June 2023's Writer's Support Thread

Good luck @Nocturnal_Stillness !

I love reading this threat. It’s nice to see new(er) people, the informative stuff and what people are doing.

I haven’t done as much as I wanted the last week and a half. Getting sick kind of took the wind out of my sails for a bit (my immune system acts like it owes money to a loan shark and needs to repay them by occasionally not working properly) and only just starting to feel like a person again. Unfortunately, that’s meant I’ve been unable to sleep properly so actual writing is just pretty much just planning stuff right now and hoping I understand what my notes mean later.


If I remember correctly, the 14th is a day where we can share some of our work! In a small sneak peak at the new extra story, here is the closing statement of a very pissed off doctor.

Robert took a deep breath and turned around, once again shaking his head, and this time with watery eyes. “A drop in the bucket…” His time was nearly up, but he knew he had to hammer home his point. One final nail in the coffin. A closing statement.

“We pride ourselves on protecting our people. Billions of dollars spent on policing. Trillions of dollars spent on military force. You tell us that the biggest threat to our country is terrorism… The war on domestic and international terrorism. Well there’s a whole other war going on, and for once, all you need to do is listen.” Robert leaned forward on the desk with his arms and the room fell silent. Deathly silent. All except for one noise.

Ffffffft… Khhhhhhh…

Ffffffft… Khhhhhhh…

The sound of the single respirator.

“That, congresspeople, is the sound of war… And we’re losing.”

Another brief pause as the last seconds of the timer trickled down.

“…Thank you…” Robert hit the button to manually switch off his microphone.

Obviously things will make more sense when put into context, but I am so close to being done with the new update I can taste it. I just got my new computer in so I’ve been transferring things over to that so far, but I will hopefully have the update out by the end of the week!

EDIT: I was one day off, nooooo!


The 15th is the established excerpt sharing day … stay tuned for mine in the witching hours tonight/tomorrow night. :revolving_hearts:


No worries, writing is ready when it is ready. Think of it this way: you are leading this month and showing us all the way forward :slight_smile:


Best of luck! Based on titles alone I’m probably rooting for The Vampire’s Servant, but you’ve obviously brought a lot of care to all of your concept proposals, so I’m sure they all have great potential. I hope I get to read at least one, eventually. :slightly_smiling_face:


I planned to be the first, drat.

Over the weekend I had a revelation about a different, hopefully more entertaining, way to introduce the main character after receiving powers. This is a snippet out of context. Enjoy.

Dawn of Heroes: Chapter 2 Rewrite

“That’s it Goose.” Kenon says as he grabs the man and slams him against the wall. “If you go on about this imaginary vigilante one more time—!”

“While the stories might be tall tales, there really is someone that has been causing issues.” Winston says and points to the figure behind himself. “That is why the Twelve Cycles insisted that she would come along.”

Kenon’s eyes wandered into the shadows to the figure that would have been missed if it were not for her glowing red eyes. As the room started to relax, she did too; the glow of her eye faded as she relaxed. Jacques had met Santa Muerte a few times whenever Dante had been around. She joined as Dante’s personal bodyguard and sometimes muscle, but her frame did not have Jacques convinced.

Yet her reputation with the two swords on her back was enough to change Jacques’ mind. He had never heard her speak and the decorative metal skull mask added to her mystery.

A scene I wrote in which the main character exercises restraint

# “Whoever it is you’re pining for, I’m not a replacement.”

She takes a deep breath. “No. No, you’re not. The life I had with him is gone. I’m a shapeshifter. I need to start fresh. I have a new life to live.”

“My mother said she would tell herself that all the time, at least until she met my father.”

“I think your mother and I have a lot to talk about,” says Dandy. “Sleep well, and try to forget that I … you know … came onto you in your childhood home with your mum in the other room.”

“… My mother is in the other room?!”

“Asleep! … Maybe. Anyway, goodnight!”

“Goodnight …”

A scene I wrote in which I describe how to gather wood to build a ship

Deep in the pulsing heart of the Black Woods, trees lay flat against the ground while their shadows grow tall and blot out the sun. To cut down a Shadow Tree requires an axe blade of mirrorglass and the sacrifice of an eye. Once cut down, exposing the shadow tree’s trunk to light will obliterate it, so a special curing process must be conducted in the deepest hours of the night while the moon is at its darkest.

A perimeter of warriors is set up to defend against the white-furred wolves whose eyes do not shine.

Once the wood is cured, and the sun cuts through the canopy of shadows, the workers pray that their technique was enough. Usually, more than half of the logs are instantly destroyed by the light. The rest are carried out of the forest while the wolves nip at the stragglers.

To gather enough wood from the Shadow Trees to construct a ship would require immense sacrifice and effort, the coordination of many groups of people both dedicated and powerful.

Or, you could ambush the suckers when they leave the forest.


Happy Writing Excerpt Day everyone. It is the 15th, and as @ViIsBae, @Dvalor53 and @will have already done, it is time for me to share an excerpt.

This month’s excerpt is the opening of one of the Dock Routes for my Patchworks project, which I began writing this month. In this particular route you have chosen to stay at the Bunk House, and you have just arrived to move in.

Patchworks Excerpt 06-15-23

Chapter 12a Third Awakening, Bunk House, Dock Route

“$!{name}…” Emille stands in the threshold of the Bunk House’s common room, holding the black oak door open for you and Raphael. “Your room is on the top floor.”

“Yea.” Raphael, with a backpack full of your sundry items, brings up the rear of your small group. He doesn’t look too pleased. “And there is no elevator to help us up.”

You ignore the banter between the cherubim and shuffle forward into the Bunk House for the first time. The common accommodations is a long and narrow room, dimly lit by small phlogiston lamps hanging from the ceiling. Bunks are built from the floor to ceiling lining the walls to either side of you and the open floor is filled with tables chaotically placed under the lamps.

“Ugh” You pause to let your eyes adjust to the flickering lamps, and you feel the acrid smell start to tickle your nose as you glance around the room. “Is it always this busy?”

“Uh huh.” Emille cocks an eyebrow and purses her lips before giving you an amused reply. “Especially in the off-hours and when Charon’s barge is not docked.”

In one corner, a group of rowdy dockworkers have pushed a few of the tables into a circle, forming a stage where a nimble fingered fiddler is furnishing music for a couple that is dancing on the tables.

In an opposite corner, one young man is reading a letter under a sputtering lamp, and the tears rolling down his clean-shaven face tells of the heartbreak he must be experiencing. Other men and women lay asleep in their bunks, while others lay sick, coughing and moaning in misery.

“Wha —?” Your eyes focus on the pallid face of a corpse staring out from another bunk at the mingling of merriment and sadness taking place here. “What is that?”

“Bah!” Raphael moves over to the man and covers the still features of the corpse with the edge of a blanket, careful not to disturb him. “He must have just passed away.”

“Spike’s crew will be here tomorrow.” Emille cracks her neck and shrugs her shoulders. “They will take him into the crypts and a new applicant will take his bunk then.”

The music and the dancing, the letter reading, and the deep discussions continue all around you, unchecked by the hideous presence of death.


. :revolving_hearts:


Hey, look, it’s COVID.


What I’ve been writing today (and much of yesterday) are makeout scenes which I’m not going to post out of context to save my blushes. Instead here’s an excerpt from a non-makeout social hangout!

Also, Boss Level at NME has a feature on Emily Short! We often link to her blog on this thread as it has a ton of IF thoughts and advice, and her long-awaited CoG game Elite Status: Platinum Concierge (formerly known as Platinum Package) which I did some additional content for is coming out next month!

In the meantime do have a read. It’s a fantastic feature on a great person and creator who’s had a really interesting journey into the games industry. For those interested, Mask of the Rose from Failbetter, which she was creative lead on, came out last week!

In other news, it is far too hot, houses are not designed for it here, and I do not like it. I am also having to write about characters snuggling up under cosy blankets. Roll on the bit where I get to write about outdoor swimming. Pleeease.



This month is proving to be a real struggle to find the time to write. Work is mentally draining at the moment, and the last thing I feel capable of doing after a long day of writing code is to switch over to my home PC and write even more.

I’ve taken to trying to update notes on the days where I’m unable to write, and if I can’t do that then I throw my characters into hypothetical situations in my head to try and improve the mental picture I have of them. These don’t get written down, but the mental image of somebody trying to drag Hiram/Hortense into a drawing room play has made me want to lean even harder into victorian social norms for this world.

As for an excerpt, I’ve pulled part of a flashback out today. This is a fragment of an optional scene that the player will only experience if they talk to their fellow veteran, are willing to talk about their shared experiences, AND select this specific memory to flash back to.

Rothenburg - At night


The three French ships advance in parallel, the drone of their engines almost drowning out the cheers of the invaders in the darkness beyond the walls. You can barely make out any detail on their vessels behind the fluttering banners and shining lamps of airships on parade. They must have waited until the last possible moment to announce themselves, and the effect it’s had on the morale of your fellows could well be devastating.

The few soldiers of Albion scattered along the wall mutter gloomily to themselves at yet another decline in their fortunes, whilst the natives of the city are far more open with their despair. First the Valiant withdraws, and now this? They must be well aware that their city couldn’t hope to stand for long against an unopposed bombardment from the air. Only the rifled guns your expedition delivered could hope to strike back, and even the smallest airship can deliver a higher weight of shot, let alone the massive ship of the line in the centre of their formation.

As the horror spreads through the ranks, and you hear the first shouts of panic from the city itself, the rumble of guns sounds from far behind you. There, the Valiant comes driving into view once more. Her forward cannons spit defiance as her crew launch flare after flare from the upper deck and the night around you turns to day. Though outnumbered and outgunned, her captain guides her straight towards the unsuspecting enemy, who begin desperate turns to try and reposition themselves for combat.

You can just make out the dots of crewmen tearing away banners from their blocked gunports, and a great cheer rises from the city to smother the embers of panic before they become a blaze.


You watch from below as the Valiant twists in the air to present one thundering broadside that slams home into the French frigate on the left of the line. Their parade formation falls apart as each captain gives their own uncoordinated orders, with the ship of the line driving skyward to avoid the incoming fire and the two frigates swinging apart in opposing directions. The damaged ship fires a shaky volley in response, most of their shots going wide as they struggle with the shock.

Meanwhile, the Valiant turns sharply to present her other broadside, firing perfectly into the stern of the second frigate as it turns too hard and crosses its own T. The raking fire must have struck something critical, as steam begins to billow out from the shattered hull and fragments of debris rain down on the army outside the walls. The Valiant has no time to celebrate, and she fires a second broadside into the crippled ship before adjusting her course to face the other frigate broadside to broadside.

Those few guns in the city that have the range and accuracy to join the battle begin to hammer away, providing what little support they can to the Valiant, but you find yourself searching the skies for the much larger ship of the line. They rocketed upwards so fast that they’ve disappeared out of the glow provided by the flares, which means they could be anywhere, and with the element of surprise now well spent the Valiant can ill afford the even fight it finds itself locked in.



Great start to the submission process. My writing sample is too short so I’ll be working on that once I’ve finished work today.

This is my mistake and I’m glad CoG got in touch to let me know instead of just rejecting the submission.


Good news!

Thank you for sharing your experience with us and giving us insights we would otherwise not have.


Thanks. The process interests me show I’d like to share as much as I can.


Aw, that’s frustrating but great that you know exactly what to do next. I’ve been there, in various ways for various things :slightly_smiling_face:


Yeah. I thought a one page short story would have been enough but they requested it to be 3-5 pages for a proper sample of my writing.


I’m slowly but surely coming back from the portion I cut, so I actually don’t have very much to show right now, but I’ve still included an excerpt of what I wrote this morning. It’s pretty short, but I’m making progress which is more than I can say for the past week or so. (Which was partially do to traveling internationally and partially due to not having the will to write.)

Short Excerpt

I have a similar dream the next night, and the night after. The more dreams I have the more Sam and Oren start acting odd. They whisper to each other when they think I don’t hear them, and they watch me even more than usual. One night Samira gives me a cup of tea that she says is supposed to help me sleep without dreams.

“Is it magic?” I ask, looking between her and the cup.

“Its- It’s just tea, Sweetling,” she tells me as he eyes move to the floor then over my shoulder to where Oren is sitting beside me. I decide to look at him too and notice he’s frowning at Sam.

He sighs, ruffling my hair. “We just want you to be able to sleep, Leech.”

“Okay,” I say softly, pulling the cup to my lips. It’s warmer that I expect, so I jerk my hard away, sloshing some of the liquid onto my shirt. Oren leans forward and takes the cup from me while Samira hands me a towel.

“I think that’s enough tea,” Oren decides, pulling me into his lap.

I lean my head against his chest in agreement. “It was pretty nasty.”

I settle down to sleep, hoping that I drank enough tea. I don’t want to have another scary dream. I squeeze Oren’s hand, partly to make sure he’s still there, and partly to stop myself from falling asleep. Oren draws that hand I’m not holding up to move my hair out of my face.

“I don’t want to sleep,” I whisper. “It’s scary.”


As I mentioned yesterday, not that much writing as it’s been planning but I did manage to get some work done on the variations of the first monster encounter. It kind of became more like a run-away-from-the-monster scene.

Even if I have to write different blurbs for the powers, locations and who’s with the MC; it’s interesting writing even this much of a fight scene as I normally just write lots and lots of dialogue.

Brief snippet of scene as an Empath

I have to flesh it out more later but it’s kind of nice to get closer to finishing this part so I can move on to other character introductions that need to get done.

wicked choices

2-It is my responsibility to discover what is going on

“Pfaff, responsibility.” The voice snorts back and forth at you.

But still, you can feel deep down that something fishy is lurking there, a strange glee in the mysterious voice background. It’s hard to describe, there is sarcasm. Certainly, but beyond that, there is pain and a metallic echo like a ventriloquist moving everything with his bloody strings.

“You have no idea what responsibility or sacrifice means. None of you non-magical understand what keeps this universe alive, what makes this city fly, or why the bubble cities of the water elves stay forever underwater.

“For the empress! Everyone knows that it is magic that moves the world.” You mumble, biting your lips, until you feel the iron taste of your own blood.

You focus on keeping a meek tone; insulting someone with magical powers is a death sentence, police or not.

“What you know does not even fit in the eye of a needle. The voice begins to almost rap. After a moment, he chants again between laughs.
Oh, I can see… The guilt that dominates your heart, John!”

Your right boot starts gently tapping on the murky road. Your throbbing muscles are ready to run away. Your lungs breathe heavily.

“Your animal instinct understands what’s going on better than yourself. Running away might have been a quicker and more honourable death for you. A smug silence gloats over you like a poisonous fart. But I am not entirely insensitive, and something we mortals and demons have in common is that we both like chance and choices.”

“If you’re going to make me a proposal, at least have the decency to show yourself.”

“Ha, ha, oh, Ave, honourable flea-ridden peasant! A slender golden elf appears, making a bow so exaggerated and false that her enormous curly mane looks like the fringes of his crimson robe embroidered with changing magical figures. Each brocade changes and spins in thousands of brilliant colours, as if her robe were his own night sky.

You turn your head, trying to escape the hypnotic swirls of light and magic. Each pigment is calling you to do its will.

“No!” You clench your fists, gripping your electric baton’s rough, sweaty handle. Are you going to let me choose not to die?"

You wish!” His smirk is as bright as it is full of hatred.

A golden elf of the woods A noble, like every individual born with magic in their veins.

“Three magic cards will appear before you. Each will bring you a death sentence, some even more pleasant than your current existence. Certainly, no one can call life what you rabble accept here.”


This is a very good elf. And by “very good”, I mean falling completely in line with folklore elves.


You haven seen my water ninja elfs yet lol. But yes, my races are different to normal. Trolls are Bridge and gate tax colectors or were until automatization steam toll machines.