Rebel, Bully, Geek, Pariah By Erin Jade Lange ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ This Book Was Absolutely

happy sts! what's something you're proud of/happy about in your writing?

Happy sts! Thank you for sending in this question, @feathered-inkling!

I had to sit on this one for a bit before I could figure out my answer, honestly. I’ve always been really insecure about my writing, hence why I’m only slowly sharing parts of it now. One thing I’m really happy about in my writing, however, is my ability to really illustrate a scene once I’m comfortable with it. Some of my favorite pieces of mine are ones where I managed to actually describe the full atmosphere, not just rely on sight and sound. A previous creative writing professor of mine actually personally disliked my writing because it was too “flowery and descriptive”. 

Other writers, what are things you’re proud of/happy about in your writing? I’d love to hear from you as well!

Hi @hurricanerylee

Hi

@disobedientfork

I hope that you get to see your book at your favorite bookstore someday.

Naughty stoves go into the closet of shame. @the-moss-ball

How is it that yearbook messages can go from "You're amazing, fantastic, and beautiful" to "Thanks for not killing me in my sleep"?

happy sts! how do you pick character names? is there any particular reason to why you picked certain names for you OCs?

Oh, I love this question! Thank you so much for asking!

As much as I’d love to say that all of my character names are carefully chosen for them, it actually depends entirely on my mood and if I’m currently really into a particular book/show/podcast/etc. The characters I’ve been working with most lately are Oliver, Juno, Shiloh, and Maggie. Oliver and Maggie essentially just got their names from random generators (and I just made sure the generated name seemed right for their personalities).

Juno, however, I actually named after Juno Steel from The Penumbra Podcast. I adore his character in the podcast and, while my Juno isn’t really that similar to him, I wanted to have that sort of personal connection. When I chose Shiloh’s name, I, again, pulled from a character I (at least used to) like. She’s actually named after Shiloh (an adorable beagle) from the children’s book Saving Shiloh, which I read a ton as a kid.

I know I have tons of other characters I didn’t mention here, but that’s generally how my name choosing works. It’s either almost entirely random or connected to something else I love. (And, in the case of a super old WIP, it’s just a self-insert.)

Thank you again, @feathered-inkling, for asking me this! I’d love to get more questions sent about my writing (especially as I slowly share more of it)! And if you have anything you want to add to this, I’d love to see how other writers go about naming their characters.

The Last Straw - Short Story

It’s been months since I’ve seen them—three months and nine days, to be exact. That last, monumental fight echoes through my mind as I sit, waiting, in our favorite cafe. It was a mutual decision to take this break, I remind myself. We just needed time to cool off from the fight and better ourselves before we tackled the whole “serious relationship” thing again. The idle chatter of the other customers, the clanking and hissing of the coffee machines, and the muted pop music emanating from the speakers on the wall do nothing to dull my nerves.

I glance at the clock above the door and, noting that they’re definitely late now, check my phone as well. No messages. My stomach clenches as I turn my attention back to the door. I shouldn’t be surprised by their tardiness, considering they've never been particularly concerned about timeliness.

The door swings open again and in they finally walk. In our months apart, nothing has changed in their appearance and, despite my anxiety, that warm feeling only they can create spreads through my chest.

“Can I get my usual? With almond milk this time, though. I’m on a diet.” Their voice cuts through the cafe as they order their drink. The barista nods, sets up their order, and charges them. They scan the cafe and, spotting me, saunter over to our table.

“Long time, no see, huh?” They greet me, giving me a relaxed smile. Without waiting for a response, they add, “I love what you did with your hair. I told you that color would look great on you.”

“Thank you! You were right, I really like it.” I comb my fingers through my hair as I speak, proud of this change I’d managed to make. “It’s faded a bit-”

“You should’ve cut it shorter,” they cut in, their smile giving way to a speculative frown. “That length makes your face look fat.” Their tone is remarkably light as they say it but it still makes my stomach drop. Of course I didn’t get it right.

Before I can come up with some sort of response, the barista calls out their order. The table shakes gently as I tap my foot against its leg and watch them retreat to the counter. It was just a comment about my hair; we can still salvage this.

“Excuse me, but I need a straw.” Again, their voice cuts through the cafe, this time dripping with that familiar annoyance of being inconvenienced.

“Oh, I’m sorry, someone must’ve just taken the last one,” the barista replies quickly, her voice squeaking at the threat of a true confrontation. “Give me just a second-”

“Is it really that hard to do your job?” They demand before the barista can even step away from the counter. “No wonder you all make such little money at these jobs. You idiots can’t even keep the straws stocked.” Without waiting for the barista’s response, they storm back to the table.

Silence settles over the cafe for a moment as the others watch their return to our table. They take their seat, pointedly pop the lid off of their cup, and take a sip. The flavor must meet their standards since they don’t speak up to the barista again.

They quietly study me over their coffee before asking, “How have you been? Haven’t fallen in love with someone new while I’ve been gone, have you?” Their tone almost feels joking but their fingers clench around their cup of coffee, white from the pressure.

“I’ve been fine,” I offer, carefully watching for any sort of new reaction as I speak. “I made a lot more progress with my novel, so I’ll be-”

“Did you meet anyone new?” They interrupt, their tone as sharp as the pinning stare they give me.

“No, I didn’t meet anyone new.” I match their tone as best I can, hoping it at least somewhat conveys my intention to not let them walk over me again. “I’ve been looking into querying-”

“Good,” they reply, leaning back in their chair and setting their coffee on the table. “I met someone pretty cool at a bar a little while back. They actually live in the other wing of your apartment complex. I barely even recognized it was the same building, they decorated it so nice. Your place doesn’t have to look like such a dump, you know. A few nice rugs, some original art, and boom, no one would be able to tell it was practically falling apart.”

I listen quietly, considering their comments as I sip my coffee. They ramble on, talking about their new job, their joy from seeing me again despite my ugly hair, and their plans to travel to the east coast. They’re in the middle of telling me about the pie they made earlier this week when I finally speak up again.

“Do you even care?” I ask. My leg bounces under the table, the only outward sign of my anxiety that I’ll allow. They raise their eyebrow at me, a smirk forming on their lips.

“Do I care? About what?” They question back. “About you? Yes. About my new job? Also, yes, even though it pisses me off sometimes. I care about a lot of things.”

“You don’t even-”

“I think the question here is whether or not you care about me.” They plow on, leaning forward and planting a firm hand on the table. “You disappeared for three months and didn’t contact me at all. We took this break for you and you took your merry time, torturing me with your silence. Your parents even said you’d told them not to talk to me.”

“I think that’s enough,” I say and, even though it comes out quieter than I intend, they stop talking immediately. They stare at me in shocked silence as I continue. “I thought we could make this work, but I’m done.” I get up from the table, retrieving my coffee as they process what I’ve just said.

“You can’t just break up with me,” they finally say, their eyes narrowing at me as they rise from their seat. “You think you’ll get on without me? Who else do you have-”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t contact me again,” I say, keeping my voice even as theirs rises. “Goodbye.” I turn and make my way to the barista’s counter, drop an extra tip in their jar, and leave the cafe.

This is a piece I wrote for a creative writing course I took recently. I don’t have any current plans to continue it but I thought it’d be nice to share it with you all! I hope you guys like it!

happy storyteller saturday! what are some of your characters’s favorite childhood memories?

Happy sts! Thank you so much for sending a question again, @feathered-inkling! I love answering these!

Oliver’s favorite childhood memories all surround the rare times he and his siblings got to just be kids. Times like playing hide and seek when his parents weren’t home and staying up late telling ghost stories with his younger brother. Shiloh’s favorite childhood memories are just whenever her dad gave her metalwork lessons and taught her anything new surrounding his forge.

I’m still not sure how to explain to non-writers that sometimes characters can just do things without your consent or foreknowledge and there’s not a lot you can do to stop them.