20 April 2023

Well… there’s definitely issues here. The general vibe almost makes it feel like I’m pro-dictatorship and anti-democracy, which is not how I feel. So I’ll need to come up with another way to bring up Ferghus, and another way for Roland to start thinking how ill-prepared they are to defend themselves from the Conqueror and other, similar threats.

“And who would helm this coalition, then?” Roland demanded. “You? One of the other monarchs? Perhaps that princeling you dragged in out of the ocean? No, we will not leave ourselves vulnerable to some arrogant bastard declaring themselves our king or queen.”

“And what if you picked one of your own?” Moira leaned back against the table, arms folded. “Appointed them as your leader, even if only temporarily?”

Roland kept pacing. “And once we gave them that power, do you think they’d give it up? No! No, they would not.”

With a sigh, Moira pinched the bridge of her nose. “So you refuse the slightest risk of a monarch of any sort taking power.”

“We’ve managed without so far.”

“And what will your people do then, when a real dragon appears? When some foreign king or queen arrives in a storm of scale and claw and fang? When the Black Conqueror herself lands on your shores? Who will defend you? The living statue of a dragon holed up under the city?”

Living statue? What did Moira mean by that? Charles pulled away from the door and shot a questioning look at Arylwen. She shrugged; apparently she didn’t know what her mom meant, either. Charles grabbed her hand and said, “Let’s go find Bethany.”

Arylwen scrunched her nose. “Why her?”

“She’s from this city; he dad’s even on the Council, right? I bet she knows.”

Despite her scowl, Arylwen nodded. 

They found Bethany moping quietly in the grand library. [AN: I guess they rejected her earlier or something?] Arylwen sulked off to the side while Charles walked up to her. “Um. Hey, Bethany.”

Bethany jumped a bit, then hurriedly tried to wipe the tears from her face. “U-um, h-hi, Charles! What brings you here?”

Charles hemmed and hawed for a bit, and then finally asked, “Do you know anything about a living dragon statue under the city?”

Bethany blinked a few times. “Do you mean [Ferghus]?”

Both Charles and Arylwen cocked their heads.

“You know, Ferghus? The old king who set up the Council two hundred years ago? He’s not actually a statue, but he’s really, really old, and dowsn’t really move much any more.”

Arylwen’s eyes lit up. “How big is he?”

“Huge! I saw him once; he must have been as big as the whole palace!”

When he saw the smile that spread across Arylwen’s face, Charles’ stomach dropped. He’d seen that smile often enough to know it was never good news.

Sure enough, a moment later, Arylwen announced, “Let’s go see him! You can take us there, right?”

19 April 2023

I was dead tired, and needed something random. So I went back to the White room.

Heads up, by the way. I might be shifting my layout and/or schedule in the near future for this, to better align with my goals for it. A way to make the stories more complete/accessible to anyone who’d come for them, and adding on more of my writing process for those more interested in that. My only concern is that’s going to be a time commitment, and I don’t really have an excess of that (not that I’ve met anyone who does). There’ll be a more official update post once I’ve actually got it figured out/working.

Alright, now where was I? Ah, yes. Locked door in the Ebony room. Well, what do I have to work with? There's a couch in each room; all there cushions, as well. And in the White room, at least, there was a loudspeaker; is there one here in the Ebony room, too? It seems like it would be harder to spot…

Ah, yep, there it is. Gut feeling says the solution is going to do with those, somehow, which is awkward. They’re just high enough to be effectively out of reach, and I don’t have step stools here. Oh well. No matter.

Just in case, I look under each of the couches and pull all the cushions off, to make sure the key didn’t fall (or get stuffed) between them.

I briefly consider cutting open the cushions, but I don’t have a knife, so that’d be difficult. All I’ve got are my keys, and, well, I don’t think it’s worth the effort. Instead, I head to the White room and drag the barren couch so the armrest is directly under the speaker.

I get a mental image of someone else landing here and seeing all this sprawled out like I have it. The couch cushions strewn about, the couch shifted out of place. For some reason, to me, it’s a funny image.

18 April 2023

This would take place in book 3 of the Majesty trilogy, assuming I get that far, after Charles and Arylwen are already married, and rulers in their own right. Shenanigans happen, and Arylwen needs to get help from the dragons. It occurred to me, before I wrote this, that my “realm of dragons” could be the Underworld/afterlife, and that opened a ton of possibilities I wanted to play with. Also, I like the idea of this section just for Arylwen showing up and being all different kinds of badass. Don’t really see that here, but I’ll get around to showing it off someday.

Also, so many names are in brackets because I haven’t settled on them yet. They’re liable to change; the country of Baldren, in particular, is highly likely to be named something else in the near future.

The stuffy silver dragon looked down his nose at Arylwen. “And will anyone vouch for Miss Arylwen to speak before the High Council?”

There was a rumble, and a massive dragon covered in stone shifted. “I will.”

It took a second, but Arylwen recognized old [Ferghus] from her time in [Baldren]; it was good to see the old coot again.

Then, from the back of the room, a female voice called out, “I, too, vouch for her.”

Arylwen’s blood froze, and she turned to see an all-too-familiar figure in deep black armor. [Agthere] still bore the wound in her chest where Charles had killed her a decade and a half earlier. If anything, she seemed to wear it with pride.

Arylwen’s first response was to lay into the conqueror with her claws, but even if [Agthere] weren’t one of the only people sticking up for her, Arylwen got the distinct impression most of the Council would frown at such a blatantly violent display. With some deep breaths, she barely managed to keep herself contained.

She couldn’t help feeling unnerved, though; she and Charles were among [Agthere’s] most ardent foes in the past, and had ultimately been the ones to kill her. So why was [Agthere] helping them now?

17 April 2023

Most of these are probably going to be shorter for a while. Lately, it’s been 9:30, 10:00 in the evening before I get a chance to write, and when I have work at 6 a.m., well…

I was trying to figure out what the people actually worshipped in Tirian and Gwen’s world, and I remembered an old story idea I never really used, where the “holy” kingdom was overworking the goddess, potentially to unhealthy levels, and the reason the dark goddess sicced monsters on them was to get them to knock it off. I don’t know if I’ll actually use them for Tirian and Gwen’s story, but something with these two would be fun anyway.

Daleina threw her hands up in the air. “Seriously, sis? You’re just going to let this happen?”

Solei looked aside, avoiding Daleina’s gaze. “What else can I do?”

“You are the Goddess of Light! You are the freaking sun! Do a miracle, create a sign of some kind, Something! Ig subtle messages aren’t getting through to them, be more direct!”

Solei frowned, but didn’t respond. She just stared resolutely at the corner.

Daleina groaned. Seriously, what the heck was going through her sister’s head? She rubbed her temples. “Please tell me you’ve at least got some kind of plan to stop this? They’re literally killing you.”

“I… I am!”

Daleina gave her an unconvinced look, and Solei shrank into herself. “It, it’s going to take a while for her to grow up, but I picked out a champion! She’s going to help me fix things. I just need to hold out until then.”

For a long moment, Daleina didn’t reply. Finally, she said, “She’d better. Because if this doesn’t work, and you die or get hurt…” A feral gleam glinted in her eye, and she turned to leave. “I’ll stop holding back.”

14 April 2023

I was mostly just trying to get a sense for what the setting is, what kind of city it is, for Tirian and Gwen’s story. I haven’t fully decided yet, but even if I don’t use this visual for this story, it does seem like a cool aesthetic.

As I enter through the city gates, I am struck by the verticality of the city. It is built on and into the cliffside, sprawling up past the summit, like a strange fusion of Minas Tirith and the old Pueblo cliff dwellings.

Featured prominently almost a thousand feet above me, at the highest point of the city, sits their temple, dedicated to the worship of the light. I’ll probably have to dive deep into that soon-ish. What exactly do they worship? What are their beliefs? Traditions? Holidays? That’s for later, though. Hopefully by then, I’ll have established more of a plot.

In the meantime, I stroll through the city, here at the base of the cliff. It’s ever so slightly to the north of the cliff face, meaning it sees marginally less sun than the rest of the city; that’s why, in this culture that celebrates light, it’s been shunted off onto the poor. This section seems covered in dust, at least as I currently envision it; it’s actually really similar to the undercity in the movie Alita: Battle Angel, though without the sci-fi elements. I’m having trouble being certain of the environment outside the city, though; is it desert, or does life thrive, like a forest or jungle?

There are various ladders and stairs up to the various cliff dwellings, along with a gated stairway heading to a large terrace that makes up the middle layer of the city. Who lives here? What kind of jobs do they do?

13 April 2023

I decided to go ahead and move the encounter with Mikuzune to Nanmoku, and tried to figure out ways for Keiko and the other villagers to show support. Honestly, this whole bit feels pretty rough, still. I kinda want to expand on the two builders, let them become characters in their own right, but I’m not sure what they could contribute. If I do, I’d likely expand the trip a bit to include some of the banter or discussions they have enroute.

Really, this felt like a very gardener-style chapter, even more than usual, referring to the different ways authors craft stories (pulled from Brandon Sanderson in one of his online lectures, I think). I was going to have them all go straight to Nanmoku, but then imagining her discussion with the elder, and considering her personality some more, she really would go scope things out first. No idea what happens there, either; kind of want to know what I want her to be dealing with at the end of the arc before I start trying to foreshadow it.

Keiko met Hanako on her way out of town, along with two of the men from the construction crews, Daiki and Fumito. “You’re headed to Nanmoku, right?” she said, before Hanako could even ask what was going on. “Take these two with you. I can’t spare anyone else, not with winter coming, but if you get there early enough to make some preparations, these two will be able to help the town set up defenses.”

Hanako’s eyes widened a bit. She hadn’t thought of that. She nodded, and the trio headed out to warn Nanmoku.

The trip was mostly uneventful; it was only two to three days from where the Chizu residents were trying to rebuild. About half a day outside of Nanmoku, Hanako separated from the two workers.

“Warn them about what’s coming,” she said. “I’m going to try to scout around and pinpoint exactly where this yokai army is at.”

[Insert first encounters/glimpses of yokai army and return trip here]

Nanmoku was bigger than Hanako had expected. Nicer, too; the whole place had a clean feeling, despite the number of people that must live here.

The town’s most notable feature, though, had to be the shrine at the top of the mountain. Hanako herself wasn’t particularly religious; she would occasionally make offerings to her ancestors, including Master, but that was about it. Still, something about the place drew her.

The shrine itself was clearly well-cared for. It was swept clean, and everything seemed bright and freshly painted. Hanako entered and slowly made her way to the shrine itself. Awed by the general atmosphere of the place, she knelt before it and offered a prayer. “Please, let me protect them this time. Help me keep the town safe.”

When she stood, she noticed a miko she’d somehow missed on the way in standing a ways away. She was two to three inches taller than Hanako, and her warm brown hair was tied in a long braid down her back. Their eyes met, and the miko took a step toward Hanako. “Ah, pardon me. Is this your first time here? I don’t think I recognize you.”

“No, I’m new in town,” Hanako replied, with a shake of her head. She offered her hand. “My name’s Hanako.”

The miko clasped Hanako’s hand with both of hers. “Welcome! It’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Mikuzume.”

Hanako found a smile slipping onto her face. She asked, “By chance, could you tell me where I could find the village elder? I have some important news to give him.”

<-Hanako First

<-Hanako Previous

Hanako Next->

Current Draft of Hanako’s story (including unposted content)

Update with New Semester

Well… Classes started. And it’s going to kick my butt the next seven weeks, at least. (It’s a block class). It’s going to be a lot of good information, and I’m definitely going to learn a lot, but… Well, the class explicitly says they recommend spending 18 hours a week on coursework to avoid falling behind. That’s 3 hours a day from Monday through Saturday. When you combine that with 9-hour work days from Monday through Thursday, even with the half-day Friday I have no idea how I’m going to squeeze in writing time. It’s already messed me up a bit; I missed the last couple days.

Still, I’m not willing to give up. Just wanted to be on the up-and-up if I’m not as consistent as I’d like to be.

12 April 2023

I’d just watched Tolkien again, about his life, and it struck me that for as iconic a creature as the balrog was in Lord of the Rings, it never really shows up anywhere else. Probably because it has too much in common with the aesthetic of the traditional demons in Christian lore? regardless of the reason, I kind of wanted to do something with it.

That said, I’m pretty dissatisfied with this attempt. It doesn’t feel true to what they were, and is all sorts of weird. It was worth exploring, but I won’t be doing anything with these ideas directly, at least.

It is said that the first balrog formed the moment man first tamed fire. For before that the flames held no malevolence; they were but a force of nature, destructive as they were. But no, under man’s control, it was only a matter of time before someone used them with ill intent.

In our world, they remained largely unseen, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. There beside the first man who committed arson; every “witch” burned at the stake. The many, often literal, flames of war, up to and including the nuclear bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

But here, in the world of [Lordran], they were not content to keep to the shadows, to whisper into the ears of men. No, here, they stalked the realm in physical form., giant horned beings of ash and flame. Few knew they’d ever had a master, and none but them knew if they served another after his death, or if they worked towards their own inscrutable ends.

There was no killing one, either; at least, not permanently. The great heroes had struck even the mightiest of them down at various points throughout history, earning a century or two’s reprieve from the beasts’ tyranny, but they lacked the divine power required to slay them for good.

11 April 2023

this was a very good day for figuring out what the plot of Majesty book 1 will be. I needed an antagonist, in particular one that would be defeated by kids without removing the threat the Conqueror herself imposed. And combined with the theme with Charles and courage, I decided on a coward.

I’d actually initially named him Richard—as an ironic twist, from Richard the Lion-Hearted—but it just really did not fit. So he’d Roland for now. there’s a lot that’s shifted even in the couple days since I wrote this; their country no longer has a sovereign, but is, in fact, just ruled by this Council he’s a key member of. A lot of political finagling. It’s also unclear how much his motivations will actually be motivated by fear of the Conqueror, and how much will be tied to the Pirate King (both fear and rage, based on the reveals towards the end, depending on how close he was to his brother-in-law, or how devastated his sister was at her husband’s death).

I drop Roland into a large jungle setting, where the plants are ridiculously oversized, in order to make him feel small. As his eyes dart this way and that, trying to figure out where he is, I study him. He is tall; possibly even matching my own 6’2”, though I’d guess he’s closer to six foot even. He’s skinny, though; there’s so little meat on his arms I wonder for half a second if he’s ever lifted anything heavier than a pen.

No, that’s not quite right. He’s fit enough; it’s just masked by his flowing robes. What is his position, anyway? Is he a Denethor? The similarities are quite uncanny… Hopefully, he’ll prove a little more competent, however. And less crazy.

Finally, I emerge into the light in front of him. “Goodman Roland, I presume?”

He starts, then nodes, somewhat relieved to see another person here. “I am. I… am afraid you have a distinct advantage over me. May I ask your name, sir?”

“Cloud will do.” I wave my hand, and the foliage rearranges itself to create us chairs, or something similar. “Please, take a seat.”

Roland mostly manages to mask his unease; I’m honestly a little impressed. Once he’s settled, I ask, “Would you mind telling me a bit about yourself?”

He seems confused. “Is there something in particular you wish to know?”

I shrug. “Anything will do. What is your position? How did you come by it? Do you have any family?Anything you think to be of note.”

Roland nodded, then mused quietly to himself. “I suspect you are already aware of this, but I am head of the Council, the governing body for our kingdom in our queen’s absence.”

I make a not of that. “And forgive me, but where is your queen? I am not from the area. She has not turned dragon has she?”

“Not to our knowledge, no.” He gave me a polite smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “After the Conqueror invaded her sister’s realm, she headed to the southlands to seek allies. She believes it is only a matter of time before the warlord extends her reach beyond the sea.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you disagree?”

He shrugged. “It would be incredibly costly. If the Conqueror is not provoked, what reason would she have to take the risk to come here?”

I keep silent. Clearly, he judges the Conqueror by is own values, rather than acknowledging the evidence that shows how different hers are, Instead, I ask, “Any news of the queen’s sister? She was a queen in her own right, no?”

Roland nodded. “Married to the king of those lands. Before the Conqueror came, anyway. Alas, multiple eyewitnesses confirmed both the king and queen perished at her hand.”

“And the prince? They had a son, Elliott, did they not?”

Roland pauses, and when he answers, he is a lot more cautious with his words. “I can’t say that I’ve heard one way or another. Rumors persist that he miraculously survived, but… Even should such reports prove accurate, it would be best for everyone involved were he to stay hidden.”

Once again I raise an eyebrow. “You believe his presence could be the spark that draws the Conqueror here?”

Roland pursed his lips, but the silence itself spoke volumes. I nod and make a quick note. I consider asking what he’ll do if Elliott does arrive, seeking refuge, but as fun as it might be to challenge Roland on his cowardice, that is not the point of today.

Once I finish, I ask, “Alright then. Do you have any family? Wife, children?”

Roland offers a wry smile and shakes his head. “I’m afraid I’m all but married to my job; I’ve little time for such matters.” His face softens. “I do visit my sister and her two children when I can, however.”

“Oh?” A genuine smile begins to form on my face. It’s nice to see him legitimately happy about something, no matter what he’s done or might do later in the story.

“A niece and a nephew. The older one is nearly twelve; the other just turned eight this past month.”

“And their father?”

Roland’s smile vanished. “A sailor. He died when the Pirate King targeted his ship some eighteen months ago.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that.”

He shrugged. “Such is life. He left them enough that they get by, and I help out where I can. Life is full of little sorrows like that.”

10 April 2023

I was thinking at work about random things, and then specifically about the genre of sci-fi. From there, I was thinking about dystopian stuff, specifically some of the stories I’ve read where clones both exist, and are either second-class citizens or not even considered human. Then I wondered, “What if twins were considered clones, since they have the same DNA, and theoretically have as much in common as a clone would?”

From there, I kept playing with the idea. The biggest hurdle was convincing myself that people, especially existing twins and families of them, would ever accept a law like that. (You could argue that people are capable of accepting some very terrible and obviously bad things depending on how and when they’re presented, but again, I had to convince myself first they would.) So I pulled in a galactic federation.

I have no idea what, if anything I’m going to do with this. But it was fun to write in a slightly morbid sort of way, and it has so much potential. We’ll see.

Tara remembered the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach when she heard about the “clone regulation laws” the Galactic Federation mandated if humanity was to join. Ordinarily, they shouldn’t have been a big deal; enough people still had moral and ethical issues with the idea of human cloning, so it hadn’t become a thing.

The problem was, apparently none of the alien races in the Federation had a concept like twins. Some quirk of their biology, she guessed? On top of that, all of the Federation’s citizenship and ID was tied to biometric scans involving DNA. Therefore, legally, only one person with the same genetic code would be considered a citizen. Anyone else–like their identical twin–would be considered a clone, no matter how they were born or created.

By rights, Tara was safe, and wouldn’t have to worry about it. She was the older twin, and therefore could legally be considered the “original”. But Jessie was married, and she and her husband had just given birth to their first kid. No way was Tara going to take that away from her.

“But! It’s not right!” Jessie protested. “You’re a person; they can’t just take away your rights because some snooty alien jerk said so!”

“Apparently, they can,” Tara said, resigned. “You remember the Seattle incident, don’t you?”

Jessie closed her mouth. The whole world knew about the Seattle incident. Protesters had gathered not long after the announcements had been made, trying to protect the families this law would tear apart; maybe even get the government to reconsider joining the Federation. They marched on the alien’s embassy there; the aliens had panicked, and called in an orbital strike that vaporized four city blocks around them.

During the ensuing “formal apologies”, Tara had the distinct impression that the pompous bastard that was the Galactic ambassador didn’t actually give a damn. They mostly used the incident as a way to say that now the federation knew about our planet, joining them and all their laws was not optional.

Several moments later, Jessie finally spoke again. “What if you went into hiding? Just dropped off the grid somewhere. Southern Missouri, maybe?”

Tara gave her a wan smile. “If I don’t hand myself in, sis, what’s to stop them from saying you’re the clone instead? It’s not worth the risk. Let me do this. For you guys. Little Danielle especially.”

Jessie’s lip quivered, and it wasn’t long before she pulled Tara into a hug and started sobbing. “You’ve always been there for me,” she whispered.

“Just like you’ve always been there for me.” Tara squeezed her back. Right as they let go there was a knock at the door; the authorities had arrived.

9 April 2023

I tried figuring out what incident Tavala was referring to back in this post, so I tried to come up with something. A bunch of purists from the light-worshipping religion see Tirian as a threat now that his secret’s out, or impure, or what have you. So they tried to jump him in an alley. I eventually want to map out and write that skirmish, but it had to end somewhere relatively public where Gwen could intervene.

No idea who the gold-masked woman is that Gwen thought she recognized. This just seemed like the kind of story that had that sort of intrigue. (It’s not Katya. Ooh, but what if it’s another of their classmates? …Too much?)

There was a crash, and Gwen turned to see Tirian smash into the pavilion just a few dozen feet away. 

She was already rushing over as a handful of men and women in white robes poured out of the alley. They moved to surround Tirian, and between their weapons and their featureless gold masks, Gwen was more than a little unnerved. Not that it would stop her.

Gwen planted a foot on either side of Tirian’s bloody body and glared at the cultists. Her eyes began to glow as she drew in power. “You will not lay another finger on him.”

“But, my lady,” one siad, “he is shadow-tainted. It is only a matter of time before he slaughters some innocent. What’s more, he usurped your rightful position for years, and–”

“He didn’t usurp anything!” Gwen snapped. “He desperately tried to fill a role he was forced into. And he has control of his powers; he proved that already at the tournament!”

The first looked cowed, but another spoke up. Gwen thought she recognized the woman’s voice, but she couldn’t be sure. “My lady, I do not think you understand. He is tainted; no matter how strong, it is still only a matter of time before he loses control and kills us all. He–”

“He. Is. My. Brother!” Gwen shouted, flaring her powers. She put her hands up and adapted a combat stance. “And if you wish to kill him, you’ll have to go through me.”

For a long time, nobody moved. Then the masked figures slowly began to pull back, eventually drifting out of sight. When she was as sure as she could be they were gone, Gwen spun around and started checking Tirian over. She cursed again that her light powers were so offensively oriented and called out to the crowd that was gathering. “He needs a healer! Someone, please, fetch me a healer!”

8 April 2023

This was surprisingly fun to write. I was dead tired that evening; I’d just gotten back from a family Easter lunch thing, and it was already pretty late by the time I could sit down and write. So I just wrote whatever came to mind. I’d just finished Brandon Sanderson’s A Frugal Wizard’s Guide to Surviving Medieval England earlier that week, so the concept of white room exercises was stuck in my head. And it wound up coming out more literally than expected.

I don’t know if I’ll ever visit again. It’s a little strange to be creating the puzzle as you solve it, if that makes sense. But it’s kinda fun, too, so it’s possible.

I’m in a room; everything is bright white. Not that there’s much there. Walls, a sofa…I do eventually spot a door off to the right.

Do I still remember who I am? Yes. Just another avatar for the author, poking around the strange corners of my mind. No matter. It’s not amnesia, at least.

As soon as I acknowledge that, a voice blares from the loudspeaker hidden near the ceiling. “That’s not what it means to do a white room writing exercise, Cloud.” While it is easy enough to understand the words, the voice is not one I recognize; the speakerphone reverb does a good job masking it.

I just smile up and say, “And? What of it?” Rather than wait for a response I head through the door–not locked, fortunately–into another room.

I half-expected to find dreary office cubicles, wit my actions narrated by the voice from the Stanley Parable, but that’s not what I see. Instead, I walk into a room that is all a glossy ebony color. It’s almost a mirror to the first, with a sofa and little else, though there is an additional door opposite the one I’m standing in.

Even from over here, I can tell that door won’t open as simply as this one, if it even opens at all. There’s a puzzle of some kind to these two rooms, bare as they are, and I’ll have to figure it out if I want to proceed.

Perhaps another day, however. I am quite exhausted. Does the black couch have a pull-out bed?

Rapunzel Update

Part of the reason I’m posting this is because, unfortunately, I did not get anything written 7 April. But I also thought it would be good update everyone on where my story is at currently.

To be honest, I was seriously considering scrapping the entire thing, even just a couple days ago. I haven’t made much progress on it the past couple months, either, and I recognized a pretty glaring issue I somehow missed the first time around. The way the magic system works, at least when it comes to fairy gifts, involves stealing from someone’s future to give to their present. That involves setting hard, baseline, quantifiable “norms” for such intangible things as beauty, cleverness, etc. And the harder I want the magic system to be, the more well-defined those limits and norms have to be, especially when we get into the idea of witches stealing those from other people to make up for their own deficits. And no matter how I spin that, no matter where I set those bars, it comes with a great number of unfortunate implications that I don’t intend.

That said, my brother—ironically the same one who brought this to my attention—talked me down from the ledge, so to speak, and I still want to try a few things. If I put more of the emphasis on Aurora’s mindset, and (either as part of her arc, or clearly established from the beginning) make it clear it’s okay even if she does lose those things, that could at least mitigate some of the more problematic issues. Will that work with the story? How does that affect the themes I was already emphasizing? I don’t know yet. It’s possible I’ll still wind up scrapping it. I hope not, but who knows? It has been a great learning experience already, anyway; I just want to make sure I have no regrets with it.

6 April 2023

I realized I was trying to too much at once with this visit to New Chizu (I don’t know what they’re going to call it yet, but it’s all the Chizu refugees). Especially when the focus of this arc is on the attack form the yokai army in the area (still not sure if they attack the new town or the Chizu refugees). So, I tweaked the stuff I wrote in this post to make it a little more directed. I probably need to add back in a reference to the kitsune’s shrine, though, or remove Mikuzume and place her in the new village instead.

“...five miles from here. They mentioned searching for survivors from Chizu; you may want to tighten security.”

Keiko scowled and nodded. “Damn it. If it’s not wolves, it’s bears. Still, thanks for the warning.”

Hanako bit her lower lip…

…recognized what was happening sooner. “Do you think it’d be okay if I stopped by and said hello to her before I left?”

Keiko’s eyes widened. “Leaving so soon?”

“The oni mentioned a bigger force moving on Nanmoku; I’d like to track them down as soon as I can.”

For a long moment, Keiko studied Hanako. “Alright, but don’t push yourself, alright? You can’t save everyone all by yourself.”

Hanako hesitated. Was she talking about Chiaki, or Nanmoku? Either way, the logical part of Hanako knew Keiko was right. But what could a group of peasants hope to do against a horde of yokai?

In the end, she nodded, and Keiko slapped her on the back. “And don’t stay away too long, either. The construction crews are already talking about how much they miss you.”

Eh? Really? Hanak had been worried they’d think she was putting them out of work or something. She bid Keiko farewell, and headed over towards Chiaki’s tent, near the medical center.

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5 April 2023

I wrote this kind of late, and honestly I’m still not sure what to think of it. I was trying to lay the groundwork for Arylwen and Bethany to develop a friendship while they’re still kids, but I don’t think this approach is going to be the best. Moira will still intervene, but it will be more chastising Arylwen. I also don’t know that I fully agree with the logic here, and it definitely feels out of character for Moira, even if I’m having trouble pinning down why. Additionally, I don’t want to even imply that bullying is in anyway justified. It’s not. So yeah, this is getting scrapped. It does help me figure out some of what’s going on in Arylwen’s head, though. And I might just have to tone this sub-arc down, so she’s not actively mean or malicious to Bethany.

The little girl curled up tighter, wrinkling her dress. “I just… I want to be friends, too. Why is she so mean to me?”

Moira leaned forward, resting her arms on the balcony railing. She pondered the question for several moments. “You may not believe me, but you and Arylwen have a lot in common.”

Judging by the expression on Bethany’s face, she didn’t believe her. Moira had to chuckle at that. She said, “I’m guessing you didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, right? Spent most of your days around adults, all trying to teach you how to be a ‘proper’ lady?”

Bethany nodded. Moira continued, “It’s not so different for Arylwen. There’s not that many kids on pirate ships, and the small handful Arylwen did meet were all terrified of her, especially after hearing she’s a dragon.”

5 February 2023

I really enjoy writing these character interviews. I might have to write a book solely using them to tease out the story. Maybe later.

One thing I’m most worried about is how many of the posts recently paint Arylwen in a very negative light. That’s not too bad; she’s certainly flawed, and that’s part of her character arc. But she needs to have redeeming qualities, as well. I need it to be easy for the audience to forgive her for her faults, at least after she’s outgrown them. And in the current incarnation of the story, it seems like Bethany gets the worst of those faults. I will have to tinker with that a bit.

Getting to know Bethany was very fun, though. The girl needs hugs. She’s better than she thinks she is. Which, as I understand it, is almost as common a failing as assuming you are more amazing than you actually are.

I choose to meet Bethany in a garden. There’s a tea table set up in the middle, complete with an array of cakes and things. I give it a critical look. Am I being too easily influenced by common stereotypes? How might I avoid making bethany feel like a cookie-cutter “helpless princess” character? I snap my fingers, and the platter is reduced to a single slice of cake a piece.

Bethany comes out a moment later, in a very fine green dress. I stand and tip my head. As she approaches, I step around the table and pull out her chair, and wait for her to sit down before I return to my own seat.

She studies me a moment. “Are you being gentle with me, monsieur?”

“Perhaps. More than I would with some characters. Don’t read too much into it, though; I simply have not gotten the full measure of your character yet, that’s all.”

Her expression sours, and she opens her mouth to ask a question, perhaps about Arylwen and how I’d handle her. But in the end, she says nothing; it seems Bethany doesn’t have the full measure of my character, either.

I pull out a notebook and flip open to a clean page, pen at the ready. “You are closely acquainted with several notable individuals. Prince Elliott, the young dragon Arylwen… Even Charles is gaining quite the reputation as a hero.” As soon as I mention Charles, a blush creeps onto Bethany’s cheeks, but she stoically pretends not to notice. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come to meet and develop a relationship with them?”

She takes a moment to reflect, and a soft smile slowly eases onto her features. “It would have been nearly ten years ago. Miss Moira came to my father about something–I would later learn it was this very resistance–and she brought them with her. Not that either my father nor I realized who Miss Moira was at the time.”

I decide not to mention that I still don’t know who Moira is. Or was, rather, before her “ascension” to dragonhood. …I need to figure out what terms people in-universe use for that phenomenon.

I prompt her to continue, and she says, “Elliott was quiet. Brooding. It made him seem handsome, in an unapproachable sort of way, but he scared me, too. Arylwen…” Bethany’s face fell, and she drew into herself. “She took one look at me, my dress and my shoes, and stalked off with a snort.”

It takes a moment for her to compose herself. No tears fall, and I’m not sure the glint I catch at the corner of her eye is even real, but it’s clear there are scars there. Then she takes a deep breath, and looks me in the eye.

“But Charles… Charles was different. He greeted me warmly that first day, and even after that, he would always notice me and drag me over to join them on their adventures. Oftentimes, Arylwen would get mad at him or say something mean to me, and they’d fight, and Elliott would have to step in and break them u.” She chuckled. “One time, Arylwen called me a pig. I think at the time, she felt that way about anyone who was rich, but it hurt, and I started crying. Charles got so mad he kicked her right in the shins. It didn’t matter that she was a dragon, or that he liked her.”

Then her smile faded, and she looked down into her lap. “I guess not much about Charles has really changed, has it? He’s still a hero, still kind to everyone, and I… I’m just a silly girl with a silly crush.”

I frown and look up from my notebook. “It is not silly.”

Bethany looks up at me, eyes wide. I sigh. “Even if it doesn’t pan out. Even if you know he and Arylwen get together, and then you watch it happen. Those feelings helped you get here, today, no matter how timid you think you are.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but I hold up my hand. “Tell me, Bethany. Would a coward have been willing to slap a dragon across the face?”

Bethany has no response to that. I continue, “And do you think there is any dragon–especially Arylwen–that would just let that go? And yet here you are.”

“But that’s different. She and I are… Well, we, we know each other, and–”

“Do you know what makes Charles a hero? WHat it is that makes him brave?”

Bethany pauses, unsure what to say. I’m sure numerous ideas come up about why he’s a hero to her, but she just shakes her head.

“For me, at least, it is because even when he’s terrified, even when he thinks he’ll fail, he does it anyway. That’s how I found him, you know. As a little boy, scared stiff, certain he was going to be killed as he stood before the Pirate King. And yet, he went anyway, for Elliott’s sake.” A half smile falls to my lips. “Now, does that remind you of anyone?”

As I watch her expression, I can tell Bethany wants to protest. But she can’t find the words, as she chews on what I’ve said. I don’t know if she can accept it yet–I’m not sure she ever will–but at least she’s thinking about it.

“I wish,” I say, after some time, “that I could promise you a happily ever after. That Charles will see everything you’ve done, change his mind, and sweep you off your feet. But you and I both know that would be a lie.” I smile apologetically. “In fact, I know a bit too much, and you’ve certainly got your share of pain and heartache ahead. But there is joy, too. And the friendship you’ve developed with Charles and Arylwen is always going to be something you can fall back on.”

The tears do come, this time. Bethany turns away, perhaps embarrassed to be seen like that. I rise and check the time. “Well, I need to leave. Was there anything you needed? Anything else you wanted to say or ask?”

Bethany shook her head. As I pass her I pat her shoulder. “It will be alright. Even if that seems impossible now.” Then I walk away.

It isn’t until much later that I realize neither of us ate any of the cake.

4 February 2023

I’m really glad I kept good notes on what little I’d figured out about this story. I don’t know much but it fascinates me more than I expected. I want to take some time at some point and hash it out more thoroughly…

I do not know what events Tavala (Tirian’s mother) is referring to yet. I know something big happened, but at this point, most of what I know comes from the context clues in this scene. I do kinda want to find out, though. Also, writing an outside perspective on Gwen is fun. Mostly just because of what she’s like. Hopefully I can nail her down and keep her consistent without being too stereotypical.

Tavala studied the girl. She stood ramrod straight, her face strained from maintaining her poor attempt at a neutral expression. On anyone else Tavala had met light side, it would have been fear hidden behind the mask; this girl, however, had an energetic mix of curiosity and guilt, as if she were somehow responsible for Sennan’s infidelity.

A whisp of a smile passed over Tavala’s lips. “You can relax, child. Please, sit. No need for formality with me, especially after what you have done for my son.”

Gwen heaved a dramatic sigh of relief, only for her cheeks to turn pink at the last part of Tavala’s comment. “So, you heard about that, huh? Did Tirian mention it?”

Tavala raised an eyebrow. “Even had he not, I am not so removed from society that news of such scale does not reach me. The two of you have become quite the celebrities.”

“Hehe, yeah. Like brother, like sister, I guess?” Despite her words, Gwen shrank into herself, her face burning red. “Honestly it all kind of scares me.”

“Oh? In what way?”

“It’s just… All the lights, all the people. I grew up always hiding part of who I am, trying to stay safe, stay unnoticed. And now… I walk down the street, and mothers are asking me to touch their babies. As if that will bless them or something.”

For a long moment, Tavala just watched Gwen. The girl could not stay still; her hands were always moving, fiddling with something. After what could have been an uncomfortably long silence, Tavala said, “That can be hard. But you will grow used to it in time.”

“That’s part of what I’m afraid of. The fame, the recognition… Honestly, part of me loves all that. And I… I’m scared that means I’ll wind up like him.” Gwen drew her shoulders in closer and looked at the floor. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t insult your husband right to your face, huh?”

Tavala chuckled and shook her head. “If anything, my status as his wife makes me all the more aware of his failings.” She looked off into the distance, pieces of old memories flickering to life in the back of her mind. “Besides, our marriage was one of political necessity. I doubt either of us felt we had much choice in the matter.”

Gwen chewed on that for a while, staying silent for longer than Tavala would have thought she was capable of. “Why did you marry him, in the end? My father.”

Tavala sighed, and let the bits and pieces grow until the memories returned in full. “Tensions were high. Their fear made some among your people reckless, prone to violence. And my own people fear your ways; the lies, the scramble for power. The desire to control. The marriage let your people believe, however falsely, that they had some measure of control over mine, while my own people could still look to me as a shield, and a source of protection from the lightbearers’ schemes.” She sighed and shot Gwen an apologetic look. “Though, based on recent events, it seems this marriage is no longer effective on eitherr count.”

4 April 2023

I wrote this at about 11:30 last night. I couldn’t sleep, and I’d wanted to get back to writing anyway, so here we are. It’s been long enough that I barely remember any of what I was doing with any of my plot threads, but I love Hanako, and I’d wanted her to help Chiaki somehow. Then, while I was writing it, this moment wound up so much more important than I would have expected. This feels like the moment where Hanako commits to take the fight to the shogun. Though she still does have to get through the Yokai army first…

Some of you may be familiar enough with Japanese legends and mythology to recognize the name Mikuzume. That’s intentional, though it’s not the exact same entity. One of my major sources for yokai legends and facts is at Yokai.com, for anyone who’s interested.

Hanako stood outside the tent door for half a moment. “Chiaki? Mind if I come in?”

When no answer came, Hanako tentatively opened the flap and stepped inside. Chiaki was curled up on her cot, facing the tent wall. The space was small enough that Hanako could smell Chiaki; the girl hadn’t had the energy to bathe, it seemed.

What could Hanako say in a situation like this? What could she do? She almost reached out and placed a hand on Chiaki’s shoulder, but eventually let it fall. Hanako’s own guilt devoured her. Eventually, all she could do was sit on the floor, back against the cot. In a voice so soft it was barely audible, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

The cot shifted behind her. To Hanako’s surprise, Chiaki spoke. “Why? Why did it have to be us?”

Hanako bit her lip. Was Chiaki talking about her? Or the shogun’s men? “I don’t know.”

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. That day. When they came to the inn, and later with the torches. I… I hate them!”

Hanako turned to face Chiaki. The girl’s expression had twisted into a grim mask of rage and grief. Chiaki’s gaze pierced into Hanako. “You’ll kill them, right? The shogun. His men.”

Hanako’s blood froze. She’d never considered it before. Take on the shogun himself? “I… I don’t know that I can.”

Chiaki blinked, then slowly turned back toward the wall. Before she closed off completely, though, Hanako added, “But I will do everything I can to stop him. These raids… the way he treats people… it’s not okay. ”

Chiaki turned back to face her. Hanako smiled awkwardly. “But… I definitely can’t do that alone. Will you help me?”

For several seconds, Chiaki didn’t respond. Hanako started to worry she’d broken something important in the girl. Then a shy smile broke out on Chiaki’s face. “Ok.”

A huge grin of relief split Hanako’s face. “Thanks. You might want tot start by getting cleaned up; you don’t exactly smell like roses right now.”

Chiaki blushed, and Hanako left the tent. She was greeted by a beautiful woman in her early thirties. A nurse? “That was quite the bold statement. Did you mean what you said?”

Right. Tent walls. Probably not the best when it comes to soundproofing. Hanako nodded and said, “It’s… going to be hard. Maybe impossible. But I want to try.” She was actually a little surprised at how invested in this she felt. It wasn’t a bad feeling, though. “I’m Hanako.”

The nurse tipped her head. “You can call me Mikuzume.”

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I’m Back

Sorry I’ve been offline so long. Part of it had to do with school; I started my class at the beginning of February, and I’m wrapping up about now. If I’m being honest, though, that’s only a small part of the issue; I also let myself get really, really distracted. Mostly by various video games, but not just that, either.

Hopefully, I’m back for good. That said, I’ve only got a 1-2 week reprieve before my next classes start; if I can keep going through that, I should be good. And I have high hopes, too.

I’ve got one post tonight for Hanako that I wrote last night, and then a couple posts from back in February before I disappeared I need to get typed in still. Other than that, I really haven’t written much. But I’m looking forward to more in the future!

2 February 2023

It felt really good to write about Hanako again. She’s become one of my favorite characters I’ve written. Still not 100% certain how I want to set up the next arc; may need to add to/tweak some of what happens here. But I’m looking forward to it.

I hadn’t intended for Chizu Village and its residents to become major, recurring characters. I was planning for Hanako’s journey to be episodic, save a town and move on, rarely if ever referencing them again. Then I wound up (sort of) accidentally burning Chizu to the ground, and I realized Hanako wouldn’t just abandon them, so… here we are. Now I have to decide if she saves a different village from the local part of the yokai army, or if she saves these guys again. (Spoilers: she succeeds this time.) But I’m leaning toward her (slowly) integrating with and finding a home with the former Chizu residents. Maybe this new village could even become her capital. :)

Hanako ignored the wary looks from the guards, even the outright hostility in one case, and went to find Keiko. Keiko had been designated the unofficial mayor of the refugees, especially now they’d found a place to settle down and rebuild.

The clank of hammers and the shouts of workers filled the air, and the skeletons of what would soon become homes lined the streets. Hanako navigated her way to the central hub, where Keiko was discussing plans for the city with several other people, referencing a large map of the area.

It wasn’t long before Keiko noticed Hanako’s presence and excused herself to speak with the oni. “Good to see you’re still in one piece. Any news?”

“There was an oni scouting party about five miles from here. I don’t think they know about this place, thought.” Hanako bit her lower lip and asked, “I sent a father and daughter over here. Did they…?”

Keiko smiled. “They’re here. Over by the mess tent, if you wanted to say hello. Looks like you found yourself a new fan.”

Hanako sighed with relief. “And Chiaki?”

The smile disappeared from Keiko’s face. “No change, I’m afraid.” 

Hanako nodded, feeling a little crestfallen herself. If only she’d recognized what was happening sooner…

Keiko rubbed her chin, and after a moment a twinkle formed in her eyes. “Still, I have some work for you once you’ve checked in with everyone, if you’re willing.” She nodded her head toward the half-finished homes. “The faster those get finished, the better prepared we’ll be for winter and whatever else is coming.”

“Ah, yeah.” Hanako scratched the back of her head. “Those guys… I’m not sure if that’s the best idea.”

“If they don’t like it, tough. Tell them to take it up with me. I can’t delay getting my people housed because they’re butthurt over a girl half their size lifting ten times what they can.”

Hanako doubted that was the issue. Or at the very least, not the only issue. But Keiko had a point; they did need those houses. Maybe she’d drop by once she checked on the merchant and his daughter.

She found them exactly where Keiko had said. The father was helping the cooks prepare food for everyone, and the girl was running around, playing with the other kids. Hanako was pleasantly surprised at how quickly she seemed to have bounced back.

Hanako headed over to the father. “Glad to see you both made it safely. Is everything going alright?”

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