RS, Author, Novelist, Prosaist<blockquote><p><a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/WritersCoffeeClub" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>WritersCoffeeClub</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/WCC" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>WCC</span></a> 2503.12 — Happy Plant a Flower Day! What rôle does nature take in your stories?</p></blockquote><p>How would you describe a ruined world from the 1st person POV of people who have always lived in said world and find it normal? In the Reluctance series, nature is a very important background character whose words don't always match up with the reader's understanding of how their world works. </p><p>[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]</p><p><a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/BoostingIsSharing" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>BoostingIsSharing</span></a></p><p><a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/gender" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>gender</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/fiction" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>fiction</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/writer" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>writer</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/author" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>author</span></a> <br><a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/mystery" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>mystery</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/thriller" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>thriller</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/romance" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>romance</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/sf" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>sf</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/sff" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>sff</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/sciencefiction" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>sciencefiction</span></a><br><a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/writing" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>writing</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/writingcommunity" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>writingcommunity</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/writersOfMastodon" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>writersOfMastodon</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/writers" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>writers</span></a><br><a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/RSdiscussion" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>RSdiscussion</span></a> <br><a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/RSstory" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>RSstory</span></a> <a href="https://eldritch.cafe/tags/RSReluctanceStory" class="mention hashtag" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">#<span>RSReluctanceStory</span></a></p>
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30 messages15 participants2 messages aujourd’hui
https://wdldiamond.blog/2025/03/11/encountering-the-unknown-fear-in-natures-embrace/
The Terror in the Forest - Short Stories - Free to Read on W.D.L Diamond Blog
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W.D.L Diamond · In the summer of 1995 Sarah visits Virginia's serene forestsExperience the beauty of the late summer forest in Virginia as Sarah visits with her boyfriend Michael in 1995.
https://wdldiamond.blog/2024/12/17/vanishing-innocence/
A Vanishing Innocence - Short Stories - Free to Read on W.D.L Diamond Blog
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W.D.L Diamond · A Vanishing Innocence: Ethel's Journey into DangerEnter a world of danger in 'Vanishing Innocence'. Follow Ethel as she encounters a young girl in a graveyard, leading to unexpected peril.
Thriller : The Stolen Girl, une nouvelle série pour Disney+.
Allez voir, le pitch est redoutable !
https://www.bepolar.fr/Thriller-The-Stolen-Girl-une-nouvelle-serie-pour-Disney
#PennedPossibilities 610 — What are the most significant sounds we hear in your WIP? For example, it could be the sounds of nature or the noises of a bustling town.
In Mars Needed Women, in the dome habitats that are built both on the surface and in excavated tunnels:
- Utter and complete silence, which a recent woman imported from Earth would definitely notice. It is nothing like living in the Lakeshore arcology she was raised in outside of Chicago. It's a pressure in the ears when May Ri thinks about it. Loneliness would sound like that.
- In May Ri's vicinity, a hungry infant or the complaint of a toddler wanting more attention.
- Ventilation.
- The weak whistle of a Martian dust storm through the shroom-brick walls of the habitats.
- In some places, machinery excavating.
- In farm domes, the hiss and shish of sprinklers and misters.
- People's voices when in the corridors.
- The wonderful sound their bed makes when her husband is home for the half-dozen intermittent weeks a year when he's off assignment.
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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#PennedPossibilities 609 — Can you tell us about a secret that your antagonist /
villainis willing to take to the grave?
She's the type who confesses things to those she loves, or students she becomes familiar with. It has served her well, if for nothing else as to test people's trustworthiness, or to see what it makes of them. One day, she might find someone to replace herself, so she can retire. What she hasn't confessed is the mortal wounds she's inflicted on the planet. The original cuts weren't her fault, mind you. Nobody trained her in applied climatology, which was before anybody realized such a science could be necessary.
It was. She failed a few times. Learning curves can be as sharp as the curve of a saber.
Maybe if she admitted it, she might find more people who could help her keep humanity from going extinct. To the extent that she hinted heavily, they nearly killed her regardless of her holding her finger in the dike, staving off destruction.
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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#WordWeavers 2503.10 — What is the most useful skill your SC has?
This is highly esoteric even for her world. She was able to fight the main series antagonist (who was mind controlled at that time) and survive to tell the tale. This good-feels short tootfic, Reframing the Experience, helps put Bolt's dilemma in perspective for her.
https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/112497915608418589
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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Eldritch CaféRS, Author, Novelist, Prosaist (@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe)> #PennedPossibilities 324 — SC POV: If you could relive one day of your life without changing anything that happened, which day would you choose? Tootfic: **Reframing the Experience**
[*When my SC says armor, it's really a weightless magical exoskeleton that melds with her body. It looks like blackened bones, because it is. —R.S.*]
Oh, there's plenty of days I'd relive unchanged. Like the day I fledged, when I first flew on my own. Or the day learned the thrill of hauling things through the sky. Both good events in a rather dull and awful childhood that turned to cinders when my parents disapproved of the way I wanted to live my life. Said I aimed for the dirt not the sky. Maybe they weren't so dumb—I ended up badly, flying messages for a crime boss over a dozen years. But, then, there was that day last week...
I've told you a few times how I ended up with the armor and a new job training as a pretorian, you know, having faced down the greatest thaumaturge who ever lived, having nearly killed her. Impressed her.
I thought.
Well, my drill instructor was training me that dawn. I wore the armor. The thaumaturge dove at me, full speed. She's a monster flier, taller, more massive, immortal. I jumped into the sky. Fled.
She followed.
Though the armor let me fly like a sparrow, change direction in a heartbeat, and take a thumping only slightly changing my course, it had been *her* armor once. She kept appearing before me, striking at my face or heart, sending me into spins toward the ground, stalling me out, almost panicking me into flying into trees or buildings. For all her mass and the inertia that implies, I barely avoided her, half the time with her cackling at my barrel rolls or dives that sent down feathers flying. She had muscle; I tired despite the armor until I thought my heart would burst from my chest, at which point a flyby pitched me into the ground.
I skid across the running track on my belly right up to my instructor. I don't know how I didn't break a wing or my neck. Ok, I do: The Armor.
She landed beside me with a loud thump. She wasn't even winded! She told him, "She lacks stamina. Train her harder."
She leaned down until her face was in my face. I smelled maple syrup on her breath. She said, "You need to use the magic in the armor. There's a class at first bell in the Ivory building, room B7. Shower and be there ON TIME."
I have wings.
I don't do magic.
I showered though, once my legs stopped shaking. I slunk into the class still half-frightened out of my wits. My new friend was there, the curse breaker, a former prizefighter, the one I'd fought beside against *Her,* that ended up with me getting the armor. It was some sort of advanced special Ed class for mages. I suddenly felt totally inadequate and I cried. Me. At the age of 27, I cried telling her my story, pointing to my purpling bruises, complaining that had *She* gotten in a good strike *She* would have caved in my rib cage.
My friend was having none of it. She said, "You're a day angel who just went ten minutes fighting *Her.* Somehow, you're still alive."
I hadn't thought about it that way. I later learned the word, "Reframing."
The instructor came in with a truckload of tomes and grimoires. *She* had prepared him for me. He gave me a magic primer. I knew it was a primer because it had PICTURES of youngsters playing. Despite the stares of the other students, I read the book.
Half hour later, I got the armor to glow dull red, like iron out of a forge. Truly. Awesome. Didn't know what it did except look intimidating, but still...
Awesome.
I felt my heart grow large in my chest, and it struck me. Someone (okay, the ruler of the nation) wanted me for who I was and who I could become, and because I was capable. *She* wanted me to aim for the sky. My new friend supported me and pushed me forward. I *liked* this, who I was, what I was finding I could be, could become.
And.
Oddly.
I realized, for what it was worth, my parents would approve. (And flap them if they didn't!)
Best. Day. *Ever.*
[Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]
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#WordWeavers 2503.09 — Could you survive a day in your MC’s shoes?
At the furthest point that I've written in Mars Needed Women, she seems permanently stuck on Mars. She was actually shanghaied to fulfill a contract she signed. By the same contract, she had to marry and now has two nisei (first generation) Martian daughters. Despite it all, she's stable at the moment though the colony itself, part of the now bankrupt and in receivership EM Mars company, is on a slow burn toward failure.
Could I survive a day?
Yes. The domes are safe and food production is reliable, though living in ⅓ gravity does pose issues keeping earth-relative strength and tone. May Ri did get to choose her mandated husband, from a limited stock, and apparently lucked out, so that's not too bad. But caring for a toddler and an infant? I don't have her patience or her acceptance of the situation that comes with having been brought up in (and ofttimes rebelling against) her deeply patriarchal and hypocritically religious society. As a #feminist author who lived through our women's movement, I'd be full of resentment (as I am rapidly becoming these days IRL), which would interfere with what she needs to accomplish in the next few chapters as the main character.
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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The web novel starts here: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/114088945266387178
Eldritch CaféRS, Author, Novelist, Prosaist (@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe)> 2503.01 — Women #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera
## Mars needed women.
May Ri bought into the hype and the spiel, not realizing it was the last gasp of a long dead oligarch's dream. When the money dried up, nobody would finance the supply missions. Who cared about the ten thousand up there when you could outrage the millions down here with something less expensive? Earthers returned to their petty games of slavery—that wasn't called as such—and empire that ate nations.
On Mars, colonists were pushed to their limits: The terraforming mission, the domes, the spinlauncher and Deimosbase, the raising the first and second generation martians. Men died disproportionately. In the end, a few strongmen attempted to corner the growing "female resource" to their benefit and to the benefit their sons, working to crush the whisper of the half-forgotten promise of democracy that had followed May Ri to the planet of war.
She and her daughters led the way, fighting. Together with "sisters" and with "aunts," they redefined *which* gender would be considered a "resource."
They found that the blood of the ever-absent fathers spilled on the rusty regolith of Mars blended in nicely.
Earthers were outraged. #RSMarsNeededWomen 01
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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#ScribesAndMakers 2503.09 — What would your best creative life look like, keeping it realistic? CW: A bit of a rant.
There is no wonder I find myself writing a hopeful yet deeply dystopian feminist web novel right now, with thinly veiled jabs at bad actors making for a bad future. The story's characters are going to work to bring down the system, at least that part that's oppressing them, in a massive unscheduled disassembly. (Latest installment: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/114140417097319679) What is realistic? Writers write when inspired, I guess. That's my creative life.
Which begs the question, IS being a "creative" a realistic pursuit in a world where the arts and sciences are under attack, where profitability is all that counts, and people earn less and less while producing more and more meaningless work? Looking for realistic having just retired, in the middle of applying for social security, is arguably difficult considering threats of SSA employees being laid off.
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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Eldritch CaféRS, Author, Novelist, Prosaist (@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe)Attached: 1 image
> 2503.15 — Freely (Ch/March 9) #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera, Fictional #journalism
## Dispatches from Mars: 16 Psyche Disaster a Software Lock Problem?
> When critical mechanical parts on the *Robinson Crusoe's* NTPU (Nuclear Thermal Propulsion Unit) broke, a crew of 73 that included machinists, metallurgists, mining specialists, three maker specialists, and one mechanical engineer should have been able to fix it.
> Not having achieved circular orbit yet, the men of the fourth Martian mission to the massive asteroid had five days to prevent an intercept on the ambitious orbital plan that would prove too trusting of equipment thirty years in service. The intrepid self-reliant men, later tarred as stupid and arrogant by the Green Tractors Corporation, felt they didn't need to contact the Earth for assistance. Following safety regulations and allowing a proper cooldown period, they proceeded with disassembly and isolation of a part for which GTC has never provided schematics, and allegedly didn't even provide the emergency repairability cache required by most national laws. That search despite high radioactivity for the presumably misplaced cache ate up six hours of the crew's time. When their maker machines refused to make the scanned parts, or parts that could be refined in time by lathe work or manual labor to necessary tolerances, the ship's engineer reported it through *approved channels.*
> The lunar deep space network promptly experienced an outage.
> Let's unpack what looks like a conspiracy and a subsequent cover-up...
> ...Because corporations still design without repairability in mind for "cost" reasons, and even make it impossible to fix bugs in logic, or add enhancement that could have served as a lifesaving workaround in the *Robinson Crusoe's* case, disaster can and will happen. Not being able to freely use and repair equipment that the now bankrupt EM Mars Colonizations Corporation *purchased,* is a travesty of ethics. For a corporation that resides in a deeply Decath nation, it's a moral failure.
> And, for what? Profit from costly maintenance and repair services only available in Earth Space? Are the 7,983 Martians, now less 73, not human? Does is their ability to pay upon achieving profitability in a future decade strip them of their humanity? Why isn't there at least one tech available for Mars Space?
> As you know from other coverage, the *Robinson Crusoe* went down in Panthia crater, hitting 100 meters below the rim ridge. In the end, despite applying boosts from both their landing vehicles and jury-rigged satellite boosters, all their sims had to tell them an hour before that it was hopeless. Worse, even with the cobbled-together low-bandwidth network the Martians got up, none of the all male crew got to send their families a proper goodbye.
> All 73 sailors went down with their ship. They leave behind 73 wives on Mars, together with their 125 first generation (Nisei) Martian children, 24 boys and 101 girls, none over 17 Earth years of age.
#RSMarsNeededWomen 09
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
Image credit: By NASA/JPL-Caltech/ASU - https://www.nasa.gov/feature/jpl/how-nasa-s-psyche-mission-will-explore-an-unexplored-world, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=117564734
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For a client
If a book pitched itself as a 'spooky Victorian murder mystery', the lead figure is a sceptic, but during the book it becomes obvious there is something paranormal going on...
(assume well done)
Welcome to my weekly Author Spotlight. I’ve asked a bunch of my author friends to answer a set of interview questions, and to share their latest work.
Today: As a bestselling author, Wren Valentino writes in multiple genres, primarily romance, thriller, young adult, and horror. Wren is the author of twenty novels including Accidents Never Happen ...
https://www.jscottcoatsworth.com/author-spotlight-wren-valentino/
#WordWeavers 2503.08 — Which one of your characters is in the least safe situation?
I left off Reluctant Accomplice with the devil-girl massaging the back of a dragon at a hot springs-like spa built inside a gravity fold. She's crawling on him while he's considering whether he really needs to go through with working with her for the sake of all of dragon kind, or whether it would be safer to splat her against a wall.
I rewrote a snippet of that chapter from her POV for a sample story in his POV here: Ms George and the Dragon
https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/110603595653290409
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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Eldritch CaféRS, Author, Novelist, Prosaist (@sfwrtr@eldritch.cafe)#WritingWonders 6.24 — Antagonist POV: What do you think about the MC? **Ms. George and the...**
[*Sorry. Better late than never. 😇 Brand, the POV here, is the primary antagonist in the SF story I am writing now, so I thought, why not get a feel for his thoughts, since they never show in a 1st person story? Most of the WW prompts I've answered take place half a year* after *this incident.*]
Long bronze-red hair tumbled wetly down. The devil-girl looked at me from over my shoulder with expectant green eyes. She was perched on my back. Were I an average human, she'd be the size of a toddler compared to me.
"It's really okay?" she asked, brightly.
I lay with my face turned to my right, cheek on my arm, but managed a nod. "Yeah. Sure."
She grinned like a child. She might have faintly squealed in glee, but I was sure that was my imagination. She crawled to my hips and began massaging my shoulder. The steamy alcove dripped with water. Vines grew over rocks and water cascaded down as dappled green light flicked and darted with shadows. It looked like a jungle hot spring, but was in a gravity bubble. Her kneading fingers felt strong, but she was a *worker of miracles* so I knew her strength came from more than muscle.
She'd invented a new revelation on the spot for the job—doubtless. Then again, I wasn't a "devil-girl" as she called herself. Who *knew* what she really knew, or invented.
Was it really okay? Was I really okay with this? Beyond her cheeky insistence on physical contact?
I needed her to help me save my world from her world. Lives depended on it. I'd spent twelve decades balancing intuition against careful decision. You didn't grow to my size or win my position without breaking egos, and breaking heads.
Yet.
Not half an hour ago...
I'd been walking with my hand on her shoulder. My weight could drill her into the ground. Conversationally, she'd been pointing through a window at our newly arrived companions. In doing so, she'd turned me around twice, managing to stretch me out—and she over balanced me.
She ducked, moving explosively. When I reached, she rolled forcing me to hop as she came around, bouncing to her feet, and bounding out of reach.
I did not miss her darting, evaluating eyes.
My body still in motion, she came up in a three-point stance as I reached reflexively (not smartly) her direction. A blue-green misty gravity shield bloomed between us, crackling and spitting sparks, smelling of ozone and humming. She anchored her miraculous wonder into the gravity-glass floor; I piled into it, like a sack of meat. The shield grated against the floor as I pushed it and her back, but not far. She'd properly gauged my aged lack of flexibility and had tricked me into twisting to reach. Inertia slid me shoulder first onto the floor with thump.
Considering how little I'd pushed her back, I judged she could easily levitate my weight with what force she'd *deigned* to demonstrate.
I understood I was lucky to be alive.
Her eye movements—and how her predator eyes watched me grind to a stop—told me she could have swept my legs with gravity differentials coming down, meaning I'd have thrown myself into a wall face first. She would have had had plenty of time for an axe-strike to my groin. As I'd have keeled over uncontrollably, I would have exposed my belly.
(I'd been sold on her when I'd learned she could perform the *Impossible Revelation*; she had a limiter around her neck, but the device only prevented her from appearing in bank vaults and such places.)
Falling on my back, even with her average human weight, she could have finished by stomping my wing joints. I'd have balled up in pain, or passed out cold.
She could have slayed me.
I might have rolled over on her, though. My pride insisted that much, anyway.
*Capable.* I had purchased her services last year from the mobster who'd claimed she owned her. *Her* sharp tool. I knew the devil-girl was *capable.*
Pricey, but capable.
The mobster had died, and I knew for a fact that I was the first dragon the devil-girl had ever met.
We had a common enemy, though, so she'd consented to remain my prisoner, for the time being.
Intuition told me to kill her, while she *acted* like a little girl, playing at massaging her big guy doll. *Catch her off guard*, intuition demanded. *Crush her against the rock wall. Turn her into a red splash.*
But—
She. Could. Work. *Miracles.* A world, my world, depended on her doing so.
I said, "A little to the right."
My worker of miracles, my sharp tool with a blade for a hilt, said, "Yes, boss!" and giggled as her feet dug in and she shifted over.
[Author retains copyright(c) 2023 by R.S.]
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#PennedPossibilities 608 — Does your MC have any nicknames?
Since people name themselves, nicknames are pretty rare. Most people faced with friends or colleagues that give them an adorable or inspiring name, would often simply use that one instead. When a set of triplets (Cloud Dancer, Meadow Dancer, and Dusk Dancer) discovered they had a half-sister by the same father, and they became good friends, they started calling her Fire Dancer. That's the name she goes by now. ("Dancer" looks like a surname, but isn't.)
[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]
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https://wdldiamond.blog/2025/03/02/khariton/
Khariton - Short Stories - Free to Read on W.D.L Diamond Blog
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W.D.L Diamond · Seeking Information Khariton's Journey in MoscowExplore the shadows of Moscow with Khariton as he interrogates cultists about the Imperium and uncovers dark secrets.
https://wdldiamond.blog/2025/02/11/betrayal-in-serbia-ii/
Betrayal in Serbia (2) - Short Stories - Free to Read on W.D.L Diamond Blog
#Writing #Reading #Blog #Stories #Story #WritingCommunity #ReadingCommunity #Fiction #Short #Shorts #StoryTelling #Action #Adventure #Mystery #Thriller
W.D.L Diamond · Finding Toma: Lydia's Search Despite the Need for RestDelve into the captivating world of historical fiction as Lydia refuses to rest until she finds Toma and confronts him for his betrayal.
https://wdldiamond.blog/2025/02/05/betrayal-in-serbia/
Betrayal in Serbia (1) - Short Stories - Free to Read on W.D.L Diamond Blog
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W.D.L Diamond · Follow Cathryn and her Group as they Journey through Serbia in Search of XianJoin Cathryn and her group on an adventurous journey through Serbia in search of Xian. Find out what happens when their guide Toma has other plans.
https://wdldiamond.blog/2025/01/04/in-the-shadow-of-the-reaper-2/
In the Shadow of the Reaper (3) - Short Stories, Soft Horror - Free to Read on W.D.L Diamond Blog
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W.D.L Diamond · Trapped! Sinclair's Hasty Travel Leads to DisasterExperience the chilling mystery of Churchtown. Sinclair's ally is found dead, and his hasty decision leads him into a dangerous trap.