wip re-introduction — the Seafoam diptych by Steph Megary
volume I — The Silent Shore | volume II — The Unforgiving Sea | genre — high fantasy | status — 2nd draft | pov — single, first | themes — grief, resilience, vengeance, sisterhood | romantic subplot — friends-to-lovers | trigger warnings — misogyny, sex trafficking/sexual assault, religious oppression, homophobia, major character death | links — excerpts, artwork
summary | Thala Galanis is coming of age and unmarried with absolutely no intention of remedying that. Which, in Grea, means that you’re a spinster and fit for nothing but a life of service as a Stoli in Katania. After tragedy strikes her family with the untimely death of her father, she concludes that there really is no other option available for her other than joining the ranks of the Stoli, unless she can find it within herself to marry her very-willing childhood friend.
Which…she cannot.
Besides, there are worse fates to endure than to live your life in silence and in service to the gods and your community, aren’t there?
However, when she arrives in the capital, she discovers how very wrong her assumptions were. What’s expected of the Stoli is far more sinister than she could have ever imagined, and there is no way for any of the young women to escape the fate that awaits them all. Until, that is, she takes matters into her own hands and stains them with blood—a stain that will never wash off the further she travels down the path to vengeance.
Because what happened to her should never happen to anyone else.
It has, though…to countless others…
But, if she gets her way, she will be the very last.
Dark stories, like horror, are at their best when there is a small amount of lightness and hope to counteract (and therefore enhance) the tension. The reverse is also true
A non-writer asked me "but where do you get your ideas" and i genuinely did not know how to explain that it's not a place. it's not a website. it's not a folder. it's that i was on the bus and a woman was holding a paper bag very carefully and something about the way she held it made me need to know what was inside and then i needed to know why she was sad about it and then there was a whole person and then there was a whole story and the bus had already stopped and i missed my stop. that's where.
I am so tired of short-attention-span, trim-the-fat culture.
All writing advice these days is for how to write like Chuck Palahniuk. "Cut 'think', cut 'feel', cut 'wonder' - only action, only pushing forward, show and move and move and move." What if I could emulate this style, and still don't want to? What if I want to write like Henry James, with three paragraphs of introspective musings between each dialogue line?
The music advice is, "make it shortform, make it Tik-Tok compatible, make it punchy, hit the refrain as soon as possible." What if I want that 10-minute prog rock piece? What if I want that symphony? What if I want it slow and luxurious and lazy?
Movies. Series. Poetry. Bodies. Everything is "trimmed trimmed trimmed trimmed, stripped bare, you have three seconds to win me over, make it airport chic." I don't want to win you over, then, I guess.
I want the fat left it.
I want the pleasure and the indolence and the indulgence.
Fuck this art-advice that's always "your art needs Ozempic."
I was tagged by @isherwoodj (thank you!) and I'll tag: @daisywords @zmwrites @thewriteflame and @world-of-iridensia. your words will be: frigid, tepid, balmy, and molten
my words were: appear, circle, limit, and branch. everything was taken, ofc, from Seafoam, and as usual, it got a bit long, so it'll be under the cut.
appear(ed)
Our lesson on hand signals and wordless calls was soon cut off when a nest of sharks encircled us, quickly shifting to Iletta teaching us how to redirect sharks if they were coming straight for us. Just grab their snout and point them in a new direction—“Ideally toward one of the men in the water.”
Though they appeared to be formidable, they were actually quite friendly. One of them kept returning to me for pets, which was an impulse I was pleased to indulge.
circle
And, for the first time since we returned from viewing the ruins of the [the ship], she reached between us and clasped my hand. Though her fingers were trembling, her grip was firm as she lead me away from the faintly glowing garden and into the courtyard where the other dancers had already formed two concentric rings. The music slowed as Solera hurried us toward them, and room was made for us before the song truly began.
I kept my attention on Solera all throughout, mirroring her motions as best I could, even when the rings shifted and our partners changed. The rhythm of the music was so odd that, if I had had any feet and had this been on land, I surely would have tripped multiple times in the effort of keeping up with it. By the second revolution, I was feeling as though I almost had the hang of it, but then the music changed again, and with it, the motions. My confusion must have shown on my face because when Solera looked up at me, she burst out laughing.
Now, there was a melody I knew by heart.
I couldn’t help but grin, too, as she clutched my arm and pressed her brow briefly to my shoulder in her amusement before the song swept her away again, and then, eventually, back into my arms as the music slowed. Even when the time the music ebbed completely so that the maids with the coral flutes deliberated which tune to play next, I still held her. Watched her. Willed her to look at me, so I could…
Slowly, she tilted her head up, her gaze unwavering as she stared into my eyes.
For a moment, I held my breath as I simply stared back, a flash of panic strangling my voice.
But, she was waiting for me to say it, wasn’t she?
I let my breath out slowly, then whispered as the circle was beginning to reform around us, “Can we talk?”
limit(ed)
He slipped out of bed, fiddling with the tie at the waist of his robe as he made his way toward me.
I stepped back to let him through just as his robe fell open. It took everything in me not to flinch at the sight of that…thing, but when my gaze darted up to look at the Diamo’s face, he was smiling at me. And handing me his robe, which I jerkily took.
“Solera,” he said as he stopped beside me, his bare form uncomfortably close to my exposed shoulder as he turned to face me as he looked back at her. “Get my robes ready. Thala will wash me today.”
She nodded as she set the tray down, and he moved past me. I was still watching her helplessly as two splashes sounded behind me, but, blessedly, she hurried for me.
The Diamo was submerged in his bath up to his beard when she reached me and I turned around to follow her back to the cabinet. She pulled a few jars down, opening one and pointing to her hair, then the other, which was also, somehow for hair, but…after? I was confused but she could only convey so much with my limited comprehension of the hand language amidst the Diamo’s increasingly impatient throat clearing.
After a fleeting, sympathetic look, she left me to him.
branch
Heaving a sigh, I shouldered my satchel and turned to the steep, rocky path that would take me down into the outskirts of the village. The further I descended, the faster my feet carried me. I kept my head down as I passed the homes of my former neighbors, avoiding the curious gazes pinned to my back as I hurried toward the lane cutting through Kolette’s orchard. Rysos, the Samara’s guard dog, barked raucously as I jogged past, but I didn’t glance over now that the arch between the overgrown hedgerow was in plain sight.
Squeezing through the narrow gap, I pulled my braid free from a clinging branch and looked up at my old cottage. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart swooped uneasily in my stomach as I let the satchel fall off my shoulder. With my gaze still fixed on the cottage, I nearly tripped over it, but regained my footing before I climbed the steps to the front door.
“Ma?” I called out, knocking a few times before I tried the latch.
It was locked.
“Ma? It’s me!”
No answer came, even after I knocked several more times.
Farrow sat back and raised his hands slowly, as if attempting to settle a startled animal. ‘Calm down,’ he said, and he was a little embarrassed by the meekness in his own voice. ‘Just calm down. I just want to talk to you. There's no need for us to get violent.’ Was his forehead bleeding? It felt like it, but he couldn't be sure.
LOST
‘Well, sure, I'm just saying...don't do anything stupid for the sake of a guy like Markov.’ His pointer finger moved from Raymond's direction to Chaz's. ‘And as for you—’
Chaz jumped slightly. In truth, he had gotten lost in all the names and had only half-followed the conversation. He certainly hadn't expected to become involved in it. ‘Yes?’
REACH
‘Try not to hold it against him,’ Farrow said, and he almost appeared apologetic. ‘It's my fault, really.’
‘I know,’ said Chaz, before he'd thought better of it. But Farrow just smiled.
The sound of footsteps heralded Crowder's approach. By the time he'd reached them, Farrow's smile was gone and he was all business again.
IMAGINE
Chaz realised that this line of thinking was entirely illogical, but still felt apprehensive as he ran his thumb over the top of the radio. Farrow had, after all, become a near omnipresent force in his life during the past few weeks. It was difficult to imagine any action of Chaz's escaping his notice.
—
Tagging: @megarywrites @mary-is-writing @writingrosesonneptune @manorofshepard & anyone else who wants to participate. Your words are APPEAR, CIRCLE, LIMIT & BRANCH.
There was something that made you passionate enough about it to start it. Try to remember that when you start to feel down on your writing. Try to remind yourself what you love about your writing.
There's this old series I did on an old blog called "Reasons I Love." It was a very long and wonderful series of posts where I'd write out why I loved my characters and WIPs. I think everyone should do that when they start to doubt themselves. Remind yourself what you love about it when you're drowning in self-doubt and needing reassurance.
Remember that your writing is wondrous and deserves so much love and support... and remind yourself that you deserve to love your writing, not constantly be filled with self-doubt and insecurities. 🩵
