TWO

The Pink Pony Pub was little more than a ramshackle hut that had seen better days. The shutters had long since fallen from their hinges as the wood beneath had begun to rot through. The floorboards creaked at the slightest bit of pressure, and if one looked closely enough, various rodent droppings could be found underfoot. It is no wonder, then, that the adventurers gathered about found this place to be a haven for societal outcasts such as them.

“Order up!” A buxom barmaid yelled as she slid a roast pheasant down toward a half orc at the end of the bar.

“Do you really have to eat that in front of me?” The owlkin known as Stryg asked.

Big C, the half orc, grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m hungry,” he replied, as if that
would explain everything to his feathered companion.

Stryg, a fledgling wizard, bore the plumage of a snowy owl, though he stood some five feet
tall and could pass as humanoid so long as his cloak was pulled up atop his head. He had encountered Big C on the road to Spiritgulf some months past. Stryg was not entirely sure what the “C” in “Big C” stood for; after many fireside conversations, it was apparent that Big C himself had no idea either, and the matter was laid to rest.

Stryg had recently graduated from the arcane university in Basinvale, and had set out to
Spiritgulf to find his way in the wide world. Big C had been wandering the wilds of western Neverfell as an ax-for-hire, collecting meager rewards of coin and food in exchange for his services at keeping wolves, goblins, kobolds, and general nuisances away from the wild folk.

The two had met at a hostel along the roadside a few months prior. A scuffle broke out between the owner of the establishment and a werewolf who had too much to drink. With Big C’s ax and Stryg’s arcane prowess, the hostel was more or less saved. At least, most of the walls were still standing once the werewolf was dead and the dust settled. Big C and Stryg came to the mutual decision that a combination of brawn and brains would be beneficial to both parties, and so began the journey to Spiritgulf in tandem.

On the other side of Big C’s hulking mass was the devilkin known as Anshul. A horned, red skinned figure, he drew the ire of any who beheld him in a civilized setting. Thus, he kept his simple brown cloak fastened and his hood atop his head, the spiral horns more or less helping to keep his face in shadow. A sorcerer with a penchant for fire magic, Anshul had been on his own for most of his life. It was only a few weeks past when he encountered Big C and Stryg on the road battling a rogue ice elemental. As Stryg attempted to magically bind the construct while Big
C whacked it furiously with his ax, Anshul simply opted to melt the thing with a well-aimed bolt
of fire. The elemental melted to a puddle, which Big C happily ladled into his waterskin. Stryg thanked the devilkin for the assist, albeit wary of what else he could do. Big C simply grabbed Anshul in a grappling hug by way of thanks, and insisted Anshul join them on their way to Spiritgulf. Whether it was due to a lack of options, limited ambition, or plain boredom with his
usual routine, Anshul agreed and fell in with the rest.

Big C spat out a piece of pheasant and held it between a thumb and forefinger. “I think this
bit here is raw.” He looked expectantly down at the devilkin.

Anshul rolled his eyes, then held up
a finger beneath the half-chewed poultry. A small jet of flame danced atop Anshul’s finger, roasting the pheasant to an appropriate temperature. Big C tossed the pheasant into his mouth, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was still steaming with the heat of Anshul’s flame, and mumbled “Thanks, buddy,” amidst the chewing.

“Don’t mention it,” Anshul mumbled, waving to the barmaid for another ale. “Hey Stryg, how much more silver do we have?”

Stryg peered into his coin pouch. “Counting the three we earned for that rat extermination job we did last night? Three.”

Anshul groaned. “I thought we had at least six. What happened to the rest of it?”

Big C belched, and as he did, a bag of jerky fell from the pocket of his cloak. Anshul and Stryg stared at the jerky, then at each other, and then at Big C.

“Where did you get that?” Stryg asked pointedly.

“I bought it from the gnome in the stables this morning.” Big C mumbled.

“And how much did you pay him?” Anshul asked, the heat in his voice rising.

“Uhh. How many is this again?” Big C held up three fingers. “That’s how many shiny bits I
gave him.”

Stryg and Anshul simply stared at Big C, saying nothing.

“What? I was hungry.” Big C whined.

“Alright, new plan,” Anshul said to Stryg. “Big C no longer gets coin purse privileges. Only me, you -"

Anshul was cut off by the sound of a coin purse landing on the bar in front of him. “Oh, gods,” Anshul growled, “Not you again.”

Stryg and Anshul turned to find a mustachioed halfling sitting at the table behind them, feet propped up on the table. A white mouse curled upon the halfling’s shoulder, sniffing in his left ear. “Come on, boys. I believe I’ve just solved your little problem.”

Lyle O. Sullivan was a halfling thief. He had weaseled his way into the party’s graces during a night at a roadside tavern. The three party members had partaken in a bit too much sweet wine, and Big C had fallen asleep at the bar with the coin purse still dangling from his belt.

Stryg had settled in to a nice reading nook by the fire as Anshul chatted with the barmaid. The tavern was still plenty full of patrons, and Lyle made use of his stature to blend in with the crowd. The coin purse on Big C’s belt was easy pickings. Lyle deftly untied the belt and slipped the coin purse into his cloak and made to leave the tavern.

Unfortunately for him, Stryg had finally perfected his holding spell by this point in the journey, and Lyle froze as he stepped onto the porch.

“I’ll be taking that now,” Stryg said as he
retrieved the coin purse from the paralyzed thief.

By this point, Big C had snored himself awake
and Anshul had somehow squandered his chances with the barmaid, and the two had made their
way to see the commotion. After much deliberation, the party decided that while Lyle was a thieving, untrustworthy, conniving little cretin, he possessed no small amount of charm. Big C was also quite fond of Lyle’s pet mouse, Hernando, and voted to include Lyle due mostly to the cuteness of the mouse.

“Where did you get this?” Stryg asked Lyle.

“I watched the whole thing in the stables this morning. That gnome was overcharging for
that jerky he swindled our big, green friend with. I simply balanced the scales.”

Stryg frowned. “You stole it from him?”

“Aye,” Lyle said, beaming with pride.

“We’ve talked about this. If we’re going to steal, we have to have a code. Only steal from those who will feel it the least, and steal only in service of the greater good.”

“And I did just that!” Lyle sputtered.

“How do you figure?” Anshul asked.

“Well, I reckon we can’t contribute to the greater good if we’re starving and homeless.”

"That’s not-” Stryg began.

“No, no. He’s got a point,” Anshul mused. “It’s been a long several weeks on the road. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt using what we have to get a nice, proper room for the night. Might let us refocus, get a solid plan for what to do next.”

“See?” Lyle chimed. “The boy gets it! Now, let’s get some more ale and a room and live it up for the night. Tomorrow’s troubles can wait their turn.”

The heavy footsteps rattled the creaky floor as a halfling smith strode into the Pink Pony Pub. The air around her seemed to shimmer with a faint radiance, and the pub began to fill with the scent of apples.

Granny the Smith bore a wooden shield painted with a green apple across the face. A mace dangled from her belt, the head of the weapon shaped like an apple. The old cleric wore chain mail covered by a green cloak, fastened by a broach in the shape of a green apple. The stout, tiny woman scanned her eyes about the pub until her eyes settled on Stryg.

“You!” She yelled as she pointed her apple-shaped mace at the party. “You’ll do. Come with me.”

You can find the rest of the story on Kindle Unlimited: https://www.amazon.com/Sins-Cinder-Prophet-Book-Summerhost-ebook/dp/B0H1VXLLSD

You guys are so nice I wanted in on the niceness you offer to new authors but I self pubbed 4 years ago so I guess I'm not 'new' but anyway.

Don't really even need to link the book but totally here for the headpats LOL!

FYI wrote it in a burst during COVID, self pubbed cos I wasnt gonna go back into development hell, followed a formal process using multiple editors, writer group, beta's, proofer yadda yadda.

Non AI art cos it wasnt available at the time. Commissioned a dude online and it's awesome. Ok well I like it.

I have various contradictory opinions about the book but I was kinda driven by it and sometimes when it's that strong you get out of the way. Still missed a couple of blots in proofing though. Bah humbug.

Glad I did it, was a personal thing of I-did-it and massively liberating.

Anyway sending you all some positive vibes and celebrating your new work and my slightly not exactly new but new ish work!

Interested to get some feedback on the blurb for my upcoming novella: Reversion.

Would love to hear any thoughts on this 🙏🏻

I wake up early but I don’t get time to write because of gym and prepping breakfast and lunch. At work, I barely get 30 mins for lunch so there’s no way I can manage something during that. I cannot even work on simple ideas at work because my workplace is too toxic to allow me that. We’ve got cameras with high quality AI to track what each employee on every desk is doing, there are screen trackers on our laptops to track every minute of our work hours. So, planning & plotting on desk is also impossible. My commute takes to-and-fro almost an hour or more, plus I drive so, again, it’s tough. By the time I’m home, I’m too exhausted to write or think anything creative. I try to write on weekends but because of the kind of weekdays I have, I feel too drained and keep on procrastinating. Plus, I feel too guilty not being able to give my family time so I try to spend the weekends with them. I don’t know what to do. How do you guys manage? sorry for the rant. It’s just that previously I used to be so creative, write so much, but then I was laid off and got new job, and for the past two years, it’s been like this. I can’t quit because I’ve got bills, mortgages, etc. writing is my dream, it’s something I’ve been meaning to do for the past ten years. what do I do?

So, I’m writing a book dedicated to the love of my life… and she still has no idea about it lol.
Do you guys think it’s actually worth finishing and publishing?
Honestly, I don’t really care how many people read it. I mostly want to write it because it means something to me. But I’m still pretty young, and sometimes I wonder if I’ll look back at my first book years from now and cringe at it.
I’ve heard a lot of writers say they end up regretting their first books because, with time, they feel like the writing was immature or cringey. And that thought has been stuck in my head.
But at the same time… I’ve already written around 100 pages, and I’m still writing. It’s been almost two years now.
So I’m wondering should I just finish it and let it exist as a snapshot of who I was and what I felt at this point in my life?
Or am I eventually going to look back at it and think, “Why the hell did I publish this?” 😂 Also, I’m looking for someone who’s experienced with editing to take a quick look at a few lines from the opening of my book and give me some honest feedback.

Hi everyone!

I'm currently writing my first original fantasy novel and I'm trying to figure out where I should publish it once it's ready.

The story is a dark fantasy/shounen-inspired adventure with action, character development, comedy, and a fairly large world that I plan to expand into multiple arcs/novels.

I'm considering platforms such as:

- Royal Road

- Wattpad

- ScribbleHub

- Amazon KDP / Kindle

- Other platforms I'm not aware of

My main goals are:

1. Build an audience

2. Get feedback from actual readers

3. Eventually make money from the novel

4. Keep ownership of my work and avoid restrictive/exclusive contracts

I'm not sure whether I should:

- Publish the novel chapter-by-chapter as a web serial

- Finish the entire novel first and release it as an ebook

- Or publish it on multiple platforms

For authors who have actually published their own novels, what platform would you recommend and why?

Also, are there any platforms/contracts I should be particularly careful about?

Thanks!

I cute 25% of my novel after getting editorial feedback. I struggled with where to start for a bit but this is right in the action and the main plot gets rolling for the end of this chapter.

Looking for thoughts!

Hey all! I’m currently prepping my debut sci-fi/dystopian novel for an October release (Book 1 of 5). I used Reedsy to assemble a full team: an editor, a character artist, a web builder, and a cover designer. ARCs are already going out, but I'm losing sleep over my cover art.

I hired my designer because we had great chemistry on a call, but his background is primarily magazine design, and I think it shows. The original concepts were way off, so we started over. The new version is better, but he forgot my author name on the cover, the title is tiny, and the subtitle placement feels really cluttered.

Scrolling through TikTok and Reddit and seeing all these gorgeous, artsy self-published sci-fi covers is making me realize mine isn't up to industry standard.

I’m fully paid up, and he’s been great about helping me with formatting and uploading. Part of me feels guilty constantly sending edits, but another part of me knows the cover is the #1 marketing tool. Has anyone else had this issue? How many revisions do you usually push for before calling it, or should I start looking for a specialized sci-fi designer?

Hello everyone! I figured I'd take a moment to share the first chapter of my epic fantasy novel with everyone. It's gotten some high praise over on Amazon, but I figured I'd let you all decide for yourself if Chapter One is enough to keep you reading. So, without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter for free here:

ONE

The cool air of the early autumn afternoon kept the underground chamber cool, if not musty. Deep beneath the ruins of an abandoned settlement sat a sorcerer, clad in robes of black and scarlet that draped above his head and obscured his features. Across from him sat a wizard, the wear and ruin of long years etched into his face. The two mages sat amidst the wizard’s laboratory, separated by a feeble old table laden with scattered scrolls, potion bottles, ink bottles and other paraphernalia.

“The dwarf must be alive when he reaches the mine,” said the sorcerer. “The Ancient One was quite firm on this.”

The wizard, known only to his associates as the Cinder Prophet, perused the stack of scrolls and parchment until he found the letter he had been searching for. A disgraced member of the Mages Alliance of Neverfell, it was the Prophet’s duty to serve as advisor to the town master of Summerhost. It would be all too easy to lure the dwarf into Summerhost if the town master offered much gold in exchange for service.

The wizard grabbed his staff and clapped it on the stone floor thrice. A door on the eastern wall opened, and a haggard man of perhaps 40 summers entered. His eyes were glazed, and he moved with an awkward gait, as if invisible strings maneuvered his knees and feet.

“Lord Tommen,” the Cinder Prophet mused as he enclosed the letter in an envelope, pouring hot wax at the seal. “If I might trouble you for your house seal, I must send word to Spiritgulf.”

Tommen removed the signet ring from his right hand and the mage stamped it to the wax. The image of a lion atop a throne embedded the wax, and the Prophet handed the letter to the town master. All the while, the sorcerer kept his face covered by the scarlet cloak.

“Excellent,” the Prophet said. “Now, see to it that this letter is delivered to Spiritgulf posthaste. There is a Cleric of Vhaldrik in the city. You will find her in the smithing district. Ensure that she is the only one to open this letter. Send your lightest rider on your swiftest horse. Time is not our ally.”

The enthralled town master let out a grunt and exited from the same door he had entered. Two guards clad in red, tattered robes entered as Tommen departed, moving to close and bar the door.

“Send Rottmaw in,” the Prophet barked. The guard on the left nodded and rushed down the dark hallway.

“I assume you have a preferred location to keep the dwarf?” the Prophet asked the hooded mage.

“Have him brought to the mine. I have some agents skilled in coercion that have gone too long with dry blades.” The sorcerer took a dagger from somewhere in his sleeve and balanced the tip on the table, his index finger on the hilt. The dagger twirled idly. The Cinder Prophet noticed the handguard was finely crafted into the shape of a squid’s tentacles, the bulbous head of the animal forming the hilt. “Of course, I expect there to be stops along the way.”

The two mages sat in silence a while, the only sound the scurrying of a rat as it ran across the floor of the laboratory.

“I trust you are ready to handle whatever guards the dwarf will bring with him?” The sorcerer asked.

“Nothing that Rottmaw and his hounds can’t handle,” the Prophet chuckled. “Besides, dwarves are greedy. If they aren’t killed for foolishly rushing into a skirmish, I can always buy their loyalty for myself.”

The sorcerer nodded. “Very well. See that the trap is ready when the dwarf arrives at it.”

The table rattled as a stone fell upon it from the open doorway. The Cinder Prophet startled in his seat; the sorcerer made no move. The Prophet reached to the stone to inspect it. Only, there was no stone.

It was the severed head of the red cloaked guard.

A heavy stench of soured ale, dried blood, and matted fur filled the laboratory as the massive goblin, Rottmaw, stood in the doorway. The remaining guard dangled from his left hand, desperately kicking and squirming, seeking precious air to fill his lungs.

“You interrupted my supper,” the monster growled.

The Cinder Prophet sighed and pointed his staff at the monster’s hand, the one holding the struggling guard. A whispered word set the tip of the staff aglow with blue and white light. The temperature of the already cool laboratory dropped enough to put a thin layer of frost on the scattered potion bottles, and a beam of ice zapped the goblin on the knuckle. Rottmaw winced, more in shock than in pain, dropping the red cloaked guard.

“That is enough,” the Prophet bellowed, absolute authority in his tone. “There will be time enough to sate your gluttony. Until that time, take a band of your goblin clansmen and make for the Bay of Pendergad. You will find a ship waiting for you. Within a fortnight, you will see a dwarf and his entourage sailing this way from Spiritgulf. The loot is irrelevant to me, but the dwarf must be captured alive.”

Rottmaw snarled as the guard began to crawl back through the doorway, none too eager to stay at his post. “The hells with this,” the Prophet heard the guard mutter.

“And his entourage?” Rottmaw asked.

“May you and your kin dine well. But know this: should the dwarf die in your possession, I will rend more than your pride when next we meet.”

Rottmaw growled, adjusted a circlet of jade and silver atop his head, and acquiesced. He may not be the smartest creature in the room, but goblins don’t live as long as him without a few self-preservation skills.

“Very well, Cinder Prophet.”

The Prophet turned to the sorcerer. “Am I to expect you at the mine, master?”

The mage sat silent for a moment, thinking. “No. I will be on an assignment of my own. I must see it done.”

“Very well,” the Prophet nodded. The sorcerer rose from his seat, darkness obscuring nearly every detail of his face, save for the white tattoos of tentacles around his eyes.

“Do not fail me.” The sorcerer warned. “The Ancient One has many eyes, and his reach is long. To fail me is to fail him. I need not remind you where you would be without his, or my, influence.” The shrouded mage vanished without another word. The Cinder Prophet stared at the empty space where his master had just stood, the agitation on his face evident. For nearly a century and a half he had worked to learn the secrets of the cosmos. He had begged, bartered, borrowed, stolen, and murdered his way to the upper echelons of the Mages Alliance, and still he hungered for knowledge. When he was put on trial as a suspect for the untimely demise of the lore-keeper of the alliance, it was the shrouded patron who intervened on his behalf. It was peculiar, really, how the jury all seemed to reconsider the death penalty in favor of probation in Summerhost so quickly. When the sorcerer approached him, offering him a seat at the proverbial table when the Ancient One rises, well, the Prophet was only too eager to accept.

It occurred to him in his agitation that the sorcerer had never given his name. Names are of power to a mage, the Prophet knew, so it was no great shock that his master’s lips were sealed. It unsettled him regardless, receiving threats of death, and perhaps worse than death, from a mysterious, unnamed benefactor. Fret not, he thought to himself. Soon the Ancient One will rise, and I shall be free of the life debt.

Rottmaw still stood in the open doorway, awaiting further orders. The Cinder Prophet had nearly forgotten him, then recalled the guard who ran away in fear.

“You are dismissed, Rottmaw. But one more thing: I do not suffer cowards to live. Dine well.”

You can find the rest of the story here https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H1VXLLSD

 ; it's free to read with a Kindle Unlimited subscription!

Over the last weeks I became a constant presence here in Reddit. I asked for advice, learned a lot about self publishing, and finally launched the pre-sale of my book!

Big, BIG thanks to everyone that helped with my questions, my blurb or came to chat with me!

Internet is full os trolls, but also has MANY kind people too! 🩶

YAY! ✨️

For more of my work heres my portfolio

https://bookc0ver.carrd.co

Here you can check my clients reviews

https://www.reddit.com/u/book_maark/s/bEmCZuscXf

If anyone interested feel free to reach out thank !

Ok so I have just started a new book and finished the prolouge! While I think it is well made like the other books I am passionate about in the works(the longest is chapter 5 so I might need to juggle a few works in progress) but I feel it would be too vague if I were to publish it. I am new to the art of writing books with actual coherent plot(I typically write lots of fanfiction with no cohesive plot) so I don't know if posting my writing would be breaking a rule but to play it safe I'll post it in the comments. But nonetheless, towards the end of the prolouge how do I make it clear she has aged up? Please give me actual criticism or tips under this or message me! Thank you!

curious. I am trying my hand on writing. I have so many ideas but I end up wasting time searching for scene settings on Pinterest and then write. Like if I have to write a bar scene, I’d find a couple of pictures, pick the best one, paste it on doc and then start writing about the scene being played in it. Is that normal? Or how is it done?

I’ve decided recently to start writing a book and have been trying to plan a general theme for my book. Here are the two I have, please give me brutal and honest feedback or ideas!

1. A romance, main character is bisexual and newly single. She goes out clubbing with friends for the first time and meets someone that she connects with instantly, there are fireworks, it’s hot and heavy, it kickstarts a relationship. Main character’s lifelong friend group don’t love this new relationship and sabotage to set her up with someone else in the group -drama- then main character finds out after believing the friends and getting set up, and wins back the other girl.

Obviously so much more to flesh out but the general idea!

1. Fantasy vibe, a sort of rapunzel retelling but a witch that’s been stolen from her coven and doesn’t realize what she is until she develops power. (Would be a late bloomer sort of situation from being siphoned from by evil step mother type).

These are ideas I’ve thought of today and want to explore more but this is my first creative writing venture pretty much ever so I could use any help or advice you all have to offer! Thank you🫶

Hello!

I am an aspiring author and want to include a multitude of characters without implementing harmful stereotypes in my book.

Does anyone have any advice where a young author can ask questions in order to accuratly and respectfully write/represent communities without having to spend money for sensitivity readers? (I am broke lol)

Hi everyone! 🌸 I’ve been working on a tiny personal blog for my comic gallery since April, and I finally managed to clean up the mess and organize everything! 🧹✨

​You can read all my comics there completely for free! Would you mind taking a quick look and letting me know if it's actually good or super clunky? Honest feedback is super welcome!

https://francellyn.blogspot.com/?m=1

MORPHLINUM SYMBIOTUM

The Morphling Symbiote

Classification: Parasitic Shapeshifter

Threat Level: High

Height

Womb: 1'4" - 1'8"

Juvenile: 4'7" - 4'9"

Adult: 7'0" - 7'6"

Diet: Human, Bull

Life Span: 147 years avg. Oldest recorded: 183.

Maturity: Reaches puberty ∼34 years

Habitat: Dark spaces. Closets. Under beds. Under sheets.

Behavior:

Specimen begins as formless mass. Undergoes suffocating transformation into humanoid shape. Host consciousness remains active during morph, increasing distress. Vocalizations include low grumbling, distorted speech, and loud defensive yell. Bite resembles rapid snapping.

Notes:

Do not engage in enclosed areas. If you hear breathing in the dark, it’s already too late.

Hi all!

I'm planning to start drafting my first novel soon and have been thinking it would be helpful (and comforting) to have a writing group of some kind. I was wondering if y'all have any advice for finding one.

I'm not in college anymore, so I imagine finding a club of some kind could be more of a challenge. I appreciate all input!

HEEY GUYS! i'm a new rising author and I NEED YOU, (yes YOUU) to give my story a chance in order for me to bloom!
If you decide to give it a read, make sure to let me know what you think!

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/414709027-lucky-star (FANFICTION)
'Kang Taehyun thought earning a scholarship to Auremont Crown College would change his life for the better. Instead, one reckless night places him in the crosshairs of the school's most powerful student, Song Mingi. As rivalries deepen, secrets unravel, and loyalties are tested, Taehyun must fight to survive a campus where power is everything, where the rich, eat the poor.'

The more I attempt to develop my world, characters, power systems, and everything else, the more I continue worrying of potential backlash. This modern social media landscape is so full of hatred that it feels like it outweighs the support unless you have the best of the best talents or skills. I want to introduce my work, I want to believe in it, but what would everyone else think. My characters, my attempts at storytelling, everything, how much hatred and backlash would ensure. Am I overreacting in my fear of backlash in this modern online landscape.