Cpk.writing - Blog Posts
Microstory
“Sanctuary,” the child cried, running into the library. “Nice try,” the guard following after sneered, “but only holy places can grant sanctuary.” The librarians glanced at each other. A small nod. The head librarian gave the guard a stern look. “Sanctuary granted.”
Do you think people who are virgin should write smut? I feel like most of them don’t even know what they’re writing and just write what they think sex is
the implication this ask suggests that people who write about murders, cannibalism, politics, magic, royalty au, sci-fi, wars, supernatural, time travel, medieval era, werewolves, vampires, mermaids or goblins must be murderers, cannibals, presidents, wizards, royalties, astronauts, ghost hunters, soldiers, time travelers, knights, werewolves, vampires, mermaids or goblins in real life is so funny to me
“Dogs don’t know what they look like. Dogs don’t even know what size they are. No doubt it’s our fault, for breeding them into such weird shapes and sizes. My brother’s dachshund, standing tall at eight inches, would attack a Great Dane in the full conviction that she could tear it apart. When a little dog is assaulting its ankles the big dog often stands there looking confused — “Should I eat it? Will it eat me? I am bigger than it, aren’t I?” But then the Great Dane will come and try to sit in your lap and mash you flat, under the impression that it is a Peke-a-poo… Cats know exactly where they begin and end. When they walk slowly out the door that you are holding open for them, and pause, leaving their tail just an inch or two inside the door, they know it. They know you have to keep holding the door open. That is why their tail is there. It is a cat’s way of maintaining a relationship. Housecats know that they are small, and that it matters. When a cat meets a threatening dog and can’t make either a horizontal or a vertical escape, it’ll suddenly triple its size, inflating itself into a sort of weird fur blowfish, and it may work, because the dog gets confused again — “I thought that was a cat. Aren’t I bigger than cats? Will it eat me?” … A lot of us humans are like dogs: we really don’t know what size we are, how we’re shaped, what we look like. The most extreme example of this ignorance must be the people who design the seats on airplanes. At the other extreme, the people who have the most accurate, vivid sense of their own appearance may be dancers. What dancers look like is, after all, what they do.”
— Ursula Le Guin, in The Wave in the Mind (via fortooate)
“We are here, and this is now.” Constable Visit, a strict believer in the Omnian religion, occasionally quoted that from their holy book. Vimes understood it to mean, in less exalted copper speak, that you have to do the job that is in front of you.
--Terry Pratchett, Night Watch
List of 120 unique fantasy jobs to give to your fantasy characters. Writers save this!
1. Spellscribe: Weaves magic into ink, creating enchanted scrolls and spellbooks.
2. Dreamweaver: Shapes dreams, ensuring a peaceful slumber for all.
3. Star Cartographer: Maps constellations and celestial paths.
4. Potion Alchemist: Brews elixirs, love potions, and invisibility brews.
5. Whispering Wind Courier: Carries messages on ethereal zephyrs.
6. Crystal Harmonist: Plays melodies on gemstone xylophones.
7. Arcane Librarian: Guards forbidden tomes and ancient grimoires.
8. Stormcaller: Commands lightning and tempests.
9. Shadow Weaver: Manipulates shadows for stealth or illusion.
10. Fey Ambassador: Bridges the gap between humans and fae.
11. Time Tinkerer: Repairs temporal rifts and broken clocks.
12. Soul Gardener: Tends to souls in the afterlife.
13. Dragon Whisperer: Communicates with fire-breathing beasts.
14. Labyrinth Architect: Designs mazes with shifting walls.
15. Aetheronaut: Pilots airships through the skies.
16. Cauldron Chef: Cooks magical stews and enchanted pastries.
17. Goblin Negotiator: Haggles with mischievous goblins over stolen treasures.
18. Wisp Shepherd: Herds glowing wisps across moonlit meadows.
19. Constellation Painter: Dips brushes in stardust to create cosmic art.
20. Swordsmith of Destiny: Forges blades with prophetic properties.
21. Oracle of Riddles: Answers questions through cryptic puzzles.
22. Moss Whisperer: Encourages moss-covered stones to share their secrets.
23. Harvest Moon Dancer: Leads celestial dances during lunar eclipses.
24. Chimera Veterinarian: Cares for mythical hybrid creatures.
25. Lore Bard: Sings epic sagas of forgotten heroes.
26. Stardust Prospector: Mines cosmic minerals from fallen meteors.
27. Mistwalker: Guides lost souls through foggy moors.
28. Enchanted Cobbler: Crafts shoes that grant extraordinary abilities.
29. Celestial Clockmaker: Constructs timepieces powered by starlight.
30. Gargoyle Sculptor: Carves stone guardians with hidden sentience.
31. Wandmaker: Whittles wands from ancient tree branches.
32. Mermaid Translator: Deciphers underwater songs and sea whispers.
33. Nightshade Apothecary: Harvests moonflowers and midnight herbs.
34. Serpent Charmer: Mesmerizes serpents with haunting melodies.
35. Skyship Navigator: Charts courses through floating islands.
36. Frostfire Sculptor: Shapes ice and flame into ephemeral statues.
37. Cursed Cursebreaker: Lifts hexes and breaks enchantments.
38. Goblin Archaeologist: Digs up lost goblin civilizations.
39. Sylph Perfumer: Captures the essence of zephyrs in fragrances.
40. Mystic Cartographer: Maps hidden ley lines and magical nexuses.
41. Moonstone Miner: Extracts shards of moonlight from caverns.
42. Gryphon Trainer: Raises and trains majestic gryphons.
43. Candlemaker of Lost Hopes: Creates candles that reveal forgotten memories.
44. Starwhisper Cartographer: Maps cosmic phenomena—comets' paths, shooting star trails, and celestial alignments.
45. Gloomsmith: Crafts melancholic artifacts—music boxes that play haunting melodies, mirrors that reflect lost loves, and inkwells that pen tear-stained poetry.
46. Siren Songstress: Sings enchanting melodies by moonlit shores, luring sailors toward rocky fates or guiding them safely through treacherous waters.
47. Astral Weaver: Spins threads from stardust, creating cloaks that grant glimpses of alternate realities or tapestries that depict forgotten legends.
48. Cryptobotanist: Studies otherworldly flora—glow-in-the-dark mushrooms, singing vines, and moonblossoms that bloom only during eclipses.
49. Soothsayer: Reads the future in tea leaves, cloud formations, or the patterns of fireflies. Their predictions shape destinies.
50. Stormglass Sculptor: Carves intricate sculptures from stormglass—frozen lightning, raindrop chandeliers, and thunderstorm dioramas.
51. Wispkeeper: Tends to wisps—tiny, glowing spirits that flit through forests. They bottle wisp-light for healing potions.
52. Eidolon Portraitist: Paints portraits of ghosts, capturing their essence before they fade into oblivion.
53. Moss Oracle: Listens to moss-covered stones, deciphering their murmurs to reveal lost histories.
54. Labyrinth Minstrel: Wanders through shifting mazes, singing songs that guide lost travelers to safety.
55. Frostbite Healer: Extracts shards of moonlight from caverns.
56. Gryphon Trainer: Raises and trains majestic gryphons.
57. Candlemaker of Lost Hopes: Creates candles that reveal forgotten memories.
58. Starwhisper Cartographer: Maps cosmic phenomena—comets’ paths, shooting star trails, and celestial alignments. Their charts guide explorers to hidden constellations.
59. Gloomsmith: Crafts melancholic artifacts—music boxes that play haunting melodies, mirrors that reflect lost loves, and inkwells that pen tear-stained poetry.
60. Siren Songstress: Sings enchanting melodies by moonlit shores, luring sailors toward rocky fates or guiding them safely through treacherous waters.
61. Astral Weaver: Spins threads from stardust, creating cloaks that grant glimpses of alternate realities or tapestries that depict forgotten legends.
62. Cryptobotanist: Studies otherworldly flora—glow-in-the-dark mushrooms, singing vines, and moonblossoms that bloom only during eclipses.
63. Soothsayer: Reads the future in tea leaves, cloud formations, or the patterns of fireflies. Their predictions shape destinies.
64. Stormglass Sculptor: Carves intricate sculptures from stormglass—frozen lightning, raindrop chandeliers, and thunderstorm dioramas.
65. Wispkeeper: Tends to wisps—tiny, glowing spirits that flit through forests. They bottle wisp-light for healing potions.
66. Eidolon Portraitist: Paints portraits of ghosts, capturing their essence before they fade into oblivion.
67. Moss Oracle: Listens to moss-covered stones, deciphering their murmurs to reveal lost histories.
68. Labyrinth Minstrel: Wanders through shifting mazes, singing songs that guide lost travelers to safety.
69. Frostbite Healer: Treats frostbitten extremities with salves made from frost sprites’ tears.
70. Chalice Enchanter: Carves runes into crystal goblets, infusing each sip with memories or emotions.
71. Goblin Archaeologist: Digs up lost goblin civilizations, unearthing rusty gadgets and cryptic hieroglyphs.
72. Sylph Perfumer: Captures the essence of zephyrs in fragrances—dawn mist, thunderstorm ozone, and moonrise musk.
73. Mystic Cartographer: Maps hidden ley lines and magical nexuses. Their charts reveal portals and ley-gates.
74. Moonstone Miner: Extracts shards of moonlight from caverns, which can be used for enchantments or as lantern fuel.
75. Gryphon Trainer: Raises and trains majestic gryphons for aerial patrols or epic quests.
76. Candlemaker of Whispers: Crafts candles that flicker with spectral flames, allowing communication with the departed.
77. Stardust Prospector: Mines cosmic minerals from fallen meteors—star iron, comet opals, and nebula gems.
78. Golem Animator: Breathes life into clay and stone constructs, imbuing them with purpose.
79. Wraith Whisperer: Communicates with restless spirits, negotiating unfinished business.
80. Celestial Navigator: Guides ships by star charts, steering vessels through astral currents.
81. Chaos Theorist: Predicts chaotic events using butterfly-wing equations, preventing or exploiting chaos.
82. Fairy Ring Dancer: Enters mystical circles to converse with fairies, striking bargains or seeking wisdom.
83. Banshee Lullaby Singer: Soothes grieving souls with haunting songs, easing their passage to the beyond.
84. Goblin Diplomat: Negotiates peace treaties between realms, balancing goblin mischief and human interests.
85. Veilwalker: Steps between dimensions using shimmering veils, exploring parallel worlds.
86. Moonshard Weaver: Threads moonstone shards into cloaks that grant moonwalking abilities.
87. Gryphon Whisperer: Communicates with gryphons through empathic bonds.
88. Cursed Curator: Collects cursed artifacts, safeguarding them in hidden vaults.
89. Sphinx Riddler: Poses enigmas to travelers seeking wisdom, granting answers in exchange for riddles.
90. Bard of Echoes: Sings songs that echo through time, preserving forgotten tales.
91. Goblin Inventor: Constructs whimsical gadgets—umbrellas that predict rain, shoes that dance, and hats that translate squirrel chatter.
92. Serpent Astronomer: Studies cosmic serpents—constellations that writhe across the sky.
93. Wisp Choreographer: Stages ethereal dances in moonlit glades, captivating forest creatures.
94. Lorekeeper of Lost Languages: Deciphers ancient scripts, unlocking forbidden knowledge.
95. Mistral Cartographer: Maps winds—trade winds, storm fronts, and zephyr currents.
96. Harbinger of Eclipses: Predicts solar and lunar eclipses, foretelling cosmic shifts.
97. Grimoire Illuminator: Adds luminescent runes to spellbooks, making incantations glow.
98. Nymph Whisperer: Listens to water nymphs’ laughter, translating it into healing melodies.
99. Celestial Harvester: Gathers stardust for celestial events—meteor showers, comet arrivals.
100. Goblin Mechanomancer: Constructs clockwork creatures—mechanical squirrels, steam-powered beetles.
101. Sylph Skyweaver: Spins cloud silk into airy garments that grant flight.
102. Oracle of Shifting Sands: Reads desert dunes, predicting sandstorms and mirages.
103. Moonmoth Keeper: Tends to moonmoths—luminous insects that guide lost travelers.
104. Gryphon Herald: Announces royal decrees from the backs of majestic gryphons.
105. Cauldron Seer: Gazes into bubbling cauldrons, glimpsing past, present, and future.
106. Whisperwood Arborist: Nurtures ancient trees that whisper forgotten secrets.
107. Stardust Cartographer: Maps cosmic phenomena—supernovae, black holes, and quasars.
108. Goblin Clockmaker: Constructs timepieces with peculiar quirks—watches that run backward, hourglasses that pause.
109. Sphinx Scholar: Studies riddles, deciphering their hidden meanings.
110. Wisp Guardian: Protects sacred wisps from curious wanderers.
111.Labyrinth Keeper: Guards labyrinth entrances, ensuring only worthy seekers enter.
112. Frostfire Forger: Crafts weapons that blaze with icy flames.
113. Goblin Meteorologist: Predicts weather using enchanted barometers and cloud crystals.
114. Sylph Windwhisperer: Converses with gusts, learning their secrets.
115. Dreamcatcher Artisan: Weaves dreamcatchers that trap nightmares and release sweet dreams.
116. Celestial Herald: Announces cosmic events—comets, eclipses, and planetary alignments.
117. Grimoire Binder: Assembles spellbooks, binding them with dragonhide and phoenix feathers.
118. Nymph Songkeeper: Records water nymphs’ melodies, preserving them in enchanted shells.
119. Goblin Tinkerer: Repairs broken gadgets—flying broomsticks, talking teapots.
120. Starforged Smith: Hammers star fragments into celestial armor and swords.
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Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)
In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Dryest Place In America.
I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.
It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.
You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".
I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.
I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.
On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.
It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.
I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.
I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.
This is approximately what it should have looked like:
Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.
The waist tapered in.
The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.
The ears were Triangular.
The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.
The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.
The neck arched.
The nostrils were too high and close
The mouth too long.
Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.
I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.
Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.
Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.
A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:
Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:
I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.
Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.
The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.
The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.
I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.
It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.
I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.
When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.
I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.
No hoofprints.
Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.
I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.
-
I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.
Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.
---
(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)
“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”
The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and it was the kind of question she tried to avoid.
Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.
“You a cop?”
The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”
A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.
Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”
A nod.
“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”
A nod.
“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”
A tiny, miserable nod.
“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’
“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”
Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.
The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.
“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”
The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.
“I can work with that,” said the witch.
I firmly believe that some stories can never be translated into a different medium and that's okay
"Oh dear, you have a lot of… things." The cyborg looked up. "The word is prosthetics." "So much machinery. Don't you worry you will stop being human?" "Oh, there is a line I will not cross." "What line is that?" "I will not question another person's humanity."
"I thought this was meant to be a temple dedicated to learning!" The angry man's question was a statement. "We do not usually use such grand words," the librarian said, "but yes." "Then how come the building is full of fiction!" "You do not know what can be learned from fiction?"
The monster hunter listened to the description.
"Yup, sounds like a bull ogre."
"Can you kill it?"
"Why?"
"You're a monster hunter!"
"What has it done, that I should kill it?"
"It's a monster!"
"We don't kill 'em for what they are. What's it done?"
"I… It is!"
"It's allowed."
Intro
Knut ♤ He/Him ♤ 2005
Profile picture is mine and header is creative commons
Letter to Abraham
Dear Abraham,
I wouldn’t have done it,
And that’s all I’m going to say.
I would have screamed
I would have rebelled
I would have chased God away throwing stones at his back
I would never have even thought of hurting my child
I wouldn’t have done it,
And that’s all I’m going to say.
Do you know how many parents have followed your lead?
Setting their gay children,
Their trans children,
Their beautiful innocent children
Down on an altar because you, monster, did it first?
I wouldn’t have done it,
And that’s all I’m going to say.
Why couldn’t you see what an evil it was?
Don’t you know what a parent is for? To love, to protect?
I’d have stood between God and my child like a lioness protecting my lamb from slaughter,
I’d have roared at him for daring even to ask,
I would never have relied on the mercy of an evil thing that demanded child-blood spilt in its honor
I wouldn’t have done it,
And that’s all I’m going to say.