his arms. Gene raised the chainsaw with a grunt and turned it sideways. He stood with his legs generously far apart and his knees bent. After turning the saw to see where the switch was, he clamped his hand on it and the blades began to race. He immediately unclamped.

“Hold it firm or it’ll kick back on the bark” Ramsey said. 

“Okay,” Gene said.

He pictured the chainsaw hitting the bark, rebounding off, then ripping into his stomach. His arms felt light under the skin, and his palms made a layer of sweat between the handle and his hands. But, like his father, he rolled his shoulders back and clamped the switch again.

The chainsaw sunk into the wood, stopped, sunk again, then stopped.

Ramsey said nothing.

Gene shimmied the blade out of the crack, then raised it with shaky arms for the next cut.

He followed the steps his father took, slicing three jagged cuts into the tree. When he finished and pressed his hand against the bark, it did not fall. He looked at Ramsey, who motioned to the wedge Gene sawed.

“Too shallow,” he said.

Gene had only cut the wedge a quarter into the tree rather than half way. Ramsey crossed his arms and stepped back, and Gene ran the blades again.

It took Gene twenty minutes to fell his tree, and even when it began to snap and fall, the base broke off and kicked back at Gene. Ramsey took him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

Ramsey then placed a hand on the back of Gene’s head. Gene looked up at him.

“Good,” Ramsey said.

Ramsey cut down the last tree while Gene stood on a big flat-topped rock and watched. Ramsey then showed Gene how to run the saw across the tree to slice the branches off, then how to turn the tree, then slice again. After that, they stopped to sit down on the back of the truck and eat lunch, and neither of them said a word to one another.

After lunch, Ramsey began to slice the trunks into sections. Gene would pick up the thick round chunks and walk them back to the truck, then stack them in the back.

And on the very last tree- which still had its branches- Ramsey had begun to slow. Gene watched his flannel come off, his white wife beater go transparent around the collar from sweat, and his breathing become labored. Despite this, Ramsey continued to press the blade against the branches of the tree.

Gene watched how Ramsey held the saw and how he planted his feet. His arms had veins running from his biceps to his wrists. His knuckles were rounded and defined, and his fingers were thick. Gene pictured his father with a brown leather hat and a lasso, riding atop a stallion. He then looked down at his own arms which hung loose.

The razors on the blade glided across the tree as Ramsey sliced the branches off. The saw hooked and ripped the wood, outlining the tree with white shavings.

And when the saw hit a thick knot at the base of a branch, it kicked back and tapped against Ramsey’s right thigh.

Gene stilled. The blades of the saw stopped and Ramsey raised the machine to look down at his thigh. There was an open split in the fabric of his jeans, and it began to blossom with dark red. A weight dropped in Gene’s chest, and he looked up at his father’s face.

Ramsey wiped his glossy forehead with the back of his wrist. Then, the chainsaw started again, and Ramsey continued cutting the trunk into sections. Gene stood very still and watched him. He felt a balloon expanding in his chest, pressing against his heart and ribs, and welling up into his throat. He felt like he should cry, but he didn’t.

As Ramsey continued, so did Gene. He picked up the next round chunk of wood, then he walked back to the truck.

When he returned, Ramsey had finished sectioning the trunk and the continuous hum of the chainsaw’s engine finally died. The forest was very quiet. Without limping, Ramsey walked to a nearby rock and sat down, then began to undo his belt.

Gene bent over and wrapped his arms around the next piece of wood. He stared down at the forest floor as he adjusted his arms. It was scattered with thin twigs and yellowed pine needles, which were speckled with red dots. He looked up at Ramsey.

Ramsey’s jeans now pooled at his ankles, revealing a baggy pair of plaid boxers. From where Gene watched -with his chest resting atop the wood- he couldn’t see the top of Ramsey’s thigh. But as Ramsey studied it, a line of red slid down the side of his calf down to his ankle. Gene looked away.

Gene finished loading the truck, and Ramsey tossed the saw into the back before walking away to the treeline.

Gene opened the car door and stepped up into the cream colored seat. He leaned over to watch his dad through the driver’s seat window. Ramsey had one hand placed against a tree and each foot planted apart. His shoulders raised and lowered with big breaths, and beads of sweat dripped from his chin. He was taking a leak while Gene was in the car waiting, and the balloon in Gene’s chest swelled again. The stream was black.

Gene laid his head against the chilled window and watched the towering trees glide past the car. The sky had gone from amber to black, and the weather turned frigid. Gene watched a fog spread against the window each time he exhaled through his nose, forming a rounded shape.

Then, just as Gene laid his head back against the headrest, something outside popped. The truck jerked, and then swayed as it balanced itself. Gene looked at the road, then at his father, who stared straight ahead and rolled the truck to a stop at the side of the dirt road.

“What was that?” Gene asked.

Ramsey pulled the gear into park and opened the door, leaving the key in the ignition. Gene turned around in his seat and watched him walk behind the truck, then squat out of eyesight. Gene then looked down at Ramsey’s seat cushion where red blood had followed the cracks in the white leather.

Gene wondered if Ramsey had cried when he was a kid. Gene recalled that just a month ago Aiden fell off his bike and busted his cheekbone into the curb which split the skin open. When Gene’s mom took him to get stitches, he cried the entire time. He wondered if his father had ever gotten stitches, and if he cried.

Ramsey’s boots neared the car, and his long arm reached in to take the key. The headlights that stretched into the woods shut off.

“Nail on the road,” he said. “Popped tire.”

“Alright,” Gene said.

Ramsey leaned in and opened the glove box in front of Gene, and he blindly felt for a flashlight. 

Gene’s brows furrowed as he opened his own door, and he wondered if they were going to walk the rest of the way home. He then wondered when the last time was that he saw another car come down the road. 

“Get your coat,” Ramsey said to him.

“Don’t have it,” Gene said, walking to meet his dad in front of the car. “I didn’t bring it.”

“Alright,” Ramsey said, and he turned on the flashlight.

It shot down the road into the darkness with no defined circle.

Without limping, Ramsey began to walk down the side of the road. Gene followed behind him, and their boots crackled against gravel and twigs. Warm fog wafted from their noses, and after ten minutes Gene’s jaw began to shiver. His walking slowed.

Gene looked up at the moon that was only a curved slit, then looked at the back of his father’s head. Ramsey was breathing heavy, and he too had slowed. He did not shiver, and he did not roll the sleeves of his flannel down. Gene pictured a rotund bull with forward pointed horns pressing against a boulder. He imagined the boulder moving bit by bit, and the bull’s hooves digging into the ground.

Gene clenched his jaw and pretended that he wasn’t cold either.

After twenty minutes of walking, Ramsey stopped and dropped the arm holding the flashlight up. He placed his hand on his hip and let his head tip back. Gene saw in his father’s black silhouette that he was shaking. He stood there, panting, and Gene watched him. Then, Ramsey’s body swayed, he tipped back, and he caught himself then straightened again.

“Dad?” Gene said.

Ramsey did not reply. He stood, panting, and for a very long time Gene watched him. And then, two yellow headlights came around a curve in the road.

Both boys stood and stared as the two dim lights came closer. The wheels crackled as they slowed to a stop, and the drive cranked down the window. A thin older man with a fishing hat and sun spots on his cheeks smiled at them. He had white whiskers around his jaw, and smile lines beside the corners of his eyes.

���It's a real cold night for a walk, aint it?” he asked. Ramsey said nothing, and the old man leaned forward to look at Gene. “You fellas get lost?”

“Popped tired,” Ramsey said.

“Ah, that's too bad,”

Gene eyed the red truck the old man drove. In the trunk had a wooden dining table and three chairs. They were strapped down with rope.

“I’m about four miles from my place, we’ll have you phone someone,” said the old man.

“Alright,” said Ramsey.

Ramsey reached back and placed his hand on the back of Gene’s head, and they went around the front of the truck to the passengers side. 

Ramsey sat in the middle, and Gene sat beside him. Then, the man began to drive again, and trees glided past them in the opposite direction they had been going before.

The cream colored bench they sat on had no cracks or tears like Ramsey’s truck, and the ashtray on the dashboard was empty.

“You fellas out chopping wood?” he asked.

“Mhm,” Ramsey said, gripping his thigh.

“Yea, me and my boys used to come out here too. I’m Donald,” Donald said.

“I’m Angelo,” Ramsey said.

Donald looked at Ramsey, then at the road. Then, he reached up for the ceiling light and pressed it on. It flickered a dim yellow, and he leaned forward to look at Ramsey’s face. Gene watched them.

“Well shoot. Shoot, you’re Angelo Ramsey, aren't you.”

Ramsey said nothing.

“Hitman Ramsey, I used to watch you with my kids. Haha, what are the chances- You really have six fingers on your left hand?”

Ramsey raised his left hand, palm up, and showed Donald.

“Wow, look at that,” Donald said. “When you took that man out in the ring, I mean wow. I was sitting with my wife and uh, I think she was holding our youngest. Well, I woke the boys to bring em down so they could see it, and I mean, it's all we talked about the rest of that day. Hah, what else can you talk about?”

Gene’s brows raised, and he looked at his father’s face. Ramsey’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing deep through his nose.

“One hit, and wham- gone. Completely gone, that's a hell of an arm you’ve gotta have. Not even a chance. The hell are you doing in Twin Falls?” Donald asked.

“Retiring,” Ramsey replied.

Donald chuckled, then, for a while, no one said anything.

Gene looked back out of the front window.

“You like dogs?” Donald asked, leaning forward to look at Gene.

Gene nodded.

Donald’s home was a part of a small neighborhood in an open, flat, green field. The porch lights were lit and the front door was propped open with a chunk of wood. On the first step laid a very fat chocolate lab who’s stiff tail began to wag when the car drove into the driveway.

When they first came into the home, Ramsey asked for antiseptic. He soon sat at the kitchen table and tipped the bottle carefully over the split on his thigh. Gene did not watch, and instead scratched under the chin of the lab named Big Bertha. And as he watched her face, he heard sizzling, and a low grunt.

While Ramsey phoned Abigail in the kitchen, Gene sat on the living room couch and stared at the television, but he didn’t watch.

Instead, he pictured his father in red boxer shorts and round gloves. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead from the lights in the indoor stadium. He imagined an announcer’s voice crackling through speakers, booming over an audience. He saw a swing of his father’s left arm, then a man’s head turning from the hit. The man went completely still, tipped, and fell on the mat. His father stood tall- face sore- and he put a fist in the air.

Angelo hitman Ramsey. 

“How old were you when you started boxing?” Gene asked.

He and Ramsey drove back down the road in Ramsey’s blue rusted truck. Donald and Ramsey used a spare from Donalds garage to change the tire. Ramsey held the steering wheel tight with one hand, and gripped his thigh with the other. Gene sat curled up against the door with his forehead against the cold window.

“Huh?” Ramsey replied.

“When did you start boxing?”

“Don’t know,” Ramsey said. “Seventeen.”

Gene thought about that for a while, then he said;

“I wanna be a boxer.”

Ramsey said nothing. 

“Did you always win in one hit?” Gene asked.

“No,” Ramsey said.

“Oh. Did you knock that one man out with one hit?” he asked.

“I killed him,” Ramsey said.

Gene raised his head and stared at his father. Ramsey took a deep inhale of his cigar, and the glow of the butt lit his aged face with orange.

Gene pictured his father hitting the man, the man’s head turning, his body going still, then tipping and hitting the boxing cage floor. He pictured his father staring down at him.

He laid his head back against the window.

I put this story together a few months ago for my patron members! If you're interested in more writing, consider supporting me through patreon :)

[tanithleefandom]

I've seen a lot of Tanith Lee's work being mentioned in light of...

...yeah, we all know.

And the thing that is starting to bother me is how many of these posts are tagged with 'radfem safe' or 'radfems do touch' or the like.

...y'all know Tanith Lee wrote transgender characters that weren't predatory men pretending to be women right?

Y'all... do realize that Tanith Lee wrote queer fiction representing a huge swathe of the queer community?

[beedokwrites]

New Story Release!

One friend got a manga style gender-flu.

The other is trans and on HRT.

They're both surprised.

Available on Amazon and Itch.

[nicholaskyleedwards]

Check me out on Goodreads! I’d love to share my writers journey with you 📖🤍 If you’ve had a chance to read my works feel free to star and add to your shelves 🖤🤗

[morallysuperiorlips]

3 Traits That'll Make Your Villain as Cunty as Possible!

A sense of style goes a long way: I think a big part of "slaying the house down boots" is having a sense of style that beats down every pissy protag at the bar. Your villain walks into a room in something fresh off the runway, and they know they’re serving. They might have a signature “piece” that they’re known for, too.

They know and acknowledge their weakness: Might be a personal preference, but there’s something about a villain that knows what could be their downfall and they’re just like, “Yeah. And?” Not only does this give them a level of unbreakable, absolute slay energy, but it kind of makes them pretty scary! Like, "I know if you killed my cat it would break me, but try me. See how that works out for you, bestie."

Obstacles don’t phase them: Yeah, your protagonist might be able to get a leg up on them somehow, but having a villain see that and just go “Oh. Okay.” and COMPLETELY pivot without the slightest sense that they’re unnerved or angry is SUCH a serve. It’s like, “Yeah okay, you might have one-upped me but if you think this is gonna change anything, you have another thing coming,” and then next thing your protag knows, villain is back better than ever. That's a cunty villain.

As always, go fucking write something <3

[rehnwriter]

Hey there, everyone! Currently working on polishing up many of my older stories to publish them as an anthology.

The theme of the collection will be 'real-life' horror, so the focus this time isn't on the supernatural, but the dark underbelly of society.

Right now, I'm working on polishing up 23 of my stories for publication. I might publish some of the edited versions on here within the next couple of days as I'm working my way through them.

Right now, I'm not planning on adding exclusive stories, but this might change depending on how long the work takes.

This is only the first of five collections I plan on releasing in the future, all with their own overarching theme. Only two have enough material right now, so I'm going to focus on them so far.

Altogether, the themes are:

Real Life Horror

Weird Fiction

Ghots and Monsters

Childhood Scares

Lovecraftian

[writerawoke]

Planning Your Novel

Planning can sometimes be extremely difficult, but is unfortunately a necessity when you want to write a book. Based on research and my own personal experiences planning, these are some things that may help you on your planning journey through tips, questions or even a couple of different methods.

Personally, I recommend having a notebook dedicated to your story planning. It can be as messy as you want, as organised as you want. You could scribble a line of a song, a book, a poem, anything down into it that could be useful inspiration. Use your notebook as your best friend. You can write and tell it anything if you think something may come to use. If you do not have a notebook with you, or genuinely not want one, use the notes app on your phone or keep everything in a google doc, ready for you to come back to and write it down when needed. Genuinely though, planning is so much easier when you have something that keeps it all together.

(The writing in red is a couple of methods you can use, but keep in mind it helps if you find something that works for you)

These are some questions that may be useful when planning:

What makes your main character superior to other characters?

Who is connected to your main character?

What are the traits of your characters? (What they like, dislike, their flaws etc)

What is their appearance like?

What is their background or backstory like? (Did they come from a broken family, or an amazing one? Did society treat them well?)

Magic Systems - For Fantasy Novels:

When you plan a fantasy novel, you usually have to have a magic system... In most cases. So I would start with how their magic is sourced. Is there a specific object that their magic comes from? A mini example of this could be a crystal that has been around for decades! They could even be born with their magic, like perhaps it was a power that ran in your character's family for decades.

Think about what happens when their energy source is weakened, damaged, broken. What would happen to the main character's powers? Do they become fatigue? Do they die? Do they go into a coma? Can they live without their magic source?

Personally, the way I plan my magic systems include me breaking down the kingdoms into their own categories. I would research things of that specific species within that kingdom to get a good idea of what magic they have. Bullet point listing is my own personal favourite technique when I plan because it helps me keep it short and simple. After researching that species' magic, I would then write what makes them stronger. An example of this could be a mermaid being stronger by the sea. Water often carries a lot of energy meaning it is a potential source for a character's strength to become enhanced.

Also, consider how powerful that species is and why they may be useful in your story line.

Locations:

I believe it is helpful if you categorise your chapters first via subheadings, that way it is easier for you to find individual chapters and plan through them at your own pace. Usually, a great way to start is what locations that character is in, within that chapter. Are they in a forest? Trapped somewhere? Perhaps outside of Heaven's gates?

-

Mind Maps, aka spider grams/mind dumping is super helpful. I have used this method in the past with most of my work both inside of writing and outside of it when i used to study in education (not that the mention of me using it to study is relevant, lol.) A good way of using this is to put a category in the center of your bubble and have different categorised strands coming off. Off of those strands, you may have characters. Then you'd do even more strands coming off of that category to break things down about them. (Rough example below)

Sometimes, it helps if you work out what happens at the end of your book first, then consider a few possibilities to what could lead up to that point. An example of this could be: if you want your end result have a character death, does that character get betrayed? If so, who by?

Pick a genre and research the things that make that genre good and what they consist of. For example if you look at a Shakespeare play, they often consist of a character being used for comedic relief. (I understand that these aren't books, but a play script for inspiration is a great way to get ideas)

A lot of people say to find inspiration through reading, but that isn't always something you have to do. I very rarely read, and yet I often have tons of ideas entering and leaving my mind. I think songs, poetry, quotes and getting obsessive over fictional characters are great ways for me to get inspiration. Like, when it comes to me gaining an interest in a character, I pick out things about them that would make a great character in a book. Like in Scream movies for example, Billy Loomis is a great inspiration for an insane, stalker-like character, then I would slightly inspire a character based on him. Or I would have a dark thought and want to implement that into a character.

Use pinterest!! Most writers these days will tell you to use it. It is SUPER helpful if you need inspiration for locations, characters or even general vibes in your book. It is there to be used, so take it to your advantage, don't be scared.

Sticky notes can be used to help provide extra information, say if you missed something important, quickly scribble it down and stick it on a wall, in your bag, in your phone case or notebook to look back on later.

[girl-and-her-cat]

Chapter One: Extended Contracts

The probe was dead.

I knew it the moment I lay eyes on the thing. And no, it wasn’t because of the layer of icy crust surrounding the shaft nor did it have anything to do with user error. I knew it the moment they told me what the issue was. The probe had been running non-stop for four months in a freezing cold vacuum. AKA; space. And they were using a standard run-of-the-mill type-13. No way could that handle a four month operating time with no breaks.

Dumbasses.

The two techs that had brought me out here were arguing through their helmets on the main channel; I could hear everything from the saliva smacking against their lips to their stuffed up noses they wouldn’t stop snorting through as if that would help them breathe any better.

Just use a goddamn tissue.

“What’s the application?” I asked again. I knew what it was, I just wanted them to stop barking at each other. The techs got nervous when I came up here. At first I thought it was because my job was to report back to HQ and let them know if the tech’s were doing their jobs; RJ told me it’s because I’m a woman.

One tech, the one that only had one front tooth and was clearly the follower of the other guy responded after snorting mucus down his throat. “Temp and pressure of the atmosphere surrounding the pipes. Gotta know how much they can handle before being blown to shit.”

He looked at his bro for approval and smirked at me after receiving a nod.

“Can you tell us what the problem is so we can get back down? Boss don’t like us being up here too long wasting oxygen.” Leader boy said this nonchalantly but I knew who his boss was and also knew that a guy had been fired last week for using more than the mediated level of oxygen for a site run like this one. Found out he had brought his girl up for some “sight seeing”.

Fucking idiot.

“It’s dead. You’ll need to get a new one. A Type- 15 to be exact if you want it to run longer than 4 months out here.”

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