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- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 12
To begin this daily, share a tongue twister in the comment section. Then, once you’ve done that, pick someone else’s tongue twister and write a story based off of it that is at least 500 words long!
Tongue twister: if two witches would watch two watches, which witch would watch which watch? (provided by @ap0l0)!
Word count: 549 words
Notes: It's midnight and I'm not supposed to even have my laptop but there's no way I'm not posting the silliest piece I've written in a while, especially when I love it so much. Like, yeah, the writing style feels like something my friend would write, and I really do not like writing like that, but c'mon man. Low-key lesbian witches!! So. #RebelLife
— ♪ —
On Grimwatch street under the wicker-made window there live two witches. These two witches are renowned and well known for their capacity to watch watches, a talent previously unheard of—save for in legends.
You see, the wicker-made window under Grimwatch street, situated in the Waxy Water district of the wonderful kingdom of the Watchful Wheatfield is an eternal place, far beyond the reach of time. There are no watches here, at least, not anymore. They were all whacked into pieces after Wilhelm the Wary Warlock took over Watchful Wheatfield and decreed it to be so.
And soon, watches faded into obscurity and wandered off into oblivion. They became stories told by wise old warthogs who wavered between life and death, seemingly senile, senseless and sorrowful geriatrics with no grasp on the concepts of reality.
This is all a lie, however, as you might have been able to tell. Because as we well know, under a wicker-made window out on Grimwatch street, there live two witches who can watch watches. They are said to be the only watch watchers in the entirety of the glorious, exalted kingdom of the Watchful Wheatfield. You might wonder why Wilhelm the Wary Warlock ever allowed them to flourish, but that is a tale for another time. Until then, you may presume that they were simply far too wizened and powerful for old Wilhelm to so much as lift a finger against them.
(If you asked the warlock, he would loudly deny ever being scared of those two watch-watching witches. This is another lie. However, we avoid calling him out on this one, as Wilhelm the Wary Warlock has a nasty habit of…conveniently silencing such naysayers.)
But now, the crux of our story.
One day, a tired traveller arrived in the glorious kingdom of the Watchful Wheatfield. He was not from around the place, and that was clearly evident in the way he carried himself. Or rather, the way in which he carried his watches.
He had all sorts of watches—watches you could scarcely even imagine. He had sundials and wristwatches and alarm clocks and grandfather clocks. He had watches that ran on machines and he had watches that ran on electricity. He had watches that weren’t even watches but watched people watching them all the same. No local could ever be so bold as to wear so many watches.
He arrived on the doorstep of the two witches who lived under the wicker-made window of Grimwatch street. The two witches welcomed him into their home, and in return for their hospitality, the traveller offered the two witches two witches.
Now the two witches (who were very much in love with each other, mind you) had gone for quite a long time without any petty arguments. And so, they decided to have a watch watching competition. The details were decided, but there arose a far more important question: which witch would watch which watch?
They fell into squabbling, and they did not stop for at least a century. By that time, Wilhelm the Wary Warlock was long gone and dead, and watch watching was no longer a think of legends. So the two watch-watching witches faded into obscurity and lived the rest of the days happily under the wicker-made window on Grimwatch street.
To begin this daily, share a tongue twister in the comment section. Then, once you’ve done that, pick someone else’s tongue twister and write a story based off of it that is at least 500 words long!
Tongue twister: if two witches would watch two watches, which witch would watch which watch? (provided by @ap0l0)!
Word count: 549 words
Notes: It's midnight and I'm not supposed to even have my laptop but there's no way I'm not posting the silliest piece I've written in a while, especially when I love it so much. Like, yeah, the writing style feels like something my friend would write, and I really do not like writing like that, but c'mon man. Low-key lesbian witches!! So. #RebelLife
— ♪ —
On Grimwatch street under the wicker-made window there live two witches. These two witches are renowned and well known for their capacity to watch watches, a talent previously unheard of—save for in legends.
You see, the wicker-made window under Grimwatch street, situated in the Waxy Water district of the wonderful kingdom of the Watchful Wheatfield is an eternal place, far beyond the reach of time. There are no watches here, at least, not anymore. They were all whacked into pieces after Wilhelm the Wary Warlock took over Watchful Wheatfield and decreed it to be so.
And soon, watches faded into obscurity and wandered off into oblivion. They became stories told by wise old warthogs who wavered between life and death, seemingly senile, senseless and sorrowful geriatrics with no grasp on the concepts of reality.
This is all a lie, however, as you might have been able to tell. Because as we well know, under a wicker-made window out on Grimwatch street, there live two witches who can watch watches. They are said to be the only watch watchers in the entirety of the glorious, exalted kingdom of the Watchful Wheatfield. You might wonder why Wilhelm the Wary Warlock ever allowed them to flourish, but that is a tale for another time. Until then, you may presume that they were simply far too wizened and powerful for old Wilhelm to so much as lift a finger against them.
(If you asked the warlock, he would loudly deny ever being scared of those two watch-watching witches. This is another lie. However, we avoid calling him out on this one, as Wilhelm the Wary Warlock has a nasty habit of…conveniently silencing such naysayers.)
But now, the crux of our story.
One day, a tired traveller arrived in the glorious kingdom of the Watchful Wheatfield. He was not from around the place, and that was clearly evident in the way he carried himself. Or rather, the way in which he carried his watches.
He had all sorts of watches—watches you could scarcely even imagine. He had sundials and wristwatches and alarm clocks and grandfather clocks. He had watches that ran on machines and he had watches that ran on electricity. He had watches that weren’t even watches but watched people watching them all the same. No local could ever be so bold as to wear so many watches.
He arrived on the doorstep of the two witches who lived under the wicker-made window of Grimwatch street. The two witches welcomed him into their home, and in return for their hospitality, the traveller offered the two witches two witches.
Now the two witches (who were very much in love with each other, mind you) had gone for quite a long time without any petty arguments. And so, they decided to have a watch watching competition. The details were decided, but there arose a far more important question: which witch would watch which watch?
They fell into squabbling, and they did not stop for at least a century. By that time, Wilhelm the Wary Warlock was long gone and dead, and watch watching was no longer a think of legends. So the two watch-watching witches faded into obscurity and lived the rest of the days happily under the wicker-made window on Grimwatch street.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (April 2, 2024 15:41:40)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 13
First, take out the last sentence of your cabin's storyline/intro. Using this as a starting point, create a short story with this sentence as first line!
Word count: 352 words
Notes: In case you can't tell, this is just some rando who's monologuing about an equally random situation because I had zero ideas on what I could write about. It's a real shame, considering the fact that “So…are you in?” is an amazing starting line. Perhaps I should be getting more sleep.
As for the protagonist, I think I'm going to call them something like Jiminy Pringles for the rest of the foreseeable future. I know nothing about them except for the fact that they're really impulsive and very good at making terrible monologues, but I think that's more than enough.
I did want this to be exactly 350 words, but this is quite possibly the closest I've ever been to meeting a word count almost exactly, so no complaints there ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
— ♪ —
“So…are you in?”
I’m about to answer when for once in my life, I decide to stop and think. Decisions like this can’t be rushed, after all.
It’s a crazy plan. It might not work. It could blow up in our faces spectacularly. There are a million different things that have to be carefully orchestrated. Pulling off this plan is going to be like stacking a house of cards—one wrong move and the whole thing crumbles.
There’s a reason why the question is so loaded. When he asks me if I’m in, he’s not just asking if I’m willing to be a part of the plan. He’s also asking if I’m willing to deal with the fallout. He’s asking if I’m in for the one shot I have at getting my life back, but he’s also asking me if I’m in for the endless scrutiny and speculation and the inevitable smear campaign that’ll follow if anything goes awry.
Which, to reiterate, there are very high chances of happening.
It’s a huge gamble, playing along. I might get to have a normal life again. I might get shot at being happy.
Everything’s moving so fast. Or maybe I’m moving too slowly. Or maybe everything’s working at a normal speed and I’m slowly going insane.
I take another second to consider the alternatives.
I can choose to lie down and not do anything about The Situation. Of course, that means that my life would be nothing short of hellish for a few months—a year, if I’m particularly unlucky. And then things would die down, but it’d still follow me around for the rest of my days.
I can choose to go along, knowing full well that if things go awry, I’d go out with the knowledge that I did fight it.
And if things did go right, well.
That’d be pretty sweet, wouldn’t it? My life would be set. Everyone gets to be happy. I would get to be happy.
Her hand slips into mine, and I let our fingers intertwine. It’s a comforting reassurance.
I take a breath.
“I’ll do it.”
First, take out the last sentence of your cabin's storyline/intro. Using this as a starting point, create a short story with this sentence as first line!
Word count: 352 words
Notes: In case you can't tell, this is just some rando who's monologuing about an equally random situation because I had zero ideas on what I could write about. It's a real shame, considering the fact that “So…are you in?” is an amazing starting line. Perhaps I should be getting more sleep.
As for the protagonist, I think I'm going to call them something like Jiminy Pringles for the rest of the foreseeable future. I know nothing about them except for the fact that they're really impulsive and very good at making terrible monologues, but I think that's more than enough.
I did want this to be exactly 350 words, but this is quite possibly the closest I've ever been to meeting a word count almost exactly, so no complaints there ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
— ♪ —
“So…are you in?”
I’m about to answer when for once in my life, I decide to stop and think. Decisions like this can’t be rushed, after all.
It’s a crazy plan. It might not work. It could blow up in our faces spectacularly. There are a million different things that have to be carefully orchestrated. Pulling off this plan is going to be like stacking a house of cards—one wrong move and the whole thing crumbles.
There’s a reason why the question is so loaded. When he asks me if I’m in, he’s not just asking if I’m willing to be a part of the plan. He’s also asking if I’m willing to deal with the fallout. He’s asking if I’m in for the one shot I have at getting my life back, but he’s also asking me if I’m in for the endless scrutiny and speculation and the inevitable smear campaign that’ll follow if anything goes awry.
Which, to reiterate, there are very high chances of happening.
It’s a huge gamble, playing along. I might get to have a normal life again. I might get shot at being happy.
Everything’s moving so fast. Or maybe I’m moving too slowly. Or maybe everything’s working at a normal speed and I’m slowly going insane.
I take another second to consider the alternatives.
I can choose to lie down and not do anything about The Situation. Of course, that means that my life would be nothing short of hellish for a few months—a year, if I’m particularly unlucky. And then things would die down, but it’d still follow me around for the rest of my days.
I can choose to go along, knowing full well that if things go awry, I’d go out with the knowledge that I did fight it.
And if things did go right, well.
That’d be pretty sweet, wouldn’t it? My life would be set. Everyone gets to be happy. I would get to be happy.
Her hand slips into mine, and I let our fingers intertwine. It’s a comforting reassurance.
I take a breath.
“I’ll do it.”
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 19
First, post an unlikely sidekick scenario in the comments. Then, choose someone else’s scenario and your favorite sidekick. Finalize your sidekick appreciation by writing at least 300 words of your chosen character in your chosen scenario for 200 points, and an additional 200 for sharing.
Prompt chosen: as the world is about to fall apart the main character’s mom call them on the phone to chat and the sidekick has to save the world with them (provided by @jalapeno9!)
Notes: I hate doing last-minute dailies. I just botched a perfectly good prompt! There was so much potential and I ruined it and I'll forever regret it. Nothing in this even makes sense! And the writing is terrible! It makes me want to barf. This one's definitely going to go into the Doom Bin of Shame. At least I have my pathetic “It's midnight” shield to soften the blow by a hair.
Word count: 393 words.
— ♪ —
The timing is perfect.
(I mean. As perfect as things can be when the world’s quite literally going down in flames, but let’s be honest here: when the world starts going down in flames every alternate Friday your standards drop down to somewhere lower than dirt).
We’ve got today’s idiot du jour cornered and monologuing. All we need is to keep her attention deviated for the next few minutes while my favorite person in the entire world goes around setting traps and calling the police and generally doing whatever else it takes to take a villain down.
See, this is why Jay’s important: they’re scarily efficient at their job, and they have exactly what it takes. It sucks for people like me, though. Folks who are…subpar at their job.
Exhibit A: this gal’s almost done monologuing. And she should’ve been going for at least another seven minutes before I had to start blowing things up in get general vicinity.
“…and that is why you’ll never be able to defeat me!” she says with a wicked grin.
And that’s when mother dearest decides to be involved in her kid’s life.
“Jay darling! How are you doing?”
Everyone goes so quiet you can practically hear a pin drop. Except for Jay’s mom, of course. That woman does not know how to stop talking.
I stare at Jay in abject horror. ‘Don’t do this,’ I’m saying.
They stare back in dismay. “Mom, this really isn’t the time,” they hiss into their phone. And then they hang up.
Okay. Alright, this is still salvageable—
The phone rings again. You can hear their mom’s murderous intent. Wincing, Jay picks up the phone again, only to be immediately confronted with a load of ear-splitting shrieks that seem to be a mixture of reprimands and a grocery list.
Monologuer’s still too busy laughing her head off. Jay could get them detained. It’d be so easy. But they’re stuck dealing with their mom and the whole world’s going to fall apart and I can’t do anything about it—
Except Jay barks out a ‘get her!’ and I can’t just not obey. I spring into action, somehow managing to get Evil Lady into a corner.
Twenty minutes later when Jay jokingly suggests I take over their job and finally give them a break, I nearly shove them into a gutter. Never again.
First, post an unlikely sidekick scenario in the comments. Then, choose someone else’s scenario and your favorite sidekick. Finalize your sidekick appreciation by writing at least 300 words of your chosen character in your chosen scenario for 200 points, and an additional 200 for sharing.
Prompt chosen: as the world is about to fall apart the main character’s mom call them on the phone to chat and the sidekick has to save the world with them (provided by @jalapeno9!)
Notes: I hate doing last-minute dailies. I just botched a perfectly good prompt! There was so much potential and I ruined it and I'll forever regret it. Nothing in this even makes sense! And the writing is terrible! It makes me want to barf. This one's definitely going to go into the Doom Bin of Shame. At least I have my pathetic “It's midnight” shield to soften the blow by a hair.
Word count: 393 words.
— ♪ —
The timing is perfect.
(I mean. As perfect as things can be when the world’s quite literally going down in flames, but let’s be honest here: when the world starts going down in flames every alternate Friday your standards drop down to somewhere lower than dirt).
We’ve got today’s idiot du jour cornered and monologuing. All we need is to keep her attention deviated for the next few minutes while my favorite person in the entire world goes around setting traps and calling the police and generally doing whatever else it takes to take a villain down.
See, this is why Jay’s important: they’re scarily efficient at their job, and they have exactly what it takes. It sucks for people like me, though. Folks who are…subpar at their job.
Exhibit A: this gal’s almost done monologuing. And she should’ve been going for at least another seven minutes before I had to start blowing things up in get general vicinity.
“…and that is why you’ll never be able to defeat me!” she says with a wicked grin.
And that’s when mother dearest decides to be involved in her kid’s life.
“Jay darling! How are you doing?”
Everyone goes so quiet you can practically hear a pin drop. Except for Jay’s mom, of course. That woman does not know how to stop talking.
I stare at Jay in abject horror. ‘Don’t do this,’ I’m saying.
They stare back in dismay. “Mom, this really isn’t the time,” they hiss into their phone. And then they hang up.
Okay. Alright, this is still salvageable—
The phone rings again. You can hear their mom’s murderous intent. Wincing, Jay picks up the phone again, only to be immediately confronted with a load of ear-splitting shrieks that seem to be a mixture of reprimands and a grocery list.
Monologuer’s still too busy laughing her head off. Jay could get them detained. It’d be so easy. But they’re stuck dealing with their mom and the whole world’s going to fall apart and I can’t do anything about it—
Except Jay barks out a ‘get her!’ and I can’t just not obey. I spring into action, somehow managing to get Evil Lady into a corner.
Twenty minutes later when Jay jokingly suggests I take over their job and finally give them a break, I nearly shove them into a gutter. Never again.
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 23
In 450 words, write a piece incorporating least 3 flowers (and their symbolic meanings!) into the narrative
Notes: I can't believe the flower daily actually pulled me out of my indefinite hiatus slump :0
Definitely went overboard with this one. I actually planned it out a teensy-weensy little bit instead of just speedrunning/ramble-bombing it, which is really sad because it still sucks. It's still crack-y enough for me to have had fun with it though, so I suppose that counts for something. Also, I think my urge to write lesbians still hasn't been satiated. So sad.
Word count: 503 words
— ♪ —
“You know, Jenny Lou’s an avid gardener.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
“Very,” he says. “She’s literally an expert on flowers.”
“My, how fascinating. Very important information. She sounds like someone Beth would get along with.”
Beth, who’s wrestling with a bouquet that’s three feet taller than her, pops up when she hears her name.
“Who’s Beth getting along with?” she demands.
“No one!” says Corey cheekily. “Promise.”
Beth looks at Corey like she doesn’t believe him. Corey looks at me like he’s getting an early Christmas. I look at both of them and give a shrug that reeks of innocence.
“I think we’re going to need some roses,” I say with a smile.
Beth stalks off to wrestle with her giant bouquet, exasperated.
— — —
“So apparently, foxgloves stand for treachery.”
“Wow. That’s dramatic. I’ve got tansy here. No idea how she managed to get her hands on those, though.”
“Foxgloves are also highly toxic.”
Corey lets out a whistle. “Forget dramatic, that’s a literal death sentence!” he cackles. “I’m almost glad for the tansy now.”
“Tansy's poisonous too, Corey.”
That shuts him up pretty quick.
“So. What do we have so far?” I ask.
“Buttercups and borage, which is probably ‘I’m going to be blunt with you, you’re acting like a child.’ Nightshade, for sorcery or dark thoughts. Definitely plotting our murders.”
“Wait. I didn’t get any nightshades,” I say, confused.
“Oh, yeah. You’re lucky you know only one of them.”
I suck in a breath through my teeth sympathetically. “The life of a matchmaker is indeed a difficult one.”
He clutches the flowers to his chest dramatically. “Preach, bro.”
And we high five.
— — —
The best part about having a best friend that refuses to stop talking about flowers are the times when you get to use it against her.
Exhibit A: We’ve bribed (no blackmail involved at all) the staff of the restaurant to put together an ensemble of jasmines and irises (chivalry) on their table, along with a few carnations (fascination) and some very hard-won peach blossoms (you hold me captive) for good measure.
The arrangement is nowhere near fancy enough to meet Beth’s standards, but we figured it’d at least give them something to talk about. We plaster ourselves to a conveniently placed window and wait.
Sure enough, they both walk in and meet each other with matching expressions of betrayal.
“Spiderman point meme,” Corey breathes in awe.
They have a brief conversation filled with eyerolls. Then they take their seats, resigned.
Jenny Lou spots the flowers first and blushes furiously. It takes Beth a second to catch on, but then she angrily yanks the vase towards her and rearranges the flowers into something much less garish. I can almost hear her ranting. Jenny Lou looks enchanted.
Two days later, they hand us a bouquet of mustard flowers. Googling tells us it means ‘indifference’, which is admittedly rude, but Corey and I agree that’s it’s better than the death threat flowers.
Besides, they’re so cute together it’s almost worth it.
In 450 words, write a piece incorporating least 3 flowers (and their symbolic meanings!) into the narrative
Notes: I can't believe the flower daily actually pulled me out of my indefinite hiatus slump :0
Definitely went overboard with this one. I actually planned it out a teensy-weensy little bit instead of just speedrunning/ramble-bombing it, which is really sad because it still sucks. It's still crack-y enough for me to have had fun with it though, so I suppose that counts for something. Also, I think my urge to write lesbians still hasn't been satiated. So sad.
Word count: 503 words
— ♪ —
“You know, Jenny Lou’s an avid gardener.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Interesting.”
“Very,” he says. “She’s literally an expert on flowers.”
“My, how fascinating. Very important information. She sounds like someone Beth would get along with.”
Beth, who’s wrestling with a bouquet that’s three feet taller than her, pops up when she hears her name.
“Who’s Beth getting along with?” she demands.
“No one!” says Corey cheekily. “Promise.”
Beth looks at Corey like she doesn’t believe him. Corey looks at me like he’s getting an early Christmas. I look at both of them and give a shrug that reeks of innocence.
“I think we’re going to need some roses,” I say with a smile.
Beth stalks off to wrestle with her giant bouquet, exasperated.
— — —
“So apparently, foxgloves stand for treachery.”
“Wow. That’s dramatic. I’ve got tansy here. No idea how she managed to get her hands on those, though.”
“Foxgloves are also highly toxic.”
Corey lets out a whistle. “Forget dramatic, that’s a literal death sentence!” he cackles. “I’m almost glad for the tansy now.”
“Tansy's poisonous too, Corey.”
That shuts him up pretty quick.
“So. What do we have so far?” I ask.
“Buttercups and borage, which is probably ‘I’m going to be blunt with you, you’re acting like a child.’ Nightshade, for sorcery or dark thoughts. Definitely plotting our murders.”
“Wait. I didn’t get any nightshades,” I say, confused.
“Oh, yeah. You’re lucky you know only one of them.”
I suck in a breath through my teeth sympathetically. “The life of a matchmaker is indeed a difficult one.”
He clutches the flowers to his chest dramatically. “Preach, bro.”
And we high five.
— — —
The best part about having a best friend that refuses to stop talking about flowers are the times when you get to use it against her.
Exhibit A: We’ve bribed (no blackmail involved at all) the staff of the restaurant to put together an ensemble of jasmines and irises (chivalry) on their table, along with a few carnations (fascination) and some very hard-won peach blossoms (you hold me captive) for good measure.
The arrangement is nowhere near fancy enough to meet Beth’s standards, but we figured it’d at least give them something to talk about. We plaster ourselves to a conveniently placed window and wait.
Sure enough, they both walk in and meet each other with matching expressions of betrayal.
“Spiderman point meme,” Corey breathes in awe.
They have a brief conversation filled with eyerolls. Then they take their seats, resigned.
Jenny Lou spots the flowers first and blushes furiously. It takes Beth a second to catch on, but then she angrily yanks the vase towards her and rearranges the flowers into something much less garish. I can almost hear her ranting. Jenny Lou looks enchanted.
Two days later, they hand us a bouquet of mustard flowers. Googling tells us it means ‘indifference’, which is admittedly rude, but Corey and I agree that’s it’s better than the death threat flowers.
Besides, they’re so cute together it’s almost worth it.
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Thank You Notes!
This was an extra post so I decided to move my thank you notes up here, haha! I really wanted to write out individual, personalized ones for everyone in my cabin, as well as everyone else who was a part of my SWC journey! Sadly, life happened and I drowned in exams and school stress before I could ever finish them, but I think I'll still leave the incomplete draft up here:
— ♪ —
Alana: You’re definitely the first on my thank-you note list for a reason XD Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to co-lead Script with you this session!! I couldn’t have asked for a better team for my first shot at this. I’m sorry we didn’t end up doing most of the things you had planned for us as a cabin, but I had loads of fun all the same. You’ve been so patient and understanding and I’m in constant awe of how you make everyone in the cabin feel so welcome. And your enthusiasm in everything you do—simply infectious! (But like. In the best way possible
) It’s been such a delight to get to know you, and I’m honored to have had the chance to lead a cabin with you. So, in conclusion: thank you, thank you, thank you!!
Indigo: Indigo!! Ahhh co-leading Script has been such a riot with you around. Your designs are absolutely stunning—every single one of them is nothing short of a masterpiece. You’ve got to teach me how to do it sometime because oh my scudding gosh. I do wish we’d gotten around to talking more this session, but I’m still glad I had the chance to meet you ^^
Reese: Reesey!! I don’t think we interacted that much this session, which is really a downright shame. Still, it’s been the greatest pleasure to have you in Script. Thanks for being such an amazing friend <3 (Side note: I do hope you’re getting around to improving your sleep schedule—)
Asriel: Unfortunately, I didn’t see you around much after the first few days. I really would’ve like to get to know you. Still, thank you for being a part of Script this session, and I hope you enjoyed your time with us! ^^
Shea: Ahhh where do I even start? Your art?? Is so downright gorgeous??? And I’ve been tangentially interested in your cursed love story for long it’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of you, haha! And of course, you have, quite possibly one of the healthiest sleep schedules out of all the Misfits in our cabin this session and I am forever in awe of that XD Thank you so much for being a part of Script, and I look forward to seeing you around!
Amazing_Creator101: ur so annoying lol. Go do your homework.
Chrys: I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to interact with you much either, and I’m quite sorry we never got around to doing that. I’m sure I’d have enjoyed sharing your love of the Spiderverse haha XD Thank you so much for being a part of Script, and I hope you enjoyed your session with us!
Re: Ahhhh Re!! I remember seeing you around in my past few sessions of SWC, and I’m so glad I got to have you in my cabin
Wynter: Wynter!! Having you as a camper was absolutely amazing. I feel like you have this very special brand of chaos
Snowy: Girlypop where do I even start. Honestly, I’m so glad I get to manage GWDFI with you because even though things get really weird in the studio sometimes, I know I can always count on you. And your writing is absolutely amazing. I know I say that all the time, but if I’m being honest I don’t think I can say if enough. I live in a near-constant state of “Snowy’s writing is so cool” XD And hey, congratulations on finishing your NaNoWriMo!! Thank you for being such a great friend, and I’m so glad that you were a part of my cabin this session ^^
Inky:
Ember:
El:
Amethyst:
CJ:
Luna:
Alia:
Finley:
Elfie:
Raya: My most dearest, darling wifey <33 It’s been so wonderful getting to know you!! You have the most amazing curtain bangs, and an equally amazing voice. I’m certain I’ve mentioned it before, but I had your covers stuck in my head for days. And you’re so astonishingly talented!!
This was an extra post so I decided to move my thank you notes up here, haha! I really wanted to write out individual, personalized ones for everyone in my cabin, as well as everyone else who was a part of my SWC journey! Sadly, life happened and I drowned in exams and school stress before I could ever finish them, but I think I'll still leave the incomplete draft up here:
— ♪ —
Alana: You’re definitely the first on my thank-you note list for a reason XD Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to co-lead Script with you this session!! I couldn’t have asked for a better team for my first shot at this. I’m sorry we didn’t end up doing most of the things you had planned for us as a cabin, but I had loads of fun all the same. You’ve been so patient and understanding and I’m in constant awe of how you make everyone in the cabin feel so welcome. And your enthusiasm in everything you do—simply infectious! (But like. In the best way possible
) It’s been such a delight to get to know you, and I’m honored to have had the chance to lead a cabin with you. So, in conclusion: thank you, thank you, thank you!! Indigo: Indigo!! Ahhh co-leading Script has been such a riot with you around. Your designs are absolutely stunning—every single one of them is nothing short of a masterpiece. You’ve got to teach me how to do it sometime because oh my scudding gosh. I do wish we’d gotten around to talking more this session, but I’m still glad I had the chance to meet you ^^
Reese: Reesey!! I don’t think we interacted that much this session, which is really a downright shame. Still, it’s been the greatest pleasure to have you in Script. Thanks for being such an amazing friend <3 (Side note: I do hope you’re getting around to improving your sleep schedule—)
Asriel: Unfortunately, I didn’t see you around much after the first few days. I really would’ve like to get to know you. Still, thank you for being a part of Script this session, and I hope you enjoyed your time with us! ^^
Shea: Ahhh where do I even start? Your art?? Is so downright gorgeous??? And I’ve been tangentially interested in your cursed love story for long it’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of you, haha! And of course, you have, quite possibly one of the healthiest sleep schedules out of all the Misfits in our cabin this session and I am forever in awe of that XD Thank you so much for being a part of Script, and I look forward to seeing you around!
Amazing_Creator101: ur so annoying lol. Go do your homework.
Chrys: I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to interact with you much either, and I’m quite sorry we never got around to doing that. I’m sure I’d have enjoyed sharing your love of the Spiderverse haha XD Thank you so much for being a part of Script, and I hope you enjoyed your session with us!
Re: Ahhhh Re!! I remember seeing you around in my past few sessions of SWC, and I’m so glad I got to have you in my cabin
Wynter: Wynter!! Having you as a camper was absolutely amazing. I feel like you have this very special brand of chaos
Snowy: Girlypop where do I even start. Honestly, I’m so glad I get to manage GWDFI with you because even though things get really weird in the studio sometimes, I know I can always count on you. And your writing is absolutely amazing. I know I say that all the time, but if I’m being honest I don’t think I can say if enough. I live in a near-constant state of “Snowy’s writing is so cool” XD And hey, congratulations on finishing your NaNoWriMo!! Thank you for being such a great friend, and I’m so glad that you were a part of my cabin this session ^^
Inky:
Ember:
El:
Amethyst:
CJ:
Luna:
Alia:
Finley:
Elfie:
Raya: My most dearest, darling wifey <33 It’s been so wonderful getting to know you!! You have the most amazing curtain bangs, and an equally amazing voice. I’m certain I’ve mentioned it before, but I had your covers stuck in my head for days. And you’re so astonishingly talented!!
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (Jan. 8, 2024 18:24:30)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Weekly 4
Word Count: 1946 words
Notes: The one day I had my weekly up as a project instead of safely squirreled away in the forums was the most EXCRUCIATING time of my life. There wasn't nearly enough space for self-deprecating commentary or like. The entire weekly in general. I am SO GLAD I got to shift everything here soon. I hope it never happens again.
That being said, welcome to my weekly! It's completely terrible!
— • ♪ • —
Part 1
(…) pick at least seven genres (although you can do as many as you’d like!) to write at least 200 words each in. This should give you a total of at least 1400 words written in a variety of rare genres.
Genres chosen: Goth-fi, Surrealism, Cashier memoir, Epistolary, Robinsonade, Bangsian, Melodrama
Word count: 1431 words
— ♪ —
1. Goth-fi (202 words)
The door slams shut the second they step across the threshold.
Candles light up one by one, leading into the mansion. There are soft murmurs echoing around the house. The group huddles closer and cautiously makes its way up the staircase. A smart move.
There’s a muffled thud from upstairs.
“Should we go check that out?” one says.
“It’s our best move,” their leader replies steadily. “The candles lead that way.”
The mansion’s old and in disrepair. This is a well-known fact. The mansion’s also haunted. This is also common knowledge. What no one has managed to figure out is what does the haunting.
Someone towards the farthest side of the group lets out a shriek. The people closest to the source immediately whip around, while the others guard them, eyes peeled for any other disturbances.
“Leonna’s gone,” someone declares grimly.
“So we go after her.” Everyone murmurs in agreement. It seems like they’ve planned well.
What are ghosts? They’re memories. When someone dies, it’s their memory that haunts you. And if someone dies wronged, then it’s the guilt. But if there’s no remorse, well. That’s a different case.
And it’s why this group won’t make it out in one piece tonight.
—
2. Surrealism (200 words)
My brother takes a look at the balloon overhead and he lets out a laugh. It’s bright and joyous—a sharp contrast to the dark clouds bubbling around him. It’s odd how you can grow up with someone and still turn around and be surprised.
A butterfly flits away. Waves crash into our legs, almost throwing us off balance. I laugh too. It’s weaker than my brother’s, but I know that they’ll manifest the way most real laughter does, in iridescent bubbles that hover around my head.
He says something about gloomy laughter, and I glance at the bubbles, surprised. They’re much darker than usual. Oh. We match. So that’s what I tell him.
The ocean is calmer now, but his clouds are slowly growing into a storm—huge and imposing. We both ignore it. Not much point in ruining a perfect day at the beach with useless observations.
The clouds look like butterflies, he says. I agree. There are plenty of them around us.
The balloon’s nearly gone. You can barely see it on the horizon, I say. He agrees. It’s true, after all. It’s like it was never there.
I laugh. He laughs. We ignore the growing storm.
—
3-4. Cashier memoir and epistolary (401 words)
Ma,
I know I haven’t written in a while, and I’m sorry. Life’s taken quite a turn recently and I don’t have nearly as much time as I used to. All things considered, though, I think everything’s been going pretty swell.
I didn’t really expect to spend most of my adult life bagging groceries, and yet here I am doing exactly that. I can’t really complain, though. It puts a roof over my head and money in my pocket. Sure, it’s not much. A far cry from the life I’d dreamed of, but it’s alright.
I think the regulars make the job worth it. They’re all so welcoming, and more than ready to chew the heads off of nightmare customers. The story of Granny McDouglas whacking a “terribly mannered young upstart” with her cane and then her loaf of bread in rapid succession remains a workplace favorite. She’d gotten away with discounts for a week before our manager made us shut it down, albeit very regretfully.
Do you remember Jenny Lou and Beth? I think they’ve gotten together. I always thought they’d be a good fit, even though I’ve never really had a conversation that went beyond over-the-counter small talk with either of them. It’s nice to see that someone decided to do something about it. (Hint: It’s definitely Corey. And Beth’s friend, but I never managed to catch their name.)
And of course, if someone slipped in some extra flowers with the rest of their groceries, well. No one has to know.
The other day, this kid came up to the counter with a huge pack of band-aids. Quite possibly one of the cutest customers I’ve met. He was so sweet the entire time, even though he seemed so nervous. And the second I was finished he was out of the door before I could even say bye. I saw him walk up to a friend of his and patch them right up. I’m not sure why, but I found it adorable.
Theneia, who’s studying psychology, says that I should keep writing to you to help process the fact that you’re gone. I’m pretty sure she isn’t entirely human, so I’m skeptical about that. But she was right—it does help.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this. But I want you to know that I miss you, and I hope you’re proud of who I am today.
Love,
—
5. Robinsonade (204 words)
The second you step off the boat, you know there are less than zero chances of you getting out of this place alive. Still, you plaster on a smile and you pretend it’s going to be okay. Because that’s how you survive.
You scan your surroundings. You take stock. You patch up everyone who’s hurt. You get someone to sketch out a ration chart. Make someone else figure out a weather forecast. Get some kids to collect wood. You give everyone something to do, no matter how inane. Everyone needs to keep busy. If everyone has something to focus on, they’ll be alright. You can hold them together for long enough.
Some of the smarter ones, the ones who aren’t in shock, they’re watching you. They know what you’re doing. They’ll try to confront you eventually. At least two of them are very likely to betray you before the end of the first week unless you figure out how to deal with them. But that’s okay. You’ll survive.
The hours bleed into days bleed into weeks bleed into months. No one’s responding to your calls. Why would they? Only a fool would come to this island. But it’s okay.
You’ve survived.
You all have.
—
6. Bangsian (214 words)
The child wakes up with a start.
He looks around. He can’t remember getting here. There are other people milling about, but none of them seem to notice him.
“Mom?” he croaks out.
No one replies. So he tries again.
“Oh, quit it, will you?” someone snaps. “She’s not here yet.”
“Why?” he demands.
“’Cause she ain’t dead yet,” they shoot back.
“Where’s here?” he asks, insistently. But no one replies.
Tears well up, but he forces them down. His mom always said that tears never solved a problem. He had to try and be brave. So he timidly walks up to a pale figure and tugs at their sleeve.
“Where’s here?” he asks plaintively.
“Oh, kid. You’re in the afterlife,” they say. “It means you’re dead.”
“I know what it means,” he says, annoyed. “Where’s my mother?”
“I don’t know,” they reply. “She’s probably still alive.”
“When will she get here?” He doesn’t say die. That’s too harsh a term.
“I don’t know,” they repeat helplessly. They jerk up, as if someone called them. “Sorry kid, but I gotta go now,” they say distractedly. “Good luck, though.”
There’s a gasp, and someone’s wrapping him up in their arms.
Oh. There she is.
“Hi mom,” he laughs, and she laughs too. Everything is warm.
—
7. Melodrama (210 words)
“I’m going to go get us dinner, anything else you need?”
“What’s wrong with the dinner we have at home?”
“Nothing? I just thought you’d like a break from cooking.”
“I knew it. You hate my food.”
“What? No! If anything, I should be saying that to you. It’s not like you ever let me cook.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You make dinner four days a week, remember?”
“Yeah, on the days you work the night shift because you’re too lazy to make it yourself.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. Who’s the one who offered to manhandle the dinner shift away from me here?”
“One time! I offer to do something nice one time, and this is the thanks that I get!”
The cat yowls from its perch on the sofa.
“Shut up, Monty!” we screech at it.
The idiotic creature only stares back at us with wide eyes.
She snatches it up and dumps it on the floor. It meows reproachfully and turns to me. I cross my arms. “You deserved that. What did we say about claws on the sofa?”
Monty slinks away.
“Wait, what were we fighting about, again?”
“Huh. I forgot.”
“Oh. Alright. I’ll go get dinner.”
“What’s wrong with the dinner at home?”
— • ♪ • —
Part 2
For @Random_ballerina, based on their prompt below!
glasslamp // um so basically these girls are in the forest and accidentally upset a tribe who want to k!ll them all. and then as they get ready to k!ll the first girl she bargains with them to k!ll her and let the rest go because it was her descision to go into the forest. and then a magic wolf discovers her body and lets her live again as a half-wolf.
Word count: 515 words
Notes: I'm afraid this isn't quite as good as I hoped it'd be, and I'm very sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it, though.
— ♪ —
“Catherine, this was the last thing that I meant when I said we should spend Halloween doing something delightful!”
“What’s not delightful about going through the Woods at night? This place is downright fascinating!”
“No, this is downright terrifying. There are things that could kill us in there!”
There’s a rustle in the bushes. The whole group cowers together, except for Catherine. “Oh, come now. It’s probably just a squirrel.”
“Just a squirrel,” says Elliot with a faint laugh. “Of course.”
“Look, there’s even a clearing up ahead! There’s nothing to fear. We’re as safe as can be,” says Catherine cheerfully.
She skips into the clearing and lays down a blanket. She lights the candles they’d brought with them and sets the lantern in the middle.
The other girls hover nervously at the edge of the tree line.
“Honestly!” pipes up Isabelle, Catherine’s right-hand woman. The girl would support any scheme Catherine came up with, even if it terrified her to do so. “I can’t believe we’d all believe some silly stories made up to scare us away. Cathy’s right, there’s nothing to fear here at all,” she says, with the air of someone who doesn’t quite believe what they’re saying.
One by one, the girls settle on the blanket. They laugh. They eat. They enjoy themselves and all the while, they determinedly ignore the rustling in the bushes.
A group of men leap out and surround the clearing. The girls shriek and clutch at each other in fear while the leader of the tribe strides forward, weapon outstretched. He says something in a language none of them know, but the threat is understood all the same.
They are not allowed to leave the Woods alive.
Then, to the girls’ surprise, Catherine steps up to meet the man, jaw set. “It was my idea to lead them here,” she says, voice steady. “Kill me if you must. Leave the rest.”
“No! Cathy, you can’t!” sobs Isabelle.
“Quiet, Belle. I’m trusting you to lead everyone out to safety.”
The man laughs mockingly, as if to ask whether she really believed he would let them go.
“Oh, you will,” says Catherine, voice steely.
He looks at her, and nods approvingly. His companions lead the rest of the girls out of the woods, despite their protests. And when Catherine meets her end, she meets it standing tall.
Only, that’s not quite how it goes.
Catherine was given an honorable death, as far as the tribe’s pagan gods claimed. The leader had ensured it. And so, when the Wolf Goddess left her cave as she did every night, Catherine’s body was the first she found.
The Wolf Goddess rewards those who die well. She breathes a second life into them. And that was precisely what happened to Catherine.
She roams the Woods now, cursed to live as a half-wolf. But she enjoys it—she was far too wild to remain within the constraints of society in the first place. And sometimes, she’ll visit her friends and look at them from afar, and she knows she’d made the right choice.
Word Count: 1946 words
Notes: The one day I had my weekly up as a project instead of safely squirreled away in the forums was the most EXCRUCIATING time of my life. There wasn't nearly enough space for self-deprecating commentary or like. The entire weekly in general. I am SO GLAD I got to shift everything here soon. I hope it never happens again.
That being said, welcome to my weekly! It's completely terrible!
— • ♪ • —
Part 1
(…) pick at least seven genres (although you can do as many as you’d like!) to write at least 200 words each in. This should give you a total of at least 1400 words written in a variety of rare genres.
Genres chosen: Goth-fi, Surrealism, Cashier memoir, Epistolary, Robinsonade, Bangsian, Melodrama
Word count: 1431 words
— ♪ —
1. Goth-fi (202 words)
The door slams shut the second they step across the threshold.
Candles light up one by one, leading into the mansion. There are soft murmurs echoing around the house. The group huddles closer and cautiously makes its way up the staircase. A smart move.
There’s a muffled thud from upstairs.
“Should we go check that out?” one says.
“It’s our best move,” their leader replies steadily. “The candles lead that way.”
The mansion’s old and in disrepair. This is a well-known fact. The mansion’s also haunted. This is also common knowledge. What no one has managed to figure out is what does the haunting.
Someone towards the farthest side of the group lets out a shriek. The people closest to the source immediately whip around, while the others guard them, eyes peeled for any other disturbances.
“Leonna’s gone,” someone declares grimly.
“So we go after her.” Everyone murmurs in agreement. It seems like they’ve planned well.
What are ghosts? They’re memories. When someone dies, it’s their memory that haunts you. And if someone dies wronged, then it’s the guilt. But if there’s no remorse, well. That’s a different case.
And it’s why this group won’t make it out in one piece tonight.
—
2. Surrealism (200 words)
My brother takes a look at the balloon overhead and he lets out a laugh. It’s bright and joyous—a sharp contrast to the dark clouds bubbling around him. It’s odd how you can grow up with someone and still turn around and be surprised.
A butterfly flits away. Waves crash into our legs, almost throwing us off balance. I laugh too. It’s weaker than my brother’s, but I know that they’ll manifest the way most real laughter does, in iridescent bubbles that hover around my head.
He says something about gloomy laughter, and I glance at the bubbles, surprised. They’re much darker than usual. Oh. We match. So that’s what I tell him.
The ocean is calmer now, but his clouds are slowly growing into a storm—huge and imposing. We both ignore it. Not much point in ruining a perfect day at the beach with useless observations.
The clouds look like butterflies, he says. I agree. There are plenty of them around us.
The balloon’s nearly gone. You can barely see it on the horizon, I say. He agrees. It’s true, after all. It’s like it was never there.
I laugh. He laughs. We ignore the growing storm.
—
3-4. Cashier memoir and epistolary (401 words)
Ma,
I know I haven’t written in a while, and I’m sorry. Life’s taken quite a turn recently and I don’t have nearly as much time as I used to. All things considered, though, I think everything’s been going pretty swell.
I didn’t really expect to spend most of my adult life bagging groceries, and yet here I am doing exactly that. I can’t really complain, though. It puts a roof over my head and money in my pocket. Sure, it’s not much. A far cry from the life I’d dreamed of, but it’s alright.
I think the regulars make the job worth it. They’re all so welcoming, and more than ready to chew the heads off of nightmare customers. The story of Granny McDouglas whacking a “terribly mannered young upstart” with her cane and then her loaf of bread in rapid succession remains a workplace favorite. She’d gotten away with discounts for a week before our manager made us shut it down, albeit very regretfully.
Do you remember Jenny Lou and Beth? I think they’ve gotten together. I always thought they’d be a good fit, even though I’ve never really had a conversation that went beyond over-the-counter small talk with either of them. It’s nice to see that someone decided to do something about it. (Hint: It’s definitely Corey. And Beth’s friend, but I never managed to catch their name.)
And of course, if someone slipped in some extra flowers with the rest of their groceries, well. No one has to know.
The other day, this kid came up to the counter with a huge pack of band-aids. Quite possibly one of the cutest customers I’ve met. He was so sweet the entire time, even though he seemed so nervous. And the second I was finished he was out of the door before I could even say bye. I saw him walk up to a friend of his and patch them right up. I’m not sure why, but I found it adorable.
Theneia, who’s studying psychology, says that I should keep writing to you to help process the fact that you’re gone. I’m pretty sure she isn’t entirely human, so I’m skeptical about that. But she was right—it does help.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this. But I want you to know that I miss you, and I hope you’re proud of who I am today.
Love,
—
5. Robinsonade (204 words)
The second you step off the boat, you know there are less than zero chances of you getting out of this place alive. Still, you plaster on a smile and you pretend it’s going to be okay. Because that’s how you survive.
You scan your surroundings. You take stock. You patch up everyone who’s hurt. You get someone to sketch out a ration chart. Make someone else figure out a weather forecast. Get some kids to collect wood. You give everyone something to do, no matter how inane. Everyone needs to keep busy. If everyone has something to focus on, they’ll be alright. You can hold them together for long enough.
Some of the smarter ones, the ones who aren’t in shock, they’re watching you. They know what you’re doing. They’ll try to confront you eventually. At least two of them are very likely to betray you before the end of the first week unless you figure out how to deal with them. But that’s okay. You’ll survive.
The hours bleed into days bleed into weeks bleed into months. No one’s responding to your calls. Why would they? Only a fool would come to this island. But it’s okay.
You’ve survived.
You all have.
—
6. Bangsian (214 words)
The child wakes up with a start.
He looks around. He can’t remember getting here. There are other people milling about, but none of them seem to notice him.
“Mom?” he croaks out.
No one replies. So he tries again.
“Oh, quit it, will you?” someone snaps. “She’s not here yet.”
“Why?” he demands.
“’Cause she ain’t dead yet,” they shoot back.
“Where’s here?” he asks, insistently. But no one replies.
Tears well up, but he forces them down. His mom always said that tears never solved a problem. He had to try and be brave. So he timidly walks up to a pale figure and tugs at their sleeve.
“Where’s here?” he asks plaintively.
“Oh, kid. You’re in the afterlife,” they say. “It means you’re dead.”
“I know what it means,” he says, annoyed. “Where’s my mother?”
“I don’t know,” they reply. “She’s probably still alive.”
“When will she get here?” He doesn’t say die. That’s too harsh a term.
“I don’t know,” they repeat helplessly. They jerk up, as if someone called them. “Sorry kid, but I gotta go now,” they say distractedly. “Good luck, though.”
There’s a gasp, and someone’s wrapping him up in their arms.
Oh. There she is.
“Hi mom,” he laughs, and she laughs too. Everything is warm.
—
7. Melodrama (210 words)
“I’m going to go get us dinner, anything else you need?”
“What’s wrong with the dinner we have at home?”
“Nothing? I just thought you’d like a break from cooking.”
“I knew it. You hate my food.”
“What? No! If anything, I should be saying that to you. It’s not like you ever let me cook.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. You make dinner four days a week, remember?”
“Yeah, on the days you work the night shift because you’re too lazy to make it yourself.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. Who’s the one who offered to manhandle the dinner shift away from me here?”
“One time! I offer to do something nice one time, and this is the thanks that I get!”
The cat yowls from its perch on the sofa.
“Shut up, Monty!” we screech at it.
The idiotic creature only stares back at us with wide eyes.
She snatches it up and dumps it on the floor. It meows reproachfully and turns to me. I cross my arms. “You deserved that. What did we say about claws on the sofa?”
Monty slinks away.
“Wait, what were we fighting about, again?”
“Huh. I forgot.”
“Oh. Alright. I’ll go get dinner.”
“What’s wrong with the dinner at home?”
— • ♪ • —
Part 2
For @Random_ballerina, based on their prompt below!
glasslamp // um so basically these girls are in the forest and accidentally upset a tribe who want to k!ll them all. and then as they get ready to k!ll the first girl she bargains with them to k!ll her and let the rest go because it was her descision to go into the forest. and then a magic wolf discovers her body and lets her live again as a half-wolf.
Word count: 515 words
Notes: I'm afraid this isn't quite as good as I hoped it'd be, and I'm very sorry about that. I hope you enjoy it, though.
— ♪ —
“Catherine, this was the last thing that I meant when I said we should spend Halloween doing something delightful!”
“What’s not delightful about going through the Woods at night? This place is downright fascinating!”
“No, this is downright terrifying. There are things that could kill us in there!”
There’s a rustle in the bushes. The whole group cowers together, except for Catherine. “Oh, come now. It’s probably just a squirrel.”
“Just a squirrel,” says Elliot with a faint laugh. “Of course.”
“Look, there’s even a clearing up ahead! There’s nothing to fear. We’re as safe as can be,” says Catherine cheerfully.
She skips into the clearing and lays down a blanket. She lights the candles they’d brought with them and sets the lantern in the middle.
The other girls hover nervously at the edge of the tree line.
“Honestly!” pipes up Isabelle, Catherine’s right-hand woman. The girl would support any scheme Catherine came up with, even if it terrified her to do so. “I can’t believe we’d all believe some silly stories made up to scare us away. Cathy’s right, there’s nothing to fear here at all,” she says, with the air of someone who doesn’t quite believe what they’re saying.
One by one, the girls settle on the blanket. They laugh. They eat. They enjoy themselves and all the while, they determinedly ignore the rustling in the bushes.
A group of men leap out and surround the clearing. The girls shriek and clutch at each other in fear while the leader of the tribe strides forward, weapon outstretched. He says something in a language none of them know, but the threat is understood all the same.
They are not allowed to leave the Woods alive.
Then, to the girls’ surprise, Catherine steps up to meet the man, jaw set. “It was my idea to lead them here,” she says, voice steady. “Kill me if you must. Leave the rest.”
“No! Cathy, you can’t!” sobs Isabelle.
“Quiet, Belle. I’m trusting you to lead everyone out to safety.”
The man laughs mockingly, as if to ask whether she really believed he would let them go.
“Oh, you will,” says Catherine, voice steely.
He looks at her, and nods approvingly. His companions lead the rest of the girls out of the woods, despite their protests. And when Catherine meets her end, she meets it standing tall.
Only, that’s not quite how it goes.
Catherine was given an honorable death, as far as the tribe’s pagan gods claimed. The leader had ensured it. And so, when the Wolf Goddess left her cave as she did every night, Catherine’s body was the first she found.
The Wolf Goddess rewards those who die well. She breathes a second life into them. And that was precisely what happened to Catherine.
She roams the Woods now, cursed to live as a half-wolf. But she enjoys it—she was far too wild to remain within the constraints of society in the first place. And sometimes, she’ll visit her friends and look at them from afar, and she knows she’d made the right choice.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (Feb. 29, 2024 07:58:45)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
SWC Co-Leader App: Writing Excerpt
Note: This was originally written for an SWC daily from last session, you can find the original here. I never really liked the way the story turned out, but I'm quite fond of the vibes in this bit. It's not as wacky and humorous as my favorite pieces, but there's something soft and childish in it that I enjoy all the same. 239 words ^^
Link to go back to my app: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/945730706/
——————
He remembers running after his sister through the meadow. The sky was blue with puffy white clouds, the ground a lush green blur. He remembers the dress she wore—yellow with stripes and a bow so neat it must’ve been his Ma’s work. They’d stumbled across a dandelion. She’d plucked one up and held it for him to see.
“What am I supposed to do with it?” he’d asked with a child’s skepticism.
“You make a wish, silly,” she’d giggled. “Like this, see?”
He remembers how she’d closed her eyes and scrunched up her face in concentration. Then, she’d blown on the flower, scattering its seeds to the wind.
“What did you wish for?” he’d whispered in awe.
“You can’t tell anyone what you wish for! Then it’ll never come true!” she'd said, voice dripping with all her older-sister wisdom. A two-year difference is so big when you’re a child. “Here,” she’d said, plucking up another and offering it to him. “You give it a try.”
So he did. He’d closed his eyes and scrunched up his face like he’d seen her do, then blew on the flower, wishing as hard as he could.
He doesn’t remember what he wished for. He doesn’t remember what happened after the meadow.
The last thing he remembers from his childhood is the rocky dirt digging into his skin, crawling to his knees only to find the world had been engulfed in flames.
Note: This was originally written for an SWC daily from last session, you can find the original here. I never really liked the way the story turned out, but I'm quite fond of the vibes in this bit. It's not as wacky and humorous as my favorite pieces, but there's something soft and childish in it that I enjoy all the same. 239 words ^^
Link to go back to my app: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/945730706/
——————
He remembers running after his sister through the meadow. The sky was blue with puffy white clouds, the ground a lush green blur. He remembers the dress she wore—yellow with stripes and a bow so neat it must’ve been his Ma’s work. They’d stumbled across a dandelion. She’d plucked one up and held it for him to see.
“What am I supposed to do with it?” he’d asked with a child’s skepticism.
“You make a wish, silly,” she’d giggled. “Like this, see?”
He remembers how she’d closed her eyes and scrunched up her face in concentration. Then, she’d blown on the flower, scattering its seeds to the wind.
“What did you wish for?” he’d whispered in awe.
“You can’t tell anyone what you wish for! Then it’ll never come true!” she'd said, voice dripping with all her older-sister wisdom. A two-year difference is so big when you’re a child. “Here,” she’d said, plucking up another and offering it to him. “You give it a try.”
So he did. He’d closed his eyes and scrunched up his face like he’d seen her do, then blew on the flower, wishing as hard as he could.
He doesn’t remember what he wished for. He doesn’t remember what happened after the meadow.
The last thing he remembers from his childhood is the rocky dirt digging into his skin, crawling to his knees only to find the world had been engulfed in flames.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (Jan. 18, 2024 15:12:58)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
SWC March 2024
Oh my gosh new session wow what that's crazy :0
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Dailies:
Weeklies:
Others:
Oh my gosh new session wow what that's crazy :0
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Dailies:
- 02.03.2024 (Compliments)
- 04.03.2024 (Dice rolls)
- 05.03.2024 (Extension of existing scene)
- 06.03.2024 (New genre)
- 08.03.2024 (Women's Day)
- 13.03.2024 (Line from host's profile)
- 15.03.2024 (Ides of March)
- 16.03.2024 (Different SWC-er POV)
- 17.03.2024 (Hozier lyric)
- 22.03.2024 (Pathetic fallacy)
- 27.03.2024 (Google Translate lyrics)
- 28.03.2024 (Fairy tale retelling)
- 29.03.2024 (Write a prologue)
Weeklies:
Others:
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (April 2, 2024 15:34:27)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 2
Take someone else's compliment and integrate it as a focal point of your story. How does the main character react to these compliments? How does it affect other people?
The compliments in question: Helpfully provided by Finley with a bonus from Elfie
Notes: So yeah I kind of cheated with five different compliments but in my defense I am an indecisive sucker as well as a sap so you're going to have to deal with all this…goopy whatever stuff anyway. I blame Finley. Elfie too, actually.
I have to admit, my greatest regret with this piece is the fact that I was SO CLOSE to NOT exceeding a minimum word count.
Word count: 311 words.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Let’s play a little game, you and I.
When we fight on Tuesday, we won’t talk to each other. Then, on a post-it note, I’ll scribble it out: Raindrops splashing. Crackling fire. A warm mug in my hand. All it’s missing is you. I’ll stick it on your bedroom door, and you’ll find it and fold it up and neither of us will say anything, but you’ll get your own mug and snuggle up next to me.
Maybe a week later, I’ll come home after a bad day and I won’t say anything but you’ll notice anyway. So you’ll get me a mug of coffee and on a carefully stuck post-it note you’ll write: If someone invented a time machine, I’d always go back to the moment we met. I’ll scribble on the back: No you won’t. You’d go to Hawking’s party. But I’ll smile and you’ll snort, and I’ll fold it up to keep it safe.
Five days later, you’ll lose a gig and you won’t say it bothers you but I’ll notice anyway. The next day you’ll find it folded up with your lunch: Forget Mona Lisa, you’re the real masterpiece. You’ll laugh and your day gets a little brighter.
After a breakup: All the stars in the night sky couldn’t hold a candle to your brilliance.
When I snag a win: I don’t know which I fancy better: your bravado or your brains.
Stuck onto your mirror: Lightning never strikes twice, but your smile never fails to electrify me.
What we really mean: I’m sorry. It’ll be better soon. You were right. And always, between the lines: I love you. On and on and on—all our love on yellow squares of paper. Sometimes we won’t have any for months. Sometimes we’ll do it every day. It’ll go on forever—and forever won’t be so bad after all.
Take someone else's compliment and integrate it as a focal point of your story. How does the main character react to these compliments? How does it affect other people?
The compliments in question: Helpfully provided by Finley with a bonus from Elfie
1. if someone invented a time machine, the only place i'd travel back to is the moment we met 2. forget mona lisa, you're the real masterpiece I can't take my eyes off of 3. raindrops splashing, crackling fire, and a warm mug in hand - all perfect, but missing one ingredient: you 4. they say lightning never strikes twice, but your smile keeps electrifying me over and over again
I don’t know which I fancy better: your bravado or your brains.
Notes: So yeah I kind of cheated with five different compliments but in my defense I am an indecisive sucker as well as a sap so you're going to have to deal with all this…goopy whatever stuff anyway. I blame Finley. Elfie too, actually.
I have to admit, my greatest regret with this piece is the fact that I was SO CLOSE to NOT exceeding a minimum word count.
Word count: 311 words.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Let’s play a little game, you and I.
When we fight on Tuesday, we won’t talk to each other. Then, on a post-it note, I’ll scribble it out: Raindrops splashing. Crackling fire. A warm mug in my hand. All it’s missing is you. I’ll stick it on your bedroom door, and you’ll find it and fold it up and neither of us will say anything, but you’ll get your own mug and snuggle up next to me.
Maybe a week later, I’ll come home after a bad day and I won’t say anything but you’ll notice anyway. So you’ll get me a mug of coffee and on a carefully stuck post-it note you’ll write: If someone invented a time machine, I’d always go back to the moment we met. I’ll scribble on the back: No you won’t. You’d go to Hawking’s party. But I’ll smile and you’ll snort, and I’ll fold it up to keep it safe.
Five days later, you’ll lose a gig and you won’t say it bothers you but I’ll notice anyway. The next day you’ll find it folded up with your lunch: Forget Mona Lisa, you’re the real masterpiece. You’ll laugh and your day gets a little brighter.
After a breakup: All the stars in the night sky couldn’t hold a candle to your brilliance.
When I snag a win: I don’t know which I fancy better: your bravado or your brains.
Stuck onto your mirror: Lightning never strikes twice, but your smile never fails to electrify me.
What we really mean: I’m sorry. It’ll be better soon. You were right. And always, between the lines: I love you. On and on and on—all our love on yellow squares of paper. Sometimes we won’t have any for months. Sometimes we’ll do it every day. It’ll go on forever—and forever won’t be so bad after all.
- 27coding_crazy
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Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 4
Start by grabbing a die and rolling it - if you get 1 or 2, write in present tense, 3 or 4, write in past tense, and 5 or 6 write in future tense. Now roll it again! If you get 1 or 2, write in 1st person POV, 3 or 4, write in 2nd person POV, and if you get 5 or 6 write in 3rd person omniscient POV. Using this tense and POV, write 300 words of a story…
Numbers rolled: Future tense (5) and first person POV (2)
Word count: 369 words
Notes: Vagueposting like there's no tomorrow heck yeah B)
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Tomorrow, I will wake up early.
I’ll get breakfast and go to work. My boss will threaten to fire me, but she won’t. I’ll take the bus home. Cassiopeia will paw at the door from the inside when I reach it. I know she’ll try to dart out, but it’s unlikely that she’ll manage. It’s for her own good, I’ll tell myself. It’ll be true.
We’ll have dinner, then I’ll turn off the lights and go to bed.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I will wake up early.
I’ll get breakfast, but I’ll be late to work. My boss will threaten to fire me, but she won’t. She never will. I’ll take the bus home. Cassiopeia will paw at the door when I reach it. She’ll try to dart out. I’ll close the door before she can manage. It’s for her own good. It’s true.
We’ll have dinner. I’ll turn off the lights. I’ll go to bed.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up early.
I’ll get breakfast. I’ll stop at a café before getting to work. My boss will threaten to fire me. She’ll never get the chance. I’ll take the bus home. I’ll wonder why, because it isn’t cheap, but I’ll do it anyway. Cassiopeia will paw at the door. I’ll close it before she runs out. We’ll have dinner and I’ll go to bed.
But I won’t turn off the lights.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up early.
And then I’ll go back to sleep. No one deserves to wake up at such an ungodly hour.
Cassiopeia will nudge me with her head. I’ll pet her fur and let her jump over me to slither out the window.
I’ll keep the lights on and stay in bed the whole day.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I will wake up early.
Tomorrow, I will…
I will…
Tomorrow?
— ⚘ —
I will obey. I will obey. I will obey.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I will wake up early.
I’ll get breakfast and go to work. My boss will threaten to fire me, but she won’t. I’ll take the bus home. Cassiopeia will paw at the door when I reach it. She’ll try and dart out, but she won’t manage. It’s for her own good.
We’ll have dinner. I’ll turn off the lights and go to bed.
Start by grabbing a die and rolling it - if you get 1 or 2, write in present tense, 3 or 4, write in past tense, and 5 or 6 write in future tense. Now roll it again! If you get 1 or 2, write in 1st person POV, 3 or 4, write in 2nd person POV, and if you get 5 or 6 write in 3rd person omniscient POV. Using this tense and POV, write 300 words of a story…
Numbers rolled: Future tense (5) and first person POV (2)
Word count: 369 words
Notes: Vagueposting like there's no tomorrow heck yeah B)
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Tomorrow, I will wake up early.
I’ll get breakfast and go to work. My boss will threaten to fire me, but she won’t. I’ll take the bus home. Cassiopeia will paw at the door from the inside when I reach it. I know she’ll try to dart out, but it’s unlikely that she’ll manage. It’s for her own good, I’ll tell myself. It’ll be true.
We’ll have dinner, then I’ll turn off the lights and go to bed.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I will wake up early.
I’ll get breakfast, but I’ll be late to work. My boss will threaten to fire me, but she won’t. She never will. I’ll take the bus home. Cassiopeia will paw at the door when I reach it. She’ll try to dart out. I’ll close the door before she can manage. It’s for her own good. It’s true.
We’ll have dinner. I’ll turn off the lights. I’ll go to bed.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up early.
I’ll get breakfast. I’ll stop at a café before getting to work. My boss will threaten to fire me. She’ll never get the chance. I’ll take the bus home. I’ll wonder why, because it isn’t cheap, but I’ll do it anyway. Cassiopeia will paw at the door. I’ll close it before she runs out. We’ll have dinner and I’ll go to bed.
But I won’t turn off the lights.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up early.
And then I’ll go back to sleep. No one deserves to wake up at such an ungodly hour.
Cassiopeia will nudge me with her head. I’ll pet her fur and let her jump over me to slither out the window.
I’ll keep the lights on and stay in bed the whole day.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I will wake up early.
Tomorrow, I will…
I will…
Tomorrow?
— ⚘ —
I will obey. I will obey. I will obey.
— ⚘ —
Tomorrow, I will wake up early.
I’ll get breakfast and go to work. My boss will threaten to fire me, but she won’t. I’ll take the bus home. Cassiopeia will paw at the door when I reach it. She’ll try and dart out, but she won’t manage. It’s for her own good.
We’ll have dinner. I’ll turn off the lights and go to bed.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 4, 2024 07:21:23)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 5
…read one chapter of a book, then write a continuation of it—perhaps Percy refuses to go to Camp Half-Blood, or Elphaba and Galinda defy gravity together! Write 200 words…
Notes: I think it has been long established that I am a basic little gal and so I obviously extended a scene from Howl's Moving Castle. Ms. Diana Wynne Jones if you're reading this from the afterlife I am eternally sorry for constantly butchering your work but in my defense I am a creature of habit and I just really love your book.
Scene chosen: End of chapter 7 of Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones
Word count: 218 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
“If you can bully Calcifer, the King should give you no trouble at all!” Howl said with a dazzling smile.
Sophie stared through the dazzle and said nothing. This, she thought, was where she slithered out. She was leaving. It was too bad about Calcifer’s contract, and it would be a pity she’d never see Michael dye Howl’s hair blue, but she had had enough.
“Well, Sophie? What do you say?” Howl prodded. Confound the man.
“I’m sure it won’t be too bad,” said Micheal a touch too earnestly. It was evident he was desperate to avoid having to move the castle. He turned his big, pleading eyes on Sophie like was his only hope. There was a faint plume of smoke from the fireplace, like Calcifer was trying to convince her to agree to this mad plan of Howl’s too. Perhaps she should go through with it, if only to lift her own curse…but no.
“Sophie?” prodded Michael.
“I’ll think about it,” she croaked noncommittally, hobbling rapidly to her cubbyhole under the stairs. Good gracious! She was just as bad as Howl, she thought. A despicable slitherer-outer.
“Well, that went wonderfully!” said Howl happily and Sophie wanted to slap him upside the head. She did not regret her decision to leave any longer. Not one bit.
…read one chapter of a book, then write a continuation of it—perhaps Percy refuses to go to Camp Half-Blood, or Elphaba and Galinda defy gravity together! Write 200 words…
Notes: I think it has been long established that I am a basic little gal and so I obviously extended a scene from Howl's Moving Castle. Ms. Diana Wynne Jones if you're reading this from the afterlife I am eternally sorry for constantly butchering your work but in my defense I am a creature of habit and I just really love your book.
Scene chosen: End of chapter 7 of Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones
Word count: 218 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
“If you can bully Calcifer, the King should give you no trouble at all!” Howl said with a dazzling smile.
Sophie stared through the dazzle and said nothing. This, she thought, was where she slithered out. She was leaving. It was too bad about Calcifer’s contract, and it would be a pity she’d never see Michael dye Howl’s hair blue, but she had had enough.
“Well, Sophie? What do you say?” Howl prodded. Confound the man.
“I’m sure it won’t be too bad,” said Micheal a touch too earnestly. It was evident he was desperate to avoid having to move the castle. He turned his big, pleading eyes on Sophie like was his only hope. There was a faint plume of smoke from the fireplace, like Calcifer was trying to convince her to agree to this mad plan of Howl’s too. Perhaps she should go through with it, if only to lift her own curse…but no.
“Sophie?” prodded Michael.
“I’ll think about it,” she croaked noncommittally, hobbling rapidly to her cubbyhole under the stairs. Good gracious! She was just as bad as Howl, she thought. A despicable slitherer-outer.
“Well, that went wonderfully!” said Howl happily and Sophie wanted to slap him upside the head. She did not regret her decision to leave any longer. Not one bit.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 5, 2024 14:33:06)
- 27coding_crazy
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Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 6
Today, you'll be inventing a new genre. It can be anywhere from something like a Cashier Memoir to Sci-Fi. Get creative! What genre would you love to write in? Then, write a story in this genre that is 250 words long.
Notes: Shoutout to a friend of mine who gave me the prompt that created the original version of this story, which I wrote ages ago. It was much funnier back then, in my terrible sense of humor, but ah well. Enjoy :D
(This is such a pain to read it's like the formatting is physically assaulting my eyes asdjksh)
ETA: I think I'm going to call this Listerature :>
Word count: 356 words
CONTENT WARNING: There's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to getting clean from some kind of addiction in the interlude. Very vague and unspecific, because I haven't decided what exactly happened either, but I thought I should mention it all the same.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 10:
1. Learn to play Chopin’s Nocturne!
✓ 2. Read 50 books (ticked off September 25th)
✓ 3. Convince mom to buy more nail polish (ticked off May 3rd)
✓ 4. Learn how to bake brownies (ticked off October 25th)
5. Beat McKayla in the semi-finals
6. No more fighting with Jamie
(…)
✓ 10. Run for class president (ticked off April 7th)
(Addition by Jamie, crossed out with marker by Jenna) STAY OUT OF MY ROOM
⚘ —
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 13:
✓ 1. Learn how to make croissants (ticked off March 23rd)
✓ 2. Maybe get Chad Brown to talk to me (ticked off March 30th)
✓ 3. Plant a garden (ticked off July 4th)
4. Get an A in math
5. Convince mom to let me dye my hair
(…)
✓ 10. Don’t talk to Jamie unless he comes back (ticked off at year end. There is a tear stain on the page)
⚘ —
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 15:
✓ 1. Finally get Chad Brown to notice me!! (ticked off March 7th)
✓ 2. Dye my hair, mom’s permission or no (ticked off May 5th)
3. Learn to play one of Chopin’s Nocturnes
4. Beat McKayla in the semi-finals (I WILL do it this year)
✓ 5. Visit Jamie so mom stops bothering me about it (ticked off October 23rd)
⚘ —
INTERLUDE
Jamie’s New Year Resolutions, age 20
✓ 1. Get clean. (ticked off at year end)
✓ 2. Get Jenna to dump that idiot, she deserves better. (ticked off November 6th)
✓ 3. Go back to college. (ticked off September 5th)
(blackened out with marker) ask Jenna to visit more.
⚘ —
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 16
✓ 1. Get over that tool. (ticked off June 2nd)
✓ 2. Finally learn to play one of Chopin’s Nocturnes. (ticked off March 7th)
✓ 3. Beat McKayla in the semi-finals. (ticked off May 15th)
✓ 4. Try to visit Jamie at least once a month. (ticked off at year end)
✓ 5. Start a book club! (ticked off September 17th)
⚘ —
EPILOGUE
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 5:
1. Ǝat moar candγ
Today, you'll be inventing a new genre. It can be anywhere from something like a Cashier Memoir to Sci-Fi. Get creative! What genre would you love to write in? Then, write a story in this genre that is 250 words long.
Notes: Shoutout to a friend of mine who gave me the prompt that created the original version of this story, which I wrote ages ago. It was much funnier back then, in my terrible sense of humor, but ah well. Enjoy :D
(This is such a pain to read it's like the formatting is physically assaulting my eyes asdjksh)
ETA: I think I'm going to call this Listerature :>
Word count: 356 words
CONTENT WARNING: There's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it reference to getting clean from some kind of addiction in the interlude. Very vague and unspecific, because I haven't decided what exactly happened either, but I thought I should mention it all the same.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 10:
1. Learn to play Chopin’s Nocturne!
✓ 2. Read 50 books (ticked off September 25th)
✓ 3. Convince mom to buy more nail polish (ticked off May 3rd)
✓ 4. Learn how to bake brownies (ticked off October 25th)
5. Beat McKayla in the semi-finals
6. No more fighting with Jamie
(…)
✓ 10. Run for class president (ticked off April 7th)
(Addition by Jamie, crossed out with marker by Jenna) STAY OUT OF MY ROOM
⚘ —
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 13:
✓ 1. Learn how to make croissants (ticked off March 23rd)
✓ 2. Maybe get Chad Brown to talk to me (ticked off March 30th)
✓ 3. Plant a garden (ticked off July 4th)
4. Get an A in math
5. Convince mom to let me dye my hair
(…)
✓ 10. Don’t talk to Jamie unless he comes back (ticked off at year end. There is a tear stain on the page)
⚘ —
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 15:
✓ 1. Finally get Chad Brown to notice me!! (ticked off March 7th)
✓ 2. Dye my hair, mom’s permission or no (ticked off May 5th)
3. Learn to play one of Chopin’s Nocturnes
4. Beat McKayla in the semi-finals (I WILL do it this year)
✓ 5. Visit Jamie so mom stops bothering me about it (ticked off October 23rd)
⚘ —
INTERLUDE
Jamie’s New Year Resolutions, age 20
✓ 1. Get clean. (ticked off at year end)
✓ 2. Get Jenna to dump that idiot, she deserves better. (ticked off November 6th)
✓ 3. Go back to college. (ticked off September 5th)
(blackened out with marker) ask Jenna to visit more.
⚘ —
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 16
✓ 1. Get over that tool. (ticked off June 2nd)
✓ 2. Finally learn to play one of Chopin’s Nocturnes. (ticked off March 7th)
✓ 3. Beat McKayla in the semi-finals. (ticked off May 15th)
✓ 4. Try to visit Jamie at least once a month. (ticked off at year end)
✓ 5. Start a book club! (ticked off September 17th)
⚘ —
EPILOGUE
Jenna’s New Year Resolutions, age 5:
1. Ǝat moar candγ
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 6, 2024 14:27:40)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 8
Pen a 200 words thank-you note to a feminine figure – historical trailblazer or personal hero.
Notes: Ms. K I'm so sorry I didn't write this to you I was literally on the verge of tossing a coin to pick between you two because you've both been such an essential part of my childhood. Also in my defense neither of you are going to see this, so. (It's such a relief, actually. This is drenched in sap and also has a terrible ending line)
Word count: 216 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
It’s a shame we don’t talk anymore. It makes sense because I was always just one amongst the hundreds you’ve taught, and who keeps in touch with their kindergarten teachers anyway? But I do it, I still try. Even if it’s just on your birthday, Christmas, and Eid now.
I’m glad you still reply to my emails. I love that you always send me pictures of your granddaughters, tell me how your family’s doing, where you’re spending the holidays. It’s like you’re choosing to show me these parts of your life, even though I rarely reciprocate.
I carry a little bit of all my teachers. From Ms. K, it’s the color-coded days of the week. Ms. Megan’s handwriting. So on, so forth. From you, I carry my love for the color purple. I’ve loved it before you, but I like thinking that it’s another thing we share even now, years apart.
You were a terrifying figure as a child. I understand better, now. I aspire to have the confidence, the sheer audacity that you have. I want to be like you when I’m older. And if nothing else, I think I want to be the kind of person you’d be proud of having taught, once.
In short, thank you for being the icon that you are.
Pen a 200 words thank-you note to a feminine figure – historical trailblazer or personal hero.
Notes: Ms. K I'm so sorry I didn't write this to you I was literally on the verge of tossing a coin to pick between you two because you've both been such an essential part of my childhood. Also in my defense neither of you are going to see this, so. (It's such a relief, actually. This is drenched in sap and also has a terrible ending line)
Word count: 216 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
It’s a shame we don’t talk anymore. It makes sense because I was always just one amongst the hundreds you’ve taught, and who keeps in touch with their kindergarten teachers anyway? But I do it, I still try. Even if it’s just on your birthday, Christmas, and Eid now.
I’m glad you still reply to my emails. I love that you always send me pictures of your granddaughters, tell me how your family’s doing, where you’re spending the holidays. It’s like you’re choosing to show me these parts of your life, even though I rarely reciprocate.
I carry a little bit of all my teachers. From Ms. K, it’s the color-coded days of the week. Ms. Megan’s handwriting. So on, so forth. From you, I carry my love for the color purple. I’ve loved it before you, but I like thinking that it’s another thing we share even now, years apart.
You were a terrifying figure as a child. I understand better, now. I aspire to have the confidence, the sheer audacity that you have. I want to be like you when I’m older. And if nothing else, I think I want to be the kind of person you’d be proud of having taught, once.
In short, thank you for being the icon that you are.
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Weekly 1
Total word count: 1329 words
Notes: No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle (multiple minutes spent trying to format this into something that doesn't make your eyes water to look at)
DISCLAIMER: I will not be held responsible for any cringe you experience. You are reading at your own risk.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 1 (Mythology)
⚘ —
3. Retelling
Word count: 218 words
Notes: “Recca where's the changed elements how is it a retelling if it's basically the same.” Well you see, I am very original and as a result, this both includes some kind of Groundhog Day scenario in the background and also Orpheus doesn't talk. At all. He's fully instrumental, so to speak.
—
She tells you to stop.
“Look back, Orpheus,” she calls. “Let me go.”
You pause and shift your head—don’t look back—to stare out into the darkness beside you.
“I don’t think we’re meant to get it in this round either, darling,” she says softly.
You say her name. A single note: pluck it on the strings like a prayer.
“I know.”
“How much longer?” you ask, desperation bleeding into the way your fingers fumble across the strings. You’ve can’t count how many times you’ve lost her. It’s too easy to promise not to turn back.
“You need to move on,” she says quietly.
Sometimes she calls out, so you know she’s there. Sometimes she’s so quiet it feels like a trick. Sometimes she screams, begging for help. You always look back because how can you not?
“It won’t mean you love me less,” she soothes, before you can tell her this. So instead, with trembling hands you ask her: Hold me?
There’s a moment of silence, and then you can feel her ghostly embrace. Her hands wrap around your waist, and you can feel her leaning onto you. “Let me go,” she says again, and you never could refuse her anything. You nod silently, she steps back, and you set the lyre down.
You turn back.
⚘ —
4. Genre Swap
Word count: 217 words
Notes: I think I accidentally NBC Hannibal'd them. However, as all my knowledge of NBC Hannibal comes second-hand, I really can't tell for sure. I feel like this could've been very interesting if I wasn't a terrible writer and I wasn't desperately clinging to the word count. Sometimes I just want to not over-write, y'know?
CONTENT WARNING: Contains discussions of murder and serial killers. Nothing in detail, but there are allusions to it all the same.
—
“This doesn’t make any sense!” Psyche exclaims, exasperated. “By your logic, everything points back to me! I don’t go around gallivanting with serial killers—”
“That you know of,” her sister cuts in. “Is there really no one that comes to mind?”
“There are exactly five people who know about my work and none of them are the kind to leave me a psychopath’s equivalent of a romantic treasure hunt. I know it’s hard, but be a little sensible, will you?”
“Fine!” she snaps. “Here’s what I think: for some reason, our darling Killer Cupid is besotted with you. He’s literally leaving flowers and chocolates with his spoils. So, what you are going to do is find this person and get them behind bars before more people get killed in this sick, twisted ploy to win your affection!” she exclaims before leaving in a huff.
Psyche groans. It’s not that she doesn’t understand where her sister’s coming from, but she’s at as much of a loss here. Maybe she should talk to Eros about it. His uncanny ability to get into people’s heads have come in handy more than once. And he does know about her well enough to—
Oh.
Suddenly, a lot of things make sense.
“You idiot,” Psyche whispers. “What did you drag me into?”
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 2 (Hi-Fi)
⚘ —
1. Original Characters in Historical Times
Word count: 214 words
Notes: Look at me, being all slick and focusing on the time travel shenanigans over the actual historical situation. In my defense, that's exactly what Pepper would do :>
—
“Well, this is less than ideal,” she grumbles. Not that there’s anything wrong with a nice, poofy dress every now and then but honestly, does she really need this many layers?
This has been a very bad week. Her idiot subordinates have managed to spectacularly fail everything. The higher-ups keep on dismissing her work. And now she’s stuck in some 18th-century whatchamacallit with no hope of getting out whatsoever.
“Alright, Pepper. Inventory,” she mutters, trying to calm herself down. She’s still got her tablet, which is a miracle. Maybe she’ll manage to get away as some mystical con woman. It’ll explain why she’s rich enough to be wearing—is that embroidered silk? Great Pines, she must be a millionaire. A stroke of luck, really; rich people have their eccentricities. Maybe she won’t be so out of place after all.
There’s a knock on the door. Pinecones, she’s not ready to deal with this yet!
“Yes?” she calls nervously.
“Breakfast is ready, ma’am. Shall—”
“I’m feeling rather ill today!” she blurts out. “Could you bring up a tray for me?” That was a thing, right?
Serving-lady-who’s-possibly-a-Sarah pauses for a moment. Pepper holds her breath. “Of course, ma’am,” she concedes, and Pepper exhales sharply.
Lovely. Time to drag herself out of this mess she’s in.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 3 (Fairy Tales)
⚘ —
1. Using Sparks from the Past: Retelling
Word count: 243 words
Notes: The Six Wild Swans, my beloved. In the first version I read, I'm pretty sure the girl was named Elsie EXCEPT I might've misread it and it might've actually been Elise. However, as I am a creature of habit who Does Not Care, she will be referred to as Elsie :>
This is essentially me making her even more of a Mary Sue and thus speed-running the entire story. However, for reasons of convenience, you may choose to believe that this is a righteous depiction of a character who had to grow up with six older siblings.
Anyway I have a lot of thoughts about this one so please talk to me about it if you manage to survive reading it ;D
—
Elsie was hardly a paragon of goodness. She was the youngest child of six and behaved as such. She was mischievous and unsurprisingly multi-talented. Her brothers doted and picked on her alike. She grew to be quite well-rounded indeed.
So, when her stepmother turned her brothers into swans, she began a relentless one-sided prank war. None of which were traced to her, obviously. It comes of having practiced one’s entire life. As did blackmail, lock-picking, thievery and a penchant for negotiation. Not very honorable skills, but they had their uses. How else would she have known how to break the curse? Wait for some omniscient fairy to pop up? Please. Her third brother would be scandalized.
It didn’t take long to convince her father to cart her off to a rose orchard. For her own safety, of course. And her brothers were more than helpful, gathering material for her. They were full of gossip at night too, happily making up for Elsie’s vow of silence. And when some stuck-up prince decided she was worthy of her attention, there were six swans who very conveniently caused enough of a ruckus to steer him away. That shovel talk one night really sealed the deal, though.
In the end, it took little over a month for Elsie to finish the shirts. None of her brothers ended up part-swan, and there were no burnings at the stake involved (save for their stepmother’s). They lived happily ever after.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 4 (Folklore)
⚘ —
1. Oral Retelling: Show Characters Passing Down a Story
Word count: 216 words
Notes: OCs are from this daily! This interview was conducted in the middle of the century they spent bickering. Yes, they're snuggled up together on their couch.
—
“It all started when that nasty Wilhelm ordered all the watches destroyed. It was such a pain, the way he acted all high and mighty when everyone knows that watch-watching-witches have indestructible watches. You’d think he’d be a little more well-informed.”
“Remember the time he came over for tea to try and convince us to stop watching the watches? Gave him quite the scare, didn’t we, darling?”
“You were magnificent, dearest. So anyway, here we are minding our own business and watching our watches like the nice, unobtrusive witches we are when along comes this watch-bearing traveller. Could’ve given Wilhelm an aneurysm, the way he walked about.”
“He was a sweet fellow, that one. Wanted to give us gifts. Oh! Darling, it just occurred to me: he was literally a time traveler.”
“He really wasn’t, but I digress. We decided to have a competition, except someone refused to let me watch the watch that I wanted—”
“That was uncalled for! You knew full well I wanted the other one—”
“Well, either way, we’ve been going through a bit of a rough spot ever since. And—sorry, what?”
“Of course I’m sitting on her lap, where else would I be?”
“Yes, we’re still fighting. Haven’t you noticed? You young folk are so clueless these days.”
⚘ —
4. Magical Realism (Talking Animals, Little Bits of Magic, Etc.)
Word count: 220 words
Notes: “Recca where's the magical realism” in the background, pay attention. OCs are from this daily.
—
Jenna heaves a sigh as she dumps her plate in the sink. She makes herself a cup of hot chocolate, the dishes clinking softly in the background as they wash themselves.
She finds her thoughts drifting to Chad. Breaking up with him was easier than she’d expected. Seems like Jamie was right after all—no one with a name that terrible was really worth going out with.
‘I really should pay him a visit soon,’ she muses. She’s free this weekend, and it’d be nice to see her brother again.
Halfway through the year, and she’s yet to have broken her resolutions. She’s finally beaten McKayla in the semifinals and learned one of Chopin’s Nocturnes. She’s hasn’t missed her scheduled visits with Jamie. And Chad, well. She has to admit she hasn’t thought of him much at all.
She drops a peck on her mother’s cheek on her way back to her room. She tugs at the blue tips of Jenna’s hair, scrunching her nose playfully. It’d taken a while for her to get used to, but Jenna knows her mother’s grown fond of it.
She takes a moment to check the list taped behind her door, and there it is: a new checkmark pops into existence right next to her first resolution. She smiles. Life’s been pretty nice, lately.
Total word count: 1329 words
Notes: No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle (multiple minutes spent trying to format this into something that doesn't make your eyes water to look at)
DISCLAIMER: I will not be held responsible for any cringe you experience. You are reading at your own risk.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 1 (Mythology)
⚘ —
3. Retelling
Word count: 218 words
Notes: “Recca where's the changed elements how is it a retelling if it's basically the same.” Well you see, I am very original and as a result, this both includes some kind of Groundhog Day scenario in the background and also Orpheus doesn't talk. At all. He's fully instrumental, so to speak.
—
She tells you to stop.
“Look back, Orpheus,” she calls. “Let me go.”
You pause and shift your head—don’t look back—to stare out into the darkness beside you.
“I don’t think we’re meant to get it in this round either, darling,” she says softly.
You say her name. A single note: pluck it on the strings like a prayer.
“I know.”
“How much longer?” you ask, desperation bleeding into the way your fingers fumble across the strings. You’ve can’t count how many times you’ve lost her. It’s too easy to promise not to turn back.
“You need to move on,” she says quietly.
Sometimes she calls out, so you know she’s there. Sometimes she’s so quiet it feels like a trick. Sometimes she screams, begging for help. You always look back because how can you not?
“It won’t mean you love me less,” she soothes, before you can tell her this. So instead, with trembling hands you ask her: Hold me?
There’s a moment of silence, and then you can feel her ghostly embrace. Her hands wrap around your waist, and you can feel her leaning onto you. “Let me go,” she says again, and you never could refuse her anything. You nod silently, she steps back, and you set the lyre down.
You turn back.
⚘ —
4. Genre Swap
Word count: 217 words
Notes: I think I accidentally NBC Hannibal'd them. However, as all my knowledge of NBC Hannibal comes second-hand, I really can't tell for sure. I feel like this could've been very interesting if I wasn't a terrible writer and I wasn't desperately clinging to the word count. Sometimes I just want to not over-write, y'know?
CONTENT WARNING: Contains discussions of murder and serial killers. Nothing in detail, but there are allusions to it all the same.
—
“This doesn’t make any sense!” Psyche exclaims, exasperated. “By your logic, everything points back to me! I don’t go around gallivanting with serial killers—”
“That you know of,” her sister cuts in. “Is there really no one that comes to mind?”
“There are exactly five people who know about my work and none of them are the kind to leave me a psychopath’s equivalent of a romantic treasure hunt. I know it’s hard, but be a little sensible, will you?”
“Fine!” she snaps. “Here’s what I think: for some reason, our darling Killer Cupid is besotted with you. He’s literally leaving flowers and chocolates with his spoils. So, what you are going to do is find this person and get them behind bars before more people get killed in this sick, twisted ploy to win your affection!” she exclaims before leaving in a huff.
Psyche groans. It’s not that she doesn’t understand where her sister’s coming from, but she’s at as much of a loss here. Maybe she should talk to Eros about it. His uncanny ability to get into people’s heads have come in handy more than once. And he does know about her well enough to—
Oh.
Suddenly, a lot of things make sense.
“You idiot,” Psyche whispers. “What did you drag me into?”
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 2 (Hi-Fi)
⚘ —
1. Original Characters in Historical Times
Word count: 214 words
Notes: Look at me, being all slick and focusing on the time travel shenanigans over the actual historical situation. In my defense, that's exactly what Pepper would do :>
—
“Well, this is less than ideal,” she grumbles. Not that there’s anything wrong with a nice, poofy dress every now and then but honestly, does she really need this many layers?
This has been a very bad week. Her idiot subordinates have managed to spectacularly fail everything. The higher-ups keep on dismissing her work. And now she’s stuck in some 18th-century whatchamacallit with no hope of getting out whatsoever.
“Alright, Pepper. Inventory,” she mutters, trying to calm herself down. She’s still got her tablet, which is a miracle. Maybe she’ll manage to get away as some mystical con woman. It’ll explain why she’s rich enough to be wearing—is that embroidered silk? Great Pines, she must be a millionaire. A stroke of luck, really; rich people have their eccentricities. Maybe she won’t be so out of place after all.
There’s a knock on the door. Pinecones, she’s not ready to deal with this yet!
“Yes?” she calls nervously.
“Breakfast is ready, ma’am. Shall—”
“I’m feeling rather ill today!” she blurts out. “Could you bring up a tray for me?” That was a thing, right?
Serving-lady-who’s-possibly-a-Sarah pauses for a moment. Pepper holds her breath. “Of course, ma’am,” she concedes, and Pepper exhales sharply.
Lovely. Time to drag herself out of this mess she’s in.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 3 (Fairy Tales)
⚘ —
1. Using Sparks from the Past: Retelling
Word count: 243 words
Notes: The Six Wild Swans, my beloved. In the first version I read, I'm pretty sure the girl was named Elsie EXCEPT I might've misread it and it might've actually been Elise. However, as I am a creature of habit who Does Not Care, she will be referred to as Elsie :>
This is essentially me making her even more of a Mary Sue and thus speed-running the entire story. However, for reasons of convenience, you may choose to believe that this is a righteous depiction of a character who had to grow up with six older siblings.
Anyway I have a lot of thoughts about this one so please talk to me about it if you manage to survive reading it ;D
—
Elsie was hardly a paragon of goodness. She was the youngest child of six and behaved as such. She was mischievous and unsurprisingly multi-talented. Her brothers doted and picked on her alike. She grew to be quite well-rounded indeed.
So, when her stepmother turned her brothers into swans, she began a relentless one-sided prank war. None of which were traced to her, obviously. It comes of having practiced one’s entire life. As did blackmail, lock-picking, thievery and a penchant for negotiation. Not very honorable skills, but they had their uses. How else would she have known how to break the curse? Wait for some omniscient fairy to pop up? Please. Her third brother would be scandalized.
It didn’t take long to convince her father to cart her off to a rose orchard. For her own safety, of course. And her brothers were more than helpful, gathering material for her. They were full of gossip at night too, happily making up for Elsie’s vow of silence. And when some stuck-up prince decided she was worthy of her attention, there were six swans who very conveniently caused enough of a ruckus to steer him away. That shovel talk one night really sealed the deal, though.
In the end, it took little over a month for Elsie to finish the shirts. None of her brothers ended up part-swan, and there were no burnings at the stake involved (save for their stepmother’s). They lived happily ever after.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 4 (Folklore)
⚘ —
1. Oral Retelling: Show Characters Passing Down a Story
Word count: 216 words
Notes: OCs are from this daily! This interview was conducted in the middle of the century they spent bickering. Yes, they're snuggled up together on their couch.
—
“It all started when that nasty Wilhelm ordered all the watches destroyed. It was such a pain, the way he acted all high and mighty when everyone knows that watch-watching-witches have indestructible watches. You’d think he’d be a little more well-informed.”
“Remember the time he came over for tea to try and convince us to stop watching the watches? Gave him quite the scare, didn’t we, darling?”
“You were magnificent, dearest. So anyway, here we are minding our own business and watching our watches like the nice, unobtrusive witches we are when along comes this watch-bearing traveller. Could’ve given Wilhelm an aneurysm, the way he walked about.”
“He was a sweet fellow, that one. Wanted to give us gifts. Oh! Darling, it just occurred to me: he was literally a time traveler.”
“He really wasn’t, but I digress. We decided to have a competition, except someone refused to let me watch the watch that I wanted—”
“That was uncalled for! You knew full well I wanted the other one—”
“Well, either way, we’ve been going through a bit of a rough spot ever since. And—sorry, what?”
“Of course I’m sitting on her lap, where else would I be?”
“Yes, we’re still fighting. Haven’t you noticed? You young folk are so clueless these days.”
⚘ —
4. Magical Realism (Talking Animals, Little Bits of Magic, Etc.)
Word count: 220 words
Notes: “Recca where's the magical realism” in the background, pay attention. OCs are from this daily.
—
Jenna heaves a sigh as she dumps her plate in the sink. She makes herself a cup of hot chocolate, the dishes clinking softly in the background as they wash themselves.
She finds her thoughts drifting to Chad. Breaking up with him was easier than she’d expected. Seems like Jamie was right after all—no one with a name that terrible was really worth going out with.
‘I really should pay him a visit soon,’ she muses. She’s free this weekend, and it’d be nice to see her brother again.
Halfway through the year, and she’s yet to have broken her resolutions. She’s finally beaten McKayla in the semifinals and learned one of Chopin’s Nocturnes. She’s hasn’t missed her scheduled visits with Jamie. And Chad, well. She has to admit she hasn’t thought of him much at all.
She drops a peck on her mother’s cheek on her way back to her room. She tugs at the blue tips of Jenna’s hair, scrunching her nose playfully. It’d taken a while for her to get used to, but Jenna knows her mother’s grown fond of it.
She takes a moment to check the list taped behind her door, and there it is: a new checkmark pops into existence right next to her first resolution. She smiles. Life’s been pretty nice, lately.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 8, 2024 16:20:58)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 13
Today, 13 happens to be a host's favorite number - for 350 points (and a bonus 100 for sharing your creations), you'll be writing at least 300 words using any line or comment from a host or daily team coordinator's profile as inspiration!
Notes: Stole the Much Ado About Nothing quote from Sunchy's (@Sunclaw68) profile because Lady Beatrice is such a queen how could I not. I really didn't do her justice but in my defense I should probably be asleep and I default to random, badly-written dialogue at this stage.
Word count: 314 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
“Shove over, I’ve had the absolute worst day.”
“A statement you never fail to make at least three times a day, and yet somehow every day you come home with a new low.”
“I really do mean it this time. Derek dumped me. Or I dumped him, I’m honestly not sure at this point.”
“I’m sorry, he did what—”
“Yep. Made a scene in front of everyone, the whole screaming, crying shebang.”
“O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace.”
“Excellent ambition! Just one problem: I’m pretty darn sure most men aren’t allowed to do that either.”
“Hmm. A shame, truly. I do so crave to pluck his heart out. I’d sauté it and serve it on a platter, eat it in the square for all the world to see.”
“Okay Hannibal, let’s not go all psycho mode here right this moment, alright? You can chop up my ex to bits later.”
“That was Beatrice from Much Ado you uncultured swine—”
“Doesn’t change the fact that that is a very unhinged set of sentences to be hearing in a row. You’ve got to admit that most people don’t really talk like you.”
“That’s because their peasant, plebeian brains could never keep up with the sheer brilliance and delicacy of the English language in all it’s multi-faceted glory.”
“Oh my gosh, we get it, you swallowed a dictionary when you were born and never recovered. Now go get me some ice cream and put on a brainless romcom, I deserve to have some fun.”
“I can’t say it’s brainless, but would watching Much Ado About Nothing fulfill your criteria of a romcom?”
“No, it would not.”
“The 2012 version!”
“…fine.”
“This is just because you fancy David Tennant, isn’t it?”
“That’s it, get out! Go bring me ice cream. And it better have sprinkles on it.”
Today, 13 happens to be a host's favorite number - for 350 points (and a bonus 100 for sharing your creations), you'll be writing at least 300 words using any line or comment from a host or daily team coordinator's profile as inspiration!
Notes: Stole the Much Ado About Nothing quote from Sunchy's (@Sunclaw68) profile because Lady Beatrice is such a queen how could I not. I really didn't do her justice but in my defense I should probably be asleep and I default to random, badly-written dialogue at this stage.
Word count: 314 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
“Shove over, I’ve had the absolute worst day.”
“A statement you never fail to make at least three times a day, and yet somehow every day you come home with a new low.”
“I really do mean it this time. Derek dumped me. Or I dumped him, I’m honestly not sure at this point.”
“I’m sorry, he did what—”
“Yep. Made a scene in front of everyone, the whole screaming, crying shebang.”
“O God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace.”
“Excellent ambition! Just one problem: I’m pretty darn sure most men aren’t allowed to do that either.”
“Hmm. A shame, truly. I do so crave to pluck his heart out. I’d sauté it and serve it on a platter, eat it in the square for all the world to see.”
“Okay Hannibal, let’s not go all psycho mode here right this moment, alright? You can chop up my ex to bits later.”
“That was Beatrice from Much Ado you uncultured swine—”
“Doesn’t change the fact that that is a very unhinged set of sentences to be hearing in a row. You’ve got to admit that most people don’t really talk like you.”
“That’s because their peasant, plebeian brains could never keep up with the sheer brilliance and delicacy of the English language in all it’s multi-faceted glory.”
“Oh my gosh, we get it, you swallowed a dictionary when you were born and never recovered. Now go get me some ice cream and put on a brainless romcom, I deserve to have some fun.”
“I can’t say it’s brainless, but would watching Much Ado About Nothing fulfill your criteria of a romcom?”
“No, it would not.”
“The 2012 version!”
“…fine.”
“This is just because you fancy David Tennant, isn’t it?”
“That’s it, get out! Go bring me ice cream. And it better have sprinkles on it.”
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 13, 2024 19:37:58)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 15
In typical Julius Caesar fashion, a character has just been informed by a mysterious cloaked figure that they're going to die. How are they going to spend their last day? Will they heed the warning - or try to escape their fate?
Notes: Yeah I might've sort of cheated by choosing the character who's living in the land of dramatic irony where nothing happens as it's supposed to but oh well. It does technically fit the prompt.
Word count: 418 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
A woman in a black cloak and a generally menacing aura stalks towards me. From what I can see, her hands are wrinkled and grey. I think she’s two seconds away from turning into dust, actually. She looks like someone whose voice sounds like rocks scraping against each other. Sure enough, when she opens her mouth to speak, the words come out in a gravelly rasp: “Beware, child. Your death awaits you. With the first light of the morning sun tomorrow, you shall be gone.”
Huh.
That…was not what I expected.
I snap thrice and glance up at my (unfortunately) blinding neon pink sign. Yep. Still Background Character #34. I squint at the details. There it is, written in Bookman Old Style, size 11:
If what everyone’s said so far is to be believed, the signs never lie. It’s practically impossible for them to do so. And that means…
“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I sigh.
The woman—can I call her a witch? No—a hag. I’m calling her a hag because that’s exactly what she is. The hag cackles madly. “I never make mistakes, child. By dawn tomorrow, you—”
“No. No, see? It says right here: BGC #34,” I say, waving towards the sign. “Date of Death Undetermined. There is no way I’m going to be dead tomorrow. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
All of a sudden, the hag turns concerned. “Woah there, buddy. You sure you’re okay? ‘Cause if you need anyone to talk to—”
“Hmm? Oh! No, it was nothing like that, promise. I had backup and fail-safes ready. It’s still physically impossible for you to die here, though. Not unless it guarantees character development.”
“The Fates have decreed otherwise!” Oh great, she’s back in hag mode. “Mark my words, child, your end is near. I’ll be off now!”
With another cackle, she disappears in a poof of smoke. Talk about dramatic effect.
I’m going to die soon, huh? It’s nice to have some warning this time, at least. Maybe I’ll stop by the bakery today, finally buy that roll I’ve always wanted to. Meet up with the other BGCs, thank them for all they’ve done to help me. Splurge a little on myself.
The day after the next I wake up completely healthy and very much alive. Stupid hag. I told her she’d gotten the wrong person. Now I’ve got to figure out how to face BGC #36 after I sobbed all over her shirt yesterday.
In typical Julius Caesar fashion, a character has just been informed by a mysterious cloaked figure that they're going to die. How are they going to spend their last day? Will they heed the warning - or try to escape their fate?
Notes: Yeah I might've sort of cheated by choosing the character who's living in the land of dramatic irony where nothing happens as it's supposed to but oh well. It does technically fit the prompt.
Word count: 418 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
A woman in a black cloak and a generally menacing aura stalks towards me. From what I can see, her hands are wrinkled and grey. I think she’s two seconds away from turning into dust, actually. She looks like someone whose voice sounds like rocks scraping against each other. Sure enough, when she opens her mouth to speak, the words come out in a gravelly rasp: “Beware, child. Your death awaits you. With the first light of the morning sun tomorrow, you shall be gone.”
Huh.
That…was not what I expected.
I snap thrice and glance up at my (unfortunately) blinding neon pink sign. Yep. Still Background Character #34. I squint at the details. There it is, written in Bookman Old Style, size 11:
Date of Death: Undetermined
If what everyone’s said so far is to be believed, the signs never lie. It’s practically impossible for them to do so. And that means…
“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I sigh.
The woman—can I call her a witch? No—a hag. I’m calling her a hag because that’s exactly what she is. The hag cackles madly. “I never make mistakes, child. By dawn tomorrow, you—”
“No. No, see? It says right here: BGC #34,” I say, waving towards the sign. “Date of Death Undetermined. There is no way I’m going to be dead tomorrow. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
All of a sudden, the hag turns concerned. “Woah there, buddy. You sure you’re okay? ‘Cause if you need anyone to talk to—”
“Hmm? Oh! No, it was nothing like that, promise. I had backup and fail-safes ready. It’s still physically impossible for you to die here, though. Not unless it guarantees character development.”
“The Fates have decreed otherwise!” Oh great, she’s back in hag mode. “Mark my words, child, your end is near. I’ll be off now!”
With another cackle, she disappears in a poof of smoke. Talk about dramatic effect.
I’m going to die soon, huh? It’s nice to have some warning this time, at least. Maybe I’ll stop by the bakery today, finally buy that roll I’ve always wanted to. Meet up with the other BGCs, thank them for all they’ve done to help me. Splurge a little on myself.
The day after the next I wake up completely healthy and very much alive. Stupid hag. I told her she’d gotten the wrong person. Now I’ve got to figure out how to face BGC #36 after I sobbed all over her shirt yesterday.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 15, 2024 16:57:38)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 16
In today’s daily, we’ll be embracing our community’s uniqueness by writing about life from another swcer’s perspective! What would their average day look like? What hobbies, interests and activities do they engage in?
Word count: 310 words, not including the footnote.
Notes: Huge shout-out to most darling CJ, whose DMs I flooded with at least 200 words of this before I realized hey! This could fit today's daily if you squint!! Thus, here we are.
DISCLAIMER: This is mostly a caricature-ish, overly exaggerated humor thing, based off of conversations I've had with CJ. I do not actually think CJ lives, thinks or even breathes like this.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
CJ woke up at the very unreasonable hour of 5 AM. However, they were a very reasonable person and went straight back to sleep, opting to wake up later, near 8 AM. His sleep schedule was a wonder to behold. It caused jealousy and despair amongst all SWC-ers. Despite all the amazing things they did, they still had the sense to go to bed at reasonable times no matter how chaotic their schedule got. As a result, they tended to wake up at reasonable hours. CJ ran a hand through their perfect, brown hair that turned straight girls gay (1). It was going to be a brilliant day.
CJ walked over to their computer and saw something that struck terror into their heart. His blood ran cold, turning into ice in his veins. His dearest friend Recca had betrayed him. Trembling, they re-read the lines on their computer: “How's the baby bear doing?”
“PROPAGANDA!” CJ shrieks in despair, tearing at their hair that definitely doesn't turn straight girls gay. “THIS IS SLANDER! LUNA IS SPREADING HER TYRANT POWERS!” CJ paces across their room, muttering angrily. The spider (which they were terrified of) peered up at them from the floor. Only a few months ago, Recca had given him absolutely terrible advice on how to get rid of it. Now she'd turned against him, joining Luna in her tyranny. He should've seen the signs. How could he have been so blind?
He decides to clear his head by doing a word sprint. There was nothing better than typing out a thousand words in five minutes. You know, like normal people who don’t have godlike typing speed do. These were rookie numbers, after all. Anyone could do it if they tried hard enough.
“CJ!” their mother yells from downstairs. “It’s time for school!”
Hmm. They’ll have to deal with this betrayal later.
—
(1) The author has been reliably informed that this is Elfie propaganda. The later text has been adjusted to reflect the correct narrative.
In today’s daily, we’ll be embracing our community’s uniqueness by writing about life from another swcer’s perspective! What would their average day look like? What hobbies, interests and activities do they engage in?
Word count: 310 words, not including the footnote.
Notes: Huge shout-out to most darling CJ, whose DMs I flooded with at least 200 words of this before I realized hey! This could fit today's daily if you squint!! Thus, here we are.
DISCLAIMER: This is mostly a caricature-ish, overly exaggerated humor thing, based off of conversations I've had with CJ. I do not actually think CJ lives, thinks or even breathes like this.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
CJ woke up at the very unreasonable hour of 5 AM. However, they were a very reasonable person and went straight back to sleep, opting to wake up later, near 8 AM. His sleep schedule was a wonder to behold. It caused jealousy and despair amongst all SWC-ers. Despite all the amazing things they did, they still had the sense to go to bed at reasonable times no matter how chaotic their schedule got. As a result, they tended to wake up at reasonable hours. CJ ran a hand through their perfect, brown hair that turned straight girls gay (1). It was going to be a brilliant day.
CJ walked over to their computer and saw something that struck terror into their heart. His blood ran cold, turning into ice in his veins. His dearest friend Recca had betrayed him. Trembling, they re-read the lines on their computer: “How's the baby bear doing?”
“PROPAGANDA!” CJ shrieks in despair, tearing at their hair that definitely doesn't turn straight girls gay. “THIS IS SLANDER! LUNA IS SPREADING HER TYRANT POWERS!” CJ paces across their room, muttering angrily. The spider (which they were terrified of) peered up at them from the floor. Only a few months ago, Recca had given him absolutely terrible advice on how to get rid of it. Now she'd turned against him, joining Luna in her tyranny. He should've seen the signs. How could he have been so blind?
He decides to clear his head by doing a word sprint. There was nothing better than typing out a thousand words in five minutes. You know, like normal people who don’t have godlike typing speed do. These were rookie numbers, after all. Anyone could do it if they tried hard enough.
“CJ!” their mother yells from downstairs. “It’s time for school!”
Hmm. They’ll have to deal with this betrayal later.
—
(1) The author has been reliably informed that this is Elfie propaganda. The later text has been adjusted to reflect the correct narrative.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 16, 2024 18:03:30)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Weekly 2
Total word count: 1228 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 1: Flowers
Word count: 314 words
—
There’s an arrangement of cowslips on the vase beside her table. A very familiar vase. One that’s always a bad omen.
Jenna sighs. She takes a deep breath. And then she yells a long, piercing “MAMA!”
Her mom stumbles blearily towards her. “Jenna?” she yawns. “What’s got you yelling this early in the morning?”
“Your wife’s trying to passive-aggressively tell me something again. Actually, maybe you can help! What are cowslips supposed to mean, again?”
“Cowslips? I think those were pensiveness.”
“Pensiveness?” says Jenna, baffled. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Well, you’re the one she’s mad at,” her mom shrugs. “You’ll have to figure it out.”
“Mom!” she whines. “Help me out here, please!”
“No can do, Jenna. And I’m going back to bed. Try not to wake me again, will you?”
Jenna huffs.
The next day, it’s forget-me-nots and elder blossoms.
“Where do you even keep getting these?” she shrieks, exasperated.
“Hmm? What was that darling?” says her mama.
“Nothing,” she grumbles.
“Lovely. Go help your mom in the garden, will you?”
“This would all be much easier if you just told me why she’s mad, you know,” she whines to her mom later, in the garden.
“I could, but where’s the fun in that?”
“Just give me a clue, please. I’m begging you. I can’t take any more of the passive-aggressive vase.”
“Alright then. Forget-me-nots are love in absence—”
“Gee, I sure wonder why.”
“—and elder blossoms are for compassion.”
“Wow, that was helpful. Thank you so much for being a constant source of wisdom in my life, mom. I aspire to be as cryptic as you and mama someday.”
“Oh, Jenna. It was his birthday yesterday.”
“Oh,” she says, quiet.
“Mhmm. Now go figure out what to do about it before she busts out the ice plants. Those are heartlessness.”
They both shudder at the thought.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 2: Constellations
Word count: 318 words
—
The stars are bright tonight.
Elsie stares up at them and wonders where her brothers are. She considers asking the stars if they’ve had any word of them. Surely it’s not too hard to keep track of seven swans that turn into humans every night. It can’t be that common an occurrence. And if she’s had luck enough to get some fairy queen to tell her how to free her brothers, then maybe the stars will help her in her plight too.
They don’t say anything, of course. Not even to her silent plea. She doesn’t understand their true nature yet. Most people don’t until it’s too late.
The rest of her story goes on. She sits in a garden and sews shirts of rose petals, using the thorns as needles. She keeps a vow of silence; she cannot talk until the last of the shirts are made. Some young prince comes along and decides he fancies her. It’s hard not to, after all: she’s young and beautiful and every inch of her screams goodness. It’s very hard to find someone like her.
But then, she’s accused of witchcraft before they’re even married. And the prince, he faces disdain at every turn. How dare he house a witch? A creature of such evil? He doesn’t believe himself but there’s nothing he can do. She is to be burned at the stake.
Poor Elsie sews away until the final moment, but she cannot finish the sleeve of one precious shirt. She throws them over her brothers, but the last one—the last one does not make it. The terms of the curse aren’t fulfilled. He remains a swan.
The sorrow was too much to bear for him. He flew off into the sky, his heart shattering into pieces that scattered apart to form a new set of stars in the sky. Cygnus. The swan.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 3: Aesthetics
Notes: Embedded the image here instead of uploading it in a project, hope that's alright. Based on the piece written in Part 1. I am terrible at making aesthetics.
Huge shoutout to Summer, whose Canva Pro for Education account I accidentally used to make this before I realized it. Every day you continue to do me a solid, albeit unknowingly so.
—
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 4: SWC Fanfiction
Word count: 601 words
Notes: I speedran this bit. No judging >:0
—
The valley sprawls ahead, spreading out for miles as far as the eye can see. It had been barren and dry once, with not a single plant in sight—not even a blade of grass to attest to the place’s former glory. But now, under the careful administrations of the poets, the grove has been slowly but surely inching towards restoration. The river flows through the valley, its waters clear and bright in the morning sun. With campers from so many different places, the place is always suspended in a state of not quite day, not quite night. A twilight sort of existence, there and not all at once.
It is a beautiful place, the grove. Recca is so proud to be a part of it. She leans against a tree and sighs, staring out into the field where her campers are merrily working away, planting trees and flowers, or just stopping for a quick chat with each other. The giant sequoia in the middle of the valley is just starting to show signs of revival from all their efforts.
It’s no big deal for her to admit it, but SWC has been an absolute blast this time around. Sure, she hasn’t been around as much as she’d have liked—at least, not in the proper state of mind. Half the time so far, she’s been writing as a desperate way to distract herself; to do something—anything—to ignore the vague sense of dread that comes before each exam. It’s better now that she has free time, though. She can balance her priorities, give SWC the time that it needs instead of every waking moment.
There’s a shout on the horizon, interrupting Recca’s musings.
“CABIN WARS!” someone yells, and that’s when all hell breaks loose. Figuratively, of course. Nothing can truly destroy the tranquility of the valley. There’s a shimmer in the air as the shields activate, effectively cutting off any more wars. Recca runs out to a clearing in the field. “Add words from the war here!” she hollers, plopping down a sign with the rest of the details.
There’s a flurry of activity in the valley. Everyone around is writing frantically, working on assignments or essays or just full-on rambling, every word popping into their head spilling out onto the page. Recca camps out near the sign, adding her words in sections after every other person. She loves this part of SWC—the chaos, a sense of belonging with her campers as they all work towards finishing the war. Some of them blink out for a second, adding points from extra challenges in the main cabin. The words pile up and before the hour is out, even before the war is anywhere near ending, it’s over.
Someone—probably Summer or Sophia—yells a “Great job, everyone!” that is accompanied by cries of approval and relief ringing through the valley. It’s pure joy all around. Everyone slumps down, quietly chatting with each other. Taking a quick breather before the shields come down and they’re thrown back into the frenzy of cabin wars all over again. Some of the campers say they’re heading out, and everyone takes a moment to say a quick goodbye before they wink away in a flash of light. Recca loves these moments best of all—the camaraderie that comes in the calm before the storm.
There’s another shimmer in the air as the shields go down, and everyone gets to their feet, bracing themselves for the next onslaught. Recca stands with them, checking up with her campers. It’s a lovely day for SWChaos, after all.
Total word count: 1228 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 1: Flowers
Word count: 314 words
—
There’s an arrangement of cowslips on the vase beside her table. A very familiar vase. One that’s always a bad omen.
Jenna sighs. She takes a deep breath. And then she yells a long, piercing “MAMA!”
Her mom stumbles blearily towards her. “Jenna?” she yawns. “What’s got you yelling this early in the morning?”
“Your wife’s trying to passive-aggressively tell me something again. Actually, maybe you can help! What are cowslips supposed to mean, again?”
“Cowslips? I think those were pensiveness.”
“Pensiveness?” says Jenna, baffled. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Well, you’re the one she’s mad at,” her mom shrugs. “You’ll have to figure it out.”
“Mom!” she whines. “Help me out here, please!”
“No can do, Jenna. And I’m going back to bed. Try not to wake me again, will you?”
Jenna huffs.
The next day, it’s forget-me-nots and elder blossoms.
“Where do you even keep getting these?” she shrieks, exasperated.
“Hmm? What was that darling?” says her mama.
“Nothing,” she grumbles.
“Lovely. Go help your mom in the garden, will you?”
“This would all be much easier if you just told me why she’s mad, you know,” she whines to her mom later, in the garden.
“I could, but where’s the fun in that?”
“Just give me a clue, please. I’m begging you. I can’t take any more of the passive-aggressive vase.”
“Alright then. Forget-me-nots are love in absence—”
“Gee, I sure wonder why.”
“—and elder blossoms are for compassion.”
“Wow, that was helpful. Thank you so much for being a constant source of wisdom in my life, mom. I aspire to be as cryptic as you and mama someday.”
“Oh, Jenna. It was his birthday yesterday.”
“Oh,” she says, quiet.
“Mhmm. Now go figure out what to do about it before she busts out the ice plants. Those are heartlessness.”
They both shudder at the thought.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 2: Constellations
Word count: 318 words
—
The stars are bright tonight.
Elsie stares up at them and wonders where her brothers are. She considers asking the stars if they’ve had any word of them. Surely it’s not too hard to keep track of seven swans that turn into humans every night. It can’t be that common an occurrence. And if she’s had luck enough to get some fairy queen to tell her how to free her brothers, then maybe the stars will help her in her plight too.
They don’t say anything, of course. Not even to her silent plea. She doesn’t understand their true nature yet. Most people don’t until it’s too late.
The rest of her story goes on. She sits in a garden and sews shirts of rose petals, using the thorns as needles. She keeps a vow of silence; she cannot talk until the last of the shirts are made. Some young prince comes along and decides he fancies her. It’s hard not to, after all: she’s young and beautiful and every inch of her screams goodness. It’s very hard to find someone like her.
But then, she’s accused of witchcraft before they’re even married. And the prince, he faces disdain at every turn. How dare he house a witch? A creature of such evil? He doesn’t believe himself but there’s nothing he can do. She is to be burned at the stake.
Poor Elsie sews away until the final moment, but she cannot finish the sleeve of one precious shirt. She throws them over her brothers, but the last one—the last one does not make it. The terms of the curse aren’t fulfilled. He remains a swan.
The sorrow was too much to bear for him. He flew off into the sky, his heart shattering into pieces that scattered apart to form a new set of stars in the sky. Cygnus. The swan.
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 3: Aesthetics
Notes: Embedded the image here instead of uploading it in a project, hope that's alright. Based on the piece written in Part 1. I am terrible at making aesthetics.
Huge shoutout to Summer, whose Canva Pro for Education account I accidentally used to make this before I realized it. Every day you continue to do me a solid, albeit unknowingly so.
—
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Part 4: SWC Fanfiction
Word count: 601 words
Notes: I speedran this bit. No judging >:0
—
The valley sprawls ahead, spreading out for miles as far as the eye can see. It had been barren and dry once, with not a single plant in sight—not even a blade of grass to attest to the place’s former glory. But now, under the careful administrations of the poets, the grove has been slowly but surely inching towards restoration. The river flows through the valley, its waters clear and bright in the morning sun. With campers from so many different places, the place is always suspended in a state of not quite day, not quite night. A twilight sort of existence, there and not all at once.
It is a beautiful place, the grove. Recca is so proud to be a part of it. She leans against a tree and sighs, staring out into the field where her campers are merrily working away, planting trees and flowers, or just stopping for a quick chat with each other. The giant sequoia in the middle of the valley is just starting to show signs of revival from all their efforts.
It’s no big deal for her to admit it, but SWC has been an absolute blast this time around. Sure, she hasn’t been around as much as she’d have liked—at least, not in the proper state of mind. Half the time so far, she’s been writing as a desperate way to distract herself; to do something—anything—to ignore the vague sense of dread that comes before each exam. It’s better now that she has free time, though. She can balance her priorities, give SWC the time that it needs instead of every waking moment.
There’s a shout on the horizon, interrupting Recca’s musings.
“CABIN WARS!” someone yells, and that’s when all hell breaks loose. Figuratively, of course. Nothing can truly destroy the tranquility of the valley. There’s a shimmer in the air as the shields activate, effectively cutting off any more wars. Recca runs out to a clearing in the field. “Add words from the war here!” she hollers, plopping down a sign with the rest of the details.
There’s a flurry of activity in the valley. Everyone around is writing frantically, working on assignments or essays or just full-on rambling, every word popping into their head spilling out onto the page. Recca camps out near the sign, adding her words in sections after every other person. She loves this part of SWC—the chaos, a sense of belonging with her campers as they all work towards finishing the war. Some of them blink out for a second, adding points from extra challenges in the main cabin. The words pile up and before the hour is out, even before the war is anywhere near ending, it’s over.
Someone—probably Summer or Sophia—yells a “Great job, everyone!” that is accompanied by cries of approval and relief ringing through the valley. It’s pure joy all around. Everyone slumps down, quietly chatting with each other. Taking a quick breather before the shields come down and they’re thrown back into the frenzy of cabin wars all over again. Some of the campers say they’re heading out, and everyone takes a moment to say a quick goodbye before they wink away in a flash of light. Recca loves these moments best of all—the camaraderie that comes in the calm before the storm.
There’s another shimmer in the air as the shields go down, and everyone gets to their feet, bracing themselves for the next onslaught. Recca stands with them, checking up with her campers. It’s a lovely day for SWChaos, after all.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 16, 2024 19:09:23)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 17
Here's an age-old prompt, but with a twist - pick a Hozier song lyric, and write a piece inspired by it - as abstract or literal as you like.
Lyric chosen: And so I fall in love just a little, oh, a little bit / Every day with someone new
Word count: 308 words
Notes: I need to stop speedrunning the best prompts man I can't keep doing this to all my favorite works
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
You’re sitting at the café when you see them. They’ve got their hair up in a bun and wow they look beautiful. You couldn’t pull it off, but it really suits them. The tips are dyed blue and the way their bangs frame their face makes them look almost ethereal. They’re wearing these absolutely huge, round glasses and they’ve got the most adorable outfit on. You wish you could go up to them and tell them that they look gorgeous. But that’d be weird. You can’t just do that to a stranger.
But you fall a little bit in love right then and there all the same.
On the way to work, a man sits on the seat right next to you. You glance over at him once and oh, gosh. Those are the most beautiful hands you’ve seen all day. His nails are pointed and shapely, the fine bones of his fingers are long and elegant. Even the overly gaudy watch on his wrist doesn’t look half-bad. That watch is an atrocity, but he makes it look priceless. You wish you could tell him that. It seems a crime not to acknowledge it. But you can’t do that to random strangers.
Still, you give a little bit of your heart away to the unknown man on the 878 bus with the beautiful hands.
You get to the bus stand a little early today after work. There’s an old man there. His hair is white and his skin is wrinkled, but he’s smartly dressed and his back is still ramrod straight despite his age. There’s a beauty in the way he carries himself. You wish you could tell him that. So you do. And his answering smile is bright enough to power a small town for days. And you fall in love a little bit all over again.
Here's an age-old prompt, but with a twist - pick a Hozier song lyric, and write a piece inspired by it - as abstract or literal as you like.
Lyric chosen: And so I fall in love just a little, oh, a little bit / Every day with someone new
Word count: 308 words
Notes: I need to stop speedrunning the best prompts man I can't keep doing this to all my favorite works
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
You’re sitting at the café when you see them. They’ve got their hair up in a bun and wow they look beautiful. You couldn’t pull it off, but it really suits them. The tips are dyed blue and the way their bangs frame their face makes them look almost ethereal. They’re wearing these absolutely huge, round glasses and they’ve got the most adorable outfit on. You wish you could go up to them and tell them that they look gorgeous. But that’d be weird. You can’t just do that to a stranger.
But you fall a little bit in love right then and there all the same.
On the way to work, a man sits on the seat right next to you. You glance over at him once and oh, gosh. Those are the most beautiful hands you’ve seen all day. His nails are pointed and shapely, the fine bones of his fingers are long and elegant. Even the overly gaudy watch on his wrist doesn’t look half-bad. That watch is an atrocity, but he makes it look priceless. You wish you could tell him that. It seems a crime not to acknowledge it. But you can’t do that to random strangers.
Still, you give a little bit of your heart away to the unknown man on the 878 bus with the beautiful hands.
You get to the bus stand a little early today after work. There’s an old man there. His hair is white and his skin is wrinkled, but he’s smartly dressed and his back is still ramrod straight despite his age. There’s a beauty in the way he carries himself. You wish you could tell him that. So you do. And his answering smile is bright enough to power a small town for days. And you fall in love a little bit all over again.
Last edited by 27coding_crazy (March 18, 2024 05:45:36)
- 27coding_crazy
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
Recca's SWC Writing Thread
Daily 22
Writers use a lot of figurative language, and today we're focusing on just one type: pathetic fallacy. Similar to personification, pathetic fallacy is when a story utilizes the environment to convey emotions by using typically human actions (ex: weeping raindrops, dancing leaves, etc). For 300 points, write a story of at least 250 words using pathetic fallacy to convey an emotion.
Notes: I have no idea what I'm doing, actually. If I missed the point of the daily entirely then no I didn't.
Word count: 285 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Jenna walks out of the doorway only to be met by a comically large bouquet of flowers. She has no idea what they are. Floriography evidently doesn’t run in the family.
She sighs. At least they’re nice to look at: cheerful blossoms arranged beautifully in simple rings. That’s the first thing that strikes her as odd—her mama doesn’t usually go for something that easy. No, madame Beth’s bouquets must always be as dramatic as possible. Even her more subtle arrangements are dramatic. You’d think her outgoing, extroverted, bold-patterned-wardrobe-only mom would be the one to go for that sort of thing, but nope. Mama’s as deceptive as a poisonous flower that way.
She takes a minute to linger in the doorway. The sun’s out today, its smiling beams wrapping around her like a warm hug. It’s the time of the day when it’s bright out and the initial morning rush has settled, leaving a quiet lull behind.
That’s when her eye catches on the card attached to the bouquet. Ah. She was right, then. Not a bouquet from her mama. Floriography might run in the family after all; just a little more selectively than she thought.
‘I know we’re not on the best terms right now,’ the card reads, and Jenna lets out a scoff at that, ‘but I think my favorite little sister deserves some flowers on her birthday. And a little more, too.’
There’s some cash taped onto the back of the card.
She huffs, and glances at the flowers again. They still seem as cheerful as ever, though there seems to be a shade of mocking to them now. She’ll never admit it, but they still make her crack a small smile.
Writers use a lot of figurative language, and today we're focusing on just one type: pathetic fallacy. Similar to personification, pathetic fallacy is when a story utilizes the environment to convey emotions by using typically human actions (ex: weeping raindrops, dancing leaves, etc). For 300 points, write a story of at least 250 words using pathetic fallacy to convey an emotion.
Notes: I have no idea what I'm doing, actually. If I missed the point of the daily entirely then no I didn't.
Word count: 285 words
❀ ✻ ⚘ ✻ ❀
Jenna walks out of the doorway only to be met by a comically large bouquet of flowers. She has no idea what they are. Floriography evidently doesn’t run in the family.
She sighs. At least they’re nice to look at: cheerful blossoms arranged beautifully in simple rings. That’s the first thing that strikes her as odd—her mama doesn’t usually go for something that easy. No, madame Beth’s bouquets must always be as dramatic as possible. Even her more subtle arrangements are dramatic. You’d think her outgoing, extroverted, bold-patterned-wardrobe-only mom would be the one to go for that sort of thing, but nope. Mama’s as deceptive as a poisonous flower that way.
She takes a minute to linger in the doorway. The sun’s out today, its smiling beams wrapping around her like a warm hug. It’s the time of the day when it’s bright out and the initial morning rush has settled, leaving a quiet lull behind.
That’s when her eye catches on the card attached to the bouquet. Ah. She was right, then. Not a bouquet from her mama. Floriography might run in the family after all; just a little more selectively than she thought.
‘I know we’re not on the best terms right now,’ the card reads, and Jenna lets out a scoff at that, ‘but I think my favorite little sister deserves some flowers on her birthday. And a little more, too.’
There’s some cash taped onto the back of the card.
She huffs, and glances at the flowers again. They still seem as cheerful as ever, though there seems to be a shade of mocking to them now. She’ll never admit it, but they still make her crack a small smile.
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