Aliona Pires Diz
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jupelpupel.bsky.social
Aliona Pires Diz
@jupelpupel.bsky.social
63 followers 51 following 140 posts
I write fantasy about memory, decay, and impossible men.
Artist in exile. Tea drinker. Probably emotionally compromised.
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jupelpupel.bsky.social
Aliona Pires Diz @jupelpupel.bsky.social · Aug 10
A little intro💖💖
Name: Aliona Pronouns: she/her 🌱Backstory: I started writing back in middle school. It has always been in the background for me; I saw myself more as an artist. A few years ago, I started working on a script for my comic, but the story grew so much that turning it into a comic would take 30 years - and I’m not getting any younger. So, I decided to collect the whole story into a standalone novel, and over the past two years I’ve been working on it seriously. Now, I’m on pause as an artist due to severe burnout, so for now I’m only in “writer mode.” 🌱Project(s): My main project right now is called “Fractures Within” - a dark fantasy that likes to think of itself as high fantasy, with a focus on character psychology and a slow-burn pace, finished off with a queer aftertaste. Book 1 is in the editing stage, Book 2 is in progress, Book 3 exists in drafts, and Book 4 will clearly be the death of me. On top of that, the world has grown so vast that it gives me plenty of room for short stories and novellas. 🌱Goals: To finish everything, I’ve planned before I completely fall into ruin - and maybe, one day, get published. Recent Reads: The last books I read were everything currently published by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu - and I’m utterly in love. 🌱Fun Fact: It’s not exactly unique or particularly funny, but here goes - I’m from Siberia and had to relocate to Argentina, where I currently live - literally the opposite end of the planet. I came here with a friend who was planning to give birth, so I ended up holding her hand during labor. Spoiler: I survived. Also, english is not my native language, so I write in russian first, edit, then translate into english and edit again. I’m in self-editing hell, but since I’ll never be able to publish in russian anyway, I don’t see the point in trying.
jupelpupel.bsky.social
new post in my rat club - about #blnovells
#bookreview #writersky

open.substack.com/pub/alionapi...
When BL Gets It Right — and When It Doesn’t
A deep-dive into the emotional logic of BL — what makes it work, and what makes even the most loyal reader give up halfway.
open.substack.com
November 7, 2025 at 3:20 AM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Please, let me further, past what’s safe to name;
admit me inward, where the borders flame—
to touch each scratch, each bleeding seam in you,
as deep as hurt, as close as hurt can do.

#verse #poem
October 9, 2025 at 11:13 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
I got carried away with writing a new story, so I’ve been a bit off the radar. It feels like the antidepressants are finally doing their job, and I can be at least a little creative again!

#amwriting #writesky
September 14, 2025 at 9:17 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
I decided to explore the theme of horror. I watch so many horror films and true crime, but coming up with a truly disturbing story is difficult for me. I tend to empathize with what’s supposed to be frightening. It’s hard to be afraid of a demon once you know its thoughts and vulnerabilities...
August 23, 2025 at 9:06 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Today in #wipsnips one of my favorite beasts🥰
From one of my recent short stories.
#writingcommunity #amwriting #wordbuilding #fantasyauthor #writesky
A mudhorn — a swamp-dwelling monster, captured alive and brought to the capital. The creature rivaled the city’s civitram transports in size, and if you counted the jagged, triangular horn crowning its head — a head armored like a bone-plated battering ram — it stood even taller. Nearly four meters, at least. Its broad chest and front limbs, each equipped with wide, flat claws for tearing through bog soil and tangled roots, barely fit inside the cage. Unlike the other floats, this one hovered visibly lower — the beast’s sheer weight had forced it down. Its small, black eyes spun wildly, tracking the shimmering shapes and whistling sigilic lights flaring above. Used to the quiet isolation of the deep marshes, the mudhorn was clearly terrified — its breath huffed in heavy, grunting blasts from wide nostrils.
August 23, 2025 at 6:20 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
As for descriptions, including the highly specific ones—my icon is Janet Fitch. What she does in White Oleander makes me want to reread it forever, and then try literally everything she mentions.
#summerofstory #bookrecomendations
cfranciswrites.bsky.social Charlotte Francis @cfranciswrites.bsky.social · Aug 22
Hello #SummerOfStory!

Day 22: Specificity

Disclaimer: This is a prompt game to discuss common writing tips & techniques, not an attempt to tell people how to write.

Over to you: Do you write stories that pile on detail, or do you to let the reader’s imagination fill the gaps?

#WritingPrompt
1: Title, Date, & Prompt Introduction This slide features a large torn piece of lined paper with the text 'August 22nd' at the top and the writing prompt 'Specificity' in big script letters. There is a typewriter in the corner with a note saying 'TOOLS not RULES'. On the right, there is a speech bubble with prompt questions, a Bluesky butterfly, and a palm leaf background. Transcription: August 22nd Specificity What's your take on this writing technique? Have you used it before — or do you avoid it? Share your thoughts, drop a snippet, or tell us how you'd use it in a scene. 2: What & Why This slide looks like a piece of lined notebook paper with teal palm leaves in the background. Headings 'What?' and 'Why?' are taped to the page. It explains what specificity in writing is and why it matters. A blue butterfly decorates the corner. Transcription: What? Use Specific, concrete language instead of vague or abstract terms. Instead of writing she poured herself a drink, write she tipped a dram of Lagavulin into the tumbler. Why? While vague language asks the reader to do the heavy lifting, specificity guides the reader toward a single, vivid picture instead of a blur of possibilities, drawing them deeper into the story. Used well, precision doesn't just add detail; it heightens engagement and makes the writing memorable. 3: In Practice This slide looks like a piece of graph paper with teal palm leaves in the background. On the left, an excerpt from George Orwell's 1984 appears in a beige box. On the right, a taped paper section explains a writing example, with a Bluesky butterfly decoration. Transcription: Specificity in Action: 1984 [Excerpt from 1984 by George Orwell] It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him. The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran. In the opening paragraphs of '1984', Orwell doesn't just tell us Winston lives in a shabby block; he makes us smell the boiled cabbage, see the varicose ulcer, feel the gritty dust. Each detail is precise, and together they build a whole world in a few paragraphs. Counterpoint: Some might argue too much specificity risks bogging down the pacing with too much det… 4: What do you think? This slide is a torn piece of paper with discussion questions for writers about using specificity in writing. There's a speech bubble repeating 'TOOLS not RULES', a Bluesky butterfly, and palm fronds in the background. Transcription: What do you think? What's your take on Specificity in Writing? Do you prefer crisp, concrete detail that paints a clear picture, or do you lean toward leaving space for the reader's imagination? Can you share a snippet where a single detail made the scene sharper, funnier, sadder, or more alive? Share your thoughts, drop a snippet, or share an example you love (or hate). Hot takes welcome — just please don't set anyone on fire!
August 22, 2025 at 11:29 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Missed couple of days but here I am!
#wipsnips with my favorite boys🥰
The train glided smoothly along the tracks, the rhythmic clatter against the rails a soothing counterpoint to the luxurious silence of the private carriage. Morveiyn leaned back in his chair, sinking into the plush velvet upholstery with a satisfied sigh. Beyond the window, rolling hills and dense forests blurred into a serene green mosaic—a world that seemed laughably distant from the damp, suffocating pit he had recently escaped. Of course, he could have taken an official Protectorium transport—Wyrm, his assigned private train. Or even saved time by using an omnimobile. But that would have meant jumping straight back into duty, and after what he had endured, he wasn't about to grant his father the satisfaction of seeing him march off like an obedient hound. No, he wanted time. Time to let his body fully recover, time to gather his thoughts and prepare for whatever awaited him in Te Aroed. The slower, more comfortable journey served his purposes well. And if his father fumed over the unnecessary delay, all the better. But the real victory was forcing the Protectorium's logistics department to finance his personal affairs. A private, reserved carriage, complete with velvet seats, warm meals, and a view far more agreeable than the inside of a cell—it was, in his opinion, the very least they owed him. He stretched lazily, letting the weight of the past days melt away. The fact that he had managed to secure the entire compartment for himself? Just a cherry on top. Well… not entirely for himself. Deiyn sat opposite Morveiyn, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, peeling the skin off an apple with the deft flourish of a stage magician. The smooth, unbroken spirals curled in his fingers as he worked, his expression caught somewhere between idle amusement and quiet determination.
August 22, 2025 at 7:15 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
hey, my story took third place in a writing competition on @writersblockds.bsky.social
shared third, so it kinda feels like fourth.
joy is sharing the place with a bit of disappointment.
still, proud of the piece and grateful it resonated with readers.

#jupelwrites #WritingContest #AmWriting
Raise the flags of the motherland!… From the fire escape came the measured, orderly, staccato beat of footsteps. Boots. Heavy, sturdy boots—the kind the Motherland issued to soldiers and police. These days, no one could mistake that sound. Its orderliness and inevitability were meant to strike fear in wrongdoers and pride in law-abiding citizens. I remembered it from childhood—Victory Day parades, ranks of mirror-bright boots coming down hard on warm asphalt—Wham! Wham!—echo snapping off the walls, mingling with balloons and the triumphant blare of trumpets beneath streaming flags… And now I—who’d never done anything worse than paint on a wall—felt my heart pounding in my throat to that same rhythm, threatening to leap out. "They won’t have me," flashed through my mind—a desperate, defiant thought, as if I were about to fight them. The brave guardians of order, packed into black armored suits, their faces hidden behind impenetrable helmets. Those helmets made each of them look like faceless terracotta warriors, buried with their emperor in some distant antiquity. And the sound of their steps was just as heavy, inevitable, as if each of them were made of stone…
August 22, 2025 at 7:05 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
This week for the #reedsy prompts I wrote two stories. They turned out quite different, but in both I’m playing around with the theme of #horror. Though so far it never gets past the foreplay stage. You can read them on my page!
#amwriting #shortstory

blog.reedsy.com/creative-wri...
A Hare in the Woods I crept up to the hut early in the morning, slipping like a shadow past the fishnets—still damp, hanging from wooden stakes. A startled cat arched its back, dropped a half-eaten fish tail, and darted under the house to hide. Look at him, all skittish! As if he’s any better—black as soot himself…The old planks of the porch groaned under the pointed hooves, and I, catching myself, quickly pulled on the boots strapped to my belt. I’d better check on her, then sweep the path out front with a broom. No sense leaving tracks behind. Decree 772-A People crowded nearly the entire length of Imperial Avenue, the widest and longest street in Teak-An, the proud capital of the Confederation of Allied Regions Naitheren.The festively dressed crowd laughed, chattered, danced, and celebrated with abandon.A young boy, perched on his father’s shoulders could see far into the distance, taking in the full splendor of the parade.His father’s firm hands held him securely by the knees, so he wasn’t afraid of falling.Beside them walked his mother, cheerful and radiant in a flowing sky-blue dress.
August 21, 2025 at 11:22 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Have you ever created a character who ended up completely reshaping the plot you had originally planned?
What did you do — did you follow where the character led, or did you "make" them do what needed?
what’s easier: changing the plot, or a character who’s already too willful?
#writersprompt
August 20, 2025 at 8:28 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Tried Shadow and Bone because everyone raved about it.
I made it to page 7 and went to die in the pit. As a Russian-speaking writer… Not sure what hurt more: misspelled Russian words — or what she did with them.
People say it gets better by the second book.. should i give it a chance?
#amreading
August 20, 2025 at 8:12 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
True story, that's how I burned out haha
tozo.today tonči zonjić @tozo.today · Aug 2
weekend means personal nonsense program only
August 20, 2025 at 8:02 PM
Reposted by Aliona Pires Diz
exocomics.com
happily ever after 🥰
August 18, 2025 at 9:04 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
One thing about my writing — someone’s always quoting poetry.
It might be a romantic haiku, a filthy folk rhyme, or a lullaby,
but if the moment allows it, you can be sure a verse will slip in.

I’m no great poet, so the verses are almost always short —
but I’m helpless to stop myself.
#AuthorSky
darylmarez.bsky.social Daryl Marez @darylmarez.bsky.social · Aug 19
I've realized my writing carries a few unshakable habits… a shop door will have a bell, leaves will rustle in the breeze, colors stay vivid, and there's always a clock on the wall. These are my constants that make a world feel like home

What are yours?

🌈✒️ 📚💙
#AuthorSky #WriterSky #WritingCommunity
August 19, 2025 at 7:19 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
I’ve written an entire world for my novell, layered thick with legends, literature, saints and their lives, folk tales and old ballads.
Much of it deserves at least a short story of its own.
It’s not exactly shelved away for “someday” — I do plan to write it all.
Unless I die first.
cometkins.bsky.social Ian Haramaki 🏳️‍⚧️✨ @cometkins.bsky.social · Aug 19
Do you have anything "trunked" that you'd like to revisit, polish up, and publish one day? What made you set it aside? What do you hope to do so it's ready? #WritingPrompt
August 19, 2025 at 5:17 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Mor is the master of keeping a straight face —
so when even he can’t, I know something’s really off.

#wipsnips #writesky #wtiterscommunity #amwriting #writingprocess
Get a hold of yourself. Now. The command cracked through his thoughts like the lash of a whip. A jagged breath threatened to escape Morveiyn's lips; he trapped it behind clenched teeth, holding it until the chaos in his chest stilled to a dull, manageable throb. Control. Cold logic brooked no hesitation, no ragged edges. But the mask's polished surface felt thin, a hair's breadth from cracking under the pressure of the raw, visceral surge beneath. He focused on the points where his nails bit into his own palms, the sharp, grounding pain a necessary anchor, forcing the tide back down into numbness. Compressed the unruly feeling inward, layer by layer, compacting it into a dense, silent core. Only then, when his expression was once more a smooth, impenetrable lake, did he release the breath, slow and controlled. Catching the worry etched on Deiyn's face, Morveiyn waved him off with an irritated flick of his wrist. "Honestly, do you think I'm made of spun sugar? A bit of rest, and I'll be right as rain," he dismissed. "Go pack my travel bag for tomorrow instead. Make yourself useful."
August 19, 2025 at 5:01 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
So I’ve started a little experiment: a rat’s-eye view on common pitfalls in short fiction.
Just curious notes from a writer learning out loud.
#writingcraft #writingprocess #writingmistakes #jupelwrites #writingtips #substackwriters #writingblog

First entry is up:
substack.com/@alionapires...
Rat Club#1: How Not to Get Hit in the Face with a Plot Twist
A writer’s notebook on reading, noticing, and trying not to judge (too hard).
substack.com
August 19, 2025 at 4:53 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
I’ve been digging through the #reedsy short story pool lately.
Writers love being read, but don’t always read each other. Still, that ever-refreshing stack holds lessons in what works… and what doesn’t quite.
#ratsdiary #writingcraft #amreading #amwriting
August 19, 2025 at 2:14 AM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Oh, that’s easy! Mo Xiang Tong Xiu made me reconsider whether my intrigues were layered enough. And overall, her vivid, folklore-rich, deeply internal prose made me reread my draft for the hundredth time and deepen what had seemed like shallow waters. I adore her!
#writinginspiration #LoreOutLoud
August 18, 2025 at 5:55 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
This week’s plans: working through burnout, step by step. It once spread from drawing to writing-that’s the risk of creative work. Push too hard, and the spark goes quiet. But I’m still here, and writing again, even a little, feels like a good sign.
#writingmotivation #creativeprocess #writerslife
Even if my writing isn’t perfect today, and it feels like no one but me needs it — they still matter to me. That’s reason enough to keep writing.
August 18, 2025 at 3:06 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Laurent is a classic bastard who blazes past us like a comet — but I kind of like him, so I generously granted him a childhood trauma to make him even more endearing. The sacred right of an author!

#wipsnips #writingprocess #characterbuilding #indieauthors #writerscommunity #writesky
*** Baronet Loran of Acrass lounged at the center of his private alcove, reclining like a self-satisfied predator surveying his domain. The footman at the entrance bowed slightly before drawing back the sheer curtain, announcing Morveiyn's arrival. "Come in, darling," Loran called, his voice a lazy purr. "I've been waiting." The scene before Morveiyn was an imitation of an old religious painting—one of those grand, forgotten works where the First Messiah and his apostles dined in divine excess. At the head of the gathering, in the role of a self-appointed deity, was Loran. Tall, broad-shouldered, with golden hair spilling over his bare chest, he exuded the effortless confidence of a man who had never known denial. His sun-kissed skin gleamed under the low light, the coarse hair on his torso catching the glow of nearby lanterns. Flanking him, like faithful disciples, lounged two near-naked courtesans clad in translucent tunics designed more for suggestion than modesty. Their bodies curved toward him, waiting for his idle attention, though it was clear he had long since grown indifferent to their presence.
August 18, 2025 at 2:13 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Share 4 years of your #art
2021-2022-2024-2025

It’s hard to call myself an artist right now, when I’ve burned out down to embers. But over the past few years I really did push my drawing skills forward.
It’s just a shame it’s come to the point where I can’t draw anything anymore.
August 17, 2025 at 10:37 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Finally I didnt forget!
#summerofstory #sundayshare
#fantasyauthor #writesky
When your MC loves to read, so you end up building an entire library inside your novel — and learn the word intradiegetic. Now you’re writing a book inside a book inside a book… Welcome to intradiegetic writer’s purgatory. 📚🔥 One of my favorite writing techniques is intradiegetic literature — newspapers, books, legends, poems created within the world of the story itself. They reveal how people in that world think, what they notice, and what they are blind to. It’s not just lore, it’s a mirror of their fears, values, and self-deceptions. An intradiegetic text is a text that exists inside the story’s world - written by a character or treated as real by other characters. Welcome to the nerd club!
August 17, 2025 at 9:14 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Never thought about archetypes in my novel, but turns out they’re there — and deliciously so. And this is just my boys:

#loreoutloud
#WritingCommunity #AmWriting #writesky #QueerFantasy #WritersOfBluesky
The Masked Hero (The Wounded One) — a figure marked by trauma and forced invisibility. His scars and silence embody the archetype of the queer self that hides in plain sight, surviving by control and distance. He represents the cost of being “other” in a world that demands conformity. The Golden Companion (The Witness) — radiant, loyal, and rooted in the “normal” order of things, yet drawn irrevocably toward what lies beyond it. He becomes the one who sees through Mor’s armor, embodying the archetype of the beloved who recognizes and validates the hidden self. Together: The Forbidden Intimacy — a pairing defined by tension between the unspeakable and the undeniable. Their bond breaks unspoken rules of their world, embodying the quintessential queer archetype: love that should not exist, yet insists on existing. They are not opposites, but two halves of survival — one bearing the wound, the other bearing witness.
August 17, 2025 at 6:09 PM
jupelpupel.bsky.social
Made myself a little reminder

#writingmotivation #writingcommunity #indieauthors #writersofbluesky #writesky
My prose doesn’t have to be easy. It has to be honest. I am not for everyone, and that’s okay. But those who finish my stories will remember.
August 17, 2025 at 5:03 PM