writing

A YouTube playlist of my writing process. From the Timeline of stories to Music Is the Food of Love to Kanon Darkstar: Unnamed Couch Fic.

Hope y’all enjoy. If there’s a story you wanted dedicated to you, let me know.

~HarperWCK

P.S. The Unnamed Couch Fic videos are age-restricted because there’s mention of Matthias’ no-no places. If you want to read the transcript, it’s on my Patreon here =https://www.patreon.com/posts/wip-kanon-couch-45535933 <=.… Read the rest “HarperWCK: writing”

There’s a strange moment of disconnect between one thought and the next. It left him stumbling on numb legs.

He turned his body around and stood there, statuelike.

The world was made of fire.

It raged across the sky in blazing scarlet and gold. Giant wings reaching out to cover everything.

He tipped his head back and stared up at the parachute of light arching above him.

I’m going to die. The thought was spoken in a calm voice that rang through his ears as clearly as if they’d been outside of his own head.

It followed him as he ducked and ran and fought his way out of a city fallen to madness.

He came out of his fire with a starburst scar across the apple of his right cheek and an ankle that liked to pop when he walked. But he was alive and he could move to a suburban area and start a new life as a stay-at-home dad.

The woman he married was a dedicated career woman that had lokked startled by his offered Contract before agreeing.

The relationship wasn’t real, but he knew that he was a catch just on his looks alone.

It was kind of why he dressed as a farmer hipster when he wasn’t working. It was all plaid shirts, unshaven cheeks, and wildly tawsled hair.

He knew he was a hot mess. He could see the eyes that followed him around. It was why he’d switched to wearing glasses.

Add in Chucky, and suddenly he was the single dad that all kinds of women wanted to fix up.

Sometimes it made him laugh, when he was home alone with the sleeping baby. He would be watching TV in the living room, maybe smoking a little Calm and Cool, and he’d … Read the rest “Fill? 01 – on a gun”

Octavia remembered the way they’d looked at her pile of blankets. Half a dozen scraps of cloth in various fabric types. “Those synthetic fabrics don’t breathe” they would cry, as though she was committing some great sin.

They didn’t understand that that was the point. They didn’t breathe.

Blankets, towels, heaps of fabric–they may have been something to keep her warm and dry back during the old days, but they developed hundreds of uses after the end of the world.

She could wave a white towel to show she gave up. She could clog a drain with a microbial, moisture wicking blanket lining.

She could hold onto the soft comfort of the velour blanket someone had gifted to her. She couldn’t even remember his name, just the fact that he’d been a truly nice guy and not a predator in drag (Kang-soo*, that dirtbag). Blanket-guy had bought her the camel colored blanket while they were at some outside venue. He’d gotten her a coffee too, and the way he’d looked at her had made her start thinking that he was falling in love with her.

She couldn’t remember his name and his face was a blur, but his kindness had remained with her for all the years after the end of the world. He’d become one of her sweetest memories of her life before.

She wondered what he would be like now if he had survived. The thought had entered her mind with a Terminator fanfic, one where Clair Dane’s character from the original timeline never ended up locked in a bunker with John Connor.

She ended up falling in love with him because she didn’t meet him again until after the end of her world. She’d met him at the lowest point of her life and he’d … Read the rest “Don’t forget to bring a towel to the end of the world”

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For writings that appear on the Internet, I use three periods for an ellipsis, two dashes for an em dash, etc. I do this because I've experienced the horror of a converter not being able to read smart quotes or common punctuation marks, which has turned my documents into so much unreadable garbage with that strange spade/question mark symbol everywhere. So to maintain readability no matter the format, I leave the auto correct off when I'm writing for the web.

I make wishes on the stars all the time. It doesn't seem like a waste to me. Because in the forming of a wish--an idea--a concept of what can be is created. And until a wish is formulated, it's nothing but stardust and fantasy.