Writing Tip: 115#

holy tri

Remember the Holy Trinity: The Dictionary, The Thesaurus, and the Holy Internet.




Writing Tip: 107#

Read your work aloud.


You’ll notice more mistakes that way.

Writing Tip: 106#

The hardest bit of writing always comes at the 30,000 word mark.

Keep going.

After 50,000, the hill slopes in your favour. 


Writing Tip: 102#


Highlighters and stationary are your friends.

Tick Tock

Looking at everyone talking about the start of NaNoWriMo and their word counts, I feel I need to get something off my chest.

I’m not doing NaNoWriMo this year: mainly because I’m not an manaic on a suicide mission, but more importantly because I barely have time to write as is.

I’ve just recently got into a job and it’s fine (I mean one can hardly call taxes amazing, but what ya gonna do), and I would never give it up. But it’s made me realise how much free time I had in education and how little I have now.

Everything needs to be squashed down into smaller and smaller hours until I finally pass out over the weekend.

What would be the point of a 50k goal when I can’t reach 500 words?

I know a lot of people also suffer with 9 to 5 but I don’t think it’s ever dawned on me, how little time I would have.

But on plus side, that’s only going to make me work hard. I just got keep pushing.


Kathy Xx

New beginnings

Blood was beating in his ears. Shylock was pretty sure it was coming out of his ears now but his body didn’t seem to matter anymore. He had no more use of it. the world was brighter, yet he couldn’t see anything. he could almost see his mother’s face, he couldn’t wait to stab her again. The world, or heaven, wherever he was now, seemed to loud, cluttering noises, noises happening around him and noises he had forgotten to register long ago. Time was meaningless. He was both dying on a prison floor and flying, hands over his shoulders. Cold, freezing hands.


“Hold on!”

Fenrir couldn’t be dead, he didn’t understand what this could possibly mean. He refused to believe he could be dead. he grabbed back at the hands.

“Fenrir!” he wanted to scream but it came out hoarse. The brightness settled and he was faced with the relieving sight of his very real, blue eyed brother, who was most certainly alive. If not he had no idea why they were in in the ‘Academy of Immortal-borns,’ healing ward.

“Fenrir?” he said again, much more confident.

His brother smirked, “welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Is he alright?”

He flinched at the voice, searching round for its owner. James was standing some way away from Fenrir and him but he still snarled. James didn’t moved, which only angered Shylock more.

“Shylock easy, James is our brother.”

“He’s the Leader’s child.”

“Who is also our father.”

He pressed his lips together, “he’s human.”

Fenrir would have rolled his eyes, if that was a thing the proud royalty would do.

“James is the one who saved you. And alerted me.”

He ignored the first comment, “So you have been staying in touch with him?”

“He is very useful,” James shuffled, “and he is about to save you again.”

He glared at James, who took this as his cue to speak, “I’m allowing you safety within my school. Under a different name obviously. But you’ll be safe and with others like you.”

“And what about the Leader? I didn’t kill him, he’ll come looking for me.”

James smirked, “leave father to me.”

Shylock snarled again at James at the use of the familiar term.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Fenrir said, with as much emotion as he could muster, “but I must leave.”

Shylock felt like he had been punched. His brother who had left him to suffer for so long, was leaving once again. Despite the pain, aching joints he got up out of the bed. Fenrir didn’t look back.


“Shylock you need to rest,” James reasoned, placing a hand on Shylock, who pushed him away.

“Get out of the way human.”

He followed, much slower and limping behind Fenrir calling his name as he went. it wasn’t until they were outside the gates did Fenrir turn around shoving Shylock backwards.


“I do not trust the humans.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want,” he grabbed Fenrir’s arm, “to go with you.”

Fenrir looked at his brother’s shaking hands with cold eyes before shoving him away.

“No. you must stay here.”

“You cannot order me around! I am the oldest!”

“Yes brother but you are also weak. You are broken by the leader. War is not a place for you.”

“So you are just going to leave me?” His weak legs failed and his voice broke watching Fenrir leave him once more. He was shocked to find, frozen arms circling him, a hand pressing their foreheads together.

“I only do this to protect you. only ever you,” Fenrir whispered as a quiet confession. They stayed like that for a moment, and Shylock could almost believe the harden general and soon to be Emperor was his fifteen year old twin. The moment passed and Fenrir stood, as tall and as grand as ever.

“Go. Live and learn. heal. And one day I’ll see you again. Hopefully in our home, not on a battlefield.”

Fenrir left, even then he didn’t leave, he couldn’t move. Then, slowly, he moved and returned back through the school gates.

via Daily Prompt: Timely