character swap with zephyr <3

Charlie sits at the bench, doodling in her sketchbook. There are a lot of other people in the park on this Saturday afternoon, and she watches them sometimes when she lifts up her head. Families walking their dogs together, people jogging with earbuds in, kids chasing squirrels up trees.

“Hey, Charlie, we should get going back soon,” her foster mom says. She and Charlie’s foster dad make their way to the bench and sit down across from her, having just taken a lap around the park like all of the objects of her people-watching.

Charlie rather liked her current foster parents. Their own children had already grown up and headed off to college, they had explained, and it was a little lonely, so that’s why they had decided to foster kids. They have both been nothing but kind and patient with her, a sharp contrast to her last set.
But… she shouldn’t get attached. It would only be so long before she would be gone, to repeat the cycle all over again.

“Okay,” Charlie finally says, closing the sketchbook. Her foster dad had asked her what she liked a few days after she first settled in, and she replied that she didn’t really know, maybe drawing? She’s learned not to share too much of herself, but then he had gotten a sketchbook for her, and nowadays she’s been drawing in it more just to show that she appreciated the gift.

They make their way to the car. Charlie buckles herself in and listens to her foster parents chat about their plans for the evening—tacos and a movie, what do you wanna watch, Charlie? She watches the sun set outside, disappearing beneath the hills, and a sense of contentment settles within her. She loves this feeling, being appreciated, acknowledged, however temporary it might be.

That evening she sits down for the homemade tacos, watching Berry sit by her feet and look up with big eyes, basically begging for a piece. When she finishes, her foster dad sets Spirited Away up, says it’s his favorite Ghibli movie too, and the four of them all settle down to watch, Berry licking the back of Charlie’s hand. In that moment everything else, all of her past and worries, melts away into the background of her mind. If only things could stay like this forever.

critique for sage <3

hi sage! overall your story is really cool :0 juno has a really sweet dynamic with her grandma, and the whole setup of the plot and setting is super compelling. throughout the story i've also caught hints that something's not quite right with this world - i hope i'm reading into this correctly lol but if i am then that's very interesting!

anywaysies i've mainly pointed out parts where you can clarify some details with the story or just have better flow with your writing - i think overall elaborating a bit more on the setting would help a lot! also keep a look out because i did notice some grammatical errors throughout, so if you wanna go back over them with a spellcheck that might be a good idea <3

and if they found her outside of her house

it would be cool if you clarify who “they” are :0 i'm getting the sense that it might be some dystopian figures from the context of the story, but maybe it's just her parents lol

any lights past 7 o’ clock you would be in serious trouble

it would be “she” instead of “you” i believe!

While she did that she replayed

clarifying “in her mind” would be cool just for clarity!

Juno said as her grandma ran about the house. It looked like she was preparing something.

a little bit more description of what exactly her grandma was doing would be cool! maybe you can set up more foreshadowing with the details and also clarify why juno thought she was preparing.

“Willow? Can I trust you with something?”

ooh i wonder why the grandma calls her willow! very interesting

Remember this: ‘Not all willow trees mean sorrow.

and this is super cool dialogue

Before the dinner delivers notice you’re not home

i think it would be “deliverers” instead?

Juno lied in bed, wondering what she meant about the willow tree and suddenly she heard it.

putting “and suddenly she heard it” into a new sentence would make it flow better i think

The flashlights were only used for extreme emergency situations

again, clarifying the exact lore behind this would be really interesting! like with the deliverers thing i was wondering if this implies something about the world juno lives in and whether it's a dystopian government, so unless you want to keep it intentionally vague for now more details would be really neat

Through the ice and snow to the willow tree you must go. Your next clue will be waiting for you.

ooh this is a lovely conclusion to the snippet! very exciting ;D


soo that's about it for my critique <3 please let me know if you have any questions, and great work with this - i really enjoyed reading!

Weekly 2

Part 1

210 words

At the dawn of the 20th century, the world was undergoing massive changes, marked by rapid industrialization and globalization. America and European empires, at the same time, were upholding their land abroad with often violent methods; within these nations, there was still continuing violence against ethnic minorities.

In particular, America has emerged from the period of Reconstruction in the South and was about to do so from the Gilded Age—both boding sinister consequences beneath the appearance of progress, for despite the boosts in economy and the attempts to reform the South, the poor and the minorities of the growing country were increasingly marginalized. The German Empire, on the other hand, was establishing its place in the hierarchy of nations after a rather late start in formation. After uniting and promptly defeating France, it began to expand to obtain colonies abroad. One of these colonies was the city of Qingdao, or Tsingtau as known by the Germans, seized as an act of revenge. Within the next two decades, it was molded by the occupiers far beyond the village it initially was.

And thus was the state of the world in the first years of the 20th century—growing vastly in both its progress and darkness, with ominous boding for the decades ahead.


Part 2

400 words

The fields of Texas are rapidly changing. Gone are the bison that have populated these lands; now they are filled with cattle, cattle and the herders who tend to them. Ranches dot the land, next to railroad tracks that have been freshly built and filled with trains carrying passengers across the vast state. The heat burns. It’s the same picture everywhere, quintessential farm life: children clustered into a schoolhouse, farmers talking in hushed voices about the rising rates that they have no say in, corn plants lined up as far as the eye sees.

Qingdao—or as it has been branded, Tsingtau—is being shaped by the hands of the empire that won it a decade before. It's the same story of railroads, railroads—from Qingdao to Jinan, the capital of the province. With the occupation, the area seems uncomfortably full; not so long before, it was a mere fishing village home to a modest population. German troops fill the street, treating ordinary passersby with heavy-handed disdain. The protecterate doesn't go long before a beer factory's erected, soon to be the landmark of the city in the distant future; indeed, Tsingtao will become synonymous with the famed beer. Yet, for now there is only the unsettling strangeness one feels moving through the sectors of the city arbitrarily mapped by the authorities. The sparkling sun tilting down the mountains down to the seas.

Hamburg, Hamburg, what to say about Hamburg? Only a few decades since everything has been torn down, but the city’s overcome that by full. It’s a city of trade, of industry, of promises. Families huddle on the docks awaiting the ships that will take them away—to the freedom promised in America, perhaps, or the possibility of a fresh exotic life half a globe away. Within the city itself business flourishes, all sorts of foreign tongues heard in the ports. Deeper within the city there are alley quarters, with narrow streets paved with cobblestones and framed by tall apartments, clotheslines stretched full of hanging clothes and small children pattering on the ground as they run. The half-timbered houses of these neighborhoods will see themselves demolished by the middle of the century; still, they are very much alive here. The chatter amongst the buildings and the sounds of horses won’t ever quite cease.

Such are the sights of a growing countryside, a de facto colony by the sea, and a bustling port city.


Part 3

418 words

Yeehawlia Calpha is a 17-year-old capitalist caliaco alpha wolf cowboy living in the wild plains of Texas. But that is quite a lot to take in at once, so let’s break down all of that. She’s an alpha wolf, with caliaco markings, because she’s just such an alpha. You might even call her a furry in modern terminology, if you’re ever so inclined. Although to be fair, everyone in this universe is a furry, so you’ll just have to suck it up.

Her outfit is one of an average cattle herder, aka cowboy, with a jacket over a shirt and a red bandana around her neck, along with trousers and boots. This was a rather uncommon outfit for a girl at the dawn of the 20th century, but hey, she’s a cowboy after all. Cowboys have to wear cowboy outfits, I don’t make the rules.

She also happens to be aromantic—not that such a term existed in these times, and not that it was recognized. And it sure does pose a difficulty, since in these times—like in essentially most of history—an unmarried woman faces rather bleak prospects in life. Tough cookies, Yeehawlia. It’ll be neat if you do happen to meet a fellow aromantic; they do seem to be rare in these parts, but maybe do a little traveling? Not to spoil the story or anything…

Yeehawlia here loves many things, such as writing and dance, but one of her greatest passions is history. (And capitalism, but we will get to that in a second.) She loves studying the American Revolution and the subsequent creation of the nation; it’s a fascinating topic for sure. She also is passionate about studying other eras that, erm, don’t quite count as “history” just yet. Either they happen to be current events or they haven’t exactly happened yet. Sure is a little thorny to sort out. But she certainly cares deeply about the history of her own people, who haven’t quite begun to settle in Texas in this era.

And capitalism! Yeehawlia is a capitalist through and through, and she always has a bag of money. She never cared to investigate too thoroughly, but it’s not very clear whether the bag even has a finite amount of money. She also has the ability to convert currency with ease. Yes, I suppose this is a magical realism universe too… just don’t question it, my dear reader.

And that’s my girl Yeehawlia for you! She certainly bears no similarities to any real-life person… trust…


Part 4

596 words

Yeehawlia blinks awake on a ship. She thinks. It’s really hard to tell in the dim light, but she’s huddled up between a couple of boxes, and the surface beneath her is moving in a way that only really makes sense for a ship.

How… did she get here?

Suddenly, a trapdoor opens above, and bright sunlight filters in down the staircase. She’s startled by how familiar it feels, just like back home on the plains of the Wild West—the summer sun scorching every inch of the land.

She shakes off the thought and surveys her surroundings briefly. Right, boxes upon boxes. She brushes past them and up the stairs, wondering who opened the door before clambering out of it.

Yeehawlia then bumps straight into a random sailor. They stare at each other for a moment, and she promptly runs off, weaving between some other sailors and jumping into the streets below.

The clipped consonants of the German language promptly hit her ears as she steps along the bustling sidewalk. She tips her cowboy hat down, glancing around for a quiet spot to rest. There—there’s a quiet alley, and she slinks over, her alpha caliaco patterned tail brushing against the cobblestones.

As she sits down she comes to a realization: she doesn’t quite know anything about herself. It’s strange; she really only knows herself by a name, Yeehawlia, Yeehawlia Calpha. Yet at the same time she knows everything—the sound of dozens of cows around her, the trains zipping by on the newly-built railroads. Who… is she?

She pats her pockets. A large bag of money emerges from somewhere there. She takes out a dollar and it promptly quadruples into… German marks? A few German pennies—oh, but they call them pfennigs here, she instantly knows—clatter down as well.

Huh. So that just happened. As she stares at the money symbol stitched on the bag, it begins to sink in too: capitalism runs in her blood, in every touch of her paws with anything civilizations use as currency. Hm, seems like she learns something new about herself every passing moment.

Picking up the last of the pfennigs, she dusts off her cowboy boots and stand up, turning to head back out of the alley. The next moment she immediately slams into someone and falls back onto the cobblestones.

She hears a voice exclaim something in a language she doesn’t recognize. Propping herself up, she sees a young fellow alpha wolf holding the hands of a child that must be her son. They share the same features, dark eyes set deep within thick white—well, black and white for the child—fur.

The wolf offers a hand to Yeehawlia and pulls her to her feet. Yeehawlia pats herself down, checking she hasn’t dropped anything in the fall. Well…

“清波，把这姑娘的帽子还给她,” the wolf chides her son gently. He had been toying with Yeehawlia’s cowboy hat, flipping it around on his furry head, but at this he looks up at her and holds it up to her. She picks it up and sets it back upon her head.

“Thank you,” she says to the two of them, and promptly realizes that they probably didn’t understand.

Except… “English?”

“Yeah. Well, I’m, uhm, American,” Yeehawlia says. She was dressed pretty American after all.

The wolf nods. “Well, America is very far. What are you doing here?” She spoke the language with impressive fluency. Dang, what a multitalented queen!!

Yeehawlia blinks, momentarily stunned. What did that strange vocabulary even mean?

“I… don’t know,” she finally says. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t have memories of coming here, even.


(TO BE CONTINUED DURING CABIN WARS PROBABLY!!!!)

Weekly 3

Part 1

329 words

One of the main reasons that I am unproductive is that sometimes I don’t have a clear plan of what to do and when to do them. Having a plan doesn’t guarantee that I always follow through, of course, but I find that I am less likely to be motivated to work on my things if I don’t know what exactly the said things are. This lack of motivation thus leads me to procrastinate.

Another issue that’s been cropping up for me for a very long time is that I’m tired after school. I often spend the early evening doing nothing productive and not locking in until at least 8 or 9 PM. More often than not, it’s not so much being tired that causes me to not do work, but rather the lack of a clear routine to settle in back home and get working. Obviously, getting a break is very important for staying sharp, but I’d simply fritter away my time on miscellaneous things.

On a similar note, I also get distracted easily. This applies to the usual fare of social media and shorts, but this also happens with small tasks. Sometimes I’d open my text messaging services and find that instead of going straight for what I need to check, I’d linger on totally unrelated places until I waste time.

Paradoxically, having a lot of work also makes me procrastinate. As somewhat obvious, this can often snowball until I'm really forced to do a whole lot of work, and the rush of finish the large load of said work reinforces the belief that such a habit is okay.

And finally, just things being boring or unclear also sets me back with being productive. It helps me a lot when I know what exactly I need to do in order to finish something, since this also lessens the boredom for me. Essentially, this reason is a two-in-one package deal!

So, in conclusion… I need to lock in.



Part 2

201 words

The three practices that I tried are music, exercise, and time pressure! The first and third are pretty familiar to me, since I use them on a daily basis, but exercising isn’t something I do very consistently before I do my work, whether it’s in the form of a quick stretch or involving me speedwalking on the treadmill for fifteen minutes.

Overall, it was definitely very interesting examining how each of them really affected my work. Music definitely tends to make homework more appealing, but I find that (especially lately) I can sometimes be too picky with what I want to listen to, or too distracted with songs that have some special relevance to my OCs’ lore. Yes, I’m serious, I zone out thinking about my characters sometimes when I’m supposed to be doing work, and that can lead to more distraction. Generally, however, music is very motivating! Exercise does end up helping my body feel more relaxed after the exercise, which makes studying a lot more comfortable. And finally, time pressure always exists for each assignment I have, but it’s amazing how helpful a somewhat arbitrary deadline (in this case, my professor’s office hours) can be for getting things done.



Part 3

371 words

The method that I tried was the Pomodoro technique, which I used to use more often in the past without much success. So, I tried it for this weekly in the form of a “study with me” video. The way I set it up was that I found a video that had 30 minutes of work time and 10 minutes of break, and I had it open in another tab while I worked on my tasks elsewhere. What ended up happening was that during my first work block, I got a good chunk (about 75%) of the methods section for my lab report done, but then pivoted to working on the daily. I eventually paused the Pomodoro after I ended up going past both the end of the work block as well as the 10 minute break, and a few days later I did a second Pomodoro block to plan my fall break. This time, I was able to concentrate fully on planning for the entire duration of the thirty minutes

Overall, using the Pomodoro technique was pretty helpful! Admittedly I did end up working on the daily halfway through when I was intending to spend the entirety of the first block (and as a matter of fact, the second block as well) on the lab report, and I had a similar issue as the days of my youth when I’d run over my designated Pomodoro block doing other unrelated (often non-productive) things. However, the format of the technique helped me have a set plan for the time to work on my tasks. I do think that due to the novelty the technique had been more effective than if I’d used it on a more frequent basis, but I will try to give it another go in the future if I ever become so inclined, and work on the issue of disregarding time blocks. I may continue to find videos with set-up Pomodoros, but I also remember pomofocus.io being effective in giving a good estimation of the duration needed to finish all tasks listed. Another thing I should keep in mind is to properly split tasks across Pomodoro work blocks, and maybe not restrict myself to one singular task during each.


Part 4
locked in on my lab report, the daily, and my break plan for an hour

daily 11/25

450 words! character is ezra from zephyr :>

“Ezra, where are you?”

Ezra rolls her eyes as she hears her mom’s impatient voice blaring from her phone. “Ma, I’m out with my friends, I told Dad already—”

Her mom immediately starts muttering away in Mandarin, something she’s quite used to. She sighs and hangs up, knowing that she’ll be in for it whenever she gets home. Probably getting an extra hour of piano practice. It’s strange, really—her parents want her to do well in school, extracurriculars, get into a good college, and at the same time marry someone and become a tradwife. Maybe being at an Ivy would be good exposure for future rich boys, she’s always thought.

“Ezra, come on, lemme get a pic!” she hears her friend Phora say from down the aisle. Ezra hurries over and puts on her best smile for the camera. When Phora’s Polaroid spits out and develops the photo, it looks like she’s grimacing. She’s always been much better behind the camera lens than in front of it.

“What do you think of this shirt?” Ezra asks Phora, showing her the band shirt she had nabbed. The band’s logo is patterned in dark red, set against the black of the shirt.

Phora’s style is much different—she’s always either wearing sundresses or a T-shirt and shorts, today it’s the former—but she grins at the sight. “Oh, it’ll look super cool on you!”

“Heh. Well, let me get a pic of you, too.”

She spends some time shuffling Phora around the store, trying to get the best lighting. Then she tilts the camera a little, clicks the shutter.

“This is perfect!” Phora beams as she looks at the photo. Ezra has to agree; she looks absolutely radiant in it. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to do photography if I didn’t know,” she replies with a smirk, but she’s touched by the compliment all the same. She’s wondered many times, too, about what life would be like if she moved to the city, got a gig as a photographer. When she flips through her favorite magazines, she runs her fingers over the glossy pages, studies the framing of the models and bands. Imagines that she is the camerawoman behind all of the bedazzling glory.

The two of them make their way to the line behind the register, where Charlie’s already waiting for them. “Took you two long enough,” she huffs, but gives Ezra’s shirt a satisfied nod all the same.

Once they’ve checked out, the three of them exit back into the main mall. Watching her friends banter and people in this small town pass by each other, lights all around, Ezra feels a strange and sudden hope.