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.