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Reply/Writing Examples (recent & active!)
Category: Resources
Excerpts! (Style in parenthesis after description)
Sorry in advance. Grammar is secondary to flow/pacing and character's personal style.
How I Set a scene (Novella):
As the horses lurched them forward, Iliana swallowed back a telltale prickling of tears. Glass clinked, wood crates shifted, the smells that’d overpowered the worn almost dusty smell of the wagon began to fade as she shuttered her eyes from the view of her dwelling becoming the horizon. Determined not to dream of what it might be like to be loved enough to inspire political schemes with scant luck of success. To possess more than a lonely grave-full of devotion. To rise and lay down again cocooned in the surety of loyal family. Not for the first time, her determination afforded her nothing. Iliana dreamed she had the childhood she never allowed herself to yearn. Waking from that security in the barbarian’s encampment, the place where she would be married and live until discovered or disposed of, cut deeply into her weary marrow. As the last vestiges of sleep scattered to the wind, she climbed out into the midafternoon haze. Breathing deeply of the bittersweet almost-freedom. When she stood alone like this, it grew harder to resist the labels affixed to her spine. A bastard princess by birth, false princess by the machinations of cowards, a bride as likely to be wed as to be slain, how many banner-less titles would she carry to the afterlife? Would Death take pity and present her with a crown? Some form of compensation a requirement to dare entreat her forgiveness of indignities she’d suffered, so she wouldn’t haunt her half-sister’s linage until the covenant of realms came to an end.
(This was less than 20% of the whole starter) _____ How I Respond (Para): However rusty, Donahue and Blot weren't smooth-brained to the notions of Orcish magic. Nor were they ignorant of suffering, sincerity, or the expedient changes their young perch underwent. Rather it was the overwhelming reek of warmth and lust radiating from shrinking build that struck both half-lizards wholly stupid.
Nevermind Blot, smushed beneath Cutter's abrupt collapse, unaffected by the blow of his head loudly connecting with the floor. Donahue became an impromptu pillow for how he was tucked behind, beneath, Cutter's head and neck. It was Donahue who moved first. Releasing Cutter and clattering to the ground, hurrying to assist in guiding troubled youth in sitting up. Careful hands at his shoulderblades as former gecko slid close to offer bodily support.
Witnessing increasing distress, Blot snatched the limbs he could away from himself and Cutter. Wriggling helplessly from the combined difficulties of a pant leg that hadn't become smaller when its contents did. Blot glancing to Donahue, who widened his eyes and shook his head, clearly refusing to be the one who considered possible solutions. Narrowing his eyes, Blot leaned his face towards Donahue as if making his frown more apparent would change his partner's mind.
It worked immediately.
(This is about 45% of my response)
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How I Move scenes (MultiPara):
Being in no immediate danger, Henry forcibly stretched his shoulders down from his ears. Another warm surge freshly coated his fingers. Instinctively, he blew his nose. The evidence of exploding pain tore through his face. Gritting his teeth, which ratcheted up the pressure in his jaw and temples, he screwed up eyes and brows to keep out much of the sunlight as he could. Attempting to meditate as his breathing evened out. It’d not been a significant distance from the room they’d fled and the outdoors. Certainly his nose wasn’t impeding him worse than whatever waning aperitif edged off the champagne buzz Bash curated prior to the disastrous pronouncement.
Well, Henry was familiar with the other entailments. Prying open his eyes, he felt the familiar comfort of strategizing smoothing over his raging anxieties. He pulled the handkerchief down and leaned over the grass again, carefully shooting off an email to Margret’s solicitor, his lawyer, and the unfortunate bowling pin who’d gotten caught in the bear trap of this last will and testament same as the rest of them. It might kill him to speak anything remotely complimentary to Bash. Didn’t really consider trying. He wasn’t going to express appreciation for being literally dragged along into Bash’s side of things. The messier side. Especially if this wasn’t an elaborate prank or a virulent misinterpretation.
“Shut. Up.” Meant to be a derisive hiss, Henry gruffly sighed instead. “I have a ride coming. I’ll get a copy of the documents now they’ve been made public record.” Pressing the handkerchief back, the stiffness of its unevenly drying patches prodded sore, tender, skin. “Lay low f-“ Groaning, he bit back the command. “Nevermind.” Stepping closer to swipe his foot out and strike downed downer’s lower leg with his lightly muddied shoe, “Get on your feet, Sebastian. The sky isn’t falling on you yet.” With a vague gesture towards the sleek towncar picking its way through the brimming parking lot, he dabbed his nose experimentally and pocketed his phone.
“Don’t antagonize me right now unless you want to march yourself back to the wolves.” Maybe he was saying ‘thank you’ after all. In actions more than words. He’d never had a decent grasp on language when they’d been alright. An odd detail to recollect then.
Throwing the handkerchief away, Henry straightened out his clothes and hair before sauntering off to the summoned vehicle. Ducking in, he rattled instructions to the driver and settled back with a frosted gaze. Numbness lingered in his periphery. He pushed it away. Denial tripped in his gut. What if this was real? What was he, any of them, actually meant to do? Forfeit the ultimate Coup de Tête and final trial set forth by the ever-baleful Mrs. Moors? If it was true, he reminded himself almost desperately. Sacrificing his pocket square to his trickling nostrils; Henry had the wild thought he’d cried more for a busted snout than his dead mother.
The ride to Henry’s private loft in the city may as well be a thousand miles from the main house and the rest of their abhorrent family. Traffic made the journey thrice as long. He’d already called-in a delivery of his favorite comfort foods from half a dozen restaurants on the block across. Everything from Pho to Italian. Bash had been the furthest, close to anyway, thing from his mind when he indulged the urge. Henry wondered if the rattled deviant would demand he share. Frowning at the thought, Henry chose not to mention it.
Henry’s building was a recent construction. Heedlessly shining as the sun set. He moved with decisive swiftness. If Bash fell behind, it was his own problem. There was likely nowhere else for him to go, no one whom he could trust, and a serious chance he could be murdered in a million different ways before Henry received the copies he requested and started to unravel something of relevant consequence. Presuming there was a measurable dribble of sense puttering around in his pickled brain, Bash would catch up and stay close.
(This is probably a cool 60ish% of the total reply)
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Thanks for reading!
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