I Really Want To Write A Short WIP Celebrating How Important, Helpful, And Wonderful Sexual Alters Can

I love how on Tumblr, "media literacy" has become "Um, just because someone writes about this doesn't mean they're endorsing this. I hate all these media puritans ruining everything."

I'm sad to inform you that knowing when and whether an author is endorsing something, implying something, saying something, is also part of media literacy. Knowing when they are doing this and when they're not is part of media literacy. Assuming that no author has ever endorsed a bad thing is how you fall for proper gander. It's not media literacy to always assume that nobody ever has agreed with the morally reprehensible ideas in their work.

Sometimes, authors are endorsing something, and you need to be aware when that happens, and you also need to be aware when you're doing it as an author. All media isn't horny dubcon fanfic where you and the author know it's problematic IRL but you get off to it in the privacy of your brain. Sometimes very smart people can convince you of something that'll hurt others in the real world. Sometimes very dumb people will romanticize something without realizing they're doing it and you'll be caught up in it without realizing that you are.

Being aware of this is also media literacy. Being aware of the narrative tools used to affect your thinking is media literacy. Deciding on your own whether you agree with an author or not is media literacy. Enjoying characters doing bad things and allowing authors to create flawed or cruel characters for the sake of a story is perfectly fine, but it is not the same as being media literate. Being smug about how you never think an author has bad intentions tells me you're edgy, not that you're media literate. You can't use one rule to apply to all media. That's not how media literacy works. Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Aheem heem. Anyway.

Intro Post

About Me

My name is Eric. I'm 39. I don't have much to say about me. I am working on an unnamed WIP right now.

Stories

My AO3 account for anyone curious.

An Unnamed Western WIP

Set in the late 1880s where the Union lost the American Civil War, where the Confederacy crumbled within five years and now North America is covered with a bunch of feuding warring states. A 24-year-old woman, unusual in many ways, works as a bounty hunter until a chance encounter with a slightly older woman and with the notorious James Rogers Gang.

For now, I will only share one chapter as I want to try and trad-publish or self-publish it once it is done. :3

Chapter One - Five Dead In Two Minutes

Cara and the Will-o'-the-Wisp - Kind of on Hiatus

A girl the age of 12 moves with her family to Mount Desert Island, Maine from Oregon. Where she meets an odd but friendly girl named Rowan, who declares there's old magic in the woods, and what's with the door underneath the stairs?

Chapter One - A New, Weird Home

Chapter Two - Once Upon A Cat

Chapter Three - A Bully This Way Comes

Chapter Four - An Unfamiliar, Familiar Place

Chapter Five - What's In The Woods?

Short Stories

The Act

"Why is it a problem if students use AI to get through college"

Because if you demonstrate to me that you're willing to set aside concern for truth, evidence, and verifying things with your own eyes whenever it happens to be inconvenient for you, I have a solemn responsibility to make sure you don't get into medical school.

Beta Reader Call!

I am currently polishing up the third draft of my portal fantasy novel, A Song in the Wilderness, which means it's finally time for one of my favorite parts of the writing process: beta reading! I have already reached out to a couple of regular readers, but I am in search of two or three more beta readers to give me some fresh eyes on this story.

Have you always wanted to try beta reading but don’t want too much pressure? Do you need more reading material to while away the sweet summer hours (or cold winter nights, for my Southern Hemisphere friends)? Are you eager for a chance to take a red pen (literal or otherwise) to someone else's writing? Do you want a quiet, character-driven story about faith, duty, and sacrifice? This might be the project for you!

Note: Responses must be submitted by May 12th.

*If you are interested in reading this story but don't want the pressure of formal beta-reading or if the deadline doesn't work for you, please see my note near the bottom.*

A bit about the story:

More than ten years ago, Paige tripped through a portal and ended up in a different world—with no way to get back. She arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back, a kitten in her pocket, and strange new powers that nearly destroyed her before she learned how to deal with them. The people of this world taught Paige to survive. Like her, they have had to eke out a living on the far side of their own apocalypse, carving out a tenuous peace in a world ravaged by war and disease. Over the years, many of those people have become her friends, and one of them hopes for something more. But Paige doesn't want more. All she has to live for is the hope that one day she will find the answers she seeks. All she wants is to go home. And then everything Paige has come to know about this world changes in a moment. The high king of the northern clans is dead. War is brewing across the desert. Paige's friends are looking to her, with her strange Traveler's gifts, to help them survive. Paige has no desire to be drawn into this conflict. Instead, deciding she has nothing to lose, she makes a desperate gamble. That gamble takes her into the wilderness, where she finally learns just how much she must give up in order to gain the one thing she wants most. A Song in the Wilderness is a portal fantasy about learning to live on the other side of your own apocalypse. "This story broke me. I am completely at its mercy." - My sister

Estimated word count: 85,000 words (roughly 330 pages in standard book format; around the same length as Persuasion, The Secret Garden, Sabriel, The King of Attolia, and Cinder)

Note: This is not (in my opinion) the kind of story I typically write. There is very little action. The plot is character-driven and is heavily introspective, examining faith, responsibility, and relationships of all sorts. Outside of events that cover three or four chapters, there's no clear antagonist. Where it does align with my usual writing is in themes of grief, sense of place, and hope.

Project tag on tumblr (mostly spoiler-free)

What I need from my readers:

Open, honest feedback about:

Plot/story structure: Does it make sense? Is it compelling?

Characters: Are they consistent and realistic, with clear motives, believable choices and actions, and distinct personalities?

World-building and writing style: Is it concise, or is it simply swimming in exposition? How is the pacing? Also, exactly how much attention should I put on transitions from one scene to the next?

With this being a third draft story, my main concern right now is the overall structure of the story. I need to know what works, what doesn't, and what needs more attention in the next round of revisions. Whether you prefer to leave editorial or reactionary comments, line-by-line or in summary, so long as you can point out the story and writing issues that stand out to you, we’ll get along just fine. You do not need to have prior beta reading experience, just a willingness to read critically and offer honest feedback.

Note: If at any time you decide, for any reason at all, that you won't be able to complete this beta reading project, you only have to shoot me a message to let me know. There are absolutely no hard feelings. I've been there.

Dates and things:

This project will run from May 17th to June 30th. You can read the story at your own pace any time within that time frame, but I do ask that you have the project completed and your notes submitted by June 30th.

I will have a questionnaire for you to fill out at the end of your reading. Additional notes can be in-line comments in the document itself or in a summary either emailed or messaged to me--whichever and however much works for you. I am open for messages if you randomly decide you want to discuss details with me. (PLEASE talk to me about my writing! It's my favorite thing!)

Most of my readers prefer to work in Google Docs for the convenient comments feature, but we can look at other options if necessary.

If interested:

Complete the reader request form here by Monday, May 12th! Note that there is a link on the first page to the prologue and first chapter, so you can get an idea of my style and make sure it works for you.

If I get enough readers before the 12th, I will consider closing requests for now.

*If you are interested in reading this story but don't want the pressure of beta-reading or the deadline, please feel free to still contact me! Either I can still add you to my list, but for a more casual reading of this third draft, or I can put your name on the list for the fourth draft (date TBD, hopefully around August or September).*

A bit about the writer:

I'm a 30-something office admin by day, spec-fic writer by night, and hapless backyard gardener when the mood strikes me. Most of my stories start out as a "what if?", with characters piling into the clown car as soon as I have a vague setting worked out in which to answer the pivotal question. My least favorite step of any writing project is the rough draft. In writing, I try to follow Jane Austen’s philosophy: “My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.” Most of the time I manage it.

My writing trademarks according to my writing group are: forehead kisses, protagonists with a martyr complex, way too many side characters, good dialogue, “repressed Victorian romance plots”, keen examinations of grief, and just a pinch of MelodramaTM.

You can find samples of my writing right here on tumblr:

Zenith Station (sci-fi short story collection, always ongoing)

Or on Dreamwidth:

The Tides That Bind (low fantasy, last completed novel)

Happy Jewish American Heritage Month!!!

Oooo omg this is so interesting! Your descriptions are so vivid and beautiful. I was entranced the whole time. I could just picture the world in my head, and the ending had me so intrigued. Also, this is one of my favorite types of plots as a trans man.

Some fantasy thing I am fiddling with

She made the decision that from this day forward, she would no longer be Astrid, a peasant girl of unremarkable stock with no discernible direction. Now she’d go by Aegir, the name of her cousin who had passed from the sweating sickness many moons ago. Father’s work as a farrier kept him busy with the horses, mules, and donkeys of traders, merchants, and lower-tier nobles that kept their manors and homes close to Lykkested, the capital of Álfarune the northernmost province of the kingdom of Upplond, and the family’s name had spread far enough for those to know his high-quality work. Whilst Mother worked to help the village women watch the children and brew the mead and dark, stout ale that the village had become known for. All the while, Astrid desired to join King Ragnar’s court as a page and then a knight—a path forbidden to her.

Skinny but strong, a girl on the cusp of womanhood who lacked the curves that defined her gender at this age. Much for the better, in her opinion. Astrid wore a close-fitting under-tunic against her lean chest, with another tunic over it to hide even further. A sharp, chilly wind, smelled of brine and distant adventures, whipped off the Rømskog Sea that ruffled her reddish-brown hair—cropped short beneath the pointed ears of her people, and she even pierced the left tip with a sharp needle and kept an iron ring it, a boyish fashion and something her parents were against but did not stop their strong-willed girl.

That day, with her mind made up, Astrid—now Aegir—announced that she was her lost cousin, at least to those who did not personally know her or her family, who did not pass away but only took some time to heal from the sweating sickness. Arming herself with an iron short-sword shoved into a sheepskin sheath gave her the look of a young boy just before the age of training and education.

Despite the chill of fall on the back of the strong wind, the warming sun still proclaimed itself as summer, even if late in the season. Astrid sat on the low stone wall that surrounded her father’s tiny parcel of land, his hammer still going, even this late in the day. The land of the Álfarune was as breathtakingly beautiful and hauntingly dangerous as its people, that she felt herself proud to come from. From the sapphire-colored, icy waters to the jagged granite peaks, worn smooth by countless ages of wind and snow, that pierced the sky and were called the Backbone of the World. To the deep woods, filled with both the mundane and the magical. Their ancient trees, gnarled from the ages, twisted like arthritic fingers; their shadows cast long on those who sought to be under the shelter of their leaves. Just past the outskirts of the hamlet were fields full of ripening barley, millet, and other hardy crops that could survive and grow in the brief summers, a familiar sight that acted as a balm to soothe the anxiety in her stomach. And even now, it helped bolster her decision to leave the hamlet for Blomma Castle, and under the darkness of nighttime.

After the successful escape from her parents’ hut as they slept, Astrid took a deep breath of the sweet summer night air—honeysuckle, juniper berries, and the ever-present damp earth—a deep, cleaning breath, the first of many as she pursued her dreams, which did not include an arraigned marriage to Jozef. Her slightly-upturned nose crinkled in disgust at the mere thought of it. With no time to waste, she took off toward the western road; the ocean was a shimmering silver under the full moon. Leaving the village required careful steps; a bit of luck, and no patrolling guards or their echoing steps behind her, as she escaped from the outskirts.

The worn leather of her fur-fringed satchel creaked as Astrid adjusted the strap, its weight a familiar ache across her chest. A night-hawk cried overhead; its sharp call sliced through the subdued hum of the wind that rustled through tall sea-grasses. A shiver, born of the chilly wind and of apprehension, traced its path down her spine; she was young, undeniably so, and despite looking like a boy, was very much a tempting target in these lands, however safe they might be.

High in the inky sky, the moon, a pearl about to dip below the horizon, cast long shadows like darkened fingers. Between the trees, a faint, flickering light shone through—a tiny, defiant flame against the vast, dark forest. The crisp night air allowed the aroma of wood-smoke to linger, which mingled with the rich, savory aroma of roasting meat; her stomach growled, a low rumble against the evening. Who, she wondered, was cooking at this late hour?

****

@fablesandfragments @seastarblue @vesanal @theink-stainedfolk @leahnardo-da-veggie

@aalinaaaaaa @an-indecisive-nerd @write-with-will @the-ellia-west @carb0n-m0n0xide

@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

@dyrewrites @moremysteries

Want to join my tag list? Click here and interact with the post. Send me a message, or even just reply to any of my posts asking!

The iron hand of Götz von Berlichingen (1480-1562), a knight and mercenary who lost his right arm in a siege [640×360]

As someone who tries to present explicit showcases of abuse, this attitude also seriously frustrates me. There's this attitude that, if you don't tip toe around it, then you are immoral. Like, I know for certain some people are going to read Infernal Serenade and come away with the brain dead take away that I condone SA and incest, completely overlooking the fact this all happens within a literal cult. Like yes, it is supposed to be deeply uncomfortable and make you hate the cult. The cult is commentary on the sexual abuse within the fanatical side of Catholicism.

As someone who also loves The Great Gatsby, I also hate that people completely overlook the entire point of that book, which was to show just how corrupt rich people are. Like yes, Gatsby is supposed to suck, Tom is supposed to suck, Daisy is supposed to suck, etc. Hell, even Nick sucks because he just goes along with everything, and this is the point. Framing is everything, and I am tired of the framing of stories constantly being ignored.