#also i feel i can be more descriptive like this instead of writing dialogue in the pics! love using both methods for dialogue

[aurorangen]

How was Felix's case going? Not good. Their current tactics in exploiting the scammers were not enough for the court. From their sources, the Sterling-Ricos had hacked into the bank organisation to steal Felix's money. Apparently, the bank had a request to fortify their system security from any tech company and since Isaac was a certified ethical hacker, he secured the job before anyone else! Through this method, he also found concrete evidence to end the scammers! He looked up after learning of the new data...

"I found something." All his new findings were enough for legal proceedings on their half, but there was also evidence concerning corruption or money laundering schemes...meaning the Sterling-Rico family could be connected to something bigger.

"Let's transfer this over to detectives, it's not something of our scope," Vincent thought. "Good job Isaac, I'm glad you spotted this."

With Isaac as his right-hand man, Vincent believes they could take on anything. "Anyway, where'd you learn how to hack?" he was curious. "Oh, I took some cybersecurity classes during law school. More hard work and now here I am, eyes as sharp as an eagle," Isaac joked around with his nickname back then. Vincent laughed and sat down, "Lucky you're on our side with that!"

Isaac took off his glasses and chuckled, "Heh, they don't call me Eagle Eyes for nothing."

[whispers-whump]

Some writing advice

that I like to use when I write. None of this is meant to be taken as hard and fast rules, they’re just things I like to do/keep in mind when I’m writing and I thought maybe other people would enjoy! <3

Never say what you mean

This is an offshoot of the very common “show don’t tell” advice, which I think can be confusing in application and unhelpful for scenes where telling is actually the right move. Instead, I keep the advice to never say exactly what I mean in stories.

By using a combination of showing and telling to hint at what you really mean, you force your reader to think and figure it out on their own, which makes for a more satisfying reading experience.

You might show a character getting angry and defensive in response to genuine care and concern. You could tell the audience that the character doesn’t see/talk to their parents often. But never outright give the real meaning that the character feels unlovable because of their strained relationship with their parents and as a result they don’t know how to react to being cared for.

Your readers are smart, you don’t need to spoon feed them.

Be sparse with the important things

You know how in a lot of movies there’s that tense scene where a character is hiding from something/someone and you can only just see this person/thing chasing them through a crack in the door? You get a very small glimpse of whatever’s after the character, sometimes only shadows being visible.

Do that in your writing. Obscure the important things in scenes by overdescribing the unimportant and underdescribing the important.

You might describe the smell of a space, the type of wood the floor is made of, the sound of work boots moving slowly across the room, a flashlight in the character’s hand. And there’s a dead body, laying in a pool of blood in the far corner of the room, red soaking into the rug. Then move on, what kind of rug is it? What is the color, patterns, and type of fabric of the rug?

Don’t linger on the details of the body, give your reader’s imagination some room to work while they digest the mundane you give them.

Dialogue is there to tell your story too

There’s a lot of advice out there about how to make dialogue more realistic, which is absolutely great: read aloud to yourself, put breaks where you feel yourself take a breath, reword if you’re stuttering over your written dialogue. But sometimes, in trying to make dialogue sound more realistic, a little bit of its function is lost.

Dialogue is more than just what your characters say, dialogue should serve a purpose. It’s a part of storytelling, and it can even be a bridging part of your narration.

If you have a scene with a lot of internal conflict that is very narration-heavy, breaking it up with some spoken dialogue can be a way to give some variety to those paragraphs without moving onto a new idea yet; people talk to themselves out loud all of the time.

Dialogue is also about what your characters don’t say. This can mean the character literally doesn’t say anything, they give half-truths, give an expected answer rather than the truth (“I’m fine”), omit important information, or outright lie.

Play with syntax and sentence structure

You’ve heard this advice before probably. Short, choppy sentences and a little onomatopoeia work great for fast-paced action scenes, and longer sentences with more description help slow your pacing back down.

That’s solid advice, but what else can you play with? Syntax and sentence structure are more than just the length of a sentence.

Think about things like: repetition of words or ideas, sentence fragments, stream of consciousness writing, breaking syntax conventions, and the like. Done well, breaking some of those rules we were taught about language can be a more compelling way to deliver an emotion, theme, or idea that words just can’t convey.

Would love to hear any other tips and tricks other people like to use, so feel free to share!!!

[supersoakerfullofblood]

Dialogue Tags and Action Beats, Pacing and Scene Development; a Brief Overview

I've seen a few "dialogue tags to use instead of 'said'" posts now, but most of the tags provided by these posts are trying too hard and are much more distracting than "said" would be. "I'll kill you," he declared; "It's okay," she exonerated; He remarked, "He shouldn't have done that." These are clunky to varying degrees, and if you don't recognize that now, you will with practice.

The truth of the matter is that "said" is pretty much always blank space that the reader will skim over without a second thought. It's maybe the only word we have with this function, and it should be treated as such! So why don't we use dialogue tags that add meaning to the dialogue? Something like "argued," "rejoiced," "remarked"? You can, and these should be used now and then (maybe not "rejoiced"), but overusing them weights down the prose, and in general, they should be replaced by action beats or description.

In much the same way adverbs and adjectives should be avoided if the noun they modify already has the qualities of its modifier, wordy dialogue tags should be avoided if you can show the character's emotions through other means. Dialogue tags are telling; action beats and description are showing. Look at these examples:

He remarked, "I can't believe it's not butter."

His eyebrows rose. "I can't believe it's not butter."

"I told you not to do it," she cried.

Her body shook; words rasped her throat. "I told you not to do it."

"Cried" and "remarked" here aren't bad, but they are weaker than they could be. In the first example, "remarked" indicates tone, but it doesn't do anything else. "His eyebrows rose" indicates tone and also develops the scene. It places the character in the reader's mind's eye, and we understand how that specific character reacts to margarine. How would a different character react differently? This dialogue feels embodied; it belongs to a specific body, a specific host. The second example is embodied too, and a little flowery, though not excessively so. We see how a character reacts to whatever "it" is, and we aren't told how they react. How does she cry in the first sentence?

The debate about dialogue tags, however, misunderstands what tags are actually for. Probably 10% of it is imbuing meaning where there is none (a simple word like "whisper" is a great replacement for "said" when used with restraint), but 90% of it is about tempo/flow/beat/pacing/whatever you want to call it. Read these sentences:

She said, "This is none of your business, and you aren't telling anyone about it."

"This is none of your business," she said, "and you aren't telling anyone about it."

"This is none of your business, and you aren't telling anyone about it," she said.

These sentences convey the same information, but to the careful ear, they carry a world of difference. The first reads snippy, like a terse command; the second gives some added gravity to the second half of the quote, landing hard on the last clause; the third one may be effective if the character is responding immediately to something another character said, since there isn't anything to preface the dialogue, and there's nothing halting it in the middle. All this happens in the two syllables of "she said." Use this word to affect the flow of your writing; use this word to affect how people read your writing. Another sin of other dialogue tags is that they may have too high of a syllable count to warrant use. "He expostulated" is a wild distraction from otherwise smooth prose. "She interrupted" is also clunkier than just having the character interrupt with your choice of dialogue tag/action beat placement or omission. In general, I'd be wary of any dialogue tag longer than two syllables.

Wordy dialogue tags can also be avoided by seeding description in your conversation scenes! Just as the world still operates when we have conversations, so too should it for your characters. Here's an exchange from a story I wrote:

He smiled. “Sleep well?” “Girls were up late.” “Is that a yes—” “No. I didn’t sleep.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “They were screeching.” The crowd caught up with them, swallowed them, and they were carried along the cement. “Oh.” Carmen paused. “Sorry.” “It’s okay.” “Is it all bad?” Bodies shifted in the crowd, and Piper glimpsed Beatrice again. Familiarity warmed her chest. Here was the world outside the camp; here was everything Piper knew. She stood between Beatrice and Carmen and lived again in band class, lived again on the bus home, let public streams flood her roots and grow her as a social monolith, an independent and undisputed landmark in her social circles. But at camp, she was little more than Beatrice’s friend, than Carmen’s apocryphal lover. “It’s not all bad,” she said. “Bea is here. And you.”

Description can easily mold into a character's internal monologue, as it does here. You can also go straight to the monologue if you'd like:

Was she sad, Piper thought, or coy? No, it was the start of a joke. “You didn’t think you were a big deal?” But Beatrice didn’t smile. “I didn’t think people cared that much.” She drew her hands close on the table, covered right with left, and looked into her knuckles. This was defeat, Piper recognized. Beatrice conceded, but of her own will. Piper won, but her score was sour, and Beatrice seemed to crumple her arms into the abject statue of her body. And Piper felt as she never had before, as if a storm of locusts ate at the border of her stomach, as if her skin turned to deep and polluted waters, as if moving one hand or twitching one muscle would irrevocably alter the course of life; the drumming of a finger would set off some idle paranoia in Beatrice, or a sniff of the nose would throw her from the wide window, drop her thirty feet down the wooded hill, and crack herself in two on the base of an implacable oak. This was grief, Piper felt, or something approximating it, something resembling internally a dark and blank horizon, something feeling as a stone feels in a pond whose size may only house that stone, something taking shape in the woman before Piper, shrinking now to a girl, now to someone uninspiring in a world of couplets. Piper sat still, because she did not know how to affect the world without ending it. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Imagine if the second example read:

"You didn't think you were a big deal?" Piper said.

Beatrice frowned. "I didn't think people cared that much."

Piper frowned because Beatrice was sad. "I'm sorry."

Much weaker! Why is the description so long in the second example? Because it's a big emotion! In the world of pacing, big things get big descriptions. In both examples, you feel exactly what the characters are feeling, even though I never used a dialogue tag besides "said." And I used "said" a few times to affect the pacing, which adds to how you perceived the characters. You understood the characters because stronger, more descriptive, more pacing-aware things replaced what could've been clunky tags.

Still, you can do whatever you want with tags, beats, and description. I've read incredible prose with zero tags and sparse beats, prose with paragraphs of beats and plenty of tags, and anything in between. It's all a matter of style, which is to say, experiment! Writers will be stubborn and say things like, "I don't use anything besides 'said' in my prose" or "I'll never use 'said' in my prose again," but neither of those are your personal style. They're declarations that you'll die on this hill you don't fully comprehend, to take a stand on an idea you've never genuinely played with. Go full maximalist; go full minimalist; find what feels right for the pacing you want to incorporate into your style, and recognize how pacing changes depending on the context and content of a scene. Nearly every word is permissible somewhere, it's just a matter of finding the right scene for it. And "said" is permissible always.

[skaruresonic]

The common rebuttal to "this reads like fanfic (derogatory)" is "read better fanfic," which is true in certain cases, but on the other hand, there is some grain of truth to the idea that you can tell when someone's primary mode of literary analysis is fanfic instead of... well... literally anything else. It's okay to like or even prefer fanfic, but if you want to take your craft seriously you also need to read books, dude. Published books will teach you a lot of stuff fanfic doesn't, like proper dialogue formatting and how to introduce your reader to unfamiliar characters. Even the crappiest book (well, if it's not After or 50 Shades, which started off as fanfic to begin with lol) will have been subjected to some sort of editing process to ensure at least the appearance of proper grammar. That's not a guarantee with your average fanfic, and hence why you can't always take all your writing cues from fanfic because it's "so much better" than commercially published original fiction or whatever. Frankly, fic writers tend to peddle some absolutist and downright bad takes sometimes. "Said is dead" is a terrible rule, though not because said is invisible and a perfectly serviceable tag; that's just part of it. Dialogue tags are a garnish, not a main dish that can be swapped out for more ostentatious words. If your characters murmur and mutter instead of simply saying stuff, your readers are going to wonder why nobody speaks up. "'I'm explaining some very plot-important shit right now lol,' she elaborated," likewise, is a form of telling. Instead of letting the reader extrapolate that "she elaborated" via the contents of the dialogue itself, you're telling them what to think about it. And that's why it's distracting: your authorial hand is showing. Writing is an act of camouflage. You, as the writer, need to make your presence as invisible as possible so as to not intrude on the reader's suspension of disbelief. That's the driving reason behind "show, don't tell." And overall, everyone could stand to cut down on the frequency of their dialogue tags anyway. Not every exchange needs "he said" or "she whispered" attached as long as you establish who is doing the talking before the exchange. Some people will complain of confusion if you go on for too long without a dialogue tag, and that definitely is a risk, but at some point you also need to resist the temptation of holding the reader's hand. If they can't follow a conversation between two people, chances are they weren't meeting you halfway and paying that much attention in the first place. In fact, you don't even necessarily need action beats in between every piece of dialogue, as Tumblr writing advice posts will often suggest as a fix. Pruning things often cleans them up just fine.

Another fanfic-influenced trend in writing is, I guess, beige prose? A heavy focus on internal narration with lots of telling. It's not a style I can concretely describe, but every time I click on a non-mutual's writing, I feel like it always has, like. This "samey" voice to it. There's no real attempt to experiment and use unique or provocative language, or even imagery half the time. It's almost a dry recital of narration that doesn't leave much room for subtext. I see this style most often in fanfic where you can meander and wax poetic about how the characters feel without ever really getting around to the plot. And it's like. DO something.

Other tells that the author is taking their cues from fanfic mores rather than books: >>too much minute description of eyes, especially their color and their movement >>doesn't leave much room for subtext (has a character speak their every thought aloud instead of letting the reader infer what they're thinking via action or implication) >>too much stage action ("X looked at Y. Y moved to push their seat in. X took a deep breath and stepped toward Y with a determined look on his face. 'We need to talk,' he said.") >>tells instead of shows, even when the example is about showing instead of telling ("he clenched his teeth in agony" instead of just "he clenched his teeth") >>has improper dialogue tag formatting, especially with putting full stops where there should be commas ("'Lol and lmao.' she said" instead of "'Lol and lmao,' she said." This one drives me up a wall) >>uses too many dialogue tags >>"em dashes, semi-colons and commas, my beloved" - I get the appeal but full stops are your friends. Too much alternate punctuation makes your writing seem stilted and choppy. >>"he's all tousled brown hair and hard muscle" and "she's all smiles and long legs." This turn of phrase is so cliche, it drives me up a wall. Find less trite ways of describing your characters pls. >>"X released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding" >>every fucking Hot Guy ever is described as lean and sinewy >>sobbing. why is everyone sobbing. some restraint, pls >>Tumblr in general tends to think a truism counts as good writing if you make the most melodramatic statement possible (bonus: if it's written in a faux-archaic way), garnish it with a hint of egotism, and toss in allusions to the Christian God, afterlife, or death. ("I will stare God in the face and walk backwards into hell," "What is a god to a nonbeliever?") It's indicative of emotional immaturity imo, that every emotional truth need be expressed That Intensely in order to resonate with people. >>pushes the "Oh." moment as the pinnacle of Romantic Epiphany >>Therapy Speak dialogue. why is this emotionally constipated forty-something man who drinks himself stupid every morning to escape gruesome war memories speaking about his trauma like a clinical psychologist >>"this well-established kuudere should Show More Emoshun. I want him to break down crying on his love interest's shoulder from all his repressed trauma" - I am begging u. stop >>"why don't the characters just talk to each other?" "why can't we have healthy relationships?" I don't know, maybe because fiction is not supposed to be a model for reality and perfect communication makes for boring drama?

>>improperly using actions as dialogue tags ("'Looks like we're going hunting,' he grinned") >>why is everyone muttering and murmuring. speak up >>too many adverbs, especially "weakly" and "shakily." use stronger verbs. ("trembled" instead of "shook weakly") >>too many epithets ("the younger man" or "the brunette detective") >>too many filter words ("he felt," "she thought," "I remembered")

>>no, Tumblr, first-person POV is not the devil; you're just using way too many filter words (see above) and not enough sentence variation to make it flow well enough. First-person POV is an actually pretty good POV (not just for unreliable and self-aware narrators) if you know what you're doing and a lot of fun crafting an engaging character voice. Tumblr's hatred of first-person baffles me, and all I can think is you would only hate it if your only frame of reference was, like, My Immortal. Have you tried reading A Book? First-person POV is just another tool in your toolbox, and like all tools, it can be used properly or improperly. But it's not inherently a marker of bad writing. The disdain surrounding it strikes me as about as sensical as making fun of the concept of characters. Oh, your work has characters in it? Ew, I automatically click off a fic if it has characters in it. like what.

[luna-azzurra]

How to describe emotions? Please help.

1. Show, don't tell: Instead of simply stating the emotion, use vivid descriptions and sensory details to create a sensory experience for the reader. Show how the emotion affects the character's body language, facial expressions, and actions.

Example (Anger): His fists clenched tightly, his face turning an alarming shade of red. He balled up his trembling hands, nails digging into his palms, as his voice exploded in a torrent of seething words.

/////

2. Use metaphors and similes: Comparing emotions to relatable experiences or objects can make them more tangible and relatable. Metaphors and similes add depth and richness to your descriptions.

Example (Joy): Her laughter bubbled up like a symphony of tinkling bells, filling the room with its infectious melody. Her eyes sparkled like the stars on a clear, moonlit night.

/////

3. Incorporate body sensations: Emotions are not just felt emotionally but also physically. Include physical sensations that accompany the emotion to make it more tangible and immersive for the reader.

/////

Example (Fear): A chill crawled up her spine, prickling her skin with goosebumps. Her heart pounded like a drum, reverberating through her chest, while a knot tightened in the pit of her stomach.

/////

4. Consider the character's thoughts and internal dialogue: Describing the character's thoughts and internal dialogue can provide insight into their emotional state, allowing readers to connect with the character on a deeper level.

Example (Sadness): As tears welled up in her eyes, she fought to hold back a sob. Why did everything feel so heavy? Each breath weighed on her chest, as if she carried the weight of the world within her.

/////

5. Show the impact on the character's environment: Emotions can influence the way we perceive the world around us. Describe how the emotional state affects the character's surroundings, whether it's through changes in the atmosphere, colors, or overall mood.

/////

Example (Excitement): The air crackled with electric anticipation. Vibrant hues danced before his eyes, as if the world had suddenly transformed into a kaleidoscope of possibilities. It felt like every corner of the room was infused with a contagious buzz.

if you have further questions or would like to have it explained more explicitly write to me on my IG: Saraswritingtipps, I answer much faster

[tanaor]

How to get the "show, don't tell" rule right in your writing!

(🙋Or how to master descriptions and body language🙋)

Hello everyone! Today I'm here to dive into the very famous "show don't tell" rule. But, first, please remember that these so called rules in art are subjective, and that ultimately you can do whatever you want. There is no wrong or right way to create. That said, let's start!

1. What is "show don't tell"?

It's a method of writing that involves describing sensations, sensory details and body language to convey your message in a way that is more relatable to the reader. For example, instead of saying "it was a hot day", you could say: "She was sweating, and her skin burned because of the sun. She faned herself with her hand, sighing". It makes the reader feel more immersed in a story, setting or emotion.

2. How to show, not tell

If you want to show things instead of telling them, you should try to reduce the number of "feeling words" in your work, such as "nervous","happy", "sad", "excited"... You get the point! Try to think what actions or details convey that emotion, and use them instead. "Sensation words" are also something to look for, like "hot", "cold", "hungry" and so on. There is always a better way to explain things! (If you struggle with this, don't worry! A lot of people make lists of actions that convey an exact mood or emotion. For example, @writers-potion has some really good ones, and also takes petitions).

Extra: I like to assign specific actions to characters so that it gives them variety, and as a little way to convey their personality in the way they express themselves. For example, one character may "cross their arms and frown" while another one might "look away and sight", and both can be interpreted as upset. Get creative!

3. When to use "show, don't tell"

Show don't tell is, of course, a great way to immerse your readers more in the story, but that doesn't mean that it's always necessary. A lot of writers see show don't tell just as a way to add words to your wordcount, and even if it is true that you usually use more words this way, that is not the objective of this technic. That is why, if you think that a specific part of your narration feels good without the show don't tell rule (or if your writing style is more genuine without it), I advise leaving it as it is. Other cases when you shouldn't use this method is in action scenes, as it can slow the pace of your story, or between dialogue, as too much description might come off as boring or unnecessary.

So that's all for today! My next post will probably be about backstorys and how to get them right, so if you'd like to read about that, keep tuned! Hope you find it helpful and happy writing everybody.

Other tips for writers: previous

[writingwithfolklore]

5 Writing Rules I Like to Break

                Listen, I am firmly of the belief that writing doesn’t have rules. There’s no one way to do it—no one schedule or technique or tip that’s going to work for everyone and produce perfect narratives. Which is a good thing! I think if we all had to write exactly the same way, our stories would end up looking very similar.

                So while in general I tend to say throw out any and all rules (and yes, even including the advice I give on this blog if you so desire), here’s 5 common writing rules I specifically and intentionally break, and why:

1. Write what you know

I already talked all about how I tend to ignore this advice here if you’re interested. The TLDR version of it is that you can absolutely write things beyond your scope of knowledge (in fact, I’d guess that’s where the majority of fiction comes from) as long as you write it genuinely—this rule should be instead ‘write what you feel’.

2. Don’t edit as you write

Booo!! Okay maybe it works for some of you—if so, by all means continue (this applies to all the rules I’m about to mention, so just keep that in mind). Editing as I go is how I get back into the swing of things in a new writing session, and also allows me to try a scene a few different times to get the most I can out of it. I tend to believe that words are words even if they’re edited, rewritten, or even deleted.

If your goal is to finish your project as fast as possible, I imagine going back to edit before you’re finished your draft might slow you down. However, I also imagine editing as you go might save you an entire draft. Whatever works for you here is what you should do, but I personally love to edit as I write.

3. Avoid ‘said’

At least I think a lot of you guys are with me when I say that ‘said’ is sometimes just the best word to use. Using lots of descriptive words like, ‘yelled’, ‘begged’, ‘exclaimed’ can be distracting. When the dialogue speaks for itself, the ‘said’ disappears into the background of the scene, while necessary for grammar, it’s a formality for the actual storytelling. As well, I like to experiment with said by adding a descriptor afterwards. ‘Said quietly’ ‘said through a laugh’ ‘said without taking a breath’ etc.

4. Avoid adverbs

Here’s what I’ll say about word usage in general, as long as you pick your words with thought and care, you may use whatever words you want. Words have different specific connotations, and not always will avoiding the adverb have the same impact. For example, changing “he laughed lightly” to “he giggled.” We may have removed the adverb ‘lightly’, but ‘giggled’ holds a completely different connotation. It evokes a sort of immaturity, not unlike the ‘schoolgirl’ stereotype. If we don’t want that connotation, in this case, laughed lightly may be better.

                So don’t count out adverbs for the sake of it. As long as you’re choosing your words with intention and you understand the meaning behind them, you can experiment with a world of adverbs!

5. Never use passive voice

This one I didn’t realize was important to break until quite recently. We tend to be taught that passive voice automatically equals bad and I’m here to tell you that isn’t true. Passive voice should equal focus on action. Active voice equals focus on character. There may be certain sentences in which focusing on either the character or the action is more beneficial.

For example, “the alarm was pulled by Alice” (passive) kind of sounds clunky and wrong, whereas “Alice pulled the alarm” (active) is much more effective.

BUT “Alice was dragged out of the way” (passive) focuses on the action of Alice being dragged, rather than “Something dragged Alice out of the way” (active) focuses on the something that is doing the dragging, which in a moment of action, may take away from the pacing.

As long as you choose your voice with intention, both passive and active voice can be used to create strong, effective sentences.

                What are some typical writing rules you tend to ignore?

[writingquestionsanswered]

When I write I find myself simply narrating things that are happening, i.e. this person said this, they went there, they did this, with descriptions of places sprinkled in.. exactly like a movie. How do I stop doing this and narrate a story for a book and not a movie? What is the difference between writing down everything that happens in a movie (that plays in your head) vs. writing a novel?

Thank you

"Laundry List Narration" vs Exposition

First, I want to say the ability to see a story play like a movie in your mind can be a helpful one, but I do think it can also be a pitfall for what is sometimes called "laundry list narration," where instead of a balance of exposition, action, and dialogue, the story becomes a long list of items (aka a "laundry list") of what people are doing, thinking, and saying. I'm going to take the first paragraph of The Hunger Games and turn it into laundry list narration so you can see what it looks like:

I wake up. The other side of the bed is cold. There is only the rough canvas cover of the mattress where Prim's warmth should be. Prim must have had bad dreams. She probably climbed into bed with our mother. Today is reaping day.

(*** Again, that is not the actual first paragraph of The Hunger Games. I have re-written them to a "laundry list" style.)

Each sentence could be its own line item:

-- I wake up. -- The other side of the bed is cold. -- There is only the rough canvas mattress cover where Prim's warmth should be. -- Prim must have had bad dreams. -- She probably climbed into bed with our mother. -- Today is reaping day.

It really does feel like an observer translating what's happening for someone who can't see it. There's no emotion, no action, no dialogue. It's austere and staccato, like a robot telling a story.

The sentences in laundry list narration usually begin in one of the following ways:

-- pronouns (he/she/they/I/we) -- names -- articles (a, an, the) -- time adverbs like today, tomorrow, yesterday, now, suddenly -- place adverbs like there, nearby, inside, outside, upstairs, downstairs

Laundry list narration also tends to "tell" rather than "show"...

Telling: Sally was mad.

Showing: Sally's nostrils flared as she clenched her fists and gritted her teeth.

Now, let's look at how the first paragraph of The Hunger Games is actually written:

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.

It's much harder to put that into individual line items because it all flows together. It's not a staccato list of things happening. There is some telling (the other side of the bed is cold), but showing, too (my fingers stretch out, seeking Prim's warmth, but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress.) There's thought and emotion (Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.) There's no dialogue, but there's action (my fingers stretch out...)

Unfortunately, there's not a quick fix to this in your writing. It's just something you need to be aware of as you write and try to avoid doing it. Also: keep it in mind as you edit so you can revise.

Remember to lean on showing vs telling when possible (unless it makes more sense to "tell" which it sometimes does.) And also remember to maintain a relative balance of exposition (explaining, describing things), action (things happening), and dialogue (people talking.)

You can have a look at my Description master list of posts for further help on these topics.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[defectivehero]

dialogue

Sometimes, I hate dialogue. Sometimes, I love it. Will I ever be perfect at it? Absolutely not. Are there a few things I've learned as I write more dialogue? ... Yes. Here are some of those things:

[as always, no pressure to use any of these tips. writing doesn't have a "one size fits all" formula.]

Conversations aren't always super smooth, equal exchanges where everything is reciprocated. Sometimes, individuals cut each other off. Sometimes, one individual is doing most of the talking while the other is mostly listening. Think about your characters and what is unique about them. Then, embrace that in your writing! Things like: a) answering questions two paragraphs later, b) dodging the subject and then coming back to it, and c) saying one thing but meaning another are just a few examples of ways to liven up dialogue. If a character is super energetic and eager, they may dominate the conversation (unknowingly or knowingly). If a character is more withdrawn, they may pause before speaking, speak in smaller fragments, or elect not to speak at all. The unique personalities and circumstances of your character can show through in dialogue.

Consider more than just the dialogue. This is probably my favorite thing to do, because sometimes, I just can't get the words to be perfect. And that's okay! Often, a sentiment is better portrayed through a description of a person's body language—think of gestures, facial expressions, etc—than through written dialogue. Think about a character who has gotten sick as an example. There's two ways you can approach their dialogue: 1) focus on the words they're speaking and use descriptions as accessories, or 2) focus on their body language and use dialogue as an accessory. I often find myself thinking that dialogue has to be the main focus, but it doesn't! For the sick character example, I try thinking about how they look and how they may feel. Often times, those kinds of things can also inspire dialogue! In this case, the sick character may: speak with a more raspy tone; have trouble getting the words out; have an interrupted flow of speech because of sniffles or coughs; shiver with cold or sweat; or have a hazy look to their eyes. Details like these often take away some of the pressure I put on myself to have the perfect dialogue.

Dive into the mechanics of the person's voice. Is their voice raspy, gravelly, deep, high? Is there an underlying emotion showing through? How about the volume—are they speaking loudly, softly, or somewhere in the middle? Do they accentuate their statements in a certain way, such as breaking their statements up into shorter phrases with pauses in between?

Think about the setting. I say something along these lines in virtually every writing tips post, but I think the setting is super important and a great way to add some flavor to a dialogue. Where are your characters? Is there anyone nearby—and if so, how do they respond? Do the characters drop to a whisper to avoid eavesdropping or do they carry on as normal? How about the place where the interaction occurs—is it traditionally loud, quiet, or somewhere in the middle? What time of day is it—does the conversation take place in the early morning (think raspy voices from sleep) or late at night (quieter to avoid noise)? Perhaps it's in midday, but the surrounding area is a street bustling with activity?

Explore the context behind the interaction. Why is the conversation occurring? Is it a purpose or task-focused interaction? Is it context-specific? Are there certain elements of language that can only be understood by certain people (think inside jokes or language specific to a place/occurrence)? Also, evaluate the importance of the interaction taking place and go from there. If you're stuck on a part that isn't necessarily inherent to the story (which I usually am), consider shifting to description instead! You can also use dialogue to reference past occurrences, if that makes things easier. Think of a character getting home from work and speaking to their partner. Their partner asks them about their day and the character explains it: "My boss said..." In this example, you would be able to bypass writing the actual interaction between the boss and the character, and instead introduce it to the audience through the character's retelling of it.

I hope these help! Sorry if they're confusing—dialogue is definitely difficult! Each writer will have their own process, and I'm not claiming that mine is picture-perfect.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I remember you mentioning A court of Thorns and roses in your posts once when talking about malleus character archetype. Have you read acotar series? If so I really want to know what you think about it. Your post is how I found out this series. It's pretty meh 😕 to me but I would really like to read your thoughts on it 😊. Also are non twst related ask allowed? If not I'm truly sorry😥. You can just ignore this ask

Oh god 😅 That was such a long time ago that I can’t even locate the original post where I made that comment…

To summarize what I said then, I had expressed that the way Malleus is presented to us reminds me of the bad boy supernatural love interests in romantasy novels. I believe the online book community colloquially refers to these characters as “Shadow Daddies” and I find that hilarious. To clarify, I do NOT mean to say that Malleus is Yuu’s “canon” love interest or anything like that. When I say that Malleus is “like” a Shadow Daddy, it’s just in the tropes they share. (For example, being overpowered, brooding, and misunderstood as a “bad guy” when, in actuality, he has a heart of gold and is just lonely.)

… I’ve actually seen multiple posts comparing Malleus and Rhysand, if you can believe that 💀

The rest of my response isn’t really TWST related, so I’ll put it under the cut for ya ^^ I tried to keep my thoughts concise and free of spoilers.

But to your question! Yes, I actually have read the first three books of ACOTAR but not the novella (A Court of Frost and Starlight) or the sequel, A Court of Silver Flames. I got into the series because it was highly recommended within its genre, but I came out of it really disappointed. I continued reading hoping that it would get better, but it really did not.

Maas has this really melodramatic and yet simultaneously juvenile way of writing dialogue that does not mesh well with what I’m looking for in a romantasy read. She’ll have characters give exposition or speeches that go on for like 10 pages straight and also have supposedly wise ancient fae cracking potty jokes like a middle schooler trying to impress their friends. It makes the books a lot longer than they have to be. In actuality, the plot involves a lot of running around and having all the right questions answered by conveniently placed chess pieces. I also did not enjoy the vague world building (like several side characters are never given proper names and instead are always referred to by title) and the near-constant mention of mating bonds. What I did like was how Maas wrote action scenes and descriptions (even if they often veer into purple prose). She also comes up with some unique concepts—but the execution of those concepts isn’t great, so the ideas are left sort of shallow and floating there waiting to be fully realized.

Romantasy and fairy tale retellings are some of my favorite things to read, so I was sad that I didn’t think that highly of this beloved series. It’s been a while since I’ve read a book I’ve been able to seriously get immersed in 😔 ACOTAR’s explosive popularity has led to many other authors trying to replicate Maas’s success, which has flooded the market with horni fae books and even similar titles (“A [noun] of [nouns] and [nouns]”). (And as someone who does NOT find Malleus attractive at all, you can imagine I’m not thrilled.) I have really mixed feelings about that… While of course I don’t mind if people enjoy ACOTAR or ACOTAR-adjacent books, I dislike that it makes up the bulk of what is marketed to me. It makes it a lot harder to find something that’s more suited to my tastes.

If anyone seeing this post is interested in trying out ACOTAR, I caution you that it is a “new adult” book, meaning it is intended for older teens (I would recommend 18+, honestly). There is a lot of violence and… explicit intimate scenes… in the series.

[thetypedwriter]

Children of Anguish and Anarchy Book Review

Children of Anguish and Anarchy Book Review by Tomi Adeyemi

This book was so horrible. 

No one is more disappointed than me to say that. 

I’ve gone to two of Tomi Adeyemi’s book signings, including a recent one for Children of Anguish and Anarchy.

Tomi Adeyemi herself is absolutely wonderful. She’s so intelligent, hilarious, addictively charming, and can work a room like no other. The book signing was fantastic. Too bad the book couldn’t hold up to the event itself. 

Children of Anguish and Anarchy follows as the third and last installment of the Legacy of Orisha trilogy, but doesn’t read like that at all.

Other than having the same four main characters of Tzain, Zelie, Amari, and Inan, nothing about the book concludes any issue, plot story, or character development from the previous two novels. 

A completely new villain is introduced, someone we haven't heard about as a reader in the last two books whatsoever, and obliterates any of the conflict and tension that Adeyemi worked so hard to build in her previous stories. 

Gone is the tension and literally hundreds of years of in-fighting between the Maji and the monarchy, gone is the civil war and its repercussions on Orisha, gone is even one of the main characters from the last novel, Roen, who was a significant love interest for Zelie and who has been completely disappeared in this new book all together (like, what???). 

It was incredibly lazy writing to wipe away everything the first two books created in order to “unite” against this new enemy. The sentiment is nice, but it’s not the finale we wanted or needed. 

I desired answers to Amari and Zelie’s broken friendship, closure to the Inan and Roen love triangle, a verdict on how Orisha would rebuild and who would rule. 

We get none of that. 

Instead Zelie and the others spend half their time in the book on a ship with very strong slavery parallels, and the other half in the introduced land of New Gaia.

While I thought the descriptions of New Gaia were beautiful (albeit very similar to Avatar), I was dissatisfied because the whole series at this point has been focused on Orisha and Orisha’s problems, not New Gaia and not the Skulls. 

While the plot was bad and aggrieving, the characters were even worse. 

None of the characters were interesting. They were carbon copies of each other in which all they talked about was avenging their fallen Orishan people, killing the Skulls, and protecting loved ones.

Rinse and repeat. It was boring as hell to delve into four different characters’ minds only to find that they all sounded exactly the same. 

I often had to go back to the start of the chapter to tell whose internal thoughts I was reading because they were so interchangeable and self-righteous and dull.  It is never a good sign when you can’t automatically tell who’s POV you’re reading based on their internal dialogue and tone. 

Lastly, the pacing of the book was atrocious. Everything happened so goddamn fast that I felt like I never had the chance to properly digest or internalize anything.

Oh they’re on a ship? Moving on from that. Zelie got some sort of medallion shoved into her chest?? Moving on. Wait, Maji and Titans and the monarchy are all working together after two full books of them killing each other??? Five pages and it’s done with. 

It was outrageous and insulting. 

The pacing made everything feel shallow, unimportant, and unnecessary. More than most of the plot were action scenes, while difficult to write and interesting in their own right, in this book it was so repetitive that characters killing other characters 90% of the time became egregiously tedious. 

And speaking of the action, I also found it incredibly violent and graphic for a YA book. As someone who is not a fan of gore and blood, this book had so many explicit details for no reason other than being gratuitous.

For example, at one point Zelie shoves a chicken bone through someone’s cheek. I found it repulsive and it was also incessant. 

I know some people can handle brutality, but I can’t, and found it a huge turn off and made me dislike the book so much more, especially as this was a majority of the book to boot. 

Disappointment can’t even contain my full feelings for this story. For such a wonderful trilogy to succumb to such a terrible end is a tragedy. I wish the best for Tomi Adeyemi and success for her future, but I will not read another book by her again. 

Score: 2/10

Recommendation: Read Children of Blood and Bone, a magical story that will inspire and entertain you. Read Children of Virtue and Vengeance if you really need something else, but even this book I wouldn’t recommend picking up.

Do not, I repeat, do not read Children of Anguish and Anarchy. It will leave you feeling dismayed and disheartened beyond redemption.

Bonus: Here's me, my fiance, and Tomi Adeyemi at her book signing!

[jccatstudios]

I have been following your soc comic adaptation and it just so good!!! I love how you draw them!

I have just one question: Why did you not include Inej's opening musings about Kaz on the first page? (Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason etc) I actually really like how there is not text on the first two pages, it's really atmospheric and moody so this really is not a criticism, I don't want to insult you. I guess I was just wondering what the thought process behind that was?

Oh, I've been wanting to talk about this for a while! Buckle up, this is gonna be one of my long comic rants. (Also, no offense taken at all! Anyone's welcome to question my artistic choices and I'm always happy to take critique, even though that isn't your intention.)

So, the thing is I actually planned on including that first paragraph into the comic! Here's when I first shared the thumbnails on here. Just for the sake of this post, I'll insert them here too.

The boxes are meant to be where excerpts of that introduction would go. When I was creating the thumbnails, I was thinking about how iconic these lines were and how well they introduce the world and characters. I even finished the pages with the intention to include those lines. This is from my original csp file.

When I lettered it all out, I felt like something wasn't right...? Hard to explain. I wanted silence for the opening and the narration took that away. I then thought about the reader who'd go into this without reading the novel first, wondering if they'd be thinking, Who's this Kaz Brekker guy? Is it this character on the page? It's clearer in the book, but I didn't think it paired well with what I drew. I didn't want any confusion. It's also Inej's chapter, and while Kaz's parts take up most of it, I still wanted it to feel like her POV and her story. We can hold off officially meeting Kaz until page four.

But the main reason I took it out comes down to my philosophy when it comes to comic adaptations. I believe that an adaptation should use the original story in the best way for the secondary medium. A comic adaptation should play to the strength of comics, not the original source material.

Time and time again, I see a lot of comic adaptations of books try to use a book's strength instead of a comic's. When that happens, you get pages upon pages of narration boxes and exposition that could've easily been told in a single panel's image. If you want to read excerpts from the original novel, go do that! They're beautiful and well-crafted and you should be reading the original anyway! If you're making a comic adaptation, make a comic, not an illustrated version of the novel (that's a whole field of its own).

This whole thing really ties well into what I'm doing for Chapter 3. Kaz is such an internal character, his chapters have a lot more exposition that isn't setting description or character actions. I've had to do a lot more of my own writing for this chapter than the last just to turn that exposition into his own voice as an internal monologue. Sometimes, it's just a change from "he" to "I," but there are other times I've had to write new dialogue and find ways to naturally flow between thoughts. If I didn't do the work to adapt the expository text and instead just put in narration boxes of text from the book, there would be a greater disconnect between the reader and Kaz. Third-person limited works great in books and doesn't separate the readers from the story, but in comics, first-person internal dialogue keeps the readers inside the scene better.

If I were to redo Chapter 2, I think I would try to find a way to incorporate the information from the chapter intro better. I think by losing the intro I initially planned to include, I didn't establish certain ideas very well. Ketterdam and Kerch are established later on pages 4 and 5, but I don't think I ever go back and mention The Barrel. Also, the idea that Kaz is deliberate, even if his reputation says otherwise, is important too. I've made sure to fix this kind of issue in Chapter 3 and keep record of what kind of information I'm losing as I adapt it.

[koratcafe]

TMAGP 23 spoilers

Thoughts and theories on the latest episode (writing as I listen):

More with the response department paperwork, I've been wondering about the purpose of that. I mean Office of Incident Assessment and "Response" could be related to it? Maybe it isn't actually shut down, just ignored or perhaps intentionally abandoned. Or is Sam just grasping for straws and trying to find meaning in the meaningless instead of what is right in front of him

Yippee Chester case! More themes of identity, feel like that'll be very important in the future and also the present.

I love how they go about the cases in TMAGP, I've always been obsessed with ARGs and weird reddit posts and they really remind me of those

Oh the aquarium thing they're talking about is so real. I genuinely lose myself just staring at those sometimes

"The water was crystal blue and at the bottom there it was. Vibrant, electric almost, and… so very much alive." This bit almost reminds me of the descriptions of Michael Crew in MAG 46??

Chester saying "smiley face" I love that

How-To forum?? Reminds me of those shifting methods things that were going around a little while ago. So very specific. Theres been a lot (like with both Madam E and Ink5oul) about reliance on the internet for happiness/any emotion, possibly more of that?

"She has my eyes." This line is just terrifying for whatever reason

More loss of identity/generally the concept of identity/reaching for a perfect "self".. this is recurring now :(

Okay the post-case dialogue I have already seen everywhere but these could 100% be different Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood. Sam only said they were similar ages and unrelated to the Magnus Institute so it can't be them can it? Celia may have thought of them from memory instead of "old documents" and since Sam got an email from Jon at least I can rule out the fact that he's completely gone. (I am VERY in denial)

BASIRA AND HELEN MENTIONED?!?!? We are slowly collecting more tma characters and I am very happy

DYHARD INTERACTION YIPPEEEE

[phyrestartr]

any tips for new writers

YUH BOI I have a lot lol

Write what you like. You will naturally put more effort/passion into something you're writing for yourself/smth you're writing for fun. Don't do it for clout, and don't write JUST to post. Also, don't write things just because ppl tell you to/request you to. Itsk to let stories perish if they're not working/you don't like it (you might figure out a way to save said story after some thinking, too)

If you read a fanfic/book and really like it, try to figure out why it spoke to you. Did you like the dialogue? Did you like the descriptions? Did you like the stylization? Then, try to incorporate that into your own writing in your own way

If you read a fanfic/book and you really DON'T like it, try to identify what you didn't like LOL. It really helps with crafting your style/story if you identify and avoid shite you personally think is cringe/uninteresting/overdone/cliche-y in a bad way/etc.

Accept that first draft is gonna be clunky and probably kinda bad. You pretty much just gotta get the story down even if it doesn't flow too good because then you can go back, reread, figure out what does and doesn't work in terms of prose and flow and character interactions

Don't feel like you need to write something super long and detailed. Detail and flowery descriptions are good when used in the correct moments, but don't harp on something meaningless for too long if it's not really important in the theme/moment. Writing short stories is the most fun and the best practice for getting into writing since it just has to be like one scene or a very short arc before ending. Lots of readers like the long fics (I mean, same) but they're really hard to write, so don't feel like you need to write a novel or anything. keep it short and sweet for a while!!

Use a thesaurus. Helps you learn new words and new ways to describe something

Themes are helpful for keeping a story feeling coherent. Ex. I use lots of 'godly' descriptors and comparisons of natural disasters (storms, forest fires, earthquakes, tsunamis) to describe how dangerous/powerful a person or feeling is, and I try to stay in that theme to build a better picture of someone/something

Show, don't tell! This is kinda based on your preference, though, since sometimes you just wanna say "bro was mad." It depends on the situation imo. Generally, describing the way someone is physically feeling instead of emotionally is more impactful and lets the reader think and make choices based on the info you've given them. Not everything needs to be spelled out--readers are quite smart and can put together their own conclusions even if it's not what the writer initially had in mind. (Ex. "John felt fury boil in his blood" vs "John's veins ached with heat and his face flushed an angry colour")

It's ok to make mistakes/not perfect a scene. Sometimes you just wanna move on lol

Have fun! If you're not having fun, what's the point homie u-u

hope that's at least a little helpful! LMK if y'all have any other questions/specific Qs or anything. I'm not a pro writer so maybe this is all useless idk LOL

[thatbanditqueen]

Basic Training Ch 6

Summary: Bess spends a Friday evening with Elvis on base, and gets excited for the party he invited her to the next day. We learn a little more about Bess' family as she gets ready to meet Elvis' friends, however, things do not go as planned.

Warnings: Fingering, dry humping, descriptions of the ever elusive female orgasm (not when Elvis is around....), and discussions of mental illness.

WC: 8.4 K i tried and failed to stick to my 5 - 6 k goal

My writing is very much influenced by the other women I write with, my lovely sister wives @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @ellie-24 @powerofelvis @peskybedtime and @shakerattlescroll give me suggestions, answer my research queries and help me find the will to live and write. Also, thanks to @ab4eva and @lookingforrainbows for their enthusiasm because honestly yes I thrive on engagement with other Elvis fans.

Special shout out to @whositmcwhatsit from whom I have stolen her characterization of Elvis learning what an OC likes as he pleasures her in bed, changing his voice when he is alone with an OC vs. in front of others, using his thumbs to rub OCs backs.... basically I subscribe to the belief that all art is deriative and collaborative and I pinch things unwittingly from everyone who I read regularly so thank you, and sorry, no, I won't ask for permission. I am a bandit queen after all. But if you have read @whositmcwhatsit's stuff you might find some of my characterizations of Elvis familiar and you should probably go read some of her stuff instead. She also alpha'd this for me and gave me lots of feedback and dialogue/plot ideas. But no Jade, I am already too jealous of your talents to give you co-author credit so stop begging me (in my head).

You can read the previous chapters of this fic about Elvis at Fort Hood in 1958 here

This is the playlist I made for this chapter. Kewl kids do that.

Chapter 6: Guided Missiles

Friday, April 11, 1958

7:07 p.m.  on the grounds of Fort Hood, Killeen, TX

Guided missiles, bound to explode

Destroying my heart is your goal

You have succeeded in making me blue

Now I know the enemy is you

The Cufflinks’ “Guided Missiles” played over the radio as Bess navigated her car along the base road, she had just begun to relax her thigh into Elvis’ leg while enjoying how he crooned along into her hair with the song. Then she felt his hand on her inner thigh and bolted upright with a gasp, trying to wiggle him off as she changed gears.

“You are making it hard for me to drive, Tupelo.”

Elvis snickered under his breath, enjoying the way Bess shivered from the way his hand moved her hem up.

“I’m jus’ being helpful, Moo Moo, this skirt’s so goddamn tight, don’t know how you can change gears.”

Bess shook her head as she pulled into the PX parking lot, sliding his hand out of her legs.

“Well, aren’t you chivalrous?”

“Zat’s me, baby.” Elvis’ lips were nibbling her ear. “I’d open your door any day.” Somehow his hand was back between her legs and she gasped when it feathered over her panties.

“My door,” she pushed him off and put the car in park, “is just fine where it is, soldier.”

He grinned at her, and the way he looked down, biting his lip, was so naughty it made Bess tense with longing. She instantly regretted coming here with him, blushing when his eyes met hers, his fingers now caressing her elbow. Their soft touch did not feel any more innocent on her arm than they had on her thigh and she coughed nervously.

“Um, uh, alright, fork it over.”

He arched an eyebrow at her.

“What?“

“You were the one who wanted candy.”

“Bess, I’m not able to carry my wallet during field exercises, an’ I came to meet’cha straight after.”

Bess rubbed his knee playfully and waggled her lips.

“Hmm, Mr. Chivalrous, indeed. Ok, guess I can spring for some Reese’s -”

“Get a bunch, and a few Pepsi colas?”

Bess couldn’t even summon one sarcastic smart aleck retort, her mind was dulled by the way his cheeks lifted up in a boyish excitement. It made her want to grab his face and cover him with a thousand kisses. Instead, she nodded dumbly and managed to make her way out of the car intact, pulling down her skirt. If she tried focusing really hard she was able to walk upright into the commissary.

Once she was a few feet inside, away from Elvis’ hands, her wits returned and, in a matter of minutes, she was at the soda fountain asking the girl behind the counter to add a few more peanut butter cups to her paper bag. 

Walking back out of the shop, Bess folded the top of the bag over itself a few times, enjoying the feel of the sharp crisp edge under her hand. She smiled to herself, thinking of Elvis’ silly grin as he conspiratorially looked around after dinner and whispered in her ear that he was in the mood for something sweet.

Studying Elvis over the last two weeks, Bess found he was not at all what she had expected. He was smart and funny, yet also childlike and sweet and simple. His face greeted her with the same genuine excitement every evening when she met him at the bottom of their dirty, dingy back stairwell. He had asked her to bring the same meal the last three nights in a row, homemade meatloaf on challah bread. And he was content to do the same thing every night: drive around listening to the radio and necking in her car. This trip to PX was the first time they had deviated from their familiar routine and gone anywhere remotely public together.

“So, this is how movie stars indulge in the finer th -”

Bess stopped talking as she sat down and realized Elvis was not in her car. Peering around the parking lot, she saw his side profile a few cars over, sitting between two girls in the back seat of a white Buick. Two giggling girls. Two very pretty, young giggling girls. 

Bristling, Bess took a deep breath and calmly placed the candy next to her, then calmly pulled the handle and then calmly but forcefully slammed her door with a bang. She saw one of the girls look over, a blonde, but Elvis remained lost in conversation, laughing at something the brunette had said. 

Bess wondered if he was even aware she had returned to the car. Not sure what to do, she settled on acting nonchalant and proceeded to fix her lipstick in the rearview mirror, trying to conceal how hard she was straining to hear what they said.

“Course I do, honey, scout’s honor. Yes, that’s right, 16 cars. Well now, what’s the point of making money if you can’t spend it? Wait a minute, huh, now, actually, it’s 15, I just gave my Messerschmitt to my tailor.”

She couldn’t make out the girls' muffled, breathy voices, just Elvis’, which was, for some reason, deeper and much more pronounced now that he had an audience.

“Oh, well now, most people ain’t heard a it, but it’s a German car, a small ‘un, rides on three wheels and goes real fast, boy, real fast, on account of how light it is. Feel like you’re racing in a bubble.” He whistled a high note. “Whooeee, goes right past all the suckers in their regular cars.  But, well, heck, I hardly got to drive it, though, so naw, I don’ miss it. I was away so much, when the guy who makes my suits wouldn’t shut up ‘bout it, I finally told him, I said, ‘Bernie,’ I said, ‘Ya can have my Messer but you have to let me pick out ev’ry thing I want in ya store here. Today’… Yeah, it was a good deal, man, I cleaned him out.”

Bess rolled her eyes and sat there waiting while Elvis chuckled and answered more questions from the girls. Then, ever the chivalrous, attentive gentleman, asked them about themselves, wondering where they went to school, what they did for fun, and whether they had any boyfriends

“Don’ lie now.” She heard his voice get flirty. “I don’t believe it, pretty girls like you? I bet you’re breaking all the guys' hearts here.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” one asked him, and Elvis laughed.

“Nah, no one special. See, I'm so busy, and I’m always on the move, it wouldn’t be fair to any gal to for me try and settle down now, ‘specially now I’m off to Germany. I’m just playin’ the field. Why, are you asking me out? Honey, ain’t fair to tease me like that.”

Elvis sat and talked with them for ten more minutes or so, but Bess was only half listening. His words about how he didn’t have a special girl played over again in her mind. Bess started eating the peanut cups impatiently as the idea of how insignificant she was to Elvis snowballed in her mind. She was just a girl he met during basic training, one of the many girls whose car he felt he could just walk up to and sit in. One of, what, hundreds he had probably kissed in dark corridors, movie theaters, recording studios, cars, motel rooms? Completely interchangeable with any other girl. Completely interchangeable with these silly, stupid girls he was flirting with while she waited.

What the fuck was she doing with her life? Baking bread and meatloaf and packing a picnic dinner to schlep on base every night? Curling her hair before bed and waking up early so she could take extra care to look nice?  While he treated her like a pathetic doormat he could send off to buy him candy and then keep waiting for what now, twenty minutes? Bess had half a mind to drive off, and the only thing that stopped her was her pride. She would not let him know that he had upset her, she was not going to have a tantrum like a child.

The peanut butter and chocolate had hardly begun to melt when Bess threw another candy in her mouth and told herself she was being silly. Those girls had probably called him over, everyone in Killeen was on Elvis alert, and he was probably just being polite and humoring them. She ate some more of the candy and felt a little better, telling herself it was harmless. And what, she expected him to spill his guts about his love life with two kids? And so what if it was true? She knew he had other girlfriends,  she’d seen pictures of him out around town with stars like Natalie Wood, Yvonne Lime, and Anita Wood in the movie magazines. Elvis' playboy lifestyle hadn’t seemed to matter this morning, because she knew they were just having fun. She was having fun, she reminded herself again, and she shouldn’t get worked up.

But it was ten more minutes before Elvis said his goodbyes, and Bess’ ire rose again as he lingered over their car window, making them promise to meet him at the base movie theater next week.

“What about you, Moo Moo, you like Danny Kaye?”

Bess looked at him coolly as he got into her car, then back at the windshield as she shifted the car into reverse.

“Sounds like you’ve already secured companions, one for each side.” She elbowed him off as he leaned to put his arm around her.

“I reckon you’re right.” He attempted to put his hand where it had been before, lightly trailing his fingers over the back of her neck. “Guess I’ll just have to put you on my lap,” he hummed in her ear, grabbing the bag of candy as Bess navigated the car out of the parking lot. 

She could tell he was joking around with her, but she scooted away from him nonetheless, sitting up straight and rigid as she drove, the bitter taste of his indifference still fresh on her tongue despite the half dozen chocolates she’d eaten in the last ten minutes.

“What happened to the Reese’s?” Elvis’ voice trailed off as he popped the last one in his mouth, and he took a longer look at Bess’ stiff stance.

“Oh, I didn’t think you were interested in them anymore.”

Elvis sucked on the candy and grabbed a bottle of Pepsi from the six pack below his feet, opening the cap with a pop.

“You cheesed off ‘bout them girls back there?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s a free world, you can go around speaking to whomever you like.”

 Elvis sipped his Pepsi, looking sideways at Bess.

“Huh, so you hugging that steering wheel like you tryin’ to marry it for no reason, then, huh?”

Bess glanced over, her terse expression breaking. “Well, it doesn’t feel particularly good to be left twiddling my thumbs for thirty minutes.”

Taking another swig of his Pepsi, Elvis began to message the base of Bess’ neck.

“Aw, hell, honey, I didn’t even realize I was over there that long.” His fingers massaged the base of her neck. “Time got away from me, now that’s the god’s honest truth.”

Bess grunted as Elvis' thumb rubbed slowly over her shoulder blade, moving to her waist to pull her towards him.

“Hey now.” He kissed the top of her head, and Bess could feel her anger dissipating. “Scoot in here, let me show you how I feel ‘bout you, Moo Moo. Those girls don’ mean nothing.” He squeezed her waist.

“Seemed like something,” Bess whined, hating herself the minute the words left her mouth, she sounded needy and pitiful. 

“Aw, Moo Moo, don’t be like that. I spend my days driving ‘round in tanks with forty other men. When those lil gals called me over, almost felt like my old life again. I love my fans, honey, but that’s all they are. Ain’t special to me like you are.”

“Hmmmm.” She could feel herself giving in as his thumb worked its slow, rhythmic magic in circles at her waist. His thumb's movements made all her blood rush to her core, and a throbbing need mingled with the anger in her chest. He sensed her mood shifting and kissed her neck as she drove.

“Always so jealous, Bessie baby, might start to think you like me.”

Bess sighed out as he pulled her towards him tighter.

“You’re wrong, Elvis Presley,” she murmured halfheartedly. “I am just bored, passing time ‘til I get out of this hell hole. You could go off with a car full of girls and it wouldn’t bother me.”

His hand was at the side of her head, pulling her into his shoulder, stroking her hair.

“You’re so pretty when you get all riled up, Moo Moo, your cheeks get so red. It’s how I imagine you’d be -“ He paused, his voice was tender and babyish now, even as he spoke with an impish smirk, giggling at his own innuendo. “ - after chasing me down in that car fulla girls.”

Bess sat up, slapping his hand off her, no longer really mad about the girls, just his teasing. Elvis' arms were around her again in a flash, and he kissed her cheek.

 “I’m jus’ teasin’, honey. Now come on, be a good lil girl and find us a nice place to park.”

He turned the radio on, tapping once he found a station playing a song he liked, and waggling his eyebrows at Bess as he began to sing with The Clovers to “Blue Velvet.”

Bess shook her head to herself, enjoying how the night air cooled her warm, red cheeks. She had sworn that once he got back in the car, she would drop him off and not let Elvis charm her into spending the rest of the night with him. But here, now, she knew she was a goner. Her body betrayed her and the need to feel his lips on hers, as soon as possible, overrode any sense of pride or logic. She drove her blue Ford into the first dark alley she found among the armory buildings.

Awkwardly smoothing down her blouse, Bess tried not to seem excited or in a hurry as she sighed nervously and watched Elvis tilt his head toward the back seat. They wordlessly got out, and she stumbled into her open door. It was pitch black, the air was thick with anticipation, and Bess trembled as she edged along the leather. After two weeks, she still got nervous alone in the car with Elvis.

His lip hung down as he moved over and he caught her knee, lightly trailing over it before pulling her legs onto his lap. His eyes followed his fingers as they moved up her leg, sucking in his breath. Each night, without fail, his face would fill with awe when they began to fool around. He always looked like he had never touched a girl before, like she was the first woman he had ever met. Just the slightest caress seemed to light a fire in his eyes, and he slowly, reverently removed her shoes, one by one, swirling his fingers over each ankle.

They had left the radio playing, it was a doo wop program and the slow beat of a bass guitar thrummed in Bess’ ears as Elvis’ index finger begin to roll  back and forth at the edge of her skirt. His eyes met hers, looking her up and down as he sighed.

“Hey there, lil Moo Moo.” A goofy smile spread under his half-lidded eyes, and he bit his lip, looking as though he had just unearthed a secret. His hand was now on her knee, and a charged tremor flared up the back of her calves. “I’m crazy ‘bout you, honey. I need you to know it.”

The longing in his voice made Bess want to wrap her legs around Elvis’ waist and pull him on top of her. Draw him as close as possible, flip over and crush him into the leather seat, getting as close as she possibly could until the car shook with the sounds of their love making. Instead, Bess took a deep breath and tried to embody an appealing, modest restraint.

“I’m sorry, Elvis, sorry for giving you a hard time. And for eating all the chocolates.”

He leaned over her, and his warm breath hit her ear as he whispered.

 “I know baby, s’ok. I forgive you. You gonna be a good lil girl from now on?”

“Mmmhmmm.” She answered in her own babying voice, not questioning where that affect came from or why she suddenly seemed to find their childish repartee so enticing.

Elvis’ lips brushed over her neck, followed by a succession of kisses that started out soft and slow and then gradually became deeper. Bess fell down onto the white leather seat, her breaths loud and shallow as she unbuttoned his work coat, lifting her bottom to help Elvis as he pulled her nylons off. She laughed when they got tangled and he had to turn and look at what he was doing, swearing as he threw them to the ground.

 “Damn mosquito netting. Where were we?”

Bess cupped his cheek, bringing him back to her lips.

“Here.” She swallowed into his smug expression while his right hand moved up her thigh, teasing her over her panties before he smiled wider at the way she rolled her hips to welcome his touch. He dragged his knuckles delicately over her center and Bess felt a bulge growing against her knee when Elvis looked down where his hand was.

“Man oh man.”

He raised his eyebrow as his fingers slipped inside her and she responded with an upward thrust, turning her face into his left arm at the sensation. Elvis kissed her check, gliding his fingers further into her, slowly probing her delicately and lingering over her bundle of nerves, repeating the movements that provoked a response.

Bess tried to remember the last time a man had touched her. This was no impatient swiping on the way to quick sex. Ben had made the effort to please her, though he had always seemed preoccupied, like he was making a grocery list while he muddled along with his fingers. She had had to do a lot of work twisting and turning to get the angle right. Elvis was right there, absorbing every twitch, every gasp, every clench as she pivoted his fingers toward what she liked. No one had ever touched her like this and it felt so satisfying that Bess couldn’t stop herself from grabbing him as she moaned out. Her hands were on his back, through his hair, in his mouth while he watched with concentration, his lips opening and closing with a gasp as she moved her knee back and forth over his groin.

“You are so soft, Moo Moo.” He brought his fingers out momentarily and Bess’ jaw dropped as she watched him suck on his index and forefinger, covering them in his saliva and grinning as he brought his hand back to slide easily inside her. “Sweet, too, baby, sweetest girl I ever met.”

Bess blushed, deeper, harder, redder than ever, and buried her head into Elvis' forearm. It was almost too much, to feel Elvis’ finger rolling over her slick nub, slow and steady, like he was canoeing them intently down a lazy river, strumming her like a banjo. Each stroke brought her closer to home, and a warm tingling sensation hummed up to her throat and made her moan out a guttural melody just for him. His eyes never left hers, and his chest pushed harder and harder into her with each exhale. It was the most intimate, vulnerable and intense experience Bess had ever had. She felt him grind harder against her knee, breaking their eye contact to drop his forehead on to hers with a loud groan.

Their bodies shifted back and forth together and the car swelled with the sound of their savage breathing. The smell of aftershave, Chanel No. 5 talcum powder, tank grease and sweat filled Bess’ nostrils, and heightened the aching, sparking heat in her chest. She pulled Elvis to her, meeting his lips as he stroked her until the bow broke and waves of electricity vibrated through her body. She cried to heaven above and hell below, drowning out the sound of the music playing on the radio, the sound of the car seat heaving up and down, the sound of Elvis’ chuckles as he held her, looking down at her with wide puppy dog eyes full of satisfaction and appreciation. As if she had been the one pleasing him.

Bess realized how much she had satisfied him when she noticed a wet, gooey stain on his pants as she lay in Elvis’ arms, nuzzling her forehead against his chest. She palmed her hand over it, smiling up at him.

“Maybe I should keep an extra uniform in my car for you?”

He played with her hair, grinning into her eyes.

“Nah, it’ll dry. Sides, it’s dark, no one will know what we been up to.” He took a deep breath, another chortle escaped his lips. “S’nice a you to offer, though. Guess I know what I have to do to get you to be a nice lil girl for me.”

“Hush.” Bess hit him, but she couldn’t help but sigh affectionately. “Though, gee whiz, Elvis. I never felt like that before.”

“Aw, there she is, there’s a good lil Moo Moo.” He kissed her head. “Why, she’s the sweetest lil Moo cow in the whole wide world. Gotta take care a my Moo Moo, cuz she takes such good care me.”

All Bess could do was sink into him further, allowing his babyish voice to lull her into a calm, relaxed state. She started playing with the lining of his undershirt, asking him about their plans to be together over the weekend. 

In her more reserved moments, Bess stopped herself from prodding Elvis for future plans because she did not want to seem needy or anxious or too invested. She left it to him. She didn’t want to give him the power of knowing how much she liked him. This tryst was temporary, she knew how this worked: he would go on leave back to Memphis, and then, before she knew it he’d be off to Germany.

But when she was with him, in his embrace, all of her worries seemed to dissolve. Bess didn’t think about her mother’s troubles, her father’s expectations, how Ben had broken her heart or anything upsetting. Here, in the cozy afterglow of loving making, she felt completely at ease and her subconscious snuck out, seeking opportunities to be with him as much as possible. Her hand smoothed over his shirt as she looked up at him with a breezy, carefree grin.

“Want me to pick you up tomorrow?”

“Nah, honey, my friend has my new white Caddy, so I’ll be coming’ round to pick you up from now on.”

“What time d’you think you’ll come by?”

“Don know, ‘zactly, but I’ll call you. Reckon it’ll be after 5, most likely.”

 “I should write down my number.” She started to sit up, but Elvis held her tight and kissed her nose.

“Nah, Moo Moo, jus’ tell me, I’ll ‘member it.”

Bess squinted up incredulously, but soon he was repeating it back to her, tickling her and telling her to be a good girl and trust him.

“I got it, locked down up here, baby.” He pointed to his head, and Bess shrugged, sitting up and swaying to the sounds of the song “Devil or Angel.”

“Aw, I love this song.”

Elvis followed suit, joining her upright on the bench seat and grinning as he tucked in his shirt and straightened his tie as he sang along. Bess smiled inwardly at his silly, melodramatic expression, he was clearly trying to impress her. She grinned wider when she realized that they were on opposite sides of the seat from when they had first moved back there, and she smooshed into him with a light kiss. He returned it, and they started to paw at each other again, tongues meeting and gently exploring each other until Bess pushed off, trying to be sensible and move them out of the car.

 “You better go, Tupelo.”

Elvis followed her, kissing the knuckles over her hand as they said their goodnights against her car, hips pushing up against hips.

“Always takin’ such good care a me, Moo Moo. I jus’ know. God sent you to take care of me. Wish I could just stay with you always. I hate to leave.” He murmured, pouting. “I don know how I’m gonna make it through the night without you, baby. Gonna be dreamin’ ‘bout you.” His lip curled up at the left side. “And how sweet ya taste.”

Elvis dodged her had as she tried to hit his arm. “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough, Moo Moo. Mmhhmmm, better have that sweet lil honey pot all dressed up and ready for a party. Wanna show you off to my friends.”

Bess blushed and waved him away, though she couldn’t stop herself from rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet from excitement. This last week she had felt like a phoenix, rising from the ashes of last summer’s devastating heartbreak and all the self destructive behavior that had followed.

Being with Elvis was a restorative tonic, and she couldn’t wait to spend the night with him Saturday. It meant something that he invited her to meet his friends; it was an acknowledgment, a validation, a way of telling her that he didn’t just see her as someone to fool around with in a dark car. It meant that he really liked her. That she really was special to him.

 ********************************************************

Saturday, April 12, 1958

9:47 a.m.  The Schwartz Residence

The house smelled like spiced ginger. It was one of those days when Mama had risen at dawn and baked enough food to feed the entire base. There were loaves of ginger bread, banana bread, rugelach, oatmeal cookies and some sort of roast was slowly cooking in the oven. Their kitchen had always been the heart of Bess’ family, not only was it where she learned to cook at her mother’s apron strings, but it is also where Mama taught her to draw, read and knit. Papa had taught her and Kay German by only speaking German to them in the house until they were fluent. However, it was at the kitchen table with Mama where Bess perfected her German. This was where Mama had helped her with her German homework and essays. With all of her work, with all of her problems. 

Mama’s parents were second generation German Jews, and before she met Papa, Mama had played piano in Zayde’s Brooklyn vaudeville theatre, where all six kids in Mama’s family had eventually gone to work. Papa enjoyed regaling his daughters with the story of how he had met a dark, beautiful woman on the Coney Island midway who had captured his heart when she helped him buy tickets after no one understand his broken English. She had spoken to him in German, and it was the first time he’d felt welcomed and safe in America. Two weeks later he had asked her to marry him. Mama had thrown herself into domestic life after the wedding, and then into factory life during the war, always somehow managing to keep things taped together through military moves back and forth across the country.

Bess often wondered when Papa realized how different Mama was from other women, because most of the time, her mental condition was fairly obtuse and could be understood as harmless whimsy. For Bess, it was a mainstay of her childhood. 

Mama had always spoken so casually of the hidden meanings she saw in the world, the faeries and demons that spoke to her, that when Bess was little, she had assumed something was wrong with her and waited impatiently for her own visions. It was not until she was twelve, after Mama had dug up the whole back yard one night and chopped off all their electrical wires to stop the demons from tormenting her, that Papa took her and Kay aside and explained that Mama had to go live at a health farm for the summer and Aunt Rachel would be coming from New York to take care of them.

Thus began a long series of stays at different experimental sanitariums and institutions over the last ten years. The most recent had been in November, a month-long stay at a small resort in Eureka Springs Arkansas, and Mama had returned fatter, calmer and filled with zeal about the wonders of natural hot spring bathing. But Mama was still Mama, and the battle for good and evil was still playing out in front of her eyes through the words and whispers and visions that she alone experienced. Bess was grateful that, for whatever reason, the demons had been staying mostly at bay. The faeries, on the other hand, had been quite vocal.

Mama turned as Bess entered the kitchen, and brought her daughter some coffee while she caressed Bess’ cheek with her hand.

“Oh Bessie, you’ve been looking radiant lately. The faeries have been murmuring.” She trailed her fingers over the large curlers in Bess’ hair. “They tell me you have a new beau.”

Bess blushed, responding sheepishly. “No mama, I’m  - I’m - just going out tonight. With friends. Where’s Papa?”

“Oh he went fishing with some of the German studies instructors, they took three barrels of beer and a tent, so they might stay at the lake. “

Mama kissed Bess’ forehead and then sipped her own coffee.

“It is going to be a full moon tonight, Bessie. You are positively glowing, my girl. I think the moon goddess wants to have her way with you, you have to be careful. She is a tricky one, she plays with us mere mortals for amusement.”

Bess blushed, thinking of Elvis and her own hopes and desires for the night. A shiver of anticipation went through her body and she giggled, nervously.

“Hmmm, well, we’ll see, Mama, maybe I can outsmart her.”

Mama stood, following as Bess took her coffee and bread to the secretary’s desk in the hall, and winking at her daughter.

“No one can outsmart the mistress of the moon, Bess, she controls the oceans and with it, the waves within us. The water that drums in our ears and thrashes us forward. The current that pulls at our heart. And her power is strongest at the full moon, beware her riptide.”

Bess watched as her mother turned into the living room with a flourish and then filled the house with Rachmaninoff’s loud, romantic piano music. 

Bess couldn’t help going into her evaluative mindset and pondering whether Mama was having a good day, baking and playing the piano, or whether she was hurtling towards a manic episode. She looked at the clock, and decided she would have to wait and see, but she prepared herself to cancel the whole night if need be. Right now, she would go ahead as planned, and called her friend James to beg him for help finalizing her outfit.

“I need a man’s opinion, that’s why.”

“Bess, trust me, whatever dress you wear, Elvis’ only thought is going to be how quickly he can get it off."

“Jameson!” Bess spoke in a hushed murmur as she rocked her chair back against the wall. “I don’t even know what is going to happen, he is an odd duck when it comes to fooling around.” James was silent. “Great, so you’ll be here at 5?”

“Bess, I love you but I am not getting involved. Didn’t you say he’s picking you up at 5?”

“He said he would call after 5, and I’ve been thinking, you should pick me up and drop me off, then I’ll get a cab home or something. I don’t want my folks to know about Elvis -”

“Bess, the General probably already -”

“Just be here at 5, James. I’m going to get my nails done and pick up a few things. Wait, better make it 4:30, just in case - ok? Please? You know I never ask for anything.”

Bess looked at the nails on her right hand, turning them over, trying to banish James’ suggestion that her father probably already knew that she was spending time with Elvis Presley. Yes, he trained officers to gather intelligence, but Papa could be quite blind about their home life. She rocked back and forth on the chair, noticing that her mother’s piano serenade in the living room had moved from Russia to Brooklyn. She was playing Gershwin now. 

This is good sign, Bess thought, happy, lighthearted Gershwin was one of Mama’s favorites. Then Bess realized after a few bars that it was “The Man I Love,” and she pursed her lips at her mother’s teasing.

“But you always ask. For everything. ‘James, take me to the dance, James, let’s go out dancing in Austin, James deliver me to Elvis Presley’s motel room - ’ ”

“Stop, you know you love it. Otherwise you’d be bored out of your mind, as you refuse to have a love life of your own.”

“That’s what you think, Schwartz. I have a vast, secret love life that I keep from you.”

Bess grinned. “Good, you can tell me all about it when I see you at 4:30. Make that 4. And if you don’t show, I’ll inform the General that you stood me up!”

Smiling wider at her friend’s groans, Bess hopped up with purpose, thinking that it was time to wash off her facial mask and make a list of all the things she needed to do to get ready by four.

“It’s settled then. James, you’re a dream, see you at 4.”

***********************************************

Saturday, April 12, 1958

3:58 p.m.  The Schwartz Residence

It was Kay who opened the door when James arrived, smart and debonair in his officer’s uniform with his hair coiffed and parted perfectly. Bess bounced down the stairs, beaming wide at James’ high whistle as she twirled around for him.

“Gee Schwartz, I think you might need to drive tonight. That dress just kicked me in the head.”

Bess did a two step in her cocktail dress, trying not to notice the way her sister rolled her eyes as she shut the front door.

 “You don’t have to be nice, Captain, you can tell her she needs to wear something more colorful, more over the top, more like what Elvis wears in civilian life. I’ve been telling her all afternoon.”

James tilted his head towards Kay, “So I’m guessing the kid knows.”

Bess shrugged, “Yeah, oy. But thank god Papa took Colonel Zimmermann and some of the new teachers fishing. Mama’s out back painting, she’s been on one today. Baked up a storm, if you want something sweet.”

James shook his head, letting Bess lead the way upstairs. “Your mom is too smart, Bess. So is your pop. I’m happy to be your beard, but if they don’t already know you are dating Elvis Presley, they are gonna get wise sooner or later.”

Kay laughed, “Mama already knows something is up, Bess has been putting way more attention into her appearance this week and coming home late every night. Just today, she curled her hair, then decided to go to the salon and have her hair set anyway. And she tried on about 100 dresses, just so everything’s perfect.” Kay said, in a sing-song voice.

“I’m not dating Elvis, you guys. I’m just spending time with him. And, Kay, I think you are exaggerating. I was having my nails done at the beauty parlor anyway.” 

Bess held out her hands for James’ inspection. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the dark burgundy color, and she had liked it so much she matched her lipstick to it. There was something about a fresh nail lacquer that always made Bess feel more adult, more confident.

“Let me show you the whole get-up with these low heeled pumps on, though I have some other shoe options.” She slipped on her heels, and twirled around again, as James went to sit on her bed next to Kay. “There, now, James, as a man, what do you really think? Too simple? He said to dress up.”

James looked Bess up and down as Kay snickered, prompting a quick kick to her shin.

“No, it’s perfect Bess. With that neckline? And the way it crisscrosses in the middle, and your hair? You look like Ava Gardner. It’s not too simple, it’s sexy. Sexy as hell. But you need a necklace.”

James stood, and went to Bess’ vanity, pulling out her pearl necklace from her jewelry box, and beckoning her over. He fastened it around her neck from behind, then put in the matching earrings, carefully, before stepping back with a whistle to let Bess look at herself in the mirror.

“There now. You're a goddess. I dare him not to whisk you away and ravage you the moment he sees you. It’s wholesome and it’s sexy all at once.”

Bess smiled and took her friend’s hand, whispering a shy, blushing thank you. They sat up there, listening to records as Bess modeled a few other shoe options and asked whether she should wear gloves. Ultimately, all parties involved agreed gloves were too formal for a motel party.

It was 5:15 when they went back downstairs and settled in the kitchen, sampling some of the rugelach as they waited for Elvis’ call. 

By 6:15, they had moved to the living room and Papa’s bar, where Bess made Tom Collins for everyone, which now included Mama and Dickey, who had come by to take Kay out to a drive-in movie. 

At 7, Mama began to ask if James and Bess wanted dinner, she was slow cooking a roast for Sunday, but could fry up some cold meatloaf sandwiches.

“No thanks, Mama, we’re just waiting to hear from the friends we’re meeting.” Bess stumbled through a sorry excuse for a story about two friends from high school who had to work later than expected. James gave Bess a supportive look, and after her mother left the living room, reassured her that a number of things could have happened with the drill sergeant overseeing Elvis’ dismissal.

“He could be stuck on KP duty, maybe he got held back because the others played a prank on him. You know how unpredictable those battalion sergeants can be. Let’s relax and turn on the boob tube.”

Bess nodded, made another round of Tom Collins, and settled in to watch Art Linkletter's amateur comedy show, trying very hard not to think about how it was almost 8 p.m. 

At 9 James began his campaign to convince Bess something must have kept Elvis on base, and that they should get out of the house. Get burgers at Millie’s Diner or go for a drive out to the Waco Wet Dog. 

At 9:30, Bess caved, and ran upstairs to take off her pearls and change into a more casual, purple swing dress. While changing, she began to mull over a secondary plan that was forming in her head, and she carried the entire display case of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups she’d bought with her to James’ car.

“What’s with the candy?” James looked over his shoulder as he careened his car around towards downtown Killeen.

“It’s sort of a joke, I um, I ate all his peanut butter cups the other night. I- I thought it would be a gas if I showed up with an entire case.”

James looked over at Bess, and rubbed her shoulder. “And what, you think we should eat them instead?”

“Well, what if he couldn’t get to a phone? Or got too caught up with his friends or whatever? He was pretty insistent that he wanted to see me tonight. I was thinking...” Bess looked down with a sigh, then back up at James, her eyes dark with determination. “What about just driving by the Star Motel on the way home. What do you think, as a man, how would you feel if I just showed up?”

James could see Bess’ confidence waver, but he couldn’t bear to talk her down, not after everything he had watched he go through over the last year. So he banished his own misgivings and squeezed her hand. “Honey, any man upset to see you walk in would be crazy. But let’s get some grub first, ok?”

***********************************************

Saturday, April 12, 1958

11:05 p.m.  The Star Motel, on the outskirts of Killeen TX towards Waco

The air was cool now, and Bess’ mother had been right, it was a full moon that shone over them, illuminating the farms off in the distance on the road to Waco. The Star Motel was a two-storey building with rooms along the inside and outside that wrapped around a large pool. 

Bess sat in the car, stomach churning, suddenly unsure if this was a good idea. They had definitely spotted a new, white Cadillac packed in the back lot with a temporary license plate. Which was both promising and unsettling, because it meant Elvis was probably there but hadn't called her. Bess suddenly wished she hadn't found it, but she was also unable to just slide back and tell James to take her home now that she knew Elvis was probably here.

Adrenaline was coursing through her veins and the cocktails had dulled her inhibitions.There was a giddy, bubbly feeling at the top of her head that egged her on and told her that he had invited her, had been adamant about wanting to see her, “show her off,” telling her she was special to him, that he was crazy about her. 

Maybe it was the full moon after all. Whatever it was, every cell in Bess’ body compelled her curiosity and her desire. She had to know, and she needed to feel his touch once more; that voice and that face and those hands that took her away from her difficult, tiresome existence. 

Taking a deep breath, she felt almost like a force behind herself was propelling her out of the car, and she only hesitated at the sound of James’ voice.

“Bess, come out and let me know, ok? This place is always crawling with creeps, so if you don’t come out here and give me the old heave ho in the next 15 minutes, I’m going to come find you. I won’t care about locked doors.”

Bess nodded back into the car with a bright, broad smile, and then strode over the grass and into the side corridor of the motel, avoiding the office. 

Walking past the first set of rooms, she came to a breezeway and paused, leaning against the decorative, concrete screen in the middle to calm and prepare what she would say to Elvis. She was certain they were a few doors down, she could hear a group of male voices jamming and she perked up, clutching her box of chocolates closer to her bosom at the sound of Elvis’ low voice singing no more than twenty feet away. 

That was when she heard heels clicking down the breezeway, and turned to find a small, petite blonde in a pink dress walking towards her with an exaggerated flounce in her hips and an ice bucket resting at her waist. Bess' chest tightened when she recognized Anita Wood from the movie magazine photos. Magazine photos of Anita Wood out on dates around Memphis with her boyfriend Elvis Presley.

Anita flashed Bess a dazzling grin that displayed the whitest, straightest teeth Bess had ever seen. “I swear, I walked all over creation looking for that dag gum ice machine, and you know where it is? Where these rocket scientists thought to themselves, why this is the best place to put it? Up behind the cigarette machine, on the back of it. Completely outta sight. Can you believe that?”

“Um yeah, I mean no, ugh. Idiots, I bet it was cheaper to wire it back there, or something.”

Bess wiped the sides of her eyes, willing herself not to cry, not to linger on how this proved that she was just another girl to Elvis, and definitely not preferable to the gorgeous beauty queen in front of her. Anita’s face fell as she looked up at Bess.

“Oh honey, are you ok? Why, you know you’d just feel better if you just let it all out.” Anita pulled a pink handkerchief with lace trim from her bust, replete with a monogrammed A.W. “Here, now, you can cry with me here, ain’t no one but us chickens.”

“Is it that obvious I'm upset?” Bess tried to chuckle, watching Anita’s face change to a confused frown as she noticed the box of Reese’s.

“Hey - what’s with the candy? Are you meeting someone here?”

Bess shifted, working against those cocktails to think on her feet and also play dumb about the suspicion she saw in Anita’s eyes. “Oh, ha, no. These are for me. I, um, I live here in town with my folks, and I just checked in here because, well, I needed to get away for the night and drown my sorrows in chocolate, if you know what I mean. Just learned my fiancee married another girl he met in Germany. Men, huh? What are they good for?”

Anita stepped forward and rubbed Bess’ shoulder as more tears fell down her cheeks.

“Well, God made men for a reason, sometimes I think it was to test our womanly resolve. Oh honey, I cannot imagine what that would feel like, to have a man wrong you so. Ain’t no dirtier dog than a man who breaks that sacred promise. But I tell you what.” She took the box of Reese’s from Bess' arm. “You cannot sacrifice your figure over a man. Nu huh. No way, Jose. Why, that won’t do nothing to get back at him, it’ll only hurt you and your future prospects. My heart is telling me that I cannot stand by and let you go eat all this candy and feel sorry for yourself, honey. That is the devil whispering in your ear.”

Anita trotted over to the trash can and Bess groaned inwardly as she watched a woman dispose of Elvis’ chocolates for the second time that week. Though she conceded that Anita was right, she didn’t really want to go home and eat them all. Well, she did. But she knew she would regret it.

What could she do, offer them knowingly to Anita to take to her boyfriend? The thought made her smile, which Anita, of course, assumed was a reaction to her kind, Christian gesture. Still holding her ice bucket, Anita patted Bess on her shoulder.

“See, I can tell you’re feeling better already now that the temptation has been removed. We women have to stick together. You should take a nice long bath, it will do wonders, much more healing than candy. Whenever I get upset, I have a good cry, get it all out, then take a nice hot shower.” She winked at Bess, and Bess wondered if Anita did the same things in the shower that Bess did to make herself feel better. Maybe that was why God made showers?

Anita smiled wider as Bess wiped her eyes, and mustered a feeble grin, which encouraged her to continue dispensing advice.

“Yessirree, you’ll feel better once you wash that man right out of your hair and start over again. Pretty girl like you, why, if you lost five pounds, you’d have your pick of the litter.” Bess flinched when Anita pinched her waist playfully, and was lost for words as her heart jumped into her throat with embarrassment at how much thicker she was than the petite blonde. Insecurity clouded her head and she was almost unable to hear the rest of what Anita said.

“Just stay away from big boxes of candy, and other temptations Satan might throw at you. Then, I bet you dollars to doughnuts, that boy will regret his decision. The best revenge is to find someone better and shove it in his face. Make sure to take out a big ole wedding announcement in the paper That'll make you feel much better.” 

Anita left Bess with a wink and a parting squeeze to her arm, as Bess murmured a low thank you. She wiped her eyes and gathered her wits, then, when she was sure Anita was gone, she dug the box of chocolate out of the trashcan and tucked the rescued candy under her arm.

Straightening her dress as she sat down in James' car, Bess popped a Reese’s in her mouth and decided on how she would respond to her friend's questions.

“I ran into one of his girlfriends in the hallway.”

“Oh Bess, no, he didn’t! I’ve half a mind to go back and beat that hillbilly senseless.”

Bess shook her head, extending her arm out of the window and dropping Anita’s pink, embroidered handkerchief into a puddle of mud on the side of the road as they drove back to her house.

“Don’t, Elvis did me a favor. He reminded me why I don’t date soldiers.”

**************************************************************

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[underdark-dreams]

Can you please talk about your writing! how you write and revise and where you get your inspiration you are just so amazing! I could use some tips to get my writing to the next level. maybe some fic recs you find inspiring as well? only if you want too.

I sat on this ask for a while to mull it over, so thanks for your patience! I can definitely talk about my general process and link some fics that have inspired me.

I've also answered some other asks about writing process and technique. You can read those here if you like:

Emotional and feelings-focused writing

Writing descriptively

Fic writing: general process

First, it's good to have your opening and your ending in mind before you start. Even if it's just:

OC walks into Sorcerous Sundries

Rolan and OC fall asleep together

If you have the bookends, it's a lot easier to find the story's beats in the middle. (Or decide that you can't find the path from A to B after all & need to change one of them around)

Once I have those two down, I usually write out the main beats of the story next. These will be the parts that excite you most as a writer!! Like, they make you giddy to write about! Getting these down on paper has ALWAYS given me a burst of momentum to get through the drier/connecting bits.

So I encourage you to write out the story events/scenes that make you most excited first. Exposition will come later! Don't worry about 'setting things up' right now, unless you really want to start there. Remember that your first draft only has to make sense to you.

Inspiration

Damn if I could bottle the answer to this one, I'd be set for life! lmao

A lot of people start writing first and find the inspiration along the way. It's a valid and effective method!

I usually wait for ideas to come to me first, and they usually come when I'm totally disconnected from my writing computer. I swear, my strongest ideas for a fic setup or interesting scene always come when I'm at work or vacuuming or some crap

Best advice I can give is to keep a notes app on your phone or something similar. Rotate your characters around in your mind while you're doing other random life things, and good ideas will usually come to you. Jot down the framework or some dialogue or whatever strikes you before you forget it, then revisit it when you have more time.

Revising and editing

I'm one of those writers who edits a ton as they go, instead of drafting out a story and revising in one go. So this part is kind of difficult for me to answer...the two processes are unfortunately so interconnected in my head!

The main thing is to make sure you give yourself a few days between writing and doing your final edit. Even if you've been revising along the way, taking some time away from your fic lets you gain a fresh perspective.

I will admit, I also keep thesaurus.com open in a tab at all times. Like. I am addicted to finding just the right word

As with all of the above, your mileage may vary! The right technique is the one that gets you writing and creating. 💯

Fic Recs

Here's a list from back in December! Still in love with all of these!

Also:

Deeply and Immovably So by Cometra / @dutifullylazybread - Absolutely required reading for any Rolan x Tav fans! Tav is AFAB/she/her. Darcy's worldbuilding and imagery is incredible, very deep and meaningful. Just all-around excellence!

verso by aes3plex - Zevlor x m!Tav oneshot. This story like...made me understand who Zevlor was as a character. I don't know how else to describe it. Really wonderful backstory threaded through a present-day encounter with some of the best prose ever. Love!

But I will admit, I grew up reading Trek fics, and those stories and writers have stayed with me longer than anything else. I think old fandom + huge universe + writers with sheer decades of experience in fanon have a lot to do with the quality of writing there. Not relevant to BG3 but has definitely shaped how I write today!