the Ink Splurge

Bill's Writing Resources Website

2011-09-08T23:54:00.001-07:00

Here's something that will keep you busy for a few years (although some links may be dead now):

Bill's Writing Resources Website

The Write Way

2011-09-08T23:49:00.000-07:00

The following site is not very pretty; it's hosted by Tripod and looks like a very beginner sort of website. (Not that I can do HTML, haha). But, please forgive its unsightliness and try to focus on what it is saying. It is a very useful website for writers:

The Write Way

How to not kill your reviewers

2011-09-08T23:47:00.001-07:00

To make up for my extreme lax-ness in updating this blog lately (I've been moving, and writing), there might be a slew of posts coming soon.

For today:

Reviewers (aka critique-rs) and How Not to Kill Them

Quick recommendation

2011-07-13T14:41:00.000-07:00

I have one quick recommendation before I go off to write a bit:

ORSON SCOTT CARD's "HAT RACK" WEBSITE!!!

It is amazing. He answers so many questions that young, new writers, or unpublished writers, etc., have on writing. His answers make sense, and they are also fun.

To find out about OSC (Orson Scott Card), his books, and more, well, click the link. It has all of that, plus the fantastic Q+As with him that I really enjoy.

What I've Been Reading

2011-07-08T12:43:00.000-07:00

I would like to share a list of books I've read (or am reading) recently that I have found wonderful, but I don't necessarily include on my list of all-time-favorites.

Here they are:

Wake and its sequels by Lisa McMann
The Hunger Games and its sequels by Suzanne Collins
The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien (not done with this yet; may yet add it to all-time-faves)
Paradise Lost by John Milton (haven't finished this one, either!)
The Viking World by James Graham-Campbell

Wake and its sequels, by Lisa McMann, is a fascinating, funny trilogy about a girl who can see other people's dreams. Every time someone falls asleep in class, or if she gets roped into a sleepover, and whenever her alcoholic mother is snoring away, this poor girl blacks out and gets to see every detail of each dream. When she gets mixed up with a handsome, possibly ex-drug-addict fellow high schooler, things get even more complicated.

The Hunger Games, well, I'm sure everyone has heard of these! Collins' trilogy has become very popular, and is being made into a movie as we speak. Katniss Everdeen of District 12 lives a very harsh life, where the country of Panem, once America, is split into districts according to specialization. Her district is the coal-mining district. Fatherless, practically motherless, with only one good friend, she lives under the cruel hand of the Capitol, as everyone else. When her sister gets picked to participate in the brutal annual Hunger Games - where each contestant fights to the death to be the lone survivor - Katniss jumps in to save her sister's life. Can she survive the Capitol's Hunger Games? To trouble her mind more, the local baker boy from her district is in the Games, too, and he's etched in her mind forever because of one kind act. Can she kill him?

The Silmarillion is Tolkien's detailed account of the history of Middle Earth. It tells of the origins of the race of elves and men, and gets into the very mythology behind everything Tolkien has created. Who made the elves? What were they before? What happens when the elves have to go up against Morgoth, the evil, powerful lord, and his henchman, Sauron? Everything begins here. If you ever loved Tolkien, you've got to read this! It's slow, and it's more like a textbook than a novel, but it's very, very good.

Paradise Lost is Milton's poetic commentary on the Bible. I haven't finished it, I'm still at the start, but Milton's use of language is amazing. I was not very interested in the Bible before, other than direct Jesus quotes, but Milton makes me interested.

The Viking World is an overview of the history and culture of the Vikings. It is a big book with many interesting pictures of old ships, clothing, and other aspects of Viking life. I wanted to brush up on my history, so when I saw this at the library, I grabbed it. Does anyone have any more history books to recommend? I want to read more.

Here's a cool illustration of Hunger Games' Katniss Everdeen:
link

And here's a super amazing, intense one of Katniss, that really gets the dangerous feeling in the entire Hunger Games trilogy across:
link 2

Here is some awesome Silmarillion fanart! This is one of my favorite artists on Deviant Art:
"The Coming of Fingolfin"

A drawing & Pimp the Face.com

2011-05-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

link

I am super tired after a long drive home from a two-week stay in LA, but I just wanted to share this. I have been doing some art lately, and the link above is to a current work in progress drawing of mine. Please check it out! =) It's related to a story I'm writing (a novel).

Also, I wanted to share this FUN FUN FUN website where you can "draw" a character or yourself or whomever you want online:

(You don't draw; you choose the face shape, eyes, etc. and the program does it for you! hehe, it's a cheating sort of drawing).

Pimp the Face.com

It's tons of fun! You don't have to join; but I advise joining for saving the faces you create (it can be addicting). Joining is FREE. It's awesome!

Creative writer vs. writer

2011-05-08T15:17:00.001-07:00

I recently posted this on WriterFace, trying to garner some discussion. So far, nothing. I am posting it here, instead! Any and all, please comment.

_

"I've noticed some people have a problem with being affiliated with creative writing, with the concept of creative writing workshops, or they have the idea that there is a difference between a creative writer and a professional writer.

Why?

I don't get it. Seriously. I don't meant to come off aggressively, but please, someone enlighten me. Why is this idea offensive? There is writing, which is a very broad term, and then there is creative writing, which pertains perhaps to writing fiction and poetry, things that are not all from life experience like journaling or news reporting would be.

But what is offensive about this term 'creative writer'? Why would you not want to be one? I would think that anyone on here who writes fiction or desires to would be happy to be called a creative writer. I think some people who are not writers scoff at creative writing, but those people are those who perhaps scoff at writing in general. They laugh at us because we are in a difficult position that does not earn a lot of money. They think we are wasting our time, and that we are dreamers.

But...we love what we do. We can't imagine not doing it. So what is wrong with being called a creative writer? I see it as a way to differentiate between a nonfiction and a fiction writer. A poet would be called a poet, a fiction writer would be called a creative writer, and a nonfiction writer could be a journalist, although that term seems to apply only to reporting, sooo....why aren't we asking why there isn't a more specific term for a nonfiction writer, instead of griping over 'creative writing'?

As for professional writer vs creative writer, well...I think the differentiation there is, whether one earns money writing or not. A professional writer is a published author, I assume, and a creative writer is not necessarily published. That's it.

I have personally felt proud to call myself a creative writer, or just a writer in general, and I look forward to being able to call myself an author some day. I also have found creative writing workshops extremely beneficial; they have helped me improve my writing very much.

Comments? Experiences? Opinions? Please share."

-

What fuels your writing?

2011-04-11T15:49:00.001-07:00

Having just recently joined WriterFace, a social network website for writers, I've been participating in discussion! One writer in the forums posted this very intriguing, thought-provoking question:

What is it that fuels your writing? What makes it yours?

And as an aside, he also asked: "Is it your passion? your sanctuary?"

I found this question SO good, that I wanted to ask YOU: What is your answer to the above question?

Think on it, and then come back and read my answer if you like, and we can make a discussion out of it! =D

My answer:

I think one reason I write is because I love to experience other worlds and places. I love that adventure and that sense of newness. I also enjoy "being other people", in the sense that when I write, I become that character, I absorb myself in who they are and in their experiences. It is so annoying when distractions come, because I am in another world far away, and to pull myself all the way back to my physical world is difficult.

I also experience sheer joy in the simple act of creating. Not that I am power-hungry, but there is something magical about sitting with a pen or keyboard and typing out lives, reactions, of people that feel very real to me, and putting them in certain circumstances to create a story.

It is an escape, it is a sanctuary, it is a joy that is very individual - I am usually pretty reticent about sharing my writing. But at the same time I've found when I do share my writing, I get feedback which helps me improve it, and it is so much fun to see how others react to my stories. I just have to get over my fear of face-to-face rejection. That is difficult for me.

I do not think I could go without writing. I am a creative person who needs to put her energies in some creative direction. I enjoy drawing, painting, and other artistic pursuits and I play a little music, but I do not feel as driven or confident about doing these activities as I do about writing. My long years with writing and my conviction that I can at least be happy if not successful in it, makes me continue to write even when other creative hobbies have long ago dropped to the wayside.

Writer Face

2011-04-10T17:25:00.001-07:00

I recently discovered a great new website! It's a social network just for writers.

Writer Face

Go visit it! Here: link

You create a profile page for yourself, wherein you can talk about your writing, things you've published, etc. There are forums which all members can participate in, as well as groups that you can join to talk and share in.

(An example of a group: "Unpublished Writers", "Writers of Fantasy and Scifi", "Published Writers", etc). This website is a great way to network, discover published authors and others unpublished if you're like me, and much more.

There is also the option to blog; lots of members on the site like to post excerpts from novels, poetry, and thoughts on writing in their blog posts. You can "friend" other members, and make new groups, threads, etc.

It's fun! And you can personalize your profile page and include pictures, if you want. It is a great resource for published authors and unpublished writers alike. It needs more people, so please, join up and tell your friends!!

=D

Frustration in writing

2011-02-25T21:30:00.000-08:00

Arrrgghghghgh!!!

What do you do when you are writing a story and your character is really depressed? It's SUCH a bummer! I'm not even having fun writing it!! It's like tearing out teeth! I progress like once a week, one damn paragraph at a time!!! I want this chapter to be ooooveerrrrrrrrrrrr. aaaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!!

I know, I know, I don't have to write in chronological order...but for this story, I do! And I could work on another story...I've been getting fantastic ideas for "Maugre"...but....what to write?? my poor brain seems to be empty. I need fuel! FUEL!!! But I have none. I want to write, but when I sit to write anything original (fanfiction has been thriving, lol)....plop. Nothing.

Krishna art - 2

2011-02-18T17:32:00.000-08:00

I am still working on my simple-style artwork inspired by Krishna and my trip to India. So far there is the gopi piece, colored, and the Radha and Krishna linearts are not colored yet.

My scanner broke recently! But luckily it isn't the only one around; I finished this Krishna lineart (the hair took forever! No matter what I did I wasn't happy, then finally I decided it was done) and just scanned it in:

This drawing goes with the Srimati Radhika one (see an earlier post) illustrating a sweet little pastime wherein Krishna is gazing lovingly in separation at Srimati Radhika, and she is very pleased. Hiding her smile, she pretends to adjust her nose ring.

I found some great references for the jewelry and pose of Krishna:

and

Next, I color them!! =D I'm a little scared...colored pencil coloring is still new to me. Wish me luck!

Time travel stuff

2011-02-12T22:47:00.000-08:00

I am working on ideas for my witch story "Maugre" right now. I have made a list of elements that I want to keep, another list of elements I want to cut or change, and am making a new list of "new" elements, too.

It is quite fun and exciting. The more ideas I throw onto the table, the more exciting it is. But unlike my time a few months ago where I had so many ideas and it was so much, this time I feel that my ideas are connecting, solidifying into new facts about old characters, new facts about the world they live in, etc. I am trying to make characters who faded into the background more significant to the overall story. I am also trying to create small name mentions in drabbles into full-fledged characters, because I feel that this story needs more characters.

At the moment, I have some exciting changes, such as Sebastian being the one remaining Gatekeeper of Time, and that mysterious Key crap that I never fleshed out was thrown out the door. Laura can now see into the Past, and Sophie into the future. Julian remains the same as he ever was...=D Except! I want him to help Sebastian more, and not be ignorant of Sebastian's goals.

I have made the conflict much better, too. While Sebastian is trying to keep himself alive and out of the clutches of witch hunters, a mysterious someone has caused Time to overlap. Past and Future are colliding with Present, and it's causing chaos - imagine if people who are dead started to walk around in the Present, or a building became two buildings, its current version and the old one that was demolished? It's going to be really crazy like that, and everyone can see it, even those with no magic who have no idea what's going on! And only Sebastian can fix it.

Also, I have given Sebastian the ability (a curse, more like) with his Gatekeeper of Time Status, to see the Past within the present. So in other words, when he looks at something, say, a sign post on a street, he can also see the old castle that used to be there, or something. Poor guy...how does he walk around with all that? I haven't figured that out yet...I think he's going to have to have a way to shut it all out.

I would like to acknowledge that I am getting inspired by Anne Rice's "Queen of the Damned." There is a woman in this book who can see ghosts - ghosts of buildings, and people, and places - which influenced my idea to make Sebastian see pieces of the Past even as he lives in the Present.

If anyone knows of any fantastic time travel literature I can read, please share. Also if you have any tips about writing situations like this where people might think they are going crazy, or people live in two different universes? Because that sort of thing might give me ideas.

Also if you think it's nuts and makes no sense, tell me, so I can fix it! =D

And of course if any of these ideas remind you *very much* of a story you already read...well, then do share, because I'd like to read that story.

When a movie makes you think of a story character...

2011-02-12T18:07:00.000-08:00

I'm sorry, but, every time I see a young man with long dark hair and slender features, who is handsome and perhaps mysterious...I tend to think of my witch character, Sebastian...I'm always looking for drawing references for him, and there are so few young men these days with long dark hair...especially long curly dark hair.

This person in a preview for a tweeny film called "Prom"...ah, I just couldn't help but think "hmm, Sebastian potential?" when I saw him:

http://www.imdb.com/media/rm1923529216/nm2973459

Sebastian's only eighteen, and this guy looks pretty young too...I like his hair. And he has soulful eyes...

Do any of you fellow writers out there have moments when you think, "ah! this person reminds me of my character such-and-such!" ?

Julian and Sophie

2011-02-11T13:04:00.000-08:00

Because Tsuu seemed pleased with my last "Maugre" drabble, and because I would appreciate more input, I am posting another "Maugre" drabble.

This one is in Julian's point of view. It spilled out of me, and it was refreshing to have it spill out. It is from the view of a wiser Julian, remembering back to what his relationship with his witch cousin, Sophie - later Sebastian's mentor - was like.

I am glad to know more of what Julian and Sophie were like together...it was something previously unexplored by me.

I am posting this in two parts, because it is a little longer. Here is part 1.

_____________________________________________________________________

JULIAN’S POV

When you are around witches, you never get used to anything.

One of the reasons Sophie had always been one of my favorite people was because of this quality in her, of being unpredictable. Like me, she was rebellious to what others would have from her and went her own way. Unlike me, she was continually changing. I never saw her very much in my teenage years – once every Christmas, twice a year if I was lucky – and we didn’t remember much of our childhood playtimes during family visits. But each time I saw her, she was different.

I could see her receding inside of herself. When I first met Sophie, she was a quiet thing – she was always quiet – but once we got comfortable, we would talk. We would laugh. I would tell her of all the places in the world I wanted to go, all the greatness I desired, and she would tell me how she had learned to read people’s emotions, how she had learned to discover people’s secrets. This, all without magic…the magic came later.

My mind was always focused on escape from dependence, and at the time I was determined that I must go many places to establish myself as someone in every place. Sophie was content with the people around her, and her books; she took more from pages and the life around her than I ever could. I was never content.

The first few years we knew each other were like this – sharing, talking, and revealing our hearts to each other. It did not come easily to me, even though I was lonely, because I trusted no one. It came easily to Sophie because she was alone; she desperately wanted someone who could relate to her ideas, to her questions, and not just demand things of her. Both of us had demanding parents; it seemed to run in the family. But both of us were driven more forward by the demands we put upon ourselves.

One Christmas, she did not make it to the family gathering. The next, she was sick but forced to attend. I sat with her in the cool air of the gardens, and all she could do was sleep, and cry, and dream. She retched in the bushes, and when she was done I held her to me. The dreaming was what frightened me the most, because while my hand was stroking her head, while my other hand was holding hers, I went places that she was going in her dreams.

We walked a ruined castle together. We cried for our loved ones, who lay in a row, their bodies so charred and black that they were barely recognizable. Deep in her mind, she wandered a labyrinth not unlike the one behind my uncle Henry Silva’s manor, and then, in a turn of her head in sleep, she walked around a great stronghold, studying a set of eight gates. She murmured to herself in the dream – for I was not present, only watching it all, feeling it all – that she needed to find the keepers of the gates.

When she woke, I fell to the ground and lay there, dazed. My fourteen year old self seemed to have disappeared in the moments of her dream; I had become someone wiser and stronger yet more burdened than the person I was now. I looked up at her, and some longing must have called out to her through my eyes, for she turned away, saying, “No, Julian.”

She knew what I wanted. I wanted her power. I wanted a destiny. I wanted to be great, and in something as mundane as dreams, she was a great person; in dreams alone, what to speak of real life. If she attacked great fortresses and castles in her dreams, what could she do in waking?

That was the first time I ever touched magic, was ever involved in it directly or indirectly. Sophie had given that to me, that taste of magic, that taste of power, and I was later to pore over my uncle’s notes on witches and witchcraft, desiring to become one of them, to become like Sophie. The curiosity and violent temper and activity of my youth, they became a raging curiosity to know, to know of magic, and the temper and activity were molded into quiet, as I sat and read and read and read.

Then, we grew older, and as I grew more curious and more frustrated, that was when she began to recede more inside herself. She spoke less. She did not share stories, or thoughts, or anything, really. She had no comment on present events. She seemed like she was barely there; she would sit, still as stone, and eat, but that all seemed automatic. When I looked at her, I barely recognized her, and when I required of her what I had always required – a companion, someone to talk to, someone to relate to – she gave me a long, hollow stare. Secretly afraid, outwardly angry, I rejected her company.

What is essential for drawing?

2011-02-11T12:50:00.001-08:00

"...it is essential for both eye and hand to grasp the form, and it is only by much drawing, drawing everything, drawing unceasingly that one fine day one is very surprised to find it possible to express something in its true spirit..."

- Camille Pissaro's instructio to his son Lucien, in a letter from 1883

Krishna art

2011-02-08T23:29:00.000-08:00

I have been working on a series of drawings inspired by:
- the pastimes of Lord Sri Krishna from the Srimad Bhagavatam, an ancient Hindu scripture
- India - it's colors, beauty, landscapes, etc
- an old Indian folk painting style called kangra or pahari

My newest two - not yet finished - are an attempt to depict a very sweet loving pastime. In this pastime, Krishna glances lovingly at his beloved Radharani in separation. Seeing this, Radha pretends to adjust her nose ring in order to hide her smile.

lineart for Srimati Radharani

unfinished lineart for Krishna; his turban, peacock feather crest, and eyes aren't finished

=D I am happy with how these are turning out!

atmaramas ca munayo
nirgrantha apy urukrame
kurvanty ahaitukim bhaktim
ittham-bhuta-guno harih

[“‘Those who are self-satisfied and unattracted by material desires are also attracted to the loving service of Sri Krsna, whose qualities are transcendental and whose activities are wonderful. Hari, the Personality of Godhead, is called Krsna because He has such transcendentally attractive features.’” (Srimad-Bhagavatam 1.7.10)]

"Unblocking Writer's Block"

2011-02-06T15:39:00.001-08:00

There is a really awesome blog by AJ Humpage, who has been writing for 20 years. She gives great tips on all sorts of things - how to write a novel, subplots, what is a character-driven novel versus a plot-driven novel, etc. This particular article I am sharing is on how to unblock the dreaded "writer's block".

"Unblocking Writer's Block" at All Write

a drabble

2011-02-05T20:02:00.000-08:00

I often seem to post pieces of writing that I like somewhat, but not a whole lot; things I want feedback on.

Here is a little drabble. (What's a drabble?) I am trying to think of ideas to spruce up the plot of "Maugre", and the idea of beginning with Sebastian the witch being in disguise popped into my head.

Here's a little drabble based off that idea:

The disguise was going to wear off soon.

It had been so many years since I had done any proper magic, that I had had to steal one of the lab coats' keys by hand, and gotten into the pharmaceutical storage where Magnarta Company kept their magical drugs. It was easy to find the box of pills that contained lesara, a magical substance created by witches in the south.

With lesara, a man could transform for a number of hours, days, or even years, into someone else. That was the easy part. The difficult part was getting the person's DNA without being noticed, to use in the spell and then insert that magic into the powder. Then, if you really wanted to live as that man or convince others you were him, then you used a spell to steal the timeline of his life from his mind. This was a secret which few witches knew of, and most of them were part of the Time Council.

I had once known how to do magic that strong. Maybe I still did. Magic had been born in my veins; I was one of the Se Tara, those rare witches who had only to hone their magic, not to learn how to bring it forth. We had it at our fingertips at any given moment, and had no calling, like those witches who, around time of puberty, experienced the magic inside them and joined a coven to learn how to control it.

The man that my mind inhabited was a tall, straggly man, middle-aged, by the name of Bill Hawthorne. I only learned this upon my arrest, and now I stood in a line of other prisoners, chained to them by foot and hand, walking towards death.

Oh the irony. To die as a shell, drained of magical energy by the scientists one day, or free of them as I was now only to be tortured until I died. Now, I was standing in front of a much less painful but more humiliating death: a hanging.

Would Bill Hawthorne’s voice and body wear off, and reveal me as Sebastian de Luica, a powerful witch? Or would I die a petty criminal, with no one to mourn me?

Writing Historical Fiction

2011-02-04T22:11:00.001-08:00

Here is a succinct and helpful article by Arrietta-Russ:

link

Revising

2011-01-30T19:11:00.000-08:00

While I'm totally stumped as to what to write in Phen and Emna's story, I'm looking over the first few revised chapters of "Maugre".

Sometimes I like what I've written, and sometimes I want to toss all 6 revised chapters out the door. They have barely any more plot and focus than the first draft does. Also, sometimes I feel like I've lost who the characters are. This scares me a lot. Julian in the revised chapters, for instance, is so much less snarkier and mean than Julian in his first point-of-view chapters is in the rough draft.

What if I can't write snarky, mean Julian ever again? That thought scares me. He *needs* to be snarky and mean at the beginning. That's part of who he is. He only softens up over the course of falling in love with Sebastian...so he has to have a certain amount of bite at the story's beginning.

Revising is so frustrating! It's like, here I've written these characters through transformations, through development, and now suddenly I have to go back to how they are at the very beginning, and write them again? Write their story again? HOW?

I've been focusing on trying to rewrite/rework the "Maugre" plot so that it *has* more plot...but meanwhile, I feel like I'm losing the characters. The first draft of "Maugre" is mainly about the characters. It's a character story. It's about the small moments shared between characters. How am I supposed to make the story have a work-able plot, while not causing it to lose that essence, that focus on characters and emotions?

This is tough!

Does anyone have any ideas? I read a good "how to revise your novel" article earlier today, but it was so general and vague. I feel like I need some more specific help. Any suggestions? Maybe someone has info on how to make a character-focused novel more plotty?

...The problem I'm having with Phen and Emna's story, right now, is ironically similar and yet different. Their story is relatively consistent and good with plot; it is a plot-focused story, as opposed to character-focused like "Maugre". I recently had a very sad thing happen in the story (someone died) and I want to bring out the emotions...but I don't want to the story to lose its momentum, either. How do I do that?

Help, please!!

Argh!

2011-01-29T19:35:00.000-08:00

I can't think of what to write.

I tried writing a drabble of nothing; I tried working on a different story. Still, nothing.

I know I should sit down with the timer and then something will come...but I feel tired.

At the same time, I really want to write something, and if I go do something else right now - reading or drawing or watching a movie - I'll still wish later that I'd done some writing today.

Argh!

An Author Interview

2011-01-28T23:00:00.000-08:00

Not only am I finally exploring the fabulous website "INTERNET BOOK DATABASE" (so much fun!) but I found an author interview that is fun and enlightening:

interview with Stephanie Kuehnert

Here is an excerpt from the interview:

What has been the biggest surprise or misconception that you've seen of being a published author now that you are one?

The biggest misconception is about money probably. Most writers aren't wealthy superstars like Stephen King. Most of us can't even make a living off our writing and have to work other jobs, which sucks when all you want to do is write. I think if you broke it down, I probably made about fifty cents an hour for writing my book! So its a good thing that I do it for the love of the story and don't care about getting rich. Though being able to write full time would be my dream come true!

5) What writing advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Read, read, read!!! I know everyone tells you that but it is true. Also you can't write by yourself and become a good writer. You need feedback. I wrote without feedback for about 5 years and I sucked. Seriously. Then I went to school and made all kinds of writing friends and got feedback from teachers and my writing really improved! I'm not saying everyone should go to school for creative writing, but find some writers in your community or online and exchange work. I still do it with my trusted readers!

art inspired by India

2011-01-28T15:57:00.000-08:00

It is fun to be drawing again! I decided a while back that I wanted to draw things inspired by my India trip - landscapes of India, stories of India, etc.

I am not a very fabulous artist, so to make it easier on myself, and make it more fun and less frustrating, I decided to do an art style inspired by the simple folk paintings of ancient India. Another reason I decided to do art in that style is just because I like it.

Kangra style, aka pahari, came from the hills of Northern India. Famous artists who worked for kings would go into the hills (I think during Muslim reign, they left?) and became inspired by the folk art that focused on country landscapes. So they did a lot of paintings of Lord Krishna that had a focus on detailed landscapes, like this:

And then in Rajasthan there was a different style art (warning there is some er, nakedness here but that is not what I am imitating; I am imitating the style, specifically the hair):

So, I decided to start by illustrating a scene from "Srimad Bhagavatam", where the cowherd maidens (gopis) are enchanted by the sound of Krishna's flute one night, and so dropping everything, they go to Krishna. Even cooking, cleaning, or in some cases decorating themselves, they leave. So I have made this gopi with her makeup smudged, her hair in disarray, one earring on, and a dazed expression.

In black and white:
link

And in color:
link

waiting

2011-01-25T18:56:00.001-08:00

I am waiting for responses from publications that I sent writing to.

Well, I'm not "waiting" yet; I just sent them, the other day.

It was interesting. I had to research how to write a good cover letter for writing submissions, before that I spent time looking up magazines and reading their previously published work, and then I had to format my story (a flash fiction piece) and poems as the publications requested.

It took a surprisingly long time to write a cover letter and do formatting. But now that I've finally sent some writing out, it feels good.

Wish me luck!

The Internet Book Database

2010-12-27T20:42:00.000-08:00

Have you ever gone to the Internet Movie Database (IMDB) and wished, as I have, that there were a site like it for books? A place where you can discuss, research, and discover authors and books from olden times to modern times?

Well, I've just found out that there IS such a site! It's called the Internet Book Database. It's not as extensive or pleasing to the eye as IMDB, but nevertheless it does exist.

Check it out! Here:

The Internet Book Database (IBDB)

Story - "Wallflower"

2010-12-27T20:40:00.000-08:00

I recently read this fantastic short story while looking at literary magazines (trying to decide where to submit). It's short and innovative, do check it out! Click here:

story link

AugNoWriMo

2010-08-29T14:42:00.000-07:00

For those who have heard of NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - well, now there is a spinoff, AugNoWriMo!

AugNoWriMo, as far as I can tell, is exactly the same as National Novel Writing Month, except instead of that month being busy and hectic November, it is sweet summer August!

Unfortunately August is nearly over, so I know I'm posting this late, but I've just discovered it:

AugNoWriMo

Things every writer should know:

2010-08-25T21:36:00.001-07:00

Here are a few grammatical tips in a great article. This article can ensure that you speak and write these commonly misused words and phrases properly.

article link

Characters + Plot - article

2010-08-18T13:37:00.001-07:00

I have been getting newsletter from this author, Shery Arieta-Russ, for a long time. Sometimes her tips seem pretty obvious to me, but sometimes they really do make me think.

Here is one topic of hers that made me think: "Making your plot and characters work together."

I have been thinking about this as I attempt to finish a rough draft of one of my novels. And, in the backburner of my mind, is my completed rough draft of my other novel. When I read this article, I realized that really, the main problem with that novel is that while the characters are very strong, the plot is weak, and the two do not work together very well sometimes. In contrast, the novel I'm working on right now has a pretty good balance in the rough draft so far.

Here is Arieta-Russ' complete article on this topic of making characters and plot flow together:

article link

bit by bit

2010-06-29T21:48:00.000-07:00

I only wrote two pages of my story (er, novel) today, and that took me about an hour. Nevertheless, I am just happy to have gotten some writing accomplished today. I have not been keeping to my schedule of writing for an hour and a half each day; this disappoints me. So, even a little writing today, I am relieved to have done. It feels good!

More hopefully will be accomplished tomorrow. :)

24 hour writing contest

2010-06-22T22:11:00.000-07:00

Doesn't this sound fun? You have to write a story in 24 hours, and you don't get the prompt for it until 24 hours before it's due! The entry free for the contest is free, I believe, and the prizes range from money for 1st to 3rd place, to ebooks for "doors" and "honorable mentions."

Check it out! I think I might try it:

24 hour writing contest

Writing Environment

2010-06-22T16:49:00.000-07:00

Excerpt from article by Sherry Ma Belle Arietta-Russ:

"A car horn blares behind you, rock music clashes in the background, the dog barks, and an unidentified toy flies dangerously close to your head. Is it any wonder you can't write anything? The majority of creative writing tips emphasize the importance of environment, but many would-be authors put themselves in circumstances less than conducive to engaging their right brain. Virginia Woolf wrote...

Rest of article here: On the Importance of Proper Writing Environment

To find more about writer Sherry Ma Bella Arietta-Russ:
link

a little help

2010-05-21T21:23:00.000-07:00

If you know of/find any contests/literary magazines asking for flash fiction, poems, or short stories, PLEASE SEND THEM MY WAY (via email or comment here). I am looking to start submitting my writing ASAP.

Any and all help appreciated.

news

2010-05-12T22:46:00.000-07:00

I FINISHED MY THESIS!!

This news comes late. I actually finished it on Friday. It feels SO good to be done. Of course, I am not done working on those stories, but I am done with them as far as doing things with them for school goes.

I have to go to bed now; otherwise I would say more.

work work work

2010-05-03T23:28:00.001-07:00

I'm so busy working on my creative writing thesis right now...no time to post anything!

My thesis is due on Friday. Ack!!

Actually though, I think it is going pretty well. I have some flash fiction in it, one piece which my professor has said I should revise and definitely go for publication ASAP. She really likes it. It's very encouraging.

Another thing is, I had this interesting dream and made a short story of it. I've been meaning to write some dreams as short stories for a while now, so I'm glad I finally did it with one.

I am hoping to work on my novels soon, when school is over...and of course, during summer, also revise short stuff and send them out for publication!

Recent magazines I've been reading on writing:

"Poet's and Writer's Magazine" - super excellent, full of tips

"The Atlantic" - recently did a 2010 issue on writing (fiction, poetry). LOTS of great short stories and poems in here! Joyce Carol Oates, Paul Theroux, other famous writers, some newbies, great stuff.

Writer's Relief

2010-04-13T22:08:00.000-07:00

I would like to recommend a website on writing.

If you never, EVER go to ANY writing websites, or only want to visit an revisit ONE, go to this one. THIS IS IT:

www.writersrelief.com

I found this website via a scholarship help site; it is hosting a scholarship for writers.

Aside from that though, it is absolutely EXCELLENT. There are tips on getting published, getting agents, writing query letters, how much money you'll earn as a writer, writing in general, poetry - so many things!

I signed up for their free newsletter via email, and I am absolutely delighted with it. I promise that I am getting no money from them to say this; my delight is genuine. This website is the best writing website I have seen in years. Heck, it's the best writing website for a lot of way more experienced, and published, writers out there.

Check it out! Now, before you forget!

poe at tree and stuff

2010-04-07T02:03:00.001-07:00

If Edgar Allan Poe were standing by a tree, what might he be doing? Hmmm...

Anyway, here is some more poetry, ala Tsuu's request aaaand, I have nothing new to say! ack!

(OH WAIT. WAIT!! Let me recommend some excellent short stories you MUST read some day:
"The Bear Came Over the Mountain" by Alice Munro - bit long, depressing, but lovely

"Circling Drain" by Amanda Davis - makes you think

"Sea Oak" by ? oh boy - really weird!!)

and now some poems:

Monsters of the Deep

In every rock does a monster lie groaning and bemoaning his fate asking why do I live and who gives me my daily bread and water is the taste of salt on my mouth like Lochness rising from the Scot depths I rise from the ocean a moss bedraggled fellow of lumbering gait whose only hobby is making seashell necklaces and whose only shelter is to blend in the rocks utterly trepidation emasculation every rock has a story

Observations on a Sunny Day

A tendril stream of bulbous hearts
Swings beyond mango pies
Into company of three squat fellows
Diehard adventurers out on the sly

With a heart scarf across their beaks
Curling necks stretch to sun beams
Discussing the energy of otters
Waves of the acorn turn to dust

A cypress woman flies above crags
Ancient crumbling castles whisper
And as the Moon laughs
They all go to rest

Bullets Fire Away

You lie awake and you
Green dream echoes osmosis
Yellow flowers reveal survival
When a cloud whispers do you listen?

Enemy lines carry oneness
You can’t see yourself
Sun slices melt into brick

Oh and unrelated, if you get depressed/sick of work/need some energizing/bored, check out this wild Bollywood song with a GREAT beat!:

Dil Se - 'chaiyya chaiyya' - just listen!

if you want subtitles

Some poetry

2010-03-12T16:33:00.000-08:00

I have some messing around to do with this new blog template...

Since I haven't posted in a while, I would like to share something; not something recent, unfortunately. ("Recent" has consisted of short story blips for creative writing thesis; still revising, and might publish it, so not putting it up here).

Tsuu requested poetry, so, here are a couple poems:

Excerpts

Though she wasn’t sure why she did it, she did it anyway
And he twisted his body around to look at the killer
Blood was everywhere, inches of a stain Titanic never sinking
Even though she wanted just a taste, the punishment was death
He had never suffered as much as he had today
Gave it all up just because of love, a leprechaun Excalibur preens
Lifted her off the ground and into the air where is apocalypse?
It was his last dawn and he couldn’t even enjoy it

Growing Up

That girl has a crack in her face
A gaping piece missing
From her forehead
If you look into that black
Line, what will you see?

"Flash What?"

2010-01-27T14:47:00.000-08:00

Wow, I haven't even posted anything in this blog for 2010 yet. Hrmmm...

Currently in my writing universe, I have been reading a book of "flash fiction," which comprises of short stories that are less than 1000 words.

The flash fiction collection I'm reading literally fell into my hands when I was working at the library the other day; someone returned it, I picked it up, and when I saw what it was I just had to look. Then I realized, ooh, maybe I could write some flash fiction for my college thesis in creative writing? (especially since I currently have the first 4-5 pages due Friday and am pulling up a blank).

So, check this out; it's a little article on flash fiction:

"Flash What?" article

New paths and discovering "Steampunk"

2009-12-29T17:42:00.000-08:00

Currently writing: Phen and Emna's story

For the time being, I am taking a break from the frustrations of revising my story, "Maugre." (Still trying to convince myself that I'm not a quitter. Feel like a bit of one, but it was just too frustrating!)

After years of it being on hiatus, I have started working on Phen and Emna's story again. What I actually did was I sat down and read through the entire thing. Took me about a week, because I was doing other things. Read through 200-something pages of single-spaced text. Some of it was bad, cringe-worthy stuff, especially towards the beginning. But it gets better.

Since I actually wrote an outline for Phen and Emna's story, the plot actually works, unlike the spontaneous, outline-less story that is "Maugre."

You know? This blog isn't very welcoming for people who don't know me. I always talk about my stories, some of which I post pieces of, other which I don't. So new visitors never have a context with which to view my posts, unless they are already familiar with me, my blog, or my stories.

It's a shame, really.

Perhaps I should try to make this blog more visitor-welcoming, and then get more readers.

I do post general things sometimes, though, such as articles on writing.

Anyway, back to my first topic...My plan, while I am finishing the draft of Phen and Emna's stories, is to send at least a few chapters to some friends and relatives. Hopefully they will be willing to critique it for me. That way when I am done with Phen and Emna's story draft, I will have TWO books to revise.

It will be up to me to decide then to revise Phen and Emna's story, or go back to "Maugre." We shall see if my break helps me get a fresh perspective on it.

OH! I almost forgot. I wanted to tell you about Steampunk. According to Wikipedia, as you will see if you click that link, it is "a subgenre of fantasy and speculative fiction...denoting works set in an era where steam power is still widely used - usually in the 19th century and often Victorian-era England - but with prominent elements of either science fiction or fantasy."

I just recently discovered steampunk. I plan to read some of the more famous ones.
The reason it intrigues me is because I think that my story "Maugre" might fit into the genre of steampunk, with some tweaking. It is already set in Victorian-era (well, influenced by; it's not our world), and has many fantasy elements. The part I'm missing is the steam technology.

I might try to remake "Maugre" to fit more into the steampunk category. Or maybe that would be forcing it too much? I dunno. Tell me what you think.

It intrigued me so much to discover it, because all this while even I didn't know where "Maugre" fit in.

I can just see Julian standing in an an airship now...haha!

Even if it would take some scientific research (and it would; I would have to add steam technology into the story, if not more, once I figure out some of the 'basics' of steampunk storytelling)...It could be interesting.

"Steampunk" images:

art 1

art 2

SO frustrated!!

2009-12-13T22:22:00.000-08:00

I AM SO FRUSTRATED RIGHT NOW!! RGGHGHGH!! I JUST WANT TO SCREAM!!!

Re-plotting "Maugre" to make it work as a linear, sensible story is just SO HARD! It's like any ability I ever had to plot a story has flown straight out the window! And it's all because I never wrote a plot for "Maugre" in the first place, and just went "on the seat of my pants" and wrote anything to came to mind. Damn! I really wish I hadn't done that now. Going baack through and trying to decide what to keep and what to add, while keeping the same story messages and characters, is really, REALLY frikking hard!

I find myself reading basic "how to plot" stuff just to get some ideas. I'm sitting here trying to figure out details like, how Sebastian will travel through time, and then I decided, "Oh, just write the damn outline." So I started, but...it bombed and was crap, crap crap. So now I'm back to reading "how to plot" tips.

RRGGHHH! Even more frustrating, really, is the fact that I KNOW I CAN DO THIS! I was looking at old outlines for Phen and Emna's story, and sheesh! I have four themes all lined up and swimming along nicely, I have part 1 completed and part 2 running, and things come together nicely! It all makes sense, it falls into place, characters develop, plot moves along at a good clip and tension increases. It's wonderful!

So why the hell can't I do it again??? It's driving me craaaaazzzzy!

From this moment on, pray that I write an outline for EVERY STORY. I'm just not meant to be one of those "spontaneous" writers, 'cause having to revise "spontaneous" storymaking is impossible for me. I can't rewrite spontaneously and come up with something good. So, from now on, I am outlining from day one. DAY ONE.

*sigh*

another excerpt just for fun

2009-12-02T01:19:00.000-08:00

Couldn't resist posting another excerpt from revising "Maugre." This is from chapter 3 of my FIRST revision; I have only revised the first 6 chapters. BUT, that first revision was done without an outline (and is only the first 6 chapters). Now that I have figured out what I want to do with the story more to bring things together more cohesively, I plan to write an outline and start revision all over again, from chapter 1.

Here is a scene between Andrew, Julian, and Sebastian:

___________________________________________________________________________

Characters, Place Names, etc., (C) Rain-drop. No stealing!

Sebastian's point of view

A door slammed up above, and I heard a peal of laughter accompanied by a rush of stamping feet. Andrew whirled past as a streak of red hair and all but leapt upon Julian, wrapping his arms around him. Julian laughed, returning the embrace. I was surprised to see him hug the boy, as if they really were family. Here, finally, was the affectionate side of Julian. Their joy was contagious, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Julian then gently put Andrew back on his feet. He ruffled the boy’s hair, asking, “Have you taken your medicine today, or has Maggie been careless? What did you think of dinner today, Andrew?”
The boy nodded his head vigorously, “It was good! Maggie’s not doing anything wrong. I took all that ugh medicine earlier.”
Andrew turned his inquisitive gaze on me and then looked back at Julian, remarking, “I see the witch is out and about today, I wonder what he’s up to?”
“Don’t say ‘the witch,’ Andrew, that’s rude. He has a name, and he’s standing right there. As for ‘up to,’ I wouldn’t put more ideas in his head.” Julian looked straight at me when he said this last comment, smirking.
I smiled back, surprised to see Julian’s mood so quickly changed just by Andrew’s presence. It felt good to get a look of approval from Julian. I shouldn’t enjoy that. Shouldn’t, shouldn’t! Why should I care what he thinks? Damn.
Andrew was quick to apologize to me, and when he grabbed my hand and Julian’s we followed him obediently into the library.
Immediately our hands were dropped and Andrew sped off down one of the aisles, only slowing his pace when Julian called out, “Don’t you dare break anything!”
When the boy returned, beaming, he squished onto the couch between me and Julian and laid his hands out on his lap. “Well, what should we do now?” he asked, turning to each of us.
No answer came, so the boy slid a deck of cards from his pocket like Rodney had, saying, “Chess is only two players, so this is it. I’m too tired now for anything else.” As he started dealing out cards Julian waved a hand to say the negative.
So Andrew and I sat down to play. He sat down on a cushion on the floor, and I stayed on the couch. As Andrew “hmm”ed over and arranged his cards, Julian scooted closer to me. Putting his arm on the couch behind me, he leaned in close, whispering in my ear, “I’ll help you cheat. Andrew doesn’t play like a gentleman, and you’re new at this.”
That feathery whisper made my heart beat a little faster and made me shiver. I felt, for once, thankful to be new at something, and relieved that apparently Julian was also not a gentleman.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Comments welcome. =)

yay!

2009-12-02T00:32:00.000-08:00

I have FINALLY figured out what I am doing with the plot of "Maugre." It's all coming together! I have figured out how I want Sebastian to travel through time, why, "when" he goes, all of that. Whew!

It's such a relief to have decided on things. Now I can do an outline and really get into rewriting!

"Mikey"

2009-11-16T22:32:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in this blog for so long. Argh! It's not that I haven't been writing. I have been writing little exercises for my writing class; some of them will be turned into short stories, other will remain just pieces, beginnings.

Here is one I plan to make into a short story sometime (I say sometime, and not now, because I have a different plan for a story I am going to start work on soon):

________________________________________________

All characters, town place names, etc. (C) Rain-drop (Inksplurge blogger)

They peeled around the corner. Mikey was out of breath. He didn't think had ever run so fast! Behind him a little ways was Norman, who had thought up this whole thing, and in front of him were Inky and Jim.

When Mikey whipped his head back for a glance he saw Norman puffing a step behind, but Old Tim was gaining on him fast! The old man had his shot fun waving inthe air and was hollering "Trespassers!" as loud as he could. With the City Hall parade going on in downtown Wolverton Square, there was no one to hear Old Tim up here in the hills.

Thankfully! Mikey didn't want to have to explain to his parents, or the other ninth graders, or Jim's pretty sister Jody, that they'd been looking for ghosts on Old Tim's property.

The dry grass tickled Mikey's ankles as he ran. Inky and Jim leapt the fence and stood waiting for Mikey and Norman.

"Come on!" their tattooed friend shouted. "You can do it!"

Mikey looked over at his huffing blonde friend. Their eyes met. Could they do it? Mikey was no cross-country track and hurdler team member like Jim. Norman wasn't on any sports team. And if they missed this jump, they were goners, 'cause Old Tim had good aim.

They jumped. As he flew through the air, Mikey could have sworn he saw a wispy, bluish figure waving at him from Norman's other side. What?

_______________________________________________________

Please tell me what you think! =) Thanks for reading!

Just an excerpt

2009-08-12T23:53:00.000-07:00

Excerpt from revised "Maugre" chapter 2 (just to post something, anything):

_____________________________________________________

All work, characters, (C) Rain-drop. No stealing!

Julian's Point of view

“Do you always drink before you go to bed? I’ve heard it’s a habit that pays back what it’s worth tenfold.”
Damn him! I whirled around to search through the shadows. My hand shook a little around my glass, and I steadied it. There were no moments alone, when you had a witch in your house that snuck around like a damn cat.
There. A pair of eyes glinted out from near the window on my left. Sebastian had all of his lanky youth somehow scrunched up on one of the loveseats next to the harp.
I finished the glass and set it back down on the table. Why was he up at this hour? Did he have nightmares that woke him up, too? I wouldn’t doubt it. A man who was hunted had every reason not to sleep well.
“I’ll do what I like in my own house, thank you very much, and remind you not to judge something you haven’t even tried.”
Sebastian even moved like a cat when he wasn’t sneaking, sliding easily somehow from his scrunch on the chair and sidling to stand in front of me. He smiled, and I could see a laugh in his eyes. He liked irritating me. I watched as his finger reached out to swirl around the rim of my empty glass, circling around and around to create a high-pitched ringing sound.
“But I have tried it,” he said.
When I couldn’t bear the ringing sound anymore I snatched his hand from the glass, pushing it back to lie across his chest. His smile had a boyish edge to it, teasing. It was ridiculous. He was a witch, but somehow he was like a boy, too, with his joking. Sebastian shook his head a little to get the stray curls from his eyes, and tucked the strands back behind his ear. I glimpsed a silver flash of an earring.
Enough of that look he was giving me. He was still laughing at how easy I was to bother right now, but deep in those eyes was also some sort of question. Trying to wrench the mystery out of me again? Well, I wasn’t going to give.
“Why are you up at this hour?” I asked as he took the seat across from me.
“I couldn’t sleep. Is there a way onto the roof?”
“Yes. Want me to show you? I could use a smoke, anyway.”
He rolled his eyes, when I looked back to see how he would react to that. A witch, who thoroughly disapproved of any sort of mind-altering substances; I suppose he didn’t need them. Fine then.
The door to the roof was located on the third floor. It opened up to a round little room – part of one of the corner-towers of the mansion – and a ladder led up to a trapdoor. I pushed the door up with a grunt, letting Sebastian find his own way in the dark. If he was like a cat, he could see for himself and didn’t need my help.
The roof wasn’t much to look at, besides a great expanse of grey tiles. The only flat part was a little corner that took up about a fourth of the roof, on the right-hand side of the front of the mansion. An old bench sat there, with a tray of old ashes and a matchbox.
Sebastian sat down next to me and watched as I lit up. I leaned back, watching the smoke drift up to haze over the stars in a mist. From here, you could see the orchards, and the drive, and beyond my gates, the city lights. Streetlamp lines gave way to flashing tavern haloes of light and cathouses, late-night parties, the flickering orange of yet another witch hunt, and a few anonymous yellow dots. The trees of the city were dark, smudgy blotches amidst the light. The scent of the factory smoke settling in the night was a bitter tang in the nose and an acrid taste on the tongue. We could hear the clatter of coach wheels in the distance, and the occasional yowling cat. Otherwise, Eastern Hale was quiet. Quiet and structured, prim and proper. You had to go further west to get the hubbub.
“Very relaxing,” Sebastian remarked.
“You like it?”
He nodded.
“Good. Me too.”
I looked at him from across the bench. He sat all wrapped up in his coat over a pair of night flannel pants. Beneath the coat he was shirtless, and I was surprised to see a cross dangling on a chain around his neck. He was a little scrawny, with bony shoulders that the patchy coat only somewhat disguised. Aside from the scrawniness though, he was healthy, with a certain trimness and grace to his frame. I was intrigued by the wildness that he possessed, the dangerous charm in his crooked, rare smile and a power roaring in his eyes which would leak out in odd moments before shutting itself up again.

~end excerpt

______________________________________________

I wish I could illustrate the whole story, and show you what they look like in my head...it's a running movie in my mind.

woohoo!

2009-07-29T00:09:00.000-07:00

I really like this new blog template.:D Yay! It makes me happy. It is so pretty. I haven't fixed it alll up yet (some links are small, some of the spacing is bit too close for my liking). But I love the color palette, the quote, and especially the picture. Thanks go to joy-deprived (who has given me much joy!)

Writing is going well. :) whee!

Poem

2009-07-13T17:11:00.000-07:00

I am stuck. I don't know what to write for revising the next chapter of "Maugre." I have to speed up the plot. Ugh.

I just want to make something, but everything I make, I don't really like, and when I itch to write, I just don't know what to write. Grr.

"Poem"

by Rain-drop

A peeling pear
Scrapes
Across a lone highway
Letters of maps swallowed in breeze
Coughing wheeze of trapped box
Underneath desk life stillness
Dead flies sit on white pavement
Yellow
Rust another day

A discussion on "how to" in writing

2009-05-20T23:06:00.000-07:00

I know that not a lot of writers out there are into the idea of "how to" and books that tell you "how to write." Writing is something very unique to each writer, I think, just as each of us are varied, so the stories we read are varied. Each writers brings to his or her story his or her own experience.

Sure, no story is original, but writers, we put ourselves into our stories. We bring some realism into our stories, even though they may be fiction, even though we never may have driven a spaceship or conducted an arm of orcs or flown on a chariot through the sky or drank human blood. Even though our characters are experiecing things we never will - we are still, somehow, some way, in our stories.

Recently I was talking to a friend about a story of mine, and how I wanted to change a particular character - bring him out of his shell - because people in my critique group were saying, 'he's not human enough.' and 'I don't really like him.' and 'I feel we need more from him.'

My friend's response? "DON'T change your character! He is who he is!"

I took my friend's point and my writing critique group's points and realized, well, what I could see myself doing and wanted to do was, bring more of the character into the story, put more of his thoughts in there so that readers could relate to him more. I haven't gotten feedback yet on that chapter, but - hopefully it worked!

Also, my friend and I were discussing how, when a story really gets going, you feel like the characters are speaking to you, and/or you become your characters. I can relate to that. When I sit down to write a chapter in a character's point of view, I am not really "me" anymore. I am that character.

Anyway, all of this might sound really pretentious and "artsy" and whatever. It's all a prelude to me saying, I wanted to post a little advice from another writer. Holly Isle's website has been very helpful to me over the years; she is both encouraging and instills a sense of excitement and determination to "rough it out" into the aspiring writer who reads her articles.

So I present to you, "How to Revise a Novel": here.

What do you think? Do you like it? What do you think of "how to"s in writing? What is your revising method?

Poem - "My Father"

2009-05-01T20:03:00.000-07:00

My Father

A man who lived on a hill once lived in a large house
In Alabama he was brought up with the sounds of piano
From there he was in a great bus dancing and building
Worshippers worshipped worshipable, warriors for
God, lions in the face of adversity, lambs at home

A man who danced in India swayed to a New Age tune
Met a woman and hiked and hiked more and met another woman
A child was born bright light little faerie girl dress twirl
The man was banished and he left but he kept his little girl in sight
And in the night some nights he would wonder if she missed him

A man who worked very hard, worked for the message from his heart
He met and he made friends and he served the word of God
He healed, bringing serenity, spreading it to those he loved
And from above, watched by a serene angel of a man
And from within his heart was a cry – help them! Help others.

A man who worked to heal the world, to give love and peace
While visiting his girl, his girl a growing woman, a writer
Writing her pieces as he wrote peace into people’s hearts with words
Wrote peace into their hearts with words and sincerity and medicine
Doses of blessings given to him he passed to every accepting hand

A man who walked through the woods, who walked forever
Who walked in the hills and mountains and alongside streams
Bringing his daughter to places of beauty, sharing and caring
His eyes a brilliant blue looking out to the universe, seeking
He found many hearts of kindness, and laughed with them

A man who cared for his mother, cared for a wise strong woman
He gave her blessings from the holy land, stepped onto holy land with her
Together they lived with health, their wealth made of the love from hearts
He spread his message of healing, alone and brave, he spread healing
Healing torn hearts, healing broken bodies, he never stopped giving

A man who fell one day, who fell on a gravel walkway, lost and alone
He was stricken with sickness, stricken with a power too great even for him
Stricken and unable to walk in the forests anymore, unable to heal himself
He had lost the ability to do his work, lost, but the love he gave lived on
His daughter loved him, she loves him, and his healing remains in others hearts

A man who passed away, he was a father, he was a healer, he was a good man
Giving to others he thought little of himself, he only wanted to share and care
They gathered together for him, loving him, remembering his goodness
His ashes in an urn, brought soon to the holy lands, brought by his daughter
There his soul can obtain peace and peace and love remain in his daughter’s heart.

Reading and writing

2009-04-29T21:53:00.000-07:00

Poetry, and more poetry, and more poetry...and I don't even understand the stuff I write half the time lately! haha. I used to, it used to spring out of certain emotions, but often nowadays I start before I know what I'm writing about. It's interesting. Different. I like it. I might even try and publish a poetry book one of these days.

But of course, I always like writing my stories. :) Revising "Maugre" is fun. It really is. There is more planning, and a lot of adding in stuff to make the pace slower and make stuff make more sense. Julian is still Julian though, and Sebastian is still Sebastian. Andrew and other characters, are being more utilized and important. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the story's vampire...

I've been reading Anne Rice, but this does not help me, because the vampire in my story is a bit of a villain. And Rice's vampires, you sympathize with them. So...the reading is just for fun, really. And no matter how much vampire research I may do, I have to decide how this vampire character of mine is emotionally. It's up to me.

Typing "the end"...wow.

2009-04-02T00:40:00.000-07:00

aaaaaaaah! I can't believe this!

I finished! I'm done! I have officially typed the words 'The End' on "Maugre"!! It's so exciting. I haven't finished a novel-length story, or anything I could call a book, in years. The last time I finished one was around...8 years ago?...when I was 12 or so, when my writing was a lot worse, haha. Soo...being at the end of something now, is super exciting!

In weird font, it runs at about 415 pages. But in regular font, I think that's more around 200 pages.

I can't believe it's done. Well, now I have to revise, haha. But the first draft is all done! Woohoooo!! :D :D

Drawing of Sebastian

2009-03-25T13:40:00.000-07:00

I've been drawing! :D Took me a while to start one I liked (I get discouraged and give up very easily with drawing...).

So, here's a concept drawing (I won't say 'sketch', because it took me forever and it's detailed) of Sebastian from "Maugre" :

What I mean by 'concept' is, I'm experimenting with drawing this character and the end product might not be how the character looks in my head. It's difficult to transport what I describe in my writing into a sketch.

This drawing also really helped me practice on long, curly hair. I looked at Julia Robert's hair, and Russell Crowe. I don't like the face much; it's intense, which is good, but I imagine Sebastian with a gentler, more youthful face. I do like the eyes.

I'm really excited about it, though. I've been trying to draw Sebastian forever with no success (mostly because of the darn hair!) and finally have one of him! :D

Please tell me what you think.

woo hoo!

2009-03-18T00:28:00.000-07:00

Okay so I lied, I'm not done writing "Maugre" yet. Buut, I am very close. Midterms put a dent in my writing, plus revising chapter 2 did as well, but now I am inching towards the close. Aahhh!

Other than that...well, writing is fun. That's all I have to say. One of my classes was cancelled today, so I got to write....=3 it was wonderful!

The end?!

2009-02-27T22:37:00.001-08:00

Oh I feel like I could burst with excitement and joy and shoulder-tension and...and...laughter! I could scream!

...I think, I think, I am pages, not chapters, but pages away, from the end of "Maugre."

It's right by the close. It's like, by the epilogue sortof, right now. The fear and excitement and everything culminated...and now, a tiny bit, and then the end.

O_O !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Do you realize what this means?!?! I will be DONE with a novel! DONE! I haven't finished a novel-length story in YEARS!!!!!

OH MY GOD!!

World-building

2009-02-22T14:32:00.000-08:00

Currently in the writing world, I am madly world-building for "Maugre." :)

I am a bit behind, so I think this next critique I will only have a revised chapter to submit, and not chapter 1 and 2, because it's taking me a long time to world-build. Homework is getting in the way.

It IS fun though! I am using P.C. Wrede's questions to help me out again, and her questions are superb. If you ever want to build a world, look up her world-building questions.

I could just get straight to revising chapter 1, and use the info I have made up os far to do it, and finish world-building later. But worldbuilding is fun, and I sortof feel I should complete it before moving on to chapter revision.

Also, I want to draw a map for "Maugre." :)

I think, I've finally decided to set it in a different world altogether. Yay, setting!

Poem "W/hole"

2009-02-08T20:53:00.000-08:00

This is another poem I wrote for class. But this one feels different. It's about my grief. It churned out of me and felt painful and breathless; I read it aloud as I wrote and it was intense. By the time I was done, I was gasping for breath. I think this poem, I dunno, means more. It feels more important.

What is a word for the hole
That is created when something is lost?
Like a volcanic chasm of
Destruction, a dance of dizzying
Height above a meadow of
Death and trees dead trees and

Ashes strewn in water washing
Away some part of you wait wait
Hold up bring him back that
Was a mistake no do-overs
Are allowed so now you have
The hole this hole you can't
Decorate it or cover it or make it
Filled up it's just there sitting and

It screams at you and you you
Can't live can't die you can't fly
Or destroy the hole because now the
Hole is you you are me and he and

Now we can't be but there
Are other ways you just
You must open eyes, must see
That there is something left
Around the hole so

Though not whole with
That hole created/destroyed
In you part of you
You can still go on
Because you are not gone

Just some part that can
Never be replaced so
Make space for more
More you more you you
Can go on go on so go on you

Comments welcome. :)

Wordles

2009-02-08T02:16:00.000-08:00

I'd like to thank Elysabeth for introducing me to Wordle.

My worldles:

1

2

3

4

Revising

2009-02-06T23:34:00.000-08:00

So, the newest development in my writing world is:

Just Wednesday, I met with my small (2 other persons) critique group. These two girls were in Young Adult Fiction writing with me, and we've all decided to get together every month to critique each other's works.

One of them is continuing her YA novel from our class, another is starting a new novel, and I'm submitting "Maugre."

Sometimes when I am writing "Maugre," I know there are things that come up that will have to be changed later. But I don't think about changing them then and there, because I'm in the flow of writing the story.

Now, when chapter 1 of "Maugre" was critiqued by these two girls, so many discrepancies are being put into the light. I knew that "Maugre" would need heavy, heavy revision, but...wow! When they talked to me on Wednesday...wow! So much needs to be changed.

Not the story itself, and they enjoy the characters, but the way in which I tell it. There are lots of confusing bits; mostly because, since the setting in "Maugre" is so underdeveloped, things need to be explained more; the politics and government (which is very important for the witches vs. government part of the story), the where, the when - all of that needs to be developed.

So basically, all the familiarizing I have done with Julian and Sebastian, now I have to make up WHERE they are, and familiarize myself with that world and how it works. It's an odd mix of some Victorian society things, with the anti-witch mentality, and sortof modern dialogue. So, developing a world in which to set all these characters and stuff is a bit daunting. Especially since, I remember how much work went into world-building Phen and Emna's story. So much! Then again, I think "Maugre" will require less, because it isn't in the high-fantasy genre.

A couple interesting points brought up were that 1) the pace of "Maugre" isn't too slow (at least not in chapter 1) as I thought, but too fast. Interesting. Also, and this is something I only realized when they told me, I list a lot of stuff, i.e. a lot of the part where Sebastian explores Julian's manor, instead of allowing readers to experience with him.

So, I have a lot of work ahead of me in the next two weeks. On the 18th, I'll be sending them my revised chapter 1.

I'm a little scared, but also, what an adventure this will be! I'll finally get to figure out so much stuff in "Maugre" that I hadn't yet figured out!

It does make me a little nervous, though, because I'm still working on "Maugre." I can't very well go through all the chapters to revise them to fit the first, when I'm trying to finish the whole story. So, I think I'll have to let my critique group know this, so that discrepancies between revised chapter 1 and later chapters will not be even more confusing.

I didn't realize how confusing it was. But, it's all there in my head, they said, and all they have is what is put on paper in chapter 1, and they need more.

It's all very thought-provoking, scary, and exciting.

Wish me luck!

Good article

2009-02-02T20:37:00.000-08:00

"Become a Better Writer"

Pretty basic stuff, but really, sometimes we forget this stuff. And for anyone starting out, these are great tips. It's a really great reminder to read it; check it out!

"Unborn"

2009-01-27T23:31:00.000-08:00

Written for poetry workshop class:

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
NO STEALING ALLOWED. Work (c) Rain-drop!

There's a dark silent sound
Deep beneath the moon
Honey-coated wings
Leading unto
Turbulent ocean waves

Therein lies a man
Who wears a feather cape
Awaiting sunrise
The ruddy apricot
Of a new life

Like a soft-spoken tambourine
A song calls him, closer
To the whispering light
To endless joy

Beneath the cliff face
Slices of gold
Remain with the sound
Of the call for aid

He stands up in answer
Rising in sunlight
Unfolding soft glass
Unborn

Almost done

2009-01-12T23:19:00.000-08:00

Okay, this is so strange...

I am coming so close to the end of "Maugre." So much less of the story lies before me. The problem is, I had an ending, but now I'm not sure I like the ending anymore.

So although I have some idea of what I want to happen next, it's not a lot. It's scary, to not really know. This is silly to be scared, because I have never planned "Maugre" before (although I have taken notes here and there), so why be scared now?

I can feel how close it is. I'm sortof sitting there going, "hmm, what to write?"

Like...there isn't as much to say anymore! Emotional wounds are getting healed, people are coming together. It's interesting...now, how to lead all these characters to their right ends?

I have one image in my head, that I want to get to, but I'm not sure how to get there. I can't just slap it on right now, because the characters aren't ready yet, it's not time yet. So, I have to figure what happens in the in-between part.

I can't believe I'm almost done! :D

Help! Sharing writing fears

2009-01-09T23:38:00.000-08:00

I am still working on "Maugre" for the Jan. 11th thing. I don't have to have it done by then, but that day is when I am supposed to have something to submit to my friendly writing critique group. :)

:( ARGH! I don't know what to do! I want to revise "Maugre" and I think it would be a huge help if I had these 3 people in my group read over it. BUT...I'm scared! So scared! I'm scared that no one will like or understand "Maugre" like I do. No one will be willing to read it, like Syama or Elysabeth. Syama and Elysabeth, you guys are very understanding, and, I don't know...I feel you can stand against my weirdnesses presented in Maugre, haha.

But these people in my critique group, I dunno. They're pretty open. I'm not even worrying about the vampires, or the gay relationship, or the first-person pov (okay, maybe a little bit, haha). What I'm worried about is how convoluted and disorganized the Maugre draft IS right now. HOW can I hand that THING into people's hands?!

They'll laugh at me! It's in such huge rough-draft-ness quality that I really scared about letting people read it. People who don't know me or care for me really well, or at least, not as much as Syama and Elysabeth do. ( :) heehee).

But at the same time, I really, really need it to be looked over, so that I can fix the elements in "Maugre" that make it...very disorganized and at times nonsensical to everyone but me.

But I'm afraid! Afraid! Afraid!

...Did I mention, afraid?

Help!

P.S. I'm working on a Maugre drawing. Full-body people. With a background. *_*

Zoomaloom

2009-01-01T22:39:00.000-08:00

A few friends of mine from school are getting a novel-writing group together. They were my classmates back in Advanced Fiction for Young Adults; we read each others' in-progress YA novels. Now we are going to get a group together next semester. I have to have something by January 11th! It's nice to have a deadline.

I told them how, I am working on another novel right now ("Maugre") and they said that's fine, to share it. So if I finish the thing (first rough draft!) by the 11th, then I can share it with them and they can help me revise! Wow! :)

...Still meaning to draw, draw, draw! Arrrgh. Must. Do.

Personal writing style tips

2008-12-24T00:06:00.000-08:00

Something I would like to share:

link

Tell me what you think!

Happy poem

2008-12-12T00:45:00.000-08:00

This is a happy poem, that my main character, India, wrote in my 40-page fiction assignment.

It makes me happy, because it's her poem she writes when she starts healing from her own grief in her story.

:)

Pendulum pendulum
endlessly shaking, waking
waking the prisoner.

He walks, he drifts,
his eyes lift from the mist
and meet the sun that has
suddenly come into
being.

Being new, being alive
he walks into the horizon
Steps across a field
of yellow lights
No anger, no fright
from the night anymore
His heart is not sore
Nor do his hands
tremble in rage, in
sustenance lost

He is found, he is
a cacophony of melodies
that stutter and sink
and slide into a new
falling, a water falling
of jubilant cries
and sighs and
no more lies.

Speak, shout, leap
through the air like
the porpoise, the gazelle
away from grief, from hell
from the need to need
nothing at all.

Now it is fall
and the golden leaves
glitter, sparkle, lie
in warm beds on the ground
whispering, whispering of
the love and light
that they have
received.

Emily Dickinson again

2008-12-06T21:54:00.000-08:00

She continues to touch my heart and make me think.

XXXVI

I lost a world the other day.
Has anybody found?
You ’ll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound.

A rich man might not notice it;
Yet to my frugal eye
Of more esteem than ducats.
Oh, find it, sir, for me!

XLVIII

Father, I bring thee not myself,—
That were the little load;
I bring thee the imperial heart
I had not strength to hold.

The heart I cherished in my own
Till mine too heavy grew,
Yet strangest, heavier since it went,
Is it too large for you?

Please see my previous 2 posts.

Inchy inchy

2008-12-06T01:07:00.000-08:00

Woohoo! I finished chapter 19 (!) of "Maugre"!

In celebration, a little scene:

________________________________________________

Character, story, etc. (c) Rain-drop. No stealing!!

A scene between Julian and his charge, Andrew

Julian's POV***

“When is Sebastian’s birthday, Julian?”
The bark of the apple tree was rough through the thin cotton of my shirt, but I leaned back against one anyway, sliding to sit on a root.
“I don’t know.”
There were a lot of things that I didn’t know about Sebastian. I didn’t know his birthday, or anything about his family, or how he had joined the Witch Force and met Bethika, Sophie, and others. It seemed a little wrong to be so attached to someone and not know even a little about their past. He knew about my past. But the fact that he knew about me and I didn’t about him didn’t make me feel indignant; I only felt a little sad.
Sebastian didn’t have the luxury of being able to talk to people about these things. I chose not to, but I felt that Sebastian, were he to feel safe about it, would choose to talk to someone about his past. Maybe that person could be me.
After the encounter with thugs, when I had first touched him to test for wounds, he had been surprised at my touch. He had said that usually, no one dared touch him, and the feeling was an alien thing he connected with his childhood. Of course, the members of the Witch Force as friends must have touched him, given him hugs and supportive shoulders and the like. Perhaps Sebastian’s unfamiliarity with touch was why he had reacted so strongly to my recent kiss and the touches of my fingers and tongue that had accompanied it.
I lay down next to Andrew in the grass and looked up at the sky. Where was Sebastian, now? Was the sky blue and cloudless wherever he was, or was it stormy?
“You miss him, too,” Andrew said quietly.
I closed my eyes. “Yes.”

_______________________________________

And so the story inches along. :) (In fact, it's 368 pages with weird font right now; 196 with Times New Roman, 394 double-spaced! Holy moly! Still not as long as Phen and Emna's story, but getting closer! Wow. Wooow.)

Arrggh! I still need to draw scenes from "Maugre"!

Multitasking

2008-12-01T22:03:00.000-08:00

The false shadow lies
trembling and wet
black crags redundant
upon its heavy brow.

Where is the wind?
Her day is dead
feathers still and
blood upon the
stones of the hearth.

He lies in waking
She stands still
in her death, a march
that is no march
with no breath with
no light
no
path

Strangulate the
soft intrepid feet
of onlookers and
audience, to
make way for
Catastrophe.

"May his darkness embrace me" by Princess of Shadows. Deviant Art.com

A little thing

2008-11-13T00:51:00.000-08:00

So, this little...thing...came up.

Prop 8. My mom and I were talking about the election last week, the other day, and prop 8 got into it 'cause I was asking her what she thought of the prop results. Basically, she voted yes on prop 8, on the gay marraige ban.

I'm one of those 'no' on prop 8 people. I mean, come on, I read male/male pairings sometimes...how could I support prop 8? To do so would be very hypocritical, I think, to be all "oohoohoo" in reading and then not apply that enthusiasm/support to real-life situations.

Of course, there's also the fact that I'm in the Bay Area, near San Francisco, and my college is very No on Prop 8. It supports gay marraige very much. I told my mom this, and she could sense my reticence about the matter, that I kind of, well, disagreed. I didn't make a big thing out of it because I didn't want some big conflict or point of contention, but...yeah.

She was telling me how in scripture, the scripture we read, it's wrong. I was like, "Really?" because I honestly haven't read that. But apparently, it is in some text somewhere. So...It's not a huge surprise. I mean, I figured as much. Like other religions, mine believes that procreation should be in order to raise children for God. So, if you are having non-procreational sex, it's bad. So I know I should think it's bad, too. I mean, I can't think of other points where I would ever disagree with my own scripture. Just thinking of this one point where I disagree, is kind of frightening. Like...I'm sinning, or something, aren't I? I am. Reading and writing that sort of thing is in the mode of passion, not the mode of goodness. So it's bad.

But what am I supposed to do? I can't just abandon this thing I've been into for years. I can't just start reading only stories with heterosexual couples in them. I can't just stop reading Harry/Draco or whatever...I'm sorry! I've been reading it for a long time, to tell the truth.

And "Maugre"...is this little brainchild of mine. I love Julian and Sebastian. I can't leave them. They were destined to fall in love, to be together. The whole story would be so different if they weren't a couple. It would be so much duller. In almost every event, their relationship is important. So to change that relationship is to drastically change the whole story.

I mean, sure, I don't have a TON of stuff happen between them in the story. But do you know how much drabbly stuff I write about them on the wayside? A lot. ALOT! A lot of extra stuff that only I read, that helps me create backstories or is just fun. So I have a very strongly established idea of them together as a couple, kissing and whatnot. And just now in the story, I have the pivotal "admitting love" sort of moment.

Anyway, it's very...awkward, all this, these thoughts. I feel really weird about it. Like I should be ashamed to be reading and writing gay couple stuff sometimes. But I'm not ashamed. I like it. It feels normal to me, to see it in stories. Of course, it's not the majority of what I read or write, but it IS something I indulge sometimes. And it's a big part of one of my stories, Maugre. So...yeah. Very weird situation.

So here I am, an adult, and one who likes honesty very much. But I also don't like upsetting my mother. And the thought that I'm sinning or something is certainly unnerving. Of course, I sin in other ways, too! But this one is one that is wholly under my control - I control what I read and write (other than school; today we read 18th century pornography! errggh). So I feel more guilty and responsible than I do about other sings I am comitting, and especially since this is one that would make my mom particularly unhappy.

I don't like disappointing her.

:( *sadpost* Frustrating.

See my previous, happy post! :D

Yaaay

2008-11-13T00:37:00.000-08:00

Aaaaah! I worked on Maugre today!! :D :D :D :D Aaaaahh! It felt so good to work on it!

Now I REALLY want to draw them! Certain scenes! oooohhh...

the "Maugre" drawings

2008-11-08T01:57:00.000-08:00

I was looking at old posts, and in response to a drawing of Julian, and the art nouveau sketches for my final painting project in the spring, Elysabeth mentioned a drawing that felt more like Julian and Sebastian, a "Kiss" one.

So, I think I have found this one. Also, I just wanted to put all the "Maugre" art I've posted on (all I've done for it, really) here, to keep it in one post in case I ever need to find it again.

The old manga-wannabe style one...the first one I did, I think.

I believe this is the "kiss" piece Elysabeths refers to. It's one of my favorites, I like how they came out, even if Julian is barely in the pic, haha. I'd like to draw them like this again...

The two art-nouveau-ish sketches for my final painting project (which I never uploaded, because it's a big canvas that I can't scan. Unfortunately this is the case with a lot of my college art projects - too big to scan!)

The most recent one, of Julian. I tried to do a similar one of Sebastian, but didn't like how the face was coming, so gave up. Some day...

So, there they are! :D All in one place, now. It makes me itch to draw them again, in an attempt to finalize a design for them, or just to have some fun...

Wishing

2008-11-08T01:30:00.000-08:00

I really want to work on "Maugre," but I've been doing homework-and-breaks and now I'm so tired that I must go to bed.

I wrote a little bit, and it feels so good that I want to write more. Ahhh...if only I could manage my homework time better, maybe I'd have more time to write. There is so much to do....I can't wait till Thanksgiving, when several big assignments will have passed.

...On another note, I went to this dance-and-music event today hosted by the Indian Muslim students on the campus. There were a couple very awesome poetry readings! It was inspiring. I am definitely going to try to get in a poetry workshop class next semester.

Concept for the door to Julian's Circle Garden in his back yard...isn't it pretty?

Current project

2008-10-30T16:20:00.000-07:00

Well, it appears that I make too many posts on this blog for people to keep up with! Haha, no, I don't mind. I like to look back over stuff.

It's finally RAINY! I should go outside and write some rain-inspired poetry or something. Ooh.

So right now, I am doing prep-work for a writing assignment. That is my current "project" (besides my woefully neglected outside-of-class stories). We have to write either 1 set of 40 pages, or 2 sets of 20 pages, and this is the last assignment for the class. It will basically last us all of November and a bit into December.

I decided to do 40 pages, and I really hope it won't end up being another in-the-works novel. In attempt to prevent this, I'm going to try to make it a "novella," a short 40-pager novel, instead.

My ideas for it were trickling in my head, and I had a few notes on it. I mixed those little ideas with a piece of poetry I got as a prompt for an assignment. And then I decided to use it for my 40 pages.

I won't post the 5 page assignment here, because it'd be a huge post. But let's just say a bit on it, I guess. I've got a teenage MC girl named India, who lives a rural country life. I'm not totally sure and on when/where it is yet, but I know that India lives with her mother and her 5 siblings. She has the (unwanted, frightening) power to see people's deaths, and sees her own mother's. That's my premise, kind of, in a couple sentences. I have India try to prevent and understand her visions of people's deaths, get shunned by her siblings, her mother may or may not survive the disease, and I have India with two friends, a neighbor boy named Bill, and a girl named Hazel (who might end up a sort of villain).

Anyway, that's me in the writing world right now.

Recommended Reading: "A Clockwork Muse." It helps you create a writing schedule! I am trying, but homework gets in my way...I need to try harder!

Emna's grief

2008-10-15T23:32:00.000-07:00

I'd like to post a follow-up to my post "Grief" two posts ago (but long ago posted).

I have decided that I will post this grief-driven excerpt, because...well, maybe you guys might have suggestions. Currently in life, I AM worried and sad, sometimes, so now I can relate more to this excerpt than when I originally wrote it.

Anyway, here 'tis. Emna mourns for her deceased sister.

____________________________________________________

Characters, names, etc. copyright Rain-drop. NO STEALING!!

It was my sister Marie-David, the twelve-year-old that I had lost and buried along an old roadside six years ago. She was the first innocent whom I had protected in my taken-up role as a warrior, and it was the failure to save her life that shocked through my system again, in more marginal amounts, each time I failed again.

Here before me once more was her small, thin form, with long black hair that dropped down to her waist in heavy waves. She had my mother’s grey eyes, and my father’s laughing mouth. Unlike my disapproving parents and three brothers, she had never stopped loving me.

I felt the tears pouring down my cheeks and made no move to stop them. What was this sword I held? What was it? It was fame, it was glory, it was power, and it was strength. But it was not love! Love I had lost for this symbol, this object that had become so close to my heart. Only she had accepted my heart’s wish to be a knight, and so had accompanied me on the way to the capitol. Why had I brought my sister with me on a dangerous journey? It had been because I was afraid of being alone and of being unloved. I had made my decision but not yet accepted fully the sacrifices that would come with it. That, I learned later.
“Marie…”

I threw my sword aside and leapt towards her. She did not lift her arms to embrace me. She did not smile. Those eyes were empty and dead. There was no life there. It was I who should feel empty, I who should be dead, without her. My child sister had fallen dead under my care. She had had no one to hold her close in her last moments. She had had no one to tell her, it was going to be all right. She had no one to murmur the prayers over her sweet face and kiss her forehead lovingly.

The sobs choked through me, ripped through my soul. I couldn’t stand up. I could only look into those dead, accusing eyes. For in their deadness they accused me as Marie my living sister never would have. Her form before me was punishment for my ultimate failure. Nothing I ever did could make up for that one moment of disloyalty.
“Marie….Marie…Please….”

I clasped her feet in my hands, gently slid my fingers up to grasp her cold ankles. To me, she was not a death specter. Marie-David herself stood before me, looked down into my eyes, and heard my pleas.

“Please…speak to me,” I gasped. I couldn’t breathe properly. Every sob shuddered through my body with the force of a mortal blow. I cursed myself for letting her die. How could I live like this? How could I have an ounce of happiness with this guilt in my heart? How had I ever let her go?
“PLEASE, Marie! Say something.”

I wanted her blessing. One word from her and I wouldn’t feel this cage of sadness closing in around me. It hurt. It hurt so much. I wanted to rip my face from my body, to rip my eyes from my head so I could not see her accusing gaze. But at the same time I wanted to look at her, because looking at her was like drinking from a fountain of life. She was my goddess, my salvation, and yet my inability to be true to her was my doom, my everlasting pain.
“MARIE! MARIE!”

My hands tugged at her worn green skirt. It was the same she had worn on that day. I forced my weak limbs to move up, and managed to heave my body to stand. Slowly, with trembling fingers, my gasping breath making the sweet curling tendrils of her hair shiver, I put my hands on her shoulders.
“Oh, Marie…” I cried, “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Can you understand me? Do you remember how much I love you?”

There was no answer from her. She wouldn’t close her eyes to show that she, too, felt my pain so much that it was a burning in my body. She wouldn’t look at me, anymore. Those eyes stared straight ahead. A wheezing rattle rolled through her body, and this sound coming from my sister frightened me so much that I felt near to fainting. My body could not handle all this pain. My heart was breaking.

Slowly, I wrapped my arms around my sister in a quiet embrace. I whispered her name over and over, and my tears soaked her slim shoulders. All the while, the coldness of her body reminded me that she was not to be mine. She was no one’s. The Lord Kron had taken her away, and there was no getting her back.

“Never…I…I never should have lived without you. It should have hurt too much,” I was speaking frantically, my words stumbling over each other.
“It did, it did hurt. Marie, Marie….l-let me show you. Please. Please. I…I can’t go on. How could I have hurt you? I hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me, Marie. Please. Forgive me…FORGIVE ME!”

She wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t speak. She hated me. Or she loved me so much, that she didn’t want to hear my cursing myself. That was how it really was. Her love was not bound up in her heart to be rationed out; it poured from her in showers. And she had given so much of it to me, and I could never return the gift. I was nothing, I was miserable. I was not equal, and I was not good enough. I was nothing.

“Nothing…” I whispered. My voice sounded like someone else’s. Who was I, anyway? I was just an older sister. I was just a girl, a girl who had failed to protect her child sister.

“Child…hmm, hmm,” I hummed an old lullaby tune, and stroked my sister’s hair softly.
“I am nothing….Marie…you won’t forgive me. Ah, you won’t!”

A last shuddering sob broke through me. I let go of her suddenly. Why hold what should never have been mine to care for?

Like a block thrown upon the ground, I strode away from her at a fast, uncontrolled pace. I did not know where my feet took me, only that it must be away, away from Marie, away from me. Away from everything, because I was nothing now, right? I should be dead, too.

The water was red and welcoming, red like blood. I closed my eyes and stepped into it, walking into the waves until my head was submerged. Then I opened my eyes, so I could watch the red.

I let my body float away towards death.

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Thoughts?

My thoughts on this can be viewed in my post entitled "Grief" two posts down from this one. Later I might think differently and edit this post (because really, this blog isn't just for sharing my writing, but for my own thinking about it and learning from it, too), but right now I have to go to bed.

Thanks for reading!

P.S. I WANT TO DRAW. Ah, when will I have time to??

P.P.S. Can someone comment on my July 08 posts? I am quite curious as to what people think of them...*feels pathetically comment-hungry*

Song for "Maugre"

2008-09-24T22:11:00.000-07:00

OH MY GOD. I'm having a freak out moment here. Aaaaahh! But it's a good one.

I just heard this song by 'Evanescence' whom I used to listen to, and it was my favorite song of theirs. And I just listend to and realized...holy s***! It works so perfect for "Maugre"! Oh my god!

Holy cats, I wish to bits there were people in real life who looked my characters. I would SO make a frikking music video with this song!! aaaahhh!

I know, I'm a fangirl for my own story...it's really arrogant. :p But I just can't help being excited about my story, and when I find music that suits it....*MAJOR SQUEE!!!* eee!

[This is a post that will probably only make sense to me, and I'll look back on it later and laugh, hahaha!]

The song:

"Hello" by Evanescence

Playground school bell rings again
Rain clouds come to play again
Has no one told you she's not breathing?
Hello I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to
Hello
Okay so, in my head...'has no one told you she's not breathing?' is a reference to Julian's fiancee that passed away (this isn't a huge spoiler, btw, it gets revealed fairly soon in the story). And the next line, 'I'm your mind giving you someone to talk to' is like Julian being all alone and isolating himself from others after her death, being so absorbed in his own head with no one to talk to...

If I smile and don't believe
Soon I know I'll wake from this dream
Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken
Hello I am the lie living for you so you can hide
Don't cry
The first and second lines, again, make me think of Julian mourning. 'Don't try to fix me I'm not broken' is how society thinks of him. They think he's crazy, they don't like him, they want him to be a certain proper way. The line "I'm the lie living for you so you can hide' is SO PERFECT for Sebastian and Julian! Julian is hiding Sebastian at his house, lying for Sebastian so Sebastian can hide! Don't cry totally makes me think of a scene I plan to write later where Julian is comforting Sebastian...see? see how the song works so well for this? it's crazy!

Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping
Hello I'm still here
All that's left of yesterday
The way I interpret this last stanza is like rebirth. Someone who thought they had nothing to live for and were sad for it, they are now alive again, instead of living life as if in a dream/in a state of sleep. Again, this makes me think of Julian - his love for Sebastian has woken him up, and as a result he can again be a little of what he once was, through love, regain a piece of what he shared with his fiancee. Regaining that old self a little - 'all that's left of yesterday.'

Anyway, I just had to post this so I would remember it. It's mind-bogglingly awesome to me. I never really thought any music suited "Maugre" before (whereas, for example, the "Princess Mononoke" soundtrack is perfect for Phen and Emna's story). So I'm so glad to have found a song!

Not that I was going crazy looking for a song, but the way this song so perfectly matches characters and situations in "Maugre"...just, wow. Wow. I am wowed. *squee* It makes me happy when little things make me think of my story stuff...

P.S. I recommend the song! Check it out here (the vid itself is blah; I'd say just listen to the song): song

On writing grief

2008-09-19T23:32:00.000-07:00

Whoo, I've been posting a lot here, lately! I feel sorry for anyone trying to keep up! Haha.

I am posting again, because I just had a thought, about writing. Today I sat down and decided to work on Phen and Emna's story again, after a month or so of not working on it. "Maugre" has been my focus lately, but I kind of am having a "What to write?" moment with it.

Hopefully, that can be easily remedied with a timed writing exercise.

Anyway, I had to do some rereading and note-taking/surveying for a bit, and then, it was surprisingly easy to slip back into a character, a point of view, and a story that I have not been writing for a long while.

It is so fulfilling to be with these characters again, with the mystical, with the insecurities, with the magical creatures and the variety of characters. Ahhh. :)

Anyway, my thought was - grief. Grief is tough to write! Maybe it's just me. I have been a lucky enough person to not have lost a lot. I have only had a couple pets pass away/disappear, and one close friend of the family pass away from cancer a few years back. That hit me hard, and yet, having to write a main character's mourning for her sister...it was tough for me to write it. I am still not sure I got the level of emotion and grief in there. I don't feel it is as powerful as it could be.

You would think anger would be hard to write, but when I write anger, I think of being very angry. I think of what it feels like, physically and emotionally, to be angry, or betrayed, or fed up, or whatever other side of anger I am looking at.

Grief, as something I have less experience with, or maybe just because grief is such a powerful, intense, poignant emotion, is tough to write.

I would put the slice of a grief-scene I just wrote, Emna mourning for her long-deceased sister, but...I'm embarassed, because I think it would be a more powerful scene.

So, I'm leaving it here. Ta!

"Death" piece

2008-09-17T23:04:00.000-07:00

I just churned this thing out of me in like an hour for writing class tomorrow...I still need to refine it, of course. Luckily, I've time to do that tomorrow.

For now, I'm just glad I got something! Whew. The assignment was to situate a character, a normal person, in reality, in a real geographical place, and then make something impossible happen.

You'd think it'd be easy to for me, since I write fantasy a lot. But I'm used to having unnatural, impossible characters that have impossible, magical things happen to them. So, I had to make up something entirely new for this, and make it quick!

I plan to add more emotion, more sensory details, and more urgency to certain parts of this later on. Suggestions welcome!

Good experience for me. :) Here's the result. It's long, sorry:

_____________________________________________________

All characters, etc. property of Rain-drop. (c). No stealing!!

What is death?
It was an easy question, one I would usually answer with confidence. But that was until recently, when I died.

The swimming hole had never been dangerous before. In the hot California heat of the San Joaquin Valley, it was a place of refuge for me and tons of other people during the summer. The place was called ‘the Toilet Bowl’ because of its many whirlpools. Okay, so it was a little dangerous – if a little kid fell in one and didn’t prove strong enough, he might get sucked in. The rushing waters of Three Rivers, California were known to have swallowed a few victims.

But I didn’t consider myself in danger, ever. People would say, “If it’s your first cliff dive, go ask Thomas, he’s great in the water.” They were right. I was good. I was the best diver, and one of the better swimmers. It came from years of being dared to swim across these waters. ‘Practice makes perfect’ as the saying goes.

So I never thought that when I died, I’d be near the river. The river was a safe place, a place of relief, a hangout place. Kids went there to drink their secret beers or try to get in their girlfriend’s pants. They brought their family’s annoying relatives there so they could have a picnic. It wasn’t a Saturday night activity, but was pretty common and well known suggestion: let’s go to the river.

I had sat in the sun too long that day, and I was sure I’d be getting even more freckles because of it. Maybe even a burn. I would have another ‘beet week’ at school, where both my face and my hair were red, and my Algebra 2 teacher, Mr. Sawkins, would laugh at me.

After an hour or so of swimming, the sun was setting and my stomach growled for dinner. Mom hated cooking, so I’d stop by my older sister Sam’s house for a fridge raid before dropping off the other guys and Hannah – why bring one girl? – at their homes. They all lived in the Rutger’s Park area, anyway, up on Brook Hill; it wouldn’t be like I’d lose a lot of gas. The Honda was ugly, but at least it was no gas guzzler. I was down the slinky dirt road, at the very end of Oakhurst Drive. No doubt Amanda would start her whining again when she discovered I’d already eaten dinner. She was twelve; she could make something for herself! ‘Seventeen year olds can, too, instead of hogging it all to themselves’ she’d pout, and I’d just smile.

I shook the wet from my hair. Where were my shoes? The rest of the group was already trekking up the path to the parking lot. It was cold, too! I could smell the distant smoke from the fire in the national forest that was only a few miles up the road. The sand would be pebbley underfoot, and my shoes were vital to survival. Last time I’d walked on the sand, climbed the rocks, and walked up the path barefoot, I’d had a million briars killing my feet the whole way home.

Ah, there they were. Good old sandals. Those and the car were the only compensations gifts I liked that dad had given me last time I visited him in Sacramento. I’d left them out on the sand and someone had tucked them in a little crevice in the rocks.

A sharp pebble scraped my foot as I grabbed my shoes and leapt out of the now-freezing water. I shoved my feet in the sandals, and sighed in relief at their softness. The moment I stepped forward a cold, wet hand slithered over my shoulder on my neck. It felt like a slimy eel pushing against my throat. I grabbed the hand and made to fling away, guessing a joke, but suddenly the hand was replaced by an arm around my throat. What the hell?

My attacker was a man, tall with a low voice that laughed loudly as I struggled. He had a grip so strong I couldn’t even wrest his arm off of me. His breath stank of fish and I could hear the clank of some metal behind me. Where had all those karate lessons gone, when I needed them?

I made a move to nudge the guy in the ribs, but my elbow only hit something hard like metal. It hurt so bad that I screamed, and I heard my elbow crack. Was it broken? The stranger’s feet were encased in some sort of metal shoe, like the kind you see in museums attached to a suit of armor. What was going on?

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I shut my eyes and willed the pain away. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. It was crazy! Had I gotten transported into one of my little sister’s stories? Had I fallen asleep? Maybe this was all a bad dream. When I opened my eyes I’d be lying on the sand again with my friends yelling for me to join them in the water.

But I opened my eyes and it was all still happening. My skin had goosebumps on it, and a cold chill ran through me as I heard the sound of steel against metal. A glance to my left showed my vision true: my attacker was a knight. In the cold steel of his blade I could see him. Six feet tall with broad shoulders, his helmet crested with jewels and a brilliant blue tail of hair cascaded from the top. Murder glinted in his eyes. I closed my eyes as the blade punched through me, and stared at the blood that formed on my shirt. This was unbelievable.

The pain was real. It hurt so bad I felt my limbs unable to move. My whole body was freaking out, my mind was telling me to run, but all I could do was stare as the red spot grew larger and larger. The blade was coated in the red of my blood, and I wondered why I couldn’t feel my heart pulsing around it. He had got me through the left shoulder, down, so that the fresh blood dripped down onto the sand and onto my feet. I stared as the liquid pooled between my toes. The air tasted like salt, and the breeze was gone.

I felt my heart stop, and then the sword was wrenched out of me. The knight shoved me down and I dropped to the ground like a tree. My eyes were wild, searching for something to look at. Everything else was incoherent, only my eyes remembered what to do. I stared as the knight walked straight into the river, disappearing from sight. Then I closed my eyes.

Somehow, I was woken up by a scream. But how could I be woken up, if I was dead? It wasn’t a scream of fear, either. No one was staring at my dead body in horror. Damn, was I that lame that nobody missed me? It was an angry scream, Hannah yelling for me to hurry up.

“Your shoes are right there, idiot! Can you hurry up already? I have a date at seven and I want to have time to get dressed for it. Get your ass moving, Thomas!”

I lifted my head up and there was Hannah, flapping her arms like some sort of stupid penguin. She had her purse in hand and started to hit me with it as I tried to remember how to move.

Why wasn’t I dead? Why wasn’t I lying on the riverbank bathed in my own blood? The memory of it was so clear that it felt strange to be standing up, as if getting killed and falling to the ground had magneted me to the ground. I was meant to be there. I was supposed to be lying there lifeless.

“Stop hitting me! Ow! Look, you’ve made me bleed.”

I felt a tiny pain surge up in my chest. It made me want to laugh, because in comparison to getting a sword thrust into me straight through the heart, getting whacked by a crazy purse-carrying girl felt pretty damn good. If she didn’t have a date I might think she were flirting with me.

“Oh, stop whining, Tom. It’s….oh, wow. You really are bleeding. Look at that!”

The blonde bent down to ogle the wound, and I winced as she pressed the spot. “It’s a deep cut, Tom. Sorry. Jeez, you bleed easy. Did you trip or something? My purse couldn’t have made that huge spot on your shirt, just these tiny ones.”

The white shirt had a couple splotches down it, now. But what really was eye-catching was the big, dark red spot right over my heart. The thing fluttered wildly in me as I wondered what the hell was wrong with me. So I wasn’t dead, but I had the wounds to prove I’d been murdered by a crazed knight from water Camelot or something?

“I was trying to get my shoes from that crevice you put them in, and a rock came up and hit me.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “‘Came up and hit you.’ Right. Whatever, Tom. Let’s just say today is your klutz day. It happens to even the best of us. Not, of course, that you’re one of the best. C’mon!”

I let myself be dragged up the hill, after washing the dried blood from my feet and shoes. There wasn’t any sign that anything odd had happened on the riverbank, either. Maybe I was just going crazy.

“Guys, I think one of you guys should drive tonight. How about you, Max? Ready to test the Honda’s speed?”

They laughed at my lie. The Honda was a slow ass piece of shit. But at least it worked. That was more than they could say for their dear beloved deceased cars.
That was the end of it, I thought. No more weirdness.

The next month passed smoothly. Life went back to normal. I didn’t have any more weird hallucinations that left disconcerting evidence of realism behind. Summer flew by, and senior year began. Everything was tra-la-la in Thomas land until Wednesday.

Why Wednesday? If it had been Monday, I’d have nothing to suspect. Mondays were always terrible, and sometimes odd. I had found this out already, after three weeks of school. But this was Wednesday. No excuses, this time. Maybe the Fates were having a good laugh at my expense.

Lunch was over, and I was walking to American History class when I saw her.

Her hair was long and blonde, flying out behind her like cape in the brisk autumn wind. She had a rounded face, and huge blue eyes. They were both docile and fierce, like the stray kitten Amanda had adopted. The girl was almost as tall as me, with thin shoulders. She wore a dark blue dress with little beads that rattled every time her knees hit them. A long white coat flapped in the wind and she hugged her arms against her sides, trying to keep it from falling off her scrawny shoulders.

I got closer, and saw the girl had the loveliest smile, too. If I had any knack for English, I would’ve written a poem on it, even if that was the cheesiest thing in the world. She looked like the sort of girl who would like to have a poem written for her. Do you like poetry?

Suddenly, as if she had heard my question, the girl stopped in her tracks, and turned to stare at me. It was surreal. Like I had just stepped into a romance movie, and it was near the end, so everything was going perfect. An abusive boyfriend would show up to make the climax of the film scary, but then I’d beat him to a pulp before inviting the girl out on a date. And she would kiss me with those red, red lips. She had a complexion like Snow White, deathly pale, almost unbecomingly so. But in the next second I forgot I’d ever thought her imperfect, because she smiled at me – at me – and even the way she turned her body showed off an unearthly grace.

I wasn’t the only one staring at the girl. Mouths dropped. She was like an angel that had come down from heaven, or something. Models couldn’t compare. What, was this an excerpt from Stephanie Meyer’s new Twilight saga book or something? Nothing else rational could explain her pale skin and her ethereal beauty.

The girl shifted her bag more onto her shoulder, and that’s when I saw it: a blotch of red. It marred an otherwise perfect picture, a vision of beauty that I would remember forever. Dark and ominous, it sat right over her heart. The same spot where I had been hit, when the blue-helmed knight had killed me with one sword stroke.

Those blue eyes weren’t looking at me with any accusation, though, even though somehow my bloody death had affected her. Had he killed her, too? Were we in some part of an alternate universe? Had I become a ghost?

I stepped towards the girl, and she stepped towards me. Without knowing quite why I lifted up my hands, and she lifted hers, too, entwining our fingers together.

“Did he kill you?” I whispered. My voice was hoarse. I couldn’t handle it anymore. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted reassurance that the blood wasn’t on her because of me. Somehow, it all made more sense if it were my fault. But it hurt, too, to think of being the cause of pain for this girl.

“No, he didn’t kill me,” she said, and her voice was low and soft. “He didn’t kill either of us.”

“He didn’t kill me? But…”

“He didn’t kill you, Thomas. I didn’t let him.”

She had taken the blow for me. She had been there, somehow, invisible or something. Had she leapt up from the watery world where he came from and jumped in front of me? Had the blow pierced her heart at the same time as it did mine? Or was she some sort of alter ego, a part of me?

“I…I don’t understand. Please, help me understand.”

I was scared. The fear made my throat close up and my hand shake. A cold sweat broke out on my body and I had to let go of her hands and wipe mind against my jeans. Control was an alien thing that I had lost hold of weeks ago, it was something I was spiraling away from and desperately wanted back. I wanted it back so bad it choked me, made tears come to my eyes and a ringing sound come into my ears.

Death, what was it, and why hadn’t it claimed me properly? I wished that something in this whole jumble of weird shit would make sense and work the way life was supposed to.

~end
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Maugre excerpt - affection

2008-09-15T23:21:00.000-07:00

I want to post something. But I have nothing that is both new and quality enough to post here.

So, I'm posting an excerpt.

This is a tidbit of recent "Maugre", a sortof...study on intimacy and affection, how even the little things matter. :)

_____________________________________________
All characters, words, etc. (c) Rain-drop. NO STEALING!

Julian's POV

Sebastian sat back against the couch. He lay his arms out on either side, unintentionally resting his hand and forearm in my space. His skin was hot against my elbow, those long fingers lightly resting on my wrist. His fingertips were callused, and there was a spot on his palm that was extra soft, new skin growing over an old blister.

I liked being so close to Sebastian. It made me wonder what it would be like to touch the rest of him. Was his skin soft? Would his lips against mine be tender again, or rough? Were there more blisters on his body, bruises and wounds and scars? Would I find out his secrets if those black crescent moons touched my skin long enough?

....

I was about to pick up a paper, but then I realized it would upset this fascinating position I had with Sebastian. His hand would slide away and that would be the end of it. I had some knowledge of the Italian language, but at the moment, I let my burning curiosity die in the wake of…of what?

Why did it feel so good to have Sebastian touching me? Why did something as simple as a hand on my wrist feel intimate? I had thought that nothing could quell my urge to know about witches, to delve into this most secretive and powerful of peoples. But on the contrary, my level of attraction to Sebastian was higher than my level of curiosity. Even this simple touch of his had me not wanting to give it up. I felt suddenly angry at my own self for being so confusing. I was used to knowing myself, and ignoring the parts of myself I did not know.

__________________________________________

Please tell me what you think. I think the language/sentence structure is at time unwieldy, awkward, and/or convuluted. Any advice is welcome.

I might post a follow-up to this soon. :) I wonder, is the affection there, evident and sweet and intriguing, or is it just me being goofily biased towards my characters?

"Hot Dog"

2008-09-02T16:58:00.000-07:00

So I'm back at school, and although I have work (I got a job at the library! w00t!) and homework to think about, I still get time to do some writing. Of course, now it includes writing pieces for my Advanced Fiction writing class.

On another day I will tell you about my initial fears of my writing professor. She looks like she walked out of the 60s! And I couldn't take her seriously for the first hour of class and despaired. But then that feeling magically disappeared and I didn't have to consider switching out of the class anymore.

Our first assignemtn was to make a list of Jerks, and then pick one jerk encounter/experience and write a story about it (fictionalize it).

My attempt (first draft right now):

___________________________________________

Characters and ideas (c) Rain-drop. No stealing!!

- - - -

"HOT DOG"

There was something amazingly satisfying about seeing them, June thought. The way their voices rang loud and clear was lovely; she felt like those voices were speaking to her ears only. Their clothes, too, were only understood and recognized by her. The strange shoes, the long brand names, she recognized them when other students simply stared. June didn’t stare.

The idea of something belonging to her and her alone was precious to June, who had three sisters with whom she had to share everything. Maybe this connection, this small understanding between her and the three German girls across the cafeteria, meant they could be friends?

June scuffed the hole-bitten sole of her shoe over the linoleum cafeteria floor. She twirled a lock of brown curls around her finger in thought. What would she say to them? Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to make friends with them? All she had to do was be friendly, and June was good at that. Be friendly, like you always are, mom would say. Get them to talk about themselves by asking questions. People love to talk about themselves.

So June adjusted her glasses and tore a loose thread from her turquoise scarf. She flung it around her shoulder, pulled down the hem of her pink shirt a little, and wiped clammy hands on her jeans. Here we go! An opportunity to make Frau Haufenberger proud that I used my four years of German for something even AFTER highschool!

She couldn’t quite keep the excitement from her face as she came to stand in front of the three tall German girls. They held their trays out in front of them, ready to join the cafeteria drop-off line and leave.

June decided to be short and to the point. “Hi, my name is June. I overheard you three speaking German, and my curiosity was piqued. You see, I took four years of German in high school, and had the fortune of visiting the lovely country a couple summers go. It was delightful. I wanted to ask, how is your stay in America going so far? It’s so nice to see exchange students from Germany here.”

June smiled and looked closely at the three girls. The middle one was tall with lots of freckles on her face. She had her straight brown hair pulled back into a painful-looking ponytail; not a single strand escaped. She wore a red and white H&M sweater, bringing fond memories back to Jane of how much she had bought from that store once she’d caught on to its popularity amongst the German teenage girls.

Right now, this middle girl had a frightening look on her face. Crap! Had June’s proficiency in the German language gotten dismembered through time without her realizing it? Had she said something awful like “You look like you just walked out of a pile of dog poop?” Maybe she had. The girl’s stare was derisive.

June looked frantically at the girl’s two companions. The tall blonde was also giving June a death glare, and the long-nosed one with the blue ballet flats was holding her tray very rigidly. June stared in horror at those bony, tense fingers gripping the tray edge. They sported pointy red nails that made June think of a witch.

What’s more, on Long Nose’s tray was an untouched square of chocolate cake. Chocolate was June’s favorite flavor. How could the girl not like it? June felt affronted. A flash of anger burned through her. Her keys jingled in her hand as her right arm twitched in annoyance. Did they think their German Chocolate Cake (capital G and C’s) was tastier? June bit down on her lip to hold back a snarl. What was the point of calling it German chocolate cake, anyway? DUH it was German, if made in Germany by Germans with German ingredients, including German chocolate.

Ugh! The whole glaring-and-German-chocolate-cake thing was bringing a cloud of sourness over June’s head.

Her gaze lifted as the middle girl finally spoke. Ponytail said with a sneer, “EXCUSE me, but we are Austrian.”

A little snort came with it, and then the girl breezed by, her cohorts following like dogs. June stared after them. She watched in dumbfounded shock as they each put their trays away, one by one. For a second, she felt a flitter of hope like a butterfly in her stomach when Long Nose came back in her direction. She regretted thinking the girl’s red nails made her look like a witch.

But then the hope was smashed. Long Nose scraped the chocolate cake off her plate with a loud SCREEECCHHH of her spoon, smirking at June all the while. And June knew it would have been much easier to do it right by the tray line, but instead Long Nose had come here to force June to watch that chocolate cake fall. A satisfied smirk twisted Long Nose’s lips as she sauntered away.

The anger rushed into June so hard that it even slammed the door behind her as it entered with a resounding BAM. Don’t slam the door, June’s mother’s voice said in her head, but she ignored it.

The cloud of sourness submerged June as the three girls disappeared down the stairwell.

What JERKS! June screamed at them in her head. Her feet pounded loudly across the cafeteria. Her sneakers seemed to squeak agreement with her mood. She paused, considering going after them. But what to say? What to do? It was no use. With trembling fingers she grabbed her bag and deposited it on the table. Her beloved bear keychain cracked with a loud snap when she slammed her keys onto the table. With a toss of her hair in an effort to look indifferent, June sat down.

But her slouching shoulders gave her away. “June, what’s wrong?” asked Samantha, an acquaintance June had made from her English class.

June could only stare out the window. She felt the anger dribbling out of her, and it felt as messy, ugly and sloppy as a hotdog. She was a shameful hot dog, everything mixing and sloshing together, and the inner contents were questionable. Now she only felt despair. Another attempt to make new friends had failed, at her own hands. She had slaughtered it.

No, no she hadn’t! A little voice in June rebelled. She hadn’t wrecked it. They had, those stupid jerks.

But she still felt like a hot dog, and it was a feeling that could not be ignored. June sighed and flipped off her shoes.

“June, what’s that expression you’re wearing on your face?” Sam’s blonde hair only reminded June of the girls she had just suffered a rejection from.

“I dunno,” June mumbled as she sat back in her chair. “Let’s call it ‘hot dog.’”

___________________________________________

I may or may not be finished. Not sure if I've fulfilled the assignment (there was a tidbit about making the jerks seem human, which I haven't, so...we'll see).

I usually don't write stories inspired by personal experience. It's a more juvenile and silly thing than I usually write, this short piece, but it's kinda fun. But at the same time, I wouldn't want to write this kind of thing all the time. I need more crazy stuff than this, lol. Fantasy is my escape from my own personal experiences, away from this sort of thing into other worlds...which I find much more fascinating.

But for a short, this is fun. :D

Please tell me what you think!

2008-08-25T15:21:00.000-07:00

I feel pretty good about writing right now. I felt crummy last week b/c the writing I planned to do was put aside so I could pack.

Now I'm all moved into my new room, and I've done all the unpacking and decorating. I did job hunting today and am waiting for phone calls and emails. I also plan to attend the job fair tomorrow.

So, I really have nothing to do.

I did some writing yesterday in my free time and it felt good. I think I got a good amount of writing done - finished chapter 17 of "Maugre." I am still a bit sad it didn't get done over the summer, but ah well. It's close. So close. I can't put any time or chapter estimate on it yet, but there's not much left to happen, I feel.

Wish me luck! I have so much free time, I think I will write more today and tomorrow. Also, I wish I'd brought a sketch book, I kind of feel like drawing...but I think all my sketchbooks at home are full. :/

Anyway...yay for writing!

Grrraah.

2008-08-20T23:52:00.001-07:00

Oh, stink.

I'm too busy packing and doing last-minute things and doing things with my family. I haven't had time to write a ton during my last week of freedom.

:( waaah! It sucks! Grrraah.

I'm going to read some "Will Write for Chocolate" to cheer myself up.

This is how I feel right now, lol:

Research photos - coach/carriage

2008-08-01T21:45:00.000-07:00

This isn't about sports coaches.

It's about coaches, aka carraiges, of olden times (say, 1800s). I have a few pictures I took of one in a museum when I visited my aunts in Colorado Springs last summer.

I decided to share them, because they are cool. I find it fascinating to be able to look at these old vehicles, and I really wish there hadn't been a thing around this, because I SO wanted to jump into this thing!

I considered it research for "Maugre" since "Maugre" is wannabe-historical fiction (if I ever make it like 1800s England one of these days). So when I saw this thing, I immediately thought of Maugre, and considered my pictures for this as research. That's another reason I was dying to sit in this, so I could experience a piece of what Julian and Sebastian do with my own personal body!!

God, I'm such a nerd.

Anyway, here are the pics:

Check this baby out:

link 17th century! It's beautiful!

Early 18th century: link

More info: link

Emna drawing WIP

2008-07-19T14:19:00.001-07:00

Yesterday I had a headache, so I laid down with some peaceful music playing. The music got me in the mood for drawing my story characters.

So here I am sitting drawing, right now. :) Having a good time.

I'm drawing Emna, my female warrior MC from HT book 1. I've done a few drawings of her over the years, but never quite got it right.

This one, I'm using references of various actresses' faces, and it's going interestingly.

I wanted to share my WIP scan of it so far:

Most-referenced image:

Actress Robin Tunney, seen on the show "Prison Break"

(the nose is a mix of hers and Laura Frasier's).

Page Numbers

2008-07-16T00:23:00.000-07:00

WOW.

I'm on "Maugre" page 300!

Well, not really. That's in weird font I have for fun. In normal, size 12 Times New Roman, single-spaced, it's 162 pages. In the font I use for Hemas Torbis, it's 155 pages. And in double-spaced Times New Roman size 12, it's 319 pages. Wooow.

Anyway, just had to have a moment of...wow! I've written a lot! It's so exciting.

I really do feel I am getting towards the end of "Maugre." I think I've got about 2/3 done and 1/3 (one third) left. Wowww. Crazy.

Sebastian is finding answers...so...it's almost over, soon. O_O *gasp*

And for Phen and Emna, well...about 3/5 of the story done. Till about 2/5 (two fifths) to go. I have a lot yet still that has to happen in the story...but they're going to fight the bad guy soon, and then some more stuff happens, then the climax, then the end.

oooohhh! I hope I finish a story this summer! WISH ME LUCK.

pretty, eh? It's in Poland

Drawing villains

2008-07-15T20:59:00.000-07:00

So, this post is about an old drawing of the villain that Phen and Emna must go up against in Hemas Torbis book 1.

I have been looking for this drawing for ages! And I was sending a letter to my friend Jahnava yesterday, and whilst looking for markers to color her envelope with, I discovered an old sketchbook (they lurk everywhere). This drawing was in that sketchbook.

This is related to the villain drawing mentioned in the following old post - linkie: Old '06 drawing

Notice the drawing there, how...different he looks! Haha. You can see I don't quite have a solid idea of how to draw this character Marius.

Note: both drawings are unfinished. :( Don't know if I will ever finish this one. I'll probably keep drawing him until I get him right.

Here he is as I drew him in 2007, looking quite more disturbing and malicious:

Comments welcome. :)

Progress! The word of the day.

2008-07-04T01:52:00.000-07:00

PROGRESS!!

Happy 4th of July!!

Tomorrow (ahem, actually today, since I stayed up so godawful late) I am going with my mother to a party thing in celebration of July 4th. We're not big on fireworks, although in previous years we've watched them. Mostly because we have nothing else to do. This time, we're doing a swim/eat/baby shower party thing.

Anyway...PROGRESS!

I have been waking up in the morning with writing ideas, and before I go to work I pen them down. So now I have the outline for the in-progress chapter of Phen and Emna's story. I haven't actually written new stuff yet, but I will, probably tomorrow.

I will stop procrastinating and write, tomorrow.

But even working on chapter outlines feels good. For this story, I actually outline chapters. For "Maugre" I don't. But for Phen and Emna, I just do. It feels right. Anyway, my point is....progress!

Just the fact that I'm thinking about this story, getting back into it again, thinking about its plot and characters and stuff...it is good. It means the story is not in hiatus anymore. I feel really, really good about it.

I am also still working on "Maugre" and on Kadriel's story. I really mean to work on all 3 stories this summer, and even though I'm getting a late start (half the summer's gone, ha), I AM doing it. I am doing it right now, and it feels wonderful. :D

Yay!

This is how I feel, a little. Like a mother relishing being close to her child.
Photo (C) Julia Margaret Cameron.

P.S. I really recommend looking up Julia Margaret Cameron, even if you're not into photography. If you are, and especially black & white, and mystical/people study ones...you will LOVE JMC.]

Preparing, trying, to write...not writing

2008-06-24T22:09:00.000-07:00

Today, I was going to write.

But instead, I did that thing where I sit and prepare to write. I was attempting to resume my YA novel that I started for class last semester, because I had got inspired to work on it early in the evening.

But after maybe an hour of preparing, I walked away from the computer and got distracted (by a Beatles thing on TV).

I still have time yet in the day to write. Still, I'm annoyed at myself.

I made myself a weekdays schedule of, when I get home from work, I write. But so far, I haven't kept to it at all.

Hopefully I'll start it tomorrow. I'll try.

Here's an interesting, semi-related blog by Angela Booth on "Trying to Write":
"Trying to Write"

"The Innkeeper's Young Daughter"

2008-06-01T23:36:00.000-07:00

From "Introduction to German Poetry - a Dual Language Book"
Edited by Gustave Mathieu & Guy Stern:

The Innkeeper's Young Daughter (Der Wirtin Tochterlein)
By Ludwig Uhland (1787-1862)

Three fellows once crossed the Rhine;
They stopped at a lady-innkeeper's inn.

"Mrs. Innkeeper, do you have good beer and wine?
Where are you keeping your beautiful young daughter?"

And when they stepped into the room,
She was lying in a black coffin.

The first fellow drew back the veil
And looked at her with saddened glance.

"Oh, if you still lived, you beautiful girl,
I would love you henceforth."

The second lowered the veil again
And turned away and weepingly said:

"Oh, that you are lying upon the bier!
I have loved you for many a year."

The third at once lifted it up again
And kissed her upon her mouth so pale:

"I loved you always, I still love you today
And I shall love you through eternity."

Ludwig Uhland

Excerpt from "Maugre"

2008-05-27T23:56:00.000-07:00

"Untitled post"

My own characters scare me.

Julian scares me.

Excerpt from "Maugre":

----------------------------------
Work (C) Rain-drop. No stealing.
----------------------------------

Julian's POV

Bones crunched loudly beneath my boots as I stepped on Isaac’s hands slowly, first one, and then the other. He could not reach for any weapons now. With a smirk I hunkered down on my knees and put my mouth by the hunter’s ear.

“You’re not so confident now, are you, old friend?”

The hunter* simply gurgled in pain, and I nodded as if to acknowledge that reply. Then I pushed his body over. His eyes widened as I took from my coat another sharp weapon. It was shaped like a giant fish hook. He cried out in pain as I shoved it through the thick leather of his boots, crippling him. Now there was no way he could fight back.

I sat down on his torso, and looked him straight in the eyes in a final salute as I slit his throat.

This was how I would show them who to fear. It was not Salome or Batcher that the hunters should quaver at the sight of. It was me. It was I who would hate them the most, who would show them brutality, who would show them anger, who would show them what happened when they wronged me.

This was more than venting frustration, or inciting fear in them, or recovering my household and my sense of mind by using their methods to teach them a lesson.

This was revenge, for all the years I had spent working for Salome, only to have it all thrown back in my face. It was not about defending Sebastian. It was not about guarding my rights.

It was about respect.

This was revenge. The taste of it was like melted sugar on my tongue, so very sweet.

-----------------------
~end excerpt
*clarification: hunter, as in, witch hunter.

EDIT: Oh, and yes, I did just write this scene. Thus I responded so viscerally, as you'll see below (or can tell).

*shudder* He just killed someone. Murder.

This is Julian when he is at his most doubt-worthy. Doubt-worthy meaning...you doubt if he is good. How can he be good? But he IS. He's one of the main characters, an anti-hero so to speak.

I had to show his bad side, when he is at his worst. This was it. Hoo, boy...!

Writing again

2008-05-08T19:28:00.000-07:00

"Writing again"

Guess what?

I've resumed writing Phen and Emna's story. :) It's so awesome! The other night, when I should've been doing homework, I was in the mood for Phen and Emna's story. Occasionally I have to look in that document in order to remember things about the world, for my YA novel (same setting).

So...sometimes when I looked in the document, I reread scenes. And so I was thinking about this, and how much I miss the characters' minds. And Wednesday night, I opened it, reread a bit to familiarize myself with voices and what's going on in the story, and I started writing!

You can't imagine how good it feels to be back into the story after being on hiatus from it for six months (SIX months! Since October! Holy moly). It feels wonderful. It makes me even more determined and convinced that I can work on all 3 stories (the YA, "Maugre", and HT) during the summer.

My goal is to finish at least one of the stories, if not two. :D

Oooh, I can't wait 'till summer!

P.S. I finished my "Maugre" song-based painting (the song line was "every time you leave the room I feel I'm fading like a flower). I'm so glad it's done! I got it critiqued on Wednesday and people liked it, most importantly the professor. I told them the true genders of the characters, and they were surprised. This one girl afterwards said she would like to read it one day. :) That made me smile. Also, I'm just glad that they liked it!

I like how it came out, too. It doesn't look just like the drawings, of course. Sebastian, his eyes are closed (his eyes were just too hard to paint). And Julian's face structure is a bit different - he looks a bit less suave, in my opinion. :( But someone said she thought he looked kind of Greek-y, which is good, 'cause that is kind of the look I was going for. Also they could see that the piece was influenced by the art of Alphonse Mucha, so I'm happy that was perceivable.

I think actually my fave part of the painting, maybe, is Julian (I like how the shading on his face came out) and the background. The background is a bright teal-green color, and then fades to dark green, which fades to dark blue. Blending the colors smoothly was a lot of fun!

I shall try and upload the piece sometimes next week (when I bring all my paintings to my room for packing) and up here ASAP so you can take a look. :)

Slumpy slump and summer plans

2008-05-03T23:10:00.001-07:00

"Slumpy slump and summer plans"

How lame is it that lately I've only posted here once a month? Super lame.

I HAVE been writing, of course, but mostly for my writing class. "Maugre" is moving slowly because my state of mind during school is anxious, so I can't just relax and write freely.....or, that's my excuse, and I'm just lazy. ...*shrugs*

I plan to work crazily on writing this summer, when I'm not working a summer job (probably as an office assistant, hopefully for the company my mother works for). I was planning to 1) finish Maugre this summer and 2) then finish Phen and Emna's story.

However, this girl in my writing class has changed my plans. :D Her name is Aerin. She also writes fantasy-genre. She's a graduate student, and we've beocme friends through discussing writing. She is very into the YA novel I'm writing for class and says, I must, MUST work on it over the summer! She will email me and poke me to write (which I need, since I can't seem to motivate myself lately, grr. What's happening to me?).

So, option 3 for summer, haha, is:

3) Work on all of my novels at once!

It might drive me crazy, but I DO love all my stories (although the YA one, augh, I have to do Ragal's character exercise, I don't know my characters well enough). And I DO want to resume writing Phen and Emna's story; it's been on reluctant hiatus since October. I got kinda stuck in it.

I remember writing the scene...and it was so nice, and free...and then I got stuck. And now, I've been struggling when I write "Maugre" sometimes, which sucks, 'cause it used to come so easily. Grr.

I decided to move away from the relationship, romance-y stuff, and into plotty stuff. But now I'm like "okay, so...plot. What do I do? What should my characters do?" haaahaaa. LAME. It makes me feel crappy.

So yeah, writing's been kinda crap lately. Grr. I hope I get over my slump soon.

Hopefully summer will free me of all this worry - yay, freedom! It can't come any sooner! I can't wait!

P.S. Still working on that "Maugre"-based painting for painting class...Julian's face is appearing...the background is all done...Sebastian's face hasn't been painted yet, but I like his long flowing hair.

Everyone keeps mistaking him for a girl! I KNOW the drawing is girly, but it's a style, hello! Just 'cause someone has long hair doesn't mean they are female. >_< But what am I supposed to do, say, 'Actually, the character is male'? I'm too shy...I wish I could, though. Every time someone says "she" or "her hair" or something, my mind goes "who?" and then I realize "OH! They mean Sebastian!"

Shoot, when I get critiqued, unless I tell them the truth (and risk embarassment because my character is girly looking?), I'm going to have to pretend that Sebastian is Julian (because Julian can be a girl's name) and vice versa. >_< ACK!

Julian and Sebastian, sketch, art nouveau

2008-04-07T14:43:00.000-07:00

"Julian and Sebastian Art Nouveau sketches"

The final painting for my Beginning Painting class can be anything we want. So after much thinking, I have finally decided what to paint.

I am fond of the art nouveau style art of Alphonse Mucha, and I also happened to have a sketch of a flowery branch. So I decided, hey, why not do an art-nouveau style Sebastian and Julian?

I actually like what I came up with. :)

We have to choose a song line that goes with the painting. I have chosen the line "every time you leave the room I feel I'm fading like a flower" from the song "Fading Like a Flower" by Roxette. Roxette, apparently (I really just looked them up for the assignment; don't usually listen to them, though I actually like this song) is a Swedish 1980s band made up of two people, Marie Fredriksson and Per Gessle.

You can look up the song on YouTube.

Here's the sketch in two parts. Sebastian is from head-to-waist and cut off at a weird angle, just to make composition interesting. And Julian is upside down on the opposite corner from Sebastian. But here, he's right side up. Sebastian's hair was done in Mucha's "holey hair" style, where there's gaps to show it's hair but it's otherwise simple. and Julian's hair is a series of swirls as the hair is in Mucha's "Femme zus Coquelicots."

Okay, I'll stop talking now. tribal tattoo sketches coming in a later post.

I had a LOT of fun doing this! XD

Sebastian

Julian

Writing exercise - Robert

2008-03-05T23:09:00.000-08:00

Writing exercise

We had to do a writing exercise in Fiction class today. We chose from a list what to write about; one choice what to write about one of the stories a character named Trip tells in the book "Broken China."

The story of his that I chose to tell (it's only a sentence that he told), is something like "A ghost who doesn't know he is a ghost goes back to working a model airplane store."

And thus I wrote the below. I really like the end result! MIght continue it and make a short story out of it. :)

_________________________________________________________________________________

NOTE: Plot, characters, places, names, ideas, etc. all copyright to Rain-drop, me! No stealing!!

Robert loved to see the happy grins on those little kid faces. Each time a pudgy hand glided over the wing of a model airplane, or made whirr whirr sounds under their breath as they waited for their dad to buy them a fighter jet, or an army plane, Robert would smile.

Sometimes, he would even make sounds effects with them, whirr whirr and KABOOM if the plane crashed and nwrrrr when it took a dive.

Today was a Monday just like any other Monday. It was morning, and already there was an Angry Gnome. The Angry Gnomes were the kids who whined, or begged, or complained about the store not having a new model. They just generally caused a ruckus and made Robert wipe the sweat from his brow up underneath his baseball cap. It was a Red Sox baseball cap, the one Mimi had given him for his birthday last year. Then she had broken up with him, and was now overseas in Spain. She had probably fallen in love with some handsome bullfighter hunk or something. Bleck.

This Angry Gnome wore a baseball cap too, and was complaining about not having found the SJ-43. Robert knew something was wrong when his boss didn't turn to him and say, "Go take care of that kid, will ya, Bob?"

Robert hated being called Bob. His mother had named him Robert after the famous poet Robert Frost, and it just didn't seem right to diss the old guy like that.

The second sign of something off was that when Robert went to talk to the man an dhis Angry Gnome, they ignored him. He even went right up to them and spoke, but they didn't seem to see him. What was going on? Were people actually this rude nowadays?

Then, the kid's waggling arm shot through Robert's leg. No whoosh, no sound effect, but Robert saw it.

~end

___________________________________________________________________________

Please tell me what you think! :D

YAAAY!!

2008-02-27T22:28:00.000-08:00

YAAAY!!

I am so excited!

I just finished reading all my feedback from my "chunk #1" of my YA novel for fiction class.

People liked it! I wrote down the major changes that I want to make in the story as a result of people's feedback. I also wrote down questions they have. These people are really smart! Their feedback is excellent. The teacher is helpful, but the students are very helpful too.

One girl in particular I really like because she is also a fantasy-genre writer and understood some fantasy-genre-ish stuff that went over other people's heads. Of course, I'll have to clarify for my readers and not leave them confused, but still. It's cool that a few people in the class nod in understanding instead of being like, "It was confusing."

For once I am excited about revision instead of nervous. I believe that I can make the necessary changes to make this better, to make it clearer and make it flow more smoothly.

People have good suggestions too, of how I can make things work. And one person pointed out that one way to attract non-fantasy readers is romance. And a few people felt that two MCs were a potential couple. In my outline I did not PLAN for the main boy and his female friend to be a couple...HOWEVER, in the writing and rereading of my chunk #1, I think my readers have a point. I do get the feeling that the girl likes him. So...I think I will listen to my character (and readers) and put that in. However, I cannot have these two characters end up together; it's just not meant to be. So somewhere along the way this girl will get heartbroken...or I shall have to pair her up with some other guy.

Anyway, I"m really excited! YAAAYY! This is going to be fun!

*goes to revise*

Thoughts on finishing my stories

2008-02-21T00:39:00.000-08:00

Thoughts on Completing My Stories - How Emotionally Attached I Am to Finishing

I'm thinking maybe it's just that time of the month or something, but...for some reason, I'm feeling emotional about writing. When I think about finishing my two big fiction works, I get all teary and happy/sad and longing.

I am going over pieces of "Maugre" right now to try and write a couple new paragraphs before going to bed...and gosh darnit, I would love to finish this story. I would love to type "The End", and print it out, and hand a copy of it to my mother. I would love to tell her, "Mom, sometimes I read and write about gay guys, and this is the culmination of my obsession, this tragic and dramatic work about love, magic, and strength."

And I would love to go back to my fantasy story that I haven't touched in months, and enter into the mind of Emna, my female warrior, as she breaches the tunnel her companions and she are crawling through, and experiences a huge fearful moment as the man she loves, who has hydrophobio, almost drowns...

I'm just really feeling the drama of these moments I am caught in with these stories, but every time I sit to write, nothing happens. And even though I sat today and said, "I am going to force myself to write. One hour," I instead whiled away time rereading, and going online, and checking emails...now, I have 15 minutes before I MUST go to bed.

So I must go write for my last 15 minutes.

Please tell me your thoughts on this little ramble.

Working on my new story

2008-02-03T23:03:00.000-08:00

Working on a new story

I am working on my new project for writing class, a "novel" tentatively titled "The Lion Heart."

It is about a sixteen-year-old boy, Kadriel, who is given the task of rescuing the Lady of the Night from an evil being. The Lady of the Night creates dreams and wishes; these sustain the good magic throughout the world. If the Lady of the Night is allowed to be killed by her captor, the wards on the Black Magic will be broken.

I am excited! ^__^ Earlier I was bummed 'cause I had no ideas, but I talked to Elysabeth and she gave me a couple links, and I came up with ideas (the above - previously, I had no plot! haha).

Now, I'm fleshing characters out a bit. Names are so much fun! I have a princess in this story named Ludovica Shannon Yadara. Wow! Shannon is a tribute to my good writer friend Shannon. I've known Shannon since 8th grade; she writes a lot of fantasy stories starring princesses and princes in them, so I thought I should name a princess after her. :)

Must go to bed now. But I'm SO SO SO happy to be progressing! I think and hope I will be able to turn in the story outline and summary, due on Wednesday.

Wish me luck!

Writing danger into stories

2008-02-01T21:30:00.000-08:00

Danger - how to create this sense of urgency? Thoughts.

I just finished reading Lois Lowry's "Number the Stars" a book about the Holocaust, in which a young Danish girl houses her Jewish friend while the Nazis search for the friend.

And it made me think...this repression, this cruelty, the way the Nazis are suspicious even of handbasket with bread and cheese in it...this sort of thing should be in my story, "Maugre." After all, the people who hunted down witches had this sort of mentality, too. This urge to kill a certain kind of people, and for no good reason! At least the witch hunters were frightened of the witches; the Nazis did not fear the Jews, they just killed the mercilessly.

So I was thinking...Sebastian is on the run like this, hiding from those who would kill him. And before I have thought, how do I put this sense of urgency in Maugre? How do I make the danger apparent?

Well, after reading this book of Lowry's, I now feel I have some idea of how to create that sense of urgency. I need to make the danger more close to home, I need to make it so that it just bites the backs of my characters' heels but does not quite catch them.

Danger is an important aspect of story writing. There must be character conflict, a problem, and often this means danger. I want my stories to have this sense of urgency when needed. I do not write stories where the conflict is a character getting over illness, or some such. I like the more fantasy sort of thing. So, my stories have enemies who go after the protagonists viciously. This viciousness, the Nazis had it, and they were truly evil, though doing evil on orders.

And then I was thinking...what about Julian? His conscience and character is questionable in Maugre. Is he good or bad? Well...I want the readers to sympathize with him. Heck, I want to sympathize with him, I write him and he is close to my heart, and yet of all the characters in Maugre, he is one of my mains who has potential for this evil. How to differentiate? We don't want a Nazi walking around in Maugre...(ironic, really, since Julian has blue eyes and blonde hair). But I want those who want to kill Sebastian, the hunters, they must be like Nazis. This sense of danger should follow Sebastian more closely in the story, I think. It is a key element; it is why Sebastian is even staying at Julian's house in the first place.

Anyway...this is just me typing my thoughts "aloud"...Hmmm....

Makes me kind of want to work on Maugre. Which is good! I have writing homework to do, though...the summary and plot outline of my YA novel is due on Wednesday. Yikes! Wish me luck.

I shall go write...work on something, maybe a bit of Maugre and then homework.

:)

Old fantasy-genre stuff

2008-01-28T22:12:00.000-08:00

Old stuff

I have decided to switch from Poetry workshop class to Advanced Fiction for Children and Young Adults writing class. In this class, I shall have to at least begin (if not finish) a novel for young adults.

You are probably thinking, "Why is she writing another novel when she still has to finish Maugre and the other fantasy-genre novel, with Phen and Emna?"

Well, I think I can do it. I want to do it.It's required for the class. Also, I think I am going to do the story on the vaguely-planned-out SEQUEL to Phen and Emna's story. This story, Hemas Torbis Book 2, will be set in the same world but have different main characters. In fact, it's set way before the time of Phen and Emna.

ANyway, so I was looking through old Hemas Torbis (think: Phen and Emna's story; aka "HT") stuff, and found a neat little piece that used to be part of my beginning of Phen and Emna's story.

It has a different mood; more light-hearted. But I like it. It has a lot of commas and sounds a bit silly at times, but I want to share it with you anyway. I like it, and it made me laugh.

...And all of a sudden Emna is a GENERAL?! WHOA! I forgot about that. And her eyes were brown...:( I like them better now, as they are, green. And in this old version she wears her hair in a bun instead of a braid...

Phen is pretty much the same. *grin* Except younger!

Note: in this version, we see it through the eyes of some highschooler guy. Yeah, I had a third character in it, but I kicked him out. You can't really tell it's through his eyes (3rd Person POV) here, anyway.

ENOUGH RAMBLING! HERE! Do tell me what you think when you're done reading:

____________________________________________________________________________

Characters, places, etc. COPYRIGHT Rain-drop, owner of this blog. NO STEALING!!

This is Emna's introduction in the old version. Phen is the shepherd. Terri is the highschooler transported from modern-day times; he is forced to watch, invisible, in the bodies of various animals.

Sliding from his mount, a regal black stallion with a white spot on its back that stood tall versus the other horses, the commander stood still for a moment, before lifting to his lips a twisted, spiraling horn. The sound that came from the horn was loud, unnatural in the small village as thunder on a spring day. It burst out with a force that almost denied that it could be anything but a living, breathing creature, bellowing, calling encouragement and incensing strength to all with glory. Even as the sound died, its echo could still be heard around the village, keeping the stunned villagers frozen still, and making goosebumps tingle along Terri’s neck.

The commander stood firmly, an air of pride and strength about him, as even his presence seemed a force, unstoppable and unable to stop fighting. He stopped Basu in her tracks as he walked up to the woman and took her hand, and although of quite short stature, leaned to graze a ring on her finger with his lips. His helmet formed a crescent in the front that covered his forehead and further twisted down to guard the tender skin just beneath his eyes, and then link again in a piece that protected the bridge of his nose. A few artistic touches such as the symbol of the hand and the tree painted in white at the top of the helmet, and two curling leaves embossed, the metal standing up, placed on either side right above the ear, were seen.

The helmet, other than protecting the head, protected further by going down to shield the back and sides of the neck, almost like the collar of a dress shirt.
Then the commander tucked his horn back into his belt, going back to hand the reins of his stallion to a soldier, before rushing in as dignified and graceful a manner as he could manage to follow Basu into the house.

Quickly, wanting no time wasted and eager to see what would happen, Terri shifted his spirit regretfully away from Pugnax and back into the cat so that he could follow the commander into the house and watch.

Inside, the house was warm, the atmosphere almost cheery with a fire blazing in the fireplace. But all was quiet, and many of the villagers, such as the men and some children that had been present previously, now were not. Terri saw that many villagers were so daring as to be peeking in for a look at the unusual events through the windows at the back, rather than actually be inside the living room.

Surprisingly, he found that the white-clothed shepherd [Phen] was also present, the others giving him a wide berth as they chattered and fidgeted around him. The boy did not look at all miffed at having his own space in the corner of the room, regardless that this was only because the villagers were glad to show their dislike of him.

Across the room from the crowd and Terri himself, the commander kneeled beside the bed of the wounded warrioress. The girl tossed back and forth on the bed, her mouth opening and closing again and again, not voicing fears and nightmares born from the fever that plagued her.

The commander, once proud and strong, now sat, slumped, beside the bed, his head hung in an emotion Terri was not sure was anger, sorrow, or shame. It seemed like it could be a mix, judging from the commander’s clenched fists, dejected posture, and unwillingness, as he had noticed upon the commander’s entering the room, to look straight into anyone’s eyes.

Suddenly, with a shout that caused chaos to erupt all around and inside the house, the warrioress upon the bed began to shake furiously, her body twitching in short spasms. Standing up, the commander quickly laid another wet cloth upon her hot forehead, and took off his helmet and armor in haste.

Eyes wide, even as the commander began to rebind the warrioress’ wound, Terri, wondering how he could not have noticed before, realized that the commander was not a he, but a she. Regardless of the girl’s more ambiguous features, such as her low voice, male clothing, and the many scars littering her rough, dirty hands, there was no denying that this short, loud, not particularly gentle mannered person was female. Her mass of thick, glossy black hair was pinned in a sloppy but efficient bun towards the back of her head, and her movements, although quick and forceful, were graceful.

The girl’s lips were tightly pursed, her hands working quickly to untie the laces of her boots, unheeding of her dirty appearance or the way the villagers gaped at the scars evident as she pulled up her sleeves and slid off her boots. Her eyes, a dark brown, sparkled with an intense determination and purpose as she stood up, the fire hidden in her gaze threatening to blaze out and consume everyone, it sparkled with so many fierce emotions.

As soon as she was rid of all of her heavy extra weight, the young commander tried to lift up her much larger bodied soldier. Grunting with the effort, she just barely managed to sling the other girl over her soldier. She cleared her throat, and for a moment stood still as she swept a glance all around the room.

Then, her gaze alighted upon the shepherd. Clearing her throat, her tone firm and unquestionable, yet slightly less demanding than Terri would have thought a militia leader’s to be, and still considerate, the young woman requested, “You there, shepherd. Would you be kind and assist me with helping this noble soldier outside?”

His gaze seeming to know where it was the voice came from, but his eyes not meeting directly with hers, unable to see her, the shepherd nodded. The crowd of villagers standing, their eyes wide, one or two even a little awed and respectful, quickly split for the boy to pass through.

For a few moments, he simply stood in front of the commander, and then stiffened slightly as she reached out suddenly, and gripping his hand, shook it viciously. She was about to give a smile of thanks before, with a stunned look—realization that smiling would mean nothing to the blind boy—the commander cleared her throat again, murmuring quietly, “We are in debt to you for your services.”

Nodding, the shepherd wordlessly handed his staff over to the commander, in order so that he could support the warrioress’ head with both hands. Terri felt that this act was significant. With all the villagers against him, the children jeering at him behind his back, and having been hit so rudely earlier by Basu, it seemed unlikely that the shepherd would trust anyone, especially a stranger.

However, when he had handed his staff to the commander, the look on his face had been one of complete trust. Those eyes had gazed passively, the mouth set in neither frown nor smile. But it was not a grim expression. For it was with a hint of a smile that the shepherd touched the soldier’s face, as if he knew how dangerous her condition was, and how important she seemed to be to the commander.

Face once more serious, the commander made sure the girl over her shoulder would not fall, one arm tightly around the calves. Nodding to the villagers, she said, “You will be awarded for your assistance,” before quickly leading the shepherd outside, where, with great care, he helped her put the injured upon a stretcher. Two soldiers quickly took over the job of carrying the girl. They received a scroll upon which the commander quickly scribbled a message, and then on command the two dutiful women marched away, soon just a speck on the horizon.

Terri noticed with some curiousity that all of the soldiers under command of the young girl were women. Some were of similar age to the girl, in their older teens or younger twenties, but others, Terri noticed with wide eyes, were older, middle-aged women in their thirties and forties, or even older.

Sitting down, Terri watched as the commander handed the shepherd back his staff, saying another thanks quietly so that her soldiers and the villagers would not hear. Then, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, she smiled, a little ruefully, and as if it was slightly beneath her and not to her taste to say it, she said, “I can think of no award to give to you for your selfless act of kindness. I heard that you supplied the water which kept down the fever that attacked Marie-David—the injured soldier under my command. If your village ever needs assistance, however, or protection, or anything of that like, I will be at your beck and call.”

Then, her gaze not anymore so fearful and ashamed to do so, the commander looked straight into the shepherd’s eyes, and shaking his hand again, she said, “I am solely under the command of myself and Renutas, if you ever need assistance. Just send the word to the capital that you’re owed a favor by Jaroshi. Emna Jaroshi.”

Seeming unable to be impressed, although the village children around gaped in awe at the legendary warrioress, the shepherd nodded, saying, “Thank you; it just seemed the right thing to do at the time. I felt your soldier deserved no loneliness in her time of sickness…that is, she seemed slightly deserted, lying unwatched for a time after her arrival.
"When there is nought to think of but pain, sense leaves one, as I think it did with Marie-David. Therefore, in pain it is difficult to think of those who, in their hearts, or from above, watch over us. With all due respect, I will remember but most likely not use my right to request a favor of you…ma’am.”

For a moment, the commander stared at the shepherd, the only sign of lost composure the trembling of her hands, and the sudden softness in her gaze. Seeming suddenly tired, Emna held her head in her hands for a moment, sighing.

Then, her stance once more strong and proud, she turned back towards the house to shoot a glare at the fidgety, whispering children. They quieted within a moment. A command was given to the nearest soldier that resulted in the whole militia slowly turning around to leave. Then she walked back towards the house, calling out to the shepherd as he walked away, “That’s commander to you, sir!”

~End

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So, what do you think?

Questionnaire

2008-01-23T16:54:00.001-08:00

From my poetry class, I had to answer these; my answers are:

1. Do you like toast?
Yes. I do like toast. But I only like it if I can have certain toppings to make boring bread interesting, or certain bread to make boring toppings interesting.

2. What kind of toast do you like?
I like sourdough bread with butter on top. I also like regular, wheat bread with jam on it. I do not like extremely crunchy toast.

3. Did you always know that you would be a writer/poet or artist?
No, when I was four I wanted to be a nurse. When I was eleven I decided to be a writer. I have recently have been exploring different genres and writing lengths in fiction, and now I am exploring poetry, though not for the first time.

4. Do you remember any clues in retrospect that brought you here? Describe them.
I always had fun making up a story. I would listen intently to stories. And I think deeply over poetry.

5. What is your favorite time of day?
It depends where I am. I like the afternoon, the evening before dark, and moonlit nights. I would not pick noon, though, it is too crazy.

6. Are you haunted by anything?
I have no ghosts haunting me. I do have mental things haunting me, though. I think everyone is haunted by something, except maybe children.

7. Is one time of day more productive for you?
I am productive in the mid-morning with to-do stuff. I am more productive in writing during evening. With poetry, I am most productive when quiet and contemplative, or when walking somewhere.

8. What would you do if you were not a writer or a poet?
One part of me wants to say, I do not know, there is no alternative. But I suspect art. And if I could not choose art, then I really do not know.

9. If you were not human what would you be?
I would be a bird, so I could fly. Or I would be a tree. Or I would be water, so I could be moving, listening, and speaking.

10. Can you come up with one word that would bridge Prose-poetry-writing?
I cannot think of a word that would define all three together. All three involve thinking and expression. They can be connected and function.

11. What do you collect?
I collect strange people, it seems. I also collect rocks, precious gems sorts of rocks, not gravel. It is the appeal of the variety and beauty in each rock.

12. How is your collection displayed?
I display my rocks on my windowsill or any available flat surface. I do not put them on the floor, but pieces of furniture. Right now I have most of my rocks in a circle around a fairy statue I have.

13. Have you had past lives? If yes, describe them.
I think everyone has past lives. But we cannot remember them. All I can say about my past lives is that I went through all the millions of species of creature on the planet, and now I am human, so I have opportunity to flourish and use my human intelligence.

14. Who can you talk to about writing? The list can be long or short.
I can talk to my friends Shannon, Elysabeth, and Samantha about writing, and my father. Also, I talk to other writer acquaintances, writing students, and professors about writing. Often though, I am reluctant to share my writing, perhaps because I am not sure it will have the same power it has to me, it feels mediocre, or because I am shy.

15. What do you spend most of your time looking at?
I look at pictures, and nature. I love to look at architecture. I like to observe people.

16. What environments are good sources for your inspiration?
I think new places are good environments, always. Personally, I am inspired by being in nature. Exploration of any kind is inspiring.

17. What do you do when inspiration comes to you?
Well, hopefully I write the idea down before it disappears! I try to grab hold of it and work on it, maybe. Or I might save it for later.

18. What kind of activity spurs inspiration?
Discussion spurs inspiration, and exploration of new concepts. I believe that internal study inspires inspiration. But at the same time, lack of pre-thought or pre-discussion can also be inspiring, to just let things fly and go however your hands (or pen) create.

19. What would you like to spend time looking at?
I would like to spend time looking at the sky. I would like to spend time looking at colors. I would like to spend time looking at landscapes from a good view.

20. What is your definition of the word vacation?
A proper vacation should be interesting. It does not have to be productive, but if it is, you get more of a feeling of accomplishment at its end. Vacation means a break from troubles and stresses, a separation from something; alternately, vacation can be defined as rebirth.

21. What do you do on your vacation that you would like to be doing now?
I would like to sleep more! I would like to have some quiet time, too. And I would like to read something for fun.

22. What are your favorite subjects?
I like writing and art. I am also intrigued by languages, travel, and film. But as far as school goes, I love English.

23. Are there any subjects that you would like to explore that you have not yet explored?
Academically I would like to explore foreign languages and ancient things, places, or people. Non-academically, I would like to explore photography. I would also like to explore writing and be able to just write whatever, for a long time, without a disappointing pause in the middle where I am faced with a blank page.

24. If you could live anywhere where would that be?
I am not sure. I would like to be somewhere peaceful and quiet with woods nearby. I would like to be somewhere where I can experience community, but also isolation.

25. Do you know where you want your finished work to live?
I want my work to live on bookshelves. I want my work to live as it springs from people’s mouths in discussion, and I want it to live in forests as people walk through them. Or, I simply want my finished work to live on pages, where people can read it.

26. How do you place value on what you write?
I hope that my writing grows. It is valuable if it teaches me something, too, and stands out in my head, if I am dedicated to it and feel like it breathes and lives and isn’t just some words functioning only to express. Someone once said (I’m paraphrasing) that writers write not just to express, but to have their readers able to live what they have lived in writing what they wrote (i.e. to walk through the places in the story, to live with the people).

27. What is enough?
Love is enough. Knowing yourself is enough. To endeavor is enough.

28. What is your favorite gift you ever gave?
I think I would have to say, perhaps, a book that I made and gave to my mother that made her cry in happiness. Or maybe the gift of friendship to people who needed it. I think that one, given to many people, has benefited me the most, too.

29. Can you make your dreams a reality without a lot of money?
Yes. I believe you can. Money isn’t everything.

30. Do you have a favorite meal? Describe it.
I love Indian food. A perfect plate is filled with rice and various vegetable mixes, a cup of juice and sweet flavored rice drink, and these tortilla-like things that you dip in soups. If I had to eat that forever and nothing else, it would be fine with me.

31. What does the word create mean to you?
It means, to find a new idea, to grow in some way. It means to alight on something that changes you because you’ve discovered it. It means you are thinking, and that you are free in some way.

32. What are some of the primary feelings you get from your art making practice?
I feel joy, and wonder. I feel accomplished and proud. But also it can be frustrating, and I am impatient.

33. If today were your last day in this life what would you be sure to do?
I would be sure to tell my loved ones that I love them and I would visit a couple favorite places and people. I would perhaps write some poetry to leave behind, because I would know I can’t finish one of my novels in a day. Darn!

Drawing of Julian

2007-12-31T19:02:00.000-08:00

Drawing of Julian

Artwork (c) Rain-drop. No stealing! Character is an original character.

References: actors, specifically Adrien Brody, James McAvoy, Jude Law, and Jamie Bell.

A few days ago I worked for a few hours on this drawing, and now I'm done with it.

I still think that I could fix a couple things - the fact that the arm is shaded darker than the face, for instance. He's wearing a vest and tie over a black shirt, btw, in case it isn't clear. And the drawing isn't cut off or unfinished; I drew it like that, up against the sketchbook paper's margin.

I won't say that this drawing is EXACTLY how I picture Julian in my head, but it's pretty close. And I'm so happy I was finally able to draw an original character of mine and be pleased with the outcome!

Now whenever I post "Maugre"-related pieces or excerpts, you guys will know sortof how to imagine Julian...

I'm really happy with how this piece came out. I plan to do a similar one of Sebastian. :)

p.s. Happy New Year's!