Writing - Blog Posts

When writing stories with ensemble casts do you find yourself liking/writing more for certain characters? How do you write for characters that aren’t necessarily your favorites? Like I know Lenore and Annabel are more main than the rest so how do you manage the others? And how do you make them all so unique from each other?

If there's ever a character I feel like I haven't connected with, I just assume it's because I haven't "found" them yet. Like, sometimes you need to do a little searching to find the thread in them you can latch onto, if that makes sense? So whenever I feel disconnected from a character, I try to go back to that thread, and I don't proceed until I can feel it and am able to follow it myself. I name the threads as I go, like - it might be something like "paranoia", "mask", "disgust", "worthless" - like, core character themes/trajectories/feelings? - and naming the threads keeps them really different from each other. Because once you know the core of a character, you can stick to it really closely and then it's easy to notice if there's too much overlap with others. That's all really floaty and weird, how I described that. I don't know if I sounds insane or what, lol. But I swear that it makes sense in my head. tldr; I can more easily connect with certain characters than others. But I connect pretty deeply with all of them once I am able to "find" them. And after that, they're all very fun to write.

So, let me guess– you just started a new book, right? And you’re stumped. You have no idea how much an AK47 goes for nowadays. I get ya, cousin. Tough world we live in. A writer’s gotta know, but them NSA hounds are after ya 24/7. I know, cousin, I know. If there was only a way to find out all of this rather edgy information without getting yourself in trouble…

You’re in luck, cousin. I have just the thing for ya.

It’s called Havocscope. It’s got information and prices for all sorts of edgy information. Ever wondered how much cocaine costs by the gram, or how much a kidney sells for, or (worst of all) how much it costs to hire an assassin?

I got your back, cousin. Just head over to Havocscope.

((PS: In case you’re wondering, Havocscope is a database full of information regarding the criminal underworld. The information you will find there has been taken from newspapers and police reports. It’s perfectly legal, no need to worry about the NSA hounds, cousin ;p))

Want more writerly content? Follow maxkirin.tumblr.com!

I love my creative writing workshop! Sometimes, though, it's hard to tell whether I'm nervous about getting critiques or shaking with excitement over it like a hunting dog stood in front of a rabbit.

A character I wrote in my short story Cowboys, Pau, is specifically only listening to bluegrass whenever music plays around him. Pau helps his community by doing odd jobs around town and cares deeply for those around him. Pau went to jail for punching a cop because he was out of line.

He's a badass cowboy of a man.

Alright, here ya go. I hope in these trying times a more heartwarming trans story can help people feel a bit better.

Word count: 4,942

Cowboys 

I woke up early on Sunday with the neighbor’s rooster and rushed down the stairs in my pajamas to make it to breakfast. Mama made good bacon, and it was worth scarfing down my share, even if she fussed at me that young ladies don’t eat that way. I never cared much when she tried to tell me about being a lady. I let her tie my hair back into two braids for school, and listened as she called me a pretty girl, but I couldn't stand much past that. I picked at my eggs, sticking my tongue out at the runny yolk spilling over my plate. Dex sat on the floor beside me, pawing at my chair until Mama stopped looking and I lowered my dish below the table to let him gobble them up. 

Papa glared at me from over his paper, his old wrinkly forehead getting all scrunched up as I tried to read the Sunday funnies and ignored him. He didn’t tell on me, he never did, only huffed before looking back down and turning the page. 

Mama took my plate and was starting to do the dishes by the time Pau came slinking down the stairs, a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. He scratched at his scruffy beard, and Papa gave him a mean look as he poured himself a mug of coffee. I always wondered what Papa would look like with a beard, but he laughed at me when I asked him to grow one. Mama dusted off her still-clean apron while muttering to herself about the smell of smoke spreading through the house. I grinned wide at my uncle, sitting on my knees in my chair with my hands pressed to the table to lean towards him. 

“Pau, you goin' to work today? Can I come? I can help.” 

Mama pushed on my shoulder to get me to sit back in my chair, and Dex yelped as my foot landed on his tail. I winced as he ran to Pau’s side who gave him a pat on his head, the mutt sneezing at me. Pau let out a long hum, taking a drag from his cigarette before checking the clock on the wall. Papa shook his head still looking at his paper.  

“Harley, shouldn’t you be studying?” He flipped another page, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. I wrinkled my nose at the thought of wasting the day staring at one of Papa’s history books. They were always about war and never had any of the good shootouts or bank robberies like the Westerns on television did. Papa never liked them, so Pau always watched them with me, and sometimes, when he’d blow his smoke out into the living room, he looked just like Clint Eastwood. 

Pau shrugged at me, already pulling on his boots, “We ain’t gonna take all day. It’s summer, Charlie. She’ll still have months to read all of them books.” He pointed up the stairs while reaching for his hat, “Kit, you got five minutes to get dressed, then I’m gone. Hop to it.” 

I jumped up from my chair and ran to my room as fast as I could, ducking out of the way of the hobby horse peeking through my closet. Its little brown head swiveled back and forth as I rushed to pull on my jeans and boots and grabbed my hat as I left. Mama called after me to stop running but I was already hopping into the passenger seat of Pau’s truck before I even realized she’d been speaking. 

The drive to Main Street always felt slow. I counted red cars to keep myself busy until Pau told me to think of the numbers instead of saying them.  

“Dumb kid. If you keep counting like that, you’ll start to forget your letters.” He shook his head, fussing with the radio as he waited for his light to turn green. 

I gave him a wide grin and laughed, air whistling through the gap in my front teeth. “That ain’t how it works, Pau.” 

Pau squinted at the road like he was thinking hard before he sucked on his cigarette again, letting smoke spill out his open window. “Whatever you say, Kit, you’re the brains, not me.” 

I stared at him a little longer before my mouth twitched, and I started to twiddle my thumbs. “Yeah, it doesn’t feel much like it though.” 

Pau raised one bushy brow, glancing at me before turning into the next street over. “Whatcha mean?”  

I let out a short sigh, picking at the edge of my seat, “It’s nothin’, just sometimes I don’t like bein’ smart.” The vinyl gave way under my nails, and I sat on my hands to stop them from fidgeting, “It makes people think I can handle a lot more than I can.” 

Pau took another drag before parking the car in front of Grant’s Supplies. He turned down the volume of the bluegrass song that was playing before laying his hand on my shoulder and looking at me. 

“Kit, I’ll give you a tip. People are tough on you because life is tougher. Folks just want to make sure you do good out in the real world. That's why even when things seem too hard, the best thing for you to do is to work harder and stay in school.”  

I didn’t meet his eye, instead focusing on the faded kneepads of his blue jeans. “You never went to school.” 

He gave a long sigh after that, opening the door and dropping his cigarette to stamp it out with his foot. “Point proven. Come on, we don’t have all day.” 

The door to Grant’s Supplies had a bell over it that dinged when you walked inside. Everything was made of wood, and every Sunday an elderly man who only spoke in low angry grunts and had his eyes covered by the constant furrow of his brow would come in the store to clean. I ducked past where he was sweeping behind the canned food and peeped at him through a gap in one of the aisles, holding up my fake finger pistol, and aimed for the bridge of his nose. I could practically smell the sheriff's reward of five hundred dollars for bringing this outlaw in, dead or alive. 

“Time to meet your maker,” I whispered, closing one eye and squinting, just about to fire. He must have heard me though. In the next moment, his head snapped to look at me and his eyes grew as wide as an owl’s. With a shout, I ran retreating to the counter at the front of the store where Pau stood with his hat to his chest, leaning into the blushing face of a lady with long sandy blonde hair. I rammed into his leg, sending him sideways a bit with an ‘oomph!’ but he stood to recover just as quickly as he had stumbled. The counter lady helped him up, laughing, and I stared perplexed by her perfectly manicured nails. 

“Oh goodness, are you alright?” She said, leaning across the counter and then looking at me, “Well hello there little lady.”  

I tilted my head away from her hands to squint up at her, still clinging to Pau’s leg. “I’m a cowboy.” 

Pau gained his footing again, looking a bit lost for words, and stuttered his way through an apology before turning to fuss at me. Before he could get anything out though she waved him off. 

“Oh, don’t apologize, I know how it is. My niece is just the same.” She talked with her hands and Pau began to smile before she carried on, “It’s just so nice to see a father hanging out with his kid.” The smile slowly dropped from Pau’s face, a distant look on his face as he turned to look down at me staring back up at him with big round eyes. 

“She ain’t my-” he was cut off by Mrs. Grant coming around the corner, her heels clicking on the floor as she huffed. 

“Well, would you look what the cat dragged in. Paul, I know you’re not flirting with another one of my cashiers.” 

I peeped up from behind Pau’s leg and Mrs. Grant’s narrowed brown eyes softened at the sight of me. “Hey, Harley honey, you helpin’ Paul today?” She slid a caramel candy over the counter, and I was quick to shove it into my mouth. 

“Yes ma’am,” I said. Pau heaved a sigh, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. 

She nodded to herself before turning to the counter lady. “That’s Charlie’s girl. Do you know Charlie?”  

The counter lady’s eyes went wide as she blushed an even deeper red, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought she was yours.”  

Mrs. Grant tapped the counter and shook her head, looking at Pau with a heaving sigh and narrowed eyes. “Yeah, you’d think that huh? You two always seem attached at the hip.” 

I lit up at the sound of that. People always thought I was Pau’s little girl. He said it was because I followed him like a lost kitten, so he called me Kit. I never saw it as a bad thing though. Pau was a good person to follow. He knew plenty about the right way to walk and how to talk himself out of trouble. I learned plenty trailing after him, even if Papa didn’t like it too much. After Pau came to live with us, Papa always mumbled about how he hadn’t been able to keep himself out of trouble since they were tots. 

“Yeah, well she’s just good help, that's all. Speaking of, I’m looking for paint. Ms. Carter needs a new coat on her fence.” Pau shrugged, and I watched as one of his hands dropped to his back pants pocket, grabbing at his cigarettes before letting it fall again. 

Mrs. Grant stopped her tapping and stared him down for a moment. It was a mean look that Pau turned away from, and I tilted my head in wonder of why. It didn’t last long as in the next moment she was turning to grab the paint buckets behind her. “White or blue?” 

Pau paid for two buckets of white paint, and then we were back in his truck. I counted blue cars this time, including his since there were fewer of them, and Pau said nothing. When I turned to look at him, he was biting his lip and had both his hands kept firm on the steering wheel. 

“I think that lady liked you, Pau,” I said, and Pau scrunched his face up tight giving a small smile. 

“Yeah, maybe so.”  

I kicked my feet, looking at my boots and the little pink lines painted into the brown leather. “Maybe you could marry her since you don’t have a wife yet.” I heard Pau scoff, “and maybe then I could come live with you two when you buy a house together.”  

Pau lit another cigarette, “Marriage ain’t that simple Kit, and I can’t buy a house.” 

I felt that he was just being difficult, but didn’t go on, instead I watched the cop car that came crawling up beside us at a stoplight. It sat lower than Pau’s truck, and the officer driving it turned to glare at us through the window. His nose looked crooked. I turned to Pau, my grin sharp but hesitated to say anything as Pau kept his gaze straight. He pressed himself against his seat, and the muscles on his hairy arms tensed where he was squeezing the steering wheel. His knuckles turned white from how hard he gripped it. I tilted my head a bit, trying to make sense of the funny way Pau’s eye twitched. 

“Does he know you Pau?” I said, trying my best not to whip around and glare right back at the cop. Pau’s cheeks turned a little red, and he moved his head just enough that I couldn’t see his eyes. 

“Don’t stare Kit. A cowboy has to mind the sheriff.” 

I said nothing, leaning back into my seat just like him until the light turned green and the cop passed by us. As we drove, Ms. Carter’s house and her faded fence appeared around the bend. She was sitting on her porch with a pitcher of lemonade when we hopped out of Pau’s truck. Pau waltzed up to her front steps and I followed behind him, trying to fit into the boot prints he left in the dirt path.  

Ms. Carter filled two glasses and nearly let mine overflow as she giggled over every word that tumbled out of Pau’s mouth, slapping at his arm. I rolled my eyes as she made some comment on liking men rugged, carrying the paint buckets and brushes toward the fence at the end of her front yard. Pau joined me after I’d already painted four posts and I looked at him with a bit of judgment, “She likes you too.” 

He shook his head, “She likes anyone who will talk to her.” He dipped his paintbrush into the bucket twice before swiping it over the fence. Before I could say anything, he was covering my mouth with his free hand, “I ain’t gonna marry her, so don’t bring it up.”  

I almost spit on his hand when he pulled it away, “I wasn’t going to say you should.” I swiped at another post, giving it a funny face before covering it up, “I just think maybe if you had a wife, she could tell Mrs. Grant to stop looking at you so mean.”  

He breathed out smoke and leaned back to look up at the sky like Mama did when she was praying, “There ain’t a woman in the whole damn world who would make Mrs. Grant stop looking at me like that.” 

I painted a stripe across three posts, my lips pursed into a thin line. “Why not Pau?” 

“Because it ain’t about the women. It's just me she doesn’t like,” he said. 

I threw down my brush, kicking at the fence post, “Well that ain’t fair.” He shook his head at me, and I almost kicked him too before I thought better of it. 

“No, Kit, it is.” He paid me no mind, dipping his brush again, “We can’t control how people think of us. We just gotta learn to accept it.” 

“Well, I think that's dumb.” I stuck out my tongue and picked at the grass below me, throwing it up into the air. Pau never did anything to wrong people. He would go out of his way to mow their yards or paint their fences. Mrs. Grant just didn’t know him that well, if she did, she’d see why he deserved her caramel candies too. “You’re good Pau, a real cowboy.” 

He laughed a little, though it sounded strained, and tipped his hat down to cover his eyes. “You’re a dumb kid,” he said, putting down his brush and wiping some sweat off the back of his neck, “But thanks.” 

We finished the fence by the time the sun was beginning to set, and Ms. Carter giggled and swatted playfully at Pau’s arms for an eternity before she paid him. When we made it back to the truck, Pau rubbed at his shoulder where she had managed to smack him with one of her bangle bracelets. 

“You should check for bruises” 

He gave me a look but still rolled up his sleeve, “Hush up.” 

When we made it back home, the earth had turned golden, and I ran through the grass of the front yard before Dex tackled me to the ground, sniffing all along my arms and shirt as I erupted into a fit of laughter. Pau came to lay beside us, his hat placed on his chest. I stared up at the clouds, taking in their sweeping hills that laid out like mountains across our flat horizon like in the movies. 

I let out a whistle, something I had been practicing for weeks now, and Pau gave me a hum of agreement, though he didn’t smile like usual.  

“One day I’m going to head out there, and I’m going to have a ranch, and you can come live on it with me,” I said, and Pau sighed, sitting up and leaning back on his hands. 

“I have to tell you something, Kit.” He said. 

I sat up beside him, combing away at some of the grass that had managed to get stuck in my hair.  

“What's wrong Pau?” 

He had this strange look on his face again, like he was far from me, and unable to draw himself back in. I watched him squint at the sun before he looked at me, the crow's feet by his eyes still showing like he was looking at something bright. 

“I have to,” he paused, his mouth still hanging open for a moment as he took in the tilt of my head, “I’m heading west. I’m gonna go find one of those big cattle ranches you’re always talkin’ about.”  

My eyes got big, and I jumped up to my knees to shake him by the shoulders, “Pau! You have to take me with you.” I said, begging with my fingers laced together. 

He shook his head softly, putting one of his rough hands on top of mine, “No Kit. You can’t come.” 

I felt a deep pain in my chest, stinging enough that I ripped my hands away to wrap around my middle. 

“Why not?” I said, soft and cracking as he gazed down at me. He rubbed at the back of his neck; his eyebrows knitted together. 

“It’s complicated. You have to stay here, with your ma and pa.” He tried to meet my eyes again, but I was too busy picking grass out of the ground, ruthless in my attack. 

“Kit, you won’t have a life if you come with me. You stay here, you’ll get to go to school, get a nice comfy job, and grow up to be someone you should be.” He sounded like Papa, and I never hated Pau more. I tried to plug my ears so he would go away, but he grabbed at my arms. 

“No, you can’t go. It isn’t fair!” I shook my head back and forth, kicking my feet as he just rubbed up and down my arms to calm me down. I wouldn’t. I refused to stop my fit even though I knew it wasn’t helping. The second he let go of me, I knew in my bones he would disappear, so I just kept yelling until his patience ran thin. “I can help. I can be a cowboy. You can teach me.” 

“Kit stop. No one needs me here; your daddy asked me to leave so I’m going.” He grabbed me tight and shook me. I went still in his arms, “I’m going kid, it’s already been decided.”  

“I need you,” I said, my voice soft and my throat tight. The sun felt like it was burning into me, and I wanted to let it, so I could have an excuse as to why I wanted to shrivel up into Pau’s lap and have him hold me. He softened his grip, sighing, and looking down to where Dex lay next to us whining.  

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head. 

“But if you leave I can’t-” 

“I ain’t your daddy, Kit.” He said with finality, and my heart felt cold and alone, “You have one. He's a good man. Don't you ever say he ain’t because I was raised with him, and I’ll know you’re lying. He’s already gotten me out of enough messes to make up a lifetime.”  

I shook my head again, looking down, “He isn’t you Pau.” 

Pau let go of me, grabbing his cigarettes from his back pocket and shoving them in my face.  

“You see these?” He shoved them closer, and I bit at the inside of my cheek to stop myself from snapping back at him 

“You think these are good? Do you think any of the things I do are things I wanna see you do?”  

It was a pretty box, the red always peeking out the top of Pau’s jeans. He took out one of the cigarettes, almost crushing it in his hand. 

“This, this is shit.” He threw it down and stood up to crush it under his boot. He looked giant, and unforgiving, like Papa when he had found out I had broken one of his old globes playing sheriff.  

My nose started to feel runny, and the tight funny feeling in my throat bubbled up until I could feel myself choking on it. The sight of him made my stomach feel hollow, and I ran away before he could say anything else.  

He called after me, but I didn’t listen, crashing through the screen door right into Papa’s arms. He stood shocked as I cried into his crisp white shirt, hitting his sides. The fabric scratched at my face, and my tears left it stained and ugly, but he didn’t push me away, so I stayed. 

“Harley, what has gotten into you?” He said it lightly, one of his hands placed softly on my back. It felt awkward, and he didn’t hold me closer than he had to. He looked around the room, and I knew it was for Mama. I butted my head against his stomach, and he furrowed his brow as he looked down at me. I glared right back, and he sighed, a tired look pulling at his face that made me want to scream. 

“Why don’t you go clean yourself up, your mother is making chicken tonight, maybe you could help her?” I detached myself from him before I could start yelling, running up the stairs to hide in my room.  

I sat huddled up in bed, the quilt Mama had made me drawn around my shoulders until the sun had fully set, and I could see the moon peeking up behind the trees through my window. I opened it to hear the crickets sing and leaned out to feel the warm summer air pass over me. Mama had called me to dinner almost an hour before, but I couldn’t bring myself to travel back downstairs. Pau would be there, picking his teeth clean of chicken and grunting his way through Papa’s questions. They would fight, and I knew this because they always fought, and I would be stuck in the middle of it, trying to defend Pau from any of the nasty names Papa called him. For the first time, I didn’t want to defend him. 

As I began to count the stars starting to dot the sky, I heard the muffled shouts echoing from downstairs. There was a clattering of plates, and as I sunk to the floor to press my ear up against my rug, I could hear Papa from below. 

“-No work for you here! I’ve tried Paul, I’ve always tried to help you, but you haven’t made it easy. Now you’re filling Harley’s head with these delusions-”  

I listened to Pau grumble something, the first part hard to make out until he started to get louder. 

“-Not a damn charity case Charlie, I don’t need it, and don’t you bring the kid into this. This ain’t her mess.”  

Their voices both came and went, in and out, growing louder and softer until there was a large clattering of plates, loud enough I could hear a glass break and mama let out a shout. It was quiet for a moment after, the entire house falling still. I listened as a chair shoved back and his footsteps stomped as Pau grumbled out a response. The screen door slammed open and shut, and as the smell of smoke began to travel up through the window, I shut it as quickly as I could. It felt too late though, my eyes were already watering, and as much as I tried to blink them away, stubborn little tears managed to escape me. I called them shit.  

I must have stood there for ages, staring out my window and crying, because by the time I came back to myself the moon had risen above the trees. There was a knock at my door, and instead of spitting and cussing every nasty word I knew, I moved to slide down against it and knock back, too tired to do much else. 

“Hey, Kit.”  

“Hi, Pau.” I wanted to call him shit. I crossed my arms across my chest and felt as he slumped against the door on the other side to sit beside me. 

“Did Papa tell you that you have to leave tonight?” I looked down at the streaks of light from the hallway that wrapped around his shadow and stretched across my floor. 

“He warned me about a month ago. He just tried to give me money,” he said. 

“Oh. Did you take it?” 

“No.” 

“Oh.” I wanted to curse him, tell him he was dumb, and have him get angry with me so I could have an excuse to do so. I couldn’t bring myself to. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving sooner,” he paused for a moment, I heard his head rest against the door with a small thud, “I didn’t know how to tell you.” 

My chest felt tight, and I pulled down my hat to cover my eyes. I didn’t say anything, not trusting my voice. The door’s white paint was chipped at the bottom, and I picked at it until Pau knocked again. 

“You still there kid?” 

I brought my knees to my chest, hugged them tightly, and closed my eyes shut. 

“I could be a good cowboy Pau,” I sounded so shaky and small, like Dex when Mama yelled at him for doing something bad, “I am one.” 

Pau didn’t say anything back for a while, but I could hear him bump his head again, and I wondered if he felt as small as I did. “I know you are, Kit. You’re better than me,” he said, speaking softly but the crackly sound in his throat still broke up his words so he sounded like one of Papa’s scratched records. I never wanted to sound like that. “You have to give these things time, though. One day when you’re older, you’ll still be walking around in your boots, and you’ll be better than all of us at whatever you decide to do with your life.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, and fighting against every angry bone in my body, I opened the door. 

He had to tilt his head up a little to look me in the eyes from where he was still sat on the ground. It was like he was just seeing something for the first time. His eyes were a little watery, and they squinted up at me like I was a stranger, but there must have been something he recognized because he grinned wide, and I was pulled down into his arms. 

I let him tug me down and rested my head against his chest to hear his heartbeat. It thundered like the sound of horses.  

“You’re a good man, Pau. Mama and Papa are lying.” I said.  

He nodded his head and rocked me in his lap. It wasn’t easy as I was getting taller and my legs stuck out a bit too much to be comfortable, but his arms still cradled around me like I was precious. 

“You are too, Kit.” 

After he gathered all his things from his room and shoved them into little boxes and bags, I walked him outside. I carried his duffle bag across the yard, and he pretended not to notice as I struggled a bit to get down the front steps. By the time I made it to his car, he had already thrown everything else inside. He took the last bag and threw it in his front seat, dusting off his hands after. I copied him, pretending not to hear him snort.  

“Guess this is it, huh kid?” 

I looked up to where he stood, hands on his hips and his head facing towards the open road. 

“Yeah, for now. I’ll see you again though.” I said, shrugging and wiping my still runny nose. 

“That so?” 

“Yeah, when I get a car, I’ll drive out west until I find you.” 

He looked down at me, his eyes going all soft, “Not gonna give up on me?” 

I shook my head, grinning up at him, “Nah, you need someone looking out for you.” 

He gave a big whooping laugh, his head shooting back. I laughed with him, so hard that I had to brace my hands on my thighs to keep myself from falling forwards. Pau pulled himself together after a while, sliding into his front seat with a hopeful spark in his eye. 

“I’ll send you a postcard once I find somewhere to settle down, then maybe, when you get that car, you won’t have to just wander around for too long.” He said, fiddling with the radio until bluegrass began to belt out of his truck. 

“Okay Pau, don’t forget.” 

He tipped his hat to me as the truck started up. 

“I won’t.” 

He drove away after that, and I held my hand up to reach for his car until he disappeared down the street, the light from his headlights fading into the night sky above. 

Does anyone want to read a short story about a trans kid at the age where you don't have a word for what you are yet, or really a full idea of what you are, but you know what you want to be so you cling to it and the people around you that represent it?

Because I wrote something like that! It's called Cowboys (or Good Men, but we won't get into that whole story), and it's about a kid named Kit who wants nothing more than to be a cowboy like 'her' uncle Pau! It's a small slice of life/coming of age story that showcases the unconditional love of a family's two misfits, alongside subtly highlighting a less talked about stage of growing up transgender in the south.

If anyone is interested in reading it, please let me know, and I'll reblog it through this post 👍

Does anyone want to read a short story about a trans kid at the age where you don't have a word for what you are yet, or really a full idea of what you are, but you know what you want to be so you cling to it and the people around you that represent it?

Because I wrote something like that! It's called Cowboys (or Good Men, but we won't get into that whole story), and it's about a kid named Kit who wants nothing more than to be a cowboy like 'her' uncle Pau! It's a small slice of life/coming of age story that showcases the unconditional love of a family's two misfits, alongside subtly highlighting a less talked about stage of growing up transgender in the south.

If anyone is interested in reading it, please let me know, and I'll reblog it through this post 👍

Writers hell. I am in writers hell. I am chewing on the bars of my enclosure, trying to finish this short story draft and driving myself insane.

^^^ me if you were wondering.

There's something really cool yet weird about having friends who really like your stories and characters. Like, for example, my brother has a cute fox plush he lovingly named Reaper after my eldritch horror of a character. And while that's super freaking cool, it's also crazy to think about. Like a tiny private fandom. My stories live in my brain, but sometimes these two random people think about them, and I go a little insane.

Refueling at Europa

So this is a short sci-fi story i wrote 2 to 3 years ago. I'm still learning, so please give me whatever constructive criticism you can.

I'll also be posting a few more of my stories while I'm currently working on that one lesbian bug alien romance story I posted about before.

Synopsis: A Blackbox from a group of Voyagers’ is recovered after their starship is found destroyed. It reveals that refueling off of the water from Jupiter’s moon Europa may not be the best idea.

“AY-005 to command.” the terminal crackled and the image of Lt. Pallin faded into view through the static. “One moment Pallin. Gotta clean up your image.” I replied into the microphone as I twisted the dials that lined the terminal. Slowly Lt. Pallin’s face became more clear and her voice lost some of the accompanying grain. “Alright go ahead.” I was eager to hear her report, usually being on night shift I rarely get any first hand contact. It's all told to me by the previous shifts or in emailed memorandums, this was a welcome surprise. “Right,” Lt. Pallin began “We found the black box that belonged to AX-004.” My heart leaped in my chest. This was astounding news, AX-004 had been destroyed a few months ago, and we only found out thanks to some routine telescopic searching. “That's fantastic news, Pallin. Send it in.” The loud clicking of my key-board nearly drowned out my instructions as I prepared the terminal to receive the blackbox’s contents. “Copy.” she replied and moved just off screen. I went and made myself a fresh pot of coffee as the data was being transferred, my shoes sticking and making awful squelches as I walked. They really need to clean this place. 

I made my way back and sat down with a new mug of coffee steaming, the pot set next to me. The terminal’s processor revved and the fan spun, working hard to complete the download. Finally the green bar with a ninety-nine percent hovering over finally filled and presented “DOWNLOAD COMPLETE” and Lt. Pallin’s face returned. “I’ll review this right away. Thanks Lieutenant. Be careful.” I praised, and I readied myself for a long night. Her chuckle was distorted as the feed gained more interference. Before she cut out I heard her say “All G— will con— need to refuel. Planning— Europa’s ocean.” Then she was gone. Honestly, I was surprised her communication had lasted as long as it did. These terminals may have been the latest and greatest in light-year communication, but even they have their limits. I queued up the file, only an audio log accompanied by descriptive text of the ship's onboard computer system. Sadly the AX series of ships were just old enough to not be equipped with cameras but were equipped with auditory receptors allowing the crew to use voice commands. That way they needn’t travel to a ship terminal just to adjust the temperature or run diagnostics. I grabbed myself a snack from my desk, my notepad, and settled in.

<SCS> 00:30 running diagnostics. Fuel low. Reserve error. Waking Captain…

(Capt. Love): Computer, what’s happening?

(SCS): Request not recognized.

(Capt. Love): God dammit. Computer run diagnostic.

(SCS): One moment. Diagnostic report: Engines- fine, shields-fine, landing gear- fine, life support- fine, Fuel - Low, Fuel Reserve - Error

(Capt. Love): So it's a fuel problem. Alright, damn. Computer, scan for possible fuel sources, enough to complete the mission.

(SCS): One moment.

<SCS> Scanning…

(SCS): Large source of H2O found. 325 miles from current position. Location: Europa.

(Capt. Love): Huh, okay. Computer wake crew. 

(SCS): One moment.

<SCS> Waking crew…

(Cpl. Benings): Awww, come on. What now?

(Pvt. Dell): What's going on? Are we here? 

(Dr. Ve): Well that was a nice nap.

(SCS): Captain, crew have been awakened.

(Capt. Love): All hands to the bridge. 

(Cpl. Bennings) What’s going on Captain?

(Capt. Love): Low on fuel and the reserve is malfunctioning. I found us a good refueling point, at least enough to finish the mission. Europa.

(Cpl. Bennings): Alright so we just fly down and grab some water, easy. I’ll go check out the reverve, see what's up. Though why’d you wake up these two?

(Pvt. Dell): Yeah I was gonna ask the same thing. I'm no engineer.

(Capt. Love): Good experience for you Dell and I figured the Doc wouldn't want to miss landing on a moon made of ocean.

(Dr. Ve.): Thank you.

(Capt. Love): Computer chart course for Europa

(SCS): One moment.

<SCS> Charting course. Ideal landing zone found. Engaging Autopilot. Engaging engines…  

<SCS> 01:20 Deploying landing gear. Intciating landing…

(SCS): Please be advised. The temperature on Europa is currently -260℉ or -160℃. Thermal suits are recommended.

(Cpl. Bennings): No shit sherlock. Oww, sorry.

(Capt. Love): Alright, Everyone ready?

(Cpt. Bennings): Yep.

(Pvt. Dell): Yes Sir.

(Dr. Ve): Almost. Okay.

<SCS> All crew members have left the ship. Switching to remote communications.

(Cpl. Bennings): Holy shit, I thought my mother in-law was cold. 

(Capt. Love): Imagine it without the thermal suits. Now Dell, bring that over here. Alright This is literally the definition of plug and chug. We insert the drill, it drills the ice, sucks it up and puts it in the reserve. Then when we reach the water below the surface, that will fill up our main tank.

(Dr. Ve): Would you look at those geysers? Amazing.

(Capt. Love): Hey Doc don't go too far, the surface is very unstable from the shifting currents. 

(Dr. Ve): Oh right. Sorry.

(SCS): All members be advised. Large life-form detected. Proceed with caution.

(Pvt. Dell): What?

(Capt. Love): Computer, elaborate.

(SCS): Sure. Lifeform location 85 miles below the surface. Lifeform appears to be 360 

feet in length. Weight estimated to be 467 tons. Creature’s thermal signature indicates it is an endotherm.

(Cpl Bennings): What the fuck? Really? First alien life we encounter and this type of shit. Great.

(Capt. Love): Hold it together Bennings. Computer, track lifeform. Warn us if it's within 2.75 miles of the surface. Dell get the Doctor back to the ship, I'll finish here.

<SCS> Lifeform movement 63 miles from surface. Fuel 54% complete. 

(Pvt. Dell): Watch your step Doctor. 

<SCS> 2 of 4 crew members on board. Lifeform movement 34 miles from the surface. Fuel 65% complete.

(Clp Bennings): Come on Sir. I don't like this, it's too quiet. 

(Capt. Love): Just as quiet as before Bennings. 

(Clp Bennings): Yeah but now there’s a fucking leviathain beneth us.

(Capt. Love): What? 

(Clp. Bennings): Nothin’. 

<SCS> Lifeform movement 22 miles. Fuel 78% complete

(Capt. Love): Dell get the ship ready for departure. We are not waiting to see this thing, understood?

(Pvt. Dell) Yes sir. Computer, prepare the cockpit for liftoff.

(SCS) Sure. One moment…

<SCS> Initiating manual piloting system… 

(Capt. Love): Computer, Fuel status update.

(SCS): One moment… Fuel 86% complete

(Clp Bennings): Alright. Alright, we making progress.

(SCS): ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! Lifeform within 2.75 miles of surface. ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!

(Clp. Bennings): Fuck.

(Capt Love): Run!

(SCS): Lifeform 2.00 miles from surface.

(Dr. Ve): Come on! Hurry!

(SCS): Lifeform 1.52 miles from surface. Warning surface becoming unstable.

(Capt. Love): The Ice is cracking, come on Bennings! Dell start lift off!

(Pvt. Dell): Yes Sir!

<SCS> Manual liftoff engaged. All control to pilot.

(Clp. Bennings): Oh Shit! Guys Help! Fuck thats cold!

(Capt. Love): Shit Bennings! Fuck! Dell get this thing off the ground so we can get him!

<SCS>3 of 4 crew members onboard. Gaining altitude… (SCS): Lifeform within 0.46 miles of surface.

(Clp. Bennings): Oh shit I think I see it! Fuck, I think it sees me!

(Capt. Love): We’re coming, Bennings! Get to a high point!

(SCS): ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! Lifeform has reached the surface. ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!

(Clp. Bennings): Holy— how many eyes does this thing have?!?

(Capt. Love): What the fuck? 

(Dr. Ve): Oh God.

(Capt. Love): Dell, you see him? Avoid those tentacles! 

(Pvt. Dell): Holy shit! Holy shit! Why didn't I just go to College!

(Capt. Love): Keep it together. Bennings grab my hand!

(Clp Bennings): Ha, got ya! Ok, now pull my ass up!

(Capt. Love): We’re trying! Not our fault you're a mountain of muscle, lay off the gym will ya?

(Clp. Bennings): I’m Sorry! 

<SCS> All Crew members have returned to ship. Sealing outer doors…

(Dr. Ve): Alright let me check you over. 

(Capt. Love): Ha, good Flying, Dell. Now get us the Fu–

       *End of all downloaded information*

I leaned back in my chair sweating, exhausted from simply listening and reading the recount of what happened. My mind spun with billions of horrific images, attempting to grasp what they had encountered. In the end I only succeeded in conjuring a headache, and took a swig of my forgotten coffee, now chilled by the AC unit running full blast. I sat in silence for minutes that stretched for hours, shudders and chills ran up and down my spine. Then a thought pierced me, spurred me into frantic action.

 I twisted and pulled on the terminal’s hard unfeeling dials, typing command after command to the point I thought the keyboard would break. I had to reach the Lieutenant, warn her. I know they didn't have the correct equipment to have seen what I had seen, read what I read. I finally got the signal out. One minute turned into two, two to ten, ten to thirty. But the Terminal only displayed static.

Okay, so I used to write short horror/Gothic/scifi stories (which I might post here soon), but anyway, I just thought of a story concept and I need to know if it sounds atleast somewhat interesting.

(A very rough and audhd concept i know needs polishing)

So, the main character is a test tube baby made specifically to be better than regular man through both some light cybernetics and genetic mutation. However, her parents try to raise her normal for a time. She reached young adulthood and was too sheltered that when she goes out into the loud scary world, she's overwhelmed and is having a hard time coping.

Suddenly an alien crashes in front of her/maybe it's just eating her trash, and she thinks it's a wild animal at first only knowing from TV and stories. So when she sees this 8 foot tall fleshy carapace bug humanoid thing she treats it kindly and feeds it. Soon she discovers it can change its form(I definitely wanna make it a visceral and graphic transformation, think animorfs but bloodier) she still can't do human speech but does learn sign language.

It's eventually revealed that The alien (I think I'm gonna call her Mixy) is on the run and hiding from the Mi-go (They are possibly my favourite sci-fi race, and they are public domain!) So now they both have to stay hidden and fight these highly advanced and decently intelligent xenos.

Only for the MC (I can't really think of a name, open to suggestions) to find out that she and her alien love interest arent so different in origin (yes, I had to make it gay! Sue me!)

Well? What do you, someone who totally read this far down, think? Should I pursue it further? Or does it sound too crazy? I'm open to suggestions! 😊

Multiple languages writing challenge!

Writing challenge:

Write in each language you speak, even if only barely. Stop once you don’t know how to say the next part anymore and don't edit anything!

Japanese:

Trafalgar Law doko desu ka? Yasashi to kakoii isha desu. Watashi wa akai koto sorera desu. [STOP]

(I know some Hiragana but I have no idea where to get those letters!)

French:

Bien, c’est trop difficile. [STOP]

Spanish:

Ahora vamos a ensenarlo otra vez. Me gustaría muchísimo escribir alguna historia en Espanol pero no sé si alguna person va a entender lo que escribe. No es tan facil para mi pero me gusta mucho practicar, con mis amigos en los livestreams de Twitch también. Tal vez sería una buena idea escribir algo de los hermanos Donquixote en espanol con su proximidad a Espana con su reino de Dressrosa. Me gustaría mucho el toro en esos [STOP] (I don’t know how to say “colosseum fights” ^^ )

Italiano:

Io lavoro a un ufficio en Lugano. Vorrei andare a la Arena di Verona [STOP] (I was going to write “otra vez”… woops :D )

English:

Well, this feels somewhat redundant. Ain’t no way I’ll lack any words in my native language, right? Spewing big words right now just for me to fall on my face in a few sentences, I’m calling it. Either way this English is far too colloquial in comparison to my texts for the other languages. I should adopt a far more refined writing style and write a little more like a posh lady. Should I even keep going? Like if we look at the chapters to my fanfictions over on AO3 and my twitch livestreams I do think I have a talent for never shutting the fuck up. Then again I do study philosophy, so I guess I’m just well-suited to my own field of study. Oh yeah, I guess considering that this is written English and stuff I shouldn’t abbreviate apostrophes and stuff. Oh well, too bad. Deal with it! English really is the easiest for me to write in. I’m somewhat dreading having to do German next. I always feel like the German I write is [STOP]

( Hah! I couldn’t think of a suitable word for “influenced by” :D )

German:

Okay, dann versuche ich das doch mal. Ich habe bereits angefangen eine Geschichte in Deutsch zu schreiben, allerdings kann ich jetzt nicht wirklich sagen ob die besonders gut geworden ist oder nicht. Als ich versucht habe, sie meiner Familie zu schicken, kamen nur Rückmeldungen von wegen die Datei wäre ein Virus und dass sie das dann nicht lesen wollten. Auch toll. Da fühle ich mich seither auch irgendwie ein bisschen blöd. Ist ja nicht so dass sie es mutwillig nicht gelesen haben, aber irgendwie fühle ich mich damit ein wenig deprimiert und will ihnen die Geschichte jetzt gar nicht nochmal schicken. Kommt ja eh irgendwie immer negatives Feedback zurück, das brauche ich jetzt auch nicht wirklich. Wow, also irgendwie klappt das ja richtig gut im Deutschen! Gut, so Anglizismen wie „feedback“ kann ich jetzt nicht ganz vermeiden, aber das hört sich ja auch einfach blöd an wenn ich das jetzt auf Gedeih und Verderb ins Deutsche reinpresse. Benutzt man diese Redewendung so? Keine Idee. [STOP]

Well, „keine Idee“ is a literal translation of “no idea” so that’s definitely not German, stopping myself right there.

I look forward to continuing my language studies and revisiting this challenge in the future!

Anyone who wants to is encouraged to join this challenge, whether you’re a writer or not, that doesn’t matter at all.

This is all about practise and testing yourself! ^-^

Sometimes writing is like having an enormous lake in your head, and you want to get it out of your head and into a proper place for a lake so other people can come and go swimming and ride jet skis and stuff, except all you have to move the lake is a teaspoon. So you’re just sitting there frantically flinging water out of the lake with your teaspoon and telling people, “Guys, this lake is going to be so cool when it’s done,” but it will never be done. There is so much lake.

The red puddle erupted from fast feet, stumbling over one another, almost as if they’ve never been used till now. The drumming. The drumming in his ear was becoming sickly as his heart pounded away. By fear or by his running, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was he didn’t have much time. 10... Was this what the lord asked of them? 9... To be chased down by the Keeper? 8... To be slaughtered by the new lord, The Walrider? 7... Has he been a threat to this kingdom? 6... No. He was merely food. 5... Worthless chunks of flesh, given a chance to survive. 4... To be proven worthy. 3...  I don’t want to die. Please. 2... I’ve served the kingdom well, haven’t I? 1... Help me. His legs throbbed, but all of time seemed to slow as he heard fast steps behind him. A large beast, jumping from wall to wall. The man shrieked out as the beast’s large jaws clasped over his legs. He swore he was soaring. Flying. For only a moment. His face and chest hit the ground hard, leaving him immobile. He slowly turned, noticing both his legs were gone. He looked up. The beast stood over him, drooling blood as it dropped both the useless legs on the ground. The man looked up, feeling his body grow cold. The creature’s maw clenched to his throat, tearing it out. Everything faded to black. 

Samantha Weathers

MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS

PROJECT WOLFSBANE Mount Massive CO

Case Number:6222 Patient Initials: SBW, “Samantha” Consulted Dated: 2005. 06. 13 Initial Date Of Patient Consult: 2005. 04. 6 Patient Age:16 Gender: Female

Observing Physician: Dr. Jim Peterson THERAPY STATUS:

Patient was the second placed into the, PROJECT WOLFSBANE, after failure on the previous patient. Brain activity shows interest, especially provoked, seems to come out with outstanding results and use of strength. Patient’s blood work seems compatible with new tests of gene mapping. Tests in, MORPHOGENETIC ENGINE will be put in action within the following week.  DIAGNOSTICS: No Bronchial accumulation revealed. Lycanthrope blood transfusion successful. Continuing with Regeneration testing. Timed results change weekly. Time recorded; 2005.06.2  Recovering wounds took average time in the first week of testing. New test results timed: One hour. Previous test results: Two hours, and forty minutes. MRI scans will be taken to show the next stage of healing. Broken bones, fractures, etc.Brain activities monitored show results of stability.  INTERVIEW NOTES: Ms. Weathers continues to try and play a victim card to any doctors that are willing to listen. She continues to change her feelings about the murders committed at her school, blaming others, even sometimes voices and figures that are not there. All requests to phone her parents are denied, as if with every patient. Samantha will continue to be a difficult person to interview with every interview turning into aggression, denial, or gaslighting. Restraints are to be doubled the following week.  MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WOLFSBANE Mount Massive CO  ((Here’s a file I worked on for Samantha. At this time, this is when she was taken into the asylum around age 16 and she is 24 when the riots occur and main events of Outlast playout.))

I LOVE this take on my europa trench ice warfare larping

what if we were brothers in arms in the war torn landscape of europa and i held your bleeding wound as the blood stained the endless, blinding white tundra, your bated breath asking me to bury you back home and our last memory together was looking up to the swirling rings of color on jupiter. what then.

Second, I had just received a strange text from an unknown number.

Let's write a story together!

Quick! Everyone write the next sentence! And then continue.

Do it in a reblog and we will have lots of different stories that change at every post.

First sentence:

This was turning out to be the best and worst day.

Me, in real life: I really hope I didn't say anything to offend them I mean I don't think I did but maybe when they looked away they were hurt god I hope I didn't make them feel the least particle of sadness.

Me, as a writer: Is this emotionally damaging enough? I really hope I can completely and utterly wreck this random person, make them ugly sob into their pillow, absolutely ruin their day in as little words as possible.

What if skk got caught in a bank holdup

A random idea/fanfiction by me.

Inspired by: the shower (truly, it's a magical place)

Because like, imagine, will you, that Dazai goes to the bank on his day off after payday, possibly looking to get some new bandages, and who should he come across but Chuuya, who is there to take out some money from a totally legitimate Port Mafia account. They'd probably bicker for a minute, Dazai would find at least three ways to insult the mafioso, who would then shout back at him, only to have everyone else in the bank shoot them strange looks, so he then resorts to whisper shouting. Until suddenly, the doors burst open, and in rushes five men with guns blazing, their faces obscured by masks. "This is a hold up!" they declare. Three of them usher all the bankgoers to one wall, forcing them to sit down quietly. And of course, if any of them try to call the police, they'd really get it. The other two deal with the clerks, getting them to open the vault, and no one gets hurt.

Meanwhile, Dazai and Chuuya are watching this play out with mild amusement. After one of them sticks a gun in Dazai's face and tells them to move it, they share a shrug and walk to the wall, plopping down criss-cross applesauce. The patrons are shaking. Some of them are crying, some are praying. Dazai folds his arms behind his head and leans back against the wall, suppressing the urge to yawn. Chuuya takes the opportunity to munch on a granola bar and observe the robbery with vague interest.

With his eyes closed, Dazai asks... "so...are you going to stop them, or...?"

"Nah," Chuuya answers between bites. "I haven't eaten much all day, so..." He turns to Dazai. "What about you? Aren't you the detective here?"

"Yeah, but it's my day off now. I don't want to work."

"Yeah, yeah, definitely know the feeling."

"Hey, you two!" shouts one of the thieves watching the hostages. "Be quiet!"

"Sorry." Neither of them sound particularly apologetic. They sit for a few more minutes. Dazai yawns and stretches. Chuuya finishes his granola bar. Nothing changes.

"What's taking them so long?" Chuuya mutters. He's starting to get annoyed. "Some of us have things to do, you know."

"This is actually really pathetic," comments Dazai. "We could have gotten double the money and been halfway back to the base by now, gone before the police even knew there was a threat."

"And we'd never do it like this," agrees the mafioso. "This is too loud, and it's got no class."

"Right? It's like begging for the police to come. And besides, this whole hostage situation is thin as paper. If they really wanted to intimidate people, they should have shot someone by now, prove they're serious."

"Those guns probably aren't even loaded."

"Honestly, this whole set up is awful. Truly amateurish."

"This whole thing would be much smoother if we did it. Maybe we should help them, just so they can get their money and leave the rest of us alone."

"That-"

"Hey!" shouts the same guard again. He points at Dazai, then at Chuuya. "What did I say about talking?! If you don't shut up-"

"No, you're doing it wrong," Dazai informs him.

"I...what?"

"If you really wanted to intimidate us, you should have fired off a warning shot, at the very least. Even if you're too coward to actually shoot a person, at least don't make it so obvious the thing's not even loaded."

Beads of sweat drip down the thief's face. "Huh?"

"And could you tell your friends there to hurry up?" adds Chuuya. "They're going to be caught at this rate. Obviously, the clerks are stalling. They're probably sticking in the lowest bills they have to give the bags some weight. It would be way more efficient to have one guy guarding the clerks and two of you doing it yourself."

"Just figure out the accounts with the most in them and take from there," Dazai suggests, standing up. "You'll get more and faster like that."

Chuuya rises as well. Now, the other two thieves who were supposed to be guarding the hostages come to back up their friend, pointing their guns directly at their heads. Dazai frowns.

"Hold on a second, can I see that? Thanks." He reaches out and grabs the nearest thief's gun, and before he even has a chance to protest, he opens up the magazine and shakes it.

"See? Empty. Would it really have been so hard to even find one bullet to put in there?"

From behind their masks, the burglars begin to panic. The public, now aware they're being held up by nothing, stand up angrily.

"And look!" Chuuya strides over behind the counter, where the clerks are supposed to be filling up bags with money. He takes one out of a male's clerk's hand and dumps it out on the floor. "All 1,000 yen bills. If you had just paid more attention, you could have made off with much more. And, now the police are coming."

Indeed, the sound of wailing sirens gets louder and louder. The thieves glance at each other. With a single nod, they turn on their heels and run.

"Not so fast!" All of the former hostages block the door. The thieves freeze, turning to Dazai fearfully. He shrugs.

"That's what happens when you don't back-up your claims. This is due to your own stupidity."

The public manages to easily restrain the thieves until the police arrive to take them away. As they're being dragged out, Dazai and Chuuya merely watch with their arms folded, shaking their heads and muttering to themselves.

"Disgraceful."

"What a sloppy job."

"Embarrassment to all criminals, really."

"Can't believe I had my time wasted with this crud."

"Hopefully, they'll do better next time."

"Yeah. If you're going to hold up a bank, at least do it well."

After the thieves are taken away, the police ask Dazai and Chuuya about what happened, since everyone says that they're the ones who stopped them. They answer with vague statements that amount to nothing, and leave the bank before they have to get more involved.

Neither of them speak much, each caught up in his own memories from the past. Eventually, Dazai decides to head back to his apartment, though not without giving one good jarb on Chuuya's height. In the end of the day, he supposed he did stop them. Well, as long as it didn't have to count as work-

The next day, both Chuuya and Dazai were required to make a report on the matter.

End.

LIFE SAVED

REBLOGGING TO SAVE **EVEN MORE** WRITERS LIVES

some people think writers are so eloquent and good with words, but the reality is that we can sit there with our fingers on the keyboard going, “what’s the word for non-sunlight lighting? Like, fake lighting?” and for ten minutes, all our brain will supply is “unofficial”, and we know that’s not the right word, but it’s the only word we can come up with…until finally it’s like our face got smashed into a brick wall and we remember the word we want is “artificial”.

"I love writing so much," I say as I regret every life choice that has lead me to this point.

huge if true

Hey, don’t cry. Free online database of Japanese folk lore

I’ve updated chapter two of my book The One and only Ouroboros!

This is the cover! The books on wattpad!

I post a new chapter every Wednesday!

chapter update!

I finally updated the next chapter of my book Crust’s daughter! It took me forever only because I kept on avoiding writing it it’s pretty short but I’m going to write a longer chapter hopefully later today!

This is the cover of my book if you didn’t already know!

also here’s a link as well!

You know those anime meta posts along the lines of “I was born with pink hair. The doctors told my parents I was a Main Character and ever since my life has not known peace from demons/spirits/sports competitions/harems who find me”

Well I see that, and I raise you this:

An anime boy whose appearance is, by absolutely anyone’s account, completely and utterly average. Mundane hair. Mundane eyes. Not even glasses to set him the tiniest bit apart. A simple, unmemorable, unrecognizable civilian among a backdrop of millions.

And he has a lot of passions, and a lot of ambitions, which he hones every chance he gets. He’s dabbled in sports and archery and cooking and just about anything you could wrap a competition around. And he’s competed in many of these. Every chance he gets. With all of his passion and all of his might.

He’s crushed by the competition every single time.

Until one day–one day something clicks for him. Something that should have seemed obvious from the start and yet never was–as though everyone, including himself, was unwittingly blind to it. It clicks, when he realizes every kid who’s beaten him in competition, every kid who’s gone on to fame and glory and acclaim, has been some candy-haired gel-spiked ridiculously-dressed fucker. 

There’s some trend there that this Main Character boy can’t explain and can’t understand but he decides, this one time, fuck it. He’ll play along too. He’s got a model train competition in four days, and he’s got nothing more to lose. He hits up the department store, buys the pinkest, noxious-est, fruitiest hair dye he can find, the spikiest hair gel available, and the gaudiest clothes on the thrift rack. He enters the model train competition looking like a bubble gum gijinka.

And he wins.

Suddenly, the other candy-haired contestants notice him. They talk to him. They pledge rivalries. Girls notice him. Judges applaud him. Acclaimed model train aficionados offer him internships across the world. He’s hit on something. 

The main cast expands to cover just about every candy-hair cliche in the book: from the mostly-normal-looking demure school girl with the blue hair to the Naruto-est, yelling-est boy with the red-and-green spiked hair. The cool megane senpais, the purple haired tsunderes, suddenly everyone is interested in him. They’re prodigies and upstarts and underdogs and they truly believe that this main character boy is one of them.

So the main character boy maintains his ruse. He touches up his roots at dawn every morning and carefully attends to his gelled spikes and tells absolutely no one about this great, uncanny, unfathomable secret he’s stumbled upon. He wins his competitions left and right. He racks up the acclaim. He’s hailed as a prodigy of all trades, just now bursting onto the scene, and boils to the top of all his candy-haired peers.

He’s rising up, his every dream within his grasp. Until one day he gets a note under his door, taped to an old picture of his Normal Boring self from middle school, that says “You don’t belong”

“looks like someone who won’t last” hello?? what if i killed myself. when i first saw it the first thing i thought is wow, what a way to describe a person.

Writing Prompt #14

“You will never be like me.”

“I already am.”

Writing Prompt #13

A friendly ghost helps a new adult do their taxes.

Officially finished part 6 of the fic I’m writing…. It officially also has more words than the actual books I’m writing.

3226 words in one part I’m not okay someone help—

I just sent an ask to my favorite author.

I just sent an ask to my favorite author.

I just sent an ask to my favorite author.

I just sent an ask to my favorite author.

I just sent an ask to my favorite author.

I just sent an ask to my favorite author.

AHHHHHHHHHHH!!