Issue VIII

The final tips article of the school year has arrived, and with this finale, it’s time to go over editing. This step can be hard, as it requires having to read through every single part of the writing, making sure it aligns with each other, and—of course—editing out what doesn’t stick. We all don’t want to take things out of a writing, and definitely not when it’s a piece you’ve worked so hard on. The following tips will give you a nudge on how to begin this editing process.

Tip 1: One More Time—Or Not

It has been covered before, but on the editing level, too much repetition can make the writing stale and lackluster. Mix it up! Look up synonyms for certain words, change them out, see what works best. If you’re writing in a darker setting and have the word “ugly” pop up a few times too many, you can swap it out for words like “grotesque” or “twisted”.  If you use “sweet” a lot (as in candy-sweet), you could use “honeyed” or “sugary”. Use the internet to its full extent, or a dictionary if that’s what you prefer.

Tip 2: Do I Need That?

This part of editing is the trickiest. Sometimes, as we read through the finished draft of a writing, we might notice parts that stray from the main plot too much or just don’t sit well with the flow. That may mean it needs to be taken out. Infodumping can be quite common, especially when we get really excited over a certain topic or scene. However, these instances can slow down the plot rather than enhance it. Instead of chunking all the information together, sprinkle it throughout the book, be vague when needed to keep your readers interested. You can build a plot without having all the wonderful details clumped together. Maybe some information doesn’t need to be there

Tip 3: The Art of Consistency

Brilliant ideas fill a writer’s mind. We need to keep consistency throughout a story for it to flow cohesively. Make sure when you go back through the story that character descriptions, historical events, places, and actions are the same—unless stated otherwise. A reader might get confused if at the start of the book a character, for example, has pink hair and in the next scene they have blue without any explanation in the rest of the story. This doesn’t always apply to parts where the writer wants to create suspense and mystery, but it is important to hint at what happened and how it changed. So, make sure the events and descriptions line up while editing that masterpiece of yours!

When Koona was little, her world was a rooftop, a quilt of stars, and a stack of double chocolate chip cookies. Every night, her father would take her to the top of their house. They’d sit there, knees hugged to their chests, dipping their cookies into chocolate milk as the universe unfolded around them. The stars were their companions, and the night sky was their canvas.

They had a song—one that lived between them, soft and sweet like the lullabies he would hum as he kissed her forehead goodnight. It was their tradition, and it filled the silence of the cosmos with warmth and laughter.

“Stars above, don’t drift too far,

 Leave a trail of light where loved ones are.

 Sip the dark, sweet night so slow,

 While the milky moons and comets glow.

Dip the cookie, make a wish,

 Send it flying with a chocolaty swish.

 One for dreams and one for Dad,

 And one for every hug we had.

Lyrielle, Lyrielle, with your glow,

 Watch my nova as she grows.

 Tell my Koona not to get her belly too big,

 Or they’ll say she is the astro-pig!"

She would laugh every time, calling him silly. And he would laugh too, his deep voice mingling with the soft hum of the universe, as the stars twinkled in the night sky. Every night, they studied the stars, the constellations, memorizing them. But more often than not, Koona found herself gazing at just one—the star that glowed a soft blue and lavender, the one her father had named just for her. Lyrielle.

Her father would catch her staring, a twinkle in his eye. “Koona, my nova girl,” he’d say. “You’re starstruck!”

And she’d smile, her heart swelling, her mind filled with the possibility of the stars and the worlds beyond.

Years passed. Life changed. One morning, Koona woke up to find that her father was gone. The world seemed colder, emptier. But his memory remained, and the song they had sung together would never leave her heart.

When the time came, they honored his memory by sending his body to the stars—his coffin burning as it soared into the cosmos, becoming part of the night sky he had loved so much.

Koona grew older, more determined. She studied the stars, studied the cosmos, trained herself to go farther than anyone had ever gone. She promised herself she would make him proud. And one day, she was ready. Ready to be the first, the youngest, to leave the solar system and journey into the unknown.

On the day of her departure, her heart raced with excitement. She could feel the weight of the universe surrounding her, pressing in on her, but also pushing her forward. And there, just ahead of her, Lyrielle glowed brighter than ever before.

Koona kept her eyes fixed on the star. She knew that her father was out there, somewhere among the stars, watching her, guiding her. She was so close to him now. The same star that had been their anchor now became her beacon.

As her ship left Earth behind, leaving the planets far below, Koona’s mind raced. She remembered the cookies, the laughter, the warmth of those nights. She remembered the last time she’d looked at Lyrielle, with her father beside her. She took a deep breath and began to sing their song.

“Stars above, don’t drift too far...”

But the words caught in her throat. She couldn’t finish it. She wasn’t just starstruck by the beauty of the cosmos; she was starstruck by the weight of the memory, the love that stretched across space and time. The stars had never seemed so vast, so alive, and suddenly, she was overwhelmed.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she whispered softly to herself, “Sorry, Dad. I’ll finish the song later. I’m just… starstruck.”

And with that, she floated through the infinite dark, the memory of her father’s warmth and laughter wrapped around her like a blanket of stars.

Some days are better than others.

Some nights I lie and wait

Hearing the silence echo off the walls and into my ears

My eyes fall to the ceiling and I am reminded of who I am

The ceiling is off white and cruel

Our contests are short lived and spiteful

He always wins our game

He asks me questions that I am terrified to answer

About life and death

Pain and sorrow

And the longing to be someone

I fear I am destined for nothing

Except staring contests with my ceiling

I have come to realize things work better in the dark

Wrong words and ill sketches

Wrong people with distrustful pasts

Wrong people will look right if the lights are dim enough

Hidden away deep in the shadows with the plague of intent

Glimmering of story and life and awareness

There is something about the night that is troublesome and alluring

And it asks me to follow every once in a while

The night wears a mask and a cape

A silhouette of what could have been

And what could be

It hits me hardest in a bustling crowd

Even screaming silence forgets who it is

In the mix of words and laughter I am reminded who I am

And it hits me again

Knowing who I am not

I am not nice

I am cruel

I am not pretty

I am cold

I am not intelligent

I am clever

I am not selfless

I am just trying to do the right thing

I am not who I am

I am a mere glimpse of who I could be

In the canvas of my mind

Are splatters of wishes and reality

Reality is the canvas itself,

Constantly reminding the splashes of who they wish they were

Where they stand in line in our lives

In every face is a new canvas and a new color

Waiting to be discovered in an array of strokes from a brush

Reality mingles with wish so often it is easy to forget

I think about all the times I have stared at my ceiling

How many games we have played

I would always ask him when he became the abyss of thought

I would ask,

Wait,

And stare

I stared so long into the abyss

That I didn’t realize I became it

If i had wings

I would fly up

Sore down

Spinning round and round

If i had wings

I would fly

Up to the stars 

to see them shimmer

If i had wings

I would glide

Then shoot up

Into the sky

Over mountains

Past the snow

Into the clouds

And watch the sunrise

If i had wings i would hold on tight

To the sun above the clouds

Feeling the warmth

On my feathers

If i had wings i would sleep

Using them as blankets

Curl them around me

Snoring softly

But i do not have wings

I have arms

So i will use blankets

And wish for wings

I seek

I look

I search

I question

I am lost

I am not far nor near

Nor high nor low

In the dark all alone

Earnestly I seek you

With all my heart

With all my strength

With all my soul

In the quite I hear you

In the chaos I feel your peace

In the darkness I see your light

Just close enough to feel the warm

Yet still in the shadows

On the fine line

Dancing yet unseen

Sing yet unheard

Move yet unnoticed

In the dark all alone

Leto was left to sit and try to calm her breathing down, the fogging in her spacesuit slowly dispersing. It had all happened so fast. The thing attacking the station, and then chasing her into the cave, and then that weird spiky blob killing aforementioned thing and then diving at her cracked helmet and… fixing it? White wings above, it’s no wonder missions to the moon stopped happening! This was crazy! Leto finally let out a long sigh, letting her small, black muzzle bump against her visor. At least her oxygen was still plentiful. She could get back to base with this. If they were okay. Zoey, Phoebe, Jackal and Doc… Had any of them gotten hurt? It’s then that Leto realized she’d left her radio in the station for some ungodly reason. “Dammit!” she gasped, kicking a chunk of pale rock away. Its flight was almost graceful until it smacked into that dead… thing. It looked like a cross between a Christmas tree of flesh and a wasp. Like a tree wasp. Or a wreesp. Trasp. Trawsp. Perfection. Doc wouldv’e facepalmed at that.

I do not know him, but I would agree.

Leto blinked. Where did that voice come from? She stood still, craning her neck around. Sound didn’t travel through space. Maybe she was just imagining things. Hallucinating? Taking in the air from oxygen plants would do that, sometimes. “C’mon, Leto. You’ve just gotta get back to base,” she murmured to herself, trailing a gloved paw over her visor. It really was fixed. She hadn’t gotten infected or something, had she? Hopefully not. Tilting her head, Leto realized the short way back, the way she originally came in, was blocked off by broken rock. The long way around took hours, but thankfully there were oxyplants along the way, which the team had planted all over in case of emergencies. Thanks, underground Mars ecosystems! Then again, wasn’t that technically the spread of foreign plants? Which was technically illegal last time anyone checked? Leto hummed at the question, vaulting over a wall of moonrock and continuing through the cavern. It’s not like the ecosystem would care too much. Or maybe it would.

~✪~

The caverns were disturbingly dark. Not too dark, Leto could make out walls and textures, but it felt like time itself was different here. Technically true, since the moon revolved differently than the Earth and in turn had different day cycles. Leto huffed, the soft green glow of an oxyplant catching her eye. She kneeled down next to it, taking the yellow shoot sprouting from the plant’s flower and connecting it to her oxygen pack.

PTSSHHHHWOP

And her oxygen was filled all the way back up. Funny, now that she thought about it, oxyplant-caused hallucinations were usually small, quiet, and directly after oxygen intakes. So why had she hallucinated that voice, that strong voice, several minutes after initially using an oxyplant? “Maybe it was the shock,” she murmured to herself with a sigh. Yeah, that had to be it. Still, Leto froze up as the feeling of loneliness dispersed. 

She needed to get out of here. And, with a quick rise to her feet, she did. Not even fifteen minutes of quickly trodding through the dark silver caves later did she come across light. Relief washed over Leto as she stumbled out into the Sun’s rays. And, thankfully, she felt alone again. For once, that was good.

But you are not alone. I am here with you.

Leto let out a sharp gasp. It was the same voice. Very clear. And in no way, shape, or form could that have been from shock. She was infected by something. And she had to get it out, regardless of whether or not she’d live. No way would she let this thing get back to the station. 

“Crap!” Leto caterwauled, small little thumps being heard as she scrambled to get ahold of her helmet.

No, what are you doing- wait-

She gripped the locking mechanism.

STOP.

And she did. Not that she wanted to, but her hands froze. She couldn’t move at all. Had this being, this parasite, stopped her from killing it?

I have no intent of directly harming you or your fellow Erdliyas. You have no reason to terminate the both of us. 

“Us what-?”

Erdliyas! Or whatever you call those from that green planet there-

Leto found herself gazing up at Earth, which spun in a magnificent manner in the distance. It shone and shimmered in the sunlight, bearing a glimmer like a disco ball.

“You’re talking about Earth?”

Yes! That place, Erdilyan.

“I have a name, y’know-” Leto said. “-and I’m assuming the same goes for whatever you are?”

Yes. I am-

The next part of the creature’s sentence was a series of screeches and clicks that Leto couldn’t even begin to process.

“... What…”

Oh, you have a feeble tongue. I see. You may call me Trillsell, Leto.

Leto paused. “How did you-”

You had spoken it to yourself earlier.

“Oh,” She murmured, before looking around. This… thing… no, Trillsell, didn’t have a physical form from what Leto could see. It’d merged right with her helmet earlier, and presumably entered her body through what was probably her eyes, based on how they got all watery for a second after the incident. 

“What’re you doing with me, Trillsell?” she asked.

You are asking why I chose you as a host? It is because I was about to die without one. I would’ve taken the… Trawsp, as you so stupidly called it, but you seemed like a much more suitable candidate to survive in.

“How do I know you won’t kill me? Or my crew, if I make it back? Even if I do get back, I’ll get stuffed in quarantine and you’ll be removed or something!” Leto pressed.

I guess you have no way of knowing how to believe me. But you will probably need me on your way back. The Trawsp was a part of a herd, and the rest will be there on your way back to base. And your crew will only find out I’m here if you tell them, right?

“They’ll scan me.”

I can avoid detection.

“Really?”

Yes.

Leto sighed. “Well, I’ve got no other choice at this point.”

~✪~

The trek home had taken hours longer than initially planned, Leto would conclude at the end of the day. But not because of Trillsell. Being perfectly honest, Trillsell sped up the journey for Leto. Without the parasite, Leto would’ve probably died in one of the following three ways:

A. She would’ve run out of oxygen after failing to get to an oxyplant in time.

B. A Trawsp or some other alien creature could’ve killed her.

Or C. She’d have died to that first Trawsp.

All of which were horrible ways to go that she, spoiler alert, nearly succumbed to. But Trillsell helped her survive. At the cost of her sanity.

How far away is this base of yours? We have passed three of those Martian plants already! It has been HOURS. Trillsell’s booming voice filled up her helmet.

“Yeah, I know. I thought the path was a little shorter than this myself,” Leto huffed, eyeing yet another Oxyplant in the distance. “That, however-” she said, pointing to it, “-should be the fourth and final Oxyplant in the valley, if I remembered the map correctly.”

Ah, yes. The very big “if”. Wonderful.

“And after the valley-” Leto continued as she ignored Trillsell’s remark, “-the base won’t be too far. It’s just looping around the mountain, after all.”

Did you completely forget about the threat of the Trawsps? There’s no telling where their herd went to since we’ve been trudging through this WINGFORSAKEN VALLEY!

Leto winced at that last part, the parasite’s bark of a banshee’s scream having caught her off guard. “I guess I just looked at the situation optimistically, Trill,” she sighed, lightly kicking a moon rock by accident. In turn, the silvery chunk slowly spun in the air as it descended into the farther depths of the valley she trudged through. It was more of a canyon, really.

Trill? Have you nicknamed me already?

“Maybe-”

You say that as if you didn’t just call me by a nickname.

“Aw, c’mon, saying Trillsell all the time gets boring,” Leto said, finally kneeling down next to the Oxyplant to grab its- clearly missing shoot. Leto swore, trying to figure out how and why its shoot had been cut. It looked like something took a bite out of it.

LETO, BEHIND YOU-

Too late had Trill’s alarm rang out, as something grabbed her by the shoulder in that instant. Trillsell made a series of clicks that she could only assume were swears as she was yanked into the air. Or lack of thereof, actually. No air on the moon, which made it easy to sneak up on things. Searing pain flooded Leto’s shoulders as she let out a cry of fear, struggling in what was probably a Trawsp’s toothy grasp. Suddenly, however, her arms flew up without her control to swipe at it. Except a mesmerizing and hardy black liquid covered her gloves and forearm, resembling giant claws.

Leto felt the Trawsp screeching in pain as those claws scratched at its bulbous black eyes, in which it tossed her a little farther skyward, before ramming her back when she was close enough again for it to reach her. And that damaged her oxygen reserves.

/Warning: two minutes of oxygen remaining/

What was that?

“Aren’t you going to tell me what you just did to my hands?!” Leto gasped, scrambling upwards as the Trawsp silently thundered closer. 

I only displaced some of myself outside your suit. Nothing to be worried about. It will help.

“WHAT?” she continued, whipping around in time to see the Trawsp screeching. As if on instinct, she leapt toward its long neck, slashing at it. This strength was… amazing! Leto felt like she could bound through even the harshest environments without having to even pause for breath! She could feel the Trawsp screaming again, and laid siege to its neck with her claws. No, not hers, that was all Trill’s.

Thank you for the recognition.

However, the Trawsp, close to death, flung Leto with all its might over the side of the valley. The impact would, once again, cause her oxygen pack damage that Trillsell would desperately try to patch up.

/Warning: fifteen seconds of oxygen remaining/

“Dammit-!” Leto rasped, trying to stand up. There, thankfully, thirty-five feet away, was an oxyplant. Leto’s leg, however, decided to drag out the seconds she took to get there.

/Ten/

Thirty feet.

/Nine/

Twenty feet. Was the timer skipping numbers?

/Five/

Ten feet. So close.

/Two/

Five feet.

However, Leto’s consciousness faded as she collapsed next to the Oxyplant. Not even Trillsell’s yelling could keep her awake. She was as good as dead.

Supposedly.

However, if you actually read the story all the way through so far, you’d know she survives.

She laid in the cosmos, untethered, floating without burden through the sea of light, creation. Her hair flowed, dark as the universe around Her, powdered with stars that crackled and glowed. Wisps of dust brushed Her legs, swirling, forming into clouds that floated lazily by Her face. She sat up, unbothered by the particles as She waved Her hand to clear them away. 

It was time. 

The calling pulled at Her heart, a loneliness that ached throughout Her body.

She gathered Her hair into a bundle, shaking loose the clusters of stars, letting them fall and scatter and collide as they saw fit. She began to weave, the strands of Her hair knotted together. Her hair stretched into fabric, an endless sea of inspiration, of potential. 

The fabric of Her hair laid pooled in Her lap, caressing Her skin, Her fingertips. She collected the conjoined knots, lifting them to Her lips.

“Breathe.” Her breath crystallized, tiny specks of light—life flaring as the frost permeated the woven strands of Her hair. 

“Andromeda,” A voice called behind Her. She turned, acknowledging the glowing Being standing next to Her. 

“Bode.” Her heart warmed at His presence, shifting to lean slightly on Him as She imbued Her hair with life.

“What are you doing?” He rested His chin on Her shoulder, watching as the frost coalesced, and shapes began to form. 

“Making something new,” She answered, grabbing hold of dust and cupping it in Her hands until it solidified. “I enjoy your company, but I need more.”

Bode watched as Andromeda created stars, planets, life. He watched Her every move, the way Her lips curled into a smile when the glimmers of life flared brighter, taking on definite shapes, becoming sentient. 

“Such beautiful work, my light,” Bode whispered. She hummed in response, leaning further into Him, Her back pressed against His chest. 

“This can be Ours,” She murmured, “Our own worlds to watch and care for.” She grabbed hold of His hand, letting it hover over Her woven hair.

“Ours,” He echoed, curiosity filling His eyes as the sentient beings gathered, speaking a tongue foreign to Their ears.

“I must sever them,” Andromeda said, looking longingly at Her hair. “I cannot keep them.”

“Do you want me to, my light?” When She nodded, Bode palmed a shard of light like a blade, and cut through Her hair in one fell swoop. Her hair fell to Her shoulders, and She watched the woven part float above Her lap. 

“They will revere Us as their Gods,” Andromeda stated. “For they know who created them.”

“Very well.” Bode watched the beings in their spinning world, unfazed as time slipped by for them. The first beings fell back to the world, spilling soul into the stars around Them. 

“Such interesting beings,” Andromeda murmured, seeing them build structures and tools. 

“Do they not see Us?” 

“No. We are beyond their vision, and will be no matter how advanced they become.” Andromeda runs a finger through the pulsing stars above Her head, knowing the first beings’ souls rested in them. “Only those passed on know where they come from.”

“Formed from the cosmos,” Bode rumbled, words as old as time. “Moon dust in their lungs, stars in their eyes. They are the pieces of Us that We part with.”

“The pieces We part with,” Andromeda echoed, remembering the saying that burns in Her heart, Her mind. Her very bones are etched with the words, imbued with the power of creation.

Bode pressed His forehead to Hers. 

“The Rulers of the Sky.”