Author - Blog Posts
i've started writing in notebooks again since it kinda helps me focus more and originally i wanted to write with a pencil so i could edit it. then i lost my eraser and even though i could easily get a new one, i refuse and continue to use my pencil. something something confining yourself to keep what you have already created or whatever
pov: you watched the walking castle and you're in love with howl...
Would anyone be interested if I posted notes for my ongoing works? Specifically thinking about Stars Come Calling, but anything future as well. I also plan on writing little side pieces based on routes I didn't take for the story.
This includes maps, artwork and general foolishness I write down as I write/plan.
moodboard for a story im writing
✨question for the trans/nb crowd✨
I’m an author, and in my WIP I have a nonbinary character. They discovered their identity later in life (they’re 31, they came out at 21/22), but they’re talked about in past-tense a few times, and I’m wondering something. Do you (people who don’t identify with their AGAB) use your preferred pronouns even when talking about yourself pre-transition/before you came out? For example: When I talk about myself before I came out, I stick with she/her, because it makes sense to my brain for some reason (And I do the same for this character). But do some people still use their preferred pronouns when talking about their younger selves? I literally have no idea and I don’t have enough trans/nb friends to ask lmao
I love being an aspiring author because then any family members who want to know about my book get quite the infodump. Like shoutouts to my great aunt who lives in california coming across the country to see one of my musicals with my maternal grandma and then saying she wanted to read my book after I mentioned it
But anyway fast forward to a few weeks later and I get a text from her that says she feels bad for a character that I don’t treat very well (for plot purposes) so I ask what chapter she’s on so I don’t spoil anything. And I look to see what’s coming up in the story and ohhhhohoho boy is she in for some shit
not even joking I think I’m gonna start working on my book again. The first draft has been done since april but dammit the urges to revise and finalize are hitting hard
what happens if I lose my mind and post about my book for an unknown amount of time? /hj
‼️𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐲 ‼️
A snippet of my book since you guys asked for more info! <3 @ze-melon-lord
For context, the setting is supposed to be similar to the Hellenistic Era of Ancient Greece, in a Caveat-like theatre(If you like my writing, and want to see more, PLS send me asks, the fandoms I write for and Nono's are pinned on my page)
Warnings// Depictions of gore and violence, guns and swords, minor cliffhanger if you squint
DO NOT repost w/out using the button on the post or claim as your own, you will be blocked and reported. All rights ARE reserved
Chapter One; Loyalty is Only Obsession
“Ms. Serafina? Ma’am, are you ready?” A young voice spoke up from the darkness of a corner. A dark, private, cavea-like seating area.
“Indeed, I should like to see the show begin…,” A heavenly deep voice responded, “Maybe this one will be different?”
On the guards’ ends, they passed a small cue down to the stage before replacing themselves behind the Goddess’s chair, “Ladies and gentlemen, let the show… begin!”
A disarming smile displayed on the Woman's lips, Her slender hand leaning softly against Her cheek. As She shifted Her hands, the off-shoulder sleeves on Her velvety black dress— garnished with silk roses—, wrinkled and slid ever so slightly up Her arms.
A messily beautiful display of tricks and twists went on at the infant stage below. The dear, dejected Serafina just couldn’t be satisfied by pulling rabbits out of hats, anymore. Of course, She couldn’t control that She was like this, She had simply existed for just… so long.
Some sorrowful display cast over Her smile whilst staring upon what the people thought Her upbringing had been, “This is all wrong…!”
“Would you like me to inform them?” A fit, armored, young woman knelt beside Her Grace.
“Absolutely not, Anthea; I would rather they not know than they be aware and revolt… Ignorance is bliss, afterall,” She kept Her stern facade through Her disgust.
“As you wish, My Liege,” The soldier of sorts returned to her post in the corner, armor clanking softly against itself.
The show continued, seemingly harmless. No one in the theatre nearly had the chance to catch the barrel of a gun in an actress’s boot. An evil grin consistently mistaken for one of enjoyment.
“and now…,” The man from earlier announced an hour since the start, “Let the beginning of the end commence!”
“Haah, finally…; this one was starting to bore me more than some of the others have… And I thought it would be different,” Serafina, ever the infamous one for never giving up pride, therefore, even when a show appalled Her, She stayed.
“You know, it would be a shame if-,” The lights went out, accompanied by the ping of a bullet ringing through the air — the result of Her own foolishness.
A deep chuckle slipped from Her mouth, “Oh, is it going to be interesting, afterall? Save the best for last, I suppose.”
“No, Miss, I-I don’t think that is part of the show,” Ethaan called, across from Anthea.
“Not part of the show? So you believe it may be an attack?”
“It is possible, yes,” He adjusted his glasses as if they had miraculously slid down his nose, which they were too tight to do.
“Then should we not evacuate the Lady?” Anthea protested.
“Err…” A small stutter sounded from the boy.
“If I am not in any immediate danger then what is the point?” Serafina stood up, turning around to face the two guards with a perky chuckle, “If it comes down to, then you shall fight.”
“If it is your order, My Lady,” Ethaan hesitantly obeyed, nodding as he turned and looked to his colleague.
The Woman placed a hand on the chair’s armrest from where she stood beside it. The young soldiers exchanged glances; they had only met fairly recently, though they figured they got along just fine.
“We can make that-” Bullets split the mount of one last burning candle, hurling flames towards the ground.
“Well, this means we fight?” Ethaan adjusted his glasses once more, the nerves shaking his fingertips.
“It does. Lady Serafina, please get back.” Anthea stood her ground, moving slightly in front of her superior.
With the Goddess safely behind Her guards, they readied themselves. Combat may be approaching.
“Where is it coming from? Do you think it is one person or multiple?” Her trusted guards quickly questioned the Lady.
“The first shot sounded like it came from the stage, when the lights went out. And if the one from just now managed to hit our only light left… then it had to of also come from the stage; so, it is at least one of the actors.” Serafina always had such an unnatural sense of hearing. Quite convenient, yes…
Stampeding footsteps raced up the stairs, just so happening to stop in front of their target —There were two of them.
The five of them only needed the slivers of moonlight, seeping in through scream-soaked curtains, to spot each other’s silhouettes. Second by second, breath by labored breath, the anticipation of who would move first—or even breathe first.
Ethaan and Anthea were too slow, the attackers too fast. The darkness blinded Serafina. How unfortunate, She just can’t see in the dark.
Pew, one bullet shot was all it took. Where was it going? To the Goddess? To the guards? The latter. Who? Anthea; she pushed her partner away, taking the bullet to her own abdomen. Wait…, a second shot? So quickly? Did they both have guns?
Ethaan didn’t risk it, he lunged at the anonymous—too late… He landed his blade in a shoulder, yes, but The Lady had already taken the blow.
Her senses had failed Her. She had only been hit in Her right eye, communication was still possible; unless it had gone too deep?
“Ms. Serafina!” Ethaan called out, watching as his boss dropped to Her knees.
She kept silent, still, and silent.
The only audible thing being the labored breaths of the others.
Panicked, the attackers left. Was that it? They thought the bullet took Serafina’s life; so, that was it? How awfully pathetic.
“They’re gone now; please tell me you’re alive, Milady!”
“Yes, I am fine. I only dropped, so they would leave. Though, My eye is definitely going to be blinded; the shrapnel got in it.” She paused, looking at the frightened boy, “Is Anthea alive?”
A withered, “Yes…” sounded from the ground, Anthea lay there, broken and defeated.
“Come now, we shall get you the medical attention you require; we can’t have My best in centuries dying on Me, now, can we?” Serafina carefully cradled the maimed maiden in Her arms, “You aren't injured, as well, are you Ethaan?”
He shook his head, thankfully in good physical health. Yes, physical, at the very least. Had anyone more been injured She wouldn’t have known what to do with Herself. She already didn’t know what to do with Herself; this whole moment felt oddly evocative, almost as if this had maybe happened to Her before. But it hadn’t, it couldn’t have! Or could it. Had it?
© a-yciecat
Hey so like, I'm currently writing a book and was wondering how many people would be interested in reading the first 2 or 3 chapters of it? It's set in a fantasy version of Ancient Greece, and the main characters are a goddess and her two guards. It's about the goddess, Serafina, and how the loyalty of one of her guards turns into the guard obsessing over her, and how everything takes a turn when the guard does something to "prove her loyalty" to Serafina. Would you guys be interested?
part of me wants to become a pianist, elegant and poised wearing long light pink skirts on a daily basis, and kitten heels, and can perfect my craft for hours on end. part of me wants to become an author who can spin stories from lost things, and snuggle up with my notebooks and tea and sweaters and just dream of worlds that i wasnt meant to live in but i could share. part of me wants to become a rebel and wear black leather jackets while reading angsty poetry, chop my hair short and fight for what matters to me, the kind of person who doesn’t care what others think of them as long as a point has been made. So. I don’t know what I want to do. But whatever I do, I can assure you that I will not be boring.
so i wrote the start of a piece fiction inspired by Frankenstein
it's a mlm, slightly horror, love story between an amoral scientist and his best friend who tragically dies at the start of the book
i'm obsessed with this story as it's the first bit of writing that made my teacher recognise my love for writing
it's called white fang as the prompt for the story was to use a pre-existing title so white fang by jack london
.☘︎ ݁˖┃staring down the barrel, of the hot sun . . .
dividers —
@shimmermetimbers, @sweetmelodygraphics
what’s my name?
you can call me apple pie
identity?
i’m bi, a cis girl, and i use she/her pronouns
hobbies?
watching yt, fingerpicking on guitar, shopping, baking, cooking, n’ being a cheerleader
favorites?
my favorite show is my little pony, my favorite number is 22, my favorite song is juno by sabrina carpenter, my favorite meme is “don’t play wit me,” and my favorite color is white with pink as the runner up
animal?
i’m a huge dog girl—i volunteer at animal shelters on the weekends
tea or coffee?
sweet tea
country or city?
i’m from tx, but i’m half and half
ao3?
slowcrush
anyway, don’t be a stranger
⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ don’t wanna fight but my mental insists . . .
Genuine question coming from a writer
If a character were to have electrical powers, such as conducting it both with an external source and without, would they be able to electrify a knife that they wield? As in, once it comes in contact with someone(thing) or they stab them(it), the electricity travels through. Is that in any way possible?
“I like writing fiction better than anything, because just being a writer of fiction gives you an absolutely unassailable protection against reality; nothing is ever seen clearly or starkly, but always through a thin veil of words.” -Shirley Jackson
Am I the only one who looks up random actions or words to double check it's what I meant to write?
ꪖ ꪗꫀꪖ᥅ ꫀ᥅ꪖᦓꫀᦔ (A Year Erased)
𝓣he sharp shrill of thunder outside boomed, jolting me awake. Everything felt so numb. Where am I?
My hand fumbles a bit before reaching across the small nightstand, knocking over a glass of water before finding the source of the noise. Silence returned, but my heart hammered against my ribs. Something felt… Wrong. I slowly sat up, observing my surroundings. This bedroom looked the same as before -- gray walls, a cluttered desk with papers, a night lamp, and a worn leather jacket hung over the chair.
But there was a weight in the air, a heaviness I couldn’t place.
It wasn’t until I swung my legs over the side of the bed that I noticed it.
A note.
A small piece of paper rested on the nightstand, written in hurried, slanted handwriting:
"Don't trust anyone -- not even yourself."
The words sent a quiet chill in my spine. What did those even mean? Was this a prank? The closer I look at it, the more I realize I don't recognize this handwriting.
I grabbed the note and turned it over, hoping for some clue, but the back was blank. Swallowing hard, I tried to piece together the events of the night before.
Nothing was there.
No fragments of a party, no blurry memories of too many drinks, not even a sense of how I got home. I checked my phone for answers, scrolling through my messages and call logs, but there was nothing recent -- just a blank stretch of time that made my stomach twist.
Then I saw the date.
[ March 15th, 2019. ]
My phone fell and clattered with the floor on impact. The last date I remembered was March 15th -- of last year.
I let myself scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over the pile of clothes on the floor, and ran to the mirror. My reflection stared back, familiar yet different. My hair was longer than I remembered, my face thinner. A faint scar curved along my jawline, one I didn't recognize.
Panic surged in my chest and took over my mind. I then tore through my closet, rifling through clothes that weren't mine -- jackets I'd never bought, shoes I didn't recognize. Even the books on my shelf were unfamiliar, their spines worn as if I'd read them a hundred times.
What the hell had happened to me?
The sound of a door creaking open made me freeze. I turned slowly, the note already crumpled in my fist.
"H-Hello?" I called, my voice shaking.
No answer.
I stepped into the hallway, my bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The sterile apartment was eerily quiet, every creak and groan of the old building increased in the silence.
When I reached the kitchen, I stopped.
There, on the counter, was another note.
"It's not safe here. They're watching."
I feel a lump form in my throat as I stared at the message, my composure being already shaken. My hands trembled as I picked it up, my hands felt clammy.
"Who's watching?" I whispered.
No cuz I’m not exaggerating when I see a notification in my inbox on Ao3 I literally start giggling and kicking my feet😭😭
Do y’all finish writing a Fic before you post it or do you post chapter by chapter?
I currently have nine chapters of my next fan fiction written but I’m not sure if I should post it yet or wait until I have more.
You ever tried to create your own word and become very confused when it’s not one. I just spent a solid 5 minutes trying to spell “brutifully” Not brutally. Not beautifully.
BRUTIFULLY
Anyone know a synonym for brutifully?😂
Did I just post a chapter that ends with a cliffhanger and then follow it up with a chapter that changes POVs and doesn’t resolve the cliffhanger? Yes. Do I have the following chapter written? Yes. Will I be waiting to post them until I get some comments that people want me to post it? Yes. ☺️☺️
i hate it when
I buy the first book of a series that isn't finished because I didn't do research before buying and now I have to wait years and years until the next book comes out
and also when this happens:
author: yeah the next one's probably the last one of the series
me, already broke as fuck: thank god
*the last book comes out*
me, reading it: no, NO NO NO NO!
me: there's a fucking cliffhanger
me: fuck no
me: *researching if there's gonna be a tenth book*
suddenly the author, laughing like a maniac: Hahaha, i'm gonna write at least five more idiots
me: Well shit
Way of the Water
Should I start talking to y'all about my book? I'm telling y'all about the characters and the world anyways.
Mostly because I want to build a fandom now so someone can eventually draw the twins as sharpay and ryan.
Who does that??
Plan and plot are not even part of my vocabulary dear-
“how do you plot / plan your book?” very bold of you to assume i do that.
Does anybody else just forget what they were going to wright while their writing it? Or is it just me?
Normally I can keep an idea about 4 days in my head before I forget so I don't normally write every detail down automatically. So I ended up forgetting a main part of my story. And that just so happened to be the plot of the damn thing.
Now it did come back to me one day when i was dreaming, but me being a dumb-ass, I didn't write it down. So know I have the beginnings of a story, posted mind you, and little details for the rest of it yet no plot.
"Whats the story's name?' I hear you say, it's my unfortunate work on AO3, 'Slight Changes'. And I feel like a dick for not adding new chapters in a while, but I can't remember the plot of the fucking thing! Sorry!
Another AoD book fest! Honestly, if I was going to share EVERY book that's influenced my AoD sequel novels, we'd be here all week. But here's a few more that have had a significant impact! Enjoy 🥰
📚❤️📚❤️📚❤️📚❤️📚