Mae Tang 董美妍
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maetang.myatproto.social
Mae Tang 董美妍
@maetang.myatproto.social
110 followers 57 following 1.2K posts
She/her. Writer. Chinese Singaporean immigrant to the UK. This is where I talk about writing.

Books:
- My 1st book. Shortlisted for the Hachette Children’s Novel Awards 2025.
- Books One & Two. The duology I'm querying with.
- WIP/new novel.
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maetang.myatproto.social
I worry about word count when I know, I completely know that a certain sort of reader (me; it's me) absolutely eats up random little anecdotes that build a sense of character, relationships, community.

Aubrey-Maturin is full of these random, silly little moments and glorious for it!
A screenshot of text reads: Knock-knock on the door. ‘Beg pardon, your honour. Loblolly boy’s all in a mother, sir. Young Mr Ricketts has swallowed a musket-ball and they can’t get it out. Choking to death, sir, if you please.’ ‘Forgive me,’ said Stephen, carefully putting down his glass and covering it with a red spotted handkerchief, a bandanna. ‘Is all well – did you manage…?’ asked Jack five minutes later. ‘We may not be able to do all we could wish in physic,’ said Stephen with quiet satisfaction, ‘but at least we can give an emetic that answers, I believe. You were saying, sir?’
November 28, 2025 at 1:25 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
*contemplates the use of "my dear" between men friends in Aubrey-Maturin*

I don't think I could get away with it in the WIP, for the same reason I'm writing "sweetheart" as "sweet-heart". Too distracting for the modern reader

Although I might retain it for the romantic couples, where more expected
A screenshot of text reads: ‘What a romantic creature you are, to be sure,’ said Stephen. ‘A ball fired from a privateer’s cannon makes the same hole as a king’s.’ ‘Me, romantic?’ cried James with real indignation, an angry light coming into his green eyes. ‘Yes, my dear,’ said Stephen, taking snuff. ‘You will be telling me next about their divine right.’
November 28, 2025 at 12:34 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
In the time since I last re-read Aubrey-Maturin, I also read every Jack Reacher book - for which Lee Child famously said: "Write the fast stuff slow"

When I re-read a passage like this now, where Aubrey has his men practice firing the Sophie's guns, it's what I think of. Look at the detailed action
A screenshot of text reads: The slow-match whipped across. The captain stubbed it hard down on to the priming. For an infinitesimal spark of time there was a hissing, a flash, and then the gun went off with the round, satisfying bang of a pound and more of hard-rammed powder exploding in a confined space. A stab of crimson flame in the smoke, flying morsels of wad, the gun shooting eight feet backwards under the arched body of its captain and between the members of its crew, the deep twang of the breeching as it brought up the recoil – all these were virtually inseparable in time; and before they were over the next order came.
November 26, 2025 at 11:07 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Which it is difficult to refrain from importing Preserved Killick's manner of speech into the WIP!

Instead I've got the characters wishing each other joy today (like Maturin to Aubrey in the quote below), & I'm sure at some point they should like to do so of all things! 😅
A screenshot of text reads: ‘You are very good, sir. I should like it of all things. To tell the truth, I was in such a hurry of spirits I forgot my breakfast. I have just been promoted,’ he added, with an off-hand laugh. ‘Have you indeed? I wish you joy of it with all my heart, sure. Pray walk in.’
November 26, 2025 at 6:17 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Sometimes it's easy to forget that they started out offering to duel each other. You could call it enemies-to-brothers 🥰

But also, look at that incredibly long run-on sentence where Aubrey wants to beat Matutin with a chair! Never let yourself fear the long sentence if your style can carry it off!
A screenshot of text reads: Jack Aubrey and his neighbour in the rusty black coat stood up at the same time, and they looked at one another: Jack let his face return to its expression of cold dislike – the dying A screenshot of text reads: remnants of his artificial rapture were peculiarly disagreeable, as they faded – and in a low voice he said, ‘My name is Aubrey, sir: I am staying at the Crown.’ ‘Mine, sir, is Maturin. I am to be found any morning at Joselito’s coffee-house. May I beg you to stand aside?’ For a moment Jack felt the strongest inclination to snatch up his little gilt chair and beat the white-faced man down with it; but he gave way with a tolerable show of civility – he had no choice, unless he was to be run into – and shortly afterwards he worked through the crowd of tight-packed blue or red coats with the occasional civilian black as far as the circle round Mrs Harte, called out ‘Charming – capital – beautifully played’ over heads three deep, waved his hand and left the room.
November 26, 2025 at 6:04 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Did some researching for more querying for Book One. Then did more writing. The WIP is now at 120K words. Time for a secondary antagonist to do some antagonistic things. Cousin Morton, step on up! Yes, please do mouth off about Gabe in front of Hal. That will surely go so well for you 🤣
A screenshot of text reads: “Oh, and you’re the tutor, aren’t you?” Now Morton nodded at Gabe slowly, a sneer curling his lips. “The one that Clay turned off without a reference for… What was it? Rank insubordination? And then I gather you washed up in Hammerton. In one of *my* cotton manufactories. Had I known that a fellow of ill repute and low character had taken up work in—” “You’ll shut your mouth right now. Or I’ll shut it for you.” Hal said, flatly. His anger had shifted in an instant to something intent and deadly. His large shoulders were bunching up under his shirt, straining at the fabric, as if he was having to make an effort not to start forward. “You’re speaking to a man who protected my nephew at great cost to himself. You’ll desist at once. You’ll address your comments to me, and no one else.” He went on. The warning note in his voice was absolute.
November 23, 2025 at 3:13 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
And then eventually, they're much more like this with each other. 😂

And the rest is complicated, trauma-filled history. 😅🥰
A screenshot of text reads: Then he grinned at Glaive. It was a lopsided grin, because he couldn’t open his mouth as widely on the burned side of his face. It quirked up the other corner of his lips instead as he bared his teeth, as he pushed back with words and attitude. The effect, if he could have seen it, was wolfish and rakish. It went directly to Glaive’s groin, bypassing his brain entirely. A screenshot of text reads: After all of that, Jon somehow found himself mostly wordless. He couldn’t account for this development between himself and Glaive in his own head, it felt so improbable. Glaive was tall, and lean, and rangy, and beautiful. Like an illustration out of a book of Saints, Jon thought, or a martyr in a stained-glass window in a chapel. And if he wouldn’t be featured on the window itself, the panes of Glaive’s cheekbones were certainly sharp enough to cut glass.
November 20, 2025 at 1:00 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
There's Jon & Glaive in each other's eyes, meeting & immediately having a misunderstanding, because
1) Jon's burns have Glaive flashing back to treating burn victims as a medic
2) Jon didn't know Glaive was a medic, or has flashbacks. So Jon's impression is that Glaive is appalled by him personally
A screenshot of text reads: Then Jon turned to Glaive. He meant to bow in formal greeting to Hal’s brother. His eyes took in a tall, lean man, half a head taller than himself. He was surprised to see that Glaive didn’t resemble his brother much. Perhaps they both took after different parents? Wavy, chin-length, light brown hair framed a face that was all planes and breathtakingly sharp cheekbones. The Cleric was smooth shaven, with no traces of stubble. Jon had been reluctant to shave, with the pitch and yaw of the ship making his good hand unsteady with a razor. Now with several days of stubble in place over half his chin, he felt rough and untidy in comparison. He didn’t care about such things with Hal, but he immediately felt a touch of embarrassment before this smooth-looking Cleric. His eyes wandered from the bare chin up to lips that were full and surprisingly flushed against pale skin, and were slightly parted now. To his own surprise, Jon felt a squeezing in his chest, the beginnings of some kind of unexpected emotion. Then his look slid up to the shadows under Glaive’s eyes. Then up to the eyes themselves, which were a light honey-brown and thickly lashed. But then all traces of embarrassment left Jon, because of what he saw in Glaive’s gaze. A screenshot of text reads: The Cleric was staring at him, shocked. Wide-eyed, and holding back none of his horror. Jon’s own gaze which had been open and evaluative, now shuttered itself suddenly, as he braced himself against that look. He felt his jaw tighten, and it was already normally tight because of the burn scars. In fact, all the muscles in his body were closing off against Hal’s brother and the intensity of his horrified gaze. Jon felt his right hand, always slightly clawed now, tremble and close into a fist. He intensely disliked the feeling of being a spectacle for horror or pity because of his burns. He wanted to fight any cove who looked at him that way, let alone one who was openly staring like this. But this was Hal’s brother. Glaive had taken in Hal’s comrade briefly, atop the driver’s seat of the coach, as a stocky man with brown skin and dark hair that curled around the collar of his shirt and coat. He had seen, in profile, wide shoulders, a broad chest, powerful arms, muscled thighs and calves. The man had a stubbled chin with a stubborn set to it, a broad, generous mouth, dark eyes with a wry but good-humoured expression to them, and a wide face that he might have called dashing, or even beautiful if it were smiling. A screenshot of text reads: Then the man had leapt down from his seat, and turned towards them, and his full face and his other hand had come into view. And with them, his burn scars. He had lost the hair on the quarter of his head around his ear, and that was misshapen by the burning, the rim and earlobe looking, in a word, melted into the flesh around it. Half of his eyebrow on that side of his face was burned away. He must have been lucky to have kept the eye, Glaive’s thought was horribly clear. The scarring covered his cheek, one side of his jaw, and it trailed down his neck into the collar of his shirt. His right hand showed more scarring. The flesh looked pulled tight there, as it did around his jaw. Glaive’s trained mind coolly served up a damage assessment that calculated the age of the burns and the likely severity of them at the time, and how they should have been treated for an optimal outcome – this was clearly less than optimal, given the contracture of the scaring around the man’s jaw and hand. Meanwhile, Glaive’s stomach had plummeted away from him, and he could no longer feel the ground beneath his feet. His ears had filled with the sounds of screaming, and his nose with the terrible smell of burning flesh. The rows of cots swam before his eyes again, and the men lying in them, crying out for help, praying and begging for an end to their pain, as even more of them were carried in. He was suddenly back in Flayton.
November 20, 2025 at 1:00 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
And he's going to provoke him into eating it, one way or the other. 😅🥰

Jon's general approach to Glaive's habitual self-negation is going to be to stay firmly with what Jon feels and wants at the boundary. He can't and won't force things on Glaive. But if Glaive hands him something, he'll use it.
A screenshot of text reads: The cheese was a gift then, meant especially for him. Feeling absurdly shy, Glaive slowly lifted the bread to his mouth and bit down. The cheese was sharp and creamy, and the pieces of dried fruit in it – cherries, and apricots, Glaive thought – were also sour and sweet. It was objectively delicious, and as he ate, he did discover in himself the first stirrings of hunger. But he knew that that was less about the cheese – as good as it was – and more about the feeling of wonder inside him that Jon had looked about a marketplace while on an errand for Hal, and then thought about him. “The way I see it,” Jon said, moving to slice off more cheese and bread as Glaive finished chewing and swallowing, “If you like Joan Fortwright’s porridge enough to finish off half a bowl when you’ve no appetite, then this is also creamy, and sweet with dried fruit. If that suits, I can easily ride out to Mashcrick anytime you might crave some. Oh, and I passed by the nettle patch on the way back too, so I cut more of that for you and Hal. Joan Fortwright said she’ll make up nettle soup for dinner again.” Glaive took the second round of bread from Jon when he held it out. But then he paused and he said, looking up at Jon, “Why?” A screenshot of text reads: “Why what?” “Why are you being so good to me?” Jon’s eyebrows shot up. “Am I not supposed to be? And don’t tell me it’s *kind* of me,” he added quickly, with a little heat, recalling their earlier conversation on horseback. “Yes, I know I’m kind. But am I not supposed to be kind to *you*? The man I’m bedding, who willingly and gladly offered me such… Pleasure.” His look then was fully heated, and Glaive blushed under it. “And then also gave me… So very much of himself last night. Am I not supposed to be good to *him*? Glaive couldn’t quite speak. He glanced away from Jon, staring for a moment at nothing. There was mingled pain and bewilderment on his face when he looked back again. “After I… After what I told you and showed you last night. I don’t know why you should be.” Jon sucked in a breath. “Give me a moment to think on it,” he said then. He waved his knife at the round of bread Glaive was holding. “And you might A screenshot of text reads: as well eat that while I do… You also told me last night didn’t you, that you should enjoy eating anything I wished you to?” This said intently, and with a sudden, breathless tension. Glaive froze for a moment. This time when he flushed, it was total, because it was with a mixture of sinking dismay and rising arousal, and arousal at his own dismay. Then he lifted the bread to his mouth, and he bit in, feeling Jon’s eyes on him all the while. Glaive ate two more slices of cheese and bread that way, and Jon watched him as he did so. The taste and sensation of the cheese in his mouth was suddenly voluptuous, because Jon was bidding him to eat it. If Glaive’s lack of one physical appetite was being overtaken by Jon’s baiting and stoking of another, then that was something else Jon evidently found satisfying. “Good,” Jon said then, finally setting his dagger down on the desk, and Glaive’s belly quivered at the tone in his voice. “And as for why I should be good to you, it’s because I want to be. Regardless of your own feelings on the matter.” *Oh.* Glaive absorbed this with a small sense of shock.
November 19, 2025 at 10:59 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
And then here is Burns, after all of that, finally making his way back to the hospital, anticipating being in trouble for his disappearance over most of the day.
A screenshot of text reads: I suppose I’m for it, Burns thought, but couldn’t make the thought real. He folded his arms across his face and almost at once began drifting off to sleep. He was back in the wood, outside the circle now, but able to see himself inside it. His skin was tallow-white against the scurfy bark. A shaft of sunlight filtered through leaves, found one of the magpies, and its feathers shone sapphire, emerald, amethyst. There was no reason to go back, he thought. He could stay here for ever. When he opened his eyes, Rivers was sitting beside the bed. He’d obviously been there some time, his glasses were in his lap, and one hand covered his eyes. The room was quite dark. Rivers seemed to feel Burns watching him, because after a few moments he looked up and smiled. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ ‘About an hour.’ A screenshot of text reads: ‘I’ve worried everybody, haven’t I?’ ‘Never mind that. You’re back, that’s all that matters.’ All the way back to the hospital Burns had kept asking himself why he was going back. Now, waking up to find Rivers sitting by his bed, unaware of being observed, tired and patient, he realized he’d come back for this.
November 16, 2025 at 1:05 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
A bit later, Burns wanders outside on his own. He comes across a gruesome sight: a tree festooned with the bodies of dead animals. It's a powerful scene. He begins to flee. Then he calms down and returns to the tree instead. I think this scene works because she doesn't dilute it with explanation.
A screenshot of text reads: He started to release a magpie, his teeth chattering as a wing came away in his hand. Then the other magpies, the fox, the weasel, the ferret and the moles. When all the corpses were on the ground, he arranged them in a circle round the tree and sat down within it, his back against the trunk. He felt the roughness of the bark against his knobbly spine. He pressed his hands between his knees and looked around the circle of his companions. Now they could dissolve into the earth as they were meant to do. He felt a great urge to lie down beside them, but his clothes separated him. He got up and started to get undressed. When he’d finished, he looked down at himself. His naked body was white as a root. He cupped his genitals in his hands, not because he was ashamed, but because they looked incongruous, they didn’t seem to belong with the rest of him. A screenshot of text reads: Then he folded his clothes carefully and put them outside the circle. He sat down again with his back to the tree and looked up through the tracery of branches at grey and scudding clouds. The sky darkened, the air grew colder, but he didn’t mind. It didn’t occur to him to move. This was the right place. This was where he had wanted to be.
November 16, 2025 at 1:05 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
This connects to something else I'm still struck by: she's very much show-don't-tell. Here's Rivers with a patient who can't keep food down. Does Barker need to tell us that Rivers is compassionate? No. She just needs to show us what he does and how he reacts.
A screenshot of text reads: Burns’s arms were goose-pimpled, though the room was not cold. The smell of vomit lingered on his breath. Rivers sat down beside him. He didn’t know what to say, and thought it better to say nothing. After a while he felt the bed begin to shake and put his arm round Burns’s shoulders. ‘It doesn’t get any better, does it?’ he said. Burns shook his head. After a while Rivers got up, fetched Burns’s A screenshot of text reads: coat from the peg behind the door and wrapped it round his shoulders. ‘Would it be easier to eat in your own room?’ ‘A bit. I wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting other people.’ Yes, Burns would worry about upsetting other people. Perhaps the most distressing feature of his case was the occasional glimpse of the cheerful and likeable young man he must once have been. Rivers looked down at Burns’s forearms, noting that the groove between radius and ulna was even deeper than it had been a week ago. ‘Would it help to have a bowl of fruit in your room?’ he asked. ‘So you could just pick something up when you felt like it?’ ‘Yes, that might help.’ Rivers got up and walked across to the window. He’s agreeing to make me feel useful, he thought. ‘All right, I’ll get them to send something up.’ A screenshot of text reads: The shadows of the beech trees had begun to creep across the tennis courts, which were empty now. Rivers turned from the window. ‘What kind of night did you have?’ ‘Not too good.’ ‘Have you made any progress with what we talked about?’ ‘Not really.’ He looked up at Rivers. ‘I can’t make myself think about it.’ ‘No, well, it’s early days.’ ‘You know, the worst thing is …’ – Burns was scanning Rivers’s face – ‘that it’s a … a joke.’ ‘Yes.’
November 16, 2025 at 1:05 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Finished the breakfast scene today, still shifting the tone from deep emotion between Jon & Glaive, to Hal's sunny cheerfulness due to what he & Gabe got up to the night before. 🌞

They've moved from porridge to sausages, and you can see how introducing the wolfhound allows me to write more Baldric
A screenshot of text reads: Hal suddenly cleared his throat. “Nephew,” he asked. “Baldric. What are you doing with that sausage?” His tone was open and curious. Not accusatory. But Baldric froze guiltily for a moment as all eyes went to him. Then he blushed, raised his hand from his side, and laid his napkin on the table beside his plate. They could see he had wrapped up half a sausage in the folds. He hung his head as he said in a small, tight voice, his breath constricted, “I thought… Perhaps Shadow might like…” He trailed off under their collective scrutiny. “Because I called him ‘Master Sausages’?” Jon said at once. Baldric’s eyes went to him gratefully, and he nodded. Then he dropped his head again. “That won’t do,” Hal said, to everyone’s surprise. Gabe in particular was staring at him. But then Hal got up and went to the chafing dishes on the side table. When he returned, his plate held three sausages on it. He walked around to Baldric, and he rolled two of them down onto the napkin with his knife. “He’s a large hound,” Hal continued conversationally, as Baldric’s head swiveled up and round to stare at him, and then down again at the napkin, his mouth gaping slightly with shock. A screenshot of text reads: “Being that size, a half will barely register. I think he could probably put away more than two and half of them, frankly,” Hal went on addressing Baldric cheerfully. “But also, don’t deprive yourself in seeing to him.” Then he bisected the remaining sausage on his plate with his knife, and tipped half of that onto Baldric’s plate. He speared the leftover half of the sausage, and ate it himself with evident gusto as he strode back to his seat. Gabe’s lips now when he looked at Hal quirked slightly at the corners, and laughter danced in his eyes. Hal caught his gaze. He blushed, and Jon thought he appeared at once very pleased and a little shy. Baldric was staring from Hal to Gabe and back again. He folded up the napkin with its two and half sausages, and slid it into one of his pockets, looking thoughtful. His face had gone from set and tight to open again, and there was a quietness in his movements, as if relieved, or settling down into himself. Jon also noticed that the boy’s breathing had eased and deepened. Then Baldric turned back to his plate, and with Gabe watching him approvingly, he finished off the half sausage that Hal had left for him, out of concern for Baldric still appearing underfed.
November 13, 2025 at 4:08 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
I remembered looking up: "why waistcoats for snooker?" & liking this answer. Who knows if apocryphal, joking or otherwise. But the pistol pocket in particular has stuck in my mind - even more than the malt whisky miniature pocket! It's like sartorial storytelling

www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle...
A screenshot of text reads: Snooker players traditionally wore waistcoats with four pockets: one for chalk, one for ciggies, one for a malt whisky miniature and one for a small pistol that fitted neatly in the palm of the hand. In addition to scoring duties, the referee was also on hand to light fags, replenish libations and deal with minor flesh wounds caused by said pistol. MikeC
November 13, 2025 at 2:13 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
I mean, I am attempting to bridge between one state and the other, not just dumping them into their breakfast porridge with no preamble 🤣

(Porridge is mandatory. Everyone in my books ends up eating some form of porridge. Like soup, I believe it's a foodstuff that would exist across multiple worlds)
A screenshot of text reads: And now here was Glaive again, descended for breakfast. Jon wordlessly moved to pour him tea too. Then they were both sitting at the table together, starting the morning after the night before. Across the breakfast table now, they regarded each other with knowledge, with a newly found intimacy that was more than physical. Glaive still looked a touch shaken and harrowed, and Jon could feel the echoes of that in himself too. At the same time, gazing at Glaive, pale and weary, Jon realised with a dawning sense of inevitability that his world had quietly reorganised itself. That somehow his center of gravity had shifted to lie beyond his own body, somewhere in between him and the tall, beautiful man currently regarding him with shy and silent wonder on his face. His heart had quickened with the knowledge. This was Hal’s younger brother, looking shaken and vulnerable, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he was still here, and Jon was still here. This was *Glaive*. And suddenly Jon wanted to do nothing more than walk over to him, and kiss him. As if by claiming his mouth, he would somehow keep him contained and safe and A screenshot of text reads: held. *I have you*, he remembered saying, and he wanted to say it again and again now, with his words and his mouth and his body, until Glaive could feel that it was true. Then the door opened again. Hal strode into the room, and Jon and Glaive, who had been staring at each other as if nothing else existed in the world, immediately dropped their eyes to their cups, and tried not to look suspicious. Jon’s porridge arrived next. That was a further helpful distraction. Both Glaive and Hal requested the same too, and the kitchen maid bobbed to Hal with an actual smile on her face before she hurried off to fetch it.
November 12, 2025 at 7:24 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Just me and one of my Moksha submissions, hitting a special anniversary. Maybe I should buy it some flowers? Or a cake. We could blow out the tripple digit candles. Whatever happens next, I feel like we've already come so far together... 🎂😂
A partial screenshot from the page of one of my Moksha submissions reads "Days under review: 100 days".
November 12, 2025 at 12:47 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Then some natural ambivalence. If any of this was easy to talk about, it wouldn't be traumatic! (When Glaive asks if he cried "Jon Allen", would Jon let him go, he's referencing the safe word Jon had him practising earlier, ie: not "Jon", or "Master Allen", but the full name, to haul Jon up quick 😂)
A screenshot of text reads: Jon’s gaze was level now. “If you want to tell me, I would like to know.” Glaive’s expression slid into a mess of indecision. “If… If I cried, ‘Jon Allen’ now, would you… Let me go?” He sounded pained. “If you truly wanted me to. If it hurts you too much to speak on it.” Jon’s voice deepened with compassion. *Did it hurt him that much? Did he truly want Jon to leave off?* That deep note of feeling in Jon’s tone, that rose from somewhere inside the fullness of Jon’s chest was for him, Glaive realised. And suddenly Glaive felt tears spring up in his eyes. He screwed them shut against the feeling, trying to press the tears back. He swallowed hard a few times. Then he opened his eyes again, and he said, “You know I went to the Church as a third son? That is to say, when my father died, he left it in his will that I should be provided for through university and then into an appointment with the Church.”
November 10, 2025 at 4:38 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Sent off another query for Book One.

WIP is now at 91K words. Time for Glaive to open up more to Jon. As far as layers of complex trauma go, Glaive is a trauma onion 😂😭 - there's just one thing on top of another. We're going to start peeling off a layer for Jon. But first, a flashback to deal with.
A screenshot of text reads: Glaive felt pinned to the bed by that observation. He could only nod for a moment, as the memories rose unbidden in his head. Jon watched him go pale, and his pupils contract sharply, as if staring starkly over years and long stretches of pain and fear. Jon had seen that look in other men’s faces before, who had also come back from the wars. He reached out, and he clasped his left hand firmly around the top of Glaive’s right bicep, and he squeezed, hard, against the muscle. Then he shook Glaive’s upper arm slightly, as if Jon were a strange kind of terrier, taking hold not hard enough to hurt, but to bring his target very much back to him, and back to his senses. Glaive gasped. He brought his gaze back to Jon. Jon waited till he saw Glaive’s pupils refocus on his face, and widen, taking Jon back in, drinking in his expression. Only then did he let go. “I’m here, and you are too,” he said. “Not in Flayton. Here in bed. Safe. With me.” Glaive drew in a shaky breath, and then he nodded again at Jon. He couldn’t speak for a long moment. Then he said, “Thank you, Jon.” Jon’s gaze was level now. “If you want to tell me, I would like to know.”
November 10, 2025 at 4:38 PM
maetang.myatproto.social
Here's Gabe from the WIP, explaining to Hal why the stone circle doesn't want to let him out after he's been letting blood inside it
In the font popularised by Zohran Mamdani, text reads, "The land... Hungers."
November 10, 2025 at 4:06 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Here's Rime from the novella, becoming slightly hysterical about the size of the magical ball of water she was conjuring up for self-cooling purposes
In the font popularised by Zohran Mamdani, text reads: "Size of my own head soon!"
November 10, 2025 at 4:06 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Gonna do some of my favourite short quotes from my books

Here's Will in the duology, after he got a little tipsy and Cal checked with him if he was OK to proceed in bed
In the font popularised by Zohran Mamdani, text reads: "Proceed at Will!"
November 10, 2025 at 4:06 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Here's an example of how it looks in use when browsing via a feed, in case you're curious
A screenshot of the post that begins this thread, as it would appear in my feed when I use the labeler in question. Below my name, and above the text of the post I made, is a small line of text giving the label: "she/her".
November 6, 2025 at 10:25 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
Or why Hal starts talking about how it's unconscionable that he let slip his desires, & insists he'll comport himself better going forward, rather than saying: "It was terrible of me to reveal my attraction. I'll behave better in the future."

(Then I chase the speech with action for contrast.)
A screenshot of text reads: “You are my nephew’s tutor. His *beloved* tutor. And I would not wish to do anything to jeopardise that. Your relationship to him is paramount. And my family… We owe you a debt for your loyal and brave service to Baldric. A debt we cannot repay, given the harm to your own health and prospects. It was unconscionable of me to let slip my… My desires. I shall not do so again. I shall not impose on you that way. You are my employee. And deeply valued. I would that you could know that you are safe with us, with me, Master Martingale. I shall comport myself better going forward in that regard.” Hal finally wound himself up. He was flustered, and miserable, and he had dropped his hands back to his lap and entwined his fingers, clenching his palms together as if trying to hold himself in check. Gabe had listened. He had listened carefully. To this man who wasn’t Clay. Who he realised had a horror of being like Clay. Who had probably A screenshot of text reads: developed that horror from being trammeled by Clay, and then seeing the results of Clay trammeling everyone around him. Including Baldric. Including Gabe. And now, suddenly, Gabe knew what he wanted to do. His body knew it. Listening to Hal, his mind knew it too, and had finally aligned itself with his body, so that with a slightly dizzying rush he felt both united in himself and somehow freed, as the conflict in him resolved itself. He reached out with his fingers – his twisted fingers, stamped on and broken by Clay – and he touched them to Hal’s hands, clenched together, and he felt Hal jump at the contact. A big powerful man, reacting powerfully to Gabe’s slightest touch. Hal’s eyes immediately went to his, in shock, as Gabe slowly drew Hal’s hands apart.
November 5, 2025 at 4:31 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
... or else they're slipping into something more elaborate & formal as they grapple with conveying their romantic feelings. Which is why Glaive starts begging Jon's patience & describing himself as recalcitrant and a frustraing interlocutor, rather than saying: "Sorry. I know I'm winding you up!"
A screenshot of text reads: Glaive shook his head in frustration. He felt then, that he both wanted to say, and feared to say what was on his mind. He was exhausted, and he really didn’t think he could go further now. He was also feeling asked after, deeply, by Jon, and inside him was a tangled ball of feelings about that, as much desire as reluctance, to unravel himself under Jon’s questing, probing attention. He wanted to curl up and hide. He wanted to open himself up. He wanted Jon to pry it out of him somehow. And all of those things were equally true. Glaive hunted around for words, and then he said, “I realise I am likely to be a frustrating interlocutor in this regard. But… But I asked you to speak to me as you wish. Exactly as you wish. And you are doing so. And even if… Even if I do not find myself in a position to make a good, or a clear response now. I… I thank you for doing that. Jon. I… I thank you, and I wish you would not stop. Even if I prove… Even if I prove recalcitrant. I can only beg your patience.” Jon looked at him then, and there was such a mixture of desire and frustration on his face, that Glaive could barely stand to meet his eyes. But he made himself do it, blushing hotly all the while.
November 5, 2025 at 4:31 AM
maetang.myatproto.social
When I think about why my older adult characters fairly often enter a stylised, formal mode of speech when discussing romantic feelings with each other, I suspect it's because I read TH White's The Once and Future King when I was an impressionable kid. This kind of thing would happen in that book:
A screenshot of text reads: The Queen took his bare hand. The gauntlet was off. ‘Are you sorry,’ she asked, ‘because you have done so well?’ He was silent. ‘I don’t care about him,’ said the Queen, blushing. ‘I only thought it would be better not to have a scandal.’ ‘I don’t want a scandal any more than you do.’ ‘You must do as you please,’ said the Queen. ‘Fight him if you like. You are the one to choose.’ Lancelot looked at her. A screenshot of text reads: ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘so ye be pleased, I care not. As for my part, ye shall soon please.’ He always fell into the grandeur of the High Language, when he was moved. A screenshot of text reads: Later, Sir Lancelot whispered: ‘I wish I might come in.’ ‘I would as fain.’ ‘Would you, madam, with all your heart that I were with you?’ ‘Truly.’ The last iron bar, as he broke it out, cut the brawn of his hand to the bone.
November 5, 2025 at 4:31 AM