#flashfiction — Public Fediverse posts

#ThursThreads Week 707 is LIVE. Come tie on your tale for judge Muirlette #1. What kind of tale can you tie on? #FlashFiction #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompt #AmWriting #writing https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-707/

#ThursThreads Week 707 is LIVE. Come tie on your tale for judge Muirlette #1. What kind of tale can you tie on? #FlashFiction #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompt #AmWriting #writing https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-707/

#ThursThreads Week 707 is LIVE. Come tie on your tale for judge Muirlette #1. What kind of tale can you tie on? #FlashFiction #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompt #AmWriting #writing https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-707/

#ThursThreads Week 707 is LIVE. Come tie on your tale for judge Muirlette #1. What kind of tale can you tie on? #FlashFiction #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompt #AmWriting #writing https://siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads-tying-tales-together-week-707/

Snip from a Friday the 13th x Ides of March + tech horror for today's #WIPSnips: “hour” Read it here - Beware the Ides of March www.patreon.com/posts/beware... #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #AmWriting #BookSky #FlashFiction #ShortStory #ReadSky #ReaderSky

RE: https://bsky.app/profile/did:plc:jecquekt6dif7ctvonpphsu6/post/3mlpk2sgfuc2u

#WordWeavers 2026.05.12 — What role does romantic love play in your story?

Part of my aim writing the Reluctance Series of stories is to address what-if human social structures totally different to ours, societies with no history of being male-centric. As a result, I approach the concept of romantic love from a totally foreign point of view, deconstructing what romance means when human biological imperatives are accepted as typically human and as normal as eating and sleeping, never regulated to control half of humanity or build a social hierarchy to oppresses both genders. Romance exists, but it's more applicable to friendship and long term relationships, regardless of gender, than to a woman stereotypically finding a man to whom she's not related to depend upon, possibly to raise a family. Even in a society stripped of the concept of blood inheritance, I think it's possible for humans to find soulmates, to experience love, and feel comfortable attachment. For this reason, none of my stories can really escape a romance angle; most include romance subplots.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#romance #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.12 — What role does romantic love play in your story?

Part of my aim writing the Reluctance Series of stories is to address what-if human social structures totally different to ours, societies with no history of being male-centric. As a result, I approach the concept of romantic love from a totally foreign point of view, deconstructing what romance means when human biological imperatives are accepted as typically human and as normal as eating and sleeping, never regulated to control half of humanity or build a social hierarchy to oppresses both genders. Romance exists, but it's more applicable to friendship and long term relationships, regardless of gender, than to a woman stereotypically finding a man to whom she's not related to depend upon, possibly to raise a family. Even in a society stripped of the concept of blood inheritance, I think it's possible for humans to find soulmates, to experience love, and feel comfortable attachment. For this reason, none of my stories can really escape a romance angle; most include romance subplots.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#romance #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.12 — What role does romantic love play in your story?

Part of my aim writing the Reluctance Series of stories is to address what-if human social structures totally different to ours, societies with no history of being male-centric. As a result, I approach the concept of romantic love from a totally foreign point of view, deconstructing what romance means when human biological imperatives are accepted as typically human and as normal as eating and sleeping, never regulated to control half of humanity or build a social hierarchy to oppresses both genders. Romance exists, but it's more applicable to friendship and long term relationships, regardless of gender, than to a woman stereotypically finding a man to whom she's not related to depend upon, possibly to raise a family. Even in a society stripped of the concept of blood inheritance, I think it's possible for humans to find soulmates, to experience love, and feel comfortable attachment. For this reason, none of my stories can really escape a romance angle; most include romance subplots.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#romance #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.12 — What role does romantic love play in your story?

Part of my aim writing the Reluctance Series of stories is to address what-if human social structures totally different to ours, societies with no history of being male-centric. As a result, I approach the concept of romantic love from a totally foreign point of view, deconstructing what romance means when human biological imperatives are accepted as typically human and as normal as eating and sleeping, never regulated to control half of humanity or build a social hierarchy to oppresses both genders. Romance exists, but it's more applicable to friendship and long term relationships, regardless of gender, than to a woman stereotypically finding a man to whom she's not related to depend upon, possibly to raise a family. Even in a society stripped of the concept of blood inheritance, I think it's possible for humans to find soulmates, to experience love, and feel comfortable attachment. For this reason, none of my stories can really escape a romance angle; most include romance subplots.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#romance #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.12 — What role does romantic love play in your story?

Part of my aim writing the Reluctance Series of stories is to address what-if human social structures totally different to ours, societies with no history of being male-centric. As a result, I approach the concept of romantic love from a totally foreign point of view, deconstructing what romance means when human biological imperatives are accepted as typically human and as normal as eating and sleeping, never regulated to control half of humanity or build a social hierarchy to oppresses both genders. Romance exists, but it's more applicable to friendship and long term relationships, regardless of gender, than to a woman stereotypically finding a man to whom she's not related to depend upon, possibly to raise a family. Even in a society stripped of the concept of blood inheritance, I think it's possible for humans to find soulmates, to experience love, and feel comfortable attachment. For this reason, none of my stories can really escape a romance angle; most include romance subplots.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#romance #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.11 — Antagonist POV: Tell us about a fun time you recently had.

While flying, I found a new praetorian of mine and a day angel woman I'd been told about by an advisor having fun in the sky, flying tandem. She went by the name Lightning Bolt and was the one who taught Arrow Flies True precision flying that allowed him to become part of my guard—for selfish reasons I could see! Very athletic, those two.They were having so much fun. I soared in to join them.

Most people either fright, flee, or fawn when I show up, this time flying circles around her, them, but she took the challenge and flew flack, stunt for stunt I tried, countering me sparrow versus hawk driving her away from the man, despite my being faster and more agile, able to augment my acceleration [by magic]. We ended with us on either side of my handsome new praetorian wingtip to wingtip, having gotten me to sweat at least.

The fellow looked adorably confused and worried, but kept formation despite being fought over.

It wasn't anger Bolt showed me. It was more like annoyance, having her needed playtime interrupted perhaps after a previous bad day? I knew that feeling. It was a fragility masked with a hard shell. A good talent.

I liked her. I hadn't had such fun in awhile. I mentally noted to make her a student. Lots of potential to match my ability given the right training.

Author note: As an absolute ruler, you don't want to interest Rainy Days. She seems pleasant and normal, but her students quickly find she's an unrelenting and demanding teacher.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.11 — Antagonist POV: Tell us about a fun time you recently had.

While flying, I found a new praetorian of mine and a day angel woman I'd been told about by an advisor having fun in the sky, flying tandem. She went by the name Lightning Bolt and was the one who taught Arrow Flies True precision flying that allowed him to become part of my guard—for selfish reasons I could see! Very athletic, those two.They were having so much fun. I soared in to join them.

Most people either fright, flee, or fawn when I show up, this time flying circles around her, them, but she took the challenge and flew flack, stunt for stunt I tried, countering me sparrow versus hawk driving her away from the man, despite my being faster and more agile, able to augment my acceleration [by magic]. We ended with us on either side of my handsome new praetorian wingtip to wingtip, having gotten me to sweat at least.

The fellow looked adorably confused and worried, but kept formation despite being fought over.

It wasn't anger Bolt showed me. It was more like annoyance, having her needed playtime interrupted perhaps after a previous bad day? I knew that feeling. It was a fragility masked with a hard shell. A good talent.

I liked her. I hadn't had such fun in awhile. I mentally noted to make her a student. Lots of potential to match my ability given the right training.

Author note: As an absolute ruler, you don't want to interest Rainy Days. She seems pleasant and normal, but her students quickly find she's an unrelenting and demanding teacher.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.11 — Antagonist POV: Tell us about a fun time you recently had.

While flying, I found a new praetorian of mine and a day angel woman I'd been told about by an advisor having fun in the sky, flying tandem. She went by the name Lightning Bolt and was the one who taught Arrow Flies True precision flying that allowed him to become part of my guard—for selfish reasons I could see! Very athletic, those two.They were having so much fun. I soared in to join them.

Most people either fright, flee, or fawn when I show up, this time flying circles around her, them, but she took the challenge and flew flack, stunt for stunt I tried, countering me sparrow versus hawk driving her away from the man, despite my being faster and more agile, able to augment my acceleration [by magic]. We ended with us on either side of my handsome new praetorian wingtip to wingtip, having gotten me to sweat at least.

The fellow looked adorably confused and worried, but kept formation despite being fought over.

It wasn't anger Bolt showed me. It was more like annoyance, having her needed playtime interrupted perhaps after a previous bad day? I knew that feeling. It was a fragility masked with a hard shell. A good talent.

I liked her. I hadn't had such fun in awhile. I mentally noted to make her a student. Lots of potential to match my ability given the right training.

Author note: As an absolute ruler, you don't want to interest Rainy Days. She seems pleasant and normal, but her students quickly find she's an unrelenting and demanding teacher.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.11 — Antagonist POV: Tell us about a fun time you recently had.

While flying, I found a new praetorian of mine and a day angel woman I'd been told about by an advisor having fun in the sky, flying tandem. She went by the name Lightning Bolt and was the one who taught Arrow Flies True precision flying that allowed him to become part of my guard—for selfish reasons I could see! Very athletic, those two.They were having so much fun. I soared in to join them.

Most people either fright, flee, or fawn when I show up, this time flying circles around her, them, but she took the challenge and flew flack, stunt for stunt I tried, countering me sparrow versus hawk driving her away from the man, despite my being faster and more agile, able to augment my acceleration [by magic]. We ended with us on either side of my handsome new praetorian wingtip to wingtip, having gotten me to sweat at least.

The fellow looked adorably confused and worried, but kept formation despite being fought over.

It wasn't anger Bolt showed me. It was more like annoyance, having her needed playtime interrupted perhaps after a previous bad day? I knew that feeling. It was a fragility masked with a hard shell. A good talent.

I liked her. I hadn't had such fun in awhile. I mentally noted to make her a student. Lots of potential to match my ability given the right training.

Author note: As an absolute ruler, you don't want to interest Rainy Days. She seems pleasant and normal, but her students quickly find she's an unrelenting and demanding teacher.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#WordWeavers 2026.05.11 — Antagonist POV: Tell us about a fun time you recently had.

While flying, I found a new praetorian of mine and a day angel woman I'd been told about by an advisor having fun in the sky, flying tandem. She went by the name Lightning Bolt and was the one who taught Arrow Flies True precision flying that allowed him to become part of my guard—for selfish reasons I could see! Very athletic, those two.They were having so much fun. I soared in to join them.

Most people either fright, flee, or fawn when I show up, this time flying circles around her, them, but she took the challenge and flew flack, stunt for stunt I tried, countering me sparrow versus hawk driving her away from the man, despite my being faster and more agile, able to augment my acceleration [by magic]. We ended with us on either side of my handsome new praetorian wingtip to wingtip, having gotten me to sweat at least.

The fellow looked adorably confused and worried, but kept formation despite being fought over.

It wasn't anger Bolt showed me. It was more like annoyance, having her needed playtime interrupted perhaps after a previous bad day? I knew that feeling. It was a fragility masked with a hard shell. A good talent.

I liked her. I hadn't had such fun in awhile. I mentally noted to make her a student. Lots of potential to match my ability given the right training.

Author note: As an absolute ruler, you don't want to interest Rainy Days. She seems pleasant and normal, but her students quickly find she's an unrelenting and demanding teacher.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

#gender #fiction #writer #author
#Cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

my one and only (a fairytale of sorts)

When Maggie was a child, she had a little dog, a dog she loved more than anything else in the world. He was her greatest comfort, her confidant, her friend—and the warmest buffer between her and her warring parents. When no older than four, she’d often sit on the front steps of the family home with the black and white pup at her side, doing her best to ignore the carrying on of her parents inside. For as long as the commotion lasted, she and her pup would remain planted there, staring out at the quiet row of houses on the opposite side of the street. From time to time, as a way to console him and herself, she’d pat his head gently or stroke his silky coat. When she was a few years older, she began reading to him from storybooks she got from the library, promising that one day they too would go off on a happy adventure. And always when Maggie looked into the dog’s glowing brown eyes, and he looked steadily into hers, she knew with all her heart that he understood. So when only a few years later, before her eighth birthday, he passed away suddenly, it was as if an essential part of her own being had gone with him. But where had he gone to? she wondered. Would she ever see him again? Perhaps in heaven? Her parents tried but couldn’t answer these difficult questions to her satisfaction. Her father said instead that they could go right away to get her another dog, but that made Maggie throw herself onto the bed and cry. Her mother suggested a cat, but that made Maggie cry even more. But then time passed, as it always does, slowly at first, and then in a rush, and so it was that eventually, Maggie understood her dog was gone forever, and the only solution to her sadness, the only defense against time, was to never forget him.

Now that Margaret (formerly Maggie) was an old woman—well, perhaps not that old, but old enough to have had a long career as a librarian, and old enough so that many memories had grown tattered with time—she had the barest of memories sitting outside along with her dog while her parents argued. She didn’t remember vowing to never forget her little companion, to cherish him always as the one and only in her life who listened to both her wishes and her woes. And yet…in the back of Margaret’s mind, she sensed there had to be more to this story, something she had forgotten.

Then one day she found herself in an unfamiliar neighborhood. It was an area near a homeless shelter where she had just started as a volunteer reading stories to children. She had finished for the day, and as she made her way down the narrow sidewalk toward her parked car, she saw a little dog crossing the street to get to the other side. Thankfully, there was only light traffic, so the dog made it safely across. “He’s just going home,” she thought. But, no, he passed one house and then another before finally stopping before a gardener trimming a bush brimming with white blossoms. The man stopped for a moment, reached into his pocket, and gave the dog some sort of treat. Then immediately both returned to what they’d been doing before: the man trimming the bush, the dog moving on. The woman, merely curious, yelled over, “Is that your dog?” The man yelled back, “No, ma’am. I just feed him once in a while. Do you want a dog?”

Margaret didn’t know what to say. She just watched as the dog moved further along in a rather comical bow-legged waddling walk. It was a black and white Chihuahua mix with short legs and large patches of missing fur on one side of his body revealing pink skin. Finally, Margaret said, “Doesn’t he live around here?”

“No,” the man said, “he just goes from place to place. No home.”

“Does he bite?” Margaret then asked.

“No, he just might lick you to death,” he replied, smiling.

Without much decision making on her part, other than thinking she’d drive the dog over to a shelter, she asked the gardener to pick up the dog and put him in the backseat of her car, which he did.

It was only after she took the dog home, gave him a bath, fed him a meal of chicken and rice, which he devoured within seconds, that Maggie realized this little dog, who now curled up next to her on the couch, was similar, maybe even identical (except for the missing fur), to her long-lost childhood companion. The memory came back to her slowly at first, and then in a mad rush. Was her mind playing tricks? Was she going crazy? Or maybe, she thought, this is the one miracle, the one wished-for adventure, granted to me in life. The kind I don’t have to dissect or explain to anyone, least of all to myself.

And while Maggie thought these thoughts, the dog continued to sleep soundly beside her. After a time, however, when Maggie moved on to considering other incomprehensible things, like the swift passage of time and her now elderly parents, who despite their disastrous marriage had somehow remained close, the little dog awoke and looked directly at her. “Hi, Charlie,” Maggie said. “Welcome home.” And the pup’s wide brown eyes, glowing warmly, told her all she needed to know.

How I wrote | A Head Full of Ghosts | Flash fiction
👉 https://alisonlittle.blog/2026/05/03/a-head-full-of-ghosts-hums-louder-at-dusk/
#FlashFiction #Memory #Loss

🔮 Dive into spine-chilling tales that pack a punch in just a few words. Submit your microhorror stories (under 500 words) to Dark Descent for a chance to unsettle and linger.

📖 https://www.darkholmepublishing.uk/darkdescentsubmissions

#horrorwriters #flashfiction #readingcommunity #horrorcommunity #writingcommunity #indieauthors #darkfiction

Cloudy weather put me back indoors to read you all a story about #clouds.
☁️
Enjoy #Cirrus, the 385th edition of #Paranatellonta. There's a doggie (or Hellhound). What more can I say to convince you to watch? 😄
🐶
#mythology #dogs #gods #photography #flashfiction #reading
🧑‍🦳
https://youtu.be/pcrJ0vnzwN8

Image inspired by A Head Full of Ghosts—a visual reflection on memory, absence, and the quiet spaces people leave behind.
A companion to the flash fiction by Alison Little, where fragments of feeling become atmosphere.
👉 https://alisonlittle.blog/2026/05/03/a-head-full-of-ghosts-hums-louder-at-dusk/
#FlashFiction #Memory #Loss

#PennedPossibilities 994 — Did any of your characters have a favorite comfort item as a child? If so, at what age did they stop using it? Do they still have it?

The devil-girl has a book. It may be Merchant Duck's Codicils and Interlocutory Physics, 3rd Extended Edition.1 I'll have to check my notes. The 19th edition had been redacted heavily by the Directorate, so the devil-girl instantly fell in love when she accidentally kicked the doorstop in her library and found the decaying double-sized primer under the hardened grime, masquerading as a brick. She's never checked, but suspects it is a banned book, but even so it ought be worth at least 10 years basic income on the black market to the right buyer.

She had been given the library to satiate her interest in Thaumaturgy, perhaps the best stocked library in the world, but in her teens she ran away and couldn't take much with her.

She chose Merchant Duck's.

It clicked with how she thought, made her think she could do all those things she kept failing at—only the most arcane complex things because easy things are simply too boring to learn. If she only studied hard enough! She has traveled across the continent with it now, homeless a lot of the time or employed by questionable people who know how to entice her with her quirks, but she'll be the first to admit it, asked: She sleeps with that 500 year old book like a plush rabbit. She reads it until she falls asleep and it is covered with drool stains. It smells of her sweat and that old book mustiness.

She did clean it up before sleeping with it!!!

=-=-=-=
1 The title can be found in this tootfic, but I think she has had it from the beginning: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/109826357405137553

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

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#WritersCoffeeClub #WCC 2026.04.23 —What are some form conventions you disregard?

Remember, I got a C- in high school English. Other than learning manuscript submission format and how typical SF books are formatted,, I probably ignore plenty of form conventions I am not aware of. Anyone want to analyze my writer challenge game posts to clue me in? I'd be much obliged!1

=-=-=-=-=-=
1 Actually, please don't. 😋

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

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The defeated villain laughed at the face of the hero.

"You fool, I'm immortal! No injury can kill me!"

"Oh, really?"

371 years later, archeologists unearth a steel box.

"That's the last one. All others are long decomposed".

Inside the box, a perfectly preserved human head, catatonic expression, mouth open on an eternal airless scream. Alive.

#Fiction #MicroFiction #FlashFiction #Fantasy #Horror #BodyHorror

The defeated villain laughed at the face of the hero.

"You fool, I'm immortal! No injury can kill me!"

"Oh, really?"

371 years later, archeologists unearth a steel box.

"That's the last one. All others are long decomposed".

Inside the box, a perfectly preserved human head, catatonic expression, mouth open on an eternal airless scream. Alive.

#Fiction #MicroFiction #FlashFiction #Fantasy #Horror #BodyHorror

The defeated villain laughed at the face of the hero.

"You fool, I'm immortal! No injury can kill me!"

"Oh, really?"

371 years later, archeologists unearth a steel box.

"That's the last one. All others are long decomposed".

Inside the box, a perfectly preserved human head, catatonic expression, mouth open on an eternal airless scream. Alive.

#Fiction #MicroFiction #FlashFiction #Fantasy #Horror #BodyHorror

The defeated villain laughed at the face of the hero.

"You fool, I'm immortal! No injury can kill me!"

"Oh, really?"

371 years later, archeologists unearth a steel box.

"That's the last one. All others are long decomposed".

Inside the box, a perfectly preserved human head, catatonic expression, mouth open on an eternal airless scream. Alive.

#Fiction #MicroFiction #FlashFiction #Fantasy #Horror #BodyHorror

#WordWeavers 2026.04.18 —If your antagonist had to learn a musical instrument, what would they pick and why?

I'm getting caught up in the word "had" here, as in the sense of both forced and required, but allowed to pick.

Rainy Days was born poor to a carpenter having committed the sin of being female in a society that gave women little self-agency. No coin for musical instruments. By her twenties, nobody in her world could require her anything.

Pigeon the Pilferer has the delicacy and manners of a dropped hammer, and is likely as dense. While he might have been required in upper school, nobody, no teacher and certainly no punk, was going to force him against his will. Having a rattle to use, stalking his prey through shadowy alleys like a snake, seems somehow appropriate, but for him it would be a choice

Boss Mead has a suitable middle class education, but was never the sort to excel. His school years are a tabla rasa to me. I can imagine economics forcing him after graduation to make coin and requiring him to learn something simple to create it. Piano-man piano seems his speed. Easy. He's a chill and affable person. His one real talent makes it easy for others to find reasons to make him happy—let's call it charisma for now—and convincing someone to teach him to play piano in a restaurant or a lounge would have been easy for him. Piano-man piano is basically learning how to play the keys and read the music sufficiently to pick out the melody. Then, it's memorization, and it's practice. With an added level of learning how to play "fancy," things like multi-finger chords, rhythm, dynamics, and such—which could have been picked up by listening to his mentor play—Boss Mead could have learned the music easily and learned to reproduce it for hours with feeling, creating a night long ambience and fugue. Yes, I can see Boss Mead starring in a hazy bar, a red whiskey in a crystal glass over the rocks on a coaster, sitting beside a torchere candelabra, playing until late, and making his first contacts for subsequent shady deals. Not canon, yet.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

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#ScribesAndMakers ∆ 2026.04.14 — What's something that's going well with your creativity this month?

Well, I'm creeping up on those little things that are keeping me from completing chapters, so that's good. Could be better. A lot better…

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing
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photographer chef cooking
#cozy #mystery #thriller #romance #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction
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#WritersCoffeeClub #WCC 2026.04.14 —Do you consciously work with syllabic stress to create rhythm?

Pretty consistently. Yes. Yes, I do.

Pressed, I'll say I'm a writer. Given a moment to think on it, I'll say, "I'm an author," but that's not the gist. I am a prosaist. In my heart. It's what a poet is. For prose.

Words matter.

Storytelling definitely matters, but if the prose lacks music the story lacks muscle. I'm very conscious of syllabic stress; I choose my words carefully, first for meaning, then for how they sound. I revise for rhythmic reasons as well as for clarity. Punctuation is not a rule; it's an accelerator, a brake, maybe even a clutch. I use italics to push and to pull. It isn't my only tool. Alliteration, repetition of words and sentence structure, meter—I employ plenty of tricks.

Sometimes I even sound eloquent. I write my prose to be read aloud. Syllabic stress… it's kinda important.

Of course, sometimes a sentence doesn't work.

You don't get to read those. I scrap 'em. Then start all over again.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

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The April Monthly Writing Contest themes are:
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#WordWeavers 2026.04.12 —Your MC has 2 1/2 days of spare time, time to...

The facts of Bolt's life are that she finds a blue envelope, or is given an item, and she delivers it to the addressee. She has no regular work hours or workplace. She finds coins somewhere in her path when she's done her job. She works for the mob, and when they tell her to do something like shadow someone through the city? She. Does. It.

If she were told she had 2 1/2 days of spare time, she'd likely freak out, worried she'd done something bad and that the boss about to torture her.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

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#WordWeavers 2026.04.09 —One of your characters is seeing something unbelievable. What is it & why are they seeing it?

Well, it isn't until later in the story that Bolt learns "what it is," so I won't tell you, though realistically someone more worldly than her might have known, but she doesn't. She hears a loud boom downtown; tracking it down, she finds that a five story tall circle of absolute darkness—blackness that absorbs all light framed in blue continuous lightning—has appeared across Chestnut Blvd, wedged between two tall buildings, cracking brick and cutting into the pavement, snarling traffic as it crackles and pops and stinks of ozone. It has no thickness, like gossamer fabric. She attributes it to some egghead daemon messing up a miracle.

She doesn't notice people are annoyed more than frightened.

Why is she seeing it? (Other than the obvious of her having sought out the cause of the boom?) She'd have to ask the three people she sees running from inside it.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

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#ScribesAndMakers ∆ 2026.04.08 — Victuals?

Wherever story intersects a meal, ya betcha! Bolt (a day angel with wings) has arrived looking for a friend at an up-and-rising victual​ists' red popup tent restaurant. This #excerpt is from the current chapter.

…[l]ots of chatting feathers and friends merrily eating, their plates ringing when struck with flatware, swinging big glasses of amber-red sudsy beer. Still hot inside, despite the cooling miracle, the popup smelled of sweat, beer, grilled food, and sweat. Happy people with food, in other words. Mid-tent, grill illuminated by multi-color directional sprites, three day angels threw down crimped saffron dumplings, brown noodles, blocks of fermented tofu, and knots of cabbage-shred, beside what might be mackerel or pickled river-pike to the grill that got spiked to what dish demanded it. A fledgling rushed over with a slopping pot of batter. The sizzling competed mightily against the din and shouting, but failed to even place. The clatter of the wood handled spatulas did compete, tossing, splatting, and chopping musically, definitely with rhythm. A red-feathered man (the owner's bother) squirted their signature black smoked-oil and then spicy orange sauce from bladders, fanning the food with his wings for the twin women victualists, raising clouds of delicious grey-brown steam.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

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photographer chef cooking
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#PennedPossibilities 976 — What aspect of your SC’s personality are they most insecure about?

Blue recently became a praetorian guard†, something that in his society is rather rare because he is male. Best (or worse, because of his insecurities), his boss†† has decided he merits training for a leadership role, which is doubly special. The problem is, he never planned to find a dream job. The MC Bolt had been training him athletically for her own reasons (okay, sex), and he was approached by a recruiter in the gym. Bolt pushed him to try out, then trained him hard when he aced the initial interview. Of all the men in the story, Blue is the most invested in his gender role. Like most men he is strong and dependable, but atypically, at least in the eyes of what's typical to many women in his society, he's both a people person and intelligent. Perfect for his new job.

But, in their society, men raise their sister's children (which requires a big explanation, so just go with it). He knew this growing up, planned for it—really wants to raise any nieces or nephews his younger sister might have. He would never have thought of refusing…

But now. A praetorian? A rare job? Prestigious? And he loves it?

Frankly, his responsibilities to his family, the contradiction of his gender role, and his loyalty to a liege he would never have met personally††† are messing with his brain.

Yes, this is a turn about story plot roughly equivalent to a woman with a demanding CEO job faced with a pregnancy, and really wanting to raise that child. He is taking the situation absolutely as seriously.

RS writes gender fiction, naturally.

=-=-=-=-=-=
† Substituting that Blue is working for the absolute ruler of the world, Director Rainy Days, here's a definition, cribbed from Wikipedia:

[A] Praetorian Guard (Latin: cohortes praetoriae) was the imperial guard of the Imperial Roman army that served various roles for the Roman emperor including being a bodyguard unit, counterintelligence, crowd control and gathering military intelligence.

†† Director Rainy Days.

††† Director Rainy Days likes men. She made sure she met him. Personally. A male praetorian guard can serve additional purposes.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

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#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#PennedPossibilities 975 — SC POV: What did you get into trouble for the most when you were young?

[Here's me taking the sense of "trouble" differently than intended. Sorry! 😋The SC POV is male reporter friend of Bolt's that now uses the name Steamed Milk and Sugar. —RS]

I was always a good kid, in adult terms, growing up, but I did concern my parents that I might be taking a difficult path. I chose the name Peach Blossom Girl at the age of 8, to leave no doubt. I'd realized I was born with the wrong gender a couple years before and acting the tomboy was wearing thin; it wasn't the me inside. I wasn't rowdy, into improving my looks and performance, or wanting to play sports sports sports all the time like the boys. I got along better with the girls, but they were always suspicious of me.

I never hid my biological gender. As I grew into a teenager, many boys accepted me as a funny-looking "girl" they could practice being friendly around. Since I was interested in the wears and scholarly subjects girls were interested in, and never hid anything from any girl or dodged even the most personal questions—even admitting that though I thought of myself as a girl I still was attracted to girls—I got more than tolerated. I got girl friends! My friends enjoyed that with me around, they could get handsy with me and shoo away the more agro boys.

Of course, the nascent agros of both sexes didn't always get the message. Dense as lead, a few were. I think the vice-headmaster Waving Wheat Heads appreciated me identifying future criminals that she could re-educate, despite the bruises and once the broken nose I suffered from erstwhile peers trying to re-educate me.

That is what trouble I got into.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

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#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#ScribesAndMakers 2026.03.30 —Do birds ever feature in your work? Give an example #excerpt.

The current title I am writing in the reluctance series features a day angel. She has wings, owl patterned with blue and white feathers, but Bolt would take exception if you called her a bird. For a woman, it's a slur. It's an SF story, so her being able to fly requires more than pure muscle power. She calls it gravitics. This is very 1st draft and it needs work. I still have to check my aeronautical terminology, but let's take flight anyway!

I heard a familiar whistle, not Boss Mead or one of his shadowy bodyguards, either. Never was. Clink. Jangle. I glanced at the pavement. Three silver coins spun where the cement met the dirty formerly absolute white wall.

I grinned. I flicked my left wing up with a waveguide twist. Immediate anti-gravitic thrust let me throw my feet upward and my torso ahead, cartwheeling with six limbs in a way a saint with all her strength and a piddling four limbs could never do, or most non-athletic feathers. I snatched the coins as I spun past. The bonus conserved momentum let me launch myself forward. Flapping for all I had to level out, I rocketed along the centerline of the road until I could bank west, sideways, into a slot alley. Wingtipping the walls with my crazy velocity—my feathers made a zzzzz sound—tilted diagonally, left primaries warped to the left wall, the rights toward the right, I sent uncompensated gravity torque pushing against those walls. Raw thrust kept me from dropping more than a handswidth per heartbeat to the cobblestones, still frighteningly quickly toward my left wing tip as I accelerated toward an almost to distant exit. Leaves, dirt, and cans shot away in spirals or as if kicked, banging walls or jumping a couple stories upwards.

A lost memory now found surfaced from when I was twelve: I remembered side-flying that got me suspended, trying to embarrass a girl classmate—Sage Peaches was it?—who'd bullied me before I fledged. Had the boy blocking the alley between buildings not dove to the pavement, nothing but feathers would have remained when we would have collided, but flap that was fun! I remembered screaming in glee as I buzz cut the vice headmaster's hair, unaware of my impending disaster.

I stormed over a parked wagon; a load of recycled newspapers snapped and roared as they got sucked aloft behind me. The alley opened up to a dome, across a city street, with light traffic but thankfully no busses or lorries, that often had an upsweep thermal. It did today. I rolled in the turbulence greeting me, back-flapped and pulled up against all the gees I could stand and shot up like a firework easily twenty stories, flapping for all I was worth, barely clearing the curving away wall, squealing in glee until I shed my momentum and leveled off without stalling.

I might be approaching 30, but flying risky maneuvers were the water of life, and my racing heart agreed. Skill or chance, skill prevailed for me. These days, little else fun was guaranteed me but flight. It didn't hurt as I kept my muscles tuned at Sky Dancer's Gym. I banked toward the Residency. A 10º horizon trim set my glide path, feathers buzzing nicely as my racing heart slowed. The News Building tower to its southeast hove into view above the skyscrapers and rooftop trees between.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

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photographer chef cooking
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#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
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#PennedPossibilities 970 — MC POV: Have you ever experienced something that couldn’t be logically explained?

[Bolt:] Look. I was never good at school, except in athletics. It never made sense to me, all them girls and guys studying boring things and liking it. Now adays, I can't get my head around the logic of working in an office, doing all them repetitive things over and over and over again. Not being able to move around all day long? Ugh! Don't see the logic in that. I can't figure out how I'd ever let myself do that, no matter the coin it generated. Were I not a courier for the mob, I suppose being a courier might have been what I settled on. Or a furniture mover, if I could get that. Construction, maybe? Gotta be in motion!

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

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#cozy #mystery #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
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𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔: “𝑬𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚" -

"Esmond has no need to see the abandoned starling nest to his right: he hears, echoing still, seven generations of them across the past nine years, jumbled warblings and desperate imitations of jays to hold off predators . . . "

https://waywordsstudio.com/fiction/esmond-at-the-factory/

#shortstory #writingcommunity #flashfiction #fiction #shortreads #shortfiction #charactersketch #hearing #factory #history #audiosensitivity

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑾𝒂𝒚𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔: “𝑬𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚" -

"Esmond has no need to see the abandoned starling nest to his right: he hears, echoing still, seven generations of them across the past nine years, jumbled warblings and desperate imitations of jays to hold off predators . . . "

https://waywordsstudio.com/fiction/esmond-at-the-factory/

#shortstory #writingcommunity #flashfiction #fiction #shortreads #shortfiction #charactersketch #hearing #factory #history #audiosensitivity

#ScribesAndMakers 2026.03.24 —Do you have a sewing kit in your home?

RS takes a moment to engage the storyteller part of the brain…

One spouse had one from the beginning. A big clear plastic box like a tool kit, shoebox-size, yellowed with age, with an inside caddy. Hidden in the fragrant cedar plank walk-in closet. It makes a distinctive hollow clunk when it hits the shoe rack and a snap when the metal buckle latches, despite the muffling clothing. Plenty of spools of colored thread, from bobbin sizes to big wooden spools. Needles. Lots of needles. Some with golden eyes, plated with real gold. Tiny scissors; they fold.

One of us can mend tiny tears and even do a button. The other draws blood with a swear more often than not.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

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photographer chef cooking
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
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#PennedPossibilities 966 — SC POV: When was the last time you got lost?

Most of my characters, who aren't antagonists, I would ask this to have wings. Kind of hard for a day angel or a night angel to get lost when they can easily get a bird's eye view. So, I'll ask Shugh, short for Steamed Milk and Sugar. He's a real saint. (I won't explain the pun; you'd have to read the story.)

[Shugh:] As a college trained journalist, I moved to Home City to find work at one of the newspapers or magazines published there—but I was a man trying to become a reporter in a field dominated by women. I performed plenty of menial labor for years, but kept showing up in newsrooms willing to take even a janitorial position.

One day, a night angel in the elevator mistook me for a gofer. She handed me coin and sent me to fetch her ramen and tea at a place she'd heard was amazing. Of course, that meant finding the right building with a day angel food court on the roof. She'd given me directions and a restaurant name, but apparently I hadn't gotten the directions right. Since I don't have wings (I'm neither a day nor a night angel), that meant climbing dozens of flights of stairs in a dozen old buildings lacking elevators until I found it. Two hours later.

Well, it did smell amazing. Spicy. Lots of garlic.

When I returned looking beyond wilted, only to have my empty stomach growl loudly, the dark woman with velvety black wings took pity on me. She never admitted it, but I think she'd hazed the new man in the office, not realizing I wasn't even hired. She did listen to my sad story, and shared the ramen in their lunch room, with curious women coworkers sometimes walking by to ogle me. I'm not very masculine and intentionally a little plump, always dressing as genderless as I could to blend amongst the other women, never looking competitive or that I might go aggro. I could do this! I'd always felt more at home amongst the women in school than with other guys, and had learned well how to be accepted.

Turned out she was the layout editor at Around the City. She couldn't hire me, but she knew the woman in charge of photography at the newspaper two floors above in the same building.

Long story short, I now share an apartment with Night On Fire, and her bed—well, she insisted—and I now also work at that newspaper two floors above as a (too junior to get an assignment so he's a gofer and in the typing pool) reporter. Despite being male, I've gotten my foot in the door. I took the name Steamed Milk and Sugar in further effort to fit in, biding my time to jump on a story that will prove my worth despite my gender.

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing

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#RSdiscussion
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#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

A flash fiction story written by me. The image is by Warwick Goble. #BookChatWeekly #Mythology #MythologySky #IrishMythology #CelticMythology #Folklore #FolkloreSky #IrishFolklore #CelticFolklore #Celtic #Leprechaun #Fairy #Faerie #Fiction #FictionSky #FlashFiction #FlashFictionSky #FantasyFiction

#WordWeavers 2026.03.10 —Antagonist POV: Imagine you achieved your goal. What's next?

[Welp, this is a good excuse to hash out the motivations of the antagonist in Reluctant Courier (for the Mob). —R.S.]

Boss Mead:

What’s next?

Wait?

Hope it works out as planned?

I disagreed with the family on this one, yet the family vetoed my veto. They've decided they know better than me on this one. Since I've run the syndicate, the constabulary has backed off, our more circumspect businesses have become "tolerated," the city is quiet since we incorporated the major gangs. Profitable?

Yes. This?

Too big a risk. I'm watching my back.

The Director's adopted daughter is a bully. She likes power, thinks she's entitled to it. I worry whether she'll remain on our side, honor our deal, as the Director delegates her power over the next few years. Information in exchange for a rare "candy." Until she has enough sway to change things by decree, she's ears on the inside to warn us. The family sees her as protection from the constabulary growing ambitious or aggressive. What happens if she decides our "relationship" has soured? Keeping her supplied reminds her each time we talk that we have her blackmailed. Could she eventually change the law that makes trafficking illegal? How will we know if she becomes so powerful she thinks she can overcome scandal to take down and take over our business instead?

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

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#WritersCoffeeClub #WCC 2026.03.06 —Is there a local writing community near you? Do you participate in it?

You can't get closer than Mastodon :mastodon: (🐘) on my very own computer!!! Too shy to look elsewhere…

I participate in:

#EroticMusings
#PennedPossibilites
#ScribesandMakers
#WordWeavers
#WritersCoffeeClub
#Writephant
#Writever

As well as:

#WritingCommunity
#WritersOfMastodon

[Author retains copyright (c)2026 R.S.]

#BoostingIsSharing
#gender #fiction #writer #author
#cozy #mystery #thriller #romance #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction
#writing #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #writers
#RSdiscussion
#RSstory #RSInklingsStory #RSReluctanceStory
#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

@bookstodon

Robert Louis Stevenson’s FABLES are little gems: many would be classed as flash- or microfiction today. You can download all 20 of Stevenson’s FABLES for free from our website – including the one where Long John Silver & Captain Smollett sneak out between chapters of TREASURE ISLAND for a fly smoke & a blether…

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/free-publications/fables/

#Scottish #literature #RobertLouisStevenson #fables #shortstories #flashfiction #microfiction #19thcentury #Victorian

@bookstodon

Robert Louis Stevenson’s FABLES are little gems: many would be classed as flash- or microfiction today. You can download all 20 of Stevenson’s FABLES for free from our website – including the one where Long John Silver & Captain Smollett sneak out between chapters of TREASURE ISLAND for a fly smoke & a blether…

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/free-publications/fables/

#Scottish #literature #RobertLouisStevenson #fables #shortstories #flashfiction #microfiction #19thcentury #Victorian

@bookstodon

Robert Louis Stevenson’s FABLES are little gems: many would be classed as flash- or microfiction today. You can download all 20 of Stevenson’s FABLES for free from our website – including the one where Long John Silver & Captain Smollett sneak out between chapters of TREASURE ISLAND for a fly smoke & a blether…

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/free-publications/fables/

#Scottish #literature #RobertLouisStevenson #fables #shortstories #flashfiction #microfiction #19thcentury #Victorian

@bookstodon

Robert Louis Stevenson’s FABLES are little gems: many would be classed as flash- or microfiction today. You can download all 20 of Stevenson’s FABLES for free from our website – including the one where Long John Silver & Captain Smollett sneak out between chapters of TREASURE ISLAND for a fly smoke & a blether…

https://asls.org.uk/publications/books/free-publications/fables/

#Scottish #literature #RobertLouisStevenson #fables #shortstories #flashfiction #microfiction #19thcentury #Victorian