mthollowell-writes

[mthollowell-writes]

The Enchantress was a fool if she thought that this would stop him.

The prince chuckled as he watched his servants, the ones who hadn't been cursed with him, flee his castle. Let them run. Let them spread the word. Let them spread the tale.

The Enchantress thought that this was a punishment? No, no...

She had made him into a spider with the perfect web to draw his prey in. Who could resist the story of a handsome prince who needed true love? The beauties would come straight into his web.

The Beast laughed as he settled in.

Let them come. Let them all come.

#oooh! #I love this twist #other writers' writings #fiction #boost

[mthollowell-writes]

The Tomb of Light

Summary: In a country where magic has been outlawed, four strangers are sent on a quest to find the last source and destroy it—but something or someone has other plans for them.

Genre: NA Fantasy

WIP Intro

Chapter One: The Pledge

CW: Violent imagery, mentions of death

 WC: 3,507

The bell’s resounding chime summoned him to his retribution.

Adrin’s eyes slid over to the dust-covered window and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He dipped a finger into the jar of flaxseed oil his mother had boiled down for him the night before and brushed some into his hair with more urgency.  The reflective glass that hung on his bedroom wall hung slightly crooked, but instead of setting it straight he simply tilted his head to the right. For a guard in training, it would have been more convenient for him to keep a shorter hairstyle, but it would have been yet another thing that made him look like everyone else, and he was already a stranger to himself. If someone had told him long ago that he was to be sworn into the High Guard, he would have thrown his head back and laughed. His father had tried in vain to encourage even a flicker of enthusiasm for the job, but a guard was not who he was meant to be. It was who he needed to become.

With his blonde hair slicked back against his head, he secured a heavy white cape around his shoulders. The city’s crest, a large tree with bare branches, was embroidered on the back with black thread. The roots dangling beneath the tree were in the shape of lightning. Rothar was proud of their violent history, and he would be in defense of it for the rest of his life. He stared back at the downcast face in the foggy glass and bid farewell to the boy who once wished to escape it. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight as he slouched down the narrow hallway into the kitchen. He slipped through the front door just as his mother’s groggy voice called his name.

Once he was certain she hadn’t followed him outside, he paused at the end of the dirt path, turning to look at the massive oak tree that embraced his house in its shadow. A high-pitched ringing in his ears replaced the sound of the morning breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His sister’s smiling face appeared to him, but was quickly replaced by a look of sheer terror. Her pale skin turned sickly gray and her yellow hair dripped with blood.

He opened his eyes and found himself on his knees at the base of the tree and pressed his ear to the rough bark as if he could hear a heartbeat. His eyes drifted down to the long grass that dampened the knees of his trousers with the morning dew. It was almost impossible to tell someone had been buried there now. With a hand almost as white as the cape he wore, he plucked a meadow violet from the ground and tucked it safely into the cloth bag tied to his waist. He had doomed her the day he joined the High Guard, and in doing so had doomed himself. It seemed only fitting he carried a reminder of where his heart belonged–in the weeds, decaying alongside the only person who truly understood him. 

Rothar was struggling to wake, much like himself. Shuttered windows and quiet streets greeted him as he continued further into the city center. The baker, as always, was well into her workday, and as she waved to him from behind her long counter she created a snowstorm over her head. He brought a hand to his left temple and gave her a half-hearted salute. Freshly kneaded loaves rested beneath a damp cloth on the table beside her and he inhaled their comforting scent, letting memories of family dinners and his mother’s exemplary cooking skills quiet the anxious thoughts that plagued him. 

“Valic! Hey, Valic!” A gruff but friendly voice snapped him out of his melancholic reminiscence. 

He spotted the other novice guards lining up just ahead, identical crests emblazoned on the backs of their billowing capes. A short, sandy-haired man with a round belly waved at him. He bit the inside of his cheek and plastered a smile on his face.

“Alright, Milvar?” He quickened his pace to catch up to him. “I thought I was the early one.”

“No one else had to stop and grease their hair, pretty boy.” Milvar landed a solid punch on his arm and grinned at him with crooked teeth. “Maybe give the rest of us a fighting chance with the birds, yeah?”

Adrin gave him a half-smirk. “You strut around here in that uniform and tell anyone who will listen about your pink roses and I assure you, the ladies will find you–but in order to keep that uniform, you might want to actually make it to your pledge.” 

He ushered him through the iron gates that lead to the Veritas Compound, a small cluster of buildings that comprised the guard barracks, watchtower, council chambers and school. The barracks, a round tower of pale limestone, was closest to them. A large group had spread out in front, a  ring of iron torches placed into the ground around them to stave off the haze of dawn.

The High Guard consisted of nearly a hundred men and women, excluding the novices to be sworn in. They stood together in five neat rows, the highest ranked among them front and center. Each of them wore the same uniform of gray trousers, a long sleeved linen tunic and a black leather breastplate with matching bracers. The sea of white cloaks was bathed in a pale orange glow as the sun rose lazily in the sky. Adrin and his comrades formed their own line facing the others, and he held back a groan as he recognized another familiar face. 

If parents were allowed to pick and choose their children based on desirable traits, Lieutenant Rothe would be his father’s pride and joy. The young prodigy had enrolled in guard training at 19, two years before Adrin had finally caved. It had been a year since Adrin and Milvar’s first attempt to join the guard, and they had returned to a version of Rothe even more grating than the last.  

The lieutenant’s delicate facial features and dashing smile stole hearts, but his sharp intelligence and natural gift for swordsmanship had seemingly earned him the respect of everyone who knew him. Adrin saw what they ignored. The young lieutenant was gifted, sure, but he was also a vortex of apathy that left destruction in its wake. When he wasn’t barking orders or having his ego stroked by the captain, he lounged around his family’s sizable cabin spending his inheritance on all the spirits and opium he could find. The council turned a blind eye to their cherished guard as he led naive women into his home night after night. They ignored the scent of alcohol that always lingered on his breath and the dilated pupils that swallowed the icy blue irises everyone loved to admire. It was for these reasons, among others, that made it difficult for Adrin to embrace his new role. It sickened him to think of swearing loyalty to such hypocrites. The ceremony was just another sacrifice for the sake of his parent’s happiness and his penance. For Sophie. 

A dark-skinned woman wearing a black cape and a blank expression stood beside Rothe. Her impossibly shiny hair was secured in a long braid that wrapped around her head and was pinned in place, highlighting her prominent cheekbones. Her gaze was inscrutable as it swept over the rows and rows of guards, but her voice was welcoming when she spoke.

“Lieutenant Rothe will be swearing you in,” her sickly sweet voice rang out, and the hissing whispers of the eager recruits fell silent at once. 

The ebony-haired man straightened at the sound of his name and immediately, the novices stood at attention, hands clasped behind their backs. He sauntered forward, the golden sheath at his hip swaying with each motion. A short young woman with mousy brown hair and a timid demeanor hovered near his elbow, a small wooden chest tucked under her arm. Adrin stared at it with a sense of dread, tasting blood as he chewed the inside of his cheek for the second time that morning. 

“Thank you, Captain Hollowar.” Rothe turned to give her a polite nod before addressing them. “Today, you will dedicate yourselves to the protection of Rothar.”

Adrin was surprised that his voice did not waver, and instead echoed with righteous authority.

“You will dedicate yourselves to your fellow guardsmen and the Veritas Council, the guardians of Caledon.” The lieutenant looked out at the novices and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

 He let his words linger for a moment, testing their patience further. At last, he nodded to the brown-haired guard. “The chest, please, Havoc.”

Her face flushed, perhaps at the notion that he had remembered her name. She unhooked the latch and opened the lid before holding it out to him. Inside appeared to be thin silver bands of  polished metal. The bands were left partially open with a half inch of space between each end. Rothe lifted one with a single finger and held it aloft, letting it catch the light of the rising sun.

“These bracelets will be permanently closed around your wrist after you have been sworn in. It will serve as a reminder to you all that you cannot simply turn your backs on responsibility. This is a role you will have for life.”

It took every ounce of self control that Adrin possessed for him to hold his tongue from unleashing a biting insult. For most of his childhood he had seen his father brandish his own bracelet with great pride, but for Adrin, it was a shackle.

“Guardsman Valic.” His name must have been funny, for Rothe had turned to address him with a sneer. “Is there a problem?” 

Adrin swallowed. “No problem, sir.” He straightened his shoulders and focused his eyes on a point somewhere to the left of Rothe’s amused face.

“Good. Let’s move on, then.” He snapped his fingers and Havoc placed a large book bound in black leather into his outstretched hand. “You can start us off. Repeat after me:

I pledge myself to the good of mankind and its quest for advancement.

I pledge myself to the Council and vow to uphold their ways.

I pledge myself to a world without magic and vow to protect the citizens of my city and my country from its corruption for all time.

I pledge myself to Caledon, from now until I die.”

Adrin received his bracelet from Havoc and shuffled resignedly to the blacksmith, who stood by a torch with a pair of tongs. The old man was silent as he snatched the bracelet and held it in the center of the flame. A small line began to form behind him as he watched the metal change from red to orange.

At last it emerged from the fire and the blacksmith snapped his fingers at him. Adrin held out his left wrist and sought out the shredded flesh of his cheek with his tongue as the heated metal came closer. His flesh sizzled and steamed as the iron slid into place. A gloved hand pinched the metal closed, ensuring it wouldn’t budge. He tried to ignore the smell of his own bubbling, burning skin and gave the blacksmith a courteous nod before stepping aside for the next novice. 

The sun shone brightly above them now as the newly minted guards flashed their matching bracelets at each other, not one of them seeming to take issue with the permanence of their duty, though there were more than a few stifled yells and carefully disguised tears. Adrin stood apart from the others and waited for Milvar as he examined the red skin and puffy welts on his wrist. He welcomed the pain. It kept him focused.

The novices were granted recreational time to run back home and share their excitement with their families before reporting for their first official day of duty. Adrin slumped back to his house with a gently weeping Milvar, who had invited himself along to partake in breakfast.

“Why didn’t they warn us?” He moaned with a pathetic pout on his bearded face. “Can you die from burns?”

He gave his friend a sympathetic smile. As the son of a cobbler and a teacher, his family lived in South Rothar with the other tradesmen, saving him from the high expectations of the north. Unfortunately, as someone who was also desperate to be one of them, he saw Adrin as the model for an ideal lifestyle. If Adrin had left Rothar years ago as he had planned to, Milvar would have been right there by his side. Instead, his sweet, simple friend went against his own nature and followed him into danger. It seemed that Adrin was destined to destroy lives, not save them. 

  “Have my mum look at it, you twit. She’ll have something for the pain.” He pushed Milvar to the other side of the path with a low chuckle. “Come on, now.”

The city center was more than awake now, with delectable aromas of smoked meats and warm bread assaulting their noses the moment they stepped through the compound gates. He had to drag Milvar away from the baker, who had moved on from bread to fruit tarts since Adrin had last seen her. Golden brown triangles filled with spiced pears, apples, vibrant cherries and plums had been lined up in eye-catching concentric circles on a large silver tray. The baker sprinkled a handful of sugar into a large mortar and pestle and set to work grinding it into a fine powder. Milvar leaned across the counter towards her.

“You make the whole world sweet, you beautiful lass. Never stop,” he murmured as Adrin grabbed his arm and tugged him away.

Indeed, as Adrin smacked his lips together he could taste the sugar and for a moment the throbbing pain in his wrist vanished–but only for a moment. He kept a firm grip on Milvar as they passed the other shops and released him only when they had turned down the northwest road. Sophie’s tree waved to them with wide hands covered in green leaves that were starting to show spots of yellow. Beneath its outstretched arm was his house, a modest but well-kept cottage of cobblestone with a bright red door and matching shutters. On either side of the dirt path were patches of purple clovers that sprouted through sparse green grass. Milvar picked up the pace, jogging towards the door with purpose.

Inside, his parents were waiting for them at their kitchen table, a faded and cracked squaretop surrounded by mismatched chairs. Plates of fat link sausages shining with grease, slices of malt loaf speckled with dried plums and a half dozen fried eggs covered the table. His stomach grumbled its approval, but his attempts to reach the food were foiled by his father’s large, broad-shouldered body rushing towards him.

 “Let me see that!” He grabbed at his left wrist, avoiding the seared skin but still sending a fresh wave of throbbing pain up his arm. “Now you’re just like your old man!” He slapped a thick hand across his back, his own bracelet still encircling his right wrist.

Adrin forced a painful smile on his face. “I would have preferred a necklace, I think.”

“Well I think you look very official.” His mother called over her shoulder as she stirred a large pot of porridge over the fire. She slid the spoon through the pot’s handle and wiped her hands on the patchwork apron tied around her waist. “Both of you. Let me take a look at those wrists, boys.” She swatted his father on the back and he made way for her.

Milvar stepped further into the cramped room and held out his right arm, his watery blue eyes refusing to look.

She clicked her tongue and held each of their hands up to her face. “Such a brutish ceremony. Sit,” she commanded them, then dashed to the shelves on the far wall. Glass jars containing flowers, herbs and salves stood in rows of six. She tied her silvery hair back with a scrap of fabric from within the pocket of her apron and examined the jars with interest before selecting one filled with what looked like wood shavings.

“Hush, woman,” his father chided, but his expression was soft. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“After days of ceaseless whining.” She retrieved the kettle from the fireplace and brought it to the table. “Adrin, join us please, and stop hovering like a stranger in your own home.” 

He pulled out the creaking wooden chair next to Milvar and seated himself in front of a large platter of sausages, lifting one to his mouth with a trembling hand. He tore off a large piece with his front teeth and swallowed it whole, wanting the meal to pass by as quickly as possible. His mother’s pale grey eyes studied him with interest as she sprinkled a few pieces of the shavings in two clay mugs. Steam from the boiling water flushed her cheeks, and she fanned herself with her free hand as she set one down in front of him and Milvar in turn. Milvar leaned forward and sniffed his with narrow eyes.

“Willow bark, for the pain,” she informed them. She claimed the last chair for herself–Sophie’s chair, with painted daisies and sunflowers along the back. 

As the men tucked in, she turned her attention to Adrin. He shoveled bite after bite into his mouth, pretending that it was hunger that caused him to ignore her. Heedless of Milvar’s sharp eyes, she tucked a loose strand of Adrin’s hair behind his ear and continued to watch him, only taking a few nibbles from her slice of bread every now and then.

“I’ll put some honey on that burn for you tonight after your shift,” she said, and pushed his tea towards him. “Make sure you stop by too, Milton.”

“Please eat something, Mum,” Adrin urged her, cutting off Milvar’s cry of outrage in response to being addressed by his first name. “There’s no need to worry, I promise.”

“I always worry,” she murmured into her lap.

 “Enough of the fussing, Laurel. This is a day to celebrate,” his father mumbled around a mouthful of sausage and egg. He swallowed before adding, “I’m proud of you.” There was another, longer pause. “I know Sophie would be too.”

The negativity that had been eating away at Adrin all morning suddenly burst out. His fork clattered against the table as it slipped from his fingers.

“You know that’s not true,” he hissed.

Milvar, sensing that the time for pleasantries was running short, began to eat at a much faster pace.

“Adrin–” His parents shared a look of concern.

“I apologize, but I’ve had about all that I can stomach.” He pushed away from the table and rose to his feet. “I will meet you at the barracks, Milvar.” He left his tea untouched, letting his anger and guilt drown out the burning bite of metal against skin. The front door closed with a loud bang, sending clouds of dust into the air. 

Adrin was surprised to find himself among the last to return to the barracks. He glanced behind him, wondering if Milvar would be willing to sacrifice his rank for another helping of sausages. He did his best to exchange pleasantries with the others while his head fought a futile battle against the dark thoughts raging within. He had never completely meshed with the other novices, or the guards for that matter. Everyone, save for Milvar, looked at him differently in the year since Sophie’s death.

No one had anticipated a death during what was meant to be an innocent night of camaraderie in the woods, and no one could have predicted that their most boisterous recruit would become so somber.  He was permitted time to grieve, of course, and Milvar the loyal had waited to pledge with him–but time would never make things right, make him right.  The loud clanging of the watchtower bell interrupted his mournful introspection and heads whipped around as if the source of the commotion was right in front of them.  

Captain Hollowar exited the barracks alongside the lieutenant. The two of them stalked across the plush green lawn with closed expressions. Their black and white capes whipped back and forth in the wind, and slowed to a flutter as they stopped in front of the group. Hollowar gave them a moment to fall in. 

“One of our gatekeepers received a warning today from a traveling merchant.” She brandished a crisp piece of beige parchment. “An old enemy of Rothar has been spotted making arrangements to enter the city.” She cleared her throat. “The woman has been identified as none other than Mara Wilkes.”

All eyes turned to Lieutenant Rothe.

#wip: tomb of light #fantasy writing #writers on tumblr #other writers' writings #boost!

[mthollowell-writes]

no writing workshop can help you improve your writing as much as this screenshot can

[mthollowell-writes]

Things that work in fiction but not real life

torture getting reliable information out of people

knocking someone out to harmlessly incapacitate them for like an hour

jumping into water from staggering heights and surviving the fall completely intact

calling the police to deescalate a situation

rafting your way off a desert island

correctly profiling total strangers based on vibes

effectively operating every computer by typing and nothing else

ripping an IV out of your arm without consequences

heterosexual cowboy

[mthollowell-writes]

Writing Share Game

Whoop whoop! Thank you @ink-enchanted for tagging me HERE.

Rules: Share some writing!

Sharing some writing from Masterpiece since that is what I'm working on currently.

A map laid between the two of them on the wooden counter. The pale pink was a stark contrast against the disgusting yellows and blues, the off-reds of roads and rivers, and the old blues of places far off. Lines were dabbled in faded gray, circled areas of places come and gone, starred areas of places to go, all crossed out. All that was left was a single heart sketched for a final destination. Home.

Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future tag games. I'm wanting to redo my list of people I tag since I was inactive for so long. So for now I'm only tagging @doublegoblin - @gummybugg - and @veetvoojagigthemagnificent because if I don't I will be struck down by lightning.

#beautiful description! #tag games #other writers' writings #writeblr #boost!

[mthollowell-writes]

How To Write Your First Chapter With Success (In Detail)

There are several components to keep in mind when it comes to writing your first chapter. It is challenging and involves numerous drafts, editing and re-writing. 

When you begin a chapter, don't info-dump in the beginning; would you prefer to start your story in the boring old way where your character wakes up in the morning with a yawn and smile on their face? 

(Instead)

Start the story with a hook, it is intriguing and makes the reader want to read more. Hooks give your story uniqueness and make it interesting. 

Start your story in the middle of the night, in an eerie/ vivid setting

Start your story with a philosophical question that would hook the readers from the beginning. Have them think and wonder the question 'why?'

Start it with a punch line 

Start the story with some action and good dialogue

2. Don't leave the introduction of your character for chapter 10

(Instead)

Introduce your character early into the chapters but make their introduction stand out. Add essence to it.

Identify how you'd like to voice your characters 

keep your main character special yet human (flawed)  

Give them specific quirks and personality

3. Don't set a forced setting because of trends. Don't rely on dialogues for setting the tone.

(Instead)

Your setting should reflect your story. Set the tone you want. Is your chapter conveying a depressed scene, an action scene, a romantic scene etc? 

If you all have any questions or would like to ask then feel free to send your queries! I

I wish you the best on your journey to writing.

#good advice! #writing #writing advice #writing resource #writeblr #on first chapters

[mthollowell-writes]

Writeblr Re-Intro

Yo! I'm V Saintsin. Or V or Vin or Saintsin or whatever you want to call me that sounds right on your tongue. I'm a self-proclaimed Social Media fumbler who got a late start to the party and has never quite figured it out. I hate how hipster and edgy it sounds to say "I'm bad at social media" but like I used to work with some people who actually managed the social media accounts for the business we worked for and there were rules and whatnot and damn, I think online media is just not my medium. That being said, here I am! Hah

I'm an author and general mess who's hoping to be the miracle man (somebody who makes a living writing silly little stories). I do use a pseudonym but please hear me out when I say I didn't realize how edgy it sounds, it just has some sentimental value to my personal life. I'm so sorry that I sound like I'm in my emo phase HAHA

About me -

He/Him Transguy from the American Midwest (arguably the south, depending on who you talk to, but the older people still say "Sodi-pop" and "ope").

I'm dysautonomic, bendy, permanently sleepy, and a survivor of Crappy Doctors Who Suck At Doctoring.

I like DnD, Pathfinder, Baldur's Gate 3, Cyberpunk, Dragon Age, and other things in that vein.

I do make art of my stories and characters (Tablet is currently not working so I'm in a dry spell).

My writing background is predominantly ancient, dusty RPs from as far back as the foopets days and fanfic writing on Quizilla - I am an old and wizened elder of the net.

My formal education was music performance and behavioral neuroscience, I don't really know how I got where I am.

This is not my first rodeo with tumblr but it is the first time I have anything to SAY instead of just lurking.

In the event of malfunction, you can put me outside for 5 minutes and I'll probably factory reset.

My existence as I know it hinges on a massive number of sticky notes plastered throughout my room.

What I'm lookin' for -

Idk, whatever? I'm down for most things. Did you write it? Cool, let me see. I'm not too bent on genre or anything, just fascinated by the art of storytelling.

A bit tentative with fanfiction but that's just because if it's not a fandom I'm familiar with I am rather clueless about what the hell is going on and if it's a fandom I am familiar with I HUNT DOWN THE DEEP LORE.

I like art a whole lot, including fanart. Also art advice, love seeing things from different perspectives and learning something new.

Mutuals, really, for any reason. Building better connections on here, getting to know people. I am hideously bad at this but I try.

What I write -

Science Fiction with heavy subjects that matter to me - trigger warnings on a story-by-story basis.

High Fantasy (eventually books I think?) characters and their backgrounds for DnD and Pathfinder - I have been tempted to share these to help people get ideas or just for free use?

Things that I delete because I have crippling imposter syndrome and publishing makes me nauseous (doin' it tho).

Stories that I hope will make people feel less alone or that people could relate to, stories that I wish I had when life was worse and I was reaching out for anything I could find to keep me afloat, stories that try to be critical of things that SUCK in a way that's any helpful.

Lots of curse words and cussing (that's just how people talk 'round here), dubious science, things that I hope might make you cry but in a good way though.

Character-Driven stories that revolve more around the development of the person and less around the plot itself if that makes sense.

I've put blurb things below for my primary project/series which features a grumpy, queer, 37-year old chain smoking Frenchman and his misadventures with life and love and unbridled rage. If any of that sounds cool stick around and hang out? (This part is a plug bc I did a thing and I'm proud of it) And if my books sounds interesting the first one is 99 cents on Kindle and you just need a phone and a free app to read it!

THE SECRET OF LIFE (Published) - Sci-Fi/Psychological Thriller, Bi M Lead, Lovers to Enemies, AI but the oldschool cool kind not the real world thing that's stealing our future

Carlisle-Trystan Antoinette is a mercenary on a hard road, navigating life and death itself in an infinite cycle started by powers above his understanding. He has one mission - warn The Dianican Space Station of the coming threat and put a stop to a war that would encapsulate the whole of the Sol System before it can ever begin. Unfortunately for Carlisle, reality is a tenuous thing, made up only by our understanding of it. At least, according to his Psychiatrist, who tells him that there is no war, that he was never a mercenary, and that what Carlisle is experiencing is a severe but manageable psychotic break. Stripped of his combat enhancements, his bio monitor, and everything he's every known, Carlisle has a decision to make. Does he give in to the thoughts and memories, so real that he can almost taste them, or does he live a life of comfort and ease, returning to a husband and daughter that he left behind?

TWs: Domestic and War Violence, suicide, rape, medical trauma, grief, drug use

THE SILENCE OF ANGELS (Due July '24, TSoL 2) - Betrayal and Rage, Learning how to love again slow-burn romantic subplot, Learning how to Dad, A general inability for any one thing to just go right

(Quick Rough Blurb that offers no spoilers for TSoL) Making connections isn't easy for somebody who's accustomed to burning bridges. Isolation has always been Carlisle's mantra for surviving his life. Playing a role comes second nature, pretending to be the man that everyone else wants to see in him. When an old friend is murdered Carlisle finds himself as the primary suspect with all evidence pointing to him so clearly that even he calls to question what he is capable of. Unwilling to believe that he could commit such a heinous crime, Carlisle sets off to find the truth of his friend's death - was Carlisle framed or does he truly have the capacity to bring such harm upon those he loves? Old and new bonds will be tested, faith broken, and the future of everyone called into question as lines are drawn and sides are picked.

TWs: Violence, mentions of SA, graphic character death, more grief, more death

I don't know what else to say... Later!

#welcome welcome! #writeblr #writeblr intros

[mthollowell-writes]

[mthollowell-writes]

meme for when the basic narrative staple of dramatic irony gets mistaken for a plot hole

[mthollowell-writes]

Favorite Lines from Writing Session (4/28/24)

My favorite part of today's writing session was dreaming up the adventures of the daring Captain Mattie and her trusty steed, Mr. Kerfluffle (her uncle) in their quest to steal the treasure of the evil Captain Roo.

I had too much fun with this exchange:

“Me and Uncle Richie found the lost treasure of Atlantis,” Mattie explained breathlessly. “We could’ve bought a palace but we used it to save the turtles instead. They and the dolphins won’t have to go to war now.”

“Wow, that’s a lot!” [Emery] and Richie exchanged a look while the latter laid on his side in the grass. A look that said “the imagination of this kid.” It was the closest thing they had to a bonding moment in a long while.

A determined shine came into Mattie’s eyes. “Did you want to help us take out the evil Captain Roo and take his treasure. I need a second mate. Mr. Kerfluffle can carry us to the other side of the island.”

Richie heaved himself up to his feet with a grunt. “Mr. Kerfluffle is an old steed. He can’t carry more than 50 pounds on his back and his knees aren’t what they used to be.”

#favorite lines #festival project #oc: emery #mt writes #this is likely going to be moving up from where it currently is #it's a bit too late in the story #writeblr

[mthollowell-writes]

Daily Sip 4/28

You can reblog this post.

You can make your own post.

You reblog someone else's snip!

Just tag it sipofsnips so everyone can find each other. ^.-

#I do not trust this dr march! #this is excellent #I’m very intrigued! #other writers' writings #writeblr #boost!

[mthollowell-writes]

Writing Share Game

Tagged by @dyrewrites even though she knows all I have to share is world building ><

Rules: Share some writing!

Tagging @mthollowell-writes @aziz-reads @stesierra @digital-chance @fire-but-ashes-too

From The Shroud, which is a WiP that barely has any writing for it, but I will share what I got! FYI this is super old, like six years ago and some things have changed:

THE SKY WAS A BRUISE. A black and blue smudge, and in the distance, electric blue flashes raged where the trees met the sky. He quickened his pace down the broken road. Raising his arm as he went, he tapped the skin of his forearm, prompting E.N.D.U.R.E to start. A crack of thunder shook him, but he didn’t look back. A small screen emerged from his flesh and a red blinking triangle showed rapid and warning. A signal of the coming Shroud. “Not long now.” He tapped his earpiece, small and innocuous in his ear, “Bron you there?” Nothing but white noise responded. It’d been a few hours since they separated to look for a working vehicle. Then the Shroud began gathering from the distance and Logan had a new objective. Find shelter or die. Wind struck his body and he struggled to stand upright. He forced his leg forward, one foot after the other, but a few paces later his boots rolled over something small and hard. A trail of spent shotgun shells littered the ground to end near a disheveled structure that might have been a house, once. Now, the roof was caved in near the back, and the front door had buckled in on itself. A rustling behind him had his fingers reaching for his hip. He slid his palm over the body of his gun, cold metal against sweaty fingers. He wavered for a moment, focusing his cybernetic hearing past the wind. A low growl erupted from the trees. Gravel crunched under his boots as he spun around, pistol out of his holster and aiming for the trees. His eyes darted back and forth along the tree line. Glinting metal and a tuft of ratty fur was all he caught sight of as something dashed through the forest. The wind was picking up every minute and dust whipped against his body. Heavy lashes of rain followed. Soon his eyes itched from not blinking, but he wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t risk turning his back. The Shroud’s first cyclone touched down in the distance. Blue bolts littered the thick rolling clouds as the funnel dropped to the ground. It danced on the horizon for a few moments before splitting into triplicates. Logan pursed his lips, eyes narrowed at the trees. “I don’t have time for this.”

taglist: @anonymousfoz @schepper-wubs-wips @dyrewrites

#your imagery in this is amazing #sci fi! #tag games #writeblr #other writers' writing #boost!

[mthollowell-writes]

Favorite Lines from Writing Session (4/27/24)

I haven't done one of these in a while so I'll share two. Besides, I just finished one (very long) chapter and just began another.

From Chapter 14:

The biggest waste of space were the boxes of old books and yellowed paper he amassed over the years. September couldn’t bring himself to throw any of it away. He didn’t know what would be important later.

Yes, he knew that was hoarder speak. Yes, he knew he had a problem. Just add it to the ever growing pile.

From Chapter 15 (this one's really rough but...):

[Emery] didn’t have the time or energy to deal with Richie. He was busy enough with work and building up the barricades needed to keep Oak Hill safe from “the Resurrected.” God, that term was so stupid. Zombies were dangerous. They needed their heads shot off, not a fucking rebrand.

#mt writes #favorite lines #festival project #oc: emery #oc: september #my characters have a tough time confronting their issues

[mthollowell-writes]

Nine People You Want to Know Better

Thanks to @rowanmgrey-author for tagging me in this! You can find her original post here!

I know it has been a minute but as I always say, better late than never!

Currently Reading: Listening to the audiobook The Feud: The Hatfields and McCoys by Dean King. I've otherwise been going through a huge slump this month.

Last Song I Listened To: Lollipop (Ode to Jim) by Alvvays

Currently Watching: Just finished rewatching Community and Avatar: The Last Airbender (big comfort shows). Today I started Baby Reindeer so I'll see how that goes.

Current Fic I'm Reading: I'm not reading any fics at the moment. The reading slump subdues all.

Current Hyperfixations: Alvvays since I recently saw them in concert (they were so good!!!) Otherwise, I gained a second wind with the current chapter I'm writing.

Favorite Color: I'm really into green at the moment: from light pastel to lush verdant. Must be spring!

Spicy, sweet, savory, or salty?: Definitely savory and salty. I can tolerate spice up to a certain point and would prefer it to blah.

Relationship Status: Single

Last Thing I Googled: Double checking the meaning of "verdant" to make sure I'm using it correctly.

Song Stuck in My Head: "Party Police" by Alvvays and "Cake" by Remi Wolf.

Favorite Food: Anything potato (except scalloped). If we're talking meals, it rotates but a curry fried rice sounds good right now.

Dream Trip: I do want to do a cross country trip across the US one day and I've always wanted to visit the UK (to appease the anglophile of my college years).

Gently Tagging: @wintherlywords, @axl-ul, @ibuprofen-exe, @poethill, @saetheglitternado, and anyone else who wants to participate!

#9 people you want to know better #tag games #tagged! #mt writes #writeblr

[mthollowell-writes]

As someone whose notes have been thrown out the godsdamned window because of this man's smart mouth and inherent desire to piss off things that can hurt him...

I will be genuinely surprised if he ever walks off this island.

This could be the whole book now.

With Lucient explaining to the crew, "We live on the Wandering Isle, we will be here until all of you wither and die or are consumed by the hungry pools of wretched blood and sap, because of your other Captain's big dumb mouth."

#sounds like a man I could get behind #dyrewrites #other writers' writing

[mthollowell-writes]

@unhingednovelist thank you for the tag!

nine people you want to know better

currently reading: the count of monte cristo, because I enjoy suffering I guess

last song i listened to: there there by radiohead

currently watching: between shows right now actually, I just finished The Imperfects and loved it, it's an actually fun and hilarious urban fantasy that of course Netflix has cancelled ><

current fic i'm reading: I haven't been reading fics lately, but I might just have to now

current hyperfixation: the sims 2, which has always been the case since my childhood, but now I can actually play it again on a modern PC and am having the time of my life :3

favourite colour: dark red

spicy, sweet, savory, or salty? the latter three, I am a weakling and cannot do the spicy

relationship status: single

last thing i googled: something for zelda botw, probably the location of something I forgot

song stuck in my head: sleeping ute by grizzly bear, I don't know what it is about that song, but I love it and it's always in my brain

favourite food: beef stroganoff

dream trip: honestly, this shifts all the time because I feel like I will never be able to take a crazy trip to another country like I want to. But either visiting both Italy and Greece have been very much on my mind these past few years. I would love to see Venice one day.

gently tagging @fire-but-ashes-too, @mthollowell-writes @quantumlandbooks @digital-chance @hottubraccoon @asterhaze

#a good beef stroganoff is honestly legit! #9 people you want to know better #9 people tag #writeblr #rowanmgrey-author

[mthollowell-writes]

OC Music tag (?)

@poethill for starting this thing, and my lovely sister @dyrewrites for tagging me!

Rules: share what songs remind you of your OCs, or what song do you think they would love.

I'm tagging @quantumlandbooks, @fire-but-ashes-too and @mthollowell-writes and leaving this OPEN

The Wild Ones: Bloodlines characters will be used for this since I have playlists for them.

ARIANE WARD (she/her) - indie, dark country kind of person. Downtempo, lots of guitar and strings with dark and tragic lyricism.

reminds me of her: wolves by down like silver something she would listen too: graveyard by feist

ERON WARD (he/them) - alt rock and indie-rock with a lot of synth and experimental stuff thrown in.

reminds me of them: come a little closer by cage the elephant something they would listen too: providence by tv on the radio

JACKAL BELLARE (he/him) - synth, heavy dark tempos and experimental stuff. The darker and louder the better, even better it's weird.

reminds me of him: orca by wintersleep something he would listen too: claws by son lux

KHALON AYOMIDE-CATTANEO (he/him) - soul ballads to chill singer-songwriter music, old R&B and pop as well as indie folk and modern rock. Khalon just loves music and can really get behind anything with a good beat.

reminds me of him: mountain at my gates by foals something he would listen too: try again by aaliyah

LUZ (she/her) - indie rock, indie folk, chill dreamy beats and experimental/ slow dreamy music and uptempo funky rock.

reminds me of her: speaking in tongues by arcade fire something she would listen too: accidente by las ligas menores

#oooo i love this music tag! #I love your character insights based on their taste #I'll be giving all these a listen! #thanks for the tag #tag games #writeblr #oc music tag