UpdatedA Celebration Of Consent

Updated ‘A Celebration of Consent’

“Hey, Optimus, don’ know if ya know, but me ‘n Prowl occasionally like to add a third?  We’d like to ask you if you’d be interested in that.”

Optimus, caught between surprise, disbelief, and a sip of energon, choked, squeaked, and coughed. Jazz leaned out of the way and cocked a brow as he tried to clear his intake.

“Okay then.  Prowl’s gonna hit on ya this evening at the party. Just wanted ta let ya know in case ya thought we was split or he was fraggin’ around.  If ya don’t want ta, just don’ flirt back.  See ya there!”

Finished! :)

Writing advice

So, I stumbled upon some writing advice by someone who was very clearly a new/young writer.  It was condescending and full of absolutes and rules.

If writing advice reads like those side bar ads “Doctors beg you to throw away this one vegetable!”  “Get rich with this one weird trick!” I think it’s best to just scroll past it.  

Honestly, it was kind of nostalgic to read.  We all went through that stage when we had just decided to be a Real Writer.  We learn just enough to think we’re experts, post a lot of silly know-it-all things, and maybe buy an expensive pen.  Perhaps we bring the entire Edgar Allen Poe Anthology to the beach so people think that we’re really deep and mature - then use it as a table for the Fritos instead because Poe is not a beach read.  Ask me how I know.

I love drabbles and one-shots!  Here’s the prompts I’m using for the story on AO3 in case anyone is curious about what they’ll be.

Secret Baby!

“What’s that?”  A pair of small optics appeared over the edge of the table.

“Boring, grown-up stuff,” Hound said, quickly lifting the plasma cutter away from the edge and stuffing it back into his subspace. “Where’s Captain Impossible and his faithful sidekicks?  Weren’t you playing with them a few minutes ago?”  Jazz sniggered into his cube and leaned against the doorway.

“They recharging,” Siren said wisely.  “I wanna see!”  He tried to grab for something, but Beachcomber was faster, sweeping as much of it as he could out of reach.

“Jazz!  Jazz, your bitlet wants you!”

“Siren!” he called, walking forwards to grab him, still grinning.

“’m good, Ke-ator!” Siren hollered back, trying to get one short leg up onto the table so he could reach some of the instruments Beachcomber had missed in his sweep.

I love my life and I love the modern world, but sometimes I wish it was 1780 and I had an evil uncle that would lock me away in the North Tower with nothing but pen, paper, and my animal friends so I could finish some of my stories.