All Activity

This stream auto-updates   

  1. Past hour
  2. Yup! My primer on wood in the home! fancy hardback binding and great photos. Schiffer always does a great job with full color nonfiction books! If anyone is curious, the book is here.
  3. There was never a better time to observe the nature of people than during a festival, and the Festival of Rebirth in particular was one that promoted anonymity. It was amazing how much more comfortable people felt in letting their true desires out just from the thin protection of covering their cheekbones with a mask and dressing up a little. To Laurelai, the festival was a goldmine of information, a thousand little dramas unfolding over the city that she could watch as she passed by, trying to intuit the story from the fragments she was able to pick up. Heading to a nearby stall to see what they had to offer, Laurelai smiled at the chaos all around her. It was a strange contrast, people were being far more honest than usual but the streets were busier and interactions more complex than on any other day. Was it easier to understand today? Or harder? "A caramel apple please." She said, flashing a dazzling smile towards the sweet vendor she'd manged to find. Usually she'd avoid something that messy with such an expensive dress but today she'd be lucky indeed if a small caramel stain was the worst she had to deal with. Last festival a table had collapsed on the second story of the inn and she'd been absolutely doused in beer, hopefully she could get through the end of the day without anything that catastrophic at least, but in the worst case she could always spend tomorrow morning Forging any of the previous nights mishaps away. Not the best way to spend the morning after a celebration Laurelai. She reminded herself. Best to try to stay out of trouble in the first place. Idly she wondered if being able to eliminate consequences so easily predisposed Forgers to reckless behavior. Or did the fact that they needed to be so well studied and aware of the consequences of events mean they were less likely to be so? It was an interesting idea of contrasts, her father would probably enjoy thinking about it. Perhaps next time they had a coffee together she could bring it up and see what he thought of it, make sure he stretched his mind outside of whatever he was currently focused on at work. She continued down the smaller city streets as she bit into her apple, enjoying the mixture of the salted caramel with the crisp and sweet flesh of the apple. It was amazing how much of life came down to simply knowing the correct contrasts. A good meal needed contrasting flavors to highlight each other, so did the elements in an outfit or the scenes in a story. People needed contrasts too, she reasoned, perhaps that was why she'd been getting so bored lately. Too many similar people around each other and no one to contrast herself with, nothing to make her life pop. It's a festival Laurelai. Try not to spend the whole time moping about in introspection. Passing a shop window she gave her reflection an amused smile before shaking her head and holding her chin up as she explored more of the marvelous sights the city held. ============================================================================= Whisper crept along the streets, smoothly moving between groups of people and blending in with them for a few moments before gliding over to the next. Blending in came as naturally to her as breathing at this point, even without Investiture she could manage to hide from most eyes. With Investiture there were very few conversation that Whisper couldn't find some way to listen into. And tonight when the city was filled with people intoxicated by both alcohol and the general spirit of revelry, Whisper questioned whether she even needed to bother trying to conceal herself at all. It was also one of the most difficult times for her to work, for one she was completely inaudible in this noise. Even on a normal day the city was loud enough that few could hear the faint whispers that were all she could produce. But at Festival there was no chance that anyone would be able to hear her. That also meant she had to get much closer to potential marks in order to listen to what they were saying, but that was far less of a problem. Everyone was packed close together, and often travelling in the same direction so there was little suspicion that she drew there. But perhaps the most difficult part of working during the festival were the distractions. Everywhere she looked she could see them, the Lonely God, the Stranger, the Mother of Monsters. Sometimes it was obviously a simple piece of plastic or fabric, but other times they were something else. She could see the eyes behind them, not the eyes of the people who wore the masks but The eyes. The eyes of the gods watching them all, judging her. Whispering to her if she listened hard enough, but it was always so difficult to hear what they were saying, what they wanted. Did the gods want people to wear these masks? Was it an offering? Or would the gods find them offensive? Did they stay apart from the world because the city offended them year after year with thousands of pretend-gods parading around? A dagger slipped into Whispers hands as she stared hard at a passing man wearing a mask of the Stranger. Should she stop this for Him? There were many Strangers in the city tonight but her legs were swift, maybe if she cut enough of them she could please them enough that they would come back. Maybe this was what the masks were whispering, perhaps they were pleas from her gods to tear down the false images of them that ran around the city streets. Status update. The pen in Whispers other hand twisted suddenly with the message. You're late with the latest update, anything to report? In a flash the dagger had vanished from her other hand and Whisper slipped further down the street, eyes downcast as she avoided meeting any gazes. Nothing yet. She sent back dutifully. She wondered if she should broach the topic with Lita, would she understand if Whisper tried to explain it? She wasn't an idiot at least, surely she'd see that it would be reasonable to at least try taking out all of those who wore the masks, the ones that whispered at least.
  4. 4000 pages? 613
  5. Maybe a bit of both.
  6. All of these are wrong. The character has adopted a child.
  7. Jeremy decided to do something drastic.
  8. It is an even hour, though. I personally say we wait. Now Elkanah wasn't Bleeder. That's bad. Karnage/Flogs died. That is very bad. So, are we focusing on Bleeder or are we focusing on Coda? Do we think Coda is Bleeder? Cause if Winsting dies we all lose so I think Bleeder is top priority. Who could Bleeder be... well wilson was the first Elk vote. Devotary was said to be a suspect then if Elk wasn't Bleeder, I'll have to go back to 3 am and read why again (I'll edit this when I find out) but supposedly one of those two might be? I dunno.
  9. Vivi looked at her brother while he spoke, admiration written all over her face. He probably had come up with a plan, a strategy to follow. It was awesome how he always managed to read situations and then act in a way that benefited everybody. She relaxed her stance, but made sure her copper continued to burn and instead plucked off a little more cotton candy and stuffed it into her mouth. Better she ate it now, than she saved it. Worst care she would have to drop it to the ground and exchange it for a weapon and she wasn't looking forward to that. The festival was her one chance to get some easily and she was planning not to waste a single bit of it all. Out of the corner of her eyes she noticed how Reval had shifted his feet as well, knew that he was preparing for an incoming fight. As was the man. Her father had taught her early to keep an eye on a possible opponents body, on the way he moved. And right now, he was ready to draw his weapon and shoot the two of them. For a moment she considered to stop eating, but then decided against it. Reval knew how to deal with people. He would deal with that one as easily as he did with everybody else. And she could always get her own weapon out quickly, should it become neccessary. For now, it was probably better if she made sure her cotton candy was eaten when then conflict started. It would be ashame should it end up a victim. Her eyes moved over the man as she ate, tried to understand what he was even doing here. Something about a god - probably one of the weird ones praying to some non-existent deity of another planet. There were many of them around and most of them were harmless idiots. "I'm not your sister." she pointed out, decided to make sure there was no misunderstanding while shooting him a disarming smile. "You're far too old to be my brother." @Nohadon ================= Althea turned towards the food stalls when Ben agreed to go and look for something to eat as well. "Where was the stall selling dumplings, that you saw earlier?" she asked Aln and noticed the world around them slowing down, when Ben reduced the amount of metal he was burning. Yet, the bubble remained around them. Interesting. The way he could steer his Investiture, how he burnt so much so easily, it hinted at a great proficiency, far beyond what an allomancer with a usual amount of training was be able to do. That he didn't stop completely now, when they were considering to head back to the stalls and the crowd hinted at something else. A dependency of some sorts, or maybe he was simply so used to it, that he had forgotten he was still holding the bubble up. But then he had changed it, left it there. She studied his face again, remembered how she had seen him first sitting on the ground, the way he his body had shook a little and gave a curt, mental nod. He wasn't burning because there was a reason to, he burnt because something in his own mind propelled him to do so. Be it an addiction, be it savancy, be it trauma of some sorts. She didn't know him well enough to judge the reasons for it or come to a conclusion that would be reliable. At first she didn't notice the two guards that ran along the street towards them. And even when she saw them, it took her a moment to connect them to the Van. It had to be far away by now, at least one or two streets over. It had been moving slowly, but it was hard to judge how much time had passed with time moving slower inside of the bubble. "Something is wrong." She stated calmly, annoyed by herself that she had lost sight of the Van. But the moment the world had blurred around them, she had lost track of nearly everybody. "I don't have prove, but the two men running towards the place, the could have been part of those inside of the Van. And if that is true, it doesn't bode well for everybody else there." She extended her hands towards them. "I can take us quickly to the next corner, so that we can take a look down the streets, see if we can discern if something is wrong." @Rushu42 @Ashbringer
  10. I'm just going to drop out this week and submit on June 8 instead of June 1. I still need to look over my chapter 1 more time before I send it, but I'm rewriting my last couple of chapters to account for changes I made earlier. I'd rather just finish this past on the last chapters before I do my final pass on 6 before submitting.
  11. Hmmm, no. 612
  12. You mean something like 611? 611
  13. Today
  14. That's a good idea! Want to team up on my next Cosmere ABC's?
  15. I thought it might be good to have place where we could discuss technical issues of the mechanics of writing, drop questions for the group, maybe talk about craft and such like. You may have discovered by now that this is something I feel quite strongly about <cough>, but please be assured it's not just a place for me to rant Maybe it will sink to the bottom like a stone, but I thought it was worth a test run. In all seriousness, no judgement here. There are more ways than one to skin a chapter, and it's entirely acceptable (IMO) for character dialogue (for example) to be chock full of grammatical faux pas, subject to the upbringing, and education of a character. There can also be a strong case for 'correct' grammar being subservient to style (when there is a good story reason), as classics like 1984, featuring newspeak, and A Clockwork Orange with its 'fictional register or argot', nadsat, demonstrate. Although, these are more akin to made-up languages, I suppose. But I thought this would not just be about the mechanics of writing, but also a place for discuss approaches to editing, and writing process--anything that would come under the heading of writing craft, as distinct from the creative parts of writing. Anyway, just a thought.
  16. It's actually considered quite long for a TLPW returned.
  17. I would like to have a copy. Thank you.
  18. Janet (I think that’s her name)? The horse lady that doesn’t like Kaladin?
  19. Aviars are not new. Else the remark about nobody finding a new kind of Aviar in a long time makes no sense. They also have a university. So why haven't they found out that you can have multiple Aviars? I would propose that it is not quite so easy as Sixth of the Dusk makes it sound you must bond near the Eye of Patji the chick to be added must be really young it must recently have gotten the worm
  20. Woop, woop - congratulations! Non-fiction?
  21. About two years ago, I was reading through the Stormlight Archives for the first time. I can’t remember when I learned about it, but I recall that at some point I was talking to a fellow Sanderfan when she told me that a lot of Sanderson’s works take place in the same universe. I was shocked, and as soon as I finished SA, I hopped over to Mistborn and started reading. She told me about Hoid too, so I freaked out whenever I saw him in Mistborn.
  22. Your life as a Returned was very short, only a little over 6 hours.
  23. That depends, is he real? Which was very fun, but only stressed him out more.
  24. Honestly I lost all hope of 100,000 posts, I'm just waiting for a more reasonable number. 610
  1. Load more activity