#wbwcommunity

[neptunalea]

hi, everyone. i’m urgently seeking beta readers for my dark fantasy drama, faultless zero. i would need feedback by january 10th, which would give you approximately a week to read and comment at the time of this posting. i realize this is short notice but i’m trying to enter this manuscript into a contest and i’ve been staring at it for about... five years, so. i don’t know what else i can do to make it better. here’s some basic info about the wip:

word count: 95k words

genre: (very) dark fantasy, lots of homicide and psychological introspection. this is a sad story. one reader said it made her fall on the floor and cry. 

summary:

Every Thursday at midnight, January Chaudhary meets Daxon Cavaco beneath a street lamp to smoke a cigarette. These meetings are not planned. They do not know each other. But they have everything in common—the same tan skin, the same vinyl-black hair. Even matching freckles. It comes as no surprise when Dax asks her if she’s his missing twin sister. 

The truth is that she’s been in another dimension all these years. Just as she’s about to explain, they both tumble into a portal. Now, January’s back in her other world, this time with Dax at her side. They uncover their ties to the royal Estafar clan just as a banished ex-monarch threatens to crush all the worlds into one in order to get back to her palace.

The older Estafar gives January and Dax an ultimatum: complete a blood ritual to become immortal, or perish with the majority of humanity. January has only just met her brother again, after years apart. She must choose one: live with him forever in a lonely world, let them both die in the wreckage, or find some way to stop the apocalypse.

FAULTLESS ZERO is a dark fantasy drama, complete at 95,000 words. It bears linguistic similarities to Catherynne Valente’s DEATHLESS and Erin Morgenstern’s THE NIGHT CIRCUS. 

please message me if you’re interested in whipping through this MS and helping me polish it up! i will accept whatever help anyone can give me. line edits are not necessary (unless you want to do them!). i would love to receive comments as you go along, but i will also happily accept and appreciate end-of-story comments. thank you so much!!

[neptunalea]

I FINISHED LOVELY, DARK & DEEP!

Finally finished draft two of my manuscript, you guys! Seeking beta readers, if you’re interested send me a message!

Beginning:

End:

transcript/taglist under the cut!

Beginning:

Now that the bodies are buried, it ought to be clear what Adaline Hugo meant to me.

I always make the mistake of thinking the nature of things will become obvious eventually, but there are some hard enigmas even the ocean of time cannot make plain. Who was she? I barely know. She was equal parts wit, compassion, and lies. She wore insolence around her neck like a necktie. She loved driving, and she drove recklessly. Sometimes, during the long nights in our dorm room, she talked in her sleep, asking for directions, telling the time incorrectly. But she was shy when strangers were around, almost meek. She took a long time to order at restaurants. She struggled to tell right from left, but she could always find true north. 

She was the first person I met at Hobson College. 

End:

I think of what happened in the late afternoons, as the sun begins its slow descent, as the evening settles like drops of darkness smearing themselves against the atmosphere. Perhaps it was foolish to have hoped for something better, for a life unhaunted. In its worst moments, the Addie affair promised only an endless, dark hallway from which I might never emerge. In its best, a comfortable contentment. I wander in the memories.  

Perhaps one day I will walk in the light again. If I do, it will be on my own. No one will loop their arm around mine. When I sleep, I will hold myself, and it will be a dreamless rest.

taglist:

@lexwritesgayshit​​ @unlike-clockwork​ @writeouswriter​ @all-is-supposed-to-write​ @loxonstag​ @finitereststophighway​​ @glitterandstarshine​​ @vitrichor​ @unholieds​ @hekat-ie​ @suninks​ @morally-grey-writer​ @aetherwrites​

[neptunalea]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 4: LOVE INTERESTS

margot has two love interests in lovely, dark and deep--alexandre emile and adaline hugo. 

alexandre emile

Three paces ahead of me: Professor Emile, with his casual posture, shoulders broad in form but relaxed in his navy sweater, the left one lifted just slightly to support his brown bag. He was never overbearing; lean, but softly so. Benign. His hair shifted when he laughed at something the cashier said and then he went to wait for his drink. I knew it was a latte since his breath always smelled of cinnamon when he was on an earlier cup, during class. He handed the barista two crumpled bills in exchange and smiled: an easy, crinkled beam I saw in profile. He took his beverage to stay, in a porcelain cup with a saucer. 

adaline hugo

“Hey. You’re here. I’m Addie,” she said. She smiled like she was telling me a secret. “What’s your name, roomie?” She tossed her black-studded clutch onto her bed. It caught the light, which was pink as farm-raised salmon. The bag sat there, where it seemed to gain weight and its own gravitational force. She glided around the room like a phantom, on light steps, barely moving her arms.

“Margot Carmichael,” I said. Here was my great savior from boredom after a day of solitary unpacking. She was Venus on a chariot of seafoam. Something about the delicate lines of her neck made me feel like I should sit down again. After witnessing her in those first moments, I knew suddenly that if I were capable of love, the word itself was just an epithet of hers. 

In hindsight, I see that my loneliness colored this initial encounter. I latched on to her. But there was no other way it could have happened, noir-esque and carved in marble as it was. It was formative, something novel, unexpected in a way, true like an arrow to my chest. I saw in that girl the potential to alleviate my great, seemingly inherent isolation.  

taglist under the cut

@lexwritesgayshit​​ @unlike-clockwork​ @writeouswriter​ @all-is-supposed-to-write​ @loxonstag​ @finitereststophighway​​ @glitterandstarshine​​ @vitrichor​ @unholieds​ @hekat-ie​ @suninks​ @morally-grey-writer​ @aetherwrites​ @vlker​ @kryskakikomi​ @mortallynuttyqueen​ @chazzawrites​ @withlovehaven​ @chemicallycalm​

[neptunalea]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 2: SIDE CHARACTERS

GILLIAN WHITECASTLE--THE REMORSEFUL POWER-GRABBER

gillian first got involved with professor wilton’s secret society during her freshman year at hobson, helping him run his online roleplaying game. she is a senior in the herbalism program. she does a lot of the writing for the database of students’ personal information. when her best friend trini kills herself after gillian reveals her involvement in a plagiarism ring, she is filled with regret and abandons wilton and his dark project.

ALEXANDRE EMILE--THE DOPEY/CREEPY PROFESSOR?

alex is a diabolical kind of dope with ultimately good intentions. he is an adjunct psychology professor in a five-year joint masters-phd program at hobson with a focus in geriatric psych and alzheimer’s. he helps professor wilton run the roleplaying game in a big way, recruiting incoming students. he uses his power in the rp to get involved with margot early on in the book, but she quickly sees through him. he withholds information from margot and addie in the hopes that he can stop them from inhibiting professor wilton, since he believes wilton will help the adjuncts unionize next term. (wilton, of course, has no intention of actually doing this.) 

@lexwritesgayshit @unlike-clockwork @writeouswriter @all-is-supposed-to-write @loxonstag​ @finitereststophighway​ @glitterandstarshine​ @vitrichor​ @unholieds @hekat-ie @suninks

[neptunalea]

poetic prose novella | 8k words into first draft | tw: suicide drug use

> NOCTURNALIA is the story of V--., a young woman with no past and no one to turn to. Her boyfriend Corey just drove into a lamppost and they don’t know if it was suicide or just an accident. But he’s back from the dead, haunting her, trying to get her to die with him. 

Just as she’s about to pull the plug on life, her guardian angel, Alua, arrives on the scene. Alua is determined to keep V--. alive by showing her the drug-addled underbelly of the City of Collioppius. Surely partying hard enough will show Alua that life is worth living, even without her undead harp-playing boyfriend. 

She sleeps all day and stays up all night. She is a part-time go-go dancer. Join V--. as she drops acid, fucks capital-g God, and sprints down the line between life and death at top speed. 

> Part One:

I.

I am the anti-fae of the power plants. I eat iron and lurk under street lights like a bad smell. I wear black, white and gold. I flicker in and out of parties, alt-dimensions where time doesn’t go straight. I dig out raves and basement shows. I slide through those chaotic spheres like a shadow, pressing my lips to the forehead of anyone who buys me a gram. Sometimes I’m a go-go dancer, half-specter, half-naked. When you see me in my panties and virgin skin, it’s only for a second. Then I disappear into the crowd.

 II.

I’ve been anti-fae for six weeks now, but nighttime still holds novelty. I’ve been using it to indulge my deepest sadnesses; each one is a mass of velvety despair in my gut. Gunmetal-heavy, they anchor me to the world. My eyes are forgetting the sting of sunlight, my mind the concrete-eating anxiety of interacting with baristas and bank tellers.

To be seen by people is my great anxiety.

This is one of the main reasons I took so well to nighttime. At three in the morning, no one asks if I’d heard any good music lately, or if I’m planning to go to the grocery store that afternoon. I can hold my marbles of sadness inside me and treasure them like a dragon on a mountain of gold.

I’m in Corey’s apartment on the living room couch. The lights are off. Through the window, I watch the dark parts of the vacant lot across the street. (Maybe something inside them watches me, too.) It’s filled with debris; the City has summoned me here with nothing but a tire iron and a fire pit. The way someone might put words in the mouth of God, I imagine what this place might tell me if it could speak. I will find you in the dark. I will pick you out like a bug in my hair. I will find you nocturnal. 

tagging nobody bc nobody is on this taglist, lemme know if you wanna be on it <3 

[neptunalea]

WRITEBOARDWALK FERRIS WHEEL DAY 5: ANTAGONISTS

PROFESSOR ADAM WILTON--PUBLIC ENEMY NUMBER ONE

He smiled at me. I felt off-balance; he wasn’t the black-haired bastard I’d imagined. He was a sunny brunette, with a strong jaw and sharp brown eyes, a wide mouth. He wore a white shirt and dark blue jacket. He had large hands and I thought if he stood, he’d be tall. Maybe even lanky. 

I wanted him to stop looking at me with those discerning eyes. He seemed to gaze into me, laying me bare like a snail without a shell. The more he looked at me, the more I felt as though I would fry. 

He stood and went to the kitchenette. I was right—he was lanky. He had brown corduroy pants that were just a bit short. There were mugs hanging from hooks and he chose a maroon one, setting it gingerly on the counter. His movements were slightly musical, like he was conducting an orchestra. Once he set the water to boil, he sat down again. 

taglist below the cut

@lexwritesgayshit​​ @unlike-clockwork​ @writeouswriter​ @all-is-supposed-to-write​ @loxonstag​ @finitereststophighway​​ @glitterandstarshine​​ @vitrichor​ @unholieds​ @hekat-ie​ @suninks​ @morally-grey-writer​ @aetherwrites​ @vlker​ @kryskakikomi​ @mortallynuttyqueen​ @chazzawrites​ @withlovehaven​ @chemicallycalm​

[neptunalea]

tagging some mutuals under the cut, also transcript

Part one. It is 2003. A man walks home at night in the snow, crosses a bridge over a frozen river. He is listening to Portishead in his headphones. A bereft angel stands shivering under a streetlamp, his single, long wing draped on the cold sidewalk. There’s been an accident. He will never fly again. He doesn’t know the way back to Heaven, doesn’t even know the way to Wal-Mart. 

The man gives him his jacket and offers him a cigarette, says he has a spare room that gets blue light in the mornings where the angel can sleep. They stop at 7-11 on the way home for laundry detergent. The angel is fascinated by Twix bars, by a food that exists strictly for pleasure. When he tastes one, he feels he has sinned.

There's a huge old gramophone in the tiny spare room. The man says they'll move it out in the morning so there's more space. The angel can stay as long as he likes. But in the morning, the angel is gone.

@haldimilks @vitrichor @vlker @ildsjels @sprigofbasil​ @berinswriting​

[neptunalea]

Hobson was nestled on one side of Alexia, New York, an austere little college town. Silvan sprawl threatened to take over at its edges, with its wild underbrush and knotted trees. It was as though the entire city had gotten lost between Poughkeepsie and Syracuse and had simply embraced its inability to return to civilization, had announced its arrival in the middle of the woods and dug its roots into the earth. Trees lined the city on all sides, impenetrable save the for through the narrow roads that vanished into their fathomless dark. I was a Texan from a family of new democrats, blue spirits capping an old red tradition, but I thought I might identify with that northeastern pedigree. 

I wanted to, anyway. 

taglist under the cut

@lexwritesgayshit​ @unlike-clockwork @writeouswriter @all-is-supposed-to-write @loxonstag @finitereststophighway​ @glitterandstarshine​ @vitrichor @unholieds @hekat-ie @suninks @morally-grey-writer @aetherwrites @vlker @kryskakikomi @mortallynuttyqueen @chazzawrites @withlovehaven @chemicallycalm