rosie writes stuff

Tagged by my dear friend @sleepy-night-child! 

What to expect from my story:

Slow burn enemies-to-friends (Callie/Simon)

Slow burn enemies-to-??? (Callie/Riley)

Slow burn found family

SLOW BURN EVERYTHING THAT’S WHY THE SHIT IS SO LONG

Fluff and angst in (I think?) equal measure

Four drastically different POVs

Magic

Swearing (almost entirely by Callie)

Big castle with many crackling fireplaces, cozy couches and tucked-away alcoves

Tons of snow

Queer characters and characters of color 

Unreliable narrators (mainly Callie, but they all have their moments)

A museum heist

A prison break

Genetics

Magic fights

A dumpster fire MC

A very nice man

A sweet nerdy child

A tightly-wound stone-cold control freak

Murder

Wall sconces

Ghosts

Cults

Romantic relationships relegated entirely to side plots

Telekinesis

Telepathy

Spells

Characters making poor decisions

Characters learning about themselves and how to be better

One doozy of an ending.

(If I do say so myself.)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line, then tag some of your favourite authors!

Tagged by @authorlaurawinter, thank you my dear!

So, I only have one (1) story - haha. So what I will do here is post the first line of each of the four parts that made up my first draft, excluding the prologue.

Part I - Callie POV

She hadn’t meant to do it. It was an accident.

Part 2 - Simon POV

His ability made being around babies really weird.

Part 3 - Callie POV 🏆favorite! 🏆

This is what rock bottom looked like: a cushy turret room at the top of a castle.

Stupid, right?

Part 4 - Callie POV

Spending a year as mental roommates with a good person had broken her of her self-destructive habits, like wearing a shock collar that did not hurt.

HA. I love how you know my question-dodging tactics well enough to aggressively specify that I only get one.

I’m….yeah I’m still gonna break the rules lol.

There’s two in particular in Whumping the Whumpers that I would GLADLY punch in the face. But you haven’t met them yet so I have to default to someone you know…I’d for sure punch Elias. What a bitch.

.

Okay, PLEASE keep this going. I desperately want to know what character of mine you’d punch in the face, or - even better - which of YOURS you’d punch in the face if you had the option.

Can….can I start a tag game with this??? I’m doing it. This is amazing.

Which of your characters would you punch in the face?

I have plenty who deserve it more, but I’d have to go with Loiral. He’s just so punchable.

@wildfaewhump rich boy Peyton Montgomery and Valerian Ainsworth.

@siren-of-agony Director

And @painful-pooch Levi

I would, of course, also like to punch the Director.

I would also rly like to punch @dont-touch-my-soup’s Oryn as well.

I’d RLY love to punch @for-the-love-of-angst’s Malcom

I’d prob live to regret them all :D

Of my own… Miss Penthorne . Specifically because while you could definitely argue the invader, for example, is more heinous, that man has taken a spear to the shoulder before. A punch would be nothing. Where it would have more of an impact on her. 

I mean, no surprises when I say @ashintheairlikesnow ‘s Owen. 

@whumpinggrounds One Punch for each of T’s creators

@wolfeyedwitch ‘s Command

🤜💥Adrian Prentice. Headmaster of Lyonall school. Deserves to be punched because he’s a racist.

🤜💥Gabriel Ray. Callie’s dad. Deserves to be punched because he was a shitty dad. @itsthenovelteafactor knows!!!

🤜💥Nauxial. Deserves to punched for SO many reasons, even though I kinda love him anyways.

🤜💥Camilla Price. Deserves to punched because she’s just a vacuous bully who only feels good about herself when she’s chipping away at other people. A spewing fount of bad vibes. Banal, pervasive negativity. Someone who you spend five minutes with and walk away feeling like you just ingested trace amounts of poison.

make your characters have inaccurate perceptions of themselves. your character might think they’re selfish but at every opportunity they act selfless. we all have blind spots so give these to your characters too! (this works best with first person pov but I’m sure you can do it in third.)

make a character’s personality trait helpful sometimes and harmful other times. impulsivity that makes them act quickly in high-stress situations which is great but it also sometimes results in the wrong choices.

make an excel/google sheets doc for your outline. for mine i have the chapter number, the date, the character pov (since mine is first person and switches between 5 characters), a summary column, and a continuity column. my story takes place in one setting but most stories have multiple locations, so you could include a column for that, the time of day, even the moon phase (one of my wips is from the perspective of animals so that is super important for that story).

you can also use excel/sheets for keeping track of your conlang. for my animal wip i have constructed a language called Vannro and I have 300 some-odd entries into my excel doc. i have columns for the Vannro word, the English translation, etymology and derived words (for some), the part of speech, and the subject. you can easily sort in alphabetical either in English or your conlang, and also sort by excluding all entries that aren’t under the subject “derogatory” or “places” etc. I always forget what my “be” verbs are so I sort through the part of speech column so I can find “is” “was” “are” etc.

use perspective to create tension for your reader. for example, in The Blackwater Anomaly in a chapter from Rainer’s pov, we experience his nightmare, however in a later chapter from Holly’s pov, when she asks him directly, he lies and says he hasn’t experienced any nightmares. Holly doesn’t know he is lying but the audience does. I also have characters who do not get chapters from their perspective, who may or may not be lying, and so both the audience and the characters experience that anxiety and uncertainty together.

consider using deep pov. you can read some articles about it but essentially you make the audience experience the story at the same time as the character and it makes your narration more active. this can also be done in third person. this has a lot to do with “show don’t tell” (although sometimes its better to just tell). remove some “telling” words like “thought/felt/saw” and just get directly into what’s happening. instead of “Ava saw a shadow fall across her shoulder” make it “a shadow fell across her shoulder”. your reader will know who you’re talking about. this even jumps into the unreliable narrator when you change “I felt like Isaiah was blowing me off” to “Isaiah blew me off.” the former has room for doubt and makes your character seem weaker. if she thinks she’s being blown off and she’s pissed about it, make her say that! you have to make the audience believe it’s true, it makes them more invested in the character’s experiences and emotions. and then if they later find out Isaiah wasn’t really blowing them off, there was an emergency or something, both the character and the audience can feel regretful together over misreading the situation and being pissed at Isaiah. if you leave room for doubt, then your reader will just feel unsurprised during the reveal and frustrated at your character for being stupid up until then.

I was tagged by @ashen-crest! I’ll do this one for Dragonsong and a separate Hurricane edition :) 

rules: list five or more cute or wholesome facts about your WIP, either events that happen or worldbuilding details or the like! then tag some people you’d like to see do the tag game, too! 

1: Enya rides people’s shoulders like a cat. she likes doing this to Isi and Robin in particular: Isi has broad shoulders and is steady and difficult to tip. Robin is her best human friend, but he’s skinnier and also less stable, so sometimes this arrangement doesn’t work very well. 

2: Jasper and Henry met because Henry as a trainee knight was on the scrawny and bookish side, and some twerps had something to say about it. Jasper doesn’t like bullies — it’s a key trait that carries him through the story — and likewise had something to say in return. (then Henry went to find Jasper to say thank you, found him training shirtless, and bluescreened) 

3: Sierra and Holly met in prison and broke out together. the embodiment of BE GAY DO CRIMES. (also “partners in crime”, or as I have called them to another friend, “crime girlfriends”) 

4: Ebele and Cole met in a much more chill way. Ebele worked in the local library when Cole moved in (she dreamed of becoming an archivist); she helped him learn to control his magic, and he could have listened to her ramble about whatever she was researching for hours. (he still would. he loves his nerdy wife.) 

5: there are two innkeepers, Baya and Althea, that Isi runs into at different points. they are, in fact, sisters. they’re both sunshiney, though with a backbone, and just all around great people. 

I’ve been tagged by the prodigious @winterandwords to share first and last lines, and I will be sharing the first and last lines of this scene that has been breaking my will for weeks, a.k.a. the one where Simon literally walks from one part of the castle to another. 

Simon POV

First: 

The same sun that saturated the creosote bushes surrounding Bellemont Academy was somehow the same sun filtering through the tall windows of the corridors of Delaney, bouncing off the snow and pouring in clean, cool, white light.

Last: 

If he moved on too quickly after that, they’d think he was placating them. Kids almost always knew, even when they didn’t say so, and so he let the statement breathe for a moment, allowing the silence to affirm his sincerity before asking if any of them had been to the newly remodeled observatory.

I actually like both of these! It’s just all the god damn shit in between that is killing me. 🥳

I was tagged by @diphthongsfordays! thank you Diphthong :) 

my words are peace, press, pile, promise, poor/pour 

peace (Dragonsong) (mmm alliteration) 

“A sword tempered in dragon fire is a sword fit for a queen,” said Fintan, lowering his head back to the ground. 

“I am not a queen,” she said matter-of-factly. And neither do I want to be. 

“A general, then. You talk of needing force to bring change. Your friends follow you. Strangers rally behind you.” 

Isi turned the sword over. She hadn’t thought about being a leader that way. But perhaps a military solution was needed. Perhaps she would need to lead an army of sorts. 

But what if there was a chance for peace still? Was this really the solution: a course that would leave casualties and corpses behind? 

Nonetheless, Fintan was right. She had already begun to lead. 

press + pile (Dragonsong) (what did happen to Robin’s leg I wonder…) 

Robin hesitated, then said, “No.” He was silent for a moment before raising his eyes to meet Isi’s. There was an urgency there she hadn’t expected. “But Isi, you don’t understand. I—I never told you what happened to my leg.” 

Isi said nothing, leaving him the space to elaborate. She’d thought she’d known; she’d been the one to find him, legs pinned by a pile of ceiling stones, crying out for help. She hadn’t asked about the exact cause, but it hadn’t seemed relevant. She’d been focused on reassuring him, trying to distract him from the pressure and the pain, until more help arrived to dig him out. 

promise (Lord of the Rings fic) (I’ve posted this before, but I love it sm. argument scenes are hard but when they work they’re SO GOOD) 

She whirled to face him, dress swishing. “Then I shall go, and you need not worry about me. It seems I was right to leave.” Then she stalked past him towards the door. 

Before she could reach it, he said, “You promised to protect her.” His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried years and years of anger in it. 

She froze and opened her mouth to speak, but the words stuck in her throat. She wanted to explain what had happened, that she had tried her best that day. That she knew she had made that promise, and she knew she had failed in it, but that she missed their mother too. That she wished she could bring her back. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back. 

A louder part of her mind wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to hurt the way she was hurting, the way his words hurt her. 

Silence had fallen in the room, so quiet the whispering rush of distant river water carried to her ears. She lifted her chin, still gazing into the night beyond the door. “And you once promised you would always love me.” The sole of a soft boot shuffled on the floor. Her dress hem rustled once again, quieter this time, when she took another step. Softly, she said, “It seems neither of us are very good at keeping our word.” 

And left. 

poor (Hurricane) (Aella having a bad time part 1) 

Aella shivered. It was cold down here without a jacket. Not that she wasn’t used to the Hurricane’s lower decks, but usually there were others around to lend a jacket, or tolerate her hugs. She wrapped her arms around herself, but it was a poor substitute for the warmth and security of Tempest’s embrace. 

The hard floor began to dig into her and she shifted position. Pain shot through her back and she almost leapt to her feet. Her chains jingled with the movement. In an attempt to stave off an accompanying spike of panic, she told herself, She’s coming for me. 

But would they come? Cai had firmly advocated turning back in case someone got hurt and, damn it all, she’d been right. Theo had gotten hurt, and she had too. Cai was right, and maybe that was what would convince the others to stop. 

No. Ma’s coming for me and it’s going to be alright. 

pour (Hurricane) (Aella having a bad time part 2. but she’s gonna get lots of comfort later, don’t worry.) 

She patted her belt, but her pistol wasn’t there. It had probably gone flying down the next flight of stairs, but if she took even one step in that direction, she wasn’t sure she’d ever turn back. Ahead of her, higher up the stairs, guttering torchlight glinted off her sword and dagger. That would be enough. It had to be. 

She set her foot on the first step. Her ankle spasmed beneath her. She placed a hand on the wall and steadied herself before putting her full weight on her foot. It ached, but it held. 

She took another step, acutely aware of the wobble of her ankle. But still it held. Her cracked ribs throbbed. She gasped and snatched for the banister. The wave of pain passed and she lifted herself to the next stair, her feet a little steadier. She took several shallow breaths, then let go of the railing and straightened up. 

Another step. Sweat poured down her scraped skin, leaving stinging pain in its wake. She frowned in pain, stretching the cut on her eyebrow; warm blood trickled from it. With the shoulder of her shirt she wiped her eye and kept going. 

thank you @klywrites @diphthongsfordays and @ashen-crest! 

have not been working on my Lord of the Rings fic lately, sorry Diphthong, uni happened. but I have got a uni project and some sneaky Dragonsong backstory, and I’ll give you a bit of each of those 

uni short fiction project (this is, in fact, the opening section): 

There is a cool breeze tonight. Her skin prickles with gooseflesh. Clouds of white dust rise and cling to her clothes as she walks. Her cloak billows behind her, a rippling black swirl. Graffiti lines these collapsing walls; when she turns the corner in six steps, on her left there will be a sparrow swooping as though ready to break free from its painted cage and fly away into the night. 

At dusk, the sparrow is just a dark outline on pale brick. She trails her fingers around its familiar shape. The wall steals the warmth from her skin. A million tiny bumps line its surface, gooseflesh mirroring hers. 

The hair on the back of her neck stands up. Something is trying to make its way here. People call this place haunted, tell hushed tales of ghosts and strange shapes that can only be seen from the corner of the eye. Others laugh and call them just stories. But haunted is the wrong word for it, just as ghost is the wrong word for her. 

As the sensation grows stronger, she fades. 

Dragonsong backstory shenanigans: 

“Aren’t you—aren’t you meant to take this arrow out of me or something?” 

“If you want to bleed out in a sewer, be my guest.” 

Sierra’s head lolled forward; panic gripped Holly’s chest for a moment until she realised Sierra was just looking down. “Lot of blood already,” she mumbled. 

Holly gritted out, “Fortunately, you have more.” She stumbled another few steps, turning over the logic in her head. Sierra was right: there was already more blood on her shirt than Holly would like to deal with, and she was trying not to think too hard about that. The sodden fabric clung to Sierra’s stomach, the liquid almost black in the dim light. “Ideally, I would take the arrow out, because it could get infected. But I don’t know how much it will bleed, and I have nothing to stop it. The arrow’s keeping the blood inside you.” 

“I like my blood inside me.” Sierra giggled. The sound echoed off the walls. 

Delirium. Oh dear. 

I have been tagged by @rosiewritesandrambles! thank you! 

my words are smoke, tart, crunch, fossil 

smoke (Hurricane) 

It took Cai only a few minutes to set the powder and the charge. She wasn’t the Master Gunner for nothing, after all. The other three took cover behind whatever they could find. Cai joined Tempest behind a support pillar, counting under her breath. “One, two, three…” 

She counted “eight” just as a loud crack sounded somewhere above them. Tempest flinched, hoping the deck wasn’t about to collapse on them. That had never been the plan. 

“Nine…” continued Cai. “Ten.” 

The gunpowder went off with a mighty concussion. Tempest’s vision went white and for a second she worried she’d been blinded, again, but soon the smoke cleared and she could see once more. Her ears rang. 

“That should distract them,” said Marisa with satisfaction. 

tart 

crunch (Hurricane) (hey, two Cai excerpts! nice!) 

As she’d promised, Tempest sat by Theo while Aria slept. There wasn’t much to see or do, which she supposed was a good thing. Aria had fallen onto her bedroll two hours ago and not moved since. 

Tiny waves beat at the beach. A small stick floated in, then was pulled back by the undertow. A returning wave brought it a little closer, beginning the cycle once again. Their attempts to catch Anvindr felt similarly useless. They’d been so close to catching him, less than a day behind him, and he’d slipped away again. The bastard. 

A footstep crunched on the sand nearby. Tempest lifted her eyes from the stick to see Cai. “If you were going to say I told you so, I think I know that already.” 

Cai said nothing. 

Tempest put her head in one hand. “I can’t turn back now, Cai. I won’t.” 

“I wasn’t going to ask you to,” said Cai quietly. “No one would.” 

fossil 

bonus smoke (Dragonsong) 

Isi swallowed. “I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely truthful with you. I know what happened to Bedelia, and I didn’t tell you.” She hesitated. Saying it would make it irreparably true. When she spoke again, her voice came out barely a whisper. “Bedelia is dead. By my hand.” She hadn’t stayed her hand when she should have. She’d listened to her orders, not to her compassion. 

Coils of smoke rose from Fintan’s nostrils, and a rumbling growl began at the back of his throat. Isi squared her shoulders. Fintan was right to be angry; she would face whatever he did, knowing she had at least been honest. 

“Why?” The ground shook again. 

bonus crunch (Dragonsong) (… whoops) 

When he swung at her again, she retreated. One step, then two, keeping half an eye on the broken bit of ground. He wasn’t quite there; they both had long arms. She backed up another step. 

His boot came down with a grating crunch. A small chunk of stone fell away underneath, spinning out into nothingness. His gaze dropped to his feet. His eyes widened. One arm flailed. 

The stonework crumbled and he dropped. The wind snatched his gasp away. Isi clapped her free hand over her mouth. No. No. That wasn’t what she’d meant to do. She’d just meant to throw him off [his rhythm], not send him falling to his— 

Thanks for the tag, lovely friend @winterandwords!!! Here’s the latest few lines from very, very early on in draft #2!

Callie POV

So the kid was a dingbat.

That was alright. Made things easy.

Callie was wearing her now and not like a glamour, either - not a flimsy flickering curtain of magic that’d disintegrate upon scrutiny but a genuine molecular makeover. She was stumpy and soft and she had poor eyesight and even poorer magic. An Eclectic’s magic, weak, squishy.

She’d change back once the orblex was in her hands and not a moment sooner.

General

1. How many times have you done NaNo? 2. How did you get into it? 3. How much planning do you have done? 4. Any writing buddies? 5. What’s your personal goal?

Plot

6. What genre are you writing? 7. Do you have a title yet? 8. Any inspirations? 9. When did you come up with the idea? 10. Any romance sub-plots?

Character

OMG after OCtober I almost forgot how tag games work, lol. Tagging @pertinax–loculos, @rosiewritesandrambles, @drippingmoon, @winterandwords and @dontjudgemeimawriter with: grow, create, wait, and hold :)

sturdy

Simon POV

The space within was bright and surprisingly large - tall windows revealed the snow-capped mountains against a grey sky. Bookshelves filled the space between them, and an intimidating distance away, beneath a vaulted ceiling, stood Dorian Page.

“Simon Bennett,” he greeted him, and motioned towards the two chairs that sat in front of his desk as the messenger took his leave. “Please.”

He was guarding his thoughts, but they still had a shape; sturdy, like a leather-bound book. Dusty. His facial hair was neatly groomed and he wore a fine, tailored suit, even though he was in his own quarters.

“It’s come to my attention you’re leaving Delaney,” he stated, sitting opposite Simon.

He nodded.

“Are you aware of the scope of what’s happened here?”

“Scope?” He swallowed. “My best friend is dead.”

Dorian Page looked on expectantly. Did there need to be any more than that?

[Passing my reverse Bechdel test here, two dudes talking to each other about something that isn’t Callie 😂Although after this is does turn into talking about Callie lol]

spike

Simon POV

“Simon,” Dig’s voice said, pulling him to the cold surface, “look at me.”

He did - and beyond him, people in black clothes and shining badges filing in, pulling Callie to her feet.

“No,” he said, and Dig misunderstood, took Simon’s face in his hands, forced him to look away from Callie, at him instead.

“Gods, Simon, what did you do?”

“Don’t let them take her,” he gasped, but the words weighed a ton, tumbled out sloppy. “They can’t take her, wait-”

“Hey, they have to, that’s why they’re here, focus.”

Callie disappeared from his view behind more bodies than he could count; he caught her tear-stained face over somebody’s shoulder before she was pulled from the room, carried away, but still lodged in him like a spike through his brain.

[Reverse Bechdel test fail, two dudes talking about Callie 😂]

warm

Riley POV

Callie exhaled a little; nodded, swallowed, and looked down at the blade in front of her. She considered it for a moment, and picked it up gently. 

Riley waited, holding her breath. All this so they could get here and Callie could open the orblex, the magic within this seemingly ordinary object. She watched as Callie turned it over, and then smoothed her hand over the hilt.

“Is it working?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

Callie smirked. “I’m warming it up. You can’t just grab onto it and yank; you have to work it a little before it’ll respond, you know.”

She swallowed, blinked hard, and set an even expression on her last nerve. Any indication of irritation would only spurn Callie on further.

soft

Callie POV

[Putting this one under a cut; TW for childbirth described in a slightly disturbing way and general intense emotion]

1. Most people that submit to literary journals are cis white men. We know this because our journal has an anonymous survey about demographics for people that submit.

2. Most things that get submitted to the creative non fiction section are on the level of middle school “What I did over the summer” essays.

There is so much work from marginalized narratives in litmags these days — people lament there is no representation in media, but that disregards the progress and diversity of the works of editors and writers who help make these litmags possible. 

There is representation, and it is flourishing. They are waiting to be read. 

The Lumiere Review compiles a list of submission opportunities every month, and it are always very useful: 

https://lumierereview.com/sub-sep-oct-2021

List of Litmags that Specifically Look for Work from Marginalized Creators or is Run by Marginalized Creators:

Warning Lines: https://warninglines.com/

With Confetti: https://with-confetti.com/

Giving Room Magazine: http://www.givingroommag.com/

The Bitchin’ Kitsch: https://www.talbot-heindl.com/

Tealight Press: https://www.tealightpress.com/

Tipping the Scales: https://www.tippingthescalesjournal.co.uk/

The Winnow Magazine: https://www.thewinnowmagazine.com/

perhappened: https://www.perhappened.com/

AZE Journal: https://azejournal.com/

Honeyfire Lit: https://honeyfirelit.com/

and so much more!!

(And even if some litmags’ mission statement isn’t specifically for marginalized creators, they will always welcome these narratives.)

I was tagged by @zmlorenz and also @talesofsorrowandofruin! thank you! 

this is from my Lord of the Rings fic. the siblings are fighting again, and Thalia is losing her patience. 

“The ball was six days ago,” Legolas cut in from the other side of the fire. [context: Artemis said “a little less than a week”, he’s correcting her] 

Artemis’s grip on the arrow in her hand tightened for a moment, then relaxed. “I know that. Did you want me to calculate to the hour how long it has been? Because if you want that, you ought to do it yourself.” She scowled. “I know that date for the same reason you do. Why would you assume I do not?” 

“Because if not for you, I would still have her.” 

Artemis shot to her feet. Faint moonlight glinted off a dagger in her hand that had not been there before. “Say that to my face. I dare you. I dare you.” 

He said nothing, but his eyes warily followed the knife. 

“You behave as though I do not miss her too. Why are you so self-absorbed that you think only you were hurt by this?” 

“I did not say you were not hurt.” 

The dagger stuck into the ground beside him, quivering. Artemis’s hand shook. 

“Both of you,” Thalia cut in, “need to listen. Either talk to each other properly, and sort this out, or keep it to yourselves!” She didn’t realise her voice had risen until silence fell again, and the words echoed. 

All the colour drained from the siblings’ faces. It might have been funny had Thalia not been shaking in her boots. She had just shouted at the prince of Mirkwood and his sister.

I do want to refine this… but it’s fun to watch things come to a head. (the next conversation between Artemis and Thalia is a good time. it will take Artemis and Legolas a bit longer to get it together)