#draft 1

[doodles-by-me-kat]

First draft of my Dunk x Baelor Art based off of John William Waterhouse’s The Lamia

[oceanevanss]

Chapter Three: What the King Knows

The king looked smaller in the morning light. 

Or perhaps Aurelia had stopped pretending not to notice. 

Her father was at his desk when she arrived, not working, which was how she knew he had been waiting for her. The desk was always covered in papers. When she found it clear, it meant the papers had been moved, and the papers only got moved when he wanted to have a conversation that required the whole of his attention. 

“Close the door,” he said. 

She closed it and took the chair across from him. He looked at her for a moment, not as a king, or really even as a father. Just one person regarding another. Getting the measure of them. 

“The Midsummer Feast,” he said. 

“Tomorrow night,” she confirmed. 

“I’m going to name you my heir.” 

She had known this was coming. She had gathered enough pieces, over enough years of careful conversations, to see the direction of things. She had known, and believed that knowing would spare her the weight of hearing it said plainly. Here, in this room, where she had learned everything real she had ever learned. 

She had been wrong about the weight. 

“The formal declaration,” she said, “before the full court?” 

“Before the full court. Lord Brenn has drawn up the legal instruments. It will be binding by the laws of succession as they’ve stood since my grandfather’s reign.” He folded his hands on the bare desk. “If I wait, the council will begin to make arrangements. And the council, as we both understand, contains men who are making arrangements already.” 

Vessen she thought. And two others from her private register. Lord Carro, of the eastern marshes, had traveled three times to Dreveth in eighteen months on business no one could name. Old Lady Renthe, who had no opinions of her own and so reflected whoever had spoken to her last. Vessen had been speaking to Lady Renth a great deal lately. 

“I know,” she said. 

“If my name is on the declaration, they cannot easily undo it. There will be challenges. There are always challenges, and some will have resources I can’t anticipate. But a named heir is a harder problem than an unnamed one.” He paused. “I should have done this years ago.” 

She had waited a long time for that sentence. She had imagined how it might feel – the vindication, the relief. She had not expected it to feel so much like grief. 

“Why didn’t you?” She kept her voice even. 

Her father looked at her steadily. He had always been willing to be looked at directly, which was rare than people supposed. 

“Because I thought I was protecting you.”

“From what?” 

“From exactly this.” His gesture might have meant the room, or the palace, or the issue of being a king’s only child and a daughter at that. “From the kind of attention that changes a person before they’ve had a chance to become themselves. From men who would have started managing you at fourteen, if I’d given them reason to believe you mattered.” He took a breath. “I watched your mother try to navigate this court. I didn’t want that for you.” 

Her mother had been graceful, and watchful, and had died when Aurelia was eleven. She remembered her most clearly in rooms like this one. Still, alert, doing the invisible work that nobody named and nobody thanked. 

“I’m not my mother,” she said. 

“No,” he agreed. “You’re considerably more alarming.” 

It surprised a breath of laughter out of her, which she suspected had been at least half the intention. She let it settle. 

“I want to say this properly,” he said, “because I doubt I’ll be given a better hour for it.” He did not look away from her. “I have always known what you are. I knew it when you were seven and corrected the Rethmark ambassador at a state dinner, and I knew it every year after. Watching you learn this court faster than men who’d had thirty years’ head start. You were never not capable, Aurelia. I never once doubted the steel in you. I kept it sheathed. I kept you in silk and small concerns and let the whole court believe there was nothing in you worth looking at.”

He paused, turning his hands over on the desk. 

“I told myself it was protection. And it was. But it was also a kind of theft, and I knew that too.” His voice stayed level, as it always did when talking to her. He had never once raised his voice at her. She understood suddenly that this had been its own kind of discipline. “I now believe that was a mistake. And tomorrow I start making amends.” 

Aurelia sat with the quietness that fell between them. She was moved. She could feel the movement, an actual physical thing between her ribs. I have always known what you are. A sentence she had needed for twenty-two years. She was also frightened. Why was he saying this now? He was a man settling his accounts the hour he believed his ledger was closing. And underneath both feelings, familiar and unmistakable, there was anger. 

“You could have told me,” she said at last. Her voice came out quieter than she intended. “Not the court. Me. You could have let me in.” 

“Yes,” he said. “I could have.” He did not defend it. 

“I understand why you did it.” And she did. She could build the reasoning in full. She could see every decision that had led to every other decision. And the love that threaded through all of it. Because it had been love, that was the unbearable part, negligence would have been so much simpler to carry. Understanding did not close the distance between what she was and what she might have been. She set that thought aside, in the place she kept things she could be angry about later. It was becoming crowded. “What do you need from me before tomorrow?” 

“Nothing.” He said simply, a man at peace with his decisions. “I need you to stand in the hall and be who you are. That will be sufficient.” 

“And after?” 

“After, you will need to move quickly. Some people will decide the announcement is–” he chose his next words carefully, “an opportunity to accelerate their plans.” 

She looked at him. “You think they’ll move at the feast itself.” 

“I think they may not wait longer.” He held her gaze. “Which is why I want you to have this.” 

He reached to his right hand and removed his signet ring. 

She had been looking at that ring her entire life. Heavy gold, thick banded, the Varenholm crest cut in dark red stone – a stag over a field of stars, worn smooth at the edges by forty years of a king’s hand. She had seen it pressed into wax on every document that mattered. She had seen it at her mother’s funeral, at every feast, and on the quiet mornings when he worked in his chair while she read in hers, the two of them keeping company without any need to speak. 

He set it on the desk between them. 

“For when I can’t speak for myself,” he said. 

She picked it up. It was heavier than she expected. There were a number of things she could have said. She considered several of them, and set each one down. 

“I’ll need it sized,” was what she did say. “It’s too large for my hand.” 

Her father looked at her for a long moment. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry it took me so long.” 

It was not clear whether he was apologizing for the ring or for the years. She thought the ambiguity was deliberate. She thought it was his kindest way of apologizing, and she loved him for it, in the complicated way of understanding someone’s choices even without quite agreeing with them. 

She closed her fingers around the ring. The stag pressed its small shape into her palm. “Get some rest.” Which was the kindest thing she could think to say back. 

She was nearly at the door when he spoke again. 

“Aurelia.” She turned. He was still in his chair, the light behind him, and he was smiling at her. Not his kingly smile for court. The other one, the one that had always been just hers. “They are going to underestimate you. All of them. It is the last advantage I have to leave you, and I built it without meaning to. Use it well.” 

— — — 

The corridor outside ran long between the private wing and the main hall. At this hour it was empty, except for Caelan. He was at his post beside the door, in his silent way. She had walked past this version of him hundreds of times. She knew it the way she knew the corridor itself. 

She walked three steps and stopped. She wasn’t certain why. She was not given to stopping in corridors. She had places to be, she always had places to be. The steady business of getting from one place to the next had served her for as long as she could remember. A way of staying in motion, so that things could not quite catch up. 

She looked up at Caelan. He had been with her for six years. He had been in the rooms where she was managed, the rooms where she was praised, the rooms where she had performed for people. And the rooms, like the dressing chamber yesterday morning, where she was only trying to find the right color while everyone made it more complicated than it needed to be. He had been there through all the years her father had spent deciding she needed protecting. He had stood at this exact post through several hundred conversations of varying weight, and he had never once, in any of them, given her the impression that whatever waited on the other side of that door was more than she could carry. 

She didn’t know why she was seeing this now. Then again, she suspected she did know, in fact, and was declining to examine it. Which was fair enough. She had a ring in her hand and a feast tomorrow and more important things to think about. 

He was watching her with careful attention. “Your Highness,” he said, which was a question. 

“Nothing,” she replied. “Let’s go.”

She walked. He fell into step. The corridor moved past. 

She tucked the ring into her bodice and did not let herself think anymore about it.

[claudiarhys]

from my current work in progress, Lost River:

I had been small once, with all that wild and green.

But she disappeared one night, as blood pooled along the edges of the crags.

Replaced by a small bundle of light, she was shrouded in moss, and yet the light still peeked through.

Green as the shadow of the bootsteps that trailed behind me.

Green in colour, as all was.

Her light.

Lingering above the mist of the water that had surrounded me all of my days. Throwing tiny, wet pebbles at my window every morning, until the moon dipped into her home and then again.

Yet I had feared her, this whole time. She was right there.

Right through those man-made walls we stacked with our tired hands, as if trying to keep her out.

Perhaps I had known a mother's grief long before today.

The good man. He had not feared her,

He just stood behind my left shoulder as he always had.

Since we were light ourselves.

We already knew what it had meant to bleed together, flowing through rivers in this life and the last.

He was pulling me out of the reeds. He still saw that small girl I had lost again only hours before.

I told him no, it was not me anymore. I pointed to the wisp of light over the loch. "I am not her," I told him, "she is right there."

As he looked over towards my pointed finger, she was gone.

He whispered to me not to worry, because he never saw anything but green when he looked at me.

Nothing but green and the wild.

When he was gone, he did not become a small green light like she did.

He became the way the word green fell from his lips the last night I saw him. In the frogs, in the land, in my head and my gut.

I thought the oath would wash down the river along with his body. But he kept it, even in death.

This time, I did not fear the new sounds, nor the light.

He whispered that he could not leave, not when parts of his soul swelled in my arms and in my belly. He told me that his soul was already carved into my own long before we created the new pieces.

When the other man took him, three was all I had left.

Just three.

But the other man found himself a god. He was only its vessel, mocking the earth, expecting me to kneel, picking us away little by little.

Our sweetest three.

With them, I could touch the green with my own two hands. They were me, and they were him, and I loved them.

Then came the croaking warnings. I could not run. I could only listen.

The false god sent two men this time, one for me, and one for him.

One final debt.

And now, there is only one. And I am the only danger to him now.

Yet, the other man did make one mistake. He gave us all back to the water.

(throwing up posting this)

[steph-manser]

The Undead Cemetery

A while back, I mentioned that I was thinking about writing some short stories on the horror/comedy scale. This is the first one. If 1 is pure comedy and 5 is pure horror, I think this one's about a 3. Do you agree?

Tagging those who commented on the post: @diamalexan, @sarnai4, @casiavae

Warnings for flirting, descriptions of undead, and terrible jokes.

Cadfan breathed in the dense earthy air. The cemetery was coated in fog so thick that it was hard to even see the iron-wrought fence. He briefly squatted down to touch the mossy ground. This cemetery had not been visited in some time, and the trail was overgrown with vegetation. 

“We’ll have slippery footing,” he warned Menes and Cateline. “Are you two ready for this?”

“Stop dithering, Cadfan. It is unbecoming of a man.” Menes removed his sword from its scabbard. His dark skin was mostly hidden by his plate armour except for the slits in his visor. He winked at Cadfan good-naturedly. “Ephemera, guide my blade against the undead we are about to face.”

In response to his prayer, the sword started to glow a soft red. It now matched the embossed sunset trim of his armour.

“Let us go.” Cateline agreed. She tied up her wavy black hair, and the pair of large hoop earrings on her left ear chimed when they rubbed each other. Her priestess robes were simple and humble, but her earrings glittered in the red light from Menes’ sword. 

“No wonder we can never sneak up on our foes.” Cadfan loosened his shoulders with a couple simple stretches before removing his morning star from its anchor point on his belt. “Menes, watch our six in case they try to swarm.” 

“How many times have we fought the undead? We are specialists, Cadfan. And in case you never noticed, I am always watching your six. And your pecs. And-”

“Save it for later, please. I beg you.” Cateline sniffed the air. “They are coming. I smell the rot of dark magic.”

Cadfan had to trust the priestess; he only smelled dank petrichor. He swung the morning star in one arm to release his malaise, then the other. The clearing of undead at this cemetery was a hefty commission even for an experienced team like theirs. They had to be careful to leave a path to ensure their escape if necessary.

Menes lightly tapped Cadfan on the shoulder. “Do not worry. Ephemera is on our side. For Her glory!” 

The reddish holy light of Ephemera’s blessing filled the cemetery’s courtyard. It revealed the moss-covered headstones, the overgrown hedges that bordered the vegetation-laden path, and a large mausoleum in the centre. Fungi crusted the trunk of the tree next to the mausoleum like rusty leaves since it had none in its crown. 

Five humanoid shapes rose up from behind headstones, and shuffled their way. The walking corpses were old. They barely had any flesh left on their bones, their sinews were missing, and their clothing were rags. Unholy magic was all that held them together, and the tattered rags appeared to be fused into their bodies, like they were filling in for the missing flesh. Two of them had bronze daggers, one had a half-rotten cudgel, and the last pair were unarmed. All five’s jaws were cracked, as if they had bitten something so hard that they had ruptured the bone.

As a distributor of blunt-force injuries, Cadfan was familiar with the look of a smashed jaw. The hairline fracture on the walking corpses was not caused by a true weapon. “Did they bite something? It must have been harder than-”

“My-”

“A rock.” Cadfan interrupted Menes firmly. Heat rushed to his face and ears.

“I mean, it rhymes with rock.” Menes chuckled.

“If you keep at this, I will not heal your injuries. You will have to recover at a normal rate, and my ears will be happier.” Cateline warned him. 

“Cat, do you really think an injury will stop me for long? Ephemera wants me to bring others joy-” 

“Can we focus?” Cadfan grumbled. His blush only darkened when Menes winked at him again. 

Instead of acknowledging the heat Menes inspired, Cadfan rushed at the slow-moving undead. This is what he was made for. This was simple. His long legs covered the distance quickly, and the corpses almost seemed to wait for him to strike with his morning star. He crushed the first one’s skull with a downward swing. The body staggered, then collapsed in a heap as the magic that animated it weakened. Cadfan side-stepped to maintain some distance from it, then did the same to the rest. 

“You are a fine specimen.” Menes complimented him. “I may swoon.”

“No one will catch you.” Cateline smirked at the large man, mildly amused when Cadfan blushed again. She was a full head shorter than Menes, and he weighed more than she could lift even without armour. With it on, Cadfan was the only one who could move the warrior-priest if he got injured.

“Can you two actually help? I can’t finish them.” Cadfan crushed the first corpse’s knee when it tried to stand. 

“He is bossy in bed too.” Menes whispered to Cateline. 

“I’ve heard.” She put her hands together and chanted a quick prayer to release the corpses’ souls from their bodies. Something made her frown, and she went over to one of the bodies. “The magic to animate them was strong. They weren’t driven to rise by resentment alone.”

“Ephe says that this place has not experienced joy in centuries.” Menes said after a moment. 

“Are cemeteries ever joyful?” Cadfan asked dubiously. Menes’ goddess had a strange perspective when it came to the material world. Any gift was joyful, even the gift of death. It may be why she liked red so much.

“They border the arcane. This one has not had the living to tend it, so its joy faded with too much stagnancy. No gods were called to bring the souls into the cycle of rebirth.” Menes frowned as he listened to Ephemera’s chatter in his mind. She had a tendency of speaking in an uneven cadence, as if their link fluctuated in strength. “She is saying this place sucks away joy like Cat’s puritanical god. I am quoting.” He added defensively when she glared at him.

They were interrupted by the sudden flaring of red light in Menes’ sword. This time, Ephemera’s light illuminated twenty stumbling undead. Five were ghouls, their flesh intact but taut over bones, their teeth as sharp as feral dogs’. Ten were skeletons, their flesh completely worn away by time. The last five were wraiths, their darkened souls kept in place by evil magic. 

The adventurers went to work. Cateline started to cast a large-scale holy spell to purify the undead. Menes sliced through the ghouls who tried to rush the priestess. Cadfan knocked the skulls off of the skeleton’s shoulders one by one, then bashed their leg bones to immobilize them. The undead almost seemed to freeze before they were hit, resulting in heavier damage to their bodies. Once the skeletons could only crawl towards the adventurers, Cadfan went to hold off the ghouls while Menes dealt with the wraiths. They shrieked as the holy blade cleaved away vestiges of their corrupted souls. 

Finally, Cateline’s spell encircled the undead. The wraiths dissolved into motes of light, their physical forms long-since reduced to dust. The ghouls shrieked, but dissolved into pools of rotten flesh. The re-animated skeletons fell apart with a relieved sigh.

“Did that seem too easy?” Cadfan checked his morning star for damage. He wanted the spikes to stay nice and sharp.

“The ghouls seemed sluggish.” Menes agreed.

“Those wraiths just screeched. They cast no spells despite their strong miasma. They should have had the ability to use magic.” Cateline thoughtfully fiddled with her earrings which doubled as anchors for her spells. The purification of the dead had tarnished them. She removed a small vial of water she had blessed, and dampened a cloth before wiping the residue of evil magic away. 

“Is the miasma still present?”

Menes concentrated, then nodded at the same time as Cateline. “There’s more.”

“Mausoleum?”

“Mausoleum.” Menes agreed sourly. It was difficult for him to maneuver well in narrow spaces. A mausoleum would reduce him to being Cateline’s shield, not a second fighter. 

“Come on. Be a nice shield maiden.” She teased.

“If I was a maiden, you-”

His retort was cut short by the rumbling of earth as it moved. A group of twenty skeletons in full plate armour rushed out of the mausoleum, apparently released by the sound. Their iron boots crushed the plant life and scraped around the cobbles below.

Menes stood in front of Cateline protectively while Cadfan darted around the new group of undead. Unlike the ones before, their modern armour was in good repair, though the padding worn underneath the metal to prevent chafing had rotted away. He bashed out their knees and retreated. While his morning star’s spikes could pierce the chest plate, it was likely to get stuck. It was more practical to immobilize them.

The stench of rot sharpened, and Ephemera’s light flickered. Shocked, Cadfan glanced back at Menes but the man was still fighting. If he was wounded, it was hidden by the gloom and his red armour.

“Holy purification!” Cateline shouted.

The light of her magic rushed out in a cone pattern, and the skeletons crumbled. Oddly, the ones who were safely at the edge stepped into the beam of light. They followed their brethren into oblivion. 

Cateline wheezed. Her tanned skin was sweaty, and she nervously checked for more undead.

“Mana check.” Cadfan kept his eyes on the mausoleum. He had a bad feeling about it.

“Low.” She admitted. “Waves are more draining than a large cast.”

“We should go. We can come back tomorrow and finish the job after we rest.”

“But that treasure reward! You know those scavengers will swoop in and clear the rest of the trash now that we have taken care of-”

“Menes, I can’t finish off undead. It’d be all you. That’s suicide if there’s another wave like that.” Cadfan shook his head. “It hurts my pride too, but we need to be smart.”

A putrid fog exited the stone structure in the middle of the cemetery. Ephemera’s light flickered again as it encircled them, fully obscuring their path to freedom. The temperature dropped ten degrees, and the air grew heavy and hard to breathe. The fog coalescended into a gaunt man. His skin was stretched tight over his near-skeletal figure, but there were no signs of rot like the other undead. He wore a bronze crown on his head.

“A cleric, a warrior, and a paladin walk into a cemetery,” the creature’s voice was like a deep boom of shattering rocks. It echoed in the air and in their bones, as if he was speaking to their essences. “All the undead said ‘party’.”

The living trio stared at the creature, waiting for it to do something. They needed to catch their breath, and this creature seemed happy to wait for an answer to its strange words.

“What?” Cadfan ventured.

“Party. Like a party of adventurers.” The creature explained helpfully. It slapped itself on the leg, and laughed. 

That was when they realized it had told a joke.

“One more?” Menes asked Cateline. 

“It would be a service to all.” 

The creature took that as encouragement. “Have you heard about the carpenter? He became an alchemist when he left the door ajar. A jar. Get it?”

“Ephemera aid me!” Menes ran out the creature, Cadfan at his flank.

While Cadfan’s morning star cleaved through mist that instantly reformed, Menes’ blade was stopped by a dark barrier.

“Oh Ephe! Well met, once again.” The creature chuckled. “I’ve improved over the last few centuries. All of my friends laugh now. Wait. Where is everyone? They should be chattering with laughter.” He looked around the cemetery, occasionally parrying Menes’ blade. He saw the clusters of bones and armour, and his aura increased in potency. “My loyal minions! You!” Fog surrounded Cateline just as she finished her incantation. Light flared around her, but the creature moved through shadow out of its path. He reformed, his hands over her mouth. “Silence.”

She struggled to breathe through the stench.

“I’m a neck romancer, woman.” He added, stroking hers with a near-skeletal finger. “You know. A necromancer, but-”

“We get it!” Menes shouted. He swung his sword at the creature while Cadfan hastily drew a circle with chalk in an open patch of ground. While he could not activate the rune of holding, Menes could after the fact. “You. Are. A. Disgrace. To. Ephemera.”

Earthen shackles clamped around Menes’ ankles, and suddenly the large man was falling forward. The creature used magic to throw a gravestone at Menes, denting his chest plate. Ephemera’s light dimmed as Menes gasped in pain. 

“Sad thing about Ephe, child? She loves it when her priests are murdered as well. I’m her first priest. I should know.” The creature threw Cateline to the side, and his hands shifted into shadowy claws. He was about to swipe down at Menes’ neck when Cadfan rushed him.

With his morning star now coated in the last of their holy water, the creature had to parry Cadfan’s weapon instead of discorporating. When the earth trembled, Cadfan leapt away before the shackles could catch him. He swung again to protect Menes while the man fought to breathe with a dented chestplate. He heard Cateline chant, and his weapon became imbued with her holy magic. It was their last resort in a fight because it used up her mana at an excessive rate. She would not be able to heal them after this.

“Cat be nimble. Cat be quick. Cat is a trick. Like a cantrip.”

“Nonsense.” Cadfan grunted as the creature used its foggy stench to try and enter his mouth. It was hard not to gag as he waved it away with the morning star. 

“By Ephemera’s light.” Menes whispered. His hand was in the middle of a rune he had drawn in his own bloody saliva. Red light flared and the creature was temporarily stunned.

Cadfan bashed its head in, then its chest, and kept striking the mist until it flowed away. 

Cateline saw how its aura was resonating with a small statue near the opening of the mausoleum. It was a small shrine of sorts. “Phylactery is the statue on the dais.” 

Without hesitation, Cadfan ran up to the statue of a woman and destroyed it with a sharp blow. The dank aura of resentment disappeared from the air. The natural scent of petrichor was almost sweet after so much rot.

Ephemera’s light flared angrily around the shattered remains of the statue. Cadfan suddenly realized he had destroyed a goddess’ idol. Thankfully, Menes’ status as her bonded warrior-priest gave him a chance to avoid divine retribution.

“Sorry Ephemera. The lich made it his phylactery. I’ll make it up to you through Menes.”

“Yay. Glory done.” The man wheezed. The red light disappeared from the air, and from his sword.

Cadfan shuffled over to the still-prone Menes, exhausted. Cateline joined them, and they caught their breath.

“Ephemera- ow.” Menes hissed in pain, then continued at a lower volume. “Coin purse has the treasure. He buried himself to reanimate.”

Cateline went into the mausoleum since Cadfan was too tired to stand. She returned with a large bag of gold and a nice necklace. By that point, Menes had recovered enough to sit. Between the two of them, they helped the armoured man to his feet, and the trio hobbled out of the cemetery. 

Only then was Cadfan relieved enough to say; “imagine being stuck listening to that madman for centuries. No wonder they wanted a true death.”

“Absolutely monstrous.”

“Never mention that again.” Menes begged.

[noahtheknu]

Hello! I am a new author, and I want people to read my first draft that I have released(I am just curious if anyone would like to see it finish but even if no one wants I'll finish it anyways). Its not great(I hate how I used to write dialogue, I feel mad I don't make it obvious whos speaking) and I do warn my writing style has improved a lot(meaning when I finish writing this first arc I will most definently be rewriting chapter 1-5 and a bit of 6), plus its a bit melodramatic but I hope you all like it!

Link

(Sorry its a google site website I don't know if I could post my web novel anywhere else since its a first draft right now)

[malachitegriffin]

During my month long break of letting Draft 1 simmer, so I can start Draft 2 with fresh eyes, I've been working on characters for 'Sunken Treasure' and the potential sequel I'm planning.

With that being said, I just finished a book I saw recommended on TikTok, 'Before I Go To Sleep' by S.J. Watson, a psychological thriller/domestic noire that delves into identity and how resilient the human mind can be despite being under major stress/trauma. I absolutely rec it, though it does cover heavy themes of: Domestic VIolence, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological/Sexual Abuse, and Prolonged Exposure Therapy (PE), so I advise taking breaks if you read it (I had to even though i finished it in one day)

Next on my reading list: 'Daughter of the Siren Queen' by Tricia Levenseller

Editing/Writing Schedule for 2026:

-Instead of starting the self editing stage for Draft 2 on December 24th, I'll be starting it on January 2nd; I'll be starting with developmental edits

-I will be getting to those who have DMed me for interest in Beta reading ASAP after Draft 3 or 4 is polished (this may take a while, possibly late into 2026/early 2027, so I ask for your patience while I provide updates per usual on this blog). I don't have a set number for Beta Readers, so there is still availability open.

-Also, for Beta Readers, I'm in the process of drafting up the Google Doc with specific information I'll be looking for from you all (I will send this with the polished Draft 3/4 to the contact details you've provided)

I really appreciate all of you who've shown interest in me writing 'Sunken Treasure' and to those who've expressed interest in helping me get it to a professional level to where I can one day publish it!! I will be working on Draft 2 at about the same frequency as I did Draft !, though there may be more breaks in between to rest, as I am chronically ill/disabled and dealing with new health complications perpetuated by treatments that didn't work... (Yay, American Healthcare System /sarc), so make sure you have notifications on for my continuing progress on 'Sunken Treasure'!!

[hxh-playingcards]

three of clubs - first draft

[milestoearth]

🎉 Finished writing Draft 1 of my second novel, Unfinished Manuscript. Started working on it on September 18, and finished on December 25th. So about 98 days. I've written almost daily, sometimes 500 words or less, sometimes 2500.

So now the "fun" part begins, the editing process!

Stay tuned for more.

#books #writing #unfinishedmanuscript #wip #draft