Hello writeblr! I guess this isn’t so much an introduction as a reintroduction – I have an account that I’ve had for quite some time called @whynotwriting , but as that one is dedicated to tips, memes and the sort, I thought it was about time I made a blog specifically for my own writing. So here we are!
A bit about myself, first: my name is Daniel, I’m 19 and from the UK. My main trilogy (which I’ll be introducing shortly) has been a work in progress for five years so far, and I’m only just getting to the end of the second book’s first draft, which I’ll hopefully have done by the end of July. I’m an absolute sucker for worldbuilding, and I’d love to answer any questions people have about the worlds I’ve created. My main focus is on fantasy, but as you’ll find out, I’ve also got a post-apocalyptic WIP and a detective one, so that’s by no means all I do.
A few of you I already know, but I look forward to meeting more and making new friends in the community! I hope you enjoy my writing!
i’m not looking for ppl to follow, i’m just looking for writeblrs posts to reblog for @wip-nook! interact with this post, so i can see your stuff and put them on queue! for boosting purposes. :3
(I apologize but that blog is an original story only zone. so, no fandom-related writing.)
and pls feel free to tag that blog, so things could be easier for me to find.^^
bc of uni causing my inactivity, i struggled to find stuff to rb. so, pls, feel free to tag wip-nook, so i can see your post! also, feel free to rb this and link any post you have or from others. thanks. :3
Hi all! It’s been quite a long time, but I realised I never shared a piece I wrote a short while back while in a very hopeful mood! I’m really pleased with how it turned out, hope you enjoy!
The leaves were turning gold. The trees along the avenue filtered every sunbeam, a midas for the concrete and cars. Summer was dying, and autumn was its killer.
The day would be filled with work, with drudgery and spreadsheets, the only solace from the failing heat the half-open window on the other side of the office. Evening would creep in as the sun set far too early, leaving the city to take on its hue from every window.
No one else was up yet. A commute awaited, but for now the avenue was hers to enjoy. The sky above the trees was still working up to its promise of a glorious morning, a few straggling clouds fleeing the newborn day.
A leaf fluttered down.
The leaves were turning gold, what few were left. The pavements were littered with great drifts of foliage, gently mouldering in the drizzle of the morning. Sunrise was a way off yet.
She had an interview for a new job at midday. The spreadsheets would die the death she'd always wished them to and it would be on to new things, brighter pastures. The sky did not reflect her mood, but her excitement kept out the encroaching chill. This was a new day, and a good one.
Her only company this morning was the street sweeper, its brushes tearing the silence and the drifts. She gave its operator a smile and walked on.
A leaf fluttered down.
The leaves were turning gold. She'd drawn half a dozen on the page, a small detail in the backdrop of the cover art. If the publisher was right this would be the next bestseller. Hopefully the cover would be done by the end of the week.
None of the leaves on the avenue were gold. There were no leaves left, and she was sure the trees felt as cold as she did. Her breath hung in the air as she hurried down the street, arms hugged across her chest to keep the heat in. The early mornings weren't being kind.
A cold night after rain had left patches of ice the length of the street. However carefully she picked her way, she couldn't avoid them all. The pages of practise fountained into the air as she slipped, her bag flying up as she tumbled.
A leaf fluttered down.
The leaves were turning gold. That's what her agent told her, at least. Everything she made, sold. It baffled her, if she was honest. She'd always been an amateur, someone who "might be good enough". Now three covers she'd drawn were on the New York Times bestseller list.
Walking hadn't changed. The pavement cracks were sprouting the first of the green shoots of spring and the last frost of the season had died a couple of weeks back.
A gentle breeze brought a sprinkle of ice crystals onto her eyelashes and she blinked to clear them. The sheets tumbled towards the emerging greenery.
A leaf fluttered down.
The leaves were turning gold as the morning sun drenched them with the light of a fading spring. Her house was for sale. She'd found a nice place in the suburbs. To her surprise, she could afford to buy it outright.
She'd met someone, a couple of months ago. With luck she'd see them more often this way. That was something she couldn't wait for. It would be a shame, though, to lose these early mornings on the avenue.
Around her, flowers were beginning to open among the green. The days were getting longer and the mornings less full of clouds and wind. Plucking a daisy from the edge of the curb, she cleaned it and tucked it behind her ear before heading on.
Alright, we're going to play a game that I don't plan to play frequently on this blog.
It's the alphabet game. Here's how we're playing it.
I'm gonna start with a word starting with A that describes one of my characters.
I'll say Altruistic.
Then you are going to REBLOG and post a word starting with B that describes one of your characters, then the next person reblogs with a C word, on and on it goes.
Once we hit Z (assuming we hit Z), then I'll put together a nice little profile for a character with all 26 traits listed in the thread.
So whoever reblogs this, your word starts with a B!
Send an ask with two names of my original characters and I’ll give a summary of what they think of each other! (Or, if they never interact in canon, I’ll tell you what they would think of each other if they were to meet!)
This is actually a really interesting one to me, as these characters never meet and would never be in a position to meet, as they live on opposite ends of the continent. Despite this, they have a surprising amount of similarities.
Anika grew up in the city of Cannar on the coast, the capital of the Nau Empire. The Nau Empire is many things but a happy place is not one of them. Magic, something possessed by everyone, is banned there, but Anika and a few others picked up enough scraps to teach themselves a little. Through a convoluted series of events, she ended up in a position of power in the rebellion.
Ty, meanwhile, grew up in the slums of Jorundal, the capital of the Kingdom of Gemretha. He's the leader of a group called the Rats, who survive by being too useful to die. They're messengers, carrying messages for all the gangs in the slums, as well as occasionally taking contacts for other jobs.
Both of them have a definite stubborn streak, as well as a disregard for authority. Ty is quite confrontational though, which might initially take Anika aback. I think there'd be a lot of mutual respect if they knew where each other were coming from and what they'd had to deal with, and once they got past the culture shock I think they'd get on pretty well.
Thanks for the ask! These two were in dire need of developing, so thanks for that!
Send an ask with two names of my original characters and I’ll give a summary of what they think of each other! (Or, if they never interact in canon, I’ll tell you what they would think of each other if they were to meet!)
For those who want to play themselves, reblog this post and either put a link to a list of your characters or drop your character names in the tags!
I would add some of my other WIPs but they don't have enough fleshed out characters for it yet. Feel free to pick one from each! It'd be interesting to see what they'd think of one another!
Oh, one other update - I plan to make an updated WIP intro for the trilogy, now I have a better feel for the direction I want it to take. It's become a very different beast to how it started and if like to reflect that in the intro.
Now I'm back to plotting! See you in the next one!
Hey all! It's been a while since I put an update on here. I'm happy to say I'm making progress!
In the past week I've been working on replotting the Primal Trilogy, with a focus on continuity and pacing. I've finished plodding two books and just have the last one left! Hope to update you soon!
So... I may have lost track of time and procrastinated a little more than I meant to. “The next few days” apparently is quite a broad time frame for me, because here we are, over a week later with no excerpt. Let’s rectify that. So far I’ve written 42,667 words of my aim of 50k for the month. As I said in the previous post, I’m rewriting the first book this month, so here’s an excerpt from early on in book. In it, Varin is roused from a fairly uncomfortable bed by the sound of the rain and perhaps something else...
I think I posted the first draft version of this scene a little while back. I’m very happy with how much it has improved on this rewrite!
What Hides In The Rain
Trigger Warnings: There shouldn’t be any, beyond perhaps paranoia and maybe panic attacks.
Varin woke to the sound of heavy rain on the roof. The town was in darkness, the few stars that peeked through the heavy cloud cover doing little to illuminate the empty streets. What few fires had been lit the previous night had long since been extinguished by the downpour.
Glancing down at the tavern he was pleased to see light glowing from the windows but even those were winking out one by one as shutters were pulled closed. The wind was picking up and he felt it whistle through the cracks in the boards as well as the window. With it came the rain, the chill of it bringing him from muddled dozing consciousness to fully awake. A piece of straw dug into his back as he sat upright and took in the rest of the town.
The tanner’s was shut and shuttered, the blacksmith’s too, as were all the buildings in view. The fields of wheat lay almost flat in the the wind, the rain scything through them like a reaper. A muddy stream ran down the street while a single sheet, forgotten in the hurry to shut up, billowed from a line between two houses. The rain beat a steady rhythm overhead.
His gaze found the noticeboard and his mind turned to Jontal and what he might find there. Was it his home? He still wasn’t sure what to make of his travelling companion, yet couldn’t help but feel glad of her company on the trip. And besides, where else would he go?
There was something different about the noticeboard. One of the notices caught the wind and fluttered free, quickly knocked down by the rain and soaked in the mud of the road. Varin’s gaze flitted up and past the noticeboard and froze. Eyes fixed on the well, he tried to steady his suddenly racing breathing.
Someone was watching him. Someone who had met his eyes from beneath the cover of the well, whose face was obscured by the deep shadows of their hiding place, whose eyes nonetheless pierced the blackness to find his own. For a moment his breathing stopped, the only noise the howl of the wind, the pounding of the rain and the frantic drumming of his heartbeat.
Closing his eyes, Varin swallowed hard. It was a dream. There was no-one there. Couldn’t be. He was a nobody. Biting his lip, he fought to steady his breathing, the breaths coming in short gasps. His sweating palm found the windowframe and gripped it. Hard. He opened his eyes.
There was no-one there. No eyes watching, no figure lurking in the darkness beneath the well awning. He let out a long breath and felt his body relax. It took a long time to fall back asleep and when he did he dreamt of eyes watching him through the darkness.
Hello tumblr! Its been a while but as its nanowrimo I've been working on my WIPs. So, here's an update!
I have almost entirely finished the first draft of the second book in my trilogy. Awake Once More follows two different characters, while the first book follows the point of view of just one, and I hope to show you in a few more posts some of Alice's sections. She's probably my favourite character in the series and I look forward to showing you why!
This month I've been working on the second draft of the first book, To Know A Name. I'm very happy with how much my writing has improved since the first version. I've tightened the plot and made some very large changes. I'll be posting an excerpt in the next few days, as well as some more as the month progresses.
Beyond that, my maps for the series have been developed (once again, look out for a post) as well as my magic system (again). I hope to get back into posting regularly on this account throughout the summer at least, and hopefully beyond.
Hey all, it's been a while! I'm planning on rewriting much of my first book of my trilogy (tagged under #wip: tkan and #wip: the primal trilogy) over the summer, so hopefully I'll be more active on this account!
That means excerpts, random babbling and worldbuilding posts! Keep an eye out!
Thanks to @nrivanwrites for the tag (this is my personal writing account, my main writeblr is @whynotwriting). Not sure this is seven lines, but here’s the last bit I’ve been writing, from the second book in my trilogy, Awake Once More!
There was no safe house. No way out of the city. No relying on the kindness of strangers, as he had before. He found himself, wagon and all, beneath a bridge as the sun set on the city, the Djinns still hunting for them. One by one, fearing being discovered but fearing even more removing blindfolds, down a tunnel beneath an arch, down into the sewers below. The cart empty, he left it parked outside an inn, then descended into the darkness.
I’m not going to tag anyone in particular here, but I’d love to be tagged by people if they decide to continue the chain!
Hi again! Another little piece of writing, which may or may not be my last for a while. I guess we’ll see. Once again, a heads up that this includes some potentially triggering details, though in comparison to the previous piece the horror element is less strong. I hope you enjoy!
I pulled the mask back up from where it had slipped under my chin, adjusted the corners for the fifth time. The train rattled as it pulled into the station. Three more stops.
The station was crowded, but no one got on. The train stopped, the doors opened, but no one moved. None of the other passengers made a move for the doors, no one stirred in their seats. I checked my phone.
The interview had been two days back, and I still had no reply. Every twenty seconds I found it was back in my hand, scrolling through my emails, checking spam, hoping I'd missed it the last time around. I never had.
A jolt as the train started again, the incessant beeping warning of the closing of the doors cutting out. I pocketed my phone and held the pole. Outside, stained brick flashed by, lit by regular floodlights. A door, set into the wall, peeling sign above its arch.
My vision blurred briefly, and I took my glasses off, wiped them on my shirt. The door was gone, the fox too. Odd. A fox shouldn't be able to get on the track.
Now I was looking for them, I saw other animals, too. A small flock of pigeons. Rats. All with that same quality the fox had had.
The announcement came over the speaker. Next stop. I felt the train slow, grabbed the rail as my inertia threw me forwards. We pulled into the station.
No one got off. No one got on.
More under the cut.
Two stops, and my phone was back in my hands. I'd sent a message to my sister, asking to meet for her birthday. No response. We hadn't talked since Christmas, so it was a long shot. All the same, I hoped she might agree to meet.
One of the pigeons was in the carriage. None of the other passengers took any notice, but I watched it as it shuffled along the luggage rack. It was pale, the colour of marble. I'd never seen a pigeon that shade before.
Something was bugging me, but the pigeon held my attention to the next station. I tried to take a picture, but I couldn't catch it on camera. Every time I thought I had the shot lined up, it would be just out of frame. The train stopped.
No one moved. Even the pigeon was still.
The next stop was mine. Something in my chest felt off, heavy even. The pigeon took flight as the train started up again, slipping through the closing doors. It flew alongside the train, before being left behind as we entered the tunnel. The wind whistled past, the screech of metal-on-metal reverberating off the stonework.
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. I looked about at the passengers around me, sitting and standing, holding bags, phones, hands. Blank faces, every one. All colours. All ages. As my train pulled into the station, I knew.
There was already a train there. Dead birds lay on the platform, a fox by the track. Rats scattered like confetti. The tunnel ahead was collapsed. A train hadn't stopped in time. My train hadn't stopped in time.
Hey all, here’s the first of the little pieces of writing I’ve been doing lately! Hope you enjoy! Just a heads up, this is horror, and does include violence.
I wake, and the world is big. The world is big, and I am small.
My eyelids flutter, or perhaps they don't. I can't feel them. Though my eyes open, the darkness remains.
A single lightbulb shines on a concrete floor, a single wooden chair, and a rough door. My head feels heavy as I stand, stumble. My feet clatter on the concrete.
The door handle is too high, the door battered but intact. Tripping over feet that twist wrong, joints that roll rather than bend, I clutch with stiff hands at the chair leg. Drag.
Now the handle is within reach. A jump, the slow grinding as the latch comes free, the door swings outwards.
I drop, hear the clink as my shoes hit the stone. A set of stairs. Heavy arms reach up, hands rest and pull. On to the first step. Again. Again. Clink. Clink. The shuffle as my dress brushes the steps.
More under the cut.
Scrape marks on the steps, flakes of paint. A slow thudding from above. No lightbulb here, just a filtering, flickering light from beyond the stairs. The final step.
A corridor, the same rough stone, framed with boxes. Some are broken, spilling their contents in my path. I clamber over them, feel the twist of my legs as they creak, the things scattering like cockroaches before a torch. I try not to look at them.
The going is hard, and they seem to try to stop me, the could-have-beens, the almost were. A crack here, a flake of paint, a strange growth... I'm different. Ahead, the light flickers beneath the door. A candle. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Silence. The pounding stops. The only sound is the squeak of my joints, the rhythmic chime as sole meets stone. Beyond the door, something stirs. Creak. Floorboards, a scraping. Footfalls.
I hear their breath. It's ragged, coarse, hurried. I reach the door. It's pushed to. Frozen hands pressed to its edge, I lock my joints, heave. When it moves, it moves suddenly, and I fall into firelight.
Something is looking at me. Something big, much bigger than me. Something whose hands move as they should as they close around my chest, lift me to meet their bloodshot gaze, whose teeth are yellowed as they grin at me.
"Why, little one!" they leer as their other hand comes down. "I think you could use a new mask. This face of yours... It doesn't quite... fit."
There is no crunch as he crushes my head to powder. Just the tinkle on the ground as pieces of pottery rain down.
Hey all, it’s been a while. Not sure how many of you are aware, but I’m a uni student, and I’ve had a bit of a mountain of work dumped on me for some time, so writing had to take the backseat. On the plus side, I’ve hopefully got a bit more time now.
What does that mean? Well, for a start it means two short pieces written at stupid-o’clock, with hopefully more to come, though no promises there. Keep an eye out for the two prompts!
