Hyba Is Writing

Hello, 30s! By day I teach bright young minds, by night I wrangle my words into stories.

[hyba]

Hey, there! I'm Hyba, an elementary school teacher and storytelling aficionado, and this blog is for my writing projects.

Lately, I've been focused on game design, specifically narrative design. Check out my current project @theblackhare-if.

I'm especially interested in designing curricula and serious games. I have an educational game in the works focusing on piracy in the 1600s.

Feel free to reach out with any Qs about my projects, my writing, or me.

[beelur]

details 🌱

[istalkfashion]

[autistobrat]

I’m lying face down on the floor. Reblog to join.

[rebeccasteventaylor]

My workplace recently had a thing about ‘do you know how many days we lose to stress related sick days? Here are some ways to manage stress’ and it’s things like ‘keep a gratitude journal’

But I don’t know - when I started work, many decades ago, it was expected you’d start at 9, finish at 5. You’d get your lunch break. You are expected to give about 70% of yourself the majority of your time. The last hour of each day and Friday afternoon were quiet times. There was time in the day to hang out with your coworkers for ten minutes talking about anything, not just work.

Now you’re expected to come in early and leave late and work through lunch. Give 100% all the time, more if you can push it. Don’t take leave. Work every second of every day as hard as you can push yourself. Do not waste time in the kitchen just chatting. Why aren’t you working harder?

And perhaps we’re burning out and take massive amounts of stress leave not because we’re not keeping a gratitude journal but because we are all being pushed to breaking point consistently, day after day, until we snap.

The older days weren’t perfect. But there was an understanding that work wasn’t life, and we could relax a little at work and still get paid enough to live. Now we are expected to give everything we’ve got, then give more, and not get paid enough to do something as simple as get a coffee after work. Even our hobbies are supposed to be monetised.

I blame Reagan and Thatcher but also blame every business leader since then who thought that pattern of work was in any way sustainable.

[hyba]

I thought working in a field I love would make this more bearable. It hasn't. If anything, I'm worried I'll stop loving it altogether and find myself wondering what next.

[paper-wounds]

[caleod]

11-7-26

[mournfulroses]

Li Qingzhao, from a poem titled "Late Spring," featured in The Complete Poems of Li Qingzhao

[huariqueje]

Citrine Window - Antonia Tyz Peeples

American , b. 1957 -

Oil on linen

[paper-wounds]

[Dimension 20's Neverafter - Brennan Lee Mulligan]

[mournfulroses]

Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959

[lavender-long-stories]

Day 2 | Questions of the Day Lav's Writing Retreat | July 2026

✿ What part of the writing process do you enjoy the least? ✿

My Answer: Editing. This is why we have the lovely editor @nikandrros.

Tell us your answer below.

[hyba]

Hmm, this applies to my writing process on a more personal mental level more than anything else, but I've been frustrated lately because I have been dealing with a really short attention span and a difficulty focusing, so when I sit down to write, I'll generally write one or two things and then end up staring at nothing at all for another three hours.

It's made actually sitting down and attempting to continue drafting my current piece so difficult and not very enjoyable at all.

But some days are like that, I guess. It'll pass. And then I'll be writing again, and all will be well with the world. ^^

But if I must choose a specific phase: the muddy middle when drafting. I will never find the muddy middle in any way enjoyable.

[lavender-long-stories]

Oh I feel you on the days that you just want to write but it doesn't feel like you're actually getting anywhere.

Annoyingly the only solution is to keep trying until you catch that hook. This is usually where I try to switch projects and hope that something else will catch my attention.

We just have to chip at it until the story is done.

[hyba]

Hook, pt. 4.a

[Part 1 + 2] [Part 3]

Kenza entered the bathroom. She walked up to the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She looked scared. They could probably see it, too. Her eyes were wide, her brows raised, her mouth hanging slightly open, her skin pale and taut.

"Maybe there's nothing going on," she mouthed to her other self. "Maybe they're just weirded out by me because I'm the one acting strange. Maybe downstairs is a private area for patients who are getting some other kind of treatment."

A moment of silent, and then she snorted, a mirthless laugh. Yeah, that's what it was. She ran her hands through her black hair in frustration. The people downstairs were being sucked dry because... because it was some kind of medical procedure.

Nobody in their right minds could believe that.

"So what's the plan?" she asked herself, and the reflection gave no reply. She turned on the faucet, letting the cold water rush out, loud in the small bathroom. "The plan is..."

She took a deep breath and straightened her back, meeting her own eyes. "Okay, here's the plan. We're gonna go back in there. We're gonna grab my stuff. We're gonna get my car keys. We're gonna tell them I'm not taking the treatment anymore because - because - I don't know - I forgot I have an appointment with my parole officer, or something. And we're gonna walk away and never come back. Okay?"

Her reflection stared back at her.

"Okay," she said, then took another deep breath, waving her arms out beside her. "Okay, let's do this."

She straightened her clothes and strode out of the bathroom, trying to convey a lot more courage than she actually felt.

When she stepped back into the hall, both the technician and the man were gone. She glanced back, towards the lobby, and saw that the receptionist was nowhere to be seen, either. The place felt empty.

She tried to remember if there had been other patients here when she'd come in. There must have been. She'd heard some hubbub, some background noise - didn't she?

Kenza walked slowly - hesitantly - back down the hall, towards her patient room. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open. Inside, her bag was right where she'd left it: on the small chair up against the wall. She hurried inside and grabbed it.

Inside, everything was just as she'd expected. Her phone, her keys, her wallet - nothing had been taken. Nothing out of place. She pulled the purse onto her shoulder and turned to leave the room.

"Are you leaving?" The technician all but gave her a heart attack. Kenza breathed, trying to get her bearings back. The technician took a step inside, her small frame somehow intimidating, even if Kenza had a full foot of height on her. "Your treatment is ready."

"I - um - I can't stay," Kenza replied apologetically. "I've got an appointment - I forgot I have somewhere I need to be."

The technician took another step forward, but was still squarely in the way of the door - the only exit. "That's too bad," she said, and Kenza couldn't figure out her inscrutable expression. "The treatment has to be made fresh for each patient. That means yours will essentially be going to waste. Why not reschedule and get your treatment today?"

"Ah - I can't," Kenza said, shrugging her shoulders. "It's... it's kind of embarrassing, but I have to meet my parole officer." She rolled her eyes bashfully and smiled. "If I miss an appointment, I get in trouble. You know how it is."

The technician's smooth features crumpled into a small frown. "Your... parole officer?" she echoed. She paused, hesitant. She gave the impression of someone who was calculating all of their options.

"Right," Kenza confirmed. "I can come back afterwards - I mean, it's not a problem, is it? Me being on parole or having a record? None of your intake forms asked about it, so..."

When the technician didn't respond, Kenza pressed on. "Well, I really should be going. The later I am, the worse it gets. Can I come back in say, about two hours?"

With some small effort, the technician plastered an understanding smile onto her face. "Certainly," she replied. "I'm not sure about the - er - the record, but I'll get back to you about that when you return."

"Um - well - I've already paid, so..." Kenza trailed off. She was getting good at this; playing this role. "I'm hoping it's not an issue."

"I'll look into it for you," the technician smiled, and stepped to the side, letting Kenza pass. Kenza did not hesitate.

"Well, I'll see you in a couple of hours, then! So sorry for the mistake with the schedule - that was completely my bad!"

With that, she rushed off, down the hall, into the lobby, and to the great glass sliding doors. They didn't open.

She glanced around. Nobody there. She waved at the sensor. Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Again, more frantically.

Nothing.

And then - it slid open.

The fresh breeze filled her lungs, a welcome relief. Thank God for parole officers! Kenza hurried out of the building, never once glancing back, worried that she might give herself away.

It wasn't until later - much, much later - that the full weight of the situation came down on her. She should tell someone... but who to tell? Who would believe her? And how to even express what she'd experienced in that clinic?

She wrapped herself in her blankets, pushing the new SIM card into her phone and snapping her old one in half, flushing it down the toilet.

It's okay, she told herself. I don't have to worry about it anymore. I'm alright.

Still, she couldn't sleep that night, and watched her back all throughout the following day. Was it really okay? Was it alright to just leave it all like that? All those people - those victims. Were they victims? What else could they have been?

But I'm one person. And I made it out once - I shouldn't tempt fate again. I'm alright. I don't have to worry about it anymore.

I'm alright.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

And that wraps up this part of the story!

In this route, the story ends with Kenza. She never tells anyone, and decides to move on from the event without reaching out to the authorities or further investigating herself. It's a happy ending, but... not really? Not for the people stuck in the basement, that's for sure. But Kenza gets away.

This part needs some work; I'm not too happy with it. Some parts feel forced, and I haven't really fleshed out all of the important elements (like, they probably know her address, they could figure out she was lying, and etc.), and I never really defined who 'they' are, but for a quick first draft of the short story, it's alright.

The other route introduces a new character. My idea was to have routes that pull in new characters each time, keeping the story alive, but I'm not too sure how I feel about making this story that long!

I hope you enjoyed reading this route; the other route (4b) will be coming out very soon as well.

[paper-wounds]

via

[gaslightwestern]

A Reclusive Cowboy, Widow, and "Retired" Gunslinger Expose HUGE Murder Conspiracy (You Won't Believe What Happens Next!)

Tag Game: Clickbait WIP Description 📝 Explain the plot or premise of your WIP(s) as if it were a clickbait Youtube video.

Hell's Half Acre: When death comes to Fort Worth and claims one victim too many, Elijah Addison, a reclusive cowboy, resolves to hunt down the killer. By his side is Charlotte Grace, a widow he knows is dangerous, and Captain Sam Quinn, the most controversial man in town. As they navigate power struggles, old blood feuds, and the dangers of the frontier, Elijah realizes the killer somehow knows their every move and is closing in on a secret Charlotte will do anything to keep buried. Intro | Tag | Excerpts | Updates | Inspo

Thanks to @winterandwords for the tag! Tagging @gioia-writes-and-others, @in-seas-of-green, @afrenchwriter, @dragon-swords-prophecies, and @orphanheirs.

[hyba]

LOVE IT! Very clickbaity, especially the "You won't believe what happens next!" And, to be fair 👀 I do in fact want to know what happens next.

[lavender-long-stories]

Day 2 | Questions of the Day Lav's Writing Retreat | July 2026

✿ What part of the writing process do you enjoy the least? ✿

My Answer: Editing. This is why we have the lovely editor @nikandrros.

Tell us your answer below.

[hyba]

Hmm, this applies to my writing process on a more personal mental level more than anything else, but I've been frustrated lately because I have been dealing with a really short attention span and a difficulty focusing, so when I sit down to write, I'll generally write one or two things and then end up staring at nothing at all for another three hours.

It's made actually sitting down and attempting to continue drafting my current piece so difficult and not very enjoyable at all.

But some days are like that, I guess. It'll pass. And then I'll be writing again, and all will be well with the world. ^^

But if I must choose a specific phase: the muddy middle when drafting. I will never find the muddy middle in any way enjoyable.

[paper-wounds]

via