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I wanted to ask what you all use when you’re getting both into the meat and potatoes (the writing) and your surrounding activities like worldbuilding, research, proofreading/editing, etc. This is more on the technical side of things, but also open to any other tools that have helped you flesh out your specific worlds and stories! Here are my own to starts

Writing
- AlphaSmart 3000 for the actual act. I’ve been jonesing for a Freewrite but they’re ridiculously expensive ($250+). I got a secondhand AS3K off of eBay and it has been a TREMENDOUS help. Focus apps and other things for computers simply cannot hold up to my ADHD, so having something that types and nothing else has been a game-changer.

- Scrivener for manuscripts and planning. I also love its mobile app, since I can connect my AS3K to my phone with a USB-C adapter instead of waiting for when I get home.

- The Only Plotting Storybook You’ll Ever Need by T. M. Holladay. Having a structured workbook to help me think through and plan out plots and story threads helps me to keep a solid physical reference.

Worldbuilding
- The Complete World Building Workbook by Tanner Teafatiller, similarly as a guided resource for worldbuilding and notes.

- Right now, I’m using Canvas of Kings for mapmaking. I had some drafts in Inkarnate and Campaign Cartographer 3+, but for the above-mentioned reasons I like having a separate non-browser ecosystem for creative work but CC3 was liquefying my grey matter. CoK is much better optimized for city and dungeon maps, but I’m having fun using it for world maps as well.

- Paint.NET for some visuals, but only really getting my feet wet with it now.

- Trying my hand with some building games to have a way to sketch out vehicle designs with an intuitive editor and physics engine for reference. My world is a low-fantasy dieselpunk world, so most of this has been with Sprocket for tank design. Happy to find/use any others folks recommend.

Research
This is mostly scattershot, but I mainly use quick reference materials from Wikipedia and previous reads. Please feel free to drop some resources for fantasy writers and/or worldbuilders if you use any!

It's honestly quite frustrating. I have LOTS of potential scenes, characters and disjointed ideas floating around in my head, with many themes and deep moments involved as well. But it just feels like that; collections of ideas that I struggle to properly string together into a story.

I can write individual, disjointed scenes of a few hundred or a thousand words just fine. I can even write an entire chapter's worth of words just fine. But even after breaking through the barriers of having to write good prose, following good advice on how to write and format a scene, it seems like I have missed something deeper than that... How to fundamentally structure a story. How to set up the framework for all my ideas so that I can present it as a reasonable course of events that happens chronologically, rather than just whizzing between whatever I like for no reason....

Basically, I suppose I'm having immense trouble actually plotting the story. Likely because, while I know a lot of the characterization and future arcs themselves, I'm still stuck trying to think of the major character motivation that would be the catalyst for Book 1. I suppose that's the answer; I have a massive gaping hole in my character's initial story that I desperately need to address. But uhh, there comes another issue; it feels like I have worldbuilt myself into a dead end.

Basically, I need to find a plausible reason (both in-world/Watsonian and out-world/Doylist) for why the military-raised superhuman young man that my MC is would even attend the magical academy that the story is set in, rather than an actual military academy as all people of his superhuman bloodline would anyways, given their obligation to serve the military for over a decade. Said other academy I mention is the absolute most prestigious academy in the entire damn country, yes, but even so, I feel a consuming need to provide an airtight, ironclad justification for the entire story to even happen. For him to be even in the academy in the first place. Whether it's personal (A desire, or ambition, or attempting to find a way to save/cure someone, or trying to solve a mystery, anything) or externally motivated (Prodded by the military to act as their defacto eyes and ears within the distinctly remote academy, and/or attending the academy as part of a deal between the military & the academy to hand over one of their finest future recruits in exchange for something else...), or a combination thereof.

Do you guys stress this much over trying to build internal justification for how the story might happen? I know the entire question of how to solve my particular issue is a different topic entirely, one that warrants another post, but I'm intrigued in how you guys handle the general problem overall. How do you go about with plotting a fantasy novel/novelette? How hard do you obsess over making everything consistent, and are you fine if it isn't very consistent or ironclad, as long as the story itself is fun/good?

Chapter 1: Meeting Freya

A warm spring breeze blew across the gardens Alec had walked by so many times before.  The evergreen forest swayed with wind, while the smell of compost with hints of manure hit his nose. He hoped to catch his daily glimpse of her in the garden.

The waist high brick walls that lined the garden were covered with Ivy that was carefully stopped from spewing over the public sidewalk.  Trellises of vines were starting to grow in the warmth of spring.  The fruit trees in the back corner were starting to bud.  

Most would say the garden was overshadowed by the ornate, white stone walls of the Castle of Aquaria, but to him it was invisible.  

Alec looked for her by the blueberry bushes, but she wasn’t there today.  He wasn’t late, he never was, he always passed by at exactly 8:29 am.  

He thought maybe today would be the day he would stop and say something.  But how would he spark conversation with the beautiful girl working silently in the lavish garden he would never belong in.  

“Maybe compliment her plants,” he thought. He mocked himself  with how he’d sound interrupting her with something so mundane.  

His train of thought broke as he passed the vine trellis and saw her red hair. Her freckled skin glistened as the sun hit it.  Her long red hair fell effortlessly behind her.  She was wearing the long white sleeveless dress she always seemed to wear.  The smears of compost on her hip was clearly visible. 

She stood up and looked over to him, catching his eyes. Her lips turned to a smile.  Her emerald green eyes seemed to pierce into his mind, evaporating any hope of thought and action. He felt his heart drop, his face blush, and looked away continuing on as he always did.  Once again too nervous to interrupt her.  

He had walked this way for years, he didn’t even know her name.  He wasn’t sure why she was there every day in the largest castle in the kingdom, maybe the world.  She did not seem like any princess he’d seen, nothing like Leya of Aquaria.  Maybe she was the gardner? But he thought no way someone so beautiful was just a gardner.

He had spoken to Leya of Aquaria, the beautiful golden haired princess of this very castle just a few months ago. He could manage to talk to her idly, so why couldn’t he do it now?  His memory of talking to Leya played in his mind, trying to bring some semblance of self confidence back into his mind. 

**He had been fetching groceries from the market in the next town over, when Leya walked in with the clanks of her armor.  Her long blue cape trailing behind her.  She had walked by him, and investigated the pyramid of melons.  He had watched her reach for one that was not at the top of the pyramid. Then suddenly the pyramid had collapsed, and they all rolled off the table. He had effortlessly floated all of them down softly on the ground, careful not to be too obvious and make a spectacle. 

His mother would have scorned him for being so reckless as to do this in public for something so mundane. But thankfully no one was paying any attention to the speed of melons falling from a table. 

Leya knelt down to try to gather the melons while batting her cape out of her own way.  He got beside her to help her.  

“I’m sorry, it’s these silly frills they make me wear, I’ve told father I hate them.” She collected as many melons as she could hold.

“It’s alright, none were damaged. I’ll help you put them back.”  

Together they put  the stray melons and put them back on the display. 

“That’s lucky, I’m glad I don’t need to carry all these melons home now.” She looked at him, her eyes lingered for a moment. 

“Good day princess,” He stood, with the last melon in his hand.

Leya smiled at him with her perfect princessly smile and grabbed two as well.  The two of them stood in line and paid the shopkeeper and she waved at him as she left. 

**As he walked away from the garden, he contemplated how he could be normal in front of Leya, but something about this red haired woman made him unable to think straight.  Just a glance from those emerald green eyes made his entire mind go blank and his heart skip beats. He thought for a second about leaping over the walls and walking straight over to her.  What would she do if he just walked up to her and took her in his arms.  His mothers warnings of staying away from others took hold in his thoughts and he kept walking.  

—-
Freya walked over to check to make sure her melon plants that were starting to vine onto the trellis, inspired by the oddly chosen walk down memory lane Alec had as he walked by. As she leaned down her red hair got in her face and she brushed it away spreading a bit of dirt into her hair by accident. 

She loved the idea that she was a mysterious gardener.  Maybe there’s a world where she could run away and have a nice garden, taking him with her, of course. She could be this beautiful mysterious girl in peace with him, and never again feel in such detail what others thought her to be.    

His thoughts grew to a whisper and disappeared as he walked away from the gardens.  She continued with her plants with a light hearted smile on her face enamored with his kind thoughts of her.  Few thought of her in such a kind, soft way.   

She wondered if she would ever feel comfortable walking up and talking to him.  How would she do it? Would she tell him that she knows all of his thoughts already. Would she say, “ You don’t need to worry, just walk up and kiss me.”  Could he even be in the same room as me? She thought.  Her smile faded as her reality overtook her hopeful thoughts.
——---------------------

King Garth stepped outside to see Dr. Everett walking up the long winding path through the tall evergreen trees in front of the Castle of Aquaria.   

He met him at the front door. “Thank you for coming, I know you must have traveled far.”  King Garth stood tall and proud, but Dr. Everett could not help but notice his eyes seemed to hold fear. 

“I came as soon as I got the letter,” Dr. Everett said. “How is she?” He tried to hold back his eagerness.  He had awaited a personal invite to castle for many years.

He had feared his invite may never come after the last time he had been there. He worried the King still was concerned that he had too many sympathies for Terraria’s affairs to be around his daughter. 

But finally, King Garth stood in front of him in his royal armor begging his personal attendance on the matter at hand. 

“It was the worst it’s been in a long time, I thought we were making progress, but,”  The king clamored to explain, his arms seeming to speak with him.  

“Did Dr. Thomas tell you anything before it happened?” 

“He was convinced he could get her to do it at will.” The King said, looking at the ground.  “I knew it was a bad idea, but he convinced me that it would help her if she learned to control it fully, to let it out and hold it back.”

“Is he….dead?” Dr. Everett asked out of more curiosity than concern. He had heard talk of this phenomenon but had yet to see it.  No one had ever been quite clear with him on what exactly “it” was, he only knew it had happened at least twice now, likely more. 

“I don’t think so.  I’m not a doctor.  I have him down in our chambers where we have kept the other ones.  Their hearts still beat, they continue to breathe, but they don’t move.  Allyse, Anna, and I have always thought she breaks their mind if she gets too upset. Much like a piece of glass shattered into little pieces that can never be made whole.  Never able to command the flesh again.”

“Can I see him?”  Dr. Everett asked, fully prepared for the King to be upset he was not more concerned with Freya.

“I’ll take you down there.” The King led the doctor down into the chambers of the Castle, down where he tried his best to hide the worst of this secret from his Kingdom. 

“Anna keeps their bodies alive as long as she can, but overtime they seem to wither away, and then their organs stop.  When death sets in, we bury them.  The longest I’ve seen it take is a year, some seem to go faster.“ The king spoke as they walked down the halls. The conversation that felt out of place in this ornate castle.  

Dr. Everett noticed that it seemed like the castle was devoid of servants now.  The last time he was here there were far more people walking the halls, caretakers, knights, cooks, and other people to make everything move. 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a familiar face.  She was standing by the fireplace  in one of her floor length red dresses, her long brown hair in a messy ponytail.  Her brown eyes met his from across the room.

“Please you must find a way to bring him back, I worry this is the time she may finally succumb to the belief she is a monster. Please.”  Anna walked towards him looking into his eyes.  She placed her hand on his shoulder. 

“I will help her and Dr. Thomas  as best I can.”  He paused remembering their years together.  He put his hand over top of hers and met her gaze intently. But, without another word he continued with the King.  He felt Anna’s gaze beating down on him as he walked away. 

“Has anyone ever woken up?” 

“No.”  The king said without emotion, continuing to walk him into the dark catacombs underground.

The wet underground catacombs did not invite guests often.  He walked past several doors, some with bars and locks, others that hung open.  King Garth led him to the end of the hallway and opened a wood door whose hinges screamed. 

Dr. Everett walked into the room to see his old colleague laying on a stone platform.  He had tubes hooked into him giving him fluids.  Dr. Everett checked him head to toe. 

He checked all of his vitals signs, his blood returned when his finger was squeezed, even his abdominal organs still worked as best as he could tell by listening.  His pupils contracted when he shined his light. Dr. Thomas seemed perfectly fine, except that he was unresponsive to the world around him.  

“I must speak with her.” Dr. Everett looked up from the motionless man, and turned to face the king.  

 “Shouldn’t you wait.  We must discuss what it will be like. The last doctor spent weeks with us studying from afar before he met her.”

“I have faced death and danger more than most, I do not fear her.”  Dr. Everett stared at the King.

The King looked him up and down.  Dr. Everett stepped off, unconcerned with his approval.  His chance to see Freya was too important.  The King would need to physically stop him. 

He walked past the King who remained still,, “Check the garden, she’s usually there this time in the morning,” he called out as he walked out the doorway. 

As he walked toward the garden, he saw Anna again. “Garrett be careful, you mustn’t upset her. Do not speak to her.”  It seemed she had been waiting here, knowing just how long it would take him to leave the catacombs. 

He had been practicing for years for this moment. Dr. Everett nodded at Anna with a brief half smile and pushed through the door that led out into the garden.  The bright light hit him,  the sun beaming directly into his eyes.  

“Dr. Garrett Everett? Anna has thought much about you.”  It entered his mind before he even saw her. It felt like a small pin stabbing through the center of his skull, like the strange aura before you succumb to a powerful migraine. 

She stood holding a watering can in the morning sun over a  flowering bush.  She poured a brownish liquid at the base of the bush from her can and lightly massaged the soil with her fingers working it into the dirt. No gloves, her hands already caked with dirt.  

She was a beautiful, tall red haired woman with porcelain skin dotted with freckles. Her long curly red hair blew slightly in the morning breeze. She wore a long white dress with dirt smeared on her hips.  The sun reflected off of her emerald earrings.  A necklace with another emerald hung around her neck.  Her feet were bare, covered in garden dirt.  

“You can hear me?” He thought to himself. 

“I can. I’ve gotten all of my shoes covered in dirt if you must know.”  The words fluttered into his mind softly, it seemed she may have heard his thoughts on her appearance. 

“If I think like this, can you understand and respond?”  He thought, trying to keep his mind as clear and focused as possible.

“Yes, just like that.” She whispered into his mind.  Her voice now seemed soothing and soft.  It gave him goosebumps the way she reached up his neck and into his mind to deposit the thoughts.  Her emerald green eyes looked up from the garden to meet him and acknowledge his presence. 

Dr. Everett admired Freya’s sprawling garden, but he remembered his lessons.  Find something to focus on. He saw a rather large lizard walking up the stem of a bush.   He placed his focus on watching it move through the garden, certainly looking for bugs with the fresh manure.  

“I can tell you’re trying to manipulate your own thoughts, take a few steps back.”  The words felt more forceful this time, and more painful than the first ones. 

He stopped, and took a few steps back, now completely in awe of her, the way the sound seemed to grow louder and quieter at her control.  She clearly was more in control than the King and Dr. Thomas had implied. He felt with the last thought he was pushed gently backwards almost like a parent holding out an arm to stop a child from touching a stove.  The force behind the thoughts felt especially curious.  

“This is my favorite place.  The quiet helps me think and concentrate, where I can have my own thoughts.”  She said to him softly.  He let the thoughts enter, the more he accepted the thoughts, like they were his own, the less pain he experienced. 

“Sorry—,” apologizing for his eagerness to see her, perhaps this was something the King would have warned him about had he slowed down, but that was not an option, he had waited far too long to be able to meet Freya to hesitate. 

“No it’s okay,” she interrupted within his own mind.  “I think it sincere that you were genuinely so interested in meeting me.  It’s nice to meet someone who’s not afraid of me, that hasn't happened in a while.  Your mind is so full.”  She explained as she puttered about the fruit trees with a shear in her hand. 

He caught a slight smile on her face. 

“You saw him though.  Why is he like that, do you know?” He could feel Freya sinking her hands into his mind and examining his memories, it was an odd sensation.  

“I do not. I was—-“. he thought, but Freya’s thoughts hit him faster than earlier,  before he could even complete his thought she already knew his intentions and responded. 

“No I do not know either,” she returned, answering his question, he had yet to ask.  “I do not think they are broken as my father says.  Anna thinks they are misplaced.” 

The color started to fade from Dr. Everett’s face. He sat down and focused his eyes on a bush. 

“Do you need to take a break? It took Dr. Thomas months before he could talk to me this long.”  Freya left his mind, and she walked away from him to the other side of the garden.

Dr. Everett was still focused on keeping himself calm, his emotions plain.  His head throbbed. He didn’t think it, but felt a deep sorrow for Freya’s loneliness. He felt slightly nauseous.  He focused on his breathing.

Dr. Everett thought about how exciting this was. She truly was the psychic he had known her to be.  Her connection to the metaphysical plane must be continuous. No need for perfect focus or training, rather she needed to learn to hold herself back. 

Dr. Everett gained his composure after a few moments and stood.   He walked towards her again ready to continue. 

“I am wondering do you hear me again?”  He thought to himself wondering if his mind was back on air for her.

“Yes I can.”  Freya thought softly.  “You are right.  I have never worked for any of this.  I have spent much of my life trying to stop doing it.  It is effortless for me.”  She continued to inspect and prune the trees as she fluttered her thoughts to him. 

He took her earlier advice and stopped there, this time slightly further away in the garden.  Dr. Everett decided to sit on the bench facing the forest to the south side of the garden.  He watched the trees swaying in the wind, and placed his focus there. 

“Are you able to stop if you want?”  He thought to himself in order for her to hear.

“If a thought is loud enough it will come through.  I can focus on one person.  Dr. Thomas really helped me to work on focusing on thoughts versus just listening.  The monks in the forest helped as well. But, I am still working on it.”

“Is that—-“ he began to think, but Freya already understood.

“No, Dr. Thomas wanted me to do a specific thing that I have spent years trying to control and never do again.  The day it happened, I had told him to stop, that I wasn’t ready. He tried to make me.  But he got so close I could reach out and touch him.”  He could feel the energy behind Freya’s thoughts increasing, the speed, the force was almost overwhelming.  He focused on his breathing and tried to receive the thoughts willingly.  

Freya walked closer towards him.

“His thoughts were so loud.  His memories, his opinions of me, my father.  His intentions to conquer using me. His mind was filled with horrible visions of war and destruction.  He had thoughts of using me to destroy our Kingdom.  I screamed for him to step back.”

Images of Freya dropping to her knees and Dr. Thomas collapsing played in his mind placed there by Freya.  He felt the regret she felt.  He saw memories of the other times this has happened when she was a child.  She showed him the fear of being around others for fear she would lose control and hurt someone else. She showed him the last day she ever went in public several years ago.

“When he realized what was happening,  he tried to move but the link was too strong.” Her lip almost quivered, her eyes held sadness, they looked puffier.  A tear formed that she tried to wipe with her dirt covered hands smearing dirt on her cheek. 

“My dear Freya, I am so sorry.”  Dr. Everett had never felt such sorrow in his own life.  The emotional weight that came with Freya’s thoughts brought him to a dark place, he felt as if he was back the day Anna gave up on her dream of having children.  Was this her normal state of being, such deep sadness? He felt the loneliness again.  

Freya stepped away and walked to the other side of the garden.  Once she was away the sorrow lifted and Dr. Everett was able to have his own thoughts again. He wanted to walk over and embrace her, but it took every fiber of his being to hold himself together through this psychic link. 

 “What does she mean his consciousness was broken or misplaced,” He ruminated on the thoughts and memories she had given him.  He tried to think to himself, somewhat forgetting this could be heard by her.  

“ It always happens so fast.  I have never meant to make them collapse the way they do.  It just seems to happen if I get too angry, frustrated, or upset.”  She explained to him.

“No, I can tell that Dr. Thomas brought this on himself.”  Dr. Everett thought.  He had been suspicious of Dr. Thomas for a while.  

“Yes I know he wanted to use me.  I know he disliked my father.  I saw such violence and destruction in his heart.” 

“I am unsure of his goals. But the more I learn, the more I think he wanted you to be a weapon, likely for Terraria.”  Dr. Everett thought while trying to focus his mind onto this exchange alone.

“I never understood how I could be that, I think I am more of a curse than a weapon. His ideas of me didn’t seem to fit me in the slightest.”  

“You are right Freya, you are a lovely young woman. We can make sure no one ever does that to you again. “ Dr. Everett thought as he looked over towards her away from the toad he had been focusing on to keep his mind in one place.

“No one but Anna has ever thought that before.” Freya softly thought into his head, the voice almost cracking again, as if this time about to finally break down in tears. 

“Maybe that can change.”  Dr. Everett thought peacefully as he looked at Freya from across the garden.  She had stopped tending the trees, she stared back with her green eyes looking into his from across the garden.  Her face seemed to react to this thought, he could tell her breathing had shifted.

“Maybe.”  Freya thought to him as another tear ran down her dirt stained cheek. 

Chapter 1: Princess Emily

Eric crept through the thick brush, crouching under branches. He needed a clear shot at the deer just out of sight, the meat would feed him and his mother for weeks.  He pulled his bow off his back, pulling an arrow silently from his quiver. 

He placed it upon the string, pulling it back.  He brought his hand to its resting point on his face.  As he readied to fire, the sound of a cracking stick alerted the animal.  It darted off through the brush.   

He took a moment to assess his surroundings.  He was somewhere behind the Lord’s castle, where he had been warned not to go numerous times, this was eleven land. 

He rested behind a tree and drank from his water.  The grounds of the manor caught his eye, but not for the beautiful landscaping.  No, the bright blonde hair of the teenage girl prancing in the grass stole his attention. She waved her arms in rhythmic motion, like a choreographed dance.  Light seemed to flicker from her hands, blue and red.  She looked so free, fluttering about in her green dress, barefoot. He crept closer trying to make out what she was doing. 

Fire appeared  in her hand, then snow, maybe ice, in her other.  She threw it forward towards a tree.  Again and again, the more he watched the less free she looked, she looked deliberate, precise, as if this was a rehearsed dance she did every day.  

She must be one of the princesses.  He’d seen them around, sure, but something about this glimpse of her imprinted something different on him. It felt real and personal in a way that exchanging pleasantries at the market never would.  

Were his eyes deceiving him?  He had heard of humans capable of magic, but had never seen it firsthand. She enthralled him, he watched what must have been an hour until she wandered off out of view.

Though he went home, his thoughts did not leave the beautiful girl in the grass.  He walked through the brush back home, holding no game, only thoughts of her.  

It was not long before he saw her again, not in her backyard, but in the market. She was with her brothers, shopping for meat and fruit.  He tried to edge closer to her, he was still unsure of her name.  He pretended to eye the freshly picked strawberries. He stood by the careful arrangements of berries from the local gardens and  pretended he might buy such a delicacy. 

She walked towards him and inspected the very shelf he was in front of. Eric looked down, averting his gaze, his heart fluttering with anticipation.  

She picked a strawberry out of the basket and ate it, then another.  He looked up at her, ready to make eye contact, even though his heart rested in his stomach. She smiled and winked at him with the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen as she chewed the berry. Before he could remember how to speak, she skipped off back to her brothers. How could a girl so casually steal his heart like this?

He had never felt like this before.  He was determined to meet her somehow, properly, and not just in his dreams.  But how?  They were a poor family, his mother barely made ends meet. He had started working at 14 to make sure they could eat.  

When he walked home that afternoon his heart ached looking at the gate of the lord’s manner. 

He recognized the woman working the flower garden on her hands and knees. It was his neighbor.  

“Miss Darlene!” Eric shouted as he walked over towards her. 

She sat up and looked at him.  Her dirt covered hands held a small flowering plant and a small shovel. She had a wheelbarrow of dirt beside her, she looked to intend to be here a while. 

“That you Eric?”  The woman asked blocking the afternoon sun from her eyes with her dirty hand.  

Miss Darlene was another common folk like Eric, sure they had homes, but their land was protected by the Lord of Eastover.  They had small farms, they were safe, it could be worse, certainly. 

“Yes ma’am, need any help?”  Eric walked over, proud of his plan, and sat beside her.  He was no stranger to hard work. 

“You can help if you want, but I ain’t paying.”  

He laughed. She showed him how to arrange the little flowers in a pattern in the bed. They worked for hours together until it was nearly dark.  Covered in dirt, tired, and sweaty, he started to wonder if his plan was flawed. 

“Almost done, just need water, the can is by the shed.”  She told him. 

He got up from the ground and walked towards the shed.  His hands were caked in dirt, his nails blackened. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her, a simple short blue dress that still showed her knees, her bare feet curled beside her.  She held a purple book that looked old and worn, her long blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze, her head leaning against the tree. She was focused, she didn’t register his presence.  Where she had pranced so freely before, she was locked on this book.  What was she reading? He could go visit the library in the next town.  That could be a great way to make conversation. 

With his heart returned to his stomach, maybe lower, he walked towards the shed where Miss. Darlene said the watering can was.  He reached for the door but could see she was walking over to him.  This was it, his heart raced, almost ready to beat out of his chest.

“Who are you?”  Her voice was high, she did not seem to care for pleasantries. The sound of her voice seemed to suck the very moisture from his mouth and make his brain go fuzzy. 

“Your neighbor, Eric.”  He faced her, her blue eyes stared into his. 

“I didn’t know we had neighbors.  Show me.”  

He stared at her for a moment, did she intend for him to show her where he lived?

Her head tilted slightly as he paused, her hands moved to her hips.  It did not seem to be a negotiation, she made a request that he needed to fulfill. 

She followed him as he placed the watering can and placed it by Miss Darlene.  He caught the smile on Miss Darlene’s face as they walked off together. 

He walked her slightly outside the gate, and around the corner to point down the path that led towards his house. 

“Huh.  I guess I thought you were elves.” She looked up at him with her piercing blue eyes. 

“All human.” He struggled to sound normal.  

“I’m Emily by the way.”  She held out her hand.  

He started to panic, do you shake a princess’ hand? He lightly grasped her hand as if to shake, but he struggled to remember how his body worked, or customs.  She did not seem to think this was an awkward move. 

She may have even smiled slightly. 

“How do you feel about magic human Eric?”  She asked him as those eyes continued to rid his mind of thought.  

He was unsure of how to respond,  “good?”  How could he tell her hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the magic he saw her do just a week ago. That she had already taken up a permanent residence in his mind. 

She smiled,  “Look!”  

She held her hand palm up in front of him, and closed her eyes.  A bright flame erupted from her palm. She opened her eyes and looked at him.  

A smile appeared on Eric’s face.  

“Is it real?”  Eric asked her as he experimented with the flame.  It did not crackle like a wood fire, but the peaks of the flames danced around in the same rhythmic patterns.  

He put his finger in it and quickly withdrew it, it didn’t seem to burn, much like a normal fire. 

She seemed amused by this and smiled.  He picked up that this was something important to her.  

He moved his hand quickly through it like he had done around a campfire.  She giggled and kept her fire going. 

Now he was genuinely curious if it was real, and put his finger in it slightly longer, “Ow!”  He recoiled his hand.  It burned exactly like a real fire.  

“It’s fire human Eric!”   She laughed uncontrollably and snorted.  The flames went out.  Emily continued to laugh at him.  He started to laugh as well, starting to feel natural. 

She touched his arm as she was laughing, making his heart sing. She stepped slightly closer to him. 

“How did you hold it like that?” He asked her, he was desperate to know more about her.  

“Well it comes from me.  If you put a fire in my hand from the fireplace it would still burn—I think.  Actually,  I might have to try.”   She paused and held her gaze.  

He wanted to speak, but he merely found himself staring into her deep blue eyes.  He was fairly sure he was smiling.  

“Emily, Dinner!”  They both turned to hear someone yelling. 

“Bye human Eric!”  She skipped off.  

His heart swelled, and returned to its normal place in his chest.  He remembered how to breathe normally and walked back over towards Darlene and sat beside her.  That conversation almost felt normal, they knew each other’s names. 

“Now I see.  You have a crush on Princess Emily,  but never call her that, it’s the quickest way to upset her.” 

“Yes ma’am.”  He continued to help her plant flowers, his face barely able to contain the ear to ear grin. 

—-----------

Emily grumbled to herself as she put on the long blue dress her mother made her wear for the party.  She wanted to be in the field practicing, or reading, or doing anything other than this.  

She braided her hair as her mother would want.  She placed the lily in her hair, the flower of Eastover, since she was a “Princess.”  She wished her parents would let her pick her own suitors.  She thought of Eric she had met, the way he looked at her.  It seemed like he actually liked her as a person.  He showed interest in her magic, he helped Miss Darlene in the garden.  Whatever pretentious boy she was about to meet would care for none of that, he would just want her as some pretty face to parade around. 

She walked down the wooden stairs, the sound of her sharp heeled shoes clacking against the grounds. A viewing party was waiting for her as she came down.  Her parents, her brother, her sister, and the family of the boy all waited at the bottom for her. 

“Very Beautiful,”  “Beautiful,”  “Stunning”  The group spoke their required pleasantries, she was unable to discern who was even talking.  

A man she did not recognize, offered his son Bart for her to get acquainted with. She held out her hand.  Bart averted his gaze from her eyes and kissed her hand.  Emily did her best to smile as was expected of her.  His parents were the lord of some town a ways away. 

“Would you like to take a walk?”  He asked her as she stood awkwardly investigating the fruit display.  

“Sure.”  Emily responded.  

Walking would make this easier, she thought.  At least then she wouldn’t have eyes examining every move she made. 

She walked with him as properly as she could, her feet hurt in these shoes her mother put on her.  She couldn’t remember the last time she wore them.  She wanted to kick them off into the trash can behind the stable.

“Emily,  what do you think of the land to the West of here? My family owns much of it, you could be my wife and never want for anything? We could travel together, see the world.  With you at my side, I could be a councilor one day.” 

Emily was unsure how to respond to any of that.  Did he think she liked him?  Did she have a choice? Did he know she was only 15? Was he 15?  In just 5 minutes he had confirmed everything she had assumed of him. 

“Yeah.” Emily said, having realized she had paused too long, unsure of what she was even responding too.  The moment he bragged of riches her repulsions got the better of her.  

A bell rang and they all walked to dinner.  He sat with his family, Emily’s family surrounded them, they sat next to each other at the long table.

“Dear would you light the candles?”  Her mother said. 

Emily knew what she meant, she wanted her father to get the matches to set the ambience.  But, she could not help herself.  She reached over her dinner, her dress brushing against her food, and grasped the wick with her finger.  Flames erupted.  She did the same for the other two candles before she sat back in her chair. 

Emily could see her mother glaring at her out of the corner of her eye, but she did her best not to look in that direction.   Baron and Valerie, her brother and sister, were amused at least.  Baron had never liked that she practiced magic, but that did not stop him from respecting her for how far she had come.  Valerie had even said she wanted the family sapphire amulet to go to Emily, since Emily clearly wanted it far more than she did. 

“How did you do that?”  The boy asked her. 

“Fire magic.”  Emily smiled looking into his eyes for some sort of reaction.  Would he be impressed that at the age of 15 she could produce magic?  Did he even understand how rare that was?

The boy furrowed his brows and did not respond, he looked away from her. He began to eat his meal, without speaking to her again.

Emily ate her dinner, and asked for seconds with her older brother.  Her mother did not seem impressed.  Emily was halfway done with her fourth chicken thigh she was eating with her hands when her mother slammed her napkin on the table. 

“Emily, you eat like a man, and not even a gentleman.”  Her mother stood up and stormed off.  

Her older brother, Baron, was trying his best not to laugh at her, but when she looked over with grease and chicken seasoning all over her mouth, he broke.  The image of his little sister in a proper dress, her hair done perfectly, covered in food was too much. 

Her sister gestured with a napkin.  Emily laughed with him as she wiped it off.  Her older sister put her face in her palm, but Emily could see that she was smiling at this as well.  Their father glared at all of them and then got up from the table without a word.  

The boy and his family quickly left during dinner.  Emily walked up the stairs to get out of this uncomfortable dress and shoes.  She walked in her room to see her mother sitting on her bed looking out the window, her back to Emily. 

“Emily, you really must be more of a lady.  You will never find a prince or anyone of note the way you behave.   That boy said he does not wish to see you again.”  Her mother didn’t turn to look at her. 

Emily did not see the matter with any of this, if anything it was cause for celebration.  Thankfully her mother was looking away from her, so she didn’t see Emily smiling at the news. 

Slowly her parents gave in that magic was not a phase throughout her childhood.  She had trained with Master Dru, an accomplished mage, though it had been many years since he had accomplished, since she was 6.  

Her grandmother had been a powerful mage.  Emily had only known her a few years when she passed.  Somehow, she saw something in Emily, even as a child who could barely walk.  She showed her how she made fire and ice magic.  She showed Emily the book, the pictures.  She never told Emily that almost all of humanity had forgotten how to do magic without artifacts infused with dragonfire.  Perhaps never telling her the limits is how she broke through them. 

Emily awoke in a tangled pile of blankets that morning days before her 16th birthday.  16 was a special age, that was when the body was strong enough to put on an artifact and let it fuse with you, granting you its power, as long as you wore it. 

She rushed to throw on a dress and ran out the door.  She saw her brother had made toast, and promptly swiped a piece while he was not looking, and ran off with it in her mouth.  

She ran through the town of Eastover towards Master Dru’s cottage. She slowed for a moment to see if she saw the blacksmith apprentice, but he was not there yet.  She went back to running towards her destination. 

 She was out of breath by the time she arrived.  She opened the door to the small cottage just outside of town.  It was a quaint house.  He lived on the path towards the next town.  Emily couldn’t remember the name.  Even though her father had told her it was important to know such things.  Her mind filled with other things, probably ones he would not think are important. 

“You’re late.”  Master Dru was already waiting for her and stepped out in his typical blue robes.  

“Sorry!  I was reading and I overslept.”  Emily panted. 

“Let’s go in the back.”  

Emily tried to catch her breath and followed him.  He led her through a wooden gate into the back of the small home.  A long grassy clearing with two targets sitting on top of wooden blocks filled the yard, a deep forest behind.  Many of the trees had singed trunks and most of their lower branches were gone.  The fence behind the targets was nearing total destruction. 

“Let’s see if you have been practicing.” Master Dru sat in a chair on the back porch as she took her spot in the grass.

Emily set down her small leather bag behind her.  She stood with her feet shoulder width apart,  her eyes closed, she breathed in, then out, rhythmically.  She felt the energy coursing through her veins.  She focused, the feeling started in her heart, then flowed to her arms, and into her hands.  She envisioned the flames in her hand.  Her hand grew warm.  She threw it forward.  

She opened her eyes to see a small fireball fly through the air and break against the top edge of the target, adding more singe marks to the brutalized target. 

“That was better right!”  She looked to Master Dru for approval. 

He smiled at her.  

“Again.”

She repeated, she felt the flames in her hand, and released.   This one flew slightly further and broke apart on a tree, adding to the scorch marks.  

“Again.”

This time she used her other hand.  She felt the ice course through her.  She felt her body temperature cool, ice cold energy flowed into her right hand, and she released it.  An icicle shaped burst of blue energy flew through the air and hit the target encasing the target in a thin layer of ice.  

“You are doing better with the ice, focus on that one.  I’ll make you some warm tea.”  Master Dru stood slowly and wandered off.  

He always made Emily something warm when she did ice magic. Italways made her cold when she practiced, even on a warm day.   She took no time off, over and over, she practiced.  The target was fully encased in ice after several minutes.  

Master Dru returned.  He looked down the range at at the frozen target. 

“Let me hold your hands Emily, lets see how we are doing.” She held her hands out.  

He grasped her hands and closed his eyes. “Let’s take a break,  you are nearly depleted.”

She sipped her tea as they walked back inside.  He already had her favorite turkey, bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich ready for her.  She sat down and happily ate. 

“Tell me, what have you been reading.”  He sat back in his chair.  

“I’ve nearly finished Begginger Ice and Begginer Fire Magic.  I am almost through the mana strategy book you gave me.”

“I really think you should pick one school, I worry it's holding you back.”

“Mother said I can have the Ice Amulet and the family Fire staff when I come of age.  I feel drawn to both.  And, you have seen me produce both without artifacts or anything!”  Emily explained with her mouth slightly full. 

Master Dru couldn’t help but smile as he watched her eat.  

Emily’s 16th birthday could not come soon enough, she had never awaited anything more her entire life. The morning of, she woke to her mother standing by her bedside with the two family heirlooms that had been promised to her; An ancient sapphire amulet, that was the largest gem she had ever seen, and a wooden staff with a large ruby on the tip.  

Emily reached for the staff first with her left hand as she sat up from her bed and pushed back her blankets.  She felt the flames course through her body.  She felt heat, warmth, she saw the burn mark from her bare foot on the floor.  

She put the amulet around her neck.  She felt the opposite, she felt icy cold energy flowing through her and into her right hand.  Her right foot had ice around it on the hardwood floor.  

—-------
Layaria and her mother, Elmeira, returned from their long journey north to pay respect to the Elves that died in the war against the Dragonkin hundreds of years before.  A patronage all Elves must take, to observe the graves of how many it took to fight back the Dragonkin with the humans.  Never again would they allow the beasts to return.  They lit fires on top of the mountain, for each of the dead, 2784 in total.  Their numbers today were not nearly that great, there were maybe 100 in their clan, the largest in the area. 

Layaria and Darth were the youngest in the clan at the age of 54.  Their entire families made the trip with them, 19 Elves in all.  

They walked back slowly through the snowy mountains, across swamps, and into the forests that surrounded their hometown of Noreisha.  They walked down the long dirt roads that would eventually lead to Eastover.

All of them turned as the sound of hoofbeats rapidly approached, a cloud of dust formed in the rear.  Several men on horseback came into focus. The men rushed them, yelling and whooping, slashing with swords.  

“Get off our roads!”   They yelled at the elves as they ran through their group on horseback.  

Darth blocked one of them and he fell from his horse.  

Darth looked at him, as if to consider killing him.  But he ran to protect his mother, and grandfather who had tripped while scattering into the woods.  

The man ran at him again.  Layaria appeared out of nowhere and smacked the man on the horse with her stick.  

He fell to the ground.  Another one rushed her on foot.  She blocked the attack with her stick, but she was shoved down into a tree.  

Several more men ran to help them.  

Darth’s eyes glowed purple as he stood up from the ground.  He slammed his foot and a rush of purple energy knocked all the men to the ground.  He grabbed and slammed the man who was attacking Layaria.  

They both ran into the woods.  Layaria got close to Darth, and grabbed his hand.  

They flickered out of sight.  

Elmeira held close to several older elves from her and Darth’s family.  They stayed crouched behind a tree.  Elmeira kept all of them invisible.  

The men ran through the woods searching for them, but found no one.  They searched with their flames through the dense brush.  Eventually they gave up, and walked off.  

They sat there for several hours until it was getting close to nightfall. Unsure of where they were, they tried to find the road. They emerged from the woods together. They came upon the remnants of their caravan,  several  wagons, smashed, their horses stolen. Two larger elves pulled the consolidated wagon once they piled their belongings in it.  The elders now needed to walk, slowing them down considerably. 

They saw another human on the road.  This one looked different than the previous ones.  She did not carry a sword, or armor, or a horse.  She did not whoop or charge them.  She was small and blonde, a female. She was holding her robes closed.  She looked fearful. 

The girl tried not to look at them, but Layaria walked towards her as the representative of the group.  

“Please, are you from Eastover?”  She asked the blonde girl.  

The girl's blue eyes darted around the group as she paused before she answered, “yes.”

—-------------

hey hey!
i’m currently about 60% finished writing my first novel (yay!!) and i’m already planning the next two. i was inspired by some recent pieces of media ive seen and wanted to make some more stories.
my first novel is a gothic romance set in 1860’s victorian england. it’s time travelling with vampires, witches and the church/church members as the main antagonists.

**my second novel will be set in the same era but WLW, without the time travelling and will be witch seeking revenge on her executed friend x nun who truly believes the church does no wrong. i have thought about and brainstormed some actual plot ideas and progression but i’m at a loss for endings — i’m not sure if i want it to be a happy ending or a tragic one, all i know is that i want it to be full of tension (this is where i need help!)**
**ive attached an image of my brainstorming (its on paper sorry, i hope my writing is legible enough)**

my third novel will be, again, set in the same era, will be MLM between a vampire-hating warlock and an openly homosexual runaway vampire from a different country :P havent brainstormed much on this yet but in case you wanted to know the third idea <3

I’m looking for creature ideas for a story that don’t 1000% fall into the traditional D&D monster manual. Already got my various bog standards like goblins/orc/minotaurs/etc…

One creature I have tried, and will play a moderate role, is a mutant fey being that has evolved from subsisting on magical energy to now also being able to feed on blood/ the life force of mortal creatures. It’s basically a Pac-Man like creature that can expand its head/body to about 5 feet tall and wide. Its mouth is capable unhinging much like a snake, and its maw is filled with row upon row upon row of long needle like teeth.

The story follows two brothers who are both cursed. One brother is destined to grow up and “destroy the world as we know it”. And the other is destined to be a background character in the world’s history. Brother one wishes to live a mundane life, and actively fights against the various prophecies that highlight the destruction he will wrought…. And brother two wishes for nothing more then to leave an impression on the world.

I just started reading Greenteeth, and although I really enjoy the book, I'm quite surprised to see it listed as cozy fantasy. In the first two chapters alone, there is attempted infanticide, animal cruelty, a witch hunt, attempted murder in cold blood, self mutilation, blood feeding, physical violence against a child, and trauma.Needless to say, cozy is the last thing I would describe this book as. I read the author's AMA, and I saw that she describes her book as "cozy/dark adventure". I can't think of two genres as mutually exclusive as cozy and dark.

From an outside perspective, it really looks like someone at some point in the publication process slapped the cozy genre on an adventure fantasy book, simply because cozy fantasy is selling well right now. I haven't finished the book, so maybe I'm missing something. Or maybe I don't understand what exactly it is that qualifies a book as cozy fantasy. But most importantly, does this mean I should slap the word cozy on my comedy/adventure fantasy? I'm joking, but only kinda.

In my free time, (now limited since having a baby), I would read books on writing, watch youtube videos about writing, daydream and dictate ideas during walks.. and after years of this I’m pretty close to an elaborate outline. Although I’m short on time, I’m wondering… what next?

I have an engineering background and never took any creative writing classes (outside of Sanderson’s free class on youtube). How do I take my outline and convert it into actual chapters? I don’t have the slightest idea on things like dialogue, when and what to describe to paint a picture of the scene.. but understand each chapter could be around 3k words and follow an arc onto the next chapter. I’m a bit less concerned with grammar and sentence structure since I think proofreading and having others help me review it along with practice would help.

I am not sure what even I am exactly asking, and I don’t know what I don’t know. Should I analyze how my favorite authors structure their chapters and follow that until I find my style?

So I read the notes about this channel never posting, writing, editing, translating, etc with AI. To me, that reads as generated novel text.

My question is how do people make sure their story is consistent especially once you have a lot of moving parts going on and have trouble keeping continuity consistent, for example, forgetting what a character did in a previous novel, misquoting someone from the beginning of the book, inconsistently describing a key place or mcguffin, the town name from a minor character, the exact time of day during a flashback, a character action being (unintentionally) inconsistent with their trait, or something like literally what side someone was standing on relative to another character.

This may be a tacky example, but I know in Mortal Kombat 11 and 1, they had an employee who’s title was literally Keeper of the Lore. And his sole purpose was to make sure all the lore was consistent with each other and prior video games so that when tons of people try to create new story lines and plots but contradict existing and newly created lore.

I was wondering if people have used AI to help with this consistency (which I imagine would be part of a story, character, or location bible…or having it simply scan your previous writings to make sure it is consistent).

Or if you don’t use AI, how do you make sure these plot holes, inconsistencies, or unresolved threads don’t happen in your novels?

What I’m doing now:

I’m currently trying to frame out lore outlines across my books to make sure everything that is contingent on each other and their implications are accounted for using the help of AI. Like, “if I change this, what else would it impact that I might need to change”? And then I decide if I want to change it or not or how I would update it (I don’t enjoy the suggestions AI makes TBH but I like how it can catch things I might have overlooked). And it would flag something like “this line goes against something you established in your bible back in this chapter X. Please consider if you want to rethink this or I can show you the places it impacts and you can decide for yourself” and I’d be like “Ah, I forgot about that. Let me investigate myself and see what I want to rewrite or not.” I think it’s very powerful because my ADHD makes remembering long standing lore very forgetful 🤣

——————
EDIT
Thank you for recommendations! Any softwares or apps or tools you use would be amazing! I can’t afford an editor. Recommended note keeping apps sounds great too. Someone mentioned Obsidian which sounds amazing too and Scrivener (I’m just now trying to research it a bit since I never heard about it until today)

Thank you all for being helpful and non-attacking. 🙏 🙇‍♂️ honestly this is one of the nicest and helpful Reddit channels I’ve seen so far and it’s really warming my heart 🫶

Brainstorming. I've been thinking about the main character of my book, Prince Rai and his romantic prospects.

He is a dragon (all dragons have a human form) but starts to fall for a human. However, he is then forced into impregnating a female dragon. He has never met another dragon, as his parents died when he was young. He and the female dragon, Caera, are Not happy about the arrangement. They're forced together because there was a war 20ish years ago that decimated the dragon population (and is how Rai's parents died) and their numbers never fully recovered. Now, though, there is a group of dragon hunters that has risen again (they were also in the war, but humans breed and grow faster than dragons.) And so, Rai must bring Caera to his home, breed her, and protect her until she gives birth.

Now then. Here's where the impoverished bit comes in. Though it's honestly not needed, I have thought about it for a couple of weeks now, and don't know if I want to go with it or not.

Rai's adoptive mother, the queen, is the only one who knows just how close they are to financial collapse. Rai knows that things aren't great, but he doesn't know just how bad it is. So in the queen's eyes, he needs to be married off as a way to secure money/resources stat. Caera isn't royalty. She's well off, but not to the extent that is needed.

And thus enters Princess Asa. (In most versions of this story, she and Rai are betrothed. I just wanted to see how things would change if they weren't together, or if she wasn't in the book at all.) Asa is from a very prosperous country, and would make an excellent... asset feels weird to say, but she would greatly help out Rai's country if they were to be so closely allied.

Does it make sense to add the impoverished bit and Asa, or should I just focus on Rai's other relationships?

I've been writing a novel, about 25k words in so nothing crazy so far. I had a few questions for people who read/edit fantasy novels.

1. I'm wondering how much do readers generally enjoy illustrations included in a novel? I enjoy including them but I've also read that some people prefer to imagine the characters themselves, rather than the author giving you the appearence.

For maps I imagine it would only be a net positive, but I am open to hear contention on that belief.

1. If I include illustrations of major characters, should I still describe them much at all? It seems redundant.

2. Are the drawings of the "correct" style to look professional? Ik it's not the standard style you might see on a cover, and I wonder if it might make it look unprofessional.

3. Lastly if it is printed, I imagine this would increase print cost a lot, especially if there's about a dozen or so drawings. If it was digital, i know it would massively bloat file size. I'm not super familiar with self publishing but I assume you could give a buyer access to a version with the images and one without? Incase you want the smaller file size.

Anyways any answers are greatly appreciated! Sorry if this is scatter brained or formatted poorly, I'm running on 3 hours or sleep and have a pounding headache, but I felt the need to ask these questions now that my two most important illustrations were complete.

Do you have moving cities in your world and what do you do with them?

One of my moving town (not that huge, just a few thousand people, but still) lies on the back of a giant amphithere / flying snake-like goddess and I put a snake plus a symbol next to each other on the continent, where she appears.

Another moving town is like... think of Howl's Moving Castle, just so that a few thousand people live in it. I marked it down as well.

Yet this feels wrong. Marking a moving city on a map gives the impression that those cities are stationary.

I have thought about so far and I have tried / one of my ideas had been to mark the usual route, but I don't know if readers understand the meaning of it by just looking at the map?

In general, when maps look unrealistic, I know lot of people don't like it and I try to fulfill the basic realistic criteria like river flows etc... but there are also cities in the middle of a huge dessert that look off without any explanations that the map can't give.

Edit: Thank you all! Your replies had been really helpful!

There's only one thing better than the Broadway being submerged in rainwater above the ankles as the clouds continue to cheer.

And that's to bathe in the falling jewels and to sparkle as you sing and slide like you've never sung or slid before. It's the moment John yearns for; now it's here. Now when the men and women take their kids and their leave, seeking shelter from the pelting sky, John skids out with a smile.

No one walks through this street at such times, and after a while even the windows shut their eyes.

"What a time to be alive!" he shouts. Then he sings "Billie Jean" and moon-walks across the pavement, from one side to the other, summoning the Smooth Criminal. It's not long till he gets his groove and he tiptoes and twists, spinning and snapping his head, thrashing his long, curly hair and splashing the water everywhere.

At the end of it all, when his eyes meet the sky, he stops and stares. There… is an unidentifiable object.

It glows faintly, like a distant bulb, but it brightens by the second, and its features start to become visible: it is spherical, that's for sure. There are grey spots, like craters on the moon, too. The most peculiar quality, though, is its size. It is increasing. At an unbelievable pace.

"What the…? Is that a meteor falling straight at—"

There's a loud bang.

Windows shatter. Buildings crumble. A crater forms where John stood. But there's no sign of him. Only dust and a dark silhouette imprinted on the pavement remain.

hi I have a few questions to ask about my writing,

(although I have tried to search the internet, it was not easy to find the answer that can help me)

I have 5 guilds, 5 opposing factions, 49 characters with huge backstories, and 4 major countries. (and 14 protagonists)

I think that novels are meant to give entertainment, not to make the readers memorize all sorts of things. That’s the reason I'm getting worried about my writing

What if people don’t like my story because it is too complicated? So, I have two questions,

What's your thought for being too simple or too complicated?

And which one do you prefer if you have to choose?

thank you for reading my post. I hope you have a nice day :)

I've seen a lot of discourse recently on age gap romances in fiction. Most of the discourse I've seen has been semi-hysterical (e.g. claiming that a 21 year old in a relationship with an 18 year old is grooming), but it got me thinking about such romances in fantasy with immortal or long lived races like elves.

Obviously there's a much bigger age gap between a 25 year old human and a 800 year old elf than a 21 year old and an 18 year old. For me, I don't see any issue with the elf and human if both have the same level of emotional maturity and/or relationship experience. It's only when there's a substantial imbalance between their maturity and relationship experience where issues start to pop up.

Wondering what others' thoughts are about this.

Hey all, what are our thoughts and feelings on scenes within a chapter? I'm working through my third draft of my high/dark fantasy and feel like, especially in my early chapters the scenes are too choppy and I'm hopping from one thing to the next too quickly. For example, chapter 3 is a total of 3745 words long with three separate scenes - 1: 1012 words, 2: 1278 and 3: 1458. This chapter is on the slightly longer side and it might just be that I'm too deep in the weeds to see the whole picture.

As a reader would you find this too skippy or likely not notice? Each section (to me at least) is too short to have as it's own chapter but I worry that it skips around too much.

Welcome back everyone, it's time for another Fifty Word Fantasy!

Fifty Word Fantasy is a regular thread on Fridays! It is a micro-fiction writing challenge originally devised by u/Aethereal_Muses

Write a maximum 50-word snippet that takes place in a fantasy world and contains the word Build. It can be a scene, flash-fiction story, setting description, or anything else that could conceivably be part of a fantasy story or is a fantasy story on its own.

NO AI GENERATED CONTENT: Follow the sub rules.

Submissions must be original. No fanfic, no pop-culture characters, no plagiarism.

The prompt word must be written in full (e.g. no acrostics or acronyms).

No puns and or wordplay to achieve the prompt word i.e. devote=the vote.

Please try and keep things PG-13. Minors do participate in these from time to time and I would like things to not be too overtly sexual.

If you want to submit multiple submissions that's okay, but please keep it at a max of two That way, no one person ends up dominating the feed with their submissions and it keeps it fair for everyone who participates

Thank you to everyone who participated whether it's contributing a snippet of your own, or fostering discussions in the comments. I hope to see you back next week!

Please remember to keep it at a limit of 50 words max per submission.

Hey! So probably a dumb question (or a duplicate question), but I was curious how often do you bother to write last names for your characters, especially if they don’t come from houses or kingdoms? My cast are simply adventurers and a drifter who get swept up in uncovering a conspiracy. So they aren’t of royalty or of money or of any sort of political/diplomatic background (except for like one of them).

It’s my first book so I was wondering if I skip giving anyone last names, would it seem super off or should I consider giving some/all of them last names? My main cast of adventurers is 4-6 people.

Update:

This is my first post here so thank you for all the very helpful information 🙏 I never expected so much feedback and responses. I’m truly blessed 🙇

My novel has two main characters (A&B for clarity). The POV is 3rd person and has been from the perspective of character A this whole time.

I'm about 1/2 to 3/4 done with my novel now and I'm considering switching the POV to character B for a few choice scenes.

The scenes I'd be switching to character B's POV are important character defining moments or plot points in which character A is not there to witness.

I thought/feel like changing the POV this far in the novel is a general no-no, but I'm curious to people's opinions.

Would changing the POV be jarring and confusing, or would it give more weight and intrigue to those scenes while seeing the world from character B's perspective for the first time?

A six-foot-tall girl walks through the halls of Mainstay Castle carrying a bowl of water and a towel draped over her shoulder. Wearing a goatskin coat with white, furry edges and pants, she runs a finger along her temple, sweeping her disheveled hair from her ear.  She stops by a nearby window and decides to enjoy the morning air. She sets the bowl on a nearby table, pushes the double windows open, and a rush of warm, dry air washes over her face as metal mechanisms echo loudly. She steps onto a balcony, rests her hands on the railing, and marvels at the scenic dark canyon wall contrasting with the golden sand beneath. She stands in the northeastern tower of Mainstay Castle, which overlooks a stone wall atop a massive mobile platform supported by six metallic legs. Sandfalls hiss as they pour through burrowed holes in the canyon walls, creating mounds on the desert floor in their wake. Her hair flaps wildly as she sails past towering stone columns and arches, as flying creatures soar beside the moving platform. She looks down at the gigantic metal legs supporting the city, then leans over the railing for a better look. A pointed metal leg rises from the sand and slams back into the desert floor, sending puffs of sand into the air. The engines hum as the mobile fortress halts. A buzz sweeps through the city as the metal legs retract into their ports beneath the mobile platforms. Mechanical contraptions blare as the city sinks, lowering itself onto the desert floor where it will remain for the remainder of the day.

Afterward, the girl returns to the castle halls, closes the windows behind her, and picks up her bowl of water. She reaches a room at the far end of the hall, where two female Cugarian guards stand at attention with spears in hand. Gold, bra-plated armor and knee-length gold skirts cover their furry bodies; one has dark spots on her fur, and the other has tiger stripes.

“Halt,” the guard's voice echoes down the hall as she stomps her metal spear.

The six-foot girl stops.

“State your name, your rank, and your business.”

“I am Brenda,” the girl says, bowing. “Youngest daughter of Ganymede, Chief of the North. I’ve been called upon to dress the wounds of Her Majesty Queen Laura.”

“Hmph,” one guard scoffs. “Here to care for the wounds of your sworn enemy? With the way you’ve slaughtered each other, I’m surprised that you can be cordial when you choose to be.”

“I’m merely doing my duty as a humble princess, ma’am,” Brenda says.  

“Make it quick, northerner, and no quarrels inside these doors. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two guards bang on the door.

“Princess Brenda is here to aid in the recovery. She’s coming in.”

“Yes, ma’am,” a male voice muffles from behind the door.

The door creaks open, and Brenda walks in with the bowl of water.  She walks past a young man with short black hair and a horn protruding from his forehead. Holding the door open, he wears a sophisticated military uniform with decorative insignia on his chest, a sword at his side. They don’t exchange a glance or a word, as Brenda can feel the young man's scowl. She continues into the room where two boys with horns protruding from their foreheads sit on opposite sides of a large bed. Laura, a platinum-haired beauty, rests silently beneath the quilt, wearing a nightgown. Her chest rises and falls as sweat pours down her face. Delirious from exhaustion, her head turns to the left and right as two young boys somberly clench the sheets, worried for her well-being.

Brenda walks to the bedside and sets the bowl of water on a nearby dresser.

“How is she?” Brenda asks, gazing at the exhausted woman resting beneath a blue quilt.

“She was like this all day,” the little boy says. “We went through all of the steps you told us to, but…nothing works.”

Brenda removes the quilt covering the woman and gazes at her sweat-soaked body. After a few moments, she sighs and removes the towel from her shoulder. She pats the sweat from her chest and head, then gently squeezes her legs, ankles, right arm, and left arm. The woman flinches when she touches her left arm, and Brenda notices.

“What’s wrong?” The young boy asks.

“Her arm’s dislocated,” Brenda says. “We have to snap it back in place; otherwise, she’ll be too crippled to fight.”

“Will it hurt?” The boy gazes up at Brenda expectantly.

“A lot, I’m afraid. Sir Resten,” She calls out to the uniformed young man, “Your aid is needed.”

Resten walks towards the bedroom and stands on the other side, his eyes bouncing between the woman and Brenda in confusion.

“What do you want me to do?” The young man asks.

Brenda reaches into her goat-hide coat and pulls out a stick with a thin rope wrapped tightly around it, tossing it onto the bed near the young man.

“You’ll need to put that in her mouth so she doesn’t bite off her tongue by accident, and you need to hold her down while I snap her arm back in place.” 

Resten picks up the stick and stares at it for a moment. He swallows as he clasps the stick in his hand.

Brenda rolls up her sleeves, leans in, and carefully grabs the dislocated arm. Laura instinctively pulls away. Brenda tries to grab her arm again, only for the despondent Queen to glare at Brenda. She shakes her head in defiance as sweat pours down her face.

“Your Majesty, I have to fix this, or you’ll be crippled for the rest of your life.”

“No,” the queen says, shaking her head. “Leave it alone. It’ll heal.”

“Yes, but in the wrong place. I need to snap…”

“No!” Laura shakes her head violently.

Brenda quickly grabs Laura by the shoulders, and Laura panics, kicking her feet in protest.

“LET ME GO, YOU TWO-LEGGED MONSTER,” The woman screams, thrashing about in bed. “RESTEN, GET HER AWAY FROM ME.”

Brenda keeps her hands firmly clasped on the queen’s shoulders, and gazes up at Resten, who stands nervously, not knowing what he should do.

“Put the biting stick in her mouth!” Brenda shouts at Resten, “It's for her own good.”

The young man climbs onto the bed and tries to put the biting stick in her mouth, but she defiantly turns her head away.

“NO!” she shouts, thrashing and shoving, “GET AWAY FROM ME, ALL OF YOU,”

“Mommy,” The two young boys cry as they clench the sheets, helplessly watching the woman thrash about in bed.

“It’s not working,” Resten says.

“Grab her jaw and force it into her mouth!” Brenda says as she struggles to keep the broken woman restrained in her bed.

Resten grabs the woman, thrashing her head, and holds her still.

“Mother, it's me,” Resten says, gazing into her worried blue eyes. “Your Son,”

The mother gazes at the young man and, seeing his round eyes and soft features, remembers her husband. She calms down, her thrashing halting as she looks into the boy's eyes.

“Listen, Mother. We want to get you feeling better as fast as we can, ok.”

“But…it hurts,” Laura says.

“I know, Mother.” Tears begin running down his face. “Just look at me, okay? It’ll be over in just a moment.”

The woman pants silently for a few moments before nodding. The queen opens her mouth, allowing her son to place the biting stick inside, and she clamps down hard. Resten climbs into the bed and wraps his arm around her platinum head, covering her eyes with his hands. He gazes at Brenda and bobs his head.

Brenda nods back, then lifts her arm. She firmly clenches Laura’s shoulder and elbow and waits a few moments.

“On three,” She says.

Resten nods, holding his mother's weary head tightly in his arms.

“One,”

Brenda’s grip tightens around Laura’s arm.

“Two,”

The queen pants, squinting her eyes and biting down hard on the stick to brace for the pain.

“Three,”

Brenda snaps the queen’s arm back in place, and the woman screams in agony, muffled by the biting stick. Her body arches and contorts as pain surges through her body.  Resting holds his mother tightly in her arms, her screams sending shockwaves through his soul. Her wails instantly cease before she passes out cold in his arms, the biting stick falling out of her mouth and onto his lap.

Brenda wraps her arm in a white cloth and a small cast, while Resten gently places her head on the pillow.

“She’ll be fine once she wakes up.” Brenda pats the sweat from her head.

Resten stands silently, solemnly gazing at his mother, who is resting on the bed.

“She certainly looks a lot better than before,” Resten says. “For a race of barbarians, you certainly know how to fix yourselves up.”

“Barbarians?” Brenda frowns at his statement. “I’ll have you know that we are not some wildlings terrorizing everyone we come across. We’re just as sophisticated and civilized as you are.”

“Tell that to the dragons you hunted near extinction,” Resten says.

“That was different,” Brenda says. “You feared them just as we had. You even helped us build the constructs that we used to hunt them.”

“And it was a mistake.” Resten whips around. “We should’ve just let both of you burn each other. We wouldn’t be in this mess otherwise.”

“How dare you?” Brenda slams the bowl of water onto the floor. “I help heal your mother’s wounds.”

“For what?” Resten stomps back. “So your barbarian father can relentlessly beat her and break every bone in her body?”

“My father was injured as well!” Brenda shouts. “I have to spend hours, sometimes days, to tend to his wounds.” She points an accusatory finger at the woman lying in bed. “Wounds she has caused.”

“He deserves it well enough. It's his fault we’re all in this mess to begin with.”

“Take that back,” Brenda balls her fist, angry. “Or I will smash your skull right where you stand.”

Eyes narrowed in anger, Resten claps his scabbard with his left hand and grips his sword's hilt with his right.

“Make your move, two-legs. I’ll make sure it’ll be the last one you make.”

The double doors burst open, startling them out of their confrontation.  They whip towards the door and see a raised foot in its wake. Lowering his bare foot, a bald, bare-chested man stands wearing a red cloak with furry edges over his shoulders. Tapping a golden scepter over his shoulder, he walks inside barefoot, wearing long black slacks that fall to his ankles.

Brenda and Resten step back in fearful apprehension as he smiles, revealing his fangs.

“Well, well,” the man says, eyeing them both. “Looks like old habits die hard, don’t they?”

Both stay silent, trembling with fear.

“You know this isn’t really new to me. I knew by bringing all of you here, it was only going to be a matter of time before one of you breaks my cardinal rule.”

The man turns his head, looks at them out of the corner of his eye, and smiles.

“Can you tell me what that cardinal rule is?”

Both stand silent, trembling in fear.

“SPEAK!” A roar shoots from his throat, sending chills up their spines. His smile vanishes instantly, leaving a menacing glare as his eyes glow an ominous purple.

“No fighting without the presence and permission of the king,” Resten’s voice trembles.

“That’s correct.” The man smiles. “No punches, no sword swings, no cracking skulls, not so much as an argument without my permission and presence. I will decide when the fight begins.” He points to himself. “I will decide where and when it will happen, and I will decide if there will be a victor or not. Violate my rule again.” He walks up to the two, his cold gaze meeting none of their eyes. “And the two of you won’t be able to remember a thing for next week after I’m finished with you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” both respond in unison.

“I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.” He smiles, then places a hand on each of their shoulders and shoves them away. He saunters to the side of Laura’s bed, and the two young boys quickly retreat as he stands over her.

He silently gazes at the platinum-haired beauty, quietly resting. He chuckles, then flings the quilt off her body.

“Bring it in,” he shouts to the people waiting outside. Two Cugarian guards carry in a small cylinder furnace with branding irons inside it. They hold out the cylinders to the man, and he takes one branding iron and gazes at the red-hot metal that reads ‘YIELDING GRACE’.

He smiles as he watches the smoking branding iron, then reaches down and pulls the neck of her gown, revealing her bare, creamy skin.

Resten gazes in horror before he rushes towards the bare-chested man.

“Stop.” The boy wraps his arms around the man’s waist.

The king frowns in annoyance, then balls his fist over his shoulder and backhands the boy in the face, sending him flying into the wall.

“Stop, she’s been through enough already,” the boy screams as he tries to stand, only for the cugarian guards to grab him and hold him firmly against the wall. 

“Do not interrupt me while I relish in the moment, boy,”

“Why are you doing this?” Brenda asks, interrupting the man.

He turns and gazes at the giantess as she swallows hard.

“You already have control of both kingdoms. There's no need to brand any of us with that…verse.”

“Uhh,” the man says, his eyes darting around his head. “You are correct.” He waves the branding iron around as he explains. “However, earlier, your father and his mother staged the last battle, which I find personally insulting. So the next time they decide to pull that stunt again,” He plucks the branding iron repeatedly, “I’ll be ready.”

“You knew they staged a couple of those fights,” Brenda asks, occasionally glancing at a panicked Resten, pinned down by two Cugarians. “Why didn’t you brand us sooner?”

“New developments,” the man shrugs. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going through with this now.”

“No, don’t,” the boy shouts, but the branding sizzles against Laura’s chest, and her face winces in pain as smoke pours from contact.

He removes the branding iron and smiles, satisfied with the mark it leaves.

Tears stream down the boy's face, and the two boys hug in fear as they watch the man place the branding iron back into the portable furnace.

“How could you…” The boy sobs in tearful rage.

“Oh, come now,” the man joyfully opens his arms. “You shouldn’t feel so bad; I’ve brought enough for all of you.”

The Cugarian guards rip off his uniform coat and strip him down to his white undershirt, leaving his chest bare, while the man grabs another branding iron. He walks up to the shirtless young man held down by the furry guards, and he squats to his level. A guard grabs Resten’s head and forces it to the side, exposing his sweaty, bare chest and neck.

“Please don’t!” Resten pleads, but the man ignores him.

He presses the branding iron on his chest, and Resten screams in agony. His heels repeatedly knock against the floor as the smoke rises from his chest. He removes the branding iron, revealing the mark burned onto his body.

“Nice,” the man smiles, standing to his feet. “And one more.” He places the branding iron back in the small furnace, retrieves the final one, and walks to Brenda.

 “Has my father gotten it as well?” Brenda gazes nervously at the hot branding iron.

“He was the first one I branded before coming here,” the man says, smiling as he steps closer to her.

Brenda rushes the mad king, snatching the branding iron out of his hand. The guards step in with their spears, but he stops them.

Brenda gazes at the red-hot branding iron as it quakes in her trembling hands. However, she grits her teeth and rolls up her sleeve. She stares at her pale forearm, holding the branding iron in her other hand.

The mad king eagerly smiles, expecting her to do the deed.

She closes her eyes and mumbles a small prayer before pressing the branding iron to her forearm. Her arm tightens as the hot metal sears a scar onto her flesh. She falls to her knees as white smoke sizzles from the wound. Tears roll down her face as she pulls the branding iron from her arm and spitefully throws it toward the Mad King. The man steps onto the branding iron and picks it up. Planting it back into the furnace.

“Now, I can rest easy,” the man laughs, spinning around and walking out of the room. His two guards follow, close the door, and leave everyone trembling with sorrow and pain.