nicholsroy
Nichols Roy
Writer of dark fiction, primarily within the realms of crime, horror, and literary. I also dabble in atmospheric poetry. |đTiohtiĂ :ke (Montreal) | any pronouns | 30-something | I follow and interact from my main @words-after-midnight
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Curtain.
đMontrĂ©al, QC | 04-09-23 | Instagram
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Wildfires | 2017
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đMontrĂ©al, QC | 01-07-23 | Instagram
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"Danger caused by me!"
đMontrĂ©al, QC | 08-07-19 | Instagram
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CAN I TAKE YOUR ORDER? (2023) | N. Roy
Originally posted on Booksie as part of the Booksie Poetry Contest, 2023.
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đCap-EnragĂ©, NB | 27-08-21 | Instagram
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April updates & May goals
Blog | Monthly updates
Hello! Me again. I come bearing some updates from the past month or so. Nothing major, but I'm happy to report steady progress on most fronts.
In April, I printed out the first 100 pages of LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE's manuscript for its final consistency read prior to querying! đ
LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE progress updates
Act I: ~90% complete. Edits/partial redrafting remain on three chapters (10, 11 and 15) and minor alterations, which Iâm hoping to get done entirely this weekend, remain on three chapters (8, 19, and 21). If things continue to progress at the current rate, I anticipate being able to start consistency reading Act I later this month. Yay!
Act II: ~75% complete. No progress to report as I focused entirely on Act I in April/early May.
Query prep: As mentioned in last monthâs update, a batch of test queries will be sent out once Act II is 90% complete. This being said: I plan to complete Act Iâs consistency read prior to further progress on Act II (unless strong inspiration strikes me for Act II edits between now and then, of course) so I can send Act I out to those very patient readers who have been waiting to read this version for months now. Â
Other writing
I have one flash piece (horror) on submission, and another (suspense) entered in a contest (results in mid-June for that).
I have two prose poems on submission.
I will be participating in another flash fiction contest beginning at the end of this month.
Some scattered drafting for THE DOTTED LINE has occurred between editing sessions for LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE. As of now I still intend for THE DOTTED LINE to become my main WIP after the completion of LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITEâs edits â I know I will need to focus on something else while Iâm querying, plus I would certainly like to actually finish this draft at some point. You know how it is.
Reading
I have read 12 books so far in 2024 (ie. the same number I read over the entirety of 2023), and have changed my goal from 20 books to 30 books for the year.
Read in April (a few of these were already mentioned in the last, very late, update):
WHEN THE STARS ALIGHT by Camilla Andrew
IF WE WERE VILLAINS by M.L. Rio
THE SANGUINE SORCERESS by Camilla Andrew
THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY by Oscar Wilde
Currently reading:
ANGELS BEFORE MAN by Rafael NicolĂĄs
Up next:
THE DARKNESS OUTSIDE US by Eliot Schrefer (this monthâs book club pick)
DEAD GIRLS DONâT SAY SORRY by Alex Ritany
MY DARK VANESSA by Kate Elizabeth Russell
THE BONDS THAT BIND US by Stephanie Johnson
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đSt. Andrews, NB | 21-08-19 | Instagram
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Haymarket | 2016
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đCap-PelĂ©, NB | 21-08-19 | Instagram
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Very late & quick March/April updates! âš
Blog | Monthly updates
LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE edits & query prep:
Act I is about 85% complete, though I have been delayed by a couple of plot changes (both of which are fairly minor, but require some supplementary research).
Act II is about 75% complete. As I am currently trying to focus on completing Act I, I am trying to avoid working on Act II as of now. Some chapters will most likely be reordered.
Querying update: I will begin sending out test queries (probably a batch of 4-5) once Act II is 90% complete.
Other writing:
I currently have two prose poems and one flash piece on submission.
My thriller drabble "Baptism" was entered into the first round of a drabble contest this month.
I will also be participating in a flash fiction competition starting on May 31st!
Reading
I have read 11/20 books for my 2024 challenge! đ
Read in March & April:
SWIMMING IN THE DARK by Tomasz Jedrowski
WHEN THE STARS ALIGHT by Camilla Andrew
IF WE WERE VILLAINS by M.L. Rio
THE SANGUINE SORCERESS by Camilla Andrew
Currently reading:
THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY by Oscar Wilde (this month's queer book club pick)
ANGELS BEFORE MAN by Rafael NicolĂĄs
Next up:
DEAD GIRLS DON'T SAY SORRY by Alex Ritany
MY DARK VANESSA by Kate Elizabeth Russell
THE BONDS THAT BIND US by Stephanie Johnson
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đMontrĂ©al, QC | 21-01-20 | Instagram
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IN CONVERSATION âïž
Stream of consciousness | 1,123 words
Originally shared on my main blog on 22-03-24.
I'm told my friend is visiting today.
He visits once a month, on the dot. Tries to, at least. When my will and that of the swine overlords allow it; when boredom or restlessness or the fleeting desire to see a man who thinks I hung the stars coincide with his schedule. When all necessary factors align like celestial bodies in a ritual, I suppose. I see him then.
He visits more than anyone else. More than my father, my wannabe stepmother, my doting long-distance grandmother. Certainly more than the other losers on the outside who've long since abandoned their misguided notions of me. Donât misunderstand me - I appreciate his dedication, foolish and perplexing though I may find it. Considering how little I offer in return, itâs impressive.
He loves me, you see.
We were close, once, in a sense. Iâm sure he recalls it that way. Iâm skilled in the art of beautiful illusions; I cannot provide âclose,â but I can craft a convincing approximation, which can be useful. It can even be fun. With him, it was often fun. But itâs been years, now, and still he clings to me like a pathetic, starving puppy I cannot shake from my leg. I don't always want to, but sometimes, I do. I find myself of two minds today, like bouncing on a seesaw. Ambivalence declawed.
And so, shortly before the scheduled time, Iâm led through the security checks. Clearance obtained, a C.O. takes me down to the basement floor, down a Silence of the Lambs-esque hallway, to the gray-walled room, seventh door on the right from the clanking, rusting metal staircase.
Heâs already there when we walk in, as always, sitting stiffly at a table along the far wall, near the vending machines. The room isnât busy, I note. The wall clock above his head reveals Iâm here hours earlier than usual.
Today's escort, Stella, leads me directly to the table. Sheâs on a power trip, but she's not hard on the eyes - though the whole âglorified mall copâ aspect ruins it. With a pointed glance she tells me, sternly, âYou have an hour.â
âYes, Mama,â I mutter - sardonically, under my breath - as she walks off. Itâs doubtful she heard me, but I donât particularly care either way.
My sorry bastard of a friend, on the other hand, definitely heard me. He chuckles as he stands. âBehave,â he says, in jest.
I grin, self-mocking. "You heard nothing."
As always, I feign enthusiasm, pulling him into a brief, casual embrace. Yet his arms always hold me a little too long, and squeeze a little too tightly. He thinks I donât know. Itâs hilarious. Itâs revolting. On occasion, Iâve begun to regret creating this monster, I think. I think perhaps thatâs the expected response.
We sit across from each other at the little white table. He looks at me, smiling. I can tell he still tastes me when he swallows, a nagging aftertaste at the back of his throat.
"How are you?" he asks.
âSleepy,â I reply, elbow on the table, chin resting in my open palm. âWhyâd you come so early?â
He shrugs. âSorry. Have to be in shape for work on Monday.â
"Still at the same place?"
"Yeah, same place."
A loud pause that bounces off the walls. Around the room three other tables are occupied, out of about twelve. Itâs quiet enough that I can overhear voices, but weâre spread out enough that I canât make out words. For their sake, I hope their conversation partners are more interesting than mine. A shame, really. He once worked so hard for my attention, but I suppose heâs lost himself over time.
âWhatâs new?â he asks, breaking the silence. Squirming, though he tries to hide it. Itâs like he scrambles to find words in a mess of strewn-about letters. Whatâs wrong, hm? They used to come so easily.
I lean back in my chair, draping an arm lazily about its back. âOh, same old, same old.â
"Still working?" he asks.
âYeah. Theyâll throw me in the hole if I donât.â
"Right."
The inside of my brain feels like watching paint dry.
"How's the wife?" I ask.
He smiles. âSheâs good.â
âShe know you're here right now?"
His brow dips infinitesimally, like he caught himself a split-second too late. Heâs so predictable. It bores me.
âYeah,â he finally says. âWhy wouldnât she?â
I shrug. Smile. âDunno. Just figured maybe you wanted it to be our little secret.â
Another pause, delectably tense. His flustered eyes shift downward; mine dart, furtively, to the wall clock to my left. Itâs not that I mind the visits, necessarily. They occupy me for an hour - sometimes longer, depending on whoâs watching the room - and add variety to a monotone routine too rarely peppered by fleeting chaos. Often, though, the journey to and from the visitation room ends up being the most interesting part. He was entertaining, once, in another time, but now, itâs like he restrains himself. Sometimes I really do wish he would leave for good. Itâs not like he has much to offer me now, especially as it seems even our conversations have turned grayscale.
âThe table isnât level,â he comments suddenly.
I force a dry laugh. âNo shit. Weâre lucky if they stand up at all.â
I glance at the clock again, wanting fleetingly to call the officer over so I can leave - if only so that the walk back upstairs might provide a momentâs respite from the unrelenting, creepy-crawling boredom. It doesnât bother me that much, to tell you the truth. It isnât uncomfortable, per se. Itâs just always there, near the lower end of my awareness threshold - a low hum, a background conversation that you overhear, but that doesnât quite capture you.
With an hour spent in mostly dull, meaningless chatter, he finally rises to leave. We hug again - briefly, ceremoniously. He says âbye,â I say âsee you next time.â
As Iâm led from the room, back up the metal stairs and toward a different flavor of boredom, I wonder, bemused, if the expected response might be to take pity on my friend. But why should I? Why should he take it so personally? Why is that my problem? It's not like I get off on being cruel. It's not that I want to not care. I just donât. Perhaps things would have worked out for him if I were naĂŻve, if I did not know to be ruthless in taking what I want because itâs the only way I will ever get it.
Itâs a shame, for him, sure. It's just no oneâs fault, but the way of the world. Only the strong survive.
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đLes Impertinentes, MontrĂ©al, QC | 11-08-19 | Instagram
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