Yes this has typos and barely fits the criteria and is a mess but I tried.

Swapping weeklies with Eva: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828894/?page=1#post-8644502

Part 1: The banner whipped back and forth in the wind, snapping and rustling. It was a brilliant red that looked almost sinister against the flat, dark, sky. Like a splash of blood. The knight shook that thought out of their head, and nudged their horse forward. The cool air of the moor smelled like wet sage, ice, and something wilder and deeper that words couldn’t describe. They steered their horse down the path, heading towards the castle gaits. The steady clip clop click of their horses hooves on the cobblestone echoed against the castle walls. The sound didn’t feel calm and dependable like usual, but instead like a ominous thump…thump…thump. The knight tried to force that thought of their head, only to hear a sudden crash that was definitely not made by them or their horse. The jerked a little in the saddle and snapped their head around, scanning the court yard. It looked like a crate had toppled over, but why? It was windy. Maybe that was it. The knight sighed and dismounted from their horse. They considered hitching the animal up somewhere, but then…well best to not risk it. It was probably fine, of course, but to be safe…they led their horse with them. Walking over to the wall, they examined the gate in front of them. It was large and wooden, with a grate and a lever to lift it up and down. The knight wrapped their hands around the grate and attempted to lift it, but it was heavy. They managed to heave it up about a foot, but even that was difficult. Dropping it with a echoing crash, they instead placed their hands on the leaver. It was wooden, rough and splintered with grooves and dips in the surface. It was clear that this wood had been out in the elements for a long time. Leaning their weight on the lever, the knight began to raise the gate. Once it was lifted far enough, they mechanisms locked it into place. Well. Time to go in.

Part 2: Hiccup pushed through the ivy, feeling the cool softness brush against his skin. Birds sang and darted around in the trees above, but Hiccup’s focus was on the night fury who was probably still in the cove. He stepped forward, entering the cove. Walking along slowly, he held a cold, squishy, and rather disgusting fish in one hand, and a heavy shield in the other. Suddenly, he heard a soft growl behind him and a thump on the ground. Like something large had just pounced down. Like something night fury sized. Hiccup turned around to stare at the night fury. Well, this was it. He wanted this dragon to trust him a bit, so maybe he needed to show some trust in return. He set down his shield, and held out the fish. The dragon edged towards him slowly, then stopped and growled. Hiccup was confused, and then suddenly he realized. He grabbed his knife from his belt, and was met with another growl. Hiccup held it out to his side and then dropped it with a quiet thunk. There was a answering rustle and a much softer warble noise. Hiccup held out the fish again, and this time, there was a soft scrap of claws and a rustle from the dragon’s wings as it moved forward bit by bit. “Hmm…toothless…I could have sworn you had…teeth!” there was a sharp jerk on the fish before Hiccup let go, and happy slurping and chewing noises. Well then, clearly the dragon had been hungry.

Part 3 (I skipped forward a bit, past Toothless vomiting the fish back up to share with Hiccup): Hiccup reached out to Toothless, trying to move his hand slowly. He had though maybe the night fury would finally allow himself to be touched after Hiccup had eaten his very lovely present, but Toothless still bounded away, heading around to the other side of the pond. Hiccup followed him, his boots crunching in the dirt and grass as he observed the night fury. Toothless really was amazing– he was muscular and flexible, with huge wings. Every movement he made was clearly purposeful and filled with power that could easily destroy a viking, yet he also seemed playful. Sort of like a big, explosive, cat. Heh…the other vikings would hate Hiccup if they saw him sitting here, watching a night fury. Well, they already hated him, so they would hate him more. He moved a tiny bit closer, watching as Toothless spun in a circle, clawing at the ground, before settling in to sleep. The night fury raised is head and gave a small growl, before shifting so his back was to Hiccup. Hiccup got up and walked a little ways away, sitting down on a rock. It probably wasn’t a great idea to bother a sleeping night fury. Instead, why not just draw a picture of the night fury. He sketched in the sand with a stick, not particularly paying attention to what he was drawing, both thinking and lost in the gentle splashes of water and cries of birds. Suddenly, he was very aware of a rustle behind him and a small little warble noise. Hiccup glanced over his shoulder just enough to see a Toothless right behind him, looking over his shoulder. He quickly looked back down at the drawing, hoping that maybe somehow if Toothless was planning to attack he would say how boring and not threatening Hiccup was? Like that was going to work. But the dragon didn’t bite, blast, or pounce on Hiccup. Instead he bounded away, wrestled with and then broke a sapling, and carried back over. Then he preceded to drag it into the ground. Hiccup stood up and examined it. Toothless was…drawing? It didn’t look like a actual picture of anything, but that had to be it. Hiccup just stood and watched as Toothless bounded around, tracing in the dirt and occasionally making happy little noises. When the night fury stopped drawing, Hiccup started to walk, making his way towards Toothless. But as soon as he put a foot down on the line, Toothless bared his teeth and growled. Hiccup quickly stepped back, and he looked happy again. When Hiccup stepped down, there was another growl. But when he stepped over the line, there was no growl. So he stepped over the lines, spinning and jumping to avoid landing on the art. He was a tiny boring speck trying to avoid swirls of brilliant color. Finally, he stepped one more time and bumped directly into the chest of…Toothless. He felt the warm breath of the dragon on his neck, the cozy warmth of a crackling fire and the sweaty burning heat of a dangerous task in the forge. Hiccup slowly turned around to meet the brilliant green of eyes of the night fury. He stretched out his hand, bit by bit, hardly daring to breathe, and was met with a low warning growl. Taking a deep breath, he drew back his hand, turned away and closed his eyes. He hand slowly pressed against the scales of the night fury. The moment was jumping off a cliff at first, then realizing he could soar with wind whipping in his hair. He felt the rough, warm scales under his hand and he knew, with absolute certainty that he wasn’t going to turn Toothless into his village. Ever.

Part 4: Rowan walked into the cafe. They reached to slip off their headphones, but then decided against it. Even though it looked peaceful on the outside, and coffee and books were relaxing, the cafe was bustling with people. They would rather replace the chatter of voices and whir of a coffee grinder with the steady beat of instrumental music coming from their headphones. They got in line with the other people pushing towards the cafes small doors. To add to the noise, pigeons squawked and outdoor chairs scrapped on the sidewalk. Rowan walked forward with the line, navigating inside the cafe doors. Eventually they got up to the counter. The server waiting gave them a cheery smile “Heya, what can I get for you?” Rowan mumbled “A regular coffee with oat milk, please.” The server jotted down the order and replied “Okay, coming right up! Take a seat.” Rowan walked over to the edge of the cafe and hung around the door, waiting until a seat opened up. Eventually two people got up from a table, caring coffee to go and holding hands. Rowan slipped in to take one of the now vacant seats, and tried to relax a bit. It was noisy and crowded, but also cozy inside the cafe. The cafe was a enthusiastic hug, a bit over the top and overwhelming but also kind and welcoming. They studied the various customers around them. It was strange how each of them had a entire life of their own, one that Rowan would never know or give much thought to, but was everything to that one person. They were shaken out of their thoughts by a scrape of a chair as another person sat opposite them at the table “Is this seat empty?” Rowan startled a little bit, and glanced across the table to see a kid about their age. The other kid smiled and there was a long pause, until they realized that they needed to reply. “Oh yeah, it’s free. Hi.” The other kid said “I’m Theo, remember? I go to your school. We have some classes together”. “Oh yeah, hi.” Rowan hesitated “Where are you going to high school next year?” because they were supposed to make conversation. “Uh , what about you?” “Same.” Luckily the awkward conversation was interrupted by a sever coming over and giving each of them their orders in foam cups. “Thank you!” they said together. Rowan wrapped their hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth that seeped through their fingers. Taking a sip, it was bitter but also creamy with a trace of sweetness, a sun warmed field of grass with buzzing bees and soft earth. It smelled of rich bitterness and a faint trace of oat milk. It was delicious.

Hello! Welcome to this workshop, in which we’ll be focusing on how to write characters that blend seamlessly into worlds that appear to be a collage of chaos! Genre blending can seem intimidating at first, but this workshop will showcase how to properly create your own characters that fit into whichever genre you’re writing! Let’s begin!

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Characters are of utmost importance within a story; they’re what keep the plot going! In genre blended plots, it’s difficult to create characters that can easily slip between the merged genres. In order for your characters to make sense within the story, try asking yourself questions about your character(s) or putting yourself in their shoes! You want to ensure that every aspect of your character fits with the genre.
Just like in classic literature, characters within your story should only have knowledge that they would know within their universe and timeline. If your story takes place in a historical setting, they’re not going to have any knowledge of the future or things that happen within it. It’s the same in genre blends! For example, J.K Rowling’s Harry Potter is a genre blended story, combining elements of fantasy and realistic fiction (magical realism). At the beginning of the novel, Harry is unaware of the magical side of the world, yet he seems to fit right in once those elements are introduced.
Take this excerpt from the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

“It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar- a cat reading a map… What could he have been thinking of ? It must have been a trick of the light.”

Right from the start, Rowling subtly introduces these magical elements from the perspective of a character with only the knowledge of the world he knows, later dismissing them and manipulating them into a cause that the character expects. By integrating the internal thoughts of this character, readers are immediately introduced to both the possibilities of oddities as well as the mindset and setting of the character(s). When Vernon convinces himself that the unusual sighting is simply a ‘trick of the light’, readers are able to accumulate that he is unused to these types of things, meaning that the story takes place in a very modern setting. However, the setup of this instance shows that the event is going to play some role or part in the introduction of something bigger, which ends up being the entirety of the Wizarding World.
This example shows how characters written in genre blended worlds should only have access and the mindset that flows with both their character and the realm they are in. In a mystery-fantasy plot, the main character would only be accustomed to the information they are given and the culture they understand. Although this is important in all writing, it is extremely vital in genre blended plots. Character understanding is the main part of writing genre blended characters, although it’s important to consider the world the plot takes place in when accounting for the character’s backstory, age, and even name. By experimenting with various possibilities and allowing the world to influence your characters, they will be able to flow smoothly between the multiple variations of your storyline.

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And that concludes this workshop on writing genre blended characters. I hope this helped expand your ability to write characters in various genres and make them flow seamlessly. Explore your world and your characters, and happy writing!

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i. “a realm that blends the magical essence of fantasy…”

⋆˚✿ week 3
writing a weekly . sci-fi . 1888 . part four weekly by sun

ii. 233

Have you ever read a story that’s hard to categorize into one single genre? Something magical but set in the real world, a perfect blend of multiple scenarios? Maybe the genre itself is just utterly confusing? A realm that blends the magical essence of fantasy but takes place in modern-day New York City? Or maybe the plot follows an unsolved mystery with fantastical elements!
Genre blending is prominent within many of today’s works of literature. Over the years, genre blending has evolved into its own genres, such as mag-real (magical realism), and more! However, the most common instances of genre blending only appear as underlying details, rather than major plot points.
In this weekly weekly, we’ll explore how to include genre blending into your writing. From worldbuilding to crafting believable dialogue, genre blending can differ between various pieces. This weekly will go over some of the most noticeable details that will help you incorporate and write with genre blending techniques.
Blending genres allows for a variety of unique themes and messages as well as surprising plots. It gives writers the freedom to build new story structures that don’t need to fit one single label. Whether your piece is a sci-fi romance set in a haunted library or a historical fantasy with time travel hidden within minor details, this weekly is for writers who love to break boundaries and invent their own narrative paths!

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iia. 56

Every good story takes place in a world or setting that heavily influences and makes sense with the plot. Just like how worldbuilding is so vital in classic literature, it remains important, if not more, in genre blended pieces! Write 200 words about a genre blended world, incorporating both aspects of the genre into your piece!

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iib. 57

An entire story rests on the shoulders of those within it! The characters in the story are VITAL to the piece- without them, nothing would be happening! Go to this workshop to explore the little details about writing characters within genre blended pieces and then write 200 words about an original character from a genre blended story!

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iic. 48

Research a few novels that are genre blended or have instances of it within their plots, such as Harry Potter! What are some of your favorite aspects about these stories? Write a hundred words about these features and how you might integrate similar ones within your own work.

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iid. 49

It’s time to put all of your genre blending writing skills to the test! Make a 200 word outline of a short story, including a brief overview of the genre, world, characters, basic plots, and more! Make sure to explain how the genre blending is integrated within your plot!

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iva. 229

The lakehouse is quiet, the water still. An energy buzzes in the air, a warm vibration carried through the soft scent of flowers and greenery. The entire plane is lush with beautiful foliage, ranging from trees with drooping branches, vines creeping onto every surface, and the grass coating the ground, cool green blades swaying in the light breeze.
The lake itself appears to be unyielding, yet calm. A certain serenity dances atop the water’s surface, reflecting off the crystalline liquid just like the sheets of golden sun gliding against the lake. The surface is untainted, clear as day, each stone and imperfection visible beneath the shallow water. There isn’t a ripple in sight. The entire lake seems as though it is holding its breath. Waiting.
Meanwhile, the house. Its structure is raw, its edges unrefined. Each groove and indent within the grain proudly stands on display, creating a warm, comforting feel. Windows decorate the exterior, never shying away from the natural sunlight, although frail lace curtains hang gently over open glass. The main entrance is rounded at the top and made of a dark wood, a brass handle invitingly grazing the door.
The entire area is sweet and peaceful, more nostalgic memory and songlike location than a real experience. The lake is a fever dream, the view too sweet to bear fruit. And yet, there is nothing more real.

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ivb. 212

The soothing nature of the lakehouse is indeed lush with memories and nostalgia. The only visitors to the area is the family of the previous owner, who, upon arrival, instantly remembers each detail that the place consumes. Beneath the placating calm of the area, there is a pulsating breath, almost grieving. The still air isn’t peaceful—it’s expectant. Waiting.
Yet, the entirety of the lakehouse isn’t eerie or horribly oppressive. Indeed, nature has reclaimed the land, not because the area is abandoned, but because it’s holding on to the lost memories encapsulated within. The vines crawling over every surface didn’t grow from neglect, but from longing, a slow reclaiming by the earth itself. Nature crept in like memory, soft and invasive. The house, not yet dilapidated or dark, is full of an abundance of stories, remembering, never decaying. Every unpolished beam and worn floorboard is etched with a story that no longer has a voice to tell it. Every sunlit spot dances across empty rooms like an old friend visiting out of obligation, not joy
The lakehouse isn’t feared- rather, revered. The emotional weight of the place is something unexplainable yet always present. Anyone who takes a look at the meadow instantly understands the importance of each leaf, the memories each object preserves.

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ivc. 200

Sylvie’s relationship to the lakehouse is tangled with memory, grief, and the quiet yearning of childhood. Despite not having seen the place in five years, the house remains frozen in time, its every creak and shadow etched into her soul. Her upbringing—fractured by her mother’s distance and anchored by the love of her father and grandmother—colors every corner of the house with bittersweet nostalgia. Each birthday she’s spent nestled within the wooden walls of the home, comforted by soft pillows and tucked into soft blankets remains a close memory, even now.
Upon her return, Sylvie walks through her favorite and most recent memories of the house, holding each moment with her father and grandmother close to her heart. Each object in the house retains its own picture, from the untouched flowers to the piano at the back of the room, dust coating each unplayed key.
Now having the ability to truly explore the depths of the house, Sylvie is curious to discover the hidden secrets of the building and family. Her weakened bond with her mother drives her to remember each and every small thing within her life, safe within the comfort of her favorite place in the entire world.

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ivd. 456

The lake doesn’t ripple. It waits. Sunlight beams off the crystalline water, revealing every stone beneath—unfiltered, unhidden. It’s perfect in the sweetest way. Like it’s remembering something, hidden and encapsulated for years, waiting for just the right moment.
A soft vibration thrums in the air, whistling through the steady aroma of flowers and green things. Trees drape their branches low, vines climb like secrets, and grass sways in the breeze as if sighing in its sleep. Small flowers consume the entryway of the lakehouse, fragile blossoms there to pay their respects.
She steps forward, and the air shifts.
The lake remembers her laughter; the porch holds echoes of footsteps too light to be her father’s. Everything smells like summers spent barefoot and muddy, like her grandmother’s rosemary shampoo.
And though her hands tremble, they, too, remember the life she used to have. Her footsteps falter as she steps into the threshold, her eyes taking in the exact picture engraved in her mind, not a single thing changed.
Flowers, still on the countertops. Drawers half open and napkins neatly folded.
Her fingers, too, then, as they brush off dust to reveal dainty piano keys, notes clear and sharp and sweet and soft and the melody of every goodnight dinner from each of her past birthdays.
A book of empty parchment but full of promises and love. A house of empty air but full of memories and a beautiful sunset.
Though her life now lives elsewhere, she knows this place hasn’t changed.
It never does.
It just waits.

PART 1: Finding a Topic

I want to do a weekly on how to be productive. Basically, the idea is to give advice related to finishing projects efficiently and on time. I’d like to highlight different approaches to accomplishing a goal and introduce strategies that may help increase productivity in different contexts. This isn’t specifically a writing skill, but it’s relevant to both SWC and personal writing projects, so I think it would make a valid weekly. It’s inspired by the Healthy Habits weekly from November 2022.
The first part would have the SWCer list their goals, both short-term and long-term. Many Part 1s (including the one I’m writing right now) are brainstorming-oriented to get the writer in the correct mindset, and this would be similar.
The second part would extend the first by having the SWCer pick some goals, describe them, and break them down into detailed steps.
The third part is the workshop part, where I would describe time management techniques that are useful when approaching goals. I would explain that the same technique may not work in every context or for every person. The writer should try one of those techniques and say how it went.
The fourth part is where the writer typically gets to show off what they learned in a longer piece. However, since this is a life skill weekly, not a writing skill one, it can be hard to demonstrate. So, it would simply have the SWCer write a letter to themselves, motivating themself to work towards their goal and reminding themself of everything they’ve learned and every technique that they might want to try putting to use.

PART 2: Splitting the Topic into Parts

Part 1: Goal-Setting
We all have aspirations, some of them as simple as getting our homework done, others as far-off as our career plans. However, until we start putting effort towards reaching these goals, they remain distant dreams. The first step in getting things done is focusing on what those things are! So ask yourself: What needs doing? What do you wish to accomplish? Who do you want to be? Make a list of at least 20 goals, both short- and long-term, writing a minimum of 200 words in total.

Part 2: Plotting a Course
You’ve got some ambitions? Great! For the next part of this weekly, pick one of the goals that you listed in Part 1. Now’s your chance to express it in more detail, explain why it’s important to you, and begin planning how to achieve it. Little goals may only require a few actions to complete, while large goals might be made up of a whole “staircase” of mini-goals. Either way, breaking a goal into smaller, measurable chunks can make it easier to approach. In at least 200 words, describe your mission and the series of steps you’ll take to reach your destination!

Part 3: Getting to Work
Well, you’ve thought it out. You know where you’re headed, and you know how you’re getting there. Now comes the hard part: Actually doing it. Finding motivation and time to work towards your projects can be difficult, and life has a way of interrupting all your carefully-crafted plans. But never fear! While setbacks may be inevitable, you still have the power to shape your actions, and this means your goals are still within reach. And the great news is that there are techniques that can help you focus your efforts and be productive, no matter what your work style is! Read the workshop below, try one of its suggestions, and write at least 200 words describing how it went and what you learned.

Part 4: Onwards
You’re almost there! Making progress towards a task can be deeply rewarding, and while you can’t hold onto that feeling forever, you can certainly encourage yourself to keep going. Whether you’ve finished a big project and are revelling in the joy of success, or you’re still hard at work achieving greatness, take a moment to reflect on how far you’ve come in the form of a journal entry or letter to yourself. Make sure it’s at least 200 words, and then go forth into your brilliant future!

PART 3: Writing a Workshop

Productivity Workshop
by Wild

✨introduction✨
Hello, SWCers! I hope you’re getting a lot done. What’s that, you’re not? Hmm, are you struggling to find inspiration? Or do you find yourself getting distracted as soon as you start something new? Well, don’t despair, I’ve got some strategies to help get you going!

✨1: planners and pantsers✨

As anyone who’s participated in NaNoWriMo knows, there are two types of writers: Planners and Pantsers. Planners are those of us who prefer to have everything scripted out before starting, while Pantsers prefer to just jump in and see where it goes. “Plantsers” are a little of both.
Chances are, you already have an idea of how your brain works. The way you approach writing (and other tasks) has a significant influence on your productivity methods. A technique that works great for a Pantser likely won’t work for a Planner, and vice versa. So here are some tips!
Planners: Read all of the instructions before beginning a task. If there are no instructions, write them yourself. Make a physical representation of what you want to do, whether that’s a plot diagram of a story you’re writing, a bulleted list of chores to finish, or a calendar of checkpoint dates by which you hope to accomplish the steps of a larger goal. Be careful, though, as rigidity can backfire when something unexpected comes up. Try to design your plans in such a way that they can be altered as needed. Flexibility is good!
Pantsers: Don’t hold back! When you begin working on something, write down ideas as they pop into your mind. Yes, it’ll be messy. Yes, some of them may not be great. But it’s better to get them out of your head instead of letting them bounce around and get in the way. Often, the very action of jotting down an idea triggers more ideas, starting a chain reaction that ends up accomplishing your task. It’s the start that’s the hardest part—and for this, setting a reminder can be helpful. Put your task, or a note telling you to do your task, somewhere where you can’t ignore it.
Plantsers: Different tasks require different approaches. More complicated things may necessitate a planned-out roadmap, while simple activities may only require you to clear some space between your daily errands. It’s a good idea to simply make room to think. Imagine doing the task in your head. If it becomes too much to keep track of, write it down and make a plan. If it’s easy to picture, well, get going! Envisioning doing the task makes it far easier to gain the impetus needed to actually do it.

✨2: a question of focus✨

Getting distracted is a huge problem, especially for us writers and creative types in general. When we’re in the zone, we sometimes get more ideas than we can handle. It’s not always plausible or effective to note them all down. Plus, external distractions are nearly always present. It can be hard to stay on task when the whole world is going on around you.
The best thing to do is often create your own little “world” in which to do the task. Set up a location specifically for the task, clearing the location of anything that isn’t relevant. If you’re online, that means only having the tabs open that you need. If you’re in person, that means only having the tools that you need at your workspace. Silence unimportant notifications, turn off the TV, and close the windows, if applicable. If music helps you concentrate, set up your playlist ahead of time.
If you’re still struggling with distractions, a motivation wall can help. Fill the wall with reminders of why the thing you’re doing is important to you. When your attention wanders, have it wander to the motivation wall. You’ll be forced to confront the reason for doing the task, and this can help convince you to return to doing the task.

✨3: pressure breeds ingenuity✨

SWC is a wonderful source of competition. What’s more inspirational than trying to write more words than an enemy cabin, or rushing to finish a weekly before a deadline?
While not every pursuit has a wonderful community surrounding it, you can still create a sense of urgency via peers and/or time constraints.
If possible, create a support system. Find people who encourage your task and let their enthusiasm wear off on you. Join groups that focus on the activity you’re working on, as these will provide not only good advice, but motivation to work as hard as the others in the group. You can loop in your friends and have them challenge you to make progress towards your goals, checking in with you to make sure you’re still on track.
Even if you don’t or can’t involve other people, you can create a course for yourself. Set alarms and time deadlines, rewarding yourself when you complete things before the bell. It may be difficult to self-enforce, but try to practice willpower. Don’t be too hard on yourself, though! Always be sure to take breaks and look after your health first and foremost.
Finally, rely on well-known methods of prioritization and time management. While there are many techniques available to research, it can take a while to find one that works for your personal task and working style. Check out this workshop by the amazing Moonlit for some examples!

Daily July 23th

Prompt: “I do not fight in the forum but I sell bread” by Charlie. From here: https://scratch.mit.edu/studios/50665171/comments/#comments-299314795

Also it probably isn't but if Evelyn is any swcers nicknames, know that it's a coincidence and it's just a random name I choose that I thought fit with the story, but oops sorry
.
Evelyn shook her head. Wow…just wow. She honestly couldn’t believe how strange and chaotic these bread makers got sometimes. I mean sure, throwing bread at each other in the market and sabotaging each other’s stalls was strange, but the bread making forum was just plain ridiculous. The random chaotic fight of that night was about if plastic wrap was bad because it had chemicals, or worth if for how well it made bread prove. Currently two users were each advocating for a side, and they had gathered support from the other bread makers. They were screaming at each other (over text of course) and currently someone was trying to hack into someone else’s account? Evelyn sighed and shut her computer without bothering to read the entire argument. There was really no point in engaging in these types of things. They always ended in annoyed bread making users, and no proper discussion. She had only made the mistake of trying to break up the fight once, after she had immediately gotten yelled at, then adopted into one of the sides of the battle, and then been stubbornly ignored for a month by the other side. Unfortunately, the arguments often carried over to the bread festivals, and tomorrow was one. This should be…interesting. The next morning, Evelyn parked her truck in one of the available parking spaces at the festival, and got out. There were screaming children, already arguing bread makers, and bustling stalls. She began to unload her stuff from the back of the truck, and choose a spot on the grass a little bit away from the chaos for her stall to go. As the morning continued, the festival got busier, but surprisingly not less chaotic. Everyone coming to Evelyn’s stall were actual customers who wanted to buy bread, not set something on fire or steal pans or something. And…she spoke to soon. As soon as she had that thought, a loud explosion sounded, and a small plume of smoky fire came up from a part of the festival. Ahh…what a lovely, normal by bread maker standards, chaotic and strange by regular standards, day.

354 words

edit for formatting & I accidentally left my word counts in at the end

PART 1: Finding a Topic

I want to do a weekly on how to be productive. Basically, the idea is to give advice related to finishing projects efficiently and on time. I’d like to highlight different approaches to accomplishing a goal and introduce strategies that may help increase productivity in different contexts. This isn’t specifically a writing skill, but it’s relevant to both SWC and personal writing projects, so I think it would make a valid weekly. It’s inspired by the Healthy Habits weekly from November 2022.
The first part would have the SWCer list their goals, both short-term and long-term. Many Part 1s (including the one I’m writing right now) are brainstorming-oriented to get the writer in the correct mindset, and this would be similar.
The second part would extend the first by having the SWCer pick some goals, describe them, and break them down into detailed steps.
The third part is the workshop part, where I would describe time management techniques that are useful when approaching goals. I would explain that the same technique may not work in every context or for every person. The writer should try one of those techniques and say how it went.
The fourth part is where the writer typically gets to show off what they learned in a longer piece. However, since this is a life skill weekly, not a writing skill one, it can be hard to demonstrate. So, it would simply have the SWCer write a letter to themselves, motivating themself to work towards their goal and reminding themself of everything they’ve learned and every technique that they might want to try putting to use.

PART 2: Splitting the Topic into Parts

Part 1: Goal-Setting
We all have aspirations, some of them as simple as getting our homework done, others as far-off as our career plans. However, until we start putting effort towards reaching these goals, they remain distant dreams. The first step in getting things done is focusing on what those things are! So ask yourself: What needs doing? What do you wish to accomplish? Who do you want to be? Make a list of at least 20 goals, both short- and long-term, writing a minimum of 200 words in total.

Part 2: Plotting a Course
You’ve got some ambitions? Great! For the next part of this weekly, pick one of the goals that you listed in Part 1. Now’s your chance to express it in more detail, explain why it’s important to you, and begin planning how to achieve it. Little goals may only require a few actions to complete, while large goals might be made up of a whole “staircase” of mini-goals. Either way, breaking a goal into smaller, measurable chunks can make it easier to approach. In at least 200 words, describe your mission and the series of steps you’ll take to reach your destination!

Part 3: Getting to Work
Well, you’ve thought it out. You know where you’re headed, and you know how you’re getting there. Now comes the hard part: Actually doing it. Finding motivation and time to work towards your projects can be difficult, and life has a way of interrupting all your carefully-crafted plans. But never fear! While setbacks may be inevitable, you still have the power to shape your actions, and this means your goals are still within reach. And the great news is that there are techniques that can help you focus your efforts and be productive, no matter what your work style is! Read the workshop below, try one of its suggestions, and write at least 200 words describing how it went and what you learned.

Part 4: Onwards
You’re almost there! Making progress towards a task can be deeply rewarding, and while you can’t hold onto that feeling forever, you can certainly encourage yourself to keep going. Whether you’ve finished a big project and are revelling in the joy of success, or you’re still hard at work achieving greatness, take a moment to reflect on how far you’ve come in the form of a journal entry or letter to yourself. Make sure it’s at least 200 words, and then go forth into your brilliant future!

PART 3: Writing a Workshop

Productivity Workshop by Wild

✨introduction✨
Hello, SWCers! I hope you’re getting a lot done. What’s that, you’re not? Hmm, are you struggling to find inspiration? Or do you find yourself getting distracted as soon as you start something new? Well, don’t despair, I’ve got some strategies to help get you going!

✨1: planners and pantsers✨

As anyone who’s participated in NaNoWriMo knows, there are two types of writers: Planners and Pantsers. Planners are those of us who prefer to have everything scripted out before starting, while Pantsers prefer to just jump in and see where it goes. “Plantsers” are a little of both.
Chances are, you already have an idea of how your brain works. The way you approach writing (and other tasks) has a significant influence on your productivity methods. A technique that works great for a Pantser likely won’t work for a Planner, and vice versa. So here are some tips!
Planners: Read all of the instructions before beginning a task. If there are no instructions, write them yourself. Make a physical representation of what you want to do, whether that’s a plot diagram of a story you’re writing, a bulleted list of chores to finish, or a calendar of checkpoint dates by which you hope to accomplish the steps of a larger goal. Be careful, though, as rigidity can backfire when something unexpected comes up. Try to design your plans in such a way that they can be altered as needed. Flexibility is good!
Pantsers: Don’t hold back! When you begin working on something, write down ideas as they pop into your mind. Yes, it’ll be messy. Yes, some of them may not be great. But it’s better to get them out of your head instead of letting them bounce around and get in the way. Often, the very action of jotting down an idea triggers more ideas, starting a chain reaction that ends up accomplishing your task. It’s the start that’s the hardest part—and for this, setting a reminder can be helpful. Put your task, or a note telling you to do your task, somewhere where you can’t ignore it.
Plantsers: Different tasks require different approaches. More complicated things may necessitate a planned-out roadmap, while simple activities may only require you to clear some space between your daily errands. It’s a good idea to simply make room to think. Imagine doing the task in your head. If it becomes too much to keep track of, write it down and make a plan. If it’s easy to picture, well, get going! Envisioning doing the task makes it far easier to gain the impetus needed to actually do it.

✨2: a question of focus✨

Getting distracted is a huge problem, especially for us writers and creative types in general. When we’re in the zone, we sometimes get more ideas than we can handle. It’s not always plausible or effective to note them all down. Plus, external distractions are nearly always present. It can be hard to stay on task when the whole world is going on around you.
The best thing to do is often create your own little “world” in which to do the task. Set up a location specifically for the task, clearing the location of anything that isn’t relevant. If you’re online, that means only having the tabs open that you need. If you’re in person, that means only having the tools that you need at your workspace. Silence unimportant notifications, turn off the TV, and close the windows, if applicable. If music helps you concentrate, set up your playlist ahead of time.
If you’re still struggling with distractions, a motivation wall can help. Fill the wall with reminders of why the thing you’re doing is important to you. When your attention wanders, have it wander to the motivation wall. You’ll be forced to confront the reason for doing the task, and this can help convince you to return to doing the task.

✨3: pressure breeds ingenuity✨

SWC is a wonderful source of competition. What’s more inspirational than trying to write more words than an enemy cabin, or rushing to finish a weekly before a deadline?
While not every pursuit has a wonderful community surrounding it, you can still create a sense of urgency via peers and/or time constraints.
If possible, create a support system. Find people who encourage your task and let their enthusiasm wear off on you. Join groups that focus on the activity you’re working on, as these will provide not only good advice, but motivation to work as hard as the others in the group. You can loop in your friends and have them challenge you to make progress towards your goals, checking in with you to make sure you’re still on track.
Even if you don’t or can’t involve other people, you can create a course for yourself. Set alarms and time deadlines, rewarding yourself when you complete things before the bell. It may be difficult to self-enforce, but try to practice willpower. Don’t be too hard on yourself, though! Always be sure to take breaks and look after your health first and foremost.
Finally, rely on well-known methods of prioritization and time management. While there are many techniques available to research, it can take a while to find one that works for your personal task and working style. Check out this workshop by the amazing Moonlit for some examples!

PART 4: Swapping Weeklies with Someone

@taylorsversion– https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/828439/?page=31#post-8638074

Part 1: Why Applying Tone is Important
Tone is the voice of your work, a voice that is as unique as you, the author! If your writing lacks tone, then it lacks personality. The reader can’t tell whether you care about your writing, so why should they care?
Furthermore, tone brings a story to life in a way that can’t be replaced by any other element of writing. You could have the best worldbuilding and characters with more depth than the ocean, but without tone’s ability to convey those things, they won’t be effective. Tone is like the magic pixie dust that weaves throughout your words and makes even the craziest fictions feel real.
Humans are always searching for something to relate to when reading, and tone can significantly speed up the rate at which your audience “bonds” to an element of your writing. Whether you want to make them fall in love with a beautiful landscape or break them into tears over the character that you dumped angst upon yet again, this emotional effect cannot be achieved without tone.
Tone is your personal way of speaking to the world through your writing. It’s a powerful tool, so use it well, but definitely use it. Let your voice ring out!

Part 2: Ways Tone Can Be Implemented
“What? What in the flying feathers are you doing over there?” Thorn screeched, barrelling across the clearing to Parsnip’s side.
“Chill!” Parsnip chirped back, unbothered. “This one won’t destroy everything. Probably.”
His ghost bobbed contentedly in midair. Ghosts didn’t really have to float, but Parsnip enjoyed feeling weightless. Like a ray of sunlight!
Thorn gazed up at Parsnip’s creation with barely-disguised fear. “Uh… You sure about that?”
“Nothing is for certain! Butterfly effect and all. Chaos theory! But yeah, yeah, I’m fairly certain I didn’t make this one in order to create havoc. I told you, that was a one time thing—Oh whatever, here, look—” Reaching out a paw, Parsnip pushed his mechanism into motion.
The reflective material caught the sun and the light flowed directly into his ghostly form. It refracted off of him and created multiple versions of himself, all of them mirror copies of the first one.
Except he could control each one separately, because he was a ghost, and apparently you can do stuff like that?
Thorn looked between each of the Parsnips, blinking slowly. “Just what I needed. More of you.”
Parsnip grinned, or at least, half of the Parsnips grinned. The other half made some minor adjustments to the mechanism. “More of me to love!”

Part 3: Tone & Writing Style
Okay, I’m using the flower daily from November 6, 2022 because that’s the first thing I clicked on and I’m running out of time.
Alright, first of all, I think the tone in the Sandstone section is perfect. I really captured the personality and emotion of the character involved. I feel like I might have been able to make the passage a little more detailed, or cut out bits that don’t really contribute to understanding, though.
The Brook section is awkward, there’s no getting around that. It isn’t phrased well and it doesn’t do the “show, not tell” thing at all. Definitely needs work.
The Breeze section is okay, but I’ve done that one so many times that I might just be overly critical. The symbolism is way too heavy-handed. It feels forced. This scene isn’t really ideal for the format it’s in, though, so I could probably do it better if given a longer prompt.
Overall, my writing style is rather inconsistent. I communicate ideas well, but the emotion and tone is only good in the first section. The second part needs a more gentle, yet worried, tone. If I’m going for 1st person POV, I think it would help if I got more into Brook’s mind. The last one needs to hype up the anxiety. Use more erratic punctuation and descriptive flashes, rather than whole sentences of context.

Part 4: Using Different Tones in your Writing
In the middle of a forest that hummed like a contented cat, young Elio chased after a paper bird with glowing wings. The trees whispered jokes to one another, and the mushrooms giggled underfoot. Every leaf seemed in on the secret of where the bird was flying, but none dared tell. Elio's laughter rippled through the underbrush, his cape of stitched-together pillowcases flapping behind him like a knight of the bedtime realm. Somewhere between a hop and a tumble, he swore he heard the bird chuckle, too.
But the bird vanished. Just like that. The woods fell silent. A branch cracked to his left. Elio froze. The shadows beneath the canopy stretched longer, darker. Something was watching. He took a slow, quiet step back, careful not to rustle the leaves. Another crack. This time, closer. He could hear breathing—not his own. Eyes wide, he held his breath and counted. One. Two. Three. Something growled. Elio ran.
Later, he sat on a stone, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. The sun was sinking. He couldn’t remember which way he'd come. The wind had stopped talking. Even the birds seemed to have forgotten how to sing. “They always leave,” he muttered to no one. The glowing bird. His mother. Even his favorite dream. All gone. The silence pressed down like a weighted blanket he hadn’t asked for.
Then—light. Soft and golden, slipping through the trees like a promise. A familiar flicker danced just ahead: the glowing bird, waiting. Elio stood, not entirely sure how his legs remembered to move. His heart still ached, but now it beat with something else—something warm. He stepped forward. Maybe not everything was gone. Maybe some things knew how to come back.

daily - july 26, 2025
434 words … last updated 07.26.2025

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Today, you need to choose a random picture, and write a piece about it. But wait, there's a twist! Follow this formula to find out how much you need to write; 1200 - (hours slept x 100) words, the least amount of words you can write being 100.

1200 - 1000 = 200

Have you ever questioned what penguins do while on their summer break? What? You don't believe that penguins get a few months off for the summer season? Of course they do! Don't you know how hard it is for the little chicks to deal with school everyday? Not only do they do the basics—math, reading, science, art—but they also have to learn to swim for food in the treacherous freezing water with unpredictable currents that are prone to freezing over!

On top of that, penguin school is much harder because everyone looks the same, and one must learn to respect the boundaries of a complete stranger—even though they look exactly like your bestie. Everyone must participate in choir, and learn to train their voices to squawk to classic penguin carols. They only have a few breaks, in which they spend their time eating and belly-sliding across the snow.

So of course the best way for a student to spend their summer break is to lie on their back as the iceberg floats along, watching the beautiful scenery. The only time they get to really see the ocean is at school, which takes away all the fun. But during their holiday, penguins are seen splashing each other with the salty water, while others prefer to observe the sunset. The athletic ones spend their days playing volleyball on the slushy snow or surfing on the huge waves.

Adding on, this is the best time for aspiring models to show off their summer styles on IceTok, Flippergram, or WaddleTube! Using the #StylishSummer2025 tag, anyone can take inspiration from their favorite influencers. After all, now is the best time to experiment with aesthetics now that a chick doesn't have to be bundled up in those plain old coats.

Many students take this time off to enter their glow up era. Using social media platforms, they follow their favorite content creator's glow-up guide. Penguins have the chance to catch up on their sleep, explore new hobbies, exercise more (if school wasn't enough), and gain their self-confidence. Classmates will be shocked to learn that the new Queen Bee used to be the quiet nerd that sat in the back of the class who was constantly overlooked by others.

In conclusion, summer is the perfect time for the hard-working penguins. From bonding with friends to conducting an entire glow-up for the new school year, everyone looks forward to summer break. It's not just the humans that deserve a vacation—the students in the south are all very dedicated to their studies, and enjoy a pause from the classroom.

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434 words

24.07.25 ⟢ 405/400 words - Odysseus Returns and is Very Chill

—And there it was, in all its glory. Ithaca. Standing strong and tall, waves swishing against the shore gently. Odysseus had arrived, at last. The King had come back to reclaim his land, and this time, Athena was on his side. Odysseus sat up in a cave, taking in the sand beneath him and the vast, vast ocean stretching out in front of him. Chests of treasure glistened behind him as Athena disguised himself as an old beggar, sending him on one last task before a well-earned rest. The plan was taking revenge on his wife’s suitors. Odysseus made his way up the steps towards the castle, a place that once was a symbol of his power now a place where he had to beg to enter.

Before entering, Odysseus met his son, Telemachus. ‘Telemachus! It’s me, your father!’ And so, although Telemachus hadn’t seen his father in 20 years, and he looked like a beggar, they had a joyful reunion. ‘Now, I hear there are suitors filling up the palace,’ said Odysseus seriously. Telemachus nodded, though he had no idea how Odysseus had managed to learn this so soon. With that, the two men came up with a magnificent plan to win Odysseus’s kinghood back. A magnificent plan that would include the infiltration of a certain faux beggar…

Odysseus stepped foot into the palace, barely having time to even look around his home when a bark resonated from the other side of the hall. Odysseus gave his son that wide-eyed ‘You Kept That Dog? But He’s Ancient’ look and promptly got attacked by Argos, his pet dog. Odysseus couldn’t resist petting that familiar, scraggly fur, before he realised that his cover was blown. How was he to look around the palace with the King’s Dog trotting at his heels? He looked back at his beloved dog uncertainly, gasping with surprise as Argos spontaneously died, cutting a bond that they had had for a lifetime.

‘At least the dog won’t make you suspicious now!’ Telemachus coughed into Odysseus’s ear before dragging him up to where Penelope (Odysseus’s wife) was hosting a competition. The plan was: win the competition to assert dominance then gain respect back with his people by ruining twelve axes. And that’s what he did, laughing along to some rendition of Call Me Maybe with the other men, telling stories about his travels and gaining Penelope’s trust back by going on about trees.

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“Sup! My wife is cool, I get it” - Ody, 2025

500 points

Critique for Chocolate ⟢ 421 words

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Hi Chocolate!! <3 Thank you for letting me critique your piece— I really enjoyed reading it. (Not that I find the plot very joyous xD) Before I get started, I’d like to add that I can be a little direct in critiques so please don’t take it personally <33 My first impression (skimming through) is that it’s a bit rushed, though this impression may be because your entry isn’t as long as some others.

I lean on my older sister, begging for a shoulder to cry on, watching the sun set over the hills.

Good opening sentence! The watching the sun set part seems a little unnatural though, since watching sunsets have more positive connotations. Maybe change this to something more heartbreaking, like ‘savouring this moment etc etc’.

Standing with the rest of our family, trying to not make any noise — not even a breath, we all hug each other, knowing that we may never see one another again.

Nothing much to note except for the sentence structure; there’s a lot of commas and it just makes it feel a little rough. Maybe use more conjunctions like ‘We’re’ standing and a full stop after breath instead of a comma.

I hear gunshots going off in the background, behind the buses. My heart beats faster as I take one last look at her, her brown hair flying in the wind. I want to apologize to her for all of the fights and arguments, but I know I just can’t or I would be putting my family in danger. That’s the last thing I would ever want to happen.

Aww. I love this part! There’s a little overuse of the word ‘her’, perhaps change it to ‘one last look at *my sister*’ for clarification and to lessen repetition. The apology part is so lovely, but you could explain it a bit more. For example, ‘but we’re running out of time and I know I just can’t’ because otherwise it could be a bit confusing.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The timer in my head slowly counts down the hours, minutes and seconds. Questions fill my head. What happens when the timer goes off? Will I ever see my family again? Is it the end of the world?

OMG great ‘climax’ sort of thing hehe- it would be great if you went into more detail, too! Countdown to what? (though I get that’s one of the questions) and instead of ‘Is it’ use ‘Is this’.

I whisper to my sister, making sure not to make a sound. “Will I ever see you again?”

This doesn’t make that much sense because whispering creates sound XD But I love the content.

She leans down into my ear and whispers, “Little Sis, none of us know.” A teardrop starts to roll down my face as I see her walk away.

I noticed a use of ‘whisper’ again. Maybe make her parting sentence a little more heartbreaking, like adding ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘none of us know. But I know I love you, always.’ This is a really well done sad scene though!

With a rifle in hand, she goes behind the bush and waves one last time to us, knowing she may never see us again.

I love this sentence, but one thing <33 It doesn’t feel as much of a dramatic goodbye if the whole family is on the battlefield and she is going into a bush. Maybe she goes onto a bus, since you mentioned buses earlier, taking her to the battlefield instead?

The story I describe of my sister can be described in three words. One brave hero. She has always been brave and protective of our family, it’s just hard to let go of her.

Aww! Make sure not to overuse brave and similar words. Maybe try making the ending seem a little more devastating: saying you're letting go is like giving up. I’d add something like ‘It’s hard to let go of her, and I never will’. Anyway, that brings me to the end of this critique! It was a lovely piece, good luck with the writing comp!

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400 points

Critique for Starrii ⟢ 477 words

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Hi Starrii! Thank you for letting me critique your work! The topic seems so cool and I’m really excited to read it. I can be a little direct when critiquing sometimes (I quite literally write down the thoughts in my head with a very flimsy filter), so please don’t take it personally <33 My first impression when skimming through this was that the all italics were making it a little hard to read :') Let’s get into it!

It all began with a man. At least, someone who was once a man. We never knew his name.

Yay! I love this story already!

A person, or a creature, who wanted absolute control over society. Over people. Over everyone- whether it was those who had loved him, cherished his company, innocent ones, young children or his enemies.

I didn’t understand the second part of this section that much. It was extremely well written, but the ‘innocent ones’ feels a little unnecessary, in fact possibly the whole phrase: ‘over everyone’ has already been clarified.

He governed by fear, like the controlling member of the human race he was. He wasn’t subtle about it. Overt all the way. He was the One in charge. Anyone who dared defy his regime was removed from his path. They were plucked off their journey of life. Painfully.

This was extremely dramatic and effective, well done, but it’s getting a little repetitive.

Anyone who dared defy his regime was removed from his path. This sentence is most likely sending shivers down your spine. I don’t love it either, but it’s true. Envisage the individuals who suffer this punishment- parents requesting rations, sweet old people wanting to care for kittens, students begging for textbooks, curious young children asking why he tramped into their lives. They are in no fit state to tell you what exactly happened, but every dawn, the screams of the ‘rebels’ resonate through the towns.

I noticed you repeated a sentence about regime there. The second sentence about shivers down my spine removed the vibe a little bit and breaks the fourth wall as well, which isn’t bad, but something I wouldn’t recommend for this type of writing. The plot and the story is great, especially the last line, but something about the pacing feels a little unnatural.

But slowly, he matured in age. His iron- grey hair, stooped back, gnarly fingers and breaking voice proved testament to the fact. He realized his time was coming.

I like this bit! Maybe you could expand a little, like, ‘With horror, he realised etc etc’

But like they say, - in passing, I wonder who ‘they’ are? – it is much easier to start things than to finish them. He, of course, chose the easiest thing.

Ooh nice! Maybe scrap the in passing part: you’re the author, you’re the one who knows who they are.

Hidden throughout the villages, he commissioned the creation of seven lion hairpins, forged from bronze and embedded with tiny rubies no larger than a fingernail. Each was entrusted to a peasant known for ferocity, cunning, and independence—traits he himself respected, though he would never admit it aloud. These peasants, unaware of the greater game, were told only that the hairpin was a token of honor, a gift from a man who once ruled them. A trick, perhaps, but one he considered just.

Nothing to comment about this time! I love the story telling. But what’s the meaning behind lions and hairpins?

To the ‘aspirants’, the message was clear: obtain the lion hairpins, and prove your worth. But it would not be a simple matter of theft. Each peasant was chosen because they were impossible to simply overpower. Some would challenge the would-be successors to games of wits, others to combat, and some demanded feats of empathy, cunning, or even patience. Each hairpin represented a different facet of control—force, diplomacy, strategy, endurance.

Maybe explain this in more detail because I was a little lost for a moment there— also, why are the peasants peasants if they’re impossible to overpower?

He watched from afar as candidates ventured into the villages. Some failed. Some never returned. But a few—just a few—began to return, one by one, bearing the pins and stories that echoed his philosophy: control is not given, and never begged for. It is earned, through dominance of self, others, and the unseen battles in between.

This is great, I love it! Maybe describe ways they managed to get the pins?

But only one thing remained invisible to him.
It wasn’t what the candidates- us- wanted, though. They simply played along to earn enough status to survive.
Soon, we began to fight each other for the pins.

OMG YESS I love this plot twist!! It really makes me want to keep reading.

~
“You’re emotionally strong. You’re quite mature for your age.” I used to glory in those statements, whether it was from classmates, teachers, friends, my parents, or even the white- and- black spotted cat that used to lurk on our garden wall.

That’s quite a long list of examples, things that have already been said. Also, the cat can speak? xD

Now, though, I’ve grown to hate them. Resent them. Not that anyone thinks of them, though. Still, those words make me scream internally. Isn’t this my life now- survival being constantly fighting everyone for hairpins of status and power? Showing maturity? Embodying strength?
I doubt that I’ll ever be able to be thirteen again. Sure, that’s my biological age. But I’ve changed. Society changed me. He changed me. All of us youngsters were changed.

I love the storyline and thought process. This flows really well! <3

We had to grow up too fast.
The thing that stings the most?
We won’t be able to hold each other’s hands through it. We can’t stay strong together through the storm.
When I pass the girls I once shared books, secrets and candy with, we meet as strangers. People who we never saw before. Just another person to contend with for a hairpin.

This is so moving. I love the metaphor, too!

It’s not our fault, though. Most of our parents lie unconscious of us in the morgue, never to rise again.
Those ornate lions we reverently clip in our hair, not unwise to the struggle leading up to obtaining? They provide us with power. Wealth. Favour and approval from him.
That’s survival in this freaking hell of a place. And there’s no escape. We’re trapped in this turn of events. We didn’t even do anything. It’s not fair. But that’s what life is. Justice is for the select few favoured by Fate.
But I feel that society, people, everyone and everything is falling apart. We won’t make it. We all know that. Every bug, squirrel, cat, lion and person does. We’re not delusional.

Yess this is great! Perhaps make it more dramatic, but without less of the short sentences if that’s possible.

~
You know, this was my letter to the present world.
But there’s much more hope for the future, isn’t there?
Hope that the world can be rebuilt from the ruin it is now. Hope that children will be able to wonder out loud without being silenced. Hope that everyone is safe. Hope that gender inequality will be a thing of the past. Hope that explosive sirens will never echo through cities again. Hope that death shall be peaceful.

This is really great but I din’t see the connection to the hairpin story, maybe this is because I misread something or forgot do,etching but what happened with the hairpins??

Take this chance, whoever you are. Whoever. Wherever. Bring humanity back to what it was. Future people, combat the storm. Show them- his true supporters- what you’re made of.
Flesh, blood, thoughts, love.
Show that you’re human. Cry, laugh, smile, grin, shout. Be childish. Be young. Be your age. Be you. Be yourselves.
Together, resist and thwart the oppression.
Change this dystopia into utopia.
A place for everyone. A haven of peace. A producer of love. A world for you.

OHH I get it now! Wow! This is so uplifting and inspirational! You wrote this really well. Maybe it’s a bit too repetitive? Especially the sentences starting with ‘Be’, they sort of disagree with each other.

~
I wish you the best. Make this change for yourself, for your civilization. And hopefully you’ll think one day about us.
The people who perished. For no fault of ours, if I may repeat.
Just because of one man, and his conquest for control, for power.
Never let that happen again. Ever. I promise, it will be your destruction.
My letter to the future ends here.
I thank you for reading it, though I’ll never see you do it in person.

Aww this is a great piece! The plot, the writing, the voice. I loved reading it. My main tip is cut down in parts that have already been mentioned so you can get to the point quicker! It’s great how it is, though.

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400 points

Daily 24
The Greek goddess of harvest, Demeter, had a daughter whom she loved very much. The daughter’s name was Persephone. One day, Demeter decided to go on a trip and entrusted Persephone to the care of some nymphs. While Demeter was on her trip, Persephone decided to go out to the meadows with her nymph friends. While picking flowers, she strayed so far that she could no longer see her nymph friends, who were in fact asleep. Unbothered by this fact, Persephone saw the most beautiful flower she had ever seen. She raced over to pick it up but as she pulled the flower from the roots, a large chariot suddenly burst out of the ground. Persephone only got a glimpse of her captor before her screams were dragged down to the very depths of the earth. When she realized that her captor was Hades, the god of the Underworld, a plan started to form in her mind.
She quickly accepted Hades’ marriage proposal, and was quickly crowned Queen of the Underworld. Hades, surprised but nonetheless pleased that Persephone was his new bride, didn’t see into her plan.
Persephone, however, refused to eat anything, for in case her plan failed. She heard from the spirits that her mother was horrified and missing her terribly but Persephone decided that her mother would be fine without her for a while. Finally, on the one month anniversary of her and Hades’ marriage, Persephone arranged a banquet. Into Hades’ meal, she had slipped a sedative. After Hades was knocked out, she sent a message for Zeus to help. You see, Zeus was her father, so he was willing to do most things for her. Persephone got Zeus to lock him up in a prison in the sky. Once Hades was out of the picture, Persephone declared herself the Ruler of the Underworld. This went on for a while until Persephone got word that her mother had begun depriving the world of harvest until Persephone returned home. Persephone (she was the ruler of the underworld so she could come and go as she pleased) rushed up to the earth to confront her mother. They struck a deal. Persephone would be the ruler of the Underworld from October to February and Demeter could deprive the world all she wanted. From March till September, Persephone would set Hades free and Persephone would return to her mother. And that, dear children, is the corrupted version of why we have seasons.

411 words

Daily the Twenty-Fourth
My version of Andromeda!
In the kingdom of Aethiopia, long ago, a king called Cepheus lived with his wife, Queen Casseiopia. They had one daughter: Andromeda. Now, Casseiopia and Andromeda were pretty much some of the most beautiful women ever to grace the Earth, and Casseiopia knew this. Oftentimes she was found boasting about her beauty, or her daughter’s. On this particular morning, she was feeling especially pretty.
“I do think that today, Cepheus,” Cassieopia exclaimed to her husband. “Andromeda and I are more beautiful than the Nereids themselves!”
The Nereids were sea nymphs who attended to the great Poseiden, and he was very partial to them. And when he heard Cassieopia’s voice saying that, well, as you can imagine, he got mad.
As Cassieopia was brushing her daughter’s hair that afternoon, and singing softly, she heard screams of terror from out of the window.
“Cepheus, dear, what’s going on?” She called.
“Hmm?” Cepheus looked up from the book he was reading.
“There are terrible screams outside,” She said, gesturing to the window.
Cepheus, who really had no idea what was happening, scratched his chin and went to look outside.
“Well, there seems to be a sea serpent outside terrorizing our kingdom,” he said finally.
“What?” Casseiopia was so shocked, she fainted, still holding her daughter’s hair.
“Ow!” Andromeda shrieked. And then she looked over her shoulder to see her mother on the floor, and swiftly yanked her hair out of her mother’s grip. She then heaved Casseiopia over to her bedroom, where she would lie until she woke.
Cepheus, who was still looking out the window, didn’t see any of this.
“Why would Poseiden send his monster to terrorize us?” He pondered. “We didn’t do anything…”
“Well, actually,” Andromeda piped up. “Didn’t Mother say something about being prettier than the Nereids this morning?”
Cepheus, startled, looked at his daughter.
“Well, I suppose she did….” He said thoughtfully, and then darkened. “That darn woman! I knew herr vanity would catch up to us someday!”
“What will we do?” Andromeda, anxious about the fate of her kingdom, asked.
“Well, I’ll probably have to go and talk to the Oracle of Ammon,” Cephues sighed. “Take care of your mother!”
And with that, he headed out the door.
In the days that followed, Andromeda focused all of her attention on Casseiopia, who was so distraught about the serpent and the fact that her husband had gone off alone that she refused to get out of bed. So Andromeda made all of her meals, brought them to her, constantly checked for a fever, and really did all of the things that Cassieopia should’ve been doing for Andromeda.
Then, on the sixth day, there came a knock on the door.
“Hello?” It was Cepheus.
Andromeda rushed to the door and flung it open.
“Father!” She cried.
“Hello, Andromeda,” Cephues sighed. He had a very grave look on his face. “How is your Mother?”
“She’s doing fine,” Andromeda said.
“Hmm…. it’s late,” Cepheus muttered. “You should get to bed.”
“It’s only 7:00,” Andromeda said, perplexed.
“I said, get to bed!” Cepheus snapped, and pushed past her into Casseiopia’s room.
Andromeda was stunned. Her father had never spoken to her that way before. Never. He had always been the kind, understanding parent. Andromeda knew something was wrong. So instead of going to bed, she crept over to the closed door that lead to her parents’ room and put her ear to it.
“Cass, what are we going to do? I really don’t want to give her up…. But it seems like our only option,” Cepheus was saying.
“Well, surely there must be some way around it….” Casseiopia sounded unconcerned. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
“There’s no way around it!” Cepheus burst out angrily, then took a deep breath. “It’s the only way.”
“Well, the serpent’s not bothering us!” Cassieopia said. “So long as we stay in our palace, we’ll be fine.”
Just then, a crash echoed through the chambers.
“What was that?” Cassieopia, suddenly worried, asked.
“That,” Cepheus said, “was probably the west wing.”
“Oh, Cepheus, we have to do it! If there’s no other way, we have to! What if it kills us all?” She cried.
“But… Andromeda is our daughter,” Cepheus said quietly.
And with that, Andromeda understood. Poseidon was mad that Casseiopia had said that Andromeda was prettier than the Nerieds; of course he wanted her in return for peace.
She knew what she had to do. Andromeda raced from the house, flung open the door, and snuck out into the night.
She wasn’t running away so she wouldn’t be sacrificed; she was running away to be sacrificed.
Andromeda crept into the ruined west wing and grabbed a pile of chains. She then went out to the ocean.
A jagged rock was standing in the middle of the sea, waves crashing against it. It was perfect for Andromeda’s purposes.
She climbed the rock and tied the chains tightly around her waist and the rock, so that she wouldn’t be tempted to run away. And then she waited.
An hour or so later, the serpent emerged.
Splash!
Andromeda was doused in the water that the serpent had upheaved when it had shot out of the water. It was gigantic. But Andromeda held her ground, terrified but certain.
Then, she spotted a boy flying by in winged sandals. And when the boy saw her, he was captivated. But then he saw the huge sea monster swimming not too far away.
“Fair maiden, why are you chained to a rock in the middle of an ocean with the great sea serpent Cetus?” He asked, flying down.
“I’m saving my kingdom,” Andromeda answered confidently. “Oh, and I’m not a ‘fair maiden.’ I’m Andromeda.”
“My name is Perseus,” the boy- Perseus- said arrogantly. “And I will save both you and your kingdom!”
“Well, Perseus,” Andromeda said, unfazed by his heroic claim. “You see, there’s no way to do that. My mother said something about me that angered Poseidon, and he sent a monster- apparently his name is Cetus- to ravage our kingdom. And the Oracle said that the only way to appease Cetus is by sacrificing me. So here I am.”
“Well why don’t I just kill Cetus and you and I can get married afterward?” Perseus asked.
“Well, first of all, I just met you. I’m not ready to marry you. And second of all, the Oracle said that it was the only way. So Poseidon will just send another sea monster to destroy our kingdom.” Andromeda shrugged. “Besides, I’ve lived a happy life. There’s not much more I could want.”
“Well, I’m still going to try!” Perseus decided. “Close your eyes.”
Andromeda didn’t question this and closed them.
Perseus pulled the head of Medusa out of his bag and shoved it at Cetus. Sure enough, Cetus turned immediately to stone.
“Hurrah!” He cheered.
But then another sea monster shout out of the water, this one a giant squid. Perseus was so surprised that he dropped Medusa’s head, and it slowly sunk down beneath the waves.
“NOOOOOO!” He wailed, dropping to his knees. “My head!”
But while he mourned the head, the giant squid swam over to Andromeda and snatched her with it’s tentacles, easily breaking the chains that bound her.
“Bye, Perseus,” Andromeda smiled, not struggling in the least bit.
Perseus looked over just in time to say goodbye to his new love.

“Brace for a storm!” Odysseus commanded, almost having to scream to be heard over the howling winds.

Salty spray leapt over the side of his ship, smacking against the feet of the men hurrying from one aft to stern. They were desperately trying to secure everything before it could go overboard with the waves.

Up and down, up and down, the ship went, jerking and crashing over the wild waves. And in the few, precious moments when it wasn't, those wild waves battered it along with the wind and rain.

All 600 of Odysseus' men were miserable, in this downpour. They were soaked to the bone, freezing and shivering.

But, they were so close. To home. To Ithaca. To Penelope. To Telemachus.

It had already been ten long years. He didn't need it to be any longer.

“Eurylochus!” he shouted to his second in command.

“Captain!” he responded, straightening. He had been looking over the side of the ship.

“Report,” Odysseus said as he walked over to him. He grabbed onto the railing when a particularly violent wave rocked the ship. “What's going on with the other ships?”

“I'm… not too sure,” Eurylochus said after a moment. “They're beginning to lag behind. I don't know if they're going to make it.”

“They will,” Odysseus said without hesitation. “They have to. We're so close.”

“I know.”

…

Thunder roared overhead, and the air seemed to shift, somehow. Even after the days and days of rain, not even the quickest flash of lightning nor the softest rumble of thunder had been found.

A baby's wail pierced through the howling wind. Odysseus and Eurylochus started, glancing backwards. Polites had jumped up, Astyanax clutched in his arms as he bounced the baby, trying to calm him.

That was worrying. Not once since Ody had scooped him up from the tower had the baby cried.

Polites glanced up, worry creasing his brow. Regardless, he continued his futile attempts in calming the baby. His eyes flicked back down and it was obvious that he was trying to shush the boy.

Odysseus was about to call Polites over when the ship felt like it was about to tip over. Startled cries from every ship filled the air.

“ODYSSEUS OF ITHACA!” a loud, booming, yet etheral voice called. Somehow, it carried over the wind and rain and waves.

Cautiously, the man in question turned around. At first, he was looking at his eye level, but quickly, he realized the speaker was above it. Far above it.

In an instant, dread pooled in Odysseus' stomach.

“Do you know what you've done?” Zeus, the thunder bringer, asked.

Daily 24:

Mythology has always played an important role in societies around the world, explaining how our world came about or where a society's customs originate from. Today, you're going to be retelling a myth, but with your own twist! Your own myth of at least 400 words can earn you 350 points for your cabin, and you can claim another 150 points if you share proof.

Once, there was a person named Orpheus. He was famous for his horrible singing voice. Apollo had tried to give Orpheus singing lessons once, but after hearing him sing once, he covered his ears and was like “Nope! You’re… great at singing you don’t need my help please go away goodbye!” He could easily clear crowds by singing with his horribly annoying terrible voice. Only one person could stand him. Eurydice. “Yeah, he's kind of annoying, but it's also kind of cute” Eurydice was a person who liked to drum on anything but a drum kit. She also often annoyed people. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. They had fallen in love, so they got married. Although Orpheus had to promise not to sing at the wedding, because otherwise no one would come. Expect, after the wedding, Eurydice got bit by a snake after getting into argument about some singer and then she died. Orpheus was very upset. He moaned and cried and sang so much that everyone was like “Go to the underworld and get your darn wife back and leave us alone please!” So he did. He sang to some rocks and the rocks said “Oh my gods please stop we’ll open for you if you just stop SINGING!” So the rocks moved and Orpheus went to the underworld. The boatman, Charon, said no to Orpheus when he asked to be let across, but then Orpheus started singing and Charon let him across so he’d get away from him. Orpheus went to Hades’ castle, and met with him, and his wife, Persephone. “Go away!” Hades said. “You can’t have your wife back because that’s not how death works!”
“Sorry dude” Said Persephone. “I bet you’ll be a cute couple though, once you die too.”
But then Orpheus started singing. “WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE! YELLOW SUBMARINE! YELLOW SUBMARINE! WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE!!!!!!” Orpheus screeched. “Oh my GODS! Stop singing about that darned submarine! Just take your gosh darn wife and get out of here!” Screamed Hades, covering his ears and cursing. “Yey!” Said Orpheus. And he grabbed Eurydice and they went back to the living world before Hades could make some kind of deal or condition. “I really thought you would make it so, like, he’d have to not look at her when they left.” Persephone said “But you just let her go. That was nice of you”
“Maybe I should’ve given some kind of condition, but I just really wanted to get him out of here, you know?”
“Fair.”
And Orpheus and Eurydice lived noisily ever after.

433 words

⋆ thursday, july 24th: daily - myth rewrite (did no research whatsoever. sorry chat )
i’m getting the most uncanny feeling that i’ve rewritten this myth before but i can’t find it hgelp

feathered wings that are soft to the touch. like a young dove that had let you run your fingers over its plumage, white and pure and not yet tainted by the world. outside the window is an endless expanse of sky and sea, blindingly blue, sprawling alongside land like the roots of a tree. he would be getting to taste it today, for the first time in all his life - freedom, sweet release into a world that was vaster than anything he could conjure from his imagination. he thought of huge fields to run into with hands in the air, bustling villages filled with people, empty air meant for flying.
daedalus smiled fondly as he tied the straps around his son’s arms. “remember,” he reminds for the last time, because as soon as they were in the air it would be a free for all; “don’t go too low or the sea will do its damage, or too high else—”
“the sun melts the wax. got it.” and bless his heart, icarus just looked so joyful that daedalus decided to ignore the feeling of impending doom. he was nearly a man now, surely he’d be responsible.
so that was all, and there was nothing left to do except jump and be at the mercy of the sky. and be free. icarus goes first, of course, wind flowing smoothly against carefully crafted wings. he yells something indecipherable, probably of excitement, and soars like he was born for it.
the mist of the sea brushes his cheek and he thinks: higher. higher, towards the clouds, towards the sun and outer space. just how high can i go? i am the first human to ever brush the heavens like this. i want to see the curve of the earth, be as far as possible from the man who’s imprisoned me for literally no reason. i want to see the empires the poets speak of. drunk with exhilaration, he forgets the scientific properties of wax fairly quickly.
he doesn’t feel the wax soften, or notice the feathers slipping one by one. he doesn’t hear the shout of his father, much too far to be seen and much less heard. he barely feels the feeling of falling at all, until he notices the sea becoming growing far too large far too fast, and still the stupid grin is plastered to his face. if this was the way out, then why not? he had felt everything he’d needed to in a single lifetime and probably more.
so that was his fate.
except it wasn’t, because in the very last second, a huge muscular dragon the color of shadows swoops in to catch him just before he meets the water. he’s stunned for a second, firstly because instead of going down he’s heading back up again, secondly because he’d never considered dragons to be real, and thirdly because he didn’t know how to ride one.
he fumbled for a second as the dragon silently judged him. it seemed to be saying something along the lines of, if i catch you like this and you fall off anyway that’d be a real shame.
eventually icarus has steadied himself, adopting the position that he had seen people have when riding a horse. he grips a scale and gets right back to whooping with joy, because he was alive! through the will of the gods, he was saved and would live to see another day! on a dragon, no less, he was probably the first person to ride one of these too. scaly, leather wings and a powerful body only written in legends of the old days. somewhere in the distance the how to train your dragon theme is playing, only no one has ever heard of that movie before and its coming from literally nowhere. icarus is too happy to care, only muttering “dang where those bagpipes coming from lol” before laughing it off and embracing the warmth of the sun from a much safer distance.
daedalus squints. he had seen his son fall, but now what? was he saved? kidnapped? he’d only gotten half an hour of sleep last night.
icarus soars around the low-hanging clouds of mist on his mysterious dragon, feeling on top of the world once again. he makes the questionable choice to swerve low enough to feel the salty coolness of the sea on his skin.
a wave surges up suddenly, coming from nowhere reasonable, too tall to be natural and way too fast. the dragon panics, stopping and attempting to dive back up, but the wall of water eats them all the same. there is no time for a reaction.
except it was, then. fate. icarus was always destined to die, dragon or not.

Mythology has always played an important role in societies around the world, explaining how our world came about or where a society's customs originate from. Today, you're going to be retelling a myth, but with your own twist! Your own myth of at least 400 words can earn you 350 points for your cabin, and you can claim another 150 points if you share proof.

Long ago, Icarus had been told not to fly too close to the sun.
Everyone had warned him, “your wax wings will melt!! So avoid the sun!!”
Now here’s the thing: everyone always assumes he didn’t listen. After all, he’d died, hadn’t he? How else could this tragedy occur?
The answer…
…is Kev*n.
Perhaps you’ve heard of him. In the ancient SWC myths, you will find stories of the unicorn and his excessive number of children fleeing the wrath of the ITP.
One of his children, who you’ve somehow never heard of even though she should probably be on the family tree that Charlie Kev*nson of SWC had made to keep track of everyone, was named Enochlitikós, because according to Google Translate that’s Greek for “annoying.”
Like her name implied, she was quite annoying. Sometimes considered a trickster goddess, who had achieved godhood after beating the Norse god Loki in a game of Allfather Says, other times considered simply an inconvenience, Enochlitikós had tricked tricksters and won battles that should’ve had no winners.
Now, on the day Icarus had gone flying, he’d spotted a wounded horse on the ground.
He’d flown down to ask the horse what was wrong, landing on the Dark, Spooky, And Probably Haunted Island.
“I have been chased so far by the ITP,” she explained, “and now I am too tired to run.”
Icarus offered to help her hide, as long as she promised something: in his time of need, she’d come to him.
She agreed, and Icarus decided to use his wings to cover her. Having abandoned his easiest way to escape, he built a boat.
For many days, he sailed across the seas, hoping he’d manage to find his way home.
One day, he’d run out of food.
“Enochlitikós, daughter of Kev*n! I call upon you for your aid!”
Enochlitikós, the horse who Icarus had helped before, suddenly appeared, and returned his wings to him.
“Fly up,” she’d told him. “Fly up until you touch the clouds, and then look down. Only then will you be able to see the way home.”
He’d protested, explaining that he’d been told not to fly too close to the sun, but she simply laughed. “I may be a trickster goddess, and a daughter of the evil one who shares a name with on of the script campers of old, but I owe you a debt. I swore I would come, and if I had not kept the promise, I would burn with you as you fell!”
Icarus did not listen closely enough to her words to see her trick, and flew.
As his wings melted, he could hear the goddess below cackle.
“You fool! I said I would come to you. But I never swore I would save you!”
And as Icarus fell, he swore his own oath.
As he fell, he made sure he’d land right on top of Enochlitikós, so as he sank deep under the ocean, he’d end up pulling her down with her.
To this day, Enochlitikós is trapped under the ocean, hidden by the wax wings forevermore.
No one was there to see Icarus’s sacrifice, not knowing that he’d simply been tricked.
But they still manage to remember him, in whatever versions of his stories live on they can.
The moral?
 Do not fly too close to the sun, young campers. And remember when you are given warnings, whether they are warnings about wax wings or about your sleep schedule.

NOTES
Nearly rewrote Baldr before remember I literally just did a super weird not quite Baldr.
And then saw that literally the last daily posted here was Icarus but oh well too late now
Anyway yaaaaay a Kevin reference!!
Not sure if this is very good but I had fun writing it lol

Okay, so, hi Lune! This is a super good piece, I love it a lot! Overall, I’d say, yes! This is a good piece for the writing comp
I really don’t have that many things to critique, but a few lines that stood out to me was this:

I look down. Not only are the zinnias there, still taunting me, but now there are also amaranths.
Immortality. To some, this might be sweet, but I know what it really means.
This is forever.
You cannot escape.

The oh that I felt at these lines was awesome but also AAA panicked confused screaming, you know? Probably one of my favorite set of lines, to be honest! It’s definitely very chilling. I love the way that the meanings work out, I never would’ve thought to use them like that!

This is definitely a very horror-y piece to me, and, while I’m not typically a fan of that genre, this is absolutely my exception! Even if I don’t know who the characters are (which, I believe is the point of this story/excerpt) I still really want to know what happens to them, even if I don’t know what happened prior. I sure can guess, though, and it’s super intriguing.

Very good job, if I do say so myself! It’s short and, I would say sweet, but unless we’re talking about the smell of the flowers, it’s not all that sweet to the main character!

critique for Bea! @Alfalfa78
Bea wrote:
Out of everything that Dark had expected from this… this kid!

This wasn't it.

He was sure, he was so, so sure that he had deleted that orange kid's code. But here the kid was, floating above Dark, eyes a brillant shining emerald green. stars he looked like chosen
|| This draws me in immediately, even if I've never seen/read the book/movie/show that this comes from. Maybe, though, explain more details about ‘the orange kid’ ? But I'd probably know if I'd ever seen/read the book/show/movie. Also, since you asked for a spell check, ‘brillant’ is spelled ‘brilliant’. You missed an I! But otherwise, a great start! ||
Bea wrote:
And here Dark was, sprawled on the ground, his Vira-bands broken - shattered, panting heavily like some fool. Maybe he was a fool. A child had bested him the Dark Lord. He deserved whatever his fate would be.

The kid - he thought his name might've been Orange, if his friends' pathetic cries for help had been anything to go by - floated down to stand before Dark.

And held out a hand.
|| Hmm once again maybe some background knowledge for how his ‘Vira-bands’ got broken? But once again, maybe that's explained in the original thing… also you might want to add a comma + exclamation point here: “A child had bested him, the great Dark Lord!” ||
Bea wrote:
Dark shut his eyes, waiting for whatever would hit him. Fire, or maybe ice, if the kid was anything like Chosen. Maybe magma, if he was like himself.

Nothing happened. He cracked open an eye, and then the other. The kid had crouched in front of him, hand still held out, palm up.

“I dont want to hurt you,” he said, voice quiet and warped.
|| what does the ‘if he was like himself’ part mean? If it means ‘anything like Dark’ maybe put that, or if it means ‘anything like he had been before’ put that. Also, how can a voice be warped? I dunno, maybe that describes something that I've never heard of but is a sort-of-well-known thing, in which case keep it how it is. Lastly, the ‘dont’ maybe should be ‘don’t' in the ‘I don’t want to hurt you" part. ||
Bea wrote:
Dark just stared at him. “What?” he rasped.

“I was just protecting my friends, you know,” his voice had dropped to a low hum. “I don't think that Chosen wanted to hurt you, either.”

He spluttered. “Ch- Chosen's my biggest rival! Of course she wanted to hurt me!”
|| Hmm… I only have two suggestions, not big critiques. First, I think that ‘And I don’t think Chosen wanted to hurt you either' might sound a little smoother, and second, maybe change the ‘he spluttered’ part to ‘Dark spluttered’ since it switches from Orange to Dark, and move it to after the dialogue! ||
Bea wrote:
The kid blinked, and the tilted his head to the side. “I thought you two were friends,” he mused, seemingly to myself.

There was a long pause as Dark searched for some biting reply.

“I don't think you really want to hurt anyone,” Orange said. “I just think you wanted to protect yourself. And Chosen.”
|| should ‘myself’ be ‘himself’ ? and maybe add a little 'Orange said before he could say it' after Dark tries to think of a biting reply. ||
Bea wrote:
… the kid was spot on. Not that he'd let him know that.

“I want to do the same, too. For my friends, I mean,” he sounded saddened. “And… I… I know they aren't here right now, but…”

He reached his hand out, further, fingers outstretched.
|| ooh, I like this part. but maybe change ‘he sounded saddened’ to ‘his voice saddened’ and erase the comma between ‘out’ and ‘further’ ||
Bea wrote:
“I think they'd forgive you, too,” he said.

Dark's eyes flickered to the kid's hand and then back up to his face.

“C'mon,” Chosen urged, hand outstretched and a small smile on her face. “We could defeat him if we worked together!“

Dark looked over to the cursor and then back to his… rival?
|| I don't really understand this part because I've never seen ava 5, BUT I still think it's very cool . My only note: maybe add a little ‘Suddenly, a memory flickered to life’ or something. ||
Bea wrote:
”Look. He doesn't care about you. He doesn't care about me, either. Let's make him feel the same way we do.”

Dark took her hand.

Dark took the kid's hand.
|| AHHHH I love how his memory reflects his present, that's so cool!!! no notes ||
Bea wrote:
… he didn't understand why the kid was so willing to forgive him. He had deleted his friends' code. He had tried to delete the kid's code, too and he was still willing to forgive him.

A smile broke out on his face, wide and childish and pure and innocent. He pulled Dark up without even straining. Though, his smile fell after a moment, and he turned slowly, eyes drifting over to the house.

… well… the remnants of the house, anyways. There was a giant hole in the side of the wall from when he and Chosen had been fighting. But it was still a house, right?
|| maybe just squeeze a little ‘still’ in between ‘he’ and ‘didn’t' and then change ‘and he was still willing to forgive him’ to ‘and yet he was trying to forgive him.’ Also, ‘though’ feels like the wrong word there, but I can't think of a better word, so feel free to keep it! ||
Bea wrote:
Something flickered over the kid's face and he pulled away Dark. He moved forward, and then started to float over to the house slowly.

“What? Hey! Kid!” he hissed, scrambling after him. His own powers were spent, he didn't have the energy to fly. Not right now. “Where are you going? Chosen's that way. That way, opposite- hey!”

It was obvious that he wasn't listening. Apparently, he was set on his own mission.
|| perhaps add a ‘from’ between ‘away’ and ‘Dark’ ? And then maybe change ‘he moved forward’ to ‘he started forward, then seemed to change his mind and floated over to the house slowly.’ and one other thing: maybe put a ‘so’ in between ‘were’ and ‘spent’ ||
Bea wrote:
The kid entered the house via the very convenient hole in the wall (see, Cho, fighting and the destruction that followed it was useful, sometimes!)

And then moved to the computer. Dark's computer.

“Wha-?!” Dark started. “Hey! Don't touch that!”
|| Ooh, compelling! I did wonder, though, why he started talking to Chosen in the middle of the story. ||
Bea wrote:
Again, the kid wasn't listening, instead typing on the computer. Green sparks of what Dark could only describe as magic floated by his fingers.

And then something impossible happened.

He restored the code that Dark had deleted.
|| AAHHH SO COMPELLING!!! ||
Bea wrote:

The cursor - no, Alan, Dark corrected reappeared slowly, rebuilding itself. And so did Orange's little friends. Chosen jolted from where she was struggling to stand, falling flat on her back again.

A surprised snort escaped Dark. Oh, the great and mighty Chosen One was startled by four children coming back to life. Though, maybe he, the great and mighty Dark Lord would be startled, too.

They had come back to life, after all.
|| maybe add a comma in between ‘corrected’ and ‘reappeared’ ? Also, when did Chosen get here? Has she been here this whole time? Maybe she was one of the revived kids…. in which case maybe don't separate her from the other revived kids quite as much, or if she was already there, mention that somewhere. ||
Bea wrote:
The kid gripped the desk, a sigh of relief escaping him. And then he swayed, eyes fluttering. He slumped forward and then slid down to the floor. He was out. Completely and totally.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Dark yelped, scrambling towards the kid. Fortunately, he was still breathing. He sighed, softly, relieved.

Fine, whatever. He guessed he could play good guy, just for once. But that was Chosen's job! It was in her name after all.
|| maybe erase the comma between ‘sighed’ and ‘softly’ ? ||
Bea wrote:
Wordlessly, he dragged her into an embrace. “… ‘m sorry. I… it… I…”

He felt her wince before hugging him back. “I forgive you, too, you know,” she murmured, voice watery. “This isn’t the first time we've fought, either. I doubt it'll be the last.”

He sighed. “… thank you,” he managed.
|| you forgot the ‘I’ in ‘I’m' . Also maybe explain why he sighed? Was he relieved, sad, or what? ||
AAAA I loved this so much!!!! You've made me want to watch/read whatever this was from, it seems so interesting!!!! Plus, your story pretty much seemed like it came straight from the author of the book/script themself, even if I don't know what they actually sound like! Overall thoughts were: AMAZING JOB, maybe a little bit more background knowledge, but otherwise, this was SO GOOD.

Daily #24 - Medusa (but she lives) - 591 words

Medusa had always been one of Athena's favorite priestesses. On top of her loyalty to Athena, she was also an incredibly beautiful maiden. At least, she was her favorite until the incident.
One day, Medusa caught the eye of Poseidon. He snuck into the temple she was in, which was a temple for Athena. The two had an affair that night.
Athena found out the next morning. However, she couldn't let out any of her rage on Poseidon, since he was a more powerful god than her. As much as she didn't want to, she attacked Medusa with her anger. She transformed Medusa's hair into hideous snakes, and she cursed her with the power to turn people to stone just by looking at them.
Medusa fled the temple, and ended up taking shelter in a cave near the sea. Every day, she chucked a single stone into the ocean. Her hatred for the sea god that had ruined her life grew every day.
When people walked by, she tried to greet them, but her dumb curse made her turn everyone who met her gaze into stone.
Years went by. Talk of a hero called Perseus reached Medusa. Apparently, he'd been tasked with beheading her. She had a feeling that he was a son of Athena, or at least someone who'd earned Athena's favor.
She paced in her little cave, planning how she could reason with Perseus, how she could convince him to let her live.
Then, the day came. Donning a mirror shield (which Medusa knew had to be from Athena), Perseus carefully inched his way through her cave. In his shield, he saw her reflection and drew his sword.
“Please! Can you spare me a few moments of explanation?” she cried out.
Perseus let his blade drop to his side. “Yes.”
Medusa was shocked. That had been easier than she thought it'd be.
“Poseidon had an affair with me in Athena's temple. Since she couldn't let out any anger on Poseidon, she let it all out on me, cursing me. Everyone I've turned to stone has been someone I've tried talking to. But when I make eye contact with them, they turn to stone. I hate this cursed form that I've had to take on. I know it's not much, but I throw a stone into the ocean, trying to get back at Poseidon for ruining my life,” she explained.
She saw a look of empathy wash over Perseus face in the mirror shield. He sheathed his blade.
“I won't kill you, but I need something that looks like your head so I can convince the gods that I completed my quest,” he told her.
“I can carve a stone version of my head. Just give me a few hours,” Medusa replied.
“Okay, I'll leave you to it,” Perseus stated, walking out of the cave.
With that, Medusa quickly got to work, carving her stone face. Within a few hours, she finished her work. She rolled it out to Perseus, ensuring that she didn't turn him to stone.
“Thank you!” he called back.
“No, thank you! You didn't kill me,” Medusa yelled to him.
“There was no reason to,” he stated as he walked off.
Everyone thought she died, so Medusa stayed in hiding. But, when no one was around (mostly at night), she walked out of her cave and threw another rock into the ocean. It was small, but it was her way of exacting her revenge on the god who caused her life to be sent to chaos.

orpheus and eurydice twist | july 24 daily

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Orpheus would have done everything and anything for Eurydice. Eurydice wasn’t so sure if she would say the same.
Eurydice didn’t love him like he loved her. Orpheus had got it in his head that because they were friends, she loved him. But she didn’t.
So the day before they were due to wed, Eurydice talked to Death. And her girlfriend.
(Okay, well, she talked to Hades. But saying she talked to Death sounds way better.)
Hades wasn’t so sure, because he knew that Orpheus would come looking for Eurydice in the Underworld and wouldn’t leave without her. He would sing his sad and mournful songs (Hades mentioned they were infuriatingly beautiful) until Eurydice came back to the living world. Eurydice knew this, too, but she still insisted. Reluctantly, Hades agreed.
Eurydice’s girlfriend didn’t take the news very well, either. Sure, her girlfriend hated Orpheus’ guts and wanted Eurydice to be free of him, but this was the only way (the only way that Eurydice saw, that is). So reluctantly, Eurydice’s girlfriend said goodbye and let Eurydice go.
The next day, as Orpheus took Eurydice’s hand in his, she braced herself. Any moment now. Hades hadn’t told her how it would happen (she hoped it was quick), only that it would. Orpheus was oblivious, humming a melody under his breath as they strolled through the field. The grass was tall, the wind still, and Eurydice thought it too calm for what was about to happen.
She was right. And when the snake bit her, as Orpheus wept over her, Eurydice felt calm. Maybe her way of escape was too extreme, but it worked, and Eurydice died in peace.
But while Eurydice was serene, Orpheus… not so much.
Like Hades had predicted, he sang his sad and mournful songs (that were admittedly, infuriatingly, beautiful) and he vowed he wouldn’t stop looking for her, singing for her, until she was back in the living world.
Everything Eurydice didn’t want.
Eurydice’s girlfriend found Orpheus (apparently, she had an idea) and told Orpheus to go down to the Underworld (in the least creepy way possible). Orpheus decided that he WOULD go down to the Underworld, even though Eurydice’s girlfriend sounded sort of creepy when she told him. (Orpheus didn’t know it, but Eurydice’s girlfriend was telling him this because she still hated his guts.)
When Orpheus went down to the Underworld, he smashed some rocks together because they wouldn’t let him down there. Eventually, they did, and Orpheus sauntered into Hades’ palace like he owned the place (bad idea).
Hades frowned when Orpheus walked in, but he was expecting this. After a long, long, heated argument, in which Orpheus yelled and waved his hands around a lot, and Hades stood there like a stone pillar, Hades agreed to a compromise deal thing. If Orpheus walked back up to the living world with Eurydice, then they could live happily ever after and all that mushy stuff.
As they were walking back, Eurydice came up with a plan to stay in the Underworld, because Orpheus was doing a pretty darn good job at not looking back. But then… he looked back (and saved Eurydice from having to do all of the hard work and figuring out how to get him to look back).
Eurydice smiled at Orpheus as the shadows pulled her back, down, down, down, into the Underworld again. It was a sad smile, a genuine one, one that thanked him silently.
Orpheus was very sad and went back to singing his sad and mournful songs everywhere, and it started wilting flowers, which made Demeter very angry. She asked Zeus to zap him and turn Orpheus into a sheep, but Zeus refused for some reason. I don’t know.
Back in the Underworld, Eurydice’s girlfriend was waiting for her. Apparently, her girlfriend also made a deal with Hades (the details were pretty fuzzy because her girlfriend wasn’t in an elaborating mood).
And so the two of them lived (or not lived, because they were dead) happily ever after (aka a perfect ending).

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676 words
eurydice x unnamed girlfriend <3