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larch-writes · 11 months

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The combat boots were a number down from comfortable. With burning feet, Yna stood in place, shaking.

With a clenched jaw, she focused on the grand meister, blessing yet another boy into the military. Three more and it'd be her turn to go on stage.

She glanced at the audience and found mom. A proud grin still rested on her face. It'd probably stay there for a while. Yna sighed, tilting her head a little further up.

A girl had been claimed by the meister for the troops and two proud parents hugged her tight. No more a child, a new converted warrior. Forever in debt with the country.

She marched closer to the stage and stopped at the stairs, moving side to side to adjust the too-tight belt. As quiet as possible, she stared left, where the artisans sat.

Not one of them smiled through the ceremony. For a lot of people, they didn't understand formalities. The pride and importance of belonging to the country and dying for it meant nothing to them.

They worked with their hands, created and carried the country's culture on their backs. They fought to stay alive through art. The country's good name was ever remembered by its symbols, paintings, pottery, and sayings.

Wars of the past and future only stained its image, killed the people's children. Nothing more.

At the call of her name, Yna moved up the stairs. She hid her hands, marked with oil paint. The meister blessed her and categorized her as Class 2 Soldier of the New Rank Havoc.

"If you die, may you die for your country. No more a child."

She swallowed.

"A converted warrior."

He finished with another blessing and Yna turned, open arms to catch mom. She wheezed with the impact, not able to move much.

"This is a dream come true!" Mom cried on her shoulder.

Yna stared at the artisans.

With their freedom to pursue dreams, they'd go anywhere, paint anything.

And Yna, in a tight uniform, she'd go to war to follow mom's dream, and she'd never paint the far east mountains ever again.

@dropkickwritersblock 's prompt.

Elysia Larch, unedited

20th June, 2023

Write a piece about someone who is stuck in an uncomfortable outfit

#writing prompts #writing ideas #writing #writing help #daily prompt #flash fiction #short fiction #fiction #fantasy #original writing #original content #art #writers of tumblr #writerblr #my writing #free write #creative writing #writer #author

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larch-writes · 1 year

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Artists of Tumblr, can we all share here our own techniques to beat procrastination?

What is it you do that you think helps with it?

#writing #author #creative writing #writeblr #art #artists on tumblr #procrastination #art tips #art help #writing tips #writing techniques #authors

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larch-writes · 2 years

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Hunting for Writeblrs

Just cleaned out the blogs I was following since my dash has been pretty quiet, and sadly a lot of the writeblrs I was following have gone inactive. So, I’m looking for more writeblrs to follow ^^

A couple of things to note ~

* I am an adult, if that makes you uncomfortable please don’t interact with this post.

* Please no politics, untagged horror, or heavy negativity.

* I’m primarily a fantasy writer myself, but I do love poetry and sci-fi as well. I am, however, open to most genres.

That’s all I can think of. If you’re a writeblr reblog this and I’ll come check out your blog. If I like what I see I’ll go ahead and give you a follow ^^

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larch-writes · 2 years

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"Bubby, wash your hands." She glanced at mom and back at the ground. The drenched dirt between her fingers stuck like glue, but she rubbed both hands around on the floor once more. To be sure it covered the skin.

Ahead of her, right before the steps of the house and where mom couldn't see, the butterfly fought to fly up to the sky once more. But with the rain, she wouldn't be able to get to the rainbow and get her wings coloured. "You'll never get them, will you?"

At the tip of her fingers, energy swirled around, demanding to come out. Good thing dad had taught her how to keep her power numb. The dirt helped, but not for long, not with such a strong and vivid rainbow up in the sky.

Kneeling, she watched the little creature die. An inevitable, sad ending to such a lively animal. "Bubby, help me with the flowers. What are you looking at, over there?" "A butterfly. She died."

Mom's boots splashed as she got closer. She had a spring to her steps, the effect of the rainbow got to them in the most warmful of ways. Whatever kind of chore they'd put out for months or weeks would be finished on a rainbow day. They're rare, but productive, and little chores were the only way they used their powers. They're supposed to be good, sacred days. Not for the butterfly, though.

"Well... they don't live for long, but... this one never got her colors." "She tried, though." With a sad hum, mom glanced up at the sky and back at her. With eyes half-closed from the rain, she picked up the butterfly from the ground. "I wanna show you something, but you have to promise me one thing. You'll not tell your dad about it." "I tell dad everything." She followed mom to a covered balcony. "I know, but this... I shouldn't show you, so he must never know about it."

Alright. Dad probably wouldn't care, but mom seemed uneasy, it was either something cool or serious. She hoped it wasn't a funeral for the insect, she wasn't a baby anymore. "Promise?" "I promise."

Right in front of her eyes, in a matter of seconds, mom closed her eyes, lift up a prayer and the hold on her energy at the same time, and opened her hands. The butterfly flew off them, as if it had never died. Lively and gracious. Deadly alive.

How? Mom's fingers were tingling, as if she had ran out of energy. "We can... bring animals back from the-" "No, you must never bring anything back from the dead." Mom pulled her closer by the shoulders. "If the council finds out about this, even for just a butterfly... I just don't care what happens to me, Bubby. But you, please..."

Dad would mention the council sometimes, when he'd get home from work, but if she asked about it, he'd change topics. She was always too young to know about the world, unless it's about pretty things. She wasn't a child anymore, their magic shouldn't be an enigma!

"Please, promise me this was just... a beautiful thing I did to make you happy and it'll never be mentioned again. And that you'll never do it."

How could mom show her such a magnificent thing and take it away, in a matter of seconds? That energy, making her fingers numb... it had a purpose, and it wasn't basic chores, like gardening. So much potential. She stared at the butterfly, which had yet to fly into the rainbow.

"Bubby..." To provide life, it was a gift. Had she known how to use it, maybe the birds that used to fly around the garden wouldn't have died last Spring; or the stag she desperately hoped dad would save when she was nine, he could've survived.

"Bubby!" Mom shook her shoulders. "Promise me." No. How could she give something like that up? Such a holy gift. "I promise, mom." But she could make a promise. A silent one to herself.

Standing there, in mom's wet snuggle, she promised herself she'd learn how to give life, even if no one taught her. She'd stop denying her gift and let it take over.

That's what she should do. And in days when the rainbow came back to strengthen their energy, she'd let it burst through her fingers and take shape.

"Bubby, lava as mãos."Ela olhou a mãe e de novo o chão. A terra encharcada fixou como cola nos dedos dela. Mesmo assim, esfregou-as de novo na terra, para ter a certeza que a pele estava completamente coberta.

Mais à frente, logo antes das escadas da casa e onde a mãe não conseguia ver, uma borboleta lutava para conseguir voar alto novamente. Mas com a chuva, ela não conseguiria chegar ao arco-íris e receber as suas cores. "Nunca as vais conseguir, pois não?"

Na ponta dos dedos dela a energia picava a pele, exigindo ser libertada. Ainda bem que o pai a ensinara a adormecer o seu poder. A terra ajudava a acalmar, mas não por muito tempo, não com um arco-íris tão forte e vívido no céu.

Ajoelhando-se, ela viu a borboleta morrer. Um fim inevitável e triste para um animal tão vivaz. "Bubby, ajuda-me aqui com as flores. O que é que tanto olhas, aí?" "Uma borboleta. Morreu."

As botas da mãe salpicaram água enquanto ela se aproximava. Ela estava completamente energética, o efeito do arco-íris afetava-os sempre de uma maneira deliciosa. Qualquer tipo de tarefa que deixassem para mais tarde, muitas vezes durante meses ou semanas, eles conseguiam completar em dias de arco-íris. Eram raros, mas produtivos, e pequenas tarefas era a única coisa em que usavam os seus poderes. Dias de arco-íris eram dias felizes. Não para aquela borboleta, claro.

"Bem... Elas não vivem muito tempo… Mas esta ainda nem recebeu as suas cores." "Ela tentou, por uns segundos." Com um murmúrio triste, a mãe lançou um olhar ao céu e fixou-se nela novamente. Com os olhos semicerrados por causa da chuva, ela pegou na borboleta.

"Quero mostrar-te uma coisa, mas tens que me prometer que não contas ao teu pai." "Eu conto tudo ao pai." Ela seguiu a mãe para a varanda coberta. "Eu sei, mas isto… Eu nem devia mostrar-te, por isso ele nunca poderá saber."

Tudo bem. O pai provavelmente nem iria querer saber, mas a mãe parecia indecisa. Ou era algo muito bom ou muito sério. Esperava que não fosse nenhuma espécie de funeral, ela já não era uma criança! "Prometes?" "Prometo."

Mesmo em frente aos olhos dela, numa questão de segundos, a mãe fechou os olhos, levantou-se em oração e soltou a energia do seu poder ao mesmo tempo, abrindo depois as mãos. A borboleta voou para longe, como se nunca tivesse morrido. Vívida e graciosa. Assustadoramente viva.

Como? Os dedos da mãe estavam a tremer, como se ela tivesse gasto a sua energia toda. "Nós podemos… trazer os animais de volta-" "Não, não deves nunca trazer nada de volta do mundo dos mortos." A mãe puxou-a pelos ombros. "Se o conselho descobrir que fiz isto, mesmo que só por uma borboleta… eu não quero saber o que me acontece, Bubby. Mas tu, por favor…"

O pai falava do conselho de vez em quando, assim que chegava a casa do trabalho, mas se ela perguntasse algo mais específico, ele mudava de tópico. Ela seria sempre demasiado nova para saber como funcionava o mundo, a não ser que fossem coisas inocentes e bonitas. Não era mais uma criança, a magia deles não devia ser um enigma!

"Por favor, promete-me que isto foi só um gesto bonito que eu fiz para te fazer feliz e nunca mais será mencionado. E que nunca o farás!"

Como é que a mãe podia mostrar-lhe uma coisa tão magnífica e depois roubá-la, numa questão de segundos? Aquela energia que fazia os dedos dela dormentes… tinha um propósito, e não eram tarefas básicas, como jardinagem. Tinha tanto potencial. Ela observou a borboleta, que ainda não voara até ao arco-íris.

"Bubby..." Providenciar vida era um dom. Se ela soubesse como usar, talvez os pássaros que voavam em volta do jardim não tivessem morrido na Primavera passada; ou o veado que ela implorou ao pai para salvar quando tinha nove anos tivesse sobrevivido. "Bubby!" A mãe abanou-lhe os ombros. "Promete-me." Não. Como é que ela podia desistir de algo assim? Um dom tão sagrado. "Eu prometo." Mas podia prometer algo. Uma promessa silenciosa a ela mesma.

Ali no jardim, no abraço molhado da mãe, ela prometeu-se a si mesma que aprenderia como dar vida, mesmo que ninguém a quisesse ensinar. Pararia de negar o seu dom e deixá-lo dominá-la.

Era o que devia ser feito. E em dias em que o arco-íris viesse visitar para lhes fortalecer a energia, ela deixaria que esta explodisse por todo o lado e tomasse forma.

This was a lot of fun, thanks for the cool prompt @dropkickwritersblock! Consider reading another piece I wrote if you liked this one! :)

Elysia Larch, unedited

1st Of July, 2022

Write a piece about someone who can bring the dead back to life

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larch-writes · 2 years

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Happy Pride Month!

June has arrived, and I just want to wish everyone a happy month! It's pride month and also the month my baby girl will be born, yay! :) May we conquer great things, not only for the community but for the world, as well. Fingers crossed!

Remember, if you're an ally, it is an enormous step you're deleting every wrong thing you have been taught about LGBTQ+! We thank you and ask you to never give up on acting against oppression, against love and against equality.

If you're a fellow author and artist, consider using this month to reflect PRIDE on your work. Add proper representation without fear, paint the rainbow, cover some LGBTQ+ music artists, etc. Be creative in your own way, but don't forget to fight! :)

Stay safe and always happy, FELIZ MÊS DO ORGULHO!

Best of luck,

Elysia Larch

#pride month #lgbtq community #lgbtq positivity #pride #lgbt pride #love is love #lgbtq #happy pride 🌈

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larch-writes · 2 years

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“I knew he didn’t love me, but I adored him anyway.”

— Patti Smith / Just Kids

#flash fiction #writing #art #text #literature #fantasy #magical realism #my writing #writerblr #free write #writers #creative writing #writers on tumblr #lit #writblr

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larch-writes · 3 years

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5 Brainstorming Techniques That Work For Me (Examples)

If there is something I'm not proud to say I've struggled with, is brainstorming. It seems like the easiest part of the writing process, since it gives you the freedom to be random and creative, but I'm yet uncertain of what's the best brainstorming technique for me to use. This list will probably not be news for you, but keep your mind open and give every example a try!

DISCLAIMER: I love cats and dogs.

Free Writing - "Cats have tails but not every cat deserves it because tails are for pretty cats and some cats are bad boys. This cat has a pretty tail that he doesn't deserve because he feels like a dog and dogs use their tails to express happiness and this cat is moody."

Word Storm - CATS > magical tails, mood changing tails, hissing, calming paws, therapy cats, bad mood absorving tails, purring healing, massages by cats. (This is the appropriate for Magical Realism and Fantasy, don't forget to make your association according to your genre!)

What If... - "What if in this world cats had tails that magically healed when they touched something alive? And what if that was happening in a world where cats were rare and sacred, but they desperately needed a thousand cats to heal a whole village, so they had to send three dogs on a journey to find a thousand cats in a far away town they don't know nothing about. What if there has been a war between cats and dogs 53 years in the past and now they're not sure how cats will react to their request, even if they're sacred now?"

Questions - What are cats? Magical animals that purr away bad moods and heal with their tails. Why are they important? Because people are depressed. How can they help? By healing and changing the way people think. Are they easy to acquire? No, because they have to choose their humans, and humans are all boring.

Reverse Idea - Cats are sacred > Cats are outcasts that have lost a war 53 years ago; Cats heal with their magical tails > Cats have poisoned tails that can kill a human in 2 minutes; Their natural enemy are dogs > dogs and cats have shared their life since forever and they also share an enemy: humans.

Don't forget you're not bound to any strategy! You can switch it up, mix them a little if it works for you and DON'T HOLD YOURSELF BACK. I know what that feels like because I've done it to myself plenty of times. Remember this are just ideas that will be developed, polished and worked on. You're an artist and your work is not foolish!

Do you have any personalized technique you often use? Let me know!

Best of luck,

Elysia Larch

11th Of May, 2021

#writing #writeblr #writers #literature #brainstorm #brainstorming #writing problems #writing process #plotting advice #book plotting #writing advice #brainstorming ideas #elysia larch #writer #author #author advice

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larch-writes · 4 years

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"Why do you come here, child?"

Lhand scratched at her eye in harsh strokes. The dryness wouldn't leave, it never did, but her hand moved by itself. She shook her shoulders at Mr. Shells in the process.

The lantern he carried around whined as he got closer from behind. Once, twice, thrice... As many times as his wooden leg forced him to limp.

"I'll never get it," he was standing right beside her, but they were looking in the same direction "you are the weird one from your family. Families always have one like that."

A snort did escape her, but the waves were strong that night. And when those spoke, no other sound could hush them. They were the ones who silenced the world.

She scratched at her arm, dry skin falling apart, getting stuck under her nails.

"You know, Lhand?" Mr. Shells only called her that when he pitied her. "I believe no familiar of yours has ever stepped on this beach, before."

"That's correct." It was also common knowledge in town.

A large wave crashed and slithered to their feet, burning hers. She endured it, clenched jaw hiding the pain.

"With that name on you, and that dry skin... the ocean wants nothing to do with you." She stumbled when he pulled her back away from the water. "It'll punish you, over and over, for bringing yourself here. You're a silly girl."

"Is love silly?"

Mr. Shells laugh was one of an old man, but contagious. She coughed a giggle out of her dry throat.

"Love is, sometimes, one-sided." Another wave rushed forward, but Mr. Shells made sure it didn't reach them. "Go home, Lhand. Learn to love the sun, instead. It blesses you every day. It wants you and you want another, child."

The sun warmed and bronzed her skin. As long as she kept her feet off the beach and herself sheltered from rain, it did.

"You're putting your health at risk, like this" Mr. Shells, always the one to worry "and your circumstances... they won't change."

"I know." She offered a last glance at the dark waters. The ones that tainted her, reaching over and over when in truth, they despised her skin. "It's a little unfair though, isn't it?"

"That you won't ever swim?"

"That the sun keeps me away from the ocean, but touches it every day." Turning around and walking back home hurt a little, her feet still aching madly.

Mr. Shells, as limp as he was, helped her back home. She smiled back at him.

"Thanks, Mr. Shells. You're very lucky."

"Because I'm blessed by those waters?" He barked a laugh. "They took more from me than they gave me, child."

"No. It's because your love is reciprocated." With one last look back, she stepped inside the hall. "I'll stop going there. We'll move, anyways."

Before the door closed, Mr. Shells cried out an apology. An unnecessary one. But it was comforting, how much he worried about this one-sided love of her.

"It's okay, Mr. Shells. I've always known it didn't love me, but I couldn't help adore it anyways. And I'll keep on doing that, from afar."

Her dreams that night, were cold and blue.

"Porque cá vens, filha?"

Lhand coçou o olho com movimentos bruscos. A secura não desaparecia, nunca, mas coçar já se tornara reflexo. Ela abanou os ombros em resposta a Mr. Shells, no processo.

A lanterna que ele sempre carregava guinchou conforme ele se aproximava. Uma vez, duas, três... a quantidade de vezes que a sua perna de pau lhe permitia mancar para mais perto.

"Eu nunca vou entender," ele parou ao lado dela, mas olhavam na mesma direção "tu és a estranha na tua família, não é? Todas as famílias têm algu��m assim."

Um resfolegar fugiu dela, mas as ondas estavam fortes naquela noite. E quando essas falavam, nenhum outro som as podia calar. Eram elas que silenciavam o mundo.

Ela arranhou o braço, ficando com partículas de pele seca presas debaixo das unhas.

"Sabes de uma coisa, Lhand?" Mr. Shells só a chamava assim quando tinha pena dela. "Acredito que nunca nenhum familiar teu pôs os pés nesta praia."

"É verdade." E era também algo que todos sabiam na cidade.

Uma onda recheada serpenteou para os pés deles, queimando os dela. Com o maxilar cerrado, ela aguentou a dor.

"Com esse nome e essa pele seca e desnutrida... o oceano não quer ter nada que ver contigo." Ela tropeçou nos próprios pés quando ele a puxou para trás. "Só te vai castigar, vezes e vezes sem conta, por cá vires. És uma tonta, filha."

"E o amor, é tonto?"

O riso de Mr. Shells era o de um velho, mas contagioso. Ela puxou da garganta seca uma gargalhada.

"O amor é, por vezes, unilateral." Outra onda correu para eles, mas Mr. Shells fez com que não lhes tocasse. "Vai para casa, Lhand. Aprende a amar o sol. Esse sim, abençoa-te todos os dias. Esse quer-te, e tu queres este que não te quer, filha."

O sol aquecia e bronzeava-lhe a pele. Desde que os pés dela não tocassem no mar. E desde que sempre se abrigasse da chuva.

"A tua saúde está em risco, assim" ah, Mr. Shells, sempre preocupado e atencioso "e as tuas circunstâncias... não vão mudar."

"Eu sei." Ela olhou uma última vez para as águas escuras. O oceano que a atormentava, que sempre se enrolava para perto dos pés dela quando na verdade, odiava-lhe a pele. "Mas é um pouco injusto, não é?"

"O facto de nunca poderes nadar?"

"O facto de que o sol me mantém longe da água, mas toca-la todos os dias." Voltar para casa seria doloroso, os pés dela ainda ardiam.

Mr. Shells, manco como era, ajudou-a a caminhar até casa. Ela sorriu-lhe.

"Obrigada, Mr. Shells. O senhor tem muita sorte."

"Por ser abençoado por aquelas águas?" Ele soltou uma gargalhada. "Elas tiraram-me mais do que o que me deram, filha."

"Não. É porque o seu amor por elas é recíproco." Com um último olhar de relance, ela entrou no hall. "Eu vou parar de lá ir. Estamos para nos mudar, de qualquer maneira."

Antes da porta se fechar, Mr. Shells chorou-lhe uma desculpa. Desnecessária, claro, mas era reconfortante, o quanto ele se preocupava com este amor unilateral dela.

"Está tudo bem, Mr. Shells. Eu sempre soube que o oceano não me amava, mas eu não consegui deixar de adorá-lo na mesma. E continuarei a fazê-lo, de longe."

Os sonhos de Lhand nessa noite, foram frios e azuis.

If you've enjoyed this piece, consider buying me a coffee! It'd mean a lot to me!

Elysia Larch, unedited,

30th of August, 2020

“I knew he didn’t love me, but I adored him anyway.”

— Patti Smith / Just Kids

#text #literature #lit #prose #art #flash fiction #fantasy #magical realism #magic #my writing #writing #writers on tumblr #writerblr #excerpt from a story i'll never write #free write

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