Beth and the River Spirit

The girl crosses the river every day to get to school.

She’s just about tall enough to peek over the walls of the stone bridge, standing on her tiptoes, to watch the shimmering grey water flicker with fish.

She likes to drop a leaf or a stick into the river on one side of the bridge and then race the current to the other side.

It makes her giggle when she wins.

Sometimes, when she has time on her way home from school, she walks along the bank and crouches in the sandy mud, peering at her wobbly reflection as the dark eyes peer back.

Then a fish swims through her reflection’s nose and she giggles and runs along the bank squealing before skipping home.

But that day, when the girl raced the leaf and then giggled at her wobbly reflection in the light grey water, it was green eyes that peered back. Not dark eyes.

She blinked and leaned closer.

The reflection leaned closer too.

She smiled, but the reflection didn’t. It looked at her curiously, and then in shock as the girl splashed her hand into the water and grabbed tight with a tiny fist.

The reflection tried to swim away, and the girl tumbled after it, landing on her belly in the water and squealing with the cold.

By the time she’d rubbed the water from her eyes and looked for the reflection, it was nowhere to be seen, and so she clambered out of the river and squelched home.

The next day, the girl skipped racing leaves and sticks in the river and went straight down to the river bank, crouching closely even though she knew she could fall in and get wet again, spending her day at school wet or in her PE kit.

But it didn’t matter.

What were those green eyes?

She’d grabbed something yesterday, and it had tried swimming off. She knew it.

And it hadn’t been a fish.

It had a face just like her, and sad, lonely eyes.

Like the eyes of the puppy her mum and her had rescued from the pet home one day, and now the puppy looked at her with love-filled happy eyes as it bounded around with her every day and rolled on the carpet.

Excitement grew in the little girl’s chest.

What was the creature she’d seen, and could she play with it like she played with her puppy?

She leaned over the water and peered inside.

Only dark eyes stared back.

At first.

Before the disappointment set in, the creature flashed below the water, and green eyes stared back. This time next to her reflection, not inside it.

The girl leaned closer, and so did the face in the water, until it came above the water and wet sandy-coloured hair floated about the face with green eyes, and a small girl peered back.

‘You’re a girl!’ the young girl squealed, a toothy grin spreading across her face as she looked at the girl in the water. And then her smile faded. ‘Are you okay? Are you stuck?’ She looked around for a grown up. ‘Do you want to come out?’

The green-eyed girl in the water shook her head.

‘Why not? Isn’t it cold.’

The girl in the water opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if deciding what to say. And then a small smile appeared on her face.

‘I live here.’

‘In the water? Why not a house?’

The green-eyed girl giggled and stood up, water dripping around a simple cloth dress and shorts. ‘This is my house.’ And when she saw the other girl scrunch her face up with confusion, she continued. ‘I’m a river spirit. So the river is my house.’

The dark eyed girl pouted as she thought, shifting from a crouch to plonking on her bottom on the river bank. Forget a muddy school uniform. Forget going to school on time at all. This was more interesting. ‘What’s a river spirit?’

‘A magical creature. I look after the river.’

‘Oooh,’ the other girl said, not really understanding. ‘Well, my name’s Beth. I’m a human. I look after my puppy.’ Then she added, ‘When I’m not at school.’

Beth frowned and looked around, seeing other people in school uniforms rushing over the bridge and towards the school building in the distance, where a bell was ringing in the playground.

‘Oh no! I need to go.’ She rushed to stand up and brushed the dirt from her uniform with her hands, and looked back at the river spirit. ‘Will you be here when I come home?’

The river spirit looked at Beth curiously, and then nodded. ‘I’m always here.’

Beth grinned, and raced up the banks and waved as she crossed the stony bridge, feeling her heart pounding at the thought of seeing her new friend again later.

True to her word, the river spirit was there every time Beth ran by. It didn’t matter where she went by the river—over the bridge, by the bank, by the bushes on the side of the river on the other side of the village—the river spirit always appeared with a small smile. Beth always answered with a toothy grin.

One day, Beth left early so she could spend more time with the river spirit, running up to her and sliding on her bum down the river bank as she slipped on the wet mud. She laughed as she skidded to a stop by the river spirit’s legs. ‘Hey! Whatcha looking for?’

‘How did you know I was looking for something?’

Beth tilted her head as she thought. ‘Every time I leave, you always turn back to the river and crouch down as if you’re hunting for something. And you swim as if you’re searching in the water. Have you lost something?’

The river spirit’s gentle smile faded, and instead her mouth quivered and her eyes watered. Beth panicked.

‘Oh no! Don’t cry!’

She grabbed the river spirit’s hand and smiled. ‘What did you lose? I can help you find it.’ She pointed to her chest with her thumb. ‘I’m great at finding things! And it’ll be quicker with two, right? That’s what my parents always say.’

The girl nodded and looked down at her feet as she responded, voice quiet as if she didn’t want to say it too loud in fear of punishment. ‘I lost my river crystal.’

She looked up when Beth said nothing, met with an exaggeratedly confused expression.

‘It’s like the heart of the river.’ She made her hands into a little circle. ‘It’s about this big, a light, clear grey like the river. Without it, I can’t go back to the spirit world where all the other spirits live. It’s how we move between the two places.’

‘So you do have a proper home?’

The river spirit tilted her head. ‘Well … it’s hard to say. The river is my home, but I’m also the river. And the spirit world is also my home.’

She saw it wasn’t helping Beth.

‘We don’t have homes like humans do.’

‘But if you have this crystal it’ll help you be happy?’

The river spirit nodded and let her small smile slip back across her face, and Beth grinned.

‘Okay!’ Her school bell tolled in the distance, and Beth ran up the bank, waving. ‘I’ve got to go now, but let’s hunt together from here on. I’ll see you after school!’

True to her word, Beth helped the river spirit hunt for the river’s crystal heart every day, before and after school, and even on the streets and in the shops as she walked with her parents. It took what felt like weeks, but when Beth eventually found it trapped under some netting and bottles in a drain by the edge of the river way down stream from where she usually met the river spirit, on a fishing trip with her grandpa, her heart soared.

She’d found it!

She begged her grandpa to help her get it free, and then she hugged it to her chest. It was cold. She didn’t know what else she’d expected it to be, as a stone stuck in the river.

But her hand’s always warm, she thought, thinking back to the river spirit’s hand. Will it warm up if I give it to her?

She kept it safe in her pocket, the grin on her face at the thought of her friend’s face when she gave it back.

Except the next day, when she eagerly ran down to the river to show the river spirit what she’d found, she paused on the top of the bank, staring down at the pale haired girl as she swam through the river and then stopped to look back up at Beth with her usual kind smile.

But if I give her this, will she leave?

The river spirit had only been here while she’d been searching for the crystal, hadn’t she? Beth didn’t remember seeing her before that.

It’ll help her go back to the spirit world. But then she won’t be here.

Stuck in her indecision, Beth froze, waved back at the river spirit with a stoney smile, and then made an excuse about having to school early, running as fast as she could with her hand on her pocket in the hopes the crystal wouldn’t fall out or the spirit wouldn’t realise.

Her heart scratched with an odd feeling.

The same feeling she’d had when she’d stolen the last of her mother’s special biscuits without asking.

The same feeling she’d had when she’d accidentally broken the window with a ball.

Her face burned, and her eyes burned, and she sniffed.

I don’t want her to go.

Days passed, and Beth kept feeling fearful of giving the crystal back. She met the river spirit. Played with her as usual. Helped her ‘hunt’ for the crystal. And that scratchy feeling in her heart got worse and the crystal in her pocket felt heavier each day.

Until she cried in front of her mother one night.

‘What if she goes away forever?’ Beth cried into her pillow, staring at the crystal on her bedside table.

‘Who?’

And when Beth realised she’d never told her family about the river spirit, she explained, hoping they’d believe her and not tell her she was making it all up. She told her mother about the girl, the hunt for the special stone, and how she’d found it on a fishing trip with her grandpa and how she was scared of giving it back in case the spirit disappeared forever and she never saw her again.

‘I know I should give it to her. I want to see her happy. But what if she leaves? Then I’ll be sad.’

She sniffed into the pillow and refused to look at her mother’s face in case her mother was angry. There was a long pause. Beth’s heart pounded.

‘What if it was the other way around?’ And when Beth’s mother saw she was looking confused, she continued. ‘Imagine you were lost. You found a friend and played, and it was fun, but at the end of the day you realised you still needed to come home. Back to us. If your friend knew the way home, would you want them to tell you so you could find us, even though they might not get to keep playing with you?’

‘Of course! I wouldn’t want to not see you again. This is home!’

Beth froze and then smushed her face in her pillow.

‘Okay. I get it.’

‘Even if it’ll make you sad, if it’s the right thing, you still have to do it. It’s not your life. And you don’t know. She might still come back to see you. You said she could travel between the two worlds, right?’

Beth nodded and turned to look at her mother. She smiled.

The next day, she left extra early. Early enough to give the crystal back and then run to school and cry in the toilets before class if the spirit got angry at her. But when she ran to meet the river spirit, and she explained her story, the river spirit didn’t get angry.

Her green eyes lit up and she gave Beth the biggest smile Beth had ever seen on her, and the scratchy guilty feeling in Beth’s heart faded, replaced with an excited, burning glow.

‘You’ll still come and play with me sometimes?’ Beth asked nervously.

‘Yes! And we can play even more. If I can go home, I can be even stronger, and I can play for hours!’

‘Like eating food makes you stronger?’

‘Like that.’ The river spirit grinned and attached the crystal back to a chain she had in her pocket, hooking it back over her neck. Then she looked up at Beth, tilted her head like she always did when she thought, and then she held a hand over the stone.

It’s glowing!

A piece of the stone broke off, but Beth couldn’t see a flaw in the stone where it had.

‘Magic?’ Her eyes widened.

‘Magic.’ The spirit smiled and held the small piece of crystal out to her. ‘It’s a promise. Let’s play again soon.’

The piece of crystal was light in her hands, and Beth stared at it in awe. When she looked up, the river spirit had gone, little glowing dots disappearing in her place. And while Beth’s eyes burned at the thought of her friend leaving, she told herself the crystal was real.

It was the promise.

---

I wrote this and published it on my AO3 back in October 2023 but realised I hadn't shared it here, so here we go, another fantasy short story!

Any guesses where the inspo for this one came from?

#FantasyShortStory #ShortStories #FantasyBooks

The Memory Café

I don’t know what it was that made me step into that place. From the outside, it was an unspectacular shop front on a busy street with as many cafés as stray animals, sniffing around and lounging in any spot untouched by human feet. But I was parched from travel, and it was the first one my tired eyes focussed on close enough for me to stumble towards, and so I pushed open the old, creaking, green-painted, peeling wooden door.

A waft of mixed tea leaves and relaxing scents hit me and immediately unravelled the pressure I’d felt building up in my head. A lightness, a glee, a curiosity overtook me, and I took the final step over the barrier and let the door shut behind me, with a failed tinkling of the bell as the door knocked past it.

In big cities like this, I expected young energetic waiters in their fancy clothes to rush up to me, but instead an old lady sat patiently at the payment desk, smiling absentmindedly at me. It was closer to the inns I knew from villages and towns, but this smell was certainly new.

‘Morning,’ I muttered, feeling the stress build up in my head again and immediately dying to flop into one of the old, mismatching armchairs pushed up against the old wooden tables and guzzle the first liquid that came my way. Travelling for weeks on end to a new kingdom had taken it out of me, and I didn’t even know what to order if she offered me anything past the standard muck of over-boiled leaf juice that was all too common in the poor travellers’ inns I knew. I tossed my ponytail over my shoulder and forced myself to smile at her. To be nice when all I wanted to do was crash and sleep for a month.

She continued smiling the absentminded smile, but crinkles appeared at the corners of her pale blue eyes as she met my gaze. ‘Ooh, hello, dear. Have I met you before?’

I smiled back and shook my head. ‘I’m just travelling through.’

‘Travelling? Tiring business. Must be parched, you poor dear.’ She bumbled herself up to standing, not raising much more than she had been when she was sitting. Then, she shuffled about beside her, hunting for something. ‘Where is it?’ She muttered to herself. Then her face lit up. ‘Ah, there it is!’

The old lady pushed an old piece of paper towards me, with handwritten squiggles of what I saw to be a menu when I looked closer.

‘The tea here is special,’ she said with a warmth in her voice, like a grandmother to a favourite grandchild. ‘Choose any you like.’

I didn’t want to tell her I couldn’t really read it, and at this point, anything would do, so I pointed to one randomly and she bustled me off to sit on a chair by the fireplace—a prime spot, she said. Perfect for a traveller, she said.

I didn’t need to be told twice. I dumped my travel pack on the floor under my chair, tossed my coat onto the armchair’s back, and collapsed into the seat gratefully, leaning back and staring at the ceiling as my body creaked back into a sense of relaxation.

When was the last time I sat down like this?

The muddy banks of roads and smelly ale-infused wooden stools didn’t count.

While I waited, I traced my finger over the grains on the tabletop, and wondered about the tea I had ordered. While I hadn’t been picky, I really wanted to have something enjoyable for the first time in weeks. Some tea could be so bitter. I wanted something light, relaxing, refreshing.

A light rattling of china drew my attention across the café, and I saw it wasn’t just me who’d perked to attention. All eyes were on the little old lady as she tottered across the room with my cup of tea on a mismatching saucer, carrying it as carefully as she could, a soft smile on her face even though it was clearly shaking. Her focussed gaze told me it was mine.

I leapt back onto my blistered feet and rushed to take it from her. ‘Thank you! I’ll get it, don’t worry,’ I said breathlessly, nervous. I’d never expected her to bring it herself. I looked about behind her. Was there not anyone else working here?

‘Thank you, dear!’ she grinned. ‘What did you say your name was again?’

‘I didn’t,’ I said, taking a sniff at the tea. It seemed to smell quite decent, though I couldn’t recognise it. ‘It’s Emeline. What’s yours?’

‘Lovely name!’ she said, turning and tottering away without answering my question.

I shrugged. Perhaps she was private. And in any case, I’d become overly aware of the dryness of my mouth, and the strange tea was calling to me, so I carefully trod back to my chair and relaxed back into it, staring into the cup and wondering what I was about to drink.

Apprehensive, I took a tiny sip to test it.

Not bad, I thought, trying to identify the tastes. Something floral, perhaps. But I wasn’t familiar with these parts, and the plants could have been completely different in this climate. I made a mental note to ask her next time I spoke with her.

I took a bigger gulp, ignoring the searing heat and letting my animalistic, needing side take over. I cried out lightly with the heat, but the strange floral taste gushed down with the heat, and it left an instant refreshing buzz through my body. I felt lighter, and something nostalgic flushed through me.

I’d never had this taste before, but somehow, I thought of my home town. Where I’d come from. My family, my childhood.

A light smile crossed my face and I sat contently, sipping and looking curiously about the room now my base thirst had been sated. The room was cosier than I’d thought on first looks. The mismatching fabrics on the armchairs looked cute and clearly a labour of love as if the lady had looked after and mended these chairs all her life. The tables and mismatching china cups and saucers too. Little candle-lit lamps fluttered warm light through the room, and daylight came in through the dusty windows. Everyone seemed happy enough. A lightness in their postures, smiles on their faces as they chatted and laughed, a light buzz over the room.

It was an old looking place, but one that seemed full of soft love.

I took another bigger gulp of my tea and felt that flush of floral nostalgia flush through my body again. Really, what was this tea? It was like the worries of my travel had left my body and years were being shaved off me. Memories of lighter times crossed my mind, and I smiled as I stared unseeing at the fire, instead thinking of my life before. Of times I had played with my brother in the fields and helped my father gather twigs for the fire.

When the last drop of tea was drunk, I was surprised to feel disappointment. As if I wanted to keep drinking forever. I’d never felt so relaxed in a long time, nor had the opportunity to sit and think about times before. Life had been so busy, stressful. It had all changed. I never gave myself time to reminisce. Perhaps it was this setting.

I saw the old lady sitting at the counter again and decided to ask her about the tea. If I could purchase some of the tea leaves in this town and take it with me, perhaps I could enjoy my travels a little more. Take a piece of luxury with me.

‘Oh, hello, dear! Have I seen you before? Would you like some tea?’

I paused and blinked. ‘Um, no thank you. I’ve just had some, remember?’

‘Oh, is that right?’

Her face looked innocent enough, so I smiled and shrugged it off. She must be busy, running this place all on her own, meeting lots of people coming and going.

‘I actually wanted to ask about the tea I had. It was wonderful. So light. Refreshing. Can I buy the leaves around here?’

She smiled. ‘This tea is special tea,’ she said again. She rose to her feet again and bustled about her, looking for something. ‘Ah, there it is.’ She smiled as she handed me the menu again.

‘It was this one,’ I said, pointing at the one I was sure I’d chosen before. ‘What is it?’

‘You’d like that one? Good choice. You sit down and rest. You look tired, dear. I’ll make it.’

I looked up from the menu at her again, something striking like a warning through my body. ‘No, err. I’ve already had it. What was it called again?’

‘Oh, have you really? Oh! Lovely!’

I just looked at her, not really sure what to say.

‘That one is special tea,’ she said again. I was about to open my mouth when she leaned in conspiratorially and raised her hand to her mouth as if guarding a secret. ‘All the tea here is. It gives you your memories.’

That made me pause. I didn’t really know what she’d meant. Before I could say anything else though, her eyes flashed as if she’d remembered something.

‘Kettle’s ready!’ she said, and she turned to bustle about behind her, pouring water into a teapot and lightly stirring it with a soft, absentminded smile on her face. Then she gave a little satisfied nod and poured it into a china cup, turning behind her to choose a mismatching saucer from a shelf full of just saucers.

I didn’t know why she just didn’t store them all paired up.

Instead of commenting, I watched her carefully making her way across the floor to a customer, the cup tinkling lightly on the saucer as she walked. As she stood in front of a table, the customer leapt up and took it from her and smiled gratefully, but then looked down at the tea, confused.

‘Wait, I’ve already had my tea,’ they realised. They looked around. ‘Is this someone else’s?’

The room fell quiet, and people shook their head. Someone piped up, ‘I’m waiting on an alderfruit, but that smells leaf-based?’

But the lady had walked off by the time they’d conversed, and she was back in front of me at the counter. Confused, the customers simply sat down, staring at the tea and shrugging at one another.

I wondered if the lady would make the other customer’s leaf tea next, but she simply sat down and smiled at me. ‘Oh, hello, dear. Would you like some tea?’

I stared. ‘Um, no thank you. I wanted to pay.’

Digging into my money pouch, I saw the coins for the number scrawled on the menu and left her extra. She clutched the coins in her little wrinkled hands as if they were treasure, and she smiled up at me as if she was surprised to receive it. I couldn’t help but smile back, though worry gnawed at me. I grabbed my travel pack and coat and waved as I left, giving genuine thanks.

It was the best tea I could ever remember. And it had helped me to remember a lot.

But as I walked away, something made me stop and turn and look back at the café. And this time, I noticed the old, peeling painted sign about the door.

Mystea Memories.

I let out a soft breath. An appropriate name indeed.

‘Oh, old Nimmie’s place?’ A market keeper asked me as I enquired about the tea leaves a few minutes later at the local markets as I stopped for supplies. ‘Yes, people love her tea. Brings back their memories, they say. I’m afraid that’s special tea. I’ve never been able to find it, and Nimmie keeps it a closely guarded secret.’

I looked at the stocky market woman curiously as she packed my fruits and vegetables into a little canvas sack to place inside my pack for me.

‘True, honest. It’s a little grubby, but it’s the hope of the town. We all go there at some point.’ She sighed and looked down. ‘If we’ve lost something and want to find it again. In our heads, that is. Some things can’t be found again.’ She looked up at me knowingly. ‘Reckon that’s how she started it. She’s not been the same since her wife Valeria died. And as she’s got older on her own, she’s gotten a bit forgetful, you know. Always mixing orders up. Forgetting them. Giving people two lots. But we just get used to it.’ She gave an amused snort. ‘We just fix it ourselves. But travellers like you get a bit confused.’

I agreed.

‘Happens to us all, as you get old. Reckon she made the tea to help her remember—remember Valeria, that is. Then just kind of opened up her home as a café to help others remember too. You must’ve seen something too, right?’

I gawped. ‘That was the tea? I thought it was just the cosyness and finally being able to rest?’

‘Yeah, see. Special stuff.’ She handed me the bag, and I gave her the coins. ‘Sorry I can’t get ya them leaves. But I snuck somethin’ extra in there for you.’ A big grin crossed her face as I stuttered a thanks. ‘You’ll find the baker down there,’ she jabbed a thumb down the street. ‘Make sure you look after yourself on the roads. Dangerous places.’

I left to let her help the person behind me, and stared back at Mystea Memories, thinking of old Nimmie, how she’d sat there smiling absentmindedly, bustling about. Her little absentminded stare and smile.

How she’d been running a tea shop just to remember her wife. I wondered for how long she’d been alone.

Tears stung my eyes, but I gulped them back.

They were all right. That was special tea. And a special woman. I had a feeling Nimmie would leave a mark on me forever.

I left a mark on my map for her. A memory.

---

Sarah’s note

I don’t really know how to process grief. I’m in another country, on the other side of the world, far away from what my family had experienced.

My grandmother had suffered from dementia for a while, and each time I video called her when my dad could drive ‘up north’ to visit her, I saw the signs dig in a little more.

The absentminded stares. How she’d just watch me, fascinated that she could talk to me on a screen on the other side of the world. Just listening to Papa and me as she spoke and tried to bring her into the conversations.

It started with repetition. The same stories. But I’d thought that was normal. She’s done that ever since I was a little girl. Each time we drove up north to see her. But then it got worse.

But it didn’t really bite until I after I’d been away from the country for a couple of years.

Then the falls started. I didn’t realise until recently that dementia could cause falls. That your brain stopped telling your body things.

She was strong, sturdy, stubborn. A northern woman. Hardy. It felt so odd. We knew she’d die, but didn’t really believe it, really. How could we? She lived so long after her husband died, but I wondered in her days with dementia what she remembered.

She remembered me. She even remembered my son, even though she couldn’t remember other ‘new’ things. She didn’t remember my husband, I think. But my child, her first and only grandchild, was such a big moment, they said, that she remembered. And my family took new printed pictures of my son each time they visited so she could see him even when they weren’t there.

She had pictures of him all over her room.

I wish I could have taken him to see her, but it felt too far for such a small child.

I don’t know how to process this, and this piece of writing has been brewing for months. Since before she died. Since I saw things getting worse.

I think I could finally get it out.

Where Are the Female Friends? Creating Authentic Female Friendships in Fantasy Literature

One of the joys in my life is my friendships with other women. These people provide great conversations, laughter, fun, support, and give me a great sense of connection. Yet, in the realm of fantasy literature, it’s surprising how rarely we encounter such authentic and complex female friendships, if at all.

I want to discuss that here. And challenge it.

Why is there an absence of female friendships in fantasy books? If you’re a woman, think of all your female friends and the bond you have with them. If you’re not, think of the friendships you have with women, but also the friendships you see women having with other women around you.

We should represent that in storytelling, and I want to discuss how authors can draw inspiration from real-life friendships to bring authenticity to their narratives. (And in the process, just bring more women into their books full stop. Because let alone a lack of female friends, there’s a lack of females at all.)

The reality of female friendships

I’m going to talk specifically about f/f friendships now, because that’s the main space I actually see it lacking in fantasy. We’re getting more female protagonists, which is great. But there are still no female friends. (I’m not going to get started on the ONE book I saw a female friend who was awesome and then she got killed. Don’t kill off the ONE female friend and isolate the female MC in a 99% male dominated character list. Please. I instantly put down the whole series and will not touch it EVER again.)

In real life, many women form strong bonds with other women. We know this. These friendships can be a source of solace, strength, fun, and shared experiences. Female friendships are a key part of many women’s lives.

I don’t think that needs saying much deeper. So let’s get back to female friendships in fantasy.

Translating real-life friendships into fantasy

The absence of authentic female friendships in fantasy is a huge missed opportunity to connect with readers. As authors, we have a great opportunity to draw from real-life to create more engaging and relatable narratives.

You know, if it’s grounded in reality, it gives a solid base for readers to engage with the world you’ve built.

But many authors miss that whole ‘grounding in reality thing’, thinking ‘it’s fantasy, it doesn’t need to be grounded in reality’.

Wrong.

That’s how people relate to your work.

So how do we put real-life friendships into fantasy?

1. Observe real-life friendships. Look at the female friendships in your own life, or other people’s female friendships. How do you/they interact, support one another, have fun, laugh over things? What are the dynamics and quirks and moments that make those friendships unique and relatable?

2. Talk to your friends. How do they have female friendships, and ask them about challenges they’ve faced or the best moments they’ve shared. What qualities make their friendships with other women special?

3. Character inspiration. You know your characters better than anyone. Use the above to create well-rounded and believable characters by drawing inspiration from personalities and dynamics of people you know to help you craft your characters based on the personalities you want for them. Not all characters have the same personality. Or, well, they shouldn’t.

4. Shared experiences. Make sure your incorporate shared experiences into your characters’ friendships, even from before the start of the story. Real friendships are formed through adventures, challenges, vulnerability, so make sure your characters bond over similar experiences. This will strengthen their emotional connection and make the friendship feel real. Even have them laughing over things that happened before the start of the book to show people a friendship can have existed before. So dialogue is key too. How do they talk together, about things they go through? Inside jokes? Nicknames or playful name calling?

5. Like real friendships, characters need to have conflicts and resolve them. How do they fight? What challenges do they face? And how (if at all) do they fix it? This will add depth to their relationship and show the strength of their bonds. And remember, different people fight in different ways.

6. How do your characters lift each other up and support each other? Offer guidance? Help each other grow? Highlight the positive impact they have on each other. Again, remember everyone shows things different. Showing love and support for one person might be verbal, while another it might be through acts of service. Make it match their personalities.

7. Diversity: Reflect real life by having interactions between different backgrounds, races, and perspectives.

8. Avoid stereotypes. No cliché female roles please. People have fulfilling lives and varied backgrounds and stories. We don’t just talk about love or makeup or clothes. Give your characters unique personalities and goals that go beyond serving as plot devices.

9. Put yourself in the shoes of your characters and aim to make sure there is a great emotional connection with the readers.

10. And finally, get beta readers to give feedback. Do the friendships feel real? Especially ask for readers that have strong f/f friendships. Their input can really help you refine the characters and their relationships and make sure the friendship seems real.

The importance of female friendships in fantasy

Okay. So now you know how to easily put female friendships into your fantasy work so your work is grounded in reality and so is familiar to your readers (how easy was that. It’s just, like, normal friendship, right? Odd?!) and now we’re going to have a quick reminder of why.

Why is it important, you ask?

Well, at this point I hope you’re not asking that, but let’s dive in anyway.

Let alone the fact there’s not enough women in fantasy full stop, but how realistic is it that your token women doesn’t have any female friends?

Oh, but Sarah, she’s a tomboy and grew up in a tiny village, has seventeen brothers, and a mother who slaves by the fire to cook their food. There are no other girls her age. Pfft. (Mate, now that’s the problem I’m on about.)

1. It’s important because it’s authentic. It’s real. It matches the world. Women have women friends! Heck, other genders have women friends too. Give everyone women friends! Women friends exist. Full stop.

2. It allows female readers to relate to the character on a personal level, as they see their own experiences mirrored. “No way! That’s just like me and <insert friend’s name here>!”

3. Enriched characterisation: Showcasing different friendship dynamics can provide depth to character development that you might not get elsewhere, which will up-level your writing.

4. Authentic friendships can evoke strong emotions, so it will make the narrative more engaging and memorable. If someone gets emotionally impacted by your work, that’s the win for an author.

5. Empowers female readers. Win.

6. Readability: It’ll make your book more readable for women. I can only speak for myself, but I’m so bored of the ‘only male friends’ thing or the ‘no friends at all thing’ to the point I find the book unreadable and will just put the whole book down.

7. Break the stereotypes that women in fantasy are only defined by their relationships with men. Women can have fulfilling lives beyond romantic interests.

The rundown

I hope you get the picture now. Female friendships in fantasy stories are essential but somehow often overlooked. Why? Incorporating authentic and diverse female friendships into your fantasy book can create more relatable, empowering, enriching stories, so it’s a total no-brainer.

Women have strong f/f friendships in real life, so they should in books, too.

It’s time for fantasy to reflect the experiences women have in the real world. To let readers see themselves and their friends in the books they read.

I’m fed up of that Mary Sue character who has no female friends. She’s boring. She’s glass. We don’t live or thrive in isolation, so why should she? Let’s build robust characters who have epic female friends around them. And plenty of them.