adventures in editing: apparently the difference between "close to the chest" and "close to the vest" is popularity between British and American English?? Like, either one is technically correct in either context, but "close to the chest" is way, way, way more popular in British English, while "close to the vest" is near or slightly above it in the States.
We just. Changed our mind for no apparent reason in the 1910s and it stuck. Presumably due to our famed national love of vests.
How to create a character for an online or tabletop RPG (also a good guide on creating characters in general)
Royalty/nobility TV Tropes page
Basic character profile
OC masterpost
Random character generators - (1), (2), (3), (4)
D&D Character Building Tool
Character Design Ideas:
How clothing affects a character’s personality
Character Design Inspiration blog
Concept art, fan art, cool art to be inspired by
Character design references and inspiration
Sources for POC character design ideas and models
Create your own character model using HeroForge
For horned characters
Body and hair types guide
Random outfit generator
Naming Help:
Amazing site with an endless amount of naming resources
General advice on avoiding naming appropriation
Hispanic Surnames
Gothic Victorian names
Huge master list for character things in general
Masterlist of names of all types - including but not limited to ancient/old world names, Celtic, African, Northern European, Southern and Central American Native names, Japanese, Chinese, Mongolian, Polynesian, and more
Another name masterlist
How to pick a character name guide
Yet another names masterlist
Creating Background/backstory:
Character Sheet/Development Sheet
Another character development list
In-depth character personality, motivations and traits sheet
320 talents and passions for characters
On writing likes and dislikes that aren’t frivolous
Why you should write non-human characters non-conforming to the gender binary
Stereotypes, tropes, and archetypes
Random backstory generator
Assassin and thief character tropes to avoid
Character Interactions and putting your character into your world/story:
Comparing character height/height references
Characters who are scientists and writing about them doing science
Describing what different voices sound like
Describing skin tones
Writing friendship interactions that are platonic
Why having one character knock their friend unconscious to prevent them from doing something is a bad idea
Advice on shipping OCs with canon characters and what to avoid doing
Sweet Polly Oliver and Sweet on Polly Oliver situations (think of Disney’s Mulan for an example)
How to write multiple viewpoints/juggling a main cast of more than 4 to 6 characters
How to make readers care about your morally gray hero/anti-hero
On platonic OC and canon character relationships
How to avoid Godmodding in RPs
When it’s cheap to kill off a character
Writing dialogue
Things you shouldn’t do to canon characters
Avoiding purple prose in writing and RPs
Slang resources
Dialogue tips
Websites to chart your story/plot/character relationships
Every day, Theo took the stallion out and attempted to befriend him. Bronwyn took her time in the mornings, putting on an unconvincing show of tending the garden. Mostly, she stood, watched the horse dance around Theo and his outstretched hand. He’d offer treats, flowers, grasses, a harness. The stallion would gingerly step forward to eat from a trough, but wanted no pats.
The horse must have a master he was fiercely loyal to. It couldn’t be anyone here, inquiries had been made of everyone. Probably dead on the battlefield, she’d thought more than once, but never voiced aloud.
Theo would manage to saddle and harness the creature, but never successfully ride him without great struggle against the horse’s will. Today, nearly two weeks after Arondir left, Theo was again taking the stallion out in the morning, though it appeared he was trying a different tactic. Instead of trying to ride around inside the fenced field, he mounted, then rode out of the field onto the path. The horse nickered and tossed his head, but seemed to behave well enough as Theo tentatively gave commands.
Perhaps they will be friends after all.
Just then, the stallion’s head snapped up and he stood still as a statue. Only his ears twitched, shifting back and forth as though listening for something. Without warning, the horse tore off at a gallop, off the path and away from the village. Theo’s shouts carried faintly through the air and he yanked on the reins to no avail.
Bronwyn dropped her basket and ran after them for a few minutes, but it was no use. She slowed and watched the animal race away and vanish over a hill, Theo still firmly planted on his back.
Within the hour, a small group of men and horses was gathered and set off after Theo and the horse. Surely, they would be found. Bronwyn didn’t know the stamina of a warhorse, but surely they would be found. She spent the better part of the day standing to stare to the northwest for minutes at a time, regardless of the task she was attempting to complete.
He will be back. He will be back. Look up, you’ll see him coming just now. He will be back.
The words ran through her head again and again all throughout the day, thinking of Theo, then turning to Arondir, then back to Theo again.
Her hand rested on her belly, as though to impart the words to the babe there.
They will be back.
Much as he pulled and begged and shifted his weight, the horse would not heed. Theo’s shouts were lost to the wind and after nearly losing his seat while trying to pull back the reins, he decided to simply hunch down and hold on until the horse decided it had run far enough.
He had no idea how long that was, but when the stallion finally slowed to a trot and Theo sat up to look around, he did not recognize the landscape at all. They were moving through a loosely-arranged forest, the horse still at nearly a trot as though he was on a mission and knew exactly where to take them. Around bushes, over fallen branches.
The faint thundering of a river appeared and then grew louder as they went further. Then, the water was close enough to see, rushing through the trees, the roar overtaking Theo’s senses. The horse turned and slowed yet again to a walk, now heading downriver. He picked gingerly along the riverbank, then came to a stop, turning his head to nip at Theo’s boots.
“All right, all right.” Theo said. He hesitated, glad to be at a stop but still loathe to get off the horse. Supposing he took off again? Then he would be lost forever. Keeping a tight grip on the reins, Theo slid off of the stallion’s back and moved to the front. The horse must have stopped here for a reason.
The reins were nearly pulled from his hands when the horse bent its head down and stepped forward to nibble at a pile of something on the ground. Bugs? No – Theo looked closer. Berries. Fresh berries.
He looked up and scanned the forest in all directions. There must be a human here, somewhere. Or were there some small animals that built piles of berries? He wasn’t fully sure, but something about it still felt very human to him. Intentional.
Kneeling, he took a closer look at the now decimated pile of fruit. That was when he saw the hand. He jerked back with a start, and peered at it. The hand at first appeared to be just set there beneath a small branch, but when he’d pulled away he realized the whole bush in front of him was actually not a bush at all but a makeshift hovel constructed of branches and vines.
Perhaps – hopefully – large enough to house an entire human. Leaning forward, Theo took hold of the branches closest and lifted them. The hand was indeed attached to a whole person, a man who, despite the gaunt face and sickly complexion, Theo knew immediately.
“Is… Isildur?” He spoke so low it was nearly a whisper. It was too late. He must be too late. “Isildur.” He said again, louder this time. Pleading.
The man stirred, his eyelids fluttered but did not open. He moved his mouth, struggling to speak.
“B…Berek?”
As thin and frail as the man was, Isildur still proved quite challenging for Theo to transfer onto the horse. He looked to have been sustaining himself on mainly berries and likely raw fish as well as spending the better part of the day hidden from potential enemies and the sun. After asking for Berek and getting a nuzzle from the horse himself, Isildur had slipped back into unconsciousness.
Theo knelt and attempted to lift him by scooping under his legs and back. Too heavy. He sat back and reconsidered. Under the arms, perhaps? Repositioning himself, Theo leaned forward again and wrapped his arms around Isildur’s chest. He pulled, and the man sat up. The dead weight was unbearable. How would he manage to lift the man enough to actually place him on the horse’s back? Still, Theo pulled, dragging Isildur inch by inch out of the hovel.
Once the man was fully out, Theo stopped but did not let go. He turned to look at the horse, well, just its legs. Perhaps he could stand with Isildur, but could he lift the man all the way to the horse’s back?
Careful to keep Isildur resting upright, Theo stood slowly until he was fully straight and Isildur rested against his leg. He twisted to face the horse and grasped for the reins. Just out of reach. His entire body shook with the exertion of keeping Isildur sitting. He could not hold this position long.
“Come here, easy now.” He said softly to the horse. Berek swung his head toward Theo’s voice and he whipped his hands out to catch the reins. The horse jerked back at the sudden motion, stepping away and nearly costing Theo his balance as he yanked in desperation to keep the reins in his hand.
“Come now,” Theo spoke again, calming his voice despite his racing heart. Sweat dripped from his brow, sticking hair to his forehead and slipping into his eyes. “Down, lay down boy.” Theo bent, pulling the horse’s head toward the ground, slowly, slowly. He spoke as though to a human. “I need to get him on you,” he explained, “help me get him home.”
Perhaps the horse did comprehend what was being asked of him, for he gingerly laid down on the forest floor beside Theo. Shuddering a sigh of relief, Theo dropped the reins and turned back to Isildur. He knelt again, careful not to let the man fall and gripped his torso again.
Berek turned his head to watch, giving a soft whinny as though in recognition of his master. With a great effort, Theo managed to set Isildur’s chest onto the saddle, then push and shift from there until the man was nearly riding astride, albeit resting fully forward with his face in the horse’s mane.
Theo picked up the reins again, lifting them slowly to direct the horse to stand. The animal placed its front legs, then stood with a quick jerk. Miraculously, Isildur stayed in place, though Theo wished at that moment for some rope to bind him in place. It would be a long walk back.
He didn’t realize how low the sun was in the sky until they reached the edge of the forest and the hill country splayed out before them. The sun would slip below the horizon within half an hour, Theo guessed, and all would be dark not long after. He looked up at the horse, at Isildur still unconscious on its back.
“I don’t know the way home.” He admitted, unsure who he was really speaking to.
Perhaps if he was riding, they could move a little faster than his crawl. He could hold onto Isildur to keep his seat. He wouldn’t get caught flat-footed and weaponless if…
At the thought of being met by a band of orcs, he swung himself up into the saddle and set the horse off at a quick walk. He put his arms on either side of Isildur’s torso and loosened his grip on the reins.
“Take us home, boy.” He said, hoping against hope the horse knew the way.
What are you doing? He asked himself, when, as promised, an elven escort arrived from Lindon with a horse for Arondir.
What are you doing? rang again, as he wrapped Bronwyn in a hug, relishing the discomfited glares of his three escorts. He was loathe to let go, because it seemed so… final. This is not a goodbye, he told himself.
“When the fireflies come,” he whispered in her ear, then pulled away to take a long look at her face. She cupped his cheek in her hand and smiled.
“I’ll see you home.” She finished.
He returned the smile, then cupped her face and pulled her forehead to his, mouth suddenly dry and eyes burning with tears. She placed her hands on his, caressing them for a moment, then pulling herself away. With a final squeeze, she dropped his hands and nodded. They are waiting for you.
He mounted the horse, and they were off. Will they think I’m abandoning them? hewondered, as nearly the entire village stopped their work and play to watch four elves ride back the same way the three had come. Not that any of their opinions of him mattered, aside from Bronwyn and Theo. Theo.
The boy hadn’t been home all week, and had actively avoided speaking to or even seeing both Arondir and Bronwyn. Arondir had sought him out, yesterday.
“You do good work.” He said, unsure how to really say anything that needed to be said.
Theo did not even look up, only moved with rote precision, taking one stick at a time and carving branches, leaves, and bumps off to prep them to become arrows.
“They are coming tomorrow and I must leave.” He tried again. “I have a duty to you… and to them.”
Still, Theo worked without pausing, his cuts quicker, sharper. Arondir stood a moment longer, then nodded and left.
Is this how Bron feels? He wondered. Wanting to let him alone to grow, but desperate to mend the connection.
“He’s young.” She’d said that evening as they laid facing each other in bed. “We were all young, once.”
“Yes.” He agreed. It felt so long ago that he’d been young. Well, in human terms. “Did you feel much like him, when you were young?” His fingers rested on that little spot just between her hip and waist, tracing a lazy circle.
“A bit.” She smiled. “I craved independence. Married quick. They always hoped I’d make a lord’s wife. Or anything, to get out of the farm or toiling as a healer. But…” she shrugged. “I like the land, and healing.”
“The land likes you too.” He murmured, moving closer so his forehead rested against hers. He pressed his lips together, tight, willing his breaths to maintain a steady pattern. Her hand found his face and gently stroked his cheek, as though she knew he was one stray breath away from tears.
He didn’t know how long they laid like that before both drifting off to sleep, only that morning came far too soon. He woke as the first rays of sunlight lit the horizon, but did not move. Bronwyn breathed in the slow peace of a deep, unadulterated sleep. Arondir rested his hand on top of hers and just laid there, matching his breathing to hers.
A familiar trumpet sounded outside. Arondir’s breath caught in his throat and he tightened his arms around Bron’s back. They were here early, and would wake the whole village to see him off, it seemed.
Bronwyn shifted and woke as he untangled his arms from their embrace and moved off of the bed. She laid and looked at him as though committing him to memory, until he finally broke his eyes away and turned to dress.
Arondir was gone. She’d stood outside watching for an hour as they rode further and further away. Until the tiny specks disappeared completely.
Finally, she turned and walked back into the cottage. Small as their home was, it felt cavernous now. She sat at the table for a long moment, just taking in the silence. After a long pause, she breathed deep, then stood. Arondir would be back, that she knew. Whatever that elf-king had in mind, she could not trust, but Arondir would return.
She stepped outside, the morning sun lighting their little village in a pinkish glow. The air still hung with that sleepy silence of the night. It felt as though she were the only person awake in the world. No, there was someone riding a horse through paces along a flat stretch of field. Well, attempting anyway.
Theo.
The horse then, would be Unnamed. The stallion had come to them a few months ago, riderless and in a frenzy. Clearly a warhorse, and likely Númenórean, but wearing no colors or tack at all. He’d reared and stamped and pawed at the ground. Arondir had been the one to temporarily calm the animal, lead him to some food and water. The horse had been with them since, Theo having claimed responsibility to care for him.
It appeared the current exercise was a bit of a challenge for the both of them. Theo pulling tight on the reins and the horse rejecting every command. He did not buck, but would not behave either. Every command Theo tried to give was openly defied.
She wanted to call out to him and give a wave, then thought better of it. Arondir just left, she reminded herself. He was likely to be unhappy to be reminded. And being called to in this failing attempt at managing a horse would be embarrassing for him in any circumstance.
Her eyes fell to the ground, surveying the little garden. The chamomile flowers were in bloom. Echinacea was growing well, though it had not flowered this year. Too soon, next year it should. She retrieved a clipping knife from the cottage, then knelt and began cutting flowers from the chamomile branches.
The day was well underway by the time she stood, basket full of chamomile and weeds she’d cleared. Indistinct voices hummed through the air, accompanied by the ring of an ax against a tree and a hammer on metal. She looked for Theo, but he and the horse had vanished.
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The most obnoxious thing my writing teacher taught me every story needed, that I absolutely loathed studying in the moment and that only later, after months of resisting and fighting realized she was right, was something called the causal chain.
Simply put, the causal chain is the linked cause-and-effect that must logically connect every event, reaction, and beat that takes place in your story to the ones before and after.
The Causal Chain is exhausting to go through. It is infuriating when someone points out that an event or a character beat comes out of nowhere, unmoored from events around it.
It is profoundly necessary to learn and include because a cause-and-effect chain is what allows readers to follow your story logically which means they can start anticipating what happens next, which is what is required for a writer to be able to build suspense and cognitively engage the audience, to surprise them, and to not infuriate them with random coincidences that hurt or help the characters in order to clumsily advance the author's goals.
By all means, write your story as you want to write it in the first draft, and don't worry about this principle too much. This is an editing tool, not a first draft tool. But one of the first things you should do when retroactively begin preparing your story to be read by others is going step by step through each event and confirming that a previous event leads to it and that subsequent events are impacted by it on the page.
When your character is standing knee-deep in literal or metaphorical shit with a weapon in one hand and their last hope of surviving evaporating around them, and they’re wondering how their simple smuggling job/adulthood ritual/simple morning in an ordinary village led to ALL OF THIS, both they and the reader need to be able to backtrack through every single choice, mishap, attempt at fixing earlier problems and panicky flight or fib led them unerringly to this moment. That chain cannot have breaks in it, or you lose the whole impact.
It was only that the windy days brought with them agitation. They did lately, anyway. She was sure she hadn't always felt this turbulence within her belly. Once, in a different lifetime, she'd been known for having nerves of steel. Now, she was as likely to be overtaken with a sudden surge of alarm from nowhere. A sense that she was standing alone on the surface of life and it felt as fragile as glass.
She would turn thirty-eight at her next birthday. Practically forty! A greater age than either her father or mother ever reached. Perhaps that was why she had been overcome lately with memories from her childhood. It was as if sufficient time had passed that she could turn around and see it with clarity across the vast ocean of time. She could barely remember crossing that ocean.
It was ridiculous to feel lonely. She had lived in this house for fourteen years. She was surrounded by more family than she'd ever had - God knew, she couldn't escape the children if she tried. And yet, there were times when she felt terror at her own desolation, the gnawing sensation of having lost something she could not name and therefore could not hope to find.
Bronwyn nodded, feeling chastised. She wanted to push back against the slight toward Arondir – Theo had not even looked in his direction when referencing him. She settled on extending grace.
“Not for a while yet, though.”
“And you’ll go with him?”
“I… am not sure.” This was not entirely true. She had all but decided to make the journey along with him, and had intended to ask Theo if he would keep the farm while they were gone. It might be too much though. He was not a man, yet. She’d thought the asking would make him feel good, but now she wasn’t sure.
“A baby, now?” He asked again, exasperated.
“We didn’t plan for it-” Bronwyn tried, but Theo huffed and pushed his chair back to stand. He stalked out of the house without another word.
Arondir moved as though to follow him, but Bronwyn placed a hand on his arm and he stopped to look down. She shook her head gently.
“Give him some time.” She said. She hoped time alone would be enough.
It was not until the sun sank behind the horizon that the first pangs of fear began to squeeze her heart. Her hands slowed their stitching, then she stopped sewing altogether, watching the light slowly fade from the window. Would he return tonight? She didn’t know if she’d rather he stayed out than travel through the dark to the safety of home. He’d be somewhere safe, wouldn’t he? Staying with his friend in the village, perhaps.
Flashes of fire, fear, desperation surrounded her. It was everywhere and she couldn’t escape. Orcs were coming, and she held her breath, willed herself not to move. She was suddenly choking on smoke and stood, gasping for breath.
“Bron?” Arondir stood as well, rushing to her side. “Are you… is it…?”
She waved her hand and tried to say not to worry, it isn’t the baby, but the words wouldn’t come. She rushed to the door and opened it. The fog in her brain dissipated as she looked out over the quiet farm and further, the village, the world around them settling into a cool autumn night.
No fires lit the horizon, nor sounds of battle broke the silence. The urge to rush out and bang on the door of every home in the village was overwhelming, but instead she stood. Breathed. In…out.
Arondir came up behind her, placing his arm around her waist and standing so close she could rest on his chest. So many thoughts ran through her mind, questions, hopes, emotions she didn’t quite know how to put into words. Instead, they just stood, looking out into the peaceful night.
“He’ll be all right.” Bronwyn finally said, speaking it as a statement, but really meaning it as a question.
“Yes.” Arondir’s voice rumbled in her ear.
She nodded, finally believing it for the first time. He would be a man soon. Too soon. He’s not ready to be on his own yet! He’s learning, growing in independence. She told herself, around and around. She was not ready.
In the morning, Oyna came to see Bronwyn, bearing two baskets - one full of eggs and news of Theo. The woman was not much older than Bronwyn herself, with three sons and a daughter, the youngest just about Theo’s age. She was brown and stout, with long, long black hair that Bronwyn had seen untwisted only once. It had gleamed in the firelight, shiny as a river stone and looked soft as pup’s ear. Now, as always, it was twisted into an intricate knot and held in place with carved sticks.
“He showed up yesterday afternoon, asked to stay the night see’n as how he and Yaban were planning an early start for sparring practice.” She shrugged, handing Bronwyn the basket.
See, he was somewhere safe. She told herself, inwardly sighing of relief.
“Now, about that lavender.”
Bronwyn barely contained her involuntary reaction to even the thought of lavender. Her stomach turned and she felt her face slipping into a grimace, then quickly corrected it with a smile.
“Certainly!” She stepped away taking the few minutes of walking ahead to regain her composure. “I have far more than enough.” She waved a hand at the vast sea of lavender in the garden, trying not to stand too close.
The other woman knelt and began to cut the stalks, placing each gently into a basket. Bronwyn felt bad that she wasn’t helping, yet could not bring herself to get any closer to the plants. Oyna glanced at her for a moment, perhaps appraising her condition, but did not mention it. She spoke of the weather, predicting rain within the week, her family, her intended uses for the lavender she gathered.
Bronwyn enjoyed the conversation, Oyna was a good friend and a valuable addition to their community of survivors. She cared for Theo like her own son.
“He may stay longer.” Bronwyn blurted as the conversation lulled. “Theo.”
Oyna turned, raising her eyebrows.
“Arondir has an elf council to attend within two months and will be gone… a while. Theo was upset.”
Oyna stood, her basket full, nodding. She understood children growing into adulthood.
“And…” Bronwyn trailed off, letting her hand rest at the top of her belly, giving the other woman a knowing look. Her eyebrows raised further, then a smile lit her face. “When?” she asks.
Bronwyn felt her face pull into a soft smile.
“Spring.”
Oyna reached a hand out and squeezed Bronwyn’s wrist. “Well, we’ll take care of you through the winter. I pray it won’t be as long as last.”
Bronwyn nodded, wanting no redos of last winter. We’re already heading there. She thought, looking out over the fields to where she could just make out Theo sparring with another one of the young men.
She was indescribably proud of him, of the man he was becoming, of the great independence and strength he was developing. But in this moment, she wanted nothing more than to draw him into her arms and to hug him with a force that would tell him she loved him more than anything in the world and couldn’t bear to have anger hanging between them.
