#because I don't feel like working on my query letter

[elumish]

Writing a Professional Email

I work in client services, which means that a frankly depressing amount of my job is writing emails, both for myself and for other people. There is an art and a science to writing professional emails.

The subject line

The subject line should be informative enough that somebody scanning through their inbox can tell what the email is about and whether they need to look at it any time soon. Depending on their job, some people get hundreds or thousands of emails a day, and they need to be able to tell at a glance whether an email is important to them.

When emailing someone particularly at another organization with a question, I will often use "Inquiry" or "Question" in the subject line. depending on industry standards, you may also use something like RFI (request for information).

If you want to be clear on why exactly you're sending an email, it is the standard in some industries to start your email with For Action: or For [Reason]: (e.g., For Review:, For Situational Awareness:). I generally only include that in emails staying within my organization, but depending on how well you know whoever you're emailing, you may or may not feel comfortable to do that outside of your organization.

You may not need to be that prescriptive in your email subject lines. if I'm emailing someone about tuition assistance, I might just use the subject "Tuition Assistance."

The salutation

How you address the person sets the tone of the entire email. A lot of this has to do with industry standards and the level of formality you're trying to convey.

At my organization, the explicitly-stated expectation is that you will address everyone, regardless of level, by their first name. If I got an email from someone at my organization referring to me by Ms. [Surname] I would be immediately confused and suspicious.

When emailing agents or addressing them in query letters, it seems like the expectation is often to use their first name--but you should always check, in case they specifically say they want to be referred to in some other way.

When emailing someone with an industry-specific title (professor, doctor, military or law enforcement) it's often your best bet to start with their title. You should make sure you know how to properly abbreviate them, if you do that--the same military rank, for example, is abbreviated differently depending on the service (e.g., Second Lieutenant is abbreviated 2LT, 2ndLt, and 2d Lt).

As you become closer to them, you may start to address them by their first name--but not necessarily.

Also some people/industries prefer "Hi" while others prefer "Dear". if you're really not sure, I've found that defaulting to "Good morning" or "Good afternoon" is often an easy workaround.

The body

Organize the body of the email so the most important information is clear, easy to find, and unambiguous. I frequently use bullets and/or tables in my emails. I also use strategic bolding and underlining, especially for due dates or specific asks.

If you don't know the person or they won't understand why you're the one emailing them about the thing, it can help to introduce yourself. If you're going to do so, keep it short and focus on the key info (e.g., "I am part of x team and am reaching out to you because of y").

If you think your email is too long, it probably is.

The closing

I recommend finding a closing that works for you and stick with it. What I see most commonly are Best, Regards, Best Regards, or Sincerely, but you have a good deal of flexibility here. (I use Regards.)

You should also consider whether to sign off with your first name, full name, or full name + title. I use first name because my signature has my full name.

The signature

Most (all?) email service providers let you set a default signature. My organization has a very prescriptive signature block, so for my work email I just use that.

If you don't have that, I recommend some version of

Full Name Organizational Title Organization

[themswritinwords]

I'm not saying I'm gonna print this rejection letter and frame it for when I'm feeling down about my writing, but "I loved it, it's really strong and entertaining, I have literally nothing bad to say about it and am only passing because I don't personally know the right editor for it and want it to be picked up sooner rather than later, and fully believe it will be" is pretty good for Baby's First Full Request.

Querying sucks and never ends but gosh darn it some days you feel like it might just be possible to make it through, and I'm holding onto that.

Gonna file it alongside the 18-hour beta binge read, the "I'm actually crying rn" text, and the "I was supposed to be sleeping but I couldn't not finish it so if I fall asleep at work later today I'm blaming you" message that also keep me going when I want to launch myself into a dumpster and scream.

[bettsfic]

Hi Betts, what was it like querying your novel? Do you have any advice on finding an agent?

querying agents...is not fun. it's the worst part of the publishing experience because you're on the precipice between "i've finished a manuscript" and "what if there's no one who sees the same merit in it that i do?" it's a very lonely time, and for me anyway, after a while it started to get kind of humiliating.

i initially queried with a novel that needed serious developmental revision that was beyond my capabilities at the time. there were several agents kind enough to give me feedback in that regard but i didn't really know how to implement their suggestions and ended up giving up on the project. i queried with my short story collection instead.

i found my agent through a twitter pitch event called DVpit. by that point i'd queried i think 60 agents and received 10 full MS requests on the novel. i'd queried 15 with the short story collection and didn't receive any response from anyone. i got one like on my DVpit tweet, followed up with that agent, and she read the MS and offered to sign me. i've been very happy with her. although we were unable to sell the short story collection, so we're working on first run revisions of a different novel right now.

i think getting started can be rough, because there's no cohesive database of agents yet, only pieces of databases. from my understanding, a lot of agencies are starting to use QueryTracker, so that might be a good place to start. there's also the #MSWL tag (manuscript wish list). what worked for me was finding one agent on twitter, then clicking through the recommended accounts, checking out agency websites, and finding which agent would be the best fit for my work at that agency. it was kind of a chaotic process and i didn't really know what i was doing.

my biggest tip is that somewhere on the spreadsheet or database where you track your queries, indicate whether a rejection is a rejection from the agent or the agency. for small agencies, they tell you a rejection from one of them is a rejection from all of them, because if you're a good fit for someone else, they'll send over your MS. however with bigger agencies where there are dozens of agents, a rejection from one means that you can query other agents at that agency.

another big tip is to make sure you're ready. i went in half-baked and i really regret that. make sure your manuscript is as far as you can get it, and you're confident enough to send it straight to print if you had to.

i can talk about query letters in a different post but the main things in your query are:

personalize the query to the agent

find good comp titles and use those titles to indicate a gap in the current market that your book fills

don't take risks

that last one may be controversial because i've heard people have had success with gimmicky queries, like writing the letter in the voice of the book's narrator. but unless you're a gimmicky writer, you're not going to sign the right agent with that method. it's important to show you understand the genre of the query letter and you've done your research. the agent you sign will have a huge stake in your work for years or maybe decades; they want to sign someone who is kind, patient, and professional.

once you get an offer, find a way to tactfully figure out the agent's likelihood they'll remain an agent for a long time. i know a lot of good writers who have lost representation because their agent retired, or became an editor, or just straight-up quit. ideally you want to find someone who is really passionate about putting good books in the world.

also, you'll want to find someone who loves the same things about your work that you do, and has the same vision for it. if you write what you feel is literary fiction but they want to market it as YA, that's not a good fit. if their critical feedback is hurtful and insulting instead of solution-oriented, that's also not a good fit.

and lastly, if you're young, say under 30, there are a lot of people who will try to exploit your youth and potential. they will try to overpower you and take your work in directions you don't want it to go. they'll make you feel powerless and bad about yourself. it may be hard, but if you get a big name agent who wants to sign you but they make you feel like shit (manipulation, backhanded compliments, judgments, etc.), it's better to walk away. from my experience this is a rarity, but it's still possible. look for someone who makes you feel understood and proud of your own work, who is excited to work with you, and whose critical feedback inspires your revision and doesn't hurt your feelings.

[theladyragnell]

How did you get to a stage where you love your writing so much you don't care about marketing it? I have had trad pub in my head since I was 13 years old and struggle not to think about what others would think of my writing even even I tell myself it's just for me :(

Oh, anon, I wish I had easier answers for you, or really any for-sure answers at all.

First, I just want to say that for me, this is a few different questions! Wanting to do traditional publishing, loving your writing, and not caring what people think are all related, but they don't have to go together all the time.

Because I do still, in my pie in the sky dreams, want to be traditionally published! I read a lot, and I love my writing, and I think that my writing does stand up to a decent amount of what's coming out, but it's not currently a path I'm pursuing, which is largely because publishing is full of Nightmare Tasks for people with difficult brains (query letters my beloathed), somewhat because of how the industry is treating workers and authors these days, and somewhat because of how hard I find criticism to take.

Which leads to, as you say, struggling with what other people think of your writing. And I do! When I post a new fic, or share a new story with a friend, I get anxious and I want people to like it! But nonetheless I write things I love and want to write, because I have tried the "write trends" thing and tried the "write things to make a specific person happy that I'm not into" thing and popular as the results might be, and they're fine stories because I'm a good writer, but I don't love them or come back to them.

But also, that "that I'm not into" thing is very important! Because I do still care a lot what people think of my writing. It's just that I count myself as one of those people, and I try to write for certain people or subsets of people, not the whole world, because the more people I try to please, the blander and less like myself I feel like my writing gets. So I try to write for myself, and also I'll write a trope or relationship dynamic a friend likes, or I'll write for a subset of a fandom that has a particular taste, or I'll just make up a guy in my head (positive). It becomes an exercise in triangulation! This is something I do a lot with exchange fics, where I try to find a midpoint between my tastes and my recipients' tastes, something I find very enriching. So yes, I do care a lot what other people think!

But the loving my own writing ... that's a mix of a lot of things. Some of it is experience. I have been writing as a major hobby for literal decades, and I write fast, which means I have written enough to feel comfortable with my skills. Some of it is wrapped up in the previous point, where writing things I love makes me love my writing more, which means even if I'm not writing publishing trends (my pacing is slow and has too many conversations! I don't like a lot of the current romance genre trends, much less SFF romance trends!) I still love what I'm doing.

But it's also learning and growing so that I know my writing is getting better! It's analyzing what an author I love has that I lack and trying to find my own way to it. It's learning to use language in new ways when I'm not a very language-forward writer. A lot of times, it's trying (and frequently failing, because this one is hard as hell and easy to do wrong) to find the core of my id on a certain trope or relationship dynamic and go all in on it.

I love my writing because it's mine, and my writing is the way it is because I love it. I loved my first embarrassing gel-pen-in-a-cat-notebook "novel" in seventh grade, and I love the epic 6-book sci fi romance series that I finished most recently and may someday be brave enough to self-publish. None of them are trendy. But for me and the people the stories matter and have mattered to (friends I no longer speak to from middle and high school passing my handwritten works back and forth in the middle of class, friends who read my works as I write them or when I finish them now), and the people they might someday matter to, I don't think the trendiness or the marketability matter.

And I don't think they will for you either someday, anon. <3

[kokofromwattpad]

ALL BECAUSE OF MACARONS

Featuring: Sateriasis Venomania (Gakupo)

Plot: Duke Venomania was slowly but surely building his harem filled with beautiful women from across the land. Although, he will forever has his heart set on the person who saved him with just their voice and a few macarons.

Cw: yandere! Duke Venomania! Gakupo, gn! Reader, yandere themes, baker!reader

A/N: Gakupo holds my heart and soul I swear on god

This story begins a long, long time before the main plot had even decided to take place.

In a small village, deep within the mountains, was a young boy. He wasn't very liked by the other children in the village. He was pushed and shoved all the time. His purple hair was pulled and tugged all day and his deformed face was smacked and punched. From sunrise to sunset he was hated.

It went down hill when his close and only friend rejected his feelings towards him. It was all because of his deformed face. That was the only reason that he was hated and scorned upon.

He walked along the gravel roads after breaking free from the cellar his father kept him locked in for all of his short life.

He walked past a bakery, where there was a faint light coming from the kitchen within the little building. He opened the door and a bell rang, signaling his entrance.

A short child around his age came out from the illuminated room and came to greet him.

The small boy's eyes twinkled with adoration at his peer's face. They seemed really nice.

"Is there something you need help with?" the child lightly asked the boy.

The other child's voice sounded so nice. It sounded like sweet honey spread over the sweetest flowers. And it seemed that they did not mind how ugly and deformed his face was.

Immediately, the little boy was enamored with this person.

"I- uh- don't have a-any money-y" the little boy stuttered out.

"Oh! Alright then, but would you like to have something to eat though?" the pickney queried.

The boy nodded his head vigorously. The other child grabbed the young boy's hand and dragged him to the attached kitchen.

The boy, Cherubim as the other child learned, stood in the corner of the kitchen as the other one pulled a hot tray out of the wood burn oven.

Small pink macarons sat in lines on the tray as the boy's peer swung a thin cloth back and forth over the desserts to cool them quicker.

After about five minutes of swinging the cloth, the kid scraped a row of five macarons into a small brown bag and handed it to Cherubim.

"Here you go! I hope you like them." the youth exclaimed happily.

The purple haired boy flushed a deep red. He smiled shyly at your words. He hugged the bag of macarons to his flat chest and ran out of the bakery and into the night.

-------------------------------------------------------

Those events happened many years ago. The baker child grew up to be a fine adult who ran their inherited bakery with ease.

The adult received a thin letter one day as he was getting ready to open up the bakery. It was just an order for a cake that someone wanted delivered.

After the adult finished putting their employees to work, he went straight to work for order he was given.

The cake was a simple chocolate drip cake with blood red strawberries chopped over the top.

The human gently placed the cake into a box and ordered one of his employees to keep everything in order while they were away.

The baker held the cake box as they looked over the letter to see where the cake need to be delivered. It was a place dubbed 'the Venomania manor'.

The baker had heard of the rumor surrounding the manor for a while now. Rumors about how beautiful women will go in the manor and never come out. Luckily, since the adult did not dub themself as beautiful nor ugly, they did not have any fear about having to go that manor at all.

The trail that lead up to the Venomania's home was difficult to say the least. There was several times when they thought that they would trip and accidently squash the cake from their weight.

When the tall manor slowly started to creep in the baker's field of vision, they took several heavy breaths before they paced to the front door.

They tightly wrapped their fingers around the golden knocker and slammed it three times against the wooden door. The sound of metal slamming against wood echoed through the baker's ears for a good minute.

When they released the knocker from their grip, the door slowly creaked open by itself. The adult poked their head threw the crack in the doorway and saw almost no one.

They passed the box to their other hand and opened the door wider to let themselves in.

Their was a sweet smell in the air. The adult had almost no idea where it was coming from. They had an undeniable urge to follow the smell to it's source, feeling like if they do, good things shall happen.

The baker followed the smell to a another large door. They opened the door, only to be met with the back of seemingly rich man.

"Uh...hello?" the adult squeaked out.

The man's attention head was flicked upward, and he turned his entire body in the baker's direction.

He was a beautiful man. Long purple hair tied in ponytail. He had matching purple eyes which seemed to sparkle in the chandelier light.

The man's expression went from surprised to ecstatic. He speedily ran to the baker and pulled them deeper into the room. The duke lifted the box out their hand and held it above their head.

"Are you the owner of this manor?" questioned the baker to the taller man.

The duke smiled down on them and said in his velvety voice, "Of course I am dear. I suppose you are the baker I ordered this cake from?"

"Indeed..."

The baker felt uncomfortable in the man's presence. They felt the abrupt need to run for their life, but just can't seem to move their legs.

"Would you like to stay for a while and have a slice of cake?" questioned the duke happily.

As if their voice activated by themself and as if their mouth moved by themself, the baker answered, "Only if it is for a short while..."

The man's face spilt into a wide and happy grin. He wrapped his arm around their shoulder as he walked with them to the dining hall.

The pair walked down several flights of stairs until they were met with a woman.

She was a cute one. With green hair tied up in two separate ponytails that curled at the edge. She was wearing a skimpy pink dress with black lace adorning the edges.

"Mikulia, be a doll and cut us two slices of this cake for us." gently ordered the duke.

The girl smiled brightly as took the cake and ran off, leaving you and the man alone by yoursleves.

"Who was that?" asked the baker.

"That was one of my wives." he replied.

"Wives? As in plural?"

"Indeed."

And with that, the baker felt instantly uncomfortable.

Duke could tell how they were feeling about the matter to which he told the baker that all of his wives were aware of each other and are comfortable with it.

The two entered a large, extravagant dining room. There were other women, supposedly the duke's other wives, who were conversing with each other, but when they noticed that their husband had walked in, they all turned in adoration towards him.

The man lead the other adult to the end of the long dining table, where he sat at the end and with you on his left side. The woman from earlier came back with the cake you made on two small plates and placed them in front you and the man.

The woman then stood next to her husband, as if waiting for his command. The duke patted his thigh, and with glee, the woman sat herself on the duke's lap. She wrap her lender arms around his neck as the baker started to place small bits of the cake into their mouth.

"I don't think you have told me your name yet dear." noted the duke while he started to eat his slice of cake.

"My name is {Y/N}{L/N}..." the baker replied quietly.

The man nodded his head at their words.

"My name is Sateriasis Venomania. But I am better known as Duke Venomania.

Although, you know me as Cherubim." he proudly announced.

It then struck the baker like a bullet to the head. The little deformed boy that they gave free macarons so many years ago, was now all grown up and has a harem full of beautiful women.

The adult would sometimes wonder what happened to the boy that they fed. Did he die? Did he make a life for himself? These questions ran through their mind for a while after the two of them had departed ways.

"Well... it is lovely to see that you have survived this long." the baker commented.

The duke chuckled at their humor. Of course he would. Since the moment the baker opened their mouth and spoke such kind words to him, he was completely obsessed. He wanted to make himself someone worthy of being in their presence.

"I... wanted to repay you for those macarons you made me." Sateriasis explains as he gently pushes his wife off of his lap.

"How so...?" nervously asked the baker, their instincts starting to spike.

"I was hoping..." the duke starts as he stands up to stand by their side.

Steadily, the duke pulls a small velvet box from the right pocket of his purple tailcoat. All of the women in the room gasped at their husband's motions.

The duke bends down and gets down on one knee by the bakers side. He opened the small box to reveal a large jeweled ring. There was a jewel for every color.

"Please, let me make you mine. You deserve everything this world has to offer. Ever since I saw you come out of your family bakery's kitchen, I knew that I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life." the duke preached with a determined look painted on his face.

The baker panicked. They jumped up from their seat and ran for the door.

"NO! COME BACK!" screamed the duke, desperation embedded into his voice.

One his wives tackled the baker to the ground before they could make it to the door in time. Sateriasis got up from his knee and hurried over to their side, where he then peeled his wife off of their shacking body.

"Don't worry dear, you will learn to love me and my home with all your heart, just like me."

-------------------------------------------------------

[esta-elavaris]

OKAY so from the seminar I attended this morning with a panel of editors, agents, and writers, these were my main takeaways:

They described interviewing an agent as being like going on a first date and discussing marriage - like, that's the level of relationship that'll happen if all goes well, they're part-editor part-lawyer part-therapist, full-advocate. You need to decide if they're for you as much as they need to decide if you're for them, it shouldn't be a thing where you're going in feeling like you have no power and you're begging them for crumbs.

They don't want writers to be nervous. Ofc they get that we will be, but they don't want you do be! They WANT us to send in our manuscripts to them, they're excited at finding new writers to work with, they're so enthusiastic and they want to share that enthusiasm with you.

Obviously different agencies have different query requirements - make sure you tailor your submission to those requirements, don't make them feel like they're just one of eighty getting the same email. They want to feel that you're enthusiastic about them in particular just as much as you want that enthusiasm from them.

Speaking of ethusiasm, that's one of the BIIIIG things they're looking for. They want that sense of enthusiasm and excitement about your story in your email, they want it to be from the heart, because not only does it give them a sense of the PERSON they're considering working with, but it's a loooong process from submission to the book being on the shelf, and with any luck they'll be working with you across your whole career. They need to see that you're as in it as they need to be to do their job well.

They actually do a LOOOOT of editorial work. Like, a lot of the time (more often than not) they will edit your manuscript with you and discuss the project at length and make suggestions (and they ARE suggestions, but you do need to have a level of maturity to take them on board and hear them out) and work on it a lot with you before they take it to publishers, to give you your best chance. One said they had a colleague who'd done this for over a decade and had only had ONE manuscript where they sent it to publishers as is.

And that brings me to the biggest takeaway I had, and the one that stood in sharpest contrast to what I see in online advice that loves to harp on like "if you make any of these ten minor mistakes, you'll instantly be rejected" and, well, basically scaremonger.

They give you soooo much leeway.

They get that you're human, they get that you'll be nervous. They showed example cover letters that contained SO many things that I'd think of as chance killers, and they were like "eh, this isn't ideal, but if I liked the manuscript I wouldn't care", y'know? The only thing that was a BIIIG "instant no" was one that had said "I've read work by your other clients and I can confidently say I'm better than all of them" and like, if you're saying that to an agent, you're an idiot (my words, not theirs!). Which is a good thing, too, because it shows how fiercely they advocate for their clients that they're not willing to entertain comments like that.

With the other mistakes on the queries, though, the consensus was constant "the manuscript matters more, if I like that I'd ignore this error." The biggie was just to pay attention to the agent's website and requirements and follow those, because it shows a level of care and attention.

And how heavily involved in the editing process they are also shows how much leeway you get with the manuscript itself. They don't need it to be perfect, they just need there to be something in there at the core of it that grabs at them, and for you to have enthusiasm and a willingness to work at it.

Overall, I went into it thinking I had an absolutely microscopic chance of ever getting published. That the novel would need to be perfect, that the query cover letter would need to be even more perfect, and that even if both were, it would come down to personal taste.

Turns out, absolutely not.

I literally left the thing feeling 98% more optimistic about my chances than I was going into it. It took SO much anxiety out of my novel writing process - that often otherwise gets so extreme that I can barely work on it.

[azrielgreen]

Do you have any advice for publishing? Both traditional and self-pub. My work isn't anywhere near ready to be legitimately published but I'd like to gather all the info I can ✨️

Hi, thanks for your Q, sorry it's taken so long to answer. I am by no means an authority on publishing, I can only relate my own experiences to you and offer up advice based on those experiences.

I'm sure you know the basic stuff required for trad publishing: a polished manuscript, a query letter, the first three chapters (or 10K) and then you can start searching for agents to query. Traditional publishing requires an agent, who will then submit your work to publishers. Querying to agents can be tough and I recommend doing it in batches of 5-10 each time. Leave a month between each query batch for replies and I would say brace yourself for rejection, which isn't personal (but can feel like it) and is just part of the querying process. Once you're agented, it's much simpler from there as they will then work on getting your book through the door of a publisher and agents only get paid if you do. Beware of any false agents trying to charge money up front, a real agent will NEVER do that.

Self-publishing requires a polished manuscript, the will and desire to get your book out there, the ability to self market, and a reasonable budget for things like cover design, editing, marketing tools etc. Basically, self-publishing means you're doing it all yourself, but that you have a larger degree of control. I will absolutely be self publishing, I'm extremely excited for it.

So, my actual advice is this.

Hold your passion close and cradle it, remain wildly in love with your story and don't let anyone diminish that love for it. Equally, go forth with the kind of expectation that sharing your book with the world is THE desired outcome and anything else along the way will be a pleasant surprise. Once established, I do plan to write a book every 1-2 months which is obviously not for everyone, but that kind of flow and continuous output works well for me. I would say try to avoid the pitfall of any Wizard Lady Publishing Folklore expectations because those are heavily distorted and deeply misleading. Too many writers have been lost to the mythology of being "chosen" from obscurity, of not trying very hard and being plucked from obscurity anyway. And yes it can happen, it can take a single book to turn lives around but it's extremely rare and I think I healthier approach is to remain fluid. Disappointment can be debilitating in this profession. You have limitless stories inside you. You can do anything, so do many things. Level up, keep your passion close, know you are learning constantly. You are the best you've ever been. You'll only get better from here.

Hope this makes ANY sense, all my love and luck.

Az.

💜💜💜

[raayllum]

hey I have some thoughts and theories on season six that I want to post but I feel like they’re kind of in cohesive and all over the place and rambly and I’m not really sure the best way to get them across especially when I’m more of a brainstorm type of personof like 10 different ways something could go I’m not really sure how to organize it or make it comprehensible to the average Tumblr scroller do you have any tips for this? because I want them to get reach cause I do feel like I’m contributing something but sometimes I think what I’m saying makes no sense at all or no one’s going to read all that you know. or, TLDR: Do you have any tips on making meta in general since you seem to be the main producer of it in the fandom ha ha, your input would be invaluable

So I actually did start writing a post a while ago about well, a kind of how to guide for writing meta, but it felt very self-gratuitous so it got semi-banished to the drafts although I still might finish / clean it up and post it someday

That being said your ask does make me realize that your query is not something I had considered going over, approaching it from more of a "here's how to train your brain to notice things that can be fun to write meta about" > organizing said thoughts, so thank you for bringing it to my attention! I hope some of this advice will be useful, and it may even have some overlap with other thoughts I had planned

The most useful way I've found when it comes to meta is treating it like an essay, with an introduction, body paragraphs / sections (and sometimes headers), and a conclusion of some kind when warranted. This means looking for similarities or main ideas with possible consistent threads (i.e. avenues Aaravos' evil plans could go might be split off into branches, each one detailing a different avenue). So that would be my best advice when it comes to organization.

However, most concerns about "not making sense" comes down to thinking through what context you have to provide for your audience to understand what you're discussing, depending on the length and depth of the leap / analysis. Are there any symbols being drawn upon we will want to explain in more detail before theorizing how they relate to the show? Are there any smaller details or scene summaries to include when putting these things together?

For example, when I wrote a meta about Rayla being the metaphorical light to Callum's darkness (pre-S5), I first had to establish why I associated her with light, drawing from visual examples from S1, S2, and S4, as well as the "Dear Callum" letter. Callum's side of things was more straightforward with dialogue in the text. Then I could take it one step further and talk about why this light-dark duality indicates that she will likely save him from possession after possibly leading to the fall in the first place. But I had to go from a bottom-top approach in steadily building the layers rather than starting from the top and working my way down, as for more symbolic matters in particular, that can often be confusing.

Although sometimes more simplistic, consulting the 5 Ws (who, what, where, when, and why) can likewise be useful in meta in terms of 1) tracing where certain ideas are coming from in the text, 2) what is being posited/suggested, and 3) why these things might be conflated, and 4) who might be involved. Obviously meta tends to be more "what" heavy, particularly when its predictive, but it's kinda like explaining why one character might be more involved in one plot line than another, etc. There's going to be a Why to that Who, and those things both combine to form the What (otherwise known as theory or just plain analysis).

And don't be concerned about if people are gonna wanna read it. I find most people in TDP fandom are pretty down to theorize even if they may not necessarily write a lot of it down themselves (and often have cool ideas/contributions too!) and I am the king of making things overly long, yet people muscle through anyway!

That's about it for me without more specifics (a character study vs foil vs theme vs prediction are all kinda different in their own way) but I would love to hear more if you'd like to message me off anon or if you have more thoughts/questions you'd like to leave in my inbox once that's opened back up! Have fun theorizing, have fun writing, always feel free to break longer metas up into smaller bite sized ones as you go, and I look forward to seeing them int the tags!

[missameliasmithers]

This is the longest of long shots, but I figured, who else would help a random Internet Stranger with a penchant for the arts but Tumblr.

I need some help.

Like many people on this website, I'm a writer. I love writing. I've loved writing for years. For what seems like forever, I've been plucking away at my keyboard in my free time, writing fan fiction or short stories because it was fun. And it still is. It's my number one passion.

Two years ago, I started writing a book. It began, as all my other writing projects, as a hobby. However, as my health got worse (and I won't open that can of worms), I started to have more and more opportunities to work on it. Sitting around waiting for tests results gives you a lot of downtime. Last June, I put the finishing touches on it, and, guys—it's good.

I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I've worked so hard on this bad boy, and it's my pride and joy. I can so easily see it taking over booktok or being discussed at length on blogs here, and I so badly want to share it with the world. It's my dream to have it published—by a big name if possible—and this is where I've hit a wall.

To get a contract with a big publisher, you need an agent. I have written dozens of query letters—some of which have received positive feedback, only to be politely turned down because there's so much competition flooding the market right now. I knew things would be tough. I just didn't think they would be this tough.

I'm getting very discouraged. To the point where I fear I will never find representation. I know my book is good. I know people will love it. I just don't know if I'll be able to find someone who can help me down the terrifying path to publishing.

That's where you guys come in.

It would mean the absolute world to me if people could spread this around. My hope is that if this post becomes big enough, the right person will stumble across it.

I know it's improbable... maybe even impossible. The better half of me is scolding me for even typing this all out, saying that people aren't going to care. But I have to try.

Of course I wouldn't ask for this blindly. I've included the first chapter so you can judge for yourself if you think the story has potential.

I know everyone has their own preferences, so if it's not your thing, no big deal. But if you fall in love with it as much as I have, I would really really appreciate you spreading this post. A share could change my world.

Anyway, I've taken up enough of your time. If you have any more, please consider reading Chapter One below. Feedback is always encouraged as well.

Thanks for reading. Have a great day!

Chapter One

It’s days like this that make me wish I were an orphan.

Circe smacks me on the calves and I nearly tumble off the tightrope. It’s not a long way down, but a fall would hurt my pride if nothing else.

“Again!” she calls.

I suck in a hiss between my teeth as I regain my composure. It’s a simple matter to find my balance on the rope underfoot. I’ve done this countless times. Sometimes even blindfolded. This type of exercise should be as simple as breathing. But this time the others have been permitted to observe, and the feeling of their eyes on me is impeding my focus. I train alone. Or at least I have for the last few years.

My gaze flickers to Mirette and Elena as they whisper to each other while I once again make my way across the fibre rope strung across the glade. Their eyes are trained on me from below, their judgement weighing on my shoulders. My balance shifts again.

Smack!

“Again!”

This time, I cannot stop the scowl from crawling up my face. I right myself and then gesture to my audience with a flick of the wrist. “It’s hard to concentrate with these fools giggling to themselves like children!”

Circe glowers as she always does when I resist her commands. “You have far more distractions to deal with on a job than a few people gossiping.”

She always acts as if I’ve never been on a job before. I have. Twelve to be exact. Each one had its own distractions—hounds barking, families arguing, guards patrolling—but those were faceless, nameless creatures. These vultures beneath me are my peers. Not that any of us really feel like we’re on the same level, but we’ve seen each other grow over the years. That’s as close to kinship as you get in this village.

“I said again, Sarana!” Circe barks.

My eye twitches, but I push my frustration down. The sooner I cross this meadow, the sooner I can leave the pit of vipers beneath me.

I start again across the rope. When it was first tied up, the rough hemp provided traction for the soles of our boots, but it’s smoothed out over the years, which makes it more difficult to cross. An accumulation of friction, shoe polish, and probably some blood and skin from when the coarse fibre used to scrape our hands raw, has created an almost slick surface. I’ve gotten quite good at making it across despite this, but it does require a moderate amount of concentration.

Shrill laughter cuts my focus.

“Hahaha! Oh my gods, stop! That’s so mean!”

It’s Elena, or maybe Mirette. It doesn’t really matter who. My eyes dart down involuntarily, and then I’m teetering.

Another smack from Circe’s cane has my legs faltering off the rope. I shoot my hands out to grab the hemp to keep me from a humiliating fall. Dangling by my fingertips is less than ideal of course, but it’s far better than landing on my butt.

Circe, of course, isn’t impressed. “Sarana.”

I huff in irritation and haul myself back up and into a starting position. Circe will not relent until I’ve done this properly. Always the perfectionist.

The scavengers, clearly delighted by my near miss, have begun whispering and snickering in excess. Tristan isn’t here to make matters worse, but it’s grating all the same. 

Anger is simmering beneath my skin to where all I want to do is slide down the tree behind me and tackle every single tittering fool into the dirt, but I know it’s foolishness. My temper has gotten me into trouble more than a handful of times. Sometimes I still feel the ghost of Circe’s cane on my back.

Deep breaths, Archer taught me. Inhale, pause, exhale. Center myself. Don’t think about the stares. Don’t think about the whispers. Think about things I can control. Think about what I want in the current moment. About what would bring me joy. Focus on that.

I imagine the disappointment that will darken everyone’s faces when I fly across this rope, the picture filling me with a warm satisfaction. That’s what I want. To see the bitter jealousy of those who scorn me. To know that their derisive words will dry in their throats with the envy and desire to be me. I want to witness the distress they will feel as they remember the crushing reality that I am better.

It’s not a pure thought. But there’s no room for purity in Greenwood, no matter how pleasant the name may sound.

A numbness takes over me. It’s not a gentle calm, more like the silence that follows the snap of an arrow being loosed from a taut bowstring or the ragged exhale that comes from steel piercing flesh. I hear nothing. I see nothing. The other trainees are gone. Circe has vanished. It’s just me. Me and the mission that lies ahead.

I can almost sense the click of the steely determination that sets in. It settles in the shadowy part of me that comes to life on a job. The part that Circe planted and nurtured. The part I sometimes revel in. The part I sometimes resent.

In the span of two breaths, I deftly saunter across the rope to the other side. It’s over before anyone even really registers I started. They blink, and I go from one end of the glade to the other. 

Without waiting for approval, I drop down. If Circe wants to yell, it won’t be at my prowess. I know there’s nothing to critique.

Turning on my heel, I offer the obligatory bow to Circe and take a moment to relish the myriad of bitter expressions from my cohorts before ambling out of the clearing, back to the main village. From the corner of my eyes, I see Circe’s glare, not at all lessened by my flawless—albeit slow—execution of the exercise, and know that I’m in for a lecture tonight over dinner.

I decide to go back to my room and check my stores until the impending harangue. I’ll suffer through it as I’ve suffered through them all. Better to get it over with. It’s not like I can avoid her forever. She is my mother, after all.

Sure enough, Circe bursts through the door as I’m cataloguing my stash of oleander. It’s been running low, and I’ll need to either place an order with Glen, or barter for a day off to collect it myself. I’m trying to decide how much a purchase would run me when Circe’s shadow falls over me. She's livid.

“You dare leave training without being dismissed,” she seethes.

I shoot her a scowl of my own. “You’re the one who put me up on display in front of the firing range.”

She rolls her eyes. “So dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic?” I hiss. “You haven’t made me train with the others for years, and yet you put me up on a pedestal to see if they could knock me down.”

She narrows her eyes. “They almost did.”

“And for what?” I ask. “To humiliate me? Humble me?”

“To make you remember what I taught you.”

I fold my arms. “You’ll have to be more specific. Which one of your many lessons am I meant to remember, exactly? The ‘trust no one’ speech? The ‘you have no friends’ lecture?”

“Try ‘don’t get comfortable.’ You’ve fallen into a routine, Sarana. Routines lead to complacency. Complacency leads to laziness. Laziness gets you caught. And you know what happens then.”

“I’ve never been caught. I never will.”

Circe scoffs. “Such arrogance. Have you learned nothing?”

Indignant, I shoot to my feet. “I’ve learned everything! I mastered all your precious skills at eighteen. I’ve succeeded in a dozen missions, yet you still make me run drills! I’m the fastest runner, the best climber, the sharpest shot. I don’t need to have the trainees breathing down my neck, waiting for me to mess up so they can kick me while I’m down.”

Circe’s malicious frown turns to one of displeasure. “So, you’ll let your insecurities rule you, then?”

“Any insecurities I have, have stemmed from you,” I sneer. “You expect my every action, every word, every thought to be perfect.”

“Imperfection begets death,” she says. Then, gentler, “You know this.”

The memory of a letter between my fingers, crumpled and damp from tears, resurfaces unbidden. My gaze inadvertently peels off Circe to land on the chest at the foot of my cot where the weathered parchment lies folded neatly amongst my possessions. I sometimes wonder why I keep it. The ink only proves to invoke pain.

“Yes,” I say. “I know this.”

Circe takes my hand and guides me to sit with her next to the warm hearth. 

My mother is like a coin, her two sides diametrically opposed. One, the cold, strict, impersonal taskmaster, and the other the warm, tender, loving mother. Nowadays I see more of the former than the latter, but growing up, my mother was a source of comfort and adoration. We used to cook meals together, go on walks into the woods to pick herbs, have meaningful conversations while sharpening steel. She used to wear her mantle every day. Now she only shakes the dust off it when she sees I need it.

It makes these moments all the more precious. I yearn for them.

“Sarana, you know I care about you,” she says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Any harshness I show derives from the need to see you safe. People like us cannot afford to make mistakes.”

“I know,” I say softly. I know this not only because of the letter, but because of the faces that have never returned to the village. Nial the baker’s son, who was one of the first to play with me when I was a child. Cynthia the herbalist who suffered through my nagging questions as I learned the difference between royal fern and bracken fern. Rion the blacksmith’s apprentice, who gifted me his first set of knives, fresh from the forge. Miles. Fenway. Stella. Sven.

Archer.

Just as I have seen them disappear, so has my mother. The sting may even bite deeper for her. She chose them. She trained them. She sent them out. Only to never see them again. I wonder if she thinks about them as much as I do, but I see the shadows in her face of demons passed and know she’s haunted. I expect it’s a silent guilt she refuses to share.

I squeeze her hand back. “You won’t lose me.”

She gives me a rueful smile. “I better not. You’re all I have, moonbeam.”

The moment of sentiment between us helps give me the courage to request for the morning off to gather the herbs I needed to replenish my supply. I choose to do so over dinner. A frown settles over Circe’s face, but she wipes it away and brushes my cheek. “It is good to be prepared,” she relents, and as the sun rises, I grab my satchel and cloak off the peg by the door and hurry to the woods before my mother can change her mind.

When I was little, I never left Greenwood. I spent the mornings with my mother, played with the other children in the afternoon, and trained in the evening. As I got older, training took up more and more time, leaving less and less for play and socialising. Circe paid me special attention, gave me extra hours, and soon I was outpacing all the others. Well, almost all the others. Archer was always better than me.

Resentment among the other trainees grew with my skill until I slowly became a pariah. I was no longer welcome in their games or conversations. Their eyes regarded me with more bitterness and contempt. Their voices stuttered to a stop when I drew near. Their jabs during training became brutal and cruel.

I was too young to understand the darkness of jealousy then. I thought I had done something wrong. But no matter how hard I tried to force myself back into the fold, to be nice and kind and win back their friendship, I was pushed out with more ferocity.

I found solace in the woods. There were no malicious whispers or hateful glares, just the warm breeze, rustling leaves, and sheltering trees. The forest offered not only a safe haven, but various pastimes. During my time here, I studied the plant life, learned about the local fauna, and honed the skills I actually enjoyed. The trees were perfect for climbing, the bark and small game good targets for my knives, and I promptly learned—through some unfortunate trial and error—which forageables were edible.

At first, my mother was pleased with the improvement the forest visits were making, but eventually, my abilities plateaued. There were other skills I had to master, and she became less inclined to allow me the free time to venture into the woods.

On days like today where she shows more love than stringency, I’m able to escape for an hour or so. A far cry from when I was young, but things change as you grow. It’s a fact of life that I had to come to terms with quickly.

I know these woods like the beat of my heart, and I know exactly where the oleander blooms. I unsheathe a knife from the specialised scabbard at my side and twirl it around my fingers until it rests in the loose hold I use for throwing. The biggest danger in the forest are deer, but you can never be too careful.

It’s quick work to find the delicate pink blossoms. I use my knife to snip off several handfuls from the shrub and place them into my bag. I make sure to get enough for my various applications—some to suffuse in oil, some to dry, some to grind. Cynthia would have been proud.

Since they’re handy, I snag a few other plants while I’m out. It never hurts to have more snakeroot or jequirity beans, and it’s always good to have calendula and chamomile.

Along the way, I spy a branch under some leaves. I fish it out and examine the rough edge where it separated from the trunk. It’s splintered and doesn’t look too dry, meaning it must have broken off fairly recently. Likely by a stag. Maybe two fighting. It’s a bit too big to do anything with, so I half-snap, half-slice the excess off. I’m left with a good hunk of basswood. My favourite.

I set my pack down at my usual tree—a beautiful maple with sprawling roots that offer a perfect earthy seat to nestle into, and I do exactly that. I stick the knife from my hand into the dirt and riffle through my satchel for another. The ones I throw are not made to chisel wood.

The knife I pull out first is a special one. It’s a beautiful dagger that I keep polished to perfection. Smokey curls are etched into the quillons and a black leather grip leads to an obsidian pommel that flashes with dark promise. It’s also not made for whittling, and Archer would have murdered me if I ever tried—would probably come back to haunt me if I did now—but I just like to look at it. My most treasured possession. It never leaves my side.

I let my fingers graze the smooth lines of it before replacing it in the bag and pulling out what I’d originally been searching for: a sturdy sloyd knife. It’s nothing fancy, but it whittles like a dream. I picked it up for two copper pieces after a job seven years ago, and it’s served me well since. It doesn’t get used as much as I would like. Free time is practically non-existent these days.

I spend about an hour in the forest, carving the hunk of wood sliver by sliver. It’s taking a basic shape: the silhouette of a large cat. I haven’t decided which one. The only big cat I’ve seen is a mountain lion, but I’ve already made six.

As the sun sinks below the horizon, I tuck the figurine into my satchel and adjust the strap on my shoulder. If I don’t get back soon, the tentative peace with my mother will probably shatter.

Circe slips back into the taskmaster role with practiced ease as she has me running drills over the next few weeks. 

It's no surprise to me that she so quickly transitions after our tender exchange earlier. What does catch me slightly off guard is her lessened severity. She's usually all sharp commands, harsh critiques, and hissed criticism, but, while the strict orders and expectations are still there, she has also lightened. Her comments aren't as biting and she has allowed me to train alone once more, so something about our conversation must have struck her.

She watches me carefully as I run through the various combat forms one afternoon in the gloomy overcast of one of the training areas. Her eyes are careful, sharp, and dart around to land appraisingly on different parts of my body, checking for proper stance and posture. I can feel the moment she sees something she doesn’t like, but not in the harsh physical way I sometimes have to endure.

“Arms up,” she says. “You’ve allowed them to fall slack.”

I raise my arms higher as indicated and receive a satisfied nod. 

“Better,” she says.

She continues the lessons in this way—firm corrections and unaffected praise. Legs wider. Elbows in. Wrist down. Head up. Good. Better. Well done. 

A few days later, I finally recognize the shift in her tone and the adjustment of her behaviour to be guilt. It’s a rather gratifying realization that my words, however few in the grand scheme of things, had actually taken effect. I come to the understanding that just like I sometimes forget to be a daughter, Circe often forgets to be a mother. 

It’s a sad fact. But such is the reality of our situation. 

A whisper of a thought wonders idly why my mother has chosen now to allow guilt to reshape her actions, but as she hands me a glaive for the next exercise, it slips away.

“I have a job for you,” Circe tells me over breakfast one morning.

I perk up over my bowl. It’s been four months since my last job. “What is it?”

“Simple reconnaissance,” she says. “Hanival has a new governor: Odom Klaus. We need to evaluate his political standings and values.”

Recon is hardly my favourite kind of mission, but things have been so boring lately, I’ll take anything I can get. I feel a thrumming energy pulse in my blood as excitement and anticipation build. “I’ll get it done.”

My mother smiles, a rare expression these days. “I know you will. You leave this afternoon.”

To my chagrin, the job is cut and dry and I’m in and out in two days. 

Odom Klaus is an upstanding citizen: no skeletons in his cellar, no radical views that would dismantle society, no inappropriate actions towards his staff or townspeople. He is likely to be a perfectly respectable governor who will work to improve Hanival in the years to come. 

How boring.

The streets of Greenwood are bustling with activity when I return. People are chatting excitedly as they hurry to and from shops and houses or down the dirt roads. Some notice me, one or two of the older adults giving me nods of acknowledgement, but the others don’t seem to see me. Typically I’d find that preferable to the callous treatment I normally get, but I feel uneasy.

Close to the house, I hear Circe call my name.

She’s waiting by the front door. “Come here,” she says. I can’t tell from her voice if she's impatient or excited.

Her demeanour has certainly changed from her norm. It’s almost like she’s vibrating, an energy under her skin ready to burst free. I’ve never seen her like this. Her perfect façade is still in place, not a stray hair or expressive emotion in sight, but something is building. It’s either really good, or really horrible.

I follow her into the house and hang up my cloak. “What’s happening?”

“A messenger came while you were away,” she says. She’s got a piece of parchment in her hand, and for a moment, I am taken back to two years ago. My heart is in my throat, taking up too much space and making it hard to breathe or swallow, but I catch that gleam in her eye and I know now what it is that I couldn’t place about her. She’s positively thrilled.

It’s a sentiment she’s never worn. Not around me. Content, sure. Happy, sometimes. This is beyond that. She’s practically floating. To the untrained eye, her expression holds a semblance to that of someone who was told that crop yields would be slightly higher this year, but I’ve learned to read her better than anyone.

I slowly let out the panicked breath that I was unintentionally holding, and swing my bag off my shoulder. I set it next to the chest at the end of my cot. “They must have had something important to say. The town is tripping over itself.” And you’re buzzing.

“The king is looking for a wife.”

The world stops and my blood goes cold. We’re a tiny village known to the world as a small farming community. Why would such a message have come to us? The king should have no business here.

“What’s that have to do with us?”

Circe holds out the parchment. “The palace is encouraging all eligible women to travel to the capitol to see if they are suitable. They’re not limiting candidates to nobility.”

“What?” I ask incredulously, snatching the paper. Sure enough, it is as my mother said. Unmarried women over the age of eighteen are being invited to the capitol for some kind of application process. There will be no imposed limitation of house, family, or title. There’s a line that says the women will stay near the palace during the selection process, but there are no additional details besides that, and the whole thing sounds incredibly vague. “Why would he marry outside of the nobility?”

“It’s likely his uncle’s meddling,” Circe says, venom slipping through her words. She always goes ice cold when speaking of the royal family. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that you’re going.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for, Sarana. If you make it through the initial screening process, you’ll have access to the king.”

My brain feels as if it’s sputtering like a candle in a windstorm. The sounds from outside are replaced with a ringing that is both shrill and mute at the same time. It feels like someone took the dial of my pulse and cranked it to ninety. 

I stammer. “I won’t make it through any kind of screening. They’ll take one look at me and turn me away.”

“You’re beautiful enough to have attracted Duke Howden’s attention.”

I want to throw up. “Duke Howden was a lecherous swine that preyed on any pretty handmaiden no matter her age. He was a vile man who was dragged down to hell where he belongs.”

Circe nods in agreement, but maintains her previous argument. “You’ve caught the fancy of other, less abhorrent men. You’re as attractive as many noblewomen. Maybe even more so. You will have no problems on that front.”

True, I have had a number of men attempt to court me, but the vast majority—I do not count Vargas, the miller’s second son, for various reasons—had been while on a job. Those men had not fallen for me. They had fallen for Chloe, or Abigale, or Thalia, or whoever I had to become to accomplish my goal. The me on missions is flirty and gentle and dainty—a near complete antithesis to who I really am. Though, to Circe’s credit, I suppose my appearance never really changed much.

“What about the rest of me?” I ask. “I can’t compete with the higher class.”

“Sarana.” Circe’s voice takes a harsh tone. “You are talented. You are skilled. Have I not taught you how to blend in with all manner of crowd? Have I not instructed you in the ways of the court? What your beauty cannot convince, your finesse will supply.” She pauses, and her voice takes an even harder edge. “I would have thought this opportunity would delight you.”

“It does…” I say softly, because it’s the truth. The murky dusk in me is elated. I remember very clearly what the king took from me. Every day I struggle to push down the darkness the loss left me with. “I want nothing more than to take it, but along with everything else, you taught me to be realistic. They will not admit me. I am nobody.”

“You’re not a nobody, Sarana.” Mother takes my face in her hands. “You are my daughter. You were born for this.”

A surge of pride rushes through my veins. Praise has become a scarcer and scarcer commodity through the years, and despite my better judgement, the small girl inside me greedily yearns for it. It's a flaw I have yet to shake—the longing to please the few I care about. To be loved.

I curl my fingers around her wrists. “When do I leave?”

She hands me a bag I’ve never seen before. It looks packed full. “Right now.”

I nod. There’s no need for a sentimental goodbye since there’s no one in the village besides the woman in front of me who will truly miss me.

I peek into the bag to ensure I have the supplies I’ll need for the job. Sure enough, Circe has included various clothes in bright colours for days in court, and pitch black for nights in shadows. Containers of beauty products clink up against my vials of poisonous oils and herbs. Ribbons for my long black hair are wrapped around a cloth bundle that undoubtedly carries a selection of knives and lockpicks from my collection.

Everything a girl needs to assassinate a king.

[hopeflowr]

Sorry, I love you . Changlix Fanfic

Epilogue

Felix stared at the letter his sister had sent him. He'd asked her for advice. Of course, all she said was to talk to Changbin. Clear up what was infecting his mind. How could he? His fingers touched his lips. The same ones Changbin had kissed so longingly; so vigorously. Their moment had been one of fiery passion. Felix could barely remember what had happened other than the elder's demanding action.

It had happened and then it was over. A fleeting, impulsive, possessive thing it had been. Felix had once again forced himself to avoid Changbin. He was afraid if he saw him again he'd make a fool of himself. If he leaned in for another kiss, would he be left desperately waiting or would Changbin return it just the same as he had a few days prior?

His sister may be right. He should go and see. Even if it scared him he needed an answer, otherwise he'd make a mistake. Changbin had kissed him. There was nothing left to doubt. On the off chance something did happen and Felix's heart broke, he'd run to Jisung. That had always been the plan.

His eyes widened as a glimpse of their argument passed through his head. Changbin had mentioned Jisung quite a few times. Was he jealous? Was that why he had been so upset when he saw him; why he had chosen to ignore him because of an irritation caused by Felix's relationship with the Lord? Felix bit his thumb with a smile at the assumption.

He should stop making them. Changbin didn't like them. It was hard for Felix to stop, however, when the elder never gave him a thorough answer to anything. He beat around the bush more often than he didn't. Felix set the letter in his hand on his bed and exited his room. He told Anna he was heading off and would be back in the next few hours. No matter what he was getting an answer out of that man. Even if he had to force himself to stutter out a question like a fool, he would do it.

He took Charming from the stable and fixed him up for riding. Before he knew it he was standing in front of the Seo estate, hands clenching Charming's reins for dear life as he stared at the doors. He might have jumped the gun. He felt his stomach whirl with anxiety. He didn't even know why. It was ridiculous to be acting like he was.

He had suddenly been so confident and now he was back to his cowardly self. What would he even say? 'Changbin, I'm in love with you,' was too direct. It left him wide open to a punch to the heart. He didn't know what else would get the point across. He didn't have the guts to kiss Changbin and allowing himself to be weak and tender with him felt too hard as they were.

"Excuse me?"

Felix glanced behind him and met the appearance of a shorter lady. Her long black hair was tied in a ponytail with a beautiful midnight blue silk ribbon. She was stunning. "Pardon me. I don't mean to trespass. I have business here," he stated kindly with an apprehensive smile.

The lady tilted her head. "With Sir Seo?" she questioned.

Felix winced at his title. He'd long ceased calling Changbin with it. "Yes. Is he here?"

"He rushed off to the Han manor not too long ago. He should be back relatively soon if you'd like to wait for him," she said.

Felix glanced back at the doors. Should he? "I could come back tomorrow. I don't want to infringe on anyone's time. I know there's always a lot of work to be done."

The lady smiled at him. It reminded him of Rachael. Another reminder that he missed her. "You seem quite nervous."

"A great deal so," Felix replied. Why was Changbin at Jisung's? He was making this even more difficult for Felix. If he had been here the brunet would be able to get it over with as quickly as possible. His eyes searched the female's before him. He needed some sort of direction. "I can't decide whether to listen to my head or my heart."

"And what situation calls upon that decision?"

Felix's face burned at the query. He shouldn't be talking about his feelings for the man of the estate so casually. "A feeling that causes anguish and distress. Others call it love. I find it's more of an affliction. A plague if you will," he told her.

"Then it's neither a matter of the heart nor mind, sweetie. Those will trick you," the lady answered.

"Then where does one find a solution to this dreadful problem?"

"In the gut. What is yours telling you now?"

"I'm anxious to the point I may vomit," Felix confessed. His face wrinkled in disgust at his words. Still, it was the truth. He felt queasy.

"Then I'd say you have your answer." The woman stroked Charming's neck gently. She called one of the workers and they scurried over. "Would you do Mister Lee the favor of leading his steed to the stable?"

Felix watched the interaction in slight surprise. "Yes, right away, Lady Seo." His face paled as the name registered in his head. Oh, how the lord abhorred him. He had just confided his romantic feelings to Changbin's elder sister thinking she was a maiden of the estate. He should crawl into a casket and wither away to nothing.

Lady Seo turned back toward him with a light giggle. "Don't be embarrassed. You've already told me. Nothing you can do about it now."

Felix pressed his hands to his face out of shame. "Please forget everything I've divulged with you Lady Seo. I didn't mean to confess such things to you. You must be revolted."

"Should I be? There's nothing wrong with falling in love. It makes no difference to me if it's my brother or not. And please, call me Changmi." The young man peeked through his fingers. She was far more relaxed than Changbin. "Should we have some tea while we wait for his return?" she asked with a sweet grin.

Felix's uneasiness waned slightly at the sight. It felt like he had another big sister as strange as that sounded. He ended up agreeing and they found themselves in the estate's library. Felix had never seen a place so beautiful. There was a whole wall of nothing but books. Felix brushed his fingers against the leather spines with a bright smile. He'd long forgotten his anxiety. He was far too lost in the abundance of stories.

"I've never been anywhere so amazing," he said as he glanced over at Changmi. She was pouring tea into two cups.

"Changbin always brings books back from London when he goes. The ones with two dots are the ones he enjoys the most. If they have one marking he's read it and it wasn't satisfactory. He's quite studious. You'll find most of them are about astrology and Greek gods. He's obsessed with the moon," she said.

Felix searched for books with two dots on them. He stopped on one with a black cover. It had three dots. He pulled it out from its home and flipped it open. The title was something he couldn't pronounce. "This one has three."

"Really? Bring it over."

Felix did as asked and strode over to Changmi. He took the spot on the couch next to her and let her take the book. "It's German. Meine Sonne Und Stern. It means My sun and star."

Felix's eyes widened. "Changbin told me it meant to pick up a book," he whispered. He felt a blush coat his cheeks. "He always speaks in code. I can never get anything out of him."

"I think that's positive," Changmi giggled. "Anyone he truly dislikes is left with a blank stare and a one-sided conversation. He doesn't put any effort into things he finds a waste of time."

"He argues quite a lot with me."

"Perhaps he likes the reaction you give."

Changmi handed back the thick text and reached for her china full of tea. Felix looked around the room some more as he caressed the front of the book. "You said Changbin enjoys the moon?" he asked.

Changmi hummed. "He's got about a dozen paintings of the moon alone in this mansion. I dare say he's in love with it. He'd marry it if he could."

"Does Midnight ring a bell for you? Is there anything around Changbin with that name?"

"His mare. Her name is Midnight."

Felix sank in his seat. He was an idiot. It had been right in front of him. Oblivious. Even Changbin had said so to his face. "Lady Seo, your brother has returned. He has asked to see you." Changmi stood from her seat and smoothed her dress with a sigh.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mister Lee. I hope to meet again soon."

"If all goes well," Felix joked lightly. She offered one last smile before disappearing. Felix's nervousness came back full throttle and he down the tea in the cup he had barely touched. He hoped its relaxing effects would kick in before Changbin arrived. To distract himself he flipped through the book in his lap.

He wasn't able to read it. Some words made sense but overall it was indecipherable. He ended up examining the pictures inside instead. They were small and somewhat faded. Even so, Felix enjoyed them one by one. He noted that there were small messages written in German on a few pages. Most likely Changbin's handwriting. His fingertips brushed against a few letters with a smile.

Changbin was Midnight. He had been right in front of him the whole time. It was obvious now that he knew. He'd kept him at a distance with his incredibly antagonizing personality. He was close to Felix, but not too close. Midnight's letter popped up in his mind. Changbin had said he was afraid of something. He'd also said he hoped Felix wasn't too shocked when he discovered who he was.

Felix couldn't tell him he wasn't. Finding out that it was Changbin was the most surprising thing he'd experienced in Wolford. The man he'd fallen in love with at their first meeting was also the man he had tried so hard to resist. The man he'd spent three months fighting uselessly.

"No matter how many times you run your fingers over the page, you will not be able to decipher it unless you study the language."

Felix jolted at the voice behind him. His head whipped to the side and he came face to face with Changbin. His arms were rested over the back of the couch, his expression monotonous. Despite that, he didn't seem without emotion. His eyes shined from the reflection of the grand chandelier above their heads. Felix's heart sped up in his chest as he watched Changbin's gaze roam his face.

He was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. A vest sat on top of it, though he'd released the buttons of their duty and let it hang open. His wavy hair was swept over allowing his eyes a chance to be shown off. He was handsome. Something Felix already knew but could never seem to say enough.

"What brings you to my residence?" Changbin inquired.

Felix closed the book in his hand. "Your sister is much different than you," he said, shifting the conversation to another topic. He wasn't ready to discuss the matter of his heart.

Changbin sighed and outstretched his hand. Felix placed the book in it. "Yes, she's much more patient as you've presumably seen." He stood from his position on the couch and headed over to the large wall of books. He pushed the one in his grasp back where it belonged. For a second he stood there. Felix assumed he was grabbing onto a moment to calm himself down.

He hoped that was what it was. "I think you're patient when you wish to be," Felix spoke. "It takes at least that to wait around three months for someone to find you."

Changbin slowly rotated his heels so that he faced Felix. He met his eyes and stared for a moment before giving a hum. "I suppose. What gave me away?" he asked as he approached.

"Changmi. She told me you love the moon and then translated Meine Sonne Und Stern for me. You told me it meant to pick up a book."

"And you were naive enough to believe a man you'd only met once. You should know better. Next time research it for yourself," the elder challenged.

Felix pushed himself up from the couch. "You could have just told me it was you."

Changbin stopped in front of him. "You wanted an adventure. I was merely granting that wish. I had no plans of falling in love with you."

He always had some way of pissing Felix off. "You—" Felix clenched his hand into a fist. "—You—" Why couldn't he say anything? "—You. . ."

Changbin confidently grasped Felix's chin between his fingers. His eyes stared directly into the younger's with no evidence of trepidation at all. "Me, me, me. Seo Changbin. The infuriating, provoking, vexing man you oh so despise." His thumb ran across Felix's bottom lip as a smirk took over his face.

"Are you frustrated? If so, take it out on me. The longer you fight with me the more time I spend in your mind. Think of me, darling. Even if you hate me, think only of me." Felix's legs shook beneath his assertive gaze and teasing words. "Understand what I have gone through from the very second you stepped onto that beach. Long for my gaze. Desire my lips. Seek my touch. For I have done it far too long on my own."

Changbin leaned forward. He flirted with him by keeping their lips at a distance where if they moved they would brush against each other. "You've no idea the efforts I have put in to resist you, Felix. And all for not, as you can see. So I concede."

Felix's throat ran dry and his eyes softened on Changbin's. Did he win? Just like that? Changbin fought him for so long, he expected another disaster to occur. "I don't believe in love at first sight," Changbin whispered. His eyes scanned the disappointment growing on Felix's face. "I still think it to be foolish and ridiculous."

Felix tilted his chin down as tears clouded his eyes. There it was. The tragedy. He felt so unfulfilled. After almost three months of trying to find him, he was left with nothing to show for their little game. It was all futile. His heart cracked. Had it all been a lie? Had his feelings changed?

Changbin's fingers ran along the side of his face and captured his cheek in his palm. He lifted his head gently so their eyes could meet again and he took a step closer. He placed his empty hand on Felix's hip and tugged him near. Their faces came an inch away from each other. So close that Felix could feel Changbin's breath tickling his skin.

"But I do believe I've found myself in love with you," he added just as quietly.

Felix's teary eyes widened as hope blossomed in his chest. "No," Changbin stated. His thumb stroked the younger's cheek tenderly with a loving gaze. "Your infuriating personality that questions everything I do, I can't live without it a day longer. You have every one of my emotions. My love and anger. My jealousy and joy. They are yours to take. I am yours to take."

Changbin pressed his forehead against Felix's. "That is if you'll have me."

A few tears dropped from Felix's eyes and he placed his hands on either side of Changbin's neck. He let out a weak laugh at his words. If? There was no if. His decision had been made the day on the terrace. It'd been made the very second he fell into Changbin's arms in the creek. He was smitten with Changbin and he didn't care about keeping it locked away any longer. "I'd have no one else," he murmured.

The elder's eyes flicked to Felix's lips. His affectionate smile fell from his features as he leaned forward. His head tilted and Felix closed his eyes the second he felt their lips collide. He moved a hand to the one on his face and clutched it tightly as he sank into the other's chest. Changbin's arm tightened around his waist to bring him impossibly close to him. Their bodies may as well have merged beneath the lights.

Their kiss was romantic and passionate unlike the last one which was lustful. It left no room for doubt. Their love was real and their hearts felt it to no end. Their arms tangled around each other, desperate to be held against the body of the person their minds felt so inexplicably attracted to. Their fingers clenched whatever they could find in an act to make sure they didn't slip away from one another. They held tightly onto the moment.

The beat in their ears told them they were alive. The rush of blood to their cheeks told them they weren't dreaming. When they pulled away just enough to meet gazes, those too told them something. They spoke of the most desirable love, and it pulled them back into each other not even a second later. Felix giggled as Changbin's lips pursed against his in short-lasting pecks. He soaked in the texture of his fingertips across his jawline.

"I love you," he mumbled against his mouth.

"And I you, Meine Sonne und Stern," Changbin returned, pushing some of the younger's hair behind his ear. Felix's smile widened and he brushed his nose against Changbin's. An adventurous tale it was to fall for Seo Changbin. And yet, as Felix stood in his arms, he knew the adventure was nowhere near its end, for when you loved another, your story was infinite.

[batmansymbol]

I am currently open for freelance editing projects :)

Hey y’all! If anyone needs an editor, I have bandwidth right now and have opened back up for editing work. I’m down for anything, “anything” defined here as:

Developmental edits. This includes some manuscript comments, but largely focuses on a comprehensive edit letter comprising notes on plot, character, style, voice, and theme.

Line edits. Feeling good about the bones of your story, but worried that you’re bogged down by inefficient language, indistinct dialogue, or the odd wandering character arc? The line edit may be for you.

Copyedits. Grammar, usage, spelling, etc. Every nit picked. Fair warning: I don’t use a style guide, because I find that imposing e.g. the Chicago Manual of Style on fiction messes with things like “voice” and “fun.” My emphasis will fall on clarity, and on tone: does it feel right?

Query letter edits. Pitches are hell, but weirdly, I love them. Rate: $35 flat fee for a query, $50 for a synopsis. $10 for each revision pass thereafter (I will, of course, not charge you if my response to a revision is “This slaps!”).

Essay, article, or cover letter proofing. For ethical reasons I won’t review academic material, and for national security reasons I won't review classified CIA documents :( Rate: $15 flat fee, plus 2¢/word.

I don't do authenticity editing on its own, because it makes me feel weird. That said, if you happen to have a protagonist who’s bi or pan or Chinese-American or multiracial and you’re like, “Oh no, have I messed this up horribly,” feel free to request that I take a look from that angle. Same for characters with depression, anxiety, or relatively mild ADHD.

Also: I have no reading triggers or content aversions. I'm fine with any kind of material, disturbing, upsetting, or very very sexy though it may be.

My rates for fiction editing vary based on project length and status. With something under 10k words, I feel relatively comfortable ballparking around 2¢/word for developmental/line and 1.5¢/word for copyediting, but beyond that, I’d want to test-edit a sample. Occasionally I’ll swap to an hourly rate thereafter, because what if you send over the next Hunger Games, and I tear through it in three hours, but at 2¢/word it’s supposed to cost $1,600? Ridiculous. I hate editing rates.

You can message me here on tumblr or email me directly at rileyredgate@gmail.com if you’d like to hire me. If you have a question, don't be shy about reaching out to ask. I am not a salesperson and will never try to hard-sell you.

If you know anybody looking for an editor, please do pass them this post! On this hellsite I know I am just another weirdo, but in real life, I have the qualifications to provide writers with high-quality editing backed up by years of experience in the publishing industry. Per The Official Bio:

Let’s take your fiction to the next level!

I'm the author of four novels: Alone Out Here, published by Disney-Hyperion; and Seven Ways We Lie, Noteworthy, and Final Draft, published by Abrams Books. My books have been published on four continents, optioned for film and TV, given seven starred reviews from critics, and named to Best-of-the-Year lists by Kirkus Reviews, Booklist, and the New York Public Library. Besides editing my own fiction, I've also done editorial work for authors whose books are published at Scholastic, HarperCollins, Penguin Random House, and more.

As an editor, I dive in with an underlying enthusiasm for every project. I'm not interested in trying to alter others' work to my tastes, but in recognizing what story a writer wants to tell and helping them reach that destination, whether with a developmental edit or a final polish. I'm happy to edit works of any length and genre, though my specialty is in fiction, and particularly in children's and YA fiction.

Reblogs would be greatly, greatly appreciated! xo

Riley

[literaticat]

In your professional opinion, as an agent and bookseller, do you think MG/YA readers actually read the jacket flap copy before deciding to read a book? I recently read an MG book where the first half of the book is the MC working to figure out what's wrong with a family member but the inside jacket copy specifically tells you the disease. Because I knew this info, the pace felt soooooo slow to me. Also, I've heard writers/agents say that sometimes the query letter is used to generate that jacket copy. When I write query letters, the hook/stakes/info I include usually gives away plot points, but never the climax/resolution. So, I'm guessing my follow-up question is, how much info is too much to include in a jacket copy? Like, if the plot points for the first half of the book are included in the jacket copy, what do you think compels people to keep reading? I should probably just go read a bunch of jacket copies for books I know and love at the library, right? Thanks for your answers!

do you think MG/YA readers actually read the jacket flap copy before deciding to read a book? not as much as adults do tbh; mostly kids pick up books because they are familiar with the title/author/other books in the series etc, or because the cover looks cool, or because somebody whose taste they trust has recommended it / handed it to them.

I've heard writers/agents say that sometimes the query letter is used to generate that jacket copy. sometimes elements of the original pitch/query do make it into the jacket copy -- sometimes not! I guess it depends how good the original pitch is. ;-)

how much info is too much to include in a jacket copy? I guess I'd want to know the basic set-up of the story/characters and stakes. "Who, what, where, why should I care." It's not meant to really be *a summary of the book* but sometimes they do read kinda like a summary of the first 1/4th or so.

if the plot points for the first half of the book are included in the jacket copy, what do you think compels people to keep reading? Hopefully the setup and the stakes make you want to know more, so you open the book and start it, and then the book itself is good and compelling enough that you wanna see what happens????

(Consider this: I purposely spoil myself on pretty much every show and movie, I nearly always at least KINDA know what's going to happen going in, because I hate being nervous, so I read reviews / listen to podcasts / look the things up beforehand. Knowing these facts doesn't actually take away my enjoyment of a great show at all, because in a great show, it's not the ending that is the good part, it's the GETTING there. However, for a not-so-good show that ISN"T compelling, I might well stop watching because, whatever, I already know what's gonna happen and I don't care for the getting there. So maybe the book you read didn't feel slow because you knew whatever diagnosis... maybe it felt slow because it WAS slow.)

I should probably just go read a bunch of jacket copies for books I know and love at the library, right? Great idea, sounds like something I would have suggested! :-)

[em-dash-press]

Hey, it’s me, Mrs. Spooks!

I am reaching out to ask a few questions about books that do parts, like Guy Gavriel Kay. Where he writes chunks in parts. Example: Part 1 Spring and Part 11 Summer etc.

Why do some authors do that? Does it have any rules? Is it worth doing in your first book or something that should be avoided until your style is developed?

Love,

Spooks!

Hey there! 🎃

I haven't read his work, but I'm guessing the parts in place of chapters? If they're longer than the average chapter, it's likely his choice as the author due to the arcs happening within each part. Splitting them up into smaller chapters within separate acts (Act I, Act II, etc.) may feel too disruptive to the flow for him.

After researching him, I'm also seeing that many of his books are standalone novels. Using parts could make it easier for him to tell a longer story that would traditionally get spread out into a duology or trilogy with a slightly higher word count.

I haven't heard of editors or publishers requiring a structure like that, so I would think it's something anyone could do in a manuscript they intend to publish! You'd just have to note in your query letters or in future conversations with potential agents that the part-structure is very important for you to keep.

Long-time, popular authors definitely get more creative freedom with their publishers because publishers just want to make money. If a best selling author prefers one structure over the other and it doesn't cause a dip in sales, they won't mind.

Debut authors have more restrictions as they make their mark on the industry, but you would definitely have a voice in what matters most in your manuscript/why. If you can point out essentials, your editor would be more likely to keep a more unique stylistic choice! (That would mean something like: "Dividing my story into parts keeps my three themes separated but connected. Here are # specific examples as to how that works.")

It would also be beneficial if you can point out authors in your niche that use a similar or identical parts structure! Readers already love the published authors writing similar stories, so that means your work would have less of a hill to overcome when winning those same readers over. The best part about being a creative writer is the freedom to break rules once you understand why they're there! If you're curious about that kind of structure, try it out. Even if you don't end up liking it, you'll gain more story-arc practice that improves your writing skills.

I hope this helps! 💙

[squigglysquidd]

I saw your tags on the ME post about working on some original stuff. Looking at your profile, it looks like you've already published two novels! Congratulations!

I was curious about your original writing. First of all, what is your series about (I assume it's a series)? How has your experience been so far, both with the writing and publishing? Do you have a long term vision for your series (or your writing plans just in general)?

Again, congrats! That's such an accomplishment!

Thank you so much!

Pieces of Eden, so far, includes Neon Utopia and the following Apple of Eden. It's a cyberpunk romance with a bit of adventure and, in the case of the second, mystery. I tried to focus a lot on worldbuilding and creating a chance for readers to envision a world that's beautiful on the surface, but goes much deeper into the dark side the closer and longer you look at it.

As for my experience? I saw there's good and bad. The best way to explain a lot of what I experienced is to compare it to fanfiction. Though it's not a perfect example, it's the best one I can relate to.

Unlike fanfiction, you don't get that instant gratification on posting a chapter. Even if you get no comments, you can still say 'hey, I wrote that and I'm happy with it.' With original stuff, you have to keep a bit of it under wraps because ultimately, you're trying to sell it. When I first tried to write original, I gave up because I didn't have something to, basically, cheer me on.

Then I found a friend through my FF writing, @wafflesrock16, who also wanted to use her experience in FF to get into original writing (i highly recommend her fantasy romance series, Rifts, btw). Waffles helps me tremendously because she's my Alpha reader. We bounce ideas and she reads my very rough, very first draft to give me tips. Then came finding a dedicated Beta (which I, unfortunately, didn't have for Neon Utopia - and it sadly shows) and sometimes even an Editor. Being a long fic, I didn't have the money for that so after a Beta's advice, I went through it a handful more times using different techniques to try and polish it up.

Publishing wise, I have to say I went the route of Self-Publishing. I do this for fun, not money, and yes, I did let it get to me last year, but I've realized that bad comments, just like FF, ultimately don't mean anything. People like it or they don't. Also, self-publishing helps me stay calm when I write because I don't have deadlines or have to write query letters to attract agents, then have to double check the agent and publishing company aren't frauds, etc. Plus, all the money comes back to me which, when I sell so few, comes in handy.

The hardest part of the whole process overall is MARKETING. Getting your name out there is hard work and doesn't always work out. I guess that's one good thing about traditional publishing but I still wouldn't trade it.

I, for sure, have one more PoE book in mind but I kinda like how it's more of an episodic series and not one continuous storyline. I don't know if readers will like it so we'll see about reception before I start on the third book.

Writing wise, I want to eventually start my fantasy series. Writing a Fantasy AU for Mass Effect really got me in the mood for it. So, when I finished Fibonacci, get PoE in a place I iike, and feel confident enough to try, I'll start the long process of worldbuilding. Everyone who knows me knows I'm an absolute sucker for worldbuilding so sometimes I get too deep. We'll see when we get there, though, right?

Sorry for being so long-winded! I guess I had quite a bit to say!

Thank you again. And thank you for asking such interesting questions. They really got me thinking about the future and what it holds. :)

[queerxqueen]

When you were cold querying what kind of things did you say to those you reached out to? And I know you said that traditional publishing was less expensive than self publishing, but what kind of range should someone expect for costs with finding an agent and pursuing a publishing deal (and subsequently the process of going through with that deal)? I'm not sure how you feel about money questions or how specific you're allowed to be, so sorry if this is too much to ask.

Hi there!!!!

You can actually see my full query letter in this lil video I made on my more professional authory TikTok where I unpacked the query letter a little bit and what made it work well, in my biased opinion, lol.

As for costs.... Ideally, none. I mean, there are a million things you CAN pay for when/before querying... writing software.... editorial services.... conferences, etc. But I firmly believe that you should not have to spend a cent to get an agent. For me personally, I did pay for Scrivener ($40) and one query critique from a literary agent ($50) but these are not necessary and I wouldn't even necessarily recommend it, I'd rather recommend finding amazing critique partners. I do not recommend paying for a professional editor before querying. It's just not necessary.

As for traditional publishing beyond querying, there are a lot of things you can spend money on, to fill the gap of what your publisher might not be doing, but I would once again emphasize that this is all optional. Some folks traditionally publishing might seek out an external publicist beyond whatever their publisher is doing, which could run you thousands of dollars. Totally optional, and usually has a very undefined ROI, and for most first time authors it just isn't worth it. Then there's things like designing and printing bookmarks or art prints for preorder incentives, which again, sometimes your publisher will cover, and sometimes they won't, but it's never an expectation that the author will foot the bill for ANY of this. Your publisher might pay to send you to conferences or events, but if they don't, authors can pay out of pocket for hotels and flights to attend those things. Some authors even self-finance their own DIY book tour if their publisher isn't doing that kind of thing for them, but again, these are OPTIONAL choices that individual authors are making to fill in areas that the publisher might be dropping the ball on.

I hate the idea that traditional publishing is pay-to-play. While it's true that personally financing some things can give you a boost, those responsibilities should ultimately fall on your publisher, not on you. In tradpub, all money should flow toward the author, and you should never be required to pay for anything beyond things you choose to do strategically.

I have paid for a few art commissions, and will likely get some bookmarks printed once I have a finalized cover design for each of my books, but that is the extent of what I will be paying for myself because I'm relying on my publisher to do their job to get the book out there.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

@itsjustalark I hope you don't mind me breaking that ask up into smaller chunks to respond to instead of actually answering the ask in my inbox. Sometimes people send me really long things, and then I know having it on my blog and then having to read my probably accordingly long answer is not going to happen, and I just. Feel bad about it.

I have a couple longer essay-type things in my ask box I feel bad that I don't know how to respond to, and I wish people would post them on their blog and then maybe send me a link or something if they want my comments on it; I think it would just be easier.

Anywho.

I love readin your writing stuff as a fellk writer it really inspires me to write too. And I am mostly so intrigued by your stories because i honestly love the idea of exploration of the relationship between two boys set in a fantasy world. And also the fantasy worldbuilding just gets me. Im a big fan of character focused fantasy which are also kinda plot heavy and set in a rich world cause i think that only enriches and enhances the whole thing.  I dont know if im making sense. Lol. The point is the snippets of ur stories i have gotten kinda give me thpse vibes. Including your short story which world builds so well with so few words. And im gonna stop myself now cause thats gonna be a whole different post.

Tiadane's not actually a boy; this is made clear relatively early on, and he's not picky about pronouns because his home doesn't have a good concept of things like "gender" and "lots of gendered pronouns." I tend to alternate what I use for him when not in the book, and even in the book he shrugs off a couple "she's." And there's actually not any romance in that one; Tiadane and my deuteragonist's relationship is platonically weird in that one. I don't always like writing romance, but I usually have a deuteragonist running around because I just like paired character dynamics a lot.

I'm actually not super great at worldbuilding, either. I tend to do it as little as possible and only when I need to; a lot of my current revisions are fleshing the worldbuilding out. And now that I'm focusing on, a lot of the results are good, but it's often just sort of not really the most fun focus for me.

This kinda applies for both books and is a question actually: how did you come up for the names of youre mc's? Is there a meaning theind them or is it kinda like what gave the right vibes?

Tiadane's name is made up letters that sounded good to me. Cian's name went through lot of iterations and he had some very bad placeholder names before I settled on his full name (which isn't actually Cian). However, all of the wizards in that book have related names just For Because, I guess. It's sort of tied to some of the themes there.

Since Avel's book is contemp fantasy, I just went to Behind the Name and hit random name generator until I liked something enough to use for the random starter name.

The plot sypnosis sounds really interestings. The way you've written it makes the world seem really fleshed out and its own thing. I also adore the idea exploring heritage and culture of a lost civilization. But whatexictes me the most is the rebuilding part and how the mcs' would go about it. I also am very intrigued about how these revelations would effect their relationship.

What I shared was actually the query; queries and synopses are different in the publishing word. Basically, my query is supposed to sell people on making it sound interesting, so I'm glad it's working for those functions for now. It still needs to be edited some more later.

Thoughts on Avel's book: Ngl reading the sypnosis of this book is is what convinced me to send the first text. The writing of the scenes is something i really like cause good writing can make or break a story really. I can hear Avel's narrative voice as i read which is always a plus. The discription youve given for him got me excited enough to fan cast him in my head. I love when male characters accessorize, i feel it gives them personality. I'm very excited to see how you explore the being an artist with disability thing, especially how it affects mental state and the relationship with the ml. These kind of things really get me excited. Ive read so little and i already like the characters and want to get to know them better.

Thank you! I work very hard on narrative voice.

And i love how you focus on character design. As a frequent manga/manhwa reader imagery reallly matters to me and expecially the character design cause its such a good rool to indicate subtle things about the character whichadd another layer of depth.

Lmao. I actually don't. The bits with Avel in there aren't even the latest material, just the most recent parts I read because I went back and added it. But I was having fun with giving Avel a personality and interests beyond his violin and his medical things and other Plot Relevant necessities, so it was fun to make him vaguely queer emo punk silliness whatever he's doing.

TL;DR: You should be proud of these works. Its really good stuff. Never stop writing please!

Oh, I never intend to. Thank you.

Some other questions:

Do you have any specific inspirations for these two stories? Are you a fan of worldbuilding and what role do you want it to play in your stories? Is youre story more character focused or plot focused? Do youre worlds have a magic system? I have so many more tuestions but there are good starters ig.

I get told a lot that I inspire people to write, and I...never quite understand why, to be honest.

Tiadane's book originally came from playing too much Smash Bros and staring at Pit for too many hours in a row. And then I just typed some random shit to get some words out when I was stuck revising something and not having fun, and started writing this introduction to his world.

Avel's came from "I really want to find a new book" and writing something until I had a thousand words and then it warped entirely on me and I have to reconstruct it from scratch. I think by writing a lot, and this is a good example, Yikes. But I work in the pharmaceutical industry and read a lot about demyelinating diseases and rare disorders a lot, so a lot of that, plus my own love of creative endeavors and some medical trauma got wrapped up into whatever's going on with him.

I already sorta answered this, but no, worldbuilding's not my favorite part of writing, but it's gotta get done because of the kind of stories I write. I really do love stories where the world feels more expansive than we ever get to explore, but I'm not sure I'll ever write something that feels that way myself.

I am a very character-focused writer and have had recurring problems with getting a plot to attach correctly over the years. I think Tiadane's book is the first time I didn't have (too) many issues with one by the time I sent to to a CP, and I'm still ripping a lot out to replace it with something better.

Each of my fantasy worlds (I also write sci-fi sometimes, and some stuff just...set in our world) has its own magic system. I don't know how writers just have The One for tons of stories. Large universes to play in can be fun, but so is making up new stuff every time.

Part 1 of 2.