Reposted by C Alan Morgan
C Alan Morgan(he/him)
@c-alan-morgan
I’ll think of something later
That feeling when you have a dread fear of the dentist, and you have to have a root canal.
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2The pellet with the poison’s in the vessel with the pestle; the chalice from the palace has the brew that is true. Now, get the fuck out of my brain!
I don’t need a dominatrix to fulfill some unspoken emotional need or repressed desire for kinky, psudeo-sexual gratification. No. I need a dominatrix who will make me sit down and fucking write. Though it would be nice if she dressed in leather, spiked boots, librarian glasses, carried a riding crop, a red pen for editing, and spoke with a posh British accent. The more I think about it, the more I realize this could be an untapped market.
People may talk about how the world is separated by politics, culture, music, fandom or nationality, but I believe the biggest thing dividing humanity is our Individual preferences in baked goods. There are two basic types of people in this world of ours: Cake people and Pie people. To which tribe do you belong? Speaking for myself, I am a pie person. If given a choice between the platonic piece of cake and the platonic piece of pie—I’m taking the pie. There are however three notable exceptions to that rule: Tres Leche Cake, Black Forest Cake, and my mom’s homemade Pig Pickin’ Cake, which is to this day one of my top three favorite desserts of all time. The other two being my mom’s Peach Cobbler (Pie Adjacent) and her Banana Puddling. Edit to add: For purposes of this discussion New York Cheesecake is counted as a pie.
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Well, this is the most frightening thing I’ve seen on my FB feed, like, ever. I guess we all live in the Republic of Gilead now.
Reposted by C Alan Morgan
Talk in the farmhouse’s cozy kitchen turned, as it did most mornings, to whatever VFW drama had unfolded the night before. They traded stories over mismatched mugs: the drunk mortal who’d gotten handsy with Riley and been thrown out on his ear, which Einherjar had driven Old Bill home after last call, and the latest round in Milligan’s ongoing feud with his two-time ex-wife, Sharlene. With the exception of Dakota, third of the Nine and responsible for running Odin’s Hall while the two eldest were on tour, not a single Valkyrie was happy with the new schedule she’d posted. The twins were especially sore about it, stuck working both the Wednesday‑night all‑you‑can‑eat spaghetti dinner and the Friday‑night fish fry. Screw that. Carrie-Ann spoke up and told them they should be grateful they weren’t working Karaoke Tuesdays, and that she’d gladly work every Friday from now to Ragnarök if it meant she never had to hear Ivar Hoarbeard try to belt out Friends in Low Places ever again.
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3I’m starting to realize why outlining a story is so important. This whole stream-of-consciousness, make-it-up-as-I-go-along thing I’ve got going on, does not a cohesive narrative make.
Reposted by C Alan Morgan
Three Puddles Late 💡×3
a fairytale loosely inspired by this picture i found on old world illustrations
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5Explain to me why, why I can imagine a scene in my head in its near totality: characters, setting, dialogue - everything but the moment I go to write it down, I loose all cognitive function?
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1Good morning. Soda Pop Falls Sody Pop Falls Which do you like better as a natural feature in a rural Appalachian fantasy setting?
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5…despite Misti-Fae packing enough food in her Yeti to last a week—never mind the two days they were actually camping—they still had to make an emergency stop at the Kroger in Baldur’s Crossing, because, as any mom will tell you, no meal plan survives first contact with a pair of seven-year-olds, Dwarven or otherwise. Lexi and Livi, of course, wanted Hawaiian chicken—and they were adamant that only pineapple rings would do. Cubes and crushed were completely unacceptable. Misti-Fae didn’t know which was stranger: that the twins thought canned pineapple counted as camping food, that any Dwarf would prefer chicken to “red meat off the bone”—roast elk, in this case—or that she—a grown-ass Valkyrie—was letting herself be culinarily bullied by a pair of pint-sized dwarflings. 🤷 I suck at this whole writing thing…
Reposted by C Alan Morgan
PSA: I just saw Andrew Tate in my people I follow/subscribed list over on Substack. To be clear I would never, ever, not in a million fucking years follow that redpill-scumbag-POS. I blocked him. But how he got on my follow/subscribed list I do not know. So if you’re on Substack check your follows/subscriptions to make sure Substack isn’t auto following/subscribing to him on your behalf.
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2The next chapter of my story opens with the three main characters sitting around a campfire talking about things that 18 to 20 year old kids from rural Appalachia talk about round a campfire. The problem here is that I, a man in his mid-fifties, have no idea what kids that age actually talk about.
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3Reposted by C Alan Morgan
Muscadine could be an unincorporated community within Midgard County. It could be the location of the Shapiro homestead maybe? That’s a thought.
I had the weirdest dream. It was about a haunted house located somewhere called Muscadine County. That’s an amazing damn place name. But is it located in Appalachia or Florida? IDK? 🤷♂️
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1I had the weirdest dream. It was about a haunted house located somewhere called Muscadine County. That’s an amazing damn place name. But is it located in Appalachia or Florida? IDK? 🤷♂️
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