Thoughtlets: Stuff I Learned at My Writing Workshop (That I’m Kicking Myself in the Head for Not Realizing Sooner):

From Here

 Stuff I Learned at My Writing Workshop (That I’m Kicking Myself in the Head for Not Realizing Sooner):

-  The difference between a book that grabs you from the beginning vs. one that you’re on the fence about tossing out the window is winning your trust. It’s why it’s “easier” to read books by authors you already know, or fanfic where you’re familiar with the characters. Winning the reader’s trust as quickly as possible should be your first goal as a writer when you’re going back and editing your first draft. This can be accomplished by things like: speaking authoritatively about the subject (even if it’s utter bullshit), graceful prose, or establishing quickly in the story what it’s about. For example,“Character A had a problem. Character B didn’t love them back, so Character A was going to kidnap them so they would.” Maybe it’s not a story you want to read, but you are now firmly couched in what you signed up for in this story and the promise the author is going to deliver on before the end. 

Writing Prompt: You’ve just left the doctor’s office in the early morning to find a folded piece of paper left on the bench in the hall. Picking it up, it reads “You’ve been chosen as our next candidate, ! By touching this paper, you have agreed to accept the terms of the unbreakable contract.”

Writing Prompt: You’ve just left the doctor’s office in the early morning to find a folded piece of paper left on the bench in the hall. Picking it up, it reads “You’ve been chosen as our next candidate, <your full name>! By touching this paper, you have agreed to accept the terms of the unbreakable contract.”

---

"It's not legally binding." I protested.

The dark-robed man chuckled most sinisterly, caressing the heavy book in his hands whose heavy cover was stitched together from what looked to be human skin scraps sewn together. There was also an eyeball, which rolled at the dark sorcerer began to speak.

"Fool! Your mere caress across one of its torn out, hallowed pages legally binds you to work in the Necromantic Business Mines of the Greater Beaurucratic Empire of Bibliotopia! You have touched them, now you must abide by the Tomes of Service!"

"THE TOMES OF SERVICE! THE TOMES OF SERVICE!" a multitude of voices cried out, hooded figures emerging from the shadows.

Writing Prompt: The US Constitution and the Fisher King Clause

From here

-o-

"Umm... Mr. President?"

"Busy right now. Tweeting. Saying things that need to be said about football players."

"That's nice, sir. But while the US Constitution's display case was due for its annual vacuuming, the janitor's blue light on his MP3 player showed something hidden."

"Was it an apple? They're always hiding those. They're all over the magazines I read at my doctor's office. He's the best doctor. Says all my tests are the most positive, that I'm the healthiest human being that has ever been president."

"Not an apple sir. But you know how some of the founding fathers were into weird secret societies and the occult?"

"Is the occult anything like an Applebee's?"

"No sir, it's like eldritch sorcery and men in hooded robes doing sinister things."

"Very American thing to do. Love me some men in hooded robes doing sinister things."

"Anyway, we appear to have a Fisher King clause hidden in invisible ink in the US Constitution tied to the current president."

"Never really was one for fishing, but the king part I like. This means I get to have a crown, right? A big gold crown. The best crown, really."

"No crown, sir. The Fisher King is a historical literary device, or trope, that states that the state of the land is irrevocably tied to the one who rules it."

"Soooooo... what you're telling me is that the United States is totally awesome, and is only going to get awesomer in the future?"

"Uhh... not exactly sir. Half the country is drowning and the other half is on fire."

"This is totally fake news. Those founding fathers were totally not cool dudes in robes and hoods doing sinister things. There were totally uncool cats in dresses that were probably like... doing whatever lame and bad things that uncool cats do. Which I don't know, because I'm not an uncool cat."

"As you say, sir."

"So now I'm having some thoughts about men in dresses. Get the guy with the medals to tell me about how the thing I just randomly said on Twitter with no input from my cabinet a few weeks ago is going."

"You mean General Mattis, sir?"

"General Mattis, Colonel Sanders, Captain Crunch, whoever he is."

"Very well, sir."

"Oh. And now I'm hungry. Can you go send Jared to KFC to get me a bucket of extra-tasty crispy? Or maybe Ivanka. Say, do you..."

"I'm just going to leave now, sir, before I am hideously creeped out before you mention something about your daughter and succulent, juicy breasts and I lose my appetite."

Thoughtlets: Random Generators

Note to self linking these.

http://rikmach.tumblr.com/post/163494362915/justdrinktea-medusas-heir

Thoughtlets: Writing characters with wings

Writing characters with wings

Thoughtlets: Making an Effective End Times Cultist

Response to this reddit post.

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I personally would take out pages from my own life experience, as while not one myself, I have relatives who are members of one of those "We are living in the last days" Christian churches.

This whole thing rather amuses me as Groteus has the "Look absolutely loony to most people," "THE END TIMES ARE UPON US, REPENT SINNERS," and "BLOOD MOONS" aspects that my own family members sport.

So with my observations I would suggest the following:

Writing Prompt: White House DnD

Prompted here

Sessionmaster: "So we open in the tavern…"

Pence: "Can we not open in a tavern? I can't be around alcohol without my wife present."

Sessionmaster: "It's just imaginary alcohol, Mike, and your wife isn't a player character in this world."

Pence: "My Paladin archetype replaces the Divine Bond class feature with an Angelic Companion, whom my character has bonded to in holy matrimony. She does not approve of alcohol."

Sessionmaster: "...fine. We begin in a… coffee shop? Is that okay?"

Pence: "It's fine."

Sessionmaster: "Okay, good. Because I DMed for Romney at the 2012 Republican National Convention, and boy those Mormons are weird with not liking caffeine.."

Trump: "Haha. Mormons. That's one letter away from being Morons. Great people, I'm sure. But weird. Unfortunate name. Sad. But funny."

*Trump holds up a hand for a high five and a giggling Steve Bannon high fives him.*

Bannon: "Good one, sir."

Sessionmaster: "Anyway, we open in the coffee shop, introduce your characters."

Pence: "I'm Michael, Human Holy Paladin of the One God…"

Trump: "You always play yourself as a human paladin. It's boring. Not interesting at all, Mike. You even do it all day with that LARPing thing…"

Pence: "What LARPing thing?"

Trump: "You know, that whole going around "God is with me, must do the will of god" thing. I mean you're probably having fun. But it's just weird for all of us. Very weird."

Pence: "I'm not LARPing. This is who I am."

Trump: "Oh."

*Bannon wrinkles his nose and leans over to Trump, whispering in his ear.*

Bannon: "Well, at least he's not wearing elf ears or orc tusks."

Trump: "Ugh. Yes. It's an improvement over Chris Christie. Showed up to every session painted green in a loincloth with a battleaxe. No way I was going to spend my presidency having to deal with that every week. Not fun to look at. Very bad."

Kushner: "I'm playing a Dwarven Rogue and…"

Bannon: "Man, everybody is playing what they know. I'm not surprised you're playing the precious-metal hungry, big-nosed, short…"

Kushner: "And what are you playing? I bet you've got six skill points per level, a d10 hit die, and an animal companion."

Bannon: "I uh… I totally don't.

*Kushner reaches across the table and grabs Bannon's sheet.*

Kushner: "Yup. To the surprise of no one Steve's playing a White Power Ranger."

Sessionmaster: "Guys, if you're going to be disruptive to the game I'll…"

*Everyone is quiet as Vladimir Putin walks in, takes the bowl of cheetos from the middle of the table, and then walks out again.*

Trump: "It's okay. He does that. Totally fine. Everything is good. Very good. Perfectly normal."

Sessionmaster: "So you're all sitting in the coffee shop, when there's a disturbance outside. Roll perception."

*Everybody rolls their dice.*

Kushner: "17."

Bannon: "13."

Pence: "Gosh darnit, 4."

Trump: "49. I have the highest Perception score. Just the best, really. My doctor said that I have the highest Perception score of any US President's character ever."

Sessionmaster: "I… um… can I see your sheet, please? I'm not sure how you managed that at level 7."

*Jeff Sessions reaches over the table to grab Trump's sheet, but Trump pulls it away.*

Trump: "No. No. You can't see my character sheet. The IRS is auditing my character wealth by level. So I can't show it to you. Very personal. Very private. Very hush hush."

Sessionmaster: "Okay, then run down your bonuses for me."

Trump: "I rolled a natural 20 because I have the greatest dice. The best dice, really. They're these gorgeous, expensive solid gold dice. I just saw them in the gaming store one day and I couldn't help but grab them."

Sessionmaster: "So that's 20…"

*Sessions waits for Trump to continue, but Trump has his phone out and appears to be browsing Twitter.*

Sessionmaster: "And the rest of it?"

Trump: "Huh? Are we still talking about that? Fake news. Totally fake."

Sessionmaster: "As the Dungeonmaster General, Donald, I can get you banned from organized play, you realize."

Trump: "Okay, fine. Plus five from Wisdom, because I am obviously the wisest. Plus four from my racial bonuses, plus four from my super awesome ultra masterwork item, and the rest I'm adding in because I need to compensate for all the stat rolls and skill points and items that Crooked Hillary illegally stole and gave to illegal immigrants during those presidential election games."

*Sessions sighs and pinches his nose, this is going to be a long night.*

Atrocity Rose

Ah, beloved, the hour grows late, and you grow weary. Do not deny it, dearest, for my eyes are keen and can see each and every one of your mortal frailties. If it pleases you, I shall tell you of what you ask. But remember there are things that are better off being unknown. There are things out there in the planes. Monstrous things beyond the likes of which the common tongue's vocabulary can describe.

I would share the experience with you, beloved. You know that I can open my mind to yours, to let you browse the width and breadth of all I am like an open book. I can, but I plead with you to not ask this of me. There lies within me a fragment of a greater creature, a mere shadow of a reflection of a mote of her majesty. She has no name, dearest, for where she dwells she is everything. She is the beginning, she is the end, and whatever is not of her is consumed and devoured until it is. Like I was.

Pathfinder: Lydia Fallon, Weird Rubato Bard

http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1032311

Uses the Weird Musician and Rubato archetypes.

-o-

You don't want to hear about me. I'm not very interesting. I can do interesting things and say interesting things, but listening to me talk about me isn't very interesting. The interesting person you want to hear about is my mother.

You may know here. Well, not personally. But you might know her name. Amelia Grace, the Lady Scarlet, singer, mage, musician, magician, muse-gician. One of the most sought after performers in… in… I'm not sure. I don't do well with names and places. Some big, important… thingy.

Maybe the city. Maybe an empire. It's hard to remember, as I was very small at the time, so I would be unlikely to fully recall even if I hadn't had my head cut apart and put back together two or three or twenty five times.

It's very tingly. Kind of refreshing to feel the fresh air blowing over your thoughts.

WP: You're a young cultist who has accidentally pledged to serve the Dank Gods instead of the Dark Gods.

Link

I fled through the corridor, pursued by monsters in human form who were nearly translucent, scarcely there at all save for the exquisitely tailored black suit, white shirt, and black tie that each of them wore.

The moment I could be out of their sight for but a few moments I could ditch my ceremonial black robes, black hat, and smiling mustachioed white masked and I'd be home free once I was outside.

But while the dank powers I served were chaos incarnate, the monstrosities were creatures of order.

The hallway I ran down would stretch on forever in a straight line until I got so far ahead that their unnatural reality-warping powers could not alter the world around me.

"such fast. very speed. much hasten. wow." I murmured under my breath in the dark tongue. It's a real bitch to learn how to wiggle your tongue and do the thing with your throat where you can actually give voice to the lack of capitals or their all caps equivalents to power the incantations, but I was a pro.

Writing Prompt: A Dragon Saves a Knight from a Princess

Link

Dragons are a very important natural resource, though most mortal being have no idea of this fact. They just think we're a bunch of flying, elemental-spewing lizards that hoard gold, ravage the countryside, and devour virgins.

Flying yes, elemental spewing yes, lizards no. We dragons are decidedly not reptiles. We were here first, before the reptiles, before the mammals, and they went and stole bits out our design. The reptiles made off with our scales and decided to be silly and splay-legged and belly crawly, while the mammals decided "Hey we want to be able to nurse our young and have nice, straight legs that are good for running and sometimes even manual dexterity. Fuck the long tails and necks though, and we want to be covered in ridiculous, easily pierced fluff."

And you'd ravage the countryside too if, let's go with something comparative in size, a bunch of bunny rabbits stole everything that wasn't nailed down while you were taking a nap. You'd flush out, fill in, and set fire to every bunny burrow in hopes of getting information to getting your personal property back.

But with dragons things are on a much longer time scale, a nap can be a few months, while a good solid sleep can last a few decades, and a chronic oversleeper might stir after a century or two.

We need our nice, long naps, they're very important for the continued health of the dragon, and for the world.

Writing Prompt: Better to rein in Hell than surf in Heaven

Link

You'd think that something so inefficient, infuriating, and unpleasant as office politics and middle management would be firmly in the wheelhouse of Down Below.

But no, after a few decades in Heaven you get pretty familiar with the complete and utter incapacity of angels to do anything creative.

They weren't given free will after all, they were just made to be obedient and full of praise. The ultimate yes-men, yes-women, and yes-faces-of-a-lion-eagle-bull-and-man-things.

Writing Prompt: The first boss of an RPG manages to accidentally kill the hero on their first try

Claudia had been having an exceedingly wonderful day, a high point in an otherwise unpleasant life.

She wasn't quite sure what she was, as a monster she'd hatched from an egg and thus had never known her parents. But she didn't fit in with the monster groups.

"Go away," said the dragons, "You walk on two legs and while you do have some scales, you don't have enough to count. Plus that whole being white as porcelain thing is kind of creepy."

"Go away," said the succubi, "Your boobs are way too small and your wings and tail are waaaaay too big. Plus that whole fanged skull over big red smile facial markings dealie you have going is totes hella creepy."

"Go away, honk honk," said the evil clowns' guild, "Wings and tails aren't funny, your deathly pallor and ominous facepaint aren't actually paint and pancake makeup, and you are showing far too much skin with your outfit. Cover up a bit and actually paint your face and maybe we'll see about taking you on as an apprentice clown."

Claudia had thoroughly humiliated the guildmaster by grabbing the bucket of whitewash from the top of the office door exit, dumping it down his over large pants, stealing the guildmaster's own mallet from hammerspace, walloping him with it, and then tying the fool up with his own string of endless handkerchiefs.

Writing Prompt: The story of someone dying and realizing their religion was not true.

Reverend Bob Roberts strode up happily to the Pearly Gates, marveling at the great golden city built on hills of billowing clouds beyond it.

He walked up to them proudly, and then fell promptly on his derriere rather ashamedly when he smacked face first into them and found they didn't open.

There was a flash of light and Bob found a large, towering figure standing over him, whose inner radiance was so bright that the details of his appearance could not be made out.

WELCOME TO HEAVEN, MY SON! boomed the voice of Almighty God.

Writing Prompt: Demons are not born, they are made from humans surviving in hell long enough

The thing that everybody up there seems to focus on is the "fallen" part of fallen angel. Evil, horrible, rebellious angels who fought against the Lord Almighty and for their pride were cast down into the Lake of Fire to suffer for eternity.

It's the angel part you ought to be focusing on. Angels weren't given free will, they weren't given much in the brains department either. You have to remember what they were created for.

Angels were made to serve God and sing his praises. Angels were designed from the ground... er.. cloud up to be ass-kissing hired help.

The one big idea an angel had in all of history was to pitch a hissy fit when God made mankind and decided he liked us more than them.

The most creative thing angels have ever done was to basically throw a snit when Mommy and Daddy paid more attention to their new baby brother and got sent to time out.