#smallstory — Public Fediverse posts

#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.]

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#romance #sf #sff #sciencefiction
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#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

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#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

#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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#sf #sff #sciencefiction
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#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#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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#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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#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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#microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#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.]

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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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#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.]

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The hotel an accident of geometry in the landscape—
a square laid into in an unbroken horizon,
its hallways aligned to catch the sun’s arrival.
Each morning, light performed its slow undoing of the dark.
I tried to hold each moment, naming
each frame by date and minute, as if
sequence could be sent, intact, to another life.

#MastoPrompt
#visitor
#smallstory
#smallpoems
@stevencudahy

#MastoPrompt
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#Love
@stevencudahy

#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.]

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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.]

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#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.]

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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.]

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#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.]

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#WordWeavers 2026.03.03 —Introduce your MC without telling us their age, gender, job and who they are to others (e.g. friend, parent etc.).

[I write in 1st person. —RS] #microfiction #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

My name? Bolt, Lightning Bolt. I use that name because: I. Fly. Fast. Maybe not the fastest in an all-out sprint through the sky, but just try following me in the city. At roof level, I can handle turbulence, eddies, and thermals like a sparrow. Near street level—through alleys, weaving through boulevard traffic, signs, lampposts, and sidewalk trees—you can't keep up with me. Spoilers. Nobody can.

Believe it or not, I didn't fledge until I was almost 11! I was afraid of falling! Since you lack wings like mine—aren't they fabulous!—I'll share that 11 years old was exceptionally late. Most fledglings fledge by age 3. I hated my therapist, which should have been a reason to fledge all by itself. I made up for all the flying I missed by being obsessed with finding my limits, by making all the boys compete against my perseverance and prowess (getting me lots of guy friends, oddly enough), and by becoming legendary at aerial stunts that threw my PE teachers and the principal into fits. I spent my first flight, all two hours of it, doing my best to stay in the air, only able to land with mother's help. But, by the time I'd lost my fear in the fascination of what I could do, so buoyed up by my sudden freedom, I didn't want to land at all. Mom wisely forced me down before my wings crumpled from exhaustion.

Getting shoved off a cliff by your uncle, and having to fly or die, really twists your brain!

I learned my wings can do things most day angels never try, like flying so close to someone that your feather gravity fields tangle together and provide erratic lift, making you think you'll collide. Their first tailspin or stall-out a few stories high sends most feathers into a molt; the wimps never go on to explore their possibilities! When I learned I could decompensate my own feathers and throw gravity gradients like eddies behind me, I learned I could both maintain lift and push or pull against trees and buildings, and with a good wind, rocket straight upward for a few stories against the side of a building or a tree. Gotta watch out for litter and trash flying in my wake. I'm hard to follow, naturally! Assuming you got close in the first place.

You ain't gonna.

Not that you have any chance of getting close me, since you live in two-dimensions. Looking at you, I have to tell myself: You. Aren't. Crippled. Your wings weren't amputated. Still. It must be sad to see birds soaring through the sky, or me with my glorious blue wings, only to realize your feet are stuck to the ground.

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

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#PennedPossibilities 946 — Do any of your characters have food allergies or sensitivities?

Depends on what you mean by "sensitivities."

Daemons are almost entirely vegetarian. Day angels need extra protein for those fabulous wings, so they eat fish and seafood, and, when not available, insects. The Director of Home (she runs everything) eats chicken and other birds, as well as fish. AFAIK, she's the most carnivorous person on the planet, but one wonders what happens to all the egg-layers when they get too old, and the extra "roosters." There is a scene where the smell at a "state" dinner turns the stomach of the daemon MC. In another story, another daemon is taken to a fish restaurant / market because she is being rigorously trained ans an prizefighter and needs to eat like a day angel to succeed in the short training period. The sight of the glazed eyes of dead fish on ice, and a faint fishy taint in the market, reminds her of storm-wrack after a hyper-hurricane, including all sorts of dead things strewn on the beach. She nearly turns and runs. Later, she tastes the crab cakes ordered for her and falls in love, then steals part of the swordfish from the coach's plate, finally grabbing the remnants of fish and chips left behind by rival athletes. The devil-girl is something else!

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

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#ScribesAndMakers ☼ 2026.02.27 — Splat?

Imagine a world where light can act as a liquid and you create a rainbow just before someone startles you? I wrote that. A scene in a three-story atrium. At a school. Splattering the person who did the startling (drenching them in a rainbow) and splattering the school banners hanging down in the atrium, the banisters, floors, and stairs. All the way down to the basement level. Splat! Plenty of students on said stairs, some with open lockers, all splattered—and a few humorless teachers who immediately give chase! It was a funny outbound scene employed to end an epilogue of a fairly heavy and serious novel.

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

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#WritersCoffeeClub #WCC 2026.02.24 — What’s your greatest challenge in fleshing out your setting?

Since I am careful to write about what I know or can imagine, the challenge is the in-writing. Despite how loquacious I think I am, I write rather concisely, skipping to the next action. Fleshing out the setting happens when I iterate during composition (reading/revising the pages before where I continue writing) or during revision. It's there that I change passive declarative passages to integrate description with action, to make the setting more palpable to the reader. Some detail pops up as I imagine or reimagine. It takes time. That's a challenge. Sometimes it increases the length of the passage; detouring away from the core action is also a challenge to overcome. Yet, when I read other's work, mine seems more concise, so I can't give a definitive answer to this one.

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

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#WritersCoffeeClub #WCC 2026.02.17 — How do you write about ecstacy, in a spiritual, artistic, or sensual context?

I'll take this as how do I, as an author, write this. I treat it as a mental change of state, often from hope to belief (or disbelief), accompanied by an interval of loss of self-control. I don't state a protagonist was "ecstatic"—a cold, dispassionate term that defuses, as it diffuses, all perceived passion—any more than I would describe in graphic detail the transition from before to after during sex. Instead, I describe the losing or loosing of control, the overcoming shock to continue to act, possibly the guilt (or lack thereof) of owning and enjoying the situation, and the revelation that something, very well forever, has changed. It can be as simple as metaphor, or the building pressure of words toward release, or even the combination.

"What seemed ice, forever frozen, was now steam; the relief valve scalded me as it whistled gloriously, but I jumped back; the pistons moved, back and forth, grease dripped, the wheels skid against the tracks, screeching, screeching. And. Bit. It chugged. The steel behemoth rolled forth. I danced beside the rails; I didn't care. I was right! I was right all along!"

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

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#WordWeavers 2026.02.14 — Who does your antagonist care about?

Valentine's Day Special! Pigeon the Pilferer (a day angel like Bolt, the MC) cares about other people last, and I think this is because he never really had anyone care about him. Doesn't know how. With no family—he was unwanted. He was raised where he was barely wanted, not wanted mostly because he never behaved. He fought against the faintest hint of disrespect, got busted noses, cuts, and lots of bruises because he was often the bulldog in the Doberman fight. Which meant, in high school, the scrawny boy visited the school nurse. Often. He liked that man, because the nurse cared for Pigeon, physically for his wounds, but also answering questions, being there to talk him out of planned ambushes, petty revenge, sometimes simply being a big brother to discuss boy things when the nurse offices would otherwise be empty between classes or during free periods. The man started being a school nurse when Pigeon started high school, but remained when pigeon (barely) graduated.

Pigeon has a crush on the guy.

And. Well… The dear boy, now 22, shadows the nurse around town. Okay, let's call it occasional stalking, always flying away the instant they might otherwise meet. Because. Pigeon got involved in gangs, later the mob. He roughs up people, he extorts coin, steals secrets, and in these ways has messed with one of the Bolt's newest (most innocent) friends. Things, so many bad things that Pigeon doesn't want to, can't admit to the one person he loves and knows couldn't love him, because nobody can, even his self.

The nurse is a side character in the WIP.

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

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#PennedPossibilities 907 — Does your MC have any phobias or irrational fears? What is the origin of this?

Had.

Bolt is a day angel. This means she was born looking like any other girl, except she started with a third pair of limbs: wings. Her kind are meant to fly, sometimes learning how before 2, almost certainly by 3. When she developed a fear of heights that even prevented her mother from carrying her through the sky, it looked hopeless that she'd even live amongst her kind. She was strong though. She climbed the massive tall home tree that comprised her neighborhood, something her peers could fly into, as well as the cliffs where much of the town was built, too. It helped that there were ladders because the angelic also live with a minority population of humans without wings. At school she got taunted for never having fledged. This didn't mean she didn't like using her wings, or disliked the feel of the wind in her feathers. Her blue feathered wings were beautiful. Seeing them out stretched, nobody could understand why she refused to fly.

It wasn't refusal.

Heights.

Looking down made her stomach twist. She'd sweat even thinking about it. Her racing palpitating heart would throw her to the floor, screaming, panicked.

She eventually fledged; not part of this question to say how, is it? Instead, what was the origin of her phobia?

Hypnotherapy aged 30 would take her back to her second year. Home is a terribly hot world. People sleep in beds made of netting and use miracle fans worked by daemons to keep cool, if they can afford the price. Bolt had a hammock early because she grew too fast for what served day angels as a cradle.

Aged 1½, her long wings spun her; in her sleep, her hammock dumped her. While home tree branches grow together to form chambers, no floors are flat, nor is any space disconnected. Her mother heard her scream and found her having slid halfway down the tree to a crotch of branches, upside down, bruised, scratched by bark, crying. It happened often enough to fledglings, though usually not whilst sleeping. Bolt got comforted, lulled back to sleep with her mother, sleeping with her for days. The night terrors came not long after…

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

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#PennedPossibilities 357 — MC POV: Tell us about one of your bad habits.

Well, I'm... um... People around me know that I am very encouraging and equitable, distributing assignments on merit, listening to suggestions, reprimanding fairly, and demonstrating when necessary. I do tend to observe and evaluate everything. Thankfully, what I think, uh... emotionally in the moment, or angrily or in disappointment, doesn't leak out to effect how I treat people or change my decisions. I know better. Except when I have to deal with stupid. I have some tolerance for people who tease me, less for people who harass me for their own benefit, and almost none for those who work to provoke me—assuming I don't have to tolerate such treatment for the sake of my people or my objective.

When that happens, the snark inside leaks out. I wield my vocabulary like a weapon, which is better than using a fist. I remember this one time a guy wolf-whistled me. When he took exception to my ignoring him, he followed me, taunting me, doing everything from spewing a running commentary for his companions on my "curves," and lack thereof, to trying to lift my skirt. I acted stupid, bubbly even to diffuse his interest—but I was trained enough to be faster at dodging than him grabbing. Made him try harder. I'm afraid my retorts, while sounding stupid, had vocabulary above his head. When he asked my name, I said, "Gelding." Then told him, "It's a verb."

He understood that one. Not happy. Angry. Red faced. Made me grin.

Fortunately, he'd followed me into the territory of a rival gang. That I used my "magic" to push them together and start a fist fight made the evening all the more amusing! That led to more fun with his girlfriend who took exception to me somehow beguiling him in the first place. My fault, huh? Really? (#pennedpossibilites 356: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112675803247963180)

Now that I think of it, all of it was great fun. I really enjoy when people give me permission to play with them!

Really is a bad habit!

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]

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Yep, I make a template file each month that includes all the monthly questions for the #WritersCoffeeClub and #WordWeavers prompts. Cut/paste/delete: It's how I answer reliably and quickly; I minimize the repetitive parts.

I copy the questions to the template from the text source posted with the questions (thank you folks for doing that!), or in the case of #Writever, I OCR the text. I add my introductory lines with double-clickable replacement text and my hashtags so I don't have to bother with each post. See the example below.

To answer a prompt, I duplicate the template file and start writing! For prompts like #PennedPossibilites, I have a template file that I never have to change. I copy past the canonical question directly from @floofpaldi's post.

Below an example of my headers and hashtags. Note I haven't revised the hashtags specifically for this post. Normally I delete the non-applicable ones. I'm being illustrative. Sorry!

EXAMPLE: (For those that don't see it, there is a right facing angle bracket before the first hashtag for my signature formatting flourish.)

#WritersCoffeeClub Ch 9 Nbr nn — Question

text

[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]

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