Mayitetla's writing blog

For those days when I feel I can’t write, or anything I write is bad. A reminder that I’m making progress.

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“What does she see?”

Something toppled to the ground, followed by the sound of ripping paper.

“Yes, it aligns.”

More banging, more mumbling, but he hung on to every word, listening but not entering the room as she tore it apart, until finally—

“Water.” There was a panicked gasp between rantings. Wrillain scrambled for the locks, careful not to spill the bowl.

An underfed, olive-skinned girl, her wavy red hair streaked with gray, stood in the center of the room. As she breathed, her shoulders shook, fists tightening around the paper and charcoal in her hands. A hoarse moan spilled from her mouth as her head rolled back, and then around again. The black robes she wore swayed as she leaned forward only to catch herself immediately.

He moved slowly, but the moment he was close enough, her hand shot out for the bowl in his hands. She downed it in messy gulps, water spilling down the sides of her face, pausing only to take in gulps of air. When she finished, she tossed it aside with a resounding clang against the pitch-black, glistening ebenstun wall. Wrillain picked it up but paused as he took in the state of the room.

Papers were everywhere—between floorboards, beneath the silk-down mattress, and in the crevices of the thinly barred window. The bed had been ripped apart, feathers everywhere, and the sheets were strewn about the floor. A chair sat toppled in the corner, the noise he heard earlier. He carefully tried to move around the mess, but his foot caught on the silk.

The hoarse breaths filling the room stopped with a sharp intake. Wrillain’s eyes jumped up at a flash of movement. The Oracle swiveled her body towards him, a pivot at her waist that left her rail-thin arms dangling before her, pendant swaying in the air.

The vessel’s eyes were rolled back into her skull. Behind them was a flickering of light that brought forth a silhouette of her veins.

“Leave!” she hissed, mouth remaining open in a scowl.

5/8/23

I recently read through Brandon Sanderson’s blog post about magic systems and their rules and I realized how inspired I was because of how I’d daydream as a child.

As a child I loved creating my own gods and goddesses, so I came up with four central beings to inspire all magic. However, I would spend weeks and weeks trying to wrap my mind around how my magic would work. Going into my teen years I could see that I didn’t need to, but it was at this time I became disillusioned with religion and became an atheist.

Didn’t change much, still loved me some bootiful gods and goddesses. But it changed my way of looking at them.

I like to start with the smallest point of a magic system and build from there. That smallest point for me has almost always been the soul of something greater, AKA a god. Mortals would wield their magic by manipulating the soul of their god, and I had this realization that I wasn’t the only one who thought of this.

At first I was mega depressed because it seemed as if my idea was derivative. 

I just got over it, ya know? It doesn’t mean I’m derivative, it means I came to the same conclusion as my author heroes did. I had to realize as well that I had my own unique view on it, even if there are direct similarities.