Creative Writing - Blog Posts

to any readers or writers who see this, reblog with the weirdest line you’ve ever written or read (fanfic counts!). I’ll start: “‘Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw’”

Why…

I can imagine what I want to write and how I want it to go, but words simply cannot be manifested onto the page.

so I’m left with the dreaded blinking cursor. A line that stares at me without mercy, mocking me, taunting me, temping me to write when it knows I can’t.

“Start writing”

Hah, no.

“Why not?”

I will, absolutely will against my will, revise and edit as I write, so I write the total of multiple chapters but it ends up being only one and half chapters. I fucking hate it

Writing

Is really difficult. Give yourself a break every once in a while. I’ve been on break from starting writing my main wip for over a year, and I still procrastinate the hell out of it. Writing takes time. Let it happen on its own

An Average Night

Me, casually trying to sleep:

My brain: Heyyyyyyyyy

Me: Shut. The fuck. Up

Brain: Is the way [character] acts after [relevant plot point] considered [mental disorder/trauma response]?

Me: *Grabbing phone off desk to Google it* I hate you

My story’s antagonist: I’m not just a bitch…

I’m a bitch with a backstory

Me: *Furiously Googling about who knows what*

Also me: You write fantasy, you know that, right?

Me:

Me talking to myself

yes, I talk to myself in the second person. I will also use the fourth person collective on occasion.

“Why can’t I write what I want to today?”

maybe because what you want to write is a cohesive story and you would mostly be staring at that damn taunting, blinking line of a cursor on the Google Doc

“I want to write chronologically!” too bad, you’re thinking of a random scene that’s over halfway through the story. I don’t make the rules

“Why can’t I write the main plot?”

because I said so. Now go back to writing about what happened hundreds of years before the main plot to explain the tension between the two sides

“What’s this character’s name again?”

Think of a new one. You know what it is, and it causes the Tiffany Problem. Think of a new one, you fucking idiot

do you ever think of something when you’re trying to sleep and tell yourself “I can write it down in the morning”?

I have, and every time I do im just lying to myself again

I’m not crying, there’s onions

I am crying

no, i just hate writing sometimes

Skipping Stones

Chapter 1: Seeing Ghosts

“Are there any spirits here with us?”

The rain fell, as always, pattering against the windows, droplets sliding down the panes. Lightning flashed in the ink black sky every so often, followed closely by the low rumbling of thunder.

Six hands placed firmly, determinedly, fearfully, with uncertainty on the planchette on the ouija board, surrounded the group of three. The flame of the slowly melting candles around them reflected their mixed emotions in which the darkness of the mansion would’ve hidden otherwise.

The trio tonight consisted of a small-looking, timid boy, whose thick brown hair curled in front of his eyes, quite literally covering them, though not covering his quivering hands. A girl with the sparkliest hairband, her eyes equally shiny with tears that were still kept at bay. Lastly, a girl with the boldest red hair with a shine of determination and adventure in her eyes. The three look to be about seventeen to eighteen years of age, with the bold red-haired seeming to be the oldest of the group. 

“Can we go back home please? I don’t like this!” The timid boy squeaked. The hairband girl said nothing but nodded quickly.

“Oh come on, y’all agreed to this! We’re not going till we have a sign, you said so yourself!” The bold red-haired scoffed, pressing her hands firmly on the planchette, looking up to the grand chandelier hanging in the middle of the ceiling, the patterns on the white alabaster shades long obscured by the layers of dust.

“Is there anyone here with us tonight? Please give us a sign.” The bold red-haired repeated, louder, her voice echoing slightly in the empty mansion. 

Of course there was someone, they just could never see. People come and go, hoping to see something, expecting to see something, only to leave disappointed. Their closed eyes never seeing, never noticing. Even when they set candles to light up the dimmest of nights.  

All focused on a board and a planchette. 

Oh well, I couldn’t care less anyway. So what if they couldn’t see, I’ll send them running. I always will. And this group was no exception. 

“Oh my god! The front door! It opened by itself!” The timid boy screeched and jumped up to his feet. The bold red-haired shouted a warning but the damage was done as the timid boy stumbled, knocking over a nearby candle. The candle rolled over to the sparkly hairband girl, frozen in the confusion, the flames flickered to her skirt and caught fire. The girl screeched, swatting at the growing flame singing her skirt. 

“Get it out! Get it out!” She kicked and screamed, knocking more of the surrounding candles to the ground. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed towards the open front door, under the falling rain into the thick fog, with timid boy following closely and hastily behind. 

“Hey! Come back! What the hell!” The bold red-haired girl called out after them in protest, her voice muffled by the rain. The two that ran could no longer be seen. 

The bold red haired girl sighed in dismay, holding her head in her hand. She got up and cleaned up the mess, putting out the fire of the fallen candles and gathering them with the ouija board and planchette. Then, finally sat back down, back against the railings of grand stairs, a hand running through her red hair that fell messily on her shoulders.

Silence fell again. The darkness returned. I blended out of the front door, which was still wide ajar. Rain was entering the mansion, splashing slightly onto the marble floors. I went up to the girl, approaching closer to her. 

I thought she looked small. Smaller than I thought. Smaller than she was before.

More rain seemed to have splashed in. She shivered slightly, bringing her knees to her chest. So, I made myself small. As small as her. Just for a bit. 

She mumbled something inaudible, resting her head on her knees, soft red hair spilling onto the floor.

“It’s warm here.” She said softly. “Maybe there aren’t any ghosts here.” She said, staring past me. Into the foggy rain. 

Chapter 1: Seeing Ghosts _end_

Photo courtesy of New York Times

Moving

          “Isn’t it boring here, Noah?” Elijah complained.

          “Patience Elijah. Soon enough, a huge wind is going to blow us away from here.” Noah reassured him for the umpteenth time with an exasperated sigh.

          Both Elijah and Noah had been in Antarctica for many years, standing in the great vast of water, only moving a little by the winds that could have knocked any human down. Due to their great size, they haven’t been moving a lot recently. Elijah had been very impatient. He was just a bit smaller than Noah, he really wanted to explore the world.

But the winds weren’t cooperating.

          “Seriously Elijah? It’s better here. We can survive here before those dreaded humans come and destroy us.” Peppy piped up indignantly. She was the smallest ice berg there was. She was always annoyed with Elijah, for all he kept talking about was to explore the world and complain how boring Antarctica was.

          “I don’t think all humans are that bad! And I hate all the boring white here...” Elijah continued on and on and on. Peppy and Noah sighed in defeat.

          One day, Elijah and Noah were just chatting about their day. It was one of those rare days where Elijah wasn’t complaining the ice off about how boring Antarctica was.

That was when the howling started.

          It wasn’t audible at first, the wind wasn’t too strong, nor was the water current. But slowly, is started picking up faster and faster. It was like a blizzard, Noah and Elijah could barely see anything. Then they started moving little by little. They saw Peppy speeding past them, screaming as she went. Elijah and Noah started moving faster and faster. It was the biggest storm they ever had.

Then all light had disappeared.

          “Elijah! Wake up! Look where we have arrived!” Elijah groaned and woke up to bright light and warmth. It was really unlike Antarctica. Elijah gasped upon finding out where they were.

          They were floating in warmer waters next to colourful land! Well, not really colourful, but it wasn’t white! At last! Something other than blue and white! Elijah stared in awe. A red house stood further away, and another white house peeked from behind. What humans called ‘cars’ were standing around on the land. Human were looking at us and talking muffled words. “I think they’re talking about us!!” Elijah exclaimed excitedly. Noah didn’t say anything.

          They floated in the warm waters, not moving. Soon, night came and all the human went home. Elijah and Noah stood floating in the waters all alone. “Hey Elijah, I think I’m starting to melt...” Elijah looked over in a panic just in time to see a small chunk of ice falling down from Noah. It dropped own and splashed loudly in the sea.

Both looked at each other in horror.

A Reaver's Fate

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Clang, creak. Clang, creak. Clang, creeeak. Clang!

The sound of the rusted iron door of my cell opening and closing with the howling wind woke me once more. Blearily, I rubbed my eyes open. The glow from the ever-burning torches faintly illuminated the cell that I’ve called home for—Gods, I don’t even know how long at this point. I sat up on the slab of stone that constituted for my bed, rubbing the remaining sleep from my eyes. I swung my legs around to the open side of the ‘bed’, raising my arms behind my head to stretch. 

Crack!

The familiar sound of my joints cracking brought a small smile to my face. If there’s anything that I’ve learned in my indefinite stay here, it’s to appreciate the small things. The scratchy pillow that the last guard to watch over my cell had given me from his own bedding; The fresh, albeit cold, air that swirled and howled throughout the halls; The—now filled—paper and empty quill another guard had gifted me after I mentioned how I used to make blueprints of weaponry for His Majesty’s army; Even the uncomfy but fitting clothes I’d been given so I wouldn’t freeze. 

A sigh escaped my lips, my cracked goggles fogging up in the chilly air of my cell. Cracking my neck, I got off my bed. Standing up fully, I did my morning stretches. Nightly stretches? Midday stretches? I wasn’t quite sure what time it was anymore. I used to be able to tell what time of day it was by who was guarding my cell. Jenford in the morn, Aylex during midday, and Merrin during the night. Or was it Merrin in the morn, Jenford during midday, and Aylex during the night? I don’t know anymore, it’s been so long since I’ve seen any of them—or anyone for that matter. 

I shook my head, clearing those confusing thoughts from my mind. After completing my stretches, I walked through my cell, inspecting everything. It was a ritual at this point. Go to the door and inspect the rust covering it. More seems to have covered the sliding mechanism where the guards used to slide my food through. I tried moving it slightly with my fingers, but it refused to budge. 

“Must be rusted shut.” I mused to no one in particular. 

After studying the door, I headed over to the wall with what I think is my most recent marking of the number of days I’ve been here. I grabbed the small pebble and added another vertical slash onto the wall, marking the new day.

Next, I head back to my ‘bed’ and fix my pillow, fluffing up so it’s slightly more comfortable during the night. The pillow was the only thing that separated me from the stone while sleeping. The scent of Reeves’ cologne had long since faded with time, though the memory of his kindness still clung to me like a child would to their blanky. 

“I, uh.” Reeves cleared his throat, trying to hide something from me behind his back. “I noticed that you, uh. You tend ta have bruises an’ cuts on your face afta’ sleepin’. So I, uh.” He looked away in embarrassment, his cheeks flushing red as the blood rushed to his face and screwing his eyes shut. He looked slightly like a tomato from the market stalls in King’s Square. 

“Takemypillow,it’lldoyousomegood.” He slurred while shoving a well-worn travel pillow towards me. I blinked for a few awkward seconds, unmoving as I stared at the pillow. He nervously opened one eye, both of us glued to our positions, unsure what to do. 

“Do—do you not want it?” He asked, his lip quivering like a wet dog in the cold. 

His question brought me out of my stupor. I blinked a few more times before responding. “I—I don't know what to say. Thank you, Reeves.” My voice was barely above a whisper and yet it felt like the loudest sound I had ever heard, louder than the bang and explosions of artillery in the cacophony of battle. 

I shook my head, chasing those far off memories away before I broke down again. 

“There’s no use in dwelling on the past, it just makes us weak and liable to ignore the future.” My old Master used to say. 

Master… Gods, I haven’t thought about him in years. Decades? I truly can’t tell how long I have been here for anymore. Still, I miss that sly old man and his strangely useful wisdom. I miss the way he used to braid my hair when it got too long and how he used to sneak confidential scrolls that were far too out of my league into my room to study. 

I chuckled sadly, sniffling as I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes. Ah, shit. I’m already breaking down again. I wiped my tears away with my sleeve, only to feel more coming. The tears rolled down my face as my chest heaved for a comforting presence that I knew I would never feel again for as long as I lived. For what felt like days I stood there, hovering over my ‘bed’, sobbing silently and longing for the warmth of the man who raised me. 

When I had finally come to my senses, my body ached. There was also a dull throb in my head that was particularly vexing. Wanting to retain some sense of normalcy, I dragged my uncooperative feet to the pile of paper covered in various diagrams I would draw in my youth. I attempted to sit down, only for my body to collapse in exhaustion. 

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

“This place gives me the creeps.” 

“Oh, quit being such a wimp, Gunar.” 

“I am not a wimp! You just clearly lack any self-preservation! If you hadn’t taken this stupid job, we could’ve been in Varmoss drinking right now!”

Davi scowled at the Lizard-folk, she’d had enough of his whining and moaning about their current job. “Shut up, Gunar! I don't ‘lack self-preservation’, you’re just a coward with a drinking problem. Besides, it’s just a clear-cut exploration mission. ‘Explore the ruins beyond the borders of the ancient kingdom of Hemonar. Find out what’s there and if there’s anything of value for Her Majesty’s Archives.’ It’s a simple job.” 

Gunar scoffed, “Yeah, and what are we going to do if we found any Reavers?”

Davi gave him a scathing glare. “I highly doubt that we’d run into any Reavers.” She barely managed to suppress the urge to shudder at the mention of those foul creatures. 

You could never trust a Reaver, no matter how harmless they try to convince you that they are. They brought about only pain and destruction. She had to learn that lesson the hard way. 

As the two continued exploring the ruins, they came across a hallway that led to a thick, rusted iron door that seemed to open ever so slightly and then slam shut in a consistent rhythm. The door had an openable slot that was likely used to feed whatever prisoner was stuck in there, but it appeared to be rusted shut. 

The two shared a look. Gunar shook his head, trembling slightly. Davi rolled her eyes and gestured to his Scimitar. He gulped nervously while unsheathing the weapon. Davi grabbed the handle of the door, which was curiously unlocked, and turned it to the right. The door shuddered and groaned as it opened, having clearly not been opened for centuries. 

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Clank! Clank, click, clank! 

Footsteps? Who in the Reagent’s name is here? The sound of armoured footsteps grew louder, loud enough for me to discern that there were two sets of footsteps coming towards my cell. I sat still, praying that they’d turn around and come back another time, preferably when I wasn’t stuck reliving the bittersweet memories of my imprisonment at the hand of Ser Nightcolt’s forces. 

I waited with baited breath, staring at the door to my cell. For a few tense moments, the door remained closed. Despite the now silent halls, I could still feel my heart hammering in my chest. The sound of it was so deafening that I almost felt like I was back in The Forges. With the sweet sound of hammers hitting steel and fires roaring as I shoveled more coal into the furnaces. 

NO! Now’s not the time to be longing for the familiar ash and soot scented halls I owned. Get your head in the game, Duskroar! There are people outside your cell! They could be bandits that will force you to create all manner of terrible things for them! 

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind and refocus on the present. 

“Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the now. Leave your thoughts be, let them come and go, like a leaf in the wind. Breathe in, breathe out.” I could hear Master Drust’s voice walking me through the familiar breathing exercise from my childhood, almost as if his spirit was still here guiding me, even in death. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Don’t dwell on your intrusive thoughts, let them be and focus on your senses.

Five objects near me: The diagrams, my quill, the empty jar of ink, the clothes on my back, and my pillow. 

Four sounds I can hear: The howling wind, my chest heaving as I try to slow my breaths, the silence of my door..

Shit! My cell door is never quiet! I could feel my heartrate picking up tremendously, its drumming drowning out the sound of the cell door opening. 

As the door opened, I saw two figures rush inside. Both had their weapons drawn. One was a stout Dwarf that was carrying a battle axe of some sort, one clearly far less advanced than what my wife used to make in The Forges. The other was a trembling Lizard-kin holding a not very well taken care of Scimitar out towards me. His—her?—grip was shaky, as if they were going to drop it and flee at any moment. 

The dwarf’s face went pale, as if they’d seen a Ghoul. Their eyes were wide with fear, but they held their axe steady. “Cò thu? Dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo?” They shouted in, what was, a language similar to Dwarvish but clearly more than just a newer dialect. 

“Is mise Duskroar, cé tusa?” Gods, I really need to brush up on my Dwarvish.

The two looked at me in surprise, not expecting me to speak Dwarvish. The Dwarf narrowed their eyes at me. Their eyes were a piercing green, one that made it seem like they were looking into my soul, judging my very existence. They turned to the Lizard-kin, careful to keep me in their sights before speaking in a tongue I couldn’t recognise. The two conversed for a bit before the Dwarf turned back to me. 

“Hva vet du om dette stedet? Ah, shit. That’s not Common….” The Lizard-kin muttered. They cleared their throat before speaking again, “Ak-hem. What are you doing here? What can you tell us about this place?”

Common? Huh, it’s not quite how I remember it but I can work with it. 

“This is—or was—a fortress that Ser Nightcolt’s forces used to keep high profile prisoners.” The two seemed quite shocked, sharing a look of surprise. 

“So you are, er, were a prisoner here?” 

“Indeed. I got captured during the Battle of Mistband and transported here. I do hope my wife is okay, it’s been…” I started counting on my fingers, “One, two, three, four, eight, eleven… I don’t know how many years since I’ve seen her.” 

“Why did Ser Nightcolt’s forces capture you?”

“I am an Artificer. I work for King Vollert of Hemonar. I studied under Grand Wizard Drust of His Majesty’s Court.”

The two shared another look, this one bordering on a mixture of pity and skepticism.

“Should we…?”

“Should you what?” I asked, perplexed. What are they trying to hide from me? 

“Go on. Tell them, Gunar.” The Dwarf made a gesture for the Lizard-kin—Gunar, I presume—to continue.

“Are you sure, Davi? Are you sure that this is a good idea?”

The Dwarf, Davi, glared at Gunar. “Just do it, I’ll buy you a drink later.”

Gunar gave them a sharp-toothed grin before turning their focus back on me. “I’m not sure how exactly to tell you this, but… King Vollert of Hemonar has been dead for about half a millennia. His kingdom fell about five hundred and fifteen years ago.”

“And what of Ser Nightcolt’s forces?” This can’t be right. Has it really been over 500 years since I got sent here? They're joking, right?

“The Nightbourne Empire fell roughly two hundred years after the Kingdom of Hemonar.”

“So it’s true… If they’re all dead… Why am I still alive? Why did I live and they die? Why must the Gods be so cruel?” I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and my hands clamming up. My breaths became raggard, my lungs struggling to take in any air. It felt as though my throat was being crushed by my Uncle’s hands, like when I was a child.

⊰─────────────────────────────────⊱

Translations:

Cò thu? Dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo?: Who are you? What are you doing here? in Scottish Gaelic

Is mise Duskroar, cé tusa?: I’m Duskroar, who are you? in Irish

Hva vet du om dette stedet?: What do you know about this place? in Norwegian

(All Translations are from Word Hippo)

You have been imprisoned for so long that you have completely lost track of time. You are not even sure whether those who imprisoned you are still alive. When finally someone came to check on you they were surprised to find you, claiming that the dungeon has been unused for centuries.

The Great Walrus Debate

“Inconceivable! Such a paltry spell could never trump the plainly better spell, Greater Summon Walrus.”

“Blasphemy! Summon Greater Walrus is far better than your paltry spell.”

“You dare insult the ancient tradition of Summons!?” 

“I do! Summons are stupid and you know it! Why have a familiar that forbids you from summoning others who may aid you? It is madness! Madness, I say!”

“It is not! You would not need to summon others if you had a Summon yourself!”

“It is! What use is a Walrus Summon who is only helpful in exiguous situations when you could summon countless things useful in those distinct conditions and summon the Walrus when necessary?”

“It is not! And You, my brother in spells, have crossed the line!”

“You dare to insult my honour!? I have crossed no such line!”

“You have!”

“I have not!”

“Have!”

“Have not!”

“Have!”

“Have not!”

“Have!”

“Have not!”

“Have!”

“Have not!”

“Have not!”

“Have!”

“Ha! So you admit it!”

“I did nothing of the sort, you-!” 

“...”

“I did, didn't I…”

“You did.”

“Damn you and your mind games, David.”

“You say that but you always fall for them, Joseph.”

Story inspired by the "Two wizards debate on which is the better spell: 'Summon Greater Walrus; or 'Greater Summon Walrus' prompt by @writing-prompt-s