Hello! My name is MT (she/her) and this is my writeblr!
I write speculative fiction with a bent towards horror and the strange, though I love experimenting with other genres every so often.
My themes and topics tends towards the fantastical and the existential. Monsters, mysteries, and histories are my bread and butter with dashes of "humor." The quotations are an urge to take that assertion with a grain of salt.
Other things that often crop up in relation to writing is my love of music, science, and nature (especially plants, birds, and mycology)
General Housekeeping
Below the cut you will find information about all my WIPs, past and present. This will be updated periodically!
But first, some quick bullets
To start off, I should state all my writing (esp longer pieces) will be posted on my website: mthollowell.com . Alongside my fiction, you'll also find book reviews and other writing related musings.
All my writing updates will be under #mt writes. This includes snippets, blurbs, tag games, writing challenges, and the like
I read a lot, all over, so all book things can be found under the #mt reads tag
This is my writing sideblog. I follow back with @missaddledmiss
I also have a Bluesky account. If you wander out that way, let me know so I can give you a follow
And if you like my stories and are able, you can drop a few pennies into my Kofi account!
Long Term Projects
Festival of Shadows/Supernatural Mystery, Horror, Thriller
During the Hollow Grove's infamous Founder Festival, reporter Mariela Hudson seeks to uncover a five year mystery that involves a cult, a mysterious ritual that ended in a deadly fire, and a missing woman whose relationship with both is still shrouded in shadows. All the while, a monster waits.
WIP Introduction /// Excepts under #festivalwip
Grim Lore WIP/ Supernatural Mystery, Horror
Sebastian Calderon accepts a job in a new town called Hollow Grove that's setting up roots in the wilderness on the promise of land and some cash in his pocket. But not everything is as it seems and the price he pays for his labor may be too steep.
Hollow Grove Stories/Speculative Fiction, Horror, "Humor"
A collection of shorts about the various characters in Hollow Grove often set during its contemporary timeline (circa 2016-2017). Mischief and terror abound.
Stories under #hollow grove stories
Divided Loyalties WIP/ Fantasy, Adventure, Romance
Kalon is a prince of a fallen empire seeking vengence against its conquerer, Satomi Satinos, the bandit king. In order to do that, he infiltrates his kingdom in hope of slaying the source of his power, the great dragon Raylene. But in his quest, he unwittingly falls in love with the bandit king's daughter, Uraya, and uncovers a conspiracy that threatens to break the whole of their world.
Story 1 WIP/ Fantasy, Action Adventure, Coming of Age
Haru is a young prisoner of a never-ending war that spans multiple worlds. He makes his living at the forge, but his daily life is interrupted when a guard is found dead and he's accused of the murder. As he awaits his execution, he's offered a chance of escape by a man who brings him to another world. He tries to keep a low profile and his new powers in check, so he doesn't attract the attention of the guards tracking them. When he runs into a group of kids in this strange new world, colloquially known as Earth, he opens their mind to all the worlds hidden around them.
(Called Story 1 since its the first comprehensive story I've ever come up with yet I cannot think of a better title)
Shorter Projects (Last Updated November 2024):
31 Days of Horror 2024:
A collection of stories I made for a 2024 October horror challenge
Escape from Gallow Lane: A Hollow Grove Story
Local Hollow Grove reporters Mariela and Emery find themselves on the wrong side of the law, and things somehow get worse from there.
Hanging on the Telephone: A Hollow Grove
After a seance in the basement of the Edelhaus Church goes awry and cuts off the WIFI across the county, Mariela Hudson tries her luck with the old tech of yesteryear with her dad’s old dial-up computer.
We all love a good story, a concise explanation of how the world works. We all love an easy buck. Temptation has driven human folly for centuries, whether the serpent in the Garden of Eden or the market manias of cryptocurrency or artificial intelligence. Each wave seduces us into thinking we've learned from history and, this time, we can't be fooled.
Then it happens again. This is how it happened in 1929.
-Andrew Ross Sorkin, 1929: Inside the Greatest Crash in Wall Street History
Lengthy, uninterrupted booms, like the one in the 1920s, produce a collective delusion. Optimism becomes a drug, or a religion, or some combination of both. Propelled along by a culture of hot tips, one of a kind deals, killer sales pitches, and irresistible slogans, people lose their ability to calculate risk and distinguish between good and bad ones.
-Andrew Ross Sorkin, 1929: Inside the Greatest Crash in Wall Street History
When people use the word "creative" as a job title, it not only falsely divides the world into "creatives" and "non-creatives," but also implies that the work of a "creative" is "being creative." But being creative is never an end; it is a means to something else.
-Austin Kleon, Keep Going: 10 Ways to Stay Creative in Good Times and Bad
When starting something new, it's difficult not to hone in on its imperfections. Ideas are fragile things in the stark light of reality. They shrivel on the vine of scrutiny.
Starting new journals feel the same. Perhaps even more profane. I behold a clean, empty space with all its crisp lines, and think of all the ways I will dirty it all with my thoughts and feelings and half ideas: crooked lines and smudges and oil stains from clumsy, imprecise fingers.
For some context, I’ve started the practice of writing a sort of note to myself at the beginning of new journals. Sort of like an introducti
I've been thinking a lot and reading a lot about creativity in a world of noise. How finding magic in the everyday and moments of solitude to allow boredom to creep in are essential to cultivating your inner life.
It's a practice. I'm still finding my steps but I'm trying to find time for it everyday.
I hope everyone who reads this finds a moment of peace today
hello all! I'm Astra. she/her. crocheter, astronomy and archeology enthusiast, and author of far too many WIPs, mostly fantasy and scifi with a little horror. I hope to publish at least a few of them someday, most likely indie.
I don't use or support generative AI.
I'm always open to asks and tag games!
Main WIPs
The Folly of Carda
Genre: Fantasy/post apocalyptic/dystopian
In a world poisoned by the aftermath of a senseless war, a couple sets out to find a better home.
His life shrouded in a fog of lost memory, Kell is haunted by dreams and memories he shouldn't have. His wife Kirie possesses a healing power with mysterious origins and a failure of its use lying heavy in her past. As they travel across plains ruled by a cruel warlord, they begin to discover that perhaps their secrets aren't so avoidable after all.
The Watcher Protocol
Genre: Science Fiction
Summary coming soon! Whenever I can wrangle my brain into writing it.
My name is Arthur (he/him), and I’m (sort of) brand new to the whole tumblr thing!
I was on an account with the same name last year, but due to some technical difficulties, I ended up having to delete it. Ah, well. I was so bad at posting that I didn't lose anything of value anyway! I've tried to follow as many people as I can remember following, but again, it's been like a year, and I barely posted anyway, so take it with the hugest grain of salt if I forgot you.
Anyway, I figure the best way to (re?)join an online community is with an introduction, so here we are! Please don’t hesitate to reach out or interact! I’d love to make some new friends!!!
Okay, so who are you?
I’m glad you asked! My pen name, which I’m going to use for this blog, is Arthur Callahan
I’m 27, recently jumping back into writing after a whole slew of life stuff, and am looking to start grad school here in the next year or two!
Some of my interests include: books (obviously), comics, movies, folklore and folk music, philosophy, pro wrestling (the greatest form of theatre), and video games!
What do you write?
All kinds of stuff! Fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, westerns, even a comic or graphic novel from time to time. If only I could draw…
Most of my WIPS are lining up to be novel length, but I am notoriously bad at finishing big projects, so I'll probably end up cranking out short stories as well.
The only things you won’t catch me really writing are romances. Nothing against em, per se, but that’s not really my niche. A subplot? Sure! But not really my vibe for a complete work.
I also don’t really do fanfic, but again, no hate if you do! I think it’s cool to read people play around in those spaces; I just have to get all this mess out of my head.
Do you have any WIPs?
Too many! But I’ll try to list the main ones! (And keep it short)
Those Who Came Before: My main project right now! A space fantasy epic revolving around a young knight hopeful, those closest to him, and a series of ancient galactic ruins with no known builder.
The Silver Circle: The first in a fantasy series, it follows a group of adventurers making their way through a war-torn continent to help a cast-out prince reclaim his throne.
If any of this sounds like anything you like, please don’t hesitate to follow! I’m also down for any tag games, asks, DMs, etc! I’d love to make new friends and really get involved with the community.
The Witch of Stolen Tomorrows had begun to notice an odd trend amongst her petitioners.
The latest was a farmer. He had braved the journey through the Testing Woods and arrived with his convictions mostly intact. He now sat on a tree stump by the Witch’s thornbush cottage, drinking a cup of bitter tea, and asking for a fairly standard boon.
"Oh yes," said the Witch, "I can make you a spell for a bountiful harvest, but what will you give me in return?"
The farmer gulped. "My firstborn child?"
"By the dick-shattered sky.” The Witch exclaimed. “What?"
"Oh. You don't take firstborn children?"
"I am a witch of ancient promises, timeless dreams, and fresh blood.” The Witch announced. “Of course I take firstborn children. It's just a bit weird that it was your first offer."
"I'm sorry, mistress. I don't know how this works. Was I supposed to start smaller and work my way up to the firstborn? I’ve always been hopeless at haggling." The man seemed on the verge of tears. "My wife passed a few years ago. She used to do all the business at market."
"If your wife passed a few years ago, how exactly do you plan to offer me your firstborn?" The witch swirled her tea and the steam made foul omens in the air. "I mean, sure, you don't have to be married to have kids, but it does usually help if you're not obviously still in mourning."
"Oh, my little Jackie is already born. They're five. My firstborn and, well, my only-born."
"Okay. If the kid has already been born, you don't have to say firstborn. You can just say 'my child, whose name is...' What's the kid's name again?"
“Jackie.”
“Well, you’ve gone and put Jackie in a bit of a precarious spot. You see, now that you’ve offered the child, the fatespring will hate it if I accept a lesser deal. So either I have to talk you into a bargain that’s technically worse for you, or little Jackie comes to live with me. Now, I could-”
“That’s fine mistress. I accept the bargain.” The man sniffled and wiped his tears. He looked weirdly relieved. “So, do I bring Jackie here to you, or will you come to the farm to collect? Or is it one of those ‘leave them in a clearing at the full moon’ kind of-”
“My guy. What is up? What is your deal, exactly? I’ve had, like, five different firstborn deals this week. That’s weird, right? You get that? That’s normally the worst case scenario for y’all. But at least they hadn’t had the kids yet, so they could still fool themselves that they could wriggle out of the compact somehow. And they didn’t lead with ‘oh yeah, take my first child, that’s a strong opening bargaining position!” The canopy around them began to darken and the trees began to grow thorns. “And if there’s one thing that really gets on my flat-ass witch tits, it’s when there’s something going on I don’t understand. So what in the ever-boiling piss is up?”
The trembling farmer forced out the words, “It’s, uh, it’s the levy, mistress.”
“The levy? What levy?”
“The king, mistress. He’s put a levy out. He needs troops.”
“Why would he want a child to be pressed into military service?”
“It’s the prophecy, mistress. A great foretelling came down from the Speaker of the Fates, or so the criers say. In 18 years, a great darkness will come. It will bring war and ruin to the kingdom. It will shatter the crown. So the king is demanding we send every child who’ll be over 16 when the omens come due. They’ll get raised as warriors and heroes, so they say.” The farmer looked up at the Witch, a hint of hope shining through the desperation that had cracked him. “Only, none of us want to pay the king’s fateprice with our kids. And Mrs Goodwhistle, she said that you’d probably give them a good life.
“Or, at least… you’d give them some kind of life.”
The Witch said nothing for a long while.
Then she stood up.
“I guess I’d better get a shift on then.” The briar-bound cottage behind them pricked up its leaves like they were ears.
“You’re… you’re leaving?”
“Oh, don’t fret. I’ll take little Jackie with me. I’ll take all of them.” The witch’s home unravelled, all its branches and brambles writhing down to follow its roots into the ground. “If my hearth is going to become a daycare for all the poor little prophecy-pocked bairns of this land, I’m going to need more space. And I’ll need to take them somewhere harder to find…”
“Oh, thank you, mistress!”
The Witch flicked something to the farmer, who caught it instinctively. In his sweaty palm was a seed - though it was older, darker and heavier than normal.
“There’s your harvest spell. Appropriate payment, as the scalekeepers demand. Each morning, when you go to bring in the harvest - look to the sky. When the sun is just tickling the horizon, reap a single ear of corn and put it aside. Whisper into it as if you’re talking to your child. Jackie will hear you. In the deepest part of winter, roast and eat that corn - then you’ll get your reply.”
“I… I have no words…” The farmer’s eyes and throat burned.
“No need for them. The deal must be made and the price must be paid.” The Witch held out a hand and a nearby tree bent its limbs down to meet her, offering a branch. “Now, I have much to prepare, so I will take my leave. The woods will see you home.”
And the witch took the living branch from the tree and sat upon it like a broom, then rose into the sky like a sunrise.
---
18 years later, the Witch of Stolen Tomorrows returned to the kingdom. The earth trembled as her thorned fortress - a living wilderness - bore her onwards on a thousand root-wrought feet.
Standing atop the briar parapets was the Witch’s cadre of apprentices. They were all teens and twenty-somethings, clad in the colours of autumn skies and wielding the instruments of fate.
The king, far away in his keep, felt a strange shiver through the gold of his crown. An echo of its coming shattering.
The Witch hung from a giant thorn like a sailor from a bowsprit. In her free hand, she cradled a cup of tea.
“Here is a lesson about prophecies.” She said it softly, but the rushing winds carried the words to her students. “If you fight them, they’ll put you on like a jacket and wear you as a costume as they dance ruin through your life. But if you grab them by the scruff, then you can be the one wearing destiny as your cloak.
“And then you get to be the one writing the story.”
Ink stained pages, a mind on display
Every thought I’ve ever had refuses to stay
They scatter like stars, too bright, too loud
A quiet soul tangled inside a thundercloud
“I want it all” inside she screams
While fear whispers softly, you’re not what you seem
Perfection sharpens its delicate knife
Carving expectations into the shape of my life
Books lie open like portals I trust
Spines cracked wide from obsession and dust
They hold all the versions of who I could be
While I’m stuck in between who I am and who’s free
Sticky notes preach, be better, be more
While another one begs me to stop keeping score
“Protect your peace” glows soft in the light
But chaos inside me still begs for a fight
A mirror reflects both hunger and grace
Vanity lingers in the tilt of my face
Do I want depth, or to simply be seen
Somewhere between soft and dangerously keen
“Romanticize life” one corner declares
While another counts failures and quiet despairs
I crave something real, untouched, undefined
But I overanalyze every beat of my mind
The city outside glows gold and alive
While inside I’m just trying to survive
Too many thoughts, not enough time
A beautiful mess that has become mine
through the noise, one truth pulls me through
I am becoming what I once outgrew
Trying out something new while I apparently have High Fantasy Burnout. It's been an idea for ages but I've never actually written it. Made a separate account and everything but never committed.
Behold, The Marble Orchard, some android space thing I'm having fun messing around with.
So after Tumblr went down, I've been thinking, maybe I should restart my buttondown newsletter. It wouldn't be a true replacement but it would be something, right? But the last time I tried a newsletter, it... Didn't go great. Not even my friends read the thing, I think. So before I do this. Poll time.
if I made a newsletter, would you subscribe?
sure
nah
I'd subscribe but might not read it
Voting ended onFeb 19
It would be about writing, of course. My writing, other people's writing, maybe a recipe or two, music, interesting links... Like this blog, I guess, but with more effort put into it.
Imagine hiring the worst people for a job.
A job that requires the most delicate of tact and thorniest of politics. The team kinda hate each other, the leader is a bit of an asshole, and the mission is to subdue one of the greatest dangers to all of humankind before it can do real danger to the world. And, as if this mission couldn’t get any more fraught, the team finds their leader dead under…
Sunlight sliced through the cracks in the wooden boards covering the tall windows. The light illuminated the golden dust in the air of the once great hall. Standing on the dais with the ghosts of dead kings was transcendent. Spiritual.
I paused over the black blood on the flagstone. The advance guard confirmed there was no one left in the castle. What remained of the bodies left behind were…
