Ollo! I’m Savvy (she/her, or they/them, I’m not attached to any really). I am an autistic aroace writer in my mid-20s. My other blog is @elritze, which you may see lurking around reblogging art or memes.
My WIP is The Glass Lament, the first book in a high fantasy series. The main characters are neurodivergent and queer with themes of identity and self-acceptance (longer blurb below).
My project masterpost is here. You can find any writing I post under the tag #savvy's snippets. I'll get a wiki up at some point but for now, worldbuilding info will go under the tag #the glass lament.
About me: I’m a huge nerd, I love reading fantasy/sci-fi and playing videogames. I'm a fan of Witch Hat Atelier, Hollow Knight, Hermitcraft, The Locked Tomb, the Murderbot Diaries, and much more. I mostly listen to orchestral movie and game soundtracks. I also have two parrots, Beedle the conure and Ferb the cockatiel. I am currently devouring every writing by James Baldwin.
Blurb-ish for my WIP, The Glass Lament:
Zara never wanted to fight. Not until the Nemesi, whose fanatic regime tried to conquer her homeland a century ago, return without warning and raid her village. Her oath of vengeance drives her away from her people to join the army, but before she can reach the front lines her patrol receives a mysterious new order.
Now, against her wishes, Zara finds herself escorting a Dracai'seng – one of the last of a legendary race – across Lopenya on a fateful mission. Along the way, she will face hungry spirits and winged bandits, and discover secrets about Lopenya, the Dracai’seng, the war with the Nemesi… and perhaps even herself.
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I have zero interest in the discourse over audiobooks versus physically reading books on paper. Both have their merits. Engaging with either is a far more beneficial thing than starting pointless fights on the internet.
People seem to have forgotten how stories began, or that we still have oral tales taught throughout the world. Writing things down is fairly new, people used to hold epics in their skull and recite them with gravitas to crowds or in hushed and dramatic whispers to children.
The idea that listening isn't reading is insane to me.
My memory doesn't work well with spoken words if I'm even a little distracted. I need to see the words to retain the information, or I have to make the audio my sole focus, which means if I'm going to listen to a story (audiobook, podcast, video, doesn't matter) I have to focus entirely on it. It's the same as sitting down to read a book for me.
Which is where I think the issue lies?
Here's one reader who takes time out of their day to sit and read, it is an event, it is special.
Here's another who listens to their book while doing chores or running errands, it is not an event on its own it is mulitasking.
Both are retaining the story, both enjoying the story.
One of them is jealous.
I know I am, but it's not their fault so I'm not rampaging about it.
I've decided that it's been far, far too long since I last did any actual prose, and that since I won't actually be getting a long break from work for a while I might as well try and get some writing done right now. I've been sitting on the bones of this scene for a month almost, but as usual it took a lot more to turn it into an actual 'story'. It's finally given me a chance to try and depict my 'magic system', such as it is, as well as the 'real' ugly, terrifying, painful horror of war.
TW: graphic descriptions of combat injuries, blood, wounds, and death. Especially an attempt to describe a Sucking Chest Wound, which is particularly unpleasant and also something you absolutely should not look up if blood makes you uncomfortable.
Monier fell to his knees beside the screaming man, cutting a hole through his shirt to expose the ragged holes where shrapnel had shredded his pale skin, now stained dark with blood. Ignoring the endless screams, he put down his scissors and took a pair of silver prongs from his kit bag and began to work, willing every mote of his limited magical skill to the task. His eyes, in their second sight, peered into the underlay and saw the hard, cold lumps buried in the still living flesh. Monier put the silver rods into the man's wounds, crushing him to the ground as he writhed in pain, and they anchored and focused the working of his will as he fixed the metal shards in an ethereal grip and pulled. The man, his high voice screaming, thrashed madly as the shrapnel tore backwards through the channels it had cut and fell to the ground. He cast again. The wound was burned clean in a flash of power that closed blood vessels and knitted flesh just enough to keep together, before Monier pulled back, gasping hungrily for air. His aide got gauze and bandages around the man's torso, and he was taken away. Even as his stunned senses returned to him, the next blood soaked stretcher was carried in by the shivering orderlies and dropped, screaming, in the vacant space on the floor.
Stunned, Monier kneeled and tried to gather his wits as the body's ballistic plate was pulled away and his shirt cut apart. This one wasn't screaming, the young and pale face slack, and dark blood like the dying light of day poured in pulses from a gaping hole in a chest that showed raw flesh and made a wet hiss with every failing breath from a collapsing lung. Instantly, his aide kneeled across from him and began compressing the man's chest in steady beats. Monier tried to draw out the blood from the drowned chest and stem its flow, but the flood was too much; he tried to mend the ragged hole in his lung, but its frenzied spasms tore his delicate work apart like tissue, wasted; and then he knew, with a terrifying certainty, that his will was spent, that he'd already used too much and his charges would pay for it, and all he could work with now was his hands.
He wiped away dark blood from the entry wound, covered it with a plastic dressing, and sealed it with tape on three sides, leaving a gap for trapped blood and air to gush out. But the body hadn't stirred, for all his exhausted aide's efforts. With the dregs of his strength Monier peered through the underlay at the fading wisps of its spirit. He grasped for it, fighting to hold it in a deathly grip, but it was going as surely as the body was failing. Monier said a silent prayer for the man's immortal soul as the force of the man's life slipped from its body, even as he dragged himself back into the real to save himself from being pulled with it.
This is wicked cool! I especially like the words used to describe the wound cauterizing, and the concept of those metal rods channeling the magic, if I understood their purpose correctly.
I've decided that it's been far, far too long since I last did any actual prose, and that since I won't actually be getting a long break from work for a while I might as well try and get some writing done right now. I've been sitting on the bones of this scene for a month almost, but as usual it took a lot more to turn it into an actual 'story'. It's finally given me a chance to try and depict my 'magic system', such as it is, as well as the 'real' ugly, terrifying, painful horror of war.
TW: graphic descriptions of combat injuries, blood, wounds, and death. Especially an attempt to describe a Sucking Chest Wound, which is particularly unpleasant and also something you absolutely should not look up if blood makes you uncomfortable.
Monier fell to his knees beside the screaming man, cutting a hole through his shirt to expose the ragged holes where shrapnel had shredded his pale skin, now stained dark with blood. Ignoring the endless screams, he put down his scissors and took a pair of silver prongs from his kit bag and began to work, willing every mote of his limited magical skill to the task. His eyes, in their second sight, peered into the underlay and saw the hard, cold lumps buried in the still living flesh. Monier put the silver rods into the man's wounds, crushing him to the ground as he writhed in pain, and they anchored and focused the working of his will as he fixed the metal shards in an ethereal grip and pulled. The man, his high voice screaming, thrashed madly as the shrapnel tore backwards through the channels it had cut and fell to the ground. He cast again. The wound was burned clean in a flash of power that closed blood vessels and knitted flesh just enough to keep together, before Monier pulled back, gasping hungrily for air. His aide got gauze and bandages around the man's torso, and he was taken away. Even as his stunned senses returned to him, the next blood soaked stretcher was carried in by the shivering orderlies and dropped, screaming, in the vacant space on the floor.
Stunned, Monier kneeled and tried to gather his wits as the body's ballistic plate was pulled away and his shirt cut apart. This one wasn't screaming, the young and pale face slack, and dark blood like the dying light of day poured in pulses from a gaping hole in a chest that showed raw flesh and made a wet hiss with every failing breath from a collapsing lung. Instantly, his aide kneeled across from him and began compressing the man's chest in steady beats. Monier tried to draw out the blood from the drowned chest and stem its flow, but the flood was too much; he tried to mend the ragged hole in his lung, but its frenzied spasms tore his delicate work apart like tissue, wasted; and then he knew, with a terrifying certainty, that his will was spent, that he'd already used too much and his charges would pay for it, and all he could work with now was his hands.
He wiped away dark blood from the entry wound, covered it with a plastic dressing, and sealed it with tape on three sides, leaving a gap for trapped blood and air to gush out. But the body hadn't stirred, for all his exhausted aide's efforts. With the dregs of his strength Monier peered through the underlay at the fading wisps of its spirit. He grasped for it, fighting to hold it in a deathly grip, but it was going as surely as the body was failing. Monier said a silent prayer for the man's immortal soul as the force of the man's life slipped from its body, even as he dragged himself back into the real to save himself from being pulled with it.
Also, as someone with family members in medical fields, your character needs a triage system. Triage systems prescribe the exact wounds that can be even worked on, and the limit someone is allowed to go to so as to save resources for the next wounded. It would be super cool to see a magical triage system set up. In this situation, the system might even forbid removing the bullet fragments in the field, and instead prioritize just stopping the bleeding. Once the wounded is transported to a safer/better equipped hospital then the fragments could be removed.
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Hey! Just wrapped up an article for World Anvil Summercamp, and decided to share it here. Boy it's been a while since I posted some full length worldbuilding, but it's been nice getting to do some of it during this week of leave.
The De Pury-class was a series of large frigate of the Republic of Nouvoloire's Marine Republicaine, or Republican Navy. The eight ships of the class were named in honour of the eight household knights of Antoine d'Polanger, founder of the Goilac Empire and unifier of the Gollandiac lands, earning the type the collective nickname of 'les chevaliers'. With the first ship of the class commissioned in 146, the De Purys would be the first new type of major warship the MR would receive ever since the declaration of the Republic of Nouvoloire under its democratic government in 129, which inaugurated its rule with a moratorium on new naval construction. As highly capable vessels incorporating modern systems and the lessons learned in the Yunxi War to great effect, the De-Purys gave the MR a keen qualitative edge over other navies in the region, and were regarded as genuine peers to all but the most modern surface combatants in its weight class in the United Commonwealth Navy.
Development And Disagreement
With the fall of democratic rule and the rise of La Clique, many of the MR's leading minds were eager to make up for lost time. Years of neglect under a pacifist government had left the fleet in a state of disrepair, with ships run ragged from lifetime extension programmes to keep up numbers in the absence of new builds. Now, with a glut of new funding from a regime that saw a potent navy as a vital tool for its expansionist designs over the region, the opportunity had come for the MR to reassert its status as the pride of the nation.
These aspirations, however, did not necessarily translate into a race to lay down as many new frigates and cruisers as the shipyards could manage. Naval leaders at every level had long divided themselves into factions based around their narrow branches of the service, with submariners, aviators, and surface sailors all competing for funding and, even more crucially, shipyard space. With the relative inferiority of submarine technology in the Republic, the fliers of the Flotte Avienne would make up the primary institutional obstacles to the surface fleet's most grandiose plans for the new class.
With the deadline for the finalisation of Naval Plan 140 fast approaching, the contest of wills between the two factions was hard fought. The MR's two rapidly aging aircraft carriers, Coudia and Autiers, were both its central symbols as well as the source of its actual striking power. The FA's leading officers thus viewed surface combatants as mere escorts for the vaunted carriers, there to protect the capital ships from submarines and any air threats that make it past their strike fighters. Their vision for the next generation of Republican frigates were vessels that were almost entirely without offensive teeth of their own, but carrying powerful sensors and either a heavy payload of air defence missiles or aeroship facilities and torpedoes to hunt adversary submarines. Resentful of this perceived slight against their clan, surface fleet officers would question the viability of relying on airpower as the only offensive tool across the fleet, especially when measured against the infamous carrier task groups of the UCN. They also noted that the small size of the fleet at large created a need for more firepower, not less, to be installed on every hull that could carry a missile battery. Arguments that the latest generation of carrier strike aircraft, to be procured jointly with the Ocrisian Empire under Project Sabre, would provide enough of a boost in striking power were rejected on the basis that the carriers could carry fewer of these larger aircraft, negating the extent of any increase in offensive strength.
Ultimately, it would be the surface officers who won the argument. Of the two frigate designs on order under NP-140, one a larger 7,500 tonne ship and other a smaller 4,000 tonne ship, they would succeed in removing the requirement put forwards by their aviator colleagues for the larger vessel to incorporate a sizable aeroship facility. Instead, it would keep its air defence capability and dedicate the freed up displacement, space, and budget to outfit the ships with a potent suite of ship-killers.
Characteristics
The most distinctive feature of the De Purys is its main armament. Installed on either side of the towering bridge superstructure are eight gargantuan angled deck launcher cells carrying the 'Tridente' supersonic antiship missiles, an Ocrisian design produced under license in the Republic. These ten metre long missiles can reach out to almost over two hundred kilometres, delivering their high explosive payloads at three times the speed of sound while skimming just above the waves to frustrate detection and interception. A twin five-inch gun turret mounted on the forecastle and eight deck launcher cells for the smaller 'Clou' antiship missiles on the fantail round out the vessels surface firepower.
As the largest class of surface combatant in the MR, the De Purys filled the role of chief air defence asset for their carrier group. A pair of twin-armed missile launchers, one between the bridge and forward turret and the other just behind the smokestack, fire 'Pavois' interceptor missiles, guided to their targets by the Fire Control and Area Search Wave Emission Sensors installed on their towering sensor mast.
While the Ocrisian Marte Tactical Management Network had been intended to be installed on the class since its inception, delays in the system's development meant the first five De Purys were completed without it installed. When present, Marte greatly improved the ship's tactical capabilities, allowing its Tridentes and Pavoises to receive targeting information from sensors on other ships and even aircraft. Indeed, the Tridente's range extended well beyond that of the ship's onboard sensors, meaning that such cooperative tactics were necessary if its weapons were to be put to their full use.
Construction
The apparent conclusion of the debate surrounding what form the MR's newest class of warship would take would not be the end of the challenges faced by the programme in getting its ships in the water. Decades of underinvestment had left the Republic's shipbuilding industry technologically backwards and much smaller than it had been in the Empire's heyday. Furthermore, this limited yard space had to be shared across the fleet's many construction programmes; of the five yards in the country that could build vessels in the eight thousand tonne range, three of them were entirely consumed with the construction of the new Mortray-class of expeditionary transports. Construction on the first pair of frigates began in 143, two years after the initial design was finalised, while the third began construction in 144 when a sixth yard, then under renovation, was ready to start work.
With the full backing of the fleet now behind the programme, the yards were pushed to work at a breakneck pace. The first ship of the class, De Pury herself, would be commissioned in early 144, with De La Morre following only two months later. Ships would be commissioned in alternating singles and pairs after that, with the last, Du Treilia, entering service in 150.
Operational Service
The De Purys would be put to work almost as soon as they were commissioned, tasked with almost continuous missions to make up for the deficiencies in quality and quantity across the fleet as a whole. De Pury and De La Morre would enter the order of battle of the Western Fleet just in time to participate in the Mutsuni Bay Crisis, which saw them rescue a convoy of Nouvoloian merchantmen en route to the Satsuga Republic and carrying a cargo of arms and munitions for local pro-Nouvoloian insurrectionists. The effect that their armament and sheer size would have on the Satsugan corvettes who had arrived to search the convoy would be noted with satisfaction by the fleet, validating their view that the warships could be a potent tool for overawing the weaker vessels of other regional navies.
De Purys would carry out similar presence missions elsewhere for the next few years, flying the flag and impressing upon the Repulic's neighbours the extent of its own strength. Their first taste of real combat would come in the Islander War of 154, where De Purys were present for every major engagement, from escorting the invasion fleet that took the Western Island of Ngaionui to the sinking of the newest of the class, De Rohan, while defending the carrier Autiers from an air launched missile strike launched from the Commonwealth carrier UCS Mystique.
Of the eight ships of the class, only five would survive to see the end of the war, and the collapse of the regime that built them.
- Ah yes, the usual. The infighting in this section is… painfully realistic.
The Tridentes sound terrifying!
”While the Ocrisian Marte Tactical Management Network had been intended to be installed on the class since its inception, delays in the system's development meant the first five De Purys were completed without it installed.”
- Can’t have development without some delays on top of the disagreement!
“Of the eight ships of the class, only five would survive to see the end of the war, and the collapse of the regime that built them.”
- At least they got shit done! I was afraid they’d turn out to be a disaster like the last construction project I’d read about.
I love reading your worldbuilding posts! The rich details and writing style feel so much like a real world’s history.
Hey! Just wrapped up an article for World Anvil Summercamp, and decided to share it here. Boy it's been a while since I posted some full length worldbuilding, but it's been nice getting to do some of it during this week of leave.
The De Pury-class was a series of large frigate of the Republic of Nouvoloire's Marine Republicaine, or Republican Navy. The eight ships of the class were named in honour of the eight household knights of Antoine d'Polanger, founder of the Goilac Empire and unifier of the Gollandiac lands, earning the type the collective nickname of 'les chevaliers'. With the first ship of the class commissioned in 146, the De Purys would be the first new type of major warship the MR would receive ever since the declaration of the Republic of Nouvoloire under its democratic government in 129, which inaugurated its rule with a moratorium on new naval construction. As highly capable vessels incorporating modern systems and the lessons learned in the Yunxi War to great effect, the De-Purys gave the MR a keen qualitative edge over other navies in the region, and were regarded as genuine peers to all but the most modern surface combatants in its weight class in the United Commonwealth Navy.
Development And Disagreement
With the fall of democratic rule and the rise of La Clique, many of the MR's leading minds were eager to make up for lost time. Years of neglect under a pacifist government had left the fleet in a state of disrepair, with ships run ragged from lifetime extension programmes to keep up numbers in the absence of new builds. Now, with a glut of new funding from a regime that saw a potent navy as a vital tool for its expansionist designs over the region, the opportunity had come for the MR to reassert its status as the pride of the nation.
These aspirations, however, did not necessarily translate into a race to lay down as many new frigates and cruisers as the shipyards could manage. Naval leaders at every level had long divided themselves into factions based around their narrow branches of the service, with submariners, aviators, and surface sailors all competing for funding and, even more crucially, shipyard space. With the relative inferiority of submarine technology in the Republic, the fliers of the Flotte Avienne would make up the primary institutional obstacles to the surface fleet's most grandiose plans for the new class.
With the deadline for the finalisation of Naval Plan 140 fast approaching, the contest of wills between the two factions was hard fought. The MR's two rapidly aging aircraft carriers, Coudia and Autiers, were both its central symbols as well as the source of its actual striking power. The FA's leading officers thus viewed surface combatants as mere escorts for the vaunted carriers, there to protect the capital ships from submarines and any air threats that make it past their strike fighters. Their vision for the next generation of Republican frigates were vessels that were almost entirely without offensive teeth of their own, but carrying powerful sensors and either a heavy payload of air defence missiles or aeroship facilities and torpedoes to hunt adversary submarines. Resentful of this perceived slight against their clan, surface fleet officers would question the viability of relying on airpower as the only offensive tool across the fleet, especially when measured against the infamous carrier task groups of the UCN. They also noted that the small size of the fleet at large created a need for more firepower, not less, to be installed on every hull that could carry a missile battery. Arguments that the latest generation of carrier strike aircraft, to be procured jointly with the Ocrisian Empire under Project Sabre, would provide enough of a boost in striking power were rejected on the basis that the carriers could carry fewer of these larger aircraft, negating the extent of any increase in offensive strength.
Ultimately, it would be the surface officers who won the argument. Of the two frigate designs on order under NP-140, one a larger 7,500 tonne ship and other a smaller 4,000 tonne ship, they would succeed in removing the requirement put forwards by their aviator colleagues for the larger vessel to incorporate a sizable aeroship facility. Instead, it would keep its air defence capability and dedicate the freed up displacement, space, and budget to outfit the ships with a potent suite of ship-killers.
Characteristics
The most distinctive feature of the De Purys is its main armament. Installed on either side of the towering bridge superstructure are eight gargantuan angled deck launcher cells carrying the 'Tridente' supersonic antiship missiles, an Ocrisian design produced under license in the Republic. These ten metre long missiles can reach out to almost over two hundred kilometres, delivering their high explosive payloads at three times the speed of sound while skimming just above the waves to frustrate detection and interception. A twin five-inch gun turret mounted on the forecastle and eight deck launcher cells for the smaller 'Clou' antiship missiles on the fantail round out the vessels surface firepower.
As the largest class of surface combatant in the MR, the De Purys filled the role of chief air defence asset for their carrier group. A pair of twin-armed missile launchers, one between the bridge and forward turret and the other just behind the smokestack, fire 'Pavois' interceptor missiles, guided to their targets by the Fire Control and Area Search Wave Emission Sensors installed on their towering sensor mast.
While the Ocrisian Marte Tactical Management Network had been intended to be installed on the class since its inception, delays in the system's development meant the first five De Purys were completed without it installed. When present, Marte greatly improved the ship's tactical capabilities, allowing its Tridentes and Pavoises to receive targeting information from sensors on other ships and even aircraft. Indeed, the Tridente's range extended well beyond that of the ship's onboard sensors, meaning that such cooperative tactics were necessary if its weapons were to be put to their full use.
Construction
The apparent conclusion of the debate surrounding what form the MR's newest class of warship would take would not be the end of the challenges faced by the programme in getting its ships in the water. Decades of underinvestment had left the Republic's shipbuilding industry technologically backwards and much smaller than it had been in the Empire's heyday. Furthermore, this limited yard space had to be shared across the fleet's many construction programmes; of the five yards in the country that could build vessels in the eight thousand tonne range, three of them were entirely consumed with the construction of the new Mortray-class of expeditionary transports. Construction on the first pair of frigates began in 143, two years after the initial design was finalised, while the third began construction in 144 when a sixth yard, then under renovation, was ready to start work.
With the full backing of the fleet now behind the programme, the yards were pushed to work at a breakneck pace. The first ship of the class, De Pury herself, would be commissioned in early 144, with De La Morre following only two months later. Ships would be commissioned in alternating singles and pairs after that, with the last, Du Treilia, entering service in 150.
Operational Service
The De Purys would be put to work almost as soon as they were commissioned, tasked with almost continuous missions to make up for the deficiencies in quality and quantity across the fleet as a whole. De Pury and De La Morre would enter the order of battle of the Western Fleet just in time to participate in the Mutsuni Bay Crisis, which saw them rescue a convoy of Nouvoloian merchantmen en route to the Satsuga Republic and carrying a cargo of arms and munitions for local pro-Nouvoloian insurrectionists. The effect that their armament and sheer size would have on the Satsugan corvettes who had arrived to search the convoy would be noted with satisfaction by the fleet, validating their view that the warships could be a potent tool for overawing the weaker vessels of other regional navies.
De Purys would carry out similar presence missions elsewhere for the next few years, flying the flag and impressing upon the Repulic's neighbours the extent of its own strength. Their first taste of real combat would come in the Islander War of 154, where De Purys were present for every major engagement, from escorting the invasion fleet that took the Western Island of Ngaionui to the sinking of the newest of the class, De Rohan, while defending the carrier Autiers from an air launched missile strike launched from the Commonwealth carrier UCS Mystique.
Of the eight ships of the class, only five would survive to see the end of the war, and the collapse of the regime that built them.
Ah, Tectonic and shaders my beloveds! Complimentary and Photon are my go-tos.
I usually use Terralith as well but now I’m trying William Wyther’s Overhauled Overworld, and it’s crazy how many new biomes can be made with just vanilla blocks.
If anyone feels like a failure, just know that two years ago we were offered a book deal by Penguin Random House but did not realise because we never checked our DMs and by the time we finally read the message the offer had expired.
Two years later we cold emailed penguin and they said we can still write the book. Which is a bit of a problem because now we have to learn how to write a book.
Hi! Savvyminnow here. For the writeblrsummerfest ask game, I’d please like to know…
1. What can your main character not resist?
9. Name one thing that changes between the start and end of your story without spoiling the plot.
Hmmmm something Xiana can't resist.
Before she leaves the caverns, I don't think there's anything that could really sway her like that. Life in the caverns was very sheltered and organized and there wasn't much to crave. Nothing to lust after, no great variety of foods to choose a favorite from, no care for wealth.
After she leaves and has a broader range of experiences, I think the taste of fruit gets her hooked fast. She's never eaten fruits before. Don't have those underground. I think she cuts her hands and arms on a number of thorny berry vines just trying to get a handful of tasty little treats. She's persuaded to stay somewhere instead of moving right along purely on the offer of some fruity dessert, perhaps.
And a non-spoiler change between the start and end of the story. Xiana's twin Isec overcomes their prejudices against the nomadic varlet drow. The varlets are viewed as outsiders and scoundrels by the other drow. Isec begins the story following that belief and then has a change of heart along the journey.
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one of the worst things about being a writer is when you have to sit on your hands about a REALLY COOL SPOILER. and you just want everyone to know about the really cool spoiler you want them to know so so so badly but the best way for them to learn it would be to experience it and you also want them to do THAT so you’re just sitting on your hands vibrating and making a low whine while your dog looks at you with concern. and then your friends go “what’s wrong”. and you go PLEASE I NEED TO TELL YOU. and they go “oh okay so tell me”. and you go NO,
how do you distinguish grey from other colours beyond black and wite?
Distinguishing features of moral beige:
The protagonist is constantly agonising over Hard Choices; however, circumstances always conspire to prevent them from actually having to make those choices, so in practice they're just angsting over stuff they might have done.
The text exhibits a recurring pattern whereby the protagonist seems to to have made a Hard Choice, but new information is reliably revealed shortly thereafter which retroactively establishes that whatever they did was the morally upright course after all.
The protagonist's moral impulses are straightforwardly heroic, except in one specific context which lacks any clear real-world analogue; for example, being prejudiced against telepaths.
The protagonist's actions are consistently reasonable based on the information available to them – they're merely operating on bad information basically all the time due to a bizarre conspiracy and/or a series of increasingly implausible misunderstandings.
The protagonist always ends up doing the right thing (for some fuzzy value of "right"), but, like, they're really grumpy about it.
Just realized I might have Aphantasia? Because it is hard for me to visualize things. I try to ignore that I can't visualize things in my mind, but I think that's the true reason I underwrwite. It might also be why I describe a demon clicking its claws' pacing as the same as when someone touches their thumb to each of their fingers since I can visualize that, even if people can do that at different speeds.
Totally not a realization caused by @savvyminnow mentioning the claw clicking thing as one they haven't heard used before-
But it's a might since self diagnosing feels bleh. I'm just thinking it since I can't visualize things in my head. And I struggle with facial recognition. I do have flashes of visuals but they aren't common or detailed.
Aphantasia is a spectrum so you could totally be somewhere on it! It’s cool that you use references like the finger-tapping-thumb to write descriptions you can’t visualize. It makes for a unique style and I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.
There are plenty of books I love, like the Murderbot Diaries, that are sparser on descriptions of settings and characters, but it actually makes the writing stand out more in my mind.
U: “Un-fucking-believable.” [Fabin] launches to his feet, kicking the leg of the table. “We walked across the whole godsforsaken country for you. Waste of fucking time.”
R: Runes are still swimming through her head, her overworked brain finally translating the passage she’s been staring at since Emilia brought the first cup of tea.
R: “Right, then,” Vonnie says, gesturing towards the house. “I’m curious where this is going, so I’m going to allow it, O’Leyne.”
Y: "Your disagreement with him will have to wait."
"Disagree—" O'Leyne makes a disgusted noise, but he backs off of Jack, sheathing his knife. He glares at him, then throws another glare at Arthur for good measure. "I'm going to go speak with the queen."
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from @oh-no-another-idea <3 my lines are a line about winter, a line featuring a bite, a line with the color green, and a line of yelled dialogue. digging around all over the cycle as i try to get inspired to write again
the raedoran cycle
a line about winter (the knight of lacuna lake)
“Keys,” Birdie says, tugging on his sleeve. “I want you to throw me in!”
“It’s too cold for that, duckling,” he says, prying her off his sleeve. She clings to his leg instead and he sighs. “You’ll catch something.”
“No I won’t,” she says with a pout.
“Yes, you will,” he laughs. “You’ll freeze your braids off.” He tugs on them affectionately as he speaks and Maura smirks at him from her seat on the bench. “And after Maura put in so much hard work doing them for you.”
a line featuring a bite (the thieves of morbhard)
Arthur laughs, the tension in him draining out. He picks up his spoon and examines the food Meja brought out. It’s some kind of fish stew over rice, but he’s only ever smelled the spices in the market. Steam is still rising off it, the smell wafting up with and making Arthur’s mouth water. He takes a bite and closes his eyes. The savory flavor is perfectly balanced by salt and and earthy spices, all in a creamy sauce that seems to soothe his whole throat on the way down. He opens his eyes and sees Meja watching him, her brow furrowed a bit. He quickly smiles at her. “It’s delicious,” he says. She smiles back at him, patting his cheek again, and goes back to shelling nuts into a bowl.
a line with the color green (the witch of the west)
The sun's reflection on the water gives his eyes a soft green glow, and with him surrounded by the flowers and leaves, she can almost forget all the blood on his hands. He gives her a soft, sad smile. She curls her fingers against the smooth stone of the statue.
a line of yelled dialogue (the witch of the west)
“We’re all worried about Birdie,” Jack says, grim-faced. “You can’t go running off and putting her in danger—”
“She’s already in danger!” Fabin shouts, feathers falling from his hair.
“How do you know?” Jack shouts back.
“Because I can feel her!” Fabin screams, his eyes glowing green. Jack pulls up short and Fabin clutches his chest, his claws digging into his shirt. “Alright? I can feel her, I know she’s in danger—just—get the fuck out of my way!”
