Yzabel Ginsberg

To Sam, the big sister who never forgets. How? That was the only word swirlinng in her head. How, how, how. Yet after the book had languished there on the floor for a whole day, curiosity had prevailed again. It was, all in all, a good story. A pretty good one, even. The person who had crafted these episodes, and the overarching plot she had started to discern, clearly did know their craft, a master at weaving all the tricks of storytelling and pulling the reader in without a chance of escaping. At first glance, her mind too preoccupied with all manners of questions about the twins and their presence in a book given to her by this random stranger, Sam had dismissed Dream No More as just some standard story for teenagers: a group of five kids that didn’t know each other at first, except the twin girls, of course, and found themselves embarking on wild adventures in Oneiros, the Land of Dreams, first helping their friends with their problems, then gradually battling different foes every time. The Monster of the Week, so to say—which, in quite an ironic fashion, depicted her own life at times, going from one hunt to the other, from a vampire to a werewolf, then coming back home, wherever home happened to be at that specific moment. The thread running through the first episodes was fairly simple as well: a good old lesson in morals and kindness, the children encountering someone in the human world who needed help, and diving into their dreams in order to heal them, find some solution, or just holding out a comforting hand. Hardly the stuff of deep literature. Old Willard would’ve scoffed at that, and probably smacked the back of her head to teach her to keep herself busy with more intelligent activities, such as the perfect angle to drive a stake into a leech’s black, shrivelled heart.

Interestingly, I have several instances of "except/ion" in Act 1, but none in the other 4 acts... 🤔
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Context: Sam found a comic book ("Dream No More"!) featuring her deceased twin half-sisters. But she has no idea who authored it...

‘Hi, brother. I hope you’re not too angry with me. But if you are, well, I can understand…’ There, on the screen, was Ezekiel’s face. His deep eyes, obscured with an infinite sadness, slightly unfocused, because with the amount of light around him, surely he could barely see more than darkened blotches. His fidgeting with the camera placed in front of him, the screen shaking, until he appeared somewhat satisfied with the device’s position. His contrite smile, just like when he was a child caught doing mischief, yet betraying the tiniest hint of pain. The video must have been recorded a few weeks or even months ago, against the backdrop of one of the walls in his studio, for Zeke clearly wore summer clothes, a basic white T-Shirt exposing the tattoos on his pale arms and the small Yang pendant at his neck. In a reflex, Dan’s hand flew to his own throat, where its Yin counterpart hung. The tiny dot of darkness existing in Ezekiel’s immense light; the tiny dot of light remaining in Dan’s vast darkness. Their very own reminders. The creature currently known as Daniel Rook was used to standing at the top—an apex predator, a child of the night, a shadow able to kill with the flick of a finger when he so wanted, fangs and claws dripping with the fresh blood of both prey and enemies. But in that very moment, seeing that face, hearing that voice, stunned him so much that he had to pause the video and stay there, hunched in his armchair, not even knowing when he had started hugging himself. Not daring to click the Play button again. Yet at the same time, devoured with the deepest yearning to hear his twin’s voice.

"Position"
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Context: Dan has received the video files Ezekiel recorded for him over the past few months, and is now watching the first one. (These files are so far his only hints as to what exactly put his twin brother in a coma.)

Pretty sure *some* families have tried though, especially if the bill was steep 😅

Now I'm wondering, do the families get to keep the torpedoes' remnants and sell them for scrap or something 😅

In this recent dream, the tree got to you first. I’m not sure how exactly it happened, because everything kept jumping from one scene to the other, as dreams often do, but anyway—one moment, you were fighting next to me, and the next, there was a spray of blood and silence and then you… fell, you just fell, and your head was… Not there, not… Well, no, it was, tumbling next to you, it was… Oh, God, I painted that and it was awful, and it’s still as awful when I try to describe it, and… You were there, not moving anymore, and I remember dropping to my knees and shaking you up, I was so stupid, how could you answer me when you… Then you started to turn to ashes, quickly, so quickly, I couldn’t even hold you, you just—your body just became dust, I was trying to gather it but it was only dust… And I couldn’t remember what I was doing in the dream, if I had been shielding you properly or not. If maybe, just maybe, I had overlooked the fact that you’re immortal, but not absolutely invulnerable. That—yes—my brother who is so strong and so dependable and always has my back, well, sometimes he needs me to have his back instead. And now, I keep wondering: what if I fail to do that exactly, once Fate catches up to us and we’re entangled in its knot? What if you die stupidly because I’m going to fail you, because I’m too confident and too complacent and I’m always taking you for granted?

Here we go!
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Context: Ezekiel (the brother currently in a coma) recorded a series of videos for Dan, in which he tried to explain what happened in his recurring premonition dreams (mostly Very Bad Things).

That is a can of worms on its own for sure 😅

Welcome to the club XD
(My local chippie is so good... Their chips portions are like the size of my full forearm and I can never finish them ^^)

It's 2021 and in that version of the world, both the pandemic and the government's reaction have been harsher, so they have lockdowns every few months to try and curb it down

The next three days turned out to be a lot of inaction and boredom, for very little pay-off; yet when one had not much to go with, even a few more pieces of information were precious commodity. Sam moved her van at the end of each evening, to make sure the vehicle wouldn’t be noticed, and dined on crisps and on the rest of the non-perishables she had stocked upon along the way to Ashford, for the exact same reason: she didn’t want to chance anyone commenting on ‘the new girl in town’ if she became too much of a regular at the local chippies or Sainsbury’s. In different times, she’d have made an exception for dinner, and hit the pubs: enough people there that she could hide in the crowd, and enough talking for her to glean more about the cult next door. People always talked about the cult next door, no matter how nice its members appeared and behaved. Unfortunately, the pubs were all closed, too. Only the absolutely essential stores remained open. At least they were better stocked-up in toilet paper, this time.

I am, once again, surprised at how few instances of "perish" I have. In a story with vampires and various other Things That Kill. 🤔
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Context: Sam has gone on a stakeout to find more intel about the cult whose leader she needs to off.

I don't even have enough lifetimes to write them all 😂

That was WWII, but come to think of it, the Revolution itself is also a very fertile ground (and the decades following it as well, indeed) for, ohhhh I can sense side stories comiiiing hehe

(Because I didn't have enough ideas as it is XD)

If he closed his eyes, Dan could still picture Lily’s beaming smile, her little hands holding out a bunch of wild flowers, already half wilted, that she had picked for him earlier on in the day. He could still recall the passion and excitement in Douglas’s voice as the boy told them all about his books with engravings of plants. The different zeal in both their voices, too, when they announced they were going to join the Resistance in France, whether their father and uncle liked it or not; and that was the last time he had spoken to them, and twenty, thirty, fourty years later, there he still had been, trying to find out what had happened and where their bodies laid, still trying when Ezekiel himself had given up, because if even a Temporis mage was unable to figure it out, then didn’t it mean nobody could? Still trying, because the shadows in his blood wouldn’t let him stop. Only the Red Forest had managed to put an end to it, by almost ending him instead.

The one and only instance of "zeal" in my works (and that's only after editing to avoid repeating "passion" 😅)
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Context: Dan remembering his niece and nephew, who died in mysterious circumstances. 😢

‘As I said, you’re always welcome. Besides, it always amazes me.’ ‘What does?’ ‘How you never stay in place, and you’re not that keen on reading, but you’re surprisingly serious when it comes to doing research. Were you a postgrad at some point, by chance?’ He gave her an enigmatic smile; if she knew he had never even been to school, surely she’d be horrified. Like she’d be if he ever told her about the rest. About the answer to the question that never got asked. About where he had been at the age of ten or eleven. Hint: not at school.

The word of the day is "academy". I have none, but I have a few "school(s)", so here goes.
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Context: Dan and Talia spent a few hours researching the cult Magda used to be in. Musings about studies ensue.

I can totally imagine that bit of dialogue between Dan and Sam...
"Yeeeeah, about that... You offed one of ours, but, er, I'm tempted to call that an act of public health... After all, he was in a band called Blood Rocket..."

What if Brad the Lad was in a band 👀

I can feel a little less alone in my weirdness, then 😆

Poster from Dracula (theatre) in London in 202

Everyone upon seeing the thumbnail: Ohh red ink flowing like blood from a pen!
Me upon seeing the thumbnail: Oh, hey, a rocket taking off!

50 Word Fiction competition: write a story featuring a fox Closing date: Tuesday 24 February 2026 at 11.55pm

We've got a competition for all you cunning writers out there. . . 😏

This month, we're challenging you to write a 50 word story featuring a fox. 🦊

Prizes up for grabs for adults, young writers and Gaelic entries!

www.scottishbooktrust.com/50-word-fict...

They followed with some more idle banter, as Seo-Yeon started pulling out various clothes out of her supermarket bag—mostly stockings, skirts and long-sleeved tops, with a mid-length purple jacket and a pair of grey trousers. Almost no white clothing, a fact that prompted a sudden, unexpected wave of relief in Magda. White was the colour she had been forced to wear all her life, and being clad all in it right now didn’t feel right. Not in that place, not with these people, not with their chatter she barely understood, full of quibs and playful verbal jabs. Seo-Yeon seemed to be waiting for something, though, and only when she gestured towards the clothes did Magda realise she was supposed to take them. ‘Can I… Can I choose?’ ‘Oh, no need, you keep them all. They’re pretty basic, but that should last you a couple of weeks until you can pick clothes you like.’ ‘I suggest black.’ ‘Dan, shut up.’ ‘No, I’m taking her to the Night Market later. Might as well blend with the crowd.’ ‘Right, I have plenty of things to say about that, but first things first—Magda? Come, let’s get you changed before he starts spouting more vampire bro nonsense.’

"Suggest" is the word today.
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Context: Magda has escaped the cult created by her father and found refuge with Dan, who agreed to shelter her for the time being (but has no clothes for her, hence Seo-Yeon's help with this).

‘I guess we must get in there?’ Dan asked, trying his best to ignore the growing sensation of disgust and unease the mere sight of the plants elicited in him. Over the smell of hummus, he was starting to discern another one, a very old, somewhat familiar stench.

I should keep track of my ridiculous typos and other bloopers, so here's one for starters.
#bloopers #DreamNoMore #WritingCommunity

Everything vanished in his mind, everything but the golden threads outlining the crates. He sent his mind course along them, along that delicate trellis, weaving around the existing points of impact, touching here and there upon the bonds, stringing them into different formations, just enough for the wood to be the sturdiest possible. And there, there in the back of his thoughts, something else, another idea: could he fuse the steel with wood, like he had fused different kinds of rocks when he demonstrated that one last time for Jakob? Could he? Or was that pushing boundaries, an impossible task that he shouldn’t even attempt?…

3 stories and again, I barely used this word, "formation"... but I have one instance this time!

Context: Emmerich, a State police agent with psychic powers, is trying to manipulate matter in order to trap and catch the suspect he's currently pursuing.

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Picture of Himiko, a brown classic tabby Sphynx cat with large beautiful green eyes, wearing a red and green Merry Christmas jumper

I think this account is still sorely lacking in cat pictures, so... Here's my Himiko 😊
#sphynx #sphynxcat #sphynxcommunity #lifewithasphynx

I love her eyes, too. I really have a soft spot for heterochromia, and white cats seem to have it maybe more often than others? I don't know. They're mesmerising anyway.

Sphynx can grow a little more hair if they're in cold environments ("cold" by their standard,s of course, which means 26°C in my flat). Mine has a super hairy tail, too, it's so funny.

Anyway—she's beautiful 💖

SPOT. ON.
And like everything worth it, we have to keep on fighting. Because the moment we stop, we get trampled again.

(It's exactly the same for feminism. No, it's not "you have equality now, you can stop." If we stop, in 10 years (or less!), it's back to pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen.😠)

Same issue in mine
My characters will do every kind of weird stuff, except procrastinate 😂
(Unless you count Dan fluffing up the cushions when he's stressed as "procrastinating", but I still have my doubts.)

Sphynxes all are 🥰
(She looks like a Sphynx. With a bit of winter hair. 😅)

She's absolutely gorgeous and lovely (both the model and the painting!)

I checked through three stories of mine and "procrastinate" doesn't appear even once. (We're talking hundreds of thousands of words here.)
I guess I just never use this word in my fiction writing--I only ever use it when it applies to living people (myself included)? 😅

Always our worst critics, aren't we 😅