Hey everyone! Thank you @blackberrysummerblog, @larkral and @j-nipper-95 for the tags! Also, special hello to everyone who watched Eurovision! I am fully obsessed with Norway, Finland, Austria and Belgium's entries. Sweden can get in bin.
This week I've been plotting with @erzbethluna (she's put together a mood board that is inspiring and hilarious), editing What Remains After The Storm, and throwing down rough words on Selkie!Simon. Today I deliver some words from the upcoming chapter 11 of WRATS.
I stand, ready to help him to the bath, but instead he makes for the corridor, towards the kitchen and the outer door.
I grab him. He snatches at my hand, claws ripping into my arm. I yelp, pulling it back and clutching it.
He stops. We stare at the blood that trickles over my skin. Three weeping lines, long but not deep.
His face contorts, his eyes filling with tears, brightening like stained glass catching the morning light. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.
Hello all, and thank you for the tags @whogaveyoupermission, @j-nipper-95 and @aroace-genderfluid-sheep!
I think I’m finally coming out of a long pain flare (yaaaaay!) and it’s absolutely beautiful where I live atm. Everything smells like flowers and the ocean. This morning my husband and I fed birds, and we saw a pair of Eurasian nuthatches. Absolutely delighted to be back in this part of Britain.
Presently, I have a new(ish), secret(ish), short(ish) fic with a beta! Meanwhile, I’m shaping up What Remains After The Storm with help from another set of betas. Chapter 7 should drop tomorrow, and I’m so excited for all of you to see the art @erzbethluna has done for it. I always say something like this but it makes me swoon <3
Here are six sentences from the upcoming chapter.
We’re secreted within stone walls, beneath a tree that bursts through the broken roof. By ‘we’, I mean myself, Snow and almost two dozen goats, all huddled close for warmth. Outside I hear the sea rumbling in chorus with the cries of the gulls. Nearer to hand, magpies engage in raucous chatter.
The sea. Oberon, how I’d love a saltwater bath right about now.
Hello, fandom buddies! I'm not sure how long it's been since I've updated but thank you to everyone who's kept tagging me. Seeing what you're all working on always pumps me up.
What Remains After The Storm continues to come along well enough. The publishing hiatus not only means I should be able to start publishing weekly by the end of March; it also takes some of the (entirely self-inflicted) pressure off. It seems that, for me, publishing as I write is not a good fit.
I don't know if I've said this before buuuut I struggle to find six sentences. Maybe this is a problem specific to WRATS. It's tricky to find something that works without context and avoids spoilers.
BUT. Today I have precisely six sentences that are spoiler-free. Simon's POV, and he's reflecting on how he and Baz spent their time when they were younger.
[Baz] was dressed nicely, too. Not super-fancy, but it was dyed a deep crimson and it all fit him just right. Though he was always taller than me, he really looked taller than me, in those clothes. And his hair was getting long by then–hanging loose about his jaw after a day of gallivanting, but somehow, somehow, still good to look at. He looked regal. Grown-up.
Hello friends, and may this Wednesday be kind to you all! Or, like, super-dramatic and exciting; whatever takes your particular fancy. Thank you to everyone who tagged me on Sunday.
I’m making slow and steady progress with What Remains After The Storm. This past week I've mainly worked out some microscale issues; problem-solving small details and trying to get some scenes right. I’ll get into some proper writing again soon.
Here’s a little excerpt from the upcoming Chapter 5. Baz really wants to wash in the nearby stream, but his tail is proving an impediment and he’s not willing to accept Simon’s proffered solution.
“Let me carry you to the stream.”
I groan. “No.”
Snow wanders up to Rozen, whispering “there, there” as he gently shoos her away. His lips (Oberon, such lips) take on a playful tweak. “There’s soap waiting down there. Lavender soap. And clean clothes.”
“Delightful.” I scoff, despite how much I want both.
“And maybe you’ll catch yourself a little fishy.”
Yes, the fish in that pie was hardly satisfying. Cooked and drenched in sauce. I want my stare to convey annoyance, but Snow’s little laugh tells me I’ve let myself down.
Well, I’m absolutely not going to the bloody stream now.
Hello tags and a personal update (good news cosplaying as bad news) under the cut!
I’ve finally got a diagnosis for my chronic pain condition! The beast is named fibromyalgia.
Fibromyalgia doesn’t have a cure, and I’ve already implemented most of the suggestions for managing the condition. So why do I consider this good news?
Firstly, the ‘living with chronic pain’ part of all this has lost its sting. I’d already accepted that there was no fix, just ways to try to manage it. I’ve already grieved the things I’ve lost and learnt to live on a more “day by day” basis.
The reason I’m happy is because, when I’m in a situation where my chronic pain is a barrier, I no longer have to try and communicate that I have an invisible, undiagnosed and debilitating health problem (and hope it’s taken at least half-way seriously). It’ll be easier to communicate that I have a health problem, thus easier for me to find accommodations or explain my actions.
Just saying “I have fibromyalgia” isn’t going to solve all of these issues, but it will make my life just that little bit easier. Yay!
Hola folks! And thank you to @larkral @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer and @artsyunderstudy for the tags! If anyone else has tagged me and I've missed it, let me know. My tumblr is playing silly buggers and I'm trying to get it resolved. (This also partly explains my recent poor engagement--sorry, folks!)
Update for What Remains After The Storm
Still loving writing this fic, though I've realised it would be a better reading experience if I could publish a chapter weekly. However, presently I can't do so. Thus the fic will be on a publishing hiatus until I can near-as-hell guarantee a weekly update schedule. That should be early April. Sorry to those of you who've been reading along so far, but hopefully this will make for a much better reading experience.
Anyway, some many sentences of mer!Baz marvelling at Simon the goatherd.
He’s about to brave a cliff to satisfy my monstrous hunger. No hesitancy, no disgust. He’s just… doing it.
I’m forced to remember he’s an exceptional climber. When we were children, the mussels in this area were swollen and sweet. No one else could reach them. No one but Snow. I would crane my head over the cliff edge, just one more head amongst the peering goats, watching him scamper down and fill a string bag. We’d boil them over a fire and gorge ourselves.
That was many years ago. Now, Snow is stronger. Broader. His hands cleverer. He’d climb that cliff with more confidence than I’d presently have getting to my feet. If he could carry me up a cliff face, fetching breakfast must be child’s play.
He had been magnificent. Arms braced as he bore our weight, hands digging deep into in the rockface. When I’d woken and grappled at him, his stomach had been as hard as rock.
Hello everyone, may this Wednesday be a pleasant one for you all! Thank you @martsonmars for the tag, I love Basilton Bitch.
These past two days I’ve been bashing keys on What Remains After The Storm, both editing a couple of upcoming chapters and writing more distant ones. I’m feeling good about the progress, though there are a couple of small bits that I'm not sure how best to present. A little bit of mulling and I’m sure I’ll figure it out. I’ve also been pondering signing up for COBB.
Anyway, here’s a snippet from a far-flung chapter of WRATS (i.e. not final and needs revision). @raenestee, you commented that you felt bad for Baz being cooped up in a tub, so this is especially for you!
After several moments I hear movement in the water. I glance back before I can stop myself and catch Baz lying with his back arched, in the middle of a grand stretch. He’s undressed, but he doesn’t really look nude when his tail is out and shimmering in the water. All tension leaves his body and he collapses back. The grumbling noise he makes is a happy one. A clawed hand breezes over the fine grass beneath it, his pink tongue wetting his lips.
I’d thought him a monster. I won’t tell him that, but I had at first. But this isn’t monstrous. The [redacted] is monstrous, but that’s not him. What he is… Well, it’s wondrous.
