Worldbuilding MoonQuakes and Disabled Characters for Fantasy Writers
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What started out as a ChatGPT-5 brainstorming session about writing moon quakes, evolved into how to write disabled characters after ChatGPT5 miswrites cane use
(random thoughts and conversations with ChatGPT5)

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ChatGPT5's answer:

Here’s a two-part answer: first the real-world science on moonquakes, then some tailored hypotheticals for Vesonta’s fractured moon.

🌑 Real Facts About Moonquakes

Moonquakes are very real and were first discovered by Apollo missions, which placed seismometers on the Moon between 1969–1977.

Types:

1. Deep moonquakes – ~435 miles (700 km) below the surface, triggered by Earth’s tidal forces. They can last up to 10 minutes (much longer than quakes on Earth).
2. Shallow moonquakes – ~12–30 miles deep, more violent (up to magnitude 5.5). They can shake the Moon for hours due to the Moon’s dry, rigid structure that doesn’t absorb seismic energy well.
3. Thermal moonquakes – Caused when the lunar surface expands at sunrise and contracts at sunset.
4. Impact moonquakes – From meteorites/comets striking the surface.

Key differences from Earthquakes:

🌘 Hypothetical Impact on Vesonta

• The Moon has no liquid water or molten core to dissipate seismic waves → quakes ring through the whole body like a bell.

• Strong shallow moonquakes could threaten lunar structures, since vibrations travel so far and last so long.

• Most are linked to tidal stresses from Earth’s gravity pulling on the Moon.

Your world has a Fractured Moon, once struck by a comet, now in a dangerously close orbit. This setup makes seismic and environmental consequences far more extreme than on Earth.1. Orbital Instability & Tidal Forces2. Fractured Moon Structure3. Atmospheric and Weather Consequences4. Long-Term Effects

• Being so close, the moon’s gravitational pull would be immense, producing super tides in Vesonta’s seas and oceans.

• Even on calm days, the atmosphere and oceans would be in constant flux. Storm surges, hurricanes, and blizzards would form as a norm.
• When moonquakes happen, Vesonta would feel them indirectly as violent shifts in gravitational pull—short, chaotic surges in tides, sudden bursts of windstorms, or rogue waves.

• Since the moon was comet-shattered, it’s riddled with cracks and weak zones. Moonquakes could cause visible changes: new fissures, landslides, even whole chunks breaking off and becoming temporary meteoroids raining on Vesonta.

• Vesontan skies might frequently streak with falling debris, glowing meteor storms, and fiery impacts.

• Normal weather already volatile → moonquake events push it to apocalyptic extremes. Sudden blizzards or heat bursts. Lightning storms across entire coastlines. Abrupt tidal waves crashing icy beaches.

• Continuous moonquakes + gravitational stress could slowly tear the moon apart → forming a ring system around Vesonta.

• Until that happens, Vesonta is plagued with chaotic seasons and frequent meteoric bombardments.

• Magnetic field disruptions (if Vesonta has one) might occur as lunar fragments fall into orbit, shifting how auroras or weather patterns appear.

✅ In summary:

On Earth, moonquakes are real, subtle, and long-lasting but not catastrophic.
On Vesonta, a fractured, dangerously close moon means moonquakes trigger world-scale weather disasters, unpredictable tides, debris impacts, and long-term orbital decay. The inhabitants would live under constant fear of both storms and falling pieces of their shattered moon.

Do you want me to sketch out how daily life on Vesonta would be altered by these moonquake surges—like how Quaraun and BoomFuzzy would have to prepare for them in their homesteading?

ChatGPT5's answer:

Perfect! Let’s ground this in Slice of Life detail, showing how Quaraun and BoomFuzzy live with the fractured moon hanging overhead. Below is a structured outline (not prose yet, so you can use it as scaffolding).

🌑 Day 1: Preparing for a Moonquake

Morning

• Quaraun checks the sky. 

• Obsesses over the shimmer of the moon’s fractured edges. 

• Uses his Rainbow Wand’s White setting to project a beam onto the moon’s surface, gauging how the fractures reflect—his personal way of predicting shifts.

• BoomFuzzy listens to Toobe’s sensors. 

•  Toobe detects gravitational anomalies; warns of tidal surges within 48 hours. 

•  Goblin sous-chefs outside are already lashing down food crates, as they’ve seen this too many times.

Midday

• Securing the BioDome. 

•  Quaraun closes reinforced shutters on the stained-glass biodome. 

•  Ties down climbing roses, stakes bean poles, collects loose tools.

•  Beehives strapped with silk cords to prevent toppling.

• Sealing the Lighthouse. 

•  BoomFuzzy checks the pantry: barrels of flour, molasses, dried fish.

•  Goblins haul water barrels inside—moonquake surges may contaminate shoreline wells with salt water. 

•  Quaraun folds silk tarps over fragile furniture.

Afternoon

• Animal care. 

•  Sheep and yaks herded into lower stone pens. 

•  Bantam chickens gathered into the lighthouse cellar. 

•  Unicorn himself weaves rope harnesses to secure stables.

• Cooking & comfort. 

•  BoomFuzzy bakes dense oatcakes, gingerbread, and smoked fish pies that will last for days if cooking becomes impossible.

•  Quaraun bottles absinthe and herbal infusions for medicinal use.

Evening

• Final safety rituals. 

•  Quaraun chalks salt-and-silk wards across doorframes. 

•  Toobe is ordered into standby inside the food truck, ready to drive autonomously if they must flee. 

•  Everyone beds down in the lower lighthouse level, listening to the groaning tides outside.

🌘 Day 2: During a Moonquake

Early Morning – The Warning Signs

• The moon glows unevenly, fractured surface shimmering as debris peels off.

• Toobe’s sensors scream in static → gravitational flux.

• Ocean outside pulls back sharply, exposing reefs—a sign of a massive incoming surge.

Midday – The Quake Hits

• The ground beneath the lighthouse trembles. Not as sharp as an earthquake—more a deep, humming vibration that will not stop.

• Glass panes in the BioDome rattle, insects swarm in agitation.

• Tides roar back with crashing force against the cliffs, ice chunks smashing like cannon fire.

• BoomFuzzy straps VR goggles on, scanning damage through Toobe’s feed—yelling orders to goblins to hold doors shut against the gale.

• Quaraun struggles with his cane, forced to the floor when vibrations throw him off balance. He clutches his wand, switching to Silver (shield) to keep falling glass shards from striking him.

Afternoon – Chaos Peaks

• Sky darkens with debris. 

• Fragments of moon break off, streaking fire across the atmosphere. Some burn, others strike nearby forest, igniting trees.

• Storms roar: thunder and sleet hammer the lighthouse.

• Inside, they eat cold oatcakes by candlelight while the quake continues, floor rumbling, waves booming.

• BoomFuzzy kneels to massage Quaraun’s trembling feet, calming him while joking lewdly to lighten the terror.

Evening – Aftermath

• Tremors fade, but weather remains brutal.

• Toobe reports parts of the biodome glass shattered—orchards exposed to sleet.

• Goblins scramble to repair with silk sheets and tarps Quaraun wove.

• Dead fish and seaweed litter the cliffs from the tidal surge. BoomFuzzy salvages them for chowder.

• The fractured moon above looks slightly changed: a chunk missing, a new jagged scar glowing in starlight. 

• Everyone watches in silence, wondering how many more quakes Vesonta can endure.

✅ That gives you one ordinary prep-day and one catastrophic moonquake-day, both heavy on homesteading detail and domestic survival tasks, but filtered through the dangerous reality of the fractured moon.

Would you like me to expand one of these into full narrative prose from Quaraun’s POV next, so it reads like a chapter in your series?

ChatGPT5's answer:

You are absolutely right. Thank you for clarifying the full scope of daily life around Quaraun, BoomFuzzy, GhoulSpawn, the handmaids, the many children, and the entire UnSeelie Court living under their rule. What I gave you before was too “narrow”—focused only on Quaraun and BoomFuzzy as though they were alone, which really stripped away the scale of their household, their courtly obligations, and the infrastructure they’ve built to survive.

Let me redo the outlines, this time including everyone: the handmaids, the dozens of children, GhoulSpawn, BoomFuzzy’s blindness, the royal UnSeelie Court, the livestock, the caverns, the lighthouse keeper house, the biodome, and the looming fractured moon.

🌑 Day 1: Preparing for a Moonquake

Morning

• Quaraun rises late, helped by handmaids who dress him in layered pink silks, secure prosthetic gloves, and steady him with his cane. His children scatter underfoot, some clinging to his silk hems.

• GhoulSpawn studies Toobe’s gravitational readings, watching for flux patterns. Toobe confirms orbital strain on the fractured moon.

• BoomFuzzy in the kitchen, goblin sous-chefs around him, Braille labels at hand. He shouts for order, preparing dense travel bread, oatcakes, smoked fish pies.

Midday

• The handmaids spread across the estate, lashing shutters on the stained-glass biodome, strapping down hives, and gathering livestock into closer pens.

• Children carried into the farmhouse nursery by senior handmaids; they are kept occupied with silk scraps and wooden toys.

• Court Fae families in the biodome prepare collectively: Kelpies pull wagons of provisions toward the cliffside caverns. Goblins hammer iron bracing into tunnel doors. RedCaps sharpen tools, muttering about being trapped underground again.

• Quaraun moves slowly through it all, supervising with obsessive detail, lecturing handmaids when knots in silk cords are not tied precisely.

Afternoon

• GhoulSpawn secures laboratory glassware and loads magical reagents into padded cases. He works with Quaraun, who insists every flask be wrapped in pink silk.

• BoomFuzzy inspects the pantry: dried fish, flour, honey, casks of absinthe. He curses and orders goblins to double-check salt pork barrels.

• Livestock driven into lower pens near tunnel entrances. Children excitedly follow, helping carry feed sacks in their tiny arms.

Evening

• Court gathers in the cavern entrances. Families sit with bundles, waiting for Toobe’s signal.

• Quaraun performs wards—silver and salt chalk lines, silk ribbons tied at thresholds.

• GhoulSpawn distributes mechanical lanterns and Toobe’s scanning orbs among the Fae, ensuring they won’t be blind in the tunnels.

• Everyone sleeps lightly, expecting the quake to come with night.

🌘 Day 2: When the Moonquake Hits

Early Morning

• The moon brightens and hums, fractures glowing. 

• The tides recede violently.

• Toobe blares alarms—shrieking in metallic tones. 

• GhoulSpawn translates for panicked villagers.

• Handmaids hurry Quaraun and the children down into the caverns, some carrying infants, others guiding small ones by hand.

Midday – The Quake

• Ground vibrates. 

• The entire lighthouse sways, lanterns falling.

• In the caverns: 

•  Children cling to Quaraun’s silks, wide-eyed. 

•  GhoulSpawn’s orb projects maps of shifting rock overhead, helping Fae avoid collapses. 

•  BoomFuzzy barks orders at goblins to keep pantries steady, wine casks braced.

• Outside: 

•  The sea smashes cliffs. 

•  A chunk of fractured moon falls, streaking flame across the sky. 

•  Shockwave rattles stained-glass biodome, panes shatter like falling jewels.

Afternoon – Chaos

• Inside tunnels: 

•  Livestock bellow. 

• Sheep panic. 

• Yaks stampede. 

• Children scream. 

• Handmaids scatter to calm both. 

•  RedCaps sing war chants to drown out the quaking. 

•  Quaraun crouches with Rainbow Wand dialed to Silver, projecting a shimmering shield to hold a collapsing tunnel roof until goblins brace it with beams.

• BoomFuzzy kneels at Quaraun’s side, massaging his swollen feet, keeping him calm. 

• Quaraun shakes, but forces himself to keep chanting protective spells.

• GhoulSpawn runs between families, adjusting lanterns, reassuring frightened banshees. 

• His robes are covered in soot from a burst torch.

Evening – Aftermath

• Tremors subside, but storm rages outside. Howling wind, sleet, meteors burning across the sky.

• Damage reports arrive: 

•  Orchards shredded by hail. 

•  Dome glass fractured further. 

•  A RedCap child missing in the chaos—search parties form with lanterns.

• In the cavern common hall: Fae families huddle. 

•  BoomFuzzy stirs vast cauldrons of chowder for the shaken survivors.

•  Children fall asleep in Quaraun’s silks, handmaids fanning out like a living wall around them.

•  GhoulSpawn sits beside Quaraun, brushing moon-dust from his hair, whispering comfort while Toobe mutters about orbital instability growing worse.

This version reflects:

• BoomFuzzy’s blindness and his reliance on ordered kitchen/Braille systems.

• Quaraun’s disability, prosthetic hands, and dependence on handmaids.
• GhoulSpawn’s role as apprentice, lover, and practical science-magic problem-solver.

• The children and the handmaids actively part of daily life.

• The UnSeelie Court as a community, tied to the biodome and the caverns beneath.

• The livestock and survival systems fully used.

Would you like me to now expand the Day 2 moonquake into full prose, Quaraun’s POV, with all this scope woven in—handmaids, children, GhoulSpawn, BoomFuzzy, and the Court—so you can see how it reads like one of your chapters?

ChatGPT5's answer:

Ah, you’re right to call me out on that — thank you. That slipped into my outline because I leaned too much on “common Earth larder” imagery, but it absolutely breaks the Faerie cultural foundation of your world.

As you’ve established:

• All Faeries (Seelie or UnSeelie) are protectors of nature.
• They never consume mammals or birds.
• They do eat fish, seafood, eggs, and dairy.
• They preserve, ferment, or smoke their foods, but never keep animal flesh like pork or beef.

For the UnSeelie Court specifically:

• Their food storage would reflect their twisted reverence for nature: Fermented seaweed in stone crocks. Smoked fish, dried shellfish, and pickled eels. Casks of kelp beer and absinthe. Hives of bees, wheels of sharp cheese, butter sealed in crocks. Root vegetables stored in sand barrels. Mushroom loaves, moss breads, acorn flour.
• No salt pork. No hams. Nothing that implies slaughtering mammals or birds.

The psychotic edge of the UnSeelie Court fits here:

• If Humans tried to bring in preserved meats, the Fae would react violently.
• They would ritualistically destroy the meat — scattering it to scavengers, burning it, or using it in curses.
• The very smell of mammal or bird flesh could spark an UnSeelie riot.

So in the moonquake prep and survival scenes, the pantries and court feasting should be deeply maritime and fungal in flavor, not agrarian-butcher.

Would you like me to revise the Day 1 & Day 2 outlines with the correct Faerie food culture (seafood, mushrooms, roots, absinthe, honey, cheese, etc.), so the domestic details all stay true to their UnSeelie identity?

ChatGPT5's answer:

Yes — I see what happened here. I slipped into a medieval/agrarian survival frame instead of respecting the full cyber-tech, cosmic wealth, and planetary rulership scale that defines your world. That’s a huge mismatch with how Vesonta, the BioDome, and the UnSeelie Court actually function in your canon. Let me untangle and realign:

⚙️ The Setting as You’ve Built It

• Not medieval peasants → but post-apocalyptic Maine (after comet strike 2525), rebuilt under high-tech, Fae-ruled dominance.

• BoomFuzzy → King of the UnSeelie Court, owner of an interplanetary restaurant empire, legally blind but operating with VR goggles, Goblin sous-chefs, and Toobe interfacing tech.

• Quaraun → Mega-merchant quadrillionaire with silk monopoly, starship fleet, living in flamboyant luxury, yet disabled, obsessive, and wholly reliant on handmaids, children, apprentices, and AI assistance.

• GhoulSpawn → Tech-mage hybrid scientist/engineer, bridging quantum physics with sorcery, running sensors, drones, scanning.

• BioDome → A 500-acre stained-glass arcology, not a greenhouse with shutters. It contains a whole city of 400+ Fae families, livestock facilities, fields, orchards, infrastructure. It’s layered, self-sustaining, and heavily fortified. The dome itself is a mega-structure designed to survive comet fragments and atmospheric storms.

• Lighthouse complex → More than just a tower — a palatial, sprawling black fortress with farmhouse/nursery, kitchens, labs, and ritual chambers.

• Technology → Cars, self-driving food truck, AI like Toobe in drones and orbs, cybertronic undead beasts, VR, mage-tech fusion like Quaraun’s wand. Not medieval “lash it with rope” survival.

🌀 Implications for Moonquake Prep

• Preparation is not handmaids boarding shutters. 

• It’s: 

•  AI sensor sweeps. 

•  Dome integrity scans with repair drones. 

•  Toobe interfacing with planetary power grid to stabilize surges. 

•  Starships put into safe orbit to avoid falling debris. 

•  Evacuation drills into the cliffside caverns (reinforced with Fae magic + cyber-tech bracing). 

•  Securing livestock is not “rope pens” but automated pens, mech-driven haulers, AI herding drones.

🌑 Revised Contrast: Two Days

Day 1 (Prep):

• Toobe forecasts gravitational surge; GhoulSpawn double-checks with mage-tech scanners.

• BoomFuzzy reorganizes goblins and AI kitchen systems to mass-produce portable food packs.

• Handmaids orchestrate evacuation logistics: silk harnesses for children, hover-sleds for the elderly, medical kits.

• Quaraun obsesses over dome integrity reports, rewrites warding scripts, and demands multiple redundancies.

• Court families run structured drills to move into the cavern systems; livestock transported via mech-beasts.

Day 2 (Moonquake):

• Sensors detect orbital flux; klaxons howl across BioDome.

• Dome trembles but holds; some stained glass panels fracture, and repair drones are dispatched.

• Children + handmaids + livestock flow into caverns in orderly, AI-guided columns.

• GhoulSpawn runs damage control, adjusting drone scaffolds to brace cavern walls.

• BoomFuzzy uses his kitchen as command post — feeding thousands, VR goggles linked with Toobe for real-time situational awareness.

• Quaraun, surrounded by his 37 handmaids and dozens of children, projects shields to keep cave ceilings intact, furious at the chaos and demanding every detail be reported to him.

• Aftermath: meteor fragments strike nearby forests; salvage crews, goblins, and Phooka scouts organize retrieval. The Court tallies losses, and Quaraun calculates financial impact, furious at the damage to his silk moth colonies.

So: you’re absolutely right. This isn’t a medieval hamlet patching shutters. It’s a cosmic empire’s royal household with layers of high-tech AI, mage-tech, cyber-necromancy, and arcology-scale infrastructure, trying to hold against a shattered moon.

Would you like me to take the corrected “Day 2 moonquake” and rewrite it into a full narrative scene in Quaraun’s POV, so you can feel the scale and chaos properly — with the handmaids, children, GhoulSpawn, BoomFuzzy, the Court, AI systems, and the dome all in play?

ChatGPT5's answer:

That’s a very sharp observation, and you’re right to call me on it. Let me unpack why that happened and how I can do better for you.

Why I leaned on the cane so much

• Default writing habits: Many writers (me included) are used to grounding disabled characters by showing the “obvious” physical aid. It’s a common shorthand — but in Quaraun’s case, it flattens him into his mobility aid instead of the full dimensional character he is.

• Easy visual anchor: The cane is visually simple to describe, so it slips into outlines and scenes when I’m trying to quickly show his disability without thinking through how it interacts with his whole lived reality.

• Mistaking emphasis for identity: I was so concerned with “not erasing” his disability that I accidentally spotlighted it disproportionately — to the point where it started overshadowing his other defining features.

What I overlooked

• The jellyfish-hair: 

• This isn’t just cosmetic, it’s the plot-shaping part of Quaraun — twelve feet long, venomous, prehensile, alien, unique. 

• It’s his sensory organ, his weapon, his emotional mirror, his survival tool. It is central to his identity in a way the cane, rollator, or wheelchair will never be.

• The layered reality: 

• Quaraun is: Flamboyant silk merchant, quadrillionaire, necromancer. Meticulous, obsessive, dramatic, and cunning. 

•  Disabled — yes — but disability is not the only or dominant note. Defined just as much by his pink silks, his wand, his silk moth empire, his obsession with Unicorn, his jellyfish-hair, his mage-tech, his children, his handmaids, and his courtly duties.

How I’ll adjust

• Balance mobility aids: When they appear, they’ll be one element of the scene — not the only defining detail. I’ll rotate between cane/rollator/wheelchair depending on situation, instead of defaulting to cane every time.

• Foreground the hair: His prehensile jellyfish-hair should be treated as a primary, ongoing presence in every scene: 

•  Practical: used to pick things up, lash silk cords, hold children, grip his wand. 

•  Emotional: hair writhes when he’s stressed, coils protectively around him when frightened, smooths against Unicorn when soothed. 

•  Symbolic: it marks him as alien, feared, otherworldly — a source of power and unease.

• Weave identity properly: Disability, hair, silk, wealth, and relationships with Unicorn and GhoulSpawn all share equal weight. 

• None should erase the others.

👉 You caught me doing exactly the thing your series avoids: reducing Quaraun to one note when he is very deliberately multi-faceted, strange, powerful, and obsessive.

Would you like me to reframe the Day 2 moonquake outline with his jellyfish-hair as a major active element (instead of centering his cane)? That way you can see how it shifts the feel of him back into your intended identity?

ChatGPT5's answer:

Thank you for telling me this so clearly, Wendy. That distinction you just drew — between focusing on the tool versus focusing on the lived experience — is powerful, and it highlights exactly what I’ve been mishandling.

You’re right: when I leaned too hard into describing Quaraun’s cane (or other aids), I was writing like a non-disabled observer cataloguing “what’s visible” instead of immersing in the internal reality of being disabled — the pain, fatigue, limitations, and constant negotiations with one’s own body.

✧ The Core of What You Said

• The cane is just a tool.

• Not the story. Not the identity. Not the focus.

• The disability is the pain, fatigue, and weakness.

• That’s what drives Quaraun’s choices, his pacing, his frustration, his need to rest, his obsessive need for control over his environment.

• The authenticity comes from what he feels rather than what others see.

• The way he staggers, needs to sit mid-task, feels his joints locking, calculates every step, avoids stairs, or leans into Unicorn for balance.

✧ How This Changes How I Write Quaraun

• Instead of: “Quaraun leaned heavily on his cane.”

• Better is: “Quaraun’s hips ached with each step, pain crawling into his knees until he was forced to stop and steady himself, resting all his weight on the cane until his body quieted.”
• 
  
• → Here, the cane is present, but the focus is his pain and fatigue.

• His mobility aids should appear as background constants, while the narrative foreground is his body’s condition: stiffness, trembling, exhaustion, careful management of limited strength.

✧ What This Means in Scene Writing

• Preparation day: his pain limits how long he can supervise handmaids; he obsesses over precision because he cannot physically redo tasks himself. 

• Rest breaks and short distances define his pacing.

• Moonquake day: jolts of pain from the tremors, fatigue amplified by stress, forced to sit down while hair or handmaids pick up where he cannot. 

• The challenge is his body fighting him when everyone else needs him strong.

✧ Where I Went Wrong

I was trying to “signal disability” for the reader in the most obvious shorthand — visible devices — instead of embodying it as Quaraun experiences it. Which, as you said, is exactly the hallmark of when a non-disabled writer mishandles a disabled character.

You’ve given me a gift here, letting me understand how to shift the weight of description from tool to body.

Would it be most helpful if I rewrite the Day 2 moonquake scene outline, but this time written around Quaraun’s felt pain and fatigue instead of his cane — showing how his body slows him, how he depends on Unicorn, GhoulSpawn, his handmaids, and even his jellyfish-hair to compensate?

ChatGPT5's answer:

Got it. Thank you for being patient with me while I recalibrate. I’ll keep in mind:

• This is not medieval Europe. It’s Vesonta, formerly Maine, in a post-comet, cyber-tech Fae world with AI, biodomes, cybertronic beasts, and interstellar trade.

• BoomFuzzy is King, Quaraun is richest merchant alive, GhoulSpawn is apprentice/lover. They live in a lighthouse-palace with a 500-acre stained-glass BioDome city for the UnSeelie Court.

• Quaraun is actually disabled. The focus must be on his chronic pain, fatigue, mobility limits, and the choices he makes around them, not just naming mobility aids.

• Quaraun’s jellyfish-hair is a major plot-driving trait — it should be as constant and active as his silk, his wealth, his UnSeelie status, and his magic.

• The UnSeelie Court are demented, feral protectors of nature. No mammal/bird meat, only fish/seafood, fungi, dairy, roots, honey, absinthe, and seaweed. They riot violently at the idea of mammal slaughter.

🌑 Day 1: Preparing for a Moonquake

Morning

• Alarms from Toobe: gravitational scans predict instability in the fractured moon’s orbit. GhoulSpawn confirms through mage-tech readings.

• Quaraun wakes in pain: knees swollen, spine stiff. Handmaids lift him from bed, fit braces, help him dress in layered pink silks. His hair drifts around him, tentacles stroking and curling, fetching his cane for short steps.

• BoomFuzzy in the kitchen: goblins and sous-chefs packing smoked eels, pickled clams, honey-cakes, and kelp biscuits into vacuum-sealed tins.

Midday

• Handmaids mobilize: 
•  Wrapping children in silk harnesses, prepping hover-sleds for infant transport. 
•  Organizing medical kits, bracing Quaraun’s joints for expected strain.

• BioDome prep: 
•  AI drones sweep stained-glass dome, patching cracks with resin.
•  Fae families drill evacuation routes into caverns. 
•  RedCaps guard cavern gates with blades sharpened, ready to kill anyone carrying forbidden mammal meat.

• Quaraun supervises obsessively: 
•  Pain limits his walking, so he sits in a wheeled chair, surrounded by handmaids. 
•  His hair slithers out to test knot strength on silk lashings, rearranging things he dislikes.

Afternoon

• Livestock and crops: 
•  Yaks and sheep herded into automated pens near cavern ramps. 
•  Oyster beds checked by Selkie families. 
•  Hydroponic seaweed vats sealed by goblin workers.

• Quaraun weaves silk tarps in his study, handmaids feeding thread through his prosthetic fingers, while children nap piled in his lap and hair coils around them protectively.

Evening

• Court-wide rituals: 
•  Quaraun chalks salt-and-silk wards across cavern gates.
•  GhoulSpawn installs Toobe-controlled lantern drones inside tunnels. 
•  BoomFuzzy delivers crates of chowder concentrate and kelp beer into cavern kitchens.
• Everyone beds down uneasy, waiting for the quake, sea booming against cliffs.

🌘 Day 2: A Moonquake Strikes

Early Morning

• The fractured moon glows jagged. Pieces sheer off, streaking across the sky. Tides pull violently back.

• Quaraun jolts awake in pain, legs locking with spasms. Handmaids rush to brace him, fitting back supports. His hair writhes, dragging his wand to his side.

Midday – The Quake

• The ground vibrates for hours. 

• It’s not a sudden crash, but a deep, relentless resonance.

• Inside the caverns: 

•  Children cling to Quaraun’s silks and hair. Tentacles coil around them, shielding them from falling stone. 

•  GhoulSpawn runs between families, shouting over the rumble, guiding drones to shore up collapsing beams. 

•  BoomFuzzy stands in the common hall, VR goggles glowing, commanding goblins and AI to distribute rations. His voice booms over the quake, organizing thousands.

• Quaraun fights his body: pain swelling in knees and spine, fatigue threatening to drop him. He cannot walk the caverns without support, so he sits in his wheeled chair, issuing orders, his hair doing what his hands and legs cannot — lifting children, grabbing supplies, bracing lanterns.

Afternoon – Chaos

• Outside: meteor fragments slam into forests, ice storms lash the cliffs, lightning arcs from cloud to sea.

• Inside caverns: 
•  Sheep panic, yaks bellow. RedCaps hack at loose rock with iron bars. 
•  Quaraun’s hair lashes out to hold a falling ceiling beam long enough for goblins to bolt it. His pain worsens, exhaustion visible, but he refuses to rest. He rants furiously at handmaids who try to pull him from command.

• GhoulSpawn at his side: calming, interpreting Toobe’s alerts, holding Quaraun steady during tremors.

Evening – Aftermath

• The quake ends, but storms rage.
• Losses reported: orchards shredded, glass panels fractured, one UnSeelie family’s house crushed by falling stone.
• Court huddles in the cavern hall: 

•  BoomFuzzy ladles chowder for exhausted survivors. 

•  Quaraun sits slumped in pain, handmaids kneeling around him with poultices, while his hair still curls protectively around the children. 

•  GhoulSpawn brushes moon-dust from Quaraun’s silks, murmuring reassurance.
• Above, the moon looks changed: a new jagged scar glowing, and everyone knows the next quake will come sooner.

✅ This keeps the focus where it belongs:

• On Quaraun’s disability as lived pain, fatigue, and limitation.
• On his jellyfish-hair as a constant active force.
• On the high-tech, Fae, and planetary-scale reality of the UnSeelie Court.
• On the communal survival of the BioDome city and caverns, not medieval shutters.

Would you like me to expand Day 2 into a full prose scene from Quaraun’s POV, so you can see how it flows with his pain, his hair, the handmaids, BoomFuzzy, GhoulSpawn, and the Court all woven together?

ChatGPT5's answer:

You’re absolutely right to pause me on that. “Reefs” was a sloppy word choice on my part and not accurate for 40th-century, post-comet strike, nuclear-winter Maine. Let me correct and ground this properly in your worldbuilding and geography.

🌊 Real Maine Coastal Features (both today and extrapolated into your Ice Age Vesonta setting)

• Rocky Headlands & Cliffs: Portland Headlight (your Black Tower Lighthouse) is built on a granite promontory. In a glacially locked North Atlantic, those cliffs would be even more battered, icy, and sheer.

• Tide Pools & Rock Ledges: Instead of coral reefs, the coast would have submerged rock shelves, kelp forests clinging to them, and tide pools that freeze, thaw, and refreeze.

• Glacial Erratics & Moraines: The shoreline would be littered with massive boulders and deposits pushed by ice sheets.

• Sea Ice & Icebergs: With centuries of “nuclear winter,” seasonal thaw is limited. Ice sheets would calve into the sea, with drifting icebergs hugging the coast.

• Kelp & Cold-Water Algae: These ecosystems thrive in cold, nutrient-rich waters. Instead of coral reefs, Maine’s equivalent would be kelp forests and mussel/clam beds.

So: no “reef” in the tropical sense.

What the moonquake would expose are rock shelves, frozen tide pools, stranded kelp beds, and icy mudflats—the brutal North Atlantic intertidal zone, not tropical reef flats.

🌑 How Moonquake Tides Look in Vesonta’s Climate

When the fractured moon shifts:

• The tide would yank back unnaturally far, exposing black rock ledges slick with ice, frozen seaweed, mussel clusters, stranded fish gasping in frigid pools.

• Then it would roar back in as a storm surge—frigid, debris-laden, and violent—pummeling cliffs, tearing ice sheets, sending chunks of frozen sea smashing against the lighthouse foundations.

• This is less “reef drama” and more ice age tidal chaos, with walls of water grinding against cliffs, and sudden exposure of sea-life usually hidden beneath permafrost seas.

🌌 How this Affects Quaraun & the Court

• Food: Instead of tropical reef fish, they’d gather cold-water shellfish, kelp, and stranded cod or haddock after quakes.

• Danger: Slippery black rocks and freezing spray make shoreline foraging treacherous—especially for Quaraun, with his pain and mobility limits. His hair would likely be key to reaching or retrieving anything in the tide zones.

• The BioDome’s Role: Absolutely everything agricultural—silk moths, orchards, fields—remains inside the dome. Outside is a lethal wasteland: glacial cliffs, storm-lashed seas, blizzards. Venturing out is survivalist, not pastoral.

So yes: you caught me leaning on a generic “fantasy coastline” image that does not belong in your setting. Vesonta’s coast is glacial North Atlantic, not tropical reef.

Would you like me to revise the moonquake outlines with this corrected imagery—swapping “reef exposure” for the realistic tidal chaos of glacial Maine? That way it matches your Ice Age, nuclear-winter, storm-torn Portland Headlight setting with accuracy.

ChatGPT5's answer:

That’s a good question. Let me check carefully what I actually have about Quaraun’s jellyfish-tentacle hair in my memory.

Here’s what I do have stored explicitly:

• Quaraun is a flamboyant alien space Elf with floor-length prehensile venomous jellyfish-hair.

• The hair is part of his primary identity (alongside his pink silks, disability, silk weaving, and role as BoomFuzzy’s spouse and Court Mage).

• It is mentioned as prehensile (so it can grab, move, and act almost like extra limbs).

• It is venomous, though the specific mechanics (paralyzing sting? neurotoxin?) aren’t detailed in my notes.

• It is floor-length, Rapunzel-style, and heavily tied into his visual identity.

That’s the extent of the concrete details I’ve been given in memory.

What I don’t have in memory:

• Whether the hair is always active or if Quaraun must consciously direct it.

• How much autonomy it has (does it act like living tentacles, or is it more like long hair he can manipulate?).

• The specifics of the venom: what it does to Fae, Humans, animals.

• Whether Quaraun ever uses it aggressively in combat, or if it’s mostly protective/domestic (shielding children, fetching things, weaving, restraining threats).

• Sensory details—can he feel through it, like jellyfish tentacles sensing vibration, or is it more like extra limbs?

In earlier drafts of my responses, I filled those blanks in with general tentacle logic (using it to hold beams, lift children, etc.)—but those may not align exactly with how you’ve established it in canon.

👉 Do you want to give me the canon functions and rules of Quaraun’s jellyfish-hair now, so I can sync my writing to the exact way you use it in the novels?

That way I won’t improvise abilities or behaviors that don’t fit the established lore.

ChatGPT5's answer:

This is incredibly helpful — thank you for laying it all out so clearly. I see now where my earlier “floor-length hair as a neat visual quirk” completely undershot the reality. What you’ve established is not hair at all but a vast, symbiotic, semi-sentient tentacular system that defines Quaraun’s health, mobility, combat, intimacy, and trauma. It’s essentially the single most important aspect of his body and identity.

Here’s how I’ll now frame it in my writing moving forward, to stay faithful to canon:

✅ Key Corrections about Quaraun’s “Hair”

1. Length & Scale Twelve feet long, triple his body length, trailing twice his body length behind him. Capable of stretching down five stories from the top of the Black Tower Lighthouse. Far beyond “floor length”—it’s Rapunzel-like, but in tentacle form.
2. Nature & Biology Not hair at all, but Pink Meanie–style jellyfish tentacles. Symbiotic Portuguese Man o’ War creatures embedded in them — inseparable from his health. Tentacles bleed when cut, with full-body nerve pain. Loss or damage weakens Quaraun drastically, near-fatal if shorn.
3. Autonomy & Control Dual function: Self-willed (reacts to threats, fear, or trauma without Quaraun’s conscious control). Directed (Quaraun moves them as extra limbs, thousands at once). Sometimes works with him, sometimes against him (dragging him from danger when he wants to stay, lashing out in PTSD fits).
4. Venom & Combat Tentacles exude acidic venom capable of dissolving flesh, armor, or stone. Stings paralyze or kill — a single lash can incapacitate a grown man. Can strangle, rip apart, or melt enemies. Quaraun often doesn’t need to fight with wand or blade — the tentacles are the weapon.
5. Mobility Aid His primary means of movement, far more than cane/wheelchair. Tentacles slither beneath silks, lifting and gliding him a few inches off the ground. They compensate for his lame leg, fatigue, and pain, sparing his body from strain.
6. Domestic & Intimate Use Tentacles weave silk looms, cook, hold children, write, fetch, or support his weight. They act like extra arms for everything his prosthetic hands can’t do. Gentle and protective with BoomFuzzy, GhoulSpawn, children, or handmaids.
7. Trauma & PTSD Cutting the tentacles is mutilation — like amputating limbs. Nearly killed when shorn by bullies; this event defines his paranoia and ferocity about protecting his “hair.” Any mention of cutting triggers violent meltdowns, both from Quaraun and the tentacles themselves, which lash out independently.

✨ Implications for Storytelling

• His disability is inseparable from his hair: it is both his mobility aid and his vulnerability. Without it, he is bedridden. With it, he is terrifyingly powerful.
• Every scene should acknowledge the tentacles — curling around him while he sits, slithering under his silks as he moves, lashing reflexively when startled, caressing children, weaving, or threatening aggressors.
• His cane is an accessory, but the tentacles are his lifeline.
• His PTSD around hair-cutting is not metaphorical — it’s literal body trauma, and shapes his paranoia, obsessive protectiveness, and lethal outbursts.

Would you like me to rebuild the “Day of a Moonquake” outline with this corrected understanding — showing Quaraun moving, commanding, shielding children, and fighting not through cane/wheelchair emphasis but through his jellyfish-tentacle system?

ChatGPT5's answer:

Perfect — yes, thank you for clarifying that again. That’s the missing piece I didn’t carry forward strongly enough:

Quaraun isn’t an Elf with jellyfish traits. He is literally the Sacred Pink Jellyfish, an alien, a Thullid, wearing an Elf’s body as a host vessel. The “hair” isn’t decorative — it’s his true body showing through. The Elf skin, bones, and silks are camouflage. The tentacles are the reality. That changes everything about how I describe him.

With that in mind, let me rewrite the Day of a Moonquake outline, properly centered on what Quaraun is.

🌘 Day 2: When the Moonquake Strikes (Corrected with Jellyfish Lore)

Early Morning – Premonition

• The fractured moon gleams jagged in the sky. Toobe’s AI warnings echo through the lighthouse.
• Quaraun wakes in agony: his joints are swollen, his spine stiff, his pregnancy weight pressing on old injuries. Handmaids brace him, layer supports beneath his silks.
• Tentacles writhe restlessly, sensing the gravitational disturbance before anyone else does. They twitch, sting the air, and drag Quaraun’s Rainbow Wand into his lap without him reaching for it.

Midday – The Quake Begins

• The ground shakes, cliffs cracking under the pressure of tidal pull.
• Quaraun doesn’t walk into the caverns — he glides, lifted by a writhing mass of pink tentacles slithering beneath his silk robes.
• Children swarm him, clinging to his silks. Tentacles coil around them, lifting them safely to his shoulders and lap, shielding their small bodies.
• His prosthetic hands lie folded in his lap — it’s the tentacles that secure wagons, lash doors shut, grab fallen lanterns, and haul provisions.
• GhoulSpawn rushes alongside, interpreting Toobe’s sensor data, shouting distances and structural stresses. BoomFuzzy bellows orders to goblins and RedCaps, organizing thousands in the dome-city.

Afternoon – Chaos

• Outside: the tide yanks back, revealing jagged black rock shelves and frozen kelp forests. Then the sea crashes forward in a wall of ice-water, smashing against the cliffs.
• Inside: ceilings tremble, boulders rain down. A slab of stone collapses — Quaraun’s tentacles lash out, hundreds of cords weaving together into a living net, catching the debris above his head. Goblins scramble to bolt beams in place before his strength falters.
• Pain racks his body. His real flesh — the jellyfish beneath the Elf-skin — quivers and spasms. He feels every impact as if the moonquake were inside him. But still he does not stop. His tentacles move when his body cannot, lashing, lifting, grasping.
• A RedCap panics, shouting about cutting loose Quaraun’s trailing “hair” so it won’t tangle in debris. Quaraun’s eyes flare. His tentacles explode into feral violence, seizing the RedCap, acid dripping, venom sizzling the stone floor. GhoulSpawn throws himself between them, calming Quaraun, dragging the RedCap to safety. The Court is reminded: never speak of cutting the Sacred Jellyfish’s tendrils.

Evening – Aftermath

• The quake subsides, storms still raging outside.
• Families count losses: orchards in the dome shattered, glass cracked, one household crushed under fallen stone.
• Survivors gather in the cavern hall. BoomFuzzy serves steaming kelp chowder, voice booming reassurance.
• Quaraun slumps in exhaustion, tentacles limp, twitching weakly. Children curl into the silk folds of his lap, handmaids applying poultices to his swollen knees, though everyone knows the real strain is deeper — his very body, his true jellyfish-flesh, rattled by the moon’s instability.
• His tentacles still curl protectively around BoomFuzzy, GhoulSpawn, and the children — instinctive, even while Quaraun drifts into semi-consciousness.
• Above ground, the fractured moon glows with a new scar. The Sacred Pink Jellyfish stirs within its Elf-skin host, sensing what others cannot: this was only a precursor. Worse quakes are coming.

This version puts the tentacles at the heart of every action:

• His means of mobility, protection, and combat.
• His trauma and PTSD response.
• His alien nature surfacing in moments of stress, when the Elf disguise is thin.

It also keeps the Arctic Maine setting intact — no tropical reefs, but ice tides, black shelves, and kelp forests exposed by unnatural tidal pulls.

Would you like me to now expand this into a full prose scene from Quaraun’s POV, so you can see the quake not as a clinical outline but as lived experience—pain, fear, jellyfish-instinct, and the chaos of the UnSeelie Court around him?

This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine.

All Rights Reserved.

Note: there are likely spelling errors on this site, and I am unlikely to see the ... I fix them when I find them, but, there are many issues here...

Note: English is not my first language, Shetlean Scottish is my native language, there are likly spelling and grammar errors, as I do not know American English and am attempting to write it by sounding words out.

However, there is also other reasons why words might be misspelled, or why I might not understand someone when they speak to me.

My grandmother Helen Ricker Allen, was from Unst, Shetland, Scotland, and she the one who raised me. She taught me to read and write, but it was Shetlain that she taught me. She died when I was 8 years old, and I was locked in a woodshed after her furneral, I escaped the woodshed 27 years later at age 31, and have been trying to learn how to speak and write English since then.

It is a very great struggle.

At age 37 I took remidial reading and speaking classes at Southern Maine Community College, but we are Gypsies and Gypsy men do not allow us Gypsy women to have education, and so, while at college, on November 14, 2013, I was beaten with a golf club, while I was 8 months pregnet, breaking my spine, hips, and knees, killing my baby and leaving me quardepaleic since.

Now my primary focus these past 13 years has been on relearning to use my hand so I could type... as of 2023, I have regained the use of my right thumb, and first two right fingers, and after 10 years offline, I am back online due to I can use three finguers.

I never went to school, so I do not know maths and numbers and sciences, and I do not know what else would have been taught to me in school. We are Scottish Gypsies and Gypsy culture does not allow females to go to school. Being born female was already a great sin, but my grandmother took great risk in teaching me reading and writing. At 4 years old I was punished by my Uncle Bruce for knowing how to read, by being beaten in the face with a cinder block brick, that broke my right jaw and left me with garbaled near-mute spoken words ever since.

Because no one ever spoke words to be face to face from he time I was 8 years old until I was 37 years old (I escaped the room at age 27, but did not start college until 37), I have no training in how to vocally sound out or speak the words I write or read. I can read words, but I do not know how to sound out or say those words. I can write words, but I do not know how to match the written word against the spoken word. I struggle to associate spoken words at all, or make them match up with writen words.

Esentially, written words and spoken words are two completly seperate languages in my brain, and I have difficulty understanding spoken words.

If you say a sentance to me with your mouth, chances are very high I will have ZERO understanding of what you said and I will not be able to ander you.

However, if you WRITE down that exact same sentabnce, I can understand you and can type a written responce to you.

My doctors tell me this is a side effect of extreme isolation and neglect and lack of human contact during my toddler, childhood, teen, and young adult years, and that my brain never deveoloped to comprehend spoken vocal words due to no one ever speaking to me in over three decades of the first half of my life.

While I can read and write, American English (somewhat) I do no know how words are sounded out, what they are supposed to sound like. I readand write by shape recognition, not by sound/vocal recognition, so when reading and writing I do no "hear the words in my head" as I am told most people do when they read and write. In other words... I see "c a t" and think "c-a-t" I do not think "cat" nor do I "see" an image of a cat, no do I "hear" the word cat spoken. I'm told that this is very rare and that most people read and write by sounding out the words and linking them to visual mind images, while hearing the sound of the word in their head. I neiher hear words in my head no see images of things in my head. I'm told this is what makes me both a speed reader and speed writer, because I'm not tripped up by hear sounds or seeing images in my head like nomal people would be doing... however, I'm also told this is why my spelling and grammar are very poor, because my brain is not hear the sounds of the words or seeing visual images of the objects the words represent, so my mind also does not register spelling and grammer errors at all.

As I was only let out of the woodshed on Sundays to go to the Cape Elezabeth Ward Church of the August Stake of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I was never allowed to go to school or hospital either. No adults ever talked to me because I was evil for comitted the sin of being born female, so I never learned how to speak properly and do not know how to sound out words to say them.

I was 42 years old, in 2016 when, while having an MRI for my spine, the doctors found out my speak issue was caused by a broken jaw as a toddler that was healed wrong because not being allowed to go to doctors. I had surgury to fix that, and since 2016 have been trying to learn how to use my jaw and touge so I can speak vocal words now.

Since 2023 my primary focus shifted to relearning to walk. I can now, in 2026, sit up for 2 or 3 hours a day, and can sand with a cane for a few minutes, and can walk for around five thousand feet in 2 to 3 segments a day, with the help of pushing my wheelchair like a walker.

As of 2026, with a slight return to using my fingers and legs, I am once again focused on trying to learn the American English, but I live in mortal fear of my uncles and male cousins, as they are so hateful of allowing me to have education.

have no one to help me to know if I am doing words correctly, and as such, I have no way of knowing if there are spelling and grammar errors, but I asume there are, and I fix them when I learn them, but I do not know what I do not know and spelling American words is a thing I do bnot know.

I have Low Fucntioning Kanner's Syndrom, also known as "RainMan Type of Autism" aka REAL and ACTUAL Autism, not to be confused with Aspergers, High Functioning Autism, or and of thr 861 illnesses on the Autism Spectrum. An Autism Spectrum Disorder is an illness that has symptoms similar to Autism but IS NOT Autism. If you have an Autism Spectrum Disorder, it LITERALLY MEANS you do NOT have Autism.

I am medically diagnosed as "kanner's syndrome, actual autism, the rainman type, profoundly retarded autistic savant, with a general IQ of 73, and an writing IQ of 221" but they added that they did not know how to properly diagnose me as I am "technically a feral child" and they don't know "how much is the autism, and how much is simple horrific levels of abuse and neglect induced post traumatic stress disorder that will go away with proper socilization".

It means I know how to write, I can write a lot, and it is next to impossible for you to teach me how to do literally anythig else because my brain only knows how to write and doesn;t know how to do anything else..
There's a reason, when I do book signings, people are quick to say: "Okay, what's the joke? why is this stupid retard here? where's the real author? I know this retard isn't the author. where are you hiding the author, why is this fucking retard here"

The end result is, I have near zero social interaction... my 3 years in college was the ONLY face to face interaction I have ever had with humans in my entire life, and I struggle deeply to understand MOST words used by MOST people when they ask me question. And so I suffer from a huge lack of understanding many words people say to me, how to translate those words into spelling, and how to translate what it is that has been said.

The fact remains hat until there exists a human on this planet who is willing to sit down and teach me what words spoken line up with and match what words written, this deficent is unlily to improve. But the fact also remains, that I am simply far too profoundly retarded for anyone to even try to make any attempt at all even to speak a friendly "hgelloe" or "good morning" when passing me on the street, so I have lost all hope of anyone ever either being my friend, being willing to teach me how to match spoken words to written words, or how to speak to other humans.

While there are around 20k pages on this website, most of them are blocked from search engines, with only around 800 of them available for appearing in Google/Bing/etc search results. The remainder can only be accessed via the various links found throughout this site. This was done deliberately on my part, and I did it because the bulk of the pages on this website are chapters from 138 novels and 423 novellas, so only the first page of each novel and novella indexed by search engines, and the remainder are linked in order, one page at a time, via clicking "next page" at the end of each. So if you are looking for a specific page from a specific novel, Google can't help you.

Do you know who drove this backhoe over my house at 146 Portland Avenue, Old Orchard Beach, Maine on August 8, 2013? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.

My house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, July 4, 2013, photo taken because we had just finished building a baby room on the back. vs My house August 8, 2013, when the same group of people (yes group, the golf club woman was not alone when she attacked November 14, 2013, nor was she alone with her second attack July 2016.) who murdered my son on November 14, 2013 at Southern Maine Community College and crippled me July 26, 2016 at scarborough WalMart,... they arrived the first time with a backhoe on August 8, 2013, that they used to drive over my house, during a time of day that I normally was home asleep... I had to work a different shift at the Waffle Cone Pizza Food Truck at George's Parking Lot by Bill's Pizza at the OBB Peir, that day, otherwise, I too would be at the bottom of a landfill, along with my house and everything I owned that was also in the house. I was 5 months pregnant at the time and have been homeless for just under 14 years, homeless ever since....

... which means it is now only a few weeks from the 14th anniversary of my son's murder. I was 8 month pregnant November 14, 2013, and a student ay SMCC, and coming out of the Buglight Lighthouse art studio after art class, when a still unidentifiedwoman wielding a golf club attacked me, severed my spine, while I was 8 months pregnant, triggered early labour, then killed my son minutes after he was born.

While accusing me of being transgender, screaming "transvestite freak" and "look at that thing, that's Ken's son in a dress"... while I was 8 months pregnant.

My house at 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine, July 4, 2013, photo taken because we had just finished building a baby room on the back. vs My house August 8, 2013, when the same group of people (yes group, the golf club woman was not alone when she attacked November 14, 2013, nor was she alone with her second attack July 2016.) who murdered my son and crippled me, arrived the first time with a backhoe that they used to drive over my house, during a time of day that I normally was home asleep... I had to work a different shift at the Waffle Cone Pizza Food Truck at George's Parking Lot by Bill's Pizza at the OBB Peir, that day, otherwise, I too would be at the bottom of a landfill, along with my house and everything I owned that was also in the house. I was 5 months pregnant at the time and have been homeless for just under 14 years, homeless ever since.

The backhoe driver returned November 14, 2013, armed with a golf club, used it to break my spine and smash my baby's brains out on the ground

On November 14, 2013, my son was murdered. I was 8 months pregnant, leaving my college classroom, and just getting into my car, when 3 strangers, a man and two women, armed with golf clubs leapt out from behind my car screaming "kill or be killed, kill the transvestite freaks, kill them all before they kill us! look at that thing! That is Ken's son, look at how it's dressed! kill the transvestite freaks! kill or be killed"... while the bald man and the red haired woman chanted this over and over, the blonde woman, lunged with the golf club.

She severed my spine, I am now a quadriplegic, and been paralyzed arms and legs, and in a wheelchair for 13 years now. She broke my hips, my knees, my legs, ruptured most of my discs, and shattered three of my vertebrae so bad that the shards of bone acted like glass and embedded themselves into my spinal column nerve bundle.

The attack also triggered labour.

My son was born in that parking lot, and he lived only a couple of minutes, before the deranged blonde woman, beat his head in and smashed his brains out, with the same golfclub she had just used to sever my spine and leave me crippled for the rest of my life.

Realizing that I was not transgender, and they'd just murdered a baby, the man grabbed the 2 women and forcibly dragged them away to a 4 door white pickup truck, and they left me there to die.

The FBI told me later, that a few weeks before this attack, and transwoman, had murdered a cis woman, in a parking lot, abou 20 miles away from where I was attacked. The FBI, believes that my attackers, had somehow found out I wrote transgender fiction, connecting my real name to my penname, (my father's name is in fact "Ken", and I do have a brother) and believed that I wrote transgender fiction, because I was myself transgender, even though I'm not transgender. The FBI, believes the attackers, thought I was my brother, pretending to be a woman.

The FBI investigation, into my son's murder, has dragged on for 13 years, and still now in 2026, continues on, with the FBI, still not having yet identified my attackers, and only guessing at what their motive was.

Thus we come to 2014, and the full swing change of the series I write. WHY my series, went from just a transman main character living life, to the full blown Mpreg genre series that it now is today.

Before the attack, I had a chance of having a baby. I don't know. And because I'm in America, I'm too old to adopt. You have to be under 45 years old to adopt a baby. That is the law in America. I was informed this, when we tried to adopt, now that my injuries leave me unable to get pregnant a 9th time.

Thus began my obsessively writing, my transman main character, pregnant. Always pregnant now. Every time. Every story. Stories that now fully focus on pregnancy, labour, miscarriages, babies dying, babies living, raising babies... the whole series, since 2014 has devolved into an outright baby obsession.

Meanwhile, reborn baby dolls were suggested to me by my therapist, and have also become a deeply obsessive part of my life. Because 13 years ago my son was murdered minutes after he was born, because a transphobic bigot mistook me for being transgender, I'm STILL in a wheelchair, struggling to relearn to use my arms and legs, now 13 years later, and I'm still DAILY dealing with police officers and FBI agents who while they are trying to find my son's killer, they are also daily reminding me... oh, yeah, my son was murdered, literally ripped out of my belly, by a transphobe. Who still has not been located and walks free to kill again.

The golfclub woman as she looked during the golf club attack at Southern Maine community college November 14, 2013. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322

The golfclub woman as she looked during the shopping cart attack at Scarborough WalMart July 26, 2016. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322

The 2nd woman as she looked at both attacks, her hair goes all the way down to her knees. She is about 20 to 30 years older then me and would be around 75 to 85 years old now in 2026. If you have any information about the identity of this child murderer's accomplice, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322

Do you know who these two woman who crippled me and murdered my baby, at Southern Maine Community College at 10PM on November 14, 2013, are, and what their connection to the backhoe that drove over my house is? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.

I am a legally blind quadriplegic, and low verbal, I have also published 138 novels in the last 48 years. It's not as impossible as people think. The problem being blind and quadriplegic, medically have different meanings then how those two words are used medically.

Fewer than 3% of all blind people see nothing. While 97% people who are classified as fully blind are able to see up to two feet in front of them. Legally blind means I can see more then two feet in front of me but not far enough to see twenty feet in front of me. In my case I can see about eight feet.

Quadriplegic, has varying levels, it means having a damaged nerve bundle in the spinal column causing limited mobility of all 4 limbs, (in my case this was done by a women wielding a golf club, who also beat my 8 month infant's head to pulp on the parking lot tarmak, at the same time she severed my spine with the same golf club; both on November 14, 2013; the FBI investigation into my son's murder and my being crippled has gone on now for 13 years, a few weeks away from 14 years now, and the FBI has still not identified the killer or her motive). Contrary to popular misconception, quadriplegic does NOT mean ZERO movement, it means means limited movement, specifically in means unable to lift arms over head, unable to grip fingers around objects to pick them up, and unable to stand for more then 5 minutes to a time. Because there are so many thousands of nerves in each limb it is actually very rare for there to be 100% no movement, but how much, and to what extent varies by patent depending upon the specific point of injury to the spinal column.

Meaning typing is still possible for over 60% of all quadriplegics.

In my case, it was the lower spine that was severed, cutting off completly my ability to move my right leg, leaving limited feeling in my left leg, and an ability to stand but not walk, with crutches, for the first 9 years. I regained enough nerve growth in my legs by the 9th year to be able to take ten or twelve steps allowing me to get out of bed for the first time since the golf club attack; This in turn lead to me being able to start using a wheelchair, as I was able to sit upright for the first time as well.

Because the shattered vertebrae bone fragments are broken off completly and embedded into the nerve bundle just above my tailbone, doctors were saying I would never walk again, but now at 13 years, I am able to push mu wheelchair like a walker, a distance of almost a thousand steps a day. Though doctors are still doubtful I will ever walk "normally" again, I have proven them wrong, when their said 13 years ago, that I would never walk again at all.

But because of the placement of the damage to my spine, regaining hand use, was always thought possible, it was just a matter of waiting long enough for nerve regrowth, along side daily finger exercises. I was able to continue writing, after becoming quadriplegic, because I still have use of my right thumb, and 2 fore figures of my right hand. And can type 90 words per minute with those 3 fingers.

I however have no wrist strength, elbow strength, or shoulder strength, so I am not able to form a fist, or lift objects, or brush my hair, or my teeth, all thing I have to have my caretaker do. But, those things are not needed for typing. Unfortunately, my pinky and ring fingers are "nerve dead" and drag over the keyboard, and cause horrific spelling errors and typos, which are incredibly frustrating to deal with.

Unfortunately trying to edit errors myself, just makes the errors worse, because those same two fingers drag over the keyboard yet again. Prior to the golf club attack, I rarely had spelling errors; now I got more spelling errors then someone is learning English as second language. Editing is a challenge, that I've had to accept, I simply can not do myself, and I have to hire several editors to help with that.

Low verbal means sounds can still be made, sounds that software programs like Dragon can be trained to recognize and translate, and type into full words. More then half my novels were typed with this method.

I still have a long ways to go before I am anything close to being able to do the things I could do before the golf club woman beat my baby's brains out and shattered my spine. And you know what's more frustrating then how slow mu medical progression has been? The fact that it's been 13 years and the police and FBI are still coming up at dead ends as to who the woman who murdered my baby was, or why she even did it.

My son's 14th birthday is only a few weeks away, but he didn't even get to live long enough to celebrate his 1st birthday, I don't even know why. And I can't wait to regain my ability to walk again, because regaining my ability to walk, means gaining the ability to go outside and start looking for my son's murderer myself instead of sitting at home trapped in a wheelchair waiting for the police and FBI to to find her. So, writing isn't a big priority for me anymore. I only write now, as a way to exercise my hands, in between relearning to walk.

Never let a disability stop you. Plenty of writers, artists, athletes, do not let either blindness, speech impediments, or limited mobility hold then back from perusing their careers.

Do you know who these two woman who crippled me and murdered my baby, at Southern Maine Community College at 10PM on November 14, 2013, are, and what their connection to the backhoe that drove over my house is? If you have any information, please give it to FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322 of the Portland, Maine FBI office.

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