Ross Trevelyan 🗻🌲🦪🦀🚵‍♂️

The current president was once CEO of the world’s largest weapons manufacturer. Their relentless takeovers of competitors, the buying stripping and selling, and the endless billion-dollar shareholder deals, all in the name of profit, gave him incredibly deep pockets. He was accustomed to having connections to the War Machine that had once kept America powerful and everyone else scared. So, when the former president’s peace accord came along and effectively stopped all that dead, he found himself adrift and bored. Politics and the yes-men and women who surrounded those in power must have appealed to him, So, he set out on his next pursuit. To buy his way into the White House.

The #WIPSnips word for March 6th is "pursue"

From Pandora's Secret today.

The current US president (in the world of the novel). Rourke isn't a fan

#WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity

Image of the following text: “Where did your fiancé vanish to during your dalliance with the Lyran prince?” She tensed at his choice of words. “Jayce drank too much at supper and wasn’t feeling well.” “And you weren’t taking care of him?” “Why should my evening suffer for his poor judg-ment?” Serivar frowned. She matched his expression. “You should be happy to see my relationship failing. Imagine how much you could teach me without Jayce competing for my time?” She meant the comment to be sarcastic, but Serivar brightened. Before he could pursue whatever disturbing thoughts ripened be-hind that look, she said, “I have a question for you.”

Haven't joined #WIPSnips in a while. Here is a brief excerpt from, Dissident, an epic fantasy I'm doing edits on with today's word pursue. Happy reading! #AmWriting

Fomorian originally met Deveroux in the latter’s 21st year, when Formorian boarded the Crystal River and Humboldt Railroad’s night train to Fireridge pursuing his wife, who refused to die in any meaningful sense. He’d not long sat down with a sherry in the observation car when a bony hand assaulted his back. His sherry ejected itself from the glass to the assailants’ ratty trousers. It soaked in just below the cowboy belt buckle. “Brother, don’t you mind that a bit! I can forgive that sin just like mine’s forgiven!” Deveroux shoved a King of Diamonds playing card in Fomorian’s face. It had some scripture or other smeared across it. Fomorian did not take the card, even when Deveroux dropped it anyway. “Brother, I don’t know where ya think you’re bound, but I can tell ya this here ain’t the journey that matters, and I got written proof of that right here!” He slapped his scuffed leather suitcase, plopped into the seat across from Fomorian. Fomorian got up. “If I didn't have witnesses, I’d leave you a noxious puddle of goo.” He changed seats. Deveroux followed him. At the new spot Deveroux pulled a thin book with an unmarked brown paper cover out of the suitcase. “This here can offer you all most people want in life: unlimited freedom and power! Yaahooo! Look around ya at the people gawkin’ at us ‘cause they can feel its might! See their angry faces? Jealousy, brother! Pure jealousy! Because I ain’t offerin’ them what I’m offerin’ you! All you gotta do is hand over that freedom and power to a higher power and He’ll give it all back tenfold so fast you literally won’t see it happen! And you can’t do that no better than right now through that higher power’s most trusted agent on earth, Me! I take cash, checks, gold, or even the deed to your home…” Fomorian closed his eyes, breathed in, out, listened to the rhythm of wheels on rails, contemplated whether he could make order out of such chaotic stupidity. A nice diversion.

Flashback from Ocean Ghost: How Deveroux stumbled into the Big Bad's minion conscription program. #WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #pursue

Excerpt for The Orange Peel Game reads; “My advice, Caroline?” asked Olive. “If there’s something out there that you want —a claim to fame in your job, the prize that’s in that little box, whatever— then you need to agitate some gravel to get it.” Just days ago Caroline convinced herself she was doing just that. Now, sitting across a familiar stranger, who had just showed her foreign sights and newfound tastes of the very city she grew up in, Caroline realized that she hadn’t even scratched the surface of her life. “Applesauce!” Olive spat. “It’s nearly five and we’re the other side of town!” Like a hunt in the blossoming field of Central Park, Caroline and Olive galloped outside and bounded across the streetcar tracks. They soon spotted and pursued and barely boarded a trolley, back for the Yards.

Caroline spends the day with a new ally, who shows her there's much more to life than watching the world go by...

Excerpt from 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘗𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘎𝘢𝘮𝘦 🍊

#tbr #readsky #mystery #amreading #bookrecs #booksky #bookish 💙📚

“We can share an apartment while we each do our thing. You’d study with Dr. Christensen and the other faculty there, and I’ll go out and try to get hired at a newspaper.” He held up a flattened palm like a stop sign. “I wouldn’t be dependent on you. I have some money saved.” “Do you think I care about money?” she asked. He set the catalog down. “I just wanted to make clear that I wouldn’t take advantage of you. I’d pay my way.” She began to cry. “You don’t care about me studying at Columbia. You just want to go pursue your goddamned New York Times fantasy and not have to dump me.” Fantasy echoed in his head. Dump echoed too.

My MC has made the decision to leave the islands and wants his girlfriend to come with him. His idea for her: a Ph.D program at Columbia. #WIPsnips #pursue #writesky #literaryfiction

My MC uses his power to view the past in order to find where the person who burned the town he'd been assigned to investigate went. He got more than he bargained for when the culprit saw him, spoke to him. After the encounter, he reports in to his boss.

The #WIPSnips word for March 6th is "pursue" #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity

From my fantasy, Nemesis Falls.

Mostly New York, I thought. A huge wave of relief washes over me, but I try not to show it as I exhale. “Wow, so eastern seaboard!” Iris points out. “Just seven schools? You should apply to any program, any job you want. Cast a big net. Right?” I ask. Valeria smiles. “Well, there was an eighth but it’s in the Lehigh Valley and there’s no train line there so I would need to get a car.” “My passenger princess,” I joke.

"apply" in place of "pursue" - the crew discusses where the love interest, Valeria, is applying to Ph.D. programs:

When Nat refused his offer, she figured that was the end of their brief interaction. But when he followed, albeit fifty paces behind, she had to smile and give him props for perseverance. That didn’t mean she’d go easy on him. She took it upon herself to have a little fun by seeing how far he’d walk before giving up. Unworried about another objectionable situation since his vibe communicated overprotective big brother rather than predator. Unlike the two Idiots. Or so she guessed as an only child. But now she was tired. Nat glanced at the Union, wishing the Dairy Store inside was open. She’d enter and see if he followed, then judge his ice cream selection.

One 'pursue' and its a spoiler so substituted 'follow'ed. A lighter snip than my last continuing Nat and Matt's first unofficial meeting.
-'Stubborn Dreams and Bottled Love'
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A short time later at the beginning of math class, Mr. Armstrong passed out papers. He handed her the math assignment she did the first day of school. There was no grade. Instead, in big red letters was written “WRONG PROBLEMS. DO OVER.” The last portion was underlined. Sophia had done the best she could on that assignment. The idea that it wasn’t even worth grading was devastating to her. She folded her arms across the desk and put her face straight down into the hole her arms formed. She wanted to hide the rest of her, too, but that would have to do. She cried softly enough that no one could hear her, and she mopped up the tears with her sleeve so that no one would see them. Sophia’s eyes followed the teacher and her ears heard the words, but Sophia was in no condition to understand what he was saying as he taught math that day. At the end, again he told the students to do the assigned problems without saying which problems were assigned.

Sophia doesn't understand why the teacher won't just tell her which math problems are assigned in this alternate reality. It seems like such a reasonable request.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky

Word of the day. Pursue. Chase. WIP. Seven Hours.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity

Ava sighed. “At least you have a hint on how to get that bastard.” “About that,” Egon started. “Are we sure we want to pursue him? He knows about us, and if Master Watch gets him, he will tell them.” “We owe it to his future victims.” Egon bit his tongue. “Is it worth throwing away our own lives for this?”

Apparently, Docs starts acting up once you get to about 85k words, I had to make another copy to be able to open my #WIP
Do you have any alternatives that I can access from different devices?

From my Spy Thriller #MasterWatch
#WIPSnips #writer #WriteSky #WritingCommunity

Have A Hobby That Keeps Your Body Moving: Many writers like to jog, work out, or dig tunnels in order to keep their body active and help generate ideas. Overall this is great life advice even if you don’t try to pursue writing. What helps me personally with the creative flow is that I often times will have a specific playlist set up for things I am working on. When I am not feeling like music, I sometimes put on video essays or audiobooks to help me learn something new for whatever I am writing. If you are in a creative rut moving your body and listening to music can be a perfect remedy.

Last year I wrote a bunch of writing tips to help me pursue confidence.

I love this scene. Character trying to hide their past. Little rough, needs some editing, but it's fun.

“How couldst thou not tell me?” Manayka was definitely upset. Atosho, at the controls of the vehicle, didn’t look. “I had read a medical report. I did not need to observe the details to understand what his… genital modification could imply, sociologically.” A careful pause. “I am happy that it has not been necessary to pursue that path of the circuit. There are too many other questions already raised.”

#WIPSnips 6: pursue

Turns out circumcision isn't a thing in the new timeline. At all. Anywhere.

#SciFi #ScienceFiction #SFF

One should be careful when pursuing answers!
An Unkindness of Ravens

#WIPSnips word "pursue"
#WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity

Her dreams were full of savage beasts, devastating floods, and mysterious pursuers in alien woods. She would awake in a panic, heart pounding, and force herself to meditation while the morning tea boiled, clearing her mind of dream funk.

#WIPsnips #pursue

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity

Dad’s lips tightened. “Well, you’re here now, no money problems, so you’re free to pursue Mia again.”
I almost choked. “Are you serious? After what happened back then?
#wipsnips

Trying to ignore the stares of everyone in the office, I began organizing Gabriel’s phone messages in order of importance, not that it mattered. Most of them would never receive a return call anyway. Gabriel, not ‘Gabe’ (Heaven forbid!) didn’t “chase” anyone, in his words. He believed if it was important they would call back. To be fair, they usually did.          Gabriel walked out of his impeccable glass office in one of his many impeccable, way too tightly tailored, Dolce and Gabbana suits, and slid his wire-rimmed glasses down his pointy nose, looking down at me. He looked down on everyone which was quite a feat for him, being all of five foot nothing tall. Somehow, he managed to pull it off. It was one of the many mysteries that surrounded him. He was utterly terrifying for a bonafide midget.  Or is it little person?  I always forget.  It probably didn’t really matter since he wasn’t actually one, right?

I didn’t have today’s #wipsnips word “pursue” so I went with “chase”. #writingcommunity #writingprompts #writersky #writesky

“I started getting into fights. The excuse didn’t really matter—could be someone talking behind my back, or making fun of me. Could be someone not respecting a no dogs allowed sign in the public parks. In most cases, I was doing it just to feel something—just to feel my knuckles scrape a jawbone, or to see stars after someone floored me. Got pretty decent at it, I think. We kept getting reprimands from the system, threats they’d pursue some kind of ‘punitive action’ that never came. My parents were too ashamed to be seen with me in public, which was fine, because I barely spent any time with them anyway. The idea was, if I could be as disruptive as possible, they’d offer me a chance to get out of their hair, so to speak. Like a study tour of the nearest colony without a return ticket.” “What happened then?” “Well, my plan backfired. The more I misbehaved, the more they pampered me—harsher restrictions, more luxury. More things. The Caretaker systems take their programming seriously, let me tell you. They WILL take care of you, no matter what, whether you consent to it or not.”

In today's #WIPSnips, Rook opens up a little bit about their past as one of Veter IV's Domeborn--the human pets of the all-powerful AI cluster known as the Caretaker System.

#FirstLight #WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity

Monsters. Perhaps that word applied to Magda as well, all things considered. The more she spoke of Sören Albrecht here, the further away her memories of him as an actual father seemed to drift. When was the last time he had had a kind word for her? Taught her, instead of blaming her? Had he ever played with her when she was younger? Try as she might, she could only remember the other children and the women, never any men attending such activities; she wasn’t even sure there had even been real playtime—only school, chores, prayers, ceremonies, and more toiling. More of being told what role she had to fulfill to become a perfect wife and mother later on. This time, the Hunter cast her a glance, half quizzical, half judgmental. ‘You don’t seem to care about him that much.’ ‘He wasn’t a good father.’ She wasn’t sure if her voice had betrayed all her bitterness, all the loneliness suddenly carving out a cold, frozen den in her chest. Sam let out a relutcant grunt, and didn’t pursue that line of conversation.

Pursue.
#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #DreamNoMore

Context: Magda and her fraught relationship with Sören, her biological father. She's been constantly torn between the fact he's her father, and Dan hurt him badly, and she knows she should hate him for that... But...

Already text

#writesky #writingpromps #wipsnips

No. Even if Lexi offered, Damien could never take it. Could he? How could he be sure he’d stop, before causing irreversible harm? Could he trust himself? To not lose control again? It had taken far too much effort for him to control himself on the ship. That was failure enough itself. He’d need to better prepare if he dared return to New Atlantis. What was the point of even pursuing such a… bond? Damien knew too well how friendships with humans always ended; loss, pain, and being alone. With a tinge of something that he refused to name for fear of longing for it, Damien hoped that Lexi would somehow build the new home, connections, and “found-family” that they clearly wanted. Or at the least, he hoped Lexi would take care of themself. Yes, Damien was very much looking forward to being home. While no sunlight penetrated the ship’s walls, he could still feel the sunrise, the sun’s oppressive presence at the horizon. Lulling him to sleep, as it did every day. Almost impossible to fight. He closed his eyes, his thoughts swirling until he found transient peace. But little did Damien know that his house-sitter had brought an unexpected guest. Another being in need of healing. One who, like Damien, needed friends more than they realized. Though Damien would have been the last person to admit it.

Sharing a bit of of my #hopepunk novel for today's #WIPSnips, "pursue."

Damien returns home, after the team fails to evacuate a planet being sucked into a black hole.

The only chapter from Damien’s POV.

#WritingCommunity #WriteSky #sff #alien #vampire #zoo #empathy #alienzoo #scifi

Who wants their romantic bond cemented at eighteen? I guess the romantics out there might. I raise my hands as if in surrender. "I can't force anyone to become my soulmate. But I'll try, okay? Meet Azura. See if sparks fly. Whatever. You guys are a little tight on your deadlines, you know?" "It's not like you didn't know this was coming," says Hester. I bite back a retort about being preoccupied with other things for the past year. They seem to have given up on persecuting Nico, and I don't want to give them a reason to remember. No luck there. "We have your assurance, then. You will PURSUE a potential soulmate in Azura or Damien. And you will bring your brother here on February fourteen, or before if he shows signs of deteriorating into a monster." I look for signs of a trap in the assurance I'm about to give. There's no definition of "PURSUE." There's no way Nico will become a monster. By the fourteenth, both things will be settled. "Sure."

I mean, Ren would want his romantic bond cemented at 18 (or even 16), but that’s a different book 😄

The Council just putting pressure on Lilia to soulmate & hating on Nico

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity
From Magic in Our Bones🦴🙅‍♀️

1/ Russian bloggers are waking up to the fact that they live in an oppressive dictatorship with declining living standards. 14 years after Vladimir Putin was reelected as "a strong leader for a great country," commentators are asking: what has Putin ever done for us? ⬇️

Aibreán scanned the colorful Georgian buildings lining the streets. “Make ready,” she mouthed, locking the navaja blade open. Warwick swung the coach onto a cobbled lane into the gated courtyard of a warehouse complex. Black timber cranes extended from the upper stories. He called out commanding words. The two men dismounted, rocking the carriage. Warwick sauntered off, the blue-coated Ramsey lumbering after like a personal gorilla. Rosie peered through the gash Aibreán had cut. “Gate’s open.” “Now’s our chance!” The inside door lever had been removed. Aibreán sliced through the thick leather window cover, groping for an outside handle. Locked. Her eyes met Rosie’s. “Behind me now—swift as a peregrine.” Aibreán cut through another panel beside the door and forced herself through, tearing more of the leather. She landed a foot on the carriage step. Rosie came next, fumbling out. Thirty yards away, an enormous black-bearded man in a peaked black hat greeted Warwick and Ramsey. Behind them, a man with a chin curtain cottered a coach’s wheel while two others shod a horse. Others stood smoking cigarillos around a brazier, holding them as an artist holds a crayon. Aibreán grabbed Rosie’s hand and scooted behind the coach, bolting for the open gate. Their escape caught Black Beard’s eye. “Hey, patsaný! Devchónki begút blyád’!” Warwick and Ramsey whirled.

Aibreán squeezed Rosie’s hand tight, pulling her streetward, chased by more foreign words—the bark of Warwick’s hunting dogs. She glanced behind. The wainwright had dropped his tools and was scrambling after them with Warwick, Ramsey, and others. Aibreán and Rosie stumbled headlong into the cobbled lane, threading themselves into the rush and whirl of pedestrians on Silver Street. Crossing, Aibreán yanked Rosie through an apothecary shop and out a back door, ignoring the alarmed proprietor. They bounded down short stairs into a vomit-dotted alley and sprinted to another door. Bolted. On they flew. A tea merchant’s door yielded. The two entered breathless, striving to maintain decorum. A middle-aged woman with a wispy white mustache eyed them from a conversation with the shopkeeper. Through the shop’s front window, Warwick, Ramsey, the scar-faced wainwright, and two others dodged carriage traffic. They split company, leaving Warwick and Ramsey on the boardwalk. Warwick burst through the door with a rope, startling the shopkeeper and his patron. “May I help you, sir?” the proprietor said. “This is Lord Musgrave’s affair,” Warwick snarled, pointing at Aibreán. “The redhair’s a slasher.” The mustached woman squealed and darted behind the counter. Aibreán whirled as Scarface burst through the back door. He threw the bolt.

Trapped. With Rosie shielding her from view, Aibreán pressed the open blade flat to her thigh. She gritted her teeth as Warwick and Scarface closed in, ropes taut between fists. Rosie rushed for the front door. “Rosie!” Aibreán gasped. Warwick caught her, looping the rope around her neck. Her hands reached for her throat as Warwick tightened the hemp. Aibreán spun to Scarface, whose mouth corners twitched into a leer. She read the presumption of victory. Scarface cut an imposing figure, but all men had a weakness. She turned to rush past Warwick, but he blocked her long enough for Scarface to get his rope over her head from behind. Aibreán’s arms shot up. She twisted free in a single, furious spin. “Tfú, blyad’,” the foreigner cursed. Spinning, Aibreán’s knee missed the man’s groin. He came at her, and she clawed his cheek like a cornered lynx. His hands went to his face. She jabbed the navaja into his gut. Stunned, Scarface dropped the rope and grabbed himself, staggering backward, eyes on his bloodied hand. Aibreán dodged past and pulled the back door’s bolt. She tore into the alley, now with Ramsey in pursuit. Staggering drunks reeled about the narrow lane, bouncing along the city wall.

Aibreán sprinted for a knot of faction men with sticks, the tiger’s breath heavy on her heels. “Kidnappers, lads—help us!” A faction man thrust out a foot, felling Ramsey. Another clocked him in the skull to keep him down. Further on, a greasy, black-haired knuckleman lunged at her from a recessed doorway. She slashed. Warwick’s man snapped backward as powerful arms closed around Aibreán from behind, pinning her elbows. The bearded giant in the Karakul cap lifted her off the ground. Aibreán kicked and cursed, struggling in vain against his iron grip. “Molodyéts, Kazbék,” Greasy muttered, approaching. He disarmed Aibreán, looking her dead in the eye and grinning the grin of victory. His lips let out a kiss-pop. “Nyé bespokóisya, záichik. Don’t you worry, leetle bonnyee.”

#WIPSnips: pursue

Our story: Henry Warwick has kidnapped Aibreán and Rosie and transported them to Lord Musgrave's warehouse in Derry. They've cut their bonds. The courtyard gates are carelessly left open; Aibreán is not one to miss an opportunity.

#WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity