NaNoWriMo Update

Just a a short update today. NaNo has been going well. I was able to write a lot of words while I was remote observing. Turns out the spectrometer involves a lot of hitting a button then waiting half an hour. So there was plenty of free time. And I was leading up to a battle which turned out really well. Or at least I humbly think so.
I have also confirmed who will be the ten individuals at the Round Table in my story and it is very exciting. Only one of them has not yet been introduced. I also made a new planning document since the previous one is mostly crossed off and it was getting hard to find the things I had not yet written. So a clear sign of progress. As if the 40k words written just this month didn't indicate that already.
And as soon as I finish this chapter I will have 52 chapters. That means that I can post once a week for a year and readers will still have not finished the story. I still intend to finish writing before I start posting, but it is nice to know that if I get impatient for feedback I have a large buffer.
This week I am sharing with you a section of my story leading up to the sword being pulled out of the stone. I loved writing it and I am pleased with how it turned out.


Favourite writing from this week:

“Is this another story you found in a book in the library that should’ve stayed buried? Because the last one you told was not nearly as interesting as you claimed.”

Merlin gaped at him. “I’ll have you know when I told Gwen the tale of the hydra she loved it.” He continued marching ahead, knowing Arthur was following even if his steps through the brush were quieter. “And no. This book was not buried. I think you will be familiar with some of it. It is about Brutus, the first king of Camelot.” He pushed a low hanging branch out of his way. “He conquered the land of Camelot from local nomadic groups and united them under one banner and securing the roads of trade. He had the citadel built up to present a show of force against invaders and prove that he and his descendants were here to stay.”

“Yes, Merlin I know the story. Everyone in Camelot knows the story.” Arthur shoved at a bush in his path. “I don’t see why this is important. And where are we going anyway?”

Merlin looked over his shoulder. “For once, just be patient and listen.” He faced forward just in time to duck under a thick branch. “Since you say you know the story, I will skip to the part you may not have heard. Laying on his deathbed, there were many who were praising the king, telling him that no king of Camelot would ever do as much for the land as he had done. Even his own son spoke of how he could never live up to his father.

“But the king spoke and he told them that he had been gifted with a vision of the future before he died and he wanted to share it with them. He said that someday in the future, a descendant of his would rule Camelot and this King would make Camelot a shining kingdom to be remembered throughout the ages. He told them to take him out to his favourite lake and there, with the last reserves of his legendary strength, he drove his sword into a rock. He said that one day a man would come to claim this sword, and that man would be the rightful king of Camelot. The one to be remembered.”

Merlin stopped speaking, letting the magic of the linger in the forest air. It felt like the world was waiting, holding its breath.

“That’s rubbish.” And the world was just punched in the gut. “Who would believe that?”

“Plenty of people,” Merlin retorted. “Are you calling the people of Camelot stupid?”

“A sword stuck in a rock? That’s impossible.”

Merlin smiled internally. He couldn’t have planned it any better. “Then what is that?”

Arthur stepped up beside where Merlin had stopped and looked into the small clearing. The land sloped gently downward to a sunlit circle of grass, within which laid a large stone. And in that stone, a sword.

90 min stories

There haven't been prompts for the past couple weeks, but I haven't been shirking the writing. I have been grabbing some Halloween prompts and using those. Mostly in an effort to work on my short story skills, I have been writing stories nearly entirely in the one class I help out with.

It's been a fun exercise in trying to have snippets of life rather than big plots. I wrote one on supernatural beings hiding in plain sight on Halloween. (And then realized I maybe want to revisit that universe later.) Another on the Greek Fates in modern day. And then today I finally planned out a scene I have been stressing about in my Merlin story. Oh and I wrote one about a ghost in the tunnels. That was last week. This week's snippet is from that story.

Favourite writing from this week:

Karen jotted down the part number and walked to the storage tunnel entrance. She grabbed a torch from the shelf and entered her ID. The keypad lit up green, she pushed open the door, and entered the tunnel.

Now she was sure that she could hear the Thames. She didn’t like it. It was too close. Part K332. She had a ways to go in the tunnel. The further she walked, the less she liked it.

Every step echoed. A...B... Her torch beam was the only light available. C...D... The walls felt like they were getting closer. E...F... She tried humming a song, but the bounced noises were worse. G...H...

Something furry brushed her leg and she lept away with a gasp, dropping her light in surprise. It went out.

“Who is responsible for designing that?” she asked of the darkness.

She didn’t expect the darkness to reply.

Fix it and long fics

Prompt: A character rips something they are wearing.

I used this as an excuse to write the fix-it fic for Kingsman 2. I won't spoil it yet, but if you wish to avoid, don't read the writing section.

I also decided for sure that my nano will be just continuing my Merlin fic, Twin Tales. I have no ideas for another story at the moment. I haven't done enough editing on last year's fic to write the sequel yet. And I really want to get TT finished before 2019. It's a long one and I would prefer to finish it before I start posting it. Granted, my library books are also due in 7 days and I have not finished them. So maybe I should read a bit more than write next week.

Favourite writing from this week:

A snippet:

She looked out the window. The fireball was coming for her. Fuck. Instinctually she dove across her room and leapt into the tub. She barely had time to activate her distress signal before the bomb hit.


She felt the floor drop out from under her. She fell. And kept falling. Hands over her head, she couldn't say for sure, but she assumed the entire mansion was plummeting into the earth.


She slammed into the hard porcelain. Then the ceiling slammed into her. Bits of tile and dirt rained down around her. She felt a rumble and then something else fell, knocking her unconscious.


When Roxy next woke, it was to a growling stomach. She rolled over, habitually reaching for her phone, but immediately realised she couldn't move. Opening her eyes, she could barely see in front of her. She remembered the explosion.


Twisting, she positioned herself to try to shove the rubble on top of her with her back. It wasn't easy, but soon she moved it enough to crouch and push the rest off. Looking around, she recognised the grey walls of the underground tunnels. She really had fallen far. And the mansion was clearly in no liveable condition anymore.


She carefully walked to the remains of her room that had fallen into the underground tunnels. The old oak furniture had proved remarkably resilient, protecting the contents of her wardrobe. She changed out of her ripped pyjamas and into proper clothes with thick soled shoes. Her computer was a wreck, as was her phone. Her lock box was in the vaults in the tunnels. It would be intact, but she didn't know if it would be accessible.


A rumble from her stomach reminded her that there were other things to look for in the tunnels first.


It was a testament of money and post-WWII paranoia that the tunnel system was nearly undamaged. Only the section directly hit by the bomb had collapsed. Once she climbed through the rubble it was almost like the explosion never happened.


Until she tried to contact Merlin. The network was dead. The bunker had switched into dark mode when the bomb was detected and she would need Merlin to reboot securely.


She hoped he and Eggsy were okay. She didn’t know if this was a multi-pronged attack. She wiped her plate into the trash and set it beside the sink. However, for now, her body was telling her she needed sleep. Tomorrow she could try some backup methods of communication.

Subconscious prompts

Prompt: Write a scene where a character lets go of something, literally or figuratively.

I've been falling behind on wordbound prompts, but mainly because the return of classes means I am on fire with my writing and therefore am not relying on the prompts to move forward. (Seriously, sitting in on the class you TA for is amazing concentrated writing time.) But apparently my brain has been paying more attention than I because I looked back at this prompt and realized it influenced my writing this week. Merlin is struggling to let go of being responsible for everything. Good thing he has Gwen.

In other news, I was bored and started looking up writing contests. I found a couple I might consider for next year, some ones with weekly prizes, and one or two that I might consider submitting my one good short story to. Maybe my nano from last year will eventually get submitted to one of them. But my goal for that story is publishing, so we will see. It needs more work before I send it off to someone professional.

Favourite writing from this week:

A week and a half later and routines had been settles into. Merlin woke up Arthur in the morning while Chet brought breakfast. Merlin sorted documents while Chet helped Arthur dress. Most other chores alternated between the two servants and Nerlin learned that he had more time to himself.

He spent his time writing letter to friends outside of Camelot and actually studying books of magic. He particularly enjoyed a book intended for teachers of magic covering the basics.

What he was enjoying most, however, was the chance to sit with Gwen at the joust celebrating the coronation.

He arrived late on purpose, lingering in the library before leisurely strolling out to the tournament ring. He waited for a break in the action before sliding onto the bench next to Gwen.

“Merlin!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m watching the joust.” He smiled widely at her.

She swatted his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“The people needed to see that Chet is officially Arthur’s servant now.” Merlin waved in the direction of the Royal stands. Arthur was sitting on a plain chair, not the overly ornate one Uther had preferred. Behind him, Chet was the image of a perfect servant. He saw when Chet saw his wave and the other man scowled slightly. “Arthur can’t stand not being about the compete,” Merlin explained. “He’s been complaining all week. I had to blackmail him in order to convince him that competing in disguise was not an option.”

“Who would host if he competed?” Gwen added. “I can’t see Leon doing it.

Merlin shook his head. “I can’t see anyone else being loud enough.” Merlin turned his attention to the match. “Besides, you and I both know he couldn’t stand being anonymous during this whole tournament. Who are you supporting?”

Gwen lifted the scrap of blue fabric in her lap. “Blue. Specifically the blue diamond.”

“Are you sure that’s who you want to support?”

“Why? Do you know who it is?” She shoved Merlin when he said nothing. “You do. Tell me!”

“Nope, that would spoil all the fun.” Merlin smiled wide, hiding the niggling feeling. When he looked at the roster, there was no blue diamond. Someone had entered late. And with a tournament like this, it could be anyone. He could hide his face. Perhaps he was sent to kill Arthur. He wasn’t competing, sure, but he was a stationary target, perfect for a long range attack.

“Merlin? Is something wrong?”

But maybe it was only a knight who signed up late and therefore nothing to worry about. “It’s been quiet and calm for too long,” Merlin muttered, putting his elbows on his legs and resting his chin in his hands. “This is Camelot; there is always trouble. What am I missing?”

Gwen put her arm around Merlin and pulled him into a hug. “This is just leftover stress from the transition. The coronation went smoothly, Arthur’s chambers are properly set up and decorated, invitations and announcements for the celebration were sent out, and you are settling into your new role as the head of the household.

“Don’t remind me about that one.”

“You know Arthur asked me to make you nicer clothes.”

Merlin raised his head to look at her in surprise. “Really? We’re talking about the same Arthur here? Or is the Steward’s name Arthur too?”

“No, silly. His name is Kay. How did you not know that? Yes Arthur asked me to get you nice clothes. He tried to say it was because he was king now and didn’t want you to give a bad impression, but you know he really cares. He even knew what colours you prefer.”

Merlin put his head on Gwen’s shoulder. The crowd cheered as the green circle knight unhorsed the knight in black circles. “Still worried though.”

“Hey, come on now. Enjoy your time off. You always take on too much responsibility. You aren’t the only one who cares about Camelot and the king. There are knights, guards, and everyone who works in the castle. You aren’t alone, so stop acting like you are.” Gwen glanced up at the angle of the sun. “Up you get, you and I are going to have an early lunch at the Chalice. This moping is nothing food can’t fix.”

Instead of

Prompt: What are the things you choose writing over? What things tempt you away from writing?

This of course depends on the day, depends on the story, depends on the sunspot count on the sun.

Over writing I choose tumblr, talking about what I'm going to write, and baking.

I choose writing over homework, falling asleep in a boring class, and going to bed.

This week's writing is from my Merlin story. Quick background, Merlin is trying out disguise necklaces he made to allow someone else to perceive the wearer as someone different. So he is wandering around Camelot swapping disguises.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Merlin hung the necklaces around his neck and put the garlands back into the basket he had brought the supplies down in. First step first. If anyone noticed all of the necklaces he was wearing, he knew it hadn’t worked. Then it was just a matter of swapping disguises when no one was looking.

***

Gwen was hurrying to her workshop when she bumped into a young woman. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t mind me.”

“Are you new here? I don’t think I have seen you around?” Gwen asked.

“I am helping out with coronation preparations, nothing more.” She brushed a hair back from her face.

“Do you need directions anywhere?”

“No thank you. I’m alright.” She hurried away and around a corner.

Gwen watched her go. Something about her manner of speech seemed familiar. But perhaps she was just reminded of someone in the market or someone who had helped in the past. Many people had helped at large feats in the past. Or maybe it was a girl who had been looking for a job in her workshop before Gwen told her to come back when she had learned more. It wasn’t terribly uncommon.

“Excuse me?” Gwen shook her head to clear her thoughts and met the eyes of an older man standing in front of her.

“Sorry, got lost in my thoughts,” she apologised. “Do you need something?”

“Do you happen to know where I can find Lord Merkel?” he asked. “I have a message for him.”

“His chambers are up two floors and on the right. If you need help ask one of the guards in that wing.”

“Thank you very much, my lady.” He bowed slightly.

“Oh I’m not,” she started to protest but drifted off when she caught his wink. Then she only rolled her eyes and continued to her workshop. She had to prepare for a fitting.

***

Arthur answered the knock at the door himself, seeing as his servant was mysteriously still missing. He didn’t think the decorations would take this long. A older woman he didn’t recognise was standing at the door, hands clasped behind her back. She gave a deep bow.

“Your highness. I have been sent to tell you that it is time for your fitting.”

“My fitting? Whatever for?” Arthur protested. This was not discussed with him. “I plan on wearing my chainmail like I have done at every other ceremony.”

“I’m afraid that is not the protocol, sire.” Her eyes didn’t leave the floor as she countered her king. “If you wish to argue, I suggest you take it up with Mistress Gwen.”

“I think I will. Tell her I shall be along in a minute.”

The woman bowed again and hurried off.

Arthur grabbed his jacket and marched off to the workshop. He was not going to stand for this. He was also not going to stand for Merlin not being there to back him up.

“You there,” he pointed at a man who looked like he might be a servant. “Do you know where my manservant is?”

“No, sire. Shall I look for him?”

“Yes. And tell him he can find me in,” but Arthur stopped, the man had already turned his back and left. Most unusual for a servant. Unless that servant was Merlin. However that man had short cropped red hair and was a more portly man than his servant could ever be, even if he ate an entire boar in one sitting.

Arthur marched on.

Say That Again?

Prompt: Someone has to repeat something three times before it sinks in.

Sometimes a prompt pokes at your brain. This one was just screaming for a 00Q fic but I couldn't figure out the prompt until my friend made lovely artwork and then I absolutely had the whole plot and the format of the fic. 

Hopefully not that this short fic is out of the way, my brain is clear enough to do lots of story planning tomorrow. Maybe I will even get out of my pajamas.

Favourite writing from this week:

“I love you,” Bond tossed out as he admired his new watch from Q branch. It was high class and explosive. Q could understand why the agent was enamoured. 

“Hurry up or you will miss your flight, 007. Please try to bring everything back in one piece.”

Only the outer ring of the clock face came back. 

“Go to the roof, a helicopter will be there in forty seconds. I will take care of everything else.”

Bond was breathing hard as he sprinted up the stairs. He was out of ammunition, out of gadgets, and nearly out of blood. “I bloody love you,” he said when he burst onto the roof. 

“We’ll see how you feel after your two weeks in medical,” Q said primly. “I've forwarded them your smart blood files so no lying.”

Bond was already unconscious in the rescue copter. 

“Q, I love you too, but wasn't Eve suppose to be my partner for this mission?”

“There is new intel. Valentine’s Day in a gay bar it seems,” Q replied. “I hope you are not too disappointed.”

“With you? Never. I just don't want you to be hurt. You aren't a field agent.”

“I'm well aware of that. Which is why I fully intend to flee at the second sign of danger.”

“The second?”

“We are both paranoid spies. We will pick up on the first sign of danger as soon as we walk in.”

In hindsight, maybe he should have turned back at the door. 

“Bond?”

“I'm here, Q.” The agent placed Q’s glasses back on his face.

“What are you doing here? And when was the last time you slept?”

“I've been here since we got back and the doctors got to work on you.”

Q blinked at him. “But why? Did M ground you as punishment? I'll tell him you are not to blame.”

“It's my choice. I don't want to be anywhere else until I know you are fully healed.”

Q stared at him, the words not computing. 

“I love you, Q.”

Everything fell into place, the final firewall brought down. 

“Oh.”

Out of the Wardrobe

Prompt: What's something you've always considered writing but haven't yet?

There have been a couple good Narnia fics I have read. They generally fall into two categories: Golden Age in Narnia, or a little while after they get back and have mostly learned to still be Kings and Queens in our own world. But the one I want to read, and therefore write, is right after they get out of the wardrobe.

I really want them being extra clumsy the first couple days back since their bodies are different again, still calling each other by their titles and the maids thinking they are playing, Kirke just smiling, Kirke joining in their "game" to the housekeepers displeasure.

I want to write about when Peter asked Kirke about Narnia one afternoon because they had been told of the creation of Narnia during their rule and they made a guess, Peter talks with him about how to survive not going back.

I have started this story. April of last year. I haven't touched it since. Something about it seems too perfect in my head that I don't want to mar it with my clumsy words. Or maybe a part of me knows this is not the right time in my life to write it. I don't really know. But I will share with you what I have so far. 

Featured writing: 

“Hey watch where you’re putting your elbows!”
“Ow! That’s my foot.”
“What is this place?”
“Wait, I think I see a light!”
“Ahhh!”
The four children tumbled out of the wardrobe and landed on top of each other on the hardwood floor. Slowly they raised themselves to look at each other in bewilderment. For they were no longer the Kings and Queens that had ruled over Narnia for many years. They had been returned to Peter, Susan, Edmund, and little Lucy, the children who had been sent away to the countryside to avoid the war.
They quickly found Professor Kirke, for they felt he could relate to them. And they felt they must explain to him why four of his coats were now missing. Together they told him of their time in Narnia, of defeating the White Witch, the many other battles they had fought, the friends they made, and the great parties they threw. Throughout it all, the Professor only smiled and seemed to grow younger as he listened to their tale of the magical land. Upon reaching the end, they apologized to him for losing his coats.
“Nonsense, your majesties.” He gave a small bow from where he sat in his chair. “I am honored that they were of use to you.”
“We could always try to go and get them back,” Lucy suggested, for such was her way to try to help those who she could, but the Professor shook his head.
“I don’t think you will be able to get to Narnia again by that route. Besides, I doubt you remember where the coats are anyways.” They smiled sheepishly at that. It had been many years since they had even thought of the coats. When winter did come to Narnia, much nicer coats were presented to them for warmth.
“Will we ever get back to Narnia?” Peter asked.
“I expect you shall,” the Professor responded. “Just when you are least expecting it. Afterall, once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia.” The four siblings exchanged worried glances. They had built a life, a kingdom, in Narnia and they had abandoned it. “For now, your majesties, I would suggest sleep. Your bodies are young once more and you have had quite the adventure today. We shall speak more in the coming days.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Peter said. “That is very wise advice. We shall retire to our chambers presently.” And in a gesture that seemed out of place in a young teenager’s body, he offered his arm to Susan and they led the other two back toward the bedrooms.

July Writing

July was catch up month. July was CampNaNoWriMo. July was also 007 Fest. It's the last one that kept me busy.

I wrote 15 stories, adding up to 27,975 words this past month. Sure it is not November, but I feel equally as exhausted. (Although this is partly because I was both a team captain and a mod for the group running it.) I challenged myself to write some things I would not have written otherwise and I am very proud of what I have come up with.

There are two stories I am particularly proud of. Misunderstandings was born of three Wordbound prompts and I finally feel like it is fairly reasonable with a decent amount of emotion.

I'm also proud of another story that is actually pseudocode format.

I am looking forward to jumping back into normal prompts, although my brain needs a couple days off from writing first.

Complications with Invisibility

Prompt: Include a mirror as an integral part of your scene.

I saw this prompt and knew it would be good. I had an upcoming scene planned out and so my goal was to write my way there. And so I did. I finished up the story arc and moved on to the one featuring AN INVISIBLE BATTLE!!! I'm a little excited to write this. I think this will be the last episode arc I write before taking a break to work on other things in July.

Also, all the spells are in Latin if you are curious.

Favourite writing from this week: 

“I did!” he exclaimed. “I am totally invisible! See?” He spun in a circle, his arms out wide.

William looked up. As he couldn’t see his ward, he took a guess at where he was. “Congratulations. Although may I remind you that being unseen does not work as well for stealth if you keep talking.”

“Ah, right. Well I need to jot that down. Find a spell for silence.” A quill lifted from the table and flew across the room in Merlin’s hand.

“Also note down that things you pick up do not become invisible,” William advised.

Merlin stood in front of the mirror and saw only the quill in his hand. “Fiat fiet istud absconditum ab oculis pulsat eburno.” The quill melted from his view. Returning to his notebook, Merlin noticed the complication this presented. “Ah. That is going to make things difficult.”

“What is it?” William asked. “Can you undo the spell?”

“Not that. Although let me try that first. Quarum sacra fero dimittere placendi.” He looked again and saw both the quill and his own body. He walked back to Sir William. “If I make the quill invisible, it is invisible to me as well. Just as I can’t see myself, I also can’t seen anything I make invisible.”

“That is going to be difficult. I expect that it will become easier with practice. Already you do many things without needing to see them. If you had to look at your feet in order to walk, you would run into everything instead. Just like any other skill,” William said.

“Practice makes perfect,” Merlin finished. “I know, you have told me thousands of times. I guess that means I have to practice then.” With the thrill of mastering this spell, Merlin’s spirits wouldn’t stay down for long. “You’ll see me later. Et facti sunt abscondita est ab oculis triae. Sit enim corpus meum de indumentis occultatum est ut exsisto I.” And he vanished from sight.

All the Alliterations

Prompt: Make 3 writing related confessions

1. I have an unhealthy love of alliterations. There is an incredibly high chance that any chapter title, or even story title, of mine will be an alliteration and I will have been gleeful while brainstorming.

2. Whenever I can, I slip in accurate astronomy. If I mention the moon, I know darn well what phase it is in if you can see it at that height at that time of day. I will mention planets being seen, and in my scifi story, well, that one practically revolves around astronomy.

3. I unashamedly write in class. Most of the time if it looks like I am taking intense notes in class, I am probably writing a story. This could be random brainstorming, small sections of outlines, or just writing the story itself. This is usually to help me stay focused in class, I kinda need to keep my hands moving, especially if I'm tired or bored in class.

This bit of writing was completely unplanned. There was never going to be a trial, there was never going to be a visit to the dungeons, and it was not going to go darker like this. And yet, I really like what the fingers typed.

Favourite writing from this week: 

It had been dark for hours when Merlin crept down the stairs into the dungeons. Lancelot was the ranking guard and when she saw Merlin approach he sent his subordinate to do a quick check on the other end of the dungeons. With an exchange of nods, Merlin came down the stairs the rest of the way.

Lancelot expected Merlin to just walk past, but he stopped first.

“I need your opinion on how well this disguise works.” Merlin lifted a metal pendant on a cord out from under his tunic and pressed one of the markings. To Lancelot’s eyes, his friend appeared to ripple like a disturbance in a lake and then a new person stood before him. “What do you think?”

When he spoke it was slightly deeper. “Do I look like myself?”

Lancelot brought a torch from the wall closer to see better. But even with the additional light, it did not look like Merlin. He shook his head. Merlin beamed and Lancelot had to stifle a laugh. “No disguise can hide that smile though. Try not to be too happy about the interrogation.”

Merlin schooled his features again. “I won’t.” With a nod of thanks he put his hood back up and walked to the end of the row, stopping in front of the cell holding Usco. Knowing the other prison guard would likely return, he wordlessly cast a charm to erect a sound barrier. Then he waited.

It didn’t take long for the prisoner to open his eyes and see his visitor. He quickly sat up and grabbed at his waist, forgetting that his blades had been confiscated. “Who are you?”

“It matters not. What matters is that you tried to assassinate Prince Arthur.”

“So. What’s it to you?” Usco leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

“You were not working alone. Who was your contact?”

“No one.”

Merlin snapped out a word and Usco sucked in a sharp breath, his hand now cradled against his chest. He looked up at Merlin.

“That is a lie,” Merlin said. “Letters were found in your room.”

“You have magic.”

Merlin continued over his astonishment. “Even now they are being translated.”

“Why would you protect the Pendragons?”

Again Merlin paid him no mind, his voice remaining even. “It would be in your best interests to tell me who you work for before I find out the long way.”

“What can you offer me? I am going to die in the morning. I doubt you would free me.”

“In my time living in Camelot, I have seen many executions. And if I have learned one thing, it is that they are imperfect. They take a long time. You should be grateful your death is not by pyre. Those take the longest. An average of eleven minutes longer than beheading. Seven minutes longer than hanging.” He paused, letting that detailed knowledge sink in. Merlin wished he did not know the statistics. He wished he had a small data set. “You know I have magic; I can control just how long yours will last.”

Usco seemed to consider this. Merlin waited patiently. Mostly. “The next patrol will come this way in five minutes. Decide quickly. How much pain do you wish to experience?”

He stuck his chin up proudly. “You can do what you want. I want to see Camelot fall. I will do nothing to help you. Make it as painful as you wish. I will still be dead and my masters will know I haven’t betrayed them.”

“Very well then.” Merlin walked away, cloak trailing behind from his long strides.

“Have fun decoding the letters,” Usco called after him and Merlin wanted to groan. Not only were they in a rare language for these parts, but they were in code too.

The Dais of Dull

Prompt: Make a character overreact to something.

Playing catch up this week. I'm having so much fun writing this story. I am very tires so straight on to the writing.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Merlin was incredibly grateful that he had a day of rest at the druid camp before needing to head back to Camelot. He had danced until sunrise with many of the others druids who had not dropped off to sleep sooner. It seemed a far longer walk back to the cave in the morning, but when they arrived he was beyond grateful for the lack of sun shining into the cave room he was sleeping in. Although with how tired he was, it might not have made any difference.

But thankfully he was rested enough because Arthur was not shy in heaping chores upon him when he returned. In a few days, Camelot was to hold it’s own celebration of a good harvest. This one in the form of an open tournament.

Traditionally, only knights were able to compete in the tournaments. There were only two exceptions: the Decennial Tournament–a tournament held every ten years with no rules‒and the Harvest Tournament. Although perhaps it would be more accurate to say tournaments, plural. There was the normal tournament for knights and a lower circuit for anyone to compete in. Ths was usually guards, although sometimes an odd commoner or fifth son of a fifth son from another kingdom would compete.

Winning the lower circuit tournament would result in knighthood. It was an honour fought for fiercly.

This year, Merlin would actually have less work to do as Arthur would not be competing in the tournament. His father wanted him to host it this year; a duty Arthur was not happy with. “It’s going to be incredibly dull,” Arthur complained. “I have to sit on the dais and watch people do all the fun fighting. Do you have any idea how dull it is to watch when you can’t partake?”

“It is. I have been competing every year since I was ten and my instructors decided I was skilled enough to make it through the first round.” Arthur smiled at the memory. “Looking back, they may have just agreed to stop my pestering. I certainly came nowhere near winning.  And now I have to sit and watch again.”

“Don’t forget you have to give a speech as well,” Merlin said.

Arthur only groaned and dropped his head to the table.

“I’ve already written it for you. It’s on your desk when you are ready to face your responsibilities.” Merlin pretended not to hear the muffled denials of ever being ready. “I’ve got things to do in town before the evening rush. I’ll send someone to clear away your supper.”

Arthur merely flapped a hand in dismissal.

Deliver Dramatic Line, Vanish

Prompt: “It’s time to leave. And there’s no coming back.”

I don't remember where I had planned for this quote to go, but when I looked at the prompt again this morning it was a perfect line to add into what I had written the previous day. A great ending line by a mystery character as you will see below.

I've been moving along great on this story and I am very excited. I have a month more to work on this before I turn my writing attention to 007 Fest and write mostly Bond fics for the month. Most importantly, my beta should be returning from her vacation soon and I can't wait to see what she thinks of how this is coming along.

Favourite writing from this week: 

“Ah, there he is,” Arthur said when the riders broke out of the trees. “You said you would have strawberries; I don't see any.”

“I said no such thing.” Merlin countered. “Those aren't in season anymore in Camelot. For that matter, neither are the fae.”

At that, the mounted men drew their swords and Arthur did the same. He pointed it at The girl’s heart.

“Arthur?” she asked, voice shaking. “What is going on?”

“You can drop the act,” he replied. “We know you are not Guinevere. You are an imposter.”

“What? Of course it is me,” she protested.

Arthur waved his free hand and the guards held up their disks. Spread about the circle, she couldn't escape seeing the magenta glow.

With a very unnatural snarl, she dropped the guise. She was still the same height, but nearly everything else changed. Her cloth dress became moss, her skin the colour of soured milk, and eyes a vivid green. Her ears lengthened and stuck out from her frizzy hair.

Arthur backed up a step, but the sword in his hand remained steady.

“I was so close,” the creature sneered. “You would have been disgraced, flirting with a serving girl. And then what would the world think of the shining Prince of Camelot?”

“The world would think no worse of him,” Merlin said in a quiet, stern voice. The gancana turned to look at him. “They would see a prince who chose love over political gain. They would see hope for a Queen who could understand the problems of the common people. They would see a prince who is his own man, not a duplicate of his father.”

She cocked her head to the side and looked more closely at the man speaking. He was not holding a sword, he was not one of the shiny men who could hurt her. And yet something in the way he spoke made her fear him more than the others. The sword to her chest seemed far less worrisome than provoking the wrath of this man.

Arthur was also surprised by the tone of Merlin’s voice, but before he could add anything further, a crack of thunder was heard and a woman appeared in the clearing. A flowing midnight blue and black cloak danced in a nonexistent wind.

“I’ll be taking this one off your hands,” she said imperiously. With a firm tug, she pulled the gancana away from Arthur. “She will bother you no further. You can return those disks,” she spat the word like a curse, “to the vaults. Or better yet to the hellfires of the earth.”

Pinning the gancana with her stare, she said sternly, “It’s time to leave. And there’s no coming back.” She gave a slight nod in Arthur’s direction and vanished as fast as she had come, taking the creature with her.

A Dusting of Magic

Prompt: Subtly mention something strange on the mantle

I have had a busy couple weeks and I thought this one would be a prompt I would have to catch up on way later, but I realized that I actually did include it in my writing this week. I guess my subconscious does wordbound better than I.

I am also very pleased that this Merlin fanfiction is coming together really well. I struggled a little trying to balance summary with prose in the last arc, but it is going smoothly in this arc so I am feeling much better.

Favourite writing from this week: 

When Merlin arrived the next morning to serve Arthur his breakfast, he noticed an elaborate display of flowers on the mantelpiece. When he asked the prince about them, he refused to say who they were from and Merlin let it drop. Over the next week, Merlin continued to take his polishing duties outside to sit in the garden with Gwen while the weather was still pleasant. And each evening Merlin found more flowers in Arthur’s room. It wasn’t until the 25th of September that they noticed anything amiss. “Oh Gwen was telling me, well hinting at, okay she implied, that she would like to have lunch with you in the gardens,” Merlin was saying. “Not exclusively with you, but she would like you to join us. Although I think she does want to have some one on one time with you, if you know what I mean.” Merlin waggled his eyebrows. “You must have been mistaken,” Arthur said as he pulled on his nightclothes. “No, I am very good at reading people and Gwen wasn’t being subtle.” “But I had lunch with her only yesterday.” Merlin paused in his cleaning. “Yesterday?” “Yes, yesterday. Do you need a reminder of how days of the week work?” Arthur stepped out from behind the screen. “No. Only, I had lunch with her yesterday. All this past week in fact.” He turned to meet Arthur’s eyes. In any other kingdom they might have assumed Gwen was having lunch with them both, or one of them was misremembering things, but this was Camelot. A tendril of dread curled through Merlin’s chest. “So did I.” Arthur sat down at his table. “That is who I got those flowers from.” Merlin straightened up and peered at the flowers. It was faint, it would require a closer look without the prince in the room, but he thought he could detect a dusting of magic. “This is not good.” “No.” “Before we jump to conclusions, I propose we continue as normal tomorrow but pay close attention to the chimes.” Merlin finished tending the fire and turned down the bed. “I’ll spend the day with Gwen again and you can laze around in here or whatever.” “I do not laze!” Arthur protested. “I have been working on reports and balancing taxes. All these extra duties my father has given me lately.” “Okay fine, stay in here working until Gwen comes again. Is she coming again?” “She never says,” Arthur said, climbing into bed. “She just comes if she is not busy. Never stays too long either.” “Well then we will both stay alert tomorrow. Goodnight Arthur.” “Goodnight Merlin.”

The Rule of Threes

Prompt: What are your favourite writing craft books?

I don't have a lot of these to begin with. I have taken very few writing courses; I mostly just write and learn from my beta readers. But one book that  has helped me a lot is Spunk & Bite. The title itself is a play on a small silver book that is also about writing craft by Strunk and White, but this version is specifically comedy writing. Now obviously this is not what you want to pick up if you are a stand up comedian, but it is also not a book to avoid if you don't write stories where humour is your main genre.

This gift of this book is that it teaches you about what your readers are expecting and how to subvert that. The rule of threes is one I use a lot. The first two items in the list are things the reader expects, but at the third, you turn it around. To build up a little extra suspense, make your description for each of these items increase. For example: On my bookshelf I have a small plant, a ceramic bowl from the market, and my very own expandable gateway to an alternate dimension. I think I can safely say you did not see that last one coming. But if I had put that first, or even second, whatever came after it would be lost in the reader's mind. This not only catches the reader off guard, but it directs their focus.

But let's turn our focus to what I have written this week, now that the semester is done. What's that? Not much? *sigh* My muses have abandoned me, but I have skeleton plots so I am able to say that I have started my writing project for the summer. It is going to be a challenge and I am excited. Set in my own version of the BBC Merlin universe, we are beginning in Uther's reign and heading through to the Golden Age. Along the way I will be trying to write chapters that will have two timelines in each; one before the magic reveal, one afterwards. This trick will be to get each adventure to connect even if they are separated by a few years. Like I said, it will be a challenge. Here is a bit from the very beginning of the story. See if you can spot the triplet.

Favourite writing from this week: 

“Well, I wouldn’t have thought you ready to rule two years ago.”

Arthur looked over to see Merlin’s twitch of a smile.

“Even if Prince Prat has a certain ring to it.”

Arthur scowled and shoved Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin shoved him right back.

“And I suppose you want to take credit for that?” Arthur asked.

“Well it was two years ago I decided it would be a good idea to save your life and ended up as your servant. Still not sure how that is a reward. But Gwen must get some credit as well. She will make a good Queen.”

Arthur snorted. “My father would never allow that. He has tried to arrange marriages for me before but the councilors have held him off, saying I must become my own man first before being given a wife. That argument won’t last much longer. And whoever it is, the marriage will not be for love.”

“And you love Gwen.”

Arthur nodded. “Very much.”

“Well, keep faith. Keep delaying your Father until he dies. I don’t mean I am going to kill him you dunce. But no one lives forever. And once he is gone, you are the highest power in the land. You can choose your own Queen.”

“You know, Merlin?” Arthur asked. “Sometimes, you seem almost—”

“Wise? Brilliant? Like a gift of a god come to bless you and guide you?” Merlin suggested when Arthur broke off.

“Trouble.”

“What?” Merlin gasped, overplaying the hurt. “How am I trouble?”

“In many ways, but I actually was talking about that.” Arthur pointed East where a column of dust was rising in the distance. “No one ride that fast unless there is trouble.”

Merlin nodded and they both stood. “Back to the castle then.”

Returning Home

Prompt: "She turned away and walked back toward the house."

Hey, long time no see. That is what happens at the end of term. But I only have one more thing left and that means I can catch up on Wordbound. I wasn't totally abandoning my writing for two weeks, but it was mostly editng and planning and boy do I have an epic story that is in the works.

But for now, this is a short ficlet, a snapshot if you will, of my main character from my nanowrimo story returning home after her adventure.

Favourite writing from this week: 

She turned away and walked back toward the house. It would be so easy to get back on the train, go back to the portal and be whisked away again. She would be back with her friends. Sure she had friends here on Earth, but they seemed less somehow. As if she had only known the buildings of a modest village and then was shown the splendor of Rome, of Berlin, of any of the great capitols of the world. The small homes were still the same sturdy homes of brick and mortar and drywall. But they were never again going to be seen as the pinnacle of all one could hope to build.

Standing in front of her flat, she pulled out her keyring from the inside zipper pocket of her bag. She was glad she had not lost it along the way. She struggled more than usual with the lock, having forgotten the exact trick of a quick turn. Her umbrella went in the stand, her shoes were kicked off at the mat, her bag came with her upstairs.


Hardly anything had changed. Of course the newspapers had told her she hadn’t actually been gone very long at all-only a few hours. And yet, she had been gone for three months. Her phone lit up with a text asking about weekend plans. Dinner at the Blue Anchor and then hitting the clubs. She thought of the last club she had been to. She smiled at the memory of the wild dancing and the other dances she learned in that galaxy so far away. Maybe once she settled back into life on Earth she would consider joining, but for now she texted back an apology and pulled her textbooks out. She had homework due on Monday and she hadn’t been to class in ages.

Villains R Us

Prompt: Include something that must be whispered.

This was more of an editing and procrastinating week for me, but this did fit nicely with the newest story my friend wants me to write. Based on us noticing that in most Bond movies, the villain has an underground lair with a shark and a monorail. We wondered if there was a 2 for 1 special on at Villains R Us.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Q led a puzzled Tanner up the stairs and opened the closet door. He walked inside and stood next to the water heater. “Come along.”

Tanner frowned, but stood next to his friend.

Q reached up and pressed a button hidden on the ceiling. The door closed and the floor slowly sank down. “If you have that list on your phone, you might want to pull it up. I'd be curious to see how many things I remembered.”

Tanner started to pull up the list when the brightness changed and he promptly forgot about his phone.

They broke out of the darkness to emerge in an underground cave. It was lit by soft lights that allowed the natural minerals in the earth to glitter slightly. Along the far wall, a waterfall fed into a large pool, the gentle splashing providing the perfect ambient noise. A bridge over the water lead to a small platform with a porch swing and a small pile of books.

“Welcome to my mad scientist lair,” Q said with a smile.

“No, you have earned the title of evil scientist since you hid this from me for so long. Who else knows?”

“My sister. No one else.”

“Then I suppose I am honoured.”

“Well come on, let me give you a tour.”

When Friends help you Punish your Characters

Prompt: Feature a couple of your writing friends! How do you inspire each other?

I thought I would focus on some people that have shaped my writing. Karlimir Stonewain was a user I conversed with way back on lotrfanfiction.net. They were an older writer, already retired, and I was just starting out. They edited my chapters occasionally and always left encouraging reviews. To this day I will always have this person to look back on as an example of how to encourage and support others online.

Then there is my real life friend with whom I have tried to write many stories. Although none of these have ever made it very far, she Is the one I turn to when I can't figure out where my plot is going, what things should be called, or if I need to rant about a book I read. Someday we will finish that story of ours.

Currently, I am part of a wonderful group of writers on tumblr who edit each other's work and promote each other's stories. They fill me with ideas, help me when I struggle to write in a new way, and always put a smile on my face. It is so hard to pick only a few, but the ones who are inspiring me most at the moment are Opal, Cas, Gwyllion, and Ven.

This last one has truly grown into a unique friendship. I offered to beta a story of hers, then she beta'd one of mine, and back and forth for nearly a year now. She is also the only reason my NaNoWriMo story ever got written this year and the reason it even makes sense. I love our brainstorming sessions together and the little shout outs and inside jokes we now throw in our stories for the other. This wonderful person goes by Requiem

The writing from this week is, well, not my favourite, but it is a current struggle. I am on the third draft of this and writing torture is hard. Any constructive criticism would be helpful.

Favourite writing from this week: 

She watched him pour the petrol in an increasing spiral around the room. She noticed that it was not a steady stream, it splashed a bit. Maybe that would slow down the advance of fire when they did light it. Either way, it didn’t look good for her.
Logically she knew it hadn’t been long since she sent the distress signal through her tracker. Assuming the signal made it to headquarters, they still had to identify an agent who was free, contact them, and narrow down her location. London was a big city and so wherever she was, it would take time for them to get to her.
And what could she do in the meantime? She wasn’t going to hack this for them. Did they plan on waiting here and staring at her while she stared back? She shivered. She hoped not. Already being bound to the chair in front of these men was sending her mind into spirals of dark what-if scenarios she was desperately trying to block out.
Adding the threat of fire was only adding another nightmare scenario for her brain to play with and twist. She never wanted to know what is was like to die a martyr, but now she may know what it felt like. Even if her name was never known to the outside world. All they would find were her charred remains in front of a computer. She died as she lived, she could imagine her friends saying. All her life spent in front of a computer, fighting for good, and now she would die having refused to lay a finger on the keyboard.
“I will give you one last time to accept our offer on your own terms,” Rob said when the man was finished pouring the petrol. “Will you wipe his identity for us?”
R lifted her chin high and clenched her fists in defiance. “No.” If she was going to die terrified, she would die terrified on her own terms, sticking by her own morals.
“Very well then.” Rob pulled a disposable lighter out of his pocket and lit it. Holding it up dramatically, he waited for her to suddenly change her mind, but R was decided. Without looking away from her, Rob dropped the lighter onto the line of gas.

Spark of Inspiration

Prompt: A character opens someone else's desk drawer. What do they find?

Remember how last week I said that I was so busy and didn't have time to write? Well I read this prompt and the story sprung to mind and I had it written by that evening. Turns out sometimes a perfect prompt forces you to make time to write, even if it is writing on your phone while on the bus. Below is a snippet from that story.

I also decided to do Camp Nano which I have never done before. I set my loose goal at 60 hours of writing time for this month. For me, I am expanding this to include not just story writing time, but also paper writing time (since I have a lot of that to do in April), and editing time.

Yes, I was finally able to write "the end" on my nanowrimo story and now I have it printed out, ready to be edited in pen. It's exciting.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Report compiled by: Alex Turner
No. Surely not. But then, why wouldn't they? Bond had faked his own death before. He let the ruse continue for quite some time as well.
Returning the documents and closing the compartment, the agent blindly perused the storage shelves as he thought.
Bond had thought Alex died over a year ago. Bond had thought that Q couldn't keep secrets. Bond had thought smart blood was nothing more than a tracking system that could monitor his vitals. Bond had thought he knew Q.

Now he wasn't sure what he knew.

In Which Homework is Horrible

Prompt: Pick a tweet from a friend and find a way to incorporate all words into your scene

Long story short, Not much writing happened this week. If you follow me on other social media you will know that I was on an observing trip and thus spent a lot of time taking data with a big telescope. As a result of that, I came back to reality and was swamped with homework. So although I have a great tweet from a friend that I really want to work with, here is a short snippet from what I worked on while taking ten minute exposures of galaxies. (And I'll include a picture of a galaxy at the end)

Favourite writing from this week: 

“Copper I can do.”

“Do what?” Nadir asked.

“Just watch.” Spades pushed back her sleeves and pressed a hand against the wall. She was motionless for a few seconds before shaking her head. She then reached into her pouch and pulled out a couple seeds which she then pressed into the wall. Now as she concentrated her powers, vines began to grow and spread along the wall.

The others watched in amazement as the vines crawled along the wall, to the ceiling, and over the canyon. Some branches even grew grapes. But then it reached the broken wire on the other side and grabbed hold.

Spades pulled her hand away. She took a deep breath, recentering herself, and then grabbed the vine with both hands. The green faded to black and then toward metallic as the plant became copper, shining faintly in the ambient light.

Snapshot of the Stars

Prompt: Write a scene inspired by something a character cannot see

I'm on a mountain observing this week, so I have been mainly editing instead of writing. Have a short snapshot written at nearly midnight.

Favourite writing from this week: 

She stood in the dome, forearms rested on the ledge. The glow from the setting star was fading from the sky, the colours a gentle gradient. The wind was picking up, she shivered, but it was keeping the clouds away. She turned from the sky to admire the instrument behind her. The large mirror of the telescope was nearly fifty metres across,
It was hers now. Not exclusively, but she was in charge of what it was used for, and who used it. It also meant she could come up here whenever the mood struck. And it struck often.
How could it not when surrounded by the stars? She may not be able to see the distant galaxies without the aid of the telescope, but even knowing it was there ignited a spark of inspiration.
Maybe it wasn't the same as boldly going, but seeing all those different worlds was almost as exciting Someday they would hear back form the explorers out there. Someday they would know what it was like to play ping pong on Catullia.
But today, tonight, she would know what distant galaxies looked like ten billion years ago, she would know their star population. The work she did tonight may even one day help unlock the even less tangible mysteries of the universe. It wasn't a bad career.

One, Two, Three Slaps

Prompt: Use numbers in an interesting way.

The prompt didn't exactly get fulfilled, but it got me to finally get this chapter out of my head and on to the page. I had tried to avoid writing a torture scene in this short story since I am not good at writing that, but when I skipped it my beta editor kept getting really confused by what I had envisioned. And so with some numbers in there, I got the chapter written. What follows is a snapshot of the chapter.

Favourite writing from this week: 

While he spoke, R took the opportunity to discretely tap the side of her foot three times. They didn't seem to know who she worked for, so she assumed they hadn't disabled her tracker. Perhaps if she kept them talking, her rescuers would find her before anything happened to her.
“And so, as he built his company in the wake of our humiliation, we vowed to seek revenge forever more.”
It seemed it wouldn't be too hard to keep them talking.
“We waited patiently, growing our new business from the ashes of the old. And like a phoenix we have been reborn. Now is our time to seek glorious payback. And from his success, his downfall will be so much sweeter.” The man smiled, staring off into the distance, perhaps seeing a chorus of angels singing his praises.
“Let's get to the plan, Rob,” the second man interrupted the daydream.
“Of course.” He shook his head quickly, as if to shake off the fantasy. “It's quite simple really. We need you to wipe Jerome Cardinal’s identity from the Internet.”
R blinked.
“Well, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I heard you. Sorry, I don't think you realise how difficult that will be.” R was tempted to laugh. Even Q would find it difficult. “Bank statements and credit cards, those are hard, but I can manage. But a person’s entire identity? You know the government has copies of birth certificates, right? Not to mention driver’s licenses, marriage certificates, university enroll--”

“That's enough!”

For want of a TARDIS

Prompt: Take an author photo and write yourself a bio.

It was going to be more serious, but this week has been too serious by far. So here is the fun.




















Jennifer is on her way to becoming a professional astronomer who can make you call her Doctor even though she lacks a blue box that travels in time and space. If she had one, she might have more time to do her homework while writing, making youtube videos, and sleeping.

She also enjoys baking to forget about deadlines, swimming to forget deadlines, and pretending to be a fantasy warrior queen despite only having four crowns (okay, maybe that is more than normal) and being terrible at archery.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Stealthily, they stole down the hallway, passing a few different doors to large storage rooms. Listening to the minion in his ear, Q kept walking and lead them up to the top floor, where there was a guard. It was also another clue that this was not a professional group.

The man was dressed in business casual, leaning back in his chair, and watching something on his phone with one earbud in. Q and Casper exchanged raised eyebrows before the former shot a dart into the man’s neck. He barely had time to register surprise before losing his balance and toppling backwards. Q winced as the phone shattered on the concrete. Although, he glanced down as they walked past, serves him right for not having a case on an iphone. The door he had been in front of was the one they wanted. Even if the GPS hadn’t told them, the faint light coming from under the door indicated that something was going on inside.