I never do this. Ever.
This is a ‘what I got’ post. What I got for my birthday. My birthday is today by the way… 😀
First off…the photography stuff. Continue reading “My 17th Birthday| The Gifts”
I never do this. Ever.
This is a ‘what I got’ post. What I got for my birthday. My birthday is today by the way… 😀
First off…the photography stuff. Continue reading “My 17th Birthday| The Gifts”
A new writing post has emerged!
The last one that was similar to this was 5 Reasons You Should Keep Writing.
Today we’ll be talking about writer’s block.
Your inspiration is non-existent. You don’t feel like writing…or maybe you do and can’t think of anything to put on that blank page (or screen 😀 ). Congratulations!
You have writer’s block.
Now that I’ve diagnosed your writing problem (which you most likely have already diagnosed 😉 ) and also given you a deceptive blog post title…we may proceed!
What??! You gave us a deceptive blog post title?
Well, yes I did. You see…there’s no one way to fix this problem. I can’t just give you tips and say “This one will totally work for you!”. Because…every person is different and what works for me may not work for you. Yay, aren’t I encouraging?
While that may sound like bad news…guess what? It can also be very good news! Putting it positively- your solution may be right around the corner waiting to be discovered. So see, it’s not hopeless!
I hope this was helpful to you! Keep writing!
Have you tried any of these?
Name a way not listed that’s helped you in the comments!
A you a writer, or more of a reader?
With all the fuss having been lately directed at the ‘horrors’ of high school and my new camera–where does that leave writing? Well, lately there hasn’t been much time. But…a few days ago I experienced that overwhelming feeling that I MUST write. So I started writing again. And, I am so very glad I did. My characters are so special to me and writing more about them only increases my anticipation for the closure of their unique stories. This post will focus on my two favorite writing projects (aka- the two I couldn’t ever put down because I am emotionally attached to them 😉 . ) The Sheltered from the Storm Series and my single dystopian YA novel Watchful. So, on to Writing Right Now!
I am literally in the middle of book three! I am so excited. I feel like my characters have crossed and ocean since book one. The biggest challenge I have faced so far (besides ruthlessly murdering one of my favorite characters and being depressed for a week) is figuring out how to make the first book a great starting book. I started writing it when I was 12 or 13 –and my writing style and concept of the idea is much different. Here’s a little summary of each book so far:
I am pretty much considering re-writing this book and doing my very best to make it fit with the other two books. It will be discouraging and difficult, I have no doubt. And I am not terribly thrilled about it. But here’s the basic plot of the story.
It sounds very simple, right? I can’t believe I just summarized it so very quickly. But trust me–it’s not as boring or simple as it sounds. I’m trying not to spoil all the middle (and most important) stuff. Did you notice I didn’t mention why Ross (who is 12, BTW.) was kidnapped? Why would they want a young boy? And who kidnapped him in the first place? And what are the serious things Anna and friends discovered? Who is/are the villain(s) (you have to have one of those!) and what do they want? See what I mean? There’s a whole lot more that I don’t want to spill right now. Here’s one of my favorite scenes which will probably utterly confuse you :p .
“There they are!”
She exclaims enthusiastically. I follow her as if in a dream. Soon I’m standing close to Tin.
“Ahh…so you are finally here! And you both look charming. I claim the first dance-s.”
Tin slurs his words purposefully. I shiver. Oh, great, dance with Tin? What could possibly be worse? I look at our group. Beckym, Bennor, Ellis, and Tin are outfitted in tuxedos- each a different color. None of them are overly brightly colored. Except Tin’s, which is bright pink.
“To the dance room!”
Tin orders taking the lead. My stomach turns as we walk. That elevator was designed to annihilate people’s stomachs. Ross will be there, as will all the other victims. Funny that the victims are allowed to do whatever they please tonight- except leave. Because tomorrow- they will probably all be dead. Lord, please don’t let Ross be one of them!
“What a beautiful room!”
Sarah exclaims loudly. She’s doing a wonderful job acting, while I’m doing dreadfully. Then I look up. The sight takes my breath away. Flowers…real flowers, everywhere. No portraits of victims or photos taken from the Purging. No rabid animals’ mouths dripping with human blood. Just flowers. Then I look around. Oh no. People, lots of people. Women stand by chatting- looking perfectly (revolting)…fake. Men in tuxedos. Then a dance floor. Couples whirling to the music. Tin shinnies up to me and whispers in my ear:
“Remember the plan.”
The plan? Oh…right. The whole reason we’re here. The plan is really quite simple. The first person to find Ross will bring him to me, we will dance, I will tell him the plan. Then he will go with Tin- who will hand him over to Beckym and Ellis- and they will take him to a friend of Ellis’s. Ellis’s friend is arranging to have Ross escorted to the safety of people who will protect him for Dad’s sake. How they will get past security- I don’t know. And I don’t want to think about it. All I really know is that Tin will get Sarah and I out of here somehow- to the safety Ellis and Beckym seem so confident in. After that, who knows? I don’t care all that much, just so long as Ross gets to freedom. Then Tin speaks again- but to the group this time.
Yeah, great. Where should I go? Refreshment tables line the walls. Perfect. That should work. I make my way slowly (and, I hope, sophisticatedly) to the drink table. I ladle a glass out for myself and drink the liquid. The cold feels good on my stomach.
Says a pleasant voice behind me. I jump, wheel around, and right myself. A hint of amusement flickers in the stranger’s eyes. He wears a little black pin on his tuxedo. Oh, he’s a victim. The realization hits me.
“Sorry if I startled you.”
“Oh, no harm done…I jump rather easily. What is your name?”
“Barak Osbourne. I’m afraid I haven’t the pleasure of your name though.”
He points out. Oh, my manners are so awful! Sarah would’ve done this so perfectly.
“I’m sorry. I’m uh- Elisabeth Rhodes. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Osbourne.”
I use the agreed-on name. Finally, I’m starting to get the hang of this.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Rhodes. Would you care to dance?”
He asks politely. I panic inwardly. This was NOT part of the plan, what do I do now? Then I remember Tin’s words: ‘blend in’.
“It would be a pleasure, Mr. Osbourne.”
I reply graciously. The stranger, (Barak, I remind myself) leads me to the dance floor with an easy grace. The music begins. Slow, freestyle, but Barak isn’t dancing close. He’s obviously doing the leading…but he makes me more comfortable. I begin to relax. He begins to converse quietly.
“Tell me, Miss Rhodes, if you were in my shoes, what would your reaction be?”
The question catches me by surprise. My reaction, to being a victim? Should I trust him?
I answer, after a moment’s hesitation.
“You think as we think. Only a few of us want to be victims and are excited about the Purging tomorrow.”
Tomorrow! Ross, where are you? Then he lowers his voice to a whisper:
“Many of us are Christians, Miss Rhodes; we aren’t worried about where we’ll go if we die. We have been purchased by Christ…”
By Christ…he’s a Christian? Or is he trying to trick me?
“Don’t get me wrong- we still pray for deliverance. We pray specifically for a certain kind of deliverance…Anna.”
I nearly scream, but catch myself just in time.
“How do you know…?”
I whisper, all my precautions out the door. Barak silences me with a quick motion which could have been part of the dance. The music ends- Barak bows, and I curtsy.
“I enjoyed our dance, Miss Rhodes,”
He says, and then he adds quietly:
“Don’t be afraid to do the necessary.”
Then, he’s gone. Just as if that never happened. How did he know? I still feel shaken when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Having learned better- I turn around slowly. I turn around to find Bennor and…
“Are you sure this is my sister?”
Ross asks Bennor with a twinkle in his eye. Of course it’s still me! The very notion of makeup and a fancy dress changing who someone is…!
“Yes, it is. But I hardly recognize her myself.”
Bennor and Ross laugh. This is no time to be fooling around! Then Bennor whispers:
“There’s been a slight change of plans. We’re taking Ross right to Tin, and then you and Sarah are coming with me.”
“Okay, let’s go!”
Let’s get out of here, FOREVER! As I pass Ross I whisper a hasty ‘goodbye, I love you’. But Ross actually tears up and says:
“Love you, Anna, be safe.”
Be safe? You’re the one who’ll be in the most danger. But it’s sweet of him anyway.
Do forgive all the adverbs (evidence that this is ‘beautifully’ unedited).
This book is much more polished than the first. I think when I picked it up my style and everything has really matured. But again, basic plot:
None of the scenes in this book are typed out as of yet, so it would take too long to write it here. From here on out- the books are only handwritten on lined notebook paper. Sorry!
This is the final book in this trilogy. What, it’s a trilogy? Yep. But–I thought there were FOUR books! There are. Or will be. But I see the first three as being directly together, and the last one as being all on it’s own. The reason for that is it occurs several years after this last book (I won’t be updating you on book 4, because there’s nothing to report on there.). Basic plot? Here ya’ go!
I will spare you the synopsis which you can find here if you really want it. But the basis plot is about this:
Sorry, really basic–again! Here’s a scene I like.
“All newly-arrived students are requested to meet at the briefing hall in an hour. Those who fail to appear will be found and forced to spend the day with the precariots.” The order just plays over and over. Soon, Prisl and I are getting annoyed.
“You’d think we would’ve gotten the message by now.” I comment, brushing a speck of lint off my uniform.
“No kidding. We must be idiots.” Prisl adds, rolling her eyes. I laugh a little. Prisl and I are already rather good friends. And we’ve known each other for one afternoon, and about two hours this morning. It must be that we both tend to be somewhat sarcastic. Prisl has her hair done so fast it’s not even funny. Her red hair is so short; all she must do is brush it. When it’s my turn to use the mirror- I just stand there, uncertain.
“Never done your own hair?” Prisl asks.
“I um- I have,” I hesitate.
“Just never in front of a mirror.” I finish.
“Oh.” she sidles closer to me.
“I’ve never looked in a mirror much before.”
“Well then, let’s make this a first.” She smiles a little and hands me my brush from the nightstand.
I finger my hair, and shift my weight from one foot to the next. Someone taps my shoulder from behind. I turn in surprise. Garth stands there.
“When’s this thing gonna’ start?” he asks, voicing the thought we must all have.
“How would I know?” I respond.
“Sleep okay?” is his next question.
“Yes, great. You?” I fire back.
“Well, I suppose. Felt a little less comfortable on the beds here. Hard as rocks. Rather sleep on the ground.” He answers.
“I didn’t notice.” I say in an innocent tone.
“You wouldn’t.” he says. That’s for sure; I’m not too concerned about physical comfort.
“Let’s get closer, Jess.” Prisl says, appearing at my side. Garth gets a funny look on his face. When Prisl sees him- she extends her hand.
“Prisl Smith, from Beacon.” She introduces herself.
“Garth Williams, from Vigor.” He says, standing up taller and smoothing his words noticeably.
“Nice to meet you. You’re Jess’s friend?”
“Yes, from childhood, in fact.” He answers, still smoothing out his in general rough speech.
“That’s nice. Would you like to join us in the front?” Prisl asks.
“Thanks, but no. My friend Michael and I are gonna’ stand over by the speakers.” He looks at me when he says this, as if realizing that I’m still here. I frown, trying to push down the feeling that even now- I am losing my friend. I am losing Garth. Soon we are standing up front balancing on tiptoe. A woman in grey pants and shirt looks down at us without any expression.
“Welcome to the Institute for Unusually Intelligent Beings. You are here because your parents saw potential in you. Or because they thought they saw potential in you.”
“Encouraging, isn’t she?” Prisl whispers. I nod.
“This school is here to separate the intelligent from the average. In the next few months, you will all be placed under rigorous training to test your abilities. If at any time during that period, you experience anything unusual- you are to report at once to the Capital ward. Once there, you will be tested. If you pass that testing, you will receive special training- and then become a true capital. Are there any questions?” the woman’s eyes scan the curious faces around her. One girl raises her hand.
“I was wondering what a ‘Capital’ is?”
“A ‘Capital’ is a rating. If you have a gift, you are given the rating of ‘Capital’.” She answers.
“A gift?” I am almost surprised to hear my own voice. The woman turns on me with a steeled and measured gaze.
“A gift can be anything from very strong to unusually smart. It can be something not seen in other humans. We have not discovered all the possibilities now. That is part of the point of this school. To find gifts and evaluate them, to test people and see what we can do for the rest of the world with those gifts.” At last her gaze drops from my face. I feel relieved. For some reason, this woman’s words don’t ring true to me. Prisl pokes me.
“Hey, that was creepy! She was just staring at you.” I don’t answer.
“Any other questions?” the lady asks, glancing down at her clipboard.
“What other ratings are there, and what does it take to get them?” A tall young man asks.
“The ratings are Capitals, Tributaries, and Precariots.” Prisl nudges me at this point. She whispers in my ear:
“That’s what came over the loudspeakers. Precariot isn’t a nice word either. Doesn’t it mean like, lowest of the low?” I nod. I also nudge her hard as the lady keeps on talking…
“The Capitals are those with gifts, the Tributaries are those who do not have gifts, and they serve the Capitals when their training is complete. The Precariots, on the other hand—are nothing. They have no gifts and are neither smart nor helpful. They do all the menial tasks for the school. They must obey the commands of both Capitals and Tributaries. Their jobs include sanitation and deep cleaning. I would not recommend facing off with Capitals or school leaders, as this sort of behavior has gotten many into the Precariot position. I regret to inform you that the time for questions is up. Good evening and wisdom go with you.”
After the Q and A, everyone leaves the Briefing Hall, which I have concluded is just a huge room. For some reason, I can’t shake this feeling of anxiety. Something about this place just rubs me all wrong. Prisl is already good at reading me and is quick to suggest a little detour back to our room. Her suggestion is confusing, but I allow her to drag me down several flights of stairs. She comes to a complete stop in front of a grey door which looks a lot like the entrance to a lab.
I am making slow but sure progress on this book and am really enjoying it in all it’s dystopian glory. If you don’t know the definition of a dystopian novel here’s a basic one:
“Dystopian literature is a genre of fictional writing used to explore social and political structures in ‘a dark, nightmare world.’ The term dystopia is defined as a society characterized by poverty, squalor or oppression and the theme is most commonly used in science fiction and speculative fiction genres.”
Thanks for letting me ramble! This has been a fun journey for me to take, and it only gets more exciting. Sorry for the length of this post! 😦 🙂
You’ve probably heard this dozens of times. But it’s worth repeating: most editors dislike a lot of adverbs in creative writing. You’ve probably also heard the horror stories of the poor victims that showed up to the editors office and were told: “I need you to remove around 100 adverbs. I would recommend either completely changing the structure of the scene or adding a good strong verb instead.”
That is scary to me! I hope when I finally get around to having an actual editor that I won’t have the worry of extra adverbs on my plate. And so that is my primary focus in my writing right now.
But let’s ask the important question first: “Why do I have to cut out my adverbs anyway?”
Jill and Jackson rushed quickly about the house.
Let’s take a look at this. Jill and Jackson rushing around is fine. It gives you a sense of the urgency of whatever is going on in the scene. So why inclusion of the adverb- quickly? That just distracts the reader. You should always stay away from extra/excess/unnecessary modifiers and descriptions. In the above example, I just restated the verb using an adverb. Instead, I ought to have just stuck with my strong verb-rushed. The next example is a sample taken from the scene of one of my books- before I removed as many adverbs as I could.
A short grizzly looking man with sinister eyes and a foul expression asks.
The tall man he addresses looks annoyed.
“Vice President Cain, how many times do I need to tell you I am President Rohn?”
Cain trembles slightly at the tall man’s obvious annoyance.
“I apologize, President Rohn. I am simply wondering what you plan to do about the Christian uprising that’s been occurring. It’s all over the place! Just yesterday we had to kill an old man who was making a fuss about repenting because the kingdom of God…”
“Stop! I know all this! Can’t your men even keep one old man from making a racket? I tell you to keep all the Christians in the city from proclaiming that garbage and you just allow him to do it until you must kill him? In front of all those people, too?”
“He won’t be spreading his religion any longer.”
The vice mutters in an injured tone.
“Cain, we must find the root of this rebellion and terminate it. Send someone to find the source. Do whatever you must do to end the resistance! Ever since that Paul Liberty had to defy me!”
“Paul Liberty? Isn’t that the man who refused to conform to our laws and bow the knee to you? He was a troublemaker!”
“Yes, that’s him! I never could understand him. He was offered every luxury imaginable and he chose death.”
“How irrational, Sir.”
“I think I have just the man to find the source for you.”
“He’s a ruthless man who will do anything for money. He fits into our society. He’s the same man that killed Paul Liberty, I believe. He’s a conformist, and will do whatever is best for his own welfare.”
A sly grin comes onto President Rohn’s face as his vice describes the man.
The president inquires.
You only see four ‘ly’ adverbs in this exchange. It’s been a while since I’ve actually looked at the sentence structure of this for a while. I am not sure if I should remove the adverbs I have there. I would say yes, because it seems that they’re unnecessary.
The man leered at me threateningly pointing his gun at my head. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end…In a flash I managed to tie him up rather skillfully.
How could we have prevented telling this? I mean we want the reader to get involved in the heat of the scene. So we want to show them what happened, not tell them.
The example fixed:
The man leered at me (threateningly is removed, because it’s obvious he was threatening the girl- he was pointing a gun at her head after all!) pointing his gun at my head. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end… (In a flash removed) I managed to tie him up (I dumped skillfully as well, because it’s falling into telling them how. I stuck with the good strong verb.).
So that’s not near all the reasons I thought of…but I would recommend checking out Emily Tjaden’s post on cutting adverbs: http://www.thisincandescentlife.com/2015/05/9-reasons-to-cut-adverbs-from-your-writing/
Here’s another post I like on the same topic as mine and Emily’s: http://writetodone.com/shoot-adverbs/
Yet another post on the (same) topic: https://www.writingforward.com/writing-tips/writing-tips-abolish-adverbs
Another post that I think is good tells about HOW to get rid of your adverbs: http://www.quickanddirtytips.com/education/grammar/how-to-eliminate-adverbs
Please don’t ‘shoot’ me when you notice that I use adverbs a lot in my posts (you might even find occurrences in THIS post! 🙂 ). I don’t have the time to sit editing my blog posts like that, but when it comes to writing—I think we can agree it’s way more important to be polished.
What are YOUR thoughts on cutting adverbs?
Do you tend to use adverbs a lot?
What is your stance on modifiers in general?
If you were to revisit a writing draft you wrote from long ago, would you find more adverbs or less?
On this chilly morning…chilly? REALLY? It actually feels COLD today! Oh joy. I have been long awaiting the end of summer. I love fall and the winter best of all. Especially winter.
Welcome to another installment of E’s Creative Writings! Specifically to another one of my novels…The Way of Extinction.
Genre: Dystopian, elements of Sci-fi, young adult, christian fiction.
The world has come into rapid decay. Only a few of us are left…
Landice… has been entrusted with a unique and difficult task. To find the man who must be her husband. Difficulties and stakes are high. Landice is one of the last women alive, and she is a Follower of the Way. Meaning, she is not permitted to marry a man who is not of her faith.
Bane…is in a precarious position. A Follower of the Way and a FM. His family has been killed and he is constantly watched. But he was entrusted by the Bishop with two tasks: seek God, and seek God in his choice of a wife. But it’s not that simple, because no one knows if there are even any women left in the world.
And so their quests move them in different directions…can faith and determination throw them together?
(my apologies, the excerpt isn’t in good order right now. I will soon update this post in E’s Creative Writings.)
What projects are y’all working on (hopefully not as many as me 🙂 ).
What’s YOUR favorite season of the year?
Is it getting colder where you live?
Can you tell I like dystopian novel writing? 🙂
No, this is not me turning into a cowgirl. This is me messing around with different openings. But anyways…I’m back with another one of my books! My writing posts, I call them. Today, I’m telling y’all about a fun one I’m writing. I don’t know about y’all…but I love ALMOST superheros. What do I mean by that? Well…people with great fighting abilities that want to help people…but minus any powers. No super strength, no climbing walls because you got bit by a spider, you get it. I’m more the Captain America type- minus the serum. 🙂 I do enjoy powers…but I don’t really want to write about that. I want to give this story a more realistic feel. I want readers to feel that this might actually be able to happen. So without further ado, I give you- The Brown Recluse.
Genre: Young adult, thriller, elements of mystery.
A prison boat sinks, supposedly drowning all the prisoners.
A young woman suffers from a spider bite, nearly dying.
A mysterious mentor, trains a woman to fight criminals…
…and Svetlana Ivanov lives a ‘quiet’ but mysterious life in a big city.
Svetlana groaned, nausea gripping her insides. The constant tossing of the ship increased the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Beside her- Valentina stirred. How in the world is Valentina still asleep when this ship is about to sink? Svetlana wondered to herself. Valentina opened her eyes. “Where are we?” she asked with a long yawn. “In a ship, below deck, and behind bars- just as we’ve been for the last two days.” Was Svetlana’s not-very-positive response. “Why am I in prison?” Valentina inquired blankly. “Valentina! You ought to know this by now. I already told you that you were suspected of murder…” Svetlana’s voice trailed off and she covered her face with her hands. “Sorry.” Valentina apologized with a sheepish look. “It’s okay.” Svetlana responded in a weak voice.
“Captain, we need to abandon ship. She’s about to go down!” a frightened sailor pleaded. “Prepare to launch the lifeboats. The prisoners will just have to stay below deck. We haven’t enough room or lifeboats to fit them anyway- besides, I don’t want to be in a lifeboat with any serial-killers.” The captain mumbled- reluctant to abandon his ship. “Is no effort to be made to save the prisoners?” another sailor asked overhearing the words of the captain. “Some of them aren’t serial-killers, sir.” Offered a tall man in a drenched sailing suit. “You and Abel were ever the compassionate ones, Cedrick. No! There will be no saving of prisoners! It’s every man for himself now. Abel, go and get the jailer and tell him we’re abandoning ship. And another thing- tell the jailer that he’d better shoot the prisoners.” As he spoke the captain began lowering the lifeboats. Cedrick accompanied Abel down the stairs that led to where the prisoners were being kept. As they went down Cedrick hit Abel hard on the back of his head so that he slumped over unconscious. Then Cedrick went down. He found the jailer asleep. Svetlana hopped to her feet when she saw Cedrick. “Cedrick, what news?” she asked in a whisper. “She’s going down- the Captains given orders to shoot the prisoners.” He whispered back grabbing the keys from the jailers. Svetlana groaned.. Why must death come to me so soon in life? She wondered.
He sorted through the keys until he found the key marked ‘7’ then went to Valentina and Svetlana’s cell and opened the door. Svetlana shook Valentina. Valentina- who was pretending to be asleep fell to her knees at sight of Cedrick. “God bless you!” she said. “Valentina, stop talking! We need to go or else we’ll be shot dead with the rest of the prisoners.” He whispered to Svetlana something about hiding below deck while he ‘took care’ of the other prisoners. Svetlana and Valentina exited and found a convenient nook to hide and wait. “Jailer, you have orders to shoot the prisoners.” Cedrick said. The jailer stirred and opened his eyes. “Oh, would that their blood would be on someone else’s hands!” he said, starting to shake. “Get moving, jailer. We’re abandoning ship. Unless you want to go down with the carcasses of the prisoners.” The jailer groaned. “Yes, that’s it! My fate will be their fate. I’m going down with the ship- you go and save yourself, Cedrick.” Cedrick snorted angrily. “No, we’re shooting the prisoners. Much more humane than choking them to death for lack of air.” The jailer nodded. Soon all the prisoners were dead- except Valentina and Svetlana. Svetlana listened to all that occurred- at last it seemed okay to stir. Valentina shivered. “What-what’s going to happen to us?” Valentina whimpered. “We’re getting out of this ship!” Svetlana gasped. She grabbed Valentina’s arm and pulled her through the door of the jailer’s cabin. After turning several times, they were on the main deck. Waves crashed and foamed all around them. One solitary lifeboat offered her welcome. “God bless Cedrick!” Svetlana praised aloud. “He’s left us the last lifeboat!” Valentina exclaimed. Yes, he’s left us the last lifeboat, and at risk of his life! Valentina hobbled into the lifeboat and Svetlana crawled in after her.
My fingers move, and Val’s pencil taps time to the movement. Everything about Val has changed these last two years. From the little things, to the big. Things like her hair, for instance. In the old days, it would’ve been cut short- right above her ear. And her hair would’ve been slicked. Now her jet black hair falls in soft waves just above her shoulders. Another thing is makeup. She barely wears any of it now. One coat of light mascara and a touch of light pink lipstick. She looks so innocent and sweet without all the dark, heavy makeup. And then she has changed. She’s almost never fussy, and whiny. Now, she’s just quiet. Barely talks to anyone except me.
“What’d you think, Val?” I ask, holding up a light red carnation. Val smiles, and rolls her eyes.
“I think, Svet that it looks like a well-groomed carnation.” I poke her. She pokes me back. Then we both laugh.
“Hey Val, will you pass me that hairclip?” I point at a teeny weenie gold clip across from me.
“Sure.” She answers in a nonchalant tone. I brush back the front of my hair, ‘losing the part’, as Val would say. Then I stick in the hairclip.
“You’re going to be late for work, you know.” Val says.
“I know. That’s why I asked for the clip, silly.” I poke her once again. She just grins. I hop up, and grab my handbag. I turn to go out the front door.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Val’s voice startles me. I instinctively reach to my leg. My gun’s not here. I look around, and yes– Val’s holding it. Ever since Val found my gun one night, I haven’t kept secrets from her. I first only got the thing to feel protected. My past makes it difficult for me to feel secure without a gun. It bothered Val at first. She was abused as a child, much the same as I was. One time I got it out of her that her father beat her whenever she didn’t do what he asked fast enough. But now as I see the gun in her hand, I know having it means much more. It’s my way of getting even with the government. I was falsely accused of murder. My father, who was the real culprit-, turned me in. My gun is carried illegally. That’s not a secret between Val and I. There’s no way I could get a concealed carry permit with a record like mine. And also, the fact that I and Val are supposed to be dead could make it potentially much harder.
“Thanks.” I say, extending my hand and taking it from her. I carefully pull up the right palazzo pant leg, slipping the gun into the hidden holster. I turn to go again.
“Svet?” Val’s voice stops me once again.
“Yeah?” I answer back.
“You look nice.” Her words are simple, but undeniably sweet. I glance down at my 1940’s palazzo pants, and then finger the hem of my classy white tuck-in, button-up shirt. We love world war two clothing. It’s our disguise, so to speak. I figured out that it’s not unusual to find a small group of people who like old-fashioned clothing. There’s really some of everything here in New York.
“That’s sweet of you to say.” It really is. Val always looks perfect no matter what she wears. I, on the other hand, have to work hard just to look ‘presentable’. Then I walk out the door. Val and I never say ‘goodbye’. Perhaps there’s a part of us that’s afraid if we say goodbye- it really will be just that.
I pull on my apron and stand at the old-fashioned cash register. I love the coffee shop I work at. They try hard to look vintage. The tablecloths, the waitresses, and the menu- everything smacks of the 1940’s. That’s one of the reasons that I decided to work here. I fit in here. Clara, a fellow employee, and my friend- steps toward the old radio.
“Hit me with it, Svet! What should we listen to today?” she asks.
“Hmm…put on the swing music. But remember Clara, it’s background music- not central.” She laughs; no doubt remembering the time where she flipped it on and the radio volume came out full blast. All the customers were covering their ears.
“Gotcha’.” She giggles. That’s the only thing I don’t like about her. She’s giggles too much.
Well, that’s it. Sorry about the roughness. This is literally the entirety of the first draft…and I haven’t edited it in forever! 😦
Do y’all like ‘almost’ superheros?
Are any of y’all into Marvel or DC?
Who’s your favorite superhero?
Have you ever tried to write a ‘superhero’ story?
Why in the world am I writing another post today? The lovely reason is that I am going on vacation with my family! And so I will be absent for the rest of the week… 😦 But this is another writing post. Another one of my books. The story behind this book is simple: I was doing an assignment for my writing class. It was the very last assignment in the book. The task? Write a short story/novella from scratch. I quickly found inspiration and got started. And uh-yeah, I’m still not finished with it. I am exceedingly bad at writing short stories. I always end up with a full-length novel (if I ever finish the particular story). But anyways, I present the cover and the information for The Quest for Queen Rii.
One immortal fairy must give a baby to Jennisaar every year…
An Unwanted Princess… and an unusual one at that! Is a heroine who is a princess normally also a centauress?
An Exiled Skinchanger/Shapeshifter… Bror knows what it is to be different. On his first hunt he was exiled for turning into a lamb–instead of the lion he should have been.
And a Fairy Queen… Every year I am forced to give a baby to the land of Jennisaar. I am cursed. I only wait for another person to set me free that I may resume my throne and have my children returned to me.
WILL BE THROWN TOGETHER… here now our paths intertwine. Can we overcome the woes that await us? Will we be freed from the curses that plague our lives? We must find peace, for it is truly what we were made to enjoy.
The magic fire here is drawn, sweet voice lift up in ancient song.
Ilarminine douran (open to me the ancient flames)
Ishaka! Ishaka! (Mother! Mother!)
Imaadula Vescarii (I call unto you)
Ishaka ven douran (Mother of ancient flame)
Who I am, Unwanted Centaur Princess
There she is-will she remember me? Will she fail the quest? Will she even answer the call? She is discouraged for now- confused. But soon she will know what she needs to know and she will have a chance to free me from this curse. I need her. I NEED her.
I travel on in silence. My mother says I came in silence. It’s a fitting conclusion, really. Tears stream down my cheeks anyway. I’m unwanted. I am a centaur princess. Born to privilege, raised to advantages. Why does my father hate me so? I brush my mane through with the tips of my fingers- I’m determined to stay clean and beautiful. No matter what, I will not forsake my breeding. It had all happened to me but a day ago. I smart as I remember what happened:
“Adeline, you must leave. Your father is very angry, worse than I’ve ever seen him. He wants you dead. You have become too powerful for him, my daughter.” My mother had pleaded with me to leave, but I would not. “Dear mother, I am a princess. My father cannot exile me. I must stay as is right for the centaurs’ princess to do.” I had insisted. Then my mother had left- and it happened. Father rushed into my room with ten centaurs and ten centauresses. They soon surrounded me. “Escort the Princess Adeline from the palace and see to it she never returns!” he had yelled, spent of all decorum. The centaurs glanced around awkwardly. Apparently, they at least- had some feelings. They had a sense of dignity and propriety. Grofan and Groros, the twin centaurs, looked at me. I could see the despair in Grofan’s eyes- and the devastation imprinted clearly on Groros’s face. We played together as children, I always won our races. And since we had grown up, Groros had been seeking my hand. But father hated me, and I didn’t love Groros anyway. At last, the centauresses decided they would act. Grabbing me by the arms they dragged me out. Kiver, the Centauress who has always hated me- gave me a look of pure joy. I caught Groros’s eyes before they dragged me out, and I knew by that look- that he will never forgive Kiver. But all that matters little to me, for I have more problems on my hands. I have only a little food, menial water, and no place to go or stay. And I still don’t really know why my father hates me so. I am the fastest of all in our kingdom, it is true. But how does that make me more powerful than father? I must seek shelter. No, I must find it. I will find it. And when that’s done, I will discover why my father is afraid of me, as my mother said.
Who I am, Exiled Skinchanger/ Shapeshifter
Ah, look! I see her helper…the chosen one’s helper. She is the antidote- he will protect her. Neither of them knows it yet or is aware. But soon they’ll both know-and when they do…quick! I must speak to him, and soon. He has seen me many times before this. He just has no idea it’s me.
Chop! Chop! Chop! This has become one of the many sounds I am accustomed to. I enjoy chopping wood. It’s a way to forget momentarily that I am in charge of guarding a wishing well instead of hunting with my pack. But they threw me out. It was many years ago- but I have lived on. I suspect my pack has lived on as well. I wouldn’t know; it’s not like I ever see them. That’s probably a mercy- is my dour thought. Perhaps you know someone who is different and is looked down on or treated badly because of it. Perhaps they’re even kicked out for it. Such is my fate. I was born into a shapeshifting pack. What did my pack shapeshift into? Lions. Those majestic creatures. But we (of course) also could be humans. When I was but ten years old, it was time to hunt with the pack. My father was the pack leader, and I wanted him to be proud. But instead of shapeshifting into my lion form- I changed into a lamb. My father was both furious and embarrassed. His son…turned into a lamb? It was not only unheard of, it was dangerous! What blood must be flowing in my veins to turn me into a lamb? And so the matter went before the council- and I was exiled. But my father who did love me…softened the blow. And sent me to guard the wishing well. He said it was an honorable task. He said all I had to do was await a time when I would be freed from my exile and able to return to the pack. He said a woman would free me from changing into a lamb. But after I was exiled- I discovered that I can also change into a lion like the rest of my pack. I prefer to think of myself as special instead of cursed. And then I made the discovery that I can also be a Skinchanger. Perhaps you think there is no difference. But I assure you, there is. A Shapeshifter has shapes that are a part of him that he can take on. A Skinchanger can go inside another animal and stay inside for a limited time. I’m not saying this is exactly the truth for all who are Skinchangers- but it is for me. So now I’m waiting for…I don’t know what. I’ll figure it out. I have faith in my father’s promise. I pick up the stack of new cut wood and dump them carelessly on the larger pile. Now for my chore: check on the wishing well. As I walk, I whistle. It makes me feel better- and helps me when I get close to the wishing well to remain composed. Why do I need to be composed? Because every time I get close to the wishing well, no matter how hard I try- I always am stunned by the breathtaking beauty before me. As I walk forward I see it is no different today: positioned in the middle of a quiet forest is the wishing well. Light comes in beams from the trees surrounding… the water of the wishing well gives off the usual blue sparkle. But as I approach…I see it- her.
“Who are you?” I gasp. “I am the spirit of the wishing well. I have seen you often before- though I doubt you knew it was I.” she replies in a soft voice. “Don’t you have a- a name?” I stammer. I don’t like the idea of a- whatever she is not having a name! To my surprise she bursts into a tinkle of silvery laughter. I shiver. Her laugh seems to cut through my very soul. “My name- ah! I have not heard anyone say my name in years.” She says. “Why not?” I decide to be a little more in control of this unusual situation. I am a Shapeshifter of royal birth- of the lion tribe. I am not of mean blood. I am a lion. By now I am peering inside the wishing well and looking at the spirit’s face. She looks very like a woman- a beautiful, queenly woman. “Oh, that tends to happen when you are as old as I and all those who knew you are dead.”This is really getting out of hand. “You said you’ve seen me before.” The spirit smiles. “Oh yes…yes. I have, in the form of a doe.”I gulp. The other day I shifted into lion form and went on a hunt in these woods. There was a doe- and I naturally tried to catch her. But she disappeared and I didn’t see her again. The strange thing about this doe was that she was pure white- much like I myself am, when in lion form. “I didn’t know it was you, whoever you are. I didn’t mean…” I stop when she laughs again. “It’s okay, you know. You couldn’t have caught me anyhow.” Somehow, I don’t doubt that’s true. “But no more beating around the bush…Bror. We both want something dreadfully- and have both been waiting for it.” I stiffen. Yes, there’s one thing I want. I want to go home and join my father in the hunt. Soon- I would have to take his place as tribe leader. “We have both met with sorrow. But I am come to tell you…that the promised woman is come. She will free us both.”I shiver- this time in excitement. “Then- you are the promised woman!” “No, not I.” “No?” “No.” disappointment takes me. “Then who is?”The spirit’s eyes fill with sympathy- then with tears. A thought hits me- can spirits cry, and shed real tears? “You’re not only a spirit, are you?”I ask. “No. I am an immortal fairy. I am cursed.” She replies. “How are you cursed?” is my next question. “I am cursed with having to give a baby to Jennisaar every year- my own child.” No wonder she cries. My mother cried when I was sent away. “Who will save us? Who?” I ask again. “A woman who is a centaur. She will come here soon- and she will need your help. She will want to use the wishing well.” This is too bizarre! What in the world would a centaur want to use the wishing well for? Centaurs are content in themselves. They’re never discontent with who they are and what they do! “You don’t believe me, then?” her voice to me sounds understanding-yet reproving. Yet I feel guilty even speaking to her. So I simply remain silent. “Did you truly think that the promised woman’s coming would make sense? That it would be obvious that she was the one? You thought-Bror- that it could only be a woman who was wholly human?” “I hardly know what I thought at all.”
Well, that’s it. All I have for the rest of this week. As always, feel free to comment all your feedback, advice, questions, comments, etc.
Have you ever written anything in the fantasy genre?
Do you enjoy fairy tales?
What’s your favorite person to write in? (Mine is 1st person 🙂 )