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ahb-writes · 1 year

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19 Things That Are Wrong With Your Novel (and How to Fix Them)

The original infographic on which this list is based was bulleted with short descriptions (see "All The Things that Are Wrong…" at Hey Writers and FastCompany). It's nifty quantitative data. However, the original article doesn't explore any solutions. So, I spent some time hunting down a few writing resources to fill in the gaps.

The following list of "problems" represents about half of those from the infographic. I tweaked the problem statements, and I drafted the solution text in a feverish rush. No apologies for repeated sources; I have my favorites. Read on:

Problem #01: The Story Begins Too Late in the Novel

Problem #02: The Scenes Are Void of Meaningful Conflict

Problem #03: The Story Has a By-the-Numbers Execution

Problem #04: The Story Is Too Thin

Problem #05: The Villains Are Cartoonish, Evil-for-the-Sake-of-Evil

Problem #06: The Character Logic Is Muddy

Problem #07: The Female Part Is Underwritten

Problem #08: The Narrative Falls Into a Repetitive Pattern

Problem #09: The Conflict Is Inconsequential, Flash-in-the-Pan

Problem #10: The Protagonist Is a Standard-Issue Hero

Problem #11: The Story Favors Style Over Substance

Problem #12: The Ending Is Completely Anti-Climactic

Problem #13: The Characters Are All Stereotypes

Problem #14: The Novel Suffers From Arbitrary Complexity

Problem #15: The Story Goes Off the Rails in the Third Act

Problem #16: The Novel's Questions Are Left Unanswered

Problem #17: The Story Is a String of Unrelated Vignettes

Problem #18: The Plot Unravels Through Convenience/Contrivance

Problem #19: The Story Is Tonally Confused

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Problem #01: The Story Begins Too Late in the Novel

Solution: Gain traction early; use simplicity, momentum, and a bit of the unknown to carry readers toward the more complex and the improbable. The first chapter is context for what the whole novel is about. Don't wait to pull in readers, don't hesitate to tell readers which characters are the most important, and don't hesitate to expose readers (and the viewpoint character) to the narrative's central conflict. Be upfront about what kind of story you're telling.

Develop a strong sense of who your protagonist is, articulate the protagonist's needs (which may change), and hint at the limits or barriers the protagonist must acknowledge, or defy, to achieve their current or a future goal.

Writing Resources:

8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One (Writer's Digest)

10 Ways to Start Your Story (The Writers Society)

How To Start a Story That Grips Your Readers (Jericho Writers)

7 Steps for Writing Your Novel's Opening Chapter (The Novel Smithy)

4 Key Elements of Scene Openings (September C. Fawkes)

How to Find Your Writing Style (sunnydwrites; ahbwrites)

Writing Riveting Inciting Action: 7 Ideas (Now Novel)

In Media Res: 6 Steps to Start Stories From the Middle (Now Novel)

Writing Great Beginnings and Endings (Writing Questions Answered)

Problem #02: The Scenes Are Void of Meaningful Conflict

Solution: Character growth and story arcs don't occur in isolation. Conflict-guided scenes and conflict-guided storytelling, more broadly, open the narrative to moments in which the characters are continuously tested to validate their knowledge, skills, or relationships.

To drive the story forward with measured purpose, focus on building, developing, and testing a character's desires. If necessary, implement story or relational dynamics to economically assess, judge, and curate a character's failure (and the consequences thereof). Conflict needn't be grandiose; writers must be in tune with the different levels, types, and intensities of conflict that drive their story. Conflict should be multifaceted.

Writing Resources:

A Few Words About Conflict (Glimmer Train Press)

Conflict Thesaurus (One Stop for Writers)

6 Secrets to Creating and Sustaining Suspense (Writer's Digest)

Emotions in Writing: How to Make Your Readers Feel (Jericho Writers)

The Primary Principles of Plot: Goal, Antagonist, Conflict, Consequences (September C. Fawkes)

How to Master Conflict in Young Adult Fiction (Writer's Edit)

Failure, Conflict, and Character Arc (Writers in the Storm)

Problem #03: The Story Has a By-the-Numbers Execution

Solution: Structure must be impeccable. Except for when it shouldn't be. Formulas are essential. Except for when they're not. Outlines are absolute. Except for when they aren't.

Successful storytelling strategies should flex and shift and evolve as the needs and demands of the story flex and shift and evolve. If you plan to wield an effective structure to buffet your storytelling execution, then research and document the structure that best compliments your story, your characters, your characters' conflicts, and the themes reflected in those conflicts.

Writing Resources:

7 Point Story Structure Explained in 5 Minutes (September C. Fawkes)

How to Actually Use a Story Structure (September C. Fawkes)

Description: 5 Times When You Should (and 4 Times When You Shouldn't) Rely on Description (ahbwrites)

Basic Checklist for Your Story (The Right Writing)

Gothic Literature: A Guide To All Things Eerie (Jericho Writers)

Suspense Definition — Literature: Tips for Writing Suspense (Jericho Writers)

How to Create a Plot Outline in 8 Easy Steps (How to Write a Book Now)

The Progressive Outline: How I Balance My Plotter and Pantser Tendencies (Michael Bjork Writes; Scrawls and Rambles; ahbwrites)

5 New Ideas for Outlining Stories (1000 Story Ideas; ahbwrites)

Problem #04: The Story Is Too Thin

Solution: Does the story lack balance?

Purposeful narrative structure. Effective characterization. Meaningful conflict (and meaningful consequences). Immersive description. Authentic character dynamics. A good story needs all of this and more. But it's okay to be stronger, or more experienced, in crafting one area of storytelling than in others. It's okay for one's attention to drift during the initial drafting phase.

If you know your strengths, then you can lean on them to bolster your storytelling where it counts. If you know your weaknesses or limitations, then you can avoid what frustrates you and maneuver toward what excites you. But take the time to identify what facet of your craft needs work and be open to exploring your weaknesses with further experience, research, and insight.

Writing Resources:

100 Character Development Questions to Inspire Deeper Arcs (Now Novel)

How to Write a Sequel That Satisfies: Simple Guide (Now Novel)

Best Story Writing Websites in 2022 (Now Novel)

10 Signs Your Plot is Weak (and How to Fix it) (September C. Fawkes)

Defining and Developing Your Author Voice (September C. Fawkes; ahbwrites)

How to Pace a Story (Writing Questions Answered)

Description: 5 Times When You Should (and 4 Times When You Shouldn't) Rely on Description (ahbwrites)

How to Focus on One Story (Alyssa Hollingsworth)

Problem #05: The Villains Are Cartoonish, Evil-for-the-Sake-of-Evil

Solution: Villains require just as much character development as the novel's heroes, protagonists, and perspective characters. Effective villainy incorporates consequential decision making, relatable character motivations, believable perspectives and experiences, and most important, intention. When a writer diversifies these facets of a so-named villain's free will, humanity, personal interests, and relationship with the story's main conflict, one is better-positioned to craft a more diverse and more engaging villain.

Writing Resources:

How Your Character's Failures Can Map A Route To Self-Growth (Writers Helping Writers)

Good Character Flaws: Create Complex Antagonists (Now Novel)

50 Questions to Ask Your Antagonist (Alyssa Hollingsworth)

Antagonist Starts Good, Becomes Drunk With Power (related, master list) (Writing Questions Answered; ahbwrites)

16 Villain Archetypes (Chosen by the Planet; ahbwrites)

How to Give Your Antagonist a Little Humanity (Fiction Writing Tips; ahbwrites)

How to Write the Perfect Villain (Jericho Writers)

How to Build an Antagonist (How to Fight Write)

Negative Trait Thesaurus (Evil) (One Stop for Writers)

Theme and Symbolism Thesaurus (Evil) (One Stop for Writers)

Problem #06: The Character Logic Is Muddy

Solution: Investing in realistic characterization will give a novel the curious details and sense of familiarity readers will readily absorb. Good character logic means providing original characters with the agency to speak, act, and react with authority. (It also doesn't hurt to have a character or two who are really good at faking it.) But it's not enough to simply imply a character's sense of self through dialogue and action. Writers should aim for a level deeper.

Don't write characters, write character arcs. Don't write character flaws, write character flaws that make characters curious, enticing, or attractive. Craft inimitable dialogue, encourage characters to engage their environment, and remember to hold characters responsible for their actions.

Writing Resources:

3 Redemptive Character Types (September C. Fawkes)

6 Ways to Write Truly Terrifying Villains (The Novel Smithy)

What Is Pathos in Literature? A Complete Guide (Jericho Writers)

Character Motivation Thesaurus (One Stop for Writers)

"I don't think you need all the backstory in the world..." (advice from Brennan Lee Mulligan, TTRPG gamemaster)

How to Improve Your Secondary Characters: 6 Fresh Ideas (Em Dash Press)

Some Quick Character Tips (Coffee Bean Writing)

The Importance of The Unlikable Heroine (Claire Legrand; ahbwrites)

Don't Design a Character, Design a Character Arc (avalera; ahbwrites)

How to Write Character Arcs (Helping Writers Become Authors)

Problem #07: The Female Part Is Underwritten

Solution: Frame and establish female characters who are their own and who can hold their own. Obviously, character-building must be done with care, but the emphasis on writing female characters well is not misplaced. Authors in the majority of those published often get away with female characters that are relegated to the role of the conveniently unprotected, the buddy, the substitute wife/girlfriend, the pawn/sacrifice, the hot chick, and/or the stoic action lady who can do anything because that makes her cool.

Write female characters with their own intelligences, experiences, shortcomings, and successes. These characters must come into their own organically, and they must engage the narrative (and readers) in a way that demonstrates their value without siphoning their agency.

Writing Resources:

Make Them Female (Horrible God)

The Importance of The Unlikable Heroine (Claire Legrand; ahbwrites)

100 Character Development Questions to Inspire Deeper Arcs (Now Novel)

We Need to Talk About Cold Women (HuffPost)

Writing a "Strong Female Character" That Isn't Heartless (Writing Questions Answered)

Strength is Relative: Female Characters, Gender Stereotypes, and Writer Authority (ahbwrites)

The Heroines of YA Dystopias Have All These Traits in Common (Refinery29; ahbwrites)

Female Characters to Avoid in Your Writing: An Illustrated Guide (The Caffeine Book Warrior; ahbwrites)

On Mary Sue (How to Fight Write; ahbwrites)

Core Principles of Crafting Protagonists (September C. Fawkes)

4 Ways to Unlock Your Character's Unique Voice (The Novel Smithy)

Problem #08: The Narrative Falls Into a Repetitive Pattern

Solution: Does the story begin at the right point? Are the characters introduced in scenes where they exert the right influence? Are the novel's emotional beats consistent (or meaningful)? What's the tempo like? Is the pacing balanced and purposeful at the sentence level, scene level, and act level? Is the story's use of description unique and dynamic? What's the difference between the author voice, the narrator voice, and the character voice? Be as flexible or inflexible as needed, but above all, be willing to learn.

Writing Resources:

Never Lie Beyond What You're Capable of Selling (How to Fight Write)

How to Craft Your Protagonist's Inner and Outer Journeys (The Novel Smithy)

5 Ways to Keep Reader's Interest When They Know Something the Character Doesn't (Writing Questions Answered)

Variations on Story Structure: A List (September C. Fawkes)

8 Common Pacing Problems (September C. Fawkes)

How Structure Affects Pacing (September C. Fawkes)

Quick Plotting Tip: Write Your Story Backwards (bucketsiler; ahbwrites)

What Is Pacing in Writing? Mastering Pace (Now Novel)

Problem #09: The Conflict Is Inconsequential, Flash-in-the-Pan

Solution: Many authors struggle to contrive meaningful conflict such that it either shapes or speaks critically to the trajectory of the characters it touches. Conflict is not a consequence or a corollary of scheme or impulse; conflict should develop as the story develops and grow as the character dynamics grow.

Explore character through conflict by reinforcing their goals and their perceptions (of reality), as well as the plausibility of maintaining either. Use conflict to reveal blind spots, biases, or fears. Conflict doesn't narrow the possibility of who characters are, or what the story might convey; conflict opens characters (or readers) to new methodologies, new stakes, and possibly new goals, as a result of enduring or overcoming the fracas in question. Conflict adds depth.

Writing Resources:

Conflict Thesaurus (One Stop for Writers)

Need Compelling Conflict? Choose A Variety of Kinds (Writer's Helping Writers)

How to Draw Readers in Through a Character's Choices (Writers Helping Writers)

Exactly How to Create and Control Tone (September C. Fawkes; ahbwrites)

Are Your Conflicts Significant? (September C. Fawkes)

Tension vs. Conflict (Hint: They Aren't the Same Thing) (September C. Fawkes)

How to Write a Dystopian Story: Our Gide (Jericho Writers)

Plot Conflict: Striking True Adversity in Stories (Now Novel)

How to Use Central Conflict and Drama to Drive Your Novel (Now Novel)

Problem #10: The Protagonist Is a Standard-Issue Hero

Solution: There different types of heroes. There are different types of villains. And the multitude of stories in which these various types of characters might interact require differing levels of focus. Not all heroes must have a tale of overcoming adversity. Not all villains need a tragic backstory. Not all comedy stories require a "meek schlub" to come out on top. Not all suspense or thriller tales require a "world-weary detective" fighting for emotional validation or recompense.

Diverse character types help drive diverse stories. Challenge how archetypes and standard-issue definitions traditionally render a "hero" or a "villain" in a story. Important Note: Don't give in by forcing a character to fit an established mold by the story's end.

Writing Resources:

Guide to Writing an Unlikable Protagonist (Words and Such)

How to Craft the Perfect Antihero (Writer's Digest)

How to Write an Anti-Hero Readers Will Adore (The Novel Smithy)

Types of Heroes: Crafting Your Characters (Jericho Writers)

How to Write Supporting Characters in Fiction (Jericho Writers)

10 Ways to Write a Chosen One That Won't Annoy Readers (The Novel Smithy)

Being the Best at Something (One Stop for Writers)

50 Questions to Ask Your Antagonist (Alyssa Hollingsworth)

How to Build an Antagonist (How to Fight Write)

Male Protagonists to Avoid in Your Writing: An Illustrated Guide (The Caffeine Book Warrior)

Problem #11: The Story Favors Style Over Substance

Solution: Writers commonly risk stumbling into the crevasse of convenience, no matter the genre (e.g., action must be cool or flashy, comedy must be glaringly funny, horror must be unremittingly scary). The primary fault lines for these seemingly innocent errors are twofold: inexperience and immaturity. That is to say, the more one reads and the more one writes, the greater one experiences, learns, and empathizes with a greater array of storytelling styles, techniques, and attitudes. Writing a more dynamic and engaging story that leaps beyond the crevasse of style over substance requires an eagerness to learn, a willingness to experiment, and an openness to difference.

Writing Resources:

8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One (Writer's Digest)

Building a Bold Narrator's Voice: 5 Methods (Now Novel)

How to Avoid Plot Armor (Coffee Bean Writing)

10 Tips for the Middle of Your Story (Coffee Bean Writing; ahbwrites)

Avoiding Plot Armor (How to Fight Write)

How to Absolutely Wreck Your Audience With a Character Death (lunewell)

Writing Description: Make Introspection More Engaging (ahbwrites)

How to Frame Scenes Like a Filmmaker (Kristen Kiefer)

Shakespeare's Genius Is Nonsense (Nautilus)

Problem #12: The Ending Is Completely Anti-Climactic

Solution: Endings can be dramatic. Endings can be a little ambiguous. Endings can be bittersweet. Endings can be simple surprises. Endings can be unique and unresolved. Endings can reverse motives, reverse perspectives, or reverse fortunes. Endings can be complex webs that tie up every single loose end. Whatever the author's preference, endings shouldn't read as if the last 10 pages were cut off.

But knowing how to end a story is not an isolated challenge. To end a story properly and effectively, the author must know how the story begins, how its characters evolve, and how these dynamics transform over the course of narrative's varying points of tension and conflict. Recall, how does the story begin and why? How, specifically, do the characters evolve? And what compels them to do so? Where and how do the story's internal and external conflicts converge? Endings follow a few essential rules: endings require context, endings must be plausible, and endings must connect to the narrative's key elements.

Writing Resources:

Figuring Out Where to End a Story (Writing Questions Answered)

Writing Great Beginnings and Endings (Writing Questions Answered)

Feeling Overwhelmed by Plot Points (Writing Questions Answered)

What Is the Dénouement of a Story? Your Guide (With Tips) (Jericho Writers)

How to End a Story Perfectly (Jericho Writers)

Story Climax Examples: Writing Gripping Build-Ups (Now Novel)

How to End a Novel: Writing Strong Story Endings (Now Novel)

Tension vs. Conflict (Hint: They Aren't the Same Thing) (September C. Fawkes)

Utilizing 3 Types of Death (September C. Fawkes)

10 Signs Your Plot is Weak (and How to Fix it) (September C. Fawkes)

Problem #13: The Characters Are All Stereotypes

Solution: To be more than a collection of tropes, characters must be emotionally differentiated, possess myriad insecurities, battle visible and invisible vulnerabilities, willingly blur their own logic to achieve what they perceive as necessary, and debate their own flaws. Solid characters, well-rounded characters, and well-defined characters give readers a reason to stay engaged.

To craft these characters, authors should be conscientious of what internal rules the story's characters follow, what flaws these characters must overcome, and what trajectory each character arc takes in parallel to the overall narrative arc. Not every character needs to know who they are or how they want to influence the story to stick in readers' minds, but the author should have a good grasp how the character grows (or regresses) relative to how they engage the story's central conflict or theme.

Writing Resources:

10 Traits of a Strong Antagonist (Fiction University)

The No-Effort Character Sheet for Lazy Writers (justsomecynic; ahbwrites)

How to Write Deep P.O.V.: 8 Tips and Examples (Now Novel)

Character Flaws: Creating Lovable Imperfections (Now Novel)

How to Use Character Flaws to Enrich Your Writing (Perpetual Stories)

Character Flaws: When Is Too Far Too Far? (The Character Therapist)

20 Powerful Romance Tropes (and How to Make Them Original) (Jericho Writers)

Does Your Character Have a Secret? (Writers Helping Writers)

Creating Villain Motivations: Writing Real Adversaries (Now Novel)

Some Quick Character Tips (Coffee Bean Writing)

Dynamic vs. Round Characters: Who Needs a Character Arc? (The Novel Smithy)

Problem #14: The Novel Suffers From Arbitrary Complexity

Solution: More spectacle isn't always better. Larger and relentlessly diverse casts aren't necessarily more dynamic or more representative. More gore doesn't exactly make the violence more believable. More tears won't always pull readers into a deeper emotional connection.

Balance in everything, whether in drawing lots for which characters live or die, or assembling the combination of goals and threats the cast must surmount to reach the end.

Sometimes, it helps to weave from the simple toward the complex: If you understand what is essential to the story, and the role of each character in the story, then you can expand outward, deliberately, and unfold more detail from a central theme or narrative device. (If the author does it the other way around, and weaves from the complex toward the simple, then plot holes form, characters lose their purpose, and the story's conclusion feels less and less tethered to the inciting incident that supposedly pulled in readers at the outset.)

Writing Resources:

5 Ways to Make Mundane Scene More Interesting (Writing Questions Answered)

Feeling Overwhelmed by Plot Points (Writing Questions Answered)

What Is Prewriting? Preparing to Write With Purpose (Now Novel)

How to Write the Perfect Plot (in Two Easy Steps) (Helping Writers Become Authors)

Writing Description: Encourage Readers to Infer More Than They Realize (ahbwrites)

Reasons to Kill Your Characters (Coffee Bean Writing)

How to Absolutely Wreck Your Audience With a Character Death (lunewell)

Coming Up With a Plot (From Scratch) (September C. Fawkes)

Problem #15: The Story Goes Off the Rails in the Third Act

Solution: Weaving a compelling third act necessitates a guarded understanding of how to view and interpret a story on the micro and macro levels. That is to say, an attention to detail is essential, but equally valuable is the opportunity to take a step back and view the whole narrative as the sum of its parts. Do individual characters achieve their personal goals? Are relationship arcs incomplete? Is the drama, humor, or sense of mystery that drove the story in the first two acts, present or validated by the third act?

If one thinks of the whole of a story as a tapestry of sorts, then one might also view each chapter, arc, or act as a meaningful shape, pattern, or attribute of that greater tapestry. These attributes cue the readers as to what facet of story (or character) to focus on, depending on the moment. These attributes can also expose consequential divergences from established narrative designs.

How should readers interpret and process, or otherwise organize, these complex stimuli? For example, an author who purposefully generates tonal proximity between characters or events will ensure emotional continuity from scene to scene or from act to act.

Writing Resources:

5 Ways to Surprise Your Reader (Without It Feeling Like a Trick) (Writer's Digest)

Writing Great Beginnings and Endings (Writing Questions Answered)

How to Pace a Story (Writing Questions Answered)

How to Write Exceptional Endings (September C. Fawkes)

What Is Pacing in Writing? Mastering Pace (Now Novel)

What Is Rising Action? Building to an Epic Climax (Now Novel)

What Is the Dénouement of a Story? Your Guide (With Tips) (Jericho Writers)

How to End a Story Perfectly (Jericho Writers)

Problem #16: The Novel's Questions Are Left Unanswered

Solution: Conflicts require consequences, character arcs require a destination, and unresolved or unanswered questions have their own purpose. But having too many unanswered questions can make a novel's ending feel too foggy, if not outright incomplete. In short, loose threads can be frustrating.

Handled appropriately, loose threads may encourage the reader to hum and ponder how each character's life may evolve following the novel's events. Some readers adore the beauty of an imperfect story. However, handled poorly, loose threads speak to a poorly planned and disorganized narrative for which the writer was mistakenly more invested in drafting a kitschy or vulgar hook than a purposeful climax or dénouement.

Writing Resources:

Guide to Writing an Unreliable Narrator (Writing and Such)

Story Threads: Fixing Rips in Our Story (Writers Helping Writers)

Loose Threads Can Unravel a Novel (All Things Writing)

How to Pace a Story (Writing Questions Answered)

Figuring Out Where to End a Story (Writing Questions Answered)

Feeling Overwhelmed by Plot Points (Writing Questions Answered)

What Is the Dénouement of a Story? Your Guide (With Tips) (Jericho Writers)

How to End a Story Perfectly (Jericho Writers)

Suspense Definition Literature: Tips for Writing Suspense (Jericho Writers)

Problem #17: The Story Is a String of Unrelated Vignettes

Solution: For authors who struggle to coordinate or connect a single, cohesive story, it can be tempting to lean into episodic incidents that are individually intriguing but neglect to pull readers into a larger, more satisfying narrative. Resources about structuring scenes and structuring stories are numerous, but for writers who need to connect the muscle and sinew of their story with intent, learning the basics is often the best: Action and reaction compel reader engagement.

How does a character react to a new, tense, or changing situation? How do these actions or reactions introduce the story to readers or help them explore it? And on a micro level, how do word choice, rhythm, and tone reinforce these facets of the story?

What are the characters' goals? What are the stakes? What burdens complicate (or which advantages elevate) these characters' motivations? What conflicts skew these characters' perceptions of the stakes? What does failure look like? What are the consequences or costs? To the environment (social, political, relational)? How do characters respond to these heightened stakes, to the responsibility of these fresh consequences, to the shifting balance of power in the surrounding context?

Writing Resources:

How to Start a Story That Grips Your Readers (Jericho Writers)

Plotting Tip: One Simple Step to Ensure Our Story Works (Jami Gold)

Episodic vs. Epic: Go Bigger With Your Writing (Writers Helping Writers)

Guide: Filling in the Story Between Known Events (Writing Questions Answered)

What Is a Plot Point? Find and Plan Clear Story Events (Now Novel)

The Parts of a Story: Creating a Cohesive Whole (Now Novel)

8 Foreshadowing Laws: How to Foreshadow Right (Now Novel)

Structuring Satisfying Scenes (September C. Fawkes)

The 5 Commandments of Storytelling According to The Story Grid (September C. Fawkes)

Problem #18: The Plot Unravels Through Convenience/Contrivance

Solution: Many writing workshops and advice columns have opined on this for a reason: Coincidences that get characters into trouble are good, coincidences that get characters out of problems are bad. Resolving issues of perceived relevance between scenes, or events, often requires resolving issues of causality. Contrivances do not serve the reader. A believable and engaging rhythm requires everything to be connected.

What realizations or insights emerge after certain events occur? Does context require readers consume certain types of information before others? How can the story be revised to ensure a natural movement between these events, the information they provide, and characters' reactions to this information?

The degree or intensity of relatedness will vary, depending on the author's narrative style and the presumptive demands of the genre or audience. However, nothing should come easy; the characters (and readers) should earn whatever details they acquire to see the story through to the end.

Writing Resources:

7 Novel-Opening Mistakes That Make Literary Agents (And Readers) Groan (Jericho Writers)

8 Common Pacing Problems (September C. Fawkes)

Cause and Effect: Telling Your Story in the Right Order (Writer's Digest)

Crafting an Effective Plot for Children's Books (Writer's Digest)

8 Foreshadowing Laws: How to Foreshadow Right (Now Novel)

Episodic vs. Epic: Go Bigger With Your Writing (Writers Helping Writers)

Figuring Out Where to End a Story (Writing Questions Answered)

Problem #19: The Story Is Tonally Confused

Solution: What is the novel's general attitude, particularly given the story's descriptive specificity, the characters' emotional latitude, and the atmospheric dynamic of the feelings a specific scene is written to elicit? Tone is an interrelated mix of narrative forms and attributes. Identifying, organizing, and manipulating tone means establishing and controlling these attributes. But a word of caution is often warranted: Mixing and matching and glibly contrasting tone doesn't always come across as clever, to the reader, as the writer might imagine. Consistency and relevance are important.

Authors must know the difference between recognizing a scene's tone and sustaining it such that its rhythm lends the appropriate heft. Word choice matters. Character mood matters. Point of view matters. Scene structure matters. And in the end, disruptions matter, too.

Writing Resources:

How Do You Build a Novel's Tone? (Now Novel)

Suspense Writing: Examples and Devices for Tenser Stories (Now Novel)

Feeling Overwhelmed by Plot Points (Writing Questions Answered)

How to Fix Characters Who Are Too Similar (Writing Questions Answered)

Working Comedy and Romance Into Drama (Writing Questions Answered)

Selecting the Right Sentence Structure for the Right Emotion (September C. Fawkes)

Exactly How to Create and Control Tone (September C. Fawkes; ahbwrites)

118 notes · View notes

ja3yun · 3 months

Note

HIIIII HAPPY MELTING POINT DAYYY 😆🎉 we should start normalising saying happy melting point day instead of happy friday actually

finally completed my workload for the day so i finally have the time to read the newest chapter 😝 im seated, seat belts buckled & so ready for the ride

"boyfriend" I GIGGLED THEY R SOOOOO TGT NOW 🫂🫂 used to pray for moments like this ...ok the minhee not responding to yn as usual kinda sus yea 🧐🧐 but anyways dgaf for now bc HOON CAME TO SURPRISE YN? I LIVE FOR THEM 🤍🤍🤍🤍 STOPP HE LET HER ADD HER OWN TOUCHES TO HIS CAR?:!!: AWWWW THATS SO SWEET i love when couples have a synergistic effect like hoon showers yn w all his love and attention and likewise yn gives hoon nothing but love and pride they truly are meant for each other

NO WAIT HOONYN HAD MORE HISTORY?.?:! when i say match made in heaven i really do mean it 😭 but hoon saying he had a reason when he rejected her... 🧐🧐🧐🧐🧐🧐 HMMMMM HMMMMMM 🧐🧐🧐 FAWKKING HELL THEY SAID WHAT NOW 🥺🥹🥺🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 they LOVE each other 🥹🥹🥹🥹 aj i ABSOLUTELY LOVE the little glimpse into hoonyn's past and the little moments that add up to their r/s now im just 🥰

i also absolutely love hoon sets yn straight like u can love both parties but there really shouldnt be a double standard, family or not. and its so refreshing to see main characters actively voice out their feelings! yn pookie imma have to need a word with u bc... i get that this is minhee's first chance at going even bigger but its still as big a thing for hoon too 🥺 and we cant deny minhee has said terrible things about him too...

oh no the mother and son r plotting.. i dont like that 😠😠 okayyyyyy minhee is acting too cold to yn for it to be normal now 🤨🤨🤨 UGH I JUST HATE THEIR MOM. like WOMAN PLEASE. theyre both ur kids ur flesh and blood i get that this is a big thing for minhee but like UGH 😤 OMG? rina made hoon's fit? SLAYYY U GO GIRLLL

WORLD PAUSE. WHAT HAPPENED?:!/!/& the moment i read the words "his ankle unexpectedly snaps at a 90 degree angle" MY HEART DROPPED MY JAW DROPPED BC THERES NO FREAKING WAY. does minhee want to fight WHY IS HE HOLDING YN BACK. LITERALLY LET THE GIRL GO!!!!! wtf. did minhee actually have something to do w hoon's skates. bc if he did istg. NOT HIM TRYING TO CHANGE THE TOPIC WTF. NOW IS NOT THE FREAKING TIME U DINGDONG!!!! but ig now we know why he was acting so distant w his own sister 😠

OK SO HE REALLY DID IT? oh U WANNA FIGHT KANG?.!.!/ AND HERE COMES THE MOTHER. if u can even call her that 😡🤬 IM SO?.!.&/ WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT DO U HAVE NO SHAME NO MORALS WTFFF 🤬🤬🤬🤬 i knew chapter 4 was the calm before the storm 😭😭😭😭 i hope yn got to see hoon tho 😭 im starting a hoon ankle speedy recovery manifestation ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

icb i finished the chapter so soon 🙃 now im back to living non melting point days.... patiently waiting for melting point day to come 🤍

i am with you on that! happy melting point day is how i'm greeting every friday from now on !!

ynhoon have been going longer than anyone realised and honestly i know i wrote it but why do i still get so ajdhsjhd over hoon when i remember he told his dad to give her the sweets?? its my little pocket of happiness :( and it just makes the i love you so much more deeper than we realise!!

minhee and the mum, honestly, i love the reactions 😭 the plot thickens each chapter and i can't wait to watch everyone unfold it along with yn.

thank you as always for reading! ilysm you have no idea!!

#aj answers #next chapter only gets more ??????#i'm hoping i can curveball you all one more time

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magicwithineleteo · 2 years

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tinkerbell and the great fairy rescue liveblog!!

- i’ve actually seen this movie a few times but i remember the plot vaguely

- i love how each movie happens in the transition of each season

- THEY HAVE DIFFERENT OUTFITS EACH MOVIE I LOVE THAT FOR THEM

- TERENCE MY MAN HES HERE

- apparently he’s not a regular now :(

- BLAZE IS BACK I WON

- yaassss

- TINK DONT BE A DUMBASS AND FOLLOW THE HUMANS THATS THE ONE FUCKING RULE

- vidia isn’t mean she’s right. don’t go close to the fawking HUMANS

- oh god the dad. he’s a flop i remember him being a traitor

- why did he let his kid go to the meadow alone? she looks 9

- how does silvermist be a water fairy and manage to not get wet?? if being wet makes their wings not work, how does it not constantly happen to her? and she’s not immune to it bc i’m pretty sure it happens to her later on in the movie

- my conclusion is that it only happens when they get soaked w water, not if a drop falls on them. thank u

- how did the kid manage to be right ab the fairies painting the butterfly wings 😭

- what a nice little house for the fairies she made. i wish tink wouldn’t go in it like a FOOL

- okay vidia is right she’s not a bitch she’s just blunt

- can’t believe tink let herself get kidnapped by a little house made by a human, what a gullible little fairy. jk she’s curious! curiosity kills the cat me thinks. poor cat :(

- so true vidia

- AW FUCK

- NO THE DOOR IS STUCK

- WHY DOES TINK NOT BELIEVE HER

- SHE ALWAYS DOES THIS

- that lil girl must be so excited while tink is so scared

- NO DONT SHOW UR STUPID DAD HES A FLOP LATER ON

- oh her name is lizzie

- thank god the dad is stupid and doesn’t look

- HE TRAPPED THE FUCKING BUTTERFLY YOU ABSOLUTE PIECE OF SHIT

- HUMANS ARE MONSTERS

- I HATE US I WISH I WAS A FAIRY

- so true lizzie is smart to not show her dad tink after that

- NO THE CAT SHADOW IS SO MENACING PLS CAT

- AW HELL NO WHAT KIND OF CAT

- I LOVE CATS BUT THIS ONE SUCKS

- vidia watching the whole time, shows that she does care ab tink <3

- MR TWITCHED THE MURDEROUS CAT

- WHY IS SHE IN A CAGE

- oh she unlocked it

- ok maybe tink x vidia makes more sense now

- nvm unlocking the cage doesn’t do shit

- this is the first time i genuinely feel bad for her

- yas vidia go

- nvm she can’t

- oh she is

- oh she fell

- nvm

- good job vidia telling everyone so true

- aw vidia cares!!

- okay i’m gonna stop live-blogging for now so i can eat an ice cream sandwich. i’m still gonna watch tho

- i’m back and while i watched while eating i saw that vidia was sad when the fairies all did a handshake thing and that made me sad

- anyways now they’re going to rescue tink in their boat while tink is chilling w lizzie

- i like how some of them are british

- I KNEW SHE WAS 9

- she’s asking so many questions

- tink would be good at charades

- this is so cute , the best day of lizzie’s life

- fawn is so pretty

- A WATERFALL SHIT

- “ROSETTA COME GRAB MY FEET” “what” LMAO

- YAASSS SILVERMIST MY WATER FAIRY QUEEN SHE SAVED THEM FROM DEATH

- oh they’re all unconscious nvm

- LOL THEYRE FUNNY

- i like how he’s scottish . i forgot his name

- bobby is his name he’s scottish

- holy shit how’d she make a pop up pixie hollow

- what a talented child lizzie is

- aw she’s letting her go

- lizzie’s gonna grow up and tell her grandkids this story bc of how unreal it is

- doesn’t she get captured by the dad why is she free

- oh nvm she watching lizzie telling her dad

- what a rude dad

- lizzie’s gonna need therapy when she’s older

- wait is tink going back

- big mistake made by tink part 2

- part 1 being going into a human made fairy house

- no don’t fix the leaks are u crazy

- ah the iconic rosetta scene

- she’s a mood

- will vidia accept friendship now is this the scene

- OH HELL A FUCKING TRUCK

- YAS IRIDESSA

- SO TRUE FAWN BIG BRAIN

- how do people fall asleep so quickly i could never

- tink don’t be a dumb bitch and fix the leaks

- phew i don’t think she does that

- oh so he does care ab his daughter

- NO SHE IS GOING TO FIX THE LEAKS

- BIG MISTAKE MADE BY TINK PART 3

- poor butterfly :(

- aw that’s sweet

- oh tink released the butterfly

- this dad is such an asshole

- fuck u dad ur a piece of shit

- aw poor vidia she is regretful

- they’re so sweet i love them i wish i had irls like them

- tink is now lizzie’s therapist

- i wish i was a fairy too, lizzie

- oh to be covered in pixie dust by a fairy and fly around my bedroom

- SHIT THE MURDEROUS CAT IS BACK

- LMAO THE CAT IS FLYING??

- the dad is such an asshole. SUCH AN ASSHOLE

- YOU ASSHOLE BITCH DUMB FUCK IDIOT I HATE YOU DAD GO SUCK AN EGG

- OMG VIDIA SACRIFICED HERSELF FOR TINK OKAY I SEE THE SHIP I LIKE THE SHIP

- the fate of their lives is in the hands of a 9yo flying to london

- i miss terence

- okay i’m lowk tired of this movie i’m glad there’s only 15 minutes left

- LMAO MS PERKINS

- vidia being concerned for tink <3 okay i ship them now enemies to lovers

- vidia is a lesbian it’s canon

- i’m glad tink isn’t annoying in this movie, just lowk stupid

- is dad gonna get a redemption arc or

- omg they’re making him fly now

- aww he did get a redemption

- yay vidia has friends and a gf now

- awww they’re really cute

- good for the dad and daughter

- OMG VIDIA AND TINK R HAVING A TEA PARTY

- OH LIZZIE IS HERE TOO

- AND THE DAD??

- awww now he’s spending time w her :)

- BLAZE MY BABY

- OH THEYRE ALL HAVING A TEA PARTY AND THEY ALL MADE HER A FLOWER CROWN

- MURDEROUS CAT YOU LEAVE CHEESE THE MOUSE ALONE

- they’re listening to the dad read her book :’)

- TERENCE

- MY BAE IS HERE I WON

- what a sweet ending

—

so i liked this one a lot, i’ve watched it a lot so knowing what happens lowk ruined it but i like it!! i think it’s my second favorite, the first being the lost treasure movie :D

#soha (re)watches tinkerbell

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schlorbe · 3 years

Text

skadoosh

a verified schlorbe fic

hunter x reader

WARNINH: SMUT SMUTTY SMUT, pure filth, implied showering, vomiting but not in a sexual way in a plot development way, concerned hunter, sexual hunter

minors…avert your unseasoned eyes or you’ll get coal for Christmas

plot: you’re a civilian hunters met while on mission..after it’s completed he pays you a visit

i incorporated tbb being canonically stinky into this fic hope you like it also maybe a schlorbe face reveal coming soon xoxoxo

The fast rap on your door alerted you to the presence of a welcome intruder. Peeking through the eyehole however you saw the duality of the man you came to know as Hunter. What was just earlier that day a well dressed clean faced (albeit missed patches of stubble that only added to his rugged good looks) and polite clone was now a disheveled mess unbothered to hide the need in his eyes.

You knew he’d be back when you’d seen that same familiar look in his eyes before his mission was completed - of course the republics interests came before his own bodily needs so he knew he’d have to wait. Now that was done and dusted, he had all the time in the world and was prepared for Hunters Sexy Night Off ™.

You open the door, stumbling backward as he pushes his way into your quarters, and onto your lips. Your tongues don’t fight for dominance, that’s a losing battle. He was the hunter after all. He worked quickly, pulling off your shirt and afterwards his own - you waste no time resuming the make out sesh, gripping his hair and pulling him inward until-

“what the fawk”. You retract your hands. they’re shiny from grease and dirt. Your disgust doesn’t last long there as his rancid fucking stink invades your nostrils. You stifle a gag.

“what’s the matter doll y’on’t like the scent of’man??”

“i’m fine with that what i’m not fine with is that you stank so bad man”. You follow this sentence with a quick barf down his chest. (at least that might incline him to take a fuckinh shower goddamn)

“Y/N?” hunter says.

The last thing you see is the sheer amount of cavities in his mouth.

Your last thought is: has this man ever once in his life practiced basic hygiene??

#star wars #bad batch #clone wars #hunter bad batch #hunter x reader #hunter smut #tbb x reader #hunter x you #stinky!hunter

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plutonct · 4 years

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remember remember- n.jm

summary; bestfriend au- celebrating bonfire night on the cold november evening leads to warming up with your ~best friend~ in his car

warnings; car sex, unprotected sex, grossed out 00 line

an; REMEMBER REMEMBER THE 5TH OF NOVEMBER GUNPOWDER TREASON AND PLOT i think this is a british thing so like welcome to my culture where we make replicas of a man and set him on fire 😌 wow the uk is savage. for context, in the uk the 5th of november is celebrated as bonfire night or guy fawkes night and basically celebrates the death of guy fawkes who was famously hung, drawn and quartered after plotting to kill the king with gunpowder.

the vibrant colours of the fireworks lit up the sky as you cuddled in closer to your best friend’s chest. in the cold evening hours of november, your body shivered slightly as the chills of the wind overpowered the small amount of heat radiating from the fire in front of you. the stuffed and clothed fabric that had been set on fire was doing little to warm you up due to the ‘safe distance’ rules.

"y/n? are you okay? you look freezing." jeno, one of jaemin’s friends spoke up distracting you from how the blonde next to you was tracing circles onto the smooth skin of your arm.

"it’s a bit cold, nothing i can’t handle though." you laughed a little as you spoke, trying not to let the chatter in your teeth give you away. jaemin obviously didn’t believe you, turning to look into your eyes.

his face was illuminated by the warm radiance of the fire, his skin quite literally glowing. the crackling of the fireworks was still going on, kids laughing and gasping to their parents at the pretty explosions of colour. unlike the others there, clearly you hadn’t got the memo of dressing appropriately after shoving one of jaemins hoodies on (with no top underneath) and a pair of thin leggings.

"guys i’m feeling quite chilly, i’ll take y/n back to the car." jaemin spoke up to the others in your little circle, earning small murmurs of acknowledgement before they returned back to their conversations about spooky stories and whether or not ghosts were real. though his eyes left yours for a second, they were immediately back gazing into your own as if you were the only thing that mattered to him. and you were.

jaemin wasn’t so sure how long he had been harbouring feelings for you, having to constantly push himself back into line as ‘the boy best friend’. what he did know however, was that you looked ethereal in that moment. the same glow from the fire reflecting onto your own skin, your eyes glossy from what he assumed was also the low temperature.

he patted your side as a signal he was standing up and you immediately shrunk your arms into the large hoodie draped over your frame, letting the ends of the sleeves hand over your fingertips to your hands up. jaemin on the other hand had different ideas, lacing his fingers with yours and shoving the cluster of appendage into his coat pocket.

the walk to his car was in comfortable silence, basking in the somehow peaceful moment despite the loud cheers, chatter and bangs in the background.

"you know you don’t have to lie, right? if you’re cold you can just tell me." jaemin spoke up, nudging his elbow into your side as the two of you approached his black car.

"i know. i just didn’t want to take you away from the others just because i was cold." you stopped for a moment and turned to look up at him, only to find he had already been looking at you. this happened a lot, he would always seem to stare at you with such fondness and adoration, it stirred up butterflies in your tummy. your best friend let out a breathless chuckle, unclasping his hand from yours and bringing it up to rest against your cheek.

for a moment your breath hitched, attention now drawn to the warm hand rubbing soothing strokes onto the plush skin of your cheek.

"y/n i would drop everything for you. i hope you know that." jaemin’s eyes flitted from your kissable lips back to your eyes, this not going unnoticed by you. heat pooled in your stomach at his gestured and words. you raised your own hand and placed it on his cheek, just like he had.

"then i hope you know i would do the same for you."

that was all the confirmation jaemin needed, with the clear affirmation that his feelings were reciprocated, he brought his face closer to yours. you could feel his minty breath fanning over your lips before taking the initiative and closing the distance yourself.

your lips molded together perfectly, his chapped ones moving immediately against your own desperately. he had waited so, so long for this moment. he had dreamt about it in his sleep, fantasized about it in his classes— but you weren’t any different.

as the kiss started getting heated, jaemin reached for his carkeys in his pocket with the hand that once rested on your waist, hurriedly pressing the button to unlock the vehicle. the moment he did so, you reached to open the cardoor, clambering into the back seats.

"you have no idea how— long i waited— for this." jaemin spoke in between kisses, climbing in after you and slamming the door shut, hovering over you whilst using his forearms to hold him up. the space in the car was limited, but he did his best to work with what he got.

"same," you breathed out before jaemin hungrily reattached his lips to yours, "same."

the male shrugged off his thick coat, letting it drop onto the backseat floors in a heap before pulling off his shirt to join it, leaving him in his black adidas trackies that he always seemed to wear. his bare toned torso was now on full display under the dim lighting from the car, broad shoulders and defined muscles enticing you even further to rake your fingers along his body. and you did so, his muscles going rigid for a moment as they tensed up before relaxing again, jaemin just letting you feel him up.

"as much as you seem to like my body, princess, we have more important things to be getting to." the smug smirk on jaemin’s face almost made you whimper but you clamped your lips tight, just looking up at him. he cursed lightly at the desperate shine in your eyes, glossed over making them sparkle.

seeing as jaemin was preoccupied with staring at your face, you took it upon yourself to pull down your leggings and shimmy your legs out of them, revealing your bare legs and underwear-less heat. you hated wearing pants with your leggings seeing as they always gave you a visible panty line.

jaemins eyes widened when he looked down, the erection enclosed in his trackies growing, trousers tightening.

"holy shit princess, were you expecting this?"

you weren’t, but that made it all the better. this time you let out the whimper, clamping your legs shut for some sort of desperate friction.

"p-please jaem-ahh" before you could even finish your words, he had tugged his own trackies down just enough for him to release his throbbing cock. you moaned at the sight whereas the cold air hit the hot skin of his member, coaxing a hiss from his mouth.

"shit— i’m on the pill just please!" you grabbed at his biceps, pleading with him as your pressed your thighs together even harder. with this newly attained knowledge, jaemin grabbed himself at the base of his cock, beginning to line himself up with your dripping core. he didn’t even have to touch you to know, your folds glistened with arousal.

he ran his head against your slick slit, arm holding him up nearly faltering at the first inch of pleasure. your arms immediately went to wrap around his torso, legs hooking around his hips to pull him even closer. jaemin pushed the rest of himself in slowly, releasing low groans that mixed with your higher pitches whimpers.

"h-how are you so—fuckkkk— tight?" he gritted his teeth and removed his hand from his shaft, moving it to help himself keep steady. at his words you subconsciously clenched around him, causing him to moan louder.

he started his thrusts slow and deep, taking his time to explore you and savour the moment. but this didn’t last long, your want and need overpowering your other senses.

"j-jaemin, ahhh-go faster!" you demanded, starting to buck your hips against his. a devilish grin appeared on his face, moving one of his hands back down to your hip to hold it down.

"as you wish, princess."

his hips snapped rapidly into yours, the change in pace making the growing feeling in your lower stomach grow faster, your moans becoming more frequent and louder. the small space in the car was slightly uncomfortable, the windows were even fogged up but in this moment neither of you cared. his pace was relentless, never letting down as he slammed into you over and over, reaching depths no one else before him had managed to reach.

you started seeing stars, body barely sliding along the seats of the car at the sheer force of jaemin’s thrusts. your eyes starting rolling into the back of your head, fluttering shut as your fingertips dug into jaemin’s back, trailing down and leaving fresh red scratches in their wake.

"jaem, i’m gonna c-um," you managed to get out, the boy smiling at your pliable state. he was also very, very close, beads of sweat rolling down his face at the now hot temperature inside the car and as a result of the effort he was putting into fucking you.

after one sharp thrust, the angle perfect, your orgasm washed over you. your legs twitched slightly and your back arched, vision momentarily clouded. your wet walls clenched around jaemin’s cock, triggering his own release just after yours.

"fuck, y/n." he groaned quietly, his cum coating your pussy walls in short bursts as he relaxed on top of you, panting.

the two of you stayed there in the comfortable almost silence, chests raising and falling heavily as you both regained composure.

"so... what does this mean for us?" you asked quietly, jaemins head resting on your hoodie clad chest. he turned up to look at you in disbelief, chin resting on your ribs.

"you’re my girlfriend. i think. i mean you dont have to be but-" you cut off his rambling by grabbing his jaw and pulling him up for a sweet kiss.

"i’m your girlfriend."

bonus:

the two of you sat and waited in the front seats, enjoying eachothers presence in the newly found relationship. the car doors opened and jeno, renjun and donghyuck slid in, sitting in the back seats. you froze up momentarily, looking at them through the rear view mirror.

renjun, as the smallest, was sat in the middle. his face contorted into one of disgust, eyebrows furrowing as he immediately unclasped his seatbelt, leaping over to sit on jeno’s lap instead. he would rather that then stay sat on whatever the fuck he was just sitting on- and god he hoped it wasn’t what he thought.

"what’s wrong?" jaemin turned to renjun with a playful glint in his eyes, knowing why he had that reaction.

"why the fuck is your middle seat wet?"

jeno and donghyuck then looked at the wet patch on the seat before cringing and gagging.

"gross!"

"renjun give me my $10 please."

#na jaemin smut #na jaemin #jaemin #bonfire night #guy fawkes #nct #nct dream #jaemin smut #nct dream smut

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davidfarland · 5 years

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When to Stop Polishing a Manuscript

Many new writers don’t know when to stop polishing a manuscript and move on to the next. Part of the reason for that might have to do with Ernest Hemingway.

Many years ago, a writer asked Hemingway, “How many times should I rewrite a manuscript?” Now, Hemingway hated dumb questions, so he answered “Oh, at least 60.”

He loved doing that to writers. On one occasion, a writer asked him what kind of chair he preferred to sit in, as if perhaps the brand of furniture that an author had planted his butt on might somehow confer literary genius.

Hemingway answered, “I don’t sit when I write, I stand.” And a generation or writers began to write standing up. The problem with that is that you can go to any one of Hemingway’s old homes or offices, and see the chairs that he sat on.

On another occasion, a writer asked him how long she should wait between drafts when revising, so that she would be able to look at her story “cold.” He suggested that it should be two years.

Think about it. If Hemingway did sixty drafts of a novel and waited two years between each draft, he would have never finished a single book. Don’t listen to bad advice, even when it comes from a genius.

Back when I first began writing, I used an old typewriter. I didn’t like it. I had to really bang the keys hard, it was noisy, certain keys didn’t work well, and the type was uneven. Because of this, doing rewrites was difficult. I’d type out a draft, make extensive corrections on the page with a pencil, and then try to type out a perfectly clean copy.

Using that system, it would have been foolish to repeat the process sixty times. Because of this, in the 1920s and 30s, a professional writer would typically try to learn to write a finished copy in a single draft. It was simpler to write out a nice outline in longhand, and then thoughtfully type out one clean draft, than to retype a piece over and over.

The first electric typewriter was invented in the early 1900s, but they didn’t begin to become in wide use until the 1930s, and really took off in about 1960 with the IBM Selectric. These models made rewriting much easier, and authors began to revise more.

Of course with the development of computers, revising became quite easy. My first computer would allow me to put only 2 pages of text on a disk, but by the late 1980s I was able to get first a whole chapter, and then with the addition of a hard drive, an entire novel in a single file. It wasn’t until then that rewriting became so easy that it became problematic.

You see, as an editor I’m looking for stories that have some originality, that carry an author’s own voice, his odd quirks. But when a new writer begins showing a manuscript around to members of her workshop and polishing it further and further, eventually the author tends to lose her own distinct voice. The result is, that the story can become less interesting to me as an editor with every draft.

So the question is, how many revisions does a novel or short story really need?

That’s a personal question. Each published author might develop his or her own standards. I typically go through a novel three times before sending it to my editor, though key scenes might get another polish or even three more.

As I rewrite, I try to avoid changing both the voices of my characters and my own narrative voice. Rather than polishing away the differences between voices, I think it’s better to look for ways to heighten the unique characters in the tale.

In fact, on one of my last rewrites, I do what I call a “voice edit,” where I go through key characters person by person to make sure that their voices are consistent.

I almost never look at a scene more than five or six times. Yet I know some writers who will polish a scene 20 times or more, making it a little less interesting each time. Don’t do that.

Why? You’ve got other books to write! By the time that you’ve revised a novel half a dozen times, you’re probably not really making it any better.

So when you feel good about it, submit it to editors.

Now, when many writers get a rejection letter, they’ll begin to feel insecure about a tale. Don’t let that happen. The world is full of great novels that were rejected over and over again. Harry Potter went to all of the world’s biggest publishers before it finally found a home. Dune was rejected dozens of times, as were dozens of other great novels.

The proper response to a rejection is to send the story out to a different publisher—not to rewrite the tale.

So don’t fiddle with your language. There are times when it might be wise to make a “substantial” revision, one where you change the very bones of a story. For example, you might decide to write a new opening scene, or extend a climax, or something like that. In that case, it’s like re-setting the bones of the story, not applying new lipstick to the face of it. You’re fixing the underlying structure.

For example, years ago I was walking down a hallway at a convention, and I heard an editor talking to a young writer. He was describing the problem with the author’s story, and he said, “You know what that story needs? It needs something big, a world exploding or something right in the opening.”

Now, it so happened that I had written a little short story about a terrorist called “The Sky is an Open Highway.” It wasn’t much of a story, but it did have a world exploding in it. In fact, that very editor had rejected it a few months earlier.

So I added a new scene where a world explodes on page 1, and then sent it to that editor. I was rewarded with a contract a couple of weeks later.

Now, that new scene was a “substantial edit.” It changed the nature of the story, signaling to the reader exactly what the story was about. But I didn’t polish the rest of the tale. I already knew that it was good enough.

And the Plot Thickens (Masterclass) - Closing this Week

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Right now, I’m offering $100 off a full novel manuscript edit when you book with me (🎵Because it is my birthday (soon) 🎶). Offer ends TOMORROW, March 1st. I'm nearly booked up with this offer but might be able to squeeze in a few more. Of course, if you need editing work in the future, please consider me regardless of the offer being over ;) Feel free to "bookmark" my site. For the deal, just mention you saw this in Dave’s newsletter.

My approach to editing has been described as "thorough," "precise," and "kind." But you can learn all about me and my services at FawkesEditing.com I’d love to help you take your manuscript to the next level!

#Writing tips #writingtip #writing tip #writing tips and tricks #writeblr

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blankdblank · 5 years

Text

Anaticula Pt 13

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 -

Back at the Puff table again you sat focusing on your food catching glimpses of Snape and Barty around Quirrell taking turns distracting him from focusing on you at all to help on top of the Occlumency tricks you were trying to hold for the hour long meal. The attention of the Professors and your decided undeserved punishment from Snape on top of the mood of the surly Professor had Ron and Harry already plotting some mischief of their own in repayment. No matter what Hermione, Draco and Neville had told them about the well mannered yet standoffish Professor they had made their minds up and couldn’t be decided otherwise. Through the stolen glances at the teachers’ table you kept spotting Barty’s exasperated expressions towards you at his inability to say something to you.

For his own relaxing he didn’t have to wait long as he managed to slip out along with you feigning a need to ready for his fist lesson. Rubbing his hands over his face and into his hair now upright entirely, pocketing his glasses he waited for you to slip out of the sea of students to his side. “One question. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Your brows furrowed and you answered, “Well, you’re either saying your regrets follow me to the grave, or you’re pulling a Juliet.”

His brow inched up and the twins clarified, “The Draught of Living Death. Alive but seeming dead, like in-,”

He nodded, “Romeo and Juliet, yes-.” He wet his lips, “Your cousin, Harry,” he shook his head absolutely lost for words.

You chuckled answering, “He’s the boy who lived, not the boy who studied.”

Barty nodded with brows raised and lips pursed for a moment, “Just like James then.” He paused again and added, “He didn’t even know where a bezoar comes from! If we don’t get him to focus on his studies-!”

Twins, “He’s doomed.”

Barty nodded and you giggled again, “I will do my best, but outside bribing him with Quidditch practice and tips it’s been a bit hard to hold him down long enough. If anything he just got chosen as Seeker, you could have Madame Hooch impose some sort of academic restrictions for teams.” That offer gaining an approving tick of his head to the side.

George, “Even Draco enjoys a good read every now and then, and you can’t pry Neville’s books away, same with Hermi.”

Barty nodded and rubbed his hand over his chin and you smirked up at him drawing his eyes back to you twitching them wider at your expression, “Big plans for class?”

His grin split across his face, “Yes! You are in for a treat!” his eyes narrowed playfully, “No surprises though. Off you pop, you need your rest.” Nodding his head to the side in his turn away for his office you three grinned continuing on to trot to join up with Cedric.

Giggling at his expression George split from your side allowing Cedric against yours while you said, “My cousin Harry is not so impressive in his studies as my other cousins.”

Cedric chuckled, “Yes, I did hear some mentions of him being given a supposed hard time by Snape. But then again Snape isn’t easy on any of us, even you three even more so demanding of you.”

“Either way, we’ll see how this plays out, if he picks it up or not.”

Sleep went remarkably well for you, a dull dream about sorting jellybeans by color and perfection in shape ended with your alarm. Dully you groaned stroking Idris’ beak in his low drowsy hum after a late night flying with Fawkes. Rolling over to get out of bed you ducked under the hammock holding Opal and you were on to dressing and heading down for a simple breakfast after. Though between an odd so called robbery in which nothing was taken and the morning bunch of letters containing a bundle of replies to all you had sent as well as to share all they had been told so far by the Professors.

Across the front page of the Daily Prophet you read the words, ‘Break-in at Gringotts!’ With parted lips you read the vague story about a break in to the empty vault 713. Supposedly it had been cleared out beforehand, and the owner refused to share the contents of the vault to aid in tracking down the culprits.

A tap on your shoulder turned your head and Cedric, who was reading over your shoulder claimed the paper as you turned to find Draco, who sat between you and George, who moved instantly, taking the three first years on his right to scoot away from their plates with forks in their mouths. A simple scoop of their arms brought their food back to them as you accepted the letter Draco passed you.

A seething letter from Lucius filled three pages of family expectations before he final sentence that by weeks end Draco would be in Durmstrang. A brief wave of the letter copied it and sent it to appear floating in front of Minerva. A dab of her lips with her napkin later she set aside her egg sandwich to claim the letter Albus joined her in reading at her hushed comments.

The pen on her breast pocket was drawn and on the back of the last page was a simple note, “To avoid this Draco could become a ward of the school. Refusing under his own rights for his education where he feels protected. I will start the paperwork, though your father will have to fill out some forms to assure he has a place to return to for breaks.”

The deal was accepted and the forms for your father appeared before you bound in twine. Adding a simple note you raised your fingers to your lips letting out a trilling whistle drawing a giddy screech from your owl waiting up in the rafters for any sign of a post from you. A drastic swoop and the bundle in your raised hand was claimed and raced off towards the ministry for your father.

Turning your head your arm looped around Draco’s shoulders to lowly say by his ear, “No matter what you’ll have a home with us. Lucius’ll come around. Don’t you worry about that judgmental old goat”

Draco chuckled leaning into your side hug grinning at your peck on his forehead before turning around on the bench, “I should get back to breakfast or Ron will come after me to finish our match.”

You nodded, “And no worries, I’ll have K fetch your things just in case.” Draco nodded and at the appearance of the house elf at his feet he eased around to walk back to his table pocketing the letter, feeling the weight of the agonizing change and tear from his family and friends at Hogwarts fall away.

K, “Mistress?”

“Morning, sorry it’s so early. Could you please head to Malfoy Manor and gather all Draco’s things and take them to his room at our home please?”

He nodded his head with a grin, “Of course. I would be honored to. Young Draco shall return on break to a pristine room.”

Your soft giggle filled your turn back to the table as Cedric mumbled over his mouthful of food, “They’re bartering for another dragon. Says it wouldn’t have happened if their escaped one wasn’t missing.”

“As if they’ll ever give them another one. 713 isn’t even close to the lowest keep either way.”

Twins, “They won’t get one.”

One by one as they continued to pour through the paper you read through the replies from your father, uncle and Remus. All of whom supporting your extra lessons and reminded you they were there for you when and if needed. Lastly you read through Ginny’s letter just dripping with boredom at being the last kid home alone. That letter similar to those she wrote to all her brothers around the room in silent agreement to start sending her a flurry of letters as often as they could while Hermione had started making small activity packets with all she learned so Ginny would feel at least in some way to be part of the lessons until the first break.

Magical creatures 8

Professor Kettleburn grinned widely in this greatly anticipated lesson on Hippogriffs. All of you set your bags aside and formed a ring around the clearing the tan and white speckled Hippogriff stood proudly with his side to you all chirping at a crow that kept hopping closer to him on top of a fence post fluffing up his wings baiting him on. Clearing his throat Kettleburn drew the attention of the creature who turned to you all curiously looking at all of you.

A simple introduction of the creature was followed up by a fill in on how to tend to it. Simple instructions were given on how to greet him properly and the first of you were welcomed to approach him to stroke him if allowed to. Eagerly you stepped forward only to have the Hippogriff squawk and move closer to you excitedly as he had for the twins, openly pressing his head into your palm after your years of sneaking into the forest and bumping into him. The end of the class came with the girls in your class squealing in disgust at the ferrets being tossed to the hungry beast leaping and bounding around to catch the ones tossed to him.

DADA 9

A gentle drizzle brought your wands out for air umbrella charms for the trot inside to head up to the greatly dreaded double DA class. Up to the final hall you reminded yourself to calm your mind and outside the door you focused on your mental wall to aid in defending yourself. Instantly you felt Quirrell’s eyes on you as you saw the empty class leading you to move to the row of cupboards along the wall you left your bag in front of by the twins’ and Cedric’s. In a group you watched the Professor move closer to you all saying, “Today we are covering the Seize and Pull Charm.”

Hushed whispers rippled through the students around you died as he continued, “This charm is usually used to either draw an item towards you or to draw yourself closer to an immovable object.”

Turning to his side a selections of items were set across a table and he stated, “First up, Miss Black.” Your brow inched up and he added, “You have been tasked for tutoring younger students, no doubt this should come easily to you then.” His head nodded to the side and you moved closer eyeing the table saying, “Carpe Retractum, simple and easy. First a movable object then tug yourself to an immovable object.”

In the selection you eyed each of them noting the random hexes on each of them, all miniscule yet troublesome to reverse leaving you to choose the least of them. A simple wave of your wand through the silent charm parted his lips seeing the tiny train car flying towards you at the end of an orange beam of light. Barely an inch from the tip of your wand your lips pursed feeling your ears shift on their own as a pair of rabbit ears in dark black fur popped out of the top of your head as an overpowering taste of carrot filled your mouth. A deep sigh left you and you sent the item back again to the table through Quirrell saying, “If you are to defend yourselves you must be ready to anticipate each and every possible hex hidden in every day items.”

Looking you over after having moved the train aside he replaced with another from a basket behind the table, he said, “Now, pull yourself to an immovable object.”

At the glint of proud arrogance in his eyes you raised your wand and his lips parted at your floating up to the rafters one handed before you dropped again to your feet to head back to the group. Sheathing your wand again you turned to watch the others with arms crossed focusing on anything but the taste in your mouth nearly making you gag until you found one of your palette cleansing candies easing the taste for you. The casual slip of the candy between your lips brought the glint of gold on the band of Morfin’s ring to Quirrell’s attention.

Around each student’s turn he took circles around the room, and to steal a closer look at your ring. Tucked under the sleeve of your flannel reaching out from under your Puff jacket he caught a glimpse of it up close brushing your hair behind your shoulder. To aid in the screaming teen from the boils appearing across his skin he brushed past you only to pause at the searing pain under his sleeve for a moment. Mentally he issued a numbing spell to hold his pain off until he could inspect the source of the sudden pain and continued to aid the screaming student.

A glint of silver passed over your eyes and you saw a young teen with pitch black hair and familiar blue eyes. Slytherin green flashed on a scarf under his heavy coat, in a long path over freshly fallen snow to the wafting echoes of Christmas carols you were again at Godric’s Hollow. Just past the old cemetery you were following the teen clamping your eyes shut in his murdering Morfin Gaunt, who told him where to find Tom Riddle Sr. The entire Riddle family was there, and after casting him out as another freak signaling him to kill them.

On the end of that memory you shifted to another. Deep under a hazy fog you heard “Quirinus!” A woman called out his name and a cry of a young boy followed by crunching footsteps. A manticore broke through the mist following after the boy until his trip and blow to the head on a set of upturned roots fading the memory as your eyes flashed back to normal again. The second memory confirming for you that Quirrell was still in there somewhere.

History of magic 10

Eventually the class came to an end and you were among the first to leave, still sporting your bunny ears with the fox and bear eared twins beside Cedric and koala ears after choosing the least harmful items you pointed them towards. All between the burned, boil coated and variously disfigured students ignoring your subtle hints for what to choose. Through the back path you guided the others through easily you arrived at Professor Binns’ classroom. The open doorway revealed the open mouthed Professor staring at you all dumbfounded for a moment until he all but growled aloud and snarled out, “Come now. We can easily move our class to the Hospital Wing.” His eyes shifted to you, “Evans, could you three manage the blackboard?”

You nodded, “No problem.”

Floating ahead of the bashful and pained students the snarling Professor grumbled to himself about the uselessness of the new Defense teacher who disregarded your safety and didn’t bother to teach you the counter spells at all.

Fully set up across the spread of beds you all eyed the board at each item added across it to add to your notes through your struggle not to pay too much attention to Madame Pomfrey in her own private instruction to each of you on the hexes you had been dealt and the easiest ways to break them. Halfway through however word from her had found Dumbledore and in he strode with a stunned expression hearing what hexes he had unleashed on you without aid to counter them. Each of you were checked to ensure he had apologized to each of you, assuring that he would speak to Quirrell. At you, however, he paused spotting the familiar ring on your finger as you brushed your hair from your face in taking notes.

A grin from you silenced his concern and you assured him you did not require an apology, a sentiment most of the others had shared. “Oh, my ring, yes. My uncle took us to meet Professor Slughorn few years back, found it near Mum’s grave.”

Fred and George nodded, “Glint in the brush round the back of a cottage.”

A weak grin eased across his lips and he replied, “It seems you were meant to find it then.”

Muggle Studies Sun, Tue, Sat 11

A small group of you continued on when the class had ended, the others off to free periods helped to take the blackboard back up again as you and the twins were off to Muggle Studies and Cedric was off to join in on the Puff Paper he had joined the year prior to add small comics from time to time. Now he was trying his hand at short stories and researching books to review for his own column.

“Morning Class!” Looking over the few of you seated in his cramped classroom Professor Tennant’s grin doubles, “Now for today, I thought we could start off with some Physics.”

Smoothing his hands, the sound of aww’s and Oh’s filled the room and he scoffed, “No Aww’s! Now, the closest Muggles get to magic is science. Wondrous thing and I am going to show you why.” The glint in his eye flashed brightly and even the most skeptical in the room was in awe at the tricks he showed you, but freedom called and most of your classmates rushed out to their own whims in the free period. A wide grin spread across Barty’s face as he neared you asking, “Well?”

Softly giggling you replied, “Not bad.”

Fred and George nodded as Cedric commented, “Nowhere near how Quirrell’s class went.”

The Professor’s brow ticked upwards, “What happened?”

Fred, “Nothing new,”

George, “Just a Professor forcing his students to touch hexed objects.”

His mouth fell open and you shouldered your bags grinning at him, “Dumbledore said he’d talk to him. We’ll leave you to your next class.” Subtly winking at him, “We have a garlic bomb to set off.”

Stealing a glance at his entering next class he grinned at you saying, “Let me know how that fares.”

George, “We’ve got a few more on the list already timed out to go off each day.”

Fred, “Quirrell won’t know what hit him.”

An hour long break was all you had, and timing it just perfectly you set off a garlic bomb in Quirrell’s class right as his leg bumped the basket his hexed items were held in. With that completed and no sign of any boils spreading across his skin you ticked it off the list and flew away from your hidden perch in the high window back to the open breezeway on your way to head back to your dorm. A sudden screech however halted your path to reach up and form a perch for a large reddish owl that gave you an awkward tick of its head. Chuckling to yourself you said, “It’s Newt’s owl.”

In a steady shuffle the owl moved to your shoulder and you turned over the letter in your fingers. A flick of your fingers the seal broke and you joined Cedric who asked, “Any luck?”

Fred, “No boils.”

Cedric huffed and scribbled it out of the journal you had made for the task as your bags floated off the ground back to your shoulders. George took a peek over your shoulder asking, “What’s new with Newt?”

Wetting your lips you said, “He says Hemlock & Hippogriff are still deliberating on my admission.”

Cedric, “Does it usually take this long?”

You shrugged, “Not a clue. Even Charlie hasn’t heard back yet.”

George, “We did hear him mention even Newt’s took nearly three years to hear an answer himself and he wrote a whole book on mystical creatures.”

Flipping the page over you kept reading in your trot down the steps, “Hmm, a lot of questions about Tulip’s shedding.”

Fred, “No doubt he misses her.”

Cedric, “Or he could be trying to code something to you.”

“Code?”

Cedric nodded, “Like a hint of something.”

Fred, “Maybe he thinks the judges might want to see her?”

George grinned as you said, “Or just proof of her.”

A chuckle left you in your trot down the last few steps leading to the first of the maze of halls to your dorm where you got started on your assignment from History after sending off an offer to send off her skin once she was done shedding it, if he so wished, as coyly as you could possibly muster.

Lunch followed and muddled in the wave of garlic coming from Quirrell you caught the scent of a burn cream. Unknowingly to you in privacy once his course with the first years after yours was through at receiving a similar pain from accepting a paper from Harry he slipped into his office to find a pair of third degree burns on his arm that had come into contact with you. A subtle slip of another herb into the mashed potatoes on the wizard was missed between Snape and Barty’s turns at distracting him with another in his boiled and seasoned veggies as well. Both useless and crossed off their own lists. Focusing on your meal you wondered what would face in the rest of the day.

Break at 2 freed you into the homey class of Professor Snape. The tall man eyed you three with a hint of a grin on his face seeing a note for you on your desk at another hidden spice he had passed to Quirrell to be crossed off the list as well in breakfast.

A complicated slew of potions were set in front of you with a grand prize of seventy points for the house the first two to complete the most potions properly. After that the majority of those completing the most properly in a single house gain twenty points for their house. Behind his desk he stood saying, “Kindly do not let the record three correct for Gryffindor beat either of your houses. My own house barely got four and I am expecting five from the both of you if usual grades from past years hold true.”

Each list was different and all at varied levels of skills and with a supply of three cauldrons for each station granted you a greater chance of winning. For you at least you chose the most technical, one that you could make in your sleep with two of the simplest. One by one the entire room breezed through a good chunk of the list, proving Snape right that your houses would focus on the competition without actually trying to sabotage or distract one another. Each completed cauldron would be collected by Snape to be traded with another for testing at his desk blindly as he kept his own tally at his desk.

The final marks had you and the part Veela girl at the top two earning a round of cheers at your mutual boots in points and another at the win by one potion in favor of Ravenclaw for the second boost of twenty points. The homework to add more points would be to come up with as many uses for each of the ones you had brewed up along with another point each for re-brewing those that you failed on.

Charms brought on another challenge with the Puff’s winning and a tie for both houses in Transfigurations after. Between your classes it was a clear show of which houses would be heading academically, first years didn’t really care for the academic House Cup, same as the seventh years. Their main interest was the Quidditch cup, of which Ravenclaw had just barely stolen it away from you the year prior with your house taking the House Cup on academics, this year you had hoped to steal both away for your own.

The first task in passing over your assignment early in Ancient Runes they were added to the stack from your fellow classmates. Again another testing translation packet was passed out while your efforts were monitored and just barely you had discovered the final language for the final word in the jumble of runes filling the seven pages you were given. A hasty scribble of the word later and you added it to the pile and exhaled through filling your bag again for Professor Babbling to eagerly trot over saying, “I reread The Three Brothers!”

You all grinned back and Fred replied, “We did too.”

Cedric, “Quite a tale.”

She nodded, “Yes. I know some like to imagine it based off real trio of brothers, however, I simply treasure the symbolism of the tale in itself.”

In depth she delved into each element for a good half hour until her eyes shifted to the clock and she said, “Oh dear me, I should let you drop off your things before dinner.” Smiling widely at you as she named the next tale in the book she wished to discuss the following day. Finally free you three left Cedric to rush off to the dorm as you found Myrtle’s bathroom again, through the doorway you caught her cocky giggling self and she cackled out, “The other boy came and went long ago. Run, run and catch him.”

With a brow raised you asked, “Were you this outgoing when you attended here?”

She shook her head, “Not in the least. My life was perfectly dreadful.”

Your head tilted and you replied, “Whose isn’t these days.” Parting her lips in confusion as Fred flicked the time turner sending you back with just barely enough time to head back to Divination at six pm once again.

With a knot in your stomach you hurried your way over to the North Tower, climbing the Divination stairwell to do so until you found classroom eleven. Through a narrow hall that fed into the stacked seating in a half circle across from Professor Trelawney’s desk with a crystal ball on the top of it beside a stack of sticks and what looked to be dominoes. Right in your path Trelawney herself grinned at you in her step into your path shifting her palms against one another in front of her chest. “I was so pleased to hear you had signed up for my class Miss Black. Out of the students entering these halls these past years I do believe I might have the most to offer you.”

As she stepped aside you saw the final open table right up front spreading her grin even wider as she took her place in front of you all, blinking through the heavy wall of incense you made your way to the open cushions around the last table settling your bags beside you. “So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can take you only so far in this field...”

In a sweep over the class she stated, “Firstly we should start simple, Chinese fortune sticks.” A wave of her hand had a bundle of sticks float out to each of your tables before she said, “Now, one of you clutch the sticks and then simply hold the bundle over the table and release them. I will guide you in interpretations.

George chuckled taking hold of the bundle he lowered and released as the tables of two all silently voted for the first volunteer. Table by table she did explain the sticks leaving yours for last, sighing already at the skeptical gazes of the other students until she eyed the fixed gaze you were holding on the stack seeing a flying pie flash into your mind. Blinking at her soft, “What do you see?”

The other students shifted in their seats noticing your glance at George before saying, “Something about a flying pie.”

Fred, “Booby trap perhaps?”

You shrugged, “Looked like it was in a closet.”

Trelawney eyed you and then the sticks, tilting her head through a grin cracking onto her face again, “Yes, I see it now. Peeves will anger the Bloody Baron again. Mind the East Wing.”

George nodded and through the chatter of students she rose and then started at the first table again, “Another staple of Divination is Astrology. Under each of your placemats is a sheet I would like for you to fill out and I will again guide you in deciphering them.”

For the remainder of the class she did exactly as she said giving people their assumed week ahead off what information they had placed on the page. It was seven by the time she got to you three and the others didn’t hesitate to hurry out of the room leaving you alone with Trelawney, who really couldn’t care at that point for how little they all seemed to care compared to her and you three, who seemed to be the only ones to give the course a chance.

A basic list of your Aries traits were listed off before a muddled set of weeks ahead. Fred’s left him the target of an attack meant for another, confusing you as George was the one you saw needing to avoid the pie. George’s left him supposedly trapped under a pile of books. Lastly you drew her eyes to your curious gaze that twisted in confusion as she said you would be sleeplessly chasing an empty mirror.

Your brows furrowed as you questioned it only for her to send you off to lunch, “I will meditate on the meaning of this and get back to you.” With a nod you made your way down to the dorms to drop off your bag, running into Percy along the way.

Percy, “How’s your jumping schedule going?”

The three of you groaned replying, “Ugh, I am starving!”

Percy chuckled replying, “It helps to stash some treats to snack on along the way. For Divinations especially.”

Curiously you eyed Snape in his path ahead of you exiting a hall with your eyes narrowed feeling a familiarity. Softly you gasped and dropped your bag lunging forward tackling Snape with the twins after wondering what you had seen. Percy, seeing a closet fly open he wrapped his arms around the twins, trying to tug them free of the line of fire only for a pie to soar out of it that exploded into snow at a flick of your newly drawn wand. At your side Snape had rolled over and eyed the closet and the boys blinking in confusion at the empty door for Fred and George to say, “Huh. Guess she was right.”

Carefully you helped Snape up, apologizing softly as you brushed off a strip of dust from his sleeve at his asking, “Who was right?”

Twins, “Professor Trelawney.”

Snape nodded, “Ah.” Turning to face you he asked, “What was your future?”

“Apparently I will be sleeplessly chasing an empty mirror.” Making his brow inch up, you shrugged, “I don’t get it either, but she said she’d meditate on it.”

Tilting his head he said, “We should hurry or all the best will be snapped up.” Giving you a glint of mischief in his eyes cluing you into the trio of herbs tonight snuck into Quirrell’s meal all proving to be a dud along with the two other subtle tests that had gone off with failed results of signaling a possession. At least you had made it through a decent portion of the list so far and at this rate it shouldn’t take very long for you to get through it at all.

@obsessionsofmynerdheart

Pt 14

#Fred and George Weasley #Cedric Diggory #Barty Crouch Jr #Snape #minerva mcgonagall #Quirrell #Draco #Professor Binns #Madame Pomfrey #Moaning Myrtle #Professor Trelawney

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themusicalhermit · 6 years

Note

This is the anon that requested for the fem reader x Junkrat with baby twins. I love the fic so much, it’s so cute! I love seeing Jamie get so concerned about the reader and the babie’s conditions. The names for the babies are cute too. 💖 If you have any spare time, I would still like to see how Junkrat and the reader raises them. Imagining Junkrat trying to change a diaper cracks me up. But please just do it on your free time though. Once again, thank you so much!

Ok so this took a while. Part of the reason for that was I had originally plotted one way and decided, almost last minute, to go the another (in addition to not knowing how to write super young kids well). I hope it’s still enjoyable and I’m sorry for the wait.

Junkrat x Reader (feat. Cobb and Harry Fawkes, & “The Hogfather”) - “Perfect” (SFW) part one here

Having twins was serious business, but to Junkrat this clearly just meant even more whacky hijinks were possible. In the weeks leading up to the birth, he had spent hours rigging up baby harnesses so that he could “dual wield his progeny”, perpetual motion, self-rocking baby beds (dubbed Newton’s Cribs), and other similar devices. Most strange of all, however, was a combination baby harness-beer cap that he claimed was supposed to be loaded with milk so he and/or Roadhog could feed the kids, carry them, and do work all at the same time. You and Roadhog had shared the briefest of glances before telling him to incinerate that invention.

Roadhog had done his part as godfather (or “Hogfather,” as Junkrat kept insisting) and bought you and Junkrat baby clothes, toys, nappies, and other necessities. He had also bought Junkrat a “Fatherhood for Dummies” book and a general book on parenthood for you. You, meanwhile, had used the fact you’d been assigned desk duty to apply for one of the coveted family suites with their private bathrooms for the four of you.

After reading in your parenting book that learning sign language from a young age boosts children’s mental capacities, Junkrat thrown himself into learning the local sign language, as well as Auslan and the sign language you had chosen. Roadhog, completely of his own free will upon seeing Junkrat learn sign, picked up New Zealand sign language, which, like any sign language, required he remove his mask for proper use. Perhaps out of admiration or unexpressed guilt that Roadhog was risking his lungs to teach the kids something new, this led to Junkrat picking up New Zealand sign language as well. Between the three of you, Cobb and Harry were both chatting away in various languages by the time they were ten months old.

Roadhog was a good godfather and a calm influence on the kids (who, even as babies, had learnt to weaponise their cuteness against him). More than willing to take them off your hands when asked, he was known to take them on regular walks around the compound or let them roll around on the grass in the courtyard. The rest of Talon used this time to play with the kids when their schedules allowed all under Roadhog’s watchful eye.

Which was good as Junkrat was loathe to let strangers too close to the twins and threatened to blow up anyone who so much as looked at them funny. This was a depressingly common occurrence due to his dual-wielding baby harness. Doomfist soon put a stop to it by throwing an official baby shower for you two and announcing that anyone who hurt the kids would have the rest of Talon hunting them for the rest of their days.

But beyond his (somewhat overzealous) protectiveness, Junkrat was excellent with the twins. Yes, he would often forget that infants can’t hold certain things, such as the working kid’s weapon models he’d built them, and he’d needed to be reminded to be careful with how he held them at first, but he was a good father. He was constantly making faces at the twins, playing with them, holding one while you fed the other, and helping you rock them to sleep. Already one used to functioning with little sleep, he even took charge of dealing with them during the night without question unless you forced him to try and get some more rest.

As the months went on the twin’s personalities became more obvious. Junkrat’s love of laughter had rubbed off on both of them, but of the two Cobb was usually the first to laugh at something whereas Harry laughed the longest. Harry had shown an affinity for puzzle games and adventurousness - this had been cute until he figured out how to undo the child safety locks you’d put around the flat. Cobb, not to be outdone, was adventurous when it came to tasting things (which Harry was not), a thing that was nice during suppertime but horrible when his brother opened the sink cabinet.

Fortunately you’d seen them and stopped things before Moira’s expertise would have been needed. When you told the story to the rest of your family later, Junkrat had just laughed and said they took after him. But he did agree that something needed to be done to keep them from poisoning themselves, because that was not remotely funny, and installed padlocks on everything. Roadhog, when told a few days later after a meeting, had just sighed and said something about not needing more troublemakers in his life.

As far as work was concerned, both you and Junkrat were given paid leave, allowing you time to heal and both of you time to bond with your kids. Which left plenty of opportunities for you all to be a family.

Such as on one lazy Thursday afternoon a few days before the twin’s birthday.

“I got that sunshine in my pocket, got that good song in my feet…” Junkrat was reclining on an armchair and singing Oldies with the kids. Cobb propped up on his legs and Harry on his chest. They were both wriggling and babbling along with the words, both spoken and signed.

“So just imagine,” he sang, voice cracking as he tried to follow the rising pitch. Looking between the twins with a smile, he shimmied in the chair as best he could. “Nothing I can see but you when you dance…”

You leaned over the back of the chair, singing and signing along with your hands in the air above Junkrat’s. He looked over his shoulder at you, laughter tinging his voice as he sang.

“Youse are flat,” Roadhog called over, his telephone raised in front of him and recording the moment.

Junkrat paused to stick his tongue out, earning a laugh from the masked man. When the song was over he reached up to ruffle your hair and pull your cheek to his lips.

“Can you sing, Mako,” you asked as Junkrat kissed you. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you.”

Roadhog sighed, putting down the phone. Junkrat giggled against your cheek before turning to the kids and signing quickly in Auslan. “Darl, I’ve never heard Roadie hum, let alone sing. So I’d hazard to say that he’s not exactly a music lover.”

Shaking his head, Roadhog broke in with a resigned tone. “I like music. Used to love it. Loved singing too.“

“Well why don’t you sing sometime,” you asked, ignorant of the way Junkrat’s face had gone still with dawning comprehension. “The kids would love it it.”

With a wheezing laugh your children’s godfather said, “I’d love to, if not for my lungs.” Shrugging when you apologised, he continued with the same tone. “I’m not bothered. It’s part of the price paid. Rapping though—” he crossed his arms on the shelf of his stomach “— rapping’s great.”

“Rapping, eh?” Junkrat‘s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Well, now that gives me an idea!”

Which is how your idea of playing cards and darts at the twins’ first birthday party turned into a karaoke competition. There wasn’t a real prize (knowing Sombra’s competitive streak and Junkrat’s desire to obtain trophies at any cost you’d forbidden any sort of thing), but through a show of applause Roadhog came in second with a modified rendition of “Straight Outta Compton.” Neither you nor Junkrat were in the top three, though the twins enjoyed the fun energy of the event and happily played with the various toys that everyone had given them.

The future of the twins was bright with all of Talon keeping an eye on them, not to mention their “Hogfather.” And as you watched Junkrat hug and smile at the children, you felt that everything in your family’s life was, for lack of a better word, perfect.

#request fill #junkrat x reader #sfw #harry fawkes #cobb fawkes #cobb and harry

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gadgetgirl71 · 4 years

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Amazon First Reads November 2020

Well Halloween is over and Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Night is only a three days away. You’d think it was bonfire night every night. People have been letting off numerous fire works every night and over the weekend its been even worse. As they start going off just as dusk falls and they go on for the rest of the night, sometimes even in to the early hours.

Anyway back to this months Amazon First Reads, Prime Members are allowed to choose one book this month out of the eight titles.

This months choices are:

Thriller

The Last Resort by Susi Holliday, Pages: 300, Publication Date: 1 December 2020

Synopsis: Seven strangers. Seven secrets. One perfect crime.

When Amelia is invited to an all-expenses-paid retreat on a private island, the mysterious offer is too good to refuse. Along with six other strangers, she’s told they’re here to test a brand-new product for Timeo Technologies. But the guests’ excitement soon turns to terror when the real reason for their summons becomes clear.

Each guest has a guilty secret. And when they’re all forced to wear a memory-tracking device that reveals their dark and shameful deeds to their fellow guests, there’s no hiding from the past. This is no luxury retreat—it’s a trap they can’t get out of.

As the clock counts down to the lavish end-of-day party they’ve been promised, injuries and in-fighting split the group. But with no escape from the island—or the other guests’ most shocking secrets—Amelia begins to suspect that her only hope for survival is to be the last one standing. Can she confront her own dark past to uncover the truth—before it’s too late to get out?

Book Club Fiction

Memories in the Drift by Melissa Payne, Pages: 279, Publication Date: 1 December 2020

Synopsis: My name is Claire. I’m thirty-six years old. It’s September. I know what I’m doing and why I am here…for now.

Ten years ago, Claire Hines lost her unborn child—and her short-term memory—following a heartrending tragedy. With notebooks, calendars, to-do lists, fractured pieces of the past, and her father’s support, Claire makes it through each day, hour by hour, with relative confidence. She also has a close-knit community of friends in the remote Alaskan town where she teaches guitar to the local children. It’s there, in the reminders.

As determined as Claire is to regain all that’s disappeared, she’d prefer to live without some memories of her before life—especially those of her mother, Alice, who abandoned her, and Tate, the ex-boyfriend who broke her heart.

But when Alice and Tate return from the past, there’ll be so much more for Claire to relive. And to discover for the very first time. Through healing, forgiveness, and second chances, Claire may realize that what’s most important might not be re-creating the person she was, but embracing the possibilities of being the person she is.

Suspense

Every Last Secret by A R Torre, Pages: 302, Publication Date: 1 December 2020

Synopsis: Welcome to the neighborhood. Watch your husband, watch your friends, and watch your back.

Cat Winthorpe has worked hard to get what she has: a gorgeous home; social standing; and William, her successful, handsome husband. Then a friendly new couple moves into the estate next door. While cautious, a good neighbor like Cat greets them with open arms and warm hospitality.

Neena Ryder isn’t a fellow lady of leisure. A life coach with off-the-rack dresses, personal issues, and a husband who hasn’t delivered, she’s anxious to move up in the world. This beautiful new town is a step in the right direction. It’s also making Neena aware of what she doesn’t have. Namely, William. When Neena’s infatuation escalates into obsession, it’s just a matter of eliminating a few obstacles to get the life she wants. The life next door.

As Neena’s secret fixation grows, so does her friendship with Cat. But beneath their cordial interactions is a wealth of temptations, secrets, and toxic jealousy. For both women, the desire for a perfect life can turn perfectly dangerous.

Historical Fiction

Under a Gilded Moon by Joy Jordan-Lake, Pages: 409, Publication Date: 1 December 2020

Synopsis: From the bestselling author of A Tangled Mercy comes an enthralling novel of secrets, a tumultuous war of ideas, and murder as classes collide in the shadow of Biltmore House.

Biltmore House, a palatial mansion being built by the Vanderbilts, American “royalty,” is in its final stages of construction in North Carolina. The country’s grandest example of privilege, it symbolizes the aspirations of its owner and the dreams of a girl, just as driven, who lives in its shadow.

Kerry MacGregor’s future is derailed when, after two years in college in New York City, family obligations call her home to the beautiful Appalachians. She is determined to distance herself from the opulence she sees rising in the Blue Ridge Mountains, however close its reach. Her family’s land is among the last pieces required to complete the Biltmore Estate. But something more powerful than an ambitious Vanderbilt heir could change Kerry’s fate as, one by one, more outsiders descend on the changing landscape—a fugitive from Sicily, a reporter chasing a groundbreaking story, a debutante tainted by scandal, and a conservationist prepared to put anyone at risk to stoke the resentment of the locals.

As Kerry finds herself caught in a war between wealth and poverty, innocence and corruption, she must navigate not only her own pride and desperation to survive but also the temptations of fortune and the men who control it.

Memoir

Jew(ish) by Matt Greene, Pages: 199, Publication Date: 1 December 2020

Synopsis: What does it mean to be Jew(ish) in 2020? Caught between tradition and modernity, between a Jewish family and a non-Jewish son, Matt Greene ponders the big questions concerning identity, religion, family and Seinfeld.

When his son was born to a non-Jewish mother, Matt began to consider the upbringing he’d put behind him—the sense of not belonging, the forbidden foods, the holidays that felt more like punishments. There are more types of Jew than there are bagel fillings, and for every two there are three opinions. But if you’re not a black-hatted frummer, if you’re allergic to groups, if you observe but don’t believe, or you don’t observe at all, does that make you less Jewish?

In this wide-ranging series of essays, at turns irreverent, insightful, urgent and iconoclastic, Matt considers what might loosely be termed ‘the modern Jewish experience’, and asks what it means to be anything in a world obsessed with the self and the other.

Domestic Suspense

Open House by Katie Sise, Pages: 255, Publication Date: 1 December 2020

Synopsis: A missing young woman, ten years gone. A town still held in the grip of an unsolved mystery. A breathtaking novel of psychological suspense by the bestselling author of We Were Mothers.

A decade ago in upstate New York, art student Emma McCullough walked into the woods and was never seen again. It’s a mystery that still haunts her bucolic university town and her broken family, especially her sister, Haley, whose need for closure has become an obsession. But now, finally, the first piece of evidence in the vanishing has been found: Emma’s bracelet, lodged in a frozen piece of earth at the bottom of a gorge. For Emma’s three best college friends, for a beloved former teacher, and for Haley, the chilling trinket is more than a clue in a resurrected cold case. It’s a trigger.

Then a woman Tis attacked during an open house, and the connections between the two crimes, ten winters apart, begin to surface. So do the secrets that run as deep and dark as the currents in this quiet river town.

Biographical Fiction

The Empress by Laura Martinez-Belli, Translator Simon Bruni, Pages: 402, Publication Date: 1 December 2020

Synopsis: From a bestselling author in Mexico comes her English-language debut—an enthralling historical novel about the tragic reign of Empress Carlota of Mexico.

It’s 1863. Napoleon III has installed a foreign monarch in Mexico to squash the current regime. Maximilian von Habsburg of Austria accepts the emperor’s crown. But it is his wife, the brilliant and ambitious Princess Charlotte, who throws herself passionately into the role. Known to the people as Empress Carlota, she rules deftly from behind the scenes while her husband contents himself with philandering and decorating the palace.

But Carlota bears a guilty secret. Trapped in a loveless marriage, she’s thrown herself into a reckless affair. Desire has blinded Carlota to its consequences, for it has left her vulnerable to her sole trusted confidante. Carlota’s devious lady-in-waiting has political beliefs of her own—and they are strong enough to cause her to betray the empress and join a plot to depose her from the throne. As Carlota grows increasingly, maddeningly defenseless, both her own fate and that of the empire are at stake.

A sweeping historical novel of forbidden love, dangerous secrets, courtly intrigue, and treachery, The Empress passionately reimagines the tragic romance and ill-fated reign of the most unforgettable royal couple of nineteenth-century Europe during the last throes of the Second Empire.

Children’s Picture Book

The Snow Dancer by Addie Boswell, Illustrated by Merce Lopez, Pages: 32, Publication Date: 1 December 2020

Synopsis: Young dancer Sofia wakes up to a quiet, white world—it’s a snow day! She makes her way outside to the neighborhood park, where a field awaits her, white and shining and open. It isn’t long before the rest of the neighborhood wakes its sleepy head—and the other kids make their way to the park, scattering all of Sofia’s beautiful silence. But with the help of a new young friend, Sofia is ready to show everyone what a snow dancer can do on a perfect day like this. With lyrical language and gorgeous art, this book sparkles with all the joy and beauty of a snow day.

*** Which book will you choose? I’m not sure which book I’ll choose as non of the books stand out to me. ***

#AmazonFirstReads, #Amazonkindle, #AmazonPrimeMembers, #BiographicalFiction, #BookClubFiction, #Books, #ChildrensPictureBook, #DomesticSuspense, #HistoricalFiction, #Kindle, #KindleBooks, #Memoir, #Suspense, #Thriller

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rileyomalley · 6 years

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Curiosity Kills (A JunkHop Fic)

Chapter 1 cont! Previous Entries: [x] [x] Word Count: 4228 Rating: General (theres just a bunch of BOOMS in this part) Pairings; Roadhog/Mako Rutledge x Junkrat/Jamison Fawkes x Overwatch OC

So as it stands, Hopper found herself in quite the situation. Despite how desperate she was to pull some stunt and escape mid ride, she couldn’t help but be focused on the pain in her wrist…and she hadn’t much experience with jumping out of high speed vehicles.

There was only one time…and it was not pretty.

So now she was faced with being an infamous duos captive, lord knows what that would entail. At the very least she found some relief knowing who they were now and how to potentially use that to her advantage later.

For now though…she was being stared at by the two of them. It wasn't long before they'd arrived at this supposed hideout and Hopper and been sat down for questioning. She idly looked between the two of them before speaking up.

“…you just gonna sit there or…” not that she wanted to question what plots they had in store for her, but Junkrat spoke promptly after.

He looked to be scheming…real hard as he looked her over.

“Since we got you now, we have a few questions and ground rules. Gotta make most of keeping you captive. Seemed reeaalll important considerin.” might be able to strike a deal with her as bait. A trade perhaps for loot or some nice upgraded tech.

There was a lot going on in that head of his, which only left that grin to curl all the more. An important agent, a spy of sorts, a tracker maybe? Whoever she was…she may be their ticket to all they need.

His companion on the other hand thought otherwise. His arms crossed before his chest looking over Hopper.

Small. Only potentially an issue in terms of fighting, more than anything he saw her as a liability. He wouldn’t admit out loud that he agreed there was potential there for their own gain, but last they needed was someone making their operations all the more difficult.

Junkrat did that enough on his own.

Before Hopper could say much else Junkrat pointed a prosthetic finger right in her face.

“Alright sheila, who you work for?”

Hopper pushed the finger out of her face.

“That is unfortunately classified. As much as I would love to tell you…I really cant.”

Roadhog gave a grunt. Junkrat furrowed his brow. “And why not? Could always get it out of ya by different means…”

“A waste of time…” Roadhog chimed in. Hopper just quirked a brow at the large man before shirking away at Junkrat close vicinity to her now.

“Ah..well I mean, I cant mostly because its potential breach of my contract. By doing so that leaves me with uh…the possibility of being stuck out on my own. No contact.”

Well better late than never to start lying about you and your employers. Maybe shed be able to get on their good side before finding a way to separate from them. Lie out your ass, girl.

Junkrat was still staring.

“…not only that there’s a hiiigh possibility that if they learn where I am, they’ll find you and it’ll be more if an issue than uh…a fruitful solution, yeah? So..”

The agent started to fiddle a bit. Why did he have to BE SO CLOSE? She almost felt claustrophobic.

Actually, it was legitimately making her nervous.

“SO UH – I guess it all depends what you're looking for?? I mean...” She cleared her throat. Don't lose your cool girl. Think of something.

Junkrat gave a hum, rubbing at his chin almost exaggeratedly looking Hopper up and down. The way he was looking at her did not make her any more comfortable. She leaned away as best she could until she nearly fell off that chair. “Look-I have to apologize. I've only been in so many of these situations with brilliant criminals like yourself and...well. I'm rusty. So...I guess what I'm getting at is-maybe we can come to some middle ground? You don't do anything to me, I don't do anything to you, and maybe I can put in a good word for you as...long lost colleagues? I mean...d-don't think I wasn't seeing you eyeing this tech.”

Okay. Seemed to be catching their attention. Or at least Junkrat's.

“I mean...sure I could have tried my best to get out of here once you guys gave me an inch but...I'd rather not go a mile into death and destruction, at least for a little while.” She tried to give her best grin, hopeful that they'd consider the offer. First chance if she saw it she could get out of this joint.

The Junkers sat, Junkrat tapping his peg leg and Roadhog just idly watching Hopper. It was one thing for Junkrat to be eyeing her as much as he did practically BORING holes into her skull, but...not being able to see the face behind Roadhog's mask, or even a semblance of eyes was...unnerving. He didn't speak up much either, and when he did it sounded like a stance of indifference.

Junkrat sat up in his seat. “Alright sheila, we'll be considering this deal. You're lucky you got what you do, otherwise we might not. Me and the hog will have to discuss it further. You got a pretty good way of wagerin' in all. Now...” The lanky fellow stood from his seat, pacing back and forth before stopping near his companion. “We got a set of ground rules you'll be followin' while we have you here.”

Roadhog sat forward resting on his forearm.

With a flourish of that prosthetic hand, Junkrat begun. “Rule numbah 1, you gotta behave and follow what we tell you. You will be taken care of here in our hideout but that doesn't give you full reign of everything.”

Roadhog raised a large finger. “Two, don't even think of escaping unless you want a death sentence.

“I've got all sorts of surprises around here, sheila!

So chipper about it, wasn't he....she just grimaced.

“Rule numbah three! While we have you here, you gotta make your way in helpin' us score some loot. Not getting off scott free just cuz yer captive here.” Wait...how? “-which is why we'll be putting your tech to good use on heists!!”

UM.

Even if they were running over any others cockamamie rules they had, Hopper was stuck in her mind thinking of what exactly they were planning on using her for. She was in more than what she thought. Hoo boy.

Hopper just took a deep breath. “Alright. Fair enough. As long as you're fine with giving space I can follow these rules.” As screwy as some may be to her, fair or not. Junkrat moved over with a quirky grin. “Good! Glad to have you aboard then! We'll be setting out in the next couple days. Got some good word about a rather rich place we can hit up next! Eehehehe~”

That laugh was going to be the end of her. God give her strength.

After everything was settled the whole group stood, Roadhog making his way off in one direction without a word, Junkrat doing the same until Hopper piped up. “Ah...not to ask too much but...you guys got a shower? All that travelin' out in the desert got me sweating like a mother.” She was to the point of waving out her pits. Junkrat perked looking over his shoulder at her.

“Oh sure. Just over there to the right, can't miss it. Will warn you though, don't take long. Last we need is ol big Hog mad cuz of low water reserves.”

Hopper just nodded watching as he made his way out. Must have been with the larger man for some time now. Probably got on his bad side more than once himself but...that was fair. Last she wanted was to be caught up in this and screw it up right off the bat. She would try to keep any thoughts on escaping to the back of her mind. For the time being she had to play captive and follow what they said no matter how ridiculous it might be. The only things she'd deny was them looking at her tech.

That was her own and she was going to fight tooth and nail for it.

One thing Hopper had to be thankful for was showers. It was one of the most relieving luxuries human kind had and she wasn't sure where she would be without them. Even when she had to bath under a waterfall, it still felt refreshing. A renewed sense of self washing away the days dirt and grime. Keeping it as short as she could running through that long, long hair of hers she finished up and made her way out. Her clothes were still a little sticky, but she had to deal since she didn't have any way of washing them immediately.

Donning her casual wear she made her way out, hair up in a towel and prosthetic legs hooked back on, she decided to wander a little through their hideout. At least to the main areas she felt were safer than say, a workshop or potential bedroom. Might as well familiarize herself

Despite the messy look of this shabby shack, there was an odd bit of charm and a lived in feeling that could only fit those two men. It wasn't overly cluttered, but enough to show they'd really been around and had probably scavenged for a long while. She wondered how much making way to the kitchen to see what their food reserves were like.

Surprise surprise. Probably the worst judge in the world, it looked to be they'd done pretty good for themselves out here, considering the amount of canned foods, baking products and various snacks that lined the cupboards. Even the fridge looked to have plenty to drink with a good stock of water. She bit her lip—would it be too soon to play to her captor's stomachs? She wasn't particularly hungry herself, but a good gesture was always nice, albeit fishy looking depending who you ask.

Before she could consider reaching for a few items Hopper was halted by the sound of heavy footsteps making their way to the kitchen, the gentle jingle echoing through the air. She looked a might silly with the cupboards still open upon looking, yet her eyes looked straight to Roadhog.

Crap.

“What are you doing...?”

Hopper was thin lipped and wide eyed, moving to close the cupboards and step back a bit. It was ridiculous but she couldn't help in feeling like she was being stared at by a wild animal. Having to tred carefully both in her movements and next choice of words.

“Just looking mostly. Curious. Wasn't gonna take anything. Considered maybe making you guys something if you were hungry.” Her words were a little shaky, stepping out of the way when Roadhog moved over towards the counters. He gave her a silent look, a low rumble in his throat before looking through the cupboards himself. She kept her hands behind her back, idly watching him.

“...that is a way I can help around here. If you guys don't mind.”

“I usually cook. Don't let Junkrat near the kitchen.”

That was understandable on so many degrees. She shifted from small foot to small foot.

Roadhog looked to be pondering over that food, she wasn't sure if he was getting a snack or if he was starting up already.

“...do you need any help?”

“Go sit down, metal legs.” He muttered in a low tone. Hopper just sighed, not fighting it for now and moving over to the table to take a seat. “Alriiiight...you're call, big guy.” Roadhog just snorted in response. She wasn't gonna push it but hey, can't say she didn't try.

This however did leave her fidgety waiting patiently. She wasn't really sure if she could just get up and walk out for a moment before returning when it was done.

“Guess you got exiled from the kitchen too, eh?” Junkrat's voice called out making way to the kitchen. Hopper looked behind her chair and settled back when he came over.

“Seems like it. Offered to help but guessin' he's the head honcho in this regard?” Pointing a finger at Roadhog, Junkrat just snickered plopping down.

“He doesn't like anyone else fussin' about the kitchen, so he does all the cookin' himself. Barely let's me do anything even if I keep tellin' him otherwise.” Well duh, idiot. She knew why. She pretty much resonated with the large man in that regard as if that was the only wavelength the two of them had.

They both knew Junkrat was a hot mess.

“Last you need to do is make a mess of the kitchen, for all he knows you'll probably set anything aflame.” Junkrat just squinted at her with a small frown. The two of them went on like that for a while.

Roadhog grunted. “That's enough out of the two of you.” He'd throw you both out if he felt like it. He not only had one headache, but two to deal with .

Junkrat just shrugged in his chair before idling by, watching Hog move over with the food he'd been making all the while. He couldn't help but look at Hopper curiously, the woman as calm as ever. Most captives weren't like that...

“So how come you ain't scared about all this, eh? You get captured a lot before?” Hopper just rolled her eyes crossing her arms over her chest. She just shrugged.

“Either I'm desensitized enough by situations like this or my training actually did me some good. I know when and when not to do something stupid and I mean- sure if you guys really wanted to do something bad, you'd have done it by now?” Don't let her calm and cool attitude fool you – of COURSE she was scared. She was plenty nervous about the next few steps from here on out, and whether or not her disappearance would be picked up by her employers. It was all part of the job, unexpected. It didn't deter the scary aspects of it however.

A soft thank you came from her at the last disbursement of food receiving a 'hmm'. Everyone finally settled in to eat their food. Most of what kept her from doing the wrong things was being as observant as she was. The two settled right in on their meals, so of course she followed. She took it slow, poking at the strips of what looked to be steak and soft potatoes, melted butter dancing about the fluffy texture. There was a bowl of rolls but she'd be careful not to get too greedy.

She was more wary over Roadhog than Junkrat.

Dinner was fairly quiet, dishes being picked up and taken to the sink. Between the two men she piped up that she could take care of the load if they have business elsewhere. Surprisingly enough she at least got to do that without much hassle, as much as she had goddamn eyes at staring at her from just about everywhere it felt. Nonetheless, she was being cooperative, that's all that mattered.

Get on their good side.

Now was the matter of where exactly she was gonna be staying for the night. Seemed Junkrat saw the confusion on her face. “You'll be stayin' right there on the couch. S'not great but it'll do for now until we can get you set up with something better.”

Set up with something..better? Did you assume she was going to stay here for a vacation?? The expression on her face only made him laugh.

“Wot? We're not gonna throw you into some cage or nothin' like that! Least we can do while we keep you here. Can't have you bent out of shape.” It was surprising, she had to give him that. A nod in response thanking him, she looked over to the couch.

It obviously had seen better days...but if she was to compare it to anything worse, it was better than laying in that cave. She had a napsack she could fashion over it if need be. So far this wasn't too bad. Unexpected, a little weird, maybe awkward....but not bad.

She takes it back, it's actually worse.

By the time evening came Hopper hit the hay early uncertain of what she was going to face tomorrow. Better to bed early than to be thrust into madness at a moment's tired notice. Probably was going to happen anyway but hey, no harm in preparing for the worst.

The unfortunate circumstance however, was that no matter how she tried to rearrange that couch or her items, it was still uncomfortable as HELL. She found herself more kinked than she was last, tossing limbs here and there to the point she fell off the damn thing. Luckily it wasn't too loud or she'd probably be agitating the others in their room.

Sleep to no avail, Hopper sat up and looked around the low lit hideout. It was never easy for her to get to sleep easily. By the looks of it there wasn't any other potential spots she could try, unless she wanted to curl up in the sidecar of the motorcycle. That brought on worrisome thoughts so she pushed it from her mind. A loud huff she stood and popped the kinks out of her body. Looking around again she saw a top level window or...door? Maybe gazing up at the stars would help. ..

Making her way up their quietly, and carefully remembering what Junkrat had said about 'surprises', she looked out the glass windows at the night sky. She was able to see the moon just a ways up, bright as ever can be.

There was a pang in her chest suddenly, resting her forehead against the glass. She'd been cool up to this point, but Hopper couldn't deny that she was going to miss her own bed. Her safe place, seeing the faces of her coworkers and....she had to keep it together.

It wasn't long that she was up there before she returned to the couch and found before her was a slightly larger nest of her napsack, pillow, blanket and...pillows...and...more blankets?? That...was unexpected. She looked about to see if anyone else was awake, with no sign of either of the Junkers. She could only assume they heard her flopping, so they decided to help make it a bit better?

Either way Hopper was going to make use of this nest. She had a big day ahead of her, and after that was....

A heist.

The day prior seemed only a bit of preparation for the Junkers and Hopper and surprisingly they hadn't looked much into what Hopper had. Other than the obvious she mentioned she'd done a couple sneaking missions, intel search and may or may not have some skill into hacking. It wasn't her expertise but in the last resort she had to do so to prevent becoming swiss cheese in heavily armed locations.

Turrets were a fucking bitch.

The place they were heading to however by what Junkrat told Hopper, was a heavily barricaded and locked bank of sorts. Obviously not a local reserve, but apparently it was owned by some big wig who lived just some miles away in the desert lands. None she knew of since that wasn't part of her database, as far as she knew anyway – they had been hoarding quite a bit of their economy hidden out where most wouldn't dare to travel.

Most weren't as dangerous. Or stupid. Or a little mix of the two.

She wasn't entirely sure how this was going to go, but it seemed they wanted her to sneak in to give them the general parameters of the area. See about shutting down any security that she could to make it easier on them to get inside and get out fairly quickly. Hopper questioned why they didn't want to just take an abrupt and obviously explosive resort, to which Roadhog chimed in about subtly. As much as Junkrat ENJOYED making a scene, they actually needed to lay low. They also needed money.

In her mind she knew this was wrong of her to do, but in retrospect if this person was as potentially sleezy, high stakes and narcissistic...it couldn't be that bad of a job, right? Sure it wasn't what she was hired to do in her original line of work. She technically was freelance,-

Hopper are you seriously trying to rationalize this entire situation as okay? Girl has the sun melted your brain?

She just shook it off with a grimace, reassuring Junkrat that she was fine when he gave her a rather quizzical look. A couple hours passed...and she found herself in a situation that was quite a tricky one. She wasn't trained to sneak in and break in to places like this—but she had to keep up the cooperative facade until she could either relay a message to her employers, or escape.

Hell she even tried to do so in the middle of hacking a couple of the reserves' networks before being interrupted by the agitating australian's voice. Goddamn he didn't have to SPEAK SO LOUD. She was starting to regret making the suggestion of communicators. Hopper just sighed, making her way through

Everything had been going to plan with a few tricky moments, but Hopper seemed to be keeping up her end of the bargain. She'd get brownie points as far as the Junkers went and...admittedly she was learning a little more in terms of her skills. Who's to say she couldn't apply it to better things than, oh, you know, breaking and entering into someone's personal bank??

She really hoped this person was as bad as they were or else she'd feel a heaping helping of guilt right about now. There was unfortunately no time for that right now. Her eyes widening when she finished relaying her location to the Junkers, there was a faint humming coming from behind her. Her body tensed, eyes wide as she slowly turned around. Through her orange visor she saw a large quadrupedal robot, pointing it's red LED sensors right at her. It was warming up to shoot what she could only assume was going to be-

CRASH! A second longer and Hopper would have been vaporized, nothing but a splatter left on that metal ground. She was dashing and bouncing as quickly as she could, screaming as she tried to escape it's line of sight. Because of this she was coming over the communicator which alerted the Junkers to plan B.

Completely obliterate any entryways and head to the core!

This place once filled with silence and calm now was being utterly THRASHED by robots, guards, and Junkers alike. Bombs and explosions as far as the eye could see and hardly any survivors lest they ran for their lives with their tails between their legs. It wasn't a problem for either of the men, especially not Junkrat who seemed to have an endless supply of bombs and tricks. Roadhog was a master with knocking heads, tossing and snatching with that hook, cackling as he was causing just enough carnage.

It took some time but they finally made it to the core of the bank reserve where the commotion originate from and Junkrat began to call out to Hopper. She seemed nowhere in sight.

“Hoppah! HEY HOPPAH! WHERE YOU AT?!” Was she taken out? Damn, that would be a shame since she had done so well getting them this far...despite the sudden change of plans but hey, he couldn't complain when he got a hand in on it apart from breaking into the vault.

Once the two rounded the corner they saw the massive robot Hopper had been screaming about, the area around the vault completely and utterly messed up with laser lines, cracks in the ground from it's stomping weight...the two readied themselves to take it on and make way, sure the woman had been taken out. The robot screeched and rattled in a way that was agonizing to the ears, still together despite what shitty condition it looked to be in. That armor was pretty much on it's last limbs yet the thing kept on, targeting the Junkers and readying it's beams for a heavy fire.

Within a flash something came falling from the tall ceiling out of the shadows, a loud scream to follow. Before Roadhog and Junkrat saw a fierce look in the eyes of the familiar tiny woman, now wielding rather LARGE robotic gauntlet that thrust themselves with a near erupting force, the sheer power flying off them as they made impact with the robot's head. Those red lights flickered frantically as it's entire body shuddered. That was the last blow it needed it would seem as the large robot nearly crumbled underneath her.

The Junkers, safe to say, were absolutely gobsmacked.

Hopper stood on the now defeated robot breathing heavily, covered with scuffs, cuts and her own bruises, brushing back her hair with a large gauntlet hand. She looked over at the Junkers with a wheezed attempt at a chuckle.

“...you guys gonna need help with the...the vault?”

#riley writes #overwatch OC #Hopper #Roadhog #Junkrat #overwatch x OC #roadhog x junkrat x oc #roadhog x junkrat x hopper #im honestly having alot of fun writing this #so I hope anyone reading is enjoying it too

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ret-uk · 5 years

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A Couple of Sensory Stories

November 2016

Hi there again...

Fresh from my day of music and storytelling sessions I thought I would share a couple of stories with you. My version of the Gunpowder Plot Story, which we worked on for the past couple of weeks and and The Highwayman story that I created today.

The Gunpowder Plot story I have to say thanks to the people on Joanna Grace's Facebook page who shared their stories and ideas for Bonfire Night sensory storytelling. The Highway Man was a bit last minute today as needed to fill in with a story last minute. So I could call it my ten minute Highway Man story... gather what props you can and random props you have with you. I got most of the ideas from when Keith Park, Emmie Ward, Coralie Oddy and I did our Great North Wood Storytelling - The Highwaymen (and women) was one of our themes. But both were sort of creating the story around props I already had. Thanks Emmie for a few of those on display in the tweeted pic :)

The Gunpowder Plot

Now we gather around the fire and remember, remember the 5th of November! (fire on ipad and candle scent)

A long time ago In 1605, there was man called Guy Fawkes. (chime)

A long time ago In 1605, there was a King called James 1. King James was not very popular with Guy and and his friends. They were annoyed about the King and his government. (Wear crown and say ‘no we don’t like you!’ but can also say we don’t like you as King but we like you as .... say their name)

So, Guy Fawkes and his friends decided to have a plot, the gunpowder plot. They wanted to blow up the parliament. (Popping candy on hand/eat)

They filled 36 barrels with gunpowder! They planted them under the cellars of the Houses of Parliament - ready for a big explosion. (Cedar wood scent for barrels) (can emphasise the secret through quiet voice)

However, there was a traitor in the group! One of Guy Fawkes friends! He got worried about all the people who would get blown up. He sent a letter to his friend warning him! (Big Ben chimes on Big Mac)

So the police, the guards of parliament arrived – on their horses (clip clop) they went down the stairs (walking sound) and crept slowly (shhhh) and….. bang! The plot was rumbled! The plotters were arrested, tortured and executed. (Bang on the drum)

Now we sit and remember remember the 5th of November. We light a bonfire (fire on iPad and bonfire scent candle)

And sit and watch fireworks (fireworks torch and sounds or app)

Then go home for a nice cup of tea (have a cup of tea/tea break)

The Highwayman

It was Autumn in the woods and the leaves were gently falling

(leaves in a basket – can handle them or drop them on people/the floor)

The leaves were red, yellow, orange, green, brown

(say whatever colours you find – show the colours – can spread them between different people rather than person by person)

Animals were looking for food and the wind was rustling in the trees

(rainmaker or shaker or similar sound)

There was a damp smell in the wood - after the rain

(cedarwood or similar smell – it sounds a bit like the musty leaves, but you could also get musty leaves)

Then suddenly!! The sound of horses hooves

(clapping sticks/pieces of wood – we have some round slices of wood – we had enough for everyone to make the sound who wanted to - we also sung ‘Horsy Horsy don’t you stop because it is a favourite song of one of the people in the session)

It was a carriage with wheels going around!

(rolled hoop – saying ‘and the hoop rolled past….’ And gave a chance to push if people wanted – if not you can find anything that goes around as a visual stimuli)

There were rich people inside the carriage, enjoying looking at their jewels and money

(glass nuggets, money, or anything jewel like – we had a lot of baskets to hand so I handed a basket to everyone and then put the nuggets in each persons basket and encouraged them to look through them and be interested in them J)

But they didn’t know that someone was waiting for them! There was a swish of a cloak!

(piece of material – or a cloak if you have one – the material I grabbed was quite light so I swished it past people and over some people and gave the chance to feel)

And the brim of a hat

(feel a hat – I found a straw hat which was not really a highway man but did the job of being a hat)

The Highway Man was waiting and he said “Stand and Deliver! Your Money or Your Life!”

(encouraged people to repeat the words ‘stand and deliver’ and sung that bit of the song)

He took all their money and jewels

(one person had a cloth bag and asked people for their money and they tipped their nuggets into the bag)

Then he rode off

(clip clop sounds)

And the animals continued looking for food and the leaves rustled in the wind

(rainshaker again – or whatever you used)

I also added on a bit about the highway man sitting by a fire and had the fire app on the ipad and also the scent of a bonfire candle – but that might make it a bit too long)

I then did a bit of call and response with ‘The Highwayman’ poem.

#sensorystories #sensory stories #learning disabilities #inclusion

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convndrums · 7 years

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here the FAWK she ( the semi-finished masterlist of all my characters ) is ! took way too long but hopefully as you proceed to click on the linque below you’ll know why smh but yep ! i’ll be adding their pages on my account when i’m done with them soon i hope and maybe come back with a bunch of connections for each character but for now this is all i got & smash this like or im me for plots i’d love to get on those finally xx

reintroducing amanda wheeler; intro & info page.

queen of irony. rich post- faux country gal who’s a loud homosexual and writes hetero fics/has an indie het smut for the absolute shits and giggles. dates a married woman she’s utterly in love with and will pull the life support cord for. said to be possessed by a possessed flapper. cute and knows it even though she looks like a republican. socially open & everywhere. morally grey.

reintroducing imogen yates; intro & info page. ( tw violence )

the grey area between your mom friend and your drunk aunt. happily vegan & owns a vegan restaurant called the fork, alt. the vegan cult’s lair. won’t kill you, but will convince you she really wants to. local brat tamer. minds her business via minding others. clashed head-first into nature’s very own reset button: amnesia. used to be satan and traumatized everyone. disgustingly active and accomplishing.

reintroducing ethan holland; intro & info page. ( tw suicide )

he is a sk8r boi, she said see ya later boy ( and meant it. they’re dating now. hey lourdes ! ) a nice person, so nice he doesn’t realize how fake he sounds/is. a certified headass. previously a bully/bully enabler, current guilty fuck. #torn. does the most for his loved ones. doesn’t remember his own birthday. googled foot fetishes once. trolls stan twitter with his fake selena gomez stan account when tumblr crashes. burned a sue of cide note with his name scribbled on it.

reintroducing sebastian miller; intro & info page ( tw violence )

kazimer sokolov whom. russian ex-cult member well-adjusted into a mundane life via lies, a fake canadian accent he’s ‘trying to get rid of’, being a twilight saga aficionado and a dickwad, a lame record store and a tumblr blog to keep himself sane by maintaining a general aesthetic and shitting on people and every discourse out there. knives/books sniffer. allegedly fucked a moose. probably kinkshames as a way to deal with his own “kinks” aka please keep the dead bodies away. ( im kidding i swear but [redacted] )

reintroducing prudence zima; intro & info page ( tw death )

parents died in a fire when she was two months old and it shows. idolizes avril lavigne & her favorite movie is lords of dogtown for aesthetics references. dude. social leech or effortless networker ? both. remains in her lane regardless. cry-types probably. here for a good time, not a long time. steals your stash and smokes you out with it. avid dick connoisseur. minimum effort lifestyle. either on her way to become a manager of some one hit wonder band that finds it’s demise in a freak accident, a drug dealer or god forbid, a guidance counselor; depends. mild cool girl syndrome.

reintroducing jennifer meade; intro & info page ( tw death, violence and abuse )

bi/pussy muncher and proud misandrist, first and foremost. remembers killing her brother very fondly. the one girl in a room to call when you want to kill a bug and you’re relieved until she kills it with her bare hand. tops. unstable & chaotic evil, respectively. the ginger devil. biased and has her minion whom she invests a great deal of her time in brain washing and obsessing over. supposedly here to make amends but that’s not happening any time soon.

reintroducing margot williams; intro & info page ( tw mental illness )

deserves better. very gay. all her friends are heathens xtra, take it slow. corrects typos in the gc. a nerdy editorial assistant daydreaming about publishing houses instead of the magazine she works for. lowkey shy and she’s angry about it. goes off if she must. jacks off to #knowledge and yuri anime. helps with homework and essays and takes the kids out. deadpan because we’re original but she swears it’s just the face & unresolved trauma. stans her therapist. unofficial older sister.

reintroducing chandler accardi; intro ( re-written ) & info page

needs to do better. dropped out of college for culinary school then dropped out of that too. was engaged to an absolute goddess he ultimately wronged ( with her damn best friend, bitch disgostin* ) and got kicked out to the curb. currently residing in the couch of his sister until things are resolved. thot-by-default & annoying. has like three ( 3 ) redeeming qualities. has never been told to shut up and it shows. works at buzzfeed.

reintroducing abel gautier; intro & info page

french and “confused”. lives a minimalist n’ expensive life. if american psycho & french kiss were the same movie. wine sniffer. the devil bakes croissants. will watch you die. takes grudges to the afterlife. gets attached but either ruins it or ruins it to spare everyone, himself included. falls in love a lot but knows how to calm the fuck down. very giving, fortunately. manipulative but isn’t too wild about bending everything to his will.

reintroducing simini gale; intro & info page ( tw abuse, violence & mental illness )

token white actress & character in rosie’s show. [ britney vc ] its me.... against dissociation. a loud mess with an intense mental state and anger issues dulled out by her prescribed meds and whatever pill she got in the bottom of her manager’s purse. dependent and distraught about it. grocery shopping for garbage food and attending comedy stand up shows half drunk as a hobby. stable ? where. very nice and super flighty. heels are hot. wishes she could fight someone without feeling the urge to actually fight someone.

reintroducing calvin o’shea; intro & info page ( tw mental illness )

it’s not just the depression more than the incredible self hatred. walks into rooms with his bad energy, grumpy mood and cunty attitude. graduated college just to shut his dad up. wants to die harder than edward cullen. just doesn’t give a shit. has a baby named freddie mercury ( also known as the antichrist, with alanis, his mortal literal enemy whom he absolutely despises and will not hesitate to put his dick back in again lbr ) who will probably grow up to talk shit about his parents whom he also mentioned in his tell-all book on ellen. works at his family’s bookstore that sucks the life energy out of college students nearing a mental breakdown.

reintroducing isabel pavia; intro & info page ( tw drug use )

contemporary dances her feelings away. too ambitious for her own good but knows what she’s doing. in a goth ass secret society ( here ) a.k.a her new found purpose. knows everything eventually. oddly trustworthy. doesn’t know what speaking loudly is, let alone yelling. loves the moon & has that moon app. had to take painkillers when she twisted her ankle very badly and would take them for a while for stress and performance reasons, but has stopped. a quiet angel.

reintroducing anastasia zeller; intro & info page

ambitious/multi-talented asshole. horror trash & an emotional/mental maze which translates well into her weird works on no sleep reddit and current horror comedy podcast. ( click here for info ). needs a therapist according to a friend, whom she dropped for saying that. will bite your head off. obsessed with her works to an unhealthy point. would love to establish a company and stuff out of it and is working on that. healthy relationships are a semi-foreign concept.

reintroducing morgan booker; intro & info page ( tw death )

vape-curious and takes photos of ghost towns and abandoned-everythings because #vision. had a roadtrip phase like the fake deep idiot he is. morally grey. genuinely here for a good laugh and spreading joy in the form of hover-friendships and taking lit candids of his friends. knows shit and comes off as a creep sometimes but does he really care. knows your mom’s name. lives in a disused hospital bc he’s marinating on that aesthetic.

reintroducing bowie harmon; intro & info page ( tw drug use & abuse )

part of a duo in a web series as the anxious n’ cackling mess. showcases her depressión & anxieté by her colorful wigs n’ new hair dyes. painful receptionist at a tattoo parlor. recovering addict who advocates for drug use. thinks tattooing a ruler on someone’s dick one day would be the peak of her accomplishments as a tattoo artist. daily bad decisions. “ it’s complicated. ” when asked about literally any relationship she has with anyone in her life. traumas include her failed singing career. an ex viner-by-association.

reintroducing shaheen bin baz; intro & info page ( tw violence & mental illness )

the physical deception of going through hell in a short amount of time with zero mental durability to begin with during midterms. trigger-anxious. will shoot your toes off your foot if caught off guard. aided in criminal operations with the brilliance of his mind in codes. would not mind dying. seasons your food. waters his crops in his balcony garden. the grey area between a super laidback dude and a crackhead with violent tendencies. nearing a mental breakdown probably.

reintroducing minka abbott-santos; intro & info page ( tw abuse )

defeats the evil stepmom stereotype one breath at a time. the human embodiment of a deer. gothic angel. alarmingly gets black swan. type to wake up to her staring at you from an armchair across the room, but lovingly, with a book she was reading in hand and two hot cups of tea; she was waiting to start the day with you. spooky until you get to know her and even more spookier when she’s ( note: calmly ) pissed but that’s extremely rare. gentle voice, soul and everything.

reintroducing reuben faulkner; intro & info page ( tw abuse & violence )

rekt hell prince. lived in an amish community with his family until he got kidnapped away from home when he was seven into an awful living situation. doesn’t remember if the gas leak that happened five years later and killed everyone was his doing or not. knows where his real family is after months of tracking them down but. blood kink under investigation. shady bouncer at a shady club. has issues he has no care or time to diminish. fights for the shits and giggles. leaves texts at read. leaves you alone for your own good and his own sanity.

reintroducing alexandra turunen; info page

wants to do everything and be everything and doesn’t know what to do with herself ( read: post-graduation identity crisis ) currently investing in a motorcycle for no reason. essentially jobless. a “retired” kathryn merteuil who “outgrew” her cunning ways since highschool but really only found new socially destructive interests. appears to be self-possessed but she’s #shaken. doesn’t care about how well she presents herself anymore after getting rejected by four universities and refusing to accept her father’s offer to pull some strings to get her in one. sleeps a lot.

reintroducing giuseppe del vecchio; info page ( tw death & drug use )

goes by pepe because well. son of italian oil peeps & is extra. said to be in a cult when all he’s in is this extra ass dining club that does the most for initiation ceremonies. ready to fall in love with you. goes to the king’s college in london and studies business & changes his minor way too often for everyone’s liking. into everything and will be down to do whatever. faux deep. mischievous shit. incredibly unbiased. had his rawrk n’ roll phase that died along with someone in a club literally. still has it but he knows god now & less drugs.

reintroducing kelian scott; info page ( tw death & drug use )

a father/father figure who tries™. runs a mechanic shop/chop shop because bad decisions and dire needs ( had his son to send to school and his daughter who passed away due to a disease he couldn’t afford to treat even after turning his shop into a chop shop. his wife then left him ). stares into the distance. wants the best for the kids but one of them is a junkie ( he doesn’t know yet ) and the other -- his niece -- is an orphan he’s worried about. thinks ahead 24/7. needs to pull out of this dull n’ depressing daily routine he has fallen into like the basic ass divorced dad he is.

reintroducing sal presley; info page

smexy trace & fingerprint detective. talks. the perfect illusion to bring home to your parents and friends. gets shit done which is both a good thing and a bad thing. looks calm, collected n’ well-rested but isn’t. his actual name is salvatore but no. knows how to mix drinks and more; used to showcase his multi-talented ass to make his ( currently ex ) fiancée look good now just himself. was engaged three times; two of those times with the same person. obsessive; gets into his job a little too intensely for no reason but #justice and maybe something else whom knows. loses sleep at least two nights a week as a habit at this point. has an extended family back home he misses occasionally. wishes he could calm down truly.

#smoke:intros #FINALLY RISING HOLY SH-#ill do some plotting n hopefully get on replies soonish hell yea lets GO!

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davidfarland · 5 years

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How to Use Emotions to Create Stronger Descriptions and Setting

Today we're doing things a little bit differently. Twice a week, I like to send out writing tips that will help you improve your writing, but I'm not the only one with knowledge to share. Jenn Gott is an indie author and a writer with Reedsy (a publishing company that connects new authors with the resources they need), so she basically spends all her time either writing books, or helping people learn how to write books. She firmly believes there is no writing skill you cannot learn with practice and the right guidance. With Reedsy, she also has her own blog with tips for aspiring authors. It is my honor to have Jenn Gott share one of these tips with you today.

How to Use Emotions to Create Stronger Descriptions and Setting

How many times have you heard people say that descriptions are “boring”? There’s a common misconception that it’s nothing more than tedious chunks of information a reader needs to get through to reach “the good parts”: dialogue and action scenes. As someone who loves descriptions, this hurts my heart. The truth is good descriptions aren’t boring or tedious — instead, they build tension and reveal character depth with seamless grace. In fact, the best descriptions will paint a picture in your mind so visceral you’ll swear you’re standing next to the characters.

The key? Like everything else, you want your descriptions to connect with readers on a human level. So settle in and get comfy, because today we’re going to be talking about our feelings.

Identify the mood of the scene Before you can start using emotion to build your description, you’re going to need to do some prep work. The first step is understanding what moods you’ll be using. How are the viewpoint characters feeling at this point in the story? What kind of emotions are you hoping to evoke in the reader? Where does the scene fall within the structure of your plot — is it a high point or a low one? Are you building tension? Cooling off after an intense action sequence?

Once you’ve identified the feelings you’ll be working with, give some thought to the language you might use to evoke those feelings. Words have a lot of different “flavors”, and sometimes things that look like synonyms on the surface elicit very different reactions in the minds of readers. Words like jab and stab, for instance, sound a lot more aggressive than poke or prod, which might be more appropriate if you’re going for an uncomfortable feeling.

Another thing to consider: what kind of sensory details do you associate with the moods you’re trying to create? Do certain colors make you nostalgic? Are there smells that make your heart ache? Gather up all these thoughts, images, and feelings, and tuck them into your mind for safekeeping, even if you don’t use every single one.

Look at where it’s taking place Next, you’re going to want to look at where the scene takes place. Now, sometimes you don’t have a lot of choice in the matter — a scene might have to be in a particular location, or else the plot doesn’t make sense. But even then, there are factors that can play into how the scene will feel. Perhaps you can control the weather or the lighting, or the number of people in the scene. These are all important factors in changing the ambience of a room. A conversation taking place in a crowd is going to have a different vibe than a private talk, and depending on who’s involved, that may create feelings of claustrophobia, anxiety, anonymity, safety, or distraction.

If you do have flexibility in where your scene takes place, the choices get even more interesting. Take a look at the moods you identified above, and ask yourself what kind of places might evoke those feelings. Can any of the sensory details you thought of earlier be worked into the location? If sun and ice cream say “happiness” to you, and if you want a scene filled with joy, which would achieve that better: placing it in the waiting room of a dentist’s office, or placing it in a park on a bright spring day?

On the other hand, don’t be afraid to use creative juxtaposition. Sometimes a mood is better reinforced when you’re surrounded by the opposite. The right contrast is often more interesting and impactful than a simple mirror.

Tie description directly to your character’s mood Now it’s time to get down to it.

At its heart, this method is really about understanding and using point of view to its best effect. Your narrator’s perspective is going to color each scene. The effect will be stronger with an unreliable narrator, but even a reliable narrator has biases. And of course, everyone reacts to things differently depending on how they’re feeling — why else would we have coined the term “hangry”?

As you bring the reader into the scene, ask yourself: how does the viewpoint character feel about this? Allow their mood to guide your description. This will be easier if you’re writing in a close perspective, such as first person or third person limited, but even a distant or omniscient POV can make use of this technique.

For instance, say you’re writing about two people in love. Half of the couple is going to notice different things about their partner than, for example, their partner’s brother. A character in love might wax poetic about the way the light hits their love interest’s hair. Even the language will be different, choosing words with softer sounds and more complimentary metaphors.

And this extends far beyond descriptions of people. How a character feels about the situation they’re in will impact what they notice about the world around them. Are they impatient, glossing over all but the most important details? Are they nervous, fixating on one particular object while ignoring the rest of the room? Are they bored and taking time to notice literally everything, until they get annoyed by this one corner of the carpet that keeps lifting up no matter how many times they smooth it out with their foot?

Also, don’t forget about the word choice we discussed earlier. The phrases you use here will guide the mood of your reader as much as the details you describe. Remember to choose language that reinforces the mood you’re building. After all, there’s a big difference between the dead branches of a tree reaching toward the sky, piercing the sky, or hovering ominously overhead, just waiting to break off and fall.

Reveal details at key moments When your characters notice details is just as important as what they notice. Feelings, like good descriptions, are not created all at once, but built upon layer by layer. Since the last thing you want to do is create a boring info dump, you’ll need to work your descriptions in gradually. Make them flow with the action, rather than fighting it.

Let’s say a character walks into a room. That’s the perfect place for a small line about the way they carry themselves, the speed of their entrance, or the look on their face. Be sure to account for the perspective of our narrator, who is going to notice different things depending on their relationship with that character, why they’re meeting, and what they anticipate the conversation to be. That way, you’ll be able to add a layer of vibrancy to your writing that you won’t get through action and dialogue alone. Finally, don’t feel like you need to give readers all the details as fast a possible. Layering in you description is a great way to add tension to an otherwise straightforward scene — especially if there’s something your point of view character doesn’t notice until the moment it becomes relevant to the plot. Maybe they’ve been distracted by something else, and they fail to notice the way their rival keeps tugging at the cuff of her sleeve as if hiding something.

By focusing on your character’s emotions and how they feel about the people and the world around them, you’ll not only build a story that’s nuanced and colorful, you’ll also show us details of character development and relationships, reinforce your themes, and even control the pacing of your story — all without wasting words. I’d hardly call that boring!

(Check out Jenn's blog on Reedsy here: https://blog.reedsy.com/)

***

Get $100 Off a Full Edit!

Hi everyone! Kami, here! Dave's past assistant of seven years! I'm now doing freelance editing at my site FawkesEditing.com(where I work under an online alias, September C. Fawkes). I also run an award-winning writing tip blog, and you can see an index of all my tips here: https://www.septembercfawkes.com/p/writing-tip-index.html

Right now, I'm offering $100 off a full novel manuscript edit when you book with me. Offer ends October 19th, or until I am too booked up. Just mention you saw this in Dave's newsletter or on his website.

My approach to editing has been described as "thorough, "precise," and "kind. " But you can learn all about me and my services at FawkesEditing.com. I'd love to help you take your manuscript to the next level!

Writers' Peak

Want to learn how to get writing fast and stay in creative focus? In this workshops we'll help you resolve the most common reasons that people face writers' block and give you some exercises to get you writing again. This workshop is $99 and will be on November 16th 2019 in Provo. If Provo is too far for a one day trip, the workshop is going be recorded live on Zoom. That way you can attend the workshop from the comfort of your own home.

This workshop can be found on my website at MyStoryDoctor.com.

Short Stories

"When a young filmmaker goes to China to shoot a film, he meets a lot of 'little shady' characters, but there's only one 'Big and Shady,' and he's got the whole world under his thumb." This is a short story of mine called "Big and Shady". You can find it and other short stories for $.99 on Amazon here.

Big and Shady

As Bronc began to take off his right leg for the night, the hotel window shattered, sending spears of glass firing through the curtains. A loud boom thundered through the walls and floor; Bronc instinctively threw himself to the bed.

Actinic white fire flashed just outside the window, then scintillating streamers of silver and ruby crackled, a beautiful cascading waterfall of molten light.

Chinese New Year celebrations had been in full swing for a week here in Shanghai. Bronc had nearly grown used to the nightly explosions as mortars pounded and shells burst outside his window on the 30th floor, while skyrockets whizzed below and firecrackers filled the streets with sounds of machine gunfire.

Bronc had known that it was only a matter of time until one of the rounds hit the hotel.

(the rest below the cut)

Not every soldier who has nearly had his leg blown off by an Improvised Explosive Device comes home from the war suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Bronc had thought himself free of the affliction, but now he found his heart racing, his muscles clenching, his mouth going as dry as desert sand.

He tightened the buckle on his leg, lunged to the window, drew back the curtains, and leaned on the sill, trying to still his pounding heart.

Maybe it isn’t a matter of “if” you get PTSD, he wondered, just a matter of how badly you get it.

Some nights were worse than others.

Outside, the hotels and apartments of Shanghai rose up by the thousands, each thirty or fifty stories high. All through the city, fireworks were rising up in the alleys between the buildings, brilliant anemones illuminating an alien landscape.

The rats in the wall above his bed began to screech and chitter angrily, as if the explosion had been Bronc’s fault.

Bronc stood panting. He felt a sting on his temple. He tried to brush any glass away. His hand came away bloody.

His heart kept pounding, out of control

“Fear is the catalyst that makes learning possible,” Dr. Sparks had told him in that lazy Texas drawl during his exit interview from the Army. “Too much fear, and you end of up screaming in the night. But getting nervous at the sound of explosions is acceptable. It’s a survival mechanism.”

Bronc forced himself to watch the next fireball blossom into a giant violet chrysanthemum, hoping that in time his body would adjust to the object of his distress.

“There is nothing to fear,” Bronc told himself as his muscles eased. His cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket.

What the hell? Robert Wu had given him the cheap phone on the day he’d come to China, three months past, and it had never rung here in his hotel. The reception was too lousy.

Yet last fall Bronc had stood two hundred miles from nowhere out on the drum sands of the Taklamakan Desert in far Western China, watching an Arab caravan make its way over the dunes, and his phone had worked great out there. But here in Shanghai, his crap phone apparently only worked when he stood inches from the window.

He pressed Answer, wondering who would call so late. “Nin hao?”

The deep voice of Robert Wu replied, “Mr. Bronc, your phone work tonight?” Like most Chinese filmmakers, Wu had taken an American first name. It was a fad among artists. Robert’s vocabulary was a bit lacking, but he spoke his words distinctly enough. He’d once lived in Hollywood.

“Yes, the phone works tonight,” Bronc said.

“I have call many times in past. You never answer,” Robert accused, trying to give him a guilt trip.

Bronc had complained about the piece-of-shit phone a dozen times, but Robert seemed to think that Bronc was lying. Now, the one time that it had worked, Bronc had made the mistake of answering. “How can I help you, Mr. Wu?”

“I have had Vision!” he replied, voice growing loud with excitement.

Aw, crap.

“In vision, I saw the god Chu Jung in pillar of fire, standing in corner of room. He say to me, ‘We are betrayed!’”

Oh holy crap.

Bronc knew what was coming next. Robert was the director on their current film, “Eye of the Dragon,” and he was a semi-functional schizophrenic. Every time that Robert heard a voice or had a vision, he had to include it in the movie script.

As the close personal friend to their sole source of funding, not to mention the son of China’s Minister of Propoganda, Robert Wu’s word was law, but Bronc didn’t know how much longer he could deal with a lunatic.

It wasn’t all bad. On rare occasions, Robert’s script suggestions were magnificent. Most of the time, they were magnificently vapid, and Robert lacked the artistic sensibilities to recognize the difference.

Bronc thought fast. “We already have a betrayal scene at the end of Act 2, remember? The wizard’s student Li Fong tries to make a deal with the dragon?”

“No!” Mr. Wu shouted. “This go much deeper! Fire god say we all betrayed. You come to office early in morning, maybe at 6:30 A.M. We must rewrite script by 10:00. Mr. Big will be fly in from Beijing.”

Bronc’s heart stopped. The more he’d learned about their boss’s underworld connections, the more alarmed he’d become.

Another fireworks shell exploded just outside the window, brightening the sky in shades of green and gold. Firecrackers clattered on the concrete below, snaking through the playground of the elementary school across the street.

Bronc’s heart began to hammer harder, and his stomach clenched in fear, not from the fireworks, but from the very real threat of having to deal with the twin threats of Robert Wu and Mr. Big.

He just stood staring out the window while shells exploded and the rats in the wall shrieked again and again. He wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight.

Mr. Big’s real name was Chen Cái. He owned an enormous movie studio in Beijing, along with four thousand movie theaters strewn across the country. For the most part, these weren’t well-maintained theaters like those found in the United States; they were seedy auditoriums that smelled more of piss than popcorn.

Robert Wu had first approached Bronc in Milan, at a global film marketing show, hoping that Bronc would help develop an American-style fantasy trilogy that would rival Crouching Tiger. Robert had promised financial backing from a major Chinese film distributor, two hundred million dollars to play with.

At the time Robert had refused to reveal Mr. Big’s name, worried that Bronc might try to contact his funding source and make his own deal. In the film business, one has to protect one’s contacts.

So Robert had referred to his investor only as “Mr. Big.” Before ever making a deal, Robert had flown Bronc to China, giving him a tour that took him from Mongolia to Tibet, and down to the borders of Thailand. Bronc had been a rising star among screenwriters.

But now it looked as if the money had just been a mousetrap, and Bronc was the mouse.

He’d been thrilled to discover that Mr. Big was the only child to a top leader of the Communist Party, and had all of the power to get a movie past the censorship boards so that it could get made.

But when Bronc went to Beijing to tour Mr. Big’s studios, he discovered thousands of acres of opium poppies growing as white as cotton in fields around the studio plots. Bronc quickly got second thoughts. The penalty for dealing in narcotics was decapitation.

Apparently, Mr. Big wasn’t afraid of the law. He lived above it.

So Bronc made discrete inquiries and discovered that like most Chinese businessmen, Mr. Big oversaw dozens of enterprises. He owned cell phone companies, television broadcasting studios, theater chains, gold mines in Brazil.

But there was a darker side to his empire. The government had granted him the rights for legalized prostitution in China’s thirty largest cities, and that was his main source of income. So he was into drugs, prostitution.

Bronc had asked Robert Wu, “I don’t understand. Is Mr. Big a businessman, the government, or is he the Chinese Mafia?”

Robert Wu had replied, “That great thing: in China, is no different. Government, mob, business: all same people!”

Bronc closed the curtains to his window and tried to calm himself.

Bronc realized that he had to confront Robert Wu in person. They couldn’t let the movie fail. There was no way that Bronc could do a rewrite in an hour and a half. Most likely, adding a single betrayal scene would have ramifications all through the script. It could easily take days.

That morning, when Bronc went to work, Robert had mentioned that he had a new idea to add. In the script, he suggested that some of the heroes should dig a tunnel underneath an enemy Mongol army, in an area that was known to be rich in “gunpowder mines.”

“Then,” Robert said, face flushed with excitement, “we have hero’s best friend, Zhao Sheng, light torch and blow everything up! We have entire Mongol army blown five miles into air. This big final scene! Very exciting. Everyone cry for Zhao Sheng.”

It would of course layer the multi-textured ending that Bronc had already created.

“There’s no such thing as a gunpowder mine,” Bronc had argued. “Gunpowder is manmade. It has to be manufactured.”

Robert had agitated, his eyes opening wide. He was a short man with nasty scars on his face where someone had hit him with a brick. He shouted, “I don’t care. Do it! Do it! I had Vision!”

Bronc had merely stared. He didn’t speak Chinese, didn’t even know how to contact Mr. Big, and the only way that he could save his film would be to go over Robert Wu’s head.

Bronc went to the restroom and flipped on the light, checked for roaches in the sink, but found none. The Happy Frog hotel was pretty decent by Chinese standards, but the shithole would have been condemned and demolished back in the states. The glowing endorsement written in English on the sign out front was about right: “Suitable for peasant families.”

There were plush hotels in Shanghai. Bronc would have loved the Sheraton. But this place was only fifteen dollars per day, and that was the most he could afford.

He looked in the mirror, spotted a couple of shards of glass lodged in his temple. He grabbed a bit of toilet paper, knocked them off, and dabbed at the blood. He didn’t dare try to wash the cuts with tap water. He’d found that if he merely tried brushing his teeth with it, he’d end up with the runs.

So Bronc used some bottled water to wash the wound, then stood gazing into the mirror.

How the hell did I get into this?

He was thirty-two, clean cut. Piercing blue eyes beneath thick brown hair, a Romanesque nose.

For months now Bronc had been waiting here for the film to fund. Robert kept telling him that Mr. Big promised that the money would come any day. Contracts had been signed, agreements made. Two weeks ago, Robert had announced that they were officially “in production” by Chinese standards.

A castle was under construction as a set where the River Li wound among green fields, while majestic stone hills rose from the mist. The castle was being built right into a karst limestone formation, one where the stone had eroded away, leaving a towering natural arch above the castle.

It seemed a desecration of nature to build a set in such a beautiful location, a place where ancient poets had captured the landscapes of mist and stone in watercolors, but Mr. Big felt that in future years the set would make a great scenic river attraction. People would pay to visit it.

Hell, the castle would even have a built-in canal that led inside, ramps that would take boaters through a thrilling tour. It was practically Disneyland.

Four million dollars was going into one set alone, not to mention the money spent on bribing local government officials to get the approvals.

Then there was another million for legal fees in the US, money spent to lock down agreement with distributors there, two million for bonding and insurance alone.

With an investment like that, this wasn’t a film that an investor could walk away from. Mr. Big was in it too deep.

But something felt off. According to Robert Wu, Mr. Big loved the script but hadn’t given final written approval. By contract, once Mr. Big gave that approval, Bronc was supposed to get half a million dollars in cold, hard cash.

So he’d stayed here, rewriting and rewriting the damned script every day for three months, trying to meet with his boss’s approval. Every day he got poorer and poorer.

Now he didn’t even have enough money to fly home and say to hell with it all. Even if he could get home, he had a wife and two kids to feed. In a lousy economy, his disability pay couldn’t cut it.

He sighed.

Nothing made sense. Robert Wu was a lunatic. In any civilized country, they would lock him up. But here in China, they had put him in charge of the most expensive movie trilogy in the country’s history.

If I were the investor, Bronc thought, I would run from this project. Every day promises some new disaster.

The whole movie was going to hell in a hand basket.

Bronc had learned a few years ago that he did his best thinking in his sleep. While his left brain rested, the right brain often remained awake, struggling to solve problems.

He turned on the television to CCCTV’s English Channel and listened for news, hoping to relax. The previous day, the Chinese had pulled “that greedy movie Avatar” from the theaters. In part they had pulled it because it had nearly overshadowed a Chinese film as the bestselling movie of all time, bringing in a hundred million dollars in less than thirty days.

But there was more to it. According to one Chinese journalist, the movie’s theme dealt with the poor treatment that the government showed to the people of China’s Western provinces, where wealthy businessmen kept the locals as virtual slaves. So the government had pulled the movie. Now the newscaster, a young woman, told how, “In protest to the government’s shutdown of that greedy movie Avatar, two people immolated themselves in Tiananmen Square.” She went on to speak about China’s great economic progress.

Bronc wondered if people here would love his film enough to burn themselves for it.

His hotel phone rang. He picked it up. “Wei?”

“Bronc? This Alexandra,” a woman said in a shy voice, as if she did not feel worthy to even talk to a man. Bronc had only met her once. Mr. Big had brought her on as a producer, flying her in to live in a penthouse somewhere near the French District. In a shaky voice she said, “Robert has had Vision.” She sounded as if she were on the verge of having meltdown.

“I know,” Bronc said softly, trying to comfort her.

“And Mr. Big is coming,” she whispered. “I very worried.”

“What does he want?” Bronc asked as another mortar shell exploded, rattling his windows.

“I told he’s lawyer what going on,” she said. She suddenly grew more confident, almost angry. “I told him ‘Robert’s going ape-shit crazy.’” Bronc laughed. “After you left office tonight, I went up to studio to watch Robert film. It was disaster, Bronc! You should have seen!” Words began tumbling from her mouth, like waves cascading through a mountain freshet, as if she couldn’t speak fast enough. “Robert had some boy dressed in costume to be fire god Chu Jung. They doused him in liquid and set him on fire, over and over again, then had him flailing his arms as if he were in fight, while Robert Wu fooled around filming close-ups in 3D.”

Bronc tried to laugh it off, but couldn’t. The footage would actually be of some use, months down the line, when they went into editing.

“You know how thick the walls of studio are?” she continued. He knew. The building had originally been built in the 1950's as a munitions plant. Later, the concrete walls had been reinforced to withstand a nuclear blast. As a result, when the government had abandoned the place, Robert had bought it. Few studios in Shanghai were as soundproof.

“So,” Alexandra said, “after they light kid on fire a dozen times, room get so hot, it had to be 115 degrees. Suddenly, boy gets woozy and he fall down, and Robert’s assistants grab him and start opening back of his suit so that he can breathe. And do you know what Robert did?”

Bronc couldn’t even guess.

“Robert kick his cameras over. He shout, ‘No air for him! No air for him. He bad actor!”

Perhaps at another time, it might have sounded funny, or it might have shocked him into silence, but right now it just filled him with sadness. For months Robert had done nothing at all. Now he was trying to kill child stars. Not for the first time, Bronc wanted to hop on a jet and fly home, give it all up. But in Hollywood, dreams die hard.

“What can we do?” Bronc asked.

“Mr. Big is coming,” Alexandra said softly. “You not go to office tomorrow. I will go . . . after.”

“Do you think he would fire me?” Bronc asked.

“Maybe we all get fired,” she said. “Maybe if we lucky, he just beat us up and throw us in river. . . ” She considered a long moment. “No. In China, you most important person to film. To be writer, you must be verrry courageous. If writer fuck up, in old days he can be send to reeducation camp, or maybe he just disappear. So in China, the writer is called ‘Big God of the film.’ Director is just ‘Little God of film.’ You not be fire, I think. Robert be fired.”

Bronc wasn’t sure that he believed that he was the ‘Big God’ of this film. Back in Hollywood, writers were nothing. The grips got credits for their work, but writers almost never did.

Even here in China, Robert Wu seemed to have all the power. Bronc wanted to prepare his wife in case he got kicked out of the country. He tried to call her on Skype. Candace normally got up at six to exercise, and she’d be sending the kids off to school in a couple of hours. But when he called, the phone just kept ringing.

This had all started out so well. Robert Wu had assured Bronc that, “My father is Minister of Propoganda. He will approve your screenplay.”

He’d been right. When Bronc had sent in the screenplay, it had been approved in fifteen minutes, getting the official crimson seal from the Department of Censorship. In fact, the script had gotten a double approval. Not only was it approved to be shot in China, it was pre-licensed for distribution to movie theaters, too. That had happened only once in all of China’s history.

Now the whole damned movie was about to unravel.

Bronc couldn’t let that happen. He decided to reason with Robert Wu. He could have waited for morning, but something told him to go tonight. Robert worked in spurts. Usually he’d wander into the office at noon, then work until three in the morning. Sometimes he would work for three days straight, then sleep for two.

Tonight Robert would most likely stay late in the studio. He was creating some big mockettes, sculptures of his monstrous warriors made of black material. When they were finished, he planned to put the statues outside the theaters for the movie debut, lining them along the red carpets.

Bronc pulled on his overcoat, slipped on a stocking cap, and headed down the elevator. The lobby was full, lots of shaggy tourists down from Mongolia.

Firecrackers exploded as he stepped out the door. He jumped. Half a dozen kids raced away, laughing. The parking lot was full of locals. The hotels and apartments here formed a man-made canyon, and any parking lot served as a launch pad for the rockets. Bronc strode through the crowd, tasting the night air of Beijing, always a hint of quivering mist, so alive, mixed with dust from construction. But tonight the air also carried the acrid odor of explosives. He went out to the curb and raised a hand to hail a taxi.

Two bicycle lanes lined each side of the highway, along with four car lanes in the middle. A concrete divider separated the eastbound and westbound lanes.

In thirty seconds, a cab swerved from the far lane, honking as it veered into the bike lanes. In Shanghai, the rule for driving was “the biggest vehicle wins.” An old woman veered up onto the sidewalk to escape the cab.

Bronc hopped in. He handed the driver a card with the address to the studio, but the fellow just shrugged and handed it back. Most likely he was illiterate.

With grunts and gestures Bronc led him down busy streets, past the World Expo Center, until they reached the turnoff.

The long driveway into the industrial complex was dark, the streetlights out. By day the guard shack to the complex was manned, but this late at night, it was empty.

Buildings hunched, giants in the mist and darkness, until the road ended at the old factory, a shapeless monstrosity with one dim light shining from a third-story window.

The taxi driver stopped, and Bronc paid him twenty-five yuan, then stepped out; the driver flipped a U and sped away. Bronc headed toward the door, and spotted movement under a stairwell—black against the shadows.

Lights suddenly flashed like gunfire, firecrackers rattling in bursts of light. Four men could be seen—all dressed in black. They stepped into the shadows, moving steadily away.

Something about them alarmed Bronc. All of them looked to be in their late thirties or early forties. All of them were muscular. But there was a litheness to their movements, a precision, almost a dancer’s grace.

Military.

He’d seen men like them before. In a land where guns were illegal, the most lethal of men learned to kill without weapons. He’d seen them in dojos, where they worked out in gardens lined with bamboo hedges.

The men raced past the stairwell and turned, heading behind the old munitions factory into alleys that Bronc had never explored.

He felt something sinister in the air.

There had been a break-in at the studios four weeks ago. With all of the neighboring businesses closed for the holidays, now was the perfect time to repeat such activities.

And the firecrackers. Those men hadn’t looked like the type who would get a thrill out of kid’s toys.

Bronc recalled his time in Fallujah, where every street corner was disputed territory, and every seemingly innocent bystander might be a lookout.

He cautiously walked to the big iron door on the side of the building, inserted his key in near total darkness, and made his way to the freight elevator, then rode it up. On the third floor, lights from the offices shone dimly through a window.

By day the officers were usually filled with workers—animators in one room, sound designers in another, film editors in a third. Now the computer terminals were dark.

Bronc found the inner doors to the office wide open.

He passed a maze of cluttered desks to Robert’s office. The office was dark, but Robert kept a dozen monitors on the wall so that he could watch every room in the building.

All the rooms were empty and unlit but one: Robert’s sculpting room had the lights on. The camera showed him laid out on the floor, on his back, his neck tilted at an unnatural angle. Bronc had seen enough corpses to know at a glance: he was dead. The urine stains on his khakis suggested that he’d died of strangulation.

Suddenly Bronc spotted movement on another monitor: a man in black raced past a stairwell into the women’s restroom.

Bronc’s heart pounded.

Suddenly he remembered Robert Wu’s words, “We’ve all been betrayed.”

With creatives, often the right brain—the artistic side— can comprehend truths that the logical mind cannot apprehend. That is the secret behind prophets and wizards, seers and sorcerers.

Alexandra had warned Mr. Big that Robert was screwing up.

And Mr. Big was not the kind to watch money go pissing down the drain.

Bronc didn’t even know how to notify the police in China. By day he had had Wu’s interpreters and secretaries to handle such things.

But he knew where the murderer had gone.

Bronc wasn’t a coward. He was ex-military, and even though he hadn’t hit the gym in three months, he was in decent shape.

Bronc grabbed a heavy stapler off Robert’s desk and raced around the corner of the offices, out the back hallway, and burst into the women’s restroom. He flipped on the light, and spotted a man’s feet under one of the stalls.

He hit the door with his shoulder, putting his full weight behind it, and knocked the killer backward.

Suddenly he was struggling with the stranger, a surprisingly genteel-looking Chinaman with big plastic-framed glasses—and powerful muscles, and a trained killer’s grace.

The fellow grabbed Bronc by the shoulders and whirled him around, threw him backward so that he fell on the women’s toilet. The seat cracked under Bronc’s weight.

Bronc struggled to rise, and the man pulled a pistol from his coat pocket—an old Russian Marakov 9mm.

Bronc lunged, and the gunman fired into Bronc’s right kneecap. The patella should have exploded, sent fragments of bone blowing through the air, driving lead into his ganglia. The shot should have sent Bronc to the floor, screaming in pain. Instead it just pissed him off.

“Wrong knee, douchebag,” Bronc said, slamming the stapler into the killer’s nose, so that it broke with a crunch. He followed up by driving his titanium knee into the man’s groin. Suddenly the killer dropped the gun and went limp in pain, tried desperately to cover his face with his hands.

But there was that strength and that killer’s grace. Suddenly the man leapt into the air, sent a high kick into Bronc’s solar plexus, and the lights went out.

When Bronc awoke, the killer had him. The killer dragged him face-down across the floor, into the office, and to the back room where Robert Wu had been murdered.

Bronc thrashed a bit, found that his hands were bound behind his back with some kind of plastic ties. He kicked, but could get no purchase.

Bronc couldn’t imagine fighting the killer with his hands tied, but he couldn’t just give up. He kicked again, and the killer threw him face-first to the floor, then just stood with one boot in the middle of Bronc’s back.

The doors to the room opened, and four men came through. They all wore black and walked with the grace of panthers, on the balls of their feet.

Silently, they went to the windows. This was Robert’s sculpting room, and since he carved his statues from giant blocks of polystyrene, the room was filled with the acrid scent of foul chemicals. Robert had broken out some small windows, in order to make sure that the room always stayed ventilated.

Now the men used duct tape to put plastic over the windows. The killer went to Robert, then twisted his neck so that it wasn’t at such an odd angle. He posed the body, to make it look as if he’d been trying to crawl toward a door when he passed out. The men began wiping down the room for fingerprints.

Bronc could tell what they were up to. They would turn on the blowers that Robert used to make his polystyrene blocks, and leave them on, make it look as if he had suffocated.

But they can’t make it look like we both died by accident, can they?

Suddenly there were shuffling sounds at the door. Bronc craned his neck to get a better view. Several men stood staring down at Robert Wu’s body.

Bronc recognized Mr. Liao, a handsome man with an impeccable bearing, the most trusted lawyer to Mr. Big.

To his right was someone who could only be Chen Cái. He was large, perhaps six-two, with the weight of wealth, eyes heavy-lidded. He had to be fifty, and his body was of the classic Han style, large of belly. He wore a business suit of fine black cloth, with a gray shirt and black tie.

He stared down at Robert Wu impassively, not like a disinterested party, but with a predatory gaze. He did not smile, did not seem excited. He had not come to torture his former friend, to celebrate his death, or to mourn him.

He’d come only to witness.

The same expression could be seen in the eyes of every other man in the party but one: to the far left of the group stood a timid fellow, an elderly man with a thin black moustache and graying hair.

Mr. Liao spoke, a precise voice with a slight English accent. “Bronc, we are so sorry to inconvenience you this way.”

Bronc didn’t speak, but the lawyer went on. “As you can see, there has been a tragic accident.” He paused, as if considering his words. “Or perhaps, it is a happy accident. Robert Wu was not working well as director. We will be sorry to lose his services. . . . Fortunately, you introduced us to an interesting Western business practice: key-man insurance. We made sure that Robert was amply covered, to the tune of five million dollars, and because of this, our movie is now fully funded. You will be receiving payment for your script very shortly—one million dollars.”

Bronc growled, suddenly outraged. He couldn’t possibly let him live, not after what he’d seen. “It’s only half a million dollars.”

“Is that what Robert told you?” Mr. Liao asked, cocking his brow, and then said flatly, “He lied. He must have planned to keep some of your money. To prove it, I will make sure that you get payment immediately, in cash.”

Mr. Liao snapped his fingers. The killer drew near and Mr. Liao mumbled into the man’s ears. He took some car keys and headed out.

Bronc could see the reptilian logic of it all—hire a man to make a movie, buy insurance on him, kill him, use the profit to make your movie. But he couldn’t quite believe that it was really happening.

“I don’t get it?” he said. “Why kill him?”

Mr. Big said nothing, only stared at Robert. Mr. Liao answered, “Who was the worst director of all time?”

“Ed Wood,” Bronc answered without hesitation. He knew that it was popular in Hollywood to heap abuse on contemporary directors like Michael Bay and Uwe Boll, but Ed Wood transcended the first rank of shoddy filmmakers. In Glen or Glenda, he somehow managed to combine ground-breaking inanity with depravity in one man’s love affair with a cashmere sweater. And in Plan 9 from Outerspace, he’d at once defined and perfected schlock movies, perhaps never to be surpassed.

The lawyer said, “This name, is not known in China. But if given a chance, Robert Wu might have become your Ed Wood. Bad director, no air for him.” Mr. Liao smiled at the poor joke.

Bron realized that Robert would not be missed. Not by the public, not even by his fifth wife.

“Tonight,” the lawyer said, “I would like you to meet our replacement director. He is huge talent, China’s very best. Mr. Zhong Anguo. Fortunately, we now have the money to pay his sizeable fee.”

The small fellow stepped forward shakily, and could not take his eyes off Robert Wu. He bowed deeply to Bronc, trembling, and now Bronc knew why the group had come: it was so that the new director could see what became of screw-ups.

Mr. Liao smiled at Bronc. “Whoa, did you see that? He nod the head to you. Very respectful. You see, you are the Big God now.”

Bronc couldn’t believe it. The killer took his foot off Bronc’s back, leaned over, and with a snick cut the plastic bonds that held his hands.

“What?” Bronc asked. “You’re going to let me live?”

“Of course,” Mr. Liao answered. “We need you. We saw how the script was getting worse day by day. You must restore it, prime it for a global audience, consider how to optimize its expansion into merchandising. The last Star Wars movie made seven billion in merchandise alone. With the right touch, this franchise is just as valuable.”

The killer entered the room with a large suitcase. He unsnapped the lock and poured its contents to the ground: a million dollars, in stacks of American $100 bills.

Payoff money. The sight of it made Bronc giddy, eroded his common sense.

With shaking hands, Bronc pushed himself off the floor, got to his knees. He felt grateful to be alive when Robert was not, grateful to provide for his family, and at the same time he was in mortal fear, caught between the carrot and the stick.

“So work hard, Bronc,” Mr. Liao said. “Your family is depending upon you. We’re depending upon you. And if you fail us, just know that we have key-man insurance on you, too. Make sure that you are worth more to us alive than dead.”

Mr. Big turned silently while his retinue of businessmen and killers followed at his back. He was like a barracuda eeling through the night sea.

That was it. They’d let him live, for now. Mr. Big was not afraid of the law. He lived above it.

For a long time, Bronc stood in the shadowed loft, peering down at the stain on the floor where Wu Robert had left his drool. Bronc’s nose became numb to the biting smell of the polystyrene chemicals, to Wu’s urine, to the dirt that clung to the air of the old munitions factory, and indeed, the dirt that clung to the city as a whole.

Until at last, in the semidarkness, a dull thud pounded through the concrete, making Bronc jump, as at three in the morning, more fireworks began to fill the skies above Shanghai.

#writingtip

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