#boostingissharing — Public Fediverse posts
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#PennedPossibilities 1122: SC POV: Do you have a favorite meal? Who makes it for you?
[Okay, is it possible for me to NOT turn these things into little stories? Apparently, not! Here the devil-girl, an SC in the current WIP, gets to talk about her insanely rigorous academic training as a child. —RS]
Appreciating cuisines was always part of my upbringing—before I ran away. Generally, I'll eat anything; the months I lived homeless, I even dumpster dove. I had to approach food like my other studies—like maths, warcraft, and defensive martial arts—learning how food was grown and prepared, how to identify the ingredients once cooked including origins of wines and vegetables to judge their quality, plating, kitchen techniques… Of course, I got tested! Writing essays always makes the diner better enjoy the meal. Am I right?
Attempts to teach me to cook turned out disastrous. I nearly burnt down a wing of the mansion. Twice. Not intentionally! Really! The rumor that I poisoned my tutor is overblown. Nevertheless, after the incident, said tutor wisely decided that a woman who hosts state dinners really doesn't necessarily need to know how to cook said meals. Okay, I'll admit it: cooking was my worst subject, beating out boring history.
I rarely got to appreciate a whole meal, except when I practiced hosting. Even then, I was too busy to take more than a bite of each plate or a sip of each soup or wine whilst keeping up witty pithy conversations with guests two and three times my age. (Yes, I had a tutor in witty conversation; glad you asked! I even had to write after action reports on the hidden agendas each practice guest was told to be bringing up subliminally or indirectly.)
Ended up preferring to grab a loaf of bread stuffed with cold butter, before rushing off to my next training or practice.
Eating for me was another academic, like everything else in my life, including sleeping—I learned and practiced lucid dreaming, naturally. Mealtime became a blur of textures, scents, and mouth feels that required thought and evaluation. So… No favorites, but you guessed that. I do know good food when I see, smell, and taste it. I even appreciate and will seek it out, but I have… let's call it a "refueling mentality."
I don't really care.
Except…
Practicing my defensive arts at twelve years old, I'd sometimes sneak into the servants' wing when they slept. On one sortie, I discovered butter pumpkin bread. Gingerbread scents with the depth of luscious nutty real-churned cow butter, vegatably with a coarse chewy crumb, not very sweet, caramelized and crusty short of starting to burn. I could discuss the temperature related changes to each ingredient to explain how it fit together to make a synergistic whole, but I'll instead admit that I would not understand my physical reaction until years later when I had sex.
Ate the whole loaf.
I could barely keep from thinking about it the following days when my tutors started downgrading me, and until my guardian gave me the talk about being distracted.
I finally snuck over again, hoping no mouse traps were set to catch a rodent thief. Found a loaf on the main table under glass. Each subsequent stealthy sortie to servant's quarters, I'd always find a loaf hidden. In some cabinet, sometimes in an oven or a cast iron pot—until I realized why and confessed to folk I had raided. Their simple "cuisine," I liked it. I began sharing random meals with them midafternoon, when I could finagle a free unsupervised study period—until my guardian realized why my interest in cuisine class waned more than usual. He put a kibosh on it.
No servant was permanently fired because, well, I started setting things on fire, saying I could fire things, too.
Still, the only food I'd call a favorite isn't really a meal. To this day, it is still that butter pumpkin bread. My nose will pull me into a shop before I'll even realize it is one of the rare rustic bakeries that bake it.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1122: SC POV: Do you have a favorite meal? Who makes it for you?
[Okay, is it possible for me to NOT turn these things into little stories? Apparently, not! Here the devil-girl, an SC in the current WIP, gets to talk about her insanely rigorous academic training as a child. —RS]
Appreciating cuisines was always part of my upbringing—before I ran away. Generally, I'll eat anything; the months I lived homeless, I even dumpster dove. I had to approach food like my other studies—like maths, warcraft, and defensive martial arts—learning how food was grown and prepared, how to identify the ingredients once cooked including origins of wines and vegetables to judge their quality, plating, kitchen techniques… Of course, I got tested! Writing essays always makes the diner better enjoy the meal. Am I right?
Attempts to teach me to cook turned out disastrous. I nearly burnt down a wing of the mansion. Twice. Not intentionally! Really! The rumor that I poisoned my tutor is overblown. Nevertheless, after the incident, said tutor wisely decided that a woman who hosts state dinners really doesn't necessarily need to know how to cook said meals. Okay, I'll admit it: cooking was my worst subject, beating out boring history.
I rarely got to appreciate a whole meal, except when I practiced hosting. Even then, I was too busy to take more than a bite of each plate or a sip of each soup or wine whilst keeping up witty pithy conversations with guests two and three times my age. (Yes, I had a tutor in witty conversation; glad you asked! I even had to write after action reports on the hidden agendas each practice guest was told to be bringing up subliminally or indirectly.)
Ended up preferring to grab a loaf of bread stuffed with cold butter, before rushing off to my next training or practice.
Eating for me was another academic, like everything else in my life, including sleeping—I learned and practiced lucid dreaming, naturally. Mealtime became a blur of textures, scents, and mouth feels that required thought and evaluation. So… No favorites, but you guessed that. I do know good food when I see, smell, and taste it. I even appreciate and will seek it out, but I have… let's call it a "refueling mentality."
I don't really care.
Except…
Practicing my defensive arts at twelve years old, I'd sometimes sneak into the servants' wing when they slept. On one sortie, I discovered butter pumpkin bread. Gingerbread scents with the depth of luscious nutty real-churned cow butter, vegatably with a coarse chewy crumb, not very sweet, caramelized and crusty short of starting to burn. I could discuss the temperature related changes to each ingredient to explain how it fit together to make a synergistic whole, but I'll instead admit that I would not understand my physical reaction until years later when I had sex.
Ate the whole loaf.
I could barely keep from thinking about it the following days when my tutors started downgrading me, and until my guardian gave me the talk about being distracted.
I finally snuck over again, hoping no mouse traps were set to catch a rodent thief. Found a loaf on the main table under glass. Each subsequent stealthy sortie to servant's quarters, I'd always find a loaf hidden. In some cabinet, sometimes in an oven or a cast iron pot—until I realized why and confessed to folk I had raided. Their simple "cuisine," I liked it. I began sharing random meals with them midafternoon, when I could finagle a free unsupervised study period—until my guardian realized why my interest in cuisine class waned more than usual. He put a kibosh on it.
No servant was permanently fired because, well, I started setting things on fire, saying I could fire things, too.
Still, the only food I'd call a favorite isn't really a meal. To this day, it is still that butter pumpkin bread. My nose will pull me into a shop before I'll even realize it is one of the rare rustic bakeries that bake it.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1122: SC POV: Do you have a favorite meal? Who makes it for you?
[Okay, is it possible for me to NOT turn these things into little stories? Apparently, not! Here the devil-girl, an SC in the current WIP, gets to talk about her insanely rigorous academic training as a child. —RS]
Appreciating cuisines was always part of my upbringing—before I ran away. Generally, I'll eat anything; the months I lived homeless, I even dumpster dove. I had to approach food like my other studies—like maths, warcraft, and defensive martial arts—learning how food was grown and prepared, how to identify the ingredients once cooked including origins of wines and vegetables to judge their quality, plating, kitchen techniques… Of course, I got tested! Writing essays always makes the diner better enjoy the meal. Am I right?
Attempts to teach me to cook turned out disastrous. I nearly burnt down a wing of the mansion. Twice. Not intentionally! Really! The rumor that I poisoned my tutor is overblown. Nevertheless, after the incident, said tutor wisely decided that a woman who hosts state dinners really doesn't necessarily need to know how to cook said meals. Okay, I'll admit it: cooking was my worst subject, beating out boring history.
I rarely got to appreciate a whole meal, except when I practiced hosting. Even then, I was too busy to take more than a bite of each plate or a sip of each soup or wine whilst keeping up witty pithy conversations with guests two and three times my age. (Yes, I had a tutor in witty conversation; glad you asked! I even had to write after action reports on the hidden agendas each practice guest was told to be bringing up subliminally or indirectly.)
Ended up preferring to grab a loaf of bread stuffed with cold butter, before rushing off to my next training or practice.
Eating for me was another academic, like everything else in my life, including sleeping—I learned and practiced lucid dreaming, naturally. Mealtime became a blur of textures, scents, and mouth feels that required thought and evaluation. So… No favorites, but you guessed that. I do know good food when I see, smell, and taste it. I even appreciate and will seek it out, but I have… let's call it a "refueling mentality."
I don't really care.
Except…
Practicing my defensive arts at twelve years old, I'd sometimes sneak into the servants' wing when they slept. On one sortie, I discovered butter pumpkin bread. Gingerbread scents with the depth of luscious nutty real-churned cow butter, vegatably with a coarse chewy crumb, not very sweet, caramelized and crusty short of starting to burn. I could discuss the temperature related changes to each ingredient to explain how it fit together to make a synergistic whole, but I'll instead admit that I would not understand my physical reaction until years later when I had sex.
Ate the whole loaf.
I could barely keep from thinking about it the following days when my tutors started downgrading me, and until my guardian gave me the talk about being distracted.
I finally snuck over again, hoping no mouse traps were set to catch a rodent thief. Found a loaf on the main table under glass. Each subsequent stealthy sortie to servant's quarters, I'd always find a loaf hidden. In some cabinet, sometimes in an oven or a cast iron pot—until I realized why and confessed to folk I had raided. Their simple "cuisine," I liked it. I began sharing random meals with them midafternoon, when I could finagle a free unsupervised study period—until my guardian realized why my interest in cuisine class waned more than usual. He put a kibosh on it.
No servant was permanently fired because, well, I started setting things on fire, saying I could fire things, too.
Still, the only food I'd call a favorite isn't really a meal. To this day, it is still that butter pumpkin bread. My nose will pull me into a shop before I'll even realize it is one of the rare rustic bakeries that bake it.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1122: SC POV: Do you have a favorite meal? Who makes it for you?
[Okay, is it possible for me to NOT turn these things into little stories? Apparently, not! Here the devil-girl, an SC in the current WIP, gets to talk about her insanely rigorous academic training as a child. —RS]
Appreciating cuisines was always part of my upbringing—before I ran away. Generally, I'll eat anything; the months I lived homeless, I even dumpster dove. I had to approach food like my other studies—like maths, warcraft, and defensive martial arts—learning how food was grown and prepared, how to identify the ingredients once cooked including origins of wines and vegetables to judge their quality, plating, kitchen techniques… Of course, I got tested! Writing essays always makes the diner better enjoy the meal. Am I right?
Attempts to teach me to cook turned out disastrous. I nearly burnt down a wing of the mansion. Twice. Not intentionally! Really! The rumor that I poisoned my tutor is overblown. Nevertheless, after the incident, said tutor wisely decided that a woman who hosts state dinners really doesn't necessarily need to know how to cook said meals. Okay, I'll admit it: cooking was my worst subject, beating out boring history.
I rarely got to appreciate a whole meal, except when I practiced hosting. Even then, I was too busy to take more than a bite of each plate or a sip of each soup or wine whilst keeping up witty pithy conversations with guests two and three times my age. (Yes, I had a tutor in witty conversation; glad you asked! I even had to write after action reports on the hidden agendas each practice guest was told to be bringing up subliminally or indirectly.)
Ended up preferring to grab a loaf of bread stuffed with cold butter, before rushing off to my next training or practice.
Eating for me was another academic, like everything else in my life, including sleeping—I learned and practiced lucid dreaming, naturally. Mealtime became a blur of textures, scents, and mouth feels that required thought and evaluation. So… No favorites, but you guessed that. I do know good food when I see, smell, and taste it. I even appreciate and will seek it out, but I have… let's call it a "refueling mentality."
I don't really care.
Except…
Practicing my defensive arts at twelve years old, I'd sometimes sneak into the servants' wing when they slept. On one sortie, I discovered butter pumpkin bread. Gingerbread scents with the depth of luscious nutty real-churned cow butter, vegatably with a coarse chewy crumb, not very sweet, caramelized and crusty short of starting to burn. I could discuss the temperature related changes to each ingredient to explain how it fit together to make a synergistic whole, but I'll instead admit that I would not understand my physical reaction until years later when I had sex.
Ate the whole loaf.
I could barely keep from thinking about it the following days when my tutors started downgrading me, and until my guardian gave me the talk about being distracted.
I finally snuck over again, hoping no mouse traps were set to catch a rodent thief. Found a loaf on the main table under glass. Each subsequent stealthy sortie to servant's quarters, I'd always find a loaf hidden. In some cabinet, sometimes in an oven or a cast iron pot—until I realized why and confessed to folk I had raided. Their simple "cuisine," I liked it. I began sharing random meals with them midafternoon, when I could finagle a free unsupervised study period—until my guardian realized why my interest in cuisine class waned more than usual. He put a kibosh on it.
No servant was permanently fired because, well, I started setting things on fire, saying I could fire things, too.
Still, the only food I'd call a favorite isn't really a meal. To this day, it is still that butter pumpkin bread. My nose will pull me into a shop before I'll even realize it is one of the rare rustic bakeries that bake it.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1122: SC POV: Do you have a favorite meal? Who makes it for you?
[Okay, is it possible for me to NOT turn these things into little stories? Apparently, not! Here the devil-girl, an SC in the current WIP, gets to talk about her insanely rigorous academic training as a child. —RS]
Appreciating cuisines was always part of my upbringing—before I ran away. Generally, I'll eat anything; the months I lived homeless, I even dumpster dove. I had to approach food like my other studies—like maths, warcraft, and defensive martial arts—learning how food was grown and prepared, how to identify the ingredients once cooked including origins of wines and vegetables to judge their quality, plating, kitchen techniques… Of course, I got tested! Writing essays always makes the diner better enjoy the meal. Am I right?
Attempts to teach me to cook turned out disastrous. I nearly burnt down a wing of the mansion. Twice. Not intentionally! Really! The rumor that I poisoned my tutor is overblown. Nevertheless, after the incident, said tutor wisely decided that a woman who hosts state dinners really doesn't necessarily need to know how to cook said meals. Okay, I'll admit it: cooking was my worst subject, beating out boring history.
I rarely got to appreciate a whole meal, except when I practiced hosting. Even then, I was too busy to take more than a bite of each plate or a sip of each soup or wine whilst keeping up witty pithy conversations with guests two and three times my age. (Yes, I had a tutor in witty conversation; glad you asked! I even had to write after action reports on the hidden agendas each practice guest was told to be bringing up subliminally or indirectly.)
Ended up preferring to grab a loaf of bread stuffed with cold butter, before rushing off to my next training or practice.
Eating for me was another academic, like everything else in my life, including sleeping—I learned and practiced lucid dreaming, naturally. Mealtime became a blur of textures, scents, and mouth feels that required thought and evaluation. So… No favorites, but you guessed that. I do know good food when I see, smell, and taste it. I even appreciate and will seek it out, but I have… let's call it a "refueling mentality."
I don't really care.
Except…
Practicing my defensive arts at twelve years old, I'd sometimes sneak into the servants' wing when they slept. On one sortie, I discovered butter pumpkin bread. Gingerbread scents with the depth of luscious nutty real-churned cow butter, vegatably with a coarse chewy crumb, not very sweet, caramelized and crusty short of starting to burn. I could discuss the temperature related changes to each ingredient to explain how it fit together to make a synergistic whole, but I'll instead admit that I would not understand my physical reaction until years later when I had sex.
Ate the whole loaf.
I could barely keep from thinking about it the following days when my tutors started downgrading me, and until my guardian gave me the talk about being distracted.
I finally snuck over again, hoping no mouse traps were set to catch a rodent thief. Found a loaf on the main table under glass. Each subsequent stealthy sortie to servant's quarters, I'd always find a loaf hidden. In some cabinet, sometimes in an oven or a cast iron pot—until I realized why and confessed to folk I had raided. Their simple "cuisine," I liked it. I began sharing random meals with them midafternoon, when I could finagle a free unsupervised study period—until my guardian realized why my interest in cuisine class waned more than usual. He put a kibosh on it.
No servant was permanently fired because, well, I started setting things on fire, saying I could fire things, too.
Still, the only food I'd call a favorite isn't really a meal. To this day, it is still that butter pumpkin bread. My nose will pull me into a shop before I'll even realize it is one of the rare rustic bakeries that bake it.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#WordWeavers 2026.09.07 — Describe a moment when one of your characters realizes they’ve made a terrible mistake.
The character thinks someone had keeled over in their living room, but when she kneels beside him, her knees end up in something sticky. She had already picked up and is holding a knife she thought errantly dropped.
That's not the moment.
Someone shows up to escort her away, saying she works for something called "the syndicate" like this character does (news to her), with constable whistles *scree-screeing * in the distance.
That's not the moment.
As they calmly "stroll" blocks from the incident at a determined pace, the character notices as second escort with a camera. Looking at the first, she sees blood spattered on her face and chest.
That is the moment of realization.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#WordWeavers 2026.09.07 — Describe a moment when one of your characters realizes they’ve made a terrible mistake.
The character thinks someone had keeled over in their living room, but when she kneels beside him, her knees end up in something sticky. She had already picked up and is holding a knife she thought errantly dropped.
That's not the moment.
Someone shows up to escort her away, saying she works for something called "the syndicate" like this character does (news to her), with constable whistles *scree-screeing * in the distance.
That's not the moment.
As they calmly "stroll" blocks from the incident at a determined pace, the character notices as second escort with a camera. Looking at the first, she sees blood spattered on her face and chest.
That is the moment of realization.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#WordWeavers 2026.09.07 — Describe a moment when one of your characters realizes they’ve made a terrible mistake.
The character thinks someone had keeled over in their living room, but when she kneels beside him, her knees end up in something sticky. She had already picked up and is holding a knife she thought errantly dropped.
That's not the moment.
Someone shows up to escort her away, saying she works for something called "the syndicate" like this character does (news to her), with constable whistles *scree-screeing * in the distance.
That's not the moment.
As they calmly "stroll" blocks from the incident at a determined pace, the character notices as second escort with a camera. Looking at the first, she sees blood spattered on her face and chest.
That is the moment of realization.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#WordWeavers 2026.09.07 — Describe a moment when one of your characters realizes they’ve made a terrible mistake.
The character thinks someone had keeled over in their living room, but when she kneels beside him, her knees end up in something sticky. She had already picked up and is holding a knife she thought errantly dropped.
That's not the moment.
Someone shows up to escort her away, saying she works for something called "the syndicate" like this character does (news to her), with constable whistles *scree-screeing * in the distance.
That's not the moment.
As they calmly "stroll" blocks from the incident at a determined pace, the character notices as second escort with a camera. Looking at the first, she sees blood spattered on her face and chest.
That is the moment of realization.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#WordWeavers 2026.09.07 — Describe a moment when one of your characters realizes they’ve made a terrible mistake.
The character thinks someone had keeled over in their living room, but when she kneels beside him, her knees end up in something sticky. She had already picked up and is holding a knife she thought errantly dropped.
That's not the moment.
Someone shows up to escort her away, saying she works for something called "the syndicate" like this character does (news to her), with constable whistles *scree-screeing * in the distance.
That's not the moment.
As they calmly "stroll" blocks from the incident at a determined pace, the character notices as second escort with a camera. Looking at the first, she sees blood spattered on her face and chest.
That is the moment of realization.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.07 — ~What 'character' (letter, number, symbol, punctuation, space) would make a great main character?
† (Dagger) would make a great MC name (or nickname) in an Executioner or Mack Bollan style macho vigilante novel. It's arguably unisex, so maybe a macha character in one of those?
Actually, an MC with that name may show up in the current WIP, Reluctant Courier (for the Mob), because in that world, people name themselves!
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.07 — ~What 'character' (letter, number, symbol, punctuation, space) would make a great main character?
† (Dagger) would make a great MC name (or nickname) in an Executioner or Mack Bollan style macho vigilante novel. It's arguably unisex, so maybe a macha character in one of those?
Actually, an MC with that name may show up in the current WIP, Reluctant Courier (for the Mob), because in that world, people name themselves!
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.07 — ~What 'character' (letter, number, symbol, punctuation, space) would make a great main character?
† (Dagger) would make a great MC name (or nickname) in an Executioner or Mack Bollan style macho vigilante novel. It's arguably unisex, so maybe a macha character in one of those?
Actually, an MC with that name may show up in the current WIP, Reluctant Courier (for the Mob), because in that world, people name themselves!
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.07 — ~What 'character' (letter, number, symbol, punctuation, space) would make a great main character?
† (Dagger) would make a great MC name (or nickname) in an Executioner or Mack Bollan style macho vigilante novel. It's arguably unisex, so maybe a macha character in one of those?
Actually, an MC with that name may show up in the current WIP, Reluctant Courier (for the Mob), because in that world, people name themselves!
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.07 — ~What 'character' (letter, number, symbol, punctuation, space) would make a great main character?
† (Dagger) would make a great MC name (or nickname) in an Executioner or Mack Bollan style macho vigilante novel. It's arguably unisex, so maybe a macha character in one of those?
Actually, an MC with that name may show up in the current WIP, Reluctant Courier (for the Mob), because in that world, people name themselves!
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#PennedPossibilities 1121: What would your MC say their personal strengths are? Would other characters agree?
She'd say none. Were you to pry it out of Bolt, she'd tell you that she's deceitful, sneaky, cowardly, and twelve flavors of stupid.
Most of the other characters would disagree. They would say she's incredibly earnest, honest to a fault (despite working for the mob), and always speaks her mind. Moreover, she's dependable.
It's the qualities that have made Boss Mead and the mob lieutenants keep her around. She's very good at her job as a courier without ever sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Rain Days, the Director of Home, was so impressed by her encounter with her, how she taught and then protected her praetorian friend Blue against her, that Rainy Days has her eye on Bolt as a possible student†. BTW, those last two are her big antagonists…
She's human, though. The truth is somewhere in between.
=~=~=~=~=
† It's an honor, but she breaks far more personal students than she graduates, and it's traveling through hell either way.[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#PennedPossibilities 1121: What would your MC say their personal strengths are? Would other characters agree?
She'd say none. Were you to pry it out of Bolt, she'd tell you that she's deceitful, sneaky, cowardly, and twelve flavors of stupid.
Most of the other characters would disagree. They would say she's incredibly earnest, honest to a fault (despite working for the mob), and always speaks her mind. Moreover, she's dependable.
It's the qualities that have made Boss Mead and the mob lieutenants keep her around. She's very good at her job as a courier without ever sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Rain Days, the Director of Home, was so impressed by her encounter with her, how she taught and then protected her praetorian friend Blue against her, that Rainy Days has her eye on Bolt as a possible student†. BTW, those last two are her big antagonists…
She's human, though. The truth is somewhere in between.
=~=~=~=~=
† It's an honor, but she breaks far more personal students than she graduates, and it's traveling through hell either way.[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#PennedPossibilities 1121: What would your MC say their personal strengths are? Would other characters agree?
She'd say none. Were you to pry it out of Bolt, she'd tell you that she's deceitful, sneaky, cowardly, and twelve flavors of stupid.
Most of the other characters would disagree. They would say she's incredibly earnest, honest to a fault (despite working for the mob), and always speaks her mind. Moreover, she's dependable.
It's the qualities that have made Boss Mead and the mob lieutenants keep her around. She's very good at her job as a courier without ever sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Rain Days, the Director of Home, was so impressed by her encounter with her, how she taught and then protected her praetorian friend Blue against her, that Rainy Days has her eye on Bolt as a possible student†. BTW, those last two are her big antagonists…
She's human, though. The truth is somewhere in between.
=~=~=~=~=
† It's an honor, but she breaks far more personal students than she graduates, and it's traveling through hell either way.[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#PennedPossibilities 1121: What would your MC say their personal strengths are? Would other characters agree?
She'd say none. Were you to pry it out of Bolt, she'd tell you that she's deceitful, sneaky, cowardly, and twelve flavors of stupid.
Most of the other characters would disagree. They would say she's incredibly earnest, honest to a fault (despite working for the mob), and always speaks her mind. Moreover, she's dependable.
It's the qualities that have made Boss Mead and the mob lieutenants keep her around. She's very good at her job as a courier without ever sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Rain Days, the Director of Home, was so impressed by her encounter with her, how she taught and then protected her praetorian friend Blue against her, that Rainy Days has her eye on Bolt as a possible student†. BTW, those last two are her big antagonists…
She's human, though. The truth is somewhere in between.
=~=~=~=~=
† It's an honor, but she breaks far more personal students than she graduates, and it's traveling through hell either way.[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#PennedPossibilities 1121: What would your MC say their personal strengths are? Would other characters agree?
She'd say none. Were you to pry it out of Bolt, she'd tell you that she's deceitful, sneaky, cowardly, and twelve flavors of stupid.
Most of the other characters would disagree. They would say she's incredibly earnest, honest to a fault (despite working for the mob), and always speaks her mind. Moreover, she's dependable.
It's the qualities that have made Boss Mead and the mob lieutenants keep her around. She's very good at her job as a courier without ever sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Rain Days, the Director of Home, was so impressed by her encounter with her, how she taught and then protected her praetorian friend Blue against her, that Rainy Days has her eye on Bolt as a possible student†. BTW, those last two are her big antagonists…
She's human, though. The truth is somewhere in between.
=~=~=~=~=
† It's an honor, but she breaks far more personal students than she graduates, and it's traveling through hell either way.[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
The truth about how people and society works from Gloria Stienem's last essay in The New Yorker. Sadly, it's human nature. It could be addressed with rigorous education, but the powerful (religious, monied, hereditary) won't let us threaten their power.
Read carefully.
Whatever the name, words that stand for equality are demonized by those who benefit from inequality. Opposition will always come from people whose power rests on the group they were born into—whether that is sex, race, class, or ethnicity—rather than on what they do as individuals. This persists because they believe in hierarchy and they fear what might happen if they have no built-in advantage. And this is sad because they may never find out who they really are, and what they would really want to do in life.
Pay Wall: https://www.newyorker.com/culture/life-and-letters/gloria-steinems-final-essay
PS: #Writers and #authors, get this part of human nature right, then counteract it in your stories for verisimilitude. #writersOfMastodon #writingCommunity
-
The truth about how people and society works from Gloria Stienem's last essay in The New Yorker. Sadly, it's human nature. It could be addressed with rigorous education, but the powerful (religious, monied, hereditary) won't let us threaten their power.
Read carefully.
Whatever the name, words that stand for equality are demonized by those who benefit from inequality. Opposition will always come from people whose power rests on the group they were born into—whether that is sex, race, class, or ethnicity—rather than on what they do as individuals. This persists because they believe in hierarchy and they fear what might happen if they have no built-in advantage. And this is sad because they may never find out who they really are, and what they would really want to do in life.
Pay Wall: https://www.newyorker.com/culture/life-and-letters/gloria-steinems-final-essay
PS: #Writers and #authors, get this part of human nature right, then counteract it in your stories for verisimilitude. #writersOfMastodon #writingCommunity
-
The truth about how people and society works from Gloria Stienem's last essay in The New Yorker. Sadly, it's human nature. It could be addressed with rigorous education, but the powerful (religious, monied, hereditary) won't let us threaten their power.
Read carefully.
Whatever the name, words that stand for equality are demonized by those who benefit from inequality. Opposition will always come from people whose power rests on the group they were born into—whether that is sex, race, class, or ethnicity—rather than on what they do as individuals. This persists because they believe in hierarchy and they fear what might happen if they have no built-in advantage. And this is sad because they may never find out who they really are, and what they would really want to do in life.
Pay Wall: https://www.newyorker.com/culture/life-and-letters/gloria-steinems-final-essay
PS: #Writers and #authors, get this part of human nature right, then counteract it in your stories for verisimilitude. #writersOfMastodon #writingCommunity
-
The truth about how people and society works from Gloria Stienem's last essay in The New Yorker. Sadly, it's human nature. It could be addressed with rigorous education, but the powerful (religious, monied, hereditary) won't let us threaten their power.
Read carefully.
Whatever the name, words that stand for equality are demonized by those who benefit from inequality. Opposition will always come from people whose power rests on the group they were born into—whether that is sex, race, class, or ethnicity—rather than on what they do as individuals. This persists because they believe in hierarchy and they fear what might happen if they have no built-in advantage. And this is sad because they may never find out who they really are, and what they would really want to do in life.
Pay Wall: https://www.newyorker.com/culture/life-and-letters/gloria-steinems-final-essay
PS: #Writers and #authors, get this part of human nature right, then counteract it in your stories for verisimilitude. #writersOfMastodon #writingCommunity
-
The truth about how people and society works from Gloria Stienem's last essay in The New Yorker. Sadly, it's human nature. It could be addressed with rigorous education, but the powerful (religious, monied, hereditary) won't let us threaten their power.
Read carefully.
Whatever the name, words that stand for equality are demonized by those who benefit from inequality. Opposition will always come from people whose power rests on the group they were born into—whether that is sex, race, class, or ethnicity—rather than on what they do as individuals. This persists because they believe in hierarchy and they fear what might happen if they have no built-in advantage. And this is sad because they may never find out who they really are, and what they would really want to do in life.
Pay Wall: https://www.newyorker.com/culture/life-and-letters/gloria-steinems-final-essay
PS: #Writers and #authors, get this part of human nature right, then counteract it in your stories for verisimilitude. #writersOf #writingCommunity
-
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (Totally worked for Morning Glory; made me look.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (Totally worked for Morning Glory; made me look.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (Totally worked for Morning Glory; made me look.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (Totally worked for Morning Glory; made me look.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#PennedPossibilities 1120: Saturday Word Edition: Share something from your WIP pertaining to the word “entertainment.”
Bolt is acting as the photographer for her friend Shugh as he interviews a male diva actor for a magazine similar to The New Yorker. Hers is a woman-centric society. The scene in this #excerpt hints that Bolt can be sexist as the actor being interviewed needles her.
Upstairs, Shugh hit it off with Morning Glory. Both men sought careers not often occupied by men. The actor-playwright became more animated as the magazine interview progressed, allowing me with my camera to fade into the background of the plush upper lounge of the theatre. By the time the long-legged delicate man started pacing as he told his life story, I had gleaned that his tale was glorified and larger-than life, like the man, his persona, his masks. His elegant pacing allowed me to move with my Flicka4, steadying myself using the back of a gilt divan, a bamboo formed-steel torchere lamp (one of pair), and then a black marble tea table to as I composed pictures of a celebrity, but a man, lost in thoughts about inflating the image he presented the world, finally dropping his actor's mask. I caught the sparkle in his eye. I caught flamboyant hands thrown wide, later framing his face as he sang a note. I caught an absentminded sneer aimed at an unnamed actress who'd worked to derail his entertainment career.
"I'm changing the way women perceive men," he declared. He sat abruptly on a hanger chair, one of those short shallow chairs built with a bench seat of a single plank of wood, finely finished glowing golden oak but uncushioned; it barely supported his thighs in deference to his hips, forcing the man to crouch. Also called a man's chair because a man looked really adorable hanging there when unclothed in a certain way. (Totally worked for Morning Glory; made me look.) That it made men shorter than any women in a room seemed like a plus, but then I was female. These days, especially in the city, I'd seen men leave a room in disgust if they saw one. Not Morning Glory! Probably furnished it here himself, stage managing, to spike the drama. Legs wide, crouching—his hands above his knees, framing his crotch—eyes narrowed and on me, his body language firmed up my perception of him.
Performatively male, sure of his good looks.
Aggressive.
Dominant.
He addressed Shugh still meeting my gaze. "Steamed Milk and Sugar—can I call you Milk? How does it feel working as her protégé? Do we live in progressive times?"
Hint, hint! I am a #gender #fiction #writer. If you think a hanger chair in this Basic Instincts scene is peculiar, realize that it is a male-oriented gender domination device analogous to what stiletto heels achieve physically with women in our society. Like many women today, Morning Glory is "owning" it (trying anyway) and changing the device's meaning.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
RE: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
#PennedPossibilities 1119: MC POV: How did you learn your most valuable skill? Who taught you, and why is it so important?
[I will keep Bolt SFW, promise! Tl;dr tootfic follows, nevertheless.—RS]
A surprising number of my skills are self-taught. I must be a genius, even if'n I've done a lot of stupid things. My most valuable skill is flying, naturally being as I'm a day angel, but flight kindergarten failed me epically. Everybody fledged but me by 3. Despite the incentive of being picked on by all the girls in school (boys knew better), it took being shoved off a cliff at 10 before I flew, and then but for Mom and Uncle teaching me to land, I taught myself everything else. Turned out live'n in the world 3D is—My Stars!— flapping awesome, not at all frightening as I'd wound up myself into thinking. Flew into my share of lamp posts, but still, flap'n it! Spending more time a-wing than walking, I became an athlete, captaining the flight and field team, learning stunt flying, flight dance, and tandem. None of it more valuable than walking and running for the flightless in the long run, except, I guess, tandem.
They teach you never to fly close to anybody. I remember distancing from flight kindergarten. It was reiterated by every PE teacher there after. Knock it into your head, they do. A "primary feather length at wing tip; your height above." Feather fields will tangle if'n you're too close. You'll lose lift, they say, maybe crash, but that never made sense to me having learnt to fly late.
I experimented with all sort of crazy, consider'n that I skated out of most of the knocking of "flight stuff into my head" for the seven years everybody else was flying and I wasn't. I dove hard into precision flying, which meant warping my flight feathers hard, sometimes twisting the up and down fields to push away from or get sucked toward things like cliff walls or between tree trunks in a dense forest. Called decompensating. Dangerous? For you, unadventurous noob, maybe! I finally could get a finger length close to things—close enough to suck your hair and feathers against bark, rockface, and occasional stupid people who do their deer in the lantern light imitation seeing you, they think, flying into them—so why not boys? (Girls thought me a masculine muscle nerd! Their loss.)
While I found victims volunteers to fly near me in middle school, it was that first semester in high school that I perfected my awareness of my wings in space, and theirs, close up, and got boys to understand what I'd learnt. It helped that in high school, finally, the boys were less shy (especially the seniors) and dangling flying with us touching really helped incentivize them. Me, too, actually. I got better. They got better, caught the tandem fever, though we got chewed out by Coach when she saw, before she stopped noticing since we didn't kill ourselves. Our team morale soared. We started winning. I became captain of an otherwise male team. I got my string of ponies (stallions only).
Good times.
Valuable? Actually, valuable?
Well, a dozen years and lots of stupid decisions later, I have a friend, Blue, who is a praetorian training to protect Rainy Days. We encountered her in the sky, and I ended up flying stunts around the guy with her mirroring and challenging my agility, pushing me harder, apparently to test my limits, and to piss me off. I'm too competitive for my own good! She correctly figured out it was me who taught Blue flying tandem; it was the definitive skill that got him a job that was very unlikely for a guy to get.
Rainy Days praised me. She's far better at tandem techniques than me. Still. The Director of Home and the Nine Outer worlds praised me. My Stars!!!
Valuable? Flap yes!
Yet. Even considering when she left with Blue, the stress of me stupidly challenging the most important woman ever shot me out of the sky. I nearly crashed trying to land, then puked so hard, I thought some of my liver came up.
I still would challenge her again, given the chance. [Big words, Bolt! Read the quoted story for the second round. —RS]
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.05 — ~From a purely aesthetic standpoint, what is your favorite color of ice cream?
Flamboyant. Pictured, one take on unicorn ice cream. Ask my friends, I have a thing for unicorns.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.05 — ~From a purely aesthetic standpoint, what is your favorite color of ice cream?
Flamboyant. Pictured, one take on unicorn ice cream. Ask my friends, I have a thing for unicorns.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.05 — ~From a purely aesthetic standpoint, what is your favorite color of ice cream?
Flamboyant. Pictured, one take on unicorn ice cream. Ask my friends, I have a thing for unicorns.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.05 — ~From a purely aesthetic standpoint, what is your favorite color of ice cream?
Flamboyant. Pictured, one take on unicorn ice cream. Ask my friends, I have a thing for unicorns.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.05 — ~From a purely aesthetic standpoint, what is your favorite color of ice cream?
Flamboyant. Pictured, one take on unicorn ice cream. Ask my friends, I have a thing for unicorns.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion -
Found on Tumblr. Text in image follows.
Every company in 2026: "oh god we spent so much money on AI. We need you to use it. Please dear god we need you to use it. Please use it and become addicted to it and need it in your life. Our entire 10 year business model requires you to be an AI addict and you're NOT DOING IT!!! We're gonna put it front and center. We're moving the buttons around so you accidentally click it and use it so you might realise it's there! Please we're begging you! If we can't get you addicted to AI then we can't charge you for it and it will have all been for nothing!!! You're just being SO UNREASONABLE RIGHT NOW!!! If you don't use it then we fired our workers, tanked our company direction, poisoned several thousand people's water, and more importantly spent our investors money FOR NOTHING!!!"
Me, deep diving into every setting on every application on every device: can I turn this annoying thing off or do I need to learn to ignore it...
The companies: "WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A BITCH!!!"
-
Found on Tumblr. Text in image follows.
Every company in 2026: "oh god we spent so much money on AI. We need you to use it. Please dear god we need you to use it. Please use it and become addicted to it and need it in your life. Our entire 10 year business model requires you to be an AI addict and you're NOT DOING IT!!! We're gonna put it front and center. We're moving the buttons around so you accidentally click it and use it so you might realise it's there! Please we're begging you! If we can't get you addicted to AI then we can't charge you for it and it will have all been for nothing!!! You're just being SO UNREASONABLE RIGHT NOW!!! If you don't use it then we fired our workers, tanked our company direction, poisoned several thousand people's water, and more importantly spent our investors money FOR NOTHING!!!"
Me, deep diving into every setting on every application on every device: can I turn this annoying thing off or do I need to learn to ignore it...
The companies: "WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A BITCH!!!"
-
Found on Tumblr. Text in image follows.
Every company in 2026: "oh god we spent so much money on AI. We need you to use it. Please dear god we need you to use it. Please use it and become addicted to it and need it in your life. Our entire 10 year business model requires you to be an AI addict and you're NOT DOING IT!!! We're gonna put it front and center. We're moving the buttons around so you accidentally click it and use it so you might realise it's there! Please we're begging you! If we can't get you addicted to AI then we can't charge you for it and it will have all been for nothing!!! You're just being SO UNREASONABLE RIGHT NOW!!! If you don't use it then we fired our workers, tanked our company direction, poisoned several thousand people's water, and more importantly spent our investors money FOR NOTHING!!!"
Me, deep diving into every setting on every application on every device: can I turn this annoying thing off or do I need to learn to ignore it...
The companies: "WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A BITCH!!!"
-
Found on Tumblr. Text in image follows.
Every company in 2026: "oh god we spent so much money on AI. We need you to use it. Please dear god we need you to use it. Please use it and become addicted to it and need it in your life. Our entire 10 year business model requires you to be an AI addict and you're NOT DOING IT!!! We're gonna put it front and center. We're moving the buttons around so you accidentally click it and use it so you might realise it's there! Please we're begging you! If we can't get you addicted to AI then we can't charge you for it and it will have all been for nothing!!! You're just being SO UNREASONABLE RIGHT NOW!!! If you don't use it then we fired our workers, tanked our company direction, poisoned several thousand people's water, and more importantly spent our investors money FOR NOTHING!!!"
Me, deep diving into every setting on every application on every device: can I turn this annoying thing off or do I need to learn to ignore it...
The companies: "WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A BITCH!!!"
-
Found on Tumblr. Text in image follows.
Every company in 2026: "oh god we spent so much money on AI. We need you to use it. Please dear god we need you to use it. Please use it and become addicted to it and need it in your life. Our entire 10 year business model requires you to be an AI addict and you're NOT DOING IT!!! We're gonna put it front and center. We're moving the buttons around so you accidentally click it and use it so you might realise it's there! Please we're begging you! If we can't get you addicted to AI then we can't charge you for it and it will have all been for nothing!!! You're just being SO UNREASONABLE RIGHT NOW!!! If you don't use it then we fired our workers, tanked our company direction, poisoned several thousand people's water, and more importantly spent our investors money FOR NOTHING!!!"
Me, deep diving into every setting on every application on every device: can I turn this annoying thing off or do I need to learn to ignore it...
The companies: "WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A BITCH!!!"
-
US citizens prepare to #VOTE.
The point is that Trump is cornered, and that is when he is most likely to do illegal and desperate things. So, if ever there's a time to fear some sort of extreme measure, like trying to declare martial law on Election Day, this would be it. One of us, namely (Z), does not think that this administration has the brains or the balls to pull that off. The other of us, namely (V), is not so sure. At this point, though, all that anyone can do is be vigilant, and to make sure to vote, and to vote in the way that is least subject to interference. For example, if you are able to vote early in person, that is the best bet. If you don't want to chance crowds and ICEmen on Election Day, get an absentee ballot and put it in a drop box or personally bring it to an authorized drop-off location. These avoid any attempts by the USPS to disenfranchise voters. And tell everyone you know to do likewise. (Z)
I'm doing so.
Quoted from this article by a pair of history and voting academics on the Electoral-Vote blog. Read the article, please.
-
US citizens prepare to #VOTE.
The point is that Trump is cornered, and that is when he is most likely to do illegal and desperate things. So, if ever there's a time to fear some sort of extreme measure, like trying to declare martial law on Election Day, this would be it. One of us, namely (Z), does not think that this administration has the brains or the balls to pull that off. The other of us, namely (V), is not so sure. At this point, though, all that anyone can do is be vigilant, and to make sure to vote, and to vote in the way that is least subject to interference. For example, if you are able to vote early in person, that is the best bet. If you don't want to chance crowds and ICEmen on Election Day, get an absentee ballot and put it in a drop box or personally bring it to an authorized drop-off location. These avoid any attempts by the USPS to disenfranchise voters. And tell everyone you know to do likewise. (Z)
I'm doing so.
Quoted from this article by a pair of history and voting academics on the Electoral-Vote blog. Read the article, please.
-
US citizens prepare to #VOTE.
The point is that Trump is cornered, and that is when he is most likely to do illegal and desperate things. So, if ever there's a time to fear some sort of extreme measure, like trying to declare martial law on Election Day, this would be it. One of us, namely (Z), does not think that this administration has the brains or the balls to pull that off. The other of us, namely (V), is not so sure. At this point, though, all that anyone can do is be vigilant, and to make sure to vote, and to vote in the way that is least subject to interference. For example, if you are able to vote early in person, that is the best bet. If you don't want to chance crowds and ICEmen on Election Day, get an absentee ballot and put it in a drop box or personally bring it to an authorized drop-off location. These avoid any attempts by the USPS to disenfranchise voters. And tell everyone you know to do likewise. (Z)
I'm doing so.
Quoted from this article by a pair of history and voting academics on the Electoral-Vote blog. Read the article, please.
-
US citizens prepare to #VOTE.
The point is that Trump is cornered, and that is when he is most likely to do illegal and desperate things. So, if ever there's a time to fear some sort of extreme measure, like trying to declare martial law on Election Day, this would be it. One of us, namely (Z), does not think that this administration has the brains or the balls to pull that off. The other of us, namely (V), is not so sure. At this point, though, all that anyone can do is be vigilant, and to make sure to vote, and to vote in the way that is least subject to interference. For example, if you are able to vote early in person, that is the best bet. If you don't want to chance crowds and ICEmen on Election Day, get an absentee ballot and put it in a drop box or personally bring it to an authorized drop-off location. These avoid any attempts by the USPS to disenfranchise voters. And tell everyone you know to do likewise. (Z)
I'm doing so.
Quoted from this article by a pair of history and voting academics on the Electoral-Vote blog. Read the article, please.
-
US citizens prepare to #VOTE.
The point is that Trump is cornered, and that is when he is most likely to do illegal and desperate things. So, if ever there's a time to fear some sort of extreme measure, like trying to declare martial law on Election Day, this would be it. One of us, namely (Z), does not think that this administration has the brains or the balls to pull that off. The other of us, namely (V), is not so sure. At this point, though, all that anyone can do is be vigilant, and to make sure to vote, and to vote in the way that is least subject to interference. For example, if you are able to vote early in person, that is the best bet. If you don't want to chance crowds and ICEmen on Election Day, get an absentee ballot and put it in a drop box or personally bring it to an authorized drop-off location. These avoid any attempts by the USPS to disenfranchise voters. And tell everyone you know to do likewise. (Z)
I'm doing so.
Quoted from this article by a pair of history and voting academics on the Electoral-Vote blog. Read the article, please.