love your stories or gtfo

Pinning some basic info because tumblr interface keeps changing and I don't know if anyone can find the About page anymore.

This is a writing blog. Stuff I'll be posting:

WIP excerpts

character stuff

musings on craft (sometimes) and feels (often)

reblogs of shiny objects

starting in 2024, probably: serialized novel (queer sci-fi, blurb here)

Main WIP: Fate is Just the Half of It

WIP intro!

pitch post with blurb

WIP tag (includes snippets and worldbuilding rambles)

Stuff I've already done / am doing:

fanfic over at ao3

comics (free/donationware pdfs)

weekly writing stream on twitch (casual hang, good for co-working on creative projects)

my fandom tumblr (mostly Borderlands, occasional Iron Man love)

Until further notice, my works will be available on a free / pay-what-you-want basis, but I always welcome donations via tumblr's tip jar or Ko-Fi.

Other info:

nsfw is a possibility, but not a dominant theme; posts will be tagged appropriately

open to beta reading requests (DM for more info)

All snippets from Shadows, a Borderlands/Don't Starve crossover, heavily Rhack-centric, but also featuring Angel!

@zyrafowe-sny

Rhys glares at Carter’s retreating back, rubbing a hand against his ribs. The bastard got him good. Still, he probably had that one coming. With some of the fury of the past few minutes lifted from his eyes, Rhys can see how the things he said about Angel might’ve been a little over the line. For all the… sheer terror of their earlier encounter in the throne room, she did not, in truth, come off as malicious. She did free him. And the worst of his suffering immediately after that, he brought on himself; she did warn him to stay away, after all.

@scifikimmi

As for everything else she might’ve done to him… Rhys suppresses a shudder as he remembers the vast shadow hands closing around him, back in his workshop; the numb horror of seeing the essence of his death floating outside of his body; the cold, creeping realization of what exactly happened to him that time when his fire went out at night. It feels almost impossible to reconcile those things with the kind, solemn eyes that looked at him from Angel’s face. Maybe that was exactly the trick, and he was—still is—a fool to believe it. Or maybe there is more to that young girl’s story. And even some truth to her father’s words.

@wizisbored

As he picks himself up from the ground, Rhys grabs the bag that Jack dropped as their fight broke out—and the sight of it burns away his budding remorse and tiny shoots of sympathy. It’s his knapsack. The one that he was packing in a hurry, preparing to rush through the gate to Jack’s aid, only to be dragged through it, feet first. The one he found lying nearby, soon after waking up in the shadow realm, and kept close all throughout his misadventures. The one he left on the floor of the throne room moments before being betrayed by Jack, and one he stared at, day after hypothetical day, until the time when it disappeared. She must’ve taken it. And given it to Carter. Because the story of Rhys's being lied to, betrayed and imprisoned wouldn’t have been complete without getting robbed, to boot. It wasn’t enough for bastard Carter and his monster spawn to take Rhys’s death and freedom—they had to take his damn luggage, too!

@aparticularbandit Rhys grabs the knapsack and stomps towards his camp, where Carter appears to be making himself quite at home, what with stoking the fire and all. “You.” He points a finger at the man, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Out.” “I thought you still had parts two through eight of your diatribe to deliver?” Carter kneels down to blow the embers back to life. Rhys resists the urge to aim a kick at his ass that would land him face down in the ashes. Only just.

@auburnlaughter

“On reflection, I decided that tolerating your presence is too high of a trade-off. So… get.” “Hmm.” Carter sits up on his knees, dusts one hand off on the other, then snaps a few twigs and feeds them to the burgeoning fire. “No, I don’t think so.” “Excuse me?” Rhys cocks his head to the side.

@violet-prism-creatively

Catching up with last week's asks!

All snippets from Shadows, a Borderlands/Don't Starve crossover, heavily Rhack-centric, but also featuring Angel!

CW: non-graphic, but violent fistfight

@eriquin

“Uh. ‘evening, kiddo.” Jack raises a hand in a tentative greeting. The next thing he knows, there is a fist flying into his face. “Whoa!” Jack ducks out of the way of the punch, just in time for Rhys’s attack to land a glancing blow on his shoulder instead of crashing straight into his jaw. “Hey, hey, we don’t need to—UGH!” Before he can finish the sentence, Rhys spins around and slams a fist into his stomach. This one lands dead on, causing Jack to drop his bag and double over. He coughs, or tries to, to get his breath back.

@1attheedge

“Okay… okay!” he manages, one hand thrust in front of him, palm open and, hopefully, placating. “I deserved—kheh—that one. But can we—ow—talk now? Maybe?” Rhys closes the distance between them, grabs the lapels of Jack’s coat and drags him upright so their faces are level, and only a few inches apart. “I’ve heard enough of your goddamned talking,” he hisses, teeth baring into a snarl, “for a goddamned lifetime!”

@scifikimmi

There’s nothing Jack can do to evade the next hit. Except squeeze his eyes shut and then, a second later, try not to bite his own tongue off as he hits the ground. His teeth haven’t even stopped rattling from the impact yet when Rhys is upon him, landing punches without rhyme or reason. Twenty years ago, Jack would’ve been able to give as good as he was getting; the way things are, his best bet is dodging what hits he can, blocking the ones he can’t, and hoping that Rhys will tire himself out before any teeth get knocked out, or bones broken.

@aparticularbandit

A few poorly-timed blocks later, Jack is reconsidering his strategy, as Rhys appears to have all the energy and ferocity of a rabid squirrel. Not to mention that he—rather unsportingly!—definitely does not shy away from using his still-animated prosthetic arm just as much as the real one. “Hey!” Jack snarls, barely managing to catch a blow from the wooden knuckles on his arm instead of chin. “I was the one who put magic into that blasted arm of yours, you little shit!” He uses a momentary pause in Rhys’s attack to grab the arm in question. “How about some goddamned professional courtesy, huh?”

@post-and-out

“Oh, where are my fucking manners?” Rhys spits. He yanks his arm free and grabs Jack by his front again. “You want my thanks, Carter? Here it comes! This”—he slams Jack’s shoulders into the ground—“is for teaching me how to make infernal machinery that almost killed me! This”—a short lift, another slam—“is for giving me the unique opportunity to go on an expedition that has actually killed me, at least three times! This—” “Fine!” Jack tries to pry Rhys’s hands off of him. “You’ve made your point! Enough is enough.” “Oh, you don’t get to tell me when enough is enough, Carter.” Rhys shakes his head, nostrils flared. “You don’t get to tell me anything anymore. We’ll be done when I say we’re done! And I still haven’t decided if you’ll even still be alive by that point!”

@lizhly

”Okay.” Jack holds out his hands, palms out. “You want to keep yelling at me, fine. You want to keep whaling on me, even though by this point you’re just beating on an old man? Fine. But may I suggest we take this closer to the fire? Because the light is going, fast, and at this rate, even if you kill me, you won’t live long enough to enjoy it.” “Oh, don’t give me this crock!” Rhys scowls. “‘You’ve got to stay out of the darkness, kiddo’, ‘there are powerful beings in this realm, kiddo’,” he sing-songs, in a terrible imitation of Jack. “That only worked when I didn’t know that the powers, and the monsters, and the darkness, and everything I was supposed to be afraid of in this nightmare land is all just your DAUGHTER!”

@madnessfromthemountains

“You… you’ve met Angel?” Jack raises himself on an elbow. “When did you see her? Is she alright?” Rhys stares down at him with an expression that suggests Jack has grown at least three extra heads, but lacks the brain to fill even the original one. “Yes, I’ve met her. But judging from your questions, I’m not sure you have. How could she not be alright? She is some kind of shadow… goddess!”

@adhdavinci

Jack winces. Then winces again, because it hurts to wince. “It’s… more complicated than that, kid. Believe it or not, there are still things here that you don’t under—” A fist smacks into Jack’s jaw without a warning. “What the hell?” “No, go on.” Rhys gives him a poison-tipped smile. “Tell me more about all the mysteries of this realm that I still don’t understand. Starting with your darling Angel. Incredible name, by the way. Just perfect to fool saps like me into believing she’s a poor little girl who needs help. Was it your idea, or did she choose it herself?”

@enigma-the-mysterious

It's good to be back! All snippets from Shadows, a Borderlands/Don't Starve crossover, heavily Rhack-centric, but also featuring Angel!

@wizisbored

Angel has been missing for two days now. She was there when Jack fell asleep, two nights ago. The next day, he made more irritatingly slow progress towards the suspected cave site. Then, in the evening, she didn’t show. He spent more than half of the night awake, letting his fire go dangerously low in the hope that it was simply the bright light that was keeping her away from his camp. That didn’t work.

@anachronismstellar

At the break of dawn, Jack piled his fire high for heat rather than light, wrapped himself in the fraying bedroll and surrendered to a few hours of fitful sleep. He woke up alone. Which was perfectly normal and shouldn’t have merited a mention, actually. After all, Angel never came by during the day, and it would’ve been extremely stupid of Jack to expect her to suddenly make an exception, and Jack was many things, but he wasn’t stupid.

@zyrafowe-sny

Which was also why he decided not to move camp that day. Setting out on another hike while strung out on little sleep and an assload of stress sounded like a recipe for disaster. A day’s rest meant an opportunity to restock some provisions and fix some gear. Besides, staying in one place would make it easier for Angel to find him, come nightfall. Jack stayed in the vicinity of the camp that day. He picked some berries. He cooked a passable mushroom soup. He poked the bedroll with a needle and thread to try and stop it bleeding handfuls of straw. Come nightfall, he was still alone.

@auburnlaughter

He spent the night staring into darkness until his eyes hurt, nodding off, starting awake, doing it all over again. Then it was morning again. Overruling a not-insignificant part of him that strongly suggested he lie face down on the blasted bedroll and wait for death, Jack packed up his camp and set off in the same direction as before. Now the sun is dipping behind the rusty conifers again, and Jack's back hurts, and his feet hurt, and his daughter has been missing for two days, and the ‘lying down and waiting for death’ course of action is starting to look more attractive by the— What?

@somefishycat

Backlog catch-up, continued!

Backlog catch-up session!

(in lieu of regular Hours of Becoming updates)

Try to jump into the next big project less than 12 hours after finishing the one you've been working on for 3+ years

Realize it's not working and go on a 3-hour nature hike (that ends up being so hilly, you start to low-key worry for your life and keep sending bae updates with map pins, in case you slip and roll into a ditch somewhere)

Try observing your previously-effective writing rituals, to very little result

Attempt to force words out of self while actively dealing with family drama, mental health crises and house moves

Accept the fact that writing isn't happening at the moment

Feel real guilty over the fact that writing isn't happening at the moment

Repeat 4-6 for two months straight

Start to get sad due to lack of writing

Seek advice from fellow creatives

As per advice received as a result of 9, instead of trying to force more words out of self, perform introspection on self to examine barriers to writing and desired state of writing

Arrive at conclusion that main feelings in the way of writing are: a) guilt for not writing; b) fear of not being good enough; c) a cycle of (b) exacerbating (a)

Spend a solid week working through those feelings via journaling and talking to trusted peeps; manage to park the feelings to the side

Schedule three writing dates with self in the course of a week, with no duration or wordcount requirement; showing up to think or re-read old work totally counts

Twist own arm to make the above dates happen, roughly 30 minutes at a time; end up writing a little

Try to do it again next week

Fail to write anything in the following week due to mental health

Try to do it again the next week

Manage one writing session; end up scribbling some words down sneakily while a video game runs in the background, to fool brain into thinking you're not really writing

Fight the guilt over writing fic instead of the original novel

Spend a day working through the guilt via journaling and talking to trusted peeps; manage to park the guilt to the side

Try to do it again next week

Fight brain and life tooth and nail, but manage to sit self down to write three times; end up writing a little more than before

Thank you for the ask! Here are some words.

Thank youuuu! Here's some Rowan:

Thank you! And thank you for the ask! Here are some words.

Disclaimer: you may have different idea of what each of the three entails. But in my editing services, this is what you can expect from each tier.

Below is a snippet of my own writing (with errors introduced for the sake of this experiment), subjected to proofreading, copy editing, and line editing, respectively. This way, you can decide what level of involvement your manuscript needs.

Original:

Proofreading:

As you can see, I fixed punctuation, grammar and formatting errors, pointed out an erroneous word choice, and flagged a possible continuity error. Beyond that, the text remains untouched. If you don't want any (and I mean ANY) interference with your writing style, this one's for you.

Copy editing:

This time around, in addition to the proofreading pass, I tightened a few sentences, suggested a more evocative word choice, and pointed out where the scene's flow could be made clearer. If you're looking for a light-touch edit, that's the one.

Line editing:

...Okay, I lied. I actually have several!

Fellow autistic/ADHD/AuDHD writers: have you ever worked with an editor? (Asking for a friend. The friend is me. The friend is neurodivergent. The friend is also an editor.)

If you've worked with an editor:

Do you know (or got the vibe) if your editor was neurotypical or neurodivergent?

Did you communicate your own neurodivergency status?

Did you ask for accommodations / request to work and/or communicate in a specific manner?

Was there any aspect of working with an editor that was particularly difficult / stressful to deal with because of your neurodivergency and/or associated emotional baggage?

If you haven't:

What would make it easier for you to work with an editor? In terms of communication styles, scheduling, managing rejection sensitivity, etc?

Would you be willing to request any such accommodations when working with an editor?

Would you make use of such accommodations if they were offered upfront (at no extra cost)?