iiinova — where your digital self keeps evolving

Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 5h

Oh, this word is found everywhere in my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." In this snip, we watch our dubious heroes' first encounter with the god-hunting Hounds. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

“Say nothing,” Boden muttered to Kier and Quinceberry. “Nothing.”
The suited warriors came nearer and nearer. Faces came into view, framed in faceted brass helmets. On their backs, each wore a sparkgun the size of a butter churn. Elliptical glass globules shimmered with purple lightning barely contained.
Boden hadn't forgotten the pong of ozone that clung to a sparksuit like lichen to a rock.
He pushed forward, keeping his gait steady despite the pain. “Ho the Hounds,” he called.
The Hound in front, a broad-shouldered woman two handspans shorter than Boden, stepped forward. “Well, well, well. Wondered how far you’d wander. Heading back to old haunts, hm?”
“Good to see you, Griffon.”
She frowned. “Don’t know if I should even be talking to you.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 16/10/2026

Wiktionary's entry for an Old English preposition, ōþ, using the best possible examples:

ōþ

1. (with accusative) until, as far as, up to, down to

fram þām ēagþyrle ōþ þone weall
from the window to the wall

þrītiġ ōþ fīftiġ wildra swīna
thirty to fifty feral hogs

2. (with dative) until

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 16/10/2026

Vibes this time, as Ihishi, a servant of the god of death, witnesses her lord's murder, in "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

Who would have dreamt that the Lord of Endings himself could end?
But Ihishi witnessed it, cowering with her fellow daimones behind him as Lord Feirr rose to his full, magnificent height. His tattered black robes billowed wildly in the winds of the void that skirled in from outside his manor through the shattered diamond windows, and his defiant laugh—so unlike his wonted grave serenity—rang out like a deep, deep bell of ancient iron. Blackness radiated from him as if it were fire from Divandri.
But then he blazed in violet light so brilliant that Ihishi’s vision has yet to recover fully.
Every time she closes her eyes, she sees his negative image—tall and gaunt, cowled and robed, arms upraised as the Hounds’ weapons reduced him to nothing but light—and then the light is gone, and Ihishi and her brethren are left in the dark.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 15/10/2026

From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." Our dubious heroes stop for refreshment in the decrepit mining town of Copperknoll. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

Downtown Copperknoll resembled some neighborhoods of Thren, with its half-vacant storefronts, its ramshackle facades, its lonely, listless pedestrians. The dusty street lay wide. Scattered sparkwagons stood abandoned, slowly turning to solid verdigris. Here and there, though, some sparkwagons still puttered along at a pace barely faster than walking, their hind wheels crackling with faint purple lightning.
Quinceberry grabbed a belt loop of Kier’s coveralls and yanked him backward as one approached. “Beware the chariots of death!”
Squinting ahead through the dingy windscreen, the driver scarcely glanced up at them as she passed. Her rust-brown hair wafted around her head like a cloud of smoke.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 14/10/2026

I posted this snip a couple weeks back, but it bears revisiting. Our dubious heroes encounter an old flame of Quinceberry's, in "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters

She squinted at Boden. “You smell funny.”
“It’s the laudanum.” Quinceberry sniffed imaginary powder off the back of his finger. “Or the cocaine, they smell so much alike to me.”
“You,” she said to him, “smell funnier. Have you been marking your territory again?”
Quinceberry chuckled. “Oh, Hazine, I’ve missed your wit.”
“Wasn’t joking,” she said. “How dare you come back here?”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 13/10/2026

From "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP. Our dubious heroes decided to forego the stalled train and hoof it, since there was no telling how soon the spent divine spark that powers everything would be restored with a fresh supply from a murdered god.

As Quinceberry unrolled his bedroll on the far side of the fire, a faint rumble stirred the air and shook the leaves. It grew louder, vibrating the earth itself.
“Oh, for the gods’ sake,” Boden muttered.
Quinceberry rose and gaped upward.
One by one, pale violet lights flickered on along the railroad trestle. Lit from within, a train of sleek brass and blue-green glass hurtled lengthwise on the bronze rail, rumbling at a steady pace, loud enough to drown out speech. Lilac-hued lightning crackled behind. The stench of ozone drifted down in its wake.
A slender, pale haunt in yellow silk leapt right before the train reached her, falling toward the forest and fading into wisps of smoke before she landed. The clatter and hum persisted till the train had passed. Then one by one, sparklights winked out behind it, each one an eyeblink of dying divinity, as the rumble and lightning faded off into the distance.
The haunt in yellow silk stood again on the rail, watching nothing, waiting for nothing.
Sputtering, Quinceberry pointed in the direction the train had gone. “That’s—that wasn’t—?”
“The train we were going to take,” said Boden. “Spark’s loaded.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 12/10/2026

I think this is why Pratchett, though I enjoy him, falls short for me. There's no denying he achieved tremendous things, but the constant poking fun at the very genre he used wears thin for me fast. He's at his best when he forgets to make fun of what he's doing. (reposted with alt text)

Social media posts from "harpyhormones":

1. I'm so dead tired of self aware genre fiction. I don't want the snarky knight or the brooding spaceman to joke about how overplayed something is. Gimme dudes speaking in thees and thous and starship captains making poignant speeches and shit and stop fucking worrying about being seen by critics or the general public as shlock

2. "Oh haha isn't sci fi so silly look at me I know I'm writing sci fi but my characters are joking about how cringey this all is so like it's fine right" I would bite your head off if I could, coward

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 12/10/2026

The biggest since the 1800s, per Google:

A graph showing usage of the word "failson" across Google Books, with the peaks in the early 1800s and lesser peaks in later decades, with a steady rise from the 2010s on.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 12/10/2026

Show me a picture on your phone that has your energy that isn’t a selfie

A vending machine whose sign reads "Anything is possible with ice cream" has a handwritten notice taped onto it that reads "no ice cream".

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 11/10/2026

Loric, god of shadows and dreams, tries to warn the god of war that he's being hunted. A scene from "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

Ilgannan slams a fist into his palm. “What need? Never before have they dared assail any of the Grand Pantheon.”
“Oh, but never before have their lordlings offered her a fortune to bring an end of war. They weary of it, you see. War upsets their delicate balances, disrupts their dominions.” Loric slings an arm around Ilgannan’s neck. “And so—they want to be rid of you.”
Ilgannan pushes him away.
“Honestly, who can blame them?” Loric ticks off fingers. “You’re bullying, irritable, loud, moody, capricious, and it goes without saying, violent. Except I do say it!” He blinks in surprise at finding a sixth finger on his own hand. He flaps the hand, and the finger becomes a cluster of bluerain. “But you are my kin.” He performs a florid bow, offering the flowers to Ilgannan.
Ilgannan grabs the bluerain to throw it down and stomp on it.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 10/10/2026

From "Fables of Fire," a contemporary reimagining of Hansel and Gretel as small-town gothic magical realism, chock full of queer rep and fairy-tale allusions. Closest I had to "fuzzy" was "fuzz". Jonny tries out Rhodie's four-wheeler. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

Rhodie waited, perched on the charred old stile while Jonny took off his helmet. Uphill, the boarded-up mobile home sagged on the foundations of the old farmhouse.
He grinned at her. “Man! Haven’t ridden one of these in, what? Six or seven years, at least.” He swung a rangy leg off and stood. He cracked his back.
When he leaned back, Rhodie caught a glimpse of tight abs and blonde fuzz under the hem of his Phoenix Suns t-shirt. “Surprised a Dudley like you rode one at all.”
Jonny cocked his head. “That supposed to mean?”
“Just, you always color inside the lines.” Rhodie picked some autumn flower she didn't recognize, tucked it behind her ear.
He frowned. “What the lines are for, right?”
“Nope. Lines are made to be crossed. Stray off the beaten path sometime. Never know what you’ll find.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 09/10/2026

From "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP. Our dubious heroes encounter an old comrade of Boden's. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

“Where’d you get the gun?”
Boden touched the sparkgun hanging at his belt. “Cache. Back in the woods.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Duona’s Kettle,” he said. “Raided it before Lavoie. Hid a few things in case everything went sour.”
She studied his face. “Weapons of war. Aren’t you retired?”
“Trust me,” was all Boden could think of to say.
“I used to,” she said at last. “Crowbar?”
“Thief left it behind. Tried to steal our motor. We dealt with her. Thought it’d come in handy.”
“In a fight?”
“That,” said Boden, “or all sorts of situations.”
She looked satisfied with that answer, at least.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 08/10/2026

No cheating, post your lock screen My norn mesmer from Guild Wars 2, with his fabulous rainbow-themed staff. The placement of the thumbprint was accidental but so amusing I kept it.

A screenshot of a phone lock screen, showing a burly man with pale pink hair and beard, dressed in hot pink and holding a staff glowing in rainbow colors

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 07/10/2026

From my #EpicFantasy WIP, "We Who Walk in Shadow." Oghor and Fae Farran discuss their mutual interest: Ellyll, MC. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyAuthors

“I can promise not to harm him deliberately.” He raised his glass.
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s something, at any rate. We old monsters must hang together, mustn’t we? There aren’t many like us.”
He bristled a little at the comparison, although he couldn’t say why. Her elegance, poise, and good humor were nothing objectionable. Nor was her obvious competence. And Lohimar knew, Oghor hoarded his own secrets. Why shouldn’t she?
“And your promise?” he asked.
She clutched the pendant at her throat in mock indignation. “You aren’t suggesting I would do the least harm to my very soul? I have sworn an oath. I will keep Ellyll safe.” At last he heard the slight edge to her tone, the implied threat: “No matter what.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 06/10/2026

From my erotic #MMRomance, "Barely Getting By." Ike tries Indian food for the first time. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

He dished out his share of rice and handed the rice over to me. I piled about the same amount on my plate. When in Rome, right? Then he put some of the steaming reddish chicken-in-sauce on top of the rice. I followed suit.
“Okay. Take a bite. Tell me that isn’t heaven on a plate.”
I scooped up some with the fork he handed me.
“Whoa,” I said. “That’s—that’s got a bite.”
He laughed. “Yeah, Dr. T doesn’t skimp on the spice. But it’s good, right?”
I nodded. “It’s good. Just—you got anything to drink?”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 05/10/2026

I've posted this before, a few weeks back, but it fits today's well enough to repeat it. From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." Our dubious heroes stop for... uh... suplpies [sic]. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

“This,” declared Quinceberry, “is the finest establishment in all Thren. Perhaps in all Threnland, or even—dare I say—the continent at large!”
Boden eyed the establishment in question—a ramshackle hut made from scrap wood and sheets of tarnished bronze, the verdigris greener than most grass this time of year. Yellowed Philosophist recruitment posters with antiquated artwork papered over gaps and cracks. A paper tacked to the graying plywood of an exterior wall read ROOMS FOR LET, with an arrow pointing to what might have passed for a second story in a sturdier structure. Above the door, in a gaudy orange Boden imagined was meant to resemble brass, the word SUPLPIES had been painted long ago.
“Supple pies?” Boden asked.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 04/10/2026

From "We Who Walk in Shadow," my #EpicFantasy WIP. Oghor's first conversation with Fae Farran, Ellyll's foster mother. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters

She leaned forward with a conspiratorial smile. The flower in her hair gave off a heady scent. Her diamond earrings glittered in the light from the tall window. “Shall we arrive at a compact, you and I? For I feel we are alike.”
“Do you.”
She laughed, a low, throaty alto sound. “Indeed we are, you old monster. I see the shadow lurking behind you.”
He felt again that power he’d felt gathering to her in the infirmary. Nothing in her manner threatened; yet Oghor’s hackles rose.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 02/10/2026

Similarity is a parallel, right? Our dubious heroes in "Laughter of the Hunted Gods" encounter an old flame of Quinceberry's. #Sniptober #WritingCommunity #SnipShare

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 02/10/2026

I'm a day late for this one, but: The opening of my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," where our dubious heroes meet for the first time. #Sniptober #WritingCommunity #SnipShare

“Fooled you, didn’t I?”
Sitting in the stalled railroad car, Boden lowered the paper broadsheet he’d been half reading. A round little man in a badly patched gray waistcoat and frayed green trousers sat on the worn mahogany bench opposite Boden. Spectacles askew, hair unkempt, grin awry, he looked to be in his forties. Maybe fifties. A ragged cluster of dried bluerain blossoms was pinned to his lapel.
Boden, unimpressed, said, “I saw you slip into my compartment, if that’s what you mean.” Not that his entry could have escaped notice; the bronze door grated when it opened, with the sparkwork mechanism depowered.
“Excellent, excellent.” The little man held out a little hand. “Fimble Quinceberry, at your service, sir.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 30/09/2026

The beginning of the formal partnership between our dubious heroes, from my philosophical godpunk WIP "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." Using "protection" for "guard." #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 29/09/2026

From "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP. Our dubious heroes make their first pilgrimage together. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

Boden grabbed the door handle and pulled. He pulled harder. And harder still. “No go.”
Quinceberry clucked his tongue. “Well then. If we’re to make our pilgrimage, let’s see if there’s another point of ingress.”
“Pilgrimage to who? What god even was this?” He hadn’t meant to use the past tense. He’d been trained to keep using the present; to obscure the consequences, as it were. “Is this?”
Quinceberry gave him a sideways glance. “I’d have predicated that a man of your profession would recognize Loric.” He gestured toward the smirking face above the doors.
“Loric? Shadows and dreams, hm?”
“And thieves!” Quinceberry raised his index finger. “Don’t forget. Even petty thieves like, well, us.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 28/09/2026

From "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP. The Philosopher is about to make a deal with the devil (in the form of the assembled worldwide heads of state) as regards her life-extending suits, powered by divine life force. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

“Not all benefit from the sparksuits,” says President Golalbeh. “Some suffer injury or disease that the suits cannot counter.”
“We are aware, Mr. President. We have theurgicians working round the clock to improve the—”
“The poor.” Premier Katkera, the only head of state present who has declined a suit, rises. Without a suit, she looks gaunt and diminished. Her dark, exposed hair is grizzled with age. “Most cannot afford a sparksuit.”
I nod sadly. “That, too, we are aware of. The Theurgion does not contain enough spark to fuel them all, and the rare metals needed for—”
“And so,” Prime Minister Ptallikis says, “we propose a solution.”
“Truly?” My heart races with excitement. If the best minds in the world have come together and reasoned out a means of improving my inventions, of expanding their reach, I am eager to hear.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 27/09/2026

From "We Who Walk in Shadow," my #EpicFantasy WIP. Uinne, as a Greenwarden, is uniquely sensitive to the locust demon the Eagles of Avikella are facing. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

Uinne sensed the demon moving about, off to the west. It felt… hungry. But that wasn’t quite right. It wanted to feel hungry. It hungered for hunger. She shuddered. “It mislikes it here. It wants—”
“To go home.” Oghor sounded even grimmer than usual. “We’ll send it there.”
Uinne patted her cudgel, hanging at her hip. “One way or the other.”
The dwarf led them to a broad stone building.
“The palace. That makes sense,” said Vilkassuuri. “Runes ready! Four corners. Seal off the entire palace till I give the word.”
Four runescribes headed for the outer corners of the building, to set mighty wards that should at least delay the demon’s entrance.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 26/09/2026

From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." Our dubious heroes plan to make a pilgrimage to Sen, the half-forgotten god of luck. #WIPSnips #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #WriteSky

The three men stood on a ridge overlooking a town in the last light of the autumn sun. The roof of the ruined marble temple had clearly caved in long ago, and its windows yawned wide. The round walls of a few dilapidated cottages, their round walls of crumbling sandstone and chunks of marble plainly scavenged from the temple, cast long shadows across sere lawns nibbled to nubs by the occasional goat.
“Behold,” Quinceberry said, “the charming hamlet of Sensbury.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 25/09/2026

From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." The world leaders gather with a proposition for the Philosopher. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

“Madame Philosopher,” says Emperor Tiehn, “it is good of you to make time to visit with us.” He motions for me to sit.
“It is an honor, your imperial majesty,” I say.
Queen Corliaize of Pirianna rises. “We are the ones honored, your wisdom. The Architect of the Theurgical Revolution! Your treatises on ethics and epistemology are fundamental to all philosophical education. All our nations owe so much to you. Hospitals and sanitation to combat epidemics. Weapons to fight insurrections and roving warbands. Heat against uncontrollable blizzards. Inexhaustible libraries full of etchplates.” She raises her arms, letting the sleeves of her robes slide down to reveal her sparksuit—the latest iteration. Even fashion has adapted to incorporate the suits’ angular bulk. “The extension of life.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 23/09/2026

In "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP, the gods debate the thorny problem of the human race. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters

The Grand Pantheon sits assembled around the ornate marble table in the Home of Endings, Lord Feirr and Lady Phoë’s stately hall. Redolent of high summer, clustered bluerain blossoms tumble heavy from every rafter. Dozens of lesser godlings perch on high stones, lean against diamond pillars, or stand in smaller groups all around. Oloris never stops dancing, her feathered arms tracing swan-neck curves through the aether.
Slamming fists on the table, Ilgannan rises. “Human insubordination dares too much. I say we annihilate them.”
Elovia sets a hand against his forearm. “Even your warriors? What would you govern then?”
Nilashga points an accusing tentacle. “Your naked self-interest surfaces, dear sister. Without lovers, what would you govern? You would be adrift. I at least rule something almost as eternal as we ourselves are.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 22/09/2026

From my erotic #MMRomance, "Barely Getting By." A rare serious moment. (No racy content in this snip!) #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #AuDHD #Neurodivergent

“A meltdown?”
I inhaled deeply. “I get those. Overwhelmment—is that a word? Like, too many sounds or too many people at once. When my, my resources are low.” I swallowed. “Kinda hard to explain.”
He nodded. “You on the spectrum?”
“The what?”
“The spectrum. Autistic. My brother Vicente, he’s autistic. He melts down.”
“You mean like Rain Man? I’m not like that.”
He laughed. “Most autistic people aren’t like that. No big deal. Just wondered.”
I chewed my lip. “Never really thought about it. Wouldn’t I know?”
He shook his head. “Not everybody knows. Especially if their parents didn’t catch it when they were kids. But it’s no big deal. If you want to know, we can probably find a doctor to give you an assessment.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 22/09/2026

The titillating cluelessness of the sign aside, as a librarian I'm annoyed by the fact that the person commenting clearly hasn't been in a library in decades. We do try to provide quiet spaces (presumably this one does), but nowadays libraries are busy social hubs with tons of programs and events.

A social media post from "Thunder Dungeon" saying "Absolutely insane opening question for building where the loudest acceptable noise is turning a page."
The accompanying image shows a sign reading:
"Do you SQUIRT?
Silent
Quiet
Un-
Interrupted
Reading
Time"

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 21/09/2026

From my philosophical godpunk WIP Laughter of the Hunted Gods, a rare scene from a divine POV—a local waterfall tutelar, delighting in her creation. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters

From time to time, though, a day here, a century there, she feels the need to see her handicraft do more than send Paia’s stream tumbling over the precipice. Water brings its manifold joys, to be sure, but Xhanga loves it all: the water, the rounding pebbles, the leaves, the acorns, the silvery salmon, the little silly bushy-tailed things with their cheeks stuffed full of Vistroc’s bounties—each makes its own transcendent dance as it tumbles over the edge.
Xhanga claps her four hands with glee as a many-antlered elk, thinking it can outswim Paia’s powerful current, soars out past the precipice. For one glorious instant it can fly, and the arc of its flight fills Xhanga’s radiant heart with delight: she made this. She created the beauty of the elk’s flight, a gift to the great Lord of Endings and a work of transient art in and of itself.
Moons pass.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 20/09/2026

From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." The Philosopher and her assistant show off the first sparkwork invention to a prospective patron. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

“The broom sweeps faster, and more thoroughly, than any straw broom can, your ladyship,” say I. “Imagine how much faster your maids could complete their work, if they had one of these.”
The Margravine studies it. Ennen ends her pass and reaches down to close the knob again. Pale violet light seeps from the seams between metal plates: a problem yet to be solved.
“How does it work?”
Ennen starts to explain, but I know from experience that her explanation will barrel on through endless details that I find fascinating, but the Margravine may not. I touch her forearm—a signal she and I have developed to mean You are over-explaining.
“The spark we have harvested moves the parts of the motor,” I say. “That’s the light you see. The motor drives the rest.”
"Theurgy," says Ennen.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 19/09/2026

From "Fables of Fire," a contemporary reimagining of Hansel and Gretel as small-town gothic magical realism chock full of queer rep and fairy-tale allusions. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FairyTaleRetellings

Bandages swaddled her burned feet. Some kind of tubes pierced her arm. One eye had swollen shut.
In the corners Peg imagined shadows of people, a dozen or more, gazing at her in silent reproach.
She looked aside and found flowers—so many flowers, their red and orange and yellow making the wintry white of the room too excitable. Who would have sent her so many flowers?

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 18/09/2026

"Pay" for "payment", from a backburnered ghost story, "Fontaigne's Folly." #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

But I was talking of the McClurgs. Mama and Papa died in ‘18, the flu, you see. So many died. Everett and I needed work, or it was an orphanage for me and a poorhouse for him.
Everett’s idea, the act. You couldn’t call a spiritualist act “The McClurgs.” Seats would be cold and bare in every hall if you tried. So we were “The La Fontaignes.” And I wasn’t Myrtle anymore, oh no. No one would pay to see a slip of a girl named Myrtle McClurg. Myrra, he called me, Myrra La Fontaigne, and he wasn’t Everett either. Le Vrai. Le Vrai La Fontaigne, Mentalist Extraordinaire.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 17/09/2026

What scene makes you emotional no matter how many times you've seen it? (On rewatch, especially)

Stéphane Audran as Babette Hersant in "Babette's Feast", sitting stiff-backed in a chair in a rustic attic bedroom, holding a wooden box

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 17/09/2026

From "We Who Walk in Shadow." The leaders of the knightly order of the Eagles of Avikella assess Ellyll's proposed strategy for defeating a locust demon. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

Oghor examined the sheet. “Well done.” He handed it to Perfirion.
“This is quite a list.” Perfirion passed it to Kindral. “You impress me, young sylvan. And more to the point, I think you impress Master Dwarf, which I think takes rather more effort.”
“Not effort,” said Oghor. “Achievement.”
Kindral tapped the list. “Ellyll, this is a master strategy. Ever thought about joining the Eagles?”
“What? Me? Oh—oh no. No. No, I don’t fight. I only heal.”
“Not everyone fights. Some Eagles fight and heal, like Uinne. Some only heal, like Caoinne does—did. Taught basic combat skills, just enough to fend for themselves till a fighter can pull an enemy off them—”
Ellyll shook his head. “I don’t fight.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 16/09/2026

From "We Who Walk in Shadow." Borrowsorrow has been stranded in a city far from home. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

Three days now on the streets. Or was it four? Slippery fish, time.
Borrowsorrow managed to swipe fruit from a street vendor, and a bowl of rice a careless elf left sitting behind him as he dozed over a book in a park. But she found little other food.
She slipped a loaf of bread out of the basket of an elven woman chatting with a friend as they passed. She tucked it into the tabard to eat later, out of sight—but minutes later, a filthy sylvan child darted up and snatched it by the heel. Borrowsorrow could make chase through the crowd—but what could she call out, if she tried to stop him? Come back! I stole that first!

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 15/09/2026

From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." Our dubious heroes visit an even more dubious shop. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 14/09/2026

From "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP. Our dubious heroes are confronted by an old flame of Quinceberry's, from whom they need to buy supplies. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

“My darling Hazine! You wound me.” Quinceberry clutched his chest. “’Twas you broke my heart, my dearest, when you doubted my devotion.”
“Oh yes? And why did it take you ten months to find me again? I’m right here!” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the SUPLPIES sign.
“I feared you wouldn’t want to speak to me, my dear.” Quinceberry grabbed her hand. “Won’t you forgive me?”
“What about Mrs. Dibbins?”
“Mrs. who? See? Already forgotten.”
She hesitated. “Ten months.”
“Far too long, ’tis undeniable. And I will never stray for that long ever again, now I know you believe me.”
Boden did not point out that Quinceberry had given her nothing to believe.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 13/09/2026

I actually included a (brief; I'm not Tolkien, alas) song in deceptively emotional scene in "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." Our dubious heroes visit an abandoned temple. CW: sexual innuendo #SongsOfSeptember

“Why are we here?” asked Boden.
“I told you.” His back to the other men, Quinceberry fumbled with something at his waist. “A pilgrimage!” His thin, reedy tenor echoed through the empty hall:

There once was a farmer who took a young lass
in back of the barnyard to fondle her
shoulders and told her he wanted to talk
but she said she’d rather just suck on his
rock candy and if he’d wish her good luck,
that they could go into the hayloft and
sing, falala!
Sing like the songbirds do.
Oh, she could be witty and winsome and wise,
and loved to just lie there and
sing, falala!

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 13/09/2026

Vibes this time, from "Fables of Fire," a contemporary reimagining of Hansel and Gretel as small-town gothic queer magical realism. Jonny's sister has been sleepwalking. He and his friend Tayenn try to figure out why. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters

“Caught her a few weeks back right downtown. Another time, just south of the station.” Jonny scratched the back of his neck. “Got calls from old man Hinckley, Luz—Peg in their yards. No rhyme or reason to it.”
“You sure about that? Maybe a pattern you just don’t see yet. Like that puzzle, the Garden of Paradise. Remember that quest?”
“Bro. Haven’t played in years.”
“Yeah, but okay, it was a big quest. Major. To find the path through the maze you had to answer questions, like where did this battle happen, and which NPC was the east wind, that sort of shit. Sick sword at the end, too, did like plus five fire damage.” Tayenn swung an imaginary sword. “One of the best weapons at that level, especially for a DOT build—”
“Dude. Focus.” Jonny shook his head, chuckling.
“Fine, yeah. But this—Maybe this is like that?”
“A fiery sword?”
“What I mean, like maybe it’s got a hidden pattern. Something you’re not glomming on.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 12/09/2026

The only instance of "wedge" I have is a slight spoiler, but I think I've trimmed it enough to keep it from giving away anything crucial. From "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," my philosophical godpunk WIP: one of said gods, being hunted. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

She pauses at the door of her apartments, a hand on the latch. She has loved these rooms, these attendants, this city. Perhaps she will one day return.
But hope these days is a gaunt and haggard haunt.
With a wry laugh, she opens the door.
A half-dozen sparkguns greet her.
“Hounds!” she cries. She tries to slam the door, but a bronze-armored foot wedges between.
She turns to flee.

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 11/09/2026

Loric, god of dreams and shadows, urges Ilgannan, Lord War, to lead the gods in an offensive against the Philosopher who hunts gods. (Using "weary" as vibes for "exhaust".) From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 10/09/2026

From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." The first god ever captured. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters

“The monster is a godling,” I say. “By the Dark Beyond, you’ve caged a god. Unprecedented! A minor one, a petty little thing, to be sure. Gharras would designate it a tutelar, I imagine. Does it have a name?”
Ennen shrugs. “We just called him The Wisp.”
“Not even a name,” I say. “A title. Likely its name is long forgotten. Still, this is a monumental achievement, Ennen. But—it eats children?”
Ennen nods. “Those eyes, he lures children off the path. They follow the flames and end up lost in the bog.”
The tutelar chooses that exact moment to hiss at us. The blue flames in its eyes flare up. Its teeth look too large for its mouth.
I master my unease and lean in. “Nonverbal, is it? So—incomplete consciousness.”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 09/09/2026

From my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods," with "device" for "rig". (My only instance of "rig" was a spoiler.) Our dubious heroes debate the best course of action regarding their third companion, Mr. Morrow. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

“Listen. Quick. At least let’s put Morrow on the train home. Get him out of harm’s way.”
Quinceberry took off his spectacles and polished them on his filthy waistcoat. “Mr. Morrow is free to choose his own path. And he has proclaimed that it lies not along the rail.”
Boden stifled an exasperated noise.
Squinting, Quinceberry held the spectacles up to the light. He sighed and put them back on. “I cannot speak for you, my fine traveling companion, but I shall be in veritable—hic—raptures of delight once we can retire to our chambers and I can submerge my person in the ritual ablutions offered by that delectable device unceremoniously bedubbed a ‘bathtub.’”

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 08/09/2026

From a backburnered May-December #MMRomance, "Still Waters." Swim coach Ken discusses Rusty with his assistant coach. #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts

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Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈 @woldry.bsky.social · 07/09/2026

With "lift" for elevator, here's a snip from my philosophical godpunk WIP, "Laughter of the Hunted Gods." #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters

Four months ago he’d put in a request to move to a lower floor. So far it had gone nowhere. Most days he used the lift, but with the spark out, the stairs were his only option. What with the theft, facing down the thieves, and the adventure at the temple, he’d already had far too long and exhausting a day. The five-story climb at the end of that felt like a pointed insult.

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