r/fantasywriters

"Desperate for money after her father becomes stricken with an illness, Alice becomes entangled in the deadly games of the elites. The target painted on her back may not be worth the risk, but fame and glory are too enticing for Alice."

I also have this version, which I don't feel too strongly about, however it may give a different perspective.

"Alice is thrust into a struggle for money and survival after her father becomes afflicted with a debilitating illness. Dreams of fame and glory, once thought to be impossible, become feasible with the formation of a partnership."

I have been thinking it over for about two days now, and for some reason it just isn’t clicking in my head. It’s always a challenge to distill your entire story into two sentences. How would you improve this logline?

Hello, fellow writers! I'm Italian, so I apologize for every mistake in my post in advance.

As per my title, I'm working on a big plot point, but I don't know enough ✨science✨ to be sure I'm doing things right. I'm too much of a Literature student to know STEM.

But, silly me, I decided to write a historical fantasy with a bit of steampunk, and one of the main charachters is a doctor. Smart move, eh?

Anyway. this is the thing: the villain in my novel is a dryad who is posing as Goddes for a very twisted cult. It's a very secluded community in a small village, with very strict rules for its members. One of those rules is that only girls can serve the Goddes. They are personally chosen by the Goddes as soon as they are born and raised in a secluded place. Their appearence changes so the family will never know who is their daughter, and they are named after the flower they resemble.

The girls have a lot of strict rules to follow (how much and what they can eat, how they can spend their time, where they can go, how they can dress, and so on), and they are mostly brainwashed by the adults who raise them. And to be extra-sure that the girls don't disobay, the Goddess writes on their backs a very twisted magic that works as a list of rules to follow. If they disobey, the magic makes them sick or (in the worst case scenario) punishes them killing innocents around them.

I'm not going too deep into this because is not the point.

The thing is, the dryad wants to escape the tree, because she was sealed hundreds of hears ago into it, and she's not happy about it. So she's harvesting these girls to breed The Ultimate Vessel. Until now, when she possesses a girl, the body can't accept her for long, because she's a plant and they are humans. So she's trying to make the girls the most plant-like she can.

And here is the thing.

When the girls reach adulthood (21 years old), they have this ritual and start and phisically change. Their skin resemble a tree, their hair look like leaves, and so they leave their flower name for a tree name. This is on the surface. On the deeper level, they lose attachement for the other girls (even if they loved their sisters up to two minutes ago) and start to live for the Goddess and the goddess only.

Now, my main characters (the protagonist is one of the girls, and she has the help of this doctor who escaped the cult many years before her) had the chance to capture one of these tree-women, and they try to study her body because they want to reverse the process and save her. They have access to medicine knowledge and equipment from XIX century (the novel is set in 1851, so I'd stretch the steampunk up to a few decades later), blood magic (for healing), and maybe a bit of alchemy.

I need a bit of help to make this sound plausible, because I have a few ideas on what the dryad may have done to this woman, but I don't know if this can work.

To be crystal clear, the goddess doesn't care if the woman has health problem because of her experiments. She wants the vessel, and if one or many suffer in the process, so be it.

So I thought that she messes up with all she can. She turns off the reproductive system, because these women will never use it, and plants don't reproduce like mammals. She destroys lungs, because plants uses leaves to breathe. Under the barks-skin, probably there is no more blood, but... sap? (Sorry, I'm not sure if that's the right word.)

Sadly, I can't go further, so I'd really appreciate your help.

ok genuine question

does anyone else find this whole thing kinda.. lonely?

like, i love writing. it's the thing i come back to no matter what. but the actual doing of it is hours alone in your own head, and then when you come up for air there's nobody around who knows what you've been doing in there. you can't really explain it to people who don't write. "i spent four hours figuring out what one character would order at a restaurant" is not a sentence normal people accept.

i'm not looking for sympathy lol. i just want to know where everyone else is. like, where do writers actually hang out and talk to each other in 2026? not the big subs, those don't count, you don't know anyone there. somewhere smaller. a discord, a forum, anything.

dropping this ina few communities, drop your spots please. i just want to know the room isn't empty

Currently working on a scifi/fantasy series. I've written nearly 15 full chapters, but upon reflection have found that almost all of the characters lack depth. And that includes my primary protagonists and antagonists. A sad discovery!

I'm pausing on narrative for the moment (I have the main plot points planned for a few books, so feel good about where I am) and instead plan to prioritize my writing time focusing on building out the world and characters in more depth.

Have you had success with any methods regarding character development? Do you have templates that you like for character building or character sketches? What do you focus on to make them feel "real" and three dimensional?

I have my entire story outlined, my characters created, world built, etc, but I can’t figure out how to start and a big reason is I can’t decide which perspective to use.

I heard you’re supposed to use first person for more character driven stories so you can really see inside their heads. And you’re supposed to use third person limited for more story driven plots so you can get glimpses in other people’s minds and have a more broad view of what’s going on.

As a brief overview, my story has two central characters. They were childhood friends before war drove them apart. I want to follow both of them, as I thought it would be cool to have opposite arcs: as one character gets better, one gets worse until they hit rock bottom. That’s when they confront one another again. So, I guess there’s basically two plots, one about the internal and personal stories between these two characters and one about the external and continental war that’s going on.

I know that people generally like third person limited way more than first, and that first person is heavily used for YA novels, while the former is used for adult fiction.

Idk. I know I shouldn’t base it off what others like, but I don’t even know myself. Any tips?

Hi everyone. :)

I'm a writer working on a mystical fantasy and have been searching for books that are pure fantasies set in space (ie those having no modern tech and which are not necessarily beholden to laws of physics) and not had much luck.

Why are pure fantasies set in space so rare? People often cite Star Wars, but I'm not looking for science fantasies but pure fantasies. The cosmos seems like a great setting for the often grand themes that fantasy contends with.

Yet it seems like once we get off the planet, we mostly have books that have largely scientific conceptions of the universe instead of those that largely toss those away in favor of magic.

Yes, I know sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic etc, but I'm looking for fantasy books that are mostly devoid of any references to modern science or tech. Am I only one who would love to read such a book?

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Thanks and hope you have a great day!

Hi everyone. I got some small issues on two things in my writing:

(1) filters: as if/as though/seem/like.

I might be using too much of these in my writing, so i was wondering should I fix it? I heard that filter words like these kills the immersion, for example:

"She tied her shoelaces as if it was the only thing that mattered."

should I change the above sentence to something like, i don't know, "She tied her shoelaces, wrapping slowly, weaving every loop..."

(2) POV head-hopping.

So basically I write in third person limited POV, and i understand that you could show the POV character's actions and thoughts, but you could only perceive the outer stuff of other characters. So I have this specific sentence:

"He (main POV) met her (other char) dreadful eyes."

Does this count as head-hopping? I mean, he should not be able to know that her eyes are dreadful, right? If I were gonna abide to the show-not-tell rule, I might change this to something like: "Her eyes looked away, her lips shivering." But this is also something I'm not sure, because the latter "show", can be interpreted as many emotions, like fear, rage, anxious, thrill even, so I'm torn at this.

Let me know what you guys think. Or maybe I'm just not thinking right...

...An edit. The above "dreadful" should be "fearful". So my question was about whether the main pov could perceive "fear"

For the past 3 weeks I have started writing my fantasy novel I’m 17 and a senior in highschool. I spent so many years world building and thinking about my characters but never started writing. I’m on chapter 7 about 14440 words so at. And I find myself constantly cycling into constant rereading and editing every chapter I make. I feel like I never have enough words and I constantly compare it to the poppy war. How do I avoid these constant rewrite cycles and push through my draft. If any of you guys would like to read what I have so far I’d love to share the doc with you! The premise of the book follows Adrian Marseilles the daughter of the Tzar of The Iron Empire. It basically takes place in this worlds equivalent of the 1800’s years ago there was the libertas war a global spanning war fighting for a landmass at the center of the planet. After this war all dragons were killed and the divine arts along with them. (Divine arts are the magic system which are directly tied to the dragons) The Iron Empire. Ow creates elemental weapons to wage warfare and seek to restart there campaign for libertas. Adrian herself is someone seeking to end war and replace the Iron Enpire with something “better” I had a really hard time trying to explain the plot🤣

The title isn't set in stone its just a placeholder.

Im looking for some feedback about the vibe and maybe the pace of this segment of my story. This my first time posting here so I hope it is formatted and edited enough ive been going over this little snippet for a few days while not stumbling through world building hell.

What kind of information are you able to get or infer?

Do the decisions and words ive chosen make sense? (Example: my choice to not start using quotation marks regularly until the first time Sam speaks)

Does the pacing so far feel appropriate?

Thank you for any responses or criticisms offered this is my first attempt at trying to write more than a short story or concept outside of a D&D game since ive been out of high school. I have tried i think fairly successfully to not let any of my gaming roots bleed into my writing/story.

You know it's odd to think back on my first encounter with it. The excitement I felt when I saw that shooting star light up the night sky for just that slightest moment. It hadn't been dark for long and my father was just getting home. I remember asking him if he saw it to and asking him come check it out with me. I remember being so damned excited that the exhaustion my father clearly wore from work that day didn't matter to me at all. He said he would come with me to check it out because he knew I would've gone on my own if he didn't. 

I wish I had never taken him there, I wish that stupid thing never came out of the sky. We went to see it and as we got closer you could see it fairly clearly, it looked like nothing you would expect to survive falling all the way to earth. It was just a big old nasty root ball looking thing. 

Of course, like the young dumb over curious kid I was I wanted to touch it. My dad knew that it was a bad idea and warned me not to but of course I didn’t listen. First I poked it with a stick I picked up on the outside edges of the surprisingly small crater it left when it crashed into the ground. Then of course I touched it, I had to, or so I thought. It was warm, but not fell from the sky warm. It should have burned me or even been smoldering but it wasn't. It was just warm, maybe a little steamy? I honestly don't remember that part very well. It was sort of slimy and similar to some trees if you strip off their bark.

Before I got the chance to touch much more of it though my dad pulled me away and he told me that he wanted me to step back towards the edge of the crater stating he didn't know why but he had an uneasy feeling in his gut. Now I knew my dad well enough to know that if he says something about his gut I should listen, we always trust our gut, unfortunately mine hadn't developed yet or so he used to joke. Trusting his gut is what made the next choice he made a little odd though I still dont know why he did it. For some reason he chose to touch it himself, no stick, no testing, just skin to “Root Ball” and unlike when I touched it and it didn't react. This thing swallowed him or at least that's the best way I can describe it.

Two little rootlike arms burst out from the root ball grabbing him faster than my eyes or his muscles could even react and before either of us knew it he was pulled into that thing. He was gone just like that. The man who raised me, who was only there due to my childish whims, was gone in an instant. I absolutely lost my shit and panicked. First I tried in vain to punch that dumb root ball until it let him go. It didn't even react while I sat there beating on it in tears. When it finally set in that nothing was happening I ran as fast as I could home. 

I had to, I had to find safety. I have never been so scared in my life, I ran the better part of a couple of miles at a pace no child should ever be able to. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea at the time but I hid in a little hideaway my father had built into our house for me in case any intruders should come to the house. I hid there until I fell asleep I assume after the panic died down and I crashed from the adrenaline dump. It was just him and I there, I didn't have any siblings and unfortunately my mother passed shortly after my birth.

When I first woke up the next morning I remember hearing the front door close the same way it has every day for as long as I can remember. I wondered if it could be him yu know. Maybe I had another nightmare, I probably had a nightmare. Nothing I saw made sense to me. So I, maybe foolishly, crawled out of that little hiding spot my father built, to see, and there he was, like nothing happened, not a scratch on him. Home at the same time he is every morning after picking up some eggs from the neighbors. 

I remember running over and jumping on him and hugging him in a way I always should have but never did. I remember him catching me and spinning a little to slow my momentum and him hugging me back so tightly and asking me if I had another nightmare. I remember confessing my “nightmare” to him and him comforting me about it, him telling me he loved me and that everything would be alright, him kissing my forehead like he did every time really anything happened.

It truly breaks my heart to think about the fact that my father was likely already gone, and it was likely, no not likely, it was entirely my fault. He would have never been there had I not asked him to be. 

“Now you stop that Root you know if it hadn't happened to your dad or you it would've happened to someone else” Sam Said as the eggs on the pan popped grease all over the wood stove. For a moment we sat in silence mostly because I knew Sam was right. It wasn't my fault, it just sucks that it happened in the first place and that my father is gone. 

It's been more than a decade now and not a day goes by that I don't miss him. After a fairly brief moment Sam spoke up and asked me “The eggs are almost done, do you think you can eat right now?” I responded by saying “You know me I'll never pass up a meal especially not eggs and rice, it reminds me too much of everything before all of this”. 

A little bit of salt on a couple of eggs fried in butter placed on top of some freshly cooked rice just felt like home to me. It was the only little piece of home I had left after leaving it.

So I've been seeing this trend in stories whether they are popular or not. Romance being the main focus of the plot is one of the hardest things to do, because it doesn't focus on action stakes and rather emotional stakes which is easier said than done.

So far i have tried for my story all I got is that a man has a dream of a woman akd theyre in love but he only sees her silhouette and when he wakes up hes like "who was that?" And after he kept on having the dreams, he began to say "fuck it" and try to find her.

And at the end of the story they find each other and she has been dreaming about him as well but thats where the issue kicks in. I got point A and point B and nothing in the middle for that. Thats the hard part. Cause I cant just have it be action movie that escalates to end of the woeld trope cause really, who wants to see that again?

Long time reader, trying my hand at writing, this is only the second piece of writing. This has gone through a number of edits, but there's only so many times you can edit your own work because you can't see your own mistakes clearly.

I could probably cut/trim several portions that go on slightly too long. There's editing/punctuation that could be done as well but I'm less concerned with those.

Two main things:

• Do you understand enough from the story to guess at what a Second Marriage might be?
• Are there any glaring issues with the narrative that stand out to you?

Thanks for reading! Any feedback is appreciated.

---

It was a good day for Godman Bezarr.

 

No, the best day! Until tomorrow that was. He would change the world.

 

But today, he would relax. The preparations were all in hand and he would prove that he was the greatest of the fleshmancers in the history of his race.

 

Godman languidly paced the cavernous corridor of the Eternal Palace’s north-eastern wing, the soft padding of his sandaled footsteps on smooth stone lightly echoing in the vast space.

 

He had worked for - wait, no. He was “contracted” by the madman Rex Hokkor and his equally mad Queen.

 

Godman considered that “working” for someone was undignified for a person of his magnificence. He simply loaned his services, and in return produced works of art unrivalled.

Of the many war beasts he had created, his crowning achievement had been a pseudo-dragon.

 

The first of its kind!

 

It couldn’t breathe fire quite as hot as a “real” dragon, but real dragons cheated. They used magic. Dirty… lizard-y…cheaters. And, annoyingly, Godman couldn’t create beings with innate magic.

 

Yet.

 

But he had discovered many little secrets during the hundreds of years he had been alive. He could cheat too.

 

Godman continued the long walk of the north-eastern wing. The entire complex was built in such a way that it illuminated sections of the Eternal Palace at different times of the day and he had two places he wanted to see before the day was over.

 

But where was he? Oh yes. His pseudo-dragon. What a beauteous creature it was.

 

Sinuous, shining emerald scales, murderously red eyes. Ah! And a gaping maw that could put the darkest pits of the seven hells to shame.

 

But Rex had given it a stupid name.

 

Gox.

 

Gox the “Devourer”.

 

How did he even know what it would be like? He’d presented young Gox to Rex as an egg.

 

On one knee!

 

Two would have been humiliating.

 

None would have been a very costly error.

 

It wasn’t just the 20 years that it had taken to create, during which Rex had been on the verge of killing him numerous times.

 

The pseudo-dragon was the work of a lifetime of painstaking study and exacting experimentation. Thousands of dissections on beasts of every kind and even members of his own race all to become a master fleshmancer. He wasn’t a savage though – he’d drugged the live ones.

 

Rex and his Queen Flava Hokorra might appear to be a ‘Brawn and Brains’ couple on the outside, but Godman characterised them more as an ‘Impulsive and Patient’ couple.

 

Flava reminded him of a snake that had wrapped itself in humanoid skin. Physically anyway. She seemed to put an effort into being kind and understanding which made Godman all the more suspicious of her.

 

Why anyone, even a ruler, would need to spend so much time in the Palace dungeon’s torture chambers was one mystery Godman was determined not to unravel.

 

But she had saved him many times. Thirteen to be exact.

 

Godman thought back to one of those times - Rex had been told by the senior fleshmancer he couldn’t have wings because they’d have to be unusually enormous to support his 12 foot frame of dense bone, thick rope-like musculature and incredibly tough scutes that covered his chest, legs, and back.

 

That got the senior fleshmancer’s head and spine ripped out.

 

Godman had inherited the position shortly after, his predecessor’s hot blood still spattered over his face. Seconds after.

 

If Godman promised to give Rex functional wings and then failed he would regrettably uncover the mystery of why Flava spent so much time in the Palace dungeon’s torture chambers.

 

He had opted for the lesser of two evils.

 

So with different words and vastly more sycophantic pandering he had explained the impracticality of wings on Rex’s ‘gloriously refined and superior frame’.

 

He had still expected his head to kiss the floor but at least that would be quick.

 

But all it took was a sweet smile, a delicate hand on his arm and Flava had persuaded Rex that Godman was much more useful alive…which, incidentally, was the exact thought going through Godman’s mind at the time.

 

Though he had struggled to enunciate those thoughts with Rex’s vice-like grip around his throat.

 

As with all things, and especially with Flava, no good deed was performed by accident.

 

Once she had seen he was capable, she had asked for the almost impossible.

 

She had come to him one evening, puffing up his proverbial feathers, telling him he was the “greatest fleshmancer alive”, though he already knew he was.

 

However, whilst inflating his already considerable ego she had interwoven reminders of the thirteen times she’d saved him from becoming the royal carpet’s newest blood stain.

 

A “Second Marriage” between her and Rex. That’s what she had requested. He was so stunned that he had risked asking Flava to repeat herself.

 

It was absurd!

 

Greater than absurd.

 

It was fundamentally unsound.

 

It was not an original idea, and hadn’t been for some few hundred years and yet no one had ever succeeded.

 

He had agreed nonetheless though because he wanted to prove he was without doubt the greatest.

 

…Or had he?

 

A disconcerting thought gnawed at the edges of his mind that he tried to push back.

 

Could it be that he accepted not because he was some godlike genius that desired to be immortalised but because he had been guided into a position where refusal was no longer an option?

 

Godman felt a cage had been built from his own monstrous vanity and desperate need for validation.

 

Flava hadn’t needed to lock him in, she’d handed him the key and he’d done it himself.

 

But that was utterly preposterous. No, he wouldn’t accept it, he’d chosen to be here! He -

 

“Dad? Dad!” a small voice insisted.

 

Godman was so deep in thought he had barely noticed he had come to the first place he had wanted to see.

 

He looked down and to his right.

 

“Yes my sweet?”

 

His daughter was still at the stage where she was too innocent not to love him.

 

“You’re late!” she said, hands planted on her hips.

 

“I was… occupied, little one.”

 

Though he had come to feel protective of her, Godman had never truly felt like her father. Or even ‘a’ father.

 

One time she had asked "why is the sky blue?"

 

He had given an excessively thorough explanation which caused her to scrunch up her face before making an exaggerated groaning sound and he had only been half way through!

 

She had not asked that question again, though when the next question was "why is the grass green?" Even Godman knew he had to adjust his approach.

 

“Hmmmm.” She grumbled, an accusatory look on her face.

 

Oh dear.

 

“I see you’ve brought an enormous and menacing friend with you?”

 

Her face lit up. “Oh! That’s Alkie! We came together. Did you know he has lots of brothers and sisters?”

 

He did.

 

Godman had to look up, even being 7 feet tall did not allow him the luxury of not having to crane his neck.

 

“Alkie” towered over him like a brooding stormcloud, four segmented arms crossed over a shiny black carapaced thorax and abdomen. Two horns protruded from his head and middle shoulder plate with the opposing arcs making the horns look like a giant black pincer.

 

Godman smiled wanly. “How… good to see you, ‘Alkie’.”

 

“I am Alcides the ‘Spineripper’, Master Rex has named me.”

 

Of course he did. And to one of my finer creations.

 

“I rip out the spines of my defeated enemies. Would you like to see my collection, Master Godman?”

 

Godman swallowed. “Another time, perhaps.”

 

“I am to follow you and make sure nothing does you harm, or that you go missing. Master Rex is quite concerned with your wellbeing Master Godman.”

 

Where exactly did Rex think he would go at this point?

 

“He’s always been a very caring Lord. Very well. Twenty paces?”

 

“Twenty paces.” Alcides repeated.

 

He knew that Alcides was faster than a charging bear, he’d never escape by running, but he didn’t intend on escaping.

 

When he looked down again she was looking at him expectantly, arms outstretched.

 

Godman lifted his little daughter onto his shoulders to a delighted squeak, and continued on.

 

He knew this place well.

 

It began small.

 

Godman was flanked by thorny bushes as he trod the narrow path that snaked between two towering hornbeam trees - their trunks supported a myriad of branches where broad leaves sprouted.

 

He brushed his hand down one of the trunks as they passed, with his daughter imitating him, excitedly feeling the thick and uneven ridged texture of the golden-coloured bark.

 

Branches stretched overhead as they continued, tangled and dense, hemming in the trail as it crested, dipped and wound.

 

Wherever they went, a looming, horned shadow traced their steps, though Godman pretended not to notice.

 

Cleverly hidden mirrors meant this place was lit with the rising of the morning sun and light peeked through the vegetation in fractured beams.

 

When he had first wandered through here Godman had felt unease. Now she felt it too, he could tell by how she clung to him, her small arms squeezed tighter around his neck, her tiny fists balled into the collar of his robe.

 

“Daddy, they're all staring.”

 

Hidden in alcoves, behind trees and bushes there were foxes, rabbits, badgers, deer, wolves, boars, and even great bears. They all faced the path, watching silently as the trio passed, transfixed.

 

Godman had to admit even for him the feeling of being watched was unsettling, which was only partially offset by the forest’s unearthly beauty.

 

Yet… the birds did not sing, the wolves did not howl, and the waters from the stream that cut the path ahead did not stir.

 

Because this place was dead – or perhaps it was more accurate to say it had never been alive.

 

From the smallest branch to the tallest tree, each and every animal, the water and even the dirt. It was all a stone-carved facsimile of ‘Gannium’.

 

Gannium-of-the-Golden-Trees that reached the heavens.

 

But Gannium was no more.

 

Now it was ‘Hellpit Gan’, ‘Gan the Gate of Hell’ from which belched forth legions of demons.

 

All because of a failed Second Marriage.

I think the current hard magic vs soft magic discourse is blaming magic systems for problems that are actually writing problems.

A lot of the criticism aimed at hard magic systems, especially around “power scaling brain” and fantasy becoming too focused on mechanics , is identifying a real phenomenon. Some fantasy readers do approach stories like battle forums or wikis now, obsessing over rankings, loopholes, and whether systems are “balanced.”

But I also think people overcorrect when they argue soft magic is automatically better or more literary.

Hard magic doesn’t prevent theme, atmosphere, or character work. Brandon Sanderson’s (yes that debate is what prompted this post) systems are extremely structured, but books like The Stormlight Archive still explore trauma, ideology and power in interesting ways.

And also I feel like critics of soft magic aren’t entirely wrong. If magic has no visible limits, stakes can absolutely start to feel vague or unearned. Poorly written soft systems can drift into deus ex machina territory very quickly, when what can and can't happen isn't really well defined.

But neither of those problems are caused by the type of system itself.

Soft magic can still create incredible tension and emotional stakes by utilising mystery and awe. The reader not completely understanding what is happening can be very effective when done right. I love tons of books with soft magic. I'm even writing one right now. because I understand that every tool has its situations! And hard magic can still support deep themes and atmosphere. The Stormlight Archive does this very well. Tolkien and Sanderson are clearly trying to achieve very different things, and both approaches clearly resonate with readers.

I think the more useful question is: what is the magic actually doing for the story?

Curious where people here fall on this. Also these are my views in brief. I have more detailed thoughts on this topic because it keeps coming up again and again, and I feel like it links into "database consumption" a bit. And no, I don't hate romantasy.

We all now there is this tendency in fantasy of taking normal names and change their spelling to make them more elaborate/weird/foreign. Basically, the equivalent of American moms naming their children Britney but spelled Brytnee. I usually laugh about it when an author does it, but I guess I've also read some names that pull it off.

Personally, I usually invent the names of my characters from scratch, just trying what sounds good and what looks good on the page. Or if the fantasy/character is based in one specific culture, I use already existing names. Because creating a name that vaguely sounds like a language I don't speak is 1. foolish 2. probably offensive. It feels a little bit icky to tweak names from a language you don't speak or a culture you know very little about (ehem hello, fantasy authors butchering Gaelic languages ehem). There are dead languages you can butcher for fun that are not in danger of extinction AKA Latin and Classical Greek.

Of course, I also play around with words from the languages I'm fluent in, it's always fun to see what comes up. To change from English spelling rules, to Spanish, to French, adding a 'y' here, change a vocal, or add 'h' after this letter. But unless the name ends up being almost unrecognizable from the original word, I'll always choose (one of) the correct spelling(s).

So, are you Team Already-Existing-Names or Team Spelling-Is-Fun? What's your process?

We all know about fantasy tropes, the ones we like, the ones we don't, and everything in between. I'd love to get a discussion going about what tropes people enjoy versus what they dislike, what feels overused versus what they think the genre needs more of.

Personally I am a big fan of the enemies to allies trope. I don't know what it is but I love it when enemies, whether that be individuals or entire factions, can come together over a common cause and come out the other side as friends or allies. There is something really satisfying about it when it is done well. Found family would have to be another one that always hits for me.

A trope I don't particularly enjoy is the chosen one or destiny angle, where a protagonist becomes powerful or significant simply because it is their fate. A lot of my favourite characters and novels are ones where the protagonist isn't the destined hero or the most powerful person in the room, but rather someone who is just different. They think differently, act differently, and are compelling because of who they are rather than what they were chosen to be.

I don’t know if it is a trope or not but another thing I am not a fan of that I see in more and more modern fiction is the need to include graphic sexual relations. I am by no means a prude but I feel like the romance of love get’s lost a bit when every step is described in graphic detail.

Looking forward to hearing everyone's thoughts!