You are either going to love this new chapter I’m working on, or you’re gonna throw me off a bridge
Category: Writing
Writing about aftermath
I’ve been wanting to sit down and write a real blog post for a while now, but the blog post I thought I would write yesterday is probably different than the one I’ll actually end up writing today, food poisoning and all (ick).
I’m always fighting between the impulse to keep work to myself, where it’s safe and only mine, and the very real, sometimes achingly urgent desire to share it with others.
I’ve been working on a couple of new stories. The one that feels most exciting to me is about running away from home, or maybe just about running.
I was thinking the other day that I often write about the aftermath. The Thing happened, and now you live, to quote Coleman Barks, “in the wake of a new life.” You are stumbling through the wreckage, trying to assemble pieces of yourself.
(And here, a friend reminded me that what is grief but the aftermath of loss?)
Part of the interesting part of writing, to me, is figuring out what that Thing even was. What was the hit that caused the pain? Can you reconstruct the blast by the shape of its crater?
Jisoo feels like that kind of wreckage. Soft and fragile and sharp. Cringing and traumatized, loved and hurting and willing to hurt others.
Or else maybe the hurt is accidental.
I am still looking for the incident that made a hole of this size.
SPOILERY little WIP (wip it like you stole it eyy)
But in this, even Iseult is surprised—she gives birth not to one babe, but to two.
All told, her birth is a strange and involved affair.
There are cunning folk that Iseult has kept in touch with, and even those of the fey courts have a hand.
They all turn up at the doors of Domhan Mhín, one after another, and Jenny is sore beside herself. After the first, second, and third visitors come, Iseult thinks that Jenny will start turning them away at the door.
Certainly that’s the way it seems as she stands poised there, dressed in cursed coins with her hair ringing her head like a fury, barring the entrance.
“We come to visit the mother and child,” one fey man who Iseult does not recognize says.
He is stooped and hunched, with a kind of wheedling voice. He carries a satchel that bulges oddly. It stops when he compresses it in his hands, as if cowed, but then soon after starts up again. To watch it is to feel strangely and vaguely ill.
“I didn’t ask what you were doing here,” Jenny says, her already strong voice rising and growing tarter. “I asked what that has to do with me.”
WIP Saturday cause fuck it, we ball
Caerlon is only nice if you think living in the bottom of a hollowed-out glass bottom boat is nice.
If you don’t ever want to go back. If you’re that kind of bitch.
Soldier is that kind of bitch.
She has a scar over her lip, right in the middle, splitting it like a cupid’s bow. Harlot has pretty, slivered silverfish scars crisscrossing all up and down her arms. Ghostly white—pale, like the moon.
Soldier’s scars are all ugly. She doesn’t have flesh that heals well. Her body is aggressive, scar tissue like an overachiever, knotted and red and welty as if daring the world to try to split it again.
Fairytale Shenanigans
I was rereading some parts of Fairytale the other day, and I have three quick thoughts before I lose them:
- For a while now I have wanted to write a harem AU of the Fairytale boys.
- Also what if I wrote a silly little Kindergarten AU. Just think of Xiao Yu sharing his juicebox with Kiki.
- A friend told me I should design a Charm lightstick, and that sounds extremely fun.