she/her | 22 | sagittarius | infp | michigan, USA | college student (creative writing major)
i am a writer of speculative fiction, a poet on occasion, and artist. you'll find a smattering of all those things here, along with other musings from me. i enjoy dabbling in other genres to challenge myself, but spec fiction is my bread and butter.
my work is for anyone who has something trapped inside of them that is trying to claw its way out; for anyone seeking catharsis veiled in a world that is fantastical as it is gritty. it doesn't have to be pretty. there is no "right" way to feel it.
i am a novelist-in-progress! my current WIP, the russet dragon, is a high fantasy novel that explores themes of environmentalism, gender roles, trust, and how the values we are taught to have can misalign with our authentic selves. as well as drafting this project, i am working on short stories, vignettes, and poems that i may share here.
i can't help but feel compelled to address that i do share a first name with that god-awful AI chatbot. you know the one i'm talking about. don't worry, you won't find a trace of its slop here. i staunchly oppose the use of generative artificial intelligence in creative pursuits. i chose claude rose as my pen name long before i knew of the chatbot's existence, and when i did learn of it, spite and stubbornness won out in the internal debate whether or not to change it.
with that said, please do not feed my work to AI or repost it on other platforms.
i've been a lurker on tumblr since I was a teenager and this is my first 'official' blog. I can't wait to share my work on here and indulge in the works of others!
i love you oxford comma i love you em dashes i love you single quotes within double quotes i love you indentation il ove you letters i love you writing i love you words
so when you finally end this silent, scathing torment
on a day whenever it suits you
i forget the pain
and all I can feel is relief
Author's Note: This poem was featured on Eclipse Literary Magazine's website for a few weeks as a poetry contest winner. To read another poem of mine, Fingernails, check out their White Noise: Vol. II issue!
As a writing exercise, I wrote a journal entry from the point of view of Natalya Crestyk, the protagonist's twin sister in my novel WIP.
Like her brother Arden's entries (pt.I and pt.II), this would have been written around the middle of the novel’s first act.
There’s something wrong with Arden. He hasn’t been himself since we left Talon Harbor. I’m worried, but honestly, I'm mostly frustrated.
I told him it was a bad idea for him to join the troop for the prince’s birthday expedition. Of all times he chooses to finally make something of himself, he thinks now is the time? He's already made a fool of himself several times. My brother has a hard time killing common deer for food, what in Valn’s name made him think he’d be suited for dragonslaying? Even as a tracker!
He said the most ridiculous thing to me today. He thinks Ta favors me. Out of all his most recent delusions, this one astounds me the most. Ta knows I’m a talented hunter, but he wasn’t considering me for this expedition any more than he was considering you, Arden. I am, and always have been, a daughter before anything else. Never mind my aim that his best archers have praised since I was a girl. As far as Ta is concerned, Maksim is his firstborn, and we, his twins--his actual children--will never measure up to that level of excellence.
But if Zarya Antova can make a name for herself as the only woman in the troop that's not a healer, then so can I. I’m a Crestyk, after all. Ma has always said I take after Ta. I believe that works in my favor.
Imagine it: my first dragon slain and Prince Ivan is here to bear witness. Do you think his wife back on Isle Norr wears the scales of her trophies? I’d wager she’s never touched a bow and arrow in her life. A kitchen knife is the closest she will likely ever come to being a warrior.
Alright, I’m getting ahead of myself. But a girl can dream, can she not?
As a writing exercise, I wrote two journal entries from the point of view of my novel WIP's protagonist, Arden, the twenty-year-old son of a captain of a dragonslaying troop. This is the second entry, where Arden details his unspoken qualms with his nation's prince.
This would have been written around the middle of the novel’s first act.
Back again. Two entries in one night, I know. It’s that bad.
I probably shouldn’t write this, but I can’t stand the prince. Is that blasphemy? It has to be. I can’t believe I actually wrote that about the heir of the Holy Chosen Family. Whatever, I’ll burn this page later. No one will know.
I know he’s the prince and this is technically his birthday expedition and he must never want for anything or whatever, but I have yet to find a holy trait of Ivan’s. Is dragon’s blood intoxicating? Thankfully, I’ve never been injured badly enough to find out. But I would only be able to consume mere drops—Ivan drinks whole cups of it, with the reverend who accompanies him always supplying him with it in that stupid little goblet. Does he drink this much when he’s at home on the Isles? No wonder we have a shortage in Talon Harbor. Sure, our population is much smaller than Isle Norr's, and the royals are the only humans able to ingest more than a few drops of dragon’s blood without dying, but Ivan’s consumption feels so very excessive. His teeth are almost permanently stained red. It’s disturbing.
It has to be altering his mind. I can’t think of another way to explain his freakish behavior.
Not only is he obnoxious, but he enjoys killing things more than anyone I know, and I come from a family of dragonslayers. I can’t tell anyone how off-putting I find him without being deemed a heretic. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough on this expedition anyway; I don’t need to give the troop any more reason to look down on me.
Valn, forgive me for writing these things about the heir of your Holy Chosen Family.
I’m going to burn this before the fire goes out. Let that be my act of repentance.
As a writing exercise, I wrote two journal entries from the point of view of my novel WIP's protagonist, Arden, the twenty-year-old son of a captain of a dragonslaying troop. This is the first of two entries he writes in a single night, grappling with his insecurities and the misalignment between him and the people around him.
This would have been written around the middle of the novel’s first act.
What in Valn’s name was I thinking? No one can replace Edimar–certainly not me. I was a fool to think I could do what he does. The only reason we stumbled upon any dragons today was because Zarya helped me. She actually knows what she’s doing.
I have no idea what’s wrong with me. Everything Edimar has taught me over the past five years evaporates from my mind as soon as I need to use any real knowledge. Thank Valn for Zarya, but it’s so profoundly embarrassing that I need her help so much. I all but begged for this position and here I am, moping onto a journal page.
I know I’m a good tracker. I’ve always known hunting dragons is different from hunting regular game like I’m used to. As much as I loathe to admit it, I underestimated just how much harder it would be.
I can barely look Ta in the eyes right now. He won’t say it–he never does–but I know he’s ashamed of me. He probably regrets letting me on the expedition. I don’t blame him.
Part of me hoped that if I succeeded, if I led us to even a single dragon without Zarya having to so much as lift a finger to help me, that maybe he’d finally be proud of me. And not just him, but the rest of the troop, too. I want to be looked at with respect, not disgust or aggravation or that thinly-veiled pitying look they send my father’s way. They’re embarrassed for him. They think I don’t see it, but I do. Even Natalya looks at me those ways sometimes. My own sister, who has more in common with our father than I ever will. It’s humiliating.
Instead of a strong young man like Maksim, who has slain three dragons before turning twenty-five, he gets a son who hurls up his breakfast as soon as they start skinning the beasts. Not a shred of glory in sight for me or my father.
You know what’s worse? Natalya didn’t even bat an eye. My sister makes for a better son than me. Like I said, humiliating.
Ma said she didn’t want the dragonslayers to change me. It’s funny–I want the opposite. I came out here so I would be forced to change. I thought I could help Edimar and the rest of my people by helping replenish the dragon’s blood reserve that has grown so horribly scarce. Maybe finally find a sense of belonging along the way. My first taste of glory after slaying my first dragon. But I haven’t done any of those things. The only conclusion I have come to is how much I hate this. I hate dragonslaying. Every tent and person smells like dragon blood and piss and sweat and they all seem to revel in the pain of these creatures when I just can’t. Can you believe that? I’m feeling sorry for the dragons while my own status hinges on their slaughter. It’s laughable, really. If I didn’t look exactly like him, I’d question if I were Aleksandar Crestyk’s son at all.
Somehow, writing all of this down has made me feel worse.
