#nonfiction and fiction alike

[luciddaydreamingworlds]

I think it'd be cute if the Thorny Towers polycule opened a library together.

[gailynovelry]

Thinking a little bit about that one "I'm an English major and a professional as opposed to you amateurs" anon. Gonna roast 'em a little bit, but with the intention of addressing a thing we've had in mind for a while.

Real talk, coming from someone who WAS an English major; majoring in English is not necessarily a guarantee that someone is a good writer. For one, you can be bad at your major, full stop. For another, it's not even a guarantee that someone identifies as a writer to begin with. English as a major is pretty broad, and it covers reading too, among other things. There's library science, analytical academia, historical preservation & interpretation (MEDIEVAL MANUSCRIPTS HELL YES), editing, nonfiction trades (often crosses over with STEM majors), marketing (crosses over with business majors), and also book design and typography (<3 <3 <3 our favorite, crosses over with art majors).

Someone can major in English and take a specific minor with the goal of falling into a trade that is not writing literary fiction. In fact, we would argue that most people who get something useful out of their major are the ones that do that.

It's also worth noting that it's possible to be an English major focused on "lowbrow" fiction. There are people who major in English and use the experience towards the end of writing erotica. There are people who major in English with the intent to write genre fiction. There are people who major in English to study the history and social context of fanfiction.

These things are, in fact, worthy fields of study! The realm of the "amateur" is the realm where a lot of cultural conversations and innovations happen!

Expecting English as a major to be a tract specifically for producing acclaimed literary fictionists is not realistic, not how the discipline typically works, and it's certainly not a thing you can use to hold over other writers' heads. It is perfectly possible for people to write good things (professional-grade things even) without ever touching a college course.

I sat through so much bad writing in college. Technically bad, thematically bad, gramatically bad. And I routinely bump into non-graduate authors who write texts, formal and informal alike, that blow my own writing clean out of the water with their quality.

In short, dismissing other people in your general field as "amateurs" who are beneath you is an incredibly unprofessional thing to do.

[cetaitlaverite]

Anything to Anywhere

Masters of the Air - John Egan x OC

seemed appropriate to post to commemorate armistice day <3 masterlist is here

22. Just Like We Are

Tangmere Cottage was warm and homely, decorated for Christmas like it was any normal cottage belonging to any normal family. There was a Christmas tree in the living room, strung with tinsel and covered in baubles, and a fire in the fireplace.

When Stella was led through the front door by a man named Bill, one of the two flight sergeants who took care of everything which went on at the cottage, there were already three pilots sitting on the sofas in the lounge, mugs in their hands and Christmas jumpers on over the tops of their uniform shirts.

“Alright, Bambi, lass?” Daisy called when he saw her. “Welcome to Tangmere.”

Stella gave him a smile, shifting her hold on her bag. “Thanks.” She took another look around, at the wood panelling and the line of beer bottles on top of the fireplace and the books on the bookshelf beside it, at the framed paintings on the walls and the patterned rug beneath her feet. “It’s nice,” she said idly.

Across from Daisy, one of the other 161 pilots, a man Stella didn’t know all that well named Sparky, gave her a grin. “Home sweet home,” he replied.

Bill led Stella up the stairs and to the room at the end of the hall. “Right beside the bathroom,” he said with a wink, as though he thought all women were on their menstrual cycles all the time. Nonetheless, he was a nice man, probably around the age her father must have been by now, and he waited for her to put her things down in the bedroom she’d been assigned before taking her on a short tour of the cottage. There were six bedrooms upstairs, all of which were now currently being inhabited, and a bathroom, and downstairs boasted an operations room, a dining room, a kitchen, and two living rooms.

The tour didn’t take long and then Stella was left to unpack her belongings upstairs. She wouldn’t be here for long, true, but her flight wasn’t until tomorrow night and she didn’t want to live out of her bag until then.

Downstairs, the pilots’ idle chatter continued and Stella was swept up in it easily when she came down to sit with them. The conversation raged on fast, veering from films to music to sports to the last time they hadn’t had to work over Christmas. Stella sat and listened, drumming her fingers on her thighs, before her eyes found the bookshelf in the corner and her legs were leading her over to it before she had consciously told them to do so.

There were a variety of titles on the shelf, nonfiction and fiction alike. Some books were about aviation, others were thriller novels - Stella was delighted to discover a romance novel amongst the selection, considering she was the first female pilot to billet here. She withdrew it from its perch and read the back, smiling to herself at the description of a whirlwind romance set against the backdrop of Victorian London. She wondered who had brought it here with them and left it behind to share, wondered whether that pilot was still around.

Replacing the book, Stella kept looking, skimming her fingers gently over the spines, until a voice calling her name had her turning around, one of her hands still resting against the books.

“Nervous for your first flight with 161?” Sparky wanted to know, one hand resting atop the ankle he had resting on his opposite knee, the other holding his mug to his lips.

Stella shrugged, letting her hand fall and turning fully to face him and the rest of the room. “Of course,” she admitted, “but only because it’s my first. Once I’ve got it out of the way I’ll be fine.”

Daisy grinned at her, because it was a sentiment he’d given her before her first flight with 138.

“Where have they got you landing, lass?” Daisy asked before sipping from his mug. “France? Belgium? Holland?”

“France,” Stella said. “I think they’re starting me off easy.”

“Oh, none of it’s easy,” he dismissed her, chuckling under his breath. “Something’s always bound to go wrong. But it’s important work and the Resistance laddies work hard to get us down in one piece, so as long as we remember our training it’s all alright in the end.”

“Hear hear,” Sparky agreed, raising his mug as though in toast. “My first flight I transmitted my morse code identification wrong so everyone on the ground thought I was a Jerry. I had to circle and try again and transmit it right the next time, cost us ten minutes because I was an idiot.”

Stella laughed.

Daisy was grinning. “My first flight they had me landing in a field so waterlogged it was like trying to land in the fucking Channel. Managed to get the Lizzie to stop about a metre away from a forest. No idea how I got the fucking thing to take off again after.”

“I’ll do you one better,” chimed in the other pilot, a man nicknamed Romeo because he’d tried to chat up every single one of the wireless operators when he’d first arrived, Stella had been informed. “On my first flight - landing in the Netherlands, mind you - the field they’d picked wasn’t nearly big enough. The Resistance girl who’d picked it didn’t have an idea about aviation. Not her fault, really, but did they have to saddle her with the responsibility of locating the landing area?” He shook his head, barking a laugh at the memory. “Anyway, I circled four times before realising I couldn’t land, so I made my Joe parachute out the back, holding on to as many of the supplies we were delivering as he could fit in his arms.” He was grinning at them all in turn as he told the story. “Dead dangerous, in hindsight, making him parachute from that low with that much stuff in his arms, but it all worked out in the end. Just lucky that I didn’t have to take anything back home with me. That would’ve been an unlucky refugee who’d been assigned to go home that day otherwise.”

“You picking anyone up tomorrow, Bambi, or just dropping off?” Daisy asked, tapping his mug against his thigh in a steady rhythm.

“Just dropping off,” Stella answered. “But I’ve got some radios to pick up, so I have to land whether I like it or not.”

Romeo whistled and raised his mug to her in cheers. “Godspeed, Bambi. Godspeed.”

Daisy rolled his eyes. “Silly bastard, scaring the lassie like that.” To Stella, he said, “You’ll be fine. You’ve done your training, wouldn’t have been picked for the job if you couldn’t do it.”

Stella hummed her agreement, heading back across the room and resuming her place on the sofa. “I’ll be fine,” she agreed, and realised as she said it that she believed it, too. “First one’s just the worst, but I’ll get it done and dusted no trouble.”

This turned out to only be a slight overestimation; ‘no trouble’ may have been a tad optimistic.

While Stella had practised taking off and landing her Lysander in tiny patches of grass countless times to prepare her for her first deployment with 161, trying to do it with only the light of the moon and a shoddy flare path, and the knowledge that she may be caught by the Germans at any second, was an entirely different ball game.

A small group of Resistance operatives were waiting for her on the ground with bicycles and an old car, staring up at her as she circled and tried again, circled and tried again, well aware that her time was running out. The Gestapo didn’t stop patrolling at night; any second now she could be caught in a searchlight or the Resistance operatives could be caught on the ground or a German reconnaissance plane could fly over and catch her, or any number of other dangers.

Stella tried not to think about it. She circled for the third time and pulled on the yoke with all of her might, forcing the plane to land in this tiny strip of greenery on the outskirts of a French village whether it wanted to or not.

The turnaround was rapid. The spy she’d been ferrying climbed out of the back of the Lysander the instant the wheels hit the ground, before Stella had finished taxiing, and then there were Resistance ops in the back, shoving in old radios which were either broken or had been compromised for one reason or another.

“Allez!” called one of them, giving a firm pat to the floor of the plane before he climbed out of it.

Stella knew very little French but she’d been briefed enough to know what that meant. She turned the plane around as best she could in the limited space, then had to try four times before she eventually got it in the air.

She sped back to England faster than she had been briefed to but her heart was in her throat, the stress the adrenaline had been keeping at bay flooding her veins. Lizzies couldn’t go very fast, anyway, she comforted herself; no one would even notice she’d been speeding. She was deep in French airspace by now and half expecting a Messerschmitt to jump out at her at any moment - either that or anti-aircraft fire. With only the light of the moon to fly by and a whole country’s worth of Nazis below her, Stella accelerated back towards England like she really was being chased.

Never had she been more relieved to land. She arrived safely back at RAF Tangmere in the early hours of the morning on the 28th December and slumped back in her seat, reassuring the wireless operators over the radio that she was fine, that she hadn’t run into any trouble, that she had dropped her Joe off and retrieved the radios and, aside from some delays, everything had gone according to plan.

She filed her flight report with eyelids drooping, the adrenaline all long-since worn off, and dragged her feet behind her on the way back to the cottage. She was slow and sluggish with every movement, took much too long in the shower but at least she was the only one using it, and when she found herself tucked up in bed the first few rays of morning sunshine were peering in around the edges of the window.

Stella groaned and rolled over, burying her face into her pillow, and fell into a deep, restful sleep.

It became almost monotonous after a while. After three landings in various locations in occupied France she’d worked out the details in her routine, and as time wore on she got better and better at ironing out the kinks. She found that she should start to come in for the landing earlier than she might have guessed when her landing strip was too small, had started to be able to navigate using French towns and forests and lakes she often flew over regardless of where she was going. Sometimes she saw the same Resistance operatives as she’d seen before and became familiar with them - she never learned their names and they never learned hers, but she could greet them with their code names and they could greet her with her call sign, which, in fairness, was all anyone called her these days anyway, and it was almost like they were friends.

She started to become numb, even, to the reality of what she was doing. Months passed and she no longer batted an eye when her next assignment would come through. She’d ferried spies into the outskirts of Paris, of Bordeaux, had gone as far as Monaco to deliver Joes and supplies. She flew in the dead of night, landed in the tiniest airstrips known to man by sheer force of will - Lysanders formally need a five hundred yard long airstrip to land at the very least; Stella had gotten used to landing hers in one hundred and fifty - and she made idle chatter with the Joe she was dropping as the Resistance agents swapped out supplies, then turned around and flew back to England. She rarely got fired on, but when she did she didn’t think all that much of it; so late at night, the gunners couldn’t see her anyway. Their aim was always miles off.

“What’s it like, Babs?” the other Hut 6 girls wanted to know. Their resentment of her promotion had fizzled away, replaced by hope that it would be them next who were promoted now that women were allowed to fly for 161.

Stella laughed softly, removing her shoes and socks and tucking her frozen feet beneath her, digging her toes into her blanket. “It’s not all that different from what I was doing before,” she replied.

Lucky scoffed. “You stay in the cottage. You land in occupied territory. You meet the Resistance and you pick up refugees. It is very different.”

“What’s it like on the ground?” Houds asked.

Stella shrugged. “I hardly experience it. The turnaround is so fast. I land in dark fields and exchange hellos with Resistance operatives and then I take off again. All I can really tell you is that it’s dead quiet, like the grave, and that everyone’s looking over their shoulder every five seconds. I don’t see much but you can feel the fear in the air.” She shook her head. “What it must be like to live that way all the time.”

“What are the Joes like?” Donny asked. “We meet them briefly, of course, but not properly. What are they really like?”

Formally, even 161 pilots weren’t supposed to get friendly with the spies, but in practice it was only natural that they did. Stella had dropped off and picked up the same spies on a few occasions and, besides, she had to train her Joes every time she ferried them to assist in the moonlight landings in preparation for their pick up.

She didn’t know any of their real names, much like with the Resistance operatives, but she knew most of their code names - the ones she’d ferried, anyway. And she liked most of them, how they immediately respected her and held such reverence for her job, how they acknowledged the importance of her role in the entire clandestine affair. To Stella, the spies were at the top of the food chain; to the spies, the pilots were. No one was going anywhere or doing anything without pilots mad enough to want to fly them over there.

“I don’t like any of them better than I like you, don’t worry,” Stella teased, picking up her teddy bear and sitting him in her lap. “But they’re nice. They respect pilots a lot. I don’t know much about any of them but they make the trips over feel shorter because a lot of them like to crack jokes.”

Lucky fell back on her bed and sighed. “I cannot wait to be a 161 pilot.”

Donny scoffed. “I’ve been here the longest, if anyone gets the call up next it should be me.”

Stella laughed. “Just remember that whenever anyone gets the call up it’s because someone else has been stood down, either dead, caught, or missing. So don’t go wishing too hard for it. I might be the pilot you replace.”

Donny frowned. “Don’t say things like that.” She shook her head, worrying at her bottom lip. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You’re not ever going to have any issues - they wouldn’t have called you up if they thought you would.”

Stella shrugged, smiling softly at her. “It’s not so predictable as that. Any number of things could go wrong.”

“Is it scary?” Houds asked. She was hugging her pillow to her chest, gazing at Stella over the top of it.

Stella took a moment to consider the question. Was it? She didn’t think so. It should have been, but after all the many flights she’d flown for 138 - almost thirty before she’d gotten promoted - and after all the many flights she’d now made for 161, she’d become desensitised. It always felt like she was landing behind enemy lines but the meaning of those words had become lost, faded, like the hem of a pair of pyjamas worn too often, once scratchy and stiff and now soft and covered in loose thread.

“No,” she decided. “It’s not.”

March arrived with drizzle and a chill in the air. Stella was still wearing John’s jacket everyday. Even when summer arrived she thought she’d still wear it. It no longer smelled like him but it reminded her of him all the same, made her feel like he was still close enough to touch.

She still hadn’t heard anything of him but she knew she wouldn’t for a while even if he was alive and a prisoner of war; there were continuous reports in the newspapers that the Germans were being lazy with POW correspondence, deliberately taking months on end to send out their letters, and even if John was alive and was a prisoner of war, by the time his letter got sent out and made it to Thorpe Abbotts, and then by the time the mail clerk at Thorpe Abbotts sent it on to the RAF head office in London, and by the time the RAF head office got it delivered to Tempsford, it would have been months and months and months. Stella comforted herself with the thought that his words might already be on their way to her, lost in the postal system somewhere but on their way all the same.

The next time Stella was bound for Tangmere, being sent out on her fifteenth flight for 161 Squadron, she was being sent out with the promise of a party in her honour upon her return.

Fifteen flights with 161 was, apparently, a big deal. If you managed fifteen successful missions then, statistically, you were fifty percent more likely to never get caught at all, or so the other pilots said. Secretly, Stella wondered whether this was all just an excuse to hold another party; no one had had a birthday in a while.

“We are going to get wine, Babs,” Lucky was gushing as Stella packed her bag to head off. “And cake! Coffee cake, because it is your favourite.”

Stella tipped her head back as she laughed. “Coffee cake is your favourite, Lucky.”

Lucky rolled her eyes and hit her gently on the shoulder. “Is your favourite too. You told me so.”

“I don’t have a favourite,” Stella objected. “I like all cake.”

“You have only tried two flavours,” Lucky pointed out.

Stella shot her a grin. “And I like them both equally.”

Stella seemed to have acquired many, many more belongings since coming to Tempsford. What with her birthday and then Christmas and the outings the other girls had taken her on to go shopping, she’d arrived with barely anything and now had to pick and choose what she took with her to Tangmere. Her bag was full to bursting by the time she’d loaded it up, but as she reached for Ralph, ready to lay him on top of her pile of clothes and toiletries before she zipped the bag up, Lucky grabbed her arm to halt her.

“Wait,” she said, then hurried off to her bed. When she returned to Stella’s side, Lucky had her childhood stuffed bunny in her hand. She was holding it by one of its paws as she held it out to Stella. “You take Królik. I will look after Ralph.”

With raised eyebrows and a confused smile, Stella accepted the bunny and held it carefully to her chest. “Why?”

“For good luck,” Lucky explained, as though this should have been obvious. “It is your fifteenth 161 flight. Is special. You always fly with your John’s lucky jacket and now I would like you to fly with my lucky rabbit. This way, you will have all of the luck in the world, from the two people who love you the most.”

Stella’s smile became strained.

Lucky noticed and rolled her eyes before tugging her into a hug. “Babs,” she said, “you have got to stop crying every time someone is nice to you. Is embarrassing.”

Stella laughed and gave her a shove as she pulled out of the hug. “Shut up. I’m not even crying.” But there were tears in her eyes, and she had to fight hard to hold them in.

“Now, you take care of Królik for me,” Lucky said, electing to ignore Stella. “He will bring you luck but you must be nice to him.”

“I will,” Stella vowed, hugging the bunny to her chest.

“I will take good care of Ralph,” Lucky promised in return.

“I know you will,” Stella assured her, smiling.

Looking between the two stuffed animals, Lucky smiled warmly. “They are best friends,” she asserted, sharing her smile with Stella. “Just like we are.”

“Then we have to make sure we reunite them,” Stella replied, grinning. She laughed as she reached for Ralph and handed him over to Lucky.

Stella was careful as she tucked Królik into her bag. She took care to ensure none of his fur was caught in the zip before she zipped it up.

Fully packed and ready to go, Stella turned to Lucky with a smile. “I’ll see you in a few days,” she said, leaning down for a hug.

Lucky squeezed Stella tightly, scruffing her hair as they pulled apart. “See you in a few days,” she returned. “With yourself and my rabbit all in one piece. And lots of cake.”

“Lots,” Stella agreed with a laugh. She picked up her bag and headed for the door, blowing a kiss over her shoulder.

Lucky pretended to catch it and stamp on it, which made Stella laugh.

“Fly safe, Babs!” Lucky called as Stella reached the door. “I will miss you too much if you do not.”

[shark-myths]

do you have any book recs for books about girls that feel like girl out boy. i want to read about girls but i don't want to read about fall out boy yk

I love this question! I am constantly seeking for books that feel like Girl Out Boy because I want to live in that muggy girlspace at all times. These cut a wide swath of genres and probably only 2 of them are genuine read-alikes in tone; the rest share a headspace or ethos or were otherwise important in shaping that world. I would love to collect other peoples’ recommendations on this question, so please chime in!

Nonfiction:

Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl by Carrie Brownstein

Any book by Melissa Febos

Dead Blondes and Bad Mothers by Sady Doyle

The First Collection of Criticism by a Living Female Rock Critic by Jessica Hopper

The Riot Grrrl Collection ed. by Lisa Darms

Fiction:

The Scapegracers series by H.A. / August Clarke—the most GOB thing I have ever read in my life!

Supper Club by Lara Williams

Anything Resembling Love by S. Qiouyi Lu

We Were Witches by Ariel Gore

It Goes Like This by Miel Moreland

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo

You Know I’m No Good by Jessie Ann Foley

When We Were Magic by Sarah Gailey

The Summer of Jordi Perez by Amy Spalding

Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera

Pages for You by Sylvia Brownrigg

The First Rule of Punk by Celia C. Perez

Moxie by Jennifer Mathieu

Ramona Blue by Julie Murphy

We Are Okay by Nina LaCour

Girl Mans Up by M.E. Girard

Passing Strange by Ellen Klages

Girls on Fire by Robin Wasserman

Post-Traumatic by Chantal V. Johnson

Comics:

Bitch Planet by Kelly Sue DeConnick

Squad by Maggie Tokuda-Hall

Man-Eaters by Chelsea Cain

Paper Girls by Brian K Vaughn

Girl Town by Casey Nowak

The Deep Dark by Molly Knox Ostertag

Okay, I'm stopping myself now, because this is clearly just becoming a "Book About Women Sharks Want You To Read". And I could go on, and on, and on. Please let me know if you read and like any! Reading and talking about reading are my favorite things in the world.

Go forth and read about girls!

[ladzwriting]

Welcome!

My name is Jo, publishing as Ladz, and my pronouns are they/them. I write genre fiction, whether it's dark fantasy, horror, fantasy, or some mélange of all three. They're all intended for adult audiences, and I recommend checking out the content warnings for each before diving in.

While I do try to share updates on my writing, this tumblr is mostly a space for me to find inspiration and quotes I relate to, get excited about the media I love, and boost work from my friends. itch | goodreads | amazon

Learn more about my work below!

Work Available Now

Ice Upon a Pier (April 11, 2023) A novella that's a retelling of the life and crimes of Richard Kuklinski. A lesbian contract killer indulges in an interview about the ways she's used ice magic to freeze time and get away with literal murder.

The Fealty of Monsters Volume 1 (March 12, 2024) Art by @t-hornapple. A gothic horror political fantasy retelling of the Russian Revolution with queers and vampires. Sasza Czarnolaski serves a human court, but no one knows he's a vampire. Sasza quickly learns that he will do anything to preserve peace in the Empire–including giving in to the monstrosity he spent so many years concealing from even himself.

Upcoming

The Cradle of Eternal Night (October 2024) Art by @pompoison. A standalone sapphic horror romantasy in which a bard and a witch fall in love on a quest to bring the light back to their dark world. Sapphic, magical, and tense, perfect for fans of Dark Souls and grumpy x sunshine romance.

The Institute of Manners (The Fealty of Monsters Volume 2 (2025) Art by @t-hornapple. The revolution is paused for now as our main cast goes to graduate school. Lessons include avoiding assassination attempts, uncovering the secrets of a despot, and staying on top of the rumors of a horror-worshipping cult and anti-imperial activities alike.

Writing is Hard (202?) A nonfiction craft book about things I learned about writing and publishing in the last decade between failing to get into traditional publishing and finding personal and creative satisfaction in self and indie publishing. Collected blog posts expanded with new wisdom.

I also have a whole bevy of short stories on my itch account, which is the best place to get my work if you want to leave a tip.

My author newsletter updates once a month on the 11th, usually talking about insight from writing, sales, new work, and includes a picture of my cat.

Feel free to ask me anything regarding my books, my short fiction, my self-publishing journey and anything else you'd care to know about!

[itsawritblr]

An Ask about Editing.

"I am seeing mixed information regarding editing and when to attempt to submit to a publisher. I was under the impression that the publishers provide editors, but some online sources are telling me that it is typical to hire your own editor and pay them before you send the novel off to publishers."

All publishers have editors. If they have websites they'll have the editors' names listed there. Example: The Random House Team.

It's not typical at all to hire an editor to work on your manuscript. You're supposed to know how to edit your own work. Some people hire them because they think it'll give them an advantage. However, the question is:

How good is the editor?

There are people who fake being editors. They take your money and do a few changes on your manuscript.

There are people who are mediocre at editing, but will take your money and do a few changes to your manuscript.

If you don't know how to edit, you can't tell who's a charlatan, who's mediocre, or who's excellent.

It's your job as a writer to learn how to edit your own work. If a publisher acquires your book their editor will work with you to improve it. But they prefer to have a manuscript that's as polished and as close to perfect as possible, because that means less work for them and a shorter period from editing to published book.

"Is there a substantial risk of stolen ideas or anything like that when someone hires their own editor?"

OK . . . . *inhale*

Your word for word manuscript is automatically copyrighted from the moment it's written/typed/scrawled in crayon. It's yours. You do not need to file for Copyright and spend whatever the fee is these days. In the highly unlikely case of plagiarism, you have as proof your original ms (manuscript) and your notes, etc., which you used to create your work. And you can prove that the editor saw your manuscript before they published whatever they did.

But ideas can't be copyrighted.

Example: Both A Bug's Life and ANTZ have similar ideas. But they're not copies.

Example: If your story has a short, scruffy detective who smokes a cigar and drives a beater, but he's English and lives in a Detroit townhouse, your idea doesn't legally rip-off Columbo. Everyone will think you ripped it off and think less of you, as they should, but no one can sue you because the ideas are so alike. Well, they can try, but it'll more than likely be a waste of their time and money.

Plagiarism is much more likely to occur if you put your work online, because anyone can see your work and there are a shit-ton of unscrupulous wanna-be writers out there. But no publishing house's first reader -- the person who reads your ms before moving it on to an editor who'll decide if your ms is good enough for them to buy it -- is going to steal your work.

As for a hired editor, it's very, very unlikely.

"My second question would be if you have any examples of perhaps a page or two of a novel where I can read the original version from the author, and then the version after the editor has taken a crack at it and then updated with the editors changes and recommendations? I tried searching for this but didn’t get much luck. I suppose I am looking for a concrete example of how much an editor puts in."

I don't do that. Unless you pay me $$$$.

Editors are essential to publishers. But again, they don't touch your ms unless the publisher decides to buy it. And they won't want it unless you've edited the fuck outta it first.

What you need to do, what all writers need to do, is learn how to be your best editor.

Get a copy of this:

This is a writer's Bible. I suggest owning a copy so you can study it and make notes if needed. You can get cheap, readable used copies from eBay, Abebooks, or your local used bookstore.

You can download this pdf and print it:

The Elements of Style.

Also get this. It's great for fiction writers as well as nonfiction writers.

This also has an online pdf: The Elements of Editing.

There are tons of books about editing. A simple Google search will find them.

Books About Editing Books. This list is for books about editing books and the craft of writing (mostly fiction).

There's Writer's Digest Magazine. They have lots of articles by editors and writers. Read it online and look for copies at your nearby library. Warning: There are ads for editing "services" and that kind of shit. Ads are how the magazine makes its money (that and subscriptions). Ignore these ads.

If you have a local library, ask the reference librarian for the section with books about writing and editing. If it's a small section, or there isn't one at all, ask for an Inter Library Loan (ILL). This is when the librarian requests the title your looking for from any library in the U.S. and often abroad, and it will be sent to her library, for free.

I can't emphasize this enough: The library is your best friend. Librarians are there to help. There are tons of writers who thank librarians in their Acknowledgements, including Christopher Paul Curtis, Anthony Horowitz, and me. Get to know your librarians. (OK, some librarians are assholes. Find the ones who aren't.)

If you don't have access to a library, either public or college/university, look in a used bookstore. If you don't have a used bookstore, cheap, readable copies can be found online.

If possible, take a course in editing and writing. But only if you can easily afford it, and only if the instructor is a professional editor or writer.

You need to be the best editor for your work. No one will be as invested in your book as your are.

I repeat: No one will be as invested in your book as you are.

Learn to edit well, then send off your ms. If you write fiction, you'll need a literary agent (there are a few boutique and small press publishers who don't require agents). An agent wants to see polished work. But, if she's even half-way good, she'll help edit your ms to a level where it's ready for a publisher to see it.

Now, you caught me on a slow day, and I'm feeling generous (I was a newbie too. Got my first rejection at age 11, from Alfred A. Knopf Publishing). But I'm not answering any more questions from anybody, because I have a ms to finish.

If anyone ignores this statement and tries to get more help from me, my response is:

I'm outta here.

[fiction-quotes]

She loved any library, big or little; there was something about all that knowledge, all those facts waiting patiently to be found that never failed to give her a shiver. When friends couldn't be found, the books were always waiting with something new to tell. Life that was getting too much the same could be shaken up in a few minutes by the picture in a book of some ancient temple newly discovered deep in a rain forest, a fuzzy photo of Uranus with its up-and-down rings, or a prismed picture taken through the faceted eye of a bee.

And though she would rather have died than admit it – no respectable thirteen-year-old ever set foot down there – she still loved the children's library too. Nita had gone through every book in the place when she was younger, reading everything in sight – fiction and nonfiction alike, fairy tales, science books, horse stories, dog stories, music books, art books, even the encyclopedias.

Bookworm, she heard the old jeering voices go in her head, four eyes, smart-ass, hide-in-the-house-and-read. Walking encyclopedia. Think you're so hot. “No,” she remembered herself answering once, “I just like to find things out!” And she sighed, feeling rueful. That time she had found out about being punched in the stomach.

She strolled between shelves, looking at titles, smiling as she met old friends – books she had read three times or five times or a dozen. Just a title, or an author's name, would be enough to summon up happy images. Strange creatures like phoenixes and psammeads, moving under smoky London daylight of a hundred years before, in company with groups of bemused children; starships and new worlds and the limitless vistas of interstellar night, outer space challenged but never conquered; princesses in silver and gold dresses, princes and heroes carrying swords like sharpened lines of light, monsters rising out of weedy tarns, wild creatures that talked and tricked one another...

I used to think the world would be like that when I got older. Wonderful all the time, exciting, happy. Instead of the way it is...

  —  So You Want to Be a Wizard (Diane Duane)

[klapollo]

Hi everyone! I'm officially opening serious commissions again as I'm trying to get finally move out already.

Without getting into details, my current living situation is taking a toll on my wellbeing and I want to get out as quickly as possible. Moreover, I'm almost 30 and just want to move into the next phase of my life. I've been saving for years now, but I made it a goal to try and be in my own place by the end of the year.

Art is more of a hobby for me, so my goal for now is to use commissions to supplement my income and help me pay for everyday expenses so I can allocate more of my salary to saving up and the expenses that come with moving/investing in a place to live.

This post covers the basic details, but if you have any questions, please feel free to DM me. You can also email me at kaicedcoffee@gmail.com. I know most of us are feeling the squeeze right now, and I'm happy to provide flexible sliding scale pricing for customers facing financial challenges in commissioning. Samples of my work can be found in my art tag.

I'm also an experienced writer and editor who will both write for your and/or edit and proofread your own work. I've been a professional copywriter for three years and a general freelance writer for seven. My fiction has appeared in several literary magazines and anthologies, and I have a BA. I'm willing to proofread and edit nonfiction, original fiction and fanfiction alike, so DM/email me for a quote!

If you want something quick and convenient, I will also do sketches in exchange for ko-fis. Two ($6) will get you a sketch with light shading, and detail can be added with higher prices if you'd like.

KO-FI LINK

Thank you in advance for passing this along!

[patchworkgargoyle]

Editor Eddie

Did I write this solely because of the pun? Yes. It was, however, inspired by me wearing my Hellfire shirt and getting ready to sit down and beta a Steddie fic, as well as @inairbinad's Petals in a Storm (which people should go read).

Anyway, here's some extremely fluffy and domestic older!Steddie, with Eddie as a genre fiction/horror editor, in 735 words! Extremely brief and vague mention of a monster eating something's guts.

---

Red-marked pages lay scattered everywhere, solely illuminated by the hulking, faintly buzzing computer monitor that took up a good half of Eddie’s desk. Lips pursed and eyes narrowed, he held up a sheaf of papers with one hand, the other holding his pen to his mouth while he gnawed on the end. He distantly thought that if he kept chewing the pen might break and he’d look much like the monster currently being described in the chapter before him, red dripping down its chin. It was the third time the author had used the word ‘viscera’ in the same paragraph, and while pens didn’t have guts he knew that the ink would probably taste just as bad as that would. But as the monster was, apparently, ‘gleefully gorging’ on the aforementioned viscera, it probably wouldn’t agree.

He put the pages back down on the pile in front of him and scribbled out a few notes – “less viscera, more… entrails, gore, innards perhaps!” – then hunched over the words to continue reading about how the creature turned its horrifying visage towards the protagonist.

Editing was, mostly, the best job Eddie's ever had. Sure, it could be a slog to wade through a sea of purple literary prose or a desert of adjective-less, action-less nonfiction. Those were part of the job (though he’d grown enough to admit that sometimes he found gems even outside his beloved genre fiction tastes), and something he had to endure before he could climb his way to the fiction department. This, though, a carnage-filled horror romp? This was his bread and butter, his home away from home, his shit. Hell, it had been his life once upon a time. Getting to help up-and-coming authors improve their craft with his own love of storytelling and his lived, horrific experiences was awesome. It was one of the things that made March of ‘86 worth the terror and pain and scars.

Eddie was still slouched over the chapter, making note of a few misspellings, and so fully absorbed in his work that he didn’t hear the door to the office creak open. Hadn’t even heard the knock that preceded it. What he did notice was the plate being slid directly on top of the paper, a flaky croissant placed right in the centre, and Eddie suddenly realised he was really fucking hungry.

“How’s my favourite Eddie-tor doing?” Steve asked.

Eddie’s head fell back with the weight of the agony the pun caused and heard a few vertebrae pop. Glaring, he said, “That pun wasn’t funny the first fifty times you said it, sweetheart.”

“I haven’t said it that much.” Despite his defensiveness, Steve still looked entirely too amused at himself, smirking down at Eddie. The hallway light backlit him, casting him in a near halo of soft warmth, contrasted by the pale glare of the computer screen that highlighted his face and caught on the few grey hairs beginning to show. 

Steve was gorgeous still, maybe even more so after over two decades together. Worry lines and laugh lines alike brought a kind of charm and dignity to his face, and just the sight of those silvery strands in his hair always got Eddie feeling emotional. They were proof they’d survived. That it was over. That they could grow old, safely and with each other. He called them mithril just to see Steve’s nose scrunch and eyes roll at his references. 

“Okay,” Eddie conceded, “maybe just forty times.”

Though he scoffed, Steve stepped closer and wrapped his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve been locked away in here for five hours, babe, you should get up and stretch. Or at least turn on the light.”

“But overhead lights are the work of the devil, Steve, you know this. I can’t work under those conditions.” Eddie gave a shit-eating grin as Steve, with a deadpan expression, flicked on his desk lamp. “Oh yeah. Forgot that was there.” He had. Really.

“You’re so annoying,” Steve sighed, but Eddie saw the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You love it.”

The smile spread like the affection in Eddie’s chest at the sight. Steve bent down again, this time capturing Eddie’s lips in a sweet, slow, familiar kiss that made his toes curl just as much as any hungry, needy kiss would. Barely pulling back, Steve whispered, “Yeah. I do.”

[perpetual-stories]

Writing 101: How to Write a Prologue

To help answer a question that was submitted to me, I’ll go ahead and create a whole separate post for it. I know it’s a bit different than what was asked in but I promise the answer to the question is there!

What Is a Prologue?

A prologue is a piece of writing found at the beginning of a literary work, before the first chapter and separate from the main story. The definition of prologue introduce important information—such as background details, or characters—that have some connection to the main story, but whose relevance is not immediately obvious.

Fitting the definition of prologue, the word comes from the Greek prologos, which means “before word.” The Ancient Greeks frequently used prologue in dramatic works of theater, where it functioned more like a first act to a play.

What Is the History of Prologue in Literature?

The invention of the prologue is attributed to Euripides, an influential Greek playwright and poet who predominantly produced tragedies about the darker side of human nature. Euripides’ plots often featured passion and revenge.

For a good example of how Euripides uses this literary device, consider the prologue to one of his most famous works, “Medea.” In the play, a woman takes revenge on her unfaithful husband by murdering him, his lover, and her own children. But before we get to the action, an old nurse enters the stage and tells the audience some of the facts so far:

Medea and her husband, Jason, are having marital problems

Jason has run off with someone else

Medea has been stricken by grief and has even begun to despise her own children by Jason

What Is the Purpose of Prologue in Literature?

Prologues serve an integral role in fiction writing, as well as playwriting. In modern literature, Geoffrey Chaucer started the tradition of using a prologue with his Canterbury Tales, a collection of 24 stories written from 1387-1400. Chaucer used his prologue as a kind of roadmap for the entire work, which tells the story of a group of pilgrims on their way to Canterbury.

A good prologue performs one of many functions in a story:

Foreshadowing events to come

Providing background information or backstory on the central conflict

Establishing a point of view (either the main character’s, or that of another character who is privy to the tale)

Setting the tone for the rest of the novel or play

What’s the Difference Between a Prologue and a Preface, Foreword, or Introduction?

While prefaces, forewords, and introductions serve a similar function of providing additional context for the content to come, they have some key differences from a prologue.

A preface is written from the point of view of the author, not a character or narrator. It explains the origins, development, legacy, or aims of the book, and often acknowledges others who contributed. Prefaces are employed mainly in nonfiction books, but may be used in fiction as well.

A foreword is written by a critic, subject matter expert, or other public figure who is not the author. A foreword typically introduces readers to the book by connecting its content or themes to their own experience. Forewords are used in both fiction and nonfiction.

An introduction is written from the point of view of the author, and offers additional information to help the reader understand the subject of the book, including historical context. Prefaces are employed mainly in nonfiction books.

3 Famous Examples of Prologues in Literature

Romeo and Juliet,” William Shakespeare (1591-1595)

One of the most famous literary prologues of all time, this prologue takes the form of a sonnet that introduces readers to the setting and characters of the play, as well as the dire situation in which the two star-crossed lovers find themselves. The prologue begins as follows:

Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Shakespeare doesn’t hold back on spoilers: the sonnet also reveals the play’s tragic ending.

Lolita,” Vladimir Nabokov (1955)

Nabokov’s prologue is designed to heighten the controversy of its subject matter. It takes the form of a fictional foreword by an academic, who has supposedly discovered the book and is warning readers of its subject matter prior to chapter one.

“These are not only vivid characters in a unique story: they warn us of dangerous trends; they point out potent evils,” it reads. “‘Lolita’ should make all of us—parents, social workers, educators—apply ourselves with still greater vigilance and vision to the task of bringing up a better generation in a safer world.”

Jurassic Park,” Michael Crichton (1990)

Crichton actually offers two prologues, each showcasing a different style. The first reads like a legal document, outlining the seriousness of an ��incident” and the “remarkable events” that followed.

The second prologue is more literary: a short scene, separate to the main story, in which a man is treated for an injury by a doctor in a remote village in Costa Rica. The doctor observes that the man seems to have been mauled by an animal. While treating him, the man wakes up and says one word: “Raptor.”

How to Write a Prologue in 3 Easy Steps

Introduce the main character(s). Some twentieth-century plays have used prologues to great effect. In Tennessee Williams’s The Glass Menagerie (1944), the prologue introduces the audience to the play’s narrator, Tom Wingfield, who explains that what the audience is about to see is drawn from his own memories. Tom tells the audience: “I am the narrator of the play, and also a character in it. The other characters are my mother Amanda, my sister Laura, and a gentleman caller who appears in the final scenes.”

Drop hints. Crime fiction and thrillers often make use of prologues to hint at characters, locations, and the mystery that is to come. Sometimes, a prologue may be set centuries or miles apart from the book, and appear wholly unrelated; however, it will somehow tie back into the main plot later in the novel.

Add only relevant details. A prologue should not be an “information dump”: a good prologue enhances your story, rather than explaining it. The best way to decide what to include in a prologue is to ask yourself: what does the reader absolutely need to know before starting to read the main story?

[wordswrittenbynight]

My Favorite Books of 2024

Another year has come and gone! I need a few days to do my writing wrap up, but in the mean time, I have some recommendations from the books I read in 2024.

(Divider by: @/saradika-graphics)

BEST NEW RELEASE (2024)

"The New Couple in 5B" by Lisa Unger

This is about Rosie, an author who moves into the very apartment building she's researching for her next book, only to have the building's dark history rear its ugly head.

If you like Rosemary's Baby, you'll like this too. It's got a very eerie atmosphere from the start, with tight twists around every page turn. Highly entertaining and perfect for horror readers.

BEST "NEW TO ME" READS

"Falling" & "Drowning" by T.J. Newman

Both of these novels tell the stories of airplane-related disasters. In "Falling", a pilot's family is kidnapped, and the only way to save them is to crash the plane and kill everyone on board. In "Drowning", a plane crashes and sinks to the bottom of the ocean while several people remain alive on board.

Both of these books are truly cinematic in their storytelling, which is why it should be no surprise that film adaptations for both are on their way. They're relentless and heart-pounding, refusing to let readers take a breath until the final few pages. You may never want to board a plane ever again, but it'll be worth it.

BEST NONFICTION

"I'm Glad My Mom Died" by Jennette McCurdy

This is the memoir of Jennette McCurdy, detailing her life as a child star at the behest of her abusive mother and the journey she undertook to heal and reclaim her life after her mother's death.

As you can imagine, this is a *hard* read. McCurdy is a talented writer, and the way she depicts events throughout her life is as heartbreaking as it is well-written. It also underlines something that a lot of media misses with mental health and recovery - that healing is messy and filled with setbacks, not perfectly neat and linear. Well worth your time.

BEST CHILDREN'S FICTION

"No Place for Monsters" & "No Place for Monsters: School of Phantoms" by Kory Merritt

In "No Place for Monsters", children are going missing, but no one realizes it, because no one can remember the missing children...except for two children named Levi and Kat.

In "School of Phantoms", Levi, Kat, and several of their friends become trapped in their school during a blizzard as legions of evil creatures descend upon them.

Were you a child who grew up reading Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark? Then you'll love these books.

Both of them masterfully weave together incredibly creepy stories that will appeal to children and adult readers alike. The art is just as lovely as the text, reminding me a lot of Junji Ito's style (just dialed back for younger readers). And, no joke, School of Phantoms is the first book in about two decades to give me an actual jumpscare. Talk about remarkable!

HONORABLE MENTIONS

"Miracle in the Andes" by Nando Parrado - A memoir from a suvivor of the Uruguyan Flight 571 crash in the Andes mountains.

"Convenience Store Woman" by Sayaka Murata - A neurodivergent Japanese woman enjoys working at a convenience store despite the judgment from friends and family.

"First Lie Wins" by Ashley Elston - It's better if you go into this one blind. You'll just have to trust me on this.

~

All right, y'all, your turn! What were your favorite reads in 2024?

[desdasiwrites]

Happy tdov! 🏳️‍⚧️

Here's a few books recs for the occasion

[verishere]

For Liam and Axel, how about 🎮🎻 💯?

🎮 three hobbies

Three hobbies for each, discounting their Skill.

Axel first:

Dance! They practice dance routines and make their own pretty often.

Next is pottery, mostly inspired from Hilrokin, though Axel isn't the best at this one- painting is their favorite art to do still.

Cooking. They learned culinary skills in Blonicku and have never forgotten, they love to cook (and usually experiment. Explosively).

Liam:

Singing. His partner is well renowned as the best singer in the world, and over 5000 years living with her he picked up some. He's never going to be famed for it, which is why I put it as a hobby, but he did get good at it over that long.

Writing. He really loves reading, to a neurotic degree, and he picked up writing as well. Most of what he writes is guides, nonfiction histories, etc, but under some pen names he has written fiction- mostly romance novels, which is why their under a pen name.

Hunting. Most of the meat in either the palace of the sun or the Nulyradon's palace (more on that in its own worldbuilding post, I only just realized I never talked about it) that the Nulyradons specifically eat was hunted by him.

🎻

Axel has never played any instrument, but Liam can play the piano and the organ. He's very good at playing it, doesn't compose well- his only well known composition was for his and Freya's wedding song (and that one he didn't actually play himself at the wedding)

💯 three random facts

Axel:

Axel has had to- multiple times- be stopped from adopting orphans they found. Or rather, convinced it was probably a bad idea, and send them on to someone else- no one can really stop them. After A Certain Spoilery Event Axel stopped doing this, but early on Hilrokin almost had a pack of dozens of siblings.

Axel has two usual, casual outfits. One is a dress that goes down halfway to their knees, with high heels and a ribbon tied through on top of their hair. The colors can be Literally Anything. The other is something they came up with, which is pretty much just a robe without any sleeves. It reaches their feet, and a part of it is capable of wrapping around their neck if they choose too.

Something I just recently changed, Axel is heterochromatic. One eye is red rimmed with golden centers, and the other is green rimmed with purple centers. This usually means that even though they look near nothing alike, Hilrokin is often assumed to be Axel's biological child even before she is introduced as Axel's daughter, purely for how rare heterochromia is (even rarer in this world than IRL, by like four times). Part of Axel's decision to adopt Hilrokin had actually been those eyes- they saw themselves in Hilrokin, and remembered what it was like to lose your home.

Liam:

He pretty much only drinks water. Almost no other drink at all, whether its alcoholic or not, he will almost never drink anything else. He says that flavor within liquid is "loud" which no one else is yet to understand. Freya thinks he's mad.

Despises tight clothing. He's got sensory issues and tight clothing of any kind is a nightmare for him. His shoes can be tight, no other clothing. In large part because of this, he shows the most skin out of anyone when he dresses, even if its for an important event. Not scandalously so, by our definitions anyways; several cultures in world do think it is scandalous, but he doesn't care.

Speaking of scandalous, here's something I've kinda talked about before but with a few details I defo haven't. He lives for the entire 5,000 year long dark years as a monarch of the whole world. He is in that role less often than his family is, as he's busy with Watcher and Keeper things, but he does at least once every few years end up in the council room or diplomatic meets of some nation. He does not give one single fuck about specific culture's ideas on whats proper. You know cutlery etiquette exists? He'd laugh in your face. Anyways the specific event I mentioned is at a meeting with the council of this one kingdom I have yet to name, several people were constantly giving him dark looks at their feast. He had no idea why they were, and didn't really care, though he did notice. Eventually they were done eating and changed venue to the typical council chambers, and on the way a courtier stopped him to explain the dark looks. It is in their culture considered improper to eat meats without cutting them first, so while he picked up the meet with the silverware and ripped it off with his teeth they were cutting it up into bites. He hadn't touched his knife. Liam smiled, said "thank you, I'll keep that in mind" and so the next day as they feasted before he parted from their region, he ate the entire meal with his bare fucking hands.

[pluralprompts]

Hello! I was wondering if you had any resources for reading about or writing systems?

A few of your posts have really inspired me and I wanna make sure whatever I put out as more "serious" work is a better representation than just "what this one headmate thinks plurality might be like", especially for other system types/origins!

Thanks :3

Hm... Well, I can't recommend @writing-plurals enough for advice, honestly! As for my own advice, here's three posts where I've given advice before:

Post 1 (general tips for writing plural characters)

Post 2 (general tips for writing plurality)

Post 3 (avoiding stereotypes and challenging the fears that come with creating representation)

I think the best thing to do in order to get to know a certain group better is just to talk to people of that group (or at least, read their posts and works about what their lives are like). Especially since no two lives will be exactly alike; the more people you talk and listen to, the more patterns you'll be able to notice, and the more material you'll have to use as inspiration (which is especially useful, since you never know what will or will not work for your story until you actually sit down to write it). Plus, most folks are happy to answer questions about their system and how it works! Or at the very least, most will correct common generalizations they've seen that don't actually apply to all systems. It's better to ask and risk getting rejected than not give yourself a chance to get any input at all, in my opinion.

On that note, it's alright to write things clumsily, so long as they're genuine. Plurality can be difficult to portray all the nuances and details of, as I've found through my own experience. It's alright if your work sounds clumsy or cheesy at some points – trying to talk about one's identity and personal experiences often is. As annoying as it is, such personal topics just aren't always going to translate perfectly into seamless prose, especially if you're trying to introduce the audience to new information about something that occurs in the real world. Finding that balance between informative "nonfiction" and the plot and flow of a fiction story is difficult (I think that's why a lot of language education videos have just fully embraced that awkward in-between and refuse to apologize for it, and honestly, all power to 'em for that, at least they've found a way to own it). Don't give up on a scene or idea just because it sounds clumsy, especially if it's your first few drafts. Sometimes, clumsy writing is the only way through the muck of it all (even if only on your first few attempts).

If you need references or examples, we have a lot of works on this blog under the pluralprose tag, or you could go to Ao3 and search under the Multiplicity/Plurality tag (they have longer works there than we get, so I definitely recommend it if you want an example of how a longer story could work). Reading – and giving yourself time to analyze what you're reading (what you like, how the author does something, any stylistic choices you might want to implement into your own work, etc.) – is important as a writer, after all! Especially here, where those works can double as resources for understanding other systems and how they might like to be written about.

I hope this helps!!

[queenlua]

Look back twenty years. What's the biggest change in your fiction/art/game preferences over that time? What's the preference that's changed the least?

ooooh that's a fascinating question.

biggest change: epic high fantasy usually bores me nowadays! i was really into it as a kid. now i need a really compelling pitch to pick the genre up. (and in general i'm getting less into sf/f lately, though part of that may be just bouncing off what's getting published recently, specifically.) also: i've gotten way more into nonfiction/historical fiction than i ever was as a kid. also, i feel like i'm way more invested in, like... nitty-gritty-psychological-thriller-type-deals-where-we-learn-all-the-way-someone's-a-weird-little-freak? is that a genre? basically, i'm way less interested in strictly-"well-constructed" plots than i was, and i'm more interested in messy psychological realism. i mean 20 years was a long time ago, i was probably getting in stupid forum arguments about how such-and-such character is Objectively Poorly Written because they behaved in an inconsistent way, whereas nowadays i want to read nothing but inconsistent and weird protagonists.

smallest change: i think i first discovered Fire Emblem just shy of 20 years ago, so, yeah, i still love that series (and turn-based tactical gameplay in general), haha. also, at a high level, i'm still really interested in... loneliness? & alienation? & time & space? as themes, generally? it was super weird for me to read Virginia Woolf for the first time as an adult and realize everything i loved about her was essentially the exact same as the stuff i really loved about Chrono Cross when i played it at age 12, even though superficially those two things are nothing alike. (and i have no idea where that interest comes from—like, in my own life, i'm one of those fortunate few who had a pretty happy childhood, have had extraordinary luck in friends & rarely feel lonely... but i look at all the fiction i've written recently, or the stuff that's nearest to my heart, and man an awful lot of it has loneliness at its core. what gives!)

ok that covers fiction and games, but wrt art: i have never understood art and still don't. i probably like an awful lot of furry art for someone who's not a furry tho, that's been p stable over time

[askauradonprep]

Got any Alexander Blue Fairy with his half sister, Evangeline Bue Fairy hc ?

Their first meeting went well. He was nervous but she was so excited to meet him that they ended up hitting it off.

They're both bookworms, but he reads mostly nonfiction (with the occasional adventure fantasy or sci fi read) while she reads fiction and nonfiction alike.

Alexander wouldn't trade his adoptive parents but he kinda resents her for getting to grow up with the Blue Fairy.

They call sometimes to see how the other is doing, but they rarely get a lot of deep personal bonding that way.

He sometimes looks at the stars and thinks of her and he blames her dad for that entirely.

She was really happy for him when he got married. She visits Llyr every time she's even remotely 'in the area' to see how things are going.

She sometimes brings him maps, hoping he'll like them. Then he feels bad about being awkward around her and gets her something nice like a new book.

She won't ever give him wine. He's a lot more moderate than he used to be in his alcohol consumption but she doesn't want to risk it.

As they get older, they both look a lot like their mom. People can always tell they're siblings.