look ok i cant admit this where a lot of people i know irl can see but ive noticed that sometimes when i brainrot a little too hard, i start behaving a little more like my blorbos and taking on some of their personality traits.
i dont know if this is kinning or what have you because a lot of the time i just like them or think they're funny, usually both. and i dont think its a deliberate, conscious decision either because otherwise i would not be worried about my family thinking that my personality has changed in the weeks that ive started obsessing over a new thing.
I do this to all the time. It is nothing to be ashamed of. It is actually a very normal human response. Humans are social beings. When we spend a lot of time around someone we start to imitate some of their behaviors. This helps us to relate and empathize with the people around us and integrate into groups. This isn’t a conscious thing. It is our prehistoric brains way of saying this is my tribe and these are my people, I belong with them. This works the same with fictional characters. And there is nothing wrong with that. It just shows you are an empathetic person easily capable of relating to others.
Do you have any favorite Hermitcraft headcanon? Like, hybrids, magic, families, etc.
This isn’t my Hermitcraft blog but I’ll answer it anyway. Most of my headcanons are pretty well accepted fannon. My Hermit DSMP swap fic (aka Don’t let it Break This (Let Me Hold It Lightly) is a pretty good example of all my headcanons. But as far as favorites go I would have to say Eldritch Grian has to be my favorite. I love the idea of him being something well beyond human. Something incomprehensible. I also like the Grian and Scar are soulmates (not in a romantic way, or even really platonic either) Just in the way that no matter how hard they try to avoid it the universe keeps pushing them together and they hate to admit it but they care a lot about each other. (That headcanons leaks into the Life series a bit)
As Google has worked to overtake the internet, its search algorithm has not just gotten worse. It has been designed to prioritize advertisers and popular pages often times excluding pages and content that better matches your search terms
As a writer in need of information for my stories, I find this unacceptable. As a proponent of availability of information so the populace can actually educate itself, it is unforgivable.
Below is a concise list of useful research sites compiled by Edward Clark over on Facebook. I was familiar with some, but not all of these.
⁂
Google is so powerful that it “hides” other search systems from us. We just don’t know the existence of most of them. Meanwhile, there are still a huge number of excellent searchers in the world who specialize in books, science, other smart information. Keep a list of sites you never heard of.
www.refseek.com - Academic Resource Search. More than a billion sources: encyclopedia, monographies, magazines.
www.worldcat.org - a search for the contents of 20 thousand worldwide libraries. Find out where lies the nearest rare book you need.
https://link.springer.com - access to more than 10 million scientific documents: books, articles, research protocols.
www.bioline.org.br is a library of scientific bioscience journals published in developing countries.
http://repec.org - volunteers from 102 countries have collected almost 4 million publications on economics and related science.
www.science.gov is an American state search engine on 2200+ scientific sites. More than 200 million articles are indexed.
www.pdfdrive.com is the largest website for free download of books in PDF format. Claiming over 225 million names.
www.base-search.net is one of the most powerful researches on academic studies texts. More than 100 million scientific documents, 70% of them are free
I want you all to know that an Arab Muslim from Tunis proposed the Theory of Evolution near 600 years before Charles Darwin even took his first breath. Don’t let them erase you.
Also, it was not the apple falling from a tree that made Issac Newton “discover” gravity. He was reading the books of Ibn Al Haytham, an Arab Muslim from Iraq, who pioneered the scientific method, discovered gravity and wrote about the laws governing the movement of bodies (now known as Newtons three laws of motion) some 600 years before Newton existed. Without him, modern science as we know it wouldn’t exist. Read on him. His achievements are far greater than what I’ve just mentioned here.
#no offense but arabs literally invented chemistry and algebra and we came up with the concept of the camera #the cataract operation that’s still practiced today was invented by an Arab #we created alchemy and the wright brothers used abbas ibn firnas’ findings and writings to build on to create a plane #I could go on and on and on #pls don’t erase our scientific history
In the middle ages, THE place to go for an education was the middle East, or, failing that, Spain. The Muslim world didn’t have the same limits placed on scientific inquiry that the Christian world did, and since they were willing to look at more than just Aristotole and actually compare texts to the observable world, they had some incredible scientific and mathematical advancements. And street lights and toilets. I mean theories and algebra are great and all, but street lights and toilets. In the 12th century. Also medical advancements, and fewer rules against women studying. Hell, women *should* be the ones studying the female body, would you rather a woman see your female relatives, or some old man? Would you rather have someone who lives in the same kind of body, or one who has no first hand idea what the parts can do?
Europeans erased centuries of knowledge from the East because of fear. When we “rediscovered” it, we were still too egotistical to admit that non-whites could have been smarter, so we invented our own mythology.
Bring credit back where it’s due. Honor the true pioneers.
UPDATE because apparently not everyone has seen this yet the new and improved version of this is a MEGA folder: https://mega.nz/folder/kQBXHKwA#-osWRLNCXAsd62ln8wKa8w
Honestly, most of these things come down to personal preference. In a lot of cases there isn't anything wrong with using these things so long as you are consistent within a single work (Though if you want to get published it is best to do what the publishers wants). I am going to be talking about weather or not I uses these things in my own work and why.
(parentheses) I used to use them more but I don't anymore, I prefer to use comma's instead where I might have used parenthesize. I tend to write in third person limited perspective and I feel commas do a better job of blending the narration and character specific observations.
em-dash—I don't use them in my writing for the same reason I don't use parentheses. I don't think there is anything wrong with them I just feel like they are a bit harsher than commas and break up the flow a bit more strongly, which doesn't fit with my writing style.
Italics. I use Italics the most out of any of the things on this list. I almost exclusively use it in dialogue to imply a tone shift. I might also use it to show internal dialogue, or that the information is being read/typed but not spoken.
ALL CAPS. I try to avoid this if I can, I'll usually use an exclamation point if I really want to emphasize the energy of what is being said but even with that I use it sparingly. I try to make it clear that the character is yelling by what is being said and context, or maybe a dialoged tag.
The semicolon; To be honest I don't fully understand the correct way to use a semicolon. Like, I know the rules for how it works, I just don't know how to best use it in the context of my writing so I don't use it much. Honestly, I only use it when my spellchecker suggests it to me... I feel like If I understood it better it could be a good tool for me but I just don't know how to utilize it at the moment.
Capitalizing Important words. I am dyslexic so I do this without thinking and I wish I didn't. Because it is usually not intentional it can come across as sloppy or as a mistake and I don't want anything to distract my readers from the content. I don't want them thinking, was that a typo or was that intentional, in the middle of an important fight scene. So I try and edit out randomly capitalized letters.
Using. Repetitive. Punctuation. For. Emphasis. The only place I would punctuate between every word would be in dialoged. And even then I wouldn't do it to often. Having several very short sentences in quick succession on the other hand is a great pacing mechanic and I use that often to create rhythm and build tension. I might use one word sentences in fight scenes as well but those are usually book-ended by accouple of two to five word sentences.
I often see writing advice along the lines of “Want angst? Just kill a character.” But there is so much more to angst than just pain. Good angst is a formula, with set up, foreshadowing, a gut wrenching twist and then the struggle of the aftermath. Without the set up the twist means nothing, and without the aftermath the reader isn't given time to savor the angst. Compare these two examples.
“A beloved character is dying, they can see their friends, they try to call out to them but their friends can’t hear them.”
This is heart wrenching and sad because it would be sad for anyone but it has no particular meaning for the character. The pain is meaningless and this kind of angst can often leave readers feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.
Now try this.
“A beloved character joins the team, they are kind and sweet. They aren't much of a fighter but they want to help and protect people the best they can, and they are always there for the team, especially the hero. They treat the hero's wounds when they get hurt, and listen to them when they need to talk things out. They are the heart of the team. They aren't the best at fighting and the hero feels like it is their responsibility to protect them, and they have many times. In the final battle the Hero is about to be killed. The beloved character rushes in and saves them, but in the process they get severely injured, either dying or being permanently disable in a way that will strongly affect their life. The hero is wracked with guilt. It was their job to protect the beloved character and they failed. They were too weak, if they had been strong enough to deal with their own problems the beloved character would be fine now.”
You see how this version is rooted in the characters themselves. The beloved character doesn’t even have to die. The angst comes from the hero having to deal with their own insecurities and beliefs about themselves. The set up shows us a character dynamic, a sweet altruistic character who loves their teammates, and the hero who is always protecting them. Then we flip that on its head and have the sweat character be the one doing the protecting with drastic consequences. Their altruism is the very thing that drives them to make such a sacrifice in the first place.
So good angst has three elements. Good Set Up, The Twist, and The Aftermath.
One: Good Set Up.
You need to set up a pattern, a status quo. In the example I gave, that is the relationship dynamic between the beloved character and the Hero. The hero protects the beloved character and the beloved character patches them up after. You also need to seed in hints of the characters insecurities and flaws that will make the twist make sense. The beloved character isn’t good at fighting but they still want to protect their friends, while the Hero feels like the burden of protecting everyone is all their responsibility and theirs alone.
Two: The Twist.
Now you take the status quo you set up in the first part, and using the characters flaws and insecurities, you turn it on its head. The beloved character protects the hero getting hurt in the process. The consequences need to be serious enough that they mean something. If they were only minorly injured then there are no consequences to force the hero to need to reevaluate their belief in their role as sole protector. Nor do you want to have seemingly severe consequences that quickly get resolved. This can feel like a copout. If everything goes back to the way it was before then it doesn’t work. The status quo needs to be permanently changed and the characters need to struggle to find a new status quo. On the other end you don’t need to kill the character either. It could work, if done right dealing with grief can be a valid plot line to follow but there are plenty of other things that could be more interesting. What if the beloved character is permanently blinded or they lose mobility in their hands. They are now forced to relearn everything. They can no longer go on adventures with the team and most importantly they are no longer able to do the things they need to do to be a healer, which was a huge part of their identity. Now, you not only have the angst of the hero dealing with the aftermath, but also the beloved character is still around to have an angsty arc of their own.
Three: The Aftermath.
Now this is where the real angst begins. It is the painful and beautiful process of reinvention and recovery as the characters try and pick themselves up after the devastating event. It is messy and there is plenty of room for conflict and failed attempts at healing. Now depending on whether you want your characters to have a positive or negative character arc this can go two ways. They can persevere through this and learn how to overcome the lie that they have been believing, or they can succumb to the lie and fall into despair. For example, for the hero’s positive arc they would eventually come to realize that they can’t protect everyone and that they also deserve protecting, they learn to rely on their team to support them instead of trying to do everything themselves. For their negative arc they would fall deeper into the belief that it is their job and their job alone to protect everyone, this belief consumes them and they end up leaving the team to avoid putting any of them in any more danger. You could even mix these two together and have a temporary dip in the character's arc where they leave the group but something happens to change their mind and they eventually come around.
This is the formula I use for writing most of my stuff. It is pretty flexible and can work for short stories as well as longer works of fiction. All you need to do is set up the status quo, show the readers the lie that the character believes, subvert/disrupt the status quo in a way that forces the characters to confront their lie, and then watch them struggle until they either accept the lie as truth or they overcome it.
hey, I just wanna say that your dsmp hermitcraft swap au is amazing! i do think that the characterization is a bit loose but that's totally fine as it's more of a lighthearted fic lol,
it's been really fun to read so far and i love that you just randomized who would switch with who
Light-hearted. *sips tea and side eyes guiltily* ah yes, yup, light-hearted XD XP. *coughs* defiantly don't have anything planned.
(I like to make sure my readers are seated comfortably before I punch them in the face XD XP)
Seeing as this ask is on my main blog and not my alt, might as well throw some writing advice in (though some of this is personal preference and style)
I love myself some good angst. But angst all by itself can become so oversaturating that the reader becomes desensitized to it. When the angst is mixed in with more light-hearted elements it raises the stakes for the angst because the reader knows that good things are possible, but it also flavors the fluff so that it has a tinge of angst to it.
An example is a fluff piece I wrote where the main character and her childhood best friend/love interest are hanging out. She talks out her pre showtime jitters as he brushes and braids her hair for her (a bit of a ritual for them) it is super sweet and wholesome. The thing that makes this sad is that this is the last time they would be able to do this for a long time, because she goes missing soon after. Neither of them know this though so everything seems normal, but it adds a bitter sweet flavor to the scene when you know this detail.
(Anyway, thanks for the ask and the compliments they mean the world to me)
Hello, it has been a while since I posted. I had a case of the writers block but I am back now. Something I have been having a lot of fun with recently is depicting more realistic healing and injury in my writing. A lot of fiction suffers from instant heal syndrome. or alternatively from character can ignore injury way beyond the limits of a normal human disease.
Some fiction has some really good mechanics written in to explain fast healing, such as magic or racial differences. Those can be really fun to write and read. To simplify things I intend to only focuses on the natural healing process of humans in this post.
Some thing I see often in fiction is a character will get injured and continue to fight as if nothing happened. Adrenalin is a powerful drug but it is not a cure all painkiller. Even minor cuts can cause a person to slow down or loose their focuses. During battle small cuts and nicks can be reasonably ignored if one takes into account the fight or flight response. But once the adrenalin wears off they are going to notice the pain. Think about what it is like to have a paper cut. It is not life threatening or even anything more than a minor inconvenience, but you still change the way you interact with the world so as to avoid moving the cut. Now amplify that. Your character is not going to be able to interact with the world in the same way they would if they were not injured.
Now I hear you saying, but invulnerable hero’s are fun. And I’ll counter with, angst is also fun to read, and seeing a character dealing with the consequences of a fight can add a lot of room for character growth and development. Do they let others help them? How do they deal with being not on their A game? How do they react to not being aloud to fight again until they are healed. It makes the perfect hero suddenly appear more relatable.
Another thing to consider is that even when an injury has healed there will be scars. Unless magic is involved or one has a very good healer, there will be some kind of scaring from most injuries were the skin is broken. Injuries will still be achey and tender for a long time after they have “healed” some times joints can be more clicky, nerves can be permanently damaged, etc.
It can be so much more fun to see a character who has changed physically over the course of the story, remints of past battles and conflicts still clinging to them. Instead of the mirror of impossible perfection that we all think we want to be. We don’t need an impossible dream, we need a realistic protagonist who we can relate to.
(Trigger Warning: This short contains depictions of violent assault that may be triggering to some readers)
(More fairy tale retellings)
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The Wolf family was once the most powerful of the three crime families in the Land of the Mountains.
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The smell of warm yeast, herbs and baking bread filled the small house. Every Tuesday miss Rider and her daughter, Scarlet, made bread and the house smelled like heaven for twenty four hours.
Scarlet mixed some seasonal herbs into the dough as she pounded it into the table, kneading it so it would be ready to put in the oven when the previous loaf came out. A soft breeze carried through the open window carrying the scent of pine and relieving some of the heat from the oven that hung over the room.
“Ma?”
Miss Rider looked up from where she was working on making bread knots with rough scarred hands “Yes dear?”
“Do we still have some of the apple cider? I want to bring some of it to Gran’ma’ma tonight.”
Miss Rider nodded going back to knotting dough. “We should still have a small keg in the cellar. You can fill a bottle and take it with you.”
Scarlet smiled, leaning her shoulder into her kneading.
That evening Scarlet filled a basket with fresh bread and a bottle of cider and donned her red cloak carefully tying the laces at her collar, and pulling the hood up over her waves of long black hair.
“Don’t forget this,” Miss Rider said, holding up a hunting knife by the leather sheath.
“Right, thank you,” Scarlet said, taking the knife and sticking it in the basket within easy reach. She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and a hug before heading out the door into the cool evening. Their cabin stood on the edge of the woods, the smell of pine needles and loam filling the late summer air. A path wound its way through the trees, the crunch of pine needles underfoot following her and the sound of crickets chirping from small hidden corners interrupting the silence.
Scarlet adjusted the knife in the basket and rested the handle in the crook of her arm as a bounce came into her step. Every Tuesday was bread day, and every Tuesday night Scarlet walked over to her grandmother's house to give her some bread and spend the night.
She began to hum, a simple melody sung at May festivals when girls paired with boys and they all danced with ribbons.
Scarlet stopped short, up ahead there was a split in the road, one way led to her grandmother’s house and the other to the river, and standing at the crossroads was a man with a pipe. Scarlet’s hand moved to the knife in her basket.
The man lit his pipe, shook out the match and glanced up at Scarlet. He smiled. He had a stubble beard, a ruddy complexion and greasy dark hair tied back in a short ponytail. He pushed back the tail of his long coat to tuck his free hand in his pocket.
Scarlet tensed, grip tightening on the knife handle.
The man looked at her, leaning back against a tree and letting out a slow puff of smoke. “Don’t worry girl, I ain’t gonna give you any trouble.”
Scarlet scowled, “Right. And that’s supposed to put me at ease?”
The man shrugged, “Believe what you will,”
“There are wolves in these woods you know.” Scarlet said unmoving from her spot.
The man took the pipe from his mouth and grinned wide “Oh, I know.”
Scarlet shifted uncomfortably. “I must be going, it’s getting late.”
He stuck the pipe back in his mouth “Wolves hunt best under the moon you know.” He glanced up at the darkening sky. “Well, nice talk, Little miss Rider.” He said with the tip of his hat as he turned on his heel and headed down the fork in the path leading to the river.
Scarlet let out a shaky breath and watched him till he disappeared among the trees. As soon as he was gone she broke into a quick walk not slowing till she could see light from her grandmother's cabin window. The door opened and the figure of her grandmother stood silhouetted one the front step; a short sturdy woman drying her hands off on a floral apron. Scarlet could smell leaks and onions and warm broth wafting from the old house.
“There you are dear, come in. I have dinner on the table waiting.” Her grandma gave her a hug “Ooh, these look good, and you even brought some of the cider,” She said peeking under the cloth into the basket. Just put that there. Wash your hands, and I’ll pour some of that cider for both of us.”
“Dinner smells amazing,” Scarlet smiled, washing her hands in the porcelain washbowl and splashing water on her face. She dried off with the towel and sat down in the chair next to Grandma's. A cup of cider and slice of fresh bread had been added next to each of the bowls of soup.
Scarlet took her Grandmother’s hand and they said grace. As soon as they finished the prayer Scarlet grabbed up the wooden spoon and began wolfing down the soup. There were leeks, wild onions, potatoes, carrots, garlic, and was that some of the venison she had helped hunt last week, all with just the right amount of salt. She smiled letting it warm her up inside.
“You like it?” Grandma asked
Scarlet closed her eyes “It’s heavenly.”
Grandma nodded, satisfied, dipping some bread in her own bowl. “How was your walk over? It's a nice night.”
Scarlet glanced up from her soup, her spoon hovering over the bowl. “I think I met a Wolf.”
Grandma's face hardened “A wolf? What would a member of the Wolf family be doing back here? What did he want? He didn’t hurt you did he?”
“No.” She shook her head “He said he didn’t mean any trouble then made a strange comment about how wolves hunt best at night before walking down the road to the river.”
Grandma pursed her lips “Don’t trust him for a minute, they all say they don’t want trouble, but their definition of trouble is different than you or I’s.”
“I know Gran,” Scarlet placed her spoon down in the bowl, “I didn’t really believe him, but what are they doing around here?”
Grandma shook her head “Darned if I know, it’s always wealth or power with those types. Just be careful. I’ll send you home with the gun tomorrow just to be safe.”
“But what about you?”
“I’ll be fine dear, I still have the crossbow.”
That night Scarlet could hear the creak of her grandmother's rocking chair and the steady click of her knitting needles well past midnight.
The next morning Scarlet scarfed down a bowl of warm porridge, strapped the hunting knife to a belt at her hip and donned her red hood. Grandma gave her a kiss on the cheek and handed her the gun from the wall. “Stay safe.”
“I will,” Scarlet said, loading the gun and checking to make sure the hammer was at half cock.
“Love you, I’ll see you at your house for Sunday dinner.” Grandma said, giving Scarlet one last hug.
Starting down the path Scarlet could smell warm earth, and the crisp taste of oncoming autumn hung in the air. A frantic sound of flapping rose up as some birds scattered from the underbrush nearby. Scarlet glanced in their direction.
Scarlet stopped short, there he was, standing at the crossroads again, hands tucked in his pockets. He righted himself from where he had been leaning against a tree and stepped into the road.
“Good morning little miss Rider, that’s a pretty little accessory you got there.” He said nodding at the gun.
Scarlet scowled “It’s not just for decoration you know. And how do you know my name?” She said taking the gun from the strap across her back.
He shrugged “What, little miss Scarlet Rider, the Red Rider of Amblewood?”
“Red Rider? Who calls me that?” She said pointing the gun at him.
“Woah there little miss, no need to get jumpy, we're just talking,” He said holding up both of his hands.
Scarlet pursed her lips but lowered the gun a little, “Who calls me that?” She repeated.
He shrugged again, sticking his hands back in his pockets. “The pack does, the Wolf family has been watching you for some time now,”
Scarlet snapped the barrel of the gun back up, “Alright, that’s it, creep, I don’t have time for your bs.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, “You’ll come around eventually.” He turned and headed towards the river.
Scarlet gritted her teeth watching him go only lowing the gun when he was gone.
When she got home she locked and barred the door behind her. Miss Rider came out of the next room, worry knitted in her brow when she saw the gun.
“Ma, there was a man from the wolf family on the road. He stopped me twice. He said he only wanted to talk, but I don’t know, the second time he might have threatened me. So Gran’ma’ma gave me the gun and I made him leave me alone but he creeped me out and he knew my name and called me Red Rider,” Scarlet rambled.
Miss Rider’s eyes went wide and she grabbed her by the shoulders. “Don’t ever talk to that man again, he’s dangerous.”
“I know ma, I didn’t, I drove him away.”
Scarlet's mother cupped her face in her palms, tears in her eyes as she looked at her daughter before hugging her close, “I just don’t know what I would do if I lost you to that man.”
Scarlet stared at the wall “I’m ok, I’m home now. You taught me well, I won’t let him get near me, I promise.”
Scarlet’s mother pulled her back to look at her, “I’m glad you're safe.”
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Almost a week had passed since Scarlet had last seen the man. Scarlet's mother had been tense all week, locking the doors and window and only letting Scarlet go out alone if she was armed, until Scarlet just wore the hunting knife everywhere she went. But things started to feel like they might be going back to normal.
Sunday night Scarlet set the table, putting out three place settings like they always did. Miss Rider loaded the plates with boiled pork and root vegetables, but ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed and there was no sign of Grandma. Scarlet glanced at the door, then her eyes fell on the gun. Her eyes went wide and panic gripped at her chest. She jumped up and grabbed the gun running out the door.
“I’ll be back,” She called, not even bothering to close the door behind her. She could hear her mother yell after her as she ran down the path. She ignored her. The gray of evening quickly passed into darkness. The tall pines which she had always called home looming up around her, Illuminated silver in the moonlight, her feet taking her instinctively down the familiar path.
The crossroads was empty.
Coming to the cabin she could see a light was on, she slowed taking a deep breath. The door opened, the silhouette of a man stood on the front step wiping his hands off on a rag.
Scarlet’s stomach churned as the scent of iron filled her senses.
“You can smell it, can’t you?” The man said stepping down and walking towards her. Her eyes fell on the red stain on the rag.
Her heart was pounding in her ears and she could not look away.
“You are one of us, Miss Rider,” he said, still advancing.
“What?” Scarlet blinked, taking several steps backwards, raising the gun with shaking hands.
“You're a Wolf. Now put that down-” he was almost on top of her. The gun went off. It was knocked out of her hands. He grabbed her by the wrists “You are not like them, you're a hunter, you belong under the full moon.” He was so close she could see his teeth.
“Let go!” She cried bringing her knee up. He doubled over and she kneed him again in the face before turning and running for the house.
She faltered in the doorway, the fire was dying out, there was blood on the floor and table, a smashed bottle lay scattered across the floor by the door and a limp form in a blood stained floral apron lay behind the table.
Her breath stopped in her throat then she felt a sharp pain in her scalp as she was grabbed by the hair and thrown to the ground.
“So you want to do this the hard way,” He growled.
She whimpered, tasting blood on her tongue. He started dragging her by the hair, her hand flew up to her head, she writhed and twisted, slashing his leg open with the knife. He dropped her and she scrambled up. Snarling he grabbed her and threw her against the side of the house. He pinned her down and tried to wrestle the knife from her hand, she bit his arm, and it was teeth and claws and blood.
When Scarlet’s mother ran into the clearing Scarlet sat breathing heavily, covered in blood, the man lying slumped on the ground in front of her with multiple stab wounds in his chest.
Scarlet looked up wide eyed, trembling, the knife still gripped in her bloody hands.
Miss Rider ran to Scarlet hugging her close, ignoring the blood as it got on her clothes. “Are you ok, did he hurt you? What happened?”
Scarlet stared vacantly into the darkness unmoving, “He kept saying I was one of them, what did he mean, how can that be?” She breathed.
Her mother pulled back carefully and glanced at the corpse. “The only thing that matters is that you are ok.”
“No, he said I was a Wolf! What did he mean? How could he say that?” Scarlet cried her breathing tight and fast.
“Because he was your father,” Her mother whispered “Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
How to Describe Food That will Make Your Mouth Water (Writing advice #5)
I used to really struggle at describing food in my writing. It always sounded bland or uninteresting. Why should my readers care what my characters are eating if I, the writer, don’t even care.
I realized I was using the wrong senses to describe it. We don’t experience food with our eyes, at least not primarily. I found that by describing how the food smelled the reader could practically taste the food as they were reading about it and they were able to fill in the visual description on their own.
Why does this work? Smell is a huge part of taste. If you can’t smell your food it never tastes as good. On top of that smell is also closly linked with memory. You know that one smell that always reminds you of this person or that day. Describing the smell of the food triggers the memory of having eaten similar foods drawing the reader deeper into the story.
(Part two, of Sleeping Beauty) (More fairy tale retellings)
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Briar stood chatting quietly with one of the courtiers in the throne room. Courtiers and nobles dressed in bright colors, their courtroom best, gathered in the long hall of white stone, morning light streaming through the tall glass windows along the east wall. The king and queen sat side by side in matching thrones as the king addressed a noble woman.
Briar started as Maleficent appeared in the middle of the throne room with a flash of light and the smell of roses. The king stopped mid sentence and rose from his chair bowing to her.
“What owes us the honor of your presence?”
Maleficent smiled softly but there was a sorrow in her eyes. She approached the dais and held up a letter sealed with the wax seal of Princes Aurora Rose “The fulfillment of a wish.” She stepped back as the king took the letter, his eyes questioning. He shifted his attention to the letter breaking the seal with his thumb and glancing over the words. His expression went from one of vague interest to concern, his grip tightening on the paper and his eyes running faster across the words. His jaw tightened.
“Guards follow me to the princess Aurora’s chambers immediately!” The king shouted, rushing out of the hall. Briar faltered before picking up her skirts and breaking into a run, following.
“Dear, what’s the matter, what is it?” The queen begged running along beside her husband. He didn’t answer.
The doors to the princess's room were flung open. Morning light illuminated Aurora’s resting form on the bed, still dressed in the same clothes she had been wearing the day before, her hands folded over her stomach. The King rushed over to the bed “Aurora, wake up,” he called shaking her gently, then more sharply. Her limp hand slipped from its place to lie at her side.
Briar hovered in the entrance of the room, bracing herself on the door frame. She bit her lip as she stared at her sister's limp form, turning to look at Maleficent as she glided past her into the room.
The king turned on Maleficent, “I demand you wake her up. If what is written in this letter is true, and you did this, I demand you wake her.”
Maleficent shook her head “The letter does not lie but I cannot wake her. Only the magic of unconditional love can undo it.”
“You, the great fairy of the west, mean to tell me, that even your magic is incapable of doing something as simple as waking a sleeping woman.” The king cried his voice rising.
“My magic can only grant wishes, it can’t undo them.”
“Then grant me my wish. Wake my daughter.”
“I cannot.”
“You mean you will not,” The King snapped striding towards her.
“Please,” the Queen pleaded, “If it is wealth or jewels you desire, or land, or power. We can give you all these things. Just bring our Aurora back to us.”
Maleficent shook her head “I do not want any of those things. And even if I did I cannot grant you what you ask for. Only unconditional love can break the spell.”
“Heartless witch!” The king loomed over her, though she was not much shorter than he was.
Maleficent looked him in the eyes, “The status of my heart is not what is in question here.” She paused and looked down. Briar clung to maleficent's sleeve, staring up at her.
“Please, what can we do, how can we wake her?”
Maleficent's eyes softened and she smiled gently. She leaned over and placed a hand under Brier's chin. “Find unconditional love, without boundaries or expectations, give that to her and she will wake.”
“Don’t touch her. Get out of my house, either undo this or get out of my sight and never return, or I don’t care who you are, I will have you executed.” The king shouted. Maleficent stepped back, there was a flash of light and she was gone.
The king's shoulders slumped, exhaustion weighing heavy behind tired eyes. Briar stared at the floor where the fairy had been then at the bed where the Queen stood holding Aurora’s hand. The king touched a hand to his temples and glanced back at Aurora’s sleeping form. He walked up to the bed. Standing next to his wife, he gently put an arm around the queen's shoulders and led her out of the room.
The two guards that had followed them up were placed outside the room and Briar was left standing alone in the room with her sleeping sister.
------
In the next few weeks the King and Queen sent a messenger to the land of the sea and to Midas, Aurora’s betrothed, to come and see if he could wake her. When he failed the King and Queen made an announcement that anyone who could wake her would be the one to gain her hand in marriage.
Soon after the cancellation of the betrothal the King and Queen of the Land of the Sea sent a formal warning that this action was a violation of the treaty that their lands held. The King of the Land of the Sun sent their messenger back without a reply.
Soon after, an army from the land of the sea was seen gathering on the border of the Land of the Sun. The King and Queen of the Land of the Sun gathered their troops and went out to meet them.
Briar stayed at the castle. She spent hour’s sitting by Aurora’s bed side. Reading the letter over and over again, hoping somehow that she would see something new, some kind of answer.
Briar moved to sit on the edge of the bed, It was strange to see her sister lying there as if asleep, yet she brearly even seemed to breathe. If it wasn’t for the fact that she stayed perfectly healthy, one might think she was dead.
“I know you weren't happy. I know you wanted a way to change your fate. But did you really think this was the only option?” Briar took her sleeping sisters hand. “You know I would have done anything for you, if you were really this desperate why didn’t you come to me? We could have found another way. Damn the consequences...” A tear ran down Briars face and dripped from her chin “If it meant war to cancel your betrothal, we’ll we’re at war anyway... at least then you would have been with us, been by my side through it all. Now you can’t do anything, why would you do this to me?” Tears streamed down her face and she leaned forwards pressing her forehead to her sister's hand as she cried.
------
A month after the King and Queen left to meet the armies of the Land of the Sun, wounded soldiers began to come trickling back into the city. Bloodied and bandaged, limping and helping each other along. Briar watched as a cart carrying two long black boxes was driven into the courtyard escorted by several soldiers in full dress uniform. She rushed down the stairs towards them.
The commander saluted her, “Your highness, I’m so sorry-”
“No, no, no” Briar cried, pushing past him to the edge of the cart.
“The king and queen were killed on the battlefield.”
Briar’s anguished scream ripped through the air carrying across the courtyard.
“That makes you Queen now.”
------
Black dresses, red eyes, and golden crowns, it all happened so fast, Briar wasn’t sure she even knew what was happening. Then it was right on to battle plans, and Aurora seemed to be the last thing on everyone’s mind.
While the king and the Queen of the Land of the Sun had died in the battle there were also reports that the King of the Land of the Sea had also died. Though the Land of the Sun had won the battle the losses had been devastating.
Briar knelt before the altar in the chapel, her black dress awash in colored light cast from the stained glass. Her face cast in shadow. She slowly rose exiting the chapel and climbing the stairs to her parents old rooms.
Two suits of armor stood side by side, cleaned since the battle, it was what they had been wearing when they had died. At least they died together.
Briar brushed her fingers across the embossed roses on her mother's chest piece. She sighed resting her palm against the cold mettle. She knew what she needed to do.
Setting aside the black dress she donned her mother's armor. Buckling on bracers, pauldrons and greaves. Taking the crown from her head she looked at the heavy gold and gleaming stones, placing it carefully on the base of the bed. Briar donned the helmet, striding out of the room and to the courtyard. Summoning a horse Briar returned to the battle field with the remainder of the able-bodied troops.
------
Briar road into camp, the overcast sky shedding a gray blanket over the morning. The trot of her horses hooves, and the chink of armor carrying through the heavy air. A group of soldiers in disheveled half kept uniforms looked up from where they sat around a low burning fire. Only one of them bothered to stand and salute, his shirt unbuttoned and soiled. Briar locked eyes with him for a second as they passed before quickly looking away.
As they passed through the camp, some men gathered around a water barrel stopped to watch her pass whispers being passed between them.
A man carrying a bucket stopped in the middle of their path to stare and Briar had to halt her horse.
“Move out of the way boy, let the Queen pass.” The commander, who had been walking alongside Briar’s horse, barked. The boy jumped and moved to the edge of the path still staring as they passed.
Briar came to a stop in front of the main tent, dismounting. One of the soldiers that had come from the capital with her took her horse. She entered the main tent. The General stood behind a table, a tall intimidating man, with rich black skin, black hair and a goatee. Tactical pieces lay strewn across the table, marking the map. The general looked up as she entered a brow raised.
“Your arrival is unprecedented your majesty,”
“Am I not the Queen? Is not my place on the front lines commanding my troops?”
“True.” the General gave a nod of his head “Though under the circumstances no one would blame you for wanting to take some more time to take care of matters at home.”
Briar walked up to the table and looked down at the pieces “Unfortunately, we have an army on our doorstep that does not share your sentiments. I do not have the luxury of ignoring this.” Briar looked up at the General. “What is the current status of the enemy? Is it true that their king was also killed?”
“As far as we can tell, yes. Though they have not retreated from our border.”
Briar looked back down at the table resting her hands on the edge, “Tell me, do we stand a chance?”
“Yes.”
Briars head snapped up and she met his gaze, “Tell me truthfully.”
He sighed, “We have a chance, but it’s slim. The problem isn't in the numbers, the men just don’t have the will to fight.”
Briar nodded and looked away, “Have someone send a message to the enemy camp requesting a meeting to discuss terms.”
The general slammed a hand down on the table, the pieces jumping “You can’t mean surrender, I don’t care who you are, your majesty, I will not let that happen.”
“No.” Birar spun on her heel, locking eyes on him, a deep fire in them as she stared him down. “I do not mean surrender. But if there is a way to avoid more death I will try to find it before sending more troops out to die.” Her shoulders slumped and the fire in her eyes died as she turned away. “There has already been enough pain.”
------
They were to meet in the middle of an open field alone. The noonday sun shone down on them, Briar could feel a bead of sweat run down her neck. She could see the small figures of the General of the Land of the sea and Midas, his pale skin red from the sun and hair golden, like the grass of the field. She walked beside her general. They stopped at twenty paces from the appointed meeting place. “You stay here,” She ordered her General. She could see Midas wave for his general to stop as well. The two approached alone.
“Your majesty.” Briar bowed, a soft breeze rustling the dry grass around them.
“If you think that the injuries inflicted on us will just be forgotten, then you are sorely mistaken,” Midas demanded.
Briar straitened and scowled, “If you have no intention of listening to me then why bother coming here in the first place?”
“I intend to listen, I just have no intention of conceding anything that is due to us.”
“I am the last of the Roses, would you have us all die out and wither without another word? We were allies once. Why should the miscommunication of our parents dictate our hate?”
“If you have forgotten, my father was also killed by your armies.”
“My parents killed your parents and your parents killed mine. Does that mean we should then kill each other? Who would be left to avenge us then. If it is a reinstatement of the treaty that you want, well, I am now queen of the Land of the Sun, an advantageous marriage can be arranged.”
Midas blinked “You would do that?”
Briar sighed and looked off at the horizon “I once told Aurora that I would do anything for her. It is high time I kept that promise. I see no reason that the treaty should be dissolved over a miscommunication. Details can be arranged and a new document drafted to both of our satisfactions, but your marriage to me would in effect provide the same merger of our kingdoms that the terms of the old treaty provided.”
Midas shifted and looked down at the ground “I believe that would satisfy our demands.”
Briar nodded “Then arrangements will be made. May me and my escort accompany you back to the Land of the Sea to finalize the treaty?”
Midas locked eyes with her and bowed “We look forward to your presence your Majesty,”
“Likewise,” Briar bowed and then turned, returning to her general, carrying her head high.
