#amwritng

[scriptwriters-network]

The only way to learn to write is to write.

— Peggy Teeters

[storyunrelated]

There’s a lot of buzzzzz around the town about this one, bee sure of that.

@flashfictionfridayofficial (Sweet surprise)

-

He was wheezing, but you wouldn’t have been able to make it out over the sound of the buzzing. The sound of the buzzing was deafening. It made the windows rattle, it made it hard to think.

Not that anyone was there to try and listen to how he was struggling to breathe, of course. The sheer number of bees filling the room would have deterred all but the most determined and the best equipped, and that was assuming anyone had known he was there in the first place, which no-one did.

He was alone. And he was full of bees.

This, really, was the cause of his woes. The human body was not made to accommodate bees. It could, in a pinch, perhaps contain one or two - swallowed by accident, maybe - or even a great deal more than one or two worn as a tasteful (and surprisingly heavy) beard, if you were down for that sort of thing.

But it was not made to be a hive, which is what he basically now was. His skin pockmarked with bee-sized entrances and exits, his nose and eyes dribbling honey, his interior spaces packed with honeycomb and tiny, writhing, buzzing bodies. By all accounts he shouldn’t even have still been alive.

And yet he was, as he had been for days now in this state, unable to stand, barely able to breathe, incapable of calling for help, ears full of buzzing and eyes fixed on a point some great distance away, seeing nothing.

At some point – it didn’t matter when, the room didn’t have a window and his watch was covered in bees  -  he managed, through supreme force of will, to raise a hand to his face, where it feebly rubbed some of the leaking honey away.

Experimentally, without giving it much thought, he stuck out his sting-swollen tongue and touched it to the honey, just because it was on his hand and was sticky and his mind was thick enough it seem the natural thing to do.

A pause. His hand dropped back to his side.

“Sweet…I’m sweet…” he said to himself before breaking into giggles.

Or at least as close to giggles as he could manage.

More twitching and hissing, really.

Hissing with a buzzing edge.

[writingdotcoffee]

Good story ideas seem to come quite literally from nowhere, sailing at you right out of the empty sky: two previously unrelated ideas come together and make something new under the sun. Your job isn’t to find these ideas but to recognize them when they show up.

Stephen King

[rho-kassiopeia]

Writing is just Googling words to make sure that you’re using them correctly.

[lettersandinkstains]

only you and sky

(stylized choice cw: non detailed lemon / citrus for blood upon the altar, mlm with canonized aston / matija -- no tag list will be used for this)

i. Matija has a soft glow to him at times -- whether it’s from the sun or the moon, it’s still enchanting and enticing. This is not unnatural for the Fae, who were blessed with beauty beyond compare.

ii. Even softer are his lips -- tender and light -- and he knows what he’s doing with each touch.

iii. Aston sometimes wonders -- is there a line that has been crossed? He knows he’s a flirt, he knows that the moment when flesh becomes and intertwined, he could never go back --- the emotions would be come real. His thoughts and feelings would solidify.

iv. And he chases after ghosts that he can never quite catch, a guilt that hangs heavy in his heart. Matija talks of family some day -- and Aston admires how excited the other is that the prospect. And somewhere deep inside of him, he wishes that family would be with him.

v. When Matija comes across the scars, the disfigurement and enclaves of injuries caused by a man drunk with anger, irrational and hate, he lies and he always lies. Someone as wonderful as Matija does not need to know what secrets follow. After all, they both have skeletons in the closet and if they let them out, who knows what monsters will follow?

vi. But all thoughts and promises and pasts and futures disappear when soft lips touch his for what feels like the first and millionth time, and they entangle again and again.

vii. Aleks gives him judging looks at the red spots on his neck, and Matija just smiles as Adrienne waggles her brows. Yet, he only grabs Matija’s hand and holds it tightly. Come hell and the wrath of a dead god, he would never want to let.

[weminence]

January 2020 recap and February Goals

JANUARY

~ write five fics

None

~ read 2 books

I read three

~ cook 4 things

I only cooked chicken fried steak but I actually made mashed potatoes with it this time.

~ try seeing ransom riggs

I mean I asked. But it wasn't feasible right now TT-TT

~ work on jacket

Yeah a little

~ finish painting projects

I finished 2

~ draw Lup and Juno Steel

Nope

~ write some shorts

One

FEBRUARY

~ write four things

~ read two books

~ cook two things

~ [REDACTED]

~ be more active on social media

~ practice drawing everyday

~ finish some painting projects

~ write two fics

[rainy-rose]

Flash Fiction Friday

Prompt and event by @shaping-infinity and @cawolters Thank you, lovelies!

Children and Festivals

Word Count:  996

Disclaimer: I am bad! Bad! Bad! At writing kids. But my baby Valen is amazing with them, so this happened!

It was getting dark by the time they left the shop. He had sped an hour – an hour and a half browsing the shelves, searching and picking up ingredients and potions. His brother had lost his patience and left in the first fifteen minutes. They would regroup later to go home, after he had charmed a lady, or two, or three. He was magical like that.  

The children had made camp in the small book section, a thick volume in Tarioush’s hands. Elise was reading over his shoulder, small, freckled nose scrunched. She did not like the book he had picked, but reading to him was fun for both of them. Valen watched them for a bit, a proud smile on his pink lips. Elise had taken the small Egyptian boy under her wing four years ago and had no intention of letting him go. ‘Come on, time to go!’ he announced, shaking one of the three heavy bags he was holding.

Elise rushed to him, boots thudding on the hardwood floor and red braids flying behind her. ‘I’ll help!’ She grabbed two of the bags and he let her have them; they were below the limit she could carry. For her, they were quite light even.

Tarioush hesitated before approaching them, the book still clutched in his hands so tight his knuckles were turning white. ‘Mr. D… Err, Valen, can I-‘

‘Already paid for!’ he winked and ruffled the boy’s dark curls, getting a bright smile in return.

Out in the street snow was starting to fall which Elise enjoyed, Tarioush not so much. He let go of Valen’s hand and pulled his thick, woolen scarf higher, his earmuffs and winter hat tighter. Elise was already at the end of the street by the time they started walking again. She stood facing right, bags forgotten at her feet. Valen walked faster; Tarioush having almost no problem keeping up. The girl had the tendency to run off without a word when something piqued her interest. ‘Tari, Tari! V! Look!’ she shouted pointing. Valen followed her finger.

The street, which led to a small market place, was crowded with people and covered in decorations, much more than the rest of the city. Strings of light were hanging from lampposts and here and there on firms and building facades. They were colourful and diversely shaped: from snowflakes and trees to animals and people. They sparkled and glistened beautifully, making it difficult to decide which to look at first. From mounted speaker came a nice melody, a carol maybe? He could not recognize the words and the people were quite loud so he couldn’t pinpoint the song exactly. Alluring smells came from the stalls: pastries, grilled meat, cinnamon, baked apples, mulled wine, tea and hot chocolate. He could count at least a half dozen of them, but there had to be more beyond the mass of pedestrian.

Elise grabbed Tarioush’s hand, pulling him along. ‘Come on! Let’s see what they have!’

‘Wait! No!’ And they were gone, slim bodies slithering between legs and big coats. ‘Shit!’ The bags were still in the middle of the pavement, too heavy for him to carry and hope to find them fast. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit! Mother of Snakes!’ Scrolling through his phone, he called his brother, only to be redirected to voice mail. ‘Of course you tuned it off! Git!’ He tried calling the children’s phones and gave up. It was too loud.

He found a bench and his the bags under it, then ventured into the crowd. His heart was racing. If they got lost nothing would save him from Mrs. Rashidi’s wrath; she did not like him to begin with. Calling their names was no use and more people were coming. He was pushed, shoved, his feet stepped on, got yelled at for blocking the way. Mumbled curses left his lift, a mix of English and Irish Gaelic. With shaking arms and legs he returned to the bench, the lump in his throat making it hard to swallow. The two twelve year olds were completely out of site

A snake shaped silver ring rested on his index finger. Prickling his thumb on its tail he pressed his palm on the hard, cold grown. ‘Find them! Elise and Tarioush. Find them and bring them to me!’ he ordered and his blood turned the reptile’s black opal eyes red.

Nathair crawled a few feet away his body growing, but remaining fairly small. He turned around looking at the human on the bench. ‘I give you permission!’ he hisses before changing the direction again and diving between the people.

Valed blinked. When he opened his eyes the right one was greened, the pupil slit. Everything was at ground level, boots, shoes, jeans clad legs and here and there the hem of a skirt or dress. He frowned willing, no wishing him to hurry up. The snake took a sharp turn. ‘Bingo!’ they said at the same time, Valen’s deep baritone blending with Nathair’s ancient hiss. In front of a small booth labeled Street Magic – whatever that was, tricks? Sleight of hand? Fake fortune telling? – a dark blue coat, long red braids; next to a thick dark brown cap and green earmuffs. The human sighed in relief, the snake hissing at the same time.

‘Natty!’ Elise cried excitedly when she saw the reptile climbing her leg. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I sent him!’ came Valen’s voice out of the sneak’s mouth. ‘Elise, how many times have I told you? Do not run off just because you saw something pretty or shinny!’

‘But -’ she began pouting.

Next to her, Tarioush was biting his lip, guilt all over his plum face.

‘No buts! Get back here! Nathair if you please?’

‘Certainly.’

Elise did not like it, but she knew better than to upset her brother even further. He was sweet and kind in general, but quite scary when he got angry.

[aaeoluss]

100 Years Excerpt: Part 2.10

Anna knew she couldn’t really say goodbye to May and George, but she wished she could. She tried to do so in her own way. She stayed in haunting mode for most of the day; she folded napkins and put them in a box when May and George were out of the room. She swept floors and checked under furniture for lost items (May and George weren’t interested in taking any of the ugly furniture that the house came with, so it remained in the third floor sitting room). She put trash into bins and ensured that the piles of boxes were all labeled (she tried her best to imitate Max’s handwriting, and she thought she did a good job).

By the end of the day, she was almost as worn out as the family was. She lay flat on her back in the center of the living room — a risky move, considering she really didn’t want to be stepped on, but nobody was really interested in this room anymore. It was dead silent. No fire, no radio, closed windows. This is what it’ll be like when they’re gone, Anna thought. She shook her head. She wished she would stop thinking about it.

taglist: @thatwritxrgirl @confunderewrites @pat-writes @ellfewritings @clarissalopeswriter @fluffythewritingplant