Mae Tang 董美妍
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maetang.myatproto.social
Mae Tang 董美妍
@maetang.myatproto.social
91 followers 55 following 1.1K posts
She/her. Writer. Chinese Singaporean immigrant to the UK. This is where I talk about writing.

Books:
- My 1st book. Shortlisted for the Hachette Children’s Novel Awards 2025.
- Books One & Two. The duology I'm querying with.
- WIP/new novel.
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maetang.myatproto.social
And then here is Burns, after all of that, finally making his way back to the hospital, anticipating being in trouble for his disappearance over most of the day.
A screenshot of text reads: I suppose I’m for it, Burns thought, but couldn’t make the thought real. He folded his arms across his face and almost at once began drifting off to sleep. He was back in the wood, outside the circle now, but able to see himself inside it. His skin was tallow-white against the scurfy bark. A shaft of sunlight filtered through leaves, found one of the magpies, and its feathers shone sapphire, emerald, amethyst. There was no reason to go back, he thought. He could stay here for ever. When he opened his eyes, Rivers was sitting beside the bed. He’d obviously been there some time, his glasses were in his lap, and one hand covered his eyes. The room was quite dark. Rivers seemed to feel Burns watching him, because after a few moments he looked up and smiled. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ ‘About an hour.’ A screenshot of text reads: ‘I’ve worried everybody, haven’t I?’ ‘Never mind that. You’re back, that’s all that matters.’ All the way back to the hospital Burns had kept asking himself why he was going back. Now, waking up to find Rivers sitting by his bed, unaware of being observed, tired and patient, he realized he’d come back for this.
November 16, 2025 at 1:05 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
A bit later, Burns wanders outside on his own. He comes across a gruesome sight: a tree festooned with the bodies of dead animals. It's a powerful scene. He begins to flee. Then he calms down and returns to the tree instead. I think this scene works because she doesn't dilute it with explanation.
A screenshot of text reads: He started to release a magpie, his teeth chattering as a wing came away in his hand. Then the other magpies, the fox, the weasel, the ferret and the moles. When all the corpses were on the ground, he arranged them in a circle round the tree and sat down within it, his back against the trunk. He felt the roughness of the bark against his knobbly spine. He pressed his hands between his knees and looked around the circle of his companions. Now they could dissolve into the earth as they were meant to do. He felt a great urge to lie down beside them, but his clothes separated him. He got up and started to get undressed. When he’d finished, he looked down at himself. His naked body was white as a root. He cupped his genitals in his hands, not because he was ashamed, but because they looked incongruous, they didn’t seem to belong with the rest of him. A screenshot of text reads: Then he folded his clothes carefully and put them outside the circle. He sat down again with his back to the tree and looked up through the tracery of branches at grey and scudding clouds. The sky darkened, the air grew colder, but he didn’t mind. It didn’t occur to him to move. This was the right place. This was where he had wanted to be.
November 16, 2025 at 1:05 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
This connects to something else I'm still struck by: she's very much show-don't-tell. Here's Rivers with a patient who can't keep food down. Does Barker need to tell us that Rivers is compassionate? No. She just needs to show us what he does and how he reacts.
A screenshot of text reads: Burns’s arms were goose-pimpled, though the room was not cold. The smell of vomit lingered on his breath. Rivers sat down beside him. He didn’t know what to say, and thought it better to say nothing. After a while he felt the bed begin to shake and put his arm round Burns’s shoulders. ‘It doesn’t get any better, does it?’ he said. Burns shook his head. After a while Rivers got up, fetched Burns’s A screenshot of text reads: coat from the peg behind the door and wrapped it round his shoulders. ‘Would it be easier to eat in your own room?’ ‘A bit. I wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting other people.’ Yes, Burns would worry about upsetting other people. Perhaps the most distressing feature of his case was the occasional glimpse of the cheerful and likeable young man he must once have been. Rivers looked down at Burns’s forearms, noting that the groove between radius and ulna was even deeper than it had been a week ago. ‘Would it help to have a bowl of fruit in your room?’ he asked. ‘So you could just pick something up when you felt like it?’ ‘Yes, that might help.’ Rivers got up and walked across to the window. He’s agreeing to make me feel useful, he thought. ‘All right, I’ll get them to send something up.’ A screenshot of text reads: The shadows of the beech trees had begun to creep across the tennis courts, which were empty now. Rivers turned from the window. ‘What kind of night did you have?’ ‘Not too good.’ ‘Have you made any progress with what we talked about?’ ‘Not really.’ He looked up at Rivers. ‘I can’t make myself think about it.’ ‘No, well, it’s early days.’ ‘You know, the worst thing is …’ – Burns was scanning Rivers’s face – ‘that it’s a … a joke.’ ‘Yes.’
November 16, 2025 at 1:05 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Finished the breakfast scene today, still shifting the tone from deep emotion between Jon & Glaive, to Hal's sunny cheerfulness due to what he & Gabe got up to the night before. 🌞

They've moved from porridge to sausages, and you can see how introducing the wolfhound allows me to write more Baldric
A screenshot of text reads: Hal suddenly cleared his throat. “Nephew,” he asked. “Baldric. What are you doing with that sausage?” His tone was open and curious. Not accusatory. But Baldric froze guiltily for a moment as all eyes went to him. Then he blushed, raised his hand from his side, and laid his napkin on the table beside his plate. They could see he had wrapped up half a sausage in the folds. He hung his head as he said in a small, tight voice, his breath constricted, “I thought… Perhaps Shadow might like…” He trailed off under their collective scrutiny. “Because I called him ‘Master Sausages’?” Jon said at once. Baldric’s eyes went to him gratefully, and he nodded. Then he dropped his head again. “That won’t do,” Hal said, to everyone’s surprise. Gabe in particular was staring at him. But then Hal got up and went to the chafing dishes on the side table. When he returned, his plate held three sausages on it. He walked around to Baldric, and he rolled two of them down onto the napkin with his knife. “He’s a large hound,” Hal continued conversationally, as Baldric’s head swiveled up and round to stare at him, and then down again at the napkin, his mouth gaping slightly with shock. A screenshot of text reads: “Being that size, a half will barely register. I think he could probably put away more than two and half of them, frankly,” Hal went on addressing Baldric cheerfully. “But also, don’t deprive yourself in seeing to him.” Then he bisected the remaining sausage on his plate with his knife, and tipped half of that onto Baldric’s plate. He speared the leftover half of the sausage, and ate it himself with evident gusto as he strode back to his seat. Gabe’s lips now when he looked at Hal quirked slightly at the corners, and laughter danced in his eyes. Hal caught his gaze. He blushed, and Jon thought he appeared at once very pleased and a little shy. Baldric was staring from Hal to Gabe and back again. He folded up the napkin with its two and half sausages, and slid it into one of his pockets, looking thoughtful. His face had gone from set and tight to open again, and there was a quietness in his movements, as if relieved, or settling down into himself. Jon also noticed that the boy’s breathing had eased and deepened. Then Baldric turned back to his plate, and with Gabe watching him approvingly, he finished off the half sausage that Hal had left for him, out of concern for Baldric still appearing underfed.
November 13, 2025 at 4:08 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
I remembered looking up: "why waistcoats for snooker?" & liking this answer. Who knows if apocryphal, joking or otherwise. But the pistol pocket in particular has stuck in my mind - even more than the malt whisky miniature pocket! It's like sartorial storytelling

www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle...
A screenshot of text reads: Snooker players traditionally wore waistcoats with four pockets: one for chalk, one for ciggies, one for a malt whisky miniature and one for a small pistol that fitted neatly in the palm of the hand. In addition to scoring duties, the referee was also on hand to light fags, replenish libations and deal with minor flesh wounds caused by said pistol. MikeC
November 13, 2025 at 2:13 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
I mean, I am attempting to bridge between one state and the other, not just dumping them into their breakfast porridge with no preamble 🤣

(Porridge is mandatory. Everyone in my books ends up eating some form of porridge. Like soup, I believe it's a foodstuff that would exist across multiple worlds)
A screenshot of text reads: And now here was Glaive again, descended for breakfast. Jon wordlessly moved to pour him tea too. Then they were both sitting at the table together, starting the morning after the night before. Across the breakfast table now, they regarded each other with knowledge, with a newly found intimacy that was more than physical. Glaive still looked a touch shaken and harrowed, and Jon could feel the echoes of that in himself too. At the same time, gazing at Glaive, pale and weary, Jon realised with a dawning sense of inevitability that his world had quietly reorganised itself. That somehow his center of gravity had shifted to lie beyond his own body, somewhere in between him and the tall, beautiful man currently regarding him with shy and silent wonder on his face. His heart had quickened with the knowledge. This was Hal’s younger brother, looking shaken and vulnerable, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he was still here, and Jon was still here. This was *Glaive*. And suddenly Jon wanted to do nothing more than walk over to him, and kiss him. As if by claiming his mouth, he would somehow keep him contained and safe and A screenshot of text reads: held. *I have you*, he remembered saying, and he wanted to say it again and again now, with his words and his mouth and his body, until Glaive could feel that it was true. Then the door opened again. Hal strode into the room, and Jon and Glaive, who had been staring at each other as if nothing else existed in the world, immediately dropped their eyes to their cups, and tried not to look suspicious. Jon’s porridge arrived next. That was a further helpful distraction. Both Glaive and Hal requested the same too, and the kitchen maid bobbed to Hal with an actual smile on her face before she hurried off to fetch it.
November 12, 2025 at 7:24 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Just me and one of my Moksha submissions, hitting a special anniversary. Maybe I should buy it some flowers? Or a cake. We could blow out the tripple digit candles. Whatever happens next, I feel like we've already come so far together... 🎂😂
A partial screenshot from the page of one of my Moksha submissions reads "Days under review: 100 days".
November 12, 2025 at 12:47 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Then some natural ambivalence. If any of this was easy to talk about, it wouldn't be traumatic! (When Glaive asks if he cried "Jon Allen", would Jon let him go, he's referencing the safe word Jon had him practising earlier, ie: not "Jon", or "Master Allen", but the full name, to haul Jon up quick 😂)
A screenshot of text reads: Jon’s gaze was level now. “If you want to tell me, I would like to know.” Glaive’s expression slid into a mess of indecision. “If… If I cried, ‘Jon Allen’ now, would you… Let me go?” He sounded pained. “If you truly wanted me to. If it hurts you too much to speak on it.” Jon’s voice deepened with compassion. *Did it hurt him that much? Did he truly want Jon to leave off?* That deep note of feeling in Jon’s tone, that rose from somewhere inside the fullness of Jon’s chest was for him, Glaive realised. And suddenly Glaive felt tears spring up in his eyes. He screwed them shut against the feeling, trying to press the tears back. He swallowed hard a few times. Then he opened his eyes again, and he said, “You know I went to the Church as a third son? That is to say, when my father died, he left it in his will that I should be provided for through university and then into an appointment with the Church.”
November 10, 2025 at 4:38 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Sent off another query for Book One.

WIP is now at 91K words. Time for Glaive to open up more to Jon. As far as layers of complex trauma go, Glaive is a trauma onion 😂😭 - there's just one thing on top of another. We're going to start peeling off a layer for Jon. But first, a flashback to deal with.
A screenshot of text reads: Glaive felt pinned to the bed by that observation. He could only nod for a moment, as the memories rose unbidden in his head. Jon watched him go pale, and his pupils contract sharply, as if staring starkly over years and long stretches of pain and fear. Jon had seen that look in other men’s faces before, who had also come back from the wars. He reached out, and he clasped his left hand firmly around the top of Glaive’s right bicep, and he squeezed, hard, against the muscle. Then he shook Glaive’s upper arm slightly, as if Jon were a strange kind of terrier, taking hold not hard enough to hurt, but to bring his target very much back to him, and back to his senses. Glaive gasped. He brought his gaze back to Jon. Jon waited till he saw Glaive’s pupils refocus on his face, and widen, taking Jon back in, drinking in his expression. Only then did he let go. “I’m here, and you are too,” he said. “Not in Flayton. Here in bed. Safe. With me.” Glaive drew in a shaky breath, and then he nodded again at Jon. He couldn’t speak for a long moment. Then he said, “Thank you, Jon.” Jon’s gaze was level now. “If you want to tell me, I would like to know.”
November 10, 2025 at 4:38 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Here's Gabe from the WIP, explaining to Hal why the stone circle doesn't want to let him out after he's been letting blood inside it
In the font popularised by Zohran Mamdani, text reads, "The land... Hungers."
November 10, 2025 at 4:06 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Here's Rime from the novella, becoming slightly hysterical about the size of the magical ball of water she was conjuring up for self-cooling purposes
In the font popularised by Zohran Mamdani, text reads: "Size of my own head soon!"
November 10, 2025 at 4:06 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Gonna do some of my favourite short quotes from my books

Here's Will in the duology, after he got a little tipsy and Cal checked with him if he was OK to proceed in bed
In the font popularised by Zohran Mamdani, text reads: "Proceed at Will!"
November 10, 2025 at 4:06 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Here's an example of how it looks in use when browsing via a feed, in case you're curious
A screenshot of the post that begins this thread, as it would appear in my feed when I use the labeler in question. Below my name, and above the text of the post I made, is a small line of text giving the label: "she/her".
November 6, 2025 at 10:25 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Or why Hal starts talking about how it's unconscionable that he let slip his desires, & insists he'll comport himself better going forward, rather than saying: "It was terrible of me to reveal my attraction. I'll behave better in the future."

(Then I chase the speech with action for contrast.)
A screenshot of text reads: “You are my nephew’s tutor. His *beloved* tutor. And I would not wish to do anything to jeopardise that. Your relationship to him is paramount. And my family… We owe you a debt for your loyal and brave service to Baldric. A debt we cannot repay, given the harm to your own health and prospects. It was unconscionable of me to let slip my… My desires. I shall not do so again. I shall not impose on you that way. You are my employee. And deeply valued. I would that you could know that you are safe with us, with me, Master Martingale. I shall comport myself better going forward in that regard.” Hal finally wound himself up. He was flustered, and miserable, and he had dropped his hands back to his lap and entwined his fingers, clenching his palms together as if trying to hold himself in check. Gabe had listened. He had listened carefully. To this man who wasn’t Clay. Who he realised had a horror of being like Clay. Who had probably A screenshot of text reads: developed that horror from being trammeled by Clay, and then seeing the results of Clay trammeling everyone around him. Including Baldric. Including Gabe. And now, suddenly, Gabe knew what he wanted to do. His body knew it. Listening to Hal, his mind knew it too, and had finally aligned itself with his body, so that with a slightly dizzying rush he felt both united in himself and somehow freed, as the conflict in him resolved itself. He reached out with his fingers – his twisted fingers, stamped on and broken by Clay – and he touched them to Hal’s hands, clenched together, and he felt Hal jump at the contact. A big powerful man, reacting powerfully to Gabe’s slightest touch. Hal’s eyes immediately went to his, in shock, as Gabe slowly drew Hal’s hands apart.
November 5, 2025 at 4:31 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
... or else they're slipping into something more elaborate & formal as they grapple with conveying their romantic feelings. Which is why Glaive starts begging Jon's patience & describing himself as recalcitrant and a frustraing interlocutor, rather than saying: "Sorry. I know I'm winding you up!"
A screenshot of text reads: Glaive shook his head in frustration. He felt then, that he both wanted to say, and feared to say what was on his mind. He was exhausted, and he really didn’t think he could go further now. He was also feeling asked after, deeply, by Jon, and inside him was a tangled ball of feelings about that, as much desire as reluctance, to unravel himself under Jon’s questing, probing attention. He wanted to curl up and hide. He wanted to open himself up. He wanted Jon to pry it out of him somehow. And all of those things were equally true. Glaive hunted around for words, and then he said, “I realise I am likely to be a frustrating interlocutor in this regard. But… But I asked you to speak to me as you wish. Exactly as you wish. And you are doing so. And even if… Even if I do not find myself in a position to make a good, or a clear response now. I… I thank you for doing that. Jon. I… I thank you, and I wish you would not stop. Even if I prove… Even if I prove recalcitrant. I can only beg your patience.” Jon looked at him then, and there was such a mixture of desire and frustration on his face, that Glaive could barely stand to meet his eyes. But he made himself do it, blushing hotly all the while.
November 5, 2025 at 4:31 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
When I think about why my older adult characters fairly often enter a stylised, formal mode of speech when discussing romantic feelings with each other, I suspect it's because I read TH White's The Once and Future King when I was an impressionable kid. This kind of thing would happen in that book:
A screenshot of text reads: The Queen took his bare hand. The gauntlet was off. ‘Are you sorry,’ she asked, ‘because you have done so well?’ He was silent. ‘I don’t care about him,’ said the Queen, blushing. ‘I only thought it would be better not to have a scandal.’ ‘I don’t want a scandal any more than you do.’ ‘You must do as you please,’ said the Queen. ‘Fight him if you like. You are the one to choose.’ Lancelot looked at her. A screenshot of text reads: ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘so ye be pleased, I care not. As for my part, ye shall soon please.’ He always fell into the grandeur of the High Language, when he was moved. A screenshot of text reads: Later, Sir Lancelot whispered: ‘I wish I might come in.’ ‘I would as fain.’ ‘Would you, madam, with all your heart that I were with you?’ ‘Truly.’ The last iron bar, as he broke it out, cut the brawn of his hand to the bone.
November 5, 2025 at 4:31 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Jon has to be v clear in himself what he's after. Fortunately he's the kind of person who knows his own mind, knows what he wants. & he's capable of being persistent. Because otherwise, they might be kissing deliciously (dammit!), but Jon would still be no closer to getting to know Glaive properly.
A screenshot of text reads: His heart thudded in his chest, and he knew his eyes were falling to Glaive’s lips. He saw Glaive’s eyes drop to his own, and for a long moment Jon yearned to lean towards Glaive and kiss him. To press his lips to Glaive’s in a long slow, sweet sip, as much as his burn-tightened mouth would allow him to take in of the other man. He could even believe, in that moment, that Glaive would want him to do it. That he wouldn’t mind Jon’s constricted mouth on his own. That he might even be hungry for it. The feeling was intoxicating. Dizzying. But they were outdoors in full view of anyone who might come riding down the same road. And Jon had a question he was trying to get answered by Glaive. He reluctantly forced himself to pull his eyes away, and to glance at the horses and the road instead. He made himself cool his own blood down, even though he had a small fear inside him that maybe if he went on asking questions he might drive Glaive away. And then there would be no kissing at all. But he reminded himself this was a complicated man, and he wanted to do more than just bed him. He wanted to get to know him – if for no other reason than to bed him properly, and thoroughly, and hopefully without hurt or regrets for either of them afterwards, no matter how it turned out in the end. So Jon cooled his blood down for now, and he persisted.
November 2, 2025 at 5:17 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
#WIPSnips - costume vibes

Zel tells her best friend, Swift, and her lover, Lia, about what it was like for Zel & her twin brother, Thorn, to be plucked from the streets by their father, the River King. It's less Cinderella and more like donning a costume

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
A sceenshot of text reads: “Then suddenly we had to be outfitted in fine clothing. You would have thought it would be exciting, but it didn’t feel real. And none of it felt like me. I felt like an imposter. Or like I was being asked to pretend at something I didn’t even like or trust. “‘Here, wear this beautiful dress because now you’re a Princess, and that’s what Princesses do.’ But after what we had been through, and what we had seen happen to our mother, neither Thorn nor I had much estimation for people of rank. “But it was impressed upon us that we had do it because it befitted our station now. Our father the River King required that we do so. “So I treated it like a task instead. Like something else I had to learn. It’s another uniform to wear of kinds. Though one I feel holds less meaning than our apprentice robes, because those are actually a path I would like to choose.”
October 28, 2025 at 3:05 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
#WIPSnips - "terrifying" replaces "blood-curdling"

From Book 2 of the duology. Swift comforts Thorn over a regular nightmare. Not the one where he took a beating protecting his twin sister, Zel. But the one where he and Zel violently lost their mother.

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
A screenshot of text reads: Her eyes darkened with fresh pain for him now, for the loss of his mother. For him and Zel having to watch her being killed. She leaned towards him, and wrapped her arms around him. She held him, until she felt his breathing and his heart rate slowly ease. After a while, when her embrace had comforted him, when his thoughts had slowly grown clearer as the nightmare receded, he said, “It’s not that it wasn’t terrifying or painful being beaten that day on the docks. I feared I would be killed. And you’ve seen the scars… They came close to it. But I think I don’t have nightmares about that as often as the one about my mother, because I could save Zel. I could take action and do something, even if I got badly hurt. But with my mother, I couldn’t do anything at all. The helplessness was terrible. All Zel and I could do was to hold onto each other and watch.” He swallowed hard for a moment. “I think we’ve been holding onto each other all the way since then. I think without each other we’d be… I don’t know what we’d be, but probably not as well as we are now. Saving her on the docks that day, I also saved myself. Even if I couldn’t save my own skin.”
October 27, 2025 at 4:44 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
#WIPSnips - substituting "head" for "hat"

They haven't seen each other for a year, ever since Gabe was dismissed for trying to intervene when Baldric was being maltreated. Baldric blamed himself for what happened to his tutor. Gabe won't let that stand.

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
A screenshot of text reads: There was a sound from outside the door to the room, a small, smothered note of surprise. Gabe turned, they all turned, and he saw a tall, rangy man in a Cleric’s robe, standing there quietly, who he guessed must be Hal’s younger brother, Glaive. Not least because he was clutching the hand of a thin, very somber-looking boy, who had made the noise in his throat, and who now turned with a look of shock towards Gabe. And then he had dropped Glaive’s hand, and his little face was opening up, his eyes were widening and filling with tears. His mouth gaped and wobbled, and he gasped, “*Gabe!*” And then Gabe was kneeling down on the floor, and he had opened his arms, he had spread them wide, and Baldric ran into them, flinging himself at Gabe. His small, hot body pressed itself into Gabe’s chest, and he felt Baldric trembling against him, heaving with sobs, his tears soaking into Gabe’s shirt front. And then Gabe was hugging him, and soothing him, rubbing a hand between Baldric’s shaking shoulder blades, and explaining that it wasn’t his fault, none of it was Baldric’s fault, because it had been Gabe’s own choice to intervene, and Baldric wasn’t to blame himself for anything that the adults had done between them. “Do you hear me?” Gabe asked him intently. “This wasn’t your fault.” “But your fingers… Your *fingers*!” Baldric cried in a muffled voice, his head buried against Gabe’s shirt.
October 26, 2025 at 6:20 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
#WIPSnips - substituting "chance" for "lottery"

You might imagine a Cleric would like to bless a meal. It's what Hal thinks his younger brother wants. What no one else knows is Glaive is in an on-going crisis of faith (because the Church is homophobic.)

#WriteSky #WritingPrompts #WritingCommunity
A screenshot of text reads: To his surprise, Glaive looked flustered. “I… I… Do you want me to?” His brother asked him. “Me? I just thought you might want to, is all. I don’t mind on my own account. Isn’t that what you Clerics do at mealtimes?” “I… I could. That is…” Glaive was trailing off uncertainly. Jon was watching this exchange in surprise. Who heard of a Cleric who was tentative when given the chance to pray over anything? In his admittedly not very deep experience of the Church and its adherents, he would have though the problem would be to get a Cleric to stop praying, rather than to start. Glaive was blushing now, and of all things, looking unhappy. He must have caught Jon’s look of surprise, alongside Hal’s. He shut his mouth. “Very well,” he said stiffly. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.
October 25, 2025 at 6:32 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
#WIPSnips - substituting "entire" for "total"

Hal has barely begun to intuit the terrible legacy left behind by his deceased older brother, Clay. But now that he has to fill Clay's shoes, he's discovering that everyone reacts to him in a certain way.

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
A screenshot of text reads: Hal strode back towards the housekeeper and cook instead, and now Jane Fortwright looked at him said in a low voice, “My Lord, the housemaids, kitchen staff and other women were too busy preparing the Hall for your arrival to greet you today. I beg your pardon.” She bowed very deeply, and the cook joined her. Lowther had gone very still. It was subtly discourteous, Hal knew, not that he cared for this line up at all personally. But it was an omission. Anyone not urgently occupied should have been here. This must have been what Lowther and the Fortwright sisters were arguing about earlier. He thought about the housemaid in the window who had withdrawn when sighted. And then he thought about how all the farmers, townsfolk and villagers had hidden their women and children as the coach went by. His stomach dropped inside him. He felt bile rise in his throat. He bit down a curse as he intuited something of the legacy Clay had left behind him in the expectations of his people. “Very well,” he said instead, deliberately making his voice calm and pleasant, his face open and unclouded. “I trust you will thank them for me later, for their diligence and care.” Both Fortwright sisters suddenly looked nonplussed, as if they had been about to walk into a gale, steeling themselves to be buffeted and then the wind had dropped entirely. “Yes, my Lord,” Jane said slowly, sounding surprised.
October 24, 2025 at 9:01 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
#WIPSnips - gradient

Walking up a hill together isn't just walking up a hill together. It's also Gabe slowly working out that although Hal looks like a larger, stronger version of Hal's abusive, bullying older brother, Clay, Hal's behaviour is different.

#WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
A screenshot of text reads: Either way, it was an impressive walk up the hill. It would have been even more impressive, Gabe thought to himself, if he hadn’t had to stop for coughing fits along the way, because the gradient made him slightly breathless, and that set off his lungs. Hal had watched him unhappily each time he went into a bout of coughing. He was obviously restraining himself from hovering, which Gabe was glad about, because he felt rueful enough about holding them both up. Even though Hal evidenced no impatience whatsoever, but simply waited each time – another thing that quietly worked away at Gabe’s sense of how he looked like Clay.
October 24, 2025 at 12:01 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
#WIPSnips - charge

Gabe is the final main character to be introduced, some chapters after the rest. I needed to quickly establish the kind of person he is for the reader. A good way to do that would be via his relationship with his former charge.

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A screenshot of text reads: “The new Lord, Hal, would like you to return as Baldric’s tutor.” “*What?*” “Baldric mentioned how you were dismissed. And why. It’s clear that he misses you. In fact, from the way he talks about it, the little lad seems to blame himself for your being discharged—” “It wasn’t his fault!” Gabe exclaimed, startled and appalled. “It was my decision to defy his father. He was only *eight*. An *eight*-year-old! If he had been kept in there longer without water, he might have *died*. As it was, he was emerging weak and staggering, and at least once he had passed out. I thought it was a near thing then. And he was in my charge. I had to do something. But it was my decision, not his. Not his fault!” His treacherous lungs gave out because his breath was coming faster now, and he coughed so deeply, with such retching force that for a dizzying moment he thought he might vomit as he doubled over.
October 23, 2025 at 4:43 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
#WIPSnips - second

Speaking of world building earlier, the origin of a place name, and the working title of my WIP, "Westmarch".

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A screenshot of text reads: “It used to be ‘Westmarsh’,” Hal told him, making his face and voice open. “But then the land was reclaimed, and the marsh reduced. And other ancestors did as my father did, and sent their second sons to the military. They retained the favour of the Crown that way, which might otherwise have had its nose put out of joint by the rising of those Lords up the ranks.” Hal did win a wry smile from Jon at this mention of politics. “And the name shifted and changed accordingly. So now we’re Westmarch.” “Now *you’re* Westmarch,” Jon said then. And Hal started slightly, remembering himself and his new role again.
October 22, 2025 at 1:39 AM