In Search of Search Terms

Remember back in the day when you could actually see what search terms brought people to your website? (If you don’t remember, read this glorious post from Hyperbole and a Half. Go on, I’ll wait for you.

Ok, so like I was saying- remember that? We don’t have that anymore, thanks to encrypted search terms, and it saddens me. I would really love to know what search terms are bringing people to my blog.

I’m going to leave this post a sticky for a while, in the hopes that you, the readers, will help me out.

What search terms, if any, brought you to my site?

Feel free to leave a comment here, or message me directly using the contact from on my About page if you’d rather.

Thanks guys! I’m looking forward to the results. 😀

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Quick Update

I’m moving! We FINALLY found and apartment and heard back from them today! I know I’m already pretty quiet on here as it is, but I thought I’d let you all know anyways. We should be all settled in after 4th of July weekend.

Raevenly Writes: on a thunder prompt

Been going through old prompt drafts and actually writing with them (wild, right?)

putthepromptsonpaper:

“She dreamed of the sound of thunder and hooves”

There was no way to quiet the panic in her brain, even when she reminded it they were dreaming. Just a dream. They were not actually astride a giant eagle, racing alongside the wind walkers. It was just a dream–albeit a truly frightening one.

She gripped the eagle tighter with her legs, earning her a mental spike of protest. She tried to project back an apology, but her brain was still flooded full of fear.

There’s just no help for it, she thought. Some things you can’t unlearn.

Like treating her animal half as a separate self when she dreamed. Or lifelong fear of flying above the storms, where the wind walkers galloped across the tops of the black clouds.

They banked, her eagle self turning them away from the storm at the nightmares that raced atop it. Her animal knew better, knew the walkers would not devour them in their dreams. It urged her to relax, to embrace the flight, and chase the dream into the dawn.

But all the while, she heard the thunder of hoof beats behind her, felt the cold, damp wind on the back of her neck, and knew there was no outrunning the beasts that ran the sky.

Raevenly Wrote: A short thing!

Lol, anticlimactic, I know. But hey, I’m alive! Surprise, surprise!

For those of you wondering if I’d fallen off the face of the earth …well, pretty much, yeah. 😛 I’ve been doing a lot more visual media than anything else, but also taking some time to recharge, and grapple with ye olde writer confidence issues. And I’ve been playing around with a potential podcast, but first I’ve got to condition myself to not start hyperventilating like a deranged chipmunk as soon as I hit record. :/

But I miss writing, I miss it a lot, and I want to find my way back into it. This morning, I tried a little exercise I’d read about, where you copy out your favorite stories as a voice defining exercise, or something like that. Before I could hunt down the book I wanted to do this with, I’d already started mentally composing, so I just ran with that instead. Hey, the point was to start writing again, right?

So, for funsies, here’s my rewrite of the opening scene of Midnight Predator, the novel that first made me fall in love with shapeshifters (thanks again, Amelia!)


The fight had been going on since well before dawn. As the sky started to lighten on the Eastern horizon, Ravyn and Turquoise completely failed to notice, attention focused down on the battle between them. No light from outside ever reached this far into the guild hall anyway.

Muscles tightened, some instinct of warning sending Turquoise spiralling away from a blow before she’d even known Ravyn has struck. She was beyond tired, acting on habits of conditioning. The only reason she hadn’t been hit was because the other hunter was in much the same condition. Five hours is an ungodly long time to fight.
On a real hunt, no confrontation would ever last this long. If Turquoise didnt elimante her prey on the first blow… Well, there were precious few things she hunted that would give her another shot at it.
An opening, and she lunged, finding nothing but empty air as the other hunter danced away. Damnit. They were never going to reach an endpoint to the Trials at this rate.

Opening drabble

When I go for long periods of time without writing, I go back to stories I love for inspiration. One of my favorite things are the little personal journal blurbs at the beginning of every Keisha’ra book. I come back to those a lot. A lot a lot. This bit was a fast and loose blend of some ace characters, mine and one borrowed from the Maeve’ra.


We are born into it. From before our first breaths, we are rocked by our mother’s dancing, soothed by the songs on her lips. We sway with our first steps, we sing before we can speak. And underneath it all, the knowledge, the promise, that all of this down for Her. That all things of the body are Li’Daea’s gift. That all our pleasure is done in offering to her.

But, when touch isn’t a pleasure, when song doesn’t move your heart… Because you know every drumbeat carries expectation. Because that thrill of nervousness in the pit of your stomach isn’t excitement. It’s dread.

We are born into it. This idea that love and beauty and song and flesh are one and the same. That to celebrate the Goddess that made us all, we are to worship with tongues and teeth and body, that every body is her temple and every prayer is whispered on lovers’ lips, pressed and sealed with a hungry kiss. She is craving, she is Life, and what speaks more of life than the act of creation itself? Even those pairings that don’t result in children…

It is still expected. We are born into it. We are serpents. We dance, and the Goddess smiles. We sing, and she sings back. We kiss, and the world is made anew.

And we hide…

Why would we hide?

I am thirteen and have never felt the stirrings of desire. It will come, they tell me. No rush to spoil my youth. But every smile is knowing. Every eye is casting about that that special glance, that certain someone. There is no one. And I do not feel it a lack. But soon…

I have watched my friends couple off one by one, swelling in the flowers of their adulthood. It will come, they say. No need to rush.

But no need at all?

We are born into it. We are serpents. We dance.

So why does the thought turn my stomach?

Housekeeping: Seth drabble

It’s just a dance, he told himself. Just one stupid little dance you’ve practiced a hundred times. With his nerves this ramped up, he was just as likely to call the fire on accident as with the ceremonial dance. Either way, the central fire would be lit for the year, and his people’s prosperity would be assured.

The only real question was whether or not his dignity would survive the winter.


This drabble is something I later turned into one of the Dreams in the Desert Interludes. I’m not sure why I tucked it again in my drafts folder, but I’m sure there’s some Seth fans out there that will be glad its resurfaced.