Genres: New Adult/Adult, Horror, Pre-Apocalyptic, LGBTQ+, WLW Romance
Themes: hope, light in the darkness, sacrifice, optimism vs. pessimism, survival, humanity, zombies, national parks
Projected Length: Novel / 70k~ words
Synopsis: With a recreational drug with odd side effects on the rise and labor day weekend, park ranger Jackie Isaiah has her hands full with rowdy park guests and an extra long shift that she hopes will earn her enough money to go back home to visit family. Meanwhile, Mara Hasslet would literally rather be anywhere else than camping with her ex-girlfriend. When trouble comes to Rocky Mountain National Park, the fight for survival begins.
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Camp NaNoWriMo Goals:
Honestly?? I simply want to write every day, no matter how many words I put down. If I had to give myself a projected word count, Iâd like to get 15k words written by the end of April!
Let me know if youâd like to be added to my NaNo Updates taglist! (other taglists below the cut) -
ITWS Taglist (let me know if youâd like to be added!): @lordkingsmith @celestialbunnistories @aeslin-writes @writinginslowmotion @chayscribbles @theramwrites @tiredlittleoldme @sapphcon-ic @hazard-writes @lookingmuchimproved @themidnxghtwriter @draculinawrites @aetherwrites @svpphicwrites  @maxgraybooks @writeherewaiting @sjjsalamanders
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> Theme(s): murder, freedom, survival, companionship in dark places, LGBTQ+ main, female main, affectionate creature/monster, four seasons, harsh winter
> POV: First person // Past Tense told in dated diary entries
> Details: this story is estimated to be between 15k and 20k words long. The entirety of it will be listed on Wattpad when Iâm finished!Â
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âłÂ Synopsis: A woman can only take so much. Abused and battered, Juliet snaps one evening and murders her husband just before the first snow fall of the season. Left buried under the unforgiving ice, she knows she only has until spring to figure out what to do with the body. But thatâs not her only problem-
Sheâs a woman. Alone. With little to no food or money on a homestead in the middle of Montana. If she shows her face in town, sheâll be questioned. If she can even make it there without freezing.
To make matters worse, she keeps seeing a shadowing lingering at the corner of her eye - just at the edge of the woods. Prints in the snow. And then the dead animals begin appearing on her doorstep.
Taglist and excerpt under the cut! Let me know if youâd like to be added!
> Excerpt:Â
November 20, 1869
As I write this my hands are still shaking. Blood still cakes the edges of my nails and grooves of my fingertips. The smell of copper will stay with me for days - if not years. Iâve done it. Six years and Iâm finally free.
If someone does find this, you may ask me what Iâve done? Iâve sinned. Took the very ax he was using at noon for firewood and watched as my life twisted into madness before my very eyes. First I heard a yell, a curse and my name like venom on his lips. Something gripped me. A kind of rage that only the Bible speaks of. Hearing my name spoken in such a way only drove me further into this hell.
And I would do it again. Six years is too long to be the attention of a drunk manâs rage. My ribs still ache from dropping one of the eggs at breakfast.
Synopsis:Â Outlaw Rosalind Garcia-Jones is a drifter who bet her luck on the harsh wild west rather than face the punishment for her crimes. While searching for a place to rest her head, she happens upon a town occupied almost solely by women. Under the thumb of The Caldwell Gang, the women struggle to maintain their autonomy and an underground rebellion brews under the floor of the shoddy saloon. Rosalind is quickly roped into the madness and she's given more than she's bargained for. A long lost summer fling, the hope for rekindled love, and a sisterhood sealed by blood.
Always feel free to ask questions or check out my tag games! I talk a lot about my WIPs in those.
Excerpt (taken from chapter 3):Â
    What did she get herself into?
    Rosalind glanced over her shoulder, the elderly woman that guarded the door promptly locked it behind them and peered down at her with a murderous gleam in her eye. If it werenât for her short stature and aged features, she would have struck fear into the heart of the outlaw. Anne continued to pull her along down a short flight of stairs until they reached a second door coated in red lacquer. She heard whispers and rumors from her time traveling of witches and devil worshipers and the things they would do to drifters who stumbled upon their dens of madness.
    âNow just wait one damn minute-â Rosalind protested, yanking her arm away from the young woman. Digging her heels in, her hand found her holster and her face crumpled with distaste. Anne turned a weary gaze to the gun before sighing and opening the door to certain death.
    A chipped plank of wood laid flat on top of a precarious stack of old crates served as a table in the center of the room. Instead of finding weapons or chains to bind her, there was only a map of the town and some half dried inkwells scattered about. About a dozen women surrounded it illuminated by oil lamps. Every eye in the room fell on the tall stranger. All just as surprised as Rosalind. The silence weighed heavier than the thick Texas heat.
    âWhatâs the meaning of this?â A gruff women at the head of the table muttered, breaking the silence.
    âAnne!â An exasperated middle aged woman hissed from the corner of the room. She recognized her as the woman who sold her that loaf of bread the day previous. Now that she saw the two of them side by side, Anne looked just like her.
    âMama, I can explain-â
    âRosalind..?â
    That voice. Soft and sweet as honey in spring. A gentle breeze over a field of wildflowers that banished the dark clouds that never ceased to loom over her head. Rosalind heard it before in her dreams. Always beckoning her, pleading for her to follow it. Her head snapped towards the sound. There, a woman far too beautiful for words stood with full lips parted and eyes so wide they looked like the finest porcelain saucers. Her once rounded cheeks had been weathered down by age, but even in the low light she could tell they were just as rosy as before. Rosalindâs legs grew weak as she stumbled towards her. She thought her heart may give out any moment.
    âEliza?â She croaked, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Awestruck, she opened her arms to embrace the ghost from her past.
    Within seconds, a loud pop echoed in the room and the force of a small hand whacking her across the face sent her hobbling towards the table for something to grasp on to. Rosalind groaned, nursing her stinging cheek. Eliza may have looked angelic, but the deceiving strength she possessed only added to her affections for her. For a moment she lewdly wondered what else had changed since she last saw her.Â
    âYouâve got ten seconds to get the hell out of here, Miss Jones,â Eliza ordered, setting her jaw and squaring her shoulders. None of the other women made any attempt to come to Rosalindâs aid. She straightened up, still rubbing her cheek.
    âYou donât see me for seven years, and this is how you greet me?â She chuckled, pulling her hat off. She held it to her chest and tipped her head towards Eliza. âI expected nothing less coming from you, Miss Carpenter.â The woman before her flared her nostrils and stormed up to her with fists clenched at her sides. Rosalind stayed put, staring down at her with a mix of amusement and longing.
    âItâs Mrs. Jacobs now. Youâre down to five seconds before I drag you out of here myself.â
Trouble arises on the coast of a crumbling nation. Pirates, they say; dangerous scoundrels stealing resources and leveling entire towns in their wake. Every man they send to bring the surly captain to her knees never comes back. Bounty hunter Blake Sawyer, known for capturing prized outlaws and pushing others away, is given the job to take the crew down from the inside. Itâs not the danger that scares her.
The journey paved before Blake will force her to face her greatest fears in life: herself, her past, and worst of all - falling in love.
Note: I was unsure which genre to pick. It falls into adventure, western, LGBTQ+ and a little bit of romance. I also like to call it a dystopian western, so weâll see!
Always feel free to ask questions or check out my tag games! I talk a lot about my WIPs in those.
Excerpt (may or may not be in the actual work itself):
    Stiffcross wasnât much to spit at. Shoddy buildings patched up from the war looked more like childrenâs forts than businesses. Its residents didnât look much better. Raggedy, in her opinion though she herself didnât dress much better. The sun sun beat down on her shoulders, its fingers digging their way through her layers to reach her skin. She couldnât imagine how the bastard tied up behind her felt. A potato sack over his head, he laid belly over the rear of her horse.
    âGimme some water, will ya?â Brockâs parched voice croaked in desperation. Blake reached back and whacked him in the back of the head.
    âShut up,â She grunted. âWeâre almost there. Youâre lucky I didnât kill you.â
    âJust wait âtill my father-â
    ââTill your father does what? Rescue you?â Blake laughed to herself, a bead of sweat rolling down her flushed face. âOnce Sheriff OâBrien has you, I donât give two shits what your father has to say.â The man made a noise halfway between a whimper and a scoff before going silent. Sweet, sweet silence. The sheriffâs office only took a short few minutes to trot to. People stared, as they usually did when someone came in with a bounty. Who would it be this time? A murderer? A thief? Some found them more exciting than the hangings.
    Blake hopped off Daisy, patting her neck affectionately. Offering a small âthere thereâ she tied her up to the post outside OâBrienâs office. Boots clicked on the weathered wooden porch and the tall, lanky sheriff welcomed her with a wrinkled smile and cheerful eye. The metal he shoved in the other socket seemed happy too.
    âWho did ya bring me this time?â He asked, unfolding a rusting tin from his back pocket. A scraggly piece of tobacco pinched between his fingers before disappearing into his teeth.
    âDavey Brock,â Blake replied, untying the intricate knots she used to keep the outlaw on Daisy. Stepping back, she let his body slide forward and hit the ground with a thud. He let out a yowl of pain, ignored by the woman who took her time to pick him up over her shoulder.
    âShould have let me help you with that,â OâBrien tutted.
    âDidnât see you offering.â
    Shrugging, the sheriff held the door open for her and followed her inside. The shade provided some relief, but scent of piss and old boots became almost nauseating in the summer heat. Blake dropped Davey into a hard wooden chair, his wrists burning red from resisting his bindings. Pulling the bag from his head, she leaned against the desk and removed her hat to fan herself with it. He was barely a man at first glance, more like a boy with his rounded cheeks and baby blue eyes. The scruff and bruises she gave him along the way helped with that at least. OâBrien shuffled through papers on his desk until he found the flyer with Brockâs face sketched in black ink.
    âLetâs see⌠bank robberyâŚattempted murder-â
    âIt was a misunderstanding!â Davey insisted, lips chapped. The sheriff chuckled.
    âYou stole the manâs horse after shooting him.â
    Blake smirked a bit, using the forearm of her jacket to smear the sweat around her face. The salt on her lips tasted of those god forsaken beans she ate on a near daily basis. For now, she focused less on the processing and more on what waited for her. Cash. She let her mind wander, studying the faces of the various criminals pinned to the sheriffâs board. A variety of crimes, prizes and danger. OâBrien proved to be one of the more generous lawmen. Some towns wouldnât give her a job at all let alone big hits. Davey she considered a quick job - found him at a bar chatting up some local women a few counties over. Rough him up a bit and hogtie him then youâre good to go. She liked it that way ever since last yearâs big job. Make enough to get by and keep herself out of harmâs way. A few fingers lingered over the uneven scar that marred her left cheek.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
It is 12/12/14 and Iâve finally found the time and motivation to begin a blog where Iâll say anything and everything. Â Iâve had a personal âblogâ on tumblr for a while but it has my name and face all over it. Â I donât want attention for this blog coming back to me, neither fame nor infamy, because I simply donât like attention or the consequences and result of it. Â I just want a place to vent anonymously. Â This is that place.
