Happy Birthday, Upstream Writer!

 

Here we are in 2026—The Upstream Writer is officially a teenager, folks! Can you believe it’s been thirteen years?

Thirteen years, over a thousand posts, now seventeen individual Serial Saturday series, so many unfinished story ideas—and an in-progress officially-published series to boot! 

I know I had a brief check-in back in >July<, but here’s a quick run-down on how the rest of my year went!

Life Stuff

Seeing improvements in my overall health is really coming to fruition now! I’ve made some adjustments that seem to carry a positive effect, and I’m really happy with how far along I’ve come! 

Highlight of the year:
meeting R. R. Virdi in person!

Over the summer, I ended up reaching the point of considering making the next step in my adult life: namely, seeking to acquire a place of my own. It was a process of consideration and evaluation that I’d never even entertained till now, and both my parents and I agreed it was time. That being said, we didn’t progress far enough to actually take any steps before fall hit and I didn’t have as much free time, so nothing has changed for the time being, but the fact that physically, emotionally, and financially I’m in the place where it’s possible, is a huge leap forward for me! 

Writing

Unfortunately, with all the busy-ness going on and the new changes and adjustments being made in my life, the writing portion kind of fell by the wayside. I stopped tracking my writing every day, simply because I wasn’t writing every day. I still never quite figured out how to calculate “editing Fugitive of Crossway” in my word count, and that was what I spent a lot of time doing.

Start the series
>here<

I finished Fairies Under Glass and I’m very proud of how the new serial turned out! As I stated in the last update, it’s encouraged me to revisit other unfinished projects, including The Last Inkweaver, which I think it is high time I finished that third draft! I started posting it as the new Serial Saturday, which I think will provide me enough motivation to keep it going. I’m just annotating what I want to include in the “missing” portion of the draft at this point (meaning “the part I skipped over to write the part that I was really inspired about at the time”), which means I haven’t started actually adding to the draft yet, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to start doing that before the Serial Saturday posts reach that point! They do say “Third time’s the charm”, right?

Not to be outdone, I tried getting back into A Writer’s Tale. I’d left off right at the beginning of Book 4, which was the “pirate genre” story, so I hoped that hopping right back into it, using the notes I’d already written back in the day would be easy enough…

It is not. For some reason, the nitty-gritty details, the colorful world-building that seems so easy and fun when I go back and reread the first few books, and all that I’d been able to do with them, somehow was difficult to achieve this time around. I may have gotten through the worst of it by now, so fingers crossed I’ll be able to progress on that one as well! At any rate, I recently came to the realization that I had excerpted the first two books in the series, The Dragon's Quest and The Commander's Courage, but I hadn't gotten around to giving the same treatment for the third book which I did finish, The Sheriff's Showdown, the Wild-West-themed installment--so look out for those, coming to a Throwback Thursday soon!

Meanwhile, a word on Fugitive of Crossway: I know I’ve been trying to manifest it for the last few years, but people, I think (I wish/hope/pray!) that I might actually achieve publication this year! No more whole drafts at this point, at least. I managed to secure a beta-reader who gave me some great input, and I’ve got an editor potentially lined up, so that’s a positive thing. I just need to make sure the last few things are really effective, and once it’s edited and polished, all I need is a formatter to get it all copacetic for Kindle Direct and then I’ll finally have a second book out! Oh happy day!

Reading

On the other hand, my reading accomplishments over last year have been exactly what I was hoping for!

Here’s what the Magical Reading Journey map looked like by the end of 2025. 

I ended up reading 28 books total out of my goal of 30, and out of those 29, only 4 (well, 6, but one didn’t quite get a review, per se, and one I had to DNF) were indie reads I posted reviews for. I’ve already made the post that ranks all of them, so stay tuned for that one! (I'll also include what my poster looks like for this year!)

In 2026, I’ve set myself a goal of 30 books once again—but this time, I want to be better about reading the indie books! It’s tricky when a lot of the books I’ve lined up on my TBR for that variety are only digital—just something satisfying about holding and turning the pages of a physical book that really helps me engage and dive into a story! Unfortunately, as I was typing out my ranked review list, that led to the discovery that the one thing holding me up was the fact that I started books that had piqued my interest at first, but at the same time it took several months for me to admit that I wasn’t interested in seeing them through at all—but by then it put me behind on all the other reading I had wanted to do… You’ll find a better explanation in the Hit List when I post that. 

Goals for 2026

All in all, I think my overall goal of “FOCUS” last year didn’t really pan out like I thought it would. In the process of committing myself to “focus” I ended up finding all the different poor habits I’ve allowed to fester which pulled me away from that focus. I procrastinate, I put off making decisions because of insecurity… and what does that do? It only delays the things I know I can succeed at! 

That being said, I think this year my word will be Circumspect. 

I’ve had my year of allowing books that don’t interest me or shiny happy distractions divert my time and attention away from my writing and reading goals. This time, I’m going to pay more attention to the choices I’m making, and how long it’s taking me to get through my tasks every day. If I start reading a book and I haven’t made much progress after a week or two, then perhaps it is time to move on to the next one. If I’ve got an editor lined up for Fugitive of Crossway and I am serious about wanting to launch it this year, then what can I do every day that gets me closer to that goal? Circumspection is the key to defeating my poor habits! Onward!

That’s all I’ve got for you in this update. Leave a comment to let me know how you’re doing! Do you have any reading goals for this year? If you’re an author, do you have any releases coming out this year? Do let me know, and I’ll check them out!

As always…

Catch You Further Upstream!

Serial Saturday: "The Last Inkweaver" Part 8

 Part 8

"The Proclamation"

Calligraphy happened to be the one class in all my Academy years that I had ever actually looked forward to on a regular basis.

Of course, all the good feelings ended as soon as I walked in, for who should catch me not five paces into the door but Terra. 

"Oh, Callista!" She greeted me with her usual level of unbridled enthusiasm. "You made it! How did things go with..." She faltered, glanced around to the people casually glancing in our direction, and hinted, "you know. Did you still pass?"

I glanced over to the desk by the big window, where Matthias sat. I didn't doubt he could hear us from his seat, but he only smiled as he finished priming his fine metal nibs and uncapping his ink.

I chose to nod at Terra without saying anything. At the front of the room, Master Colton made a big deal of straightening the papers on his desk and waiting at the front of the classroom with his eyes over us, signaling that he was ready to begin, and that we ought to be also. I made my way over to my seat, just a column away and a row back from Matthias' table. I checked the tip of my quill for any splinters or cracks, once again stealing an envious glance at the metal-inlaid wooden pen in Matthias' hand. I loved Calligraphy so much--how I wanted to feel the way a metal nib skated across the page, rather than the clumsy scratching of a feather quill. 

As Master Colton gave the opening of his lesson, I doodled on the sheets of vellum blotting paper in front of me. I did my best to treat my poor quill like a metal-nib pen. Perhaps it was the way one held the pen, or the angle of the tip against the paper that could possibly make a difference. I tried to mimic the way Matthias held his pen, forming the letters with a controlled grace--

"Callista!" Terra's voice hissed in my ear. I had been so distracted that I hadn't even heard her boots clacking on the floor as she walked over to my desk. She wasn't even looking at me, anyway. I followed her astonished gaze down to the paper in front of me.

Mercy! There was my name, Callista, followed very clearly by Matthias' patronym, Olmsyn, as neat as you please! When had I written that--or, more importantly, why? I froze like a scared rabbit in a trap, unsure of what I should do in a situation like this, nor how long I had before someone would take notice, and what amount of trouble I would be in... How long before people started staring?

Master Colton's assistants were already on their way down the aisles between the desks, passing out the document that we were assigned to copy. If any of them saw what I had done--

Terra's quick fingers caught the corner of the vellum and swept it off my desk, crumpling it into a tiny ball as she did so. She scurried back to her seat just as the assistant reached my row. Suspended on the slate around his neck was a proclamation document, looking very official, with the Royal Seal set upon it and everything. I forgot all about my embarrassment as I read the words inscribed on the paper:

 “BY FORMAL REQUEST OF THE KING’S COURT,” it began, “Beginning at the height of Verdant, convoys will depart from Gramble City, traveling to every Academy branch in the kingdom, to gather the foremost students among the population, as selected by the Academic Headmaster of each region. These students, by invitation, will become the inaugural class of Gramble Finishing School, which has just completed construction in Gramble City. Here, they will be rigorously evaluated on what they have learned in the Academy, and trained at the highest level of education, after which they will be eligible to travel to any Academy as Apprentice Tutors until such time the Tutor feels that they may receive that position. Graduates of the Finishing School may also receive the option of serving in the King’s Court, according to the skill of greatest capacity in their report. All cities and villages possessing an Academy of any sort may reasonably expect the arrival of a royal convoy between the end of Verdant and the end of the subsequent Greyfrost. Classes at the Finishing School will begin at the start of Renewal, providing time for all the convoys to return over the Fforgan Pass. IN THE NAME OF KING DESMOND, SO MOTE IT BE.”

I felt a small thrill race over my shoulders. A Finishing School? Didn't the very name sound just grand and impressive!

I paused in the middle of the phrase "selected by the Academic Headmaster" as a burst of frustrated mumbling accompanied the sound of tearing vellum in the front row. I dipped my quill and smiled to myself as I concentrated on making slow, even strokes.

A simple survey of this very room gave a reasonable indication on the students most likely to be selected. For example, the young man on his fourth sheet of vellum in the front row was Feyton, the perpetual perfectionist. He was the sort who, whenever his pen deviated just a hairsbreadth from the original, would rather tear up the near-empty sheet and start afresh than make any attempt to recover the blunder. On the one hand, such rigorous standards meant that every assignment he turned in was absolutely flawless; on the other hand, such an obsession meant that he rarely turned in assignments on time, if at all.

A few rows back, on the right side of the room, sat Stacinda, with her bountiful golden curls and a new wardrobe every season, it seemed. She was one of the few students with multiple pens and ink colors, switching pens just about every other word in order to illuminate every inch of her vellum. The whole thing would be saturated by the time she was done, and wouldn't it be just her luck if Master Colton deemed her work indecipherable, for all her pains! I formed the letters of "serving in the King's Court" with precision and care as befit a professional scribe. 

[...]

I saw Terra’s head pop up like a child’s spring-puppet, and everyone heard the crinkle of vellum and the heart-stopping chink of an inkwell toppling. She ignored it, and waved the tidy sheet of vellum in the air. 

“Done!” she crowed, as the thick, black ink tracked its merry way down the front of her green dress.
A subdued, nervous chuckle rippled through the classroom, as Mr. Colton pasted on a smile and beckoned her forward. I wondered if she had read it, either; Terra wasn’t the sort to care about her education, but she was astonishingly apt as a student. In spite of her shortcomings in Etiquette and her daily remonstrations from teachers all over the school to “Walk, Terra”; “Graceful, Terra”; “Quietly, Terra,” or “Think, Terra”, she approached every task with dogged determination, blowing through them with speed and accuracy I could only envy, ink-stained, wrinkled dress and all.

In looking up to watch her gather her skirts in one hand (I cringed inside; Madame Collette insists that we are never to bunch our skirts), I happened to make eye contact with a dark-haired, ice-blue stare. I felt the warmth crowd into my cheeks before I could manage to tear my eyes away.

There would be another familiar face who would no doubt join us on the journey to the capitol city: Matthias Olmsen. He was smart, capable, steady, and his family lived quite comfortably. He was also gone a lot. The Friedlan family had a house on the third loop--Terra and I would run there frequently to invite him out to play with us when we were younger. Olm Freidlan was one of the few transient merchants allowed in and out of the village, while every other business and family set up storefronts and hardly ever left. [...]

I'd asked my parents what made Mr. Friedlan's work different than the other shops--why did he get to come and go as he pleased, when no one else in Mirrorvale ever dared to show their faces again if they ever left. Mother would purse her lips and squint in confusion and tell me "Go ask your father," and when I did just that, Father would shrug and say, "Mirrorvale isn't any different from other towns its size. We don't trap people here--anyone of us is free to come and go."

That answer didn't sit well with me. It certainly didn't feel like anybody was free to leave, and Mirrorvale was plenty different than the other towns and cities I heard about in Academy classes! However, I only tried pressing the issue a few times before my father figured out just why I was asking--or at least he thought he did. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Olm’s boy, would it?” His grin at my discomfort turned into a solemn frown. "I surely hope you haven't been speculating, have you?"

"No, Father," I'd replied, quickly banishing any idea pertaining to Matthias and friendship at all, as if he could see my thoughts seeping out of my very face.

He turned around and continued examining the pamphlet before him, addressing me without looking.
"Where will speculating get you, Callista?"

He always used a particular tone of voice when he expected a specific answer. I remember closing my eyes and reciting the response, like a bizarre sort of catechism. 

"Speculation is meaningless and amounts to nothing. It has no proof and yields no valid results." I found safety in being able to satisfy my parents and my instructors with rote recitations, rather than comprehensive logic. 

If I always gave the expected answer, I could hide the fact that my own unique experience defied the accepted perspective. I learned from conversations like this that compliance didn't necessarily require comprehension--just because I said it back to them didn't mean I had to believe it was true.

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Serial Saturday: "The Last Inkweaver" Part 7

Part 7

"Learning The Dance"

The next morning, in the History classroom, I held my breath and clutched the maroon wool skirts of my dress with both hands as Scholar Mikel evaluated my essay. For several excruciating heartbeats, he muttered softly to himself as his eyes traveled down the page. I fought the urge to squirm as my legs began to ache. Was it enough effort? Or too much?

At long last, he set the page aside.

"That was very good," he began slowly. "You demonstrated an adequate understanding of the topic, and you make some very strong points."

He stopped speaking, but I had been through his verbal evaluations enough times to know that the critique would be forthcoming.

"I have one question."

Oh, there it was; would he ask where my sympathies actually lay in regards to Wordspinners--even though I didn't really know how to answer that, myself? Did I come across more strongly in their favor than was socially acceptable? Was I headed for an "insufficient" grade after all? "Strong points" didn't necessarily mean good ones!

Scholar Mikel brought his small, wrinkled hands together in front of him, bracing his fingertips against each other as he stared straight at me over them and asked, "Why did you deviate from the recommended source?"

I blinked as the question caught me off-guard, derailing my current frenzied thoughts. "Sir?"

The Scholar bent his balding head and pointed at the parchment. "I see many references here citing Korstan Senevere as their source, which is all well and good since that was the account I gave you permission to read--but what about these other references? You cite another record without ever specifying who wrote it, and it even sounds like there are some parts of this alternate source that almost contradict what Senevere observed and believed! How on earth could such a thing be possible? What is your reasoning for communicating this dissenting view, rather than sticking with just the account written by Gramble's most esteemed Explorer? I gave you the highest recommended source, I expected you to utilize that source to its fullest extent." He drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at me with a very perplexed expression. "Was it really necessary, Callista?"

I took a long, slow breath before speaking, to settle my thoughts. 

"Meaning no disrespect, sir," I began, "I did read Senevere's account. But there were certain..."

"What, disagreeable sentiments?" Scholar Mikel guessed at my reluctance, and started speaking before I could continue. "Details he'd gotten wrong, according to your estimation, so you had to go so far out of your way to correct a First Explorer, as if you had any firsthand knowledge of the Wild days of Western Hemptor?" A scowl formed deep furrows in his brow. "Do you seriously mean to stand here and question the validity of the first Gramblian ever to cross the Fforgan Mountain Pass?"

"No sir!" I panicked and blurted out the whole thing. "I didn't see anything that I felt was wrong in any way, there were just gaps in the account, things he said that didn't quite add up, and parts that were left incomplete, due to miscommunication or any number of valid reasons. I thought you would want me to cross-reference anything I felt unclear about, so I investigated the personal journal of a second Explorer who lived among Wordspinners at about that time. I found more details, and I used those to help clarify the points Senevere was trying to make--I wasn't trying to contradict or make an alternative point, I just wanted a more complete picture of a very monumental time full of changes and new experiences and encounters, that is all. I just wanted to write a good essay!"

I fought the urge to quiver as I finished. The echoes of my own voice died, and yet Scholar Mikel did not speak. He stared at me with his lips pressed firmly, but I couldn't tell if the glint in his eye was confusion, fury, or contempt.

Finally, he seized his pen and began recording his marks. "Well, then, if that's the way you feel about these venerable historians..." He crossed some things and circled others. "I'm afraid I must discount the views expressed by this alternative source. You need to learn to stick with the sources provided for your academic papers--we have stringent guidelines for a reason, and you must learn to work within them." He stopped, reviewing the marks with a single raised brow. "I will say, that even without the confusion of the alternate source, your summation of Senevere's works does bear up under scrutiny, and manages to carry its own point across--so for that, I find your work in this assignment..." He held the paper up so I could see the final grade at the top. "Quite acceptable. Very well, Callista--your grades will not be affected by your behavior in class yesterday."

I sighed with relief, remembering to keep my shoulders straight as the rest of my body relaxed and softened after the mounting tension I'd been under since yesterday. "Thank you, sir."

Scholar Mikel stared at me over the rims of his glasses and wagged a finger. "But see that this sort of disruption does not happen again, or I may not be so lenient!"

If I nodded any faster, my neck might crack. "Yes sir; I understand, sir."

I walked out of the classroom just as the bell pealed across the courtyard. Just in time! I felt so incredibly light after the admonishment of Scholar Mikel, I was almost glad that Dance came next in my schedule!

I almost skipped my way to the other side of the courtyard, pausing at the door to compose myself before entering. 

I walked into the spacious ballroom-sized classroom to find my fellow students engaged with preparations in these last few moments: tying back loose hair, changing shoes, stretching, pacing, and other such varied calisthenics.

A familiar shock of dark hair caught my eye, and every last thought about Wordspinners, yellow dresses, and essays fell swiftly aside. Matthias caught my eye, lifted his head, and grinned. It just felt so right to see him looking so well. In spite of all his prolonged absences--which only lent credibility to the rumors that Olm Friedlan had already begun training his son to take over the merchant business--he managed to fit right back into the rhythm and flow of Mirrorvale life every time he returned. I wondered, briefly, if he ever chanced to look over the girls all flocking around him and consider how they changed and grew every time he saw them next... and perhaps, if at any point such thoughts applied to me... 

I caught myself slipping into the dangerous realm of speculation and I shook my shoulders. I knew it was not advantageous to pin any amount of hopes on a young man who had not yet expressed any inclination toward the idea of courtship and marriage. After all, I reminded myself as I bent to reach toward my toes, I have reason on my side. I could rationalize continuing to observe and think of him as more than just idle, empty speculation by recording my "findings" in a hypothetical list of the traits and characteristics that made Matthias such an admirable husband. But those thoughts weren't exclusively attached to just Matthias, either. Those traits could easily apply to someone else who wasn't Matthias, as long as that person looked like him, behaved like him, or thought exactly like him.

I heard the instructor's cane tapping on the floor. 

Or whatever, I thought. 

"Attention!" Madame Beacon's voice rang out over the busy murmurs of the class. She stood in the middle of the room and raised her arms. Her full, black skirt billowed out around her hips wide enough to fit another person snugly alongside her on any side. “Students, assume the starting position for the Lively Maid!”

I kept my gaze fixed on Matthias while I pretended to move aimlessly through the room, but unfortunately, by the time I reached the line of girls, he had been pushed to one end of the line, while I ended up jostled to the other end. I frowned. Based on the head count between us, we wouldn't end up paired off no matter how many times we switched partners. Meanwhile, who should end up in position to be paired with Matthias first, but the "new girl", Sheranne! I felt my lips tighten in a grimace at the way she tilted her head and blinked at him. If this was Etiquette class, I was fairly certain Madame Collette would have been either extolling or calling out her overt flirtatious behavior. My foremost comfort was the fact that they would only have a few bars of the dance together before they would have to switch; also, Matthias didn't seem to notice her enthusiastic attentions, passive and somewhat subtle as they were.

The music started, and we rotated in a more or less geometric pattern around the room. Each step metered, each movement accounted for with ruthless integrity. It wouldn't do for any one of us to get too carried away and start floating or gliding.

At least, any one except Terra, I thought with a grin.

I pictured her learning this dance in her Level 8 class, and being absolutely miserable through it. Not that she hated dancing--Terra danced every time she moved! The trouble was that the poor thing couldn't stay in tandem if her life depended on it. [...] It wouldn't matter how loudly Madame Beacon beat time with her cane, though she might build up enough force to punch a hole right through the floorboards, all that effort would do nothing to rein in a wild, romping Terra. 

These entertaining thoughts kept me from getting too distracted about not getting to dance with Matthias--but as the class period ended, and we filed out into the hall under the ringing bell, the cold grip of guilt seized me. 

"Terra... Trouble..." My thoughts drifted back to the disapproving glances of my parents. My steps slowed. "Yellow dress... Contraband... forbidden items...Yellow dress..."

What did it mean?

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