Writing Something Every Day*, Xantalos Edition
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
Congratulations!🥳 How many words are there already for the next RYE update?🙂
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
Nice!😍
K von Carstein
Likes to go for a walk
- Location
- Belgium
- Pronouns
- He
So you mean there's still 5000 words left for a final result of 100k then
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
najfajihaijhfaskf completely forgot to update here! Next Respect Your Elders update pretty well done, just soliciting some feedback before posting an early access version of it to me Ko-Fi and Patreon. I anticipate a Tuesday public update at absolute latest, with perhaps Monday!
- Pronouns
- He/him
American Gods Alternate Endings
Xantalos
Turtle-Speed Writing
For reasons that are too complicated to get into, I wrote this a while (a month or so) ago and am posting it now. It's not super great in my opinion, but I have been repeatedly told that I'm too self-effacing, so I'll leave y'all to judge. It's two alternate ending scenes for the novel American Gods, and though one follows from the other, I'd hesitate to really consider them outright connected since I'm not particularly satisfied with how the first one sits. The second one fits the feel of the book a little better. Anyway.
Implied spoilers for American Gods ahead, so go read that first if you haven't already. It's good.
-----
'Shadow shook his head. "You know," he said. "I think I would rather be a man than a god. We don't need anyone to believe in us. We just keep going anyhow. It's what we do."' - American Gods: Tenth Anniversary Edition, page 480
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The storm had passed, and the gods left in their hundreds. Some remained, and as the world darkened, they stared at each other, old myths matching eyes with new idols.
Into the silence, another voice spoke. "Why, Shadow," it said, sounding like every news broadcast he had ever heard. Media's voice, coming from the body of an indistinct figure with an unreadable but urgent headline displayed underneath them. Everything about it demanded attention. "You certainly made a worthy point! But how is it that you are here to make it? Not just anyone can come Backstage, you know."
Other eyes turned to Shadow, gods old and new staring with uncomfortable focus at him. One of them stepped forward, a tall god with blind, vacant eyes who held a bow in one hand. "You are Odin's son," he said. "This I know. I cannot see, but kin cannot deny kin, and you are his as sure as the night is dark." The god peered at Shadow, and for a moment his face looked uncomfortably like that of Robbie Burton. "Mortals cannot walk here. What is your name?"
Shadow thought for a moment, and realized with a start that he did not know. Whatever his real name had been still rested in the underworld with Zorya Polunochnaya, and had left an empty space inside his head. "I don't know," he opened his mouth to say. "I gave it away when I died." Those were not the words he spoke, however.
"I was born to the sunrise on the first day of winter. I was the most beloved son and brought light with my presence. I have never shrunk from a challenge, and am beloved by all things of the world, save for one. No weapon can touch me, yet I died all the same. We are kin, stranger, and I know your face."
Shadow blinked. The world seemed to have brightened, and the blind god was now weeping. Tears were creeping down his cheeks as well, though he couldn't say why. "I see you, brother," the blind god sniffled. "You are only a man, but I still see you." He turned away, and the old gods around him followed. They recognized the end of a story when they saw it. It was not long before the new gods left too, their remaining curiosity resolved. Shadow found himself alone in short order, with more questions than he had answers.
"Some things never change," he grumbled.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"You know, I never understand why they call this a Bean. Is a stone. Anyone can see this."
Millennium Park was cold, and the trees were bare of leaves, with buds only beginning to sprout. Spring was coming. Tourists crowded around the reflective chrome shape in the middle of the plaza, taking pictures or staring into their reflections. Shadow turned to the man on the bench next to him. "You think so?"
Czernobog nodded. "Like the stones Zorya Utrennyaya tell her fortunes in. Shows you nothing, you see anything." He spit on the ground. "For fools. Why you wanted to meet here?"
"It's supposed to look better in person, and I wanted to see it," Shadow said. "And maybe we need a bit of imagination. You've been here for decades, you never went sightseeing?"
"No."
"Shame. You come to parks like this, you'd get more people willing to play checkers with you."
"And how many let me knock their heads in with my hammer after?" Czernobog grinned, his iron tooth flashing in the light. "Not so many, I think."
"Maybe not." Shadow stuck his hands into his pockets and sat back. "But who's really going to wager their life over a game of checkers? Only a dead man."
Czernobog chuckled, then coughed, deep in his chest. "Not just a man anymore, little Shadow."
Without really meaning to, Shadow's mind turned back to the words he'd said Backstage. Not the ones that had stopped the war between the old and new gods, but those that had crawled from his throat afterwards.
"I was born to the sunrise on the first day of winter. I was the most beloved son and brought light with my presence. I have never shrunk from a challenge, and am beloved by all things of the world, save for one. No weapon can touch me, yet I died all the same."
"Not quite a man," he agreed. "Not a god either, though."
"Better that way," Czernobog said. "America has no patience for gods."
"See, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You, Wednesday, all of you came here from your old countries and tried to stay the same. That's not what this place is for. America is for people, and people change. I was a convict. Then I was Wednesday's driver. Then I was dead. Now …" He shrugged. "Not sure what I am. I'll keep going until I find out. Maybe you should try changing too."
Czernobog scowled. "You want me to give up who I am? Stop being a god?"
"I want you to stop having to rely on old memories from people who've moved on from your stories," Shadow said. "Write some of your own again, maybe."
Czernobog's face darkened and his fists clenched, and Shadow thought the god might be about to punch him, but then the anger seemed to leave him, and he slumped back on the bench. "Is nice to talk of the old country," Czernobog sighed. "But you right. Is not coming back." He looked at Shadow with his tired grey eyes. "What now, then?"
Shadow reached into his jacket and pulled out a miniature travel checkerboard. "I'll play white?"
"Mmm." Czernobog cracked a grin, and his face seemed to lighten a little. "No. This time, I play white."
Implied spoilers for American Gods ahead, so go read that first if you haven't already. It's good.
-----
'Shadow shook his head. "You know," he said. "I think I would rather be a man than a god. We don't need anyone to believe in us. We just keep going anyhow. It's what we do."' - American Gods: Tenth Anniversary Edition, page 480
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The storm had passed, and the gods left in their hundreds. Some remained, and as the world darkened, they stared at each other, old myths matching eyes with new idols.
Into the silence, another voice spoke. "Why, Shadow," it said, sounding like every news broadcast he had ever heard. Media's voice, coming from the body of an indistinct figure with an unreadable but urgent headline displayed underneath them. Everything about it demanded attention. "You certainly made a worthy point! But how is it that you are here to make it? Not just anyone can come Backstage, you know."
Other eyes turned to Shadow, gods old and new staring with uncomfortable focus at him. One of them stepped forward, a tall god with blind, vacant eyes who held a bow in one hand. "You are Odin's son," he said. "This I know. I cannot see, but kin cannot deny kin, and you are his as sure as the night is dark." The god peered at Shadow, and for a moment his face looked uncomfortably like that of Robbie Burton. "Mortals cannot walk here. What is your name?"
Shadow thought for a moment, and realized with a start that he did not know. Whatever his real name had been still rested in the underworld with Zorya Polunochnaya, and had left an empty space inside his head. "I don't know," he opened his mouth to say. "I gave it away when I died." Those were not the words he spoke, however.
"I was born to the sunrise on the first day of winter. I was the most beloved son and brought light with my presence. I have never shrunk from a challenge, and am beloved by all things of the world, save for one. No weapon can touch me, yet I died all the same. We are kin, stranger, and I know your face."
Shadow blinked. The world seemed to have brightened, and the blind god was now weeping. Tears were creeping down his cheeks as well, though he couldn't say why. "I see you, brother," the blind god sniffled. "You are only a man, but I still see you." He turned away, and the old gods around him followed. They recognized the end of a story when they saw it. It was not long before the new gods left too, their remaining curiosity resolved. Shadow found himself alone in short order, with more questions than he had answers.
"Some things never change," he grumbled.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"You know, I never understand why they call this a Bean. Is a stone. Anyone can see this."
Millennium Park was cold, and the trees were bare of leaves, with buds only beginning to sprout. Spring was coming. Tourists crowded around the reflective chrome shape in the middle of the plaza, taking pictures or staring into their reflections. Shadow turned to the man on the bench next to him. "You think so?"
Czernobog nodded. "Like the stones Zorya Utrennyaya tell her fortunes in. Shows you nothing, you see anything." He spit on the ground. "For fools. Why you wanted to meet here?"
"It's supposed to look better in person, and I wanted to see it," Shadow said. "And maybe we need a bit of imagination. You've been here for decades, you never went sightseeing?"
"No."
"Shame. You come to parks like this, you'd get more people willing to play checkers with you."
"And how many let me knock their heads in with my hammer after?" Czernobog grinned, his iron tooth flashing in the light. "Not so many, I think."
"Maybe not." Shadow stuck his hands into his pockets and sat back. "But who's really going to wager their life over a game of checkers? Only a dead man."
Czernobog chuckled, then coughed, deep in his chest. "Not just a man anymore, little Shadow."
Without really meaning to, Shadow's mind turned back to the words he'd said Backstage. Not the ones that had stopped the war between the old and new gods, but those that had crawled from his throat afterwards.
"I was born to the sunrise on the first day of winter. I was the most beloved son and brought light with my presence. I have never shrunk from a challenge, and am beloved by all things of the world, save for one. No weapon can touch me, yet I died all the same."
"Not quite a man," he agreed. "Not a god either, though."
"Better that way," Czernobog said. "America has no patience for gods."
"See, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You, Wednesday, all of you came here from your old countries and tried to stay the same. That's not what this place is for. America is for people, and people change. I was a convict. Then I was Wednesday's driver. Then I was dead. Now …" He shrugged. "Not sure what I am. I'll keep going until I find out. Maybe you should try changing too."
Czernobog scowled. "You want me to give up who I am? Stop being a god?"
"I want you to stop having to rely on old memories from people who've moved on from your stories," Shadow said. "Write some of your own again, maybe."
Czernobog's face darkened and his fists clenched, and Shadow thought the god might be about to punch him, but then the anger seemed to leave him, and he slumped back on the bench. "Is nice to talk of the old country," Czernobog sighed. "But you right. Is not coming back." He looked at Shadow with his tired grey eyes. "What now, then?"
Shadow reached into his jacket and pulled out a miniature travel checkerboard. "I'll play white?"
"Mmm." Czernobog cracked a grin, and his face seemed to lighten a little. "No. This time, I play white."
Last edited:
ah, this is baldurr then right? i was confused with the shadow thing and my mind jumped to belakor, and i was really confused there for a second.