Spinning Stories

A place for me to post my original writing, as well as prompts and tips. Organization is still a work in progress. Some links may not be functional. "There's power in stories, though. The best tales. The ones that last. Might as well be mine." - Varric Tethras Icon is from this Pinterest post. Header image is from Ciao on pexels.

[spinanotherstory]

so it has occurred to me I should just. do the pinned post thing.

hi, this is a writing sideblog for @gaydragonwizards which is my main. I don't post here all that much, but it's where writing prompts and tips end up so I can find them more easily later!

[ofstormsandfire]

ngl u guys made me a little invested w edwale 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

We also got ourselves invested! Oops, these things happen

(Clearly we need to figure out another excuse to write them-)

[spinanotherstory]

it was not originally intentional but it just kinda Happened and here we are lmao

[spinanotherstory]

Okay, so. This is Eluckwent from Ao3, the person who keeps trying to design Desmond's arm prosthetics. I have actually made progress on a prosthetic technology dive, so good thing is my designs are no longer pulled entirely from my imagination! Questionably good thing is that I am now going to infodump about prosthetics.

So! The amputation itself! I've designed most of this for an amputation slightly above the elbow joint, because you mentioned that was around where you'd set the amputation. It also adds the factor of Desmond needing to learn how to operate an elbow along with his new terminal device, which is fun. The parts of the prosthetic he'd need are the socket, elbow joint, forearm, wrist joint, and terminal device joint.

Prosthetic components can be passive (either stationary or able to be moved by the remaining limb), body-powered (use harnesses and cables to turn motion in remaining muscles to prosthetic motion), or myoelectric (controlled by the residual electrical signals given off by the severed nerves). I've leaned towards Desmond mostly having body-powered and passive prostheses, because a) I don't know if a kindred not using blush of life would have electric signals at all, and b) because as a kindred, Desmond doesn't have to worry about repetitive strain injuries that are a usual risk of body-powered prosthetics.

I've decided to give Desmond a body-powered prosthetic elbow, which is controlled by two cables: one which allows for movement and control of the arm (moved by shifting the shoulder back) and one which locks and unlocks the elbow joint so the user doesn't have to constantly hold their arm awkwardly to keep the elbow bent. The harness forms a figure 8 along his back and the cables attach centrally around the tricep area of the socket. Because the elbow joint is a fixed hinge, Desmond can't rotate his forearm from side to side.

here's a general view of the harness setup (source: https://uw.pressbooks.pub/ulpo/chapter/figure-8-harness/)

I've given Desmond a black carbon fibre forearm shell that's shaped pretty similarly to a human forearm so it's not too visibly different looking when he's wearing a hoodie. This is speculation, but I think Desmond would like his prosthetic looking a bit more limb-like in shape and being easy to overlook, even if an eerily accurate silicon recreation might put him off. I also think that he might have it airbrushed with a pattern similar to his old tattoo but in red, to personalize it a bit. The wrist joint is manually controlled by Desmond's left hand, and can rotate around the axis as well as be bent up and down (4-way locking wrist). The end of the forearm also has a quick-detach port so Desmond can insert various terminal devices for different tasks and live his best life as a swiss army knife.

As for the terminal devices themselves, I think his day to day at least at the start would be a passive hand prosthetic with movable joints, something that still looks like a limb but is functional enough for holding things or for bracing himself. With his hands in his pockets, it would also be very hard to tell he has a prosthetic. For more involved work, I think he'd have a body-powered hook prosthetic, where two prongs can open and close to move objects, as well as a fully stationary, heavy-duty hook for climbing and riding a motorcycle.

Image 1: Body-powered hook and elbow upper arm prosthesis, source: https://musculoskeletalkey.com/prosthetic-options-for-persons-with-upper-extremity-amputation/

Image 2: Passive partial hand prosthesis, picture this but with the thumb as well, source: https://www.armdynamics.com/upper-limb-library/introduction-to-passive-prostheses

In terms of life with a prosthetic, in order to move his right arm, Desmond would have to move his elbow, lock it in place, and then he could use his hook prosthetic. If he wants to readjust his hand or wrist, he needs to manually do it with his left hand. Moving his right arm is also a full-body motion now. For climbing, Desmond's arm is definitely best used to brace himself and would be difficult to use to lever himself upwards. A solid harness should keep it on during climbs, but his left arm would have to bear most of his weight. Essentially, even if his arm is visually sort of there again, he's going to live and move it very differently than before, and it's definitely going to take a lot of brainpower at first, but you can actually get pretty comfortable with moving a prosthetic after a while.

here's a few links for learning more about prosthetic types, and what Desmond will be dealing with:

https://openbionics.com/types-of-prosthetic-arms/ (overview of prosthetic types)

https://www.armdynamics.com/upper-limb-library/introduction-to-body-powered-hooks (visual guide to moving with a shoulder harness prosthetic)

And finally, in a little feel-good piece, it's absolutely possible for Desmond to ride a motorcycle after his injury! While operating heavy equipment with a prosthetic is a bad idea, you can modify a motorcycle to switch the clutch and throttle to the left hand and drive with the right being purely for balance. I think that Desmond deserves to get his bike, after all the stuff he's dealt with.

Thanks again for writing the fic that sparked this, art may be coming indeterminately soon!

dude holy shit this is not what I was expecting to see when I checked my email

this is so, so cool though, I absolutely love it, and I am blown away by the amount of research you put into this! I don't have any more coherent thoughts off the top of my head right now but !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ofstormsandfire]

big fan of you and spinanotherstory's vampire ac stories. edwards my favorite lol

hehe thank you! Edward is very fun to write (in general, really, but also in that AU, which may be a contributing factor to why we keep writing stuff with him in that AU-)

[spinanotherstory]

thank you very much! the fact that he adopts anyone with parental issues who so much as breathes in his general vicinity remains very fun to write~

glad you're enjoying the fics!

[eiirisworkshop]

The Fanfic Author’s Guide to Metatext

(As Used on Ao3) by Eiiri

Also available as a PDF here. This thing is 13,000 words.  The PDF is recommended.

Intro: What is Metatext?

Metatext is everything we fanfic authors post along with our story that is not the story itself: title, tags, summary, author’s notes, even the rating.

It is how we communicate to potential readers what they’re signing themselves up for if they choose to read our story, how we let them make informed decisions regarding which fics they want to read, how we get their interest and, frequently, how they find our story in the first place. A lot of metatext acts as a consent mechanism for readers, it’s the informed part of informed consent.

Since most of us who write fanfic also read it, we understand how important this is! But, for the most part, no one ever teaches us how to use metatext; we have to pick it up by osmosis. That makes it hard to learn how to use it well, we all suck at it when we first start out, and some of us may go years without learning particular conventions that seem obvious to others in our community. This creates frustration for everybody.

Enter this guide!

This is meant to be a sort of handbook for fic writers, particularly those of us who post on Archive of Our Own, laying out and explaining the established metatext conventions already in use in our community so we (and our readers!) are all on the same page. It will also provide some best-practices tips.

The point is to give all of us the tools to communicate with our audience as clearly and effectively as possible, so the people who want to read a story like ours can find it and recognize it as what they’re looking for, those who don’t want to read a story like ours can easily tell it’s not their cup of tea and avoid it, nobody gets hurt, and everybody has fun—including us!

Now that we know what we’re talking about, let’s get on with the guide! The following content sections appear in the order one is expected to provide each kind of metatext when posting a fic on Ao3, but first….

Keep reading

[fullest-circlest]

If you're writing 18th century dialogue, this website lets you search words and phrases to double-check whether they were in use & meant what you intend. It doesn't include every period-accurate use of a word/phrase, but it certainly helped me separate genuine 18th century grammar from the vague tangle of 💬old-fashioned fancy-speak💬 I've internalized from TV and video games.

[my-deer-friend]

Other websites that let you do this:

Johnson's Dictionary Online (thanks @yellowbelliedtoad!) – 1755 and 1773

Green's Dictionary of Slang – 1300s to today

A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue – 1788

Feraud's Dictionaire critique de la langue française – 1778

[zisurru]

A dictionary of the English and Italian languages by Giuseppe Baretti is a bilingual dictionary from 1790!

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Terms of Endearment

List of various terms of endearment that can be used in different languages. A lot of them are gender neutral. Now in alphabetical order.

Afrikaans

Lief (love)

Liefie (lovey)

Arabic

Habibi حبيبي (m) (my love)

Habibti حبيبتي (f) (my love)

Ya hayati يا حياتي (my life)

Ya qalbi يا قلبي (my heart)

Ya ruhi يا روحي (my soul)

Hubbi/hobbi حبي (my love)

Catalan:

Estimat (m) /estimada (f) (dear)

Amor/amor meu (love/my love)

Sol (sun) (used more like "és un sol" ('they're a sun'??) and normally used when talking about well-behaved children lmao.

"Reiet meu" could also be used (means 'my little king') (m)

"Carinyo" (from spanish Cariño i guess)

"Bonic (m)/bonica (f)" (means nice or pretty (physically)) ("bonica" in feminine is more common as a term of endearment)

Vida (life) (can also be "videta" (diminutive version))

Bombó (that's like a chocolate sweet lmao)(used normally with women)

Princesa (means princess) (f)

Czech

Zlato (gold, my precious)

Lásko (love)

Miláčku (dearest, little dear)

Danish

Skat (treasure)

Engel (angel)

Smukke (pretty/beautiful)

Elskede/elskling (beloved)

Kæreste (dearest and also used for the term girlfriend/boyfriend)

Snut (sorta like babe, a bit outdated)

Dejlige (wonderful)

Smuksak (beautiful but only for endearment)

Pus (cute pitiful thing)

Pusling (Pus in diminutive)

Musling (mouse diminutive)

Putte[animal] (cuddle[animal of choice], most used is: animal, mouse and pig, but other animals or objects happen)

Kære (loved one)

Allerkæreste (most loved, argumentative)

Basse (cute fat, might come from bear, mostly used for children and men)

Dutch

Schatje (treasure)

Liefje (loved one)

Lieverd (loved one)

Lieveling (loved one)

English

Dear

Pet

Baby

Babe

Honey

Darling

My love

Sunshine

Sweetheart

Sweet cheeks

Prince/Princess

Farsi

Joon/Jaan جان (life)

Azizam عزیزم (my dear)

Asalam عسلم (my honey)

Golam گلم (flower)

Filipino (from various local languages, all gender neutral)

Mahal, sinta (tagalog) (love)

alternatively add "ko" or "aking" to turn it into "my love" (e.g. mahal ko, sinta ko; aking mahal, aking sinta) with "aking" being used more often when talking about the one you love to a 3rd party;

or turn it into a verb (e.g. aking minamahal, kasintahan) to make it "lover"

Paraluman, irog, liyag, giliw (tagalog) (darling) these are older terms though, you won't hear or see them being used unless you're lovers with someone 🌟Extra🌟

Tangi (tagalog) (only one)

Tinatangi (tagalog) (the one i hold dear/the only one for me)

Tinadhana - fated (from the root word "tadhana" meaning fate, which in and of itself should also be a term of endearment and I stand by that)

Hinigugma (bisaya) (beloved) (very old)

Palangga/pangga/langga or "ga" for short and sometimes pagingging (ilonggo) (love) (can also be used platonically or between family members)

Kalasahan (tausug) (beloved) (this is pronounced with an emphasis in the SA syllable (as in kalaSAhan) instead of the LA like in the tagalog word LAsa (which means taste)

Jowa (filipino slang) (significant other/boyfriend/girlfriend)

Bebe, bebe ko, beh, bhe, bhie, bih (filipino slang) (babe)

Lablabs (filipino slang) (literally "love-love" in a heavy filipino accent)

Finnish

Aarteeni (my treasure)

Armaani (my darling (A bit old fashioned to say.))

Höpönassu/höpönassukka/höpsö (silly)

Kalleimpani (my most valued one)

Kulta/kultaseni/kultu/kultsi/kultsipuppeli (gold; darling (These are ordered from least syrupy to most syrupy.)

Mielitietty/mielitiettyni (favourite/my favourite (Formal, usually used when speaking about your loved one to someone else.))

Murmeli (marmot)

Muru/murunen (crumb; honey)

Mussukka (sweetie)

Pikkuinen (little one (Used for children and animals.))

Rakas/rakkaani (love/my love; dear)

Sydänkäpyseni/sydänkäpynen (my heart cone/heart cone; sweetheart)

Söpöliini (cutie)

French

Mon amour (my love)

Mon cœur (my heart)

Chéri (m) / Chérie (f) (darling)

Chou (used like "honey", but directly translates to cabbage)

Mon lapin (my bunny)

Ma vie (my life)

L'/amour de ma vie (love of my life)

Ma poupée (f) (my doll)

German

Liebling (beloved/favourite)

Schatz (treasure, I would say the most common one between established couples)

Liebes (loved one) (f, I don't find it that romantic)

Liebster (m) (loved one, bit old-fashioned)

Liebste (f) (loved one, bit old-fashioned)

Hase / Hasi (bunny)

Maus (mouse)

Spatz (sparrow)

Bär / Bärchen (bear)

Engel / Engelchen (angel)

Prinzessin (f) (princess)

Sonnenschein (sunshine)

Kleines (f) (little one, can be used in a cute way for women, but can also sound degrading or offensive)

Greek

Αγάπη /Αγάπη μου (love /my love) (the first can also be used among friends, usually between women, but both are very often used in romantic relationships)

Ψυχή μου (my soul) (mostly romantic but can be used by a parent to their kid)

Hebrew

Chaim sheli חיים שלי (my life)

Neshama sheli נשמה שלי (my soul)

Lev sheli לב שלי (my heart)

Ahoovi אהובי (m) (my love)

Ahoovati אהובתי (f) (my love)

Hindi

Meri jaan मेरी जान (f) (my life)

Mera jaan (m/n) (my life)

Rani रानी (f) (queen)

Hungarian

Kedvesem (my dear)

Szerelmem (my love)

Drága (precious)

Édesem (my sweetie)

Kicsim (my little one)

Babám (my baby)

Kincsem (my treasure)

Indonesian

Sayang (to love/love, can be used as 'honey', doesn't have to be romantic)

Cintaku (my love, mostly used romantically)

Italian

Tesoro (treasure)

Amore mio (my love)

Cuore (heart)

Vita mia (my life)

Cucciola (puppy/cub) (mostly used for women, but you could say "cucciolo" for men)

Piccola (little one) (mostly for women, "piccolo" would be the male version)

Cara/caro (dear) (now mostly used by grandmas for grandkids but perfect for couples in the past or old couples nowadays

Bimba (f) (child)

Patata/patatina (potato/little potato) (again mostly women when used romantically, "patato/patatino" for men, but they can also be used for pets, babies, your kids or anyone that you find cute)

Tata/tato (short version of papata/patato)

Polpetta/polpettina (meatball/little meatball) (very uncommon, but I've heard it used for girls)

Topolina (little mouse) (very uncommon, but could be used for girls)

Bambola (doll)

Korean

Jagiya 자기야 (honey/baby)

Aegiya 애기야 (baby/little one)

Gongjunim 공주님 (f) (princess)

Wangjanim 왕자님 (m) (prince)

Nae Sarang 내 사랑 (my love)

Gwiyomi 귀요미 (cutie)

Yeobo 여보 (darling, loved one to a spouse)

Malay

Sayang (dear/darling)

Polish

Kochanie (my beloved)

Myszko (f) (little mouse for women romantic, or for young daughters)

Misiu (m) (diminutive bear, romantic for men)

Misiaczku (another form of the above but more intersex)

Słoneczko (diminutive for sun, can be for children but also romantic for women)

Pączusiu (diminutive doughnut, romantic partner)

Bąbelku (bubble diminutive for young children, toddlers or infants)

Duszko moja (very outdated, meaning my soul, for women)

Serce moje (also old school, meaning my heart, unisex)

Gwiazdeczko (diminutive star, for girls and romantic female partner)

Kotek/Kotku (kitten, unisex)

Mała (literally: little (f), for women, can be romantic but also offensive if used by strangers)

Skarbie (my treasure, unisex)

Rybciu (diminutive for fish, little fish, for women)

żabko (diminutive for frog, little frog, for women)

Portuguese

Meu querido (m)/ minha querida (f) (my darling)

Meu amor (my love)

Princesa (f) (princess)

Meu docinho (my sweetheart)

Coração (heart)

Amado (m)/Amada (f) (my love)

Meu (m)/ minha (f) mais que tudo (my above overall) Meu tesouro (my treasure)

Paixão (passion)

Meu bem/ meu benzinho (my goodness)

Meu doce/meu docinho (my sweet/ my little sweet)

Brazilian Portuguese

Amor (love)

Querido (m) / Querida (f) (darling)

Bebê (baby)

Meu bem (untraslatable; something between "my dear" and "my treasure")

Meu docinho de coco (my coconut candy - really old slang, nowadays used only for fun)

Patroa (f) (it means a female boss; not ironic not aggressive, but used by men to describe their wives affectionately, eg. "I can't go today, my patroa is waiting for me at home")

Gato/gatinho (m) / gata/gatinha (f) (cat/little cat; if a person is pretty, they are called a "cat")

Minha vida (my life)

Meu xodó (my crush)

Bebê (baby)

Docinho (sweetie)

Chuchu (honey)

Fofura (cutie)

Querida (dear)

Lindinha (beautiful/cutie)

Meu anjo (my angel)

Mozão or Mor (love, more like slang)

Romanian

Iubi (Sweet heart/darling)

Iubirea mea (my love)

Draga mea (f) / Dragul meu (m) (my dear)

Dulceața mea (jam/honey)

Russian

lyubov' moya / любовь моя (my love)

radost' moya / радость моя (joy of mine)

dusha moya / душа моя (my soul)

schast'e moyo / счастье моё (my happiness)

sokrovishche moyo / сокровище моё (my treasure)

solnyshko / солнышко (sunny)

zolotce / золотце (golden)

lyubimyj (m) + lyubimaya (f) / любимый + любимая (beloved)

dorogoj (m) + dorogaya (f) / дорогой + дорогая (darling, dear)

milyj (m) + milaya (f) / милый + милая (dear but in more informal way)

kotik / котик (kitty) malysh / малыш (baby)

zajchik (m) + zajka (f) / зайчик + зайка (bunny)

ptenchik / птенчик (little bird, hatchling)

rybka moya (f) / рыбка моя (my fish)

Serbian

Sreća(o) moja (my happiness)

Zlato moje (my gold)

Srce moje (my heart)

Život(e) moj (my life)

Duša(o) (my soul)

Slovak

Zlato / zlatko (gold)

Láska (love)

Miláčik (bit cheesy, but means my lovely)

Spanish

Cariño (darling)

Bebé (baby)

Corazón (heart)

Mi amor (my love)

Mi vida (my life)

Cielo (sky)

Amor (love)

Swedish

Sötnos (cute nose)

Älskling (darling)

Tamil

Kanmani [cun-mun-ee] (darling)

Turkish

Aşkım (my loved one)

Canım (my love/soul)

Hayatım (my life)

Bebeğim (my baby)

Kocacığım/karıcığım

(my husband/my wife, but in a more endearing way, you can say it to a person you're not married yet but thinking about marrying)

Her şeyim (my everything)

Yaşama sebebim (my reason to live)

Ceylanım (My gazelle, it's a gorgeous creature like cmon)

Güzel gözlüm (My lover with beautiful eyes)

Nazlı yarim (My coy lover)

Kalbimin sahibi (the owner of my heart)

Güzelim/yakışıklım (my beautiful/my handsome)

Kediciğim (my kitty/kitten)

Biriciğim/bi'tanem (my one and only)

Çiçeğim (my flower)

Balım (my honey) (can also say "bal dudaklım (my lover with honey lips)" if you feeling on fire)

Evimin direği (literally meaning "the post of my house," if you say this to a person (usually your husband), you mean to say that he keeps your household/family up, whether financially or with emotional maturity)

Ukrainian

Mostly romantic:

зіронька [zironʹka] (star)

мій світ [miy svit] (my world)

моє життя [moye zhyttya] (my life)

моє серденько [moye serdenʹko] (my heart)

коханий [kokhanyy](m) /кохана [kokhana] (f) (my beloved one)

милий мій [mylyy miy] (m) / мила моя [myla moya] (f) (my dear one)

любий мій [lyubyy miy] (m) / люба моя [lyuba moya] (f) (my loved one)

мій єдиний [miy yedynyy] (m) /моя єдина [moya yedyna] (f) (my only one)

Mostly between friends:

сонце [sontse], сонечко [sonechko] (sun, sunshine)

пташка [ptashka] (f) (birdie)

душа [dusha] (soul)

друг (m)/ подруга (f) моєї душі [druh (m)/podruha (f) moyeyi dushi] (a friend of my soul)

Urdu

Meri jaan میری جان (my life)

Pyaari پیاری (sweetheart)

Shahzadi شہزادی (f) (princess)

Welsh

Cariad (love)

Nghariad (sweetheart)

Let me know more terms of endearment in your languages! And please correct me if I'm wrong somewhere.

Please note that they are not all romantic. You can ask in the replies, so a native speaker can answer if it's appropiate for the type of relationship you want your characters to have.

[elumish]

I keep trying to record something on how books are bad at writing fighting training, and it keeps being like 12 minutes long

[stonecoldspaghetti]

Bad as in prose? Or bad as in how training to fight actually works?

I'm just curious

[elumish]

The latter.

Basically, "more skilled person just beats the person they're training at sparring until the person they're training improves without doing any fundamentals or teaching them the right way to do things" is a cruel and useless form of "training" and only makes sense if you're trying to show that the "teacher" is being cruel or doesn't know how to teach. Showing it as a legitimate and useful form of training indicates to me that the author didn't bother to do any real research.

[rockshitty]

There are sort of two ways to look at it as a trope.

It’s either one of those tropes that has no real world basis, but looks/sounds cool in storytelling and is useful for moving the plot along (see: torture, knocking someone unconscious, a lot of medieval fantasy government stuff)

Or it’s one of those things where the overlap between people who write books and people who practice martial arts is so small that most writers trust the trope blindly and never think past it.

[sourb0i]

Just a few tips from someone who's been doing HEMA fighting (and training) for about a year

-Drills. So many drills. Just doing the same motion, or set of motions, over and over and over until it's muscle memory. And then do it some more. These can be done with another person, so you can get a feel for hitting someone (else's sword), or they might be done to a dummy, or just to the air as part of a series of steps

-there is a surprising amount of reading! A lot of what we do is based on styles that originated in the 11th-15th centuries, and were literally written in manuals for future people to use. Sometimes the explanations and diagrams are very clear. Sometimes they are not.

- There is sparring, with variations on goals. Sometimes the goal is just 'hit each other'. Sometimes you will have specific caveats, like if you both deliver a 'killing blow' at the same time you have to run to opposite ends of the room and back

- Footwork drills

- lots of wrist and arm stretches, both with and without swords

- Moving through different blocks/base positions, and practicing different cuts from each position

- More drills, wearing armor or other appropriate gear

- Weights and cardio training! Both are extremely important for making sure you can 1. Swing your sword and 2. Keep swinging your sword when you're wearing 15 lbs of armor and have been hacking at people for a full 20 minutes

- Learning how to maintain your gear

- Practicing control of the blade- this is usually done by having a dummy target (or sometimes a real person), and swinging with full power but stopping before you actually make contact. Master swordsman can bring their blade within half an inch of their target.

- Even more drills

Obviously some of this is pretty modern, but I can't imagine that it would be incredibly novel even to people from 600 years ago. And if you have any questions, please feel free to ask!

[sourb0i]

Adding onto this with even more things, now that I'm nearly 2 years in and have done a couple of tournaments!

Footwork drills are really important! Learning how and when to move, and shift your weight on your feet, is crucial

When practicing solo I often do so in front of a full-length mirror so that I can actually see what I'm doing

There is also just a lot of sparring. Unfortunately you can't really get good at sword fighting without getting your butt kicked. A lot.

However! A good teacher will give you tips either during or after the fight, or both! A lot of the time it's things like 'you need to improve your footwork more, here are 10 different drills. Go do them.' However, there is also a fair bit of going back over certain 'plays' in slower motion, where they'll tell you exactly what you did wrong and how to fix it in the context of the fight.

Also, just as a side note, unless your character is the progeny of a wealthy lord, they are probably going to use borrowed equipment. It will not fit right. And it will reek with the stench of 1000 sweaty people. And if you train in it enough, when you do get your own gear that actually fits properly and only smells like your sweat, I swear you get 5x better overnight

At some point, everyone develops their own style. I've fought people who love to just make huge stabby lunges, people who make wild flourishes, big guys who just brute force it, guys who look like they'd blow away in a light breeze but are the fastest people you've ever met. It comes over time, and from learning as many different techniques as you can

Not sure how much they did this in Ye Olden Days but almost everyone I've met in HEMA now fights in at least two different styles (usually longsword and Sabre or rapier). As I said above, the more styles you learn, the better you get at all of them; many techniques that you learn from one style are applicable in some way to the other

Thats all I can think of for now, but if anyone has any questions feel free to reach out!

[starpains]

on “the blond,” “the older man,” and other crimes against third-person limited

You know that thing where a story is written in tight third person limited — we’re meant to be inside someone’s head, seeing the world through their thoughts — and then suddenly the narration says “the blond frowned” or “the shorter woman sighed” about a person the POV character knows really well?

That’s called antonomasia — using a descriptive label instead of a name. And it’s fine when we’re talking about strangers: “the cashier handed her the receipt,” “the tall guy blocked the door.” The POV character doesn’t know their names, and we just need a quick way to tell people apart.

But the moment it’s used for someone the POV character already knows, it breaks immersion. Because that’s not how our minds work. We don’t think “the older man smiled at me.” We think “Mark smiled.” Or maybe “my boss” if that relationship matters in the moment.

Third person limited means the narration sits inside someone’s perception. Their inner monologue is the story’s voice. So when you switch from “Mark smiled” to “the blond smiled,” you’ve pulled the camera away from their mind and turned it into an outside shot.

If you want to create distance or irritation, you can do it on purpose —

“The idiot from accounting emailed again.”

That’s character voice. That’s judgment. That works.

But otherwise?

As soon as your POV character knows someone’s name, use it. While we do tend to worry about repetitions, names rarely register as such to the readers.

If you need variety for rhythm, use relational or emotional identifiers that make sense in their head: her friend, his partner, their teacher, the person they loved.

Because inside someone’s thoughts, there are no “blonds” or “brunettes.”

There are only people they know.

[wisteria-lodge]

Really good explanation of the fundamental problem with this type of writing.

(and why it's one of my huge pet peeves)

[fixyourwritinghabits]

Do you have any tips on writing fight scenes, I always tend to struggle with them.

Honestly, with an ask that general, the most excellent @howtofightwrite blog is what you’re looking for! Or maybe something on this post here. 

Hint: It’s not easy. Plan to rewrite. Learn how to block your scene (as in the theater/film term). Make sure the scene works as a scene: It advances the plot or characterization and has a beginning, middle and end. 

Spend time learning about the fighting style, weapons (if there are any), potential wounds that can be inflicted, etc… I also suggest the voluminous @scriptmedic blog for understanding wounds and injuries. (The blog is being discontinued, but the many, many posts will be kept as a resource and the blogmom has written several useful books for writers needing medical information specifically for writers.)

I will also pass along one tip our own Graphei gave me that came in hella handy (even though my two fighters were Force users because I’m SW trash through and through): When two characters are fighting, they aren’t going to be physically able to hold full conversations. If you need to have things said, there will need to be breaks in the action, or you’ll have to move to internal monologue or have your omniscient narrator say the things. Your participants will be too busy getting winded. 

– Aliya

[luna-azzurra]

Quick tips for writing Sleep Deprivation 

☽ Memory becomes absolute garbage. Like “why am I in the kitchen?” garbage. “What was I saying?” garbage. Their brain is running on buffering screens and regret.

☽ Fine motor skills? Ha. They’re dropping everything. Pens. Phones. Entire moral compass. They’re basically a malfunctioning claw machine.

☽ Hallucinations creep in. That jacket on the chair? Suddenly a person. That noise? Definitely doom. Everything becomes mildly haunted.

☽ Time gets weird. Five minutes feel like a year. A full hour disappears and they swear they blinked wrong.

☽ Irritation skyrockets. They get mad at chairs. At air. At gravity. At the audacity of other humans continuing to exist.

☽ Their voice sounds weird. Slow, scratchy, like they swallowed sand.

☽ They walk like a drunk baby giraffe. Walls suddenly jump closer. Floors rise unexpectedly. Coordination said: “I’m out.”

☽ Zoning out becomes a hobby. They stare at random objects like they’re trying to understand quantum mechanics.

☽ Vision blurs in and out. Like someone smeared Vaseline over their eyeballs out of spite.

☽ Their body just hurts. Not a dramatic pain, just the “why does my skeleton feel like it’s buzzing?” pain.

☽ Food cravings go feral. They’d fight someone for a stale cookie.

☽ Terrible choices. They will absolutely say “I’m fine” while making decisions that end in disaster.

☽ Random emotional implosions. Crying because their sock feels wrong? Yes.

☽ Cold hands. Cold feet. Cold heart. (Okay maybe not the last one, but it feels like it.)

[e-seal-deactivated20210319]

Necromancer that doesn’t know they’re a necromancer and thinks they’re just a really good emt

[raimagnolia]

That is the funniest thing i have ever read

[ofgeography]

the thing was, she wasn’t going to be able to pass the recertification exam, and she couldn’t figure out why. annabelle studied. she practiced. she pulled out every trick and shortcut she’d learned during her two years as an EMT and none of it worked. she just – she didn’t get it. it made no sense.

“wake up,” she urged the dummy, pressing her hands to the pulse points on its wrists. “come on. what the fuck.”

“yeah, i don’t think that asking nicely is going to do the trick,” hank said, his eyebrows raised. his helmet, the special one they’d decorated for him with craft supplies from michael’s when he’d gotten promoted to firestation chief, sat askew on his head. “i can see now why they didn’t pass you.”

annabelle rolled her eyes. “it’s a psychological thing,” she said. “it’s like, you give the brain an instruction and it follows naturally. and the pulse-point thing always works. i don’t know why it’s not, like, in any of the books, but i swear to god it’s worked for me every time.”

it was true that annabelle had the best record on low body counts, which was good because she was the smallest person on the team not counting Georgie, who was a corgi. jake and lillian were always making fun of her for having been the shortest of their whole rookie class. but it hadn’t ever been a problem before; annabelle rarely had to carry anybody out, because she was good enough at getting them on their feet.

but none of that would matter if she couldn’t pass her stupid recertification exam, because they’d take her badge and she’d have to go be, like, a doctor or something.

hank blew out a long breath and sunk down to where she was kneeling on the station floor in full fire gear, giving CPR to the practice dummy, whom they called dierdre. there was a little light that went on when you’d saved its life. it had been a dull gray for an hour now.

“look, AB. i know you’re a good firefighter, and i know you know how to deliver CPR. just do it like you do it during an emergency. you’re overthinking it.”

“but this is what i do during an emergency!” annabelle cried, throwing her hands up. “i put my hands on their pulse points and i use psychological mumbo-jumbo and they just get up and walk!” 

hank blinked. “…really,” he said, voice flat. “people who’ve been inhaling smoke for half an hour just … get up and walk.”

“the brain is an incredibly powerful organ,” said annabelle, shrugging. “look man, i don’t know, okay? but it works. i haven’t had to actually do CPR in like a year and a half.”

he gave her a long, quiet look and said, “well….huh,” before pushing himself back up onto his feet and frowning off into the distance. “keep practicing,” he said after a minute, and left her there.

-

hank switched her team.

“what the fuck, man,” she said, sliding into the truck next to him as the sirens went on. “i can’t get CPR on one fucking dummy and suddenly you don’t trust me to do my job without supervision?”

carl and bethany very carefully did not meet her eyes in the rearview from the backseat. bethany pulled a magazine from beneath the seat and said loudly, “look, carl, jennifer aniston and brad pitt are getting back together.”

“thank christ,” said carl. “i’ve been really worried about jen.”

hank gave annabelle the flat look that had gotten him promoted to firestation chief in the first place, the one that said i’m your dad and you don’t want to disappoint me. as always, annabelle wilted underneath it, sliding down in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. it was a difficult feat in full gear but she wanted him to know she was feeling sullen.

“i trust you completely,” hank told her, his voice a light scold. “i want to see you in action so i can help you figure out what’s going wrong with the dummies. sometimes it’s hard for the brain to accurately remember everything that happens during a crisis.”

annabelle rolled her eyes. “i told you,” she said. “it’s just – it’s the same thing every time, I’m not like, blacking out.”

“great, then i’m about to learn a cool new trick,” hank said serenely, and pulled the truck out of the lot. annabelle kept her gaze focused out of the window, watching the city pass as carl and bethany talked loudly about which celebrities were dating which other celebrities and who wore what better. she tried to swallow down the nerves that tightened her throat. maybe the dummy was right. maybe she was doing something else and didn’t remember it. maybe the last two years had been a fluke and she had no business being a firefighter. maybe she was about to get fired.

there wasn’t a fire, though the alarm was going off. instead they found a bag of smoking popcorn and the collapsed heap of a forty-five year old bachelor type, down to just his boxers and a pair of slippers with llamas on them. he had no pulse. 

hank held carl and bethany back, directing them to deal with the smoke from the popcorn; annabelle he pointed toward the resident with a jerk of his chin. 

she sighed, kneeling by his side. she pressed her hands flat to his heart and then dragged them across his chest and down each arm, to his wrists. with her thumbs on his pulse point, she hissed, “let’s go, man. up and at ’em. you’re not meant to die in your underwear while cooking popcorn, come on.”

she held her breath for a few moments, conscious of hank’s eyes on her, and let out a long sigh of relief when she felt his pulse jump beneath her, watched his eyes flicker. “what the fuck?” he asked, voice a croak. “what happened?”

“you gotta eat more vegetables, bud,” annabelle told him, and looped his arm over her shoulders to help him get to his feet. she was so relieved she could have wept, but instead met hank’s eyes with a challenging glare. see? she thought. i told you. “let’s get you to the ambulance.”

-

“the bad news is that you have a lot of practicing to do if you want to pass your recert,” hank said without preamble, showing up at her apartment. she didn’t think she’d ever seen him in jeans before. it was weird. “the good news is i understand your problem now.”

annabelle stepped aside, beckoning him in. “what problem?” she demanded. “it worked! you saw it work. that’s the opposite of a problem.”

hank shrugged. he handed her a trifold that he’d clearly printed off at home. it said so you think you’re a necromancer. annabelle blinked down at it, and then up at hank, and then down at the trifold again. “i … don’t understand what’s happening here,” she told him honestly. 

“i’m not in the community and they’re kind of cagey, so i can’t really tell you a lot,” hank told her, stilted and visibly uncomfortable. “but i have a cousin who is, and um, i just want you to know that this doesn’t change anything. you’re still who you’ve always been and you have my complete support. we’ll figure out how to get around the recert. maybe i’ll – i can put you on admin duty to give you time to study. we’ll say it’s because of an injury.”

“hank,” annabelle said, with some urgency. “hank, this flier says the word necromancer.”

“yes,” agreed hank, looking relieved. “oh, good, you’ve heard of it already. i thought i was going to have to have the whole your body is changing talk.”

annabelle shook her head. “no, i – hank. you know that … um, you know that necromancy isn’t real, right? people can’t bring other people back from the dead. that’s crazy.”

“annabelle, not four hours ago you instructed a dead man to stand up and he did.”

“okay, he wasn’t dead, obviously. he was almost dead, at best.”

“no. he was dead.”

“i felt his pulse! it was very faint!”

“you called his pulse. no one else would have felt it, because it wasn’t there except in response to you.”

“hank, what the fuck.”

he shrugged. “read the flier,” he instructed. “and bring dierdre home with you. you’re going to have to practice a lot if you want to get recertified, considering you haven’t one time had to use any of the skills you learned the first go around.”

he bussed her temple as he went by, letting himself out of her apartment with a friendly wave. annabelle looked down at the flier in her hand with a frown. when she unfolded it, the first page said, everyone’s necromancy journey is different, but most people discover their gift by accident. have you ever brought a pet back to life? touched an elderly relatives hand and seen some of the color flood back into their face? or perhaps, more subtly, been able to keep cut flowers alive long past their purchase date?

annabelle looked at her kitchen table. she’d had the same vase of tulips on it since she moved in, three years ago. it was true they periodically started to wilt, but she usually just changed their water and they were fine, popping back up one after the other as she slid them into the fresh vase. 

“well shit,” annabelle said, letting the flier fall from her hands.

[deepestangelcollective]

Tumblerians tumblrites and tumblers, all and alike make writing and art prompts out of things that weren’t meant to be and that is a beauty beyond compare. Thank you members of tumblr for the amazing stories and art and for sharing it with the small world that is this website.

[oldshrewsburyian]

Fantasy vs. Fact (or, Cooler World-Building With Medieval History) - OldShrewsburyian's Ko-fi Shop

This 2-page fact sheet presents 10 common clichés about medieval Europe that often turn up in fantasy novels and make them more boring. As a

How To Make Your Pseudo-Medieval (European) Fantasy World Suck Less, an essay by me. I've read thousands of pages of various genres of fiction that are Wrong About The Middle Ages, and I'm here to explain why that makes Pseudo-Medieval (European) Fantasy Worlds boring in ways they don't have to be. Featuring discussion of sex, religion, gender, and also potatoes and tea.

[oldshrewsburyian]

...thanks to the person who pointed out that this is actually a four-page essay. Selling myself short! Anyway: signal boosting for all those who wish either to avoid common pitfalls or to figure out why, in the immortal words of Benoit Blanc, pseudo-medieval Europe so often makes no damn sense. And it isn't even compelling!

[what-even-is-thiss]

I like the idea in fantasy that humans are better at maintaining things long term because they set up societies or professions to do it whereas dwarves and elves and stuff are like “just get bob to do it he’s got a good few hundred years left” and then bob doesn’t teach anyone else how to do it

[what-even-is-thiss]

Elf: How have you kept this castle maintained for a thousand years if your lives are so short?

Human: We just train new people how to do it?

Elf: *gears visibly turning in their head*

Human: Are you alright?

Elf: I just realized that we didn’t have to let that whole city fall to ruin just because my grandfather died.

Human: What?

[what-even-is-thiss]

Human: Wait that’s why there’s ruins of elven cities even though you live for so long? You just keep not asking people how to do things? How do you learn anything?

Elf: There’s a lot of “you’ve got time to figure it out on your own” attitudes floating around in our society that I’m starting to question somewhat.

[unassimilatedsoul]

Elf: That sword, where did you get it?

Human: My cousin made it.

Elf: Impossible! Those metalworking techniques were lost a hundred years ago!

Human: What do you mean lost? My great-grandmother learned to make these swords from an elven smith, then taught it to her kids.

Elf: That's ridiculous. No elf would give such secrets to a human.

Human: They didn't. Meemaw delivered the metal to the forge, and no one kicked her out when she stayed and watched. She always said they barely acknowledged her even when doing business with her, like she wasn't worth noticing.

Elf: Come to think of it, my great-uncle always was rather single-minded when he started working.

Human: So he wasn't ignoring her, he just forgot she was there?

Elf: Oh, he was definitely ignoring her, too. He was super racist.

[writing-prompt-s]

Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord.

[dycefic]

The thing you need to know about all of this, the thing that got me into all this trouble in the first place, is that chickens will sit on anything when they get broody enough. Anything. Duck eggs, goose eggs, turkey eggs, lizard eggs, egg shaped rocks, anything. Chickens aren’t smart. If it looks vaguely like an egg, they’ll plant their feathery arses on it and wait.

I noticed that there was a bigger egg under one of the broody chickens, when I checked. Of course I noticed, it was twice the size of the others. But I have geese. I figured it was a goose egg she’d found and stolen. It was about the right size, and I didn’t take it out to check the colour because that particular chicken gets very protective of her eggs. I’ve already got a scar on one hand from trying to get eggs away from her. I didn’t want a matched set.

That was a decision I regretted the moment I went out to feed the chickens and found a little blue-and-silver dragonet’s head poking out from under a very confused-looking chicken. The poor thing kept shifting around and looking under herself in a bewildered way, like she didn’t know what to do next. This particular chicken is a good mother, and she’s raised clutches of ducks and geese without any trouble – she’s even resigned to some of her children swimming – but this was too much. She didn’t object when I carefully reached in and fished out the little dragon.

It was so tiny, then. It fitted in my hand, with its little head peeking out one side and its tail looping around my wrist. Cute, too, with its big eyes and little snout turned up towards me.

That was when I made my second mistake. I decided to feed it before releasing it. Dragons are innately wild creatures, everyone knows that. They can’t be tamed. People have tried. The eggs are abandoned as soon as they are laid, and the dragonets hatch able to hunt, so they don’t even bond with their mothers. So just feeding it a little shouldn’t have been a big deal. It should have gobbled the meat and fled as soon as I loosened my grip on it and it saw the open sky.

It didn’t. As soon as I’d fed it, it fluttered up to a sunny window ledge and went to sleep. I went about my work, figuring that it’d leave in its own time.

By noon, it was sitting on my boot, squeaking pathetically. I wondered if maybe it was confused by the farmyard – they usually hatch in mountains, if the stories are right – so I took it back to the farmhouse with me and fed it again when I ate, then took some time away from the fences I should have been mending to walk it up to the hills. I found it some nice rocks, with plenty of lizards and beetles and suitable prey for something that size. It pounced on a beetle almost as soon as I put it down, and when I left it was crunching happily.

I hadn’t walked a quarter of the way back before something hit the back of my boot. The little dragon was holding on with all four claws, and when I looked down it squeaked pathetically. If possible, its eyes got even rounder.

Listen, you don’t make it as a farmer if you just let orphaned baby animals die. We hand-raise calves and lambs and ponies, set chickens to sit on abandoned eggs, or put them under the kitchen stove or by a fireplace. You don’t make a success of farming if you don’t value every animal. A good shepherd will spend all night looking for one lost sheep. So despite what was said later, it wasn’t just sentiment that made me sigh and pick up the little thing and carry it back to the farm.  I am a good farmer. I don’t let orphaned babies die just because they’re a little work.

Keep reading

[radioactivepeasant]

On the topic of humans being everyone’s favorite Intergalactic versions  of Gonzo the Great: Come on you guys, I’ve seen all the hilarious additions to my “humans are the friendly ones” post. We’re basically Steve Irwin meets Gonzo from the Muppets at this point. I love it. 

But what if certain species of aliens have Rules for dealing with humans?

Don’t eat their food. If human food passes your lips/beak/membrane/other way of ingesting nutrients, you will never be satisfied with your ration bars again.

Don’t tell them your name. Humans can find you again once they know your name and this can be either life-saving or the absolute worst thing that could happen to you, depending on whether or not they favor you. Better to be on the safe side.

Winning a human’s favor will ensure that a great deal of luck is on your side, but if you anger them, they are wholly capable of wiping out everything you ever cared about. Do not anger them.

If you must anger them, carry a cage of X’arvizian bloodflies with you, for they resemble Earth mo-skee-toes and the human will avoid them.

This does not always work. Have a last will and testament ready.

Do not let them take you anywhere on your planet that you cannot fly a ship from. Beings who are spirited away to the human kingdom of Aria Fiv-Ti Won rarely return, and those that do are never quite the same.

Basically, humans are like the Fair Folk to some aliens and half of them are scared to death and the others are like alien teenagers who are like “I dare you to ask a human to take you to Earth”.

[dalekteaservice]

We knew about the planet called Earth for centuries before we made contact with its indigenous species, of course. We spent decades studying them from afar.

The first researchers had to fight for years to even get a grant, of course. They kept getting laughed out of the halls. A T-Class Death World that had not only produced sapient life, but a Stage Two civilization? It was a joke, obviously. It had to be a joke.

And then it wasn’t. And we all stopped laughing. Instead, we got very, very nervous. 

We watched as the human civilizations not only survived, but grew, and thrived, and invented things that we had never even conceived of. Terrible things, weapons of war, implements of destruction as brutal and powerful as one would imagine a death world’s children to be. In the space of less than two thousand years, they had already produced implements of mass death that would have horrified the most callous dictators in the long, dark history of the galaxy. 

Already, the children of Earth were the most terrifying creatures in the galaxy. They became the stuff of horror stories, nightly warnings told to children; huge, hulking, brutish things, that hacked and slashed and stabbed and shot and burned and survived, that built monstrous metal things that rumbled across the landscape and blasted buildings to ruin.

All that preserved us was their lack of space flight. In their obsession with murdering one another, the humans had locked themselves into a rigid framework of physics that thankfully omitted the equations necessary to achieve interstellar travel. 

They became our bogeymen. Locked away in their prison planet, surrounded by a cordon of non-interference, prevented from ravaging the galaxy only by their own insatiable need to kill one another. Gruesome and terrible, yes - but at least we were safe.

Or so we thought.

The cities were called Hiroshima and Nagasaki. In the moment of their destruction, the humans unlocked a destructive force greater than any of us could ever have believed possible. It was at that moment that those of us who studied their technology knew their escape to be inevitable, and that no force in the universe could have hoped to stand against them.

The first human spacecraft were… exactly what we should have expected them to be. There were no elegant solar wings, no sleek, silvered hulls plying the ocean of stars. They did not soar on the stellar currents. They did not even register their existence. Humanity flew in the only way it could: on all-consuming pillars of fire, pounding space itself into submission with explosion after explosion. Their ships were crude, ugly, bulky things, huge slabs of metal welded together, built to withstand the inconceivable forces necessary to propel themselves into space through violence alone.

It was almost comical. The huge, dumb brutes simply strapped an explosive to their backs and let it throw them off of the planet. 

We would have laughed, if it hadn’t terrified us.

Humanity, at long last, was awake.

It was a slow process. It took them nearly a hundred years to reach their nearest planetary neighbor; a hundred more to conquer the rest of their solar system. The process of refining their explosive propulsion systems - now powered by the same force that had melted their cities into glass less than a thousand years before - was slow and haphazard. But it worked. Year by year, they inched outward, conquering and subduing world after world that we had deemed unfit for habitation. They burrowed into moons, built orbital colonies around gas giants, even crafted habitats that drifted in the hearts of blazing nebulas. They never stopped. Never slowed.

The no-contact cordon was generous, and was extended by the day. As human colonies pushed farther and farther outward, we retreated, gave them the space that they wanted in a desperate attempt at… stalling for time, perhaps. Or some sort of appeasement. Or sheer, abject terror. Debates were held daily, arguing about whether or not first contact should be initiated, and how, and by whom, and with what failsafes. No agreement was ever reached.

We were comically unprepared for the humans to initiate contact themselves.

It was almost an accident. The humans had achieved another breakthrough in propulsion physics, and took an unexpected leap of several hundred light years, coming into orbit around an inhabited world.

What ensued was the diplomatic equivalent of everyone staring awkwardly at one another for a few moments, and then turning around and walking slowly out of the room.

The human ship leapt away after some thirty minutes without initiating any sort of formal communications, but we knew that we had been discovered, and the message of our existence was being carried back to Terra. 

The situation in the senate could only be described as “absolute, incoherent panic”. They had discovered us before our preparations were complete. What would they want? What demands would they make? What hope did we have against them if they chose to wage war against us and claim the galaxy for themselves? The most meager of human ships was beyond our capacity to engage militarily; even unarmed transport vessels were so thickly armored as to be functionally indestructible to our weapons.

We waited, every day, certain that we were on the brink of war. We hunkered in our homes, and stared.

Across the darkness of space, humanity stared back.

There were other instances of contact. Human ships - armed, now - entering colonized space for a few scant moments, and then leaving upon finding our meager defensive batteries pointed in their direction. They never initiated communications. We were too frightened to.

A few weeks later, the humans discovered Alphari-296.

It was a border world. A new colony, on an ocean planet that was proving to be less hospitable than initially thought. Its military garrison was pitifully small to begin with. We had been trying desperately to shore it up, afraid that the humans might sense weakness and attack, but things were made complicated by the disease - the medical staff of the colonies were unable to devise a cure, or even a treatment, and what pitifully small population remained on the planet were slowly vomiting themselves to death.

When the human fleet arrived in orbit, the rest of the galaxy wrote Alphari-296 off as lost.

I was there, on the surface, when the great gray ships came screaming down from the sky. Crude, inelegant things, all jagged metal and sharp edges, barely holding together. I sat there, on the balcony of the clinic full of patients that I did not have the resources or the expertise to help, and looked up with the blank, empty, numb stare of one who is certain that they are about to die.

I remember the symbols emblazoned on the sides of each ship, glaring in the sun as the ships landed inelegantly on the spaceport landing pads that had never been designed for anything so large. It was the same symbol that was painted on the helmets of every human that strode out of the ships, carrying huge black cases, their faces obscured by dark visors. It was the first flag that humans ever carried into our worlds.

It was a crude image of a human figure, rendered in simple, straight lines, with a dot for the head. It was painted in white, over a red cross.

The first human to approach me was a female, though I did not learn this until much later - it was impossible to ascertain gender through the bulky suit and the mask. But she strode up the stairs onto the balcony, carrying that black case that was nearly the size of my entire body, and paused as I stared blankly up at her. I was vaguely aware that I was witnessing history, and quite certain that I would not live to tell of it.

Then, to my amazement, she said, in halting, uncertain words, “You are the head doctor?”

I nodded.

The visor cleared. The human bared its teeth at me. I learned later that this was a “grin”, an expression of friendship and happiness among their species. 

“We are The Doctors Without Borders,” she said, speaking slowly and carefully. “We are here to help.”

[wordsnstuff]

Character Development : A Collection of Resources

Patreon || Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Work In Progress

–

Resources

Resources For Creating Characters

Resources For Describing Characters

Resources For Writing The Mafia

Resources For Writing Royalty

Commentary on Social Issues In Writing

General Tips

Guide to Character Development

How To Fit Character Development Into Your Story

Tips on Character Consistency

Designing A Character From Scratch

Making characters for your world

Characters First, Story Second Method

Understanding Your Character

Tips on Character Motivations

31 Days of Character Development : May 2018 Writing Challenge

How To Analyze A Character

Alternative Method of Character Creation

Connecting To Your Own Characters

Interview As Your Characters

Flipping Character Traits On Their Head 

Character Driven vs. Plot Driven Stories

Traits

Tips On Writing About Mental Illness

Giving Your Protagonists Negative Traits

Giving Characters Distinct Voices in Dialogue

Giving Characters Flaws

Making Characters More Unique

Keeping Characters Realistic

Archetypes

Writing Good Villains

Creating Villains

Guide to Writing The Hero

Positive Character Development Without Romanticizing Toxic Behavior

Tips on Writing Cold & Distant Characters

Balancing Multiple Main Characters

Creating Diverse Otherworld Characters

Foreshadowing The Villain

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Masterlist | WIP Blog

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