Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈
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woldry.bsky.social
Eric Woldry (he/him) 🌈
@woldry.bsky.social
3.3K followers 1.9K following 3.6K posts
Librarian, cat papa, husband, invisibly disabled, ancient theater kid, AuDHD gaymer out & proud in rural US for decades. Obsesses over historical linguistics.

Author of Clueless Cabot (as André D. Michaels) & misc fantasies under way.
Website: woldry.com
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woldry.bsky.social
Correspondence from "We Who Walk in Shadow."

No "mire," so I went with "muck".

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters 🌈✒️
My lord (I know, I know, I’m not allowed to call you that anymore) — “The Mother” could mean many things. Mother of vinegar, mother of saltpeter, and the prodigiously foul-mouthed folk heroine “Mother Muck” from bogling tales all come to mind. And no doubt you’ve ruled out old Avikella, the Wingèd Mother Herself? Or Sintenefrae, the Moonly Mother, who in the end—lucky deity!—welcomes all elves into Her bright embrace? But with regard to an actual person a sylvan child might address as such, I have not come upon an answer as yet in any lorebook here. It’s not typical of Scathwood customs, which you probably know are infamously informal. More context might help. I won’t mind digging further, though. The librarian is alluring enough to keep me motivated to return. She has the most beguilingly chilly elven demeanor. And you know me… my lord. — M.V.
September 26, 2025 at 12:47 PM
woldry.bsky.social
No "flurry," but how about "blizzard"?

From "Fables of Fire," my cozy small-town gothic supernatural #thriller inspired by Hansel and Gretel and chock full of queer rep and fairy-tale allusions.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FairyTaleRetellings
Though she needed the business, Peg was grateful for the blizzard. Sitting on the high stool at the wooden work table, she pondered the model cabin built from stale bread and week-old cookies—the only disorder she allowed herself amid the stark white cabinets and stainless steel of the bakery kitchen. For weeks now, she’d tried to reconstruct the cabin entirely from a memory nibbled away by years and yearning.
September 22, 2025 at 11:42 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From "Fables of Fire," a small-town gothic supernatural #thriller, inspired by Hansel and Gretel and chock full of queer rep and fairy-tale allusions.

(Rhodie calls Jonny "Dudley" because he's a goody-two-shoes like Dudley Do-Right.)

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
Jonny fired up the engine. “Where to?” “I dunno. I can never afford restaurants. What’s good?” “Just got paid. Reason I waited, actually. But your choice.” He pulled out of the welding-shop lot. “Money burning a hole in your pocket, huh? Let’s see—how swank can we go?” “Swank as swank can be. Got a lot of catching up to do.” “Just so you know, I’m not looking for a blazing romance, okay?” “Uh… I don’t know what to say to that.” Rhodie laughed. “Still the same old Dudley. Always so easy to lead astray. How about the Gallery Kitchen?” “That hipster joint?” She snorted. “About as hipster as your sister’s bakery.” “Peg doesn’t have abstract art up on the wall and serve arugula beans.” “No such thing as arugula beans.” She poked his biceps. “Food’s good there. Overpriced, but that’s capitalism for ya. I eat freegan there sometimes. And I like the art.”
September 13, 2025 at 1:10 PM
woldry.bsky.social
From "Fables of Fire," my cozy small-town gothic supernatural #thriller inspired by Hansel and Gretel and chock full of queer rep and fairy-tale allusions.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FairyTaleRetellings 🌈✒️
“That’s right.” He tried to throw all his defiance into his voice. “Me. Your worst nightmare, poacher.” “I wouldn’t call it a nightmare. But it was pretty sad.” “Stop that! Stop laughing. Where’s your gun?” She lowered her hands. “Where’s yours? And what’s with the tough-guy act? Think you’re in a cop show or something?” He quoted the training manual: “‘Forest rangers are authorized law enforcement.’ So—yeah. I’m a cop, as far as you’re concerned. Poacher.” “Stop calling me that.” She reached into the poncho. Jonny dove for one of the few remaining snowbanks and covered his head with his hands. He was about to die. When he didn’t, he braved a glance backward. Doubled over with laughter, the woman leaned on her blue-jeaned knee with one hand and held a fancy camera in the other. “You’re no smarter than ever,” she wheezed.
September 12, 2025 at 10:38 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From a backburnered WIP, "The Nowhere Else." Farrell discovers another unexpected card in her tarot deck.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
With this layout, she usually turned over all the cards and then let the whole pattern speak to her. One by one she overturned the cards. Nothing drastic or surprising, and the reading took gradual shape in her Sight as each card showed itself. She turned over the final card. The Drowned Woman. Farrell jumped to her feet as if bitten. She staggered backward, leaned against the tree. Her head swam. Another card she'd never seen before—this one not just unexpected, but horrific, grotesque. It showed a half-rotted corpse in multiple iron chains, sitting at the bottom of an ocean or lake—a scene from some horror story: rotting, multicolored clothes, eye sockets empty, mouth a ragged black oval, head lolling to one side at an angle that couldn't work with a living human. A small red fish nibbled at one of her fingers, and light filtered down from the unseen surface. Farrell could almost feel the current that tugged at the corpse's pale streaming hair.
September 11, 2025 at 10:45 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From "Fables of Fire," my cozy small-town gothic supernatural #thriller inspired by Hansel and Gretel and chock full of queer rep and fairy-tale allusions.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
She stomped off in a new direction. Shit. She’s determined. She stopped, raised her head. “He’s coming, he’s coming,” she muttered. They scurried in front of her. “Who’s coming, Peg?” “He’s dead,” was her only reply. That, and a new direction to stomp in. Well, that’s disturbing. “Okay. Okay,” Tayenn said. “He’s coming. I’ll follow you, okay? In the Jeep. Just follow along the street. You can walk. No pressure. I just wanna make sure you make it h—” A big pickup roared into the parking lot. It headed straight for them.
September 9, 2025 at 10:31 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From my #darkfantasy WIP, "We Who Walk in Shadow" — a party scene.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
“This has the, the wrong name,” said Ellyll. Everyone chuckled. “It’s not supposed to have your name, dear. The idea,” Mirillaure continued, “is to ask a question of the person whose card you hold. Any question at all. And if you yourself are asked a question, you must answer to the best of your ability.” “Must we answer honestly?” “Of course, Laur Cuyeleiva.” The sister feigned indignation. “And once you’ve answered, you exchange cards with the person who asked you. That way, the cards keep changing hands, and you always have a fresh person to ask.” “Won’t that just give me my own name?” “A superb question, Captain Ven,” Mirillaure said. “The cards are enchanted. Once you receive a card, the name will change to someone other than the bearer.”
September 8, 2025 at 1:33 PM
woldry.bsky.social
From a backburnered ghost story set in both the 1920s and 1990s, "Fontaigne's Folly." In the '90s, Ray is showing off the decrepit mansion he bought to his brother Cory and Cory's boyfriend DeWayne.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️
“A catwalk,” said DeWayne. “A catwalk over to that boarded-up window in the folly.” “Bingo.” Ray downed the rest of his beer. “So like I said, we think there might’ve been a speakeasy in the folly. Made sense to connect it to the ballroom right?” DeWayne rested his hand on the crystal doorknob. “Speakeasy.” He heard tinny jazz, women laughing; smelled booze and cigars and sweat; felt a flash of heat on his face. “Whoa, easy there, hon.” Cory caught DeWayne. He hadn’t even realized he was swaying, falling backward. “You okay?” “I—somebody pushed—” DeWayne shook his head. “Just kind of warm in here. Stuffy.” “That it is,” said Ray. “Nobody’s probably been in this room in decades except to dust it. The housekeeper couldn’t keep up with everything, clearly—” He waved at the grimy windows— “but she kept the place dusted.”
September 6, 2025 at 12:32 PM
woldry.bsky.social
From my small-town gothic/supernatural #thriller WIP, "Fables of Fire", inspired by Hansel and Gretel and chock full of queer rep and fairy-tale allusions.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️
Peg sighed inwardly: she’d have to wipe the glass down again. But she wore her broadest smile. “Welcome to Ginger’s Breadhouse! First customer today.” “I love that name.” The woman’s smile alone offset the blizzard roaring outside, and her accent had a French lilt, or maybe French Canadian. “May I get one of those?” “The gingerbread muffins?” Peg opened a bag. “Our specialty! Anything else? Coffee to wash it down, maybe?” She waved toward the self-serve pot in the corner. “Good upsell! I’ll buy some today, but soon you’ll have competition.” “Competition?” Peg lowered a muffin in with tongs and folded the bag primly. “Magic Beans.” Peg tilted her head. “I’m sorry?” “The coffeehouse opening up next door. Magic Beans.”
September 4, 2025 at 4:46 PM
woldry.bsky.social
How about the opening of "Fables of Flame"*?
It's a cozy small-town gothic/supernatural #thriller inspired by Hansel and Gretel & chock full of queer rep & fairy-tale allusions.

* The working title was "The Iron Oven", but I've reconsidered that.

#WritingPrompt 🌈✒️ #WriteSky #FairyTaleRetellings
Though she needed the business, Peg was grateful for the blizzard. Sitting on the high stool at the wooden work table, she pondered the model cabin built from stale bread and week-old cookies—the only disorder she allowed herself amid the stark white cabinets and stainless steel of the bakery kitchen. For weeks now, she’d tried to reconstruct the cabin entirely from a memory nibbled away by years and yearning. She ignored this morning’s newspaper beside it, with its Firefighters Recall Harrowing Night headline and its oft-recycled photo of two sooty children. She knew everything the article would say, and could probably recite all the quotes from memory, though she hadn’t read it.
September 4, 2025 at 4:27 PM
woldry.bsky.social
QTP with an album you'd rate a perfect 10/10 🎶
The cover of the Jackson Browne album "Running on Empty", showing a set of drums sitting on a highway that recedes into the distance below a stark, cloudy sky in a desert landscape.
September 4, 2025 at 10:51 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From a backburnered ghost story, "Fontaigne's Folly", set during two timelines—the late 1920s and the late 1990s.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️
They never took Ace to trial, but everyone whispered about his having murdered his father. I never believed it, of course. I could no more marry a man I thought a murderer than I could murder a man myself. I am not a good woman, but I do have scruples. Ace inherited Herrick Motor Carriages at the same age I was when I married him. We had so much in common, he and I. Orphans both, and wholly devoted to our brothers. And the tender age at which we were both thrust into the adult world—we sympathized. Simpático, as Ernie put it—Hemingway, I mean. Simpático. So I thought I understood him. And Clara, cruel Clara, raised in an orphanage, who raised him—I took pity on him for that. When I met him, the first time I touched him, I saw her, her wicked wicked face, her shrill voice, telling him he would never be good enough. Influenza took her, the great flu. 1918. But when Ace’s temper would flare, I told myself, it isn’t him, it’s Clara, it’s always Clara. And then we had a little Clara of our own. Clara Josette. We called her Clara Jo. But I’m tired now. Come back tomorrow? You’re sweet to visit a lonely old lady, dear.
September 2, 2025 at 10:37 AM
woldry.bsky.social
What fictional character (s) helped inspire your queer awakening?
#queersky

Mike Grell's Warlord, Travis Morgan.
The cover of the comic "The Warlord", issue 34, from DC Comics. The illustration shows a white-haired, bearded muscular man wearing only boots, a loincloth, and chains, standing in a dramatic pose and holding up a longsword in both hands. Lightning appears to be striking the sword. A title scroll reads "Sword of the Sorcerer: A Tale of the Wizardworld." The price is 40¢.
September 2, 2025 at 4:13 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From my #darkfantasy WIP, "We Who Walk in Shadow."

#WritingPrompt 🌈✒️ 🩷⚔️🧙‍♂️
After a few minutes, Lilac spoke again. “I’ve lost family too. Who was it? Grandmother? Friend? Lover?” Borrowsorrow gave her a sharp glance. “My darling,” said Lilac, “I’m probably three hundred years older than you. I’ve grown adept at reading through indirection and metaphor.” Borrowsorrow’s gaze drifted off over the water. “Little brother.” “Oh….” Lilac squeezed the blue webbed hand nearest her. “Oh, my darling.” Borrowsorrow shook her head. “The river moved on. So must I.” “Saying that often enough makes it true, does it? You must teach me this magic.
September 1, 2025 at 11:24 PM
woldry.bsky.social
From a discarded chapter of my #darkfantasy WIP, "We Who Walk in Shadow," where Ehzar, the court mage, reluctantly prepares to summon a demon to eradicate a plague of locusts at the order of her uncle, the prince.

#WIPSnips #WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
She took up the green-brown chalk. It had taken a twelvenight and a half to arrive from Dolvenore. Even the delay had served to defer her uncle’s order this long—despite prolonging the locust plague. But one by one, all of the hard-to-find components of the ritual materialized, and her excuses had run out. She checked and rechecked the diagram in the forbidden book as she drew the elaborate dual sigils on the flagstone—one just big enough for her to stand within, and one far larger. She set up the rest of the ritual: beeswax candles, dyed blue with butterfly pea flowers; shed locust shells, gathered painstakingly from the courtyard to ensure none lacked a wing or even a single leg; incense from seventeen kinds of trees, all at least four hundred years old; spring water from a specific cave in the darkest groves of the Scathwood, gathered at dawn. On and on, assembling them as specified, obsessing over each meticulous detail. The slightest deviation, according to the book, could prevent the summoning from succeeding—or worse, summon the wrong being. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad. Reaching for a demon major, and getting some restless ghost or wandering imp, might be safer than success. Ehzar could hang her head in outward shame and bear the weight of her uncle’s princely fury—gloating inside about evading the worst while trying her best.
September 1, 2025 at 1:57 PM
woldry.bsky.social
From my #darkfantasy WIP, "We Who Walk in Shadow."

Varr Zarzek is a dwarven cleric of Avikella, goddess of mercy. Vilkassuuri is one of Avikella's knights.

Salan is most definitely neither.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters 🌈✒️ 🩷⚔️🧙‍♂️
“By happy coincidence, your brother arrived during a lull in our never-ending war against the drakes.” “Happy coincidence indeed,” said Vilkassuuri. Varr Zarzek raised a finger. “Providence is no coincidence, my friend.” Salan turned around, folded their arms, and looked Zarzek in the eye—not an easy feat, for so tall an elf. “Providence?” Salan scoffed. “I have no faith.” Varr Zarzek raised an eyebrow. “In providence?” “In anything.” Zarzek blinked.
August 31, 2025 at 12:43 PM
woldry.bsky.social
OK, hear me out...A LORD OF THE RINGS remake, but with these two taking the One Ring to Mordor:
Tom and diana, the lead characters from the British sitcom "Waiting for God." Tom wears a fedora and is carrying binoculars. Diana has a skeptical look on her face. They stand outdoors.
August 31, 2025 at 12:15 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From my #darkfantasy WIP, "We Who Walk in Shadow," a reunion between comrades-in-arms, Jad & Kindral, at the wedding of another old comrade, Gath Nuinman.

The Eagles of Avikella are holy knights of the goddess of mercy.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters 🌈✒️ 🩷⚔️🧙‍♂️
“Sisters of the Sword!—Only I’ve forgotten mine. I don’t carry weapons these days.” Kindral looked pointedly at the quarterstaff. “What, this? I have bad knees. You’re an old soldier. You know how it is.” “You were better with a quarterstaff than Gath was with her spear.” Jad chuckled. “Even so, I’ve taken a different path. I’m a monk now, in Ananun.” “You? Religious?” “Now, I didn’t say I was religious. Besides, what about you? Eagle of Avikella.” “You know?” “Nuinnan told me. Both of you, until her leg.” She tapped Kindral’s calf with her quarterstaff. “Only a matter of time. Her wound. My knees. Yours will give out. You’re no spry girl anymore.” Kindral snorted. “I broke his nose for calling me that.” “I remember. That’s when I decided I liked you.”
August 30, 2025 at 11:56 PM
woldry.bsky.social
Peg didn't show up for work at her bakery. Jacqueline investigates.

From "The Iron Oven," a small-town gothic/supernatural #thriller inspired by Hansel and Gretel and chock full of queer rep and fairy-tale allusions.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #fairytaleretellings 🌈✒️
Jacqueline slid one case open and inhaled. Even a day old, the aroma enticed and delighted the senses. She slid it closed without taking any. But why had Peg not been in to box them? It was unprecedented. In the far corner of the store, where the coffee machine had been relegated since the pocket doors were reopened, a red light flickered. The coffee machine was on. It was unlike Peg to forget. Jacqueline strode over and flipped it off. She took the full glass pot, smelling strong and burnt after sitting on all day, and carried it back into the kitchen. She dumped it in the work sink and scrubbed out the pot. As she carried it back out, an empty shelf caught her eye. Peg was tidy, remarkably so. But Jacqueline knew it was rare to find empty shelves in her kitchen. They seemed to fill themselves up as if by magic. She stood and pondered the empty shelf a moment. What had stood there?
August 29, 2025 at 1:24 PM
woldry.bsky.social
From my #darkfantasy WIP, "We Who Walk in Shadow."

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #FantasyWriters #QueerWriters 🌈✒️ 🩷⚔️🧙‍♂️
Ellyll woke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. Oghor rumbled wordlessly. He lay sweating and twitching in the throes of a nightmare. Ellyll laid a hand on Oghor’s broad chest, another on the dreamhemp cord. The tension in Oghor’s body eased, but not wholly. Ellyll bent to kiss his forehead and whispered, “I need to use the necessary.” He pulled on a tunic and hose. Veli made a questioning noise. Ellyll booped his nose. Something tugged at him. Something made him tiptoe down the stairs. No one heard. No one saw. He was very good at sneaking. Shrouded in shadow, he slipped out the front door of the Happy Hippogriff. He forced his gaze skyward. ~We see the same perilous stars~, someone whispered to him. He glanced right and left. No one walked the silent street. ~We are never far apart.~ “You’re part of me,” he said, though there was no one to hear. ~I am. You are my very soul. Come to me.~ He fingered his wooden ring. “I—I can’t. Not yet.” ~Soon.~ “Soon.” ~Promise me.~ Ellyll breathed deep, smelling an unseen blossom. “I promise,” he whispered to the night.
August 28, 2025 at 10:39 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From "We Who Walk in Shadow," my #darkfantasy WIP.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️ 🩷⚔️🧙‍♂️
“Why would a necromancer even have followers?” asked Nevienas. “They think he’s an artist,” said Oghor. “Quiet,” said Vilkassuuri. “Ears open, mouth closed.” Despite his discomfort at being out in the open like this, Ellyll almost grinned. He doubted Oghor often needed to be told to keep quiet. But the elven lieutenant was right. This was a perilous adventure. For all that the Queen herself had charged them, they risked a major breach of diplomacy. If Hezurran’s followers hadn’t abducted elven nobles, the Swan Throne would never have sent a force so deep into slith lands. Not just nobles—children. The memory of Gwynod, Uzbeg, all the others, rose in Ellyll’s mind: what Elorinen had done to them, how many they’d lost before she was stopped.
August 26, 2025 at 11:00 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From "We Who Walk in Shadow," my #DarkFantasy WIP. The realization is about Oghor, who is MC Ellyll's LI.

#WritingPrompt #FantasyWriters 🌈✒️ 🩷⚔️🧙‍♂️
“A moment, Master Dwarf.” Perfirion’s brow furrowed. “Something you said—the demon curses anyone it touches with hunger.” Oghor nodded. “But you were on its back. Did you never touch it?” Oghor’s smirk sent a chill down Kindral’s spine. “The thing about demons: they’re jealous.” Perfirion blenched. The elf could be snobbish, but he was quick on the uptake. Kindral had to respect that. “Jealous?” asked Ellyll. Oghor said, “Can’t be under more than one demon’s curse at a time.” Ellyll blinked. “Oh—OH!” “Dawns the day,” Perfirion said.
August 24, 2025 at 10:45 PM
woldry.bsky.social
From "The Iron Oven," a cozy small-town gothic supernatural #thriller inspired by Hansel and Gretel and chock full of queer rep.

Peg and her brother discuss the upcoming opening of Magic Beans, the coffeehouse next door to Peg's bakery.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts 🌈✒️
“Yeesh. Fireworks?” Jonny shook his head. “In this town?” “She’s new,” said Peg. “She’ll learn.” “You getting along?” “Who? Jacqueline and me? Why wouldn’t we?” “Competition.” Peg shook her head. “We made a deal. Promoting each other’s businesses. Teamwork.” “And you’re okay with her, one door down, selling the same shit you do—” “I do not sell shit.” “Merchandise. Product. Whatever. You sell coffee and snacks. She sells coffee and snacks right next door.” Peg laughed. “We’re hardly the same business. I focus on fine pastries and bread. She might sell like biscotti and the occasional scone. I sell cheapie store-brand packet coffee. She sells top-of-the-line, oh, Bavarian roast or whatever—I don’t know coffee. Or, well, she will sell. Starting in July.” She hesitated. “Besides—I had a—a hunch.” “That Gift of Mom’s?” “Wish I’d never mentioned that.” Peg sighed. “Like a dream. She’s going to be good for business.”
August 24, 2025 at 11:00 AM
woldry.bsky.social
Reposted with alt text, and I agree with all of this.
Politicians should be forced to retire at 77 - the average American lifespan. Pay should be capped at $60k - the average American salary. No more healthcare either. Pay $500 a month for insurance like the rest of us. If they want to represent the US, they should live like us.
August 24, 2025 at 12:51 AM
woldry.bsky.social
From my #darkfantasy WIP, "We Who Walk in Shadow." An old acquaintance of Oghor's shows up who knew him when he went by a different name.

#WIPSnips #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts
“A friend of Oghor’s, hm? So are we. I’m Kindral.” The sylvan turned a drunken squint on her. “Friends o’ whose? Don’t know any ogres, do I?” “Oghor,” said the Captain. “The dwarf there on your left?” He looked back and forth between her and Oghor. “Either I’m drunk or she is. Or could be us both, couldn’t it? This, is not—hic!—an ogre. No horns.” He waved vaguely at Oghor’s forehead, and clapped Oghor on the shoulder.
August 23, 2025 at 6:39 PM