The Story Exchange

A resource for writers looking for inspiration.

[writing-prompt-s]

The Robot Apocalypse came. Cities are empty, you stayed since you’re almost out of insulin and will die soon anyway. The robots find you and while processing you one of them sees your insulin pump and asks if you want to apply for dual citizenship, since the pump technically makes you a cyborg.

[ghost-mantis]

Suddenly all the people with prosthetics, wheelchairs, implants, and the like are getting the accommodations and help they need without having to be poor or locked away in a care center. This is an apocalypse I can get behind!

[verysorrytobother]

The other survivors left us behind.

They said it was nothing personal—the bus could only fit so many people, after all, and escape would be hard enough without “dead weight” dragging them down.

We understood. The world was ending, not changing.

“Shouldn’t we be looking for shelter or something?” Samantha asked as we sat around a garbage-can fire. (Tao was experienced in making them, from what we gathered, and the flames had grown in no time. We tried to ask him how he knew what to do. He responded, but none of us knew sign language.)

Hank snorted. “What’s the point? Not like we’ll make it long, anyway.” He rubbed the spot beneath his shirt where we knew his insulin pump to be. “Least, I won’t. You folks are welcome to try.”

No one spoke for quite a while. No one got up, either.

Maria garbled something that I couldn’t make out. Antonio, one of the only able-bodied to stay behind, smiled and patted the armrest of her wheelchair. “It is kind of like camping,” he said. “All we need is some marshmallows.”

“I’ve never been camping,” Dwayne said quietly.

Samantha grinned. “Hey, me neither!” She held her prosthetic at arms-length so she could reach past me to give him a high-five. He chuckled and slapped his palm against hers.

“Well,” Monique said, hobbling back to our makeshift camp. She was using what appeared to be a broom as a crutch. “I’m officially on my last leg.” She waggled her eyebrows, and we groaned.

“Anyway, I didn’t find any water,” she continued. “There’s some Mountain Dew cases over at the gas station, but I’ll need help carrying them back. Doesn’t help that this one got stuck under some debris.” She gestured down at her stump, which cut off just below the knee. The plastic of her other leg was scuffed and dented.

“Ya know,” Hank said, “if it was real, ya probably would’ve had ta chew it off or something. Guess you’re lucky, huh?”

Monique laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. Real lucky.”

Tao startled us with his sudden chuckling. He bent over, wheezing and slapping his knee. He signed something, and began laughing even harder.

We looked to each other, unsure. Then we joined in. Hesitantly, at first, but soon we were clutching our sides and wiping away tears. And for a moment, we could forget.

All of us heard the familiar whirring of robots as they approached.

Through our laughter, none of us cared.

————

They scanned Hank first. We braced ourselves for the blaster fire that would inevitably follow.

But none came.

“IMPLANT DETECTED,” the bot said, beam stopping on Hank’s abdomen. “PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

Hank glanced at us, then back at the robots who had spotlights and guns trained on each member of the group. Then he shrugged.

“Sure. Why not?”

“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-237. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.” Two bots took place on either side of Hank, urging him towards their transport.

The treatment was a stark contrast to what we’d witnessed from the robots before—gunning down terrified people in the streets, setting charges throughout populated areas. We exchanged confused looks.

Dwayne was next. The scanner stopped on his head, focusing on the lump housing his shunt.

“IMPLANT DETECTED. PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

“…yes?”

“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-238. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.”

As they took Dwayne away, realization hit us all at once.

“IMPLANT DETECTED,” the bot said, in reference to the devices curled around Tao’s ears. “PROTOCOL-13163 INITIATED. WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

Tao signed something. Unlike us, the robot understood.

“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-239…”

————

“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

“Hell yeah,” Monique said with a grin.

————

“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

“Yes,” Samantha said, and I thought I noticed tears in her eyes.

————

“WILL YOU ACCEPT?”

Maria’s limbs flailed spastically, and a strange shrieking sound built in the back of her throat. The bot cocked its head to the side.

“RESPONSE UNCLEAR. PLEASE STAND BY WHILE ALTERNATE COMMUNICATION IS PROVIDED.”

Another robot stepped forward, its torso transforming into a holographic keyboard of sorts. Maria’s clenched fist shot forward, trembling as she attempted to steady it. With labored, deliberate movements, she typed, the letters spoken aloud in an automated tone.

“Y-E-S.”

“YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-242. YOU SHALL BE ESCORTED TO THE REPAIR BAY FOR MODIFICATIONS.” Two bots took their place on either side of her wheelchair, each of them gripping a handlebar. They began to wheel her away.

The bot turned to Antonio, who was standing ramrod-straight. It scanned him.

“NO IMPLANTS DETECTED,” it said. Its blaster hummed to life. Those of us that remained flinched, turning away instinctively, unwilling to watch his execution.

A series of shrieks rang through the night, and the bot paused.

Maria thrashed about, letting out more distressed noises. One of her escorts stepped forward, allowing her to utilize its keyboard.

“A-C-C-O-M-O-D-A-T-I-O-N,” she said. “H-E. I-S. E-X-T-E-N-S-I-O-N.”

The bot seemed to consider for a moment.

Then its gun folded away.

“ACCOMODATION PROTOCAL INITIATED,” it told Antonio. “YOUR DESIGNATION IS NOW FL-242B. PLEASE ACCOMPANY YOUR PRIMARY UNIT.”

Antonio stumbled forward, then fell to his knees before the wheelchair. He wrapped his sister in a shuddering hug.

Over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of Maria’s face, and I could swear I saw her smile.

————

My pacemaker was enough to earn me a spot among the bots’ ranks. I was surprised by just how many humans lived in the facility (though in hindsight, perhaps I shouldn’t have been)—I was even more surprised by our treatment. Not having use of recharging stations, we were provided with bunks and dorms. The cafeteria, while somewhat lacking in options, offered all of the nutrition a carbon-based lifeform could ask for.

And then there were the upgrades.

“Real lucky, huh?” Monique said, taking the seat beside me in the cafeteria. Her robotic legs moved smoothly, fluidly. (“You can’t even notice,” she’d said upon first receiving them, before remembering that there were no longer any stares or judgement to hide from.)

“Damn lucky,” Hank agreed. (If we hadn’t been processed when we were, he would’ve been dead within a week. Here, insulin was never in short supply; as it turned out, it wasn’t nearly as expensive to make as we’d been led to believe.)

Samantha twirled a fork between her fingers, smiling at the satisfying click-click-click of metal on metal. “Hey, Dwayne, how’d your checkup go?”

“Great!” he said, beaming. “This new shunt works even better than my last one. Not a single problem since they put it in.”

Congratulations, Tao signed. He was no longer emaciated, as he’d been when we first met—regular meals and a roof over his head really had done wonders for his health. His smile, of course, was infectious as ever.

Antonio approached, carrying his and Maria’s trays. He wore the uniform of a maintenance tech, though it was more of a formality than anything else—being responsible for the upkeep of Maria’s machinery was one of the only ways he could fulfill his Accommodation Protocol, nowadays.

Did you remember the pudding? Maria asked, her automated voice clear and pleasant. (We couldn’t begin to understand the exact mechanics behind the chip in her head, and how it allowed her to speak—albeit through a machine. Nor could we understand the technology that enabled her to operate her wheelchair independently, as well. But we did know we were grateful for it.)

Antonio rolled his eyes. “A ‘thanks’ would be nice.”

Thank you. Now gimme.

————

I did wonder, occasionally, how the other survivors were faring. If they had found a place to hide from their robotic overlords. If they felt hopeless and abandoned and alone. Their lives had changed drastically overnight—their world had ended.

But ours? Ours is just beginning. And the ones that left us behind just…don’t have a place in it.

It’s nothing personal.

I’m sure they understand.

[saiyanqueenreads]

[hugtheteadrinkthekitten]

Omg that last line gave me chills

[writing-prompt-s]

You are a guard in a fantasy world. You notice a man in elegant armor kick a chicken in the streets. In your lawful rage, you manage to kill this man in the name of justice. To your dismay, you realize you just killed The Chosen One. You just doomed the world.

[delotha]

In my defense, it was self-defense.

I saw him saunter through town in his expensive, fancy armor, nearly bowling over Granny Fairchild when she didn’t get out of his way fast enough.  I didn’t think much of him - no one did, that I knew - but what was I going to do?  The man was clearly some sort of lord or higher, and I’m just a guard.  Not even a captain or sergeant!  Just a normal, everyday run-of-the-mill guard.

In short, there’s nothing special about me.  No special training, no special knowledge - unless you count laws, which I memorized - nothing whatsoever.

I didn’t say anything when he demanded prices to be lowered, and forced his “goods” on us.  Spoils of adventures, he said.  You can’t get them anywhere else.  What are we going to do with forty preserved wyvern eyeballs!  It’s not something any of us can use.  I don’t care how much some wizard in a city we’ve never been would pay for them.

I didn’t say anything when he aggressively flirted with all the women, to the point that little Maria started crying and her brothers looked for sharp objects.  Thank the gods that Maria’s wife is so quick-thinking, and got his attention elsewhere!  It would have been a very ugly, very deadly brawl, and Maria would have lost her brothers.

I didn’t say anything when he co-opted the blacksmith’s forge to make a few daggers to push on us - because his skill is so legendary, however were we to survive without his priceless daggers?  Ahmed was unable to fulfill his orders that day, and will now have to work twice as hard to catch up!  And I wanted him to look at my gauntlet, too, because it was starting to look a little warped at the wrist.

But when I saw that man start to kick around Granny Fairchild’s chickens, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer.  Those chickens are all she has!  Every morning, Granny Fairchild comes to market with a basket of fresh eggs, and we all buy some - even if we don’t need eggs - to make sure she doesn’t go hungry.  Like most of us, she refuses handouts and charity, preferring to get by on her own.

“You can’t do that,” I told him, using my sternest voice.

“Do what?” he asked, kicking a hen and sending her scuttling.

“That,” I said.  “Kicking chickens.  Or any animal.  You can’t do that.”

“Who’s going to stop me?” he asked arrogantly.  He looked me up and down, mockingly.  “You?”

And just to be an ass, he took out his sword and killed one of the chickens right then and there.

Now, killing someone’s animal isn’t necessarily an arrestable offense.  You get a fine, you pay it, and you go on your way.  Especially something small, like a chicken.  A cow, now, or a horse, that’s a different story.  But a chicken - no. 

But by this point, I was so tired and so fed up with his attitude.  Who was he to walk into our village in his fancy, expensive armor and harrass our people?  Making our shy girls cry, assaulting our widows and grandmothers, nearly robbing us blind by forcing his “goods” on us in exchange for ours, and putting good people out of work for his barely average daggers?  An entitled ass, I tell you.

So I took out my sword and intended to bash him at the back of his head to bring him to his knees.  It’s not a very brave act, to attack someone from behind, but you must understand that even then, he was some mighty adventurer while I am a lowly village guard.  In a fair fight, I had no chance.

Apparently, I hit him too hard, or just right, because he went down like a sack of potatoes and didn’t get up.  I looked him over, then call for our healer.  When she arrived, she pronounced him dead and congratulated me.

Imagine that, being congratulated for being a murderer.

Well, we gathered his things and I sent out a report to my sergeant in the next village over, who must have forwarded it to the captain, because the next thing any of us knew, we had an entire garrison marching on us.  The captain demanded to see me, and I reluctantly made my way up.

I murdered a lord’s son, I thought.  They’re going to arrest me for murdering a lord’s son!  There goes my career!

I hadn’t murdered a lord’s son, of course.  I did something much worse.

“You killed Adam Draxon, Hero of a Thousand Lands?” the captain demanded.  He looked me up and down, much like the man did, but less mocking and more incredulous.

“I never knew his name,” I managed, nearly biting my tongue in two I was stammering so bad.

“He wore the Crest of King Ellifry!” the captain said.  “How could you not know?”

“Is that what it was?  I thought it was a fat eagle…”

The captain and all his men stared at me for a long moment, where I was certain that time must have stopped, because it lasted an eternity.

“He was on his way to slay the vicious dragon plaguing Balewood Forest!  And you killed him!”

“It was an accident!” I protested.  “I was trying to arrest him.”

“Arrest him?!”  The captain was apoplectic.  “You were trying to arrest the Hero of a Thousand Lands?  For what?  What could he have possibly done to make you arrest him?!”

“He, ah, well, you see… Hm.  It was like this…”

“Go on, I’m listening.  I’m very eager to hear your reasoning.”

I took a deep breath.  “IwasarrestinghimforkillingGrannyFairchild’schicken.”

“What?”

“He killed Granny Fairchild’s chicken,” I said again, slower.  I didn’t dare look up.  The captain wears some nice boots.  Shiny.  Tailored.  “So I was arresting him.”

“You murdered Adam Draxon, Hero of a Thousand Lands, Defender of the Free People, for killing a chicken?”

“It was an accident!” I protested again.  “I was just trying to… subdue… him…”

“And who, pray tell, is going to slay the dragon plaguing Balewood Forest?” the captain asked me scathingly.  “You?”

“I can’t kill a dragon!” I said.  I’m pretty sure I squeaked, too. 

“You killed the Hero of a Thousand Lands,” he told him, sarcasm practically dripping from his voice.  “You must be a mighty warrior, so a dragon can’t be too difficult a task for you.”

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment.  In that moment, I saw something.  Okay, a lot of things, but mostly the one.  I saw fear.  Not of me, gods no.  The captain was afraid.  I had - accidentally or not - killed our only hope against the forces of darkness in our world.  Who was going to slay the dragon?  Certainly not me; I’d be lucky if I got close to the beast.  And certainly not the captain.  Really, there was only one person who was capable of such a feat, and he was moldering in an unmarked grave in our village cemetery.  

The next few hours went by in a blur.  I was given the Hero’s old things - things we had carefully packed away and inventoried to prevent theft - to protect me.  I was told some of it had magic, like protection against evil and the like.  It looked pretty, but ultimately worthless.  What would a shiny ring do against a dragon, except make it envious and eat me for the ring?

Really, what else did I expect?  If I had stayed, I would have been hanged for murder, at best.  At worst, I would have been drawn and quartered in some public place while my entire family was arrested and enslaved for my crimes.  In a way, the captain was saving me.  This was a chance to redeem myself - albeit a very small, very dangerous, and very, very stupid chance.  But it would keep me from a very public execution, which was generally better.

It’s not like the thought of chucking all of the Hero’s things the minute I got out of sight and running never occurred to me.  It did.  Numerous times.  I thought about it as I lay awake at night.  I thought about it as I heard story after story after story of the Dragon of Balewood Forest.  But someone had to try, damnit.  Someone had to at least try.

I never did get my gauntlet fixed.

When I had finally made it to the dragon - which, by the by, involved talking wolves and a bargain with a witch that I’m pretty sure she now regrets as you can’t exactly extract a dead person’s first born if they’ve never had children - I was tired, and hungry, and terrified out of my wits.

The mountain wasn’t as big as I pictured.  It was a large hill, at most, with a shallow cave.  I climbed up - a feat, I assure you, that sounds more daunting that it was.  I mostly walked, and like Balewood Forest, it was a pleasant walk.  And when I reached the mouth of the cave, I mustered all my meager courage to shout my challenge to the Dragon of Balewood Forest.

“H-hello?” I called out.  “Anyone home?”

A roar echoed from the cave - a massive sound that had me quaking - and smoke curled out.  I felt a blast of heat roll out of the cave.

“Look, I’d just like to talk for a bit,” I said.  “If you have time, that is.  I can come back tomorrow, if now’s not a good time for you!”

Heroic bravery at it’s finest, I tell you.

I felt an impact that was like being hit by a mountain.  I thought at first it must be some sort of cave-in or avalanche, but not.  Just dragon.  I rolled down the hill a ways, losing the sword and shield almost instantly along with my bearings.  I had barely stopped moving when a clawed paw pinned me to the ground, and I was face-to-face with a wall of long, sharp teeth and sulfuric breath.

“Adam Draxon!” the beast roared at me.  “You murdered my parents!  You have left me an orphan!  Do you have anything to say for yourself before I kill you?”

“Um, I’m not Adam Draxon,” I said.

“What?!” the dragon screeched.  It pulled back just enough to look at me with one beautiful sapphire eye.  Really, if you get the chance to look at a dragon’s eyes, you should.

“I’m not, um, I’m not Adam Draxon,” I repeated.  “I’m not anybody.”

The dragon pulled away, glowering at me.  “You’re wearing his armor. You’re wearing his Crest!”

“I still think it looks like a fat eagle,” I muttered as I took the Crest off and tossed it aside.  “Look, I know you were expecting Adam Draxon, and I’m sorry, but I’m here.  So can we talk, please?”

 “Where’s Adam Draxon?” the dragon demanded, arching itself up to look bigger.  For all the stories I’d ever heard, the dragon was really about the size of a large draft horse.  Certainly not the size of a house, like I was told.  And it’s scales - while very bright - weren’t exactly what you’d call shiny.

“Um, he’s, uh… well…”  How do you explain that the Hero of a Thousand Lands is dead?  Especially to someone who wants to cook and eat him?  “He, uh, he died.”

The dragon cocked it’s head to look at me with one eye.  “Dead?  You expect me to believe that the Slayer of a Dozen Dragons and Terror to the Dark is dead?” 

“Yeah, I was surprised, too,” I admitted.  “It was an accident.”

“Accident?” the dragon roared.  “An accident?!”

 “Well, how else was he going to die young?”

The dragon lowered itself and stared at me for a long, long, long time.  “You don’t smell like you’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“But you don’t smell like you’re telling the truth.”

 “It’s… complicated.”

 “Tell me.”

 I took a deep breath.  “I was trying to arrest him.  His back was turned, and I hit him too hard with the pommel of my sword.”

 “… he’s really dead?”

 “He’s really dead.”

 “But he killed my parents!”

 I walked up and patted the dragon on it’s shoulder.  “I know, I’m sorry.”

 And that’s how I “defeated” the Dragon of Balewood.  He told me his story, and I listened for a while, and when night fell, he invited me to stay with him.  A dragon lair is surprisingly clean and comfortable, and we talked most of the night.  The dragon - Lorcanthan - was in need of a permanent home.  The terrorizing was merely to get Adam Draxon to his location, so he could get revenge for the murder of his parents.  There was very little terrorizing, I learned, as Lorcanthan mostly showed up and bothered the horses and maybe burned a field by accident.

 That morning, I decided to go to the villages around Balewood Forest.  For the better part of a season, I went to each village and spoke with the people.  In truth, very little actual damage occurred, and even then, it was mostly by panicking animals.  The mayors and headsmen were very reluctant to speak with me about the matter, at first, but slowly listened to what I had to say.

 Later, I went to Lorcanthan and had him come with me to the outskirts of Balewood, where the mayors and headmen were waiting.  I helped negotiate a deal for them, between the dragon and villagers.  And so the Dragon of Balewood went from plague to protector.

 Really, that’s how it started.

 Afterwards, I went to speak to the witch about the bargain, and she was willing to wait.  Being as the bargain was struck when I was under extreme duress, I managed to talk her down to shared custody.  We’ll figure out the details when I do have a child, I guess.  She sent me to talk to her sister, who was across the country, about a matter involving kidnapping.

 That was a horrible, horrible case, where I discovered the the Wicked Sorceress of the North was being blamed for the actions of a vile man.  The less said, the better, but when I had settled that matter, word go around.  

 And when a Horde of Orc Barbarians led by Thorid the Bloodthirsty threatened, I was sent to deal with them.  I don’t know how, exactly, it happened, because I had a few drinks with Thorid, but I ended up accidentally challenging his eldest to a duel and - purely by chance, I promise! - killed her.  Which made me, by Orc law, Thorid’s heir.  Somehow.  And second-in-command.

 When Thorid died from gangrene from an untreated injury by boar, I became the leader of the Horde of Orc Barbarians.

 From there, things got complicated fast.  And now I’m the Leader of the Dark Forces, and it’s the eve of war.  I sent King Ellifry a letter asking that he meet with me to negotiate this matter, but I haven’t heard back yet.  I’d really rather avoid the whole war thing, but honestly, when you actually sit down and listen to the Dark Forces, you learn that there’s a lot of inequality and oppression that really needs to be addressed.

 And as a guard sworn to uphold the law, it’s up to me to see that it is addressed.

Never did get my gauntlet fixed.

[musetavern-art]

I enjoyed this and thought I would share this with all of you :)

[noirandchocolate]

Why does the third of the three brothers, who shares his food with the old woman in the wood, go on to become king of the country? Why does James Bond manage to disarm the nuclear bomb a few seconds before it goes off rather than, as it were, a few seconds afterwards? Because a universe where that did not happen would be a dark and hostile place. Let there be goblin hordes, let there be terrible environmental threats, let there be giant mutated slugs if you really must, but let there also be hope. It may be a grim, thin hope, an Arthurian sword at sunset, but let us know that we do not live in vain.

Terry Pratchett, “Let There Be Dragons” (A Slip of the Keyboard)

[kiefbowl]

Let’s say your matrilineal line is fairly consistent and everyone has their daughter at 25. So four women in your matrilineal line are born every hundred years. In a thousand years, that’s only 40 women. Like the math is so simple and yet ? You don’t think about it. So in 2000 years, 80 women. So basically, 0 AD started roughly about 80 mothers ago. That’s it.

[hawthorn56-deactivated20230602]

I’m……… i’m a little drunk n cannot deal with this right now

[thevideowall]

Yep

The advent of agriculture around 9500BC was about 450 mothers ago

[quousque]

you can’t just say shit like that without a warning

[annechen-melo]

Many, many mothers ago, when the world was new….

[swapstories101]

Unfinished June Story - 2018

An unfinished monthly short story from last year.

The prompt was “write a story about family.”

Jocelyn was the one who made it most like a home. They hadn’t expected that of her, of course, and it was startling because she hadn’t even been a part of the family yet when they picked the house. They picked it for a whole list of reasons. Of course they knew it wasn’t perfect and it never would be- the dining room was too small and there wasn’t pantry space for everything, but there were two extra bedrooms and a little garden space. The living room wasn’t big enough for everyone to sit together comfortably, but there was a fence around the back yard for the dogs. It wasn’t so much the choosing of the house that was an issue. Rather, Maisie had summer school and Jay had camp, so their things didn’t get unpacked very quickly. As Maisie’s primary guardian, Allison had been helping them, but she soon got sick. Hailey’s work hours were so hectic that she hardly had time to unpack her own things. That left Jack and Lisa to unpack most of the house. A few months after the move, all the necessities were in place but the decor had fallen so far behind that boxes of everyone’s favorite framed pictures went

[swapstories101]

Submarine Story

Found this in an old folder. Think I wanted to add some more, but it is a bit late by now.

I’m trying to write a story a week according to these prompts. This is my short story for week 13, based on the following prompt:

“A story that takes place entirely within a vehicle.”

Sarah  pressed her forehead against the window and closed her eyes, holding onto a big gulp of breath for for as long as she could. Sometimes, right when it started to hurt too much, right before her body made her let go, she could see the little shimmers of blue and green that reminded her of those iridescent scales she almost thought she’d seen last week. Back then, they were still on track and could see the sky fine. Then they had found these weird rocks which weren’t like anything on the map, and they had been so many birds that they’d bustled Sarah down into her room and hadn’t let her back up to the deck for the last four days.

Yesterday, they’d gone a bit deeper. It was still shallow enough for light to illuminate the plants and animals that surrounded them, but Sarah could see that the seaweed was closer now, and the sun farther away. Jake had refused to answer her questions when he brought her dinner yesterday, and seemed so upset that she hadn’t bothered to ask today.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably. She’d opted for underwear today, rather than boxers, because this made her more comfortable and looked better with her dress, but girls’ underwear never quite fit right. Today felt... important, though, and she felt the need to look nice for whatever events lay ahead.

In the distance, something caught the light, and Sarah leaned forward. She had to be sure. Yes, there were the bright blues and greens that she had seen several days ago, the soft browns and- yes. As Sarah watched, a hand appeared on the other side of the window, and she jumped. She put her pale, small hand up against the window, and she jumped. She put her pale, small hand up against the elegant one on the other side of the glass, and soon a face appeared to match those long fingers and smooth river-stone nails. The face was smooth as well, little rivulet creases coursing down around the eyes and sinking into little tidepool shadows around the forehead and the corners of the mouth.

The eyes were like a cat’s eyes, one slitted pupil surrounded by flecks.

Sarah watched the hair (white puffs of the tiniest curls she could imagine) swish to one side, then the other as the face through the window turned one way, then the next.

The purple lips opened, and no bubbles came out, as if maybe this being had never seen air at all. The lips shaped words, but Sarah couldn’t hear her, and couldn’t make out the shapes on those lips well enough to recognize the words. She frowned.

“What did you say?”

The face on the other side of the glass froze for a moment, then began to speak again, frantically. Here and there, Sarah could make out a muffled sound, but never a word. The hand smashed against the glass once, twice, three times, and corresponding frustration washed over the creature’s facial features. Frowning, Sarah decided to help. After all, she desperately wanted to know what this majestic creature was trying to tell her.

The submarine wasn’t really fit to submerge, and Sarah had overheard some of the debate, when they set out, about whether it was even suitable for a surface-level voyage. They had sunk a little deeper throughout the day, and Sarah remembered that the conversation back on land had been all about the windows breaking. Maybe now...

Grabbing her little reading chair from its spot in the corner of the room, Sarah pulled it quickly over to the window. On the other side of the glass, the creature silently watched as Sarah hoisted the chair up over her head, then darted away in fear as Sarah threw the chair hard against the window. Sarah rushed to the window. A few yards away,her brown and blue friend was shimmering nervously, inching tentatively back. Knowing that the chair would scare the creature just as much the second time, Sarah threw it against the window again, this time getting a little more force behind it.

The window cracked.

It cracked like a spiderweb, and Sarah let the chair lie where it fell, opting instead to hit the window with her fists once, twice, three times, trying to open up a space to talk. The creature came closer and watched. When Sarah pulled back in pain from a sliver of glass in her hand, the creature on the other side pushed clear through the glass.

Sarah jumped a little bit, but then ran forward. The creature appeared to be gone but she couldn’t quite see through the water rushing in. She spun around as the door banged open behind her. It was Jake.

“Sarah, what the hell?” he exclaimed, shocked for a moment in the doorway. For a few seconds, Sarah just stood, watching the water soak into her blankets, her books, and her dress.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Then Jake scooped her up and carried her out of the room, with no protests from Sarah.

“There was a- there was a...” she started, but she couldn’t describe the shimmer-blue scales in any way that excused the water still rushing around Jake’s shoes as they rushed through the hallway. He didn’t respond to her attempted statement; rather, he put her down on the steps at the other end of the hall and rushed back toward her room. Without Jake there, the sound of water in the dark hall was overwhelming. Sarah poked her toe into the water as it crept up the steps in inches, and suddenly it seemed that she could hear hundreds of voices singing the strangest song she’d ever heard.

And the ship went down and the ship went down and the ship-

She pulled her foot away from the water again, and the only sounds she could hear were the rushing of water, and Jake struggling with something in her room.

Sarah put her feet solidly in the water. The sound washed over her, loud and close.

And the ship went down and the ship went down and the ship went down (come home!)

And the ship went down and the ship went down and the ship went down (come play with me!)

And the ship went down and the ship went down and the ship went down (we’re hungry!)

And the ship went down and the ship went down and the ship went down (to the bottom) to the bottom of the sea.

[one-lonely-whumperfly]

The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.

[narutofoxlover]

Or, alternatively, villain showing up at the hero’s house like this.

[toboldlywrite]

Just in case this needs to be said:

It’s the first draft. Use the word “suddenly.” Put as many dialogue tags and adverbs as you want. Say “he saw” “she remembered” “she felt” “they wondered” as many times as you need to. Put the em dash there, put in too many commas, use semi-colons with reckless abandon. Type in [whatever] instead of thinking up a title for something. Just write it. If you worry too much about the particulars, about all the advice posts you’ve seen saying whatever you’re doing is wrong or not good enough, you won’t get anything done. It will slow you down as you go back and try to reword what you just wrote to make it better, proper. The first draft doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be done. And when you get to the end, you’ll find that all those “mistakes” are just clues for your future self to put together to make it all better.

Putting in adverbs and certain dialogue tags are a note for you as to who is saying something and how they’re saying it. When you’re editing, you can make sure it shows through the story instead. The word “suddenly” is a reminder to make things more abrupt. The first draft is just you mapping out where you want to go and how you want to get there. Don’t waste time trying to get it 100% right now, because then it will never get done. Don’t think too much– just write. Save the thinking for editing later.

[closet-keys]

The first draft doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be done

[anaquana]

All of those things are allowed to be in your final draft as well if necessary. Nothing is out-of-bounds writing-wise as long as it conveys what YOU, the writer, want it to convey. You will never have a perfect draft. Not the first, not the fifth, not the fiftieth. There will always be something that somebody somewhere will nitpick. Make it the best you can make it and stop worry about writing rules or making it perfect. Just write.

[simplewritingtips]

LET ME TELL Y’ALL ABOUT THIS WRITING APP

Fighter’s Block is the best writing app I’ve come across in a long time.

You type in the amount of words you want to write and as you write, your mini lil avatar fights a monster. Each word you write acts a hit towards your monster, and once you’ve hit your word count the monster is defeated!!!

How cute!!!!

Work quick though as how long you spent not writing decreases your avatar’s health. It’s a productive fight to the death against the clock!

Best things about this app:

You can PAUSE it!!!! Need go get a cup of tea? Need to sneeze? You can!!!!!

Settings are adjustable! You can change the monster’s speed and the attacks!

You can change the theme and font!

You can level up!!!!! The number of words you write equals your EXP. You can unlock one avatar thus far, but I believe there may be more in the future!

You can minimise the fight above if it serves as a distraction, and only show the decreasing green bar.

Best of all: If you don’t hit the target word count in time, YOUR WORK DOES NOT DISAPPEAR. In the past I’ve lost so much work because I wasn’t typing fast enough, or sneezed.I cannot express enough how thankful I am that it presents a challenge where the consequence is a knock of pride and not a fit of rage.

Honestly, I urge all writers out there to give this app a go. It’s my new favourite thing. 

[5theditionhomebrewing-deactivat]

Oh dear lord.

[wordsaremylife]

Cool. For those who would find this helpful.

[er-cryptid]

Limits of the Human Body

Body Heat = 107.6 F

Cold Water = 40 F

Hot Air = 300 F

High Altitude = 15,000 ft

Starvation = 45 days

Diving Depth = 282 ft

Lack of Oxygen = 11 minutes

Blood Loss = 40%

Dehydration = 7 days

[meanpear-deactivated20241004]

Writers finding this post:

[unmooredonasundayevening]

writing tip: don’t tell us your character’s backstory. don’t tell us what your character is thinking. don’t tell us what your character is doing. don’t tell us anything. the reader should simply look at a blank page and be suddenly overcome with emotion.

[clinticalthinkr]

Good tip. I know a lot of writers who cry uncontrollably when they see a blank page, so I’m sure that feeling will translate directly to the reader.

[hgk477]

Surviving a Desert

Only move at dusk and dawn. 

Cover yourself. The sun is an old and angry thing. 

Try not to leave tracks. 

Not all that is visible is real. 

Not all that is real is visible. 

When you start hearing the voices of the dead, settle down and do not move. They will pass you by. 

Do not approach caravans. 

Dreams had in the desert are either prophetic or real. Decide wisely which to believe. 

There are no wolves here. You will hear them anyway. 

Never rest in the bottom of a dune valley. 

Do not speak to anything that has not proven itself to be human. 

When the sand shakes, run. 

Cover your mouth. The sand will coat your lungs. 

Seeing things in the day is not a problem. Seeing things at night should be.  

Never play the flute. 

Always carry a sack of sugar for hungry things. 

You are meat. Do not forget this fact. 

If there is something in your periphery, do not look at it. It wants you to. 

Dig yourself into the ground in a sandstorm. The wind will take you away. 

The flames are not real. 

The shadows are not real. 

Never close your tent flap all the way. It is impolite. 

Never let your lantern go out. 

The ancient have no love for the young. 

Do not drink water offered to you. 

Do not watch the dancers. They will trick you. 

There should be no clouds. If there are, move until they disappear. 

Travel alone. You will invariably lose your companions. 

Someone will cry out for help. Do not follow the voice. 

The murmurs of veiled ones are to be disregarded.

More guides

How to Befriend the Monster Under Your Bed

Rules For Ghost Hunting and Such For People Who Do Not Normally See Them  

[writerlydays]

tips for writing more

As someone with adhd I have a lot of trouble being productive and staying focused. This year i’ve developed a few techniques that have really helped me write more!

Write for a set amount of time Every day I write for one hour. Sometimes I don’t write much, other times I write a lot. What’s important is that I have one hour every day to sit down and do it. Making it a habit is important! Also, the fact that I have a set end point helps me to focus. 

Have a writing space I never seem to be able to focus as well when i’m writing from bed. Now what I do is I have a table in the living room, and I go there to write. That’s what I do there, and when I sit down at that table, it puts me in the mindset to write. 

Have writing music I have playlists for certain stories! Personally I have to listen to ones that are soft and mostly instrumental. When I listen to the playlist, I know it’s time to write!

Have a writing candle This one might be a personal thing, but I like to have a scent associated with a task. 

anyone else have specific things they do that help them focus or be productive?

[heroes-get-made-deactivated2022]

Some ideas for bad things that are white/light:

lightning, very hot fire

snow storms, ice, frost on crops

some types of fungus/mold

corpses, ghosts, bones, a diseased person

clothing, skin tone, hair, etc. of a bad person

fur, teeth, eyes of an attacking animal/monster

bleached out deserts, dead trees, lifeless places

poison

Some ideas for good things that are black/dark:

rich earth/soil

chocolate, truffles, wine, cooked meat

friendly animals/pets/creatures

a character’s favorite vehicle, technology, coat, etc.

a pleasant night

hair, skin tone, clothing, etc. of a good person

undisturbed water of a lake

the case/container of something important

valued wood, furniture, art

velvet

Think to burn, to infect, to bleach vs. to enrich, to protect, to be of substance.

[noseforahtwo]

*slams reblog like the fist of an angry god*

the politics of light and dark are everywhere in our vocabulary…psa to writers: subvert this, reveal whiteness and lightness as sometimes artificial and violent, and darkness as healing, the unknown as natural

[attractthecrows]

“The truth finds more comfort in the dark”

[writing-prompt-s]

You have the power to give life to anything, as long as it resembles something living that already exists. Origami animals, drawings, toys, etc. One day, you find an old painting of a god, and accidentally bring it to life.

[siderealscribblings]

Repeat after me, kids: 

Fanfiction is not now nor ever will be a waste of time, uncreative, or automatically inferior to canon. 

It is an invaluable tool that enriches fandom and allows authors to build their creative chops in a setting that encourages feedback and communal discussion. 

In some cases, fandoms with disappointing canon material can be kept alive solely through the work of dedicated fan-authors, fan-artists, and other content creators.

Do not let anyone suggest that fan-work is without value. 

[saltoftheao3]

PREACH

[prokopetz]

Lesser known forms of shipping:

Authorship – shipping a writer with their own OC

Censorship – the ship that dare not speak its name

Championship – shipping whoever’s left

Courtship – shipping of legal practitioners

Dictatorship – shipping of author-approved couples

Flagship – shipping of sovereign nations

Hardship – shipping two characters specifically because they cause each other to suffer

Horsemanship – self-explanatory

Internship – a ship that someone’s not getting paid enough for

Membership – shipping of individual body parts

Mothership – shipping a character as another character’s mother

Ownership – shipping a character with their pet

Partisanship – shipping of polearms (see also: bipartisanship)

Partnership – shipping of FBI agents

Readership – shipping a character with yourself

Relationship – shipping based on mathematical proximity

Rulership – shipping of units of measurement

Showmanship – shipping of P T Barnum

Spaceship – shipping of celestial bodies

Township – shipping of communities