July 22nd, 2025 Daily:

Even the least experienced Scratch Writing Camp camper will know about the significance of mangoes to the camp — at least a little bit.

It’s unclear where the joke about mangoes originated from, though many a person has tried to inquire (unfortunately, to no avail). I am sorry to say that I am only another one of the people who is unsure of where the joke came from, but despite being a person who dislikes fruits in general (yes, including mangoes, which I have never eaten except for dried mango a couple of times, maybe, a LONG time ago), I still know how mangoes are one of the most critical parts of Scratch Writing Camp.

You see, SWC really does run on mangoes. It’s a staple of the camp, and you can’t go more than a day without hearing the word (or reading it, I suppose) somewhere or another. It’s offered as a prize for some activities in The Cabin That Will Not Win (as opposed to points) and also for some dailies, again, as a replacement for points.

Mangoes, to SWC, are a symbol of both silliness and success, and it’s imperative that for National Mango Day, we esteem the mango as we should, for it is important beyond words to SWC’s lore and existence.
~
Word count: 215 words

My grandfather once told me the trees in our valley
have blood like ours.
Sap like veins, bark like bruised skin.

I feel it now,
the slow thrum of something
ancient, moving,
beneath my fingers.

Sometimes I think my own blood
remembers bark and wind. That maybe
I belong more to the trees
than to the people in our house.

2. Oakskin

3. Smokewatch

Mom checks the fire map
before the news.
Dad won’t talk about it.

But some mornings,
the air tastes like coins.

4. Dry season.

not that we have grass anymore.

But he doesn’t water
the lemon tree anymore.

The woods don’t ask questions.

Here, the air smells of wet stone
and time. My notebook flutters

I think they whisper back.
Whispering in a language older than fire.

First, it tastes different.

1. The wind changes.

2. Evacuation order.

3. Fire runs faster.

of wingbeats

I don’t get to say goodbye.
To the oak.

We just drive.
Red tail-lights ahead,
firelight behind.

6. A map of loss.

But yesterday,
near the trailhead,
I see it.

So green
it hurts my eyes.

2.

3. Ghost trees.

4. Dear tomorrow,

July 23rd, 2025 Daily:

—> prompt: “It is easier to die than to love.”

I have always been cautioned never to give my heart away so freely, but, like a fool, I never heeded the words of my elders. I thought, Surely, in a world where we lack so much love, it must be best to make up for it in our every action, and for years, I sought to do that — to give enough that the whole world would be set in balance again, the way it had never been.

The thing is, when you love, it is not just a momentary thing. You must pour your heart and soul into a person or a thing or the world, and only then can you truly say that you have loved.

So yes, I gave up my heart for the possibility of something better, but I realized far too quickly that not everyone would be cautious with my heart. I poured my heart and soul and body and mind into giving, because I thought that the world would, for all its flaws and shortcomings, still be able to see how much I cared, but it did not. The question of why, in fact, we should not give our heart out so freely was not a matter of me being cautious. It was a matter of others refusing to love in the same way, for I had forgotten that love was meant to be reciprocated, at least a little.

Now, I am left a hollow shell. I’ve forgotten how to feel, forgotten how to exist. I’m only a puppet of the world, going through the motions as if I still am here the way I used to be. My innocence faded as quick as the world’s color did, and now, I am only in shades of gray.

I loved, and then it left. It is easier to die than to love.

At least if you die, you can still hope.
~
Word count: 315 words

Lauryne ducked as she saw the double-edged sword sailing towards her head.

Previously imprisoned animals of all different sorts—unicorns and birds and hedgehogs and dragons and fish—all created from the carefully folded pages of books and letters and other sorts of paper covered in words.

The sword clattered to the ground, where a Russian-newspaper monkey snatched it up and scurried away.

A rush of security guards stomped into the room, loud as the sci-fi elephants escaping their prison. (Strange symbols dotted the elephants’ trunks and ears like freckles.) The guards ran around shouting things. They seemed not to have expected this situation.

We need them behind the safety of the glass for their protection as well as ours!

Seeing as they were made of paper and ink alone, even the most venomous of things would be unable to do any harm to a person. Other than a papercut, perhaps.

The weapon itself was long gone, obviously—the monkey had since disappeared—and all that remained of the scene were (other than the scampering chaos of enchanted origami) the sharp pieces of glass on the ground. They were glittering stars on the plain tile floor.

She grabbed Jess’s hand and strode forward with confidence. Weaving around the commotion of guards, folded paper animals, and confused, paper-cut people, Lauryne led Jess towards the glowing neon green exit sign.

The bright sun made her squint as she stepped into the fresh outside air, as crispy as a potato chip.

it had been interesting at first to see all of the magical exhibits, but after a while she’d understood that it was simply cruel to make imagination–what powered magic–illegal.

She wanted to go back through the door portal and find another world to explore, but she was too curious about who had thrown that sword at her head.

“First: Who is the sword guy? Second: Why are we looking for him? Third: Why would we find him at the sword store? Fourth: I can’t remember, but I know I had another one, and fifth, not a question but a comment: that is a terrible deal!”
“First: Obviously, the person who threw the sword. Second: We are looking for him because he has created a lot of chaos by setting the literally literary creatures free, and I’m curious about his motives and backstory. Plus, he almost killed me. Actually, that’s the main reason why. Third: Because now his sword is gone, and he probably needs a new one. Remember, that Russian-newspaper-monkey took it? Fourth: If you forgot the question, I suppose I forgot the answer. And fifth: don’t be silly, Jess. It’s a wonderful deal, and I don’t want to hear about it again.”

Nobody should listen to you.

so he would try to run away instead of buying a new sword.

I want to check out that amazing deal!

Jess groaned. “Sure.”

As they crossed the street, a rabbit brushed by Lauryne’s ankle, giving her a stinging papercut with the edge of its ear. At least it was only one and by accident, however; Jess didn’t see the porcupine sneaking up to attack her legs until it was too late. Then a hummingbird swooped down and sliced each of their noses with its speedy little wings.

A small bell dinged as they limped into the little store, and there was a lingering metallic scent as well as a hint of oil and wood.

There were all kinds of different styles and designs, ranging in length, with some curved and some straight and some that zig zagged on the edge.

He wore a hat with a logo on it that looked]like a circle with a simplified sword in the middle, and the same gray clothing that everybody else in this world seemed to own.

“Wow,” the man said. He seemed relatively unconcerned.
“Aren’t you surprised? Or shocked, or scared?” Jess asked.
“I wouldn’t say I am.”
“Huh.”

(it seemed to be from the pages of a biology textbook)

reached down to hold it in her hands

iii. The Ambulance’s Arrival for the Injured Origami

and soon they heard the wailing, distressed sound of a siren in the distance.

Within minutes the ambulance pulled up to the curb outside the sword store, and Lauryne, Jess, and the shopkeeper ran out to meet it.

Around the street and its sidewalks they could see various people with Band-Aids covering at least fifty percent of any exposed skin.

We almost ran out of Band-Aids.

Another, a doctor based on his clothing (which was still gray and boring but at least had a small badge that said doctor. And he had a stethoscope around his neck and a mask over the lower half of his face, so obviously he was a doctor.) asked to know what they had called the ambulance for.

The frog was about to limp away and Lauryne and Jess were about to thank the doctor when a voice from behind them barked, “You there! You’re under arrest!”

“Who is under arrest?” Lauryne asked.

The man from the sword store slowly backed away and returned to his place inside, behind the counter, waiting for customers, although everybody else was so preoccupied with the presence of the police that they hardly even noticed he was gone.

“All of you! You’re under arrest for assisting a magical creature; namely, this frog right here. Ohhh, he’s so cute! Was he injured? Ah, you fixed him up with a glue stick! Smart of you, Doctor. Now, I really do apologize for this but you will have to come with me. Come on, get in the car.”

The policeman gestured towards his police car, and the three of them squeezed into the back seat. Lauryne didn’t know where the frog went, but she assumed he must have escaped. The police car drove down a few streets–all filled with anti-magic propaganda–until it reached a gray brick building.

Once she had settled into a semi-comfortable position on the thin mattress and scratchy blanket—leaning against the hard bricks behind her, legs dangling over the rail of the bed—she remembered where she was and sighed.

“It was breakfast for dinner tonight,” Lauryne said.
“That’s okay. Jail food probably isn’t that bad.”

Lauryne said nothing. She stared at a small patch on the ceiling where the bland paint was missing. The two of them sat in silence for a while, and then there was an odd noise.

The rumbling grew louder, and then there was a thump that rattled the walls. Jess told Lauryne to get down from the bunk bed, and for once Lauryne appreciated logic. There were more thumps, and then some cracking and more thumps. Finally the wall crumbled to pieces.

Lauryne coughed; the dust tasted like misfortune and the tragedy of original thought not being legal. It tasted like brick powder as well.

Everybody here was forced to be the same, because if they were a tiny bit different, that leads to being more different, which leads to thinking outside the box which is about half a step underneath imagination, which of course is not allowed.

After the jail wall crashed down, it felt as though they were in a movie. Where the wall used to be there were the silhouettes (the sun happened to be directly behind them) of four sci-fi elephants and a girl with swoopy hair sitting atop the middle one. Their rescuers.

Now it was behind the elephants, and she could see the girl riding on top more easily. Her swoopy hair was lavender, which strongly contrasted her caramel-colored skin, and she wore a jacket with a logo that looked like a circle with a sword. Lauryne recognized it from the sword store earlier that day.

And my name is Freya.

Hop onto one of these elephants and let’s go.

“We aren’t an organization solely of spies, but yes, we do have a few agents who gather information.”
“Told you so.”
“Now is not the time for told-you-so’s!
“I don’t trust her. She has spies. And your name doesn’t mean anything, Freya. You could be anybody. And you have spies–”
“You already said that, find another reason.”
“I did? Oh. Well, she’s part of some organization and she has elephants and can break us out of jail… wait, how did you get those elephants?”

Laurnye got on the elephant, careful to avoid paper cuts. Jess got on and sat behind her, also wary of papercuts.

But what does.. Why did you free them?

What does that do”

“You guys are so silly.” Freya said.

As they stood in front,

July 24th, 2025 Daily:

Tell me, Atlas. What is heavier: the world or its people’s hearts?
~Darshana Suresh

***

Atlas was never cursed, not the way you’d think.

For centuries on end, he had been carrying the weight of the heavens on his bare shoulders — that much was true, but the rumors speaking of his ill-fated decision to side against the Olympians in the Titanomachy had it all wrong. Zeus may have done his best to paint him as the villain, may have even convinced the whole universe of his stories, but even if Atlas was the only one to know it, the truth still mattered.

I suppose, dear readers, I should clarify: Atlas was never cursed for treason, for the shame of fighting for the Titans and not the Olympians. But Atlas was cursed in another way.

Atlas was cursed with shoulders too weak for the task, and every breath he took was not a relief but instead a sharp puncturing of the lungs. Every rib in his chest had broken under the weight of the expanses, and pain came with every movement.

Atlas was cursed with shoulders too weak and a heart too big for the task.

Zeus had taken him and the other eleven Olympians aside (as if he, Atlas, would ever have been equal to them in the first place), saying that someone had to do the job. There was dispute, each talking over each other, for holding up the heavens was not a job for the weak-willed. It meant leaving behind everything for the good of the world, and it meant condemning yourself to a life of isolation. It meant you were no longer of this place; you would be an outsider.

Is it any surprise that none of the Olympians volunteered?

Even Zeus himself, who had long since praised himself for being the highest standard, refused to take this job, saying it was not for the most high. Atlas had looked from side to side, waiting for a hand to go up. And there was nothing.

So he put his own up. “I’ll do it,” he told Zeus.

Despite the chatter circulating around the room saying that he is not one of us, is he even fit for the job?, Zeus nodded. “Tomorrow, then. Olympus — and the world — thanks you.”

Only, the thanks lasted for too short a time.

The world has grown heavier as the oceans are filled with more tears than natural sea. The world has grown heavier as our hearts have turned to stone and lead and we refuse to let each other in. And no matter what, Atlas has not said a thing, although his heart has grown heavier and heavier just like the world and the rest of us. He has not said a thing about the way his body must be crumbling and weathered from the hatred and weight.

Someone had to hold the worlds up. Someone had to take the burden.

It’s just a real shame, though, isn’t it? That the one who was kind enough to hold the world was the one to be scorned for that very action?
~
Word count: 518 words

This fan fiction is based upon Clair Obscur, a video game I’ve started playing with my dad this year. I love every single thing about this game — the art, the music, the story, the characters, everything. I went back and forth about what I wanted to do for my entry for a little while (other ideas were to write the storyline of Gris or to write Maelle’s backstory), but ultimately, I decided upon Sophie’s story. She’s more of a minor character in the story, in the sense that she only appears for a few minutes in the cutscene. That I know of.

So I’m actually nowhere near done playing this game (as of writing this, I’ve only just started Act II), so I almost certainly have a bunch of things wrong. But this is the kind of game and story that is so good that there’s no way I’m going to spoil it for myself — honestly part of the reason I chose to look at Sophie instead of Maelle. Also because Sophie is such a sweet character, and I love the dynamic between her and Gustave, even if it only lasts for a short while.

This piece does use some lines from Clair Obscur itself and some that are more inspired but based upon the interactions between Sophie and Gustave. I’d rewatch the cutscenes to figure out precisely which ones those are, but I’m a little bit scared to, again, spoil it for myself. If you are interested in watching the first cutscenes, you can find them here.

I did take a bit of creative freedom with this as well. Some of the lines in this weren’t from the game at all, and to my knowledge, Sophie’s diary does not exist. (Of course, I say this having only played a short bit of the game.) I did my best to keep their personalities consistent with what was in the game and what seemed accurate based on lines and such, but there may be mistakes — which are all mine.

I hope you enjoy reading this fan fiction as much as I enjoyed writing it, and here’s your sign to play Clair Obscur <3
~
Thank you to:
• Everyone involved in the making of Clair Obscur
• My dad for making me play the game
• My sister, dad, and friends for enduring my rambling about the game
• Kiara for critiquing this entry

July 25th, 2025 Daily:

Today is the day of our great escape. We haven’t yet got all the finer details planned out, but Sony says we’ll figure them out along the way. Neo, on the other hand, bites his lip nervously every time Sony mentions how we should all just live by spontaneity, because it’s the superior form to logic. Neo values his logic, and he’s always liked the planning of our heists better than the stealing themselves, never mind whether they’re the stealing of candy and sunglasses or of something greater, like our lives.

Time will cease. Disease will fester. Death will die.

Today, we pack our bags full of snacks (Neo’s full of apples, of course, because it’s pretty much the only thing he’ll eat now) and fake IDs so we can go anywhere we want. If anyone asks us where our parents are, Hikari is just going to say that Sony is our adoptive mother. Sony looks older than she is — though she acts younger.

Like Coeur, I’m not a good liar. So it’s going to have to be either Sony, Neo, or Hikari who does the talking for the rest of us, because false words just don’t sit right on both Coeur’s and my lips.

“Ready?” Sony says, and her voice is sunshine and fire, like always.

Hikari nods. “Ready.”

Sony looks toward the rest of us for confirmation, and Neo, Coeur, and I nod. How we’re going to escape is another matter, but maybe Sony has something up her sleeve that she hasn’t told the rest of us yet.

There’s a whole world out there, a whole world that my friends have hardly seen, and yet, I want to show it to them. If only the bridge did not stand in the way. If only the place where befores met after were not quite so unfortunately placed.

Don’t think about it, I tell myself. It’s a lot harder than one would expect. Just grit your teeth and get through it.
~
Word count: 331 words

July 27th, 2025 Daily:

“Race you there!” she says, because between the two of us, everything is a competition. Whether it’s a game of who can read more books in a year or a race like this — who can run from the house to the ocean faster — that kind of competition was something that drove us. At times, I wished we could take a break from all the competing and just settle for a tie, but even so, even at all the times I hated it (or thought I did), I still can’t deny the fact that I must have loved it in at least equal measure.

Our home isn’t far from the beach — maybe a mile at the most? So when it’s summertime, the two of us will go down there almost every warm day. And on the cold days, too, which only entails more competition. When the water feels like it’s freezing cold, we have competitions like who can stay in the water for longer to test our endurance or who can swim from the shore to the edge of that inlet because there was just something about being the best.

Today, though, all we do is run through the reeds together at the edge of the water, both of us trying to be the first to dip our toes into the water — that heavenly, crystal-clear water. On summer days like this — warm, ninety degree days — being in the water was a pleasant sensation, not one for competing. On days like this, we would make up games together and play in the water instead of competing.

I’m forcing myself to run faster (which is most definitely harder than one might think, given that we’re in the sand) to beat her. And all my effort must help because I do reach the edge of the water faster than she does this time.

“That’s no fair!” she protests, panting between the words. “You only won because you’re older.”

“Sure,” I say, dragging out the word so she knows I’m being sarcastic. “But you’re the one who said it was a race in the first place, so you’ve got no one to blame for it but yourself.”

“Whatever.”

“Let’s go back and see the reeds or something. They’re really pretty today,” I tell my younger sister.

“What? No way. We came here so we could swim!” She pauses. “And besides, you say that every time.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” I retort. “C’mon, I want to take a photo or something.”
~
Word count: 417 words

July 29th, 2025 Daily

…

Whether they were composed of lyrics so raw they could have been the poetry of my mind written in the hand of someone else or whether they were simply chords and melodies put together, as long as it could strike something in my heart, it would mean something.

Music was what restarted my heart when it stopped beating. Music was the line between real and imagined, and it kept me from straying too far into either world. Music was air in my lungs, blood in my veins, sunlight in my soul.

v.

Whether it’s the feeling of someone waiting for you before you leave the classroom or the way they want to know all about your summer (despite the fact that you’ve barely talked in months) when you come back in August or any other way in which it’s shown, we often forget to mention another kind of love: friendship.

We neglect the kind of love that’s often unspoken, because in failing to acknowledge it, we often forget the fact that it, too, counts.

I see it in the way my friends message me when they see something that reminds them of me — the way they get reminded of me in the first place. I see it in the way they listen to my endless rambles and rants, even if they have no idea what I’m talking about. I see it in the way invite me to things, rearrange their schedules for me, pick up the phone when I’m crying but won’t say why.

That kind of love is not as invisible as one might sometimes think it is, at least, not to me. I see it. I may not say it, the way I love them as well, but I hope they know I do.

vi.

It’s in the way that you wait for me even though you always roll your eyes. It’s in the way you’re already planning my sixteenth birthday party, never mind the fact that it’s still five months away. It’s in the way you tell me to take care of myself, and maybe it’s in the roughest way possible, but I love you for it anyway.

Do you know that? I rarely say it, but I love you.

I know you probably like me better when we’re back home — when we’re in the U.S. again.

I don’t say this part, either, but I love spending time with you. I love watching TV with you in the afternoons when I can barely do anything and the way you sometimes do bring up my obsessions, even though you know better than anyone how you’re just about to set off another ramble about them.

I love the way I have a sister who truly is my best friend. I love the way I can tell people, “She’s awesome. She’s my favorite person in the world,” and mean every single word of it.

I have very few hopes and dreams for my life, but one of them has never changed. I hope we stay this way long into the future. I hope we stay this way forever.
~
Word count: 519 words

July 30th, 2025 Daily:

From my place in the sky, I’ve seen many stars die in the distance. I’ve watched them burn out after far too long, after all the lifetimes we’ve shared.

Me, on the other hand, I’m just an inconsequential part of our system. No one looks up at me and wonders at their majesty the way they do the stars or the other planets. I’m an in between — not enough to be considered a planet, my own entity — but too different to be loved the way a moon should be.

They call Jupiter my home, the place I’ll always return to. In a way, I suppose, they’re right, but I dislike the idea of being so tied to a place. I hate the idea of being forever compared to something so much greater than me and knowing that when they look at the sky, their first thought will always be Jupiter and never Callisto.

I wish I was a star. They, at least, are enough to have their own light. They are enough to be worthy of recognition and remembrance.

I wonder, what would they think if I was gone? Would the things they write about mention me by name or just as “Jupiter’s moon”?

I hate being the one to orbit something greater than I will ever be.
~
Word count: 218 words

Part One: Outlining

I’ll start with the general idea of my piece: I want this story to be a Shoot From the Hip fan fiction, and more specifically, it’s going to be based on their long form, Sorry About My Nan. However, instead of being based upon the aftermath of the stag do Jim hosts prior to his wedding with Julie/Lucy, it’s going to be based upon what happens during the stag do, since it’s not fully described in the play.

Here’s a more detailed look into the arc of the story:

• Begins in Jim’s house, setting up for the stag do. Jim, of course, is nervous, wanting everything to be perfect. His nan, Ethel, upstairs, is eagerly prepping herself for the party (supposedly), while his best friend and best man, Michael “Big Jamie Jimbob” is trying to calm Jim down and is helping him set up for it.
• Ethel makes a call to the German farmer (whose role in the chaos will later be revealed), which Michael overhears — only in bits and pieces — but he thinks nothing of it until later
• Party guests are beginning to arrive. Everything is going well. Apparently.
• Ethel wants to make sure that none of the guests leave without her knowledge, AND she wants to be able to keep track of them! So, Ethel being Ethel, she spikes the guests’ drinks with AirTags. She has a hard time getting the guests to actually swallow them, but that’s a different story.
• It’s actually surprisingly okay for a while — no one has gotten seriously injured yet!
• But then a glitter bomb goes off. Ethel? Nooo, Ethel DEFINITELY had nothing to do with this, not at all!! She’s just a sweet old grandmother. (Rightttt?)
• So now the whole place is a mess (and that glitter just seems to get EVERYWHERE — it’s clogging up the sinks and all of that until they’re beginning to flood and all of that). But at least, again, no one is hurt.
• That’s when the sheep arrive.
• Ethel lets the sheep in, turning Jim’s house pretty much into a petting zoo, only…the sheep really aren’t that tame. These sheep act more like goats: They chew on EVERYTHING. She puts a few in each of the rooms (it’s a big house, okay?? That’s why Ethel is there in the first place) and then opens the doors slightly so that they can come out “whenever they feel like it — I wouldn’t want to be cruel to the sheep!”
• Oh, and it quickly becomes clear that it’s NOT just the sheep. Not at all. There are MANY more creatures.
• People, sensing that this is about to go very downhill VERY quickly (and rightly so!) begin to make excuses to leave. Others are also bitten by the animals or hurt in other ways by them, causing more people to leave. One of these people is a mutual friend of both Michael and Jim: Big Jim Clive, who left after getting chewed on by a sheep with strangely sharp teeth.
• Oh, but it seems that Big Jim Clive is important again, and…not for such a great reason. It seems he’s left his wallet at the party — he was just in that much of a rush to go.
• Ethel has a bright idea: Explosive wallets, featuring Big Jim Clive’s as the centerpiece!
• There’s another issue: Jim likes to call it his house, but it’s not his house. He’s renting it. Anddd…it’s not looking good for his deposit.
• What a disastrous stag do. (End)
~
585 words

Part Two: Exposition

Thirty-three-year-old Jim was about to get married to the love of his life, but, of course, you can’t possibly get married without an excellent stag do to celebrate beforehand.

It was T-minus three hours until the guests would start arriving, and he had work to do. Lots of work to do. Luckily for him, though, he had enlisted his best friend Michael “Big Jamie Jimbob” to help him set up.

“Hey, Jim,” Michael said as he poked his head into the room from the kitchen.

“What’s up?” Jim asked.

Michael resisted the urge to say “the ceiling”; he knew Jim was stressed enough as it was. “So I’ve just remembered that I really don’t know how to cook. Uh…don’t be mad at me? Maybe we can like, figure out how to order something in. I don’t know, man.”

Jim sighed deeply. This, now? “Well, uh, yeah, that sounds good. I’ll…I’ll take care of it, Mike.”

“No, I got it. It’s your stag do, after all, and we’re celebrating you. Plus, it’s kind of my fault in the first place.” Michael paused. “Anything in particular you want? Chinese takeout? Pizza?”

“Pizza’s good,” Jim said, nodding, but his mind was elsewhere. He had things to do.

“Alright, I’ll make the order.” He pulled out his phone to do so, when he suddenly remembered something. “Hey, how’s Ethel doing?”

“Ethel?” Jim was busy tidying up his home — he was realizing a little too late that this was something he probably should have taken care of much earlier than, you know, the day of his stag do. “Yeah, she’s good. Upstairs, getting all ready for the party. Doing her makeup or picking out a dress or something, I don’t know. It’s kind of cool to have my nan at the stag do, right? Not many guys do that.”

“Not many guys would want to,” Michael mumbled, quiet enough that no one but him would hear it. He loved Jim, he did, but really? Who invites their nan to their stag do?

***

Meanwhile, upstairs, Ethel was indeed getting ready for the party. It just wasn’t in the way Jim expected.

Ethel might have been a grandmother (“Don’t call me ‘old,’ Jim. I’m not ancient.”), but she sure didn’t act her age. Ethel liked to say she was full of fun.

So, being young at heart still, she was always up for a good prank. This was something she had been planning for months — the most memorable stag do ever — and it was time she began putting her plans together. First thing was first: She needed to make a call.

She dialed a familiar number from her past, and within moments, the person at the other end picked up.

“Henryyyy,” she squealed, dragging out the last syllable of his name.

“Oh, Ethel! It’s you!” Henry responded with equal eagerness. “Is this about the sheep?”

Ethel nodded, then remembered that this was only an audio call and Henry couldn’t see it. “Yes, that. And also—” she lowered her voice “—the other animals. You know. Just a reminder that the party starts in three hours, so if you could get them here by then, that’d be great.”

“Why, of course, of course! I’ll be right on it. They’ll get delivered to your home safe and sound, don’t worry.”

“But a little hungry, right?” Ethel pressed. “You know what I said.”

“Obviously,” Henry responded. “I’ll make sure of it. I’m sure your son is going to love you for it.”

“Grandson.”

“Oh, that’s right! You still have the same energy you had then, so it’s hard to remember.” Henry laughed. “Well, I’ll see you then.”

“Looking forward to it.” And then she hung up. This party was just about to get started.
~
623 words

Part Three: Story Ingredients
—> Elements: Mangoes, Thor, frying pans, Cabin Wars, soul-stealing

Little did Ethel know, but right outside her room, Michael was taking care of some important business: namely, cleanup. Cleaning up was always one of Jim’s least favorite things to do, so because he felt so bad for messing up the cooking (he’d only burned every one of the three pies he made — not even from scratch, but using premade filling and store-bought pie crust — and severely oversalted the steak), Michael figured he’d give his best friend a hand. The poor guy was already going out of his mind trying to keep track of all the things that had to be done in the next few hours.

As Michael walked by, he heard Ethel talking on the phone. He didn’t want to intrude, of course, but he couldn’t help but hear a few things she said.

“…the party starts in three hours, so if you could get them here by then, that’d be great…” A pause. “…a little hungry…” A pause. “Looking forward to it.”

Huh. So it seemed that Michael had misjudged Ethel; she really did seem to care about Jim. He thought that was awfully sweet, and you know, if Jim wanted his nan around for the party, good for him. Michael was happy on his behalf that he was so excited to have her join in. But “a little hungry” — what was that about? Michael had no idea. Maybe she was referring to the guests (right, he had yet to actually finish placing that order, because in all the chaos of preparation, it kind of got forgotten) or perhaps it was just her own state of hunger she was confessing to a friend. A little odd, but then, Ethel had always felt a little off to Michael. But once again, he was happy for Jim.

***

In just a few hours, guests were starting to trickle in, old friends like Dave, Carl, and Johnny-Boy greeting Jim with a hug and some words of congratulations.

“Julie’s a great girl,” Dave said.

“Lucy,” Jim corrected absentmindedly.

Johnny-Boy added, “Yeah, that’s right. We all like her. Good for you, man.”

Jim smiled and nodded before ducking away — “My grandmother,” he explained — to go get his nan.

He knocked three times on her door. “Just a minute, Jim!” she called back, and it sounded like she was giggling. Well, at least someone was having a good time.

***

Back at her home Julie/Lucy was busy with the wedding preparations. “Let’s see,” she said to herself, twirling the pen in between her fingers. “The bridesmaids can wear purple. No, lilac. Right. That’s better.”

She knew, of course, that tonight was the day of her fiancé’s stag do, so it was important she didn’t bother him tonight to tell her of her choices. That, she decided, could wait for tomorrow. In the meantime, Julie/Lucy, being the organized person that she was, decided it was time for a bit of journaling.

Hi! I know that no one reads this except for me (I hope…), but it still feels kind of wrong not to begin my entries with a greeting. “Dear diary” feels really childish, so here I am. “Hi,” I suppose, will have to be good enough.

I think today, the wedding planning has been going pretty well. I’ve started putting together a list of some friends I’d like to come and even assigned some roles for during the wedding. I made sure Ethel had a part in it, of course, because I knew that would make Jim happy. Not fully sure why, but he really does love his grandmother. Not that I’ve got any complaints with that, though — I find it awfully sweet.

Michael and I have talked about it in the past, and I’ve decided to just go with it, you know? I told him the same thing. But when we do live together? I definitely don’t want her living in my upstairs.

Sorry, Ethel. And Jim.

Anyway, I ought to start making my dinner now. Goodbye!

***

Phase one: complete. Ethel’s delivery of Apple AirTags had just arrived (though she had made sure to get them delivered to the house next door, just so that Jim wouldn’t see), and she’d done her best to slip them into the lemonades in the form of ice cubes. Thankfully, she had had the foresight to make sure they would be waterproof. Waterproof was basically the same as lemonade-proof, right?

Anyway, Ethel was thrilled to see the reaction. She’d had to think quite hard just to figure out how she could put those AirTags in their drinks and, you know, actually make the guests swallow them, but she figured that enough people would swallow the ice to make it work, right?

But why? Ethel, obviously, had her reasons. She wouldn’t spend so much time trying to figure out such an elaborate plan if she didn’t have an explanation for it.

She loved Jim, and his friends…they’d better be good for him, right? So just in case, she decided to track them.

That, and she also just thought it would be fun, and Ethel loved fun — particularly when it wreaked the most havoc possible on others’ lives.

***

As Michael walked around the party, mingling with old friends, he reminisced about when he and Jim both met all the way back in elementary school.

Jim was sitting alone on the playground, waiting for school to start. Michael, on the other hand, was reading a book — despite the fact that his parents had long since been urging him to make a friend. The two of them had known of each other, but they hadn’t really actually known each other.

When the class was called inside, Jim rushed to the door while Michael walked slowly, his nose still in a book. Later, they were supposed to pair off for a science project, and within what felt like seconds, everyone had a partner.

Everyone, that was, except for Jim and Michael.

Naturally, the two of them paired with each other, because misfits seemed to always gravitate toward each other. Also because there was no one else left to partner with.

They worked quietly at first, following the instructions in the protocol for the baking soda and vinegar volcano and doing nothing more, but when they finished with a good half an hour to spare, they began awkward conversation, only to find out that they had a shared interest in dinosaurs.

As elementary school kids, that was all it took.

All of these other people had been additions along the way, but Jim and Michael were always the ones that everyone associated with each other.

They told each other that they always would be.

***

Michael’s fond memories and Jim’s conversations were cut off abruptly when there was a boom somewhere in the house.

“Excuse me,” Jim said, “but I’m just going to go check that out.”

He had thought this party was going okay, but he wasn’t at all prepared for the explosion of glitter. It was everywhere, truly everywhere.

“Oh, no,” he muttered. He realized he would have to clean this up. But the guests! What would he do about the guests?

Never mind, I’ll leave it for later, he decided. Maybe the guests would just think it was part of the plan. To add a little extra fun to the party. Yes, that would be the right thing to do. Just laugh it off and ask if the guests liked the party trick.

***

Ethel stood at the side of the room, watching the chaos unfold and trying her best not to look guilty. She was, after all, only a sweet old lady — how could she have anything to do with this?

Little did they know, but the glitter bomb was phase two of the plan, and in Ethel’s ever-so-humble opinion, she thought phase two had gone rather swimmingly.

The large boom was a bit unexpected, she would admit to that, but to be fair, the rest of it had gone just as she had planned it. The glitter bomb in the center of the room (which she had placed directly under a few floorboards after digging them up when Jim and Michael had been over at Julie’s/Lucy’s — whatever — house to do some wedding planning) had had enough power for the glitter it expelled to hit the ceiling.

But that was only the first of five. Boy, someone sure would be getting a shock. From what? She wouldn’t say.

But…let’s just say that the bathrooms weren’t the safest place to be right then.

***

Johnny-Boy was just about to wash his hands when the next glitter bomb went off. Pink glitter found its way into the shower and the drain, and sure, it was kind of pretty at first (not that he’d ever admit it), but he really had forgotten just how easily glitter gets…well, everywhere.

Johnny-Boy, all of a sudden, was pink. And sparkly. Very sparkly indeed.

He tried to wash the glitter off of his face, but it quickly became apparent that this type of glitter was not the one that would come off easily.

But that was the least of Johnny-Boy’s problems. “JIM!” he screamed.

The faucet was still running, but the bigger issue was that with the glitter made it impossible to turn off. It had pretty much forced the sink to remain in the running position, and no matter how hard he tried to twist the knobs, they just wouldn’t budge.

Oh, and the BIGGEST issue?

The drains were all clogged up with glitter.

***

The flooding was beginning to spread from the bathroom to the rest of the house, and it wasn’t long before puddles were everywhere. As it turned out, that wasn’t the only sink that was clogged and running. It was only a matter of time, Jim thought, before they were standing in water.

What on Earth is going on? Jim thought. This has been the most disastrous stag do I’ve ever been to.

Sure, Jim hadn’t been to that many stag dos, but this was also worse than anything in his wildest imagination — and considering how much time he had spent overthinking this event (he decided now that he had actually severely underthought it) that was saying something.

Jim had no idea, though. Things were about to get a lot worse really fast.

***

Because she was old (as if she’d ever admit it), Ethel did at least have the ability to giggle without anyone wondering if she had anything to do with all of the catastrophes that were happening. Everything would just be chalked up to her age.

Except for Michael. Michael had always been suspicious of Ethel.

But never mind Michael. Ethel had THINGS to do. Very important things to do.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Ethel looked around, momentarily terrified that someone had heard the doorbell ring, but it seemed that the sound had been lost in the commotion. Thank goodness.

It was actually the doorbell from the back door that had rang, just as Ethel had instructed Henry.

After checking just to make sure that no one was watching her, she made a beeline for the back hall and opened the door at the end of it just a crack. Instantly, she was met with a mass of eager animals trying to chew on the hem of her long skirt.

”Ethel!” Henry exclaimed. “It’s good to see you.”

“Shhh,” Ethel hissed. “It’s a secret, remember?”

Henry sighed. “Yes, yes, that’s right. Well, I’ll leave them all here with you, alright?” He glanced toward the animals, all straining against their leashes. “I’ll be here to pick them up in a few days, okay?”

Ethel nodded. “Four days. That’s what my grandson said. It’s going to be a four-day thing.”

“Yes, four days. I’ll see you then. Have fun, Ethel,” Henry responded, smiling.

And then it was just Ethel with the herd of hungry animals.

***

Ethel closed the door to the guest bedroom (the second one, not the one she’d been in for the last two years) behind her after a lot of wrestling the animals into their…pen? Whatever. But she refused to latch it properly, because the sheep (and goats, and pigs, and everything else) needed a bit of space to roam around. Plus, it was essential to her plan.

The ones in the second guest bedroom were the last of them. Phase three setup: complete.

The good thing about this plan was that there was no reason for Ethel to be there and take care of the hungry farm animals. She didn’t need to do anything more but put them in a room together. All she had to do was wait.

It didn’t take long for phase three to begin: hungry animals pawing at the door until it opened, letting them have free rein of the whole house.

Ethel snuck back to her rocking chair. Luckily, it seemed as if no one had noticed her temporary absence. Perfect.

***

They had long since resigned themselves to the fact that the sinks would not stop leaking, but in a desperate attempt to save the stag do, Jim kept on putting fresh towels down on the floor to soak up the water. It was hardly effective, but it made him feel like he was at least a little useful.

Nearby, Michael sighed. “You good over there, Jim?”

Clearly not. Jim, however, did not say that. “Yeah, I guess.”

“‘Kay, that’s good,” Michael began. “Because I hate to tell you, but…we’ve got another disaster on our hands.”

“What? What do you mean?” Jim turned sharply, just in time to see a goat chewing on his sofa. The stuffing was beginning to poke through, it seemed. “Oh, no, no, no, this is not good,” he said, lifting the goat (which had quite well attached itself to the couch) off and shutting it in the bathroom, which was still flooding.

More animals followed. A sheep — two of them, actually. A boar, he thought another he saw was. And a pony. A literal pony. How did that even get in the house? “What’s going on? It’s like someone’s sabotaged my stag do!” he exclaimed.

Just then, Big Jim Clive, a mutual friend of both Jim and Michael rushed into the living room. “JIM. JIM, IT BIT ME.” He waved his hand around frantically as if to illustrate this point, though all Jim could see was a bit of a blur of red and skin, which Jim realized a moment later was probably not a good sign.

“Shoot, you’d better go get that checked out. I don’t know where these stupid animals are coming from, and who knows where they’ve been?” Jim was getting more and more worried by the second. What would his friends think of him now? Would they hate him?

Would Julie/Lucy still even want to marry him?

“Look, man, I want to celebrate with you,” Big Jim Clive began, “but I’ve really got to go. I can’t be here with all of this…this…you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. No hard feelings.” Definitely hates me.

Big Jim Clive wasn’t the only one to leave. Definitely not. People quickly began filing out of the house, making hasty excuses and thanking Jim for inviting them, promising to try to come to the wedding. Jim didn’t fully think they were telling the truth about that last part — why would anyone want to come back after such an awful stag do? — but he nodded and shook hands with them on their way out anyway.

And then it was just Jim, Michael, Ethel, and a few more stragglers.

One might think the fun was over. But the best was yet to come.

***

People began leaving quickly, Ethel saw, and she was awfully disappointed that they didn’t appreciate all the antics and plans she had put together carefully. Shame on them — they didn’t know what they were missing out on.

Thank goodness she had the great foresight to spike their drinks with those AirTags.

But Ethel wasn’t done yet. She had one last trick up her sleeve to prove to the rest of Jim’s friends that this would just be the best stag do ever!

Phase four was originally an unplanned phase, but when she saw the wallet on the floor, an idea struck her like lightning. The glitter bomb was fun, but there could be more excitement. What about…an exploding wallet?

Firstly, though, she opened it up to check the ID, just in case it was Jim’s. But nope, it wasn’t at all Jim’s! It was Big Jim Clive’s — who was, by the way, a totally different person, just to clarify.

So anyway, Ethel figured it was probably fine. Big Jim Clive had left his wallet behind and hadn’t seemed to care that much. For starters, if Big Jim Clive really did care about his money, he probably would have noticed that he left his wallet on the table. And he definitely would have come back for it when he realized.

The point of the matter is this: Big Jim Clive couldn’t possibly care much about his wallet, and Ethel, who cared about it SO much more was obviously the right person to take care of it.

And with that, she got to gathering materials for the grand finale. Ethel was going out with a bang — literally.

***

For the first time all evening, Jim heard Ethel’s shrill voice all through his house. “GATHER ROUND, GATHER ROUND,” she screeched.

Jim sighed. He loved his nan, but couldn’t she just…kind of read the room? Like, this whole time, he had been fretting and panicking because of everything that was going on, and here Ethel was, just trying to gather his remaining friends into the room?

“COME ON!” Ethel’s volume seemed to be increasing with every sentence, as if she was making up for her earlier quietness. In part just to shut her up, Jim began walking toward the living room, and the last of his friends, naturally, followed.

“Friends,” Ethel began. An important note: Ethel had not met most of these people before, just Michael. “You all have passed my tests. Yes, go ahead, pat yourselves on the back, good for you. But! This party isn’t over yet!”

The audience — and Jim — exchanged highly confused glances.

“Now, the earlier phases of my plan were fun—”

“Wait a minute,” Jim said. “Do you mean to say that you planned all of this nonsense for my party? Nan, you ruined my stag do!”

Ethel would have none of that. “I didn’t ruin it at all! I am rebuilding you. Just you wait to see what the new versions of your Ethel-infused selves will look like! Someday, Jim, you’ll thank me. Now, moving on—”

Again, she was interrupted, only this time, by Michael. “So that’s what you were talking about on the phone. About them being hungry. You meant the animals!”

“Well, of course I did,” Ethel sniffed. “Wait. Michael, you weren’t EAVESDROPPING, were you? That’s not very polite.”

“Well, I-I it wasn’t intentional. I wasn’t trying to.”

“Never mind that. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted yet again, there’s more, don’t you all worry! I’m going to make you all better people than you ever thought you could be.”

This was what Henry always said of Ethel: “She breaks you into pieces, and then she rebuilds you!” It was time Ethel started using that same argument about herself.

“Nan…what do you mean?” Jim asked nervously.

“I have here a wallet of a certain—” Ethel realized she’d forgotten the name, so she pulled out the ID to check, — “Big Jim Clive. Odd name. But anyway!” Her voice turned singsongy. “It’s going to be the grand ending of this!” And before anyone could say anything else, the wallet exploded. How was a different question. But with Ethel, anything was possible.

Everyone scrambled back as it burst into flames. “Oh, don’t worry! The floor is stone, anyway. I think. You all probably won’t die, and even if you do, it was all in good fun, right?”

“Nan, NO!” Jim shouted. But it was too late. Big Jim Clive’s wallet was already on fire. If poor Jim hadn’t been too shell-shocked to respond only a few seconds earlier, the words could have had an effect on Ethel, but instead, she only stood by gleefully and watched it catch on fire.

The last of the guests immediately found their way to the front door without even saying goodbye. The only words they had were, unfortunately, not the things Jim wanted to hear on his stag do.

“What a nightmare.”

“I’m outta here. That woman is nuts.”

And then it was just Ethel, Michael, and Jim.

“So, boys,” Ethel said, smiling, her gapped teeth showing through between her lips, “now it’s just us. For the next four days.”
~
3,495 words

Part Four: Conclusion

A few days later…

Jim was still embarrassed on behalf of his nan. And Michael was utterly horrified at her, at the fact that he could ever have thought that old Ethel might not have had any kind of love for her grandson, no matter how strange it was.

”That is NOT how I expected that event going,” Jim remarked as he sat down next to Michael.

Michael’s deep exhale mimicked the despair Jim felt. “Nope.”

“Well…the food was good.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be talking about the foooood,” Michael responded, dragging out the last word.

“I mean, I knew she liked to party, but I didn’t know she liked to party that hard.”

“Is she still…is she still…?” Michael’s voice trailed off.

“Yep. She’s, uh, she’s still alive.”

And then, as if to prove Jim’s point, there was a knock at the door. Rather, there was a knock at the door from the first of the two guest bedrooms, which was the one that housed Ethel. And another knock. Despite her bedroom being on the second floor, they could still hear it “Oh, no, that’s got to be her,” Michael groaned. “Quick, hide. Don’t let her in.”

“I HEARD THAT!”

“Coming, nan,” Jim told her, but he made no move toward the door. “What do we do?” he said to Michael.

“I HEARD THAT AS WELL!”

“Alright, alright, I’m actually coming now.” He trudged upstairs, taking the key from his pocket, and unlocked the door to his nan’s bedroom. “There.”

Ethel embraced Jim, who accepted her hug stiffly. “Wasn’t that just SO MUCH FUN? I knew it was your house, so I figured it didn’t matter how dirty it got. You boys are still young! You can clean it up, no problem!” Ethel got this faraway look for a second. “Oh, to still have a good back. But it’s a good thing to learn how to pick up after yourselves. Or, wait, after your nan.”

“There’s just one thing, nan,” Jim said slowly.

“What’s that?” Ethel’s voice sounded like she truly did not care for the answer. “It was fun.”

Jim began speaking: “It was, but—”

“Jim. Don’t even say that.” Then Michael turned to Ethel. “That was not fun. Okay?”

Ethel shrugged. “If you say so! But I had fun. I’ve never been at a more exciting stag do.”

“Nan, you’ve never been to another stag do.” Jim paused. “Never mind. But the thing is…it’s not my house. I’m renting it.”

“Ohhhh,” Ethel said, but clearly she did not understand what Jim was trying to say.

“I’m gonna lose my deposit on this place. And probably get kicked out.”
~
443 words

Hi, everyone! I’m Snowy, and I use she/her pronouns! I’m a Singaporean, American, and Swiss (half, quarter, and quarter respectively) bookworm, writer, and a whole lot more which I will most likely describe in depth as I go on with this, largely seeing as this is going to (hopefully) end up being a one thousand word intro. So firstly, let me start by warning you, because I think that it is kind of important to know that my one thousand word introductions and whatever tend to just mainly be me rambling about my hobbies and interests and whatever current obsessions I have, and seeing as I am in a very much so ramble-y mood at the moment, there will almost certainly be a good deal of that in this daily!

Now, with that out of the way, let’s get on to the rest of the introduction I’m writing.

For starters, I live in Singapore, so my time zone is UTC+8, or as I know it, Singapore time. I’ve lived here for a little over five years now, but before that, I lived in the U.S.

I live with my sister (who’s absolutely the best, and despite the fact that some siblings really don’t get along, I’d like to say that we’re absolutely not that kind of sibling relationship…that feels weird to say, but whatever, I do not think that the words are really working with me at the moment, so that’s close enough), my parents, and my paternal grandparents! I also, of course, have my cat, Sugar, for which the second part of my username is named. Ugh. That feels redundant. Anyway.

As a reader, I obviously love, love, love reading, though unfortunately sophomore year has gotten really busy, and I have not really had that much time to read, which is indeed very sad. But my favorite books are The Hunger Games (the whole series, but I especially loved The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes) and, of course, I Fell in Love With Hope by Lancali, which I have now read about sixteen times, if I am remembering that correctly. Now, you may ask why I am not actually italicizing the titles, and the reason for that is because despite the fact that it is grammatically correct to do so, I am just not in the mood! As it turns out, italicizing things on the forums is really quite irritating, so I shall just utterly neglect this step.

Beyond just those, I also love to read poetry and realistic fiction, and I’m very proud to say that I’ve met two of my favorite authors in real life and have written to one with a response, which is super cool! I love all of Ocean Vuong’s books for poetry, and for realistic fiction, my favorite author might just be Kathleen Glasgow (which is one of the people I have met!). I also like a good historical fiction book from time to time as well, though it also really depends on my mood and how well-executed they are.

Okay, I also absolutely love writing, as you might be able to guess! I’m currently applying for the National English Honor Society, which I will hopefully be accepted into, though I haven’t quite finished drafting my essays yet. Soon, though! I love to write poetry and some strange hybrid genre that I no longer really know how to describe. Lately, I’ve mostly been writing poetry, because my ability to actually deal with plot is pretty much nonexistent. That’s one of my main hopes for things to improve.

And, of course, another interest of mine is music! I love music so much, and I will ramble about my loves in music very often. My favorite artists at the moment are Gracie Abrams and BLÜ EYES, though others that make it into my top five include Noah Kahan, Cœur de Pirate, and also Maëlle. I think. It’s been getting hard to define concretely lately. I love both English songs and French ones, despite not speaking the latter yet, though I do hope to double on languages next year so that I can learn French! The other language I am currently learning is Mandarin Chinese, which I’d like to say I’m decently okay at. I could probably get by.

Anyway, Have I mentioned that I love French songs? Cavale by Cœur de Pirate, which came out last week, is so insanely good, and you all should listen to it!

Basically, I’m just super obsessed with music in general, and in addition to listening to it basically nonstop and thinking about it (or rambling about it) quite a bit, I’ll also commonly be found playing the piano! I love playing piano, and oftentimes, I’ll just sit there for a while and figure out the melodies for songs on piano by playing around with the chords and such. I’m currently learning Old Lumière - Réverénce on the piano, which is so much fun to play. Also Alicia, though I’m only going to like halfway through that one. I had this really great idea this morning to actually try to arrange Le pianiste des gares by Maëlle on the piano, which I have not started, but I will try! Hopefully it goes okay, because it’s such a fun song, and it would be really cool to be able to play it.

It has come to my attention that I also really like playing French songs on the piano. Huh. To provide a counter example, I also love playing Risk by Gracie Abrams on the piano and counting houses (instrumental) by Luz.

Ooh, I’m actually almost at the full thousand words so far, but I’ll probably end up rambling a little bit more besides just that. Because that’s kind of just the way I am.

Lately, I’ve been super obsessed with Shoot From the Hip, a British improv comedy group. I love all their stuff because it’s just so funny, oh my goodness. Also! My main obsession as of late has totally been Clair Obscur, which I could most definitely go on about for at least another five hundred words, but given that I should probably be getting to my homework now, I’ll just talk about it briefly. It pains me to do so.

Clair Obscur is definitely the best video game that I’ve ever played, and it’s got such wonderful music and graphics and the plot and writing and characters and their interactions is absolutely perfect, and you all need to play it! And ramble to me about it, because I am severely deprived of people to ramble to who actually know what I’m talking about!

Finally, I’m also a soccer player, and I’ve been playing for about ten or eleven years now! I’ve forgotten exactly how long, but it’s been quite a while. Anyway, I play left wing, which used to be a forward position but is now more midfield because our coach switched our formation slightly, which is sad because I loved being forward. But I’m kind of figuring it out. I’m also the captain of the JV girls soccer team! It’s so much fun, and all the people are just so wonderful.

Oh, whoops, I have just realized that I’ve totally forgotten to mention that this is my first session of WUC, and I’ll be leading Hi-Fi with Cat this session! And that brings me past my one thousand words, so farewell!
~
Word count: 1,238 words

Hi, Fanta!


I’m here to write you a letter, as you probably know, for the daily for WUC today! Anyway, in case you don’t know me (since I don’t think we’ve talked much before), I’m Snowy!

Firstly, those all seem like great goals! I’m sure you’re going to be able to achieve them <3

I think the main thing about reaching your word goal is to do a little bit every day! If you work consistently toward it, I’ve got no doubt that you’ll be able to complete it. Plus, the nice thing about that is that it kind of goes hand in hand with your other goals. Doing the dailies and weeklies are a really nice way to get inspiration to write other stuff, at least from what I know based on SWC.

As for your goals on completing dailies and weeklies, I’d probably spread them out if you think you’re going to be busy! Do the dailies and weeklies that most interest you, because I guarantee you that you’re going to have a lot more fun writing them when you’re doing them because you actually love the prompts, not because you’re just trying to reach a goal. I mean, that’s important, but I’m sure you’ll be far more inspired if it’s something that you like!

I’ll admit—this definitely isn’t my best daily, so I apologize for the probable lack of coherence and quality of this letter, but I hope that it’s helpful nonetheless. I’m sure that you’ll be able to complete your goals, and we’ll all be here cheering you on!

Best of luck to you,
Snowy
~
Word count: 268 words