AGNOSTHESIA (n.)Ā ā the state of not knowing how you really feel about something, which forces you to sift through clues hidden in your behavior, as if you were some other person.
ABOUT.
hi! iām andrea or andy. my pronouns are they/them, and iām an isfj, type eight, and chaotic neutral. my main & literature blog is @jsperfheyāā.
some of my favorite books include girls of paper & fire, the hate u give, sapiens, six of crows, and red white & royal blue. iām a writer who rarely writes coherent pieces as well as an aspiring poetāboth written and spoken. currently, iām working on an untitled novel and exploring slam & prose poetry!
WORKS.
wip i (untitled).
a wlw retelling of the famous romance of the three kingdoms.
introduction & wip tag coming soon.
poetry.
all of my poetry can be found under my poetry tag here.
would it be ok if I added your poem (or more specifically the except "has salt ever tasted so much like fire waiting to be ignited?") to a post of poetry about hunger and love? it would be credited, but it's ok if the answer is no :) I just really really love it and it resonated with me
hello!! yes of course i would love that + im so happy to hear that my writing resonated with you :') have a great day and thank you sm for asking first
my legs,
emblazoned with shards of wet grass each
time i hit the ground running.
you sing under the sun-
broken sky that rains down until we shiver with
delight.
has salt ever tasted so much like a fire waiting
to be ignited?
drips of icy red ā sticky-
sweet, sticky in the spaces between my fingers ā a
reminder of the time that i am leaving but i cannot quite leave
behind yet.
(green, your hand whispers to mine, lime
green grabbing my crimson scarlet.)
the whole world lies just
beyond the edge of this breath.
we jump.
Weāre going to need a little more information than thatā¦
Please see the following maps of South Asia:
Image description: Two maps of South Asia. The top map depicts the South Asian region, including Afghanistan with color-coding of different regions by 8 color-coded language groups. The bottom depicts the official state/ province/ languages and scripts for countries in the South Asian region, excluding Afghanistan. See end of post for detailed image description under the cut.
(Links: Top Map, Bottom Map)
Thatās a lot of languages, right?
Names in South Asian cultures are primarily dictated by religion and language. While thereās some overlap between cultures, we can make an educated guess of someoneās ethnicity & religion based on their name. For example:
Simran Dhillon ā¦ is a Punjabi Sikh.
Priyanka Ghosh ā¦ is a Bengali Hindu
Maya Srinivasan ā¦ is a Tamilian Hindu.
Harsh Patel ā¦ is a Gujarati Hindu.
Amin Usmani ā¦ is a Muslim from a traditionally Urdu speaking community.
Teresa Fernandes ā¦ is a Goan Christian.
Behind the Name is a good place to start looking as they state the specific language the name is from. As for religion, there are more factors to consider.
Sikhs
Sikh first names are gender neutral. The 10th Sikh guru designated Singh (meaning lion, for men) and Kaur (meaning heir to the throne, for women) as Sikh surnames. These surnames were designed to be equalizers within Sikh communities. However, many Sikhs keep their Punjabi surnames (many of these surnames are now primarily associated with Sikhs) and use Singh and Kaur as a middle name (eg. Ranjit Kaur Shergill, Amrit Singh Cheema). More devout Sikhs use only Singh and Kaur or use the same format legally but do not share their surnames.
Sikh first names are derived from gurbani (Sikh holy texts), so they are often uniform across cultures. Most Sikhs who arenāt Punjabi use Singh & Kaur or cultural surnames in the same format. The latter is usually seen among Afghan & Delhiite Sikh communities. While most changed their surnames to Singh & Kaur, some families still kept the surnames they had before they converted from Islam and Hinduism (eg. Harpreet Singh Laghmani, Jasleen Kaur Kapoor).
If youāre stuck on a surname for a Sikh character, Singh for men and Kaur for women is the safest way to go regardless of ethnicity.
Good resources for Sikh names can be found here:
https://www.sikhs.org/names.htm
http://www.sikhwomen.com/SikhNames/Ā
Christians
South Asian Christians naming conventions depend largely on who brought Christianity to the region and when. For example, Christianity was largely brought to Goa by Portuguese Catholics so youāll see Portuguese surnames, while many Christians in the Seven Sister States didnāt change their names. South Asian Christians will also often have Christian first names, either in Portuguese or in English.
Hindus, Jains, castes and gotras
Hinduism is the majority religion in India and the South Asian region overall. A key thing that many newcomers overlook when writing about Hindus is that rather like feudal Europe, a personās last name can also tell you what their family used to do because of the caste system. Both Hindus and Jains employ gotras (or lineage systems) designed to keep people from the same patrilineal line from marrying each other. Thus, if your Hindu character is a Vaishya (tradesman/ merchant class), but you have chosen a last name for them related to farming, or if your Kshatriya (warrior) character has a last name that means bureaucrat, youāve made a mistake. Most Hindus and Jains will have last names derived from Sanskrit, or a language with Sanskrit roots.
A note on middle names: in South India, Hindus will often use the fatherās first name for the childās middle name.
For what it is worth, South Asia is hardly the only region to have these particular features. Japanese society until the end of the Edo era was heavily segregated by caste, and to this day, many families with samurai last names occupy relative positions of privilege compared to other castes, even though the Japanese caste system ended with the Meiji Restoration.Ā
A note of caution: Baby name websites tend to be inaccurate for Hindu names, often confusing Farsi and Arabic-derived Urdu names with the more traditional Sanskrit-derived names. Behind the Name is by far the most accurate website, but it doesnāt hurt to check multiple sources. For Hindu and Jain surnames associated with different castes, regions and gotras, Wikipedia is surprisingly thorough.
Muslims
Islam is the majority religion in Pakistan and Bangladesh as well as the second largest religion in India, but the differing ethnicities and arrival periods of Muslims in South Asia over the course of history can have a significant impact on a characterās name. For example,Ā think of when your characterās family will have arrived in South Asia or converted to Islam:
During the Delhi Sultanate, when Hindustani would have been spoken?Ā
Under the Mughals when Persian was more common?Ā
Are they from Bangladesh and thus speak Bengali?Ā
Do they have ancestors from Afghanistan or Swat Valley, and thus have Pashto last names?Ā
Does the family speak Urdu?Ā
All of these will impact what their name might reasonably be. As a general rule, Muslims will have last names that are in Farsi/ Persian, Urdu, Arabic and Bengali. Bangladeshi Muslims may have Hindu names (both first and last) as well.
Buddhists
When discussing Buddhists in South Asia, we are primarily talking about Nepal and Sri Lanka. The majority languages in these countries are Nepali and Sinhala, respectively. Both languages are part of the Indo-Aryan language family, and like many Indo-Aryan languages, show heavy Sanskrit influence.
Others
Donāt forget that India also has a large number of lesser known minority religions, including Judaism, Zoroastrianism, Tibetan Buddhism and a host of indigenous religions.Ā
Judaism: There are a number of historical Jewish enclaves in India, as the result of specific waves of migration. Like South Asian Muslim names, Jewish last names will vary depending on the ethnicity and arrival period for each particular wave of Jewish diaspora.Ā
Zoroastrianism: People who practice Zoroastrianism are likely to have Farsi last names.Ā
Tibetan Buddhism: Tibetan Buddhists will obviously have Tibetan names and are often a part of the Tibetan diaspora who entered India as refugees during the Chinese governmentās invasion of Tibet.
In Conclusion
An in-depth coverage of name etymology in South Asia would probably be the size of an encyclopaedia. The above is hardly exhaustive; we havenāt scratched the surface of the ethnic and linguistic variations in any of the South Asian countries displayed on the maps above. We hope, however, that it motivates you to research carefully and appreciate the cultural diversity South Asia has to offer. Just like in any setting where issues of lineage are plainly displayed by a personās name, names in South Asia tell stories about where a person is from, what language they speak, and what their ancestors might have done, even if this has little bearing on the character themselves. It may seem a little elaborate to try and imagine the ancestors of your character before you even decide who your character is, but the reality is that most South Asians know these things instinctively, and whether or not you do your due diligence will be part of how we judge your work.Ā
Name a thing to fight over, and South Asians have probably fought over it at one point or another, whether it be religion, ethnicity, language, or caste. However, one thing many South Asians have in common is pride in our individual origins. Respecting this love of identity will be invaluable as you plan your story.
At the end of the day, there is no substitute for actually talking to people who share your characterās background. We will always recommend having someone from the community youāre writing about check your naming.
i just wanted to let you know that your writing is absolutely incredible ! i re read your poetry constantly, and it never fails to make me sob and feel things. thank you for writing those poems. it means a lot </3
im going to cry anon i hope you know that im sending you all my love literally sobbing in the club rn
outlining is, depending on who you ask, a vital step in the writing process. of course, it all depends on whether or not you are a plotter at all. if youāre a pantser, or somewhere in between, outlining might be a little difficult to get anywhere with. in this multi-part series, iāll talk about a few different methods i have used as well as some pointers.
first, letās begin with some general outlining tips to get you started!
THE BLANK PAGE: cultivating your idea.
might seem a little daunting at first. but this is where your story begins. write down any ideas that you might have for your wip. maybe that just means the concept, the premise, or a singular scene that you really want to happen. it doesnāt matterāwrite it down!
how many povs do you want? first or third person? omniscient or limited? alternating povs or something else? consider why you want this specific type of pov and how these characters can contribute to the story.
think about story structure. how do you want to divide the story up? of course, you donāt actually have to stick to it, but this might help you get started.
what tropes do you want to include? found family, there was only one bed, enemies to lovers, etc.Ā
maybe make a few graphics, or scroll through youtube for those 1 hr long playlists that just give you vibes. it might help immerse you a little bit more in your idea. make sure you save these things for laterāif you get stuck, these could dig you out of a hole.
ramble to friends!! having someone to talk to and bounce ideas off of could get your idea to grow even further.
remember that anything you do at this point is subject to change. youāre loosely setting up how you want to tell the story, as well as figuring out how itās going to be written. if you find out later down the line that you want to do something else, nothing is stopping you from changing it!Ā
depending on what sort of writer you are (plotter, pantser, or somewhere in between), the beginning steps of an outline may differ. when iām putting together my more cohesive outlines, i write a lot more in the first step. when iām just writing to chase after inspiration, wherever it might take me, i usually just write down a few thoughts that i know have to happen. it all depends on whatās comfortable with you!
When they find her, Everly is standing with a manic smile on her face and a knife in her gut. They look over at Jiva and throw their head back laughing.Ā āUp for a game of chess, mate?ā
featuring: mutual pining, morally gray characters, symbolism, found family, death, secrets, pansexuals, she/theys, coc, ballrooms, love in all its forms.
1) What is the city called by its inhabitants? By outsiders? Does it have any nicknames?
2) What is the āhubā of the city? A market, shopping district, garden, etc.?
3) Are there any famous landmarks? Are they natural/geographical, such as a mountain, or man-made, like a clock tower?
4) Where does the cityās government reside? A building or elsewhere? How does the cityās government differ from the country it resides in, if at all?
5) Geographically speaking, where is the city? Besides a river, in a valley, in plains, by mines, etc.?
6) What is the cityās water and/or food source? The river, the ocean, surrounding farms?
7) Why did this city grow from a town/village into its current state? Is it the capital, a hub for trade, a key resource area, or have some historical/religious significance?
8) What kind of defenses does it have? Walls? Buttresses? Guards/police who patrol?
9) Whatās the average income for its residents? What is the most common occupation?
10) What kind of architecture would be seen walking around its streets? Are most of the homes made of brick, wood, stone, cement? Are paint colours vibrant or subdued? Do buildings crowd each other out, or are they evenly spaced? Does it change depending on the part of the city youāre in?
11) How is the city with crime? Is it overrun by murder and theft, or is it fairly quiet and peaceful? Are criminals bold in flaunting their power (if any) or do they stick to secretive means?
12) Who holds the most power? The government, businesses, criminals, other organisations?
13) What does the city smell like? Does it reek of fish caught at the docks, thick perfume of blooming flowers, the stench of sewerage, etc.?
14) What kind of relationship do its inhabitants have with inhabitants of other cities? Are they friendly, rivals, neither?
15) Are there any places of religious gathering? (Eg. churches, temples, altars, etc.)
16) What are those secret spots that only long-term residents know about? Is there a ābest cafe in the cityā, or peaceful garden tucked away from the hustle and bustle?
17) How popular is the city with outsiders/tourists? Is it a well-known travel destination, or more isolated?
18) What kind of cultures are seen in the city? Are its residents a singular ethnic culture, or a mix?
19) Does the city have any celebrations/festivals specific to itself? When and how are these celebrated?
20) What is the cityās history? Has it been under siege or attack? What major historical events have taken place in its depths, if any?
I was talking to a girl at ComicCon, the kind of person who has a million creative projects at the same time. As many people do, she has a story she wants to write, with amazing characters she wants to share with the world, but writing is hard and a first novel can be daunting. Hereās what I told her.
Now, this applies to the people who REALLY want to see their story done. These are the main pillars of the cathedral that is your story. Letās begin.
1- YOUR GOAL IS TO WRITE A COMPLETE FIRST DRAFT. It will be shit. But it will be complete. You can build on it and rewrite, but the most important thing is to WRITE TILL THE END OF THE STORY.
2- SIT DOWN AND WORK. Thatās the difference between writers and the million people who say they have a story that theyāll write someday.
Alright, letās get technical, and start by the end.Ā
3- Art is about causing your public to have emotions. Decide right now what emotion you want to leave your readers with when they close your book. Is it happy, sad, bittersweet, hopeful? Pick one. (This can be changed later if you rewrite and find some other ending, but we are working on the first draft.)
ā Maybe you have a nice gimmick, a cool idea for a story, like idk,Ā āWhat if you cloned yourself and that clone took over your lifeā. This is interesting, but itās not a story in itself. A story needs emotions. If you donāt pick the emotions you want your reader to feel, your idea is just a gimmick.Ā
4- Now that you have the final emotion, decide your ending in accordance to said emotion. Are characters dying? Is the bad guy defeated? Is everyone splitting up or leaving together as a found family?Ā
Then we go back to the beginning.
5- You probably have a million characters you all want to write. Pick one to be your protagonist. Yes, just one. Multi-characters stories are harder to write and demand experience and time. We want this novel to exist, and not be stuck in limbo forever. Anyway, people tend to always prefer side characters. Who has heard of someone having a protagonist as a fave?? Your side characters will be loved, no worry.Ā
How to find your protagonist: Itās the person who makes decisions and makes the plot advance. Simple as that. Not to be mistaken for the leader of a group.Ā Ā
6- Now that you have your protagonist, you decide what is normal for them. That is your beginning.Ā
7- And then, you break that normality in some horrible way that will prevent your protagonist to come back to it. That is your inciting incident.Ā
Then we write the middle
8- You google Three-Act-Structure and get one of these babies.Ā
(But TalhĆ, I hear you say, why should I follow this? Itās been overdone, and my story doesnāt follow this, and I have more to write than thisā¦ Well, thatās your choice. Iām not the boss of you. Iām just saying that this is a solid model for western storytelling and itās been proven to work time and time again. You can create outside of this, but again, the main goal here is to get your novel on paper. This is a solid template.)
9- You probably have a general idea of events you want to happen in the story. Place these scenes where you feel they should go on the structure. Like, a confrontation with the main bad guy goes in climax of act three, and the confrontation with the main henchman goes to climax of act two, etc. Be mindful of the rising action and tension: a cute misadventure in the woods would probably go earlier in the story than a fight to the death.
10- Now, a secret: What separates bad writing from good writing? Bad writing is adding a bunch of events in the middle and have the characters go through them like a checklist of scenes. You can often see this in movies. But good writing links the events. Each and every event that happens has to be a result of your character making a decision. Then, an obstacle happens, and your character makes another decision, that leads to your next event/obstacle.Ā
11- Another secret: A character will gain power, money, weapons and allies through the story. In videogames, this is useful to defeat the bad guy. But storytelling is not videogames. Having a superpowerful hero at the end is boring. What we want is keeping the reader in suspense. So youāll have to take everything from them. Leave them powerless and alone. And then, break their leg. I mean, not literally, although you can do that too, but have them super disadvantaged. And then they can use the personal growth they got in the adventure to prevail. (What is more interesting: a character fleeing from a facility but with weapons and kickass moves, or a character fleeing the same facility without weapons or shoes and with a broken arm? Who do you root for?)
Other tricks
The rest of the crew: I go with whatĀ Pixar does for characters: Main character gets three or more characteristics. Thatās your Woody. Second tier character gets two characteristics. Thatās your Buzz. Third tier characters get one characteristic, like Rex and Mister Potato Head. Keep control of your character tiers and never give too much time to the lower tiers ones, it doesnāt help your story.Ā Ā
Herd your cats: Characters will want to wander in every direction, and youāll want to follow them. Keep them in groups, and even though you can follow a side character for a scene or two, focus 80 to 90% of your story on your protagonist.Ā
DND is not a novel: Iām pretty sure your campaign is super fun, but you canāt just put it on paper and call it a novel. It needs a narrative arc and serious editing. You can use a campaign as a base, but it needs to be worked as a novel, because youāre changing mediums, and a novel has different requirements.Ā
Thatās pretty much what I can remember for now. This should help you with the bones of your novel, and you can add the meat on that. I hope it helps. But honestly, the best advice I can give you isĀ
WHY WAVEMAKER IS THE BEST WRITING SOFTWARE: A POWERPOINT INTRODUCTION BY ISA @endymions
ever since i found out about +wavemaker.cards, iāve been anĀ eensy-weensy, teensy little tinyĀ bit obsessed with it. ive infodumped for an hour to @welcometowriteblr on two separate occasions about it. its an all-in-one writing software that lets you plan and outline your novel, then type directly into a document linked to each section of your outline. super organized, super cool.
i got limited to 10 slides because of tumblr, so i thoroughly apologize for throwing any and every powerpoint rule out the window and shoving it into one nightmare slide (iām looking at you, slide 2). youāll have to click each slide to read it, and zoom in on some :/ im really sorry i just had so much to say T_T.Ā
i use the outline based off of +blake snyderās save the cat! i totally recommend checking that out if this outline style works for you. i mention it on the slides, but if yall want me to do another ppt on my exact planning method which includes a google spreadsheet, iāll be more than happy to do that!
ix. i went to the store the other day. i went to the store and those cookies you like to eat were on sale so i thought, hey, iād better stock up on these, just in case, and now there are four boxes of cookies in our pantry. there are four boxes of cookies in our pantry and you will never eat them.
viii. i found one of your old sweatshirts in the back of my closet and i do not know what to do with it.
vii. once, when i was in elementary school, our teacher made us line up against the wall of the classroom and pick someone to give a compliment to, and we got to go back to our seat after someone picked us. there were twenty-two kids in our class. someone picked their best friend, and then there were twenty-one, and then twenty, and then nineteen, and then six and five and four, until there were only three of us left, and i was one of them. we were standing there along the wall and drowning in our shame, wishing we could go and sit down. and at the same timeāat the same time i just wanted someone to pick me. i wanted someone to want me as much as i needed them.
and then you came along. you picked me.
(just so you knowāi would always pick you too.)
vi. i know you love blue m&mās. if i could do it over again, i would give you all of my blue m&mās.
v. it hurts. it hurts. it hurts. it hurts. it hurts.
iv. i think there is a special kind of happiness when you are six years old and you have been drawing on the driveway with chalk all morning. there is a special kind of happiness in standing up with little imprints of gravel in your knees and powder-blue chalk dust under your fingernails.Ā
iii. iām sorry that i didnāt tell you this before but i love you.
ā I loved you in a time before I knew what love meant; I know now, and I love you still.
KIERAN CANNOT REMEMBER a time when he did not love the girl with the dusky eyes. Heās tried. Heās tried so hard, because perhaps if he could remember such a time, he could stop loving her now, as if he had never loved her at all. But, he despairs, as he pleads to invisible gods, how can he, when even his earliest recollection takes him back to memories of her?
He is three years old, sulking in his room with his arms crossed, grumpy because his nurse has forbidden him from playing outside in the heavy downpour. But Kieran is still a child, yet unburdened by the weight of too many secrets and obligations. So even though the sky is rumbling and dark as night, he wants nothing more than to splash in the puddles that are forming in the cobbled courtyard of the palace. He settles for pressing one small hand to the cool glass window, trying to trace the paths of different rivulets of water. One day, heāll think back to this moment and envy the simplicity of his life before he cracked beneath the magnitude of love.
There is a noise outside his bedroom, and his mother, HanneleāSeochunās bright-eyed queen, comes bursting through the doorway bearing an oversized bouquet of fresh flowers. āDarling!ā She beams, and suddenly, Kieran doesnāt think the world is so dull and dreary after all. He holds his arms out and Hannele understands the gesture as intimately as any mother would. A handful of quick, elegant steps takes her to the oversized armchair her son is sitting in, and when she sweeps him into her arms with effortless grace, Kieran has never been so sure that his mother was an angel in another life.
Nestling himself into the crook of her neck, Kieran eyes the colorful blooms that somehow managed to remain uncrushed in Hanneleās arms. āWho are those for?ā He asks curiously, doing his best to gently brush out the tangled leaves of one of the flowers.
āTheyāre for Miss Gracelyn and her new baby, Ki!ā Excitement tinges his motherās voice, and the young prince vaguely remembers his fatherās most trusted advisor and her swollen stomach. At this, Kieran makes a face, for he doesnāt like babies much. The last one heād seen had been his new baby brother, born three months ago with the name Ster-fry or something; no one had bothered to correct the misnomer, and it had stuck. His brother was a drooling mess, and Kieran hated drool. Besides, he also hated the hospital, where everything was too clean, too bright, too immaculate. But he has never been able to resist his mother. And so a reluctant Kieran allows himself to be carried towards the hospital wing of the palace.
Hannele pushes open the heavy wooden doors with that same easy grace from before, and upon entrance, Kieran immediately squints. He was rightāit was too bright in these halls, and for a second, his world is blurry white. By the time he blinks the haze away, his mother is standing at the bedside of a cot where a woman of about thirty is lying, clutching a pink bundle in her arms. Ecstatic to see her friend, Hannele gently places Kieran on the floor and rushes forward with her offering of flowers.
More reserved, Kieran holds back, preferring to hide behind the skirt of his motherās royal blue gown for almost fifteen minutes before his curiosity gets the better of him. He had been afraid to see spittleāstars knew how many cloths his new brother went through in a single dayābut upon first glance, heās pleasantly surprised to see that this baby is drool-free. Leaning in a little closer, he notices the moles sprinkled across her features, and though her eyes are closed, Kieran is already entranced. She has curls of brown blooming atop her head, and they look so much softer than Elizaās wild tresses that he almost reaches out to touch the tuft of hair.
Itās then that she opens her eyes, and they shine such a brilliant umber that he thinks he canāt breathe. Itās a different brown than heās ever seen before, velvet soft and yet, deep enough to hold a universe.
āWhatās her name?ā He asks Gracelyn with wide eyes. āSheās so pretty!ā
The woman laughs quietly, āGwyneira, but sheās to be called Gwen.ā
āHi, Gwen,ā the little prince bends towards her like a flower to the sun, saying her name like itās something sacred. She looks so fragile, so vulnerable in her motherās arms, and even though heās just met her, something akin to devotion courses through his veins like fire. āIām Kieran. Iām going to be your protector.ā
It has been twenty years since that day, and yet, the memory remains crystal clear. His heart has belonged to her from the moment they met.
When a red mark appears on his wrist when Kieran is ten years old bearing the initials of one Gwyneira Han, the crown prince is hardly surprised. He had loved Gwen before he understood what it meant to care for someone in that way. It was about time the mark proving it showed up.
It happens the day her father walks out.
Aran Han leaves the palace a little after noon under the innocent enough pretense of buying roses for his wife and daughter. An hour passes. Then two, then three, then four. By the fifth, Aranās farewell note is discovered on the bedside table in what was his and his wifeās bedroom. The walk-in closet appears as if a hurricane has whipped through, garments strewn haphazardly across the carpet, hangers askew, bags half-opened and bags half-filled before theyād been discarded in favor of another. His note says heās booked a one-way ticket to the Feidrynne Isles. Heās not coming back. Heās sorry. Not sorry enough to stay, is all Kieran can think when he is the one left behind to piece together the broken shards of his best friend.
He discovers her as he walks out from his last lesson of the day, reveling in the golden light streaming through the glass windows when he catches sight of her crumpled form. He recognizes her immediatelyāhe could probably spot her from a mile away if he was being honestāand the shock of seeing Gwyneira Han cry causes him to drop everything at once so he can rush to her side.
āGwen?ā Kieran asks quietly, kneeling in front of her. Heās about to ask her if sheās okayāand itās a stupid question, she obviously isnātāwhen she lifts her head, and he can clearly see the red lining her eyes, the dried streaks of salt on her cheeks, and instinct causes him to open his arms to her. She falls into his embrace as a fresh round of sobs wracked her body.
āHeās gone, Ki, heās gone,ā she chokes out, and she doesnāt have to say who. He knows. Aran had always only been half-there for his family, never fully present, but disappearing? That was cowardly. Anger clenches its hot iron fist around his heart, and he wants to storm out of there, find Aran, show him the damage heās done. But Gwen needs him more, more than Aran needs to be brought to justice, so he simply pulls her close. And though they stay like that for a good long while, never does he let her go. Not even once.
When the last glimpse of sun dips behind the horizon, leaving behind an evening sky too beautiful for a day like this, he stumbles back up, knees almost giving way after hours of sitting. Gwen, his precious Gwen, looks up at him with eyes that reflect a betrayal that threatens to shatter his own heartāhow could she think he would ever leave her? Wordlessly, he bends down and scoops her up, notices that she fits in his arms a little too perfectly, and then heās aching all over again. āWhereāre we going?ā She murmurs, voice hoarse and words slurring together.
āTo get you some food,ā is his prompt reply, and then he begins the trek to the kitchen. Heās careful to walk slowly, afraid that if he jars her sheāll crumble. Heās not as graceful as his mother when he pushes the metal doors to the scullery open, but heās doing his best. A flick of his hand, and the cooks are sent out, and with the semblance of privacy, he sets his best friend down on the edge of a counter before busying himself with spooning out two bowls of the stew thatās simmering on one of the stovetops.
āHere,ā he says to Gwen as he hands her one of the scarlet bowls, a curved spoon tucked beneath the sea of creamy soup. āEat,ā his voice is stern, but his tone is kind. Her movements are sluggish, tired, and Kieran canāt help but breathe a quiet sigh of relief when she finally takes a bite. He eats, but heās only half-focused on the task at hand, making sure to keep a watchful eye on his best friend.
In the yellow light of the kitchen, her skin has taken on a similar coloring and it makes her look sickly. Her hair and gown are rumpled, black smudged around her eyes. Itās so unlike Gwen to be anything less than impeccable and immaculate that the sight is disconcerting. He still thinks sheās the most beautiful girl in the world.
Itās a quiet affair, the only sounds being the gentle whistling of the kettle, but there is comfort in her presence. Kieran makes sure Gwen finishes her bowl, then takes a small silk kerchief out of his pocket to rub away a stray smudge of food from her cheek. Gwen smiles in gratitude, and even if itās just a small curve of her mouth, it still warms his chest in a way only she can.
āIām going to change my last name,ā she announces abruptly as heās rinsing their dishes. He pauses, turns around. Notices the hard set of her jaw, the fierce glint in those umber eyes. They donāt need to be orange for him to know that there is a fire burning behind them.
āI think thatās a good idea,ā he says slowly. They are treading on delicately thin ice.
āWeāre going to use momās maiden name. Park.ā Kieran thinks of Gracelyn, of how sad her eyes must look now. His heart hurts for the woman heās considered family for so long, feels the same hot anger from earlier wrapping itself around his heart. It rises in his chest, threatening to spill over and out. But Gwen doesnāt need that right now, doesnāt need another verbal reminder that she got left behind.
So instead, he tries out her new name. āGwyneira Marilyse Park.ā It rolls off his tongue like music. āI like it.ā
Itās all the confirmation she needs. āIāll make sure the paperwork is filed tomorrow.ā
And thatās that.
Later that night after heās tucked her into bed, Kieran leans against her open doorway, finding comfort in the way the blankets rise and fall in an even pattern. Sheād fallen asleep in his arms as they walked into the hallway that housed Gwen and Gracelynās rooms, by now, all trace of Aran having been removed from the palace premises. But his presence still lingers with the scent of his cologne and past memories, hanging over everything like an unwanted ghost. Kieran reminds himself to light new candles tomorrow and thinks of ways to make the palace feel like home again.
There is a rustle of fabric, and Gwen turns to her side so that he can see the outlines of her face from the dim light of the hallway. In her sleep, she looks so peaceful, so untroubled. There is no sign of todayās pain. His lips twist in a sad smile, and his heart physically aches with the knowledge that the first person to break her heart had not been a boy, but her own father. Heās tempted to perch himself by her bedside under the excuse that itās his job to look out for her, always has been since that very first day, and the sudden yearning of wishing she had asked him to stay knocks the breath out of him.
He doesnāt entertain the thoughtācannot afford toābut still, he absently traces the single scarlet mark he bears on his wrist, the one he keeps hidden from prying eyes.
Itās then that he feels searing pain.
Kieran has to bite the inside of his cheek so that he doesnāt let out a sudden cry, and he grimaces as he lifts the silken sleeve of his shirt with every measure of caution. All the blood drains from his face when he realizes that his only red markā¦is no longer red.
Itās white.
And then heās stumbling away from the doorway, almost forgetting to pull the door shut behind him in his panic. Heās hyperventilating, face paling as it gets harder to breathe, and his head spins. This wasnāt happening. This wasnāt happening. This wasnāt happening.
Kieran had heard stories about this sort of phenomenon, where red and yellow marks occasionally turn white, an indication that someone you already knew and loved was your soulmate. He just never thought it would happen to him, even though he thinks part of him always knew Gwen meant more to him than as his best friend and some silly childhood crush.
But this? This was his demise.
With a groan, the crown prince slumps against the wall, suddenly, overwhelmingly, exhausted. Well this is absolutely fantastic, he thinks sardonically as he rubs at his eyes. He was in love with a girl who has absolutely no idea how he feels, and to add insult to injury, he knew for certain she had no matching marks. Heās seen her wrists before, seen his initials written in his stoic handwriting on a strip of warm yellow on her arm. Itās then that he vows never to tell Gwen about the bond that now ties him to her, because he doesnāt want to burden her like that, not when sheās only fourteen and her dream is to see the world in its entirety.
He gathers himself and his resolve, straightens his shoulders and smooths the wrinkles from his shirt and combs his hair with his fingers. When he stands up again, he is the picture of princely perfection, if just a little rogue. Then he begins walking down the hall, pretending as if each step that takes him further and further away from his soulmate isnāt tearing his heart in two different directions.
After that fateful night, Kieran purposely avoids everyone in the palace for a whole week, and since heās seventeen, most of his family simply chalks it up to teenage angst.
Gwen, to her credit, does not believe any of it for even a second.
When she finally manages to corner him in his office, she places her hands on her hips and glares at him. The sight makes him want to laugh, because standing in her pastel pink gown and flowers adorning her head, she looks more adorable than she does scary. He forces himself to swallow down the laughter though, and refuses to meet her gaze. He canāt look her in the eyes, because she knows him too well, and she would be able to see so clearly the love that he carries for her like an eternal torch.
"Why are you avoiding me?" Gwen is pouting and petulant, lower lip out and eyes so wide he can see the tears glimmering, ready to fall. She steps towards him, eliciting a nervous sort of laugh from her best friend. Kieran tries to put some distance between them, only to find himself cornered into the back of his desk.
"I-Iām not," he retorts, desperately trying to pull himself together. He sweeps a hand through his hair, hoping she doesnāt notice the sallow bags lining the corners of his eyes. āIāve just been...ā heās thinking quickly, trying to scrap together an excuse, and the next words to come out of his mouth are said in a rush, the tail ends of the letters blurring together. āIāve been looking for your father.ā It wasnāt a complete lie, he had been looking for Aran Han, just without much success.
Immediately, Gwenās expression simultaneously both softens and hardens. āYou donāt have to do that, Ki,ā she murmurs, dropping her gaze. āI know heās not coming back.ā She places a gentle hand on his arm, and meets his gaze with startling defiance. And like every other time itās happened, Kieran is electrified by the way her eyes shine like liquid moonlight. āWe donāt need him. I donāt need him. Iām tired of mourning a man who didnāt think I was worth fighting for.ā Her voice is steely, resolute, mind made up. That was something else heās always liked about her, that resilience, that fighting spirit, the way sheād trip when they were kids and dust off her knees and continue walking with perfect posture. Gwen barrels on, and this time, her voice is near pleading. āSo stop looking for him, please. I justāI just want my best friend back.ā Sheās now adopted her signature puppy dog look, and damn the heavens, he could never deny her anything.
āOkay,ā he replies, and Gwenās smile blossoms into a full-fledged grin. With a cry of delight, she launches forward and wraps him in a crushing embrace.
Heās surprised at how much heās missed this, missed her. His chin fits perfectly into the crook of her neck when he leans down, and itās as if their arms were made to hold each other.
Kieran swallows. He was going to have to be so very careful from now on.
Months later, when Gwen tells him she likes Sterling, Kieran feels what is left of his heart shatter like glass. Whatever remaining hope he dared to hold on to has dissipated, dashed to fine powder before blowing away, and itās gone, gone, gone. He thinks heās always known that Gwen had never seen him as anything more than her best friend, the older brother she never had. Still, the confirmation aches like an old wound, and that damned white mark on his wrist throbs.
āThatās great,ā he manages to rasp when she tells him the big news with that adorable rosy blush staining her cheeks. āYou two would make a perfect couple.ā The most painful part of it all perhaps, is the fact that he isnāt lying. His brother is a far better match for Gwen than he is: theyāre closer in age, and Sterling is the star of Seochun and the royal family. He was charming and kind and would surely sweep her off her feet like she deserved to be. They would be beautiful and picturesque, and he hates himself for being so upset about it. She isnāt yours, he reminds himself, you promised youād let her be free. Sheād never know how much he adored her, and he would have to find a way to make peace with that, even if every beat of his heart cried her name like an anthem.
Heās brought back to the present when his soulmate beams at his words, and for a moment, Kieran canāt breathe. He loves it when she smiles, for it could rival the brightness of the sun. āYou think so?ā She asks shyly, blush darkening. āOh, Iām so glad you approve, Ki! Youāre the greatest friend a girl could ask for!ā With that, Gwen presses a kiss to his cheek and spins giddily out of the room, a whirlwind of lace and silk that unknowingly leaves a devastated boy behind in her wake.
Over the course of time, it becomes easier for Kieran to believe that Gwen isnāt meant for him, that she never was. The mark was a mistake, a fluke of fate. It had to be. How could he be her perfect match when it was so obvious that it was his brother who was her soulmate? Besides, Kieran rationalized, he was the crown prince, and when it came time for him to ascend to the throne, his wife would have to become queen. And Gwen had made it clear that she had no intention of living in Seochun for the rest of her life, and he loved her too much to deny her anythingāhe would not tie her down. So he began to do anything and everything in an effort to forget her, hoping that in time, the awful white mark marring his wrist would disappear.
The first time he goes out, he wears a pullover over a collared shirt, and subconsciously tugs the sleeves down to ensure that his soulmate mark stays hidden. The nightclub is packed, but the sea of people part a way for him as he makes his way to the bar and orders a shot of their strongest drink. He doesnāt particularly care what it is, but he relishes the way the liquid burns on its way down. Itās not even close to half as painful as his state of eternal heartbreak, but itāll do for now.
Leaning against cool wood, Kieran scans the crowd, and a girl catches his eye. He doesnāt do anything but stand there as she makes his way over to him, a smirk curving her startling red lips. He orders two more shots, and heās not sure how they end up as they do, but before he knows it, sheās in his lap kissing the air out of his lungs and his mark burns. Itās not at all how he imagines kissing Gwen would be, but perhaps that was a good thing. He was trying to forget her, was he not? Forcing himself to wipe all thoughts of the dusky-eyed girl from his mind, Kieran swallows hard and pretends that kissing this stranger isnāt killing part of his soul.
He goes home past midnight, hair mussed and collar turned inside out. And he is alone. When it came time, he found that he couldnāt do it. He couldnāt take the girl home, it wouldnāt be fair to either her or to himself. She deserves someone who was consumed with her, and Kieran couldnāt give her that. And though Gwen was not his in the slightest, his heart was heavy with the guilt of betrayal. How much worse would it be if he went any further than he had tonight?
But despite it all, the pain, the remorse, the shame, he sleeps better that night than he has in a long time.
He wakes to all the tabloids of Seochun reporting his escapades of the prior night, pictures of him and the unnamed girl entwined plastered over every front page. Breakfast is a fiasco.
āWhat were you thinking?ā His father blusters, and his face is turning a magnificent shade of red, Kieran thinks absently. He only wishes he had a camera to document it. The rest of his siblings stare down at their plates, eyes wide. His mother only looks sad, maybe disappointed, and it cuts his heart a little.
āI wasnāt,ā is Kieranās simple, morose reply as he cuts his maple toast in half.
āAnd therein lies the problem,ā King Rian snaps, āAct like a man of your status, son. Pull yourself together, you are the inheritor of the Yeong dynasty.ā
Kieran smiles grimly. āArenāt I allowed to have a bit of fun before my ascent to the throne, father?ā
āYou are disgracing our family name!ā He snarls, and appears to have a desire to speak other things on his mind when his wife places a gentle hand on his shoulder. Rian immediately deflates, though his face is still red. The rest of breakfast passes silently, but without further incident.
After that morning, a pattern emerges. Almost every weekend finds the crown prince of Seochun out at some sort of party or club; heās addicted to the way their overwhelming nature can make him forget the heartbreak. Surrounded by alcohol, pretty girls, and blaring music that was almost loud enough to eclipse the steady rhythm of her name echoing through his mind, it was easy to pretend as if his heart was untethered and belonged to none. The paparazzi always catches him kissing some new girl every week, but Kieran still does not take any of them home. That line has been drawn firmly in the ground, though it does not stop his father from lashing out every morning after. Kieran has a new weapon, however, and wields it with careless ease.
āYouāre ruining your image,ā his father tells him once.
āItās what I have to do,ā Kieran shrugs. Heās a bit too hungover to think straight. āIām looking for my soulmate. Not everyone can have you and motherās fairytale romance, you know. Love is always worth a try, isnāt that what you both told me growing up?ā It silences his father every time, though Kieran has to force himself to ignore how heavy the lie feels on his tongue, how his cursed mark burns every time he repeats those words.
And even then, as the years pass and he watches Gwen love Sterling and he kisses countless other girls, the white mark on his left wrist never so much as loses its pearly sheen.
Kieran doesnāt think to cover up his mark until heās nineteen. He had never considered it to be an option, for as much as he hated it most times, being a constant reminder of everything he could never have, it was still a part of him. But even so, there were days when the white mark seemed to cause a physical heartache, likely due to the fact it was tied to his soul or some other explanation he doesnāt care too much to understand.
All he knows is that he is hurting, and the root of it is that damned mark.
So one overcast afternoon, when the clouds cast shadows and hide things from the light, Kieran dons his best disguise and slips out of the palace, a handful of gold coins weighing down the pockets of his wool coat. He knows where to goāheās accompanied his sisters to the beauty boutique more than enough times.
The shop is painted a pale blue, and the inside is so fluorescently bright that it hurts his eyes. There are hundreds of different products lining the shelves, and itās so overwhelming he doesnāt even know where to begin. Heās never actually been the one shopping. It leaves him staring confusedly at a row of skin-colored bottles until an attendant walks up to him and asks him if he needs any help. āThat would be great, actually,ā he says quietly, a bit embarrassed.
āWhat complexion is the lucky girl?ā She chirps, and Kieran manages to stammer out that they share the same skin tone. She holds up various bottles of the thick liquid to his face, his neck, his hands, and he tries not to shy away from her touch when her fingers graze his wrist. āThis one looks just right,ā she finally says after what feels like an eternity, and he takes it alongside the matching powder she hands him. He pays with too many coins, tells the attendant to keep the change, and slips out of the store, leaving her open-mouthed in his wake.
Kieran is eager to hurry back to the palace to test out the efficacy of his new product, but heās careful to avoid detection. The last thing he needs is yet another āscandalā perpetrated by the media. Keeping his head low, he manages to make it back home without anyone recognizing him, and no one at the palace seems to have realized he disappeared for a bit. He silently makes his way up the spiral staircase and chalks up the outing as a success.
In the privacy of his suite, Kieran takes out the bottle and power, setting the items down carefully on the cherrywood dresser. He stares at them for a momentāif heās being honest with himself, he has only the faintest idea of how to use the concealing liquid. He knows Elizabella and Celestine use the same sort of products to even out their skin and cover up the occasional blemish, but the application process is lost on him.
Heart pounding and hesitance permeating every movement, he picks up the bottle and twists off the cap. Then, with a deep shuddering breath, he pushes his sleeve up, now fully ready to dip his fingers into the skin-colored liquid to paint over his mark.
But perhaps he is not as ready as he believes himself to be, however, because Kieran finds himself distracted with tracing the outline of the mark with his index finger, silently wishingāand not for the first timeāthat he didnāt have to hide it from the rest of the world. Heād yell Iām in love with Gwyneira Park from every rooftop, if he could.
The light catches on the mark, and the way it shines reminds him of the way Gwenās eyes sparkle whenever sheās happy, and heās pulled out of his thoughts. He has toāneeds toāforget her.
With a sudden surge of determination, Kieran dips his fingers into the makeup. He streaks it across half of the mark, watching in sick satisfaction as the white of his mark is smothered. But in his intense focus, he makes a dire mistake: he fails to hear the three knocks rapped on the door, or the maid announcing herself right as she pushes her way in with a cleaning cart.
By the time Kieran realizes whatās happened, itās too late.
The girl is gasping, stumbling backward at the sight of the crown prince and apologizing profusely for her intrusion when the light refracts perfectly off his wrist. Her eyes flick towards it, and with the way they widen, he knows his secret is no longer safe.
Ah, the good old inciting incident. The proverbial snowball, the catalyst, the call to action, whatever you want to call it, the inciting incident has a simple function: to change the status quo
In other words, the inciting incident is what sets your story in motion. Itās an event that forces your main character(s) on the journeyĀ that will occupy them for the rest of the story. A status quo is essentially theĀ ānormal lifeā for your main character before things change.Ā
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Letās consider some questions about the inciting incident. These were all things that I, at one point or another, struggled with when it came to writing.Ā
Is the inciting incident the same as the hook?Ā
Not generally! Exceptions exist of course - some inciting incidents technically happen before the book even starts, and some start as early as the first page, but generally theyāre different things. The hook is your attention grabber, something that immediately engages you right at the beginning of the story, usually your first line or first paragraph.Ā
The inciting incident isnāt usually what draws your reader into the novel, the inciting incident is the point where the reader decides not to put down your novel. Or as my partner says, the hook is what pulls you into the room, the inciting incident locks the door behind you.Ā
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Is the inciting incident done TO or done BY the protagonist?
Both happen, but external force is the most common kind of inciting incident: the mysterious letter arrives, the stranger appears, the murder is commited, the partner leaves suddenly, the job ends, the aliens descend, the King dies, the treasure is stolen, etc.
But as above, this isnāt always the case! Some inciting incidents are definitely character driven.
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Must the inciting incident be a negative event?Ā
Nope! As long as the event changes the status quo, itās still an inciting incident! It can be as much a positive event - winning the lottery, achieving something, gaining superpowers, having a first kiss - as a negative one.
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Does the inciting incident have to be a BIG event?
Not at all!Ā Many people choose the inciting incident to be quite an eventful thing: Hagrid telling Harry heās a wizard, Lucy discovering Narnia in the wardrobe, Katniss volunteering for the Hunger Games, etc., but this is not always the case. It will depend very much on the genre and tone of your story, but as long as your inciting incident signals change, it does not have to be a massive event.
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Should the inciting incident happen in the first chapter?
Nope, it doesnāt have to! It can - but youāve got lots of options! One thing worth keeping in mind, especially with short chapters, is that because an inciting incident deals with the change of status quo, doing it in chapter one can be tricky. A change may not mean as much if we arenāt invested in the characters.
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So when SHOULD it happen?Ā
There are two answers here! One short answer is that an inciting incident usually falls between 10-15% of the book. However, the longer answer is simply thatā¦ it depends! Genre, pacing, and tone will influence when your inciting incidents happen.Ā
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Benefits of Earlier Inciting Incidents
Quicker overall pacing
Quick immersion into the plot
Benefits of Later Inciting Incidents
Helps readers acclimatise to worlds (good for fantasy and sci-fi)Ā
Helps us get to know characters more (good for multi POV/large casts)
A slow build up can build tension (good for suspense/horror)Ā
As with everything in writing, there are traditions and expected conventions, and any deviation from theĀ ānormā can be very effective! Remember every writing guideline can be broken or bent :) As long as your inciting incident signals a change in some way and propels your MC into action, you should be good no matter where you choose to place it!Ā
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So what should an inciting incident achieve?
Change the status quo
The inciting incident should signal change, upset something, unbalance something, propel a character into motion/action.Ā
Create questions for the reader
The inciting incident should introduce the central problem of the story. What will happen to your characters because of this inciting incident? What adventures/mysteries will come to attention because of it?
Generate some sense of urgency
The inciting incident should introduce some jeopardy, some stakes, the ticking clock in response to the event. Remember ā the inciting incident is the call to adventure, not the adventure itself. It is a signal that things are about to change.
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Cool! Can It Do Anything Else?
Illustrate key aspects of character(s)
How your character reacts to the inciting event gives us an idea of their personality, their values, goals, strengths and weaknesses.
Set the tone for your story
Ā You can use the inciting incident to indicate things like mood and atmosphere which you will follow up over the course of the story.
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Inciting Incident and the Link to Storyās End
Another handy-dandy thing an inciting incident can do is refer forwards to the storyās end. Knowing how your story will end, climax or conclude is very important to an effective inciting incident, as the two must be related in some way.
For example:
Status Quo:Ā Maria is in love with Lucille.
Inciting Incident: Maria believes Lucille is going to ask her out, but instead, she asks out Mariaās best friend - Emily. Maria now has to try to navigate her friendship with Emily - all the while still being in love with Lucille.
Storyās End: The conclusion of the character is signposted to us to be about all three of these characters, indicating perhaps a confrontation? Maybe a love triangle? Or perhaps a polyamory relationship? It could be anything - but the important thing to note is this: whatever interrupts our protagonist enough to change the status quo must keep a permanent impact. Donāt decieve your readers by making the inciting incident and ending unrelated.Ā
Obviously, this is a very simplified explanation and storyline, but the essence remains the same. A strong inciting incident will be made all the stronger by knowing, and referring to, your climax/conclusion.
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Inciting Incident ChecklistĀ
Does it change the status quo?Ā
Does it generate questions?
Does it create urgency?Ā
Does it tell you anything about the characters?
Does it tell you anything about the tone of the story?Ā
