As a reminder that writing blocks can be removed by removing the last things written and trying again...
I just deleted a whole chapter, a side character, and subplot.
Because they weren't working.
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As a reminder that writing blocks can be removed by removing the last things written and trying again...
I just deleted a whole chapter, a side character, and subplot.
Because they weren't working.
Help make the words go
Wake and Glare (horror fantasy trauma monsters on the ocean)
Beliegered (knight x monster king horror romance)
Here there be witches (fairytale horror)
A Walk (lonely vampire horror)
I'll work on them all eventually, this is my 'finish this year' list, but my brain is an egg frying in a pan set far too high.
So I could use some direction before things get scrambled.
Fuck it. Brain refuses to write what it's told so I'm using you creatures to coax it into writing one of these things that are vying for attention currently.
They are all horror. It is, it is what I write.
Tags have the titles, if you're curious but I am using the most basic descriptors for the poll.
What should I write
Erotic clown horror
Vampire horror
Monster horror romance
Next book in horror fantasy series
Monsterotica
Mirror horror
Watch a puppet be gross for an unknown amount of pages
Nine Lines Tag
Got slapped by @keeping-writing-frosty over here, and my own sister (@rowanmgrey-author) over here.
So I guess you get double? Am I sharing eighteen lines?
Yes. Yes, I am.
--
The suns shone brighter at the border, a wall of orange simmering on the horizon just beyond the sea of gray light the kingdom was, and Ansul marveled at it. He had questions for his men, who’d lived longer beneath the stormy skies...but he wouldn’t have a chance to ask them.
Night approached and as the moons rose so would the ghouls.
His men went over the rites of the land, "a fleck of bone for the dead God, a spark of light for the suns, and a song for the soul."
The 'song' could be anything, Ansul knew, even a hum so long as it was done with reverence would pacify. His knights had other ideas, with one breaking into a dirge in a language unknown to Ansul's ears.
While the others prepared fire.
Those who could not wield magic, as Ansul could not, filled glass bottles with strong alcohol and stuffed a cork fitted with sparking stones into them. When needed, they would turn the cork, spark the flame and throw the bottle.
Iron, as all their weapons and armor were, fended off dead and magic alike. Useful when the fire failed or the undead were mages in life—their spells twisted to curse and rot instead of burn.
As all those oranges bled to blues, with the grays surrounding them dipping ever-closer to blacks, they abandoned carriage and horse to the border and walked into the village.
Nothing waited for them. Nothing living. Bodies were strewn, haphazardly, about the road and draped over fences. A few, torn wide with their insides hung glistening in the moonlight, dangled from rooftops and shop signs.
Silence hung thick and low, amplified by the dirge singing again from one of his knights and a layer of silvery mist. Ansul breathed deep of rot and damp, of blood and decay, and he grinned wider, painfully so, sword held loose and ready.
A droning froze them all. Deep and hungry, too like a growl it clawed through the mist, caught and reflected in eerie echos until direction grew meaningless.
--
I am tagging YOU, but also @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites @wyked-ao3 and @willtheweaver (yes I know it isn't nine, I've forgotten who is up for the games >.>)
//wrote words today so have some words... from Beliegered wherein someone is proposing again without proposing and is caught//
Another change of clothes was required for the rain, with Ansul insisting on hanging his on the racks adjacent to the training hall where the washbasins were kept—for Nan's wrath—while Enric insisted they visit the library. To continue the sharing he was meant to do...with growing hope he'd be doing so with the right man.
"'Knights are forbidden in the library'," Ansul quoted, not attempting accent but pitch for Nan's sharpness, as he followed his king down corridors he'd not traveled.
Earning too scrumptious a giggle before explanation, "Two were caught trying to replicate a few lurid images they found with women invited from the village. I imagine Nan would not wish to see such a sight again..."
"Lurid art kept in your library," Ansul mused, leaning to whisper in an ear too close, "Is my liege lonely?"
"Desperately," came a matched whisper. A sharp turn and a strong hand saw Ansul against the stones after, head tapping a painting he didn't get the chance to admire as gray eyes too hot admired him. Enric grinned close and sharp. "Will you cure me, sweet Ansul?"
Keeping lips from touching those twitching for them, Ansul did grab the waist and yank his king closer, as he breathed in far too slow. Speaking as he exhaled, "No."
Laughter, high and popped preceded soft hands in his beard, softer lips on his. Saw through me, did you?
You're terribly transparent, Ansul teased in thought and touch, sliding a hand up a shirt loose enough to beg for it. Given his tongue back, he used it, "I will gladly stymie your loneliness, however, for as long as you can stand me without the collar."
WiP Acrostic Tag
Tagged by @winterandwords here
📝 Share a sentence from your WIP that starts with each letter in the word given to you by the person who tagged you.
I am a tagging EVERYONE (and making the taglist post, I swear)
Your word is: TEAR
--
Mine is HEART
Wheel chose 'Beliegered'
Honor did not serve one while cutting down voyaging nobles, nor did rules serve in the blood-soaked terror of a village on fire when there were valuables to snatch and moaning toys to collect.
Enchanting, the man is enchanting, he would think often, say never, and retire to long baths in water colder than preferred—haunted still by gray eyes and broad shoulders, hands he imagined rough for the ax the King kept always on his back.
A few well-timed kicks and a bright and searing ball of agony later he woke on a cold floor.
Raucous the crowd, flooding the arena with howling bliss for the show.
There he dug iron under the man’s helmet, knocked it off, held his chin with swordtip and demanded, “beg.”
It was just hot enough today that I passed out while writing notes on my phone and watching my son play Ghost of Tsushima (for like the third time, he's doing NG+ on hardmode now and likes to ask things because he knows I beat the ever-loving daylights out of that game).
I slept for four hours in the most awkward position on the couch. I went right to bed when I woke up too, slept maybe two more hours.
Now I'm awake at 1am and have no idea what to do with myself.
...going to try to write more Beliegered, as it has been gnawing at me. Can't lie either, it does seem the easiest to finish and maybe market of the things I've got going on right now.
Maybe. I don't really know. Who knows what sells.
I know it's fun to write and can only hope it's fun to read.
Beliegered -- Simply Men
A long snip featuring the slow removal of armor and a lot of questions going unasked or ignored.
--
While a rather loud celebration reverberated through the castle the King maintained a soft voice as he led his knight into the low light of an elegantly decorated hall. A hall Ansul had never been in, as it was roped off for all but King and cleaning staff.
"You have exceeded my expectations," that soft voice told him and the grin, sly and small over a robed shoulder, inflamed, "and I set very high expectations…"
"My liege," it wasn't quite a question, or even a word so much as a puff of air pretending to be.
But understood, "none of that, remember? We are simply men in private. No titles. No lies."
"Lies, m—" caught before the title slipped, obeying the King's command, however gently it fell and, as he lost him around a corner, he swallowed and tried louder, "I guarantee I've spoken no lie to you."