Wednesday, November 19, 2014

Short(ish) Story: The Least Romantic Way to Meet a Spouse Ever.

Good evening, friends!

First, I've been lousy at posting regularly. Sorry 'bout that. And alas I cannot promise that I will resume posting with semi-regularity anytime soon because life.

BUT. In the meantime, I have a short(ish -- about 3k words) story to share!

A few weeks back, I was working on revisions and realized I needed to know more about my MC's mom. This short story was meant to help me figure her out, and it totally worked. The story is about how my MC's parents met. Like the title of this post says, it is the least romantic way to meet a future spouse EVER. Which just made it all the more fun to write.

So, without further ado, here 'tis! It's a bit rough, but hopefully enjoyable nonetheless.

***



The last conscious customer walked out, and Milena promptly shut the door behind him. “Any sleepers?” She called.
Ald grunted, limping to the kitchen with a tray of mostly empty flagons. “Just one. Back corner. No friends to carry him out.”
Oh dear. Usually the sleepers had drunk themselves silly in some stupid competition, and therefore had at least one mostly-sane friend to haul them away. But if the sleeper was alone, then she’d have to take care of him.
She locked the door and went to the back corner, where a table had been shoved against one wall with a few chairs looking like they might belong to it. Lots of things happened in the back corner. Men came in and lost fortunes in the back corner. Others made fortunes. Others drank themselves silly. One group of men and women came in once in a while and always sat there. A guild of some sort, Milena guessed, though possibly not one that dealt in legal activity.
But tonight, only one man was there, slumped against the wall, eyes closed, mouth open. A small puddle of drool stained the shoulder of his dark blue suit black. A shame, really. It was probably the best item of clothing that had come in here in the last five years. Was he a noble? The clothing said so, but nobles didn’t come into places like this. At least not nobles who had any sense or money.
Most of the chairs at the table had been dragged away to others, so he hadn’t come in with any friends. Or if he had, they’d left without him.
Milena picked up the glass that had fallen from his hand. Empty, luckily, so no sticky puddle gleamed beneath the table. Milena knocked his foot with hers. “Come on, it’s closing time. You have to leave.”
He snored.
Milena sighed. She kicked again. “Wake up, mister. Time to go.”
He didn’t move.
Milena gently slapped his face with the back of her hand.
He took a deep breath…
And let it out again, still not moving.
Milena glared at him. “Ald! He won’t wake. What should I do with him?”
The sound of Ald’s wooden leg thumping on the kitchen floor preceded his head coming around the door way. “He have anything says who he is?”
Milena stood there for a minute, staring at the sleeper, then went around the table and sat on a chair next to him.
“Generally easier to find things if you put your hand in his pockets,” Ald said.
“Aye, aye, I know.” There was something about going through a sleeper’s clothes. Something that made Milena’s skin crawl. You never knew where they had been, how dirty they were, what nasty thing you might find in a pocket.
But maybe this noble would be different. This truly was a nice suit. Maybe the sleeper kept it nice.
Still, going through someone’s clothes while they were asleep…it wasn’t quite right.
But it had to be done.
Milena flipped his coat open and stuck a hand in his breast pocket. Nothing. She looked in the other side. There were a few coins, and a small book. Milena picked this out and looked at the inside cover. “Property of Farold Copperstone of Noxumbra,” she read. “Where’s Noxumbra?”
“South. Day’s ride,” Ald said, putting more flagons on a tray. “Small trading village.”
“What are you doing in Plarn, Mr. Copperstone?” Milena asked. He, shockingly, did not respond. “Whatever it is, it can’t involve you spending the night here.”
“Milena,” Ald said from across the room. Milena looked up to see him standing behind the bar, holding up two travelling bags. “Says Copperstone on them.”
Milena looked back at Farold Copperstone. “He came for a stay, then. But why come here before taking his things to an inn?”
Ald grumbled something she didn’t catch. She’d guess that Mr. Copperstone had stopped for a quick drink to wash down the dust of travel, but no one who came in for a quick drink fell asleep. Or smelled as ripe as he did.
“Alley him,” Ald said. “Can’t stay here.”
Milena bit her lip. If this were any other drunk, and a summer’s night, she take him out to the alley next to the tavern. He’d be protected from the wind there, and hidden from sight. But it was the start of autumn, and this year autumn had announced its presence with a sudden drop in temperature and a sudden rise in wind.
And that suit was too good to ruin by setting it in the dirt of the street.
“My landlady has a spare room,” Milena said. She took the coins out of his pocket. “This’ll pay for it.”
Ald grunted. “You can take him, but you’ll do the hauling by yourself. Don’t forget those.” He nodded to the travelling bags on the bar as he headed back to the kitchen.
Milena sighed. This would be a trick. But she’d do it. Somehow. She cocked her head. “Can I use the wheelbarrow?”
Ald’s eyebrows went up, but he nodded.
After all the flagons had been cleared and washed, and the place had been swept for the night, Milena brought the wheelbarrow used for hauling barrels of ale to the kitchen. She dropped the traveling bags in first, then went to get the sleeper. She stood looking at him for a minute, then she grabbed him under the arms and hauled. His unconscious body lifted off the chair, but when his arms swung forward Milena lost her balance and nearly collapsed. The sleeper bonked his head on the table before she could right herself. “Sorry,” she mumbled. She shifted her grip so her arms were around his chest, and started walking backwards toward the kitchen. Holy Duo keep her from tripping. Once she got to the wheelbarrow, she backed him up to it and let him fall in. “You better be worth all this trouble tomorrow,” she said. “I expect a tip.”
The walk to her boarding house wasn’t long. A few people gave her funny looks as she trundled down the street with an unconscious man. Hopefully no constables would stop her to see if she was trying to kidnap Mr. Copperstone. Chances are they wouldn’t believe the truth.
The door opened as Milena reached the boarding house. Her landlady’s head came out. “What’s that?” She nodded to the wheelbarrow.
“Sleeper from the tavern. He’ll be spending the night in your spare room.”
The landlady raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Why didn’t you leave him in the alley?”
“The suit was too nice.”
“If it’s on a drunk, who cares? No drunk is too good to spend the night in an alley.” She propped the door open with a rock. “Can he pay for the room?”
Milena held up the handful of coins she’d taken from his pocket. The landlady grabbed them and put them in her own pocket. “I’ll take this side.” Together, the two of them hauled Mr. Copperstone inside and laid him on the empty bed. Thank the Holy Duo his room was on the first floor. Milena put his bags next to the bed and closed the door.
“Thank you,” Milena said to her landlady. Before she could head up the stairs to her own room, the landlady held out one of the coins. “Here.”
Milena looked between her landlady and the coin in her hand. “What’s this for?”
“Because what you did was a good thing and I don’t trust that drunk to repay you for what you’ve done for him.”
Milena flashed a brief smile and took the coin.

The next morning, Milena heard groaning coming from the drunk’s room as she came down the stairs. She knocked on his door and peeked inside. He hadn’t sat up yet, nor were his eyes open, but one hand was pressed to his forehead.
“Morning,” she said.
He jerked up to face her, eyes wide. Then he closed them again, tight, and returned his hand to his head. “What the…” He peeked through his fingers. “Who are you?” He glanced around the room. “Where am I? Have I been kidnapped?”
Milena snorted. “No. You’re in a boarding house. You drunk yourself stupid last night and I brought you here.”
He closed his eyes again. “This boarding house… is it, um, reputable?”
Milena raised an eyebrow. “Perfectly. Nothing unseemly goes on.” At least that she was aware of.
His shoulders relaxed a little. He opened his eyes again and stared at the floor, as if it were hard to focus on it. After a minute, he brought his eyes to meet hers. He was a handsome fellow. Or he would have been, if he didn’t smell like a tavern and look like he’d had the night he’d had. “Who are you again?” he asked.
“My name is Milena. I work at the tavern you passed out in last night.”
He squinted his eyes. “I…I think I remember you.”
“I’m surprised you can remember anything, frankly.”
It was his turn to glare.
“Food!” Her landlady called from the other room.
Milena jerked her head in that direction. “The landlady makes a good breakfast, if you think you can stomach it.” That was assuming he could stand.
He nodded and pushed off the bed. His eyes unfocused and he swayed. Milena walked closer to put a hand on his arm. He jerked away and fell back on the bed.
“Let me help you into the other room,” Milena said. “If it’s the familiarity you’re afraid of, I assure you we were far more familiar last night.”
His eyes widened. Milena had never seen a man look more horrified. “I didn’t… approach you, did I?”
Milena couldn’t help it; she laughed. That look of horror on his face. Poor man. “No. You passed out and I dragged you to a wheelbarrow, at which point I brought you here, where me and my landlady unloaded and dragged you in this room.” She decided to take pity on him. “As far as I am aware, the only disreputable thing you did last night was drink far too much and shed the responsibility of your wellbeing onto a tavern wench.”
He let out a long breath, nodding as if he were reassuring himself. Then he stood again. This time he was more steady. Milena offered her hand, not touching him, but giving him the option of taking her assistance. He shook his head. Until he took the first step, whereupon he wobbled and grasped her hand hard.
“Steady on,” she said. “The dining room isn’t far.”
He swallowed and nodded.
The dining room was along the back of the building, with a long table with mismatched chairs in the middle. The other handful of lodgers were already seated and digging into porridge and cheap bacon.
“Ah, the sleeper awakes,” said the landlady. “I’m surprised you’re up so early. Come, have a seat.” She pulled out one of the chairs, and Milena guided Mr. Copperstone to it. He sagged into it and reached for the mug of hot tea in front of his place. He downed half of it in one gulp.
“If that’s the way you were drinking last night, it’s no wonder you went silly,” the landlady said. A couple of the other lodgers chuckled or nodded.
Mr. Copperstone’s face turned red. Whether from embarrassment or the hot tea, Milena wasn’t sure. “I owe you my gratitude for your hospitality,” he said.
Oh, he was definitely a noble.
He reached into his breast pocket. “How much do I owe you for…” he stopped as he pulled out the small book, eyebrows furrowed. “I had money…”
“We took it,” the landlady said.
Mr. Copperstone’s brow stayed furrowed, but now he looked more betrayed than confused.
The landlady shrugged his look off. “We had to make sure you wouldn’t leave us without paying.” She dropped the handful of coins on the table.
He nodded. “I suppose I can’t blame you for that. I must have appeared such a fool.”
“Not entirely,” Milena said at the same time the landlady said “Yes.”
In truth, she had thought him a fool, lumping him in with all the other foolish sleepers she’d dealt with. The only thing different about him had been the suit, but a suit couldn’t help who wore it. But now the poor man looked so embarrassed and ashamed she had to take pity on him.
“What’s your name, friend?” One of the other lodgers asked.
“Farold,” Mr. Copperstone said.
No last name. Interesting. She’d thought nobles all went by their last names. Mr. This and Lady That and Baron Somethinglongandhardtopronounce.
“What brings you to Plarn, Farold?”
Mr. Copperstone paused with a fork halfway to his mouth. It was just a fraction of a second, but Milena saw it. “Personal reasons.” He chewed with more vehemence than he needed and glared at his bowl of fruit.
Milena raised an eyebrow. There was a story there.
But Milena didn’t have time for it. She took a final sip of tea and finished off her porridge, then stood. “I’m off. I’ve got to get that wheel barrow back the tavern.”
“No more sleepers tonight,” the landlady said, but there was a glimmer of mischief in her eye.
Milena snorted. “Don’t worry, he was the first and the last.”
She nodded to Mr. Copperstone and those who waved at her, grabbed her cloak from the peg by the door, and headed out.

Later on that morning, as Milena was fixing a window shutter broken in a half-drunken dispute the night before, the door to the tavern squealed open.
“Be with you in just a minute,” Milena said around the nail between her teeth. She finished pounding in a nail, spat out the one in her mouth, and turned around.
To face Mr. Copperstone. Milena blinked in surprise. “Hello again.”
“Hello.” He nodded his head, and his hands balled into fists.
“What brings you back here?” Hopefully not an earlier start on the drinking, because she was not wheeling him home again.
He looked her in the eye. “I came to thank you, and to apologize. I wasn’t very civil this morning, and I should have thanked you for not leaving me in the street. That very kind of you and you didn’t have to do it.”
Milena shrugged. “I only did it because of the suit.”
“What in Spryll does my suit have to do with this?” His brow furrowed.
“If you’d been dressed in rags, I wouldn’t have felt guilty leaving you in the alley. Well, not as guilty, at least. It was chilly last night.”
He half-smiled and huffed a laugh through his nose. He looked down at his suit. He’d cleaned up since breakfast. The suit was still wrinkled, but he’d straightened it out and combed his hair. “I never liked this suit. Who knew it would be the cause of some good fortune?”
Milena giggled.
“I really do have cause to thank you, no matter the cause of your compassion. I could have been robbed and mugged, and then I’d…” he shook his head. “I don’t know what would do. What little I have with me is all I have left.” He shook his head harder. “But you don’t need to hear my story. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for posing such a burden on you. It was foolish and stupid of me to drink so last night.”
“Why did you?” Milena asked. “If you don’t mind my asking. You seem like a decent chap, not one to drink so much.”
He closed his eyes. “To forget. You probably hear that a lot. But I’ve already burdened you so much, you don’t need to hear my troubles too. Is there anything I can do to repay you for your kindness?”
Milena studied him. She had two options here: answer him about the payment and send him away, or answer and keep him here.  
“Aye.” She nodded at a chair. “Keep me company while I fix this. Tell me the story.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.” Milena wrapped a foot around the leg of a chair and pushed it toward him. “You can repay me by telling me your story.”
He blinked some more, as if this truly confused him. “Why?”
“Why not?”
“Because so far your impression of me has been that of a drunk and a rogue and I’ve done nothing but cause trouble for you, so why in the name of all things green would you want to hear excuses for my horrid behavior?”
She smiled at him. “Because I’m nosey. You don’t have to tell me a thing if you don’t want to.” Whatever had happened, it was still raw. His jaw was tight, his arms iron bars at his side. Milena sobered. “I can see whatever it is upsets you, and I don’t mean to make it worse. But if you want someone to listen to you, I’ll do a much better job than a bottle of ale.”
He stared at her for a minute, then relaxed and shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of you… Gracious, I don’t even know your name. Do I?”
“I told you first thing this morning, but you probably weren’t paying attention. My name is Milena.”
“Milena. It’s lovely to meet you.” He dipped a small bow. Aye, he was definitely a noble. “My name is Farold.” He looked at the chair again and drew in a breath. He held it.
He was stalling.
Then he shook his head. “I thank you for your offer to listen, but I… I can’t…” He closed his eyes, and his body tightened as if in pain.
Milena shook her head and held up a hand. “You don’t have to say anything else.” She forced a smile.
“Thank you.” He forced a smile in return. A small, relieved smile that didn’t make his eyes sparkle, but made them…warmer, less pained. “Good day.” He nodded once and pushed the door open, letting in a cool breeze that stopped as soon as the door had swung closed.
Milena sighed. She didn’t blame him for keeping his past to himself—she truly understood a strong desire to leave the past behind—but still, she would have liked to know what had happened.
As she picked up the hammer again, the door once again swung open, and Mr. Copperstone was back.
“Change your mind?” Milena asked.
“This may sound ridiculous, but do you know where I could find some work? Or maybe somewhere I could rent a room? Not that I could pay for one for long, but…”
“The room you slept in last night is empty, and I know my landlady would like to have a renter in it soon. As for work, they’re always hiring on the ships in harbor.”
His eyes narrowed, not in contempt or anger, but in contemplation. “I think I’d be better at something on land.” His eyes unfocused and he shook his head. “I could work with books…” Half his mouth twitched as if it wanted to smile, but couldn’t quite muster it.
“Books.” Milena cocked her head. “Two streets down there’s a new printing press just starting up. They might be in need of a worker or two.”
Mr. Copperstone looked up. “Printing press. I could do that. Thank you.” In the brief time in which that conversation had taken place, something about him had changed. The way he stood, the look in his eyes. Not pained, not burdened. Not relieved, either, but hopeful. Planning.

That night, he was back at the boarding house, this time as a resident.

***


There seems to be a random bar here. Please ignore it. It hitched a ride when I copied and pasted the story from my Word Doc. (This is what happens when you copy and paste something with Word comment bubbles in it, apparently. Chances are the font will be screwy when I post this, too.)

And that is all for tonight! A lovely night to you.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Fun with Notes: Sebastian

You ever have one of those characters that just won't leave you alone? Who butts in during brainstorming sessions or even when you're writing the first draft and says "Hi! This random postman could be me!"?

Mine is Sebastian. Sebastian is going to be the eventual husband of one of the MCs of my WIP. He wasn't supposed to enter my storyworld for a few books to come, but he kept bugging me and bugging me and then the inevitable happened.

He developed a personality.

An awesome personality.

And now I'm as anxious as he is to write about him as he is to be written about.

He will definitely be in the sequel to Noxumbra because I ship him and that MC so hard it hurts.

But before this lovely new development, he was just an annoying plot bunny who would poke his head in random places when I wrote. Below are some snippets about him I've found in various brainstorming docs and revision notes.

[Note: I've replaced the MC's name and the villain's name because spoilers.]


 ***


Okay, would [MC] and Co. have met [villain] before the giant climax at the end? If it did, I’d have to introduce more characters. Like [villain]. I could potentially introduce Sebastian, if he’s a criminal. Not sure he should be, though. A world traveler, perhaps, but a criminal… nah. Maybe he’s a postman.


 ***

A partner. Who travels a lot, sees the world, and such. Someone like a postman. Someone like Sebastian.
No. We’ve already said we don’t want Seb to be a criminal.
Now what would be really weird is if Seb were a friend of Delly’s.
Seb wouldn’t need to be a criminal to be part of this.


***


Have Seb bring the letter with the details?  Sigh. Seb. You just won’t go away, will you?

***

… Is Seb one of the sailors?
No! He’s the postman, remember?
… He could be a sailor…
Do we really want [MC] to end up with a smuggler? Come on, postman is so much better. After all the crud we put her through in this book and the next, she deserves a nice guy who isn’t a criminal.
But reformed criminal is so much more interesting….
Sigh. We’ll deal with this later. 

***

Could be Seb, if I want to introduce him here.
Curse you, Sebastian. You’re not welcome in this book.


***

... Maybe this constable is Sebastian.

SEBASTIAN USP/MOORLAND/WHATEVER. How many times do I need to tell you that you are not welcome in this story?
Though I do like the idea of him having a cameo in this book. Bit of foreshadowing.

***

Random idea: Sebastian was a postman who got shanghaied. He found out something by accident, and then got “recruited” onto [villain]’s ship, and then he switches sides and helps [MC] and Co.
SEBASTIAN YOU BRAT YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN THIS STORY GO AWAY OR I’LL KILL YOUR FIRSTBORN.
[We argue.]
NOW SHUT UP. WE’VE ARGUED LONG ENOUGH AND I HAVE TO FIGURE OUT THIS ENDING. (Though he is probably right in that I wouldn’t be that mean to poor [MC].)

Though I do like the idea of maybe a sailor switching sides and maybe sticking around for Book 2. (SHUT UP, SEBASTIAN.)

*** 

-          I’d kinda like to throw in a reporter. Maybe Sebastian. (DUDE PICK AN IDENTITY AND STICK WITH IT ALREADY.)

*** 


Maybe Seb is both a reporter and a mailman.
Yeah, but that means he has to travel, and I’m not sure I want [MC] to have her husband away all the time.
We could break his leg. Make him stay at home.
Uh-huh. How ‘bout we deal with this later?
What if he is a mailman who wants to be a reporter? So he delivers mail to support a writing career.
He’d still go traveling, and I don’t know that I like that.
DUDE. WORK ON STORY AT HAND. LEAVE ROMANCE FOR LATER.
[MC] could always go with him, but then what if they had a baby? Plus I don’t know that [MC] would like to be on the road all the time. Maybe for a little while, but she’d want to stay in Noxumbra.
WHAT DID I JUST SAY? THE [ship name] SHIP IS TO STAY IN HARBOR. 

*** 

In case you were wondering, turns out Sebastian isn't a postman. He's the son of a well-to-do merchant. He's missing one ear and looks like a pirate. (Do you know how hard it is to find pictures of people with missing ears on Pinterest?) MC's friends are going to tease her by calling him "the pirate." My dear Sebastian's been sailing around with his father and brothers since he was a teen, but he's not sure he wants to do that for the rest of his life, though he does enjoy it. 

Have you ever had a character like this? What did he/she do to you? 

This is part four in my Fun with Notes series. Click here to see part one and part two and part three

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Short Story: All Characters Go to Heaven

Hello, chaps.

A week or so ago, I was brushing my teeth and an idea came to me about what happens when characters die. I think it all started with the image of "fog black as ink" and the idea of Elsa from Frozen being a writer who can produce said fog. The result was the following short story. Enjoy. Any feedback you want to give is welcome.

...



The fog was black, as if it were clouds of ink vapor rising instead of water.
Niall blinked. Where was he? How had he gotten here? There was nothing but the fog. He couldn’t see a sky, nor walls nor landscape to either side. The only thing he was sure of was that there was something solid beneath his feet. He took a deep breath. The fog smelled like ink too. As he exhaled it swirled in the air, curling and twisting in blue-black puffs.
Niall took a step forward, and a small pain shot through his chest. He looked down. There was a hole the size of a child’s fist in his shirt, letting the skin on his chest show. In his mind, he heard the shouts of soldiers falling, saw a flare of fire, Vi’s face as she threw herself over a fleeing refugee, felt the pain in his chest again, this time stronger.
He’d been hit with something. A piece of shrapnel, probably. But the skin beneath his shirt was fine. There was no blood.
Did that mean he was…?
The dark fog shifted, caught in a breeze. It swirled forward, as if leading him. He followed it.
After a few steps, the fog cleared to reveal a throne, and a woman sitting on it. The throne fanned out behind her head, it’s tall, pen-like spikes shooting into the air. No, they weren’t just pen-like, they were actually pens. Very large pens.
The woman smiled at him. “Hello, Niall.” She wore a circlet of typewriter keys on her head.
Typewriter keys? There were no typewriters where Niall was from. How did he know what they were?
Niall coughed. “Are you…?”
Her smile widened. “I am The Author. Yes.”
“So that means I’m dead.” With a wound like he’d remembered, there was no chance he could have survived.
The Author cocked her head to one side.  “In a way, yes.”
Niall nodded. It was only a matter of time before this happened. If it hadn’t have been him, it would have been Vi or Zeke or Jenkins. Or maybe all of them. That’s how war worked. “So, what happens now?”
“You pass on. You go through that door. Very simple, really.” She gestured to one side, and the fog condensed into the form of a black door with a crystal handle.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Niall gazed at the door.
“Do you have any questions before you go?” The Author asked.
“Yes.” Niall looked back at her. “Vi and Zeke, do they…?”
“Yes, they survive. It’s in The Plot.” The Author’s smile became gleeful. “They survive, and Vi finds her little girl again. They go back to Spryll and live a good life. Zeke ends up becoming a cheese maker, though no one but me will ever know that. It’s in The Plot, but too much detail for The Book. Anything else?”
“Why do I know those are typewriter keys? There are no Typewriters in Ootwox.”
“Ah, but you’re not in Ootwox anymore, are you? You’re in my Mind. People in the Mind have access to all the information I have.”
Niall nodded. That made sense. He glanced back at the door. “I’m ready.”
The Author waved her hand, and the door opened.
“That better be someone dead and not some cheeky spawn of a plot bunny,” a female voice said.
The Author rolled her eyes. “You’re all cheeky spawn of a plot bunny.” She looked back at Niall. “That’s Joy. All the Unwritten stay in there too until it is time for their Story. She’s been waiting for her Story for a few years now. She’s impatient.”
“It doesn’t help that the lop-eared pirate over here gets a story before I do,” Joy’s voice said.
“I’m not a pirate!” said another voice, this one male. “And my true love awaits!”
The Author glared at the door. “Joy, Sebastian, shut up. I’ll get to your Stories eventually.” She turned back to Niall. “If you think you can handle those two, the door is ready for you.”
Niall smiled. “I’ve dealt with Characters like them before.” He’d be in good company. He nodded to The Author. “Thank you.” He stepped through, and the door closed behind him. 

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Fun with Notes: Part 3

Here is part three of my Fun with Notes series. Click here to see part one and part two.

***


GAH DELLY YOU ARE SO CUTE I’M GOING TO CRUSH YOUR SOUL!

….

***



This is so cute and awkward. Beth is going to kill me.

…. No.
NO.
I will not ship [characters] I will not ship [characters.]…
NO I CANNOT SHIP [CHARACTERS].
On the bright side, if I ship them, (WHICH I CANNOT) my readers will and that’ll hurt. 

***

My people are going to have neck problems from all the nodding they do. 

***

And I repeat: FIGURE OUT A MONETARY SYSTEM.   

***


NO, GWEN, DON’T TRUST HIM!

My MC trusts the villain. Awesome. 

***

[Talking to MC]: And you would be right to do so, my dear. Unfortunately, no one is going to tell you that.   

***


NO, NO GWEN. DON’T DO IT! HIS PLANS ARE WOOORKIIIIING!

You do realize that you want her to fall for his plans, so that you have a better story?

Yeah, but it’s fun screaming at them. 

***


TRANS-ITION-ATE!

“Transitionate” is not a word.

Neither is Dalek. 

***

Maybe the other potential leaders are down for the count, and she has to step up to the plate?

Too many sports metaphors…

***

That's all for this post! And a lovely day/night/whatever to you.