#serial fiction serial story

[purpleshadow-star]

Pic context: Talking about the exy stadium at USC considering the fact that USC is a real school

I love how Nora just invents things in order to avoid complications with real-life things.

Like, using USC's football stadium as the exy stadium too would take a lot of work to figure out how that would be possible. Solution: invent a new stadium!

Having the characters play a real sport that already exists would mean looking into all the rules and regulations and history, etc, and there could be multiple elements of the sport that work against the plot of the story or complicate it in some way. Solution: invent a new sport!

I mean, it gives her full creative control over what happens in the story, and we as readers get to learn about a cool new thing without feeling the need to fact-check every element. Tbh, it makes so much sense to me.

Like, go off! Make stuff up! It's your world. We're just reading and enjoying and becoming obsessed with it!!!

#also the fact that palmetto state university is made up #it's based on an actual college but it doesnt actually exist lol #and again i think that makes sense #it allows us to become immersed in this fiction story even though it takes place in our world #i think having these elements unique to that world also makes it easier to go along with the plot #like imagine if neil was being hunted by his serial killer father and the yakuza while attending the university of south carolina #and playing hokey or lacrosse or smth #the made up stuff helps woth the immersion imo #anyway i just wanted to point out how funny it was that her solution is to make stuff up #like makes sense 100% work smarter not harder #tbh if the series wasnt centered around a fake sport i prob wouldnt have read it 💀 #like im just being real here #so thank you nora for going through the trouble of creating a whole new sport #bc im sure that was the final thing that convinced many people to read it (i.e. me) #anyway rant over #aftg #all for the game #nora sakavic #the sunshine court #tsc #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #exy

[mxtxfanatic]

Interesting commentary about how most people will identify with victims/victimhood while feeling discomfort when others identify with perpetrators, especially given the fact we live in societies (at least the one I’m in and the one that book was written in) that habitually materially revile victims on every level while championing and supporting perpetrators of certain violence.

#human reads time limited hunt #this convo comes up cause jiang lian is explaining to shi shanyan #how he wishes yan junxun would get at least one case wrong #because his ability to empathize with serial killers to this degree #unsettles ‘normal folks’ #but at the same time #is anyone *really* indentifying with the victims? #because the only reason why the crimes in this book happened #are because neither people nor institutions helped ANY actual victims #in fact they were using actual victims’ stories for prestige and ego boosts #even the victim-turned-serial-killer is using revenge killing *other* people’s assaulters #to make herself feel better #and because of that she ends up fucking up #and murdering an innocent man! #anyways reminds me of that study on kids #that said that showing bullying in kids shows #actually doesn’t prevent bullying #because bullies identify with the victims in shows #while adopting the fictional bullies’ tactics irl #so no lessons were learned #because nobody identified themselves as having the capacity to harm #or at least to harm the ‘undeserving’ #weaponization of victimhood and the aesthetics of innocence and docileness #or something like that #time limited hunt

[hypnotherapy-blog-blog]

The Black Bag - Part 1.

The Black Bag.

Rob Hadley

Introduction.

When I wrote The Black Bag I had it in mind that many of the people likely to read it would already have a knowledge of Tarot. However, that’s proved to have been a miscalculation. I have been pleased to see many readers have a curiosity about Tarot, but not much familiarity with it.  As a result, I often suggest readers step into this journey with a Tarot deck at hand.  It will help you see the cards mentioned, and to participate in a manner that gives you a deeper connection to the story.  Each reader, does after all, have their own relationship to the cards. Indeed each card relates to each reader differently. As you make your way through these pages, perhaps you will have insights that will make the story unique for you.

My intent is for you to enjoy these pages, and maybe pick up a few ideas along the way. I don’t propose for an instant that any given card has set or established meanings. My own view is that context is everything. The cards tend to match up with your own particular situation and can have very different meanings at different times. I hope you’ll enjoy this journey. Feel free to reach out to me and let me know your own experiences.

My best wishes as you embark on this journey,

Rob Hadley

[email protected]

The Black Bag

By Rob Hadley

C.2024

It is fair to say that the one person you least expect to see following your mother’s funeral is your mother. Yet, as Grahame Bickerton stepped out of the small chapel and into the daylight and looked across the well tended gardens he was shocked to find himself staring at a figure in the distance that bore an unmistakeable resemblance to the very person he had just witnessed being extended that last of human dignities.

The coffin had slid silently away behind the curtain in the funeral home, and he’d been shocked to find himself craning to see the final glimpse as it moved irresistibly into the cremation chamber. And yet here, across this beautifully laid out garden there seemed to be someone that could be his very own mother sitting in mournful contemplation by one of the gravestones, their back to him.

Grahame felt a hand on his sleeve and turned.  It was the only other person that had been at the service. An elderly woman with a cane, bent almost double, the result of some form of spinal deformity.  The woman spoke to him gently, her eyes moist with tears.

“I will miss you mother,” she said. “I feel your loss.”

“You’re very kind,” said Grahame trying not to be too dismissive but wanting to pull away and see the woman in the distance more clearly. She’d got up and was walking away.

“I used to work with her you know, at the college. Geography,” she said. “She spoke of you regularly.”

“Geography?” replied Grahame, completely lost.

“I teach Geography at the college. We used to have tea together often,” she continued.

Grahame didn’t wish to be rude and turned and tried to catch sight of the person in the garden, but she was hurrying away.

“If I can help,” she said, “you can find me at the college.”

Grahame pulled away and started walking across the gardens leaving the old woman staring after him as he strode away.

“Poor man,” she said to herself leaning on her cane. “He’s obviously terribly upset.”

Grahame hurried across the lawns in the direction of the woman he had seen. Soon he stopped. The crows were rising from some trees by the seat the woman had been sitting on but was gone from view now. It was almost as if she’d never been there. He walked on, but after a few moments realised it was no good. He couldn’t see which way she’d gone.

“Christ,” he muttered, then thinking more clearly calmed himself.

“I have to get a grip,” he said to himself. “This is ridiculous, I’m a bloody engineer, dammit.”

With that Grahame dismissed the notion that anything out of the norm had happened. He was obviously overreacting.

+++

It was mid morning several weeks later when Grahame received the call from the car dealership. The fall sunlight cast the city in a flat light that lacked the warmth of the summer so recently ended. He stood looking out of his meagre office at the glass towers of the downtown core and the cranes that perched beside every spare inch of buildable space.

How very different those offices were from his own. From the office beside his he could hear his boss shouting down the phone at one of the project planners. The congestion on the road today was holding things up for everybody. He was well aware that they were pouring concrete on several projects today, and with those cement trucks stranded in the unexpected traffic chaos caused by this morning’s power outage there was sure to be hell to pay. As luck would have it none of his teams were pumping today, so while the atmosphere in the office would be toxic, it didn’t directly affect any of his people.

He’d been lucky, pacing himself lately. The recent death of his mother had forced him to scale back some of his work commitments. As the executor of the will there were assets to be disposed of, taxes to pay, and all the administrative chaos that accompanies the end of life. And that brought him back to the phone call. It had been the dealership he’d taken his mother’s old Town Car to.  She’d loved that vehicle, but it had no business being on the road with gas prices the way they are today. Getting rid of it had been the only thing to do, and yet in spite of his having thoroughly cleaned the vehicle before leaving it at the second hand car lot, the manager had called and informed him that they’d found some old playing cards and some journals when the car was made ready for sale.

“We didn’t want to toss them out,” said the manager. “They may be something you want.”

The manager had sounded awkward. He was aware the car had been Grahame’s mother’s vehicle, being acquainted with old lady. He’d been servicing the car since he’d joined the dealership over a decade previously.

A phone slammed down in the cubicle beside his and Grahame winced. Did the workplace have to be so toxic, he wondered. Looking at his diary he could see he didn’t need to be here at present, and if he were to walk the dozen blocks to the car lot he could get away early and then slip home to work the rest of the day from there.

He placed a file into his brief case and made for the door. His boss was already on the phone to the next project manager, wringing his hands and looking intently at the screen of his laptop and chewing his lip, a nervous habit he’d nursed every day since Grahame had joined the company. He nodded as he made his way out of the building but went by unnoticed. As he walked out across the car park he felt the sun on his face and a sense of relief in his heart. It was good to be out of the cramped office space.

He loved the city, and being part of the construction trade he was enjoying the fruits of a building boom, but it wasn’t lost on him that he worked for a small consultancy firm, and the glass palaces of downtown were far from his reality. The firm he worked for may be part of the construction team, but he was under no illusions about the work. Twice in the last year his boss had been forced to ask his staff to wait a week for their wages, and if his suspicions were correct, it would happen again. In the hierarchy of the building trade, the company he was working for was not what anyone would describe as a highflyer.

He walked smartly across town, the sound of horns blaring a fitting backdrop to the stationary traffic. Another set of lights up ahead had blown out and a crew was struggling to get their vehicle to somewhere they could work on the switchgear.

Grahame tuned out the sound of the city. He thought of his mother, and that he’d only seen her three times in the year prior to her death. They’d had dinner back in April, and then he had driven out to the cottage in mid summer, and then Rose had told him she was going in for some tests. She seemed unworried about it at the time, and he hadn’t really thought much of it.

Deconstructing things later Grahame realised that Rose had suffered in silence for some time before having these tests run. Indeed by the time pancreatic cancer was diagnosed it was already far advanced. She had suffered briefly, and Grahame had visited, but soon after that last time she had succumbed, slid into a coma and within two weeks had died leaving a great chasm in Graham’s life. A chasm he promptly filled with his own guilt for not being a better son, and more available to his mother.

He was being too hard on himself, but that was nothing new.

+++

At the car dealership the manager had placed the collection of journals and other bits and pieces in a large envelope for Grahame to collect.  He walked into reception and the young lady on the desk reached beneath her desk and passed it to him, recognising him from previous visits. Grahame thanked her and took the package, then decided he’d walk home through the park.

There was little point returning to the office today. He didn’t feel up to working, and the traffic chaos of the morning would soon be merging with the afternoon rush hour, as people tried to leave work early to beat the rush.

Taking a moment to sit in the sunshine he stopped at a park bench and opened the package. It contained three journals, all closely handwritten in his mothers handwriting, and one small black bag. He drew this out and inspected it. Inside he found some cards, but not the playing cards you’d expect an old lady to have should she find herself compelled to get into a game of gin rummy. These were altogether more colorful, and well used.

He inspected them and realised that these were tarot cards. He had no idea his mother had an interest in tarot. While not something he had any knowledge of, Grahame recognised some of the symbols on the cards as he rifled through them. He found the cards strangely puzzling, feeling rather like he’d discovered something secret. He slid the blag bag back into the envelope continued his journey home. They were a mystery he would examine further at a later date.

As he walked he lamented the fact that he had few of his mothers belongings, even though he was her sole heir. The reality was that his small modern apartment was hardly a suitable venue for an ancient armoire, or dining table for eight people.

When he emerged out of the far side of the park he was only a couple of blocks from his apartment. Walking to work today had been a good choice, even here the traffic was log jammed.

+++

The loss of his sole surviving parent had forced something of a pause in Graham’s life.  It was a moment in which he was compelled to take stock and look at where he was.

He had recently ended a fruitless relationship of eighteen months. It had been a perfunctory affair, neither very passionate nor disastrous, but lacking in so many of the things he felt his life needed.

They’d found each other online, were both ‘self actualised professionals looking to share all life has to offer,’ according to their dating profiles, but were neither very self actualised (he still wasn’t sure what that meant) nor very willing to share very much. He’d decided he didn’t really trust the person he was dating, and realised she didn’t trust him either. They’d decided to ‘have a two week break’ two months ago and he hadn’t heard from her since.

Surprisingly he didn’t miss the woman either. It was as if the relationship had not really happened at all. And he felt no compulsion to reconnect.

If he were quite honest with himself it was much the same with his job.  He’d been working as a project manager for several years, and it paid reasonably well. While his job didn’t excite him, it provided security enough for him to live in the city, pay a disturbingly high proportion of his income in rent, and to own a car that he could drive at barely 20 miles an hour anywhere he chose. And then pay a fortune for parking. Like the relationship, his job didn’t fill him with passion either.

Grahame was gradually coming to the conclusion that there were patterns emerging in his life that didn’t fill him with joyful expectation. In his mid thirties he had expected something more of life. Was this really it?

These were Grahame’s thoughts as he walked alongside the stationary traffic and glanced at the frustrated drivers in their little tin boxes. Just a few blocks from home Grahame watched an episode play out before him.

A driver in a Jeep was blowing his horn at a car in front. The yellow haired woman sat in a little pale blue convertible, studiously ignoring the increasingly insistent honking. Judging by the body language the young lady had not had a good day, sitting arms crossed and lips pursed determined to ignore the blaring of the horn behind.

“Hey lady,” came the voice. A tee shirt clad young man, physically toned and cocksure, leaned from his car window and called to her.

Finally having had enough, the young woman, her hair tightly curled up in a bun, turned in her seat and shouted back at the man, “For god’s sake! I have a boyfriend!”

She then turned and sat, arms folded defiantly in the stationary traffic, red faced and flustered now with her eyes locked on the licence plate before her. At that instant a gap opened in the lane beside her and the jeep bucked forward and pulled alongside her for a moment as vehicles shifted in the Tetris game of traffic flow.

“Lady, I just wanted to tell you,” said the man, a little more gently now, “You have a flat tire.”

Taken aback, the young woman checked behind her to see that the traffic was not moving, and then stepped out of her car to take a closer look. She wore a smart pencil skirt and lemon blouse, the picture of propriety. She came back a moment later and sat behind the wheel looking perplexed.

She seemed nonplussed for a moment, and then composing herself turned and politely addressed the man in the jeep.

“Can you help me fix it?” she called across the traffic lane.

The young man lit up a cigarette in a slow languid style, and then said, “Like you said, lady. You’ve got a boyfriend.”

The traffic shifted and the Jeep advanced progressing up the line of cars.

Grahame, abreast of the little convertible looked at the woman, and saw the tears welling up in her eyes. He guessed she’d maybe not fixed a tire before. And with so many cars around she would be stuck blocking traffic before long as the tire deflated. He knew that on any other day he would have gone with his old habits and just not got involved, but today was just a little different.

“Would you like a hand?” he asked softly.

“That would be so kind,” said the woman, relief spreading across her face. Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so prickly.

“Just pull in to one of the spaces up here,” said Graham. “I live a block up the road, I’ll help you change the tire. Just let me go up to my apartment and change out of my office clothes. I won’t be more than five minutes.”

“That’s so kind of you,” said the young woman. “You’re like a real knight in shining armour.”

“Well, not really. But I can change a tire.  Give me five minutes and I’ll be back.”

With that he left her and hurried toward his apartment.

+++

Grahame hurried along the street, the sound of construction crowding in on him after the quiet of the park.  That poor woman, he thought. Some men really could be thoughtless.

He hurried into his apartment, tossed the envelope carelessly onto the coffee table, as if by reflex turned on the kettle to boil water for a cup of tea and went to his bedroom. A moment later he’d got out of his work suit and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater.

He turned and was about to hurry down to the street to help the woman change her tire, when he noticed the envelope had spilled its contents across the surface of the coffee table.

Not wanting to keep the woman downstairs waiting, he casually glanced at the table. Cards were slewed across the flat surface in an arc. It looked almost artistic. One card lay face up.

Grahame glanced at it, and then retrieved his keys and made for the door. As he stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, the front door of the building opened and his neighbour, old Mrs. Willoughby entered the vestibule.

At that moment there was a terrible crashing sound from outside. Mrs. Willoughby turned and looked out at the street, a startled look of shock on her face.

Grahame rushed to the door and stared out to see what on earth had happened. Cars were stopped now, honking and people climbing from them and rushing back down the road. It took only a moment for Grahame to realise the sound had come from the building site on the next block, just by where he could see the woman’s car pulled over.

He hurried toward the car, and as he got closer realised this was the centre of the commotion. The woman was standing back, leaning against the siding at the edge of the construction site. He hurried to her side.

The little blue convertible was wrecked. It lay smashed beneath a series of scaffolding poles, looking as though it had been speared in some ghastly hunt.

White faced and shocked the woman stood back, shocked but unharmed, against the siding.

“Good god, what happened?” he said to her after he’d pushed his way through the crowd.

People were looking up, staring at a crane’s hook and some chain suspended seventy feet above the road. A man with a hard hat came barrelling out of the building site and rushed to the car. By-standers were already photographing the wrecked car, and posting them to social media on their phones.

“Was anyone hurt?” the workman was asking in panic, looking around wildly.

“Are you ok?” Grahame said, steadying the woman with a kindly hand.

“I’m ok,” she said rapidly. “I’m ok!”

She was white faced and shaking. Grahame turned to the assembled crowd and said, “Does anyone have some water?”

A bottle was developed and passed to the woman.

Grahame turned to the crowd and asked, “Who saw what happened?”

Several voices piped up. Grahame looked at the man in the hardhat and said, “Are you the foreman?”

He nodded nervously.

“Thank god no one was hurt,” he replied. “You’d better get these people’s statements. The police will be along soon. It’s going to make things a lot better if people are able to describe it.”

The foreman nodded and corralled the witnesses while Grahame turned back to the woman.

“You’re going to need a cup of tea, aren’t you,” he said gently. “Let’s get you out of here and calm things down.”

Grahame handed his card to the foreman, and one of the witnesses.

“When the cops show up can you let them know she’s at my place up the road,” said Grahame.

There was sympathetic nod and Grahame and the woman pressed their way through the crowd and made their way down the block to his apartment building.

+++

Grahame made the tea as his frightened guest sat in the open plan living room.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” said Graham, wanting to keep the woman talking.

“I’m Sunshine,” she said. “And that’s my mother’s car.”

“Oh, dear,” he said. “It’s a very nice little car. Well, it was. How did you come to be unharmed? I mean, it looks like a hell of a mess.”

Grahame poured the tea and placed a cup and saucer before Sunshine.

“I stepped out of the car to look at the tire, and that’s when it happened,” she said. “There was just this rush of air, and a terrible sound. Like bells ringing, and then those scaffolding poles all around me.”

“What a thing to happen,” Grahame said.

“I guess,” she replied beginning to calm down. “I could have been killed.”

She sipped the tea, her hand still trembling. That was when Sunshine started sobbing.

+++

The statement to the police, a visit from the foreman and an exchange of documents all took time and Sunshine seemed to go through the process in a daze. She was glad to be somewhere quiet and safe, and Grahame remained largely quiet in the background as the questions were asked and answered. It was a terribly unfortunate accident, but as the police officer pointed out, no one was hurt. The insurance companies would sort out the wrecked car which was now safely off the road. The construction company manager said the company would be up to their necks in investigations, but seemed co-operative, almost as upset by the whole situation as Sunshine was herself.

“That could have been my own daughter,” said the manager as Grahame had shown him out. It happened that he knew Grahame from the local planning department meetings that he’d sometimes have to attend for his company.

“Terrible thing,” he’d said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Those clamps don’t just fail.”

“Thank heavens no one was hurt,” echoed Graham.

+++

At length the police officer left, and they found themselves alone in the quiet apartment. Noticing the journals and the tarot cards on the table, Sunshine asked, “What’s this?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.  Just some things of my mother’s,” replied Graham.

“Don’t you see it?” said Sunshine, looking at the upturned card.

“What do you mean,” said Graham.

“You don’t think it looks like all those scaffolding poles that fell on my car?” said Sunshine as she picked up the card.

Grahame stared at the card. The Eight of Wands.  He wondered what it meant.

“I suppose,” said Graham.  “It’s really not my thing,” he added and then as an afterthought said, “I’m an engineer.”

Sunshine looked at the card once more, and then at Grahame trying to find the link between not being able to see the visual connection and being an engineer. She failed.

“I wonder what made you turn over this particular card then,” she said. “Probably something subconscious.”

“I didn’t pick that card.  I mean, I just left some things on the table, they just fell like that, and then I came down to help you.”

“And that was before you heard the crash,” asked Sunshine with newly sparked curiosity.

“Yes,” replied Graham, noticing for the first time how the image in the card did look a little like the scaffolding poles.

“That’s quite the coincidence,” murmured Sunshine.

“Oh, I doubt it,” said Graham. “There’s probably no end of these cards look like falling scaffolding.”

His voice trailed off as he realised how he sounded. Sunshine picked up the cards and started shuffling them.

“So, your mother’s into tarot?” asked Sunshine.

“No. Well, yes,” stammered Graham.

“I see,” said Sunshine.

“I mean she died,” said Graham. “And these were among her things. I should sort them out.  I don’t really know anything about the cards.”

Sunshine looked at the journals, and then asked, “Were you close?”

“Not as close as I wish we had been,” replied Graham.

“So, you never knew she was interested in Tarot?”

“Never had a clue,” confessed Graham.

Sunshine turned the cards over in her hands and then said, “You’re lucky then.  This gives you a chance to get to know her through the cards.”

The words hung in the air. 

“What do you mean,” asked Graham.

“Look at these cards,” she said. “You can see they’ve been well used.  These are quite old. Well used. Your mother must have been adept at the cards. Can’t you see it? There’s a lot of her in these particular cards.”

An awkward silence fell between them as Grahame thought about this. It was true, the journals and these cards were like a voice reaching out across the abyss of death. They were a connection.

The silence was broken by the chirp of Sunshine’s cell phone.

She looked at the display and then said, “Mother. This might be a little awkward.”

___________________________________________

If you've enjoyed Part 1 of The Black Bag I ask that you follow my Tumblr and reblog it. To read Part 2 simply go to my Patreon HERE.

Many Thanks

RH

#daily tarot #tarot readings #tarot reading #tarot cards #tarot #free tarot #tarot community #tarot deck #tarot spreads #tarot witch #tarotdaily #fiction #short story #serial fiction #druid

[beauvandalen]

Hi writeblr! 🌸

I write LGBTQ+ SFF Adult fiction, my latest releases feature M/M romances and trans masc MCs!🌈✨

If that sounds like your cup of tea, my books are out now! Some are free-to-read, too! ❤

#writeblr #lgbtq #fiction #novel #queer books #trans mc #lgbtq books #writing #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #reading #transmasculine #gay romance #gay #gay story #gay web serial

[the-shattering]

The Shattering - A Fantasy Web Novel

About:

The Shattering is a fantasy web novel about three queer middle-aged warriors banding together to fight an ancient evil that's threatening to literally tear the continent apart. They also semi-adopt a Chosen One kid in the process. Torvola, an old knight who thought her fighting days were long behind her, takes up the mantle of champion once more to fulfill her duty to the queen. Cazan, an archer and a blood mage, fights to protect the kid they took on as a student and prove that there is such a thing as ethical blood magic. Caleste, a countess on an endless quest for fame and glory, throws herself headlong into the battle to save the continent (and finally get the hero title she rightfully deserves).

More detailed summary here.

******

Read it if you like:

Swords

Gays

Sword wielding gays

Honestly just lots of queers in this story

Fantasy

Action

Adventure

Lesbian angst

Somewhat witty dialogue

If it were up on AO3 it'd be somewhere between the Teen and Mature rating.

Content warnings: Fantasy violence (with somewhat detailed descriptions of blood and death but nothing too over the top), exploration of mental illnesses including PTSD, depictions of natural disasters, cussing.

******

Updates Tuesdays and Thursdays at 12 pm ET.

#Alright let's self promo up in this shit #web serial #web novel #fantasy fiction #fantasy #writing #original fiction #writers on tumblr #queer fantasy #lgbtq fantasy #shameless self promo #we need more stories about middle aged queer women and enbys kicking ass

[sunset-a-story]

Last issue of Sunset Vol 1. Sunrise is up for general audiences!

Here.

Scott goes to LA, Reeve makes a private call, Darwin meets Anise, Neptune plans an op, Reeve and Alex have an awkward talk, and Vol 1 ends.

Sunset Volume 2. High Noon will begin posting starting April 26th for Patreon and May 3rd for general audiences!

Sunset taglist. I try to keep it to release updates, long excerpts, and character profiles. Please comment/dm for +/-

@chayscribbles  @elizaellwrites @revenantlore @clairelsonao3 @kahvilahuhut

@writeintrees @scribe-of-stories @stuffaboutwriting @cee-grice @ravenkake

@covenscribe @kingkendrick7 @theimperiumchronicles @void-botanist

@worldsfromhoney @oc-writing-corner @rewritingrosie @jacqueswriteblrlibrary @thatndginger

@words-after-midnight

#So excited for vol 2 you guys! adkdjflsksdkjs #sunset a story #serial fiction #slow burn #slow build #eta: taglist is being weird today and only works if I add a bunch of paragraph breaks :|

[kimboo-york]

In my book Become an Unstoppable Storyteller, I trace the fascinating evolution of storytelling from its earliest oral traditions to the dynamic digital narratives of the modern era. Storytelling has always been an intrinsic part of human culture, with each era bringing its own innovations to how stories are told. Ancient bards captivated villages with epic tales of gods and heroes, while today's storytellers hook readers in with serialized novels published one chapter at a time online.

My book explores how the digital revolution has transformed storytelling, making it more accessible and interactive than ever before and teaches you how to leverage those skills in your storytelling. By examining the journey from ancient oral epics to webnovels, I examine the enduring power of long-running stories and their ability to connect us across time and space and break down ways writers can capture that magic for your own stories!

#Serials #Serial Fiction #Serialization #Story Beats #Story Craft #Writing Craft #Writing Advice #Writing #Author

[jenevawashere]

I never thought the day would come, yet here I am, writing about a married couple interacting with one another. I don't know how to feel.

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter #james bond #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #bbc sherlock #crossover #weird crossover #part of a series #shorts #short story #short stories #fictive #serial fiction #serial fanfiction #eurus holmes #enola holmes #william james moriarty #holy shit do I need sleep

[newwinslowma]

New Winslow is a small town in a mostly forgotten part of Massachusetts. It's a modern paranormal story. A queer rural urban fantasy. It's a story of love and fear, of the complicated ways in which we connect with each other. It's about accepting the consequences of our choices, about how history is always intertwined with the present.

It's also an online serial, released seasonally. Originally it was supposed to be an audio drama, but that was so not in the cards.

But if you're an audio fiction fan, you might dig this too. If you're a fan of vibes and character, you might dig this. If you like Noah Kahan's brand of sad New England shit, you might dig this.

(Btw I love noah kahan but new winslow was 5 seasons in when stick season came out. So the many connections between the album and new winslow are coincidental, but in a lovely way.)

Seven seasons are already available to read as free ebooks and season eight is coming later this year. Find it on most ebook platforms, your local library, or enfield arts dot com.

So with one season to go, what better time to start promoting it on tumblr for the first time in like 5 years?

Plus I can use this for spoiler chats that might not fit so well elsewhere. And give little teasers for season 8 and side stories

#audio fiction #serialized fiction #books #sad new england shit #noah kahan #queer stories

[ml-nolan]

Chapter 22: Don’t Censor Yourself is now live on Kindle Vella and Patreon.

(Sorry, Amazon delayed posting it longer than usual this time for some reason, but it went up on Vella this morning.)

Very 🔥🔥🔥 chapter for you this week! 😉😉😉

“Having him so close, with nothing there to divide us, is like finding out for the first time that I have two lungs instead of just one, like I suddenly have capacity for so much more.”

#kindle vella stories #writers on patreon #serialized fiction #mm romance #lgbtq romance #queer romance #gay romance

[annakayy]

Hey y'all - I haven't been as active on here as I would like due to an insaaneee amount of school work. Honestly, I saw it coming since it is the spring semester, and I thought I'd be able to juggle short stories (or a novella) every two weeks on Fridays, but with the intensity of school and the much-needed preparation time for upcoming exams, I'll be cutting down my posting of short stories to once a month for the remainder of this semester. I'll still be active on Tumblr and Substack, as only the official posting schedule of stories is changing, but I wanted to give y'all a heads up about that. That being said, the next post for Chapter 3 of L'appel du Vide is still March 8th, but the one after that will be on April 5th instead of March 22nd.

#writing #writing community #writers on tumblr #short story #fiction #short stories #writer blog #creative writing #writing blog #writeblr #aspiring writer #writers and poets #writerscommunity #writers #writer stuff #writers of tumblr #l'appel du vide #serial novel #fantasy #substack #publication #posting #posting schedule #march 8th #april 5 #chapter 3

[hexthervvv]

Chapter 37 of No Major Glitches, a love story about rival speedrunners, is now live!

Wordpress: https://nomajorglitches.wordpress.com/2024/06/09/chapter-37/

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50462347/chapters/143656123

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1452442293-no-major-glitches-chapter-37

#original fiction #serial fiction #queer stories #queer writers #queer romance #writing #my writing #archive of our own #wattpad

[inscrutable-shadow]

@painful-pooch requested: "Thanatos for snoozeville" from this ask game! (incredibly late i am so sorry lol)

contains: toothaching fluff and m/m romance

Snoozeville - Thanatos falls asleep somewhere that isn't his bed.

The first thing Than saw when he awoke was white. His first groggy thought was that he'd died and gone to heaven, but that was rapidly debunked by two facts: one, he had never been Christian (if he were to go anywhere, it would almost certainly be Hades) and two, that vampires didn't go to heaven (that being the point of the curse, immortality and all). He also didn't feel particularly dead. At least, not more than usual.

He looked up a little further and saw red. Literally, not metaphorically. The red silk of the Archfey's robes peeled from his face as he turned his head and rubbed his eyes. "What... happened?" he asked, as was all too frequent between them.

The Archfey smiled down at him affectionately. "You fell asleep."

"Obviously. I mean how did I get here?" He was having trouble remembering anything at all. Had he been drinking? Ae laughed and carded aer fingers through his hair, making him shudder and cuddle closer to aer. "I brought winter to the domain, remember? So that we could play in the snow? I had such a good time." Oh, yes. He'd probably overdone it on the mulled wine. "We were making those... what did you call them? Snow angels? And I was talking to you, of course, and then you stopped talking back. I was quite worried, but when I brought you inside and put you in my lap to warm you up, well... you began purring, so I knew you must be all right." "No..." Surely he hadn't... Vampires were borderline cold-blooded and therefore tended to become sleepy in the cold. Before the Archfey, like many others he would spend the winter months holed up somewhere sleeping in a dark box and barely coming out to eat. It probably contributed a good deal to particular vampire legends. The combination of the cold weather and being tipsy might have resulted in... embarrassing lapses. "Yes," the Archfey giggled, and kissed his forehead. "You do look quite sweet when you sleep like that. I had no desire to wake you."

Heat crept into his cheeks, which still tingled with cold. "How humiliating."

"Humiliating how? There is no one here but me, my love, and you need not hide yourself. I am not fooled by your suave vampire mask, Thanatos. I know you. You are kind and you write poetry when you are drunk and you like to watch the stars." If anyone else had said those things, he would have died on the spot, but as it was Thanatos was too embarrassed to respond, so he merely yawned and pressed himself more firmly into aer side. "Sleepy still? Good. Shut your eyes, dearest. I will wait for you. I always do."

The Archfey ran aer fingers through his hair again eliciting a low moan that tapered off into a purr, and for once, he let it. The rumble of safe contentment increased in volume with his exhales and spoke to a level of vulnerability he would almost never show, but here with his Archfey was the safest place in the world to him, both physically and emotionally. When he'd warmed up and woken up, they could both have another glass of wine, and perhaps he would read aer the latest detective story in the Strand, but until then, Thanatos would let the snow fall outside and be happy right where he was.

taglist: @athenswrites, @albatris, @crash-bump-bring-the-whump

#request fill #wip: rwtv #thanatos iuventus #the archfey reality #original fiction #my writing #writeblr #coy writes #fun fact: that same vampiric voice box mod that lets them get that deep chest growl also lets them purr :) #you will almost never hear it because it's incredibly embarrassing #like i don't think any of the ones i have would let you get away having heard it without at least trying to kill you XD #also i feel like the archfey's love for crime serials goes back at least as far as the original holmes stories #so there's that #got inspired to finish this all of a sudden #see i am working on requests i promise

[frays-monster-yuri]

Depths of Promises Sworn - is now live on Scribblehub

My newest web serial is now live! You can read it and the description by following the link in the down there part. (Patreon subs at all tiers get early access to 3 chapters. All chapters offer an epub and pdf.)

Cover art commission done by the lovely @redsheis

But just to clear the air.

I am a trans girl and a lesbian.

When I call the main character of this story a Prince, I do so with malicious authorial intent. You should read the following with the understanding that all gendered terms leveled at Ayre come from a very real and traumatic violence inflicted upon them.

This is a story intended to explore gender and identity under conditions where it is not safe to do so.

The main cast will constantly be a delight when they engage with each other. But I do need you to be aware that they are opting into living double lives. A lot of the tension will come from the looming threats of violence my imperialists. But what kinds of violence the main cast will themselves do in order to mitigate what harm and suspicion is done will arguably be much harder to stomach.

The content warnings will wax and wane, but I do strive to be as gentle with my readers as I can. I never intend for this story to be hostile to the reader experience, but everyone's tolerance for triggering subjects is different.

Please take care of yourself.

Description

Ayre - Freshly crowned fourteenth of the Vylian Castellan's unholy brood, has survived the dungeons and depths of their childhood beneath the castle. With an abundance of scars and a body that no longer feels entirely their own, Ayre is spared no time to adjust to their new life.

An arranged marriage, covetous siblings, and foreign vassals with their own agendas barely scratch the surface of the unwanted Prince's concerns. Each night Ayre's heart will grow heavier beneath the weight of compounding traumas, promises already sworn, and a parasite hungry for blood freely offered by those under Ayre's protection.

Already struggling to stomach being turned into a Prince and blood hungry predator... Ayre is thrust between two tyrannical nations and expected to do whatever is necessary to serve the interests of both. But how many more burdens can Ayre shoulder?

And what kind of life can Ayre claim beyond serving as an extension of something crueler?

* * *

Updates weekly on Sundays.

Cover art commission done by Redsheis over on Patreon and Newgrounds who regularly creates incredibly pretty monster people.

#depths of promises sworn #web serial #my writing #trans story #trans author #transfem writer #queer fantasy #monster girls #trans #writing #new writers on tumblr #wlw #sapphic #queer fiction #past trauma #body horror

[sunset-a-story]

The pain of writing scenes you're really excited about but they're in Arc 3 and no one but your co-writer will see them for probably years.

#thank the gods for my co-writer #no spoilers #sunset a story #serial fiction

[battle-of-alberta]

This question is for the artist; if the albertans could meet you do you think they’d like you?

yeah, no <3

re: ed's name, back in ye olde IAMP days circa 2009-2010 when I first posted their designs to the forum, there was a big interest in city rp's etc and i wasn't really prepared at all since, yknow, i like to mull things over for years and I was also being very obstinate about shipping since it's not a lens i usually approach things with. For a while they were just known simply as "Ed and Cal" while I pondered surnames for them.

Calvin was easy, I was able to both pay tribute to a historical figure and create a nice sounding alliterative name with McCall.

Ed was a lot harder, I thought about paying tribute to one of the famous five since I wanted to acknowledge women in history... and since I was spending a lot of time around Emily Murphy Park during undergrad at U of A, his name ended up coming from there. Something that I later regretted, of course, but it's been a dozen years and it feels too late to change it. As I've mentioned before, I did think about giving him a Ukrainian surname but the issue with living in Edmonton is any Ukrainian surname is going to either be someone you knew from school or a hockey player or something, lol.

I didn't think about Sinclair until like, the last few years as I was reading a bunch of early Fort Edmonton history; it's something that refers to one of the founding families as well as the strong Scottish/French influence from those days. Buuuuut it seems like a lot of work to change when he's lived in my head so long with this name. I guess we'll see what happens.

#Anonymous #projectcanada cities #pc: edmonton #pc: calgary #hapo doodles #boab ask #boab meta #traditional art #ink #one thing about doing newspaper research from the 1980s #is you find a serialized story in the edmonton journal about the fictional family the Sawchuks #and you go AHA a ukrainian surname that pays tribute to something relevant and also isnt anyone you know #but then you go but WHAT IF I MEET SOMEONE WITH THAT NAME #or it turns out to be the name of a real politician as in the case with caro's name #just looked it up of course theres a hockey player what did i tell you #idk what it is about us ukrainians and hockey man lol