#boostingissharing — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #boostingissharing, aggregated by home.social.
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#PennedPossibilities 1123: What figure do people most commonly tell stories about? How are these stories told (books, plays, television, spoken word, broadcast, etc.)?
There are books, newspapers, and theatre as well cinema akin to the silent film era. Theirs is a civilization powered by human labor and something else that isn't electricity. I don't know a heck of a lot about the stories they favor or tell, but I do know a character who's deeply into romance and gothic novels, who frighteningly takes some guidance from them in real life. Stories are serialized in newspapers like Dickens were. As for the types of stories in theatre, one actor playwright in this #excerpt talks about a trope popular in this strongly woman-centric society. CW: Casting couch reference.
[Morning Glory said, "You're] like I was: A kid barely old enough to be adult, who every woman wanted to ride whether I was in a local actors' group or later in a traveling theatre troupe. I got parts when others didn't, bit parts definitely, sharp looking window dressing, likely at first because I was an expert ride; I paid attention in Men's Studies in school, especially the practicums. It took years to change from being cast as the conniving man who uses the woman and comes to a tragic end, to writing plays where I helped the woman succeed against her competition because of my conniving ways—" He sighed. "—and together we'd fight—"
"For equality?" I asked.
"Yeah, yeah," …
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#Writephant 2026.0908 — A4. Do you have a story or character dealing with a labor dispute? What was the end result?
Yes. There is a story that includes unions forming where there is a dispute between people who want to transport freight using a highway locomotive and those who want to do it the traditional way (1 employee vs 8-10 respectively). It's mostly a color for the novella, since the characters are riding one of those highway locomotives that, instead of hauling freight, is decked out like a private railcar. It also accounts for the stink eye traditional haulers give them when they visit a roadside café. An SC is the driver.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author #mystery #thriller #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#Writephant 2026.0908 — A3. What job in speculative fiction do you wish existed in real life?
I'll be lazy and point at a job in mine. People need light. Folk who can create luminous sprites that late half a day can make a good living lighting homes and lampposts. Seems congenial, and a good way to meet all the people in town or your neighborhood.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#Writephant 2026.0808 — A2. A good union in theory helps you campaign for fair living wages and benefits. In a fantasy or sci fi world, what is a a possible work benefit that our world may not need?
Unions do show up in the Reluctance series, mostly through loss of work issues. However, it occurs to me that since day angels carry mail, there ought be work issues associated with wings, feathers, and flying in stormy conditions.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#Writephant 2026.0908 — A1. We talked about Labor Day a few years ago, an American holiday celebrating the sacrifices made by activists to reduce workplace abuse. How do you think the modern workplace has changed?
My philosophy is that if a company can't make a product and provide a living wage for labor, then their niche or process isn't reasonable and the product isn't viable. Underpaying labor isn't an option, and when labor doesn't earn a living wage, labor can't buy products anyway. (Downward spiral vs march upward theory.) This goes beyond safety issues, something government should ensure but often shirks. The modern workplace has become less friendly to paying labor enough woth elected officials more likely to take job-producer's side than labor's. Since labor is the vast majority of the population, why these people get elected is a "mystery."
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion -
#ScribesAndMakers 2026.09.08 — ~Gauge?
There are gauges in the Reluctance series, but not what you'd expect. There is a scene where they measure the air quality before taking off their spacesuit helmets. They drop a set of beads and feathers. Where they fall they obviously don't freely roll, but end up in a descriptive orientation which estimates the oxygen fraction amongst other gases.
Explaining the science behind it would be more spoilers than the spoiler I just gave you.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
photographer chef cooking
#sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory -
#WordWeavers 2026.09.08 — Which character would be the worst person to get trapped in an elevator with?
There are elevator scenes in the WIP. In a world where everyone sweats and inescapably has their own unique scent, Pigeon the Pilferer, an SC, really stinks. He is correctly diagnosed by a brainy SC as having Bromhidrosis, which sails about a meter over his featherbrain (but he's a day angel, so it's both a slur and descriptive). He has a sour scent with a never pleasant personality. You not only don't want him in an elevator with you and the elevator operator, you don't want to breathe the same air as the punk gangster, even outside!
[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 -
#WritersCoffeeClub #WCC 2026.09.08 — International Literacy Day! Share a moment when a reading of your work surprised you.
No specific moment, but over the last year while I have noticed that what I'm writing is maintaining that lyrical rhythmic pattern of spoken storytelling I both adore and have been attempting to write for years, my prose is also surviving revision that often recognized previous efforts were either too clunky or forced readers to back track whilst reading. I was pleased when I noticed it.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion -
#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 peasant 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 peasant 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 peasant 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 peasant 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 peasant 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 -
#GloriaSteinem, a #feminist icon, died yesterday. RIP. Here's a gift article for her obituary in The Atlantic magazine. I'll leave you with an instructive quote from the article about how girl culture is an insidious force controlling women's lives to their detriment, something Steinem herself was well aware of.
Needing approval, [Steinem] wrote, “is a female cultural disease, and often a sign of doing the wrong thing.”
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#PennedPossibilities 974 — Does your MC become jealous? If so, to what degree? How does their jealousy manifest?
Jealousy is something taught in our society.
Read that again.
Nobody ever teaches that jealousy is in any wise good in Bolt's society. It's mentioned as a pathology in Men's Studies, and men taught to recognize that pathology will send people to Health Services if they recognize it.
Bolt has felt envy, when she's seen a woman get a man she was eying.
She's not entirely happy in one scene in Reluctant Courier (for the Mob) when she finds her friend Blue entertaining a pair of women. It's too hard to explain the nuances here, but it's a normal occurrence related to what people in their world call a "man's duty." Calling Blue a part-time geisha hints at the situation, but is not really close. He, however, recognizes that's Bolt has had a bad day (she has them fairly often, working for the mob) and really needs friendly (and also intimate) consoling. She's not up to sharing right then. Blue pawns off the two women on another guy in the association he lives at.
Bolt isn't jealous. That's not the emotion. There is no anger, simply disappointment. Bolt and Blue are completely human, but the society is subtly, but sometimes in your face, alien in ways we can't grasp thanks to our enculturation and gender roles.
[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]
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