It's The End Of The Quarter And I'm So Stressed About All Of My Late Work And My Grades That I Started

I chose to teach one of my classes the word "defenestration" (the act of throwing someone or something out of a window) and it has become one of the most used words among us. I'm proud.

The Lightning Thief By Rick Riordan ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ This was a pretty darn awesome book. It was my first time reading and I’m just about to start the second so I definitely approve of it. My one and only thing to point out here is that there are some errors and stuff like that throughout the book that were so minor that most people might not notice them but I did. All in all it was an awesome book and I’m looking forward to the rest of the series. I totally recommend it!!

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!

Afterworlds By Scott Westerfeld ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ This book was really quite unique; it went back and forth between a young author, Darcy Patel, and the main character of the book shes writing, Lizzie Scofield. It was fun to be able to read this and follow the conflicts in Darcy and Lizzie’s lives and how different parts were connected. I would definitely recommend this book to any aspiring authors out there because I feel that this book did a good job of pointing out some pros and cons of the writing business.

Last Line Tag

Thank you for tagging me, @feathered-inkling! I think this was actually just a random bit of writing based off a prompt I found but hey, it still counts!

They tried to push themselves back to their feet as she left the room but, realizing the futility of the thought—and yielding to their own exhaustion—they laid their head back to the floor in resignation.

As usual, I won’t directly tag anyone. If you see this and want to do it, however, feel free to say I tagged you!

The Loner - Short Story

Birth

Like most children, the Loner was born crying. Unlike most children, the Loner was also born fighting, squirming violently in the arms of the doctor as he tried to hand them to their mother. Their parents never quite knew what to do with them as they grew up, that vicious fighting instinct sticking with them even as they learned other ways to vent their emotions. When the Loner finally learned to speak, among their first words was the persistent repetition of the word “doom”.

Early Years

The Loner’s childhood was filled with just that: loneliness. Since learning to talk, they never quite learned to filter their language. The topic of doom—with occasional variations of “the end of the world” and “Armageddon”—was almost always on their lips. Their parents came to ignore it, pretending it wasn’t happening, just like they did with everything else they deemed odd from their child. The children at school never managed to do the same. They always did their best to steer clear of the Loner, even when all they wanted was something as harmless as teaching their peers how to efficiently sharpen a stick into a spear.

The Collection

Shortly after the Loner entered second grade, a secret collection of food began to grow in their bedroom. They quickly discovered the short lives of the bananas and ham and cheese sandwiches their mother packed for their lunches. The cans they stole from the pantry, however, never seemed to fail them as the other foods did. Cans accumulated in every hidden corner of their room: under the bed, at the back of the closet, and at the bottom of their toybox.

The Model

High school shop class quickly established itself as a favorite of the Loner. They were allowed to build whatever they wanted, so long as they made sure to complete their actual assignments, and it was in that class that they built their first bunker model. Wood sanded perfectly smooth held the shape of their dream home and they could barely hold back their excitement over their creation. The Loner proudly showed the model off to their parents and, met with their characteristic disappointment and disapproval, resolved to keep it hidden on the top shelf in their closet. Only they could truly appreciate the craftsmanship.

Higher Education

College was never in the Loner’s plans. Their parents begged them to go, but there was nothing they could do when the Loner signed up for a survival camp instead. It wasn’t different from most other summer camps, aside from the poisoned water and the death of four campers. There, the Loner finally received the final pieces of their education and when they returned from camp, they were ready to move out into the world on their own.

Home

The Loner’s first home was, as it would turn out, also their final home. They hand-built their fortress in a section of forest just near enough to society to reasonably live. Everything about it was perfect from the complex water filtration system, to the diverse garden in the greenhouse, to even the armory hidden in the basement. Their favorite part of their home was none of those details, but rather the bunker nestled below the basement. It matched that first prototype almost exactly, with only a few important differences in the air filtration system and the food storage. As the rug that laid before their front door said, this was truly their “Home Sweet Home”.

The Outbreak

The day the first outbreak aired on the news, a persistent knocking came at the Loner’s door. They knew who their guests were even before checking the security cameras; their parents, old teachers, and old classmates crowded at their doorstep. Everything the Loner had warned and tried to teach them about was coming true and they begged the Loner to save them. The Loner contemplated their options for dealing with their unexpected guests for a while—days, actually—before making their decision. They knew they’d be hated for their choice but, as they reasoned with themselves, they only had accommodations for one.

Survival

Long after those guests rotted away, the Loner lived peacefully in the fortress they’d built. Every aspect of the survival system they’d created served them dutifully. Despite its perfect working condition, they spent much of their free time even further upgrading their home, just for fun. As soon as the Loner managed to fix the local telephone lines, communication was quickly revived in the surrounding area. It took some time, but a close community of survivors eventually rose from the ashes of their fallen society.

They knew it was still too dangerous to travel outside so underground tunnels were soon built between the survivors’ homes, further connecting their new community. After a month of heavy negotiation, a simple trade system was established in their community, allowing proper sharing of all of their resources. The Loner was everyone’s go-to person for whatever they might need, and the Loner’s prices were always the fairest in the community. Despite the unlivable conditions beyond their walls, the Loner eventually settled into a comfortable life. They finally weren’t alone.

Death

Of all of the causes the members of the old society died from, the Loner died peacefully of old age. The friends they’d made in local survivors made the journey to their fortress to stay with them in their final hours. It was a peaceful release, the most peaceful the survivors witnessed in the many years following the outbreak, and it was the end of the Loner’s long life.

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!

The fact that sitting in the orchestra room, eating fries, and listening to Disney songs is completely normal for orchestra members at my school is pretty awesome.

Why do seals swim in salt water? Because pepper water makes them sneeze.

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.