About Me

Discord Channel – By Autumn Rain

I’ve been talked into creating a Discord channel.

Invite

I haven’t the slightest clue who’d want to talk to me, but it exists. I’ll probably post pictures of my cats.

If you want, you can ask me to read the first chapter of your novel, or for insider gossip about my fictional characters, or tell me that I’m the best person to ever exist (lawl jk).

Of course, as an FYI, I only get around to conversing when I feel good and ready to, so don’t expect me to be constantly plugged in 24/7.

Also, I can’t figure anything out. I am not super internet-literate.

About Writing

Why Readers Deserve Happy Endings

I have a straight-forward style of storytelling, where I deliver what I promise with no gotchya’s or plot twists. When I was posting stories on Reddit, I’d occasionally get comments from people who were relieved that I ended on a happy note, instead of abruptly implementing, “rocks fall, everyone dies” for dramatic impact.

I confess that my tastes in fiction are quite old school, so I can’t speak with 100% certainty of what’s being done currently, but from what I saw others posting on Reddit, and what I know of popular series like Game of Thrones and Harry Potter, a lot of writers are obsessed with killing characters, plot twist betrayals, and numerous cheap ploys that tug on emotions.

Sometimes I wonder, at what point does it become emotional abuse?

Bear with me a moment here.

As a writer, I have an ego — my decision to make my stories available for other people to read is testimony of that. I’ve spent years practicing, studying, and philosophizing, and while I don’t think that I’ve achieved perfection, I do believe that I’m better than average.

But I don’t think that I command any sort of god-like control over anyone who chooses to read my fiction.

I am not out to deliberately manipulate your emotions.

My goal is to tell a story.

The thing is, if you were in a relationship with someone who was deliberately keeping you off-balance, utilizing your emotional attachments to punish you, and dangling good promises with no intention of delivering, that would be a horrendously abusive and toxic relationship, right?

Well, guess what?

Writer – reader counts as a relationship.

Readers have the power to put down a book at any point for any reason, so on some level Game of Thrones fans are agreeing to be subjected to an endless parade of death, etc. However, the frequent use of manipulative tactics combined with persistent anxiety, makes me think that readers might not realize they have that power.

We don’t have to accept being jerked around so much we can’t enjoy a happy light-hearted story without panicking that something bad is going to happen.

There is a point where enough is enough.

About Me

Personal Note

This is the time of year when I typically slack off from writing and put more energy into holiday activities, but there’s a good chance that this year is going to be completely different. For starters, I have no interest in taking the kids out Christmas shopping.

I might get more into holiday baking, since I’ve always wanted to make one of those chocolate yule log cakes, but have always been too intimidated to try. Might as well give it a shot.

It’s hard to say what the next two months are going to look like, honestly.

Writing is my selfish activity. I love children — my kindergarten dream was to be a mom — but they scream a lot and make big messes. Writing is how I maintain my internal balance so I can deal. With the way the kids have been acting of late, I’m going to be doing a lot of dealing this winter. I’m gonna need as much balance as I can get.

And cake.

I have no clue if I’m going to be slacking off or not.

Alice and the Warden

Random notes about AatW

  • I feel like I’m writing the baby too much like a prop. I’m always mindful to make sure that she’s present and accounted for (instead of simply not being there for some unexplained reason), and newborns really do spend most of their time sleeping, but I want to throw in more descriptions of her to make her feel more like a character.
  • I want to flesh out the friendship between Kate and Gertie. I know how they’d interact, but I can’t quite figure out how to slip it into the story. My brain is being totally blah about this.
  • Because I originally intended this to be a novelette, I’ve been typing it on the laptop. Right now, I’m really missing the ability to scribble notes in the margins. I have no clue if LibreOffice has a similar feature, because I never bothered to learn anything beyond the bare basics.
  • I’m also really terrified of my laptop crashing and losing everything.
  • I wrote a really sexy scene, and now I don’t know what to do with it. What’s this story rated anyway?
  • I need to describe pretty much everything better, and figure out what the heck that English thing is. You have no idea how mortifying it is to publicly post a first draft.
  • Nobody’s reading it anyway (except for you, of course).
  • I’m starting to worry that the pacing is too slow, and I need to get on with it already. But, given the speed of the rest of the story, doing that might make the ending feel unpleasantly rushed.

About Me

Accidentally writing a novel

I’ve hit 30,000 words with Alice and the Warden. While I had originally intended it to be a cutesy little side project, I just keep having more ideas. Thus, the story is still ongoing, and I haven’t even proven who the real murderer is yet.

At this point, I’ve realized that if I properly fleshed out the descriptions and gave it a (very) solid round of editing, I could publish it as a novel. Insert philosophy about additive writing, blah blah blah, etc. Basically, with my writing process, I metaphorically paint in broad strokes with the first draft then go back and add the details in later. That means that 30,000 words is going to end up being longer in the final version just from adding in details.

Not right now, though. Right now it’s July. My brain is melting out of my ears, and I’m having weird dreams about my children eating moldy cabbage. Like they’d ever willingly touch cabbage. I do not handle this part of summer all that well.

Anyway, it is kind of funny that my little romantic story has taken on such a life of its own.

I haven’t even gotten the two of them laid yet. XD

Stories

Concept story – THEM

In the spirit of mentally changing the scenery to help stretch the kinks out, I wrote this concept story. It’s an idea that I’ve been playing with for awhile now — one o’ them scifi-fantasy hybrids. Anyway, it’s still very much a rough draft and needs a great deal more fleshing out before it can become a full blown story, but I think it has a good core.


Anthea grabbed Sebastian’s arm and pulled him underneath a nearby pine tree, holding him close as she pressed her back against the rough trunk. The bark made her skin itch through her shirt, but she kept her eyes locked on the gray clouds above them, barely daring to breathe.

After a minute, she whispered, “I don’t think They saw us.” Then she looked down at the four-year-old boy clinging to her leg and smiled. “There’s a great big house over there. If we can be quick and sneaky, we can hide inside.”

Sebastian nodded, his eyes huge with fear. Turning around, Anthea bent down to hoist him up onto her back, paused to loosen his grip around her neck, then darted from tree to tree, careful to remain underneath the branches as much as she could. It seemed as if the sky grew darker and more menacing as she went, but she didn’t dare pause to check if They were there.

There was a good 20-foot gap between the branches of the last tree and the stairs leading to the front door. Anthea took a deep breath before she sprinted, praying with every step that she’d reach the eaves of the house. It was almost surreal to discover that they were still alive as she pulled the door open and dumped Sebastian inside, and she hung in the doorway to stare out at the sky. The gray clouds churned and for a heart-stopping moment she thought she saw a flash of one of Them, but nothing happened as the seconds ticked away.

Sebastian’s hand tugged at her shirt. Anthea turned around, then compulsively pulled the small child against her as she let out a stifled gasp.

The sorcerer watched them from several feet away, he hand lax on his staff. He had very long, and very straight black hair that matched his matte black robe, making Anthea think he was more reminiscent of the ancient stories about vampires.

“It’s all right, Anthea,” he said with a smile. “I’m not dangerous.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” she blurted, then immediately felt foolish for asking such stereotypical questions. The sorcerer’s appearance was so unexpected her mind had turned itself off, and all she could do was default to cheesy cliches.

“To put it simply, we are betrothed,” he answered softly.

“Betrothed? You mean . . . marriage?” Anthea was feeling even more numb. “How is that possible? I’m not from . . .”

“Kyros brought you here from the past, I know,” the sorcerer said as he stepped forward. “And I am from the future. However, we must find our small pleasures whenever we can, and this night will belong to us.” He then knelt down next to Sebastian, who scooted to hide behind Anthea’s leg, and smiled as he asked, “Are you hungry? I have prepared a feast for us, with an assortment of sweets for dessert.”

Sebastian looked up at Anthea.

“I think it will be okay,” she told him, still struggling to process what was happening. “They didn’t see us come here, and we have to stay put until morning anyway.”

Anthea felt mesmerized by the sorcerer as he led them to the dining room, and she wondered if she had died during her sprint from the tree to the house after all – it felt too much like a dream to be the harsh world that Kyros had brought her into. However, Sebastian’s hand in hers felt solid, and the tantalizing smell of food was real enough. She hadn’t eaten that well since she had been yanked out of her previous life, and she couldn’t resist the urge to dig in and enjoy herself. Sebastian gave his serving of meat and gravy an obligatory nibble, helped himself to a pastry filled with whipped cream. Anthea almost scolded him for not properly eating his dinner, then stopped with the thought that he had likely never tasted whipped cream before in his entire life. If this truly was a dream, then it might as well be a good one, so she let it slide.

The sorcerer didn’t speak as they ate. He seemed content to sit and watch Anthea, and something about his eyes made her heart pound. He had said that he had come from the future, and it was strange to think of herself as the wife of someone who was quite literally dark and mysterious.

Anthea was a nanny. An important nanny who looked after the prince, perhaps, but still one just the same. The story that Kyros told her was that her older, original, incarnation had cared for Sebastian since his birth, until she had been killed protecting him when their settlement had been discovered and destroyed by Them. Kyros then journeyed into the past and brought the younger, current her forward with him, swearing to take complete responsibility for her afterwards. Anthea had assumed that meant she belonged to Kyros.

How could she end up married to the sorcerer?

When they were too stuffed to eat any more, the sorcerer took them to the den. There was a chest of toys for Sebastian to play with, and the sorcerer motioned for Anthea to join him on the sofa. He put his arms around her and pulled her against him, but Anthea remained stiff.

“I don’t understand . . .” she protested, attempting to sit back up straight, but the sorcerer didn’t let her.

“I wanted to see you,” he murmured. “There isn’t enough time in the future, so please indulge me.”

His words were even more confusing. “You make it sound like I’m going to die,” she said.

“No.” He chuckled slightly. “I’ll keep you alive.”

Anthea allowed herself to relax and watched Sebastian play happily with an assortment of cars and airplanes. She could hear the sorcerer’s heart beating inside his chest at a slightly quickened pace, and the thought of him experiencing some sort of emotion underneath that placid exterior was oddly comforting.

Was it love?

Sebastian was shrieking with delight as he played, behaving more like the four-year-olds that Anthea had known from her previous life – before They had arrived and driven humanity away from the surface. The sight brought tears to her eyes.

The sorcerer remained silent as he held her, his mouth slightly down turned as he stared at the floor. As the night wore on, Sebastian climbed up onto the sofa next to them and fell asleep with an airplane clutched in his hand, and the sorcerer produced a warm blanket that he spread over the three of them. Anthea couldn’t help but drift off as well, feeling oddly safe with that strange man who had so mysteriously appeared. She decided that when she met him properly in the future, she would fall in love and marry him . . .

*

Sunlight woke her up. Anthea’s muscles ached, and she felt empty as she sat up and looked around. Her movement roused Sebastian, and after a minute his small voice asked, “Where is everything?”

“I don’t know,” Anthea replied. The room was now empty and dilapidated, with no sign of the sorcerer anywhere. The only things that remained were the airplane in Sebastian’s hands, and the blanket that had covered them both. “Last night really happened, right?” she asked.

“I think so,” Sebastian replied.

She stood and stretched, hoping to shake off the dazed sensation that pressed against her ears. “C’mon, let’s get you home. Kyros is going to be mad enough as it is, without us dawdling.”

Anthea carefully folded up the blanket, and with it tucked under her arm she took Sebastian’s hand and slipped out the front door, casting one last glance back as they left.

About Me

Restless

I always confine myself for awhile after giving birth, mostly to protect my baby from THE WORLD and all the diseases that come with it — a mild cold for an adult can be a hospital trip for a newborn, after all. So, baby’s first month is always spent in the safety of home.

This time though, I feel like I’ve been “lying in” since March (y’all know why). I’m already feeling restless, and I really want to go out and buy some fabric, or something. I’m not really picky, as long as it’s different scenery. Even *I* have my limits.

Which is making it hard to think clearly.

But I’m not taking a tiny baby OUT THERE. Especially not this year.

I can’t help but suspect that this restlessness is the reason why I can’t stop rewriting the same paragraph over and over with my fiction. It always feels wrong, and I just can’t commit to it. So I delete the words, type new ones, and decide I don’t like those either.

Ugh.

Maybe I can get my husband to take us all out on a long drive this weekend.

About Me

Easter, et al

We survived Easter.

There’s about a million things happening this Spring, and throwing chocolate rabbits and jelly beans into the mix resulted in absolute pandemonium with the children. O. M. G.

But we miraculously survived.

Phew.

Naturally, the kids immediately started counting down the days until the NEXT EVENT, and I couldn’t help but groan inside. Better than sitting around bored, but I wouldn’t mind slowing down the pace somewhat. Just give me enough time to catch up on the dishes? I can’t move very fast anymore.

Honestly, I’m rather enjoying lockdown. We got bored of movie theaters and the mall years ago, restaurants lost their appeal because the quality was going downhill, and public celebrations were unpleasant with all the people pushing my children out of the way to get a better shot on their phones. Not to mention, we discovered that ‘social distancing’ is a fantastic way of avoiding certain personality types without coming across as overtly rude.

It’s nice being able to breathe without everyone getting up in my business — and the grocery store is still only a few minutes away. Win-win!

I don’t expect the lockdown to end any time soon, so I might as well be open-minded and adaptable; it’s probably better to have the children climbing trees instead of playgrounds anyway.

I miss being the sort of person who straps a newborn to my chest then hikes up a mountain.

About Writing

Realistic Fiction

I don’t normally write realistic fiction.

I was put off the genre back in my Creative Writing classes, when everyone assumed that my realistic stories were biographical, to the point where it caused some unwelcome drama. No, I did not base any characters off of you as some sort of passive-aggressive attack. Chill out.

Currently, Alice and the Warden is my only story that doesn’t contain fantastical elements, since my main reason for writing it is to indulge in over-the-top adorableness and romance. Throwing in things like magic, dragons, or aliens would detract from that. Aside from being set in a castle-prison in an ancient forest, everything could sort of actually happen maybe? Since it’s more realistic than, say, The Scion Suit, I have anxiety that others will think that it’s biographical.

Especially because a lot of authors really do base characters off of real people.

No, I have never met any women who ran off with degenerate boyfriends in their teens, then turned their lives around when they had a baby (and that never happened to me either). I could say that Alice is based off of attributes from a wide variety of people that I’ve met in my lifetime, but in my opinion, the most accurate way of describing it is that she sought me out on the spiritual level to tell her story.

Things writers don’t talk about because it makes them sound crazy, lol.

Truthfully though, I could never write anything too realistic. I like to take too many creative liberties. After all, castle-prisons are far more romantic than regular prisons.

About Me

Animal Crossing

Animal Crossing: New Horizons was released today.

So you’ll probably never hear from me again.

.

.

.

LOL JK!

But dang, I sure could use some time relaxing after how this last week turned out.