Literally Just...

about the author

Hey! I'm D. A little about me… I’m a 30-something Midwesterner who has been writing for as long as I can remember. I have a passion for fantasy & romantasy books, especially if there's a morally gray MMC involved. Some fast facts: 🗡️ I’m a cat person and pet mom to one (1) disheveled gremlin 🗡️ I went to a Stephanie Meyer book signing when Eclipse came out and I’ve been chasing that high ever since 🗡️ My favorite authors are Margaret Rogerson, Holly Black, Stephanie Garber, and Carissa Broadbent!

my writing

These are my four WIPs. I'll be tagging posts about each, so feel free to view the tags for more on any individual work. My books are not spicy but still contain steamy, swoon-worthy romance.

🖤 The Mists of Morrow Vale is a dark, gothic NA romantasy trilogy with mystery, magic, and morally gray characters. My original inspiration was the Barovia setting from D&D: think lots of fog, a creepy castle, and a forest with a mind of its own. This is my current project.

🖤 Kingdom of Wrath & Ruin is a NA vampire romantasy duology with a plus-sized FMC who would burn the world to save her sister (and a vampire general who would help her do it).

🖤 A World Away is a YA fantasy romance trilogy with a focus on the Fae. Old gods, royal courts, and political intrigue collide with a FMC who just wants to mind her own business.

🖤 Prophecy is a traditional fantasy series meant to be enjoyed by readers of all ages: think Tamora Pierce meets Studio Ghibli. This series spans multiple generations and will have as many books as it takes!

My inbox is always open if you want to chat! <3

IRIS - Spoilers Disguised As Memes [PART 3]

This is the fourth and last option of the community poll. Next up: yet another poll! If you wish to choose what to see next, join us!

Work on IRIS the remaster has officially began! Content is shown on the B/T community a couple days prior blog posts.

IRIS' L. is the placeholder title for an upcoming (Teen bordering on Young Adult) book: a portal fantasy, whimsical story with teen drama, mystery, venturing and body horror. It is part of the Creation And Destruction (Standalone) Tetralogy, the very first installment of the first BAD TOKENS story.

Why "No One Talks Like That" Is Unhelpful

I've been thinking about some unhelpful critiques I have been given in the past and what made them so unhelpful, which lead me to sort of wanting to deconstruct why "no one talks like that" is such a bad critique.

So, things to consider before you give the critique "no one talks like that", which will likely reveal what you're actually trying to say:

Conversational conventions are often different in fictional worlds.

Just because something is normally "uncouth" or "strange" to say in reality, that does not mean the same can be said about fictional worlds. I personally got the "no one talks like that" critique because one of my characters was, supposedly, too blunt about their marriage proposal. This was in a fantasy world where marriage was treated in an extremely practical fashion, the same way someone would treat buying a new house. I got treated as the "person who constantly interrupts people giving critiques because they can't handle it" for simply trying to give my teacher some much needed context. This type of critique is not helpful to anyone, because it completely fails to understand or even attempt to understand author intent. "No one in real life talks like this", yes, and that is the point. To actually give helpful critiques to fantasy dialogue, you need to first understand how that fantasy culture differs from the ones you are accustomed to, and judge the dialogue based on it.

2. When you say "no one talks like that", who are you really referring to? The general population, or the people specifically within your social circle, area, or culture? Because you will likely find it is the latter.

I don't think it's necessarily bad for people to draw from their experiences when giving critiques, but I do think it's important to analyze one's biases in doing so. Before you say, "no one talks like that", always sit down to analyze why exactly you think that, and consider having a proper discussion with the writer about what experiences they are drawing from. As one examples, a straight person who is unfamiliar with queer culture may feel inclined to say "no one talks like that" about queer characters using terms or addressing topics like gender, sexuality, etc. in ways they are not accustomed to. It's not because no one truly talks like that, it's because they are completely unfamiliar with it.

3. Always, always, always consider context.

This ties into the fictional world idea, but goes beyond that. "No one talks like that" can feel extremely tone deaf as a critique if the person isn't properly engaging with the context of a scene or a character. "No one talks like that," okay, but this particular character is stressed and running on adrenaline, they're not exactly meant to be talking normally. "No one talks like that," this is a literal demon from Hell, why should they talk like we do? "No one talks like that," this character is neurodivergent, and it makes complete sense for them to talk like that. Also, keep in mind the genre and the style of the story. Not all stories are trying to have realistic dialogue. You wouldn't criticize a story set in wonderland for having unrealistic dialogue, as this is very much the point. Now, unrealistic does not mean meaningless, which is why considering the context of a story helps you give more specific and helpful critiques when it comes to dialogue.

4. Does nobody talk like that, or is it just socially unacceptable to talk like that? There is a difference.

I mentioned neurodivergent characters, so let me expand on that issue here. There's this attitude I think really needs to be squashed that characters must talk in a neurotypical fashion or else they are badly written, because neurotypical individuals find this easier to understand and see it as more "proper". And it expands to this general attitude I've seen that, if characters are not following certain social rules or etiquette, then the dialogue is badly written. This puts so many constraints on character dialogue that doesn't actually help with character writing.

Sure, not everyone is going to go out to a parking lot and scream profanities to see the shock and horror of those passing by, but this shit stain character I created absolutely would. "But characters need a good reason to break this etiquette", not everyone cares about social etiquette, and characters are absolutely the same way. So long as their character has been established as such, this is fine. Also, reactionary responses like, "no one would talk to their parents that way!", in response to a character severly breaking a social rule or greatly going against a certain social value, are not actually helpful critiques. It is an emotional reaction that reflects what you view as proper, not if the action is accurate to the character or not.

5. Is it true that nobody talks like that, or do you just not understand the dialogue?

If dialogue is confusing, you need to delve deeper into why that is, and consider whether this is intentional or not. Just because the dialogue does not personally resignate with you, that does not mean it is poorly written. Same goes for dialogue that is meant to be confusing at first, and is given further context later. Have a conversation with the writer to see if this dialogue is meant to be confusing, or if there's been a miscommunication. It's also important you reflect on whether a project is for you when critiquing. If you hate dialogue full of rhymes, then you probably shouldn't critique a story where everyone talks in rhymes.

6. Is the issue the way they are talking, or the way they are talking about something in the specific context of the story?

When analyzing why dialogue doesn't sit well with you, is it because the characters' reactions feel off or out of character? For instance, is the character that is well established to hate sweets now ranting and raving about how good milk chocolate is? The issue then isn't that "no one talks like that", the issue is, "it feels out of character for them to address (topic) like that". Yes, it could be argued no one hates sweets one second and then praises milk chocolate the next, but phrasing it as "no one talks like that" doesn't actually get to the meat of the issue. As a more serious example, is the character who hates all magic being oddly casual when actually confronted with a mage? Of course, some inconsistencies are done on purpose, and, as I said above, context matters.

Conclusion

Going through this, I think a lot of people will find "no on talks like that" is not actually what they want to say. Rather, they likely want more context, think a conversation needs better build up, believe the dialogue feels inconsistent with the characters/world, or may outright just be a bad fit for that particular project. So before you say, "no one talks like that," consider why you feel that way and find a way to word this critique that is more productive.

Original characters are really just a random assortment of personality traits and physical features taken from myself, from people I saw on the street, and from my favourite characters from other people.

Ooo I loved this! It gave me the chills. It felt so visual to, I could just visualize each scene.

— An extra-narrative writing exercise based on my work, The Taste of Hallowed Earth

If you ever make a taglist, feel free to add me to it!

Master Post of Neon Ash

Chapter 1 - Jesse Survived.

Chapter 2 - Lira Cried.

Chapter 3 - Jesse Slept.

Chapter 4 - The Protest.

Chapter 5 - Mysteries.

Chapter 6 - Hope.

Writing update 5/1/2025

I am continuing to write Sleep Laughing slowly but surely. I'm getting caught up in making the logs detailed, and trying to get myself to realize, "you need to write the skeleton of this idea before you can go into the depths of this character's suffering". And also, during the first logs he's so weak/in so much pain he's barely concious or thinking straight, so it makes sense why they're not as detailed.

Still, I managed to get extremely good progress for logs 7 and 8. Here's my favorite snippet (tw body horror and agony):

I've come to a conclusion. Even if I am in Hell, it really isn't such a bad thing. It just means I'm being punished, and, if I'm being punished, that means there's a chance to redeem myself, right? Every single agony I experience is a debt being paid, a sin washed away. This pain isn't a curse. No… …this pain is a blessing! It's giving me a chance to repent for everything. Oh God I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again. So please, just let the light take me!

Also, I am looking for beta readers for my stories The Diary of Spinel Bramford and The Breeding Grounds. You can find their descriptions here. If that'd interest you, please let me know!

Taglist: @aweirdshipp

Teenage Wasteland, Chap. 3 - Come On Kids

[Author's Note: A more transitional chapter where I wanted to introduce one more of the last major characters. Enjoy!]

As the blazing South Carolina sun, a fiery orb in the cloudless, azure sky beat down on the Earth below, Tegan ignored Miss April Stauch’s droning lecture—the final, stifling school day of the year held zero interest to her. Her gaze, instead, snapped to the gym class outside, a blur of motion circling the soccer field. Specifically, she watched Samantha. Sweat plastered her mid-thigh shorts and white Hillcrest High shirt, clung to every curve in a way that made Tegan’s breath catch. A soft sigh escaped from her lips, with the sudden silence amplified the sound in the hot, still classroom, which drew every eye to her.

“Miss Tegan, just because it is the last day of the school year does not mean this isn’t important,” Miss Stauch admonished, but it did little to bring about Tegan’s focus.

The absolute drag of a day dragged on further and further, and despite Samantha and Tegan sharing many classes, they did not share these last two periods. That while Tegan spent the rest of her time this school year watching the clock, and then that last bell finally rung. She nearly sprinted out of the classroom—everyone else be damned. Grabbed everything important from her locker; most notably a bag of weed she got from her new friend, Robin. Who had quickly become a close friend to the pair and a band member for the Starstruck Queer. Though she lived on the other side of town, closer to Fountain Inn, she played the drums and was in the grade above them, even though she was sixteen and held back last year. And luckily for the trio, she also had an old Chevy van and had a license.

“Hey!” called out Robin, whose bright rainbow-colored hair flowed down to her broad shoulders, and the leather vest wrapped around her slightly-chubby torso, patched over with all the queer flags that could fit. Not to mention all the band patches: Bikini Kill, Metallica, Talking Heads, and even a few Blondie ones.

Just beside her stood the beautiful Samantha, who held her backpack from its handle. A happy, if tired, expression crossed her face. “I saw you staring at me during gym class,” she commented with a sly smile that brightened up her features and creased her eyebrows.

“Ready to get out of here?” Robin asked, as her car keys dangled between her fingers with a slight clinking of metal.

“Fuck yeah, I’m tired of this place and everyone in it. Don’t ever want to come back,” Tegan replied, slamming her locker door shut. Stuffing the actual combination lock into her bag.

Samantha yanked on Robin’s arm. “Plus, we need to go get some food and go jam, ya know? I feel like we’re finally getting into the grove, into the pocket, ya know?”

“Hell, you’ve improved so much,” Tegan complimented her girlfriend, not caring who saw them walking down the hallway hand-in-hand. A few sideways glances and mumbled words, just out of earshot, were always present, but neither cared.

“Those tapes you got me really helped,” Sam hummed, her lips brushed against Tegan’s cheek, a feather-light touch. The faint scent of vanilla from Tegan’s hair helped hide the stench of the un-air-conditioned air. Robin’s powerful arms, who smelled faintly of weed, encircled them both in a warm embrace, her laughter a low, comforting rumble.

“We’ll get some Sonic burgers and shakes. Then we need to start working on some original songs, yeah? Now speaking of buzz—”

Before she could finish her thought, the Oakley twins—Lisa and Robert—sauntered up, radiating an aura of superiority and false righteousness. Their clothes, impeccably-tailored Tommy Hilfiger, told of the wealth their parents had, and Tegan always wondered why they didn’t go to the private schools in Greenville. Robert’s hair, bleached blonde and spiked in such an absurd way, made her think of a hedgehog; the image brought a silent giggle to her lips.

“Well, if it isn’t the queer squad of Simpsonville,” Lisa laughed at her own joke. “Father says people like you are going to burn in hell. He even says we used to take fags and dykes, and hang ‘em from the railroad bridge down off Lake Harris.”

“Fuck off,” Samantha shot back. “You are just cookie-cutter bitches. Looking like every other unimaginative poser jackass."

Doing her best to direct the pair away from the bullies, Robin shot looks at the twins, who kept egging them on and on. As they kept following the trio, the twins directed insult after insult towards them.

“Hey, unwanted girl, you’re not a dyke, right?” Lisa pushed Tegan’s shoulder from behind, which had Tegan clenching both her jaw and fists. “You pretend to also like guys, right? Or is it that you actually just like guys, but no one wanted you, right?”

Tegan didn’t reply. She did her best to just walk away, to take the higher road. Breathing increasing, thoughts ran through her head at a thousand miles per hour. Not too long ago, she would have struck out against this bully. It’s the last day of school; why not just escape from these confines?

Lisa continued, pushing against Tegan’s shoulder again despite her brother’s protests to stop. “Like your piece of shit mother who left you at the orphanage, she couldn’t even stand you. So, instead of being alone forever. You decide to get with the local dyke, right?”

“Not everyone opens their legs for anything with a dick!” Samantha growled, her face turning a bright red, her fists clenched and veins bulging.

“Too ugly and unwanted for a proper boyfriend, is that it? I think I figured you out,” Lisa mocked, pushing Tegan once more. Samantha moved to stop, but Robin held Sam in place. Sam gave Robin a look but remained silent.

“Come on, just ignore her,” Robin tried her best to soothe the pair. “Let’s just get out of here. Fuck them. Not worth the problems.”

“At least Samantha and Robin are dykes. They know what they are. What the fuck are you, orphan bitch? Just some unwanted girl who had to settle for a—” Lisa had no chance to finish her insult. She had gone on far-too-long.

Turning on her heels, and using all her weight, Tegan punched Lisa right in her Romanesque nose as hard as she could. A clear crunch shook her hand and forced the smaller teen backwards into the arms of her twin brother. Much like a broken dam, there came forth a deluge of blood that covered Lisa’s face and onto her name-brand shirt. Before either twin could react, or even a teacher, the three ran out into the hot early summer. Teachers hot on their tail, but they didn’t follow them out into the parking lot. Lisa did have a reputation for running her mouth.

“Whoa, babe, that was fucking awesome!” Samantha shouted her praise as the pair slid into the van’s side door. Slamming it shut behind them.

The inside of the van was bare, stripped of the seats that were in here. Just a thick green-brown carpet, and some party lights strung across the ceiling. They lit up into a kaleidoscopic color array that would enrapture Tegan whenever they got high, which had been as often as they could afford to do so. As the engine rumbled to life and the whole van came to life with low vibrations that ran through Tegan’s every fiber.

Her adrenaline ran quickly and fast, her blood churned as thick as mud deep in her chest. Breathing still quickened, needing to be caught but cannot be. Samantha wrapped a sweaty arm around her girlfriend, pulling Tegan closer. They shared a quick kiss. Then, it became deep, passionate, as if they’ll never kiss one another again. A fleeting moment in Heaven was better than none. Because it ended quickly with a loud cough from Robin.

“Hello, I’m still here and single!” Robin called out from the driver’s seat.

Samantha’s full-bodied laugh, a rich, throaty sound, echoed through the van as she crawled towards the back. Dusty air, thick with the scent of old canvas and faint motor oil and gasoline, filled her nostrils as she reached a hidden compartment—Tegan watched her as she pulled up the carpet to show a roughly-cut hole underneath Robin’s handiwork. A makeshift shelf, yet fully-bolted in, nestled above the rumbling machinery, held a treasure: an antique cigar box. Its aged wood and rusted hinges creaked and groaned as Sam opened it, released a pungent wave of stale weed. Inside, nestled in a crinkled sandwich bag, was the sought-after prize: dark, sticky buds, a crisp pack of rolling papers, a metallic smoking pipe, and a lighter with a peace symbol on it. Her fingers were nimble and well-practiced, she rolled a joint, the stems and seeds clunk softly as she tossed them back into the box. And tossed each one back inside. With a pat to secure the carpet, their secret tucked away once again.

They didn’t smoke the joint as they drove. No, that would be an invitation for those small-town cops—always patrolling and waiting for some teenager to fuck up—to harass them, then arrest them, or, at the least, drive them home and talk to their parents. It was far too risky. Instead, after the fatty burgers and sugary sweetness of Sonic’s drive-through faded, Robin drove them to Simpsonville Park’s far side, away from the graveyard’s somber stillness and the busier section with its cheerful cacophony of children’s laughter and the crack of baseball bats from the always busy baseball fields. Partially hidden by a thick copse of oak and maple trees, their haven felt secluded, a hushed sanctuary from the town’s watchful gaze. No one came out here.

“So, I got some lyrics written up,” Tegan said as she leaned against the metal wall of the van. Joint between two short fingers, she took a long draw and held it in as she passed it onward. But she coughed it out just a quick; a headiness overtook her and planted a smile across her face.

Robin sat beside Tegan; legs crossed beneath her. As she took the joint and took her own hit before passing it to Samantha. “Well, sing it for us! No need to be shy. We’re best friends and bandmates, right?”

The mere idea of singing made Tegan sweat; hot beads prickled her forehead, her palms itched with a nervous tremor, her mouth as dry as parchment. The simple act, once effortless during their jam sessions, now loomed, a daunting, almost impossible task. “Right now?” she stammered, the words caught in her dry throat.

Samantha’s reassuring hand rested on Tegan’s knee, rubbing it softly in small circles. “Nah, not right now, babe. Just, well, do you have the lyrics? We’d love to go over it. Just promise us you’ll sing it later.”

Tegan nodded and dug in her backpack until she pulled out an old, creased notebook. “Yeah, when we get back to your place and jam out. I’ll sing my heart out. It feels so embarrassing to do so as we get high in the van.”

“Oh, these are quite good,” Samantha remarked as she flipped through the pages of the notebook. “There’s, like, a dozen songs in here. We could have our whole first album in here. Actually, I take it back. These are wonderful. ‘Forgotten’ is so angry, but I feel it. ‘Jubilee and Me’ is so lovely.”

“Lemme see, lemme see.” Robin snatched the notebook, pursuing its pages.

Robin quietly read each page, stopped on one for a moment, then moved to another. Saying not a word, even waving off the last little bit of the joint. She didn’t look up; no, she was so engrossed to where Tegan and Samantha exited the hot van to leave the older teen to her reading that Robin didn’t notice.

A strong breeze rustled the bright green leaves of the surrounding trees. Under their heavy boughs, where squirrels scampered and birds sung, was a large boulder that showed the scars of dozens of teens who have visited it. Several names etched onto its rough surface, many proclamations of love and lust—graffiti of all sorts. Littered with empty beer and soda cans, cigarette butts dotted the dirt. Ground in by weeks and months of different shoes of those who came here for some peace and quiet.

“Lisa Oakley pisses me off so much,” Tegan let out a huff. “On the last day of school, too. The second or third best day of the year. Maybe fourth. Well, I guess fifth now with your birthday involved.”

“Dork,” Samantha joked. “She’s a nobody. Destined to have a shitty life of Sunday church, three-and-a-half kids, and unsatisfying sex.”

Robin handed Tegan the notebook and climbed up the walk beside the couple. “Dude, your songs are awesome. We need to put them to music. Like as soon as possible. Need to come down a bit before I’ll drive, but yeah, we gonna play one of these today. Just pick one.”

Tegan took it to heart, as she went through every song in her notebook. The other two distracted themselves like they did every time they got high. Breaking down into the two of them talking about whatever happened on WWF Raw of WCW Nitro, which wrestler was the best, or which show was better. Tegan held zero interest in it. Instead, she wrote a song about how Samantha made her feel on that night those weeks ago.

“That’s it,” Tegan said after some time. “Come on, let’s go jam. I’m feeling it.”

Samantha hopped off the boulder. “Oh, she’s feeling it, eh? This is going to be good.”

“Yeah, let’s get to it. We’ll play until Sam’s parents throw us out.” Robin laughed and climbed into the driver’s seat. Tegan joined her in the passenger’s side. The dash held only a cassette player with a recordable cassette of songs that Robin had copied from the radio. She pushed it in and cranked up the volume.

The van’s engine rumbled to life; a deep growl vibrated through the floorboards as Robin steered them toward the other side of Simpsonville. Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” distorted and crackling, filled the van. As the short drive got closer to Sullivan road, there came the sudden appearance of several black, ominous clouds, blotting out the sun. A heavy, humid blanket clung to the air, thick and cloying, as a gusty wind whipped around the van, which made the trees lining Sullivan Road to sway and thrash about, their leaves rustled like whispered secrets that Mother Nature refused to give up.

Samantha’s parents were kind enough to let Robin store her drum kit—a gleaming green set—in the garage, which they otherwise used only for storage. The pitter-patter of rain against the roof and the driveway formed a natural rhythm as Tegan came upon the corner where the V-shaped guitar and her very own bass guitar, lovingly-covered in a soft, grey sheet, sat. The faint scent of old wood and stale polish lingered around them. On an almost daily basis, the trio practiced, which echoed the rhythmic thud of drums and the twang of strings throughout the neighborhood. Now, with school out, the trio planned hours of practice every single day, as Tegan declared, “until we are too good to be ignored,” her words sharp and determined.

****

Tag List:

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites

Send me a message someway somehow, maybe reply to this post, if you want to be put on the tag list!

I love dandelions!

*puts a dandelion in your hair*

Reblog to put a dandelion in prev's hair

Writeblr Intro circa 2024

Hi writeblr!! Sooo, I've been around here since about 2014. (Yes, I am ancient.) However, I've been dormant for the past 4-5 years. Blame college and a brief stint on Twitter. Now that I'm active again, I thought I should make an updated writeblr intro so ppl know my Deal. Basically, I want to engage with other folks who write fiction (esp original SF), and that's a little easier if I have a clear post that outlines what I do. Here to make connections and hear about your blorbos :)

About me

Hi, I'm Vee! They/them, 23, 💖 🤍 🧡

I do journalism/comms in western New York

My literary jam is feminist/adult SF and gothic lit (OG or modern) 🥀 ⚔️ 🌙

Enthusiastic about gay people, body horror, and sociopolitical allegories

I cook, run, play tabletop games, and occasionally draw. Other than that, I'm mostly writing (for work and for fun)

If you were on pre-2020 writeblr, you likely know me from my eight billion daily tag games. (I still like tag games and appreciate u for tagging me. I have also gained adult responsibilities and better mental health, so I respond very slowly now. <3)

Always happy to get asks or dms, tho as I've noted: I may reply slowly.

Sometimes open to beta read! I only read one longer project at a time, but it's always super fun :)

I tag very consistently – happy to tag triggers for followers/moots

Fun fact: I love mushroom hunting and worked as a mycology TA. #cottagecoreera 🍄 🧚‍♀️ 🌱

About my creative writing

I write,,,, feminist/adult SF with gothic leanings (surprise!)

Longform and short! Trying to do more short writing this year, and I'll likely share a bit on Tumblr. It's easier to clip a short story than a 150k novel, god bless.

The Aesthetic: moral g(r)ays, Victoriana, androids/cyborgs, Women™, monstrous femininity, incessant Hamlet/Frankenstein motifs, extremely boring socioeconomic worldbuilding, evil queens and/or dilfs, psychosexual witchcraft, probably a cat. Also, an ominous, plot-relevant letter laced with anthrax from your unhinged and brilliant ex-wife. Open if you dare.

Major projects

I'm going to be writing some short work this year, but these are the longer projects that I have going in the background. If I reblog blorbo-related text posts, they probably have something to do with these.

Let me know if you want to be added to any project-specific taglists 😎

Heart of Lead – Series

The big one

Perpetually evolving

Never ceasing

Pls send help I can't stop adding shit

5-book gothic fantasy epic that I'll definitely publish one day but probably no time soon! My bastard child, my wicked firstborn, my greatest love <3

Character-oriented political drama set in a pseudo-Victorian, dystopian oligarchy where everyone's heart is made out of metal. It's about coming of age and discovering queer identity in a world that is absolutely fucked. God is an extraterrestrial lesbian who gives ppl very traumatizing magic powers. There are cyborgs, shapeshifters, and morally gray women in STEM. It's tight as fuck idk what else what to tell u.

Book 1 is about achillean monarchists, and book 2 is about sapphic anarchists. There are only two genders, I guess.

At this point, I've drafted most of the books at least once. Working to refine a lot of raw material atm!

Tag: "heart of lead tag" or "hol tag"

Lost Letters – Book

Aka the current active HoL WIP, and book one in the revised series structure

Length: 80k as of now; around 120-140k when the first draft is finished, I presume.

Genre: adult fantasy, gothic, noir detective drama?? um?? If you want me to frame it in BookTok terms (why?) it's a dark academia villain x villain tragic romantasy. Hrgh.

Summary: Cyborg soldier goes to college, joins a shady socialite frat, and falls in love with the jilted heir-apparent to the throne. Hilarity ensues.

(By "hilarity," I mean a militant revolutionary faction and a tragedy of Greek proportions.)

POV characters: Charles (the cyborg), Dale (the heir), and Cecelia (Charles' sister, a junior detective, the love of my life and potentially the Chosen One???)

This book is twisty and dark and immensely fun to write.

I'm about halfway through the first full draft! Hoping to share snippets and vaguepost about my children here.

Tag: "lost letters tag" (also "hol tag," tho that one's less specific)

The Last of Mortal Tourists – Book

The next longform project on the docket!

Length: a standalone work that will hopefully fall on the shorter novel/novella spectrum.

Genre: literary SF, cyberqueer, psychological space quest

Summary: The consciousness of a dead coding genius, trapped inside a spaceship, seeks a new planet to sustain their sister, the last surviving human, after the destruction of Earth.

If you're here to get wildly philosophical about gender and the myth of essential self, this is the story for you! That's why I'm writing it, lol. 🏳️‍⚧️ 🚀 🤖

This one started out as a short story (100% finished) which I want to expand.

POV: Archer Alto, the coder. Spaceship? Human? Soul?

Supporting Cast: Pandora, the last human, and Abby, a holographic impression of Archer's childhood consciousness

Tag: "the last of mortal tourists tag" or "tlomt tag"

If you read all this way, you get a whole bouquet of flowers that are certainly NOT poisonous: 🌸 🌹 💐 🥀 🌺

<3