#wip: MDE
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➳My Dearest Enemy | a re-introduction
Genre: YA literary fiction
Status: Writing second draft | read here
Themes: coming-of-age, friendship, healing/forgiveness, death/grief, identity, love, family
People often say, “You never forget your first.” First love. First kiss. First time. In a warped sense of logic, the same sentiment applied to loss.
After becoming intimate with death, it pervades every cell in your body, clouds every aspect of your life. Your existence is suddenly split into Before and After. And like a newborn tasting the world for the first time, you become painfully aware of all your firsts without them. First birthday. First Thanksgiving. First Christmas. The first meal, first breath, first sunrise that you experienced in this new world to which they are unknown.
Summary:
Cami has one wish. To get accepted to the arts program at her father’s alma mater. But after facing constant rejections from magazines to publish her work and being told her drawings are “too detached” and “impersonal”, she decides the time for idealism is over. Convinced to give things another chance, she enrolls in an art class to improve her skill - but lack of talent isn’t what’s blocking her art. It’s everything she’s locked inside her.
The loss of her father a year prior. Suppressed resentment toward her mother. Guilt. Refusal to let anyone close. On her journey to find what’s missing in her art, she’s forced to confront everything she’s been burying within herself for the last year. She crosses paths with Spencer, a troubled teen who may be more similar to her than she initially believes; Vince, who hides his complex character behind a promiscuous front; and a girl who curiously keeps showing up to Cami’s work place. Before she knows it, she’s taken on a transformative emotional journey that leads to the discovery of a shocking truth.
(characters below the cut)
Characters:
Main characters
Cami Meyers (she/her): can typically be found drawing in her sketchbook or hanging out at the Vinyl Yard, where she works, fawning over new records. insists she's fine if anyone asks, but she's stopped talking to all her friends (except Mira) because she knows they expect her to be normal and she no longer knows what that means, and whenever she goes for a run she ends up pushing herself past her limit in order to feel something other than guilt and grief. those who've encountered her can tell she has a big heart, which is probably why she guards it so heavily.
Mira Fakhoury (she/her): falls quickly and uncontrollably head over heels for girls and wonders why the male species even bothers trying. loyal as hell when you earn her trust. views Cami as her long-lost sister and is ride or die for her. acts tough, confident and free-spirited but if you raise your voice at her or direct your anger/disappointment toward her she will freeze and turn fragile due to past ✨ trauma ✨
Spencer Henderson (he/him) pisses off everyone he talks to. either gives direct/blunt/sarcastic responses or answers a question with a question because deflection. can't be asked to be nice to anyone because what's the point. usually has his head buried in a book and/or earphones in. feels hopeless about his life and future. hates depending on people and believes no one out there cares whether or not he's alive. grows frustrated and confused when Cami suddenly shows him compassion despite the fact that they've constantly been at each other's throats since day one. irritated that she keeps catching him off guard and that he doesn't totally hate talking to her...
Vince Garcia (he/him): resident himbo. doesn't take himself or life too seriously. known around town as a ladies man and it's certainly possible that that has earned him a slap in the face or two. but maybe that's what he wants. it's so much easier to self-sabotage when you've convinced yourself you don't deserve to find love again. not after what happened. Cami is the first to see through his facade; she's cute and intrigues him and he's determined to wear her down whether she likes it or not. he may be a little too carefree, but no one can say he isn't persistent.
Side characters
Eli Owens (he/him): best friends with Cami's brother. has had a thing for Cami since he first met her. thinks she's the coolest girl he's ever met and the fact that she's so elusive only increases his interest. golden retriever type guy.
Noah Harris (he/him): doesn't like labeling his sexuality. mutual friend of Spencer and Vince. fools people into thinking he's kind, polite and charismatic. is actually manipulative, deceitful and gets bored of people easily. good at reading others and gravitates towards people that intrigue him. while everyone else is playing checkers, he's playing chess, and moves people around the board as if they're merely a means to an end. actually deeply cares for Spencer and is a bit hurt that he doesn't view him as a friend.
Jeremy Meyers (he/him): Cami's younger brother (by 1 year). eats, breathes and sleeps soccer. has always had a strong sibling relationship with Cami, and greatly admires and cares for her, so much so that he gets hurt when she hides things from him or doesn't come to him when she's going through a tough time.
#wip intro#writers of tumblr#writeblr#writing#wip: MDE#MDE wip intro#this was formerly called some call it fate for anyone out there that followed my (scarce) posts about my writing#but that was a placeholder name - can't even remember how I thought it up now#but after brainstorming I came up with a more permanent name which I think more closely matches the vibe of the story I'm telling now#can't wait to re-introduce this wip again when I start working on the third draft sometime next year#never made an oc intro for Vince so will update this with a link to that when I post it 😬
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and when i start to actually type this paulie/gates fic… what then 🫦
#its my only wip fic left for mafia i think?#i’m not saying i will but i’m saying it’s a possibility#also mde trio word web to be posted tm for maximum suffering of all of us#i’m moving this weekend (HOPEFULLY) so it’ll be a LONG time until any fic is done but i think i may… Start It#who knoooows#post: personal
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Author Ask Tag
Kindly tagged by @mysticstarlightduck 💕
1. What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?
Ultimately The Protolith is story about liberation from gender and imperialist norms. I write more about this in my posts about representation in Fantasy settings. The main character Charlotte combats the patriarchal expectations on her when she's in love with men, even well-meaning ones. She explores her identity as a person of color and how colonization impacted her late mother. It's very fun to explore these themes in science fiction fantasy because you can be incredibly literal. I don't want to spoil my WIP and also I have fully explored these themes yet, so I'll stop here.
2. What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?
Honestly, anytime I see something neat, I throw it into my world. It's so easy to fall into making a gas lamp fantasy look like some iteration of Victorian England. I attempted to make the main setting (Lorenzia) a combination of French and Mediterranean culture, flora, food, etc. We have olive trees, lamb is commonly eaten, formal titles are derivatives of Monsieur, Mademoiselle, Madame (but I abbreviate them as M, Mme, and Mde which is not technically correct). The sexually free culture is reminiscent of 1800s France and the oppressive church that of Europe in the same century.
I even have a mountain valley that's based on a rock formation I studied in California; it's rainbow because of the different oxidation states of iron. In contrast, the country where our main character Charlotte's mom is from is loosely based on Nigeria. It's a fun coincidence that the names I've found for these characters are based on Igbo names - which is the tribe from which I'm descendent (yes, I did a 23&Me).
Some of the worldbuilding is done out of convenience. For example, the initial romance arc needs a reason why our love interests Charlotte and Byron can't be together. In every version of this story, he's been a soldier of some kind. It came to me late at night that making him a priest with a vow of celibacy would be the perfect plot device to keep my characters apart. Thus, the militant oppressive Church was born. Eventually, this Church became a thinly veiled statement on religious imperialism, but that's just a happy side effect.
Additionally, I wanted a world where wars are still waged with swords, but has technology such as gas light, running water, the beginning of electricity, steam engines, etc. I decided that in this setting, gun are exceptionally hard to make because due to the atmospheric composition, explosives are more violent and harder to contain.
Finally, I've really wanted to pull science fiction elements into this story, which is where I came up with the World Wound; a crater formed from an ancient meteorite which has never been explored by man.
In summary, I crafted my world based on places I've been (through travel or as a scientist) and for plot convenience.
3. What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, and help readers grow as a person?
Look at answer #1
4. How many chapters is your story going to have?
50 😅 help me
5. Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?
Original! I've started posting a few chapters here (only the first scene before I redirect readers to Google Drive). I'm not sure how many chapters I'll post here or what I plan to do after my first draft.
6. When and why did you start writing?
I've always been writing! My twin and I used to have a binder of pictures books we wrong in elementary school. We joined Wattpad at the beginning of high school, but both of us moved on from there by the time we were 18. My twin continued on as a fantastic short story writer and future novelist. I stopped writing for a really long time. I started writing seriously last December. I'd flown home to help my mom after she had surgery, and when I wasn't with her I didn't really have much to do. Honestly, it was the most free time I'd had since finishing undergrad four years ago.
7. Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of Writeblr? What other writers on Tumblr do you follow?
I just got here so what I say doesn't mean much. Writing something bad is better than writing nothing at all? Cliched advice.
Tagging: @asablehart, @broodparasitism, @carrotblr, @anyablackwood, @authoralexharvey
#writeblr#tag game#fantasy#imperialism#decolonization#writers of color#black women in fantasy#romance#protolith
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I would like to hear and the Darius and Ethan WIP and/or Werebears, Werewolves and Witches Oh My! They sound so cool!
Thank you!! I spoke a lil bit about the Darius and Ethan WIP and shared a snippet here, i'll share another bc I am very fond of them <3
Darius pulls him to the left, his grip on Ethans hand shockingly gentle as he leads him around the deteriorated building and towards a rotted doorway with a ratty cloth hanging from the cracked frame. Ethan can't help but glance over his shoulder, eyes searching uselessly in the darkness for what Darius' trained eyes spotted—but was only met with inky shadows and swaying trees. The quiet was unnerving, the wind and scratching of branches against tin roofs doing nothing to quell his overactive imagination.
"In here, quickly."
Darius' voice is hushed and commanding as he guides Ethan to the door, holding the cloth to the side for him. Ethan skittishly snaps his head back to inspect the darkness within the doorway, his own fingers finally reciprocating Darius' hold and wrapping around his gloved palm with a frightened grip.
"W-wait, how do you know it's safe?" His voice is shaky, his fear badly hidden as he tries to heave himself back using Darius as a counterweight. Darius doesn't let him, his shocking strength rearing its head once more as he holds him in place with little effort. His gaze is stern yet oddly comforting as he tugs Ethan closer, red eyes almost glowing in the darkness. Ethan notes the slight crease in his brow, his usually stoic expression stained with a hint of urgency.
"Forgive me Winters but if you haven't figured it out by now there is no 'safe' here. Now if you would be so inclined—get inside." Darius' tone is final and Ethan can only nod meekly, realising he was right. It was probably safer in cover than out in the open, distant cracking of twigs and the howl of the wind surging him forward with Darius' guiding hand.
The rundown building he ducks into is better described as a small shack, the inside barely as big as a mid-size bathroom. Ethan stumbles over to a large crate and barrel in the back corner, sinking down between them and pressing his back against the rotted wood. It smelt damp and like something had most definitely taken its last breaths somewhere inside but by now Ethan had smelt much worse. Fallen into and waded through much worse as well.
He watches the cloth fall but Darius doesn't enter after him, leaving him feeling more vulnerable and alone than he'd like to admit. He'd gotten used to having Darius' overwhelming yet calming presence by his side in this village and having him out of his line of sight unsettled him. Turning his gaze down he manages to catch a glimpse of Darius' boots and the bottom of his coat, a small relief as he stands right outside—guarding him.
And the other one is based in one of my many supernatural creature AU's, it focuses on my Dean/Marcus ship (I've talked more about them on my other blog, Marcus is my Holland Valley farmer man <3) and basically Dean is a werewolf and Marcus is a werebear (it just mde sense cuz he's.. a bear.. yanno...) and they're both trying to be stealthy about it but they both suck at lying and keeping secrets! And this kinda revolves around a reveal scenario so they're both gonna figure out the other is a big fluffy creacher and it's gonna be adorable.
"You going to that uh, bonfire thing?" Dean's honey brown eyes glint in the sun, specks of gold shimmering in their depths as they capture Marcus' sole attention. The farmer averts his gaze to their small group of friends, joyfully chattering about the very event Dean just brought up.
"Oh, no. No i'm not." He chuckles gently, wringing his hands as he feels his nerves spike from the question. He really hoped that was the extent of it, he really didn't want to lie to him about his plans for the evening. He sees Dean nod from his peripheral vision, those enticing eyes of his also turning to the group ahead of them.
"Busy?" Dean asks, a slight tilt to his head as he stuffs his hands away in the pockets of his jeans. Marcus curses the gentle prodding silently as he casts his gaze down to the ground, nudging a rock thoughtfully with his shoe as he wracks his brain for a way out of the current topic. Or at least for a way to get out of answering the question directly.
"Something like that—are you going?" He glances up and swears he sees a flash of panic race across Dean's face. It's gone just as quickly as he'd seen it, replaced with a sheepish grin and a shrug of his flannel clad shoulders.
"Uh no, i'm... Busy, too." He chuckles and Marcus nods slowly. Something about his answer felt off, but then again who was he to talk. Any more questions and his excuse would crumble in seconds.
"Did I just hear neither of you are comin' to the Bonerfide Bonfire?" Marcus nearly falls over as Sharky appears to his left, blue eyes accusatory as he pouts at the two of them.
"Awe heck Shark, I didn't know you were calling it that and now i'm really sad i'm gonna miss it." Dean grins, reaching out to pat Sharky's shoulder. Marcus shakes his head gently and pats the pyro's other shoulder comfortingly, these boys definitely came up with some interesting names for their get-togethers.
#fun fact bc I. literally do not know where else to talk about it; Darius' literal heart is locked away in an ancient alien box#which makes him semi-immortal but not entirely and I want to spin some RE universe magic/logic and have him put it in the mouldy man#to save him somehow. I'm gonna make it work I'm gonna figure it out. Ethan is gonna live so help me—#and the Marcus/Dean fic was meant for october bc all of the main cast is some kinda spooky creature but I lost the mojo for it#dean answers#aceghosts#nadine's wips#ship: My Heart Beats For You#oc: Darius Lupan
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Do u evr jst?? Nevr finish smth?? like ur @ the lst leg of [thing] n thn ur brain is lke “Im gnna suspend thise in tme 4ever” n thn ur jst “wll ok nw i cnt finish [thng]”???
#n its like abt everyth KNSKS#u cn strt ut b cnt finsh it#n its nt jst abt WIPS i also mean ke shws n comics???#esp whn we gt news tht its gnna b ovr were like ‘i h8 chnge’ n thn dnt do it#??#im nt tlkng abt minecrft b it rmnds me of hw i cnt freakng turn on the caves n cliffs upd8 b im a minecraft king b chnge scres me KDNKDD???#anywy so i hvtn finishd hermitcraft S7 n ther4 i cnt strt S8 n im AAA abt it#also i wsh we lke cld finish the unfinishd PAINTING on our WALL thts been ther 4 MOR THN A YR ISHSKD??#we hav the paint b brain sys no??#ALSO also i wsh we cld stp thnkng of 500 thngs @ the sme tme like u end up lyng ther doin nothin bc ur thnkng of 500 projcts or#responsibilities or litrlly jst ANYTH evn as smll as y orngs r calld orangs#idk hw 2 explain tht whn i sy my brain runs on 50miles pr hr it rlly does feel lke tht KSJS#its lke. idk if fast is the rite wrd b i am genuinly thnkng of 3-5 thngs @ the sme tme @ all tmes#also I h8 Pets United bc thy tlk SO SLW it HRT 2 WTCH n they mde the tarsier chrctr lhav an asian accnt n A WISE SENSEI#as in he WS A WISE SENSIE ROLE n i jst like. we were jst >:’’’^)))#thy also mde the komodo dragon hav a slavic accnt even tho komodo dragns r frm asia#ok im dne tlkng ksndkd srry 4 puttng a vnt on ur dash gang 😔👉👉#vent#journal
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Names I go by- Mocha, gooey, veri, sourkitty
I use he/it prns :)
I am autistic! I am currently hyperfixated on my Kirby OCs 🫶
Metagala shipper and I wont shut up about it and how much I wanna kiss morpho
Art acc: @metagalacafe
Kirbronpa au acc: @kirbronpa
RB acc: @metagalaroid
Previous Art Tag- #mocha.png (old one was doodles/my art )
My toyhouse:(incomplete)
Mocha talks about anything- mocha.txt
Asks - mocha inbox
Edits- mocha.edits
Wips- mocha.wips
Metagala tag for stuff I don't want on main tag 4 some reason : 🍄🦇
also dont go liking every post i mde please not only does it creep me out but also annoys me so dont :>
DNI IF:
-you are pr0shit/defend or suporut pr0shitters
-rasict, transphobic, homophobic
- ship metakirby, franflam, meta and dmk, kirby x most ppl , the 3 mage SISTERS x ecsh other or hyness looking at you franfalm and hyzan shippers
- are an mspec lesbain/support/think mspec lesbains are valid.
ALSO I KNOW THEY ARENT SISTERS BIOLOGICALLY ITS STILL GROSS TO ME!!!!!
-mcyt
-say slurs you can not reclaim
-nsfw bots and stuff like taht
#mocha txt#pinned post#i eidt this very so often just ti udoate 8nfo#sorry I udoated this to roemvw alot of personl stuff im just getung suosr duper paranoid now
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full disclosure i have 54 WIP fics for the trilogy (not including the really short scraps in google keep, these are all things with their own documents). one is m3, five are mde (one is a crossover with m2) and the rest are all 2. that game did something to my brain istg cause i have never written like this for another piece of media that wasn’t my own project like for context the only other thing i’ve started more than one fic for has 13. what the fuck man!
#this rivals some of my actual novels. what happened to me#those little guys are just in my brain now!
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WIP of my fave symmetra skin...........
#symmetra#overwatch#ow#satya vaswani#oasis#symmetra oasis#im gonna goof about with the facial structure tomorrow when i have access to photoshop#mecause i know i made her chin too thin#and generally mde the facial proportions a tad Off#art#WIP
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sharing a snippet from a chapter I went back and rewrote a bit last night bc something about it felt ~off~ and I still can't decide if I like the changes I made or not but fuck it :)
Picking up a keychain from a nearby rack, I chucked it at him.
His brows furrowed as it bounced off his chest. “What the hell was that?”
“Oh, my bad, I didn’t realize you could see me, you know, given the way you blew me off in the hall the other day.” He glared off to the side. “A bit rude, don’t you think? Did I piss you off that much at the dance?”
His jaw clenched. Still not meeting my gaze, he asked, “You lecture all your customers like this?”
“Only the ones that act like immature jerks,” I shot back.
His eyes finally flicked over to me. He bent over, picking the keychain I threw off the floor and returning it to its rack. “Overlook all past transgressions.”
My brows furrowed. “What?”
“Those were your words. The terms of the clean slate. You seem to think I owe you more than that.”
I gritted my teeth. “Yes, Spencer, you’re right. I’m really asking for a lot by expecting to be given the time of day.”
“That’s not what I mean.” He fiddled with the remaining keychains on the rack. “Your whole speech about us having some sort of understanding. For whatever reason, you refuse to admit the obvious.” His head turned and our eyes met. “We’re strangers to each other. I don’t know anything about you and you don’t know anything about me. A handful of arguments doesn’t change that.”
My lips parted, a surge of protest rushing to the surface. But it slowly subsided, my lips closing once more.
//
I grabbed a bag for his purchase, but he declined with a shake of his head. Swiping up the CD, I moved to hand it over to him, yanking it back just as he reached for it.
He tsked, mocking me. “Now you’re just getting pathetic.”
I frowned, grumbling as I handed the CD over.
“The girl’s self-esteem is intact for one more day. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
I glanced over at Andy who, evidently having been watching us — or rather, Spencer — quickly averted her gaze. He had a point. And it surprised me that he’d gone out of his way to step in and help without being asked.
Then, I replayed his words. “Wait, you did all that…for me?”
“Don’t read too much into it. Consider it an apology. For the other day.” He averted his gaze.
He was about to walk off, but a simple sentence made him hang back. “You’re wrong, you know.” His brow twitched. “About us not knowing anything about each other.” How could he not see it?
Palms flat against the counter, I leaned against them. “I know that you like Rock music — The Kooks, Rolling Stones, Crash Kings,” I nodded to the CD in his hand. “I know the glove compartment in your car is packed with CDs, and on a random night last September your favorite band was Nirvana. I know that every time I see you you have a different book in your hand, and the reason you enjoy reading so much is because it gives purpose to your meaningless, inconsequential life — your words, not mine. You own a phone so ancient I didn’t even know they still made it. When you don’t want to answer a question you either respond with a question or by avoiding eye contact, sometimes both at once if I’m lucky. And I know I saw you in a vulnerable state once and I’ve kept it a secret ever since. So, sure, they may have just been a handful of arguments on the surface. But we took something away from each one. At least, I did. So, between us, I don’t think I’m the one that’s refusing to admit the obvious here.”
#wip: MDE#creative writing#original writing#writing community#writeblr#writeblr.fijhp#<-- haven't posted my writing in a while and figured I'd try that bad boy out
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Srry 4 the lack of posts <:^/
Aftr a fallout/recent events we jst hvnt has the time 2 draw,,,, ANYTH,,,,, like it’s just Depressd Hours + finding new triggrs,
like we Draw b besides small norml doodls thers not mch 2 show,,, whn we get sad nowdys, we strtd playin games instd of drwn 2 cope dkdjkd 4 now, NOT thinkin of stuff hs been bttr
(THOUGH som of us DO still make art, theyr jst not vent art 👀 if u wnna c those u can check my blog or sal’s blog whn he does draw while frontin dkdh)
Hope yall r good tho???everyths a MESS still b we jst dnt hav content KJDDH we’ve been workin on a system frsna b its hard??? Wdk (we dnt kno) how 2 designa. COLLECTIV frsna so weve boiled it down 2 a blueish caracal b in terms of colors??? A mess, it LOOKS pretty b we dnt kno if it screams PBS u kno??? We can design chrs 4 other ppl b designing a collctv 1 4 ourslvs?? Hard,,,, hav WIPS tho! Drawn by MJ (the 1st drwn drawn by Rainbow Dash)
The final designs might b postd 2 @ebonytails tho since it’ll b a system+singlet fursona @ the sme time KDJ
The originla colors were brown but we changed it 2 pastel bc ppl sggstd we guv off pastel vibes, + brown ws 2 common. Then we dulld the colors aftr that bc being super bright @ the time of mj drawing the 2nd pic) felt disingenuous (words ew) b then it ended up looking like, Sal, so sal even mde jokes tht this shld jst b his sys frsna n its like NOO we dnt wnna strts frm scrtch again KDJKSJKH GRAPHIC DESIGN IS MY PASSION **clenches fist whle cryjng** we’re this close 2 paying som1 2 design 1 4 us, b the thing is it cnt b any random person bc they wnt kno who we r dkdjdkn. The point of our design is 1) simple :^( like 4 anim8ions or 2 just drw casually 2) shld vibe as US,,, its HARD, OUGH this mite take a long time 2 do bc colors r litrlly the last step here
If yall hav sggstions tht wld b nice! (in terms of colors!!! Or markings!! The animal is final oop)
#PLS enjoy this random post n upd8 of our lives lol#ough its way easier 2 design ponies bc they hav specific body shapes (horses r ONE ANML frsna can b ANY or many or even a MIX#MJ stopped @ the fce bc 1) it was L8 2) the rest of the design ws not final so like...... had 2 stop ther#we diddnt design a pony 1st tho bc........ it seems 2 easy#from kris#ogeeitsart#headspace#headmate#headmates#UGH LIKE IT CLD B BROWN B MAYB PASTEL BROWN???#gnna cry bc we wnna get this dne b its so HARD 2 make the colors ourselvs#we like the markings i thnk b colors#makes brain go brrrrr
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Wip fot a drawing i might finish .3. His names jackson, hes kinda.. a exparement so j dont knkw jwag hes a hybrid of, i mde him i was 6
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Find the word tag
Tagged a while ago by @oh-no-another-idea. My words were frost, north, glass and pretentious.
Tagging: @inscrutable-shadow @regalserpent @avrablake @akindofmagictoo @365runesoftheamalgamations
Your words are: father, black, bitter and frame (having two sets of words staring with the same letters was unintentional)
F R O S T (from first draft of MDE)
It was early February, and an inch of snow layered the town like a silent blanket.
Outside my foggy window, pedestrians walked about in thick coats and other accessories, armoring themselves against the harsh nips of the frosty air.
I admired the leaves of trees streaked in white like a gray strand in an aging woman's hair, and the slushing of the tires treading through wet streets.
I focused on the sights and sounds, savoring these last moments of normalcy before this life-altering mission robbed them from me
N O R T H (from first draft of MDE)
"Please, Jer." I stared fixedly into his eyes. "I know you're upset with me. But if even an ounce of you still cares about me then please, come with me."
His mouth set in a hard line, his brow twitched and his eyes grew dark, a conflict brewing behind them. Then, to my relief, he muttered, "Gimme a minute to get changed."
Bundled in our warmest attire, we plunged into the freezing cold of the mid-afternoon. Walking a few minutes to a street corner, we caught a bus heading north, settling into seats in the very back. Jeremy slouched in his seat beside me, fists buried in his pockets and head dipped back in boredom. I eyed him wistfully, before turning to watch the passing scenery.
G L A S S (from current draft of MDE)
I clenched my hands into fists. “I’m trying to apologize here.”
“Yeah, I can tell. Don’t hurt yourself.”
My irritation flared. “Dude, what is your problem?”
[Spencer] nonchalantly flipped a page. “Are you on fire?”
I jerked my head back, unsure I’d heard him right. “What?”
“Are you on fire?” He enunciated each word as if I couldn't
understand English.
“No.”
“Is the building on fire?”
“…No.”
“Then you have no valid reason for trying to talk to me when I have earphones in.” I gritted my teeth. “If you’re looking to make friends, I suggest you look elsewhere.”
My chest heaved with a quick laugh. “Become friends? With you? I’d rather eat glass.”
“Have fun with that.” Not sparing me a single glance, he placed his earbud back in and continued on reading, seemingly dismissing me.
I shook my head in disbelief and spun on my heels. “Asshole.”
P R E T E N T I O U S (from first draft of MDE)
I found [Spencer] at the end of an aisle toward the back of the bookstore, quite a few pages into a paperback cradled in his hands. I stopped just a few feet away from him.
"I feel like every time I talk to you I see you with a different book. Out of curiosity, how many do you read through in a week?"
"Three on a bad week."
I suppressed an eye roll at the pretentious answer.
Shifting my weight to one leg, I toyed with my ring, the metal cold against my finger. "I shouldn't have pushed you at dinner. It's your life, your decision. And it's none of my business." Again.
His gaze flitted over to me. "I shouldn't have raised my voice."
It was as close to an apology as either of us were apparently going to offer.
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Ten First Last Lines
Tagged by @pertinax--loculos.
Tagging: @rainbowwriteratdawn @ashfordlabs @vacantgodling @authortango
I almost chose not to respond to this one because, as you can already tell by the title, I had to break every single rule of this tag for it to work. I believe you're meant to include the first lines of ten of your wips - well your girl only has one so we're going to be giving lines from chapters of MDE. But then I learned that all the first lines of MDE suck (they were all just action sentences like 'I opened the door' so completely uninteresting; didn't realize I had this habit/crutch - will need to fix that in post)
Anyway, all that is to say that I will be sharing with you the ten last lines of chapters from MDE. I will also be cheating even further on some (I've broken every single rule already I might as well keep going right?) and sharing the last two lines because I can.
So in no particular order:
As the door swung shut, I broke, placing a hand over my mouth to smother my sobs.
If my little brother could muster up that amount of strength and courage — what was my excuse?
I was going to make them eat their words.
I stared absently into the dark chasm of the girl’s endless scream.
I knew firsthand the damage that lies and secrets could inflict, so I’d adamantly sworn I’d always be truthful with him, no matter what. But this tiny thing felt harmless to keep to myself.
I never thought I’d be relieved to hear my mother��s voice.
I prayed he didn’t catch the disappointment, the confusion fighting to bleed through. The sheen of fresh tears threatening to surface.
A grin slowly formed on his lips, growing wider and wider. “Do you even have to ask?”
I bit my lower lip to stop it from trembling. I nodded, then reached over to squeeze his hand tight and whispered, “You, too,”
Be normal. What was the point.
#tag game#wip: MDE#writeblr#writing#that first one is the last line of chapter 1 so yk#off to a great start
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Find the word tag
Thank you @oh-no-another-idea for the tag. My words are ring, time, notice, and force. Bonus: piano! (I have like 2 excerpts with piano in an old draft of MDE but nothing exciting enough to share lol)
Tagging: @akindofmagictoo @somethingclevermahogony @a-crystallen-author @isherwoodj. Your words are: melody, leaf, smooth, and ache.
R I N G
[Spencer] dug his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, producing a thin fold of cash. “A-plus customer service, by the way. Do you also piss on your customers after they complete a purchase or do I have to join the rewards program for that?”
Jerking my head back, I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
He threw down a few bills and grabbed his bagged items, a silver ring glinting off the forefinger of his left hand. “Keep the change.” Turning, he walked casually over to the exit and out the door.
T I M E
“Cami, is it?” Vince eased himself into my periphery. “I finally found out your name, which you so rudely refused to tell me the other day.”
I jerked my padlock. “Unless you’re the US government, you’re not exactly entitled to that information.”
He grinned. “Look, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over?”
I swung my bag off my shoulder and stuffed a book inside. “Sure. I’d be happy to go back to the point in time when neither of us was aware of the other’s existence.”
“I don’t think it’s possible for me to ignore the existence of someone like you.”
“Well, that makes one of us.” I smiled back, shutting my locker and walking off.
N O T I C E
I lingered after class let out, taking my sweet time packing up my belongings. As soon as the last pesky student with a long-winded question for Professor Huynh had left, I bolted up from my seat.
“So, I couldn’t help but notice that I didn’t hear back from you about the pictures I sent.”
Her pen scratched against paper as she wrote something down. “I figured it was best to discuss this in person.”
“Says every critic who’s on the verge of delivering great news,” I muttered sarcastically. I spread my arms out. “Alright, lay it on me. What was the problem? Were the pieces too amateur? Too colorful? Did I use the wrong drawing utensil?”
Her eyes didn’t leave her paper. “Are you done being cute?” I frowned.
F O R C E
I slammed my palms on her desk, my fingers curling, nails scratching against the wood. “You have no idea what I want,” I seethed.
“Finally, something we both agree on. Because if you really wanted this, if I were in your shoes and I really wanted this, I would be throwing everything I had into the ring.”
We held each other in an unwavering stare.
“This is just a consultation. I’m not going to hold a gun to your head and force you to use these pieces. You asked for my help and my advice and that’s what I’m giving you. You’re free to decide against it. We can still put together a decent enough portfolio without them.”
I clenched my jaw. I didn’t come this far, work this hard, for decent enough. I wanted excellence, perfection. I wanted every margin of error, every shadow of doubt to be swallowed up by unequivocal certainty.
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WIP Snippet Tag Game
Rules: Post a snippet you've written that you're proud of and tag 5 people
Thank you @pluttskutt for creating this tag game and tagging me to get it started! Hope you don't mind I gave it a name, feel free to change it
Tagging: @that-chibi-writer @junypr-camus @mundanemoongirl @chauceryfairytales @author-a-holmes
I was pretty excited to do this one because I have a lot of scenes that I'm proud of that I've written lately. I was torn between two that I wanted to share but chose to go with this one. I rarely post long snippets of my writing so I was hesitant to share this one, but I just don't think singling out a piece of this scene would've done it justice so - here it is!
A snippet from My Dearest Enemy. I don't think much context is needed.
CW: active grieving, death of a parent, brief mention of self-harm (to those I tagged pls don't feel obligated to read this if it is at all triggering)
Word count: 1915
A sea of faceless onlookers. A figure in the middle, centering the piece. Something was off about her. Was she naked? No. Too literal, too obvious. Black in a sea of white? No nuance to that. But something made her different from the others. A spot of abnormal in the sea of normality.
“Would anyone be willing to read the passage on page 13 starting with ‘Clevinger arrested himself’?”
I glanced up from my sketchbook. Dead silence. Almost everyone stared down at their desks as if that would somehow make them invisible.
Mrs. Fischer stood at the front of the class, frowning. Why she insisted on getting a bunch of jaded seniors to read out loud anymore was above me.
To put everyone out of the misery of steeping in this awkwardness any longer, I closed my sketchbook and boldly raised a hand.
Mrs. Fischer’s eyes brightened behind her glasses. “Thank you, Cameron, for volunteering.”
I flipped to the page and cleared my throat before reading: “Clevinger arrested himself in mid-declamation, suspiciously. ‘Who’s Nathaniel?’ ‘Nathaniel who?’ inquired Yossarian impatiently. Clevinger skirted the trap neatly. ‘You think everybody is Jehovah. You’re no better than Raskol—” I stopped abruptly.
“Raskolnkov,” Mrs. Fischer said, under the assumption I was having trouble pronouncing the name.
An intense pressure slammed into my chest like a crushing weight.
This Raskolnkov fellow sure is a piece of work.
A tidal wave of emotions surged to the surface, crashing over me. My body grew heavy and rigid like blocks of steel, pinned beneath the weight of anguish threatening to consume me. I took quick, shallow breaths, forcing myself to stay afloat, willing the flood to recede.
“Raskol —” My voice thinned and broke with impending tears.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to regain control of myself. Not here. Not now. Not like this.
The rustling sound of movement. I could sense heads turning in my direction.
Faint whispers. “Is she okay?”
“Cameron? Are you alright?” Mrs. Fischer asked.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, smothering the sob expanding like a bubble caged in my throat. I bolted up from my seat and ran for the door, ignoring the confused looks and poorly concealed murmurs of concern.
You’re never going to finish that are you?
Some day, I will. A chapter a year and I’ll be finished before you know it.
I’ll practically be in college by then!
So, it’s a deal?
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Everything around me blurred as fresh, hot tears pooled behind my eyes, racing down my face. I clenched my teeth to quiet the sobs. The world tilted as I suddenly grew unsteady on my feet, in desperate need of a place to sit down.
Coming up on the stairs to the upper floor, I ran up a few steps and took a seat at the landing. Heaving and sobbing hysterically, I shook out my wrists, willing myself to get a grip, terrified that I was rapidly losing control. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I furiously wiped away my tears so I could see the screen.
Who to text?
Mira? We hadn’t talked since I blew up at her Saturday night.
Jeremy? No, I couldn’t drag him into this.
My grip on my phone slipped and I gasped as it clattered down the steps, sliding across the floor.
“Fuck shit fuck!”
Hugging my knees and burying my head in my lap, I rocked back and forth, praying for this intense feeling of despair to subside.
The faint sound of footsteps. They abruptly stopped just below me.
“Screen’s cracked.”
My ears perked up at the familiar voice. I lifted my head. It took a second for my eyes to focus. Spencer stood at the base of the stairs holding my phone in his hand.
I scoffed, glancing away with a sniffle. “What the hell do you want?”
“Mrs. Fischer wanted someone to check on you. I told her I’d make an attempt to look for you on my way to the bathroom.”
I rolled my eyes with a bitter laugh. “How noble of you to include me in there as an afterthought. You checked. I’m fine. You can leave.”
“Very convincing performance.”
“Seriously, Spencer, go away. I’m not in the mood.” Balancing my elbows on my knees, I hung my head, digging my fingers into my scalp. In my periphery, I watched him take two steps to lean against the railing. “God, can you please just leave?” I whined in aggravation. My heart wrenched, and any other words of protests died inside me on their way to my lips.
I was too far gone to care how humiliating this was, falling apart in front of him, of all people.
It didn’t matter. I was no longer in control of my body. Grief had snuck in and hijacked my nerves, rooted itself in my bone marrow. All I could do was bend to its will, heave and sob into the sleeve of my sweater until it retracted its claws from my lungs and granted me permission to breathe again.
Slowly, gently, my sobs subsided into quiet hiccups. I folded my arms atop my knees and rested my cheek against them. “No one told me it would be like this.” I sniffled, my voice quiet and hoarse. “No one prepared me. After it happened, we just…never spoke about it. She just went on as if nothing had happened. Like if we ignored it, everything would go back to normal.” My forehead pinched in frustration, a stray tear tickling my skin as it streamed down the side of my nose before veering off course and dripping against my hand. “I guess something inside of me wanted to believe that it was possible. That we…that I could be normal again. I’d give anything for that.”
“Seems like an awful lot of effort wasted pretending to be something you’re not.”
I furrowed my brows. Lifting my head, I regarded Spencer at the base of the stairs.
He rested an elbow on the railing behind him, his thumb fiddling with the ring on his pointer finger. “If you ask me, it’s pretty overrated. Being normal. Whatever that means.”
I pursed my lips, then cleared my throat. “How do you figure that?”
“Normal people don't do extraordinary things. They don't make history. They're,” he shrugged, “forgettable.”
I perched my chin on my arms and stared down at him. “What if I don’t want to be remembered?”
He finally glanced up at me. “Sounds like a pretty sad existence.”
“Maybe. But can’t be any worse than the one I’m already living.”
He quirked a brow as if to say, Touche.
I studied him. “You know, you’re not normal either.”
“Damn, really?” he said, in the world’s most disinterested tone. “What gave it away? The fact that I piss off everyone I talk to or that I stood in the middle of a hallway and cut my hand open?”
My head tottered from side to side. “You know what? I think it’s a tie.” I pressed the knuckle of my thumb against my lips to suppress a laugh. He shook his head, turning away just as the corner of his lips sloped upward in amusement.
I pulled the sleeves of my sweater over my hands. “My dad had to read Crime and Punishment for a lit class he was forced to take in college. He never finished it. Every time he picked it up, he’d only get a few pages in and give up. Years later, after my brother and I were born, Jeremy signed up to be the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz for a school play. A few weeks into rehearsals, he started to get bored of it and wanted to quit. My dad gave him this whole speech about how if he never finished anything he started people would assume they couldn’t rely on him. My brother, cleverly, asked my dad if he’d ever started something that he never finished. And he remembered his college lit class. He couldn’t come off as a hypocrite. He had to set an example for my brother. So he made a deal that he would finish Crime and Punishment if Jeremy saw the play through.”
I chuckled. “Total idiot move. My brother only had to suffer for two more weeks in rehearsal. But my dad had to suffer through that book for years. A chapter a year. That was his goal. And he stuck to it. Every December, I’d catch him up late in the middle of the night, trying to get a few pages in so he could keep his promise. That book practically lived on our coffee table. Every year the bookmark inched closer and closer to the end. We even made a game out of it, seeing who could come up with the most absurd things that would happen before Dad ever finished that book.” My breath hitched. I swallowed as fresh tears stung the back of my eyes. “I’d almost forgotten about that. And now all I can think about is…that bookmark. Staying on that same page where he left it last December. Forever.”
My voice cracked. Sniffling, I wiped at my wet cheeks in frustration.
I blinked up at the fluorescent lights, willing the tears to stop. “It’s crazy. The different ways a person’s memory lingers. How just reading a single word in a book could make me wanna cry for days.” The ensuing silence made my skin crawl, suddenly painfully aware that maybe I had shared too much. I tugged my sleeves further over my hands. “Have you ever…lost anyone?”
His head shifted in my general direction, but he didn’t meet my eyes.
I stiffened. “I’m sorry, that’s a really deeply personal question. You don’t have to answer that.”
He tilted his head back. To my surprise, he responded, “Yeah, I have.” I stayed quiet, giving him the space to speak, or to share in the quiet with me. “My mother.”
My heart pierced. “Oh my god. I’m so —”
“Don’t.” He cut me off. “It happened when I was really young. I don’t even remember her.”
I peered at him curiously, not understanding. “Even if you didn’t really know her, that doesn’t mean you can’t still mourn what’s missing. I know I would.”
His head whipped up to me, eyes wide with the purest, unguarded wonder for the briefest moment.
The shrill ring of the bell broke the spell.
He turned away, withdrawing into himself once more.
“Crap. I practically skipped out on the whole class. This isn’t gonna go over well.”
“We should probably head back.” Head down, Spencer eased off the railing.
“You go ahead,” I said. He threw a curious look over his shoulder. “I’m not exactly keen on walking back into a room full of people who witnessed me having a mental breakdown.” He nodded in understanding. “But, thank you. For checking on me, and trying to comfort me…in your own way. You didn’t have to do all that.” Given how standoffish he’d been during our last few encounters, I began to wonder. “Why…did you?”
He stared down at his hands, idly twisting the silver ring on his forefinger. “I don't know," he said. "What’s the alternative?”
His response disarmed me as I slowly recognized my own words from our conversation at the Yard. A slow smile crept up my face.
#writeblr#writing community#writers of tumblr#tag game#wip: MDE#thank you for the tag!#happy I got to share this one#I've never lost anyone - least of all a parent - but I think about how I would cope with something so devastating all the time#I hope I was able to write it authentically
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I really liked this bit I wrote of Cami observing Mira with her mom. There's a lot going on underneath the scene for Cami, emotionally. Having known each other since they were kids, Cami and Mira practically grew up around each other's families. But things ofc shifted after Cami's father died and the strained relationship with her own mom that resulted.
Word count: 514
“Cameron!” Mrs. Fakhoury’s eyes lit up once I crossed the threshold into the kitchen. She dropped the stew-covered wooden spoon in her hands and scurried over, drawing me into a tight embrace. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”
The wooly fabric of her pink cardigan tickled my nose and I was instantly soothed by her familiar scent: Chanel perfume and lavender-scented lotion mingling with the earthy tinge of some cooking spice that clung to her hair.
“It’s good to see you, too, Mrs. Fakhoury,” I said the minute she released me from her long embrace.
Looking at her was like glimpsing what Mira would look like twenty years in the future. The maternal genes in the family must have been strong as hell because Mira undoubtedly inherited her striking beauty from her mom. Golden brown skin with a warm undertone, round face framed by dark, wavy hair, and eyes that pinned you in place with a single stare. However, time had added small bags that hung below her upturned eyes, and laugh lines that unfurled like wings around her mouth, propping up her cheeks whenever she smiled. Frankly, the weathered details only enhanced her charm.
Frowning, Mrs. Fakhoury planted her balled fists on her hips. “How come you’ve been such a stranger? You know I don’t like it when you go more than a few weeks without visiting.”
I chuckled lightly. “I know, I’m sorry. The beginning of the semester was a little rough.”
“Is everything okay? Are you eating well?” She touched a warm palm to my cheek, her brows slanting in concern. “You shouldn’t stress yourself out too much, you know.”
“Mom, quit crowding her. She’s fine.” Mira batted her away. “I would’ve let you know if she was in danger of dropping dead.”
Mrs. Fakhoury pursed her lips and shot her daughter a dubious look. “Right, of course, my oh-so-reliable daughter.”
Mira side-stepped her to get to the fridge.
“Why do you always insist on snacking just before dinner and ruining your appetite, hayati?” Her mom tutted, then continued to scold her in Arabic. Though the tone of her words sounded harsh, there was an underlying tenderness that I’d come to easily recognize over the years of listening to their interactions.
Kicking the fridge closed with her knee, Mira tossed up a clementine in one hand while gripping a piece of string cheese in the other. Rolling her eyes, she spoke back to her mom in their native tongue.
Gripping my bag, I watched them with a polite smile from the doorway, feeling slightly out of place despite being part of this same scene a thousand times before. Mrs. Fakhoury gripped Mira’s shoulders from behind and pecked the side of her face. As their conversation came to a close, her hand smoothed over Mira’s hair and tucked an imaginary stray strand behind her ear. An action so ordinary, yet so intimate, that I was sure she had done it without thinking. A strange sensation gripped me as I looked on. A twinge of something in my chest, a smoldered fire.
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