So I’ve been writing this fantasy story, with a variety of fantasyland species, and I wanted to give the characters names that would make it easy for readers to remember which species they are. Razorscale the dragon, Stomp the minotaur, that sort of thing.

I settled on “The Beak That Pierces Brains” for the harpy — Beak for short. I liked it; there was insight to her character, and her culture, and she wouldn’t be confused with the dragon.

I wrote two and a half chapters before realizing (dun dun dunnn) that harpies don’t have beaks.

SO AT THIS POINT, my options were to come up with a new name that fit with the family’s naming pattern, or change the design of the harpies in my world, or find some way of justifying the name despite its obvious flaw.

I couldn’t think of a better name. I didn’t want to make the harpies just intelligent birds.

With some mistakes you pull back. With others you lean in.

…

It is now an integral part of Beak’s character that she has a name that outsiders constantly misinterpret, not understanding the harpy metaphor about sharp tongue / biting wit. Her sisters have other complaints about their own names: one is terribly common and the other led to fart jokes as a fledgeling (cloaca-wind). I’ve learned a lot about harpy culture from all this. It will be a running joke any time Beak is introduced to someone new.

And I look forward to it greatly.  :D

The New Project that I’ll be working on is the “humans are weird” + fantasyland novel (titled Accidentally Human), with high-tier patron input on which direction the chapters should take. I plan to write a chapter each week, posting them on Friday with a poll open over the weekend with two choices for what I’ll be writing during the week.

All patrons get to see the chapters before the rest of the world; I’ll share them on Tumblr and elsewhere with a week’s delay.

I have some great ideas for this story, and I can’t wait to get started. I can tell that it will be an adventure with eccentric worldbuilding and witty banter in equal measures. Just my style.

Centaurs wear shoes that lace up, instead of traditional horseshoes? But of course. Rebellious teenage dryads wear invasive plants like hair? Whyever not. Orcs are evolved from orca whales? You bet they are; let’s do this.

If you like:

* “humans are weird” + fantasy worlds

* shapeshifting

* witty banter

* worldbuilding that involves orcs evolved from orca whales

…Then you might just like Accidentally Human! Here’s the blurb:

I’ll be sharing it as I write, just like with The First Time Traveler to Survive. The only difference is, this time the high-tier patrons can vote on which direction the plot goes.

This is gonna be bonkers and I love it already. Here we go!

CHAPTER ONE
4416 words

Windmane had just sold one of the larger tapestries to a human who could barely carry it when a dryad popped up from the hardwood floor. The human kept to a courteous distance as the dryad announced that the festival was ending, and the marketplace stalls should begin their breakdown process. Windmane heard other dryads make similar announcements farther along. Punctual as ever, they left nothing to chance.

“Overhead performances will start soon, to make departure more pleasant,” the dryad said. Her voice was as smooth as the others from this vast grove, and her skin as dark as the wood she had formed from. She’d taken the humanlike shape that the dryads favored, which Windmane privately had opinions about. Centaur form would clearly have been a better choice. The dryad finished her announcement with “Thank you for making this festival one we can all enjoy! See you next year.” She then disappeared into the root system that made up the sprawling wooden floor of the festival grounds.

The marketplace instantly turned loud and chaotic. Windmane hurried to roll up the other tapestries hung at her portion of the stall, while staying out of the way of her herdmates tasked with gathering the money and disassembling the stall itself. She had been to the annual Dryad Forest Festival before, and she knew the dance. If there were no interruptions, the eight of them would have the stall reassembled into their personal pull-carts and be ready to go before the worst of the traffic blocked the lanes.

I wonder if the dryads will open more lanes through the forest this year, Windmane thought. Probably not. The plants are more important than the impatience of some outsiders. She covered the tapestry bundles and strapped them together firmly while her thoughts wandered to the fool newcomers who’d braved a shortcut off the wooden paths last year. Dryad law was strict, and their branches sharp. And aside from the painful death, you don’t want to get the rest of your herd banned from selling here next year.

Something brushed her ear, causing it to flick in irritation.

“Oh, catch it!” exclaimed a tiny voice.

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The first chapter of “Accidentally Human” is up on Patreon.  I’ll share it here next Friday.  It’s probably a good sign that I kept stopping to read it when I was checking for copy/paste glitches.

*vibrating with excitement*

Cranky dragon time!  Everybody loves the cranky dragon.

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Chapter 10
1085 words

It took all of Razorscale’s willpower not to snap at the orcs to paddle faster. He knew that this was the best speed he would be getting from anyone, short of going ahead on the flying carpet, but that didn’t help his patience. Instead he focused on strategies, mentally going over every possibility he could think of and sharing the most likely with his apprentice.

By the time the afternoon sky darkened into evening, and the next village appeared on the coastline, the plan had solidified into two things. Confine the offending mages, and perform the counterspell. The method of accomplishing the first would depend on many factors, but the second would be done by the apprentice. Razorscale had spent a solid hour going over the incantation and power work that he had put together during his long carpet flights.

It was simple enough for someone with Razorscale’s centuries of experience. He was gambling a lot on the apprentice’s ability to get it right on the first try, but it was a gamble that he felt confident in. And he would be there to advise.

The boats glided toward shore amid the raucous singing of the orcs, who had mastered a new song courtesy of the minotaur woman. It revolved around stomping in time. Razorscale was glad to be returning to land.

Less glad to have their forward momentum stopped, but he’d take what he could get.

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How long did you think you think those boat rules would last?

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Chapter 9
1133 words

Twig fidgeted. Boats were boring.

It had been exciting at first, settling into his designated seat in the narrow craft without upsetting it. The thing wobbled! Under his own weight! Twig had never been heavy enough to move something this big before. It was quite the experience. The two orcs sharing the boat (canoe?) with him were helpful, holding his arm at first and then physically picking him up to set him where he should be. Much simpler that way.

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The himbo pixie has a good idea! Who would have thought?

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Chapter 22
1445 words

    Twig was excited. This was exciting! They knew where one of the bad people was. Granted, he was surrounded by some of the most powerful magic-users in the nation, but still. It was a start. And the unicorns weren’t being mean anymore! Not as much, anyway. They still had Twig and his friends caught, but at least they were only bickering with Razorscale instead of hurting them now.

    “We need to hurry,” the dragon was saying, gesturing with one human arm. “He could leave at any time!”

=Our two compatriots are already there,= the scary unicorn reminded him, diamond fangs flashing in the light. =And you should go nowhere near the place after being so clumsy about your exit.=

    Razorscale bared his human teeth in a grimace that was probably supposed to be threatening. He argued some more. Twig tried to think of a solution.

    What could he do? Not much while stuck in this magical sticky-trap, but the unicorns would surely let him go soon. Then he could … what? He didn’t have his wings, so he couldn’t even fly there to listen in. Windmane still had pixie dust in her bag, but…

    The pixie attendants fluttering about the unicorns caught his attention. They could do everything he usually could. Probably more, if the unicorns weren’t stingy with their magic. They could…

    “We can spy on his house!” Twig exclaimed. Heads turned in his direction. “If we know who he is, the pixies can sneak in and look around.” He tried to point, though the sticky magic made it difficult. “We do know his name, right?”

    Everyone looked at the fangy unicorn. Who still hadn’t introduced herself, now that Twig thought about it. Rude.

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I’ve got a title for the New Project.  It’s gonna be fun.

Harpy time!  Harpy harpy harpy time.  I tell you, I didn’t even plan on including these featherfolk before I made that rambling post about worldbuilding, but I am SO glad I did. 

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(The $10+ tiers get to vote on which direction each chapter takes.)
(Do come join the party!)

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Chapter 3
2381 words

The Beak That Pierces Brains looked wistfully up at the sky as she walked on talon-less feet, as groundbound as the rawest hatchling. The should-be-a-dragon was long gone. Now the figures in the sky were familiar ones: her friends and associates heading home late from the festival without her. They carried only the smallest amounts of trade goods, since they’d sold most of the mortar this year. Beak had mined a lot of that from the cliffs herself, mixed some of it, and been an instrumental part in selling it to their regulars. Now she was left to walk while the rest of them flew through the darkening skies.

They weren’t the only ones above, she noticed: a cloud of darting lights that could only be pixies was ahead of them, and a small silver dragon followed the harpies at a respectful distance.

Pixies, she thought, Have no respect for anyone. I don’t envy whoever has to deal with them before the full explanation arrives. She cheered herself slightly by imagining the chaos that several dozen curious pixies could wreak on people who were not her. The door to her own house would probably be closed at this time of day, with her sisters preparing dinner. They would know better than to open it to tiny excitable voices.

It was possible that Beak’s opinion of the species was colored by an earlier interaction with the should-be-a-pixie, who had been making an effort to learn everyone’s names. He was, it turned out, one of those featherless types who couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious when presented with Beak’s full name.

“Harpies don’t have beaks,” he’d said, blinking.

Beak spread her arms and glared at the sky — a gesture that lacked impact without her feathered wings — and she tried not to sound too infuriated when she replied. “It’s a metaphorical beak!”

“A what?”

Beak had refused to explain it to him, stomping off to walk behind the dragon. The other two could explain harpy naming customs to him if they cared to. She wasn’t in the mood.

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