“I think this is yours.”

“Oh come on! Would you stop destroying my tracking drones?”

“Sure, the day you quit sending them after me. You’re never going to find my spaceship.”

“Ick, why is everything so shiny?”

“I think the city is paved with gold.”

“Of course it is.”

“Is it me, or is there a whole lot more of villain activity lately?”

“If I don’t go, the world will be destroyed.”

“You say that like you expect me to care. But the only thing that’s ever mattered to me is you.”

“I still can’t believe you’re my teacher.”

“Well I can’t believe you’re one of my students. How are you even allowed to attend this school? You’re not even from Earth.”

“Technically, I’m a foreign exchange student and an alien refugee granted full political asylum and rights.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have super strength?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be helping?”

“Nah, you clearly have it all handled.”

By Aysel Dilara Kasap

By Aysel Dilara Kasap

By Aysel Dilara Kasap

by Aysel Dilara Kasap

by Aysel Dilara Kasap

Good beta readers are a life saver and you cannot convince me otherwise

This is perhaps one of my favourite writing topics. Personally, I always try to leave each chapter on a small cliffhanger. Something that makes the reader want to read on when it’s 1am and they know they should put the book down. To do this effectively you have to know the difference between cliffhangers that raise the stakes and cliffhangers for shock factor. 

The Shock Factor Cliffhanger

We’ve all seen this before. The chapter/book is coming to end and in a last ditch attempt to keep you interested the writer adds a completely unrelated, highly shocking, plot disrupting event.

While the key to a keeping reader interested in a series is to leave them with questions, shock factor cliffhangers feel like a cheap trick that only leaves the reader unsatisfied.  

Does this mean you should avoid shock factor cliffhangers? NO! Just don’t rely on it being the only thing that keeps your reader tethered to your story. 

Take The Mark of Athena by Rick Riordan, because that was a shock factor cliffhanger and half, but there were other stories left unfinished, other characters we were worried about, other questions we had that demanded answers. Which brings me onto the next kind of cliffhanger. 

The Stake Raising Cliffhanger

A far more subtle form of cliffhanger (and the kind I try to leave at the end of almost every chapter) is one that raises the stakes of the story. It proves a point to each chapter, which helps you as the writer to decide which chapters are needed and which are not. 

This can be anything, small or large. They find a key piece of information, realisation dawns on the protagonist, one of their friends are in danger, they are in danger, they discover something that puts the whole plot at risk, but save the big ones for your catalyst, your midpoint and your all is lost plot points. 

The purpose of these cliffhangers if to leave your reader with unanswered questions, seeking answers they cannot wait till morning to discover, questions that will make them buy the next book! 

What’s the conclusion here? 

Cliffhangers are not about the shock factor, the drama factor, the danger factor. They are about one very simple thing. Questions.

[If reporting to instagram please credit @isabellestonebooks] 

Drafting me: this isn’t perfect, but I’ll sort it out in the editing phase :)

*Two months later*

Friend: How are you doing with your novel?

Editing me:

[please credit @isabellestonebooks if reposting to instagram]

So I’m mostly a visual artist, but this little horror story appeared nearly fully formed in my dream last night so all I had to do was write it down and fill in a few gaps. Hope you like it.

Transcript of text found in a bottle adrift in the Pacific

It seems I have become a castaway, and as I have managed to dry these few paper scraps from the detritus of the ship, I will endeavor to convey my predicament as thoroughly as I can in so small a space, so there is at least a record of what I have found here if I am unable to tell it myself after some future deliverance.

I will spare you my account of the shipwreck and my marooning itself as many such tellings already clutter nautical records, and begin my tale with my spotting a small child also walking about the beach.

The first child I tried to care for, despite a lack of any parental instincts to speak of (as I imagine is common in those of us who take well to the seafaring life). He was blond, and as best as I can tell between the ages of five and seven. He seemed to have been wandering aimlessly about the beach, and despite the tattered state of his fine clothes, he couldn’t have been on the island long as his pale skin lacked the sunburn I was already developing after a mere several hours. I tried to offer him some of the water that remained in my canteen, but he merely stared at me with a vacant expression, seemingly uncomprehending of the gesture, or of any form of language I attempted to communicate with.

By this point I had attempted to rationalize the child’s appearance. Perhaps unbeknownst to me one of the passengers on my own ship had been accompanied by their young one, and his strange behaviour was merely the result of being traumatized by the very same wreck I had experienced. When a second child wandered toward me, identical as far as I could discern in every way to the first, excepting somewhat less wear on the clothing, I admit these rationalizations became a bit frantic. Evidently there had somehow been identical twins on board without my knowledge. The second was no more communicative than the first and I was at a loss for what to do.

By the time the third child appeared, I grew frightened. Barring the extreme unlikelihood of identical triplets in general, there was no way I would have failed to see or hear some evidence of such an anomaly if they had been present on board prior to the storm. At this point all three had ceased their meandering and stared at me with vacant eyes, I began to wonder how I had ever thought the first an ordinary child. When I spotted a fourth approaching, my trepidation escalated to panic and I began to back up quickly.

“What are you?” I managed to sputter. Four sets of blue eyes met mine, and although I would swear none of their mouths opened, a voice no child could have produced emanated seemingly from all at once.

“Ego ex nihilo”

At this inhuman display, despite my hesitation to let the creatures out of my sight, I confess, I turned and ran, and only when I had reached a high vantage point overlooking the beach did I look back. Much to my relief, the creatures seemed to have lost interest in me and returned to their wandering, but I could not breathe a sigh of relief without more information.

I spent the remainder of my first day and much of my first night on the island in sleepless observation from the relative safety of the cliffside. I have seen a total of seven of these “children” that I have already begun to think of instead as “creatures”. In the time I observed, they did not seem to eat or sleep, or even pause their pacing about the beach as far as I saw, and all are identical excepting the amount of wear on their clothing. One seemed worn to rags, while another might appear nearly new. The patterns of their walking seemed without logic, except that they seemed to turn and choose another direction whenever they met either the ocean or the small plants marking the edge of the sandy beach.

Only when I was fairly confident they showed no signs of venturing off the sand, in my direction or otherwise, did I begin to contemplate what they said. I fear my Latin studies have been entirely neglected since my schoolboy days, but to the best of my limited translation ability, their only attempt at communication meant something along the lines of “I come from nothing.” I however doubt my translation as I can’t make any sense of what this could mean. At some point I must have drifted into an uneasy sleep as I awakened disoriented some time later. Despite my desire to continue observing, I realized I needed to prioritize the needs of the body for a time and resigned myself to explore and learn more as time would allow.

It has been another few days since I wrote the initial account above, but I have made a rather concerning discovery regarding the creatures. After exploring to the leeward side of the island, I found a sheltered beach area where the wind and tide don’t erase footprints as easily as the storm-swept windward beach where I arrived. One area had some long-dry mud from what appeared to have been a creek bed at some point months or years past. Even a cursory examination showed such numerously layered child-size footprints that I developed two equally concerning hypotheses: either the seven child-creatures I have so far identified have been wandering this island much, much longer than I initially guessed, or at one point there had been many, many more of them. I do not know what to do with this information, but my continued explorations will be decidedly inland.

As to what my explorations have revealed of the island itself, it seems almost eager for me to survive. The regular storms that were our ship’s undoing have proved a blessing on the island itself as fresh water has been abundant and easy to collect. Many of the trees seem to bear fruit, the jungle teems with feral chickens (or at least birds so similar to chickens that my untrained eye can tell little difference). The beach is also thick with seaweed and crabs, but I find myself less and less willing to venture near there as the days go on. The creatures resembling children do not seem to leave the beach in their otherwise aimless wanderings, so I have begun to think of it as their territory, and I keep to mine just as zealously.

The days and weeks continue to pass in uneasy cohabitation, and my repeated observations of the creatures have yielded no further information. The few times I have taken a few uneasy steps onto the sand, any child-creatures within sight have always turned to stare in my direction, and I have quickly retreated. I have made no more attempts to communicate with them, and find myself grateful that they show no interest in me as long as I continue to avoid the beach.

I fear I can offer no solace of explanation for what I have found here. I have pondered the only words they have given me for many hours of many days now, and remain no more enlightened than when I began. My blasphemous mind postulates this island as an experimental proving ground for the Almighty where perhaps an early attempt at Man was abandoned when void demonstrated itself to be an unsuitable building material compared to the solidity of dust. Or perhaps these creatures sprung from nothing without any hand taking part in their creation. I can not explain why I have this sense, but I cannot help but feel they are old. Perhaps very old. But I fear my paper is running out and I can not waste any more in idle contemplation.

I have attached to this account a map and coordinates to the island to the best of my navigational abilities. Selfishly I hope this finds its way quickly into hands that can offer me rescue, but I fear it may be in the better interests of whoever finds this (and perhaps of mankind at large) if instead the location is thoroughly shunned. I leave the decision in your hands, whoever you are, whether one life is a fair trade to continue the isolation of whatever else lives here. Should you choose to avoid this place, know I understand and forgive as I would likely do the same in your position. But kindly pray for me.

Driving with a God

I was driving with a god in the backseat the other day.

We were driving across the state to a town I’d never heard of.

He sat in the backseat while I drove and told me to drive on the backroads and spread out on the bench.

And he told me things.

He told me of the times he tricked his brothers into killing giants to get him out of trouble.

He bragged about the times he saved the day by talking his way out of a corner that he, admittedly, had put himself and his friends in.

He said he once beat fire at an eating contest. Okay, not really, but if he had known it was an enchantment he would have been on his game and beat it easily.

He sat there and bragged, munching on an apple that seemed to be made of gold. It’s apple-y scent was so strong it overpowered my air freshener hanging from the rear mirror.

Every time I looked back he looked younger and younger.

But he didn’t mention how he got the scars around his lips.

Nor did he talk about how the bubbled, thick scar on the top of his head came about.

And when I asked about his family, his wife, his children…he fell silent.

He told me to go on the highway, but didn’t tell me to take the right exit. He realized we missed it about twenty miles passed.

The house we pulled up to was an old farmhouse with a large, aged tree in the backyard.

He got out without much more than a thanks and a handshake.

An old man was waiting for him on the porch, one eye was dull glass with a faded iris. He greeted my companion with a firm nod and they went inside.

Told me I was miserable when I was getting better
Because I wouldn’t let the gaslighting comments just
Roll.
Off.
My.
Back.

You didn’t understand why they were no longer keeping me warm
When they never kept me warm. At all.

I’d rather be comforted by hell’s embrace!
At least hell is honest with its intentions. 

Brain fog

Foggy fogginess

want to do things but thoughts are

mush.

Completing sentences is hard

Because the words are out

Of

Reach

Floating in the fog

mush.

Productive

Be productive

You can be self-destructive

As long as it’s not on the clock

Destroy yourself

You want to sell yourself to the highest bidder

But they barely give you enough to live

Thriving is for those who have it destined in their blood

and are hungry for the blood of others!

I will clean my room, even it is the last thing I do!

… Well, certainly did not do that today

But what did I get done instead?

I scrolled through TikTok endlessly!

Hey, the day before all I could do was stare at my wall

And just think about cleaning my room

And just think about wanting to do just something…

Anything at all…

So that I could say that did something today

So guess what?

I did something today!

I did… something…today