Hello Spinsters and Oracles!
Oh! Don’t mind me! I was just doing a little weaving. No, it’s no trouble! Sit, sit! I’m so glad you joined me. I was just thinking about you. Well, the tapestry has your face on it. I don’t know why, but it can’t be good because…
This week’s Writing Group prompt is:
Weaving Fate
RULES AND GUIDELINES BELOW!
Make sure you scroll down and read them if you haven’t! You may not be eligible if you don’t!
Fate is often seen as a mystical force that cannot be stopped or contained. However, many stories tell of beings who can and do just that, often depicting fate as a thread that can be spun, woven, and otherwise cut. Sometimes those two ideas exist in tandem: with the gods weaving fate, and the mortals beneath slaves to it. Which side will you choose to focus on in your stories this week?
Many cultures depict destiny as the work of three or more mythical beings: the Greek Moirai, the Roman Parcae, the Norse Norns, even the Albanian Fatit. However, weaving fate in a more literal sense is not exclusive to the supernatural. In the Odyssey, Odysseus’s wife, Penelope, weaves by day and unravels by night to keep her suitors at bay until Odysseus returns. Perhaps it’s not the weaver that’s supernatural, but the weaving itself. “Weaving a spell” is a phrase for a reason.
The Egyptians intrinsically interweave fate throughout every aspect of their lives. For instance, Shai, the god of fate or destiny, is stated to be a personification for the fate of the human being, which begins at birth. This means that fate follows people from birth to death. Another staple Egyptian deity is the goddess Renenet, who is tied to worldly possessions. The Egyptians believe that pharaohs can take their material wealth with them into death, which they are fated to do, and it’s also why they’re buried with them. Sounds like carrying all of that would be quite heavy.
Of course weaving is not exclusive to humans and gods, and fate need not be nearly as mystical as it sounds. Spiders are the most well-known weavers in the animal kingdom, and our mythology shows, from Uttu the Ancient Sumerian weaving goddess to the prideful Arachne of Greek myth to the Spider Grandmother of Hopi folklore. Maybe a spider is an important symbol in your character’s destiny. Perhaps your character is cornered, but a spider spins a web in the front of their hiding spot. Spiders are not alone in this ability either. Some African and Asian songbirds construct complex nests that earn them the moniker “weaver.” Maybe a bird will grant your character a great boon for their journey if they help it finish its nest.
Weaving, however, is not the complete focus. Fate is a complicated topic; in some ways it’s about luck or chance, in other ways it’s about a predetermined event, and in still others it’s about suffering and woe. You could focus more on the aspect of fate in this prompt, and the different influences it might have on someone’s life. There are other myths that focus less on the weaver, and more on the thread; in some Asian myths, the threads of fate are more about love than overall destiny. In Chinese myth, the god of love and marriage ties a red thread to future lovers’ ankles. More than likely you’re familiar with the Japanese version, which sees the man’s thumb tied to the woman’s little finger. In Jewish folk tradition, a red thread bracelet wards off curses. Maybe your character notices a thread on them they haven’t seen before. Do they follow it? Where will it lead if they do? Will it lead to their soulmate, or to their doom? Or, instead, do they try to cut it? Can they cut it?
I have two potential challenges for you this week. The first is to write about a character going against fate. As I said earlier, fate is often seen as something that can’t be stopped or contained, and a lot of the myths (or, more accurately named, tragedies) where fate is a woven thing explore this idea. But is it possible to unravel your own fate? To weave it again yourself?
The other challenge I have is to write about the mundane ways in which fate is woven in our lives. I think “weaving fate” is a prompt that automatically brings grand ideas of supernatural powers and prophecies to our minds…but what are the more simple and gentle (but no less important) ways in which fate makes herself known in our lives? What are the butterflies we are stepping on, or else nurturing, each day?
Remember, these challenges aren’t mandatory! They are meant to be a fun bonus if you’d like to have a little extra challenge. But, if you don’t want to use them, please don’t feel obligated to!
Oh, yes, the tapestry! You wanted to know why it can’t be good. Well, weaving fate lends itself to exploring magic and wonder…but it creates opportunities to bind and ensnare as well. I’m not quite certain what this means for your path, but all I can say is, be mindful of which you take. If you don’t make your own choices, someone…or something else may choose for you.
—Pearce, Felicia, & Kaylie
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Remember, this is part of our weekly Writing Group stream! Submit a little piece following the rules and guidelines below, and there’s a chance your entry will be read live on stream! In addition, we’ll discuss it for a minute and give you some feedback.
Tune into the stream this Saturday at 3:00pm CST to see if you made the cut!
The whole purpose of this is to show off the creativity of the community, while also helping each other to become better writers. Lean into that spirit! Get ready not just to share what you’ve got, but to give back to the other writers here as well.
Rules and Guidelines
We read at least five stories during each stream, two of which come from the public post, and three of which come from the much smaller private post. Submissions are randomly selected by a bot, but likes on your post will improve your chances of selection, so be sure to share your submission on social media!
Text and Formatting
- English only.
- Prose only, no poetry or lyrics.
- Use proper spelling, grammar, and syntax.
- Your piece must be between 250-350 words (you can use this website to see your wordcount).
- Use two paragraph breaks between each paragraph so that they have a proper space between them (press “enter” or “return” twice).
- Include a submission title and an author name (doesn’t have to be your real name). Do not include any additional symbols or flourishes in this part of your submission. Format them exactly as you see in this example, or your submission may not be eligible: Example Submission.
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What to Submit
- Keep submissions “safe-for-work”; be sparing with sexuality, violence, and profanity.
- Try to focus on making your submission a single meaningful moment rather than an entire story.
- Write something brand new; no re-submitting past entries or pieces written for other purposes
- No fan fiction whatsoever. Take inspiration from whatever you’d like, but be transformative and creative with it. By submitting, you also agree that your piece does not infringe on any existing copyrights or trademarks, and you have full license to use it.
- Submissions must be self-contained (everything essential to understanding the piece is contained within the context of the piece itself—no mandatory reading outside the piece required. e.g., if you want to write two different pieces in the same setting or larger narrative, you cannot rely on information from one piece to fill in for the other—they must both give that context independently).
Submission Rules
- One submission per participant.
- Submit your entry in a comment on this post.
- Submissions close at 12:00pm CST each Friday.
- You must like and leave a review on two other submissions to be eligible. Your reviews must be at least 50 words long, and must be left directly on the submission you are reviewing, not on another comment. If you’re submitting to the private post, feel free to leave these reviews on either the private or the public post. The two submissions you like need not be the same as the submissions you review.
- Be constructive and uplifting. These submissions are not for a professional market, and shouldn’t be treated as such. We do this, first and foremost, for the joy of the craft. Help other writers to feel like their work is valuable, and be considerate and gentle with critique when you offer it. Authors who leave particularly abrasive or disheartening remarks on this post will be disqualified from selection for readings.
- Use the same e-mail for your posts, reviews, and likes, or you may be rendered ineligible (you may change your username or author name between posts without problem, however).
- You may submit to either or both the public/private groups if you have access, but if you decide to submit to both, only the private group submission will be eligible.
- Understand that by submitting here, you are giving us permission to read your submission aloud live on stream and upload public, archived recordings of said stream to our social media platforms. You will always be credited, but only by the author name you supply as per these rules. No other links or attributions are guaranteed.
Comments on this post that aren’t submissions will be deleted, except for replies/reviews left on existing submissions.
The New God of Reality
By MasaCur
I have trapped myself.
A week ago, I bought myself a new notebook. The store I bought it at didn’t seem to recall stocking it, but we negotiated a price, and it came home with me.
I started the story with a death. I had picked a violinist who was popular several years ago, just on a whim. Imagine my surprise when I read the next day that she had died here, in Yokohama, the victim of a car accident.
It seemed too much of a coincidence to be merely coincidence.
I tried to see if I could do it again. I wrote something good for myself this time. I wrote about meeting a publisher that would be interested in my book concept.
That night, I met a publishing editor at a party. After a small conversation, he asked me to email him a copy of my outline and the first two chapters.
This couldn’t be a power innate to me. Nothing like this had happened to me before. I surmised it had to be the notebook. No other explanation would account for it.
I proved my theory right when I tried to write a new destiny in another book. A week went by without a result.
This new notebook had turned me into a god. I could bend reality to my bidding.
I could shape the fate of the world if I desired it.
I should have been horrified by this. But the desire to make this story happen was too compelling.
But I was now trapped as well.
The story had to continue. I had to write it. If I stopped, perhaps the world would come to an end.
The die had been cast, and my fate had been determined as well.
Brother Bound
By Adrian Solorio
“Let me die,” Junior said, struggling to sit up. “Save my brother.” The words were a rasping gurgle. The nurse pushed him down, gently, and took hold of his arm, rolling back the tattered sleeve. She hovered over him while the doctor spoke, fast and hushed. Lost control, he said. The younger brother we probably can’t save, but this one—this one still has a chance.
The doctor poked a needle into Junior’s arm, and as his strength faded and his vision dimmed, he thought of his brother. Where was he? Was he alive? Why had he come back?
***
“What’d you do to me?” Junior shot to his feet, sending the flimsy chair thudding to the carpeted floor. “Where’s my brother?” he said, glancing around the room.
“You pulled a card,” the old crone said, “and saw what your future holds. Just as I promised.” In one graceful swoop she swept the cards off the table, and they vanished into one of the many folds of her dark dress. Her tattooed hands rested on the russet-colored table, tap-tapping, and she watched him, a small smirk pulling at her lips. “As far as your dear brother, well, he’s wherever you left him. You came here alone, remember?”
Junior remembered. His brother had stayed home from the fair. He was home safe. What he’d seen wouldn’t happen yet. There was time. “How do I change it?” he asked.
“Didn’t like what you saw?” the woman answered. “Well, you’re not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last. Unfortunately, you can’t change—”
“I will.” Junior bolted from the tent before she could finish and disappeared into the night. Disappeared from the town and from his family. For many years after he remained gone. Becoming a memory—a ghost. Running from a future he couldn’t outlast or escape. He grew old. Became tired. Forgetful. He went on until he forgot why he had gone in the first place, and then, he returned home.
“How about a drink?” he said, and hugged his brother at the door. “To catch up on lost time.”
Divine Tapestry
By: The Missing Link
I’m a monster.
A cruel person would hurt others out of some kind of malice. What I do isn’t cruel. It’s worse.
To hurt out of love, yes that’s true evil. And I do love them. I love them and feel their pain, but still I put them through more.
We like to say a loving God could never bring evil to its creation, but this is wrong. Gods too have these awful feelings, curiosity, pressure, catharsis.
I am not a cruel God. I’m a monstrous one. I know this, but still I persist. I create only to destroy and to show this destruction to the other Gods in the world. They love my creations too, and I love theirs. We laugh when they laugh and cry when they cry. We care about them, but we grant them no peace, no true consolation.
If they could meet us, would they think us insane? Would they understand in some twisted way.
It can’t be said that we’re unaware of these contradictions, but we explain them away with simple, pretty words, dehumanize our creation, distance ourselves from it.
Characters, we call them.
Characters suffer for our amusement, and as easily as we tell ourselves we could make their lives better, we plunge in another knife, kill another family member, break their hearts.
The smiles and tears of distant Gods mean nothing to our beloved characters, but us Gods, we love a good story, and stories thrive on pain.
My friends in schadenfreude, we may be Gods, but to be a God of fiction is to become a monster.
If You Really Wanna See (Chronicles of The Dragon)
By Makokam
Jaime walked down the street, following the directions on their phone.
The directions sent them down an alley, though there were no signs that said there was anything down there. Sure enough, almost halfway down the alley there was a door with a glass window bearing the words “Sister Psychic: Guides To Your Future.”
Jaime gripped the knob and was surprised it actually turned and opened.
Inside it was small, room with a bell on the counter and a doorway with bead curtains. Unsure of what else to do, they rang the bell.
“One moment!”
Soon a black woman with graying dreads pulled back into a ponytail stepped through. She walked up and leaned on the counter. “How can I help you?”
“I’m…here about a guide to my future.”
“That’s why anybody is here. What future are you looking for?”
“Oh. I… want to know what I should pick for my college major.”
The woman blinked at them. “That’s it? No dream career? A desire for wealth? Someone you want to marry?”
“Uh, no. Just the major will be fine.”
“So when you ask what major to pick, you mean which will give you the best future?”
“I… yeah.”
“Fine,” she sighed, “Fifteen dollars,” and held out her hand.
Jaime counted out the money. She took it and then pulled out a large sheet of paper, that easily took up half the counter. “You sure you only want the major? I’m gonna have to look pretty far into your future to get the answer anyway.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. Give me your hand.”
Jaime put their hand in hers, then closed her eyes. After several minutes, she opened them and wrote, “Bio-mechanical engineering.” She folded the paper up and handed it to them. “There you go.”
Jaime looked at it and said. “You sure? Neither of those are my thing.”
She chuckled. “Oh, it’s not going to be fun at all. But it’ll get you the best endings. Trust me.”
Jaime shrugged. If they decided to switch later, they only wasted fifteen dollars. “Thank you,” and they turned and left.
Small Steps (Illusions of Heroes)
By Gerrit (Rattus)
It’s a curious thing, that so many small steps can take one such vast distances. How minor choices and decisions, insignificant in their moments, can alter the course of a life.
The Gods preach of Paths, that every life is on a trajectory from the moment they are born. Some sects believe that these are not straight lines, but forking, branching Paths traversed by the choices we make and the options we choose.
Looking back, Emrys’ life had been filled with terrifying leaps, choices so fraught with purpose and consequence that the burden felt heavy enough to crush him. Yet it had been the small steps that had taken him the furthest.
They had all seemed so inconsequential at the time. Bring food when he approached the thief. Land in Ruddreth, instead of Targgem. Ride north first, not east.
He looked to Serennia, asleep in the bed beside him. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, his breaths in time with her own, savouring this moment of togetherness.
When the huge, life-changing decisions threatened to crush him, she was his strength. When he stumbled over one of the many hurdles in his life, she pulled him back to his feet. She was the culmination of all his small steps, the outcome of the choices he hadn’t known he was making.
If Paths were real, he thanked the Gods for aligning his with hers. If they weren’t, and their coming together was merely a cosmic happenstance, then he thanked his luck that in spite of all the times his large steps had led him astray, his small steps had always been the right ones.
[DM me on Discord for details!]
The Future
by Carrie (Glaceon373)
We’ve got some choices to make, friend.
I know, I know, I probably just raised your anxiety levels through the roof, but it’s true. And also nothing to be afraid of! They’re just choices. You make them everyday. Arguably, every minute. Most of them don’t matter nearly as much as these will, though.
What? It’s true! Don’t act so surprised, you knew this was coming.
This is what happens when you get older, you know. Your decisions are about to start mattering a lot. You can’t waste time being stressed about it.
Isn’t it exciting? You’ve got your whole future ahead of you! And it’s time to decide what it’s going to be—!
What?
What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve got to decide, like, right now. Or at least soon. Very soon.
Why? Well, don’t you know what’ll happen if you start late? You’ll be stuck behind everyone else on whatever you pick, and you’ll never be great! So it’s good to pick something you’re already good at, just for the head start. You wouldn’t happen to already be a doctor or lawyer, would you? I—
Oh, you don’t want to have to do that. Changing your mind later is a TERRIBLE idea. It’s even harder to recover from that than it is to wait a few more hours to decide. It’s best to know, right now, EXACTLY what you want to do.
And you do know that, right?
…
No?
Oh, well… all right, then. I’ll ask you again tomorrow. Don’t worry about it too much, it’s just your future on the line, y’know? Talk to you soon! Bye!
The Plot Loom
By Taja DaLeen
“And this antique is our pride and centerpiece of this exhibition, even if it is also the one leaving us with the most questions, and a lot of antiquarians with quite the headache.”
Laughter. Those damn nonmagicals are so freaking clueless.
“It is the oldest loom known to mankind, and most data even suggests it is older than weaving. Of course we know this to be impossible, but that is what the scientists get from their tests.”
More laughter. And of course it’s older than weaving. It’s possibly older than time itself, no one can really tell. Who is to ask those entities their age?
Not that they’d answer, probably, even if someone would dare to ask.
“Anyway, as I said it cannot be dated correctly, no matter what method is used. But what can be said is that those markings on the beams and posts you see here were probably carved in way later than the loom was built…”
Well, at least they got that part right. The carvings were made by humans, after the fates stopped using it, after all.
“… even if we are not entirely sure what they mean. Experts suggest they are connected to some form of fate deity since they look similar to symbols connected to worship of a lot or even all indo-european goddesses of fate…”
Which is not surprising, considering this is actually about the fates. Really, nonmagicals and their cluelessness. I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.
Of course you’d use an artifact of power for worship, or rather giving thanks, especially if you can’t use its magic. I’m pretty sure no one can, except for the fates themselves. So, why my client wants it? No idea.
Not that I’d need to know, or care, I’m only here for the money.
“… who are very often portrayed as weaving. Sadly, no shuttle belonging to this loom was found, so it can’t be said whether it was actually used or not…”
And soon I’ll be a rich man. Now, I only need to figure out how to get it out of here…
All as it Seams (That’s the Spirit)
by Lee Strangely
The elevator cage slid open, releasing Mort, Clay, and Death into a vast cavern.
“What is this- OW!” Mort swatted the back of Clay’s head before he could finish. “What was that?!”
“Shush,” Mort scolded him, “if it’s important she’ll tell us.”
The constant clacking echoed louder as they delved deeper.
Mort turned to Death, “Uh Lady Death, might I ask- OW!” She smacked him equally hard.
A single beam of light shined upon a curtain with no end that spread across hundreds of tables and beyond; each table with a soul hunched over an immense loom that dominated the air with mechanical chatter.
Death strolled up to a table, manned by a rather cross looking old woman.
Death greeted the woman, “Hello Janice!”
“Miss Death, it’s good to see you again!” Janice bubbled, “I’m sorry that there haven’t been many endings in the forecast lately… the conditions just haven’t been favorable…”
“It’s alright… You must be running yourselves ragged trying to keep up.”
“Oh nonsense! The hands of fate never tire.”
“M-Mort,” Clay gasped, “T-that… that’s…”
“Yes Clay…” Mort muttered, “yes, that is the Grand Tapestry… of all history…”
Death smacked him again, “Hush now, the adults are talking…”
“Is it true?” Clay blurted out, despite Mort trying to stop him, “that you control time?”
Janice looked down at him, “in a way you could say that.”
“So you can change it then?”
“Change it?” she laughed, “History is a complex weave requiring a delicate touch. Every string is a person, every knot an event. Alterations are incredibly difficult, with severe consequences if done poorly… The damage could be irre-”
RIIIP!
Janice stared at the cloth, “Irreparable…” She immediately began resewing it as she continued, “It is anything but simple.”
As the two stared at her, her eyes locked onto a piece of dangling string. Like a predator, she pounced on it.
SNAP!
From the other end of the cavern came a shriek, followed by hard thud.
Mort and clay looked in horror at the string in Janice’s hand.
“Don’t you just hate loose threads?” she sighed.
The Fiftieth Thread
by Aracnarquista
It is time to present the hands doing all this work – the whole eight of them.
All this time, I’ve been working from the shadows, where it suits me best. You’d expect as much. I am an ambush predator. Perhaps, it would be more correct to call me a trap maker. I can be both. That’s just how we are.
All this time, I’ve been weaving my stories. Each fiber spun carefully and threaded together in an alluring arrangement. One of these might have been particularly interesting to you.
Do you hear it? Do you feel it? It is your presence in the web. This is music to me.
After all, you are reading this one: my presentation.
You probably know what is going to happen, right? You might have perceived the threads as soon as you stumbled upon them. When you are stuck to it, you notice the pattern. It is a work of care. It is a work of artistry. It is still a trap, and when it resonates to your breathing… you know you are the prey that it caught.
And that’s how those stories go. When you see the weaver approaching… well, then you know your fate is sealed.
Fate is such an interesting concept, is it not? I weave it thrice. Once, as material. I spun its fibers in concepts, ideas, emotions, events. Stories. Tangled lives, tangled problems, just the thing to catch you in. Then, those are interwoven among themselves. Maybe continuing on one another and giving coherence to the whole, maybe reinforcing themes. The trap gains form in its pattern. And as a trap it weaves the destiny of those that fall into it.
A cruel device, perhaps. But can you deny its beauty, or the care applied in its construction?
Be glad. Once digested, the proteins that make for your story will be rearranged, reformed and give rise to a new thread: new stories for the web.
Stories are like life: a matter of predation and change, composition and dissolution that brings forth renewal through new arrangements.
Long live your tale.
“A Bar Below”
By: Foggy Wall
The knot in my stomach and the subsequent nausea still lingered as I descended the stairs behind Koalle. This place made my nerves dance with anticipation though.
We came to a stop before a reinforced black steel door that had a small black orb built into it. A peep hole? Probably a camera. Using the back of her steel hand, she knocked. “Hey, open up! I’m home!”
I placed a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to cock her head and meet my eye.I tentatively asked a question I knew the answer to. “I can’t go back to being a bartender now, can I?
A deep voice crossed the speaker before she could respond, “About damn time! Your shenanigans haven’t gone unnoticed.”
She smiled, “Nope!”
The door gave a few clicks and Koalle opened it, leading me inside. This place was an elaborate and elegant speakeasy and around the bar sat several people. All of which stared at us from across the room. Koalle looked back at me as if able to read my mind.”Don’t worry so much! They don’t bite.” Her strut sped up, “Usually.” She added with a quick spin and a wink.
As we closed the gap, I could better see all of them and all of them appeared to be heavily modified. The first one to speak to us addressed Koalle. “So, how did the squirt do?”
I wanted to take offense, but the person asking the question literally had the teeth of a bear… in a bear’s muzzle… attached to the hulking upper body of a bear.
“Dude’s a bear…” I mumbled in bewilderment.
“James did well. Mr. Sullit thought we made a cute couple. Once I had him out of his office, James was able to copy his data easy-peasy!”
The bearman turned to the android behind the bar, “Got the data analyser handy?”
“Of course!” It answered with a bubbly, light voice before turning away.
Koalle took a seat, reclining with her elbows on the bar behind her. “Welcome to the crew!”
Everybody Wants To Be My Enemy
By Marx
I smile as Matt appears before me, his face full of determination.
“Hi, Matt.”
He blinks as his eyes dart to me, widening in recognition. “Are you-?”
“I have many names.” I chuckle. “But yes, I suppose Fate would be one of them.”
“I knew it! They all said you were this unseen force that couldn’t be talked to or reasoned with.”
“Or killed?” I ask with a knowing smirk.
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Can you be killed?”
I awkwardly laugh in response. “So easily… Unfortunately, not by you.”
“You sure about that?”
I laugh again. “You’re here because I want you to be. And unlike Bob, I don’t have a death wish. So yes. I’m sure. In fact, I’m also sure that you’re the only one who will actually make it here.”
Matt raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Only one?”
“The only Matt.”
“…there’s other versions of me?”
“So many! There’s the you that causes a literal apocalypse. There’s the you that causes a magical apocalypse. There’s the you who looks for me and fails. There’s the you that fights Jonathan.”
“Wait. Who’s Jonathan?”
“He’s kind of like you but way more murdery. And he turns into a dragon. Not important. Hell, it might even be you who fights him. That depends on the other Fate.”
Matt’s eyes bulge. “There’s… other Fates?”
“So, so many. But you needn’t worry about them. Though, fun fact, because of that particular Fate, there’s a version of you that doesn’t even become the Horseman of Death at all.”
“…what?”
“See… he massively likes your parents and hates the idea that they die when you’re born so I’m forming a world where that doesn’t happen.”
Matt glares and tries to unleash his wings.
I don’t let him.
“If it’s that easy for you then why can’t-?!”
“Sorry bro. That’s not your story. We all have our parts to play. This is yours. And unfortunately, we’re out of time.”
“The hell we are!” Matt growls and charges at me only to vanish.
I smirk as I look at the empty spot and get back to writing.