Writing Blog

I haven't used tumblr since...maybe 2013? But lately I have been craving a community of writers and readers. The internet told me tumblr is the place to be, even in the year of our lord TWENTY TWENTY FOUR. Some stuff about myself: * I'm 27 years old * New mom to an angry lil potato bby & loving it * High school English teacher in the Lone Star state * Lover of fantasy minus the smut. No hate to those that like the ~spicier~ books, it's just not really my thing * I'm writing my first novel that I've been working on and off for several years now - I expect the first draft to be done sometime around late February. It's a modern fantasy/supernatural story about werewolves. * I enjoy critiquing writing. I have lots of experience doing it. I don't charge anything for it and will happily critique work - just promise me that one day you'll return the favor and critique mine as well when I'm ready to post it all :-) I am active on Scribophile if anyone wants to connect on there.

Prompt: #849 from @creativepromptsforwriting ("Prompt Game") Words: 571 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: None

“You’re a mystery to me.”

“But one you would like to explore, right?”

Alma nearly spit out her drink and giggled. She shook her head in astonished laughter and her light brown braids danced back and forth. 

“That’s got to be the cringiest response to whatever I just said,” she said to the man when she had finally swallowed her drink. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the high table. Across from them, behind a hundred different types of liquors and alcohol, the wall was a mirror, and she resorted to staring at herself. She did not want to look at the man. Eye contact with anybody was already a weak spot of hers. Eye contact with a tall, dark, and subjectively handsome man, in a uniform, whose strong hands gave just enough of a hint of the muscle underneath the clothes, who was possibly flirting with her - that was out of the question. 

“I don’t really know why I said that. But it made you laugh?” he shrugged and raised his eyebrows hopefully. Alma got a glance of brown eyes, like polished mahogany, then looked back to her messy reflection in the bar mirror. She drew her attention to the strong cherry smell of her drink, which she already forgot the name of, and wiped the condensation off the glass.

“It did, but,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. I have a boyfriend.” She only realized how sad the words sounded after she said them. He caught on. 

“Well, jeez, don’t sound so depressed about it. What’s wrong with the guy?” 

I shouldn’t tell him anything, Alma thought. It’s wrong, and disrespectful…but people need to vent. And what’s wrong with venting to a friend? 

“He belongs to the Hakon Falls pack. Far from South Dakota. Far from here.”

“Hakon Falls, that’s…that’s interesting. But, ah, yeah.” The man nodded knowingly and took a swig of his own drink, some strong-smelling beer that made Alma’s nose wrinkle.  “Distance sucks. My family are part of the Oak River band up north and I barely get to see them, being here and all.” 

A smile grew involuntarily on her face. “You’re Ojibwe, too? I’m from the Little Hill tribe!” 

He smiled back. “Knew it.” 

She rolled her eyes and said, “You don’t even know my name!”

“It wouldn’t happen to be Alma, would it? See, I knew it. My name’s Binishii. Well, a lot of people just call me Ben,” he added sheepishly. 

Prompt: #966 from @creativepromptsforwriting Words: 571 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: None

“Why did you never tell me?”

“It was a personal issue.” 

“You being in love with me kind of also involves me!” 

Amari glared at Hunter from across the room in the tiny cabin. 

“Why are you mad at me?” he pleaded. The conversation was not going as he had hoped. His fingers itched, and he longed to transform into his lupine form: his second skin, as cozy and comforting as a warm blanket. But he would not. He was out of time. It was as if he could feel her slipping away from him at this very moment with each second that passed by. 

“Because…because I’m confused!” she said despairingly. “I didn’t think we’d ever go down this road again. I thought we’d always just be friends.” 

“A brother,” Hunter said bitterly, remembering his words to Beck. His stomach knotted; this was his worst fear.

“Hunter, we’ve lived here together since we were teenagers - in a one-room house. And not once have you ever made a move on me.” She was wrong about that, he wanted to point out. They had kissed twice when they were teenagers. Two awkward, fleeting moments in time that he had hardly put his heart into. And that was it. But he didn’t want to bring that up, because what would inevitably come after would be the digging up of other painful memories that had followed those kisses. 

“Well, excuse me for being a gentleman,” He snapped and then sighed. “I wasn’t being a gentleman. I was scared. Things were good, and I didn’t want to screw up–”

“Things were not good,” Amari said, her voice shaking. She tucked her arms tightly against her chest. “They have never been good. Going from an abusive life to a slightly less abusive life is not good, Hunter.  We weren’t saved, even though you always wanted to think we were. This life, the shit that’s gone down here…That’s why I’m leaving.” She quickly swiped at her eye with the heel of her palm. Hunter felt tears pricking at his own eyes. “And how convenient. You’ve decided not to be scared anymore after I’ve already decided to leave?” 

“I know how that’s how it looks–” 

“That’s not just how it looks. It’s exactly how it is. You’re just scared I won’t be there to take care of you when I leave.” 

“It’s not true - ask Beck! I’ve told my feelings for you ever since I met him.” 

She was genuinely taken aback for a moment before quickly regaining her steely resolve. 

“He never mentioned that to me.” 

“Well, he never mentioned you going to school six hours away either! I guess he’s just good at leaving out important details.” Hunter shook his head in frustration. 

“So, what did Beck say you should do, then?”

He felt his throat tighten with embarrassment. “He always said I should just tell you. You know, you don’t have to get angry at me. You could’ve just told me you don’t feel the same and leave it at that.”

She stood at the edge of the doorway, one foot in the house - their house, their home for the past seven years - and another out into the dark woods.