Monthly Wrap-Up: November 2023

Back when I cared about my featured images. Good times…Not really.

Started: 12/10/2023

As I examine my calendar’s eleventh month of 2023, I realize…I should mark my calendar more. Perhaps [Little Sister] was right; my memory is little better than a goldfish’s.

Well.

Too bad!

If given the choice, I would’ve skipped this month’s wrap-up. A lot happened; I have something to write about, and heaven forbid that. Writing is supposed to be sporadic and inconsistent. You know, chaotic…right?

But then I discovered people enjoy things they can look forward to, like monthly wrap-ups, so my people-pleasing skills kicked in. And would you look at that—it benefited all of us this time! Of course, I had to postpone this as long as my dignity permitted. But. In the end, I hauled my patootie in front of my laptop, and here we are. Isn’t it lovely how things come to play?

No? Okay.

Lessons, Tests, Quizzes, Exams, Repeat

Ah, school. That glorious thing that consumes your youthful years.

I’m not coming on here and pretending I’m a star student (Top honors since I’m the only one in my class! =D), but I have this 100% healthy habit of being extremely passionate and working as hard as possible. The downside is when I get burnt out—which is often, considering I work harder than shrewder—I sidestep the task until the risk reaches alarming levels. Ha, I’m writing this now to avoid studying for an exam.

So, obviously, I’m the role model you should follow.

But you know what? I procrastinated by watching videos on how to stop procrastinating and found the YouTuber Elizabeth Filips, who gives helpful tips for ADHD-type people. I started here and gasped halfway through because, wow, I wasn’t alone!

And the people I relate with have ADHD! Does that mean I have it, too? And that, dear friends, spiraled into a whole other distraction, which is unimportant.

What is important is that I left with applicable information that worked for about a week. Then my bad habits kicked in, and…I’m fixing it. I’m hanging a mental “Construction in Progress” beside my desk and using time with which I could be productive in finding out why I wasn’t.

Clap for me, you guys! I’m sho shmart!

Speaking of YouTubers…

Abbie Emmons.

*throws hands*

Why didn’t I encounter her videos sooner?!

To think, I’d heard people praising her around the blogosphere and never even searched her name on YouTube. Why? Why?!

Then again, my problem isn’t knowing how and what to write; Reedsy has educated me quite well. The problem is to, you know, write. Sitting down, setting a word or hour count, opening Google Docs, and typing away is what my schedule is sorely lacking.

But that’ll be a rabbit trail into why mindsets of having to write and being a writer are two separate ideas, one of which can tap into low self-esteem and trigger hidden doubt, but pssh. No one wants to read that.

Attending a pArTy

Against my will—

I went to a dress-up party as Enola Holmes. (Translation: I left my house!!!)

Mother went all out with my costume this year and even said I looked the “most elegant” among the rowdy kids that day. I wore heeled boots and make-up. My eyeliner melted a bit after the first 3 hours, which a friend so kindly (and publicly:’)) informed me. But it gave a more I’m-a-child-without-parental-supervision-roaming-the-polluted-streets-of-London-and-totally-crushing-this-creep-with-a-bowler-hat-by-kicking-his-butt-with-my-cool-martial-arts-skills vibe, anyway.

(Watch Enola Holmes on Netflix, you guys. 👌)

Like this, minus a corset and the wine-red shade. Mine was a more vibrant hue, which threw off most of those who guessed who I was.

2/5 of the people who approached me recognized my character, and the rest shot me random names that I cannot, for the life of me, remember, even if a friend who went as a Men-In-Black agent put her dart gun to my head.

And I met two Sherlocks.

My self-prepping was similar to what I’d done on *cough* a similar day *cough*, constituting soul-crushing dread. A great ball of nerves lodged in my chest vibrated with every breath, weighing down on my lungs (I don’t think that’s normal), and a million scenarios of how things could go wrong played on a loop in my imagination.

But in the end, a friend from the mentioned “a similar day” and a fellow ballerina friend I used to have theatre classes with stuck close, and I don’t have that many regrets. Hallelujah!

Er, right, there’s one regret of stalking a guy by the commission of my bestie, and I could never be a super spy because of sheer embarrassment. Who knew starting conversations just to pry information out of people could be awkward?

Note to self: Leave the Cruising to Tom.

I ate nothing but free ice cream (because I wasn’t hungry, and if I were, you can rest assured I’d have devoured and wiped out the buffet fit for 100 or so students in less than 20 minutes).

The beginning of the five hours was fun, but the end dragged on. But overall, I enjoyed it. 7/10. Would probably recommend, but it depends.

In Loving Memory of Breanna’s Toes (R.I.P, Rest In Pieces)

Four ballet classes a week = pain. Pain everywhere. Quads, calves, shoulders, ankles, lower back, metatarsals, core, shins, you name it.

My two sisters and I were the few consistent attendees, so when the day for the recital drew near, we had to double the class days to prepare. My legs have yet to recover. I was even hesitant about the party because it fell on a ballet day.

But you know, having amazing classmates has its benefits. It almost means being shushed by the teachers for making so much chismis, a Tagalog word for “gossip” but not quite gossip. That’s a terrible explanation, but sometimes things don’t translate directly. I’m doing my best here. 🤧

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Thank you for reading!

Ended: Date of Publication

Goodness gracious, this is late. Hohoho, Merry (early) Christmas, guys!

I want that sweater. But tropical country. ARGH.

Wouldn’t me making one unique post in favor of the season be cool? Wouldn’t it?

Oh, to dream.

How have y’all been? Did you forget about me? That’s a shame coz I’m popping back into the frame like a pimple breakout. Mwahaha.

‘Tis the season!

Monthly Wrap-Up: October 2023

Wait, it’s November?!

Me, rushing to catch up with time:

My October consisted of an aching back & sore leg muscles, doctor visits, getting sick, celebrating one too many birthdays (Objectively, two is too much.), and bouts with my fleeting bursts of writing inspiration.

And you already know I haven’t been consistent with posting, so there’s that. :’D

But you know what? October was a great month. I enjoyed it. I might even be coaxed into doing it over again.

Imposter Syndrome

Ballet

As with most things, dancing with grace and poise (and turnout and core strength and strong legs and back flexibility and-) requires the cultivation of time and dedication. And don’t forget not only accepting that your feet will undergo irreversible changes but actively choosing that path. GremlinToes4Evah.

Ballet is a process, they say. You won’t see immediate changes, they say. It’s true, and I believe it. But, when doing it, you tend to question if you’ve been going about it wrong all along. Worse yet, if the issue is within you.

Wait a second. That’s me! Where did you find actual footage of my class?!

But that’s just me overthinking.

I’ve been doing ballet for a considerable amount of my life, and a possible contributing factor to why (WHY?!) I still do it is my not having stopped yet.

Yep, so I still do it because I did. Don’t question my logic.

Fun fact: a universal ballet rule is that the student must be silenced for chatting loudly with fellow classmates. Must! If you thought ballerinas were dainty creatures—shy, polite, and quiet—rethink that. Because the extrovert within us is unleashed during ✨ballet class.✨ (More accurately, time before and/or between ballet classes, but bear with me.)

I’m going to be dangerously honest and admit that my past community of budding ballerinas was relatively toxic. As toxic as 8-year-olds can go, which is quite far, believe me. I dreaded going to class every Saturday. But the same community plus a pandemic later, nearly everyone is getting along. With newcomers, too! I wouldn’t trade conversations with people who choose to torture themselves weekly (even daily for some) for a taco.

But multiple tacos? 😬 I’ll get back to you on that one.

(Shhh, secret info, but we student ballerinas don’t all choose this hobby. Ha, “hobby.” As if ballet isn’t 24/7. But I digress. Our parents choose it for us, and we stick with it because the gym and other sports are too easy. You didn’t hear that from me.)

Writing

Swan Lake~

I keep sporadically mentioning this, but I’m still working on Swan Lake. I, uh, wait. I’m aiming for novel length, and I’ve never done that before, so this is all *snort* novel to me.

Oh, gosh. That was terrible humor.

Anyway, is it normal to hit 10K words after 8 *cough* inconsistent *cough* months? Probably not, and that’s okay. I think. I hope.

I’m only on the first draft and wish I could change so much already. But I can’t! I can’t make that mistake! Not with everything I’ve heard about it. And *sigh* I’d rather be safe than sorry.

That Writer Friend

I thought my retelling journey would be a one-person job, but apparently not! I met a writer friend earlier this year with a love for Greek mythology and a familiarity with fairy tales. We’ve grown so close I’ve gone as far as showing her my messy Swan Lake first draft doc file. (Not normal. This is not normal, people.) First draft. I know, crazy. But I’m not a published author; there can’t possibly be risks with that.

She’s provided immense support and even made a work based on it. She recently told me how she loves my pieces, which include a few short stories I gathered the courage to share, and joked that I was her favorite author.

And she shared a part of SL with her mom!

What is this magical feeling?!

It’s suddenly all worth it.

Oh, Woe!

I read a translated short story set in Russia for Lit and was utterly disappointed with myself. I thought I was a genius when picking names for my characters, but those in my Russian ballet-inspired draft were the same as those in the story. My “creative” names were completely generic.

Blast my lack of knowledge with Russian anything! *kicks chair*

Fanfiction Mention

I should modify the heading; instead of “Writing,” why not “Swan Lake Rants”? (Ooh, an uncreative title. Write that down!) But to avoid that, I’ll add something else: I have these two contemporary fanfictions I’m so darn proud of, despite not having drafted them yet. Writing outside of YA is so fun because you’re a child and have these unrealistic views of how having an occupation works. The prospects? Endless!

Info Dump

I’m not a plotter. However, I do organize and write down usable information. Or perhaps unusable. The opportunity to insert a character’s height down to the centimeter has yet to present itself. That means I’m not a pantser, either. What even am I?

Speaking of which, you know those moments where you wonder why you write? My SL novel is a fantasy for a younger audience with a sweet, lowkey romance and a quirky narrator. Doubtless, someone’s written something similar and executed it lightyears better than me.

Then you get encouragement from kind souls (with superb taste), as mentioned above, and you realize…

Maybe there is a story only I can tell. Something unique. Something someone will love. They’ll pick up my book with low expectations, perhaps never before having heard of it, and then they’re whisked away. And when they return from the perilous journey, they clutch the book close to their chest, bug-eyed and magic-drunk, and mutter, “I want to do that again.”

Music

We’re still under the writing subheading. Whew!

I have this Spotify playlist with Old Disney songs with romantic and magical vibes, choice numbers from Swan Lake, a song from Anastasia, the ballroom background music from the Cinderella live-action remake, and “Over the Rainbow” by Judy Garland—not quite in that order.

During the dead hours when I’m sitting quietly, maladaptive daydreaming and all (which wasn’t diagnosed, but I fit the symptoms *sweats*), turning on this playlist is sure to boost the fairy tale & “I’m on Cloud Nine!” feels, and I couldn’t be more thankful. But who to thank? Spotify? Disney? Music? Let’s go with myself for making the playlist. *kisses mirror*

WARNING: The author in no way promotes narcissism to this extreme. Do not try this at home.

The four I keep coming back to:

Lea Salonga!!! ❤

Special mention because of the perfect royal romance feels~

Mid Goodreads

This grandma got a Goodreads account!

I’m clueless about adding friends, joining groups, and following someone, but I love seeing my reads in one place. And nearly everything is on there! Nearly. This Changes Everything by Jacquelle Crow, where? Where?!

I wanna pull a card on you guys and hit you with the “And because of newfound motivation, I finished 7 books this month. Ta-da!”

But nope. Four books are good enough for me. Plus, they were all a pleasure to read. Caraval, Tall Story, Chloe and the Kaishao Boys, & Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Oosh, I still have to write that post about Caraval, shouldn’t I?

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That’s enough about me.

You can expect more content this month. You can, but should you?

I’m kidding.

I’m getting back into the groove! Welcome, new followers! And to those who’ve stuck around, THANK YOU.

URGENT: Fanfic Site Help Needed

I require assistance! I’m at the point in life where the average fanfic writer spews out a barrage of garbage—at least, in his opinion—to look back on and cringe at. This is the pivotal point between creating terrible works with unfounded confidence and better, praiseworthy works with the cloud of imposter syndrome overhead. Writing is so fun!

Ideas for fanfictions (and sequels to the drafts yet to be drafted, for some reason) have been bouncing about in my head for a while, and recently, I was overcome with the desire to share it somewhere, somehow, some way.

I’m not too proud of my lurking-type style of reading fanfics. I never made accounts for any site for fear of excessive freedom, temptation, email subscriptions, and forgetting my password.

The point? Shh, we’re getting there.

As you might know, sites brimming with the colorful ideas of enthusiasts of other works who construct works based on the original story don’t…well…

They don’t tend to be the cleanest.

So, you understand my dilemma. There’s creating fanfics and letting your imaginative mind run free. Yay! On the other hand, there’s encountering questionable forms of something you enjoy. Boo!

I’d requested advice from writer friends, but I need more info. And here we are.

The search: for two fanfiction sites to write and read fanfics—one with a reputation for quality writing (1) and the other visually pleasing (2). I’m tempted to add “read good fanfiction,” but are there really 100% clean fics on any site?

The bar for the second one isn’t too high. I don’t see myself regularly perusing its digital shelves, considering I’ll be more for aesthetics. Covers can be pretty, you guys.

Here are some sites I’ve heard of:

1. AO3
2. Quotev
3. FanFiction.Net
4. Tumblr
5. Commaful

There’s also Wattpad, but I scratched that off the list recently. I’m willing to hear an argument on its value because I was previously lured in by the layout of its stories and book covers. Is it more trouble than it’s worth, though? We have reason to believe so.

Archive of Our Own – (1)

I already requested to be invited, but considering I’m a newbie, I’m not comfortable sharing anything yet. My account will likely be centered on reading and giving kudos.

Quotev – 15% (1), 85% (2)

From my observation, the works can fall under Wattpad-y style, and the genres don’t just encompass fanfiction. Still, the layout is simple, and I heard good feedback from a friend. There are stories done well, she assured.

FanFiction.Net – 95% (1) 5% (2)

I plan to get this alongside AO3; it’s the site I’m most familiar with after good old AO3. I’m slightly hesitant after seeing it’s a bit complicated to navigate and operate, and I’m not a big fan of the formatting. But I’ve come across engaging stories, and the option for covers is there, so plus points for you, FF.Net.

Tumblr – 25% (1), 75% (2)

Second to FF.Net in familiarity. It puts a lot of pressure on your site to be pretty, which could be overwhelming. It’s also not exclusive to fanfiction, which is a pro and a con.

Commaful – (2)

You either love it or hate it. I’ve heard praise for its gOrGeOuS eVeRyThInG, but I’ve caught issues here and there. Unfortunately, the reasons for those issues remain unknown, as I can’t find my sources anymore. UGH. (It’s late where I live, and I’m procrastinating on everything and nothing.)

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Thank you for watching this self-torture.

I made a list in my second writing notebook and gave each a +1 point in green or a -1 point in red, depending on the articles I read to research this. I’m that desperate. Help me.

Share in the comments what sites you use or had an account in before but left or perhaps the ones you have acquaintances in or heard positive or negative feedback about. Or, at the very least, do an eeny meany miny moe and end my misery.

Does anyone know where to get captivating titles? {Open Wounds- 7/8/2023}

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The Get to Know Me Tag (Writer Edition)

There’s more to me?

Who would’ve thought?

I’m doing a tag because it’s been a hot second since I last did. I harmlessly borrowed this from Rissy @Sisters Three, whose post you can find here.

The rules:

• link back to the tag creator, Savannah Grace
• thank the person who tagged you (*cough*)
• share the tag graphic (optional)
• tag 11 bloggers (Ha, funny!)

Vital stats & appearance:

(Pen) Name: Breanna, which isn’t a pseudonym but is still slightly alien to me, considering no one really calls me by it.

Birthday: It happened this month and will likely continue in the following years.

Hair color and length: Black with a considerable amount going under my shoulders, though I’d like it more if it were shorter. Short hair gives the illusion my thin locks are…not what they are. But I can’t chop it off since tying a ballet bun is challenging enough.

Eye Color: I’ll copy what I said in my comment on Rissy’s post: A “comforting, deep dark chocolate hue. Or, in less colorful words, brown.” Don’t you just love reused creativity?

Braces/Piercings/Tattoos: I had braces, an experience I’d very much like to forget, and I have ear piercings. Getting a tattoo at my age is not legal. 👌

Righty or Lefty: Lefty. Like Jennifer Lawrence. And Barack Obama. I used to feel left out (pun unintended) by the fact, so my dad searched for “famous people who are lefties” to make me feel better. But I have found being a lefty never became a prominent part of my personality.

Ethnicity: Chinoy—Chinese-Filipino with a dash of Spanish.

Firsts:

We’re going to ignore this entire section. But if you’re going to do this tag, I’ll leave it here for copy-paste reference.

First Novel Written: 

First Novel Completed: 

Award for Writing: 

Publication: 

Conference: 

Query/Pitch: 

Favorites:

Genre: Anything clean, really. I never thought I’d like mystery, but I did, and I didn’t even think I’d read zombie-related books, but, you know, some are worth it. But I prefer fantasy and sci-fi, which is totally definitely very original.

Author: Pseudonymous Bosch, C.S. Lewis, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Dawn L. Watkins, Roahl Dahl. But I’m up for anyone with a good book. Sure, “author” is singular, but not all rules are meant to be followed. It’s fine.

Writing Music: Pixar classical, but the things I’m not too familiar with. I don’t want to bawl my eyes out to “Married Life” or “When She Loved Me” in the middle of a draft. Beware; even without the lyrics, they hold power.

Time to Write: N/A

Writing Snack/Drink: Brain juice. Very energizing.

Movie: Little Women (2019), Pride and Prejudice (2005)—the controversial stuff. Shrek 1, 2, & 3, Despicable Me 1 & 2, and Kung Fu Panda 1 &, because I’m picky.

Writing Memory: Do horrid ones count? I remember being so excited when writing this story about a princess and her butt-kicking group sometime in 2019. I reread it recently and realized a level does come before puke-worthy awfulness.

“Congratulations, there is now a Level Zero.” iykyk

Childhood Book: The Day the Crayons Quit and Dragons Love Tacos are those I remember and still have, albeit read later. I’m still a kid, by the way. Just for future reference.

Currently:

Reading: This Isn’t What It Looks Like (Secret Series #4) by Pseudonymous, Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roahl Dahl, and Shield by Dawn L. Watkins. Also, reading multiple books at once: smash or pass? (ew, internet lingo)

Writing: You’ll get tired of hearing me say this soon, so I won’t. But you can find it quite easily.

Listening to: The fulfilling sound of nothing. You know your ears are young when you still hear that ring in the silence.

But I’d never pass an opportunity for some Spotify recommendations.

(And there are two subtle Christian songs in there just so you know.)

Watching: The new Ninjago season! Sadly, I probably won’t get time to finish with life’s hecticness.

Learning: How to calm down. No need to show everyone how you’re feeling all the time.

Future:

Want to be Published: Yes, but it’s leaning more toward worry. Will I get published? Can I get published?

Indie or Traditional: Traditional for me, if God wills it. The publishing houses in my country are limited, and I wish to support them.

Wildest Goal: Magically sprout wings and live in the Barbie kingdom of fairies. Second is getting involved in my school organization, which involved a lot of…socializing with humans.

Tag, You’re It!

Feel free to snurch this.

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Thank you for reading!

Any Spotify, movie/TV show, or book recommendations? How’s your writing? Do you listen to music when you write? Does munching on something make writing easier or harder?

My WIP Updates

You know those moments when you just don’t want to create? The inspiration is uninspiring, and the motivation unmotivating. You just lay motionless, waiting for something to happen.

I’m experiencing it now. Making myself start writing this took a lot of coaxing. It’s hard to combat, and sometimes the answer is stepping back for a bit.

If you assumed that this was a hiatus announcement, think again! You…probably didn’t because of the title. Yeah, I have to work on my subtlety. Next time.

The other sometimes is looking back at what you have done for encouragement. I can’t do that because I haven’t finished any writing projects I’ve begun yet. But I initiated stuff, which is better than nothing, right? Right?

If you’re curious, stick around for glimpses into my less-than-half-formed WIPs.

The ✨Glimpses✨

1. Swan Lake (a novella…hopefully)

Description: 🏹🦢👑🌒🧙🏻‍♂️

Stage: Drafting (Planning isn’t complete yet, so what possessed me to start is beyond me.)

Completed Chapters: 3, currently in 4

Characters

• Main: Prince Siegfried, Princess Odette
• Major: Axel, King Christoph, Queen Uberta, King William

Goal(s): 15+ chapters • over 20,000 words • succeeding in writing from a narrator’s POV • giving Siegfried and Odette’s relationship some much-needed depth (as compared to their The Swan Princess counterparts)

Related: What’s Your WIP? (in which you will find a blurb, a snippet, and other important things)

Extra Info

The moment you realize your so-called “original work” is nothing more than fanfic of a specific Swan Princess movie…

…is not a pleasant moment. My apologies to anyone who thought I could pull that off. Original work. Ha, hilarious.

I’m a baby writer, so I’ll jump for joy if this first attempt at a novella passes 10,000 words. Don’t expect…a plot. Or do expect it and then be disappointed. But in truth, the only reason anyone would read till the end would be for the action, not my sorry, unpolished writing.

Enough self-deprecation for now. Moving on.

2. That One Fantasy Story I’ve Been Planning for Forever (novel?)

Description: 🗺🤝🏻🍂🚢⚔

Blurb:

The village electing her father as chief changed a lot of lives: her father’s, her family’s, and her own. Nothing changed, they said. They were wrong; everything did. An ever-increasing burden of pressure was laid on Alessia’s shoulders—she has to be the best. She has to prove herself. When the opportunity to go on a quest affecting not only her village but the surrounding ones, friend or foe, is presented to her, she grabs at it. So what if her father doesn’t know? She’s assembled her little band of coworkers, the best of the best: Brielle—her sharp, analytical, and strategical best friend, Sienna—the history buff with access to forbidden maps, and Zed—the self-claimed tech whiz with a sense of humor. Everything will fall into the plan, the plan she’s planning to make sometime in the future. So, imagine her dismay to having to work with a stowaway, a spy, from a neighboring tribe, with which they weren’t on good terms. How’d her life become such a mess?

It’s pretty vague, but it’ll become something one day.

Stage: Planning

Characters

• Main: Alessia
• Major: Marcos, Brielle, Sienna, Zed

Goal(s): 30+ chapters • over 30,000 words • developing the individual characters • *gulp* pulling off the hero hating herself and finding peace at the end arc • Enemies to Lov- say what? Who said? Huh?… Ignore that. • and other stuff

Storytime

If you’re like me, you were too lazy to read the blurb. Chunky paragraphs induce headaches.

To summarize, my MC—Alessia—is a troubled girl; she goes on a quest with friends; an enemy was there (a “there” I will not disclose) before they set off and has to come. Gasp. Originality and articulateness abound.

I haven’t got a plot, but, funny thing, I’ve been brainstorming on this since last year. How sad is that?!

And yes, we are equipping children to do such outrageous things. Perfect!

3. Oh my goodness, I still haven’t finished that “Prompt to Paper” anecdote (a short story)

I’m taking this opportunity to apologize for not yet posting this. It’s not professional or ethical.

I have—How do I say this?—given up on it. So, either someone requests me to complete it, or you, my dear reader, refresh this post once or twice to see what the outline was for the rest of it. No, this isn’t an attempt to get more views. I’m being serious. (Do the second one! Do the second one! ~your conscience)

Edit: Never mind, I’ve made it easy.

2. The Clark family is on a kalesa, exploring the walled city. Adam—their charming tour guide with impressive fluency in English—gets along with Dad just fine and regards all sites with respect. He claims they’re ancient, and Thomas can’t help but agree as the carriage’s horse trots past a historically significant Starbucks.

• Don and Angelo sit among other POWs (Prisoners of War) in the stench-filled dungeons of Fort Santiago. If the Japanese officials wouldn’t kill them, they would easily suffocate with such little air circulation. Don worries about Angelo. “That gash won’t make surviving much easier.” But Angelo convinces Don that whatever happens…happens. With nothing else to do but count the segundos till they die, Don shares his cigarette pack with his cellmates. A Japanese soldier calls him to come out and follow him. There was business to be done.

3. Thom and company return after strolling around Baluerte de San Diego. Marie (his sister) thought it was pretty, and he genuinely agrees that the site was interesting, more so after Dad gives some insight. Thom gets jittery after finding out they had one last stop: Fort Santiago. They reach there as quickly as he’d hoped, and Adam tells them all about how American and Filipino soldiers died there due to suffocation and the heat. Thom is moved and asks if his grandpa might’ve died there. Dad says it was his own great-grandpa, Thom’s great-great-grandpa. Thom is silent for the rest of the travel. He asks his dad if they could visit again sometime.

Goodness me, I feel so evil.

4. Some Unimportant Fanfics

Descriptions: 1. 🥼🥽🤦🏼‍♀️🕷🕸 , 2. 🌬🍃👩🏻👻📿🌊

Which begs the question: Should I get an AO3 account? We’ll see.

Share in the comments how you feel about certain platforms where fanfics are regularly published. (AO3, Fanfiction.Net, Wattpad, etc.) Which do you prefer? Which gave you the best experience? The worst? Any advice is appreciated!

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Thank you for reading!

And come back next time oooooooon CKJ!

What’s Your WIP? Writing Tag

I stole this from Rebekah @Books And Hooks, and below are the posts in which she did the tag. Thanks for allowing me to snurch this, Rebekah!

What’s Your WIP Writing Tag: Dystopian Novel

What’s Your WIP? Writing Tag #2

Rules:

• Thank the person who tagged you & link to their blog.
• Link back to the creator, Katja @ Little Blossoms for Jesus, & add the tag graphic. 
• List the rules. 
• Answer the questions. 
• Feel free to add snippets!
• Tag as many or as few people as you wish & let them know they’re tagged. 
• Add a clean copy of the questions at the end of your post for the “tagged.”

Has your WIP a working title? If so, tell us! If not, have you any idea of what it might be?

A Retelling of Swan Lake. It’s straightforward, cut to the chase, and incredibly uncreative. It’s perfect, and I’m too lazy to change it, so that’s that.

Have you a synopsis for your WIP? If so, give it to us! If not, can you give us a blurb on what your WIP is about?

I haven’t got one down officially (if anything related to this can be counted as official), but I’ll have a go at it. This isn’t polished and will change, so forgive me.

But before that, let me ask an AI to give a synopsis of the Swan Lake ballet.

“Swan Lake is a ballet that tells the story of a young prince, Siegfried, who falls in love with a swan princess, Odette. Odette has been cursed by an evil sorcerer, Von Rothbart, and can only take her human form at night. During the day, she is a swan and can only be saved if a man swears to love her forever. Siegfried promises to do so and invites Odette to a ball to present her as his bride.

At the ball, Von Rothbart arrives with his daughter, Odile, who looks just like Odette. Siegfried mistakes her for Odette and swears his love to her instead. Odette, heartbroken, runs away, and Siegfried realizes his mistake and goes after her. In the end, Siegfried and Odette jump into the lake, breaking Von Rothbart’s curse and living happily ever after. Swan Lake is a timeless classic and one of the most popular ballets.”

So, those are the original happenings. I played with it, adding some changes, but you can expect a similar gist.

Being a royal was never an easy role. Prince Siegfried’s been running away from this fact since his chilhood, before he even met the posh princess. But without his father by his side as he turns twenty-one, he has to brave the title that’s been staring at his face all these years. King. Maybe, hopefully, not alone, but that depends on if he can save his betrothed from the hands of the Shapeshifting Monster.

OoooOoOoOoOoooh, mysterious. I don’t think I captured the main plot, really, but that’s okay.

That’ll be changing from time to time. Do you find the story interesting? I might just post regular updates on it if so.

Have you a working/mock cover for your WIP? If so, show us! If not, have you an idea in mind?

Mock cover? Goodness, no. Not when I spent hours working on this:

So what if it looks unprofessional.

I really like the upper half. I slaved on that gradient background and the shadowy text. Even that little crown at the top. The bottom looks a tad too cartoonish, but oh, well.

How did you get the idea for this story?

My sister played Odette in my ballet school’s most recent production. She danced her heart out that recital day with much grace. It was magical. If you’d have seen it, you would’ve agreed.

But behind the scenes were hard work, diligence, perseverance, and sacrifice. I witnessed the sweat and tears (who said pointes were ever easy?), which greatly inspired me.

Tchaikovsky was a sucker for love stories, and I wanted to try it. I did some research, yada yada, and now we’re here.

How long do you think it will be? Is it longer or shorter than you thought it would be?

Longer than I’m comfortable with. I have this toxic trait where I start a captivating story—or I’d like to think—only to drop it at a point where there’s “closure, but not really” because…fear of commitment, maybe? I’m not sure. This is stepping out of my comfort zone. Oh, but did I mention I may or may not have forgotten I had this for a month? If not, then I did.

What‘s your favorite memory related to this WIP?

The typing.

Any special person(s) who helped create it?

Aside from the sister mentioned earlier, no one, really.

What‘s your favorite scene so far (if you can tell about it without spoilers!)?

My favorite scene might be the part where Siegfried [insert questionable thing here] in Chapter 2. It showed he isn’t a heartless prankster, even if his whole plan backfires. But I haven’t got all my ideas down on parchment, so most of what I have to offer are ideas of where the scene may go. I have a plot down but not much more.

Perhaps my favorite scene will be where Siegfried and Odette have that one… ballroom thing. I plan to share the completed thing here one day, so I don’t want to spoil it completely.

Can you give us a snippet? 

Prologue

Ah, Swan Lake. A tale of two lovers—one a princess beneath her feathers, the other a conflicted prince—destined to love and fated to die. A tragic romance that illustrates what most would call the idiocy of love. The lovers would tell you otherwise—the true idiocy would be never loving at all. It also, when examined closely, gives insight on the consequences of tinkering with the Forbidden Magic, which, by the way, is always a helpful lesson.

But is that really how it went, you might ask? Perhaps this tale is just what it professes to be—a tale. I wouldn’t blame you. Tall tales, folk tales, fairytales—all of them, one might argue, are to entertain children and to keep them from asking deeper, darker questions that no one has answers to. 

But many forget the credibility of a tale. Sure, they seem unbelievable now, but they always started somewhere, stemming from a reality to something entirely different. One element that remains unchanged is the magic that surrounds it—whether or not you believe in magic.

The real question now is: where did the tale originate? Lucky for you, I have the answer. How can I be trusted? 

Believe it or not, I personally knew this tale’s protagonists. In the most modest tone I can render, I was quite involved in their story. One might say it would’ve turned out entirely different had I not helped. And I can say with full confidence that they are worthy of your admiration, even those of you who detest romance of all kinds.

You can judge for yourself. I present a tale of friendship, compassion, duty, title, power, and love. A retelling of Swan Lake.

sWaN lAkE (A Docs File)

To be edited.

Is the story still what you thought it would be, or has it thrown you a couple curveballs?

It’s still what I thought, and think, it will be, but I wouldn’t be surprised if…if it surprised me soon enough.

Is there a Bible verse, poem, hymn, picture, or quote that helped shape this story?

Oh, man, it would be really cool if one did. But my response to that is a reluctant “no.”

When and where have you done most of the writing so far?

The Prologue, and I know, I know, I shouldn’t have. But it was just so much fun. It wasn’t even writing, really. It was just editing.

Where do you get inspiration for this story?

Tchaikovsky’s story. Shocker, right? Many events are merely the original plot but modified. Not the majority because I’d be lying to your face if I said that. Speaking of which, I altered it. A lot.

Also, watching my sister practice this with her partner was a terrific catalyst for idea generation. It felt no less than 20 minutes, but it was probably 5. Either way, it was beneficial.

Are you a plotter or a pantser?

I used to think I was a plotter, but some inserts randomly popped up when I wrote the scene. I heard writers rave about it, but I never thought it would happen to me. So, I believe I’m both.

Do you have a little ritual before you start writing?

No, I don’t think I do.

Are you thinking of publishing this story?

*profuse sweating initiates*

Let’s see where God leads.

What things have you learned while writing this story?

Remember all those authors saying writing is not easy? Yeah, they were right.

I didn’t expect to experience the thrill of nurturing and creating a story, but it was certainly rewarding. I pity my future self who’ll edit this, though. Sorry, me.

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Thank you for reading!

Docs is better than Word. Debate with me in the comments.

I Stole An Unofficial Prompt From That Discord Server of the Same Name.

And tardy, too.

All the people who share their works skip an intro or put it in the message referring to their Google Docs, but I’m a sucker for doing things in a novel way, so here we are! *finger guns* (I am dead inside-)

If you laugh at that, you have no heart.
…Yeah, I laughed too.

Feel free to skip this lengthy beginning to something supposedly short. I know your time is valuable. Homeschoolers, am I right?

(Faithful followers reading this post, feel free to interact in the comment section. This is pretty much an ordinary…thing, and I still appreciate…likes and comments if you have any to offer! Not to guilt trip you guys into doing that or-or anything. Heh, ahem. Moving on.)

Sharing the prompt at the start would spoil a lot, so you must brave my write-up to see it. Or just scroll down. Because you can.

…I’m embarrassing myself.

Anyway, onto what you came here for. Feedback is appreciated! Sorry if it’s a smidge too long. Remember, and this is extremely important, that I am an amateur.

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“A lot of junk here, huh?” Eloise sifted through the yellowed and thinned parchments in her hands.

“Useful junk,” Harper corrected. She placed a lock of hair behind her ear as she rummaged further through a trunk by the wall. “One hundred and twenty years,” Harper said with an awestruck shake of her head, “Grandmother lived a hundred and twenty years, El. That’s something truly remarkable if you asked me.”

Eloise tossed the parchments to a nearby table, a cloud of dust poofing into the air as she did, and shoved her hands in her dress pockets. “A considerable amount of that time in this mess of a house, and yet she never spent any time cleaning it.”

Harper’s hand hovered mid-air. She leaned back on her knees. “I think Grandmother had her reasons. She may not be here to defend herself,” she reminded carefully, “but it doesn’t mean we can assume things beyond our knowledge.”

Her sister stepped over a pile of books to look outside the window, blazing red bun bobbing.

Harper cleared her throat as she dusted off a few emblems and odd things that glowed in the trunk. She picked up one of the latter—a dazzling emerald hue—to observe it in the sun’s light. “What do you think about the tales of enchantresses?”

“The witches?” Eloise made no effort to hide the sting in her tone. “The one people accuse our deceased grandmother of being one of?”

Harper winced, pursing her lips. “I don’t-“

“The claims are either completely unfounded or,” Eloise turned her head to her sister and paused for dramatic effect, “we’re currently in the attic of a spell-casting sorceress.”

She blinked. Then she creased her forehead. “You’re being ridiculous, El. Grandmother was not a powerful enchantress.”

“Witch.”

“No, I won’t believe it. Mind you, this is the same woman who needed help turning on the kettle because she didn’t like the noise it made!”

Eloise shrugged. “Prove it.”

“What?”

She bent over to pick a book from a pile, undoubtedly having scanned it before. She plopped the book in front of her sister. “Prove it. Do a spell or whatchamadoo to prove that our grandmother was just a wacko who kept spellbooks, nothing more.”

Harper looked from the book to her sister. She sighed and then adjusted her position. Eloise sat pretzel-legged across her, a serious look plastered on.

Harper ran a hand through the cover. The simple words Spell Book scribbled on the exterior. She took her time, unlatching it with a click to find…

…empty pages. Browned at the edges but void of any text. She flipped through the book, one by one and then by the bulk. Nothing. How anticlimactic.

She turned the page backward just to see if she’d missed something. Huh, she had. A page with a mirror illustration in the top left corner and shiny text looked back at her. How did she miss that?

Eloise furrowed her brows. “What does it say?”

Harper squinted at the page. “Something about putting two mirrors face-to-face…but there’s a part missing. Maybe the outcome?” She looked up at her sister to find she had already stood, looking for the mirrors, perhaps.

Why was she suddenly so eager about this?

“Do you think this will do?” Eloise reemerged with a mirror a tad larger than herself. She placed it down and went back for the other.

Harper saw herself in the reflection and noted an odd purple tint if it was tipped at just the right angle. “How are you lifting it? Isn’t it heavy?”

“Not at all,” Eloise replied, a little shocked herself. She placed down the second mirror, one with a light yellow tint. Now the two mirrors were side-by-side. She looked at her sister expectantly. “Now what?”

Harper glanced back at the spell on her lap. “Nothing. Just clear some space, they said.”

Eloise nodded, and Harper stood to help her sister adjust the mystery mirrors. Once all set reflection-to-reflection, they held their breaths, watching. Waiting.

And nothing happened. For five minutes straight. But it looked cool.

Harper’s shoulders fell, and Eloise placed her hands on her hips. “Well, I guess that settles it, then.”

They didn’t know what they expected, but they couldn’t deny the settling disappointment in their chests. Harper went to help her sisters stow the mirrors away, but before they could start, her eye caught something in the mirror. Something, someone inside it.

She tapped her sister’s shoulder, and they looked together at a blurry figure of an approaching creature and a wood-ish backdrop.

Eloise cocked her head to the side. “It almost looks like it’s coming toward us.” That’s when they heard a muffled voice.

They looked at each other, confusion painted in both their round eyes. Eloise jerked her sister aside just as the thing emerged from their mirror.

“What took you so long? I was waiting for goodness knows-” the creature started. He examined the horror-struck sisters under bushy brows. “You’re not the Sorceress.”

The girls screamed. The half-man screamed. It was a great disturbance in the otherwise peaceful woodlands. It lasted half a minute.

Eloise acted first. She grabbed a nearby candelabrum and brandished it against the queer creature. His torso and face looked like that of a middle-aged man, excluding the tiny horns take poked through each side of his head, but his lower body was covered in stark black fur. Harper stared on. A satyr, perhaps?

“Who are you?” Eloise demanded.

His beady eyes seemed just as terrified as the two girls. “I’m Erkyr of the Minolar tribe. Who by the crown of the King are you?!”

---

The prompt: “One day, you decide to put two mirrors in front of each to find out what that looks like; it was cool at first, but then you notice SOMETHING in the reflection, and it looks like it’s coming right towards you…”

Yet again, the original prompt was altered. Sorry about that, but what’s done is done.

Stuff like this is fun because you can stretch your writing muscles AND make characters and plots you never return to. Remember when I said I hate it when authors leave us dangling on a cliffhanger? Well, too bad, cuz writing it is so gosh darn fun!

(I just realized how similar this is to the Prompt to Paper tag Miss Texan and I made. Huh.)

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Thanks for reading!

What do you think about the story? Was it an eyesore, or did it leave you intrigued? Share your constructive criticism below! Or elsewhere, heh. Yeah.

7-word Story Tag

I carry in tow another snurchment. Consistency, achieved!…dismissing the fact that I’ll likely relapse once my school year starts next month. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

This is an itty-bitty mini post because life is hectic.

Rules:

Thank the person who tagged you, write your seven-word story, and tag 3 people.

I can’t settle among these four:

• This was what brought about your grief?
• He shrugged in nonchalance. “She’s gone now.”
• The stone hovered over his calloused hand.
• “So, you’re saying we’re all gonna die?”

I’m pretty sure majority of the people I follow have done this already, so I won’t burden them with the idea of repeating it. But, personally, I think the idea is something I would enjoy going back to every once in a while. (Thanks, Maggie!)

Take it or leave it.

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Thanks for reading!

See, I wasn’t kidding when I said this post would be short.

I might post something tomorrow. Don’t miss me too much.

Prompt to Paper: A Double Tag for Writers (3 of 3 part Collab w/ The Texas Lass)

Good day, aliens. You’ll never believe it, but Miss Texan and I have started a tag! This might wreck Miss Texan’s snurching reputation but worry not. Our snurching days are far from over.

In complete honesty, the idea of the tag and other people participating in it seemed attractive, but upon having to do it myself, the temptation to drop it was great. Sometimes, however, you have to face your fears, brave the embarrassment, and whatnot. I did that, so I don’t know why I expected anything more than what resulted.

I’m not proud of it. Not yet, at least. But that’s the point of this practice—getting out of your slump, leaving your comfort zone, and formulating terribly crafted stories. Your future self will look back and cringe but will be incredibly thankful. After all, they’d never get anywhere had you not taken a step forward first.

Enough of that. Let’s see me fail.

Tag Rules

1. Link back to the blogs of the creators, Natalie and Breanna.
2. Thank whoever nominated you or brought this tag to your attention. (Snurching is most certainly allowed.)
3. Nominate a fellow writer who may or may not be a blogger to do this with you.
4. Pick one from the following categories for your partner’s story: sci-fi, fantasy, historical, mystery, adventure, or horror—preferably one you know they’ve never dipped their foot in. Choose a prompt for your partner from the 1800 writing prompts provided by Reedsy. (Make sure the prompt aligns with the genre!) Your partner should do the same for you.
5. You have 3-4 days to finalize your story. Daunting, we know, but very much possible. It doesn’t need to be perfect and feel free to develop what you’ve begun. 
6. Share your work! The goal is 1,000 words or more. 
7. Tag as many or as few people to try this out as your heart desires.

Brace yourself, dear reader, for the atrocity that is my historical story. (Miss Texan was incredibly kind not to choose horror.) These are two of the five scenes, so I apologize if it lacks closure. Just wait for it. (Coming this Saturday, probably, May 6. Oh, right. Happy May, everyone!)

The setting is Manila, Philippines, where the sun scorching your skin is the norm. And if you’ve never eaten turon (google it), your life has no purpose. (Again! Not serious! But try turon. Deliciousness embodied.)

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Thomas took the freshly fried turons from the street vendor. He flashed her a smile, which she returned, and headed back for his mother and sister, who stood on the sidewalk. 

The sun’s rays beat down on him tirelessly. Sweat doused his shirt as he handed the banana fritters to his sister and then his mom he noticed from the dampness of their hairlines that the sun was no kinder to him than it was to them, even in the shade.

He blew on his caramelized treat before taking a crunchy bite of the outer wrap. He winced as the treat burnt his fingers and shifted it from one hand to another. It was a minor issue compared to the delicious cooked banana. The softness of the fruit combined with the crunch of the wrapper was heaven, he decided. Peak cuisine.

“So, where are we going next?” Annabelle asked their mother.

“Oooh, could we go to an arcade, Mom?” Thomas requested. “I saw us pass one on the way.”

Annabelle scrunched her nose in disgust. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Thomas. It’s revolting.”

He made sure to flaunt his half-chewed food in her face. 

“Don’t chew with your mouth open, either!” She covered her eyes. “Mom! Mom, Thomas is being disgus- Ew, don’t shove that in my face!”

“Stop it, kids,” Mother ordered. They stopped it. They had enough self-control to heed their mother’s instructions with her tone colored with exasperation like that. “Your father brought us here for a reason. Oh, look, there he is.”

Mother’s eagle eyes didn’t fail. Dad popped in, looking exhilarated and oddly childlike. “Guess where we’re going next.”

Thomas’s shoulders drooped. “Oh no.” Dad always got like that when he was excited. Not excited about just anything, though. The reason was always-

“I don’t know, where?” Annabelle answered before taking another bite of her turon.

-history.

“Intramuros!” Dad announced with gusto. “Oh, is that turon? Did you get some for me?”

“What’s Intramuros?” Thomas asked, attempting not to let the dread seep through to his voice.

“Intramuros means ‘walled city,’ and that’s exactly what it is. Oh, hot.” Dad transferred his turon to his left hand before continuing, “Inside this city are a lot of significant historical sites. It dates back to the Spanish colonization of the Philippines. I’ll tell you more once we’re inside. We should get going.”

“What’s the rush?” Mama didn’t like the idea of hurrying.

“I closed a deal with a karisela driver—a really good one. We should be meeting him by now.”

Dad grabbed Mom’s wrist with one hand, stuffed the turon in his mouth, and gripped Annabelle’s wrist with the other.

Before he could take a step, Annabelle—the smartypants—retorted, “Shouldn’t we eat first? They might not let us in with food.”

Dad made a disappointed noise resembling a five-year-old. The three munched their three-fourths-eaten turon in peace. Dad soon regained vigor and finished his snack at the same time as the rest. 

“Ready to go?” Dad asked chirpily with a twinkle in his eye.

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The water sloshed as the soldiers trudged in the beating rain. The sky was gray and the weather uninviting and Don wondered if it were by some divine joke that the day would parallel his situation so closely.

Seeing an American and Filipino soldier in their khaki uniforms with their respective sun helmets in shackles and a pair of Japanese soldiers brandishing Type 99 rifles, one could safely assume the four friends weren’t going out for a stroll. 

A few passersby sent the captives sympathetic glances; others dared not spare a look. Either way, the two’s freedom was just as ensnared as their cuffed and aching wrists, and they could not be helped.

Don nudged his companion with his shoulder. “How you doin’, Angelo?”

 Taking everything into account, Don himself knew the questions shouldn’t have left his lips. But his concern for his young friend outweighed his common sense. Besides, he’s faced more than a few angry Japs.

“Good, sir.” Angelo’s voice was hushed, but Don was pleased to hear the sparky determination still present.

“How’s your leg?” 

The splattered blood on the lower half of Angelo’s leg hadn’t been washed out by the rain, and his gait was noticeably uneven.

Angelo swallowed. “Good, sir.” 

Their Japanese guides made them go up a curb. Don followed with ease, but Angelo tripped, pulling one of the Nips by instinct. The said Nip was furious, ugly swearing in Japanese. He swung his firearm to whack the fumbling soldier, but Don shoved him back before he could strike. The Nip’s attention turned to Don; he aimed his rifle at the American’s head.

Don froze. This was it. His mind flashed to his wife and his boy and the fear of leaving them, but there was nothing to do. It was his final moment. Brows set and jaw clenched, the reckless American soldier stretched his arms out wide, accepting fate.

The second Jap yanked the arm of his companion whose finger lay on the trigger. An abrupt, indecipherable—on Don’s part—conversation was exchanged through harsh whispers. The Jap lowered his rifle, looking restrained but not subdued. 

Don couldn’t believe it. His life was spared. Why? How? He wanted to grin, but an empty gut feeling warned him of something to come.

“You didn’t have to save me, sir.”

Don disregarded his thoughts and sent his young friend an easy smile. In normal circumstances, he would’ve slung an arm around his shoulders, but this didn’t qualify as normal circumstances. “If anyone’s gonna survive this, it’ll be you, kid. I’ll make sure of it.”

Angelo walked on, eyes glued to his battered shoes.

“Hey,” Don reassured, “I don’t regret what I just did, and you shouldn’t neither. Don’t give me that sad look like I didn’t just save your life. Maybe, oh, I dunno,” Don shrugged, “a ‘thank you’ instead?”

Despite himself, Angelo chuckled. He lifted his gaze to Don, eyes shining with sincerity—or just rain. “Thank you, sir.”

“That ought to do it.”

The two friends exchanged stifled laughs. Laughs in the face of their enemies, the cursed war, and being told they’d never make it to this point.

If they were asked what one good thing out of the strife the war brought, Angelo would say being placed under Don’s rank, and Don would say having the privilege of working with such a diligent kid as Angelo. And they were happy enough with that.

They regained composure as they neared an ominous, looming wall.

“Intramuros?” Angelo couldn’t believe it. The once inviting walled city he knew turned dark and gray, abandoned and transformed into torture grounds—an image any sane person would flee from. Guess the war really did change some things.

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The prompt: “Write a story that takes place in the same building, but in two very different time periods.” (I changed the building to a city with Miss Texan’s permission.)

How did I do? 😀

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Tag, You’re It!

Deepthy @Paper Hearts (Not sure which blog you use for writing, Deepthy. Feel free to use whichever blog!)

Lily @The Introspective Introvert

Hannah @Hannah Gaudette – Author

And, of course, the reader of this post.

Thank you for reading!

Grammarly is going crazy with the corrections. How disheartening. How’d you like the story? I got stumped with the second scene, but, in the end, I liked it better. What do you think?

Keep your eyes peeled for Miss Texan’s story! (Aaaaand, of course, the story is spectacular! Find it here.)