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How to Plan a Book for Spontaneous Overthinkers - Basic Planning

Greetings readers and writers, in this post I will go over how I am planning my current novel. As always, please note that I am not a published author, just someone who has been writing for as long as I can remember and has both autism and a very short attention span. This means that my 'tism needs me to plan or I get overwhelmed, but my attention span hates the long process of planning and gets bored writing something that's already planned. So this is how I do my basic planning.

As mentioned in the previous post, this is the mindmap I use in OneNote for my planning. It's divided into steps, so I have markers for what needs to be done but is vague enough that I don't feel like I'm writing an essay about my idea. Here's how it works:

Genre Expectations: What are the expectations a reader will have if they look up your genre at the bookstore and find your book? If you're wanting to make money off of it, what will people want to read in that genre? For more information on this particular step, please see my previous post in this little series, found on my page.

The second step technically depends on preference. Sometimes I plan my setting first and other times I plan my characters. 2A: What is the status quo? This means what is the norm in this world. In order for their to be conflict, something needs to have changed. What disrupts the status quo? This could be a dragon attacking a medieval city or something as simple as a character getting broken up with. 2B: Who are your characters? I recommend 3 positive MCs at most, because any more than that will be hard to write AND hard to read. Which characters are the protagonists and which are the antagonists. Some characters may not be positive or negative, or they could change sides throughout the story. But the important thing to know is that you need at least 1 positive main character and at least 1 negative main character. I like to think of it as the antagonist pushing the story forward and the protagonist pulling the story back to normalcy. To tie it in to 2A, the protagonist is pulling the world back to the status quo.

What plot points do you know happen? Don't push yourself to plot map everything all at once if you don't know everything yet. Simply write down what you do know in chronological order. As a vague example: 1)Main character gets broken up with right as a major catastrophe occurs, 2)Main character slowly heals and meets someone new, 3)Main character discovers that their new lover was the one who caused the catastrophe. Ideally you'll have 5 plot points: 2 for the introduction/rising action, 1 for the climax, 1 for the falling action, and 1 for the conclusion. However, the more you plan everything else, the easier it will be to figure out the rest of the plot, so only write down what you already know. It's worth mentioning that this planning method will likely be used mostly for the first draft, and your plot points can majorly change once you write more and finish your first draft.

Where does all of this take place? I like to do this step now because by now I usually have a good idea of where everything is taking place. I recommend having a setting for each of the major plot points from the previous step, plus a general idea for the world this takes place in as a whole. Even if your book takes place in our own world, you still need to establish a general setting.

Themes! I love having this as my final step, because I usually know what my themes are by the end of the other planning steps. However, I am not an expert in themes, so if you aren't sure what themes your own work has, I recommend researching and figuring out what sticks. The theme is essentially the last piece of a puzzle: Sure it can exist without the last piece, but it will never be complete without it.

I hope you all enjoyed this post! I most likely won't be continuing the daily guide posts like this until I finish plot planning my own work in progress, but I might do a bit of a "writing diary" where I recap the work I do on my planning on the days where I work on it. If you have any questions and aren't an ass, please comment!

#writers #writing advice #creative writing #writeblr #writing #writers block #on writing #writer

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How to Plan a Book for Spontaneous Overthinkers - Genre, Expectations, and Essentials

Welcome to the second part of a series of posts I am writing detailing how I am planning my first big novel while dealing with a short attention span but still needing a plan (thank you autism). This post will go over how to plan the genre of your novel and what things you should try to include, especially if you are wanting to publish it.

Quick disclaimer before we continue: Writing is an artform and you should write whatever you want. However, trying to publish and profit off of a book mostly comes down to marketing, which means you need to be able to appeal to an audience that is niche enough that people will know they will like your book, but broad enough that it'll actually get read. This comes down to the genre(s) you choose and the expectations and essentials that go along with it. For this post, I will use the genre of the novel I am currently planning for, which is a fantasy romance novel.

Your Genre and the Expectations

As previously said, I am only going to show the genres I am planning on using in my own novel. It's usually pretty easy to tell what genre your work is going to be if you just think about the plot a little and the setting. I recommend limiting your story to having 1-2 genres, and maybe one subgenre attached to those (For my own example, Fantasy Spicy Romance). Then just google "*genre name here* expectations" and do some market research. Here's some examples of what I found:

Fantasy

Magic system - This could simply be "Hey, the Fae exist," or "Look, it's Zeus, why is he a bird," or it could be an entire d&d-esque arcane system. But some degree of magic and fantasticality is completely needed for a fantasy novel.

Developed Setting - Even if your fantasy novel is written in a "real-life, but make it magic" setting, you still need to establish a setting. Is the general public aware that magic exists? Is it integrated into society or more of a secret underground thing? Is magic even legal?

Unique characters - There are so many fantasy novels, what makes your MC(s) stand out among the rest, and what makes them stand out among everyone else in your fictional world? Are they not completely morally good all the time? Is your seemingly evil villain actually trying to do the right thing? Is your character some kind of Chosen One?

Societal power structure - Are the Fae higher ranking than the measly humans? Is there a monarchy or other governing body? Is your MC a noble trying to escape from the mountains of paperwork or a pauper trying to find glory?

Real-life Parallels - Bit of a heavier topic here. Most people, when they pick up a book, are going to want some degree of realism. Even in a fantasy world, not everything is going to be perfect. Common parallels I see people make in their novels include: religious discrimination, racism, sexism, corrupt government, and more.

(Spicy) Romance

Compatible Relationship - I hate when I pick up a book with heavy romance in it and the main couple are just not compatible. Often times it makes their love (or lust) feel lackluster or forced. A good author doesn't make their characters do anything directly, they make the characters and let the characters make their choices while you write it on the page.

Love Triangle (note: this doesn't have to be between 3 people. One character could be focused on their job or obtaining power or their independence, there just needs to be another option for the character to take)

Helpers vs. Harmers - What characters are intending to help the relationship and what characters are intending to harm it. Helpers would be someone like a supportive parent or a nice friend and Harmers would be someone like a school bully who has a crush on the MCs boyfriend.

External Goal/Conflict - Reading a romance that is only romance can feel dry and stale, so having an external motivator is key. Not to mention that you don't want your characters' entire life to revolve around this one romance, that just isn't healthy.

Internal Conflict - If there is no internal conflict, your romance novel is going to be extremely short. You need something keeping the final couple away from each other for them to fight against. This could be distance, current partners, moral disagreements if you're spicy, societal expectations, or really anything else. Plus, no couple is ever perfectly compatible and has no problems.

Sex and Sweetness Balance - Now listen, I'm going to be really real with you. I love sex scenes in novels. I don't want that fade-to-black bullshit, I want to know what exactly is happening in bed (or anywhere else). But a book that is just sex is little more than porn. There's nothing wrong with porn, I have an ao3 account just like the next person, but if you're wanting to actually write a romance there needs to be more than just sex in it, or the writing will tend to feel cheap.

Another thing to consider is common tropes that you may want to lean in to or steer clear of, For example, my novel will steer clear of the "Chosen One" trope, because the literary market is so oversaturated with books like that. However, some of the common Romance tropes will likely make an appearance, such as love triangle, forbidden love, and soulmates. This all comes down to your own research, preference, and whether or not you think you can write a book that will stand-out amongst other books with similar tropes.

I hope you all enjoyed this post! The next post I make will be on my full planning process after I have the previous things I've covered figured out. There will also be a screenshot of the mindmap I like to use to divide my steps that I made using OneNote if you would like to use that. Until then, have a great day/night! Please leave a comment if you have questions and aren't an ass.

#creative writing #writing advice #writeblr #writing #on writing

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How to Plan a Book for Spontaneous Overthinkers - Planning/Writing Tools

Heads-up: This post is a long boi. So I'll start by saying that I am not a published author. However, I have been writing for as long as I can remember and in the past 5 years or so have started taking it much more seriously. After 3 failed Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month Challenge) attempts and countless others on my own time, I think I have figured out the best way for me to plan my stories in a way that gives me a set plan without causing me to overthink about planning so writing isn't boring. This first post is literally just on tools I like to use.

Planning Tools

Seeing as how writing is a creative art, a lot of it is left to opinion. So here are my tastes, opinions, and suggestions for writing tools.

Find a Writing Tool You Enjoy: For me this has historically been a typewriter, a fountain pen and a nice sturdy hardcover notebook, or a dip glass pen and ink with a faux weathered journal I got on amazon. For some you may just prefer typing it out on a computer or using a ballpoint pen and a notebook.

If you like typing stuff out on a computer... Google Docs and LibreOffice are my go-tos if you just want a standard writing experience. Google Docs is one you most likely know and lets you store everything in the cloud, but I've noticed it makes my computer run a little slowly and I've had saving issues on multiple occasions since it doesn't have a manual save feature. LibreOffice, on the other hand, is an open-source dupe for Microsoft Office that is completely free, has more features than Google Docs, and lets you manually save. Plus, you'll never have any issues with your Wi-Fi going out and not being able to access your files. If you like being able to do a mix of typing and handwriting, I recommend using OneNote. Despite it being a Microsoft app, it's free and cross-compatible with mobile devices and computers (you do have to manually sync your notebooks sometimes). However, if you use an art tablet with your computer or just a standard touch-screen tablet and a stylus, you can sketch, handwrite, and type all in the same document easily. I use OneNote for most of my planning.

If you like unique or old-fashioned writing tools... Glass or metal dip pens are a fun choice. You do have to do some personal research though based on how you want to write though. For example, I bought a glass dip pen because it had a little bit of a scratchier vibe that I enjoyed and was also better suited for writing in cursive and drawing little doodles when my brain needed a writing break. I got mine on amazon and the brand is called "Freedom of the Starry Sky" It came with a beautiful ink, a carrying case, and a little glass stand to rest the pen on. I don't have any specific recommendations for metal dip pens however. If you want an ink recommendation, however, I use and love the Windsor & Newton Black India Ink, which I got on amazon for about $7. It's great, and its water based so all you have to do to clean the residue off your pen is let it sit in some warm water for a minute and wipe it off.

If you want a typewriter... I am very autistic and typewriters are a special interest of mine so I'll try to keep this brief (spoiler alert, I failed). This isn't the cheapest option by a long shot but I love my typewriter with all my heart so I figured it should be included. Here's my tips: look on Ebay, Mercari, and Facebook Marketplace and try to find one in your budget that is at least mostly functional (my old girl is from the 40s and ribbon doesn't advance but I love her anyway). If you're going to be working at a desk, get a desktop model, but if you're like me and have no clue where you want to type, find one that is portable WITH CASE INCLUDED. Trust me you do not want to be looking for a typewriter case for a vintage typewriter online. Next, determine if you want/need a quieter model. Typewriters will never be silent, but some are made to muffle more noise than others. There is a YouTube channel called Jot and Tittle and they make demos of vintage typewriters where you can hear how loud they are and see how they are to work with. So if you find a specific model you're considering buying, make sure to check there to see if the keys are the right amount of clicky and the write amount of clacky for your needs. You'll also need to find ink ribbon, which you can easily find on ebay. If you have any questions or need to do/have a repair done, I recommend r/typewriters on reddit or finding a typewriter repair shop or other forum online.

Other Things I Recommend:

Random Generators: Whether it be for writing prompts, opening lines, names of any kind you can possibly think of, settings and locations, or really anything, I promise there is a random generator for you. For all things names (locations or people), I use Fantasy Name Generators, but anything you can think of has a generator online if you look.

Baby Name Websites: Sometimes you want a unique but realistic character name and you want to include the meaning or have the meaning of the name be an integral part of the story. If that's you, go to baby name websites. Most of them let you search by meaning or even pick a name you like (for example, a character whose name you like) and find similar names easily.

AI Story Generators: For the love of all that is holy, unholy, or right in the middle, do not publish or post anything written by AI and call it your own. However, if you can't decide how to write a scene or if you need a way to start the next chapter, or anything like that, use an AI generator and EDIT it afterwards. Most of these programs are subscription based or have a free trial or have a limited amount of generations per month, just so you know.

So that's all I have to say on this specific topic, but as soon as I finish this post I will be working on writing the next post on genres and genre expectations using the genres of my own current novel I'm planning as examples, so be sure to check that out if interested. Have a great day and please comment if you have any questions or if you're not going to be an ass. Thanks!

#creative writing #writing advice #writing community #on writing #writing #writeblr #writer

[id0ntkn0w0101]

Of Dreams and Fury - Chapter 5

Hel

I felt myself slipping into that half-awake place some called the Lucid World, where all the conscious and unconscious minds were open and available to Dreamwalkers and their less nice Fearweaver counterparts. Psychic protection runes and sigils like the ones at the Barracks could easily keep out normal Retrievers, and even make it difficult for Dreamwalkers to get a lock on anyone, but usually if the Dreamwalker in question tried hard enough, they could power through the psychic walls put up. I braced myself for the noise I knew was coming and opened my eyes. I could hear the idle thoughts of everyone in about a mile radius. I could hear the couple a few doors down from my hotel room talking shit about the other one in their minds, and I could feel someone’s fear coming from some other room in the hotel. I floated through the wall and glided down to the ground, letting my thoughts unfurl behind me in the form of wings, just as any other Dreamwalker or someone with particularly honed psychic abilities could in the Lucid world.

Some things I looked at had a blur to them from me not remembering every detail of them and nobody around me looking at them and thinking of them. I jumped up, letting my wings push the air behind me as I launched up into the air. I glided above the street, keeping an ear out for any mention of Dorian Merrick, but heard nothing. If I focused on the Barracks in the distance, all I heard was a quiet hum, but I know that if I got close that hum would become a shrill screeching sound that would likely slow me down too much. I drifted to one of the other warehouses near the Barracks, resisting the shriek of the safehouse’s psychic protections that kept telling me to fuck off. Blurry figures moved to and fro, going about their late night business.

I looked towards the Barracks once again, seeing one of the casually dressed bouncers shut the barn-style door behind them as they entered the worn out looking building. They both were thinking about how great it would be to finally get some rest after a tiring day, one of them thinking about how happy they would be when they got to see their wife again. I let out a puff of air. Maybe Bernard was right, I briefly wondered before flying off in search of some kind of input regarding the little Lord’s whereabouts.

After an absolutely fruitless search, I woke up from my lucid sleep and took off the headgear, rubbing my ears and taking some of the migraine pain medication on the nightstand next to me. I could still feel the sharp ringing in the very end of my ear canal from the protection sigils, but it would probably go away in a couple hours. I grabbed my sleeping medication, took the dose, and laid back in hopes I could get actual sleep and not just work sleep.

I woke up just a few hours later to the sun peering in through the windows. My mother was sitting in the reclining chair by the window, after having drawn the curtains and moved the small desk halfway across the room so she could perch herself in the comfier chair and work on her computer some more. “What are you doing here,” I asked groggily, rubbing my eyes and stretching before standing to go to the small single-cup coffee maker on the counter.

“I’m simply here to check in on the case,” Eris Cramer said, looking over at me with an annoyed look, her fingers never stopping typing, “This one is very important for the agency, you know. If we can solve this, His Majesty the King might even use us as his official Retrieval agency!”

“I know, Mom. I’m working on it, Bernie is supposed to call me today about a lead.”

“You went to Bernard,” she scoffed, “Honey there is a reason he was sent to the other branch. And it wasn’t because I expected him to end up taking it over. It’s because he can never focus on the big cases. I could’ve helped you, dear.”

“Mom the reason you made my brother move was because his wife is human and you didn’t want to see his halfling children. He is based in the area I needed sources in and he offered to help.”

“Let me guess, you think Mr. Merrick is at the Barracks.”

“That’s the best bet I’ve got, now can you leave so- “He’s not there,” she interrupted, barely glancing at me before her eyes returned to her screen, “If he was, he would’ve been found when the King sent out the first batch of his forces.”

“Oh yeah it’s not like the Barracks are a tight knit community with psychic sigils and guards or anything. The King always hires Retrievers to do these sorts of things, because his ‘forces’ are clearly incompetent, mother.”

“Whatever you say my dear,” the stern woman said, her hair perfectly up and sleeked down in her everyday bun, “But I know for a fact that he won’t be there. Mr. Lumin has a very strict policy against anyone in the Barracks having any Dreamwalker on their tale. Calls it an ‘invasion of innocent people’s privacy’. He told me himself when I went to question him immediately after the King arrived to hire you.”

“Well did he tell you where he was going?”

“No, Emmett is too smart for that. He made sure to avoid any information about where Mr. Merrick would be running off to. He knew someone was going to ask him about the Lord’s whereabouts, and didn’t want to risk getting caught in a lie. He’s done it before.”

“Listen, Mom,” I said, looking at the clock and seeing I only had about 45 minutes to get ready and meet Kellin at the cafe he wanted to have lunch at, “I appreciate your help, and I’ll follow the lead. But I’m also gonna talk to Bernie’s contact whenever he sets up the meeting. Now I’ve gotta get ready to go, I have another potential lead to follow.” The woman simply grunted dismissively and I sighed, grabbing my clothes and walking to the bathroom to get ready.

I texted Kellin during the taxi ride there to tell him I’d be a tiny bit late and, remembering who my mother is, he was completely understanding. The taxi dropped me off at a familiar coffee shop and I froze staring at the big sign. Mochamotion Station was Claire’s favorite place. She’d spend hours here just sipping at her sugary coffee drinks, writing little short stories and fanfiction on her laptop that she’d never let anyone else read. It’s where she met Kel too, who was sitting at one of the benches outside the big windows that graced the front of the cafe. “I figured this was as good of a meeting place as any,” the man said, his tightly coiled hair thrown up into a bun at the back of his head.

“I guess so. I haven’t been here since she…” I let my words fade, knowing full well that he knew what I meant.

“I haven’t either, but I figured we should face it together.” I simply nodded my hesitant response and he opened the door to let me in.

The place hadn’t changed at all since the last time I’d seen it the day Claire had died. Our table that we’d always sat at every time we came over was empty, and without realizing it I started walking over. Kellin followed behind me and we each slid into the booth. I couldn’t help but stare at the empty spot closest to the wall in the booth in front of me. Kellin hadn’t even scooted all the way in to the booth, a force of habit from years of Claire demanding to sit closest to the wall. “So,” I said, voice cracking as I tried to block the memories out of my mind, “How have you been?” Kellin released a dry chuckle, smiling bitterly as he shook his head. “I’ve been pretty busy,” he replied, “Had to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t break down for a bit, but then the HR person at work basically demanded I go to grief counseling because my emotions were apparently bad for morale and my writing wasn’t up to par anymore.”

“I’m so sorry, Kel,” I said without thinking, “I barely got out of bed after it happened. Couldn’t help but blame myself for what happened, and I figured you’d hate me for it.”

“I did for a while if I’m being honest. I hated you so fucking much because you were the reason she died and you just basically ran away from everyone afterwards. And then I realized that there was nothing you could’ve done to prevent her death, so then I just hated you for the running away thing.”

“I still blame myself, to be honest. If I had just focused on the case, I would’ve found that bastard faster and Claire would still be alive. You two would probably be married with like one and a half kids by now.”

“Hel, it’s not your fault. Claire knew the risks of being around you, especially when you were actively working. She was relentless in the best way possible, even if it ended up getting her killed. She wanted to go with you to interview the asshole’s family, and he killed her. You didn’t make her go with you, you didn’t make that guy be there, you didn’t make him stupid enough to make a simple theft charge turn in to a murder charge. Hell she probably would’ve followed you there even if you told her she couldn’t go.”

I knew he was right, and he knew I knew when I just looked down at the table, scratching my fingernail against the worn our grain of the wooden table just as I used to when I was thinking or had gotten my ass verbally handed to me by one of me best friends. A familiar waitress came over, but I didn’t recognize her until Kellin saw her and said, “Abs! You’re here!” Abby had been our usual server before the incident, and had even been invited to the funeral, though she hadn’t shown up. She looked understandably surprised to see us again. “Hey you two, it’s been awhile,” she said in her normal customer-service voice, though I noticed a tinge of sadness lurking behind her smile and happy words.

We ordered our sandwiches and coffee and waited for them to arrive. Kellin pulled out his laptop, a much newer and nicer one than he had a few years ago before he was some fancy hotshot editor. He twisted uncomfortably to plug his computer into the booth wall behind him instead of opting for the much more convenient outlet built in to the side of the table. Claire always used the table outlet, and I knew Kellin remembered that when he sighed sadly. The screen of his computer illuminated his sad expression in blue light with a quiet whir from the fans. “Does damn near everything still remind you of her,” he asked, not bothering to make eye contact. I nodded and tried to focus my sight on a chip in the table so I didn’t have to look around and see more reminders. Like the stain that undoubtedly was still on the light-cream walls from when she accidentally spilled the tray of all our drinks, or the accent wall that her and I had papered together to help modernize the place for the old man that used to own it. I tried not to think about the fact that she used to walk through the door and ask Abby if the old man had died yet, and that Claire had probably missed the awkward day when she’d walk in, as that, and be told yes. But she wouldn’t have missed a beat, she would’ve immediately switched from joking to comforting in a heartbeat just like she always did without even being phased by the awkward switch in conversation.

“Hel,” Kellin said insistently, looking at me with a worried look over the top of his laptop screen, “Are you ok? Do we need to leave?” I wiped the tears that had started slipping down my pale cheeks. “Yeah I’m fine,” I said, “Were you saying something?”

He nodded, “What was the favor you needed?”

I sniffled and tried to get my brain back into work-mode. “Oh um… my current contract is to find the late Lord of Fire’s son,” I said in a quiet voice, looking around at the few patrons around us, “And I found it weird that his name wasn’t in the tabloids or anything even though he was in them a lot before and now he’s missing. I was wondering if there was any order to keep the news of him being missing secret or something.”

“Let me look. Dorian Merrick, right?” I nodded, and he typed away at those freaky superhuman speeds he always typed at. “You’re right, it is kind’ve weird that there’s no mention of him. All the articles about him in our archives are gone too, which is outrageous, I’ve even edited some of the articles about him. What did he do to piss someone this high up off?”

“He stole the Amulet of Light and ‘absconded from his duties’.”

“Yeesh,” he said, before rubbing the back of his neck and getting an expression of worry on his face, “Listen, after what happened with Claire, I just don’t know how I feel about helping you out with a case this high profile.”

I nodded understandably, “Can you please at least keep an eye out for any information about him please? And let me know if you hear anything. I’m struggling with leads.”

As if timed by one of the gods, my phone vibrated on the table. It was a text from Bernie, “Meeting set up by my contact for 3pm sharp, in the old park by the warehouse compound the Barracks are in. Don’t be late or I will not help you again.” I chuckled at the reminder of the one time I was two hours late to a meeting he had set up for me. “Let me guess,” Kellin said with a small smile, “You’ve got to go?”

“It’s about the case, my brother set up a meeting with someone who knew Dorian. I’m so sorry.”

“Nah don’t worry about it,” Kellin said passively, “You did this shit all the time when Claire was alive, just please don’t be a stranger. And tell me when you’re going to be meeting the person and let me know when its over so I know you’re safe.”

“I 100% will Kellin, I promise. Thank you for talking to me.”

“Don’t mention it, Hely.”

#Of Dreams and Fury #my writing #original work

[id0ntkn0w0101]

Top 5 Writing Tips for Depressed People

As a certified depressed person. I am not a professional writer, I am just a person who likes to write but am also depressed. These are my tips and tricks for doing better at writing without hating myself

1 - Try to channel every mood into writing.

Wake up in a bad mood because you're pissed at someone? Write about your character being pissed at someone. Depression kicking your ass? Write about your character's mental illness or emotional struggle. Manage to have a rare, good day? Maybe give your character a bit of a reprieve from the conflict and let them have a relaxing day with their friends and/or lover. And if these don't fit into the place you are in in your book, don't worry, because...

2 - Don't force yourself to write linearly.

Don't force yourself to write according to a strict "this then that then this then that" timeline. If you have an idea for a scene at the end of your slow burn romance where the two characters finally kiss, then write that scene. Writing is always going to be easier if you write what you want to write when you want to write it instead of just hoping it'll be there when its finally time for that scene to pop up. I know I can never remember scene ideas, even if I outline them beforehand. My "scene plans" end up being so elaborate so I don't forget anything that I basically end up writing the actual scene anyway.

3 - Lower your expectations for your first draft.

Don't expect your first draft to make your writing sound like a finished book you'd pick up at Barnes&Noble. The books there are likely, at minimum, a 3rd draft. Most bigger authors who work with a publisher even have an editor that reads over everything and recommends corrections. A huge part of the writing process isn't even writing, it's rewriting. It's realizing, "Wait this line of dialogue seems really similar to that one my favorite author wrote, I should change it." or "Wait her hair was brown in the last scene and now its blonde. Does she dye her hair a lot like Ramona Flowers or do I need to correct it." The goal when writing is not to write in a "them" way. That is, writing in a similar style to authors you like. Every writer, whether a seasoned NaNoWriMo veteran or a middle schooler with a dream, has their own writing voice and style. You can, of course, take inspiration from another writer's style, but if you completely try to change your own, your writing will feel hollow and manufactured rather than alive and full.

4 - Know yourself!

Every person is different, and depressed people still fit in that category. Know if you are the kind of person that functions better if you schedule time every day to do something, or if you work better when you just let yourself do things in their own time. Apply that knowledge to your writing. I, for instance, work better if I write as soon as I have the idea, so planning time out to try to write won't work for me because I'll be hit with Blank Screen syndrome. However, I also have a tendency to get stuck in my own head and need to force myself to at least try to write every single day. Know who you are and how you function best, because nobody is going to tell you for you.

5 - Don't reread stuff until you get to a good stopping point.

Unless you just forget a character's name or appearance or something, don't reread your work until, bare minimum, you get to the end of that section of the book. I guarantee if you do, you will hate a lot of it and just end up starting over. If you can avoid it, don't even reread it until you finish the first draft or are lightly editing it to post somewhere like I do. Even then, I just turn on spell check or grammar check and click through it correcting mistakes I made without really reading the words around them. If you focus too much on what you've already written, you'll get too tied up in editing things and you won't ever get new words and scenes on the page. If, like me, you have a tendency to forget little things about fantasy mechanics or character or setting appearances, write down little blurbs about those things in a seperate document or in your notes app and come back to it later on when you need a reminder. Your notes don't need to be perfectly written, so you won't be too bothered with editing them.

I hope you all enjoyed this list and hopefully get some clarity or inspiration from it. If anyone has any other tips, please share them. If you'd like to read my own writing, I have my current WIP FIRST DRAFT posted both on this tumblr and on ao3 called Of Dreams and Fury. Have a great day!

#writing advice #depressed writer #depression advice #mental health #depression #my writing #motivation #writers #writers on tumblr

[id0ntkn0w0101]

Of Dreams and Fury - Chapter 4

Dorian

I looked up at the darkening sky and at the setting sun in the horizon before entering Schafer Electronics Emporium. I would’ve thought Adalia’s instructions were wrong or some sick prank if it wasn’t for the name Cornelius Schafer emblazoned on the line above the address. “We’re closed, kid,” an older gentleman behind the counter shouted, his reading glasses sitting on the tip of his nose as he looked over some old fashioned log book, calculator balanced on his knee. “I know,” I started, “But my friend said you could help me. Her name’s Adalia.” The man’s expression turned grim and he slid his glasses off his nose before calmly setting them on the counter next to him. “Adalia Webster sent you,” he asked, and I nodded.

“What trouble have you gotten yourself in boy?”

“A Dreamwalker called the Hellhound is after me. Can you help?”

“Depends on why the Cramer girl is after you.”

I paused, shock he knew of the Hellhound by name since it was only really known by people on the streets and the authorities. “I’m Dorian Merrick,” I said, scanning the man’s face for any reaction, “I’m supposed to be the new Lord of Fire, but I ran.”

“You gonna tell me about the fancy necklace you stole too, kid, or are you already going to hide stuff from me. Because that shit won’t fly.”

I sighed. “Fine. I stole the Amulet of Light, too. Since I hadn’t inherited all my father’s shit when I left, I didn’t have any money and I knew it’d get a good price.”

The man sighed again, “Damn girl needs to stop sending me all the stray puppies. So what do you expect me to do for you,” he asked, and I froze. I didn’t know what I expected of him. Dali had just given me his address so I figured he’d done this before or something.

“Do you have a place I can stay,” I asked, feeling sheepish, “Where I might be safe from her while I figure out what to do?”

“There ain’t no place in all of Orain that can save you from the Hellhound, kid. She’s possibly the strongest Dreamwalker we know of in the world right now, and she’s determined as hell. She’s only ever hired for really important contracts, because she gets them done everytime. She was the one who helped bring down that terrorist group few years back.”

“Is there anything I can do to not get killed? Leaving before I could be sworn in as Lord of Fire is already considered treason.”

“Did you keep the Amulet?

“No I sold it a couple hours after I ran.”

“Fuck, kid,” Mr. Schafer said, running his aged hand through white hair, “You might, and I mean might be able to get off without dying if you are able to return the Amulet and you do the job. And even all that’s not a guarantee, with that damned King of ours.”

“You’re not a fan of Nikolai either?”

He gave me a look that said “What do you think” before he stood from his creaky stool and walked over to me. His hands grasped my chin firmly as he tilted my face in different directions. “You’ve got a recognizable face, but if the King was the one who described you to the girl, you might be ok. Man could never remember a face.”

“So what do I do”

“I’m getting there,” he said, switching to fiddling with the curls of my hair and my nose and ear piercings, “Take the metal out, and you’ll probably have to dye your hair. I’d go with a dark brown. Style it to cover your ears too.”

“So you’re solution is to just change my appearance until she can’t recognize me? She’s a Retriever, she doesn’t even need to see someone to be able to find them.”

“I know kid, but this is just to keep you safe for now. She can’t hunt you until she knows your psychic signature, and that’s going to be hard as hell to do if she can’t recognize its you or touches an item you’ve touched a lot.”

I thought back to Adalia, who no doubt had multiple of my personal items she either stole long before I had to leave the Barracks or things I didn’t take with me when I left, but I tried to bottle back my mild worry in favor of remembering that I could trust her. “I’ll let you stay upstairs, all the TVs in here should interfere with the Hellhound’s read of you if she gets one,” the old man said, leading me through the curtained doorway just out of sight from the main room of the store. We passed by older TVs and a bin of outdated phones and other mobile devices. Computers lined a wall to the side, most of the towers missing panels and parts that even I knew should be there, and to the right of the big work desk riddled with boards and cables was a door. He twisted a key into the knob before handing it to me, opening the door and leading me up the stairs. There was a small studio apartment, with basic psychic protection runes that were standard for a lot of rental places. The kitchenette was sequestered off by a wall and half-wall. The couch had already been folded out into a bed and the table in front of it was riddled by empty beer bottles and cans and books on everything from computer repair to plant hybridization.

“Over there,” he said, pointing at the door hidden in the shadows of a narrow hallway next to the kitchen, “Is the bathroom. Use what you absolutely need, don’t go snooping though. You may have to jiggle the hot water dial in the shower. You can clearly see where the kitchen is, and the main room. I’ll be by early tomorrow morning before I open to give you the hair dying stuff you’re going to need.” “Thank you Cornelius,” I said, and the man turned towards me with a glare.

“I am not ‘Cornelius’ to you, kid,” he grumbled, “You call me Mr. Schafer or sir or even old man. But not Cornelius.” I blinked owlishly at the man, standing just an inch over my height despite me being considered somewhat short. “You can help yourself to stuff in the kitchen, but I’m not going to make a store run for you until Tuesday so make that shit last a few days if you can.” I nodded curtly, and he looked at me in contemplation before rolling his eyes and walking back out the door and down the stairs.

I looked around the room at my new reality before looking through the kitchen cabinets. Once I finally found the box I was looking for, I pulled out one of the trash bags and started cleaning up all the bottles and stains. When I was done, I immediately dug through my bag to find clean-ish clothes to wear and went to the bathroom to take my first shower in weeks. The bathroom was decorated entirely in a color that can only be described as piss yellow, down to the tiles on the floor and walls. Even the bathtub had a yellow tinge, though that was likely more from a lack of cleaning than anything else. It was a far cry from the massive room and claw-foot tub I’d grown accustomed to before I ran, but at least this didn’t come with a hate-filled career and a loveless marriage like my old life would surely force me into.

After my shower, I put on my clothes and went to the kitchen to find a styrofoam of takeout from one of the local restaurants. It was some kind of noodle dish with chicken with a note written in chicken-scratch handwriting: Ordered food right before you arrived. Figured I’d just give you the food I usually keep in my fridge for tomorrow’s lunch. Enjoy. I briefly wondered, as I sat there eating the lukewarm noodles, if I had made a mistake running away from that life. Maybe Adalia was right and I could just try to delegate the work better amongst the probably hundreds of people that would work for me so that I myself would barely have any work. And the loveless marriage… well my mother never loved my father, but I think she might have loved the man she stayed with in the guesthouse. Perhaps I could just have an affair as well and maybe find someone who loved me enough to not be the lover seen with me in the public’s eye.

I sighed, gazing up at the ceiling and shutting my eyes as hard as I could. Like I’d told Dali: “If he lets me live, I still lose my life.” Even if I’m not killed, it’s no more parties or late nights reading or going to the park just to lay on the ground and look at light filter in through tree branches. It’s no more “I have a migraine, I’ll just go take a nap until it wears off.” It’ll just be people needing me to make important decisions all the time. I’d be the one in charge of running their electricity and deciding how strict to be on bills getting paid and I’d be determining who was making little enough that they deserved aid to pay their bills and it’d be me possibly ruining their lives with my decisions in council meetings. It’d be me in a job I never wanted and still don’t want while the people look up at me in my stupid manor on the stupid hill and hate me and protest me being in charge when they’d all probably make the same decisions. I don’t want that. I gave up on holding back tears and let out a quiet sob before curling up with a blanket that either left my shoulders or my feet uncovered and closed my eyes.

#Of Dreams and Fury #original work #my writing

[id0ntkn0w0101]

Of Dreams and Fury - Chapter 3

Hel

I took a deep breath before stepping through the dark blue threshold of the South precinct of Cramer Retriever Corps, owned and operated primarily by my older brother. “Helena,” I heard his booming voice to my right, and turned to see the tall redheaded man with a bodybuilder physique coming at me with open arms. I begrudgingly accepted his hug. “I’m assuming you’re not just here to check up on your brother and nephews,” he said happily, “But I’m glad to see you’re doing alright.” “As alright as I can be, Bernard,” I said, looking over his shoulder at the cork board bearing the wanted posters for all the bounties available. “Mia and the boys aren’t here yet, but I’m sure they’d love if you’d stay a little while longer.” “I’m here on important business so I can’t guarantee anything. You got somewhere more private we can talk?” “I don’t like to hide things from my employees, Helena.” “I don’t care. Trust me, this needs to be one a need-to-know basis. I technically shouldn’t even tell you, but I was hoping you could help me out a bit.” His smile fell briefly before he led me up the stairs of the large building, to wear him and his family lived. “What’s going on,” he said after closing the door, arms crossed as he sat in the wingback chair in his luxurious and bright living room, “Ma called me, but she wouldn’t tell me shit and now you’re here. Must be big.” “It is,” I started, tapping my heel against the floor anxiously, “I’m looking for Dorian Merrick.” Bernard’s eyes widened and he blew out a burst of air, “That’s that new Lord of Fire, right? Yeesh Hely, that’s a big ass contract for your first one back after-” “I know Bernie. That’s why I need your help. You got any ideas of where this dude would’ve went. He was last seen in the industrial district and that’s your jurisdiction.”

The large man stood and walked to one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases by the door, pulling out a labeled map of the industrial district. He unfurled the paper on the coffee table and started mumbling to himself before he practically jumped up. “Alrighty my beloved sister,” he shouted, and I flinched from his booming voice, “A bunch of the warehouses in the industrial district are abandoned, but most of them are still checked on by local law enforcement so none of them would be good for a hideout. There a lot of houses in the area, but unless he knows someone who lives out there, I doubt he’s in any of those because there damn near no empty houses in that area. So I’m thinking he may be in the Barracks.” “Barracks,” I questioned, “That’s the safehouse ran by that asshole Lumin, right?” “Emmett Lumin, yes. I wouldn’t go if I was you, they beefed up all their security against Retrievers. Knocked down a couple of my men the other day, it’d definitely hurt even you pretty bad. I might be able to get you into contact with someone who lives there and see if they’ve heard anything, but heads up, everyone there is very secretive and if you even act like you’re going to arrest anyone, they will all shut down and may even tell Emmett, and that’s a can of worms you do not want to open.” “Got it, but can they be trusted if they’re living there? Isn’t the place overrun with criminals?” “Not everyone there is there because they’re hiding from the cops. Most of them are homeless for one reason or another and choose to stay there rather than on the street so they can have a roof over their head. As much as I hate Emmett Lumin with a passion, he does keep a pretty tight leash on all the criminals there, and if anyone tries to hurt the people staying there, he does his best to defend them. He does bad things for good reasons.” “Thanks for the help, Bern Man,” I said, typing the address for the warehouse into my phone, “If you hear anything, text me.”

I left Bernie’s before he could tell me to stay to see the rest of his little family again, mounting my scooter and zipping off to the hotel my mother had reserved a room for me at. It wasn’t the peak of luxury, but it was comfy enough. I walked into the apparently 50 Shades of Beige-themed room and plopped my heavy backpack onto the table before immediately leaving again, gun in my concealed holster, to do some canvassing in the area around the Barracks. The area was rife with homeless people and drug addicts, but I wasn’t going to judge those who had no choice. A sweet old man selling paper pinwheels made out of old newspaper told me that a man matching Dorian’s description was around the Barracks until a couple days ago. Apparently he sold his pinwheels inside the heavily guarded warehouse, but I could see the painted sigils and runes from here, guarding them against any kind of psychic magic anyone could muster. Even as I let my mind creep to that area, I could feel the familiar stinging pain behind my eyes and felt an itch too deep in my ears to scratch and knew there was no chance of me being able to get a read on anyone there. At least not while I was awake, but I’d have to sleep too close to the building to be able to Dreamwalk my way in there and I doubt the patrolling guards would be ok with that.

I ended up returning to my hotel room after barely any luck, with most of the business owners and residents of the area shutting down when they realized I was a Retriever. I finally grabbed my phone to call Bernie. “Hello,” a feminine voice questioned, and I sighed. It was Mia. “Hi Mia,” I said, feigning happiness, “It’s Helena, is Bernard there?” “Oh hi Helena,” she grumbled, “We’re actually having family time right now. He told me you came by earlier, we would’ve loved to see you. It’s been a while.” Of course, I thought, making it about herself. “Yeah I’ve been dealing with some stuff.” “I know that Hely, but being around family would probably make you feel better.” I took a deep breath. “Have Bernie call me when you’re done,” I said, keeping my voice level even though I could feel my throat closing up, “I’ll try to come by soon. I’m busy with work right now, but I’m probably going to be in the area for a little while.” “I guess we’ll see ya then Helena,” my sister-in-law said, clearly not happy about me not wanting to come over immediately.

After I ended the call, I went about typical daily stuff. I took a shower before lying in bed and pulling out my laptop to see if I could find any more mentions of Dorian seen around town. There were no mentions of him after he went on the run, and I found it hard to believe that there wasn’t a single tabloid reporting on it. I sighed and leaned back, looking up at the hopefully asbestos-free popcorn ceiling of my hotel room. Knowing what I was going to have to do, I looked at my contacts list and called the number that I hadn’t called in ages. “Hely is that you,” the chipper man’s voice said. “Yeah it’s me Kellin,” I said to one of the star editors of the Orain Inquirer, “I need a favor.” “No, Hely,” he replied, his voice clearly laced with anger, “You haven’t talked to me since the day of the funeral, and even then, you left early. You don’t just get to call me again after almost three years and expect me to do a favor for you. “I know Kel, I know. I’m sorry.” “I don’t particularly care if you’re sorry. I kept trying to contact you, only to find out that you were shutting your family out too.” “I know Kellin. She was my best friend. I just shut down.” “She was my fiance Helena,” I flinched at my full first name that he never uses. “I needed someone who was also close to Claire to talk to and mourn with, but you weren’t there.” “I know you said you don’t care,” I said, trying to avoid letting tears flow, “But I am genuinely sorry.”

I heard sigh, frustrated. “How about we meet up for brunch tomorrow,” he asked, “We can chat a little, work on rebuilding the friendship you threw away, and I might be able to work on that favor for you.” “That’ll work, Kel. I really appreciate it.” “Don’t thank me yet, Hely,” he said, “Listen I’ve got to go. I have an article I need to finish working on before I can get dinner and its almost 4.” “See ya tomorrow,” I said, and he ended the call.

I stared back up at the ceiling and, releasing the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, felt tears fall from my eyes and drip down the sides of my cheeks and into my short hair. I should’ve never came back to work, I thought, letting out a short sob, I should’ve just gotten a normal job or done freelance Dreamwalking work from home or joined a damn nunnery. My phone buzzed and I groaned, until I saw the name of the caller. “Yeah,” I said, answering Bernie’s call. “Talked to one of my contacts at the Barracks for ya,” he started, “He can’t get you in, but he said he’d ask around and see if anyone is willing to talk to you somewhere else. Apparently, Dorian made some good friends in there, so getting information without using your abilities will be hard, but maybe you can pick up the little lord’s psychic signature.” “I hope so, being able to pick that up would mean I can stop sitting in my hotel room bored out of my mind.” “You could come by my place and spend some time with your nephews y’know.” I thought for a moment. “Can we talk while I’m there. I got a rude awakening that I need to open up more about Claire.” I swear I heard Bernie gasp. “Of course,” he said, and I could hear his smile as his voice softened, “It’s good you’re at least saying her name. What caused this.” “I had to call Kellin.” “Phew I bet that was a fun conversation,” my brother chuckled dryly. “Yeah, I hadn’t realized how much he had needed me until he chewed me out. I’m going to lunch with him tomorrow so I figured I should jump right into ‘healing’ or whatever.” “Three years is a long time to wait to start that, but don’t rush it now that you’re trying. That’s just as unhealthy as never letting yourself mourn.” “I know,” I said, “I’ll be there in 10.” I ended the call and shuffled through my bags to find something other than my uniform, managing to find a grey hoodie and some old jeans. I sprayed the musty clothes, that had likely been sitting there since my last case, with some fabric spray and shoved my big boots on before dragging my feet out the door.

I arrived at the same building as before, its blue facade appearing greener in the yellow light from the setting sun. Bernie was waiting for me by the door, leading me through the now empty offices of the 1st floor and taking me up the stairs at the back to enter him and Mia’s home. As soon as the door opened, I heard little Oak and Elden running towards the door squealing. Although, they were much less little than they had been at the funeral, and it dawned on me that Elden was in middle school now and Oak was almost done with elementary. “Auntie Lena,” Elden asked excitedly, hugging me when I nodded before he was pushed away by Oak. Oak jumped up to hug my waist, and I noticed he had inherited the Cramer family ears, showing the classic Fae point so many Retrievers had. Elden’s ears were slightly tapered at the top, but not enough to show he had any Fae blood.

Mia stood at the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the frame with arms crossed and a small smile on her face. “It was nice of you to show, Helena,” she said, “Thank you.” I gave a small nod I reply as the younger of the two boys pulled me towards the closet chanting “Game night! Game night!”

After a game of Go Fish, I could hear Mia cursing in the kitchen. She was stabbing a thermometer into the roast she was preparing, huffing at the screen, waving the thermometer around, and repeating the process. “Having trouble getting it cooked,” I asked, startling the young human woman. She gave me a meek smile, “It’s been in there for half an hour longer than the recipe called for and it’s still under-cooked.” “Here, let me,” I walked over to the silverware rack and pulled a knife out of its compartment, stabbing it into the roast for a few seconds before twisting it. “The color on the inside is fine and the meet feels firm enough,” I said matter-of-factly, “I’d cut it down the middle after you let it rest though just to be sure it’s done all the way through.” “I-,” Mia started, “Thank you very much.” She ushered me out of the kitchen and shortly later called everyone to the small dining room for dinner. The roast beef looked perfectly cooked and, as she sat down, Mia said, “Helena you have to tell me how you knew to check that it was cooked. That thermometer never works correctly.”

We ate the delicious food and, after a bit of tears from my youngest nephew and a promise to the older one to come back soon, I left to go back to my hotel room. The hotel staff had tidied up my room and had put up the dark curtains my mother had requested so I could Dreamwalk. I went over my mental checklist of things I needed to be able to Dreamwalk: Darkness? Check. Weighted blanket? Check. Dreamwalking headgear? Check. I slipped the aforementioned headgear onto my head, making sure the noise canceling ear pads were aligned with my ears before I pressed the button on the side of my head. The headset gently whirred before quieting as soft white noise began playing in my ears. Taking a deep breath, I laid back on the comfortable bed, pulling my weighted blanket over me and making sure my neck was properly aligned with the rest of my body, and closed my eyes.

#Of Dreams and Fury #my writing #original work

[id0ntkn0w0101]

Of Dreams and Fury: Chapter 2

Dorian

I watched from my spot atop some office building as the King’s guards checked to look for any observing passerby before they quickly ushered him into some fancy white car that would definitely catch attention but wouldn’t make people think their King was in there. A woman around my age stormed out from the same door once the King was gone, waving her hands and yelling back and forth at someone in the building. She slammed the door shut and threw the bird at it before sitting on the tall stones lining the small path the King had walked down moment earlier. Her back was to me, but even with binoculars I couldn’t read what she had pulled up on the computer on her lap, but I vaguely recognized one of the photos some tabloid photographer had taken of me last year. She must be the person coming after me.

Upon coming to that realization, I started creeping down the fire escape of the building I’d perched on to watch the King. I still can’t believe that bozo contracted a retriever to find me. Still, I made sure my current safehouse was protected against their freaky psychic abilities. They would only maybe be able to find me when I slept, but hopefully the guy who owned the grimy warehouse had paid extra for the 24-hour guarding. I resisted the innate urge to look behind me, knowing damn well that if someone was following me and I instinctively looked behind me, they’d realize it was me. I’d be fucked, and not in the fun way.

I arrived at the warehouse, tucked into the industrial district of Erasurge but you could still see the major landmark of Orain’s capital city: the stupid palace. The king was undoubtedly back by now, they probably took the side entrance that was used for more private meetings or for the unsavory characters the King had dealings with, and he likely went back to sitting in some fancy chair looking down at everyone beneath him just like he always had. And even when other nobles hated his royal guts, he’d pay off all the major news outlets and their subsidiaries to keep all the news about his public meetings and relationships with other nobles private. That way they’d never know that the loving and just ruler that had brought the Fae and mortals together and funded the modernization of magic was actually a raging racist with anger issues and an ego so large it had to be compensating for something. Oh Gods, if that happened, the entire country would fall into chaos. Hell, probably the entire world with all the diplomatic relations he maintains.

The warehouse smelled of body odor, mildew, and general filth. Shelves abandoned by whatever company previously used the warehouse for storage now acted as a massive bedframe for all the unsavory characters that now lived there. Some are on the run like I am, and some of the few I’ve actually spoken to are hiding out here until they can earn money back to pay gambling debts. Many of them are nice or at least indifferent towards everyone else, but the beds isolated from the others were the ones that belonged to the more crazy of the warehouse’s residents.

I strode to one familiar shelf, resting my forearms on shelf above me and leaning over the girl that had her nose in a book. Adalia shoved the receipt next to her into her book and sighed, “You’re stealing my reading light milord.” I leaned down onto my knees to sit next to her. “I’ve told you not to call me that,” I said, bumping my shoulder into hers. “Aww,” she cooed sarcastically, lifting a hand to pat at my greasy hair, “It’s cute that you think I care. Now what do you want, they were about to fuck.” “You ever hear of a Cramer Retriever Corps?” “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten your name on their books, Dorian.” “C’mon Dali just tell me what you know.” She let out a deep breath, “They’re definitely the best Retriever company in the city, possibly in the country. Family business, ran primarily by that Vivian Cramer lady on TV all the time. Her and her husband’s kids do most of the actual retrieving. Now tell me why you’re asking about them. They’re bad news for anyone wanting to remain unfound.”

“I tailed the King’s ‘casual’ car,” I said, using air quotes, “He went there and a little while after some chick went outside in full Retriever gear and was looking at me on her laptop.” Adalia groaned, “Bro you’re fucked. Describe the girl” “Dark hair, kinda reddish-brown. She was tall and pretty chubby. I didn’t get a good look at her face from my vantage point.” Adalia pulled out her notebook, the one where she documented what every police officer and retriever she ever ran into looked like and their badge numbers. For someone who was technically homeless, the girl was organized as hell, colored tabs of paper taped onto certai pages with labels of each precinct and agency. She opened the page labeled “Cramer” and skimmed over some of the photos enclosed. “I would say it’s Carliah,” she said, showing a photo girl younger than the one I saw on some boat, “But she just works the desk I think. I know she has an older sister, but she’s sneaky and I haven’t found any social media presence of a second Cramer girl. I’ve heard people call her the Hellhound though.” “Hellhound? Sounds like she’s full of herself.” “I doubt she made the name for herself dumbass. Now go, before you talking about this shit gets me in trouble.”

I crawled out from her bunk on the bottom shelf before walking over to the office on the opposite end of the warehouse. The closer to the office you got, the cleaner it got, and some people actually had beds. But you could only stay there if the asshole running the place trusted you. I opened the door to the aforementioned asshole’s office/apartment. “What do you want, princey,” Emmett asked, his face glowing blue from his old computer’s light. “Sorry to bother you,” I lied, “But do you know anything about the Hellhound?” The man’s freakishly fast typing abruptly stopped and he leaned back in his creaky chair, slowly taking his reading glasses off and looking at me. “Why,” he asked bluntly. “I just need to know,” I replied. “Dorian if you have the Hellhound on your bitch ass, you’re up shit creek without a paddle.” “As I’m not already.” “I am 110% serious, man,” it was never good when Emmett called me “man”, “She hasn’t lost a contract yet, and she literally picked up bounties just for funsies.” “You know any way I can avoid her,” I asked, trying to hide the rising worry in my voice at just how freaky he was when he genuinely expressed concern instead of his usual insults. “Sorry kid,” he said, “Even if you left the country, she’ll still get you. I’ve even heard that she can Dreamwalk.”

She’s a fucking Dreamwalker. She doesn’t even need to be awake to track someone, and if she finds me while I’m sleeping she can interrogate me without even waking me up. Not many people inherited Retriever abilities, even those with two Retrievers as parents, and even less inherited the mutated version of the Retriever gene and became Dreamwalkers. They usually chose to work for those privileged few that could afford them, hired to either attack their employer’s rivals for secrets that can be used against them or going on the defense. However uncommon, the few Dreamwalkers that went into the Retrieving business were bad news for those not wanting to be found. They were fucking infamous, sneaky and sometimes managing to find a criminal’s location and alerting police in a single night.

“Listen,” Emmett spoke, snapping me away from my spiral, “I know this sucks, but you can’t stay here if she’s coming after you.” “Are you fucking serious,” I raised my voice, “You just basically told me this bitch is going to ruin my life and you’re just going to kick me out?” “Look out the window you selfish bastard,” he replied, pointing out the window to the office, it’s blinds open just enough that you could see through the slats, “I run this place to help them. There’s about 350 people hiding out here, and while we have protections up to prevent normal Retrievers from finding anyone here, we can’t do shit against a Dreamwalker. The Hellhound probably knows all the big bounties that are available right now, and over half of the targets are in this warehouse. I can’t jeopardize everyone here’s lives for some rich bitch who doesn’t want to do his job anymore.” “Whatever man,” I said, pulling my key out of my pocket and tossing it at him, “I’ll be out by tomorrow night.”

I knew he was right of course. This was the safest place a lot of these people could go. People like Adalia that made too many mistakes as stupid teenagers to be able to get good enough work now and just needed somewhere to sleep and rest, or the single parents who lost their jobs and needed somewhere for them and their admittedly adorable, but screaming babies to stay. A rich would-be Lord of Fire’s problems pale in comparison to theirs. I climbed the ladder to my bunk and started shoving all my stuff into the tattered duffel bag Dali gave me when I first got here. I heard the shelf creak behind me. “Ooh we going on vacation,” Dali’s deep, but smooth voice piped up behind me. “You aren’t,” I replied, “But I’ve got the order from Emmett to leave.” “Why on earth would he kick you out? There’s actual murders here, and while your ugly mug does give me a headache, you aren’t really hurting anyone.” “A picture of this ‘ugly mug’ is probably pinned to a dart board somewhere being stabbed by the Hellhound, Dali. So I’m getting kicked out to save all of your asses.” “Yeah but we’ve got protections against Retrievers!” “Not against Dreamwalkers apparently.” “She’s a fucking Dreamwalker,” Adalia yelped, slapping a hand over her mouth as people looked up to her concerned. I just nodded. She reached into my bag and pulled out my sketchbook, ripping a page out and scribbling something she copied from her notebook next to her. “Here. There was this old ass retired Dreamwalker dude I knew when I was still selling, he was grouchy but chill. I don’t even know if he’s still alive but if he is, he may be able to help you out.”

I took the paper from her extended hand, barely getting to read the address of some fancy place on the opposite side of town before the younger girl next to me hugged me tight. “Maybe you should just give them back that silly necklace, maybe they’ll be nice and let you live,” she mumbled, and I could already feel her tears soaking in through the fabric of my shirt. “I doubt it kid,” I said, running my hand down her matted hair, “I already sold the necklace and besides, the King hates me. If he lets me live I still lose my life.” “But maybe you could be a good Lord of Fire. You could delegate better than your dad.” “Sorry kiddo, not possible. I saw how bad it was for my dad,” I pulled away from her, “Now go read your smut and forget I was here. I’ll try to visit if I get a break from running for my life.”

The 18-year-old sniffled and went down the ladder and I watched as her boyfriend, who always hated me, wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and they started walking off. He turned his head over his shoulder and gave me a grim nod. I pointed at Adalia, silently saying, “Take care of her for me, will ya?” He got the message and nodded again before pulling her even closer to his side and turning around the large shelf, out of sight.

#Of Dreams and Fury #original work #my writing

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Of Dreams and Fury: Chapter 1

Hel

The air outside was cold, so I dressed for it. The tights underneath my pants were keeping me warm, but far from comfortable as I walked down the street to my parents’ townhouse. There was finally a new work assignment, which couldn’t have came at a better time come at a better time considering rent was due and I refuse to let my family cover it. I need to be the one that pays for my own shit. My glasses fogged as my breath came out in cloudy puffs in front of me, and I walked up the steps to the base of operations of the Cramer Retriever Corps.

The family business was bustling, just as it always was when the air got cold and family got on the mind. People dressed in similar uniforms as me were sat around talking or were rushing files to and from the cabinets lining the inner walls. It looked like a small police station’s bullpen or something. “Hely,” I shut my eyes and took a deep breath as I heard the most annoying voice of my life, “You here for the big one?” “Carliah,” I started on my usual correction, “I’ve told you before. At work its Helena, not ‘Hely’. And yeah, I guess so. Mom just called me at the asscrack of dawn telling me they needed me for a job. I didn’t get any details on the job.” “Well even I don’t know any details. They brought the contractor in through the back door and haven’t told anybody anything. All I know is that there’s a lot of money going on in this transaction.” “Ma still has you doing the books, eh?” “You know she’s too busy and dad’s terrible at the numbers. You should probably get in there though. Mom seemed really nervous about this one and they didn’t even bother talking to anyone else. They specifically called you for the job.”

I tried to hide my weary look, but Carly could always read me like a book. If they didn’t even bother getting any of the other Retrievers to look into it, it must be a big deal. Carly pointed towards the back room, only used for the most secretive of clients. Still, they usually at least told my sister about who would be in there. I racked my brain, thinking of every possibility of who could be on the other side of the door. Since they asked for me specifically, it might be someone I know, or maybe they asked me because it’s a big client and they want to act like their eldest isn’t a disappointment. I paused with my hand on the door handle. I could turn around right now, and nobody would even try to stop me. Despite these thoughts, I still felt my hand pressing down on the handle and the door opening.

The door opened to a blackout curtain, hung from the ceiling like the one’s in hospital rooms, there to block the view of the high-stakes clients when someone had to leave the room for a moment. I heard one of the metal-framed chairs scrape against the wooden floor and swift, but quiet steps coming closer. My mother, her dark hair tied in a tight, migraine-inducing bun stuck her head out from behind the curtain to make sure it was me, before turning back to the table I knew was in the middle of the room beyond the curtain. I shut the door behind me and parted the curtain and gasped. There, poised on the chair as if on his throne, was King Nikolai.

My mother cleared her throat as I gawked at the man who could order my execution with as little as a mutter to one of the bulky Fae guards that stood beside him. I quickly bowed down to one knee. “No time for bows and curtsies, my dear,” the King stated, his voice blunt and gruff, “Please sit, we have much to discuss and not long to discuss it.” I quickly stood and sat in the empty chair next to my mom’s. “Your majesty,” my mother started, “I’d like to formally introduce you to my daughter, Helena Cramer. She only works on our most important cases, though all of her previous ones certainly don’t compare to one contracted by yourself.” Ah, so mom was in kiss ass mode. I suppose for once she has good reason for it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, however I would much prefer to get to discussing the case,” the king said, and my mother anxiously cleared her throat before pulling one of the contracts out of the manila folder on the table. “The contract is for Lord of Fire,” his majesty said, “We have reason to believe he was kidnapped two days ago.” “But the Lord of Fire died last week,” I interjected, much to my mother’s horror, “It was all over the news. Was it faked?” Before my mother could scold me, the King quickly replied, “My apologies. The now former Lord of Fire died. His half-Fae son, however, is supposed to be sworn in as the new Lord, but I believe he’s been kidnapped.” “Is there any chance he ran away to avoid his new duties,” I asked bluntly. The King blinked back at me owlishly. “Helena Cramer,” my mother scolded. “I suppose there could be,” His Majesty said, amused, “But I doubt it. He always seemed so proper and put-together. He never missed any of the big events. Regardless he needs to be found.” “If he doesn’t want to be the new Lord of Fire, why does he need to be found. Why not just keep your money and swear in the next in line or a new family?” “Because Dorian Merrick took the Heirloom. Specifically the Amulet of Light. Both stealing an Heirloom of the Crown and absconding from your duties are considered treason. If he returns to fulfill his position, I am willing to pardon the theft, but if not-” “He will be executed,” I said gravely. The King simply nodded.

King Nikolai and my mother discussed terms of the contract as I asked occasional questions regarding the difficulty of completing the contract that would raise the price. Dorian Merrick had been kept hidden most of his life, so he knows how to hide from people. He hand a penchant for running from authorities, which explains why the King’s own people were unable to find the young man. Despite supposedly knowing his father well and seeing him often, the only physical description the King could give me was that Dorian has “a unique brown-blonde shade of hair and medium toned skin” and pointed ears he inherited from his father. The rest of the transaction went normally, with the King dropping an extremely large down-payment, no doubt increased for discretion, before he rose from his chair and shook my hand and left with his guards.

#Of Dreams and Fury #my writing #original work

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Original Work Announcement!

Hello to anyone who reads this! I have decided that as of today, I am going to be posting my current work in progress book, chapter-by-chapter, on both here and on my ao3 page. It is called Of Dreams and Fury. Here's a little summary for those interested in an original fantasy romance with an enemies to lovers arc and a dash of mystery:

The contract to find the new Lord would've excited Helena Cramer three years ago, but then tragedy struck. Now she's being given the huge contract by the King himself to find the soon-to-be-appointed Lord of Fire and the Royal Heirloom he stole while still bottling back her emotions that still haunt her two and a half years later. As a Retriever, she knows how to find people with her genetically passed down psychic tracking abilities. As a Dreamwalker, who can manipulate people's minds even when they're asleep and act as a sleep paralysis demon, she is guaranteed to be one of the best Retrievers in all of Orain. As the Hellhound, she won't let her target escape justice. Dorian Merrick never wanted to be Lord of Fire, but when his father dies a mysterious death, he can't help but let his worries about King Nikolai cloud his judgement. He steals the Amulet of Light, the prized heirloom of the Lord of Fire, and runs off to escape his impending lordship. He thinks he'll get off fine, since he's been running from royal guards for years, but when he finds out the infamous Hellhound is on his case, he starts to doubt if he will be able to escape her wrath, find the killer of his father, and get out of his forced title.

I'm not entirely sure what all there will be in the story so I can't really give any definitive content warnings right now, but I would like to include a wee bit of smut at some point and, given the nature of the storyline, there will likely be some descriptions of violence at some point. More detailed content warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter if need be.

I'd love if you all could take the time to read the chapters as I post them! They will all be tagged. I'd really appreciate any constructive feedback, as I am just getting back into seriously writing after years of writer's block. They won't take long to write or read, because I am a big fan of shorter chapters, so I hope you consider giving it a shot. If you end up liking it, I'd love to get a comment or message saying that. Thank you!

#Of Dreams and Fury #original work #fantasy romance #modern fantasy #amateur author #aspiring author #my writing #writing community #creative writing

[id0ntkn0w0101]

Myth Inspo- Cupid and Psyche (1.2.23)

Welcome to Myth Inspo, a series of posts where every once in a while, I summarize a myth from various civilizations for anyone to use as inspiration in their writing, art, or just enjoy reading.

DISCLAIMER: All myths are summarized and described based on Great Myths of the World by Padraic Colum. Any historical inaccuracies are not my fault, but if you nicely correct me, I may update the post with the new information. Additionally, myths were mainly shared via word-of-mouth, so many myths have different versions depending on region. Be sure to read any content warnings, as many myths in history cover topics that may be disturbing or upsetting to some. Thank you for reading!

Content Warning(s): Forced marriage, possible noncon (in my source, consent is unclear), attempted suicide

A king and queen had three daughters, and though all of them were beautiful, none could hold a candle to Psyche. Some said that Venus herself, in all her heavenly beauty, had come down to the heavens to live as Psyche. Men no longer sailed to the goddess of beauty's shrines, and instead sailed to pay their devotions to Psyche.

Venus didn't take kindly to her shrines being empty and sent her son Cupid to get vengeance by making her a "slave to an unworthy love". But as Cupid gazed upon the maiden, he no longer wanted to fulfill his mother's wishes, and fell completely in love with Psyche.

Though men all over sought Psyche, none sought her for marriage. The king, unsure of why his youngest and fairest daughter had not yet been married, consulted an oracle. The oracle told the man to place his daughter, adorned for marriage, on the top of a mountain. She said not to expect a mortal son-in-law, and that he would take Psyche was feared by the gods and the bodiless souls in the Styx.

Knowing the oracle's proclamation could not be avoided, the king and queen prepared their youngest her dreaded wedding and took her to the mountain. On her way there, she yelled scorned at the people who had doomed her by comparing her to the goddess of beauty herself before being placed at the top of the mountain and abandoned.

Zephyrus, a gentle wind, carried the girl down to a flowery meadow below as she slept. She awoke to see a house, held up by cedar wood and ivory, it's golden and silver accents glinting in the sunlight. As she gazed upon the dwelling and all the forest creatures around it, she knew this must be the dwelling of one of the immortal gods.

Voices whose mouths she could not see offered her rest and a feast. After she slept and bathed, she found a banquet dedicated to her. That night, her new groom came to her when the candles were unlit and left before dawn, and she was officially a wife. The next night he returned, and again before dawn departed. This routine continued, candles remaining unlit, for several more days. One night, her lover told her that her sisters were coming to the mountain to search for her and that, in case they were to find the meadow, she had to swear she wouldn't let them see her or know she was there. He warned that if they found out she was there, sorrow and destruction would befall the both of them.

The girl wept, and her lover knelt to her side. "Do as you will," he said, "But know that my warning is true." He told her that if she chose to talk to them again, she may give them all the gifts she desired to give, but never to give in to their notions of him and how he had still not shown himself to her, because if she did, they would never embrace again.

-|-

Psyche's sisters went to the mountain to search for traces of their youngest sibling, and as their voices and cries grew louder, the breeze Zephyrus carried them down the mountain just as he had done for Psyche. When her sisters happened across the house, Psyche led them into it and showed them all the wondrous treasures that could be found there. She told them her husband, a young man, spent the majority of his days hunting upon the mountain. She loaded them all up with arms full or riches and called for Zephyrus to carry them back to the mountaintop.

Psyche's sisters returned home, full of envy for their sister's marriage. One of the sisters said that her husband might be one of the Gods and that, through his love for the beautiful Psyche, may make her a goddess. Already jealous of her, the idea of the people's words about Psyche being a goddess being realized filled them with rage. They went to Psyche and told her that she was living in folly and had forgotten that the oracle prophesized her to be married off to some beast. They said people had seen a terrible beast entering the house at night "And thou art to be a mother," they shouted, "The beast only waits for the babe to be born to devour both the babe and thee!"

Psyche, moved by their words and forgetting her husband's warning and her promises to him, told her sisters the truth that she had yet to see the man's face. They told her to hide a lit lamp behind a curtain and a knife in her bed and, when she heard the man sleeping, to light up his face and to cut his head off. That night she prepared to execute her sisters' plans but was shocked at who laid in her bed with her. There, her bridegroom, was Love himself, the god Cupid.

Psyche knelt down and kissed the sleeping man, but a drop of oil from her lamp burned his skin and he awoke to find her there. Disgusted by her lack of faith in him, he grabbed his bow and quiver from the foot of the bed and left Psyche there. She found him at dawn but could not cry out to him. "Foolish Psyche," he said, "My mother wished upon you a baseless love and, rather than accept the better alternative, you instead go against my warning and betray me." Cupid flew away.

Psyche ran once the man had flown out of her vision and, upon finding the river, cast herself into it. Pan, the god of the rivers, pulled her from the water. "Cupid is a god won by service," he said to the sobbing woman, "If you wish to win him back, give him thy service."

-|-

And so, Psyche ran to find her husband, who was in his mother's home in agony from the wound that had been left in his heart by that damned oil lamp. She swore to incur the good will of the other gods and goddesses in hope Cupid would then forgive her and ran to the nearest temple. Ceres, the goddess of agriculture, saw her crying at her temple and told her that Venus was tracking her around the world to punish her, and yet she was at the temple taking care of things that Ceres was responsible for. Psyche begged Ceres to let her rest among the grain, tired from her long journey and needing a break, but Ceres refused. “Truly your tears move me,” the goddess said, “But I wouldn’t dare incur the wrath of my kinswoman. Leave as fast as you can before she finds you here.”

Psyche, full of newfound hopelessness, ran again. She found another temple in the woods and threw herself on its steps, calling out to the goddess Juno for help. “Willingly dost thou help those in childbirth,” she called, “So deliver me from the peril that is upon me.” Juno, sister and wife of Jupiter, answered, “I might be inclined to answer your prayer, but against the will of Venus whom I have loved as a daughter, I may not grant what thou dost want.” Filled with more dismay, Psyche left the temple, deciding to find Venus and surrender herself to the scorned goddess in hopes of lesser punishment and seeing the man she loved.

Venus, laying eyes upon her, laughed. “Thou finally deigned to make salutations to thou mother-in-law. Now will I see to it that thou makest thyself a dutiful and obedient daughter-in-law.” She mixed every type of grain and seed together, telling Psyche to separate all the grains before that evening. Knowing she could never complete the task alone, Psyche simply sat by the pile in sorrow, until an ant came by and took pity on the girl. “Take pity for the wife of Love,” the ant told his friends, “And help to hasten her task.” And all the ants worked together to separate the grain and swiftly left. Venus returned that night, full of anger, said the work was not her own and told her to instead go across the torrent and retrieve some shreds of wool from the golden sheep that lied on an island.

Psyche went forth, and as she stood by the deep river she contemplated how to rest beneath its depths, until the green reed, lowly mother of music, spoke to her. “Oh Psyche,” she said, “Do not pollute these waters with your self-destruction. Lie down and rest until evening when the flock is soothed and then pull their fleece from the tree branches, they walked under.” Psyche did as the kind reed said, returning to Venus with fleece in hand. The goddess, not quite happy with her receiving help yet again and not done punishing her, sent her to the peak of a mountain with a crystal vial to retrieve water from the river that waters the Stygian fields.

Psyche went up the mountain, but only to contemplate how she should end her life. But she happened upon a slippery rock, and underneath the rock was the source of the stream. Serpents jutted their heads from the water, foretelling her destruction. A mighty eagle, whose voice boomed the voice of Jupiter, king of the gods, came to her. “Didst thou think thou may steal water from the stream even the gods think terrible,” he exclaimed, before taking the vial and filling it with water. He passed it back to the woman, and Psyche ran back to Venus.

The goddess was once again angry, giving her another task. “Take this small casket to Prosperpine,” she said, “And tell her Venus would have her beauty for one day’s use. Carry whatever she gives you in this casket and make haste returning from the Queen of Hades.” Psyche left and hastily climbed to the top of a high tower, content to jump off and make her journey to Hades swift, but the tower spoke. “Wretched maiden,” it said, “If your breath dost stop, you will indeed venture to Hades, but with no way to return back to Venus. Go to the nearby mountain, for in that mountain is a vent to Hades. Take with you barley bread soaked in hydromel, and two pieces of money in thy mouth. When thou come to the River of the Dead, you must give Charon, the ferryman, one of the coins in such a way that he pulls it from your lips. Offer no person or creature you see your time or pity along your journey, not even the old crones you will see by the riverbed spinning.”

The tower continued, “Offer one of your cakes of bread to the watchdog at the gates and enter to find Prosperpine herself. Do as you must, offering the other cake to the dog and the other coin to the ferryman as you exit. Remember, do not look in the casket at what the Queen of Hades gives you.” Psyche took heed of what the stones of the tower said and, upon entering the lonely house of Prosperpine, knelt at the goddess’ feet. Refusing all rest and nourishment offered to her, Psyche waited patiently as the goddess filled the casket in secret, shut it, and returned it to Psyche.

Psyche made her way back to her scorned goddess. Venus picked up the casket, saying, “I have in my hands the divine loveliness. Should I touch it, I will have beauty enough that would please whom I seek.” She lifted the lid, and inside was sleep only. A sleep like death overcame Psyche, and she lay upon the ground. Eros, healed from his wound and wishing for his wife back, flocked to his mother’s chambers to find Psyche laying there in a deep sleep. After shaking her and awakening her with the tip of his arrow, he flew to the highest court of Heaven. Jupiter waited for him and deigned him worthy of that which he sought. The gods were all called together, and Psyche, though born mortal, was made the immortal wife of Love, and bore him a daughter called Voluptus.

#writing prompt #writing inspo #cupid and psyche #mythology #greco roman mythology #eros and psyche #roman mythology #greek mythology