FC Writers Group

NaNoWriMo Challenge

2011-11-05T12:31:00.000-07:00

So, I decided that I wanted to do NaNoWriMo this year. Originally, I was going to just use my third story, but since I had already started that and I'm still not exactly sure where that's going, I wasn't sure if that would work. But I got onto the NaNoWriMo website and found that someone was doing this cool idea of plot swapping. They had made up a plot with some characters for each other to write about. I was really intrigued by this idea, but since I had no plot to give away, I couldn't really swap a plot with someone, so I adopted one instead. This really nice person just gave me this plot. I just started writing it yesterday, so I'm kind of behind, but I'm really excited about it. At first, I was kind of hesitant, because I felt like I was stealing someone else's ideas, but she told me, "When you get it published, just mention me in your acknowledgements." That from someone who doesn't even know me.

But now I'm really excited about it. I think you guys should give it a try. There's a forum at NaNoWriMo.org that's called Adopt-A-Plot. I'm sure someone would be willing to give you one, or even like two of you could make up a plot for each other. It's kind of fun, even if you don't finish NaNoWriMo, like the whole 50,000 words. I think you should try writing someone else's idea.

Editing

2011-07-25T10:19:00.000-07:00

So, I have this friend at church that I was talking to, and I mentioned my book that I'm working on. She used to work as a professional editor. When she heard about my book, she said she would love to read it and edit it for me. So I sent her a copy of the first one, and I'm really interested to hear what she'll say about it. I think it will be some really good editing. First off, she asked me what kind of editing I wanted and proceeded to tell me the different kinds. I honestly didn't know there was more than one kind. But then she was asking what I wanted to do with it eventually. Maybe she'll be able to help me figure out what I need to do with it. I can't wait to hear back from her.

Announcement

2011-07-13T10:18:00.000-07:00

I don't know how many people will read this, but I just wanted to post that I finished the rough draft of my book! This last week I knew I was getting close, and I just couldn't put it down. The ending might be a little rough, but I finished it.

Since we never post here anymore...

2011-03-25T12:51:00.000-07:00

...I'm going to.

I finally finished by book. Now it just needs a title and a little bit of editing. Hooray!

Jaron won't be here tonight, but we're still going to have a meeting, same place, same time. Also, just because you don't write anything, that's not a reason to not come. Just enjoy the little party!

-Rachel

Back to Wednesday

2010-08-23T12:30:00.000-07:00

You heard the man. Meetings have been moved back to Wednesdays in honor of school starting again. Huzzah! Hopefully this works out best for the most people. It's hard to make it work for everybody all the time. :(

Update!

2010-07-19T11:42:00.000-07:00

HaHA! An update! Last week, we had fun going to see Anthony's play, Hello Dolly. It was good times for all. Fun singing and dancing, and Anthony was awesome. He even had a speaking part! Yay!

For now, let's keep meetings on Fridays, until maybe school starts again or something. We'll probably have a vote one of these days. I know it's frustrating to work out schedules, and I don't want to force anybody to miss the meetings if they really want to come. :(

Anyway, I've been making some somewhat-big changes to my story, including a new action scene in the beginning. I'm sure it's got flaws, but I hope it's alright. I'll bring it to the meeting on Friday. See you all there!

Cancelled Meeting for July 4th Weekend

2010-06-27T18:26:00.000-07:00

So... Jaron and I will both be gone this weekend to different places for the fourth of July. Jaron is going to some sort of cabin in the woods, and I'm also going to a 'cabin' which is actually like a mansion in the middle of nowhere. In short, we can't host the Somnambulist's meeting. If there's anyone who wants to get together anyway, you're all free to do so.

I'm very excited because my rough draft is 99% done, and I'll be finished before I go on my trip. How are your projects coming along? Who has made progress? We should have some kind of party for everyone who meets their goals for this summer. All right?

-Tsira

Heeeey long time no see

2010-06-24T21:08:00.000-07:00

Not 100% sure I can come this week (I'm scheduled off early, but I don't know if they'll ask me to stay or if I'll be too tired or what), so I'm posting two super short stories here just in case. The first is creepy, the second is fan fiction so you probably won't get it...
--

This first story is based on a dream I had (anyone that follows me on twitter or has seen my status update on facebook--this is the one my characters were in).
*
He's having another episode. His hair is long and messy, he hasn't shaved for weeks it seems.
"I want you to bury me."

Out in the backyard, everything is slowly turning grey. I stare at the broken swingset and he continues to rant in a language I can't understand. I follow him to a greyed vegetable garden, and kneel, my numb hands digging into grey dirt.

Under the grey there is black, thick dirt. I remove the skeleton lying there, first the skull and lower jaw, then a spine and ribcage, hipbones and legs. As he lays down, I stumble to my feet, hearing but not feeling my sobs. At the edge of a bright green lawn I fall to my knees, choking on the sobs as I crawl. The tall man with white-blonde hair and cold blue eyes stares down at me.
"Hurry up," is all he says.

My fingers wrap around clumps of black soil, and I drop them onto the man in the hole. He lies still, calm and pale at first. More dirt is followed by his chest heaving and a wide grin on his face. He starts thrashing in panic when a pile lands over his face, but he doesn't move to stand; mania overcoming the instinct to survive. I stop, but the two men tell me to keep going. I can't feel the dirt in my hands as I push the dirt from the edge onto him.
--

And I'm just going to copy-and-paste my explanation from deviantArt onto here for this second one. This is fan fiction for Axis Powers Hetalia an anime and manga I've been into recently. Basically, it's about the countries of the world--personified. To clear up any confusion, or to confuse you more: Elizabeta (Héderváry)=Hungary, Roderich (Edelstein)=Austria. In the anime/manga they're only referred to by their country name, but the creator gave some of them human names too.
The "compromise" refers to the Austro-Hungarian Compromise of (year I can't remember) that created the Austrian-Hungarian Empire.
*
It was just a political marriage, to signify the compromise between their two kingdoms. Roderich didn't care if that's all other people thought of it, he loved Elizabeta, and his reasons for proposing to her in the first place had little to do with the compromise. He could only hope she had said yes because she loved him back.

The organ droned out a song Roderich was surprised he was sure he knew, but couldn't remember the name of it. He knew he had to be nervous if he couldn't even recognize something by an Austrian composer--if it was an Austrian composer, he couldn't remember. The murmured chatter buzzed in the background of the music, and Roderich caught a few stray phrases, mostly about how nervous, sick, or uptight he looked. The music shifted, and the crowd rose. Roderich froze, slowly turning his head to look down the aisle, his eyes going wide. Elizabeta appeared from behind the large oak doors, a small smile on her face. She clutched a bouquet close to her, edelweiss and tulips surrounded by white and red roses, tiger lillies, and baby's breath, all tied together with purple and gold ribbon. It might have been the candle light, but to Roderich's eyes she was almost glowing. She walked down the aisle slowly, and Roderich barely remembered to reach out and take her hand as she reached him. She handed her boquet to one of the girls who had been holding her train, then turned to face Roderich, her green eyes wide with the same nervousness her smile had. Roderich returned the smile, gently taking her hands into each of his.

Later that night, as the two spun around the dance floor in a waltz, Elizabeta leaned in close to him, whispering in his ear.
"I lieb di."
Roderich paused for a moment, taken by surprise. Then he smiled, turning his head to whisper in return.
"Én is szeretlek."
*
(I lieb di=Bavarian for "I love you"
Én is szeretlek=Hungarian for "I love you too"
At least, that's what the internet tells me. I used Bavarian because I read somewhere that that's the dialect of German they speak in Austria. Again, so says the internet.)

Columbus Writing Group

2010-05-24T10:26:00.000-07:00

Hey, peoples. Like I promised, here's the info on the next Columbus Writing Group meeting. This isn't going to be any kind of official extension of our group or anything, but Rachel and I really liked last week's meeting and we'd love to see you there. There are no treats, but the group stays focused and they can provide some really good feedback.

Date: 6-1-10 (that's June first, for you number-haters out there)
Time: 6-8 pm
Location: Columbus Library (2530 South, 500 East. It's in this old-looking "Columbus School" building)

Bring a short-ish piece of writing (about 2000 words is the limit, I think?) to read out loud. Come on, it's good for you. :)

Journal

2010-05-14T11:51:00.000-07:00

As a reminder, our meetings have changed,
because Anthony has to practice his play.
It's just for a while. Do not come on Wednesday.
The time for our group has been changed to Friday.
The meeting will be at the same time of day
and at the same place, though, so Hip hip hooray!

*ahem*

Thanks to Barbara for posting something on the blog! I should really keep this place more updated. Here's the piece that I'll probably be bringing tonight, although I might choose the part that comes after the part I brought last time. We'll see. This is one of the last of James' (Zidaiku's dad) journal entries.

---

August 26, 2681

    I'm at this trashy joint called Booze 'n Brews. It's the kind of place single men (or married men who keep secrets from their wives) come to get drunk and watch a peep show for cheap. Hazy smoke fills the ceiling. Combined with the dim lighting, it's difficult to see anything clearly, regardless of how close it is to me. When I breathe through my nose, I smell equal parts alcohol, burning paper, and piss, but the smell of the air is still better than its taste.
    I'm sitting at the bar, keeping my nose in my non-alcoholic Bloody Bubble. I'm enjoying the fizz of carbonation in my ears and throat while ignoring the catcalls and heavy music from the stage. I'm focusing on the cherry red liquid climbing up through the straw instead of the reflections of miniature, scantily-clad women in the spherical glass. I'm thinking of Sarah, imagining her in front of the television, wearing her favorite nightgown, but suddenly she is onstage and removing it to the cheers of other drunken men who all have Zidaiku's newborn face.
    I push my drink away from me, wondering if the barkeep had lied about its alcohol content.
    Halen is sitting alone behind me at a table in the shadiest corner of the bar. He drums his fingers on the wooden table top, squinting at a darker stain on the yellow-stained ceiling as if he's calculating its diameter, chemical makeup, and age.
    Falon's the one I'm more worried about. He's down close to the stage, pretending to enjoy the strippers. He takes a swig of beer and whistles with the rest of the drunken men. Despite Imogen's death and the way he's taken it, he's doing a good job tonight. But I can still see sadness in the corners of his eyes and mouth and I know his mind is somewhere else.
    The reason we're here is also sitting by the stage, a dozen empty beer mugs filling his table. He's got hair the color of a cigarette that used to be short and well-groomed, and he's wearing the same not-so-black leather jacket he had worn for ten years. His face is as red as my Bloody Bubble, and like most weekend nights, he's past drunk. His hand is shaking as he tilts his current drink to his face. He uses the other to steady it, but it doesn't help. Beer spills into his mouth and overflows. It splashes down his shirt. He takes one gulp of the alcoholic lake in his mouth, chokes, and sprays the rest across the table. He sets his mug down and resumes muttering to himself: “Destroy it. Destroy. Destroy them.” His eyes are circled with black and violet bruises. One hour until the bar closes, and then he'll start walking down the block to his apartment, where twenty-seven empty bottles of vodka and a half-dozen bloody murder instruments would greet him were he not stopped on the way and arrested for serial murder by the other Knight waiting in a car outside.
    The busty female barkeep, who had also seen the man spill his drink, sighs and mutters a comparison between men and the excrement of farm animals. She hands a tall mug of frothy drink to another customer, then wipes her hands and walks toward the man's table. I watch carefully while she approaches him, my hand reaching into my jacket and clutching the cool plastic handle of my energy pistol. She says something to him and points to the door before taking four of the mugs from his table. The man doesn't move, doesn't even look up, just keep taking lazy swigs from his mug. The barkeep makes three trips to clear the table, then repeats what she had said before and holds out her hand for the final mug in his hand. No response.
    She tries to take it from him. He doesn't let go, but his narrowing eyes flicker up. “Let go,” the barkeep says. “It's time for you to go home.”
    “Destroy,” he says.
    “Are we going to have a problem?” she asks.
    “Destroy you. I will. Destroy.”
    She turns to two burly men, each of them twice my size in both height and width, near the bar. “This man needs a little help finding the exit. Would you be so kind?”
    They approach, and the first man nods. “My pleasure, ma'am.” He grips the killer's shoulder with a steak-like hand and pulls him from his seat. “You heard the lady. Let's go.”
    The killer breaks his mug over the first man's thick, bald head, then thrusts the handle and the sharp glass remaining around it into the man's stomach. The second man tries to restrain the killer, but a sharp cut on his forearm from the broken mug pushes him back. Halen and I simultaneously draw our energy pistols and call for everyone to get down. When the way is clear, we open fire on the killer, aiming for his shoulders and legs. My wind-element shots are light but rapid, while Halen's earth bullets are slower but hit hard. Most of the shots hit their marks, and the man falls back, blood and mana soaking his jacket black once again and seeping purple onto the hardwood flooring. We stand over him, keeping our guns hot. He moans “destroy, destroy.”
    “You're under arrest for serial murder,” Halen says. “If you'd like any chance at life in prison instead of the death sentence, you'll be very cooperative with us.”
    A pair of black tentacles whip out from the space just in front of the killer's heart and plunge into our chests without creating wounds. My mana shoots to my extremities in powerful and rapid waves, but instead of activating, it feels like it's boiling. Our pistols clatter to the floor while we writhe, and the killer gets to his feet. He's smiling.
    “Destroy,” he says. A new surge of pain rocks me. “Destroy.” Again. He continues to repeat “destroy, destroy,” accompanying each with a blast of internal fire. I try to think of way to escape, but my brain is shutting down. Images of Sarah and Zidaiku flash in my mind, and I wonder if this is what it's like to die.
    My eyes are almost closed when I see Falon approach the killer from behind. He sets his energy pistol against the killer's back and fires. His gravity shot, heavy and strong, rips through the man's body, whistles between Halen and me, and shatters the front window. The tentacle in my chest fades into black smoke and the killer collapses to the floor, dead.
    Falon puts his gun away.
    We pay the shocked barkeep for our drinks and the window, and we even cover the killer's tab. When the body collectors are done cleaning up and the squad from the city guard are finished asking questions, we go out for ice cream. No one talks. I go home after that and hold Sarah for a good fifteen minutes. She asks me what happened, but I give the excuse that I'm not supposed to talk about it.
    I became a Knight because I wanted the glory of being a hero.
    I'm still a Knight because I don't want Zidaiku to grow up in a filthy, violent world.

80. Words

2010-05-14T04:39:00.000-07:00

Sorry I couldn't be there tonight guys.

This is the first poem I've written in a while. It's #80 (Words) for the 100 Theme Challenge I'm doing. If anyone wants a list of the themes, it's in my deviantArt journal, or I could post it here if you prefer :)
***
80. Words

sticks and stones
might break my bones
but your words
will never hurt me

snakes and spiders
have venom that could kill
but the venom in your words
cannot harm me

knife and sword
can stab right through
but your sharp words
cannot

words and phrases
can do harm
can hurt in so many ways
but only if I let them

Desserts

2010-04-11T15:15:00.000-07:00

So as most of you now know, my oven is working again!!!! If you have any requests (as long as they're reasonable and doable) go ahead and post some ideas for desserts and I will try to get to them.

Meeting #33 - 03/03/10

2010-03-05T11:10:00.000-08:00

It was indeed Kilroy the mouse! Nice work to all you super-sleuths for figuring out last week's mystery in The Eleventh Hour.

Barbara was tagged last week and she delivered. This time, it's Anthony's turn to write something... or else there will be no treats for him!

I also released Demo 2 of my Orphan Wars game. I will be putting it online soon, for those of you who didn't get a chance to come to the meeting.

EDIT--Here it is!

Next week, we're having the meeting at Rachel's house, like usual. Here are a few things to keep you entertained until then:

Here's something a bit more writing-related. It's a website/program called Write Or Die. Basically, it's a tool for getting writers to, well... actually write. Turn it on and it will help you stay on-task and getting the words down. There are three settings: Gentle, Normal, and Kamikaze. If you stop writing for a while, the screen will turn from white to red and then one of three things will happen, depending on what mode you set the program to. Gentle will nicely remind you to keep writing. Normal mode will make annoying sounds, forcing you to return to writing if you want them to stop. And finally, Kamikaze mode will slowly delete the words you've written, one by one! So if you don't want your hard work to get deleted, you'll keep the words coming at a steady pace. Check it out here.

Moonbathing

2010-02-23T22:18:00.000-08:00

Here's the scene I brought last time.

    A shadow stumbled across the kitchen and into the living room, accompanied by the sound of bare feet sticking to the tile floor. Zero jerked from his half-sleep, gripping the arms of the armchair as if he had just been thrown into it. His eyes snapped to the shadowy figure, recognizing the short spiked hair and wide build as Rusk's. Relieved, Zero silently watched him amble into the middle of the floor while he rubbed his eyes and yawned broadly.
    “Can't sleep?”
    Rusk jumped, but as the surprise faded, it left him looking more fatigued. “Goddess, Zero. Don't you ever go to bed?”
    Zero smiled to himself in the darkness. “Only when I feel like having nightmares.”
    “You're a strange one.”
    “Don't you ever have nightmares?”
    Rusk shook his head and gazed toward the window. It was covered by blinds, but he stared narrow-eyed at it as if he were watching something bright outside. “I don't get nightmares. Real life is weird enough, man.” He walked toward the window and lifted a slat, peering through to the night outside. A crooked smile pressed itself onto his lips. “Speaking of weird, what the hell is Astra doing on the lawn?” His eyes narrowed even further. “And is she... naked?”
    Zero closed his eyes as Rusk gave a short laugh. He had hoped no one would find out about this, at least for a while. Astra's unusual habits, especially those involving nudity, had been hard enough for him to get used to over the years, but at least he had learned the decency to look away. That wasn't something Rusk seemed to have. Knowing him, this discovery would only worsen the current situation. “Stop staring, Rusk.”
    “You said you guys aren't related, right?” he asked. “Because I hope you don't mind me saying that she is fine. I wonder what it would take for me to—”
    His temper flaring, Zero stepped to the window and snapped the blinds shut. Rusk stepped back, his hands up. “Woah, chill out!”
    “I told you to stop it,” Zero said. “Do not talk about her like that.”
    “So what, is she your girlfriend? I thought there wasn't anything going on between you guys! How am I supposed to know if she's fair game?”
    “Astra is nobody's 'fair game,' Rusk!” Zero shouted. “If you understood her at all, you would know that.”
    Rusk laughed. “Do you understand her? Does anybody? Don't get me wrong, I think it's great, but what kind of person decides to lay out in the back yard completely naked at two in the morning?”
    Zero wanted to tell him that she called it moonbathing and, as the logical opposite of sunbathing, it was supposed to get rid of the tan she had picked up at camp, but he knew it would only make him laugh and possibly want her more. He wondered why he was even bothering to defend her in the first place. She knew she would attract this kind of attention. In fact, it was probably what she wanted. But that didn't change the fact that it deeply bothered him to see Rusk's sideways smile and the faraway gleam in his eye. He knew all too well what Rusk was thinking about, because Zero had already imagined everything there was to imagine, and those were his fantasies, his unobtainable dreams, and they were the only things that kept him going back to sleep in hopes of finding something other than a nightmare.
    But how could he explain this to a person like Rusk? He wondered if it was even possible.
    At length, Zero sighed. “Fine. You want to impress her?”
    Rusk grinned. “Very much.”
    “Then shock her.”
    The grin faded. “What? Like, surprise her?”
    “No, I mean static electricity,” Zero said, stepping away from the window and drawing Rusk's attention with him. “Rub your socks on the carpet and touch her arm. She loves it.”
    “What kind of person likes getting shocked?” Rusk asked.
    Zero smiled. “The same kind of person who would lay out in the back yard completely naked at two in the morning.”
    It took a moment for Rusk's brain to process the reference, but once it had, he shrugged. “Alright, fair enough.” He roughly patted Zero's upper arm twice, nearly knocking the slight boy over. “You're the man, Zero. Weird, but the man.” He turned and left the way he had come, only this time with more energy in his stride.
    When Zero was sure Rusk wasn't coming back, he looked at the window and fought against an urge to look through the blinds, like he had done so many times before. Tonight, however, he was going to be strong. He sat back down in the armchair and faced away, hoping that sleep would be back to take him soon.

    The next morning, as Melina and Zidaiku were busy cooking pancakes, Astra's door squeaked open and she came out wearing her usual baggy shirt and lounge pants. She crossed the floor as she loosely tied her hair back and settled on a bar stool, the usual empty morning expression plastered to her face. Zero watched from the living room. As expected, Rusk crashed up the stairs a moment later, failing to repress a silly grin. There was a small expanse of carpet between him and the tiled floor of the kitchen, so he dragged his stocking feet as he approached. Hearing the sound, Astra's head swiveled around, stopping Rusk in his tracks. He grinned sheepishly, even throwing in a casual wave. She glanced down at his feet, then back up at his face, gave him a final look of suspicion, and turned away. When the coast was clear, he continued, this time taking care to be quiet. He reached the tile floor and tiptoed to where Astra was sitting, finally managing to control his smile.
    “If you want me to wish you a good morning,” she said flatly and without turning around, “give up now.”
    His grin broke through momentarily. “Didn't you get a good sleep last night?”
    A stray tuft of hair floated across her face and she blew it away. “Not really.”
    “That's too bad,” he continued, glancing meaningfully toward Zero. Zero smiled and gave his best attempt at an encouraging thumbs-up. Like the static on Rusk's socks, the anticipation was building. This ought to be good, he thought.
    “Maybe this will make your morning better.” Rusk's finger reached out into the air between them, drifting toward Astra's upper arm. Astra, suspecting nothing, continued staring ahead until Rusk's finger was a fraction of an inch from her and a white spark snapped between them.
    Astra's back snapped upright, her eyes wide. Rusk stepped back, now giving his grin full control of his face. He probably expected her to run over to the carpet and prepare a counter-shock to begin a flirtatious game. Instead, in one fluid motion, Astra spun around on the stool, using every bit of her momentum to land a solid roundhouse punch to Rusk's jaw. He dropped to the floor, his bulky frame shaking the entire kitchen and causing Melina to spill a cup of pancake mix. Astra shook out her fist and looked down at the unfortunate boy lying unconscious on the floor. With a nasty hiss that Zero had only heard her use in the most infuriating circumstances, she said, “I. Hate. Static.”
    Zero smiled and leaned back in the armchair. That should keep him at bay for a while.

2010-02-10T16:21:00.001-08:00

Hey, everybody. Sorry about the mess last week, and also sorry for the late notice, but there WILL be a meeting tonight, at Rachel's house. If you can, bring some of your favorite books to talk about. See you at 7!

Johnathan's Scene

2010-01-26T21:03:00.001-08:00

So this time I'm going backwards in time. This is a partial scene from Johnathan's story before he met any of the others. (There was an assignment in my fiction course that Johnathan fit really well in).

“I don’t think you understand the situation, Johnny,” Aiden said seriously, but he could not mask his smirk.
“It’s Johnathan,” Johnathan responded through gritted teeth. He looked at his surroundings, noticing several pairs of eyes glowing at him through the darkness. He took a reluctant step back into the cement wall.
Aiden broke into a round of laughter, “You’re nowhere near as dangerous as you think you are.”
“Then kill me,” Johnathan said flatly, bracing himself against the wall.
Aiden contemplated his words, putting his hand under his chin in thought. “I think I have a better idea, I don’t want my new play thing to disappear just when we were getting started,” he mused. He jumped onto the cement wall to sit above Johnathan and to the left. “So young, so small, and so naïve. I’ll just let them play with you for a little while, leave you broken, and yet still alive.”
Johnathan didn’t respond. He would let Aiden believe what he wanted. In truth Johnathan was all of those things and he knew it. However, it was obvious that Aiden was underestimating him; all of them did—they always did, that is right before they lay dead on the ground. He clenched his hands into fists, his fingernails digging into his palms, drawing a modicum amount of blood. But it was just enough to make the spicy, sweet scent fill the air and make those surrounding him crazy to get a piece of him.
They charged, their barred fangs gleaming in the moonlight. Johnathan spared one quick glance at Aiden, who was smiling down at him maliciously, before drawing his dagger. This is for you brother, was his last thought before letting his body and reflexes completely take him over. The first vampire reached him a split-second later. But Johnathan didn’t give him a chance to attack; he kicked his leg out, landing it squarely into the vampire’s chest, forcing him to stumble backwards and into the others behind him. Johnathan then threw his dagger into one that was running at him full speed. The vampire disappeared into dust when the dagger connected with its heart.
There was no time to celebrate over killing the one; there were still plenty more to deal with before he could make his escape. He pulled a second dagger from his belt and barely ducked away from a set of claw-like fingernails that would have scratched out his eyes. He stabbed his dagger into the exposed chest of the vampire, sending ashes in every direction, momentarily blinding those close enough to touch him.
But one didn’t need the use of his eyes to attack. With awareness Johnathan wasn’t sure he had, he slipped through the ashes adding to their count with every vampire he killed. With a pang of regret he remembered smiling after his first kill, but now it just seemed foolish and heartless.
Aiden had stopped smiling at this point; instead he was speechless and captivated by Johnathan’s movements. He had even stood up to get a better view of the fight. Johnathan was good; Aiden had to give him that—very few grade schoolers would have been able to stand up to a vampire, let alone ten.
There were soon only two of Aiden’s vampires remaining. They stood just out of Johnathan’s reach, waiting for the dust to clear from the air before making their move; they wouldn’t make the same mistake as their brothers by getting to close to him. Their eyes appeared scared, but they would still attack him all the same because they knew if they didn’t Aiden would just make them suffer for weeks before finally killing them.
Johnathan surprised them by charging, before he had stuck close to the wall, making it impossible for any of them to sneak up behind him at attack his back. It was suddenly obvious that he had been already planning on his strategy before the fight had begun. But the realization had come too late; Johnathan drew another dagger hidden in his sock and threw the daggers at his last two opponents simultaneously. They were nothing more than a cloud of ashes a moment later.
He whirled back to face Aiden, looking at him wearily.

Brainstorm

2010-01-20T17:04:00.000-08:00

I, too, have pictures to share! These are the new versions of two baddies in my game. I'm sure those of you who have played Demo 1 will be able to figure out who they are (although they look nothing like their previous incarnations). Aren't they cute? :D

Demo 2 is still coming. I've been learning Ruby, the programming language my game essentially runs on, so that maybe someday I can write my own scripts for the game and be able to sell it... like, for money, on the internet and stuff. If I can't get a second job, I'll need to find some way to survive, right?

I have also been putting together a master list of items for the game. One thing I dislike about how the program works is that there's no way for the player to sort their items. They will appear in the same order as I program them in, and there's no way for me to insert spaces into the list without moving everything, and since the program references everything by number, inserting items into the list simply won't work. Being the organization freak that I am, I really want everything to be orderly and logical, so that all the potions will be together in one group and the swords will be in another. So what I've done is set up an Excel spreadsheet to keep track of all my items, weapons, etc. and what order I want to put them in. Then, when I'm fairly certain I've created all the items I'm going to create, I can plug in the master list and go through the entire game and fix all the item references. This, of course, will take at least a week. The things I do for this project...

But in the meantime, you guys can help me brainstorm ideas for items, weapons, skills, and the like! That way, I can add more things to the master list now and save myself the trouble later on. If you have any ideas you want to give me, I'd love to hear them! Just so you know, there are twelve elements I use in my game: Fire, Water, Thunder, Earth, Growth (like plants and stuff), Ice, Light, Shadow, Wind, Poison, Gravity (also mass/space), and Time. Physically speaking, there are five attributes: Cut, Stab, Smash, Energy (raw magic power, has no element) and Limit (these skills have high costs and are useful mainly on bosses). It's usually best for skills and weapons to keep to one, MAYBE two attributes. If a Fire/Cut skill hits an enemy who absorbs Fire but is weak to Cut, for instance, the skill will do extra damage. The program goes with the attribute that would do the most damage, instead of averaging out like it probably should. So keeping things to one attribute makes everything a lot simpler. I also have tons of status effects, pretty much everything you'd see in your average RPG. I'm not opposed to adding some if you have any ideas for those, too.

Leave a comment if you have any ideas or questions! :)

No writing, but I have some drawings from class...

2010-01-19T22:27:00.000-08:00

Perspective exercises, not really in order. These are up in my deviantArt gallery, too. I'd offer to bring the originals, buuuut the paper is 18x24 inches XD

Torn (Scene continued from what I brought two weeks ago)

2010-01-19T16:45:00.000-08:00

“How is she?” Johnathan asked Seton as he sat on the couch cleaning one of his daggers. Seton wearily walked into the living room from the hall and sat on the couch rigidly.
“Recovering, I got to her just in time; Jackson nearly tore her throat out,” Seton said flatly, bordering on angrily. They sat in silence for a while; the grandfather clock ticking away the minutes until chiming when four o’clock in the morning rolled around.
“You should get some sleep, Seton,” Johnathan said quietly.
“I’m not tired,” Seton growled back at him. No, he might not have been tired, but he was definitely worried. He wanted to be lying next to her, making sure she was safe, but then he had to remember that he hadn’t—couldn’t forgive her for killing Mitch.
Johnathan shook his head at Seton’s stubbornness. “She’s in there suffering. Lying there in the cold, dark shivering.”
“I can’t take away her pain! I’m not a healer—that is why we have you, Will, and Peter.”
“The healing she needs we can’t provide and you know that.”
“As soon as she is fully recovered I want her out of here, Johnathan. I won’t see her again.”
“Quit lying to yourself. The second you saw she was in trouble you went after her.”
“Then I won’t do it again. Have you forgiven Aiden for killing your brother? For killing your best friends?”
Johnathan snorted, “I’m not in love with him. And I know that he isn’t good; he takes pleasure from hurting people, she doesn’t. Go, be with her.” Seton shook his head in frustration.
“No.” He turned away to stalk out the door and into the night, but froze when something moved in the shadows. “How long have you been listening in, Alastor?” Alastor’s silver eyes flashed briefly, reflecting off a piece of moonlight that had flittered into the room.
“Long enough,” he replied softly. Seton hissed at him lowly. “Oh, don’t even start with that, Seton. You still don’t want any of us going near her; you’re jealous that she could pick one of us over you. And I wouldn’t blame her either with the way you’ve treated her!”
Seton had Alastor by the collar in an instant and he slammed him back against the wall, his hold growing tighter as the seconds passed. But Alastor just stared at him, not fighting back, not trying to speak. Seton released him with a snarl.
“If you didn’t want to see her why didn’t you just tell her that we were going to take care of Jackson? You normally at least coordinate to avoid her,” Alastor said in disgust. Seton momentarily glanced away—guilt in his eyes for a mere second. But it was enough to have the blood in Alastor’s veins run cold. “You wanted her to be there—she—you…you used her as bait.” Seton’s glare became deadly and he took a step toward him once again, this time intending to harm.
“Seton,” Johnathan’s voice cut through the air like ice, “Look at me and tell me it isn’t true.” Seton turned to him, unable to hide the truth. Johnathan was on his feet a second later striding toward him. “How dare you use her like that. After all she’s done for you; after all she keeps doing for you—how could you throw her into that? She nearly died!”
“But she didn’t,” Seton said flatly. Johnathan shook his head in outrage—Seton never risked their lives to such an extreme and even when he did he’d let them know exactly what they were getting themselves into.
“You need to leave. Now,” Johnathan whispered menacingly. His fists clenched at his sides, a few blue sparks of electricity playing around his fingers.
Seton’s eyebrows rose in surprise; Johnathan had only threaten him once before and it had ended with Johnathan unconscious on the ground and it hadn’t been because of Seton. And for once he simply nodded, a lump forming in his throat in protest, but he kept it at bay. Without looking at either Johnathan or Alastor he strode to the front door, opened it silently, and left with the door closing softly in his wake.
Alastor and Johnathan watched the door long after Seton had left, expecting him to come striding back at any moment.
And then when he didn’t Alastor said, “I’m going to go check on her.” He made a move toward the stairs.
“No,” Johnathan said sharply. Alastor paused mid-step to turn and stare at him in wonder, a frown forming on his face. “It’s too early for you to be making passes at her. Not with Seton so close; not when she only knows and will only know that he saved her life.”
“Are you asking me to lie to her?” Alastor whispered in outrage.
“No, I’m telling you,” Johnathan looked toward the front door giving a slight nod to it, “He needs to get his petty little revenges out of his head before he can begin to realize that he has made a mistake. And she needs to believe that he cares for her, which we both know that he still does.”
“I don’t like this, Johnathan,” Alastor said through gritted teeth.
“Doesn’t matter. Just stay away from her.” With that said Johnathan quickly moved up the stairs and slipped into the room she was recovering in—it was the only way to guarantee that Alastor stayed out.
Alastor’s fangs unsheathed in anger and he snarled something unintelligible to the seemingly empty room before ascending the stairs and slamming into his own room.
***
Damian stepped out from the shadows after making sure they were out of sight. His hand clenched the glass of blood that he had retrieved from the kitchen not five minutes before. He understood what Johnathan was doing, but he also knew that whatever applied to Alastor applied to him as well. In fact it didn’t look like Johnathan was going to let any of them speak to her before she left; Johnathan would do exactly what Seton had demanded him to do. And Damian wasn’t even sure why.
He stared back down at his cup full of blood; no longer interested in consuming its contents his lip curled upward in disgust. He went to the kitchen and poured the down the sink and then ran cold water over it to wash away the rest of the blood. In his mind the water splashing against the sides of the sink began a kind of rhythm; one that he couldn’t stop or deny. He had to sing when beckoned or he would suffer.
But it was late and he couldn’t go singing inside while the others were asleep. And he especially didn’t want to disturb Amy, even if he wasn’t going to be able to see her any time soon. He automatically moved to the back door that led him to the outside, tracing the same path that he had gone over many times. He walked on the cold grass, noticing that he was bare foot, but didn’t stop to care. He stopped just as he reached the pond that looked dark, murky and foreboding in the moonlight. A plane suddenly flew overhead, screaming in his ears with his extra sensitive hearing. And then the song burst from his mouth involuntarily. It was one he recognized instantly—Billy Squire’s In the Dark. The music played for him projecting against the water, causing it to ripple. He couldn’t help, but start dancing—the moon as his audience, as he didn’t believe that anyone else was listening to him and hadn’t for a long time

The Legend of Pokti - Chapter Thirteen

2010-01-17T19:03:00.001-08:00

Chapter Thirteen

Going Home

“I hope that now, since Brukadorfuish has been banished, we can all live here together in peace for many, many, years,” Alden Kareem announced to the crowd.

A loud cry of joy rang out. Many of the people in the crowd were goblins. They were filled with happiness that now they wouldn’t have to work for the Dark Queen ever again. One of the goblins was Bruka’s little servant girl. She was shouting and cheering just as loud as she could.

News of the victory spread through Pokti quickly. There was a big celebration that night, and just about everyone in Pokti came. There was singing, dancing, eating, and talking. Most of the women brought some type of cake, ice cream, cookies, salad, fruits, vegetables, fish, or Jell-O. Other foods were brought too.

After the party and all the celebrations were finally over, everyone camped out in Unicorn Valley.

* * *

In the morning, when Kyle and Kristy woke up, almost everybody else was awake.

The thought of going home returned to Kyle’s mind. He shared his thoughts with Kristy, and they decided that they should ask Alden Kareem about it after they ate.

They had a wonderful breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Potts and then began their search for the king. They finally found him with Celeste standing next to his shining, shimmering, pool of water.

Kyle cleared his throat nervously. Alden Kareem lifted his head and turned his eyes towards Kyle. “Um,” Kyle started, “we were wondering how we’re supposed to get home.”

“Ah,” Alden Kareem said with a chuckle, “that will be easy.”

“It will?” Kristy asked, suddenly relieved.

“Yes, it will. All I need to do is make a bubble like the one I sent your aunt through, and you just hop through.”

“Okay!” Kyle said, happy that they could go home whenever they were ready.

“When do you want to leave?” Alden Kareem asked.

“After we say goodbye to everyone,” Kristy said, suddenly feeling kind of sad.

* * *

Later that day, just after lunch, Kyle and Kristy stood next to Alden Kareem, ready to go. They had said goodbye to all their friends, and all the new people they had met. Everyone gathered around to say a final goodbye.

Alden Kareem created a big, blue bubble about three feet away from where he was standing.

“Why is it blue instead of pink?” Kyle wondered.

“Because I’m sending you through a different portal than I sent your aunt through.”

“Where are you sending us?” Kristy wanted to know.

“To your aunt’s house.”

“Then, where did you send her?” Kristy said, confused.

“I sent her to the house of the Dark King, Blandorbush.”

“Why didn’t you send her to her own house?” Kyle asked.

“So I could seal the one in his house too. That way, she cannot return to Pokti through that portal, and if the Dark King went to Earth to talk to Brukadorfuish, he wouldn’t be able to come back to Pokti to do whatever she wanted him to do.”

“Are you going to seal our portal too?” Kyle asked, a little concerned.

“Yes, I am. But don’t worry, you can come back any time you’re at your aunt’s house.”

“We can?” Kristy said excitedly, “How?”

“You still have that key, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s right here in my pocket,” Kristy said as she pulled it out and showed it to him.

“Well, it will continue to unlock that door at your aunt’s house until it’s gone.”

“Really?” Kristy said, with a huge smile on her face.

“Yes, really. Now, are you ready to go?”

“We sure are, especially now that we know we can come back whenever we want.”

“Well, go on, hop through the bubble,” Alden Kareem said, nudging the twins towards the big, shiny bubble.

“Wait!” Kristy burst out.

“What is it, my child?” Alden Kareem asked in a fatherly tone.

“Where’s Spotty?”

“Right here,” a voice called from the crowd. Fiertia emerged from the middle of the crowd of people. There, in her arms, was Spotty.

“Oh, thank you,” Kristy said, as a huge smile appeared on her forlorn face. “I thought we’d lost him.”

“Mother says that when the rest of my family came for the party, he desperately wanted to come, so they brought him along. He’s been running around all morning, and I just remembered about him a couple minutes ago. Here he is,” Fiertia said as Kristy took Spotty from her arms.

“On second thought,” Kristy began hesitantly, “it might be better if you keep him. He loves it here. Besides, if we took him back, he'd be with my Aunt Bruka again. Will you take care of him for me?”

“Of course I will.”

Kristy gave Spotty a squeeze and then handed him back to Fiertia. She looked back at Kyle who gave her a sad smile telling her that she was doing the right thing. She turned back and gave Fiertia a hug. “I’m going to miss you,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’m going to miss you too. Come back soon for another visit,” Fiertia whispered back.

“I will,” she whispered, “I will.”

When the two finally stopped embracing, Kristy said meekly, “I’m ready now.” She wiped her eyes and held Kyle’s hand.

“Goodbye!” they said together as they stepped through the bubble, and then they were gone.

“I’m going to miss those two,” several people muttered.

* * *

Kyle and Kristy were back at Aunt Bruka’s house in the room full of books.

Kyle ran out of the room, followed shortly by Kristy. They ran to their Aunt Bruka’s room. The door was slightly ajar, so they went in.

“What do you want?” Aunt Bruka asked coldly.

“I was wondering when our parents are coming back,” Kyle asked.

“In three days.”

“Thanks,” he said, turning to walk out of the room.

Kristy followed him up the stairs to the room where he was staying.

“Do you know what this means?” Kyle asked excitedly as soon as they reached the room, and the door was shut.

“What what means?”

“It means that time passes the same there as it does here.”

“So,” Kristy said, waiting for more of an explanation.

“So we can come to Aunt Bruka’s house for a week and then go to Pokti for a week, and only a week will have passed. Also, we could go to Pokti next year and only one year will have passed. The same people will still be there. Hundreds of years can’t pass by in Pokti unless hundreds of years pass by here.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Kristy said with false enthusiasm, still not really understanding Kyle’s point.

* * *

At the end of the week when their parents came to get them, and they were driving home in the car, Kristy asked, “Can we stay at Aunt Bruka’s for another week next month?”

“What for?” their mom said grinning, “I thought you didn’t like going to Aunt Bruka’s house.”

“We didn’t,” Kyle answered truthfully.

“Then why the sudden change of heart?” When nobody answered, she continued, “Or did you just find out it’s not so bad after all?”

Kyle and Kristy exchanged glances and smiled.

Exquisite Corpse #1

2010-01-14T20:30:00.000-08:00

“Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor.”– Harry Potter

-1-
•    Tom jumped back as it reared its slimy head.
•    “It’s an alien from Mars!” he shouted, grasping the handle of his authentic Babe Ruth baseball bat tightly.
•    He had gotten the bat from his grandfather’s collection.
•    And without hesitation he proceeded to attack the strange thing on his floor.
•    He threw a punch, falling when he hit only air.
•    In seconds the fight had shifted from his favor.
•    One uppercut to the chin and he was on Stacy Beedram’s doorstep, necking her like there was no tomorrow.
•    Fortunately, tomorrow came, and Fred did not want to leave.
•    His friends had a different plan, however.
•    But the day was ending, so they decided to go home and eat the brownies grandma made.

-2-
•    The girl shrieked as she discovered that her ribbon was gone.
•    Frantically, she peered around, searching for her fallen treasure.
•    She quickly got down onto all fours, crawling around on the ground.
•    …Only to find that the magical beans had disappeared.
•    “Where’s my weed-whacker?!?” shouted Jack to a trembling Bessy.
•    “I hid it in the pantry. No one would ever dare to look in there,” said Bessy.
•    “Oh, really?!” With a swoosh of his long black cape, Mr. Evil swung open the pantry door, revealing the fluid and silvery substance!
•    So he did have the substance all along!
•    Angrily, he threw himself at the liar and attempted to get the substance.
•    Knocking him down, he grabbed the substance and held it victoriously over his head.

-3-
•    The home-ec students stared at the puddle in confusion, then at the girl holding a tipped over pot.
•    The puddle began to bubble as the students stared in disbelief at the silvery liquid.
•    “Is it dead?” queried a small voice at the back of the crowd.
•    “No, merely unconscious,” exclaimed the leader of the crowd.
•    The leader, whose name was Andrew, leapt into his shiny red convertible and sped away from the scene, leaving only a cloud of dust in his wake.
•    The boy stared in awe as he was left in Andrew’s dust.
•    All at once he began to cry, wishing that Andrew would find it in his heart to come crawling back, so that he could kill him for leaving.
•    Maybe he could stab him in the heart, to make him physically feel the emotional pain he had.
•    The thought sent shivers down their spines.
•    And then they all died of AIDS.

-4-
•    Johnny gasped and stared at it in horror.
•    “What is that grotesque thing?” he asked, poking it.
•    His friend curled his lip as he went to his knees to get a better look at it.
•    He prodded it with one finger, quickly drawing back when the thing shifted.
•    The strange thing then began to speak, saying…
•    “I say, I could do with a spot of tea right now—Earl Greg, if you don’t mind.”
•    “But we’re not in England, my dear friend,” said the flustered Frenchman.
•    Johnny slapped his forehead. “So that’s why I couldn’t order fish and chips at that diner!”
•    He felt the sting on his head from slapping himself.
•    In the end, he could only hit himself for his own stupidity.

-5-
•    The snake was eerily grey and not like other types of snakes.
•    This one had glowing red eyes where there should have been the cold, dark black eyes of a heartless monster.
•    It was those ruby eyes that sucked him in, as if there were no other creatures in the world but the two of them together.
•    But at the same time, looking closer at the eyes offset him; the more he stared the more frightened he became.
•    When he tried to back away, his legs felt heavy and wouldn’t move.
•    Giant monkeys had surrounded him, pulling down his legs.
•    “Not my pants!” he cried, “I can’t be naked—Nooooo…” he sobbed futilely as his pants were dragged from him.
•    He had a phobia for his pants being taken off—there has been no released name, though.
•    But eventually he forgot about the entire incident and his phobia faded into the dark abyss of adulthood.

-6-
•    Another followed after, and then one more after that.
•    Shocked silence spread through the lab.
•    “How dare you steal my cookie, you thief!” the scientist yelled.
•    “I daresay I’d rather be eaten by him,” piped the chocolate chip cookie, quite unexpectedly.
•    “But why would you want to be eaten by him?” said the other not-so-chocolaty cookie.
•    “Because his teeth are so clean!” the strawberry replied, “I mean, who wouldn’t want to get eaten by that guy?”
•    “Well, I don’t want to be eaten,” said the banana, “because I want to live a long and yellow life.”
•    A human caught sight of the banana and, with a shrug of her shoulders, ate it.
•    She forgot, however, that she was allergic to bananas.
•    …Leaving everyone with a dissatisfied look about them.

-7-
•    …as the wind blew through the Batcave.
•    “Holy tap-dancing tarantulas, Batman!” exclaimed Robin, “it’s the Venomous Villa Vaga of Merengué sent to kill us by the perilous Penguin!”
•    “But he escaped the Batcave already? How could that be?” said Batman.
•    “He stole our Bat-Jail-cell-destroyer and used it to escape!” cried Robin, “Holy escaping monkeys, Batman!”
•    “That’s all right, Robin,” replied Batman, “we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
•    And without further ado, Batman flung himself off the building.
•    He grabbed onto the edges of his cape, spreading his arms to make makeshift wings.
•    As he spread his cape, he was thwarted by Batman as a Batarang sliced through his wings.
•    “How do you like them apples?” jeered Batman as the Batarang zoomed silently back into his hand.
•    “They’re quite juicy, but I would have rather enjoyed a soft peach.”

The Leaf Free Write by Enoch (James) Wallis

2010-01-13T21:39:00.001-08:00

Chapter one
In the sharp moonlight, the smell of campfire smoke permeates the air, and the sound of crickets mingles with laughter. An updraft from a dancing fire catches a changing leaf and gently lifts it from its summer home, sending it twisting and spiraling into the night sky. Up it floats, dancing in the stars as it frolics on its last happy ride through the autumn air. As it turns, its orange and gold streaked skin catches light from the harvest moon and, for a moment, it gleams with such beauty that the stars shimmered with delighted tears, thinking the sun had come early. Then the little blaze turns again and starts to the earth to give itself back to its mother tree, feeding it to make it strong. Another breeze catches it and it darts to one side and, just before continuing on its peaceful decent, a hand reaches out into the night , catching it, drawing it in and twirling it between his fingers.
David spoke, softly, gently, still twirling the blazing leaf so that She could see. “No mater where I am. No matter where you are, we’ll both see the same sun, setting in the west. And then I’ll think of you, and all the sunsets we’ve shared up on this water tower together.” And slowly, gently, he placed the leaf in Her hair. Dark brown, until it catches the light, sending out glints of auburn. As if to show her fire, unnoticed until you take the time to see.
She smiled. “How long did it take you to come up with that?” she teased. “Or have you been reading that little book my dad gave you?” snuggling into his arms and resting her cheek on his chest she closed her eyes and said. “You don’t have to come up with fancy words, I’ll love you anyway. Even if my dad is the most eloquent man in the country, and thinks if you don’t love words then you’re uneducated.”
Chuckling, David looked down to smell her hair “I actually found out it’s some pretty cool stuff. You’ll have to thank your dad for lending me that book, It showed me ‘a New World of depth and passion, unmatched in beauty.’ ‘Anonymous.’”
Laughing, She raised her head, placing her chin where her cheek had rested. “So you’re full of words now too, huh?” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him gently. “I can get used to that”
They stood holding each- other like that for a long time before David broke the silence.
“What made your dad decide to leave for Europe so suddenly? You’ve been here in Denver for as long as I can remember.”
She made a face as she looked up to answer, “He says that ‘the American education system has lost what effectiveness and ingenuity it had” and so “to get a proper education we will venture to Europe.’” She said it snidely, deepening her voice in a surprisingly accurate imitation of her father.
“Well I wish he’d change his mind.” David said softly. They both knew he wouldn’t though. And so they stood silently in each others arms, loosing themselves in the sad thoughts of separation, and absorbed all they could of each other while they could, listening with sad contentment to the nighttime sounds.
Crickets sang to them, the crunch of tires passed on the road, another group of post-graduate revelers no doubt. In the distance, their friends laughed, and they heard the sound of Mike tuning up his guitar. His little practice amp carrying the sound to their ears, and Tom’s voice as he loudly requested a song
“Let’s go back to the group” David said “they’re probably wondering what happened to us,”
so they started down the ladder to the ground, David below in case She fell. His feet touched the ground, and as he helped Her down the last few rungs, he heard a swoosh, and something hard hit him in the back of the head with the muffled thunk of wood. Dazed, he fell to the ground. Stars danceing at the edge of his vision his eyes tingling in their sockets. He heard scuffling and another thud and looked up to see the world tilting crazily and three men, a limp form over one of their shoulders, running to the nearby road where a black SUV idled with the doors open.
“No”, he said softly, desperately, “No! ELISABETH!” he screamed, stumbling to his feet and lurching after them, the world still spinning crazily. One of the men spun and cursed, said something to the others, who started running, before turning back. With a snarl and a look of cruel satisfaction he swung the bat again, and pain blossomed from David’s nose as the hard wood made contact. The force of the blow knocked him backwards so that he landed with a thud on his back, the air forced out of him.
With a grunt of pleasure, the man turned again and ran to the car, his door thudding shut behind him. Then, with a squeal of tires, the men with Elisabeth took off.
David lay stunned for half a second before what was happening cleared his brain, and he scrambled to his feet. Running after the car, his desperation lending him speed. “NO!” he screamed “ELISABETH!” and the car picked up speed. Turning, he started a stumbling run toward his own truck, and, with his blood filling with adrenaline the world slowly stopped it’s crazy wobble.
David burst through the trees into the clearing full of laughter, the guitar having drown out his screams, and yelled “THEY TOOK ELISABETH!” while he charged forward, leaping over the fire and wrenching open the door of his truck.
“What!?” Mike said, standing. “What do you mean ‘they?’“
“THEY TOOK HER!” he yelled, and slamming his door he took off after the black SUV that held his Elisabeth, leaving the others stund in the clearing.
His headlights lit the road before him like blazing eyes, as he sped forward. Catching a glimpse of the suvs red tail lights as they rounded the bend just ahead. Growling he sped up. Trees flashing by in a dark blur, he rounded the bend and saw his querry, Still ahead, but much closer, and flattened his foot to the floor. His old red truck leaping forward. The reflective license plate of the car ahead glinted at him mockingly, as its driver floored the gas as well, 124G35. Then the chase began in earnest. David knew the road, but this guy was obviously more experienced at high speed driving. They zoomed down the dirt road, each one skidding around the wild turns and looking hopefully at the other. Those in the SUV, hoping for a crash, and David praying, desperate not to see one. David’s knowledge of the road was proving to be stronger than the other’s skill, and slowly the distance between them was closing.
What do I do when I catch them? he asked himself, don’t think, just DRIVE! Was the answer. The window of the dark car rolled down and a gun poked out. David had just enough time to register the weapon before a bullet shattered his windshield, and buried itself in the seat right by his head. “oh shit!” he said to himself and almost missed the next turn. Ahead of him another window rolled down on the suv and a second man poked his head out, aiming a rifle at the leading right tire of David’s truck. just as the man pulled the trigger, the suv hit a cattle guard, sending the shot into a tree instead of davids tire. The first man fired again, and David felt a jerk in his right shoulder. Yeling in pain and frustration he gritt his teeth, taking a hissing breath. His hunting rifle flicked into his mind where it lay behind the passenger seat but he quickly dismissed the idea. They have Elisabeth with them. what if I hit her?
So the chase continued, and ahead the license plate glinted tauntingly at him. 124G35
They can’t keep shooting. David thought. Soon they’ll be too close to town. Apparently the kidnappers had realized the same thing, because the two men retreated with their guns back into the car. David urged his truck to go faster. If I can’t catch them before they get into town, this guy will be able to loose me. In front of him, the suv took another turn and sped down the road by the free way. Suddenly turning off the road it headed straight for the barrier. David blinked in surprise, and swerved to follow. But too late, the suv rattled over the rough terane and got on to the freeway just to the side of the barrier. But David, a little farther over hit the barrier with the side of his truck and lost control. Spinning wildly across the two lane high way the front fender of the old truck nicked a sign post and David and his truck tumbled into the irrigation ditch on the opposite side. Scrambling back over to the drivers side, blood trickling from a gash in his forehead, he desperately pounded on the gas. A wet churning came from the rear wheels and the old truck sank deeper into the mud, like an old man settling all the way into a comfortable arm chair. “DAMN IT!” he yelled, and revved the engine rocking back and forth in his seat trying to add his own energy to getting the car up and on the road. It was no use. The old truck was stuck. “no” he said “no no no no!” and he yanked door handle and burst out of the cab, scrambling up the muddy slope to the highway, the red tail lights of the black suv gleamed back at him evily and, tears streaming in his vision, he charged down the road.
NO! he thought NO THEY CAN’T HAVE HER!! And he ran harder. Slowly, painfully, the tauntingly evil red eyes ahead of him faided crying out he put on an extra burst of speed. The horrof of loosing Elisabeth giving him strength he never knew he had. But his legs couldn;t keep the pace he was demanding of himself and he stumbled, his feet catching on the asfault and sendinghim to the ground. “no” he said again”NO!” he screamed, the word melting to an anguished roar. She was gone the thought seemed to sap his strength, and he sank to the black road, his yell echoing through the trees at the side of the road. She was gone, and he had failed her. They had stolen her. As he huddled on the road, anger, fear, and terrible loss forcing him to the ground, one thought ran through his head. It was his fault. She was gone, and he couldn’t stop them. it was his fault.
It was the last distinct thought he had for a long time.

CHAPTER 2
Elisabeth drifted awake to a curse and the boom of a gun, and heard a rough, unfamiliar voice say “Damn country road! I missed!” then another voice came in, this one sounded upset. “ they wont be happy. I told you we should have waited longer!” BANG! And she thought she heard David cry out in savage pain. “man, that kid’s tough” said a third voice.
“Yeah?” said Rough, addressing Upset, “Well if Taylor had knocked the kid out like he was ‘sposed to, then it wouldn’t have made much of a difference!” the car jostled and she faded back out as a smooth deep voice joined the conversation…
she woke again, sometime later, when she rolled across the empty floor of the car and hit some ones leg, not knowing if she’d been out seconds or hours. Who ever’s leg it was kicked her back to the middle and then said, “Ha! That got ‘im! He went right in the ditch!” it was Rough. Elisabeth felt ice in her veins. no! David! Tears slid down her cheeks, and then upset spoke again. “Damn! He’s chasin us!” he said, amazement in his voice and Elisabeth’s heart beat again, bringing a fresh set of tears. “Damn but ain’t He Fast!” said rough, obviously impressed, and Elisabeth couldn’t help the pride that welled up, adding to the salty parade rolling down her cheeks. the car stopped swerving and she blacked out again, tears still streeming down her face.
The next time she awoke she was in the dark, tied to a chair so tight her hands and feet were numb and tingly from lack of circulation, the bag that had been over her face in the car was gone, but it didn’t make any difference. She still could see nothing.
CHAPTER 3
Mike sat, stunned for a moment as David roared away, tail lights flickering between the trees. “this's gotta be a joke” he thought, but David really wasn't the prankster, that was his job! Elizebeth couldn't be kidnapped, that kinda thing didn't-
“Lets go!” Tom said jumping to his feet, and the spell over the stunned clearing was broken, everyone rushed to their cars, and Toms voice lanced out again, the harsh whip of reality cracking over head. “Someone call the sheriff!” with a flurry of car doors, and the sputtering of engins the frantic convoy was off, heading down the road after David.
Digging franticly in his pocket, Mike pulled out his phone and diled, getting only a buisy signal. What the crap man! He thought, this is an emergency! And he jammed the redile button as the first gunshot rang through the trees. “Oh crap!” he said and the operator picked up.
“Hello, 911 emergency”, she sounded stressed, “Hey Lady! My buddies girl's been kidnapped and now hes chasin after them, and i just heard a gun shot!” BANG, BANG! “THREE gun shots!””Please stay calm,” easy for her to say! “we've already heard from two of your other friends, we're sending out an amber allert now and all four cars are on their way.” snapping his phone shut, Mike fumbled with the radio and with the hiss of statick he caught the end of an annoying buzz tone and an electronic voice rang through the car, THIS IS AN AMBER ALLERT!!! ELIZABETH -------- HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED, SHE IS A SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD, COCASION FEMAIL, FIVE TWO WITH DARK BROWN HAIR AND GREEN EYES, REPEAT, THIS IS AN AMBER ALERT!!!
Mike switched off his radio as the anoying buzz came back, signaling the end of the alert, and sped aroung a cornesr, hearin the shreik of tires ahead, and then a crash, his foot hovered between the gass and the break, uncertainly untill ahead, Toms car swerved off the road, to folow battered and bruised earth across the short gap to the highway. And as mike folowed, the trail, he spotted davids truck in the ditch, headlights blaizing into the night sky and steam pouring out from under the hood.
Tom was already leaping out of his car and running to the old red Ford. Mike yanked open his door, strughlingm with his seatbelt and cursing when it caught around his neck. By the time he'd extracted himself Rachel and .Shantell were getting out of their car and Jacen was pulling up behind them.
It had been Mike who saw him first. Realizing that it was David they were looking for, the fastest guy on the football team and state champion in track long distance, he had started down the road in the direction of the skid marks, continuing on farther than they had the first few times. He drove slowly for almost an hour, and was about to turn back, thinking he’d gone far enough, when he saw David through his windshield. If he hadn’t have been going so slow, he would have run over him. David had been slumped over, his arms hanging by his sides as if they were stuffed and his eyes glazed, staring down the road. There was a deep gash on his forehead, blood soaked his right arm from a bullet hole in his shoulder, he had numerous other cuts and bruises from crashing into the ditch, and he was deep in shock.
Now Tom wasn’t a lover of the woods like David, nor was he into the medical field so he never saw a reason to learn how to deal with delusional people. But his mother had forced him to go to scouts for a year and he remembered a few things from the first aid lesson. So he ran back to his little car and reached into the back, pulling out the thick quilt he’d brought for Rachel, and draped it over David, gently laying him down on the road side. Then he’d called Mike, who was back with the main group, and soon his best friend was on his way to the hospital.
While the search for David was going, the sheriff, after hearing the story of why David was missing with his truck in a ditch, left the three other town police with the search party and drove slowly back to town. Over and over he worded what he was going to say to Michael and Susanna Taylor. When he finally got out of his car in front of their house he was fairly confident on how he would tell them that their daughter had been kidnapped. he climbed the porch steps, every creak of wood a sorrowful harold of the news he bore the good people inside the house. Crossing the final distance to the door he raised a hand, knocking three times. Or at least he meant to, for as his fist hit the door, instead of producing a solid rap, it swung open, and seeing the front room, the sheriff froze.
A broken table leg had stopped the door from swinging in all the way, and a mirror on the far wall was broken, reflecting the room in cracks and fragments. As he stepped into the house he noticed that the couch was over turned, the TV had fallen to the floor, and the coffee table was smashed, one of its legs the one at his feet holding the door.
“Mr. Taylor?!” he called, realizing his gun was in his hand, he didn’t remember drawing it. “Mrs. Taylor?!” but nobody answered, and nobody would.

David Bastian awoke slowly, fighting desperately to keep his heart closed, to keep the terrible pain from breaking through the blissful dam of sleep and washing him away. But the fight was doomed before it began, and he was swept away. A man standing in the riverbed with his hands stretched futilely before him. He lay on his bed, consumed by his raging emotions, and the swirling images of Elisabeth.
Slowly, David turned and sat up. His feet coming to rest on the soft rug in front of his bed and slumped there, his head in his hands, trying desperately to contain the swirling currents of rage, despair, and helplessness that were thrashing him to pieces. Crashing him against the rock of Elisabeth’s kidnapping that he caried with him. Finally, taking a deep breath, he reigned in the storm that circled tightly around him, and lifted his head.
For a long while David glared at the tan rug beneath his feet, imagining charging into the sheriffs office and demanding answers., and smiled grimly at a particularly fierce section where he threw aside the desk and held the frustratingly uncooperative deputy against the wall until he spoke. The in action was driving him mad! They hadn't gotten anywhere as far as he knew, and the only way he'd been able to help was by telling the sheriff the license number of the black suv. After that, whenever he'd approached an officer, they had calmly told him that the police were working hard to find Elisabeth and to go home and let them handle it.
Taking a deep breath, he held it for a moment thrying to calm himself, and then, running a hand through his hair he looked blankly at his dresser in anticipation of wearing clothes. As he leaned forward to open the top drawer containing shirts, a light blue paper, neatly folded with his name in red ink caught his eye. Great, he thought, another pity note that wants to be touching. He lifted his hand over the paper and let it fall, his fingers closing limply around the thin blue stationery, dragging it off the dresser top by the weight of his arm.
Carelessly, he unfolded it, and looked down at the message, reading the first line that was scrawled in a hurried hand. For a moment he didn’t comprehend what he read, snorting afterward in contempt of the expected cheesy frothel and strting to toss it asside when what was actually written sank in, and he stared again at the first words.
A steely determination came rushing through him, and he knew what he was going to do. His face hardened and his jaw clenched as he gazed at the red letters that spelled out the first sentence that had made sense since the water tower. He stood, the words blazing in his mind, and lighting his world like a beacon fire.
You can save her.

CHAPTER 4
Elisabeth stared blankly at the brick wall in front of her, the fear that had been her constant companion for who knows how long seemed muted now, she hardly noticed it anymore. A sound in the other room brought her mind back in focus, and hope stirred in her as she heard someone approach the door to the dark little room she was in.
please let it be the polece! She thought, or david... she had had amaizing dreams bouth awake, and asleep, where he had come bursting into the room and whisked her away. But when the door opened it was one of the kidappers, and the cold fear came blaizing back to the fore front of her mind. Fear of death, or worse, at the hands of thease men.
CHAPTER 5
“Ok David.”

Golden Wings On Trees of Blue

2010-01-13T14:35:00.000-08:00

So I know that this picture isn't writing...but
It was at least what I was working on.
Perhaps at some point of time I'll set some kind of poem to it, but for now...just look at the birds, aren't they pretty?

Callao and the Monster Hood

2010-01-12T11:37:00.000-08:00

I haven't been doing much writing, but here's a teaser picture from Demo 2 of my game.

Meeting Is On!

2010-01-12T11:31:00.000-08:00

Okay everybody. Next meeting is tomorrow, Wednesday 01/13/10, at Rachel's house. You know the drill--call or text me if you need help getting there. If you've created anything (particularly writing) since last week, post it here! I think moving some of our stuff to the blog will help the meetings move faster. If some people have already read the things people are bringing, then we'll spend less time passing papers around, right? And with college starting again, we need all the time we can get.

See you tomorrow, Somnambulists!

Cancelled Again...

2009-12-09T08:58:00.000-08:00

Hey, everybody. Sorry, but it looks like tonight's meeting (Dec. 9) is going to have to be cancelled too. I couldn't get work changed around in time. :( So let's meet next week at my house like usual, and I'll put up some decorations and play some Christmas music or something. We'll have a party and stuff.

Cancelled?!

2009-11-23T22:00:00.000-08:00

Hey, everybody. I know we were planning on going to the downtown library to listen to a reading thingy for our meeting this week, but as it turns out, A) They're not having one this week because of Thanksgiving, and B) I'm going to be gone on Wednesday for Thanksgiving. So unless you guys want to organize something yourselves, writing group this week will have to be cancelled. I know, crazy. Plan on going to the library the next Wednesday, which is December 2nd. I'll get back to you all with more info when the time comes. Thanks for being awesome, Somnambulists. Write away!

Demo Is Complete

2009-11-08T14:15:00.000-08:00

Exciting news, everyone. I just finished the first demo version of my game-based-on-my-book, Orphan Wars. I've tested it out and I'm happy to report that everything works, even though a few things are missing. This demo should be good for about an hour and a half of solid, fully functional play.

BUT! I'm not going to release it over the internet. Instead, I'm going to put three (count 'em, three) copies into the prize bag for those of us who have met our weekly writing goals. So set yourself a goal and achieve it if you wanna get your paws on one of these CDs.

See you guys on Wednesday, at Rachel's house!

Rachel's Book

2009-10-25T09:51:00.000-07:00

So I decided that what I'm going to do is post my book on GoogleDocs, and allow everyone in our writing group view it. Then if you have any questions or comments, you can email me. But first, I need everyone's emails in order to share my folder with you. I guess Jaron has those.

I guess I'm just a bit paranoid about idea thieves. I know it's unlikely that anyone would steal my book, per se, but that other writers would take my ideas and turn them into something I don't want. I'm okay with FanFics after it's published (if it ever became popular enough) but I'm not ready for the world to see my story yet, especially in rough form. When it's ready, I'll work to publish it so that I'm getting paid for my time instead of having ideas/names/plots/other ripped off for free.

Happy camping.

Zidaiku Pictures

2009-10-21T22:44:00.000-07:00

For those of you who might be interested, here are a few recent pieces I've made of Zidaiku. These are for the game version of my story. (If anyone has any interest in trying that out, by the way, let me know and I'll see if I can make a demo. I have maybe an hour and fifteen minutes of play time so far.)

(Don't worry, he's not dead! This is how Angel finds him at the beginning of the game. When he heals and wakes up, he doesn't remember anything about himself and they decide to travel to Vaskel to figure it out.)

Meeting #14 - 10/21/09

2009-10-21T22:14:00.000-07:00

Tonight's meeting went pretty late. Everyone was a little distracted and/or sleepy. But we got a lot accomplished, I think. I'm happy with the levels of feedback we've been giving each other on our pieces. I think we're getting more comfortable and developing a better feel for each other's styles and ideas, which helps us know what we need to work on or what we're good at.

We didn't decide on a meeting place for next week, but Rachel said she would talk to her parents about having it at her house. Plan on that for now. If all else fails, my house would probably work as a backup... I just hope my mom won't remember that we had it over here today. :D

If you set a writing goal for yourself and accomplish it--no matter how large or how small, whether it's based on word count or pages or some other more abstract idea--you will receive a prize. I'll go to the dollar store or something and find some fun stuff. Never fear, a lot of it will probably be candy. Maybe some bubble wrap, too. ;)

Happy writing, Somnambulists. Bring more of your stories! Everyone is getting to some really good parts.

Meeting #13 - 10/14/09

2009-10-18T19:14:00.000-07:00

At last week's meeting, we met at Jo's house and watched a bunch of YouTube. But fear not, for we also read each other's stories and gave them probably more attention than they have received the past few weeks, at least from me. I really liked what everyone brought. I'm really glad to see everyone being productive, and our stories are really taking off in exciting directions.

This week, Rachel and I have set a goal to write 1,000 words per day for 35 days. They don't necessarily have to be consecutive days, but... well, that would be nice. So far, I don't think we've done very well. But fear not again! I think this week will see me finishing Chapter 2 of my new draft. Think I can do it?!

So anyway, Rachel made up this cute little chart for putting stickers on, and I think I'd like to have something like that too. Anyone else interested in taking this challenge with us? It can extend into NaNoWriMo if you want, since the daily goal for that is even higher. If you'd like to do this 1,000/35 challenge with us, let us know and we can print you up a little chart or something. Be sure to set a reward for yourself if you complete it. The reward for Rachel and me is a date to Red Robin. Love that place...

Jo has set up an account for us on fictionpress. You can find it here. This will be a great place for us to post our stories (or at least parts of them, if you're concerned about copyrights and whatnot) so members of our group can read through the backlog if they've missed something. If you need the password or other account information, email me at fridgecrisis@gmail.com.

Next meeting is this coming Wednesday at my house at 7 pm. At 6, I'll be doing some free writing, if you'd like to join in. See you there!

Meeting #12 - 10/07/09

2009-10-08T23:16:00.000-07:00

For our writing exercise this week, I took a few passages of description from some books and dumbed them down into very simple sentences with general imagery. We rewrote them, adding our own style and specific images to create more colorful descriptions. It was cool to see how everyone's was different.

Then we talked a little about the pieces we brought. Jo suggested that we get a Fictionpress page where we could all post chapters of our stories and keep them all straight. I think that sounds like a great idea. Jo, if you want to be in charge of that, you can go ahead and create it. I'd also be willing to create it if you need me to.

I'd like to start focusing more on writing goals--I think that's a very helpful part of being a productive writer. If you have a specific, measurable weekly or monthly goal on the goals post and you can report back to everyone that you've achieved your goal, I'll buy you a candy bar or ice cream or something. A reward of your choice (but nothing too expensive, obviously). Feel free to reward yourselves as well for a job well done. Try telling yourself that if you write five thousand words by Friday night, you'll buy yourself a pizza or that new shirt you've been wanting. I know that's helped me a lot.

NaNoWriMo is coming up. I'll be participating, and I'll let you know when I sign up on the site. Anyone else going to do it with me?

Next week, we're meeting at Jo's house at the usual time on the usual day. Hope to see you there!

Adding a Look into a Mind

2009-09-30T21:14:00.000-07:00

So before the small run in with the tall guy at the table, I was thinking to put a small look into his mind before it occurs. Just tell me what you think, I'm not sure if it will be too soon to see into his thoughts or not.

Watching, waiting; the assignment he had been given. His lip curled in disgust, this was the last time he would ever let himself be manipulated. But apart from that he was distracted something that he rarely—if ever—was, he could still feel her eyes on him and he didn’t know why it was so important to him that she continued to look at him; he simply just felt that it was. He looked down as his computer and at what he had unconsciously written. His eyes widened in surprise and he quickly erased it. The message didn’t even make sense.
But then he didn’t really have time to think about it when someone with red hair walked by him. A deep feeling of pure hate went through him and when their eyes met the red head flinched, recoiling away from him, looking frightened and almost surprised to see him sitting there. The red head left quickly, stumbling on a chair as he nearly ran out the door. He smirked; he always enjoyed the feeling of making others uneasy with his stare. He was in the mood for a confrontation, something to send a message to the boy sitting somewhere behind him. And that was when he saw the boy’s friends coming toward him. It was a quite a simple idea really and it would get the boy jumping to the rescue...and perhaps she would follow.

***

Jeremy wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. He was too busy laughing at something the twins were ranting about when he felt his right foot catch on something and force him face first onto the hard, ugly carpet.

Meeting #11 - 09/30/09

2009-09-30T20:00:00.000-07:00

Our meeting tonight was a little different from the usual. It just so happened that Michele Ashman Bell, local author, was coming to speak about writing at the Taylorsville Library tonight at 7 pm. The timing could not have been more perfect. Thanks to everyone who came and I hope everyone took something valuable from it. Some major points of her presentation were:

Don't be afraid to break the mold and be original.
Your setting is like another character--know it well.
Internal conflict is one thing books can do that movies usually can't.
Formatting is very important when sending a manuscript to a publisher, but while writing a rough draft, the most important thing is just getting it down.
Everyone has their own voice and style. Find your strengths and use them to your advantage.
Be specific and include details. Don't assume your reader will fill in blanks.
The writer who gets published isn't necessarily the most talented writer. The one who gets published is the one who is passionate about what they're writing and keeps pressing on.
There comes a point where you have to stop listening to other people who tell you how to write your story and do it yourself, the way you know it needs to be.

Another exciting piece of news is that she asked for the URL to this blog! I told her we weren't very exciting, but she insisted. I'm honored to have a visit from someone as successful as she is. Thank you for your visit, Michele! (Hurry, everyone! Post something exciting!) By the way, her blog can be found here. She's been doing interviews with other authors, which I think is a great resource for young budding writers like ourselves.

I got a few new ideas for future meetings, too. Next Wednesday will be at my house again. We've all been doing really well with bringing new material. Let's keep it up! I'm thinking about devising some kind of reward system for people who set goals for themselves and achieve them. Does that sound helpful?

Happy writing, everyone. Enjoy the break!

Member Links

2009-09-30T19:00:00.000-07:00

(You can either edit this post and add your information, or leave a comment and I'll do it for you.)

Group

The Writing Somnambulists (FictionPress)

Jaron

White Blues (Blog)
Orphan Wars on FictionPress
Fridgecrisis on NaNoWriMo.org
Fridgecrisis on deviantArt

Rachel

story of her life (Blog)
Tsirachel on deviantArt

Barbara

Bibi15 on deviantArt

Amber

Coonzitz on FictionPress
JRiddelbrooke on deviantArt

Twilight-Relm on deviantArt

Nick

Clarinick on deviantArt

Story Reviews by Rachel

2009-09-24T14:56:00.000-07:00

So, I know we didn't get to really talk about our writing last night with it being pushed back (and at Jaron's house...) so I thought I'd start a note saying what I thought about everyone's pieces from last night.

Amber -- your story is really interesting so far. I think I still get a little confused with whose voice we're hearing, and which character is which, probably because we've been overloaded with characters in a short amount of time, and there are still a few dialogue tags that need commas. Other than that critique, I think that you have some great imagery and you never bore me with details. What you choose to show (and you do show vs. tell quite well) reveals a lot. It was easy to picture someone unusually tall poking over everyone else.

Barbara -- even though what you brought was very short, it was also very clever. I loved how they were dealing with screaming fangirls while they were buying milk--cheap milk to boot. And imagining the girl as a twin to this guy just made me think that she was probably not spectacularly pretty, but lovable. The voice was very distinct.

Valerie -- your story is very cute, and even though I know that Bruka is evil, it still made me smile a little bit to read about her traveling through the dark forest like an evil queen does. The story moves fast, but that's good for a children's book. Keep bringing the story to the meetings, and I'll be sure to tell you if there's anything wrong. Right now, there isn't. I really like it, and I'm sure young audiences would, too.

Jaron -- I know you didn't bring anything to the writing group, but I know you've been doing major overhaul on your story, and I like what you've showed me idea-wise. I'm sorry that the people on the writing forum confused you. I really did like the original exchange between Chameleon and Zidaiku. It was packed with emotion, and it kinda sapped me. I felt drained reading something so awesome, not even kidding.

So there you go. *hint: return the favor*

Time Change

2009-09-23T11:28:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone. The meeting for tonight (09-23-09) has been pushed back to 8:15. I couldn't get my work shift changed in time. I hope you can still come! It'll be at my house, like usual.

Meeting #8 - 09/09/09

2009-09-09T21:40:00.000-07:00

Tonight, we had the 999 Meeting! I intended for it to be a bigger deal than it was, but I was so swamped today and I had no energy... I'm really sorry. Next week I'll try to have an actual plan so we can get more accomplished and have a good time.

I hope you all liked the 9-shaped cookies Rachel and I made. Thanks Amber and Nick for also bringing treats. That's definitely one thing we're never short on. Haha.

I liked everyone's stories and poems. I like how I've been able to get to know your writing styles and start to get into your stories. I definitely look forward to reading more from everyone. Keep up the good work!

Next week we'll meet at my house at 7, like usual. Until then, happy writing! And don't let school weigh you down too much ;)

Meeting #7 - 09/02/09

2009-09-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

At last week's meeting, we wrote a storm through our characters' senses with attention to imagery and even personification of the storm itself. I think it went well. I'd like to do more of these description exercises in the future.

Then we read what people brought. I had some scenes from Orphan Wars, Rachel had some from The Legend of Mura, Amber had one from her new superhero/vampires story, and Barbara had one about a French girl and her mother. Good work all around, everybody. I'm glad to see everyone's been productive and kept up with writing, even with school going on.

Next week (err... tomorrow) we'll be meeting at Rachel V's house. I'll get directions out to everyone through email. Sorry again for the late notice! I'll try to stay more on top of this stuff. I think we'll have some special celebratory writing exercises for 09/09/09. Fun times, for sure. Bug people to come! We need members!

Also this week, I talked with Ms. Parrish (you know, from T-ville) and she gave me some suggestions for what we can do in our writing group. One of the things she suggested was reading books on writing, such as Eats, Shoots, and Leaves. With my track record with books, I might struggle with something like that, but maybe having a book club aspect to our group will help me. She also suggested we do writing exercises like going to a public place and listening in on conversations to get a better grip on realistic dialogue. This is something we could do on a TRAX venture, probably. Another thing she mentioned was giving out writing assignments for during the week, like using a certain fab vocab word realistically in a scene, or having a focus on dialogue, or whatever. Good ideas, all.

For now, though, come to the meeting tomorrow, and we'll have some fun with the number 9. See you there!

Update

2009-09-01T19:38:00.001-07:00

Hey, sorry about the inactivity on my part. With school starting, it's been pretty busy. But I'm making sure to make time for the writing group. I think it's a great thing and a good resource, not to mention social event, for all of us. Come if you can make it! If you have other stuff to worry about, we understand. Keep checking back here for updates!

This week's meeting will be at my house at the regular 7 pm. Bring some fiction or poetry or even essays you're writing for English or other classes. Any writing is welcome at the writing group! :D

How's everybody doing with their goals? Any revisions for school time?

Untitled

2009-08-22T21:47:00.000-07:00

So in meeting number three we kind of touched on writing in first person as the opposite gender. Now what we seem to be wondering is if this person actually sounds like a girl or because we knew it was written by one was it automatically assumed to be a girl.

When I was six I loved puzzles. Placing the pieces together one by one, excited to see what picture would be the one to form. And for a while I always had my little brother their to help me with those puzzles; the two of us were inseparable as any non-twin brothers could be. But then things changed abruptly, after the eve of my tenth birthday I found myself waking up in the middle of a parking lot, feeling like I had been left for dead…
I was laying on something cold and uncomfortable. That much I could tell and I groaned my protest of the location out loud. The second thing that I noticed was the smell, a cross between that of asphalt and stale city air. Then I made the mistake of opening my eyes. The small movement caused my head to pound and my body to ache. The sky above my head was still rather dark. I presumed that it was about five in the morning, which would allow for a little bit of light to come out. At that observation I scrambled to my feet, only to fall right back down. I was ten years old, there was no way I could have began to guess such a thing, and what was even worse was the fact that I was contemplating second guessing myself. Something was definitely wrong.
As I sat there on the ground thinking about thinking, it finally occurred to me that I would have to find my way home. Absently, I brushed my hair out of my eyes and felt something sticky cover my fingers and instead of being completely scared at the fact that it was blood, I found myself frowning and dismissing the blood almost immediately. I glanced at my surroundings, immediately my mind reacted before my ten-year-old brain could take in what was around me; there in my head a map was drawn before my eyes to lead me home. I was in the library parking lot and with the map already in my head as to the fastest way home the only thing I could do was follow.
Strangely enough, walking was not as painful as I imagined it would be. And without any pain to impede my judgment I tried to remember exactly what had happened the night before. I could remember my fear and could remember running. But as for how I ended up lying in the library parking lot I had no idea.

Zidaiku's Dreams

2009-08-16T12:56:00.000-07:00

I woke up wanting to write this morning, so I did. And I'm glad decided to listen to myself. Here's what I came up with. Both of these scenes are dreams that my main character, Zidaiku, has and writes down in a journal. I like this idea because the first-person perspective makes it feel more present, I think. Throughout the story, there will be more. The first one is another update of this scene from my book. The second is a scene from his past. In both scenes, there are a few things that are not quite true, but this is often how memories and dreams go. For example, the real Melina is sort of represented by vanilla. She constantly smells like it, she has light hair, and her personality is very sweet. But as you'll see, this other girl is represented by strawberry and has a more "tangy" personality. (For those in the know, I just had a thought about changing this girl's name, since it doesn't really work if she's going to be more strawberry-like. What do you think?)

---

There was sun, there were trees, and there was Dad.

He stood on the other side of a field. Leaves were making applause in the breeze. There was a striped ball in his hand and he looked like a professional. His skin was tan and shining in the sun. The wind tossed his hair and his clothes, and he had his eyes closed, focusing.

He reached back and threw the ball. It sped toward me, floating higher as it spun, but I jumped for it. When I caught it, he clapped along with the trees. “Nice catch, son!” he said. “Toss it back!”

So I did.

My throw also went too high. He dove for it and caught it in midair, but he landed on the picnic blanket, inches away from the rest of my family. My mom and my little sister screamed and laughed. The girl put her hand to his face and said, “You’re so silly, Daddy!”

My mom just smiled. It was white and genuine.

Dad picked up my sister and spun her around. Mom told him to be careful with her.

“Don’t worry, Mommy!” the girl said between giggles. “Daddy’s strong!”

My dad pulled her in for a tight squeeze. “That’s right! I’ll never let anything happen to you guys.”

I watched from far away.

There was also another boy. This one was only a toddler. He climbed onto his mother’s lap and said in broken English, “I hungry.”

Mom asked if it was time to get out the food. The others agreed. Dad tossed me the car keys and told me to look in the back.

I found the basket. There were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in plastic bags. One of them had my name written on it, and I knew it had extra peanut butter, just for me.

When I looked up, everyone was lying on the ground.

Not moving.

I dropped the basket.

I jumped onto the grass. It died around my feet, turning crunchy and yellow.

When I passed a tree, the bark flaked and the leaves became sharp and fell toward me.

I got to them. Everyone was facedown. I knelt by my dad and touched his head. It was wet. Sticky blood clung to my fingers when I pulled them away.

I couldn’t breathe. “Dad!” I yelled. “Dad, get up! Wake up!”

Someone approached me. He said, “Your father is dead.”

I stood up. It was a boy with my face. He had dark hair and clothes. “But how?” I asked him. “I was only gone for a few seconds…”

Then I noticed the blood covering his arms.

“You want this life, but you can’t have it,” the boy said. “Your family is dead.”

“You did this!” I said. “Who are you? And why do you look like me?”

He said nothing.

“Answer me!”

I tackled him, but I passed through his body and fell toward the dead grass.

I fell for a long time.

Thunder filled my head.

Things got black.

Then I thought I heard my sister’s voice, telling me to get up for work.

But it was only Angel.

---

I was at a supermarket. Laughing.

There were others with me. Three others. One muscular boy had short brown hair, another wore a cowboy hat and boots, and a girl was by my side.

I couldn’t turn my head to see who she was.

The boy with short hair was making a sex joke about the difference between cucumbers and pickles. He had a jar of pickles in his hand to demonstrate.

It must have been funny.

We laughed.

The girl at my side put her arm around my waist. I smelled strawberries.

The boy dropped the jar. It didn’t break, but it started rolling down the aisle. He ran for it, but just before he reached down to grab it, he accidentally kicked it. It slid past the end of the aisle and rolled out of sight. Everyone laughed harder and the boy with the cowboy hat went to help his friend.

When they were out of sight, the girl turned me toward her. I could see now that it was Melina. She was smiling and she had a certain look in her eyes. It was a look that made me want her. Even at the supermarket. Even with our friends chasing after pickles in the next aisle.

She wrapped both arms around my waist. “I bet you’re a cucumber.”

Our faces leaned in and our lips came together. Hers were warm, wet, and tangy.

We heard our friends continue to struggle with their pickles.

I opened my eyes for a moment and noticed that her hair was more strawberry-colored than I remembered.

Meeting #4 - 08/12/09

2009-08-15T11:28:00.000-07:00

At last Wednesday's meeting, we opened up with a writing exercise where we each wrote down three basic characters (milkman, action hero, ninja), three character traits (depressed, short) and two settings (medieval castle, grocery store) on little slips of paper. Then we each drew two characters and two traits, matching them up, and drew a setting. We used the characters we had picked in that setting to create a scene. It was fun, and I think I'd like to try it again with a few variations, like adding an object, weather conditions, etc.

Then we read the second part of Barbara's story, which she also posted here. Amber brought Kismet, and Rachel brought the opening scene from her Mura project. Looking good, everybody.

After that, we pretty much just watched Youtube videos. Thanks to Amber and Jo for some delicious brownies and rice-crispies-with-butterscotch-and-chocolate things.

Next week, the meeting will once again be at my house. I will have a presentation of my book ready, and I also want to do some free writing time after the meeting, for those who are interested. We can also talk about everyone's college plans (if applicable) and whether or not we'll have to reschedule our meetings. Hope to see you all there! Keep bugging people and get them to come! :)

Another part of last week's story

2009-08-12T15:40:00.000-07:00

This introduced Lynne and Leon. Same storyline as the story I brought in last week, but a different time (further ahead). I think I might write most of this story in seperate sections then put them together, it might work better.
---

8 YEAR OLD SURVIVES CHURCH FIRE
Firefighters were shocked to find a 10 years-old girl in St. Matthew‘s Cathedral, frightened but unharmed, during a fire Saturday. Calls about the fire came in around 6:30 PM Saturday evening. Details about the fire are unknown at this time. Police are currently investigating the fire, and have not said if the child found in the church is suspected to be involved…

Lynne stared down at the newspaper clipping Leon had dropped in front of her, looking back up at him with her brow narrowed.“That was you, right?” Leon asked, leaning forward with both hands down on the table. Lynne shrugged, looking away from his dark eyes.
“Police eventually found the origin of the fire. Turned out it started at the front of the church, by the doors,” Leon explained, “There’s no way someone could’ve started that and gotten out. And you were the only one in there.”
“I never said it was me,” Lynne snapped.
“Don’t try to fool me, Lynne,” Leon warned. “I’m fully aware of what you can do.”
“You don’t know anything.”
Leon smirked, taking back the newspaper clipping and sliding it into the folder in front of him. He picked it up, and flicked the front open, holding it open with one hand with the other in the pocket of his black slacks.
“Lynne Maier, 16 years old,” he read aloud, “Caucasian female, five feet four inches tall, 125 pounds. Brown hair, blue eyes. Confirmed,” he emphasized, “pyrokinetic.”
Lynne watched him suspiciously.“So?”
“Who else could have started that fire?” Leon dropped the file back onto the table.
“I don’t need that to tell me what you can do, Lynne,” he explained, his voice low, “I’ve seen it for myself.”

Lynne glared at the older man from the corner of her eye.
“So what if I did it?” she asked angrily, “My mom just dumped me there!”
Leon stepped back, walking back to his side of the table. He kept an eye on Lynne as he pulled his chair back.
“Try to not lose your temper, please,” he said calmly, “this room isn’t completely fire proof.”
Lynne shot another glare at him.
“I was 8,” she said, barely keeping her voice even, “I could barely control it then; I still can’t!” She shook her head, hanging it low.
“She just left me. She was scared of me. I lost my temper and…” she looked at Leon through her bangs. “It’s not like I did it on purpose,” she muttered. Leon’s expression was sympathetic.
“Of course I know that, Lynne,” he said soothingly. Lynne didn’t seem convinced.
“There wasn’t anyone there.”
“I know,” Leon looked through Lynne’s file again.
“We can train you,” he said, Lynne looking up at him in surprise. “Or we’ll take the necessary measures to make sure you’re not allowed in public.”
Lynne flinched back. She knew she was high up on the list of dangerous “gifted citizens”.
“So that’s the only choice I have? Go through your training program, or be locked up for the rest of my life?”
“Basically,” Leon replied.
“I would suggest training,” a smirk flickered onto Leon’s face. “I’ve seen where they keep gifted people like you, Lynne. It’s very unpleasant.”
Lynne sighed quietly.
“Guess I only have one option, then. I'll go through your stupid training.”

Scene 1 - Mura

2009-08-11T09:52:00.000-07:00

Rachel

I finished scene one of my book this past week. Only 17-ish scenes to go!
---
The air was rancid, tasting of dirt and ale. A thousand men had left their sweat and their coins in the palms of the bartend, so willing to give up their realities for the deeper abyss that awaited them. Octras, exhausted from his journey, sat on a stool near the door. He could feel the fresh scrapes across his right side and the blisters on his hand. His last pursuit had brought unexpected peril--walking back to the tavern had proven difficult in his condition. He needed rest and warm bath. He reluctantly turned in his seat to scan the room, searching for his current employer. Everything in the tavern seemed orange from the dim chandelier, but the man Octras was looking for was still easy to find.

Octras stood and stretched, feeling his sore legs shake from the effort. He steadied himself and ducked under the chandelier as he passed. His employer had a drunk smile as he reached for the small sack Octras had brought with him.

Octras pulled away from the man's reach and said, "You'll get yours when I get mine."

"Very well. I owe you," he replied, holding out a few black coins.

"This is hardly what I bargained for; I risked my life to get these shells for you. You'll have to dig deeper if you want them."

The man sighed, the smile vanishing from his face. "If I'd known it would cost me so much..."

"These shells are far more valuable than my services cost you."

A second handful of coins were given to Octras, and the transaction was made. The man stared into the bag for a moment before he sighed again. He motioned for Octras to sit across from him. Reluctantly, he obeyed.

"So where did you find them?" he asked.

"I had to chase your thief all the way to Crescent," Octras started, "and it was not an easy task. He had light steps and knew how to cover his tracks. Luckily enough, there were goblins headed north and when he got close, he panicked, leaving his trail exposed. He had a camp in a cliff about, um, an hour walk from Crescent. He was up there when I arrived."

The people sitting nearby had all turned to listen, and though he knew many of them would forget the story by morning, it felt good to have an audience. Octras looked around as they all started to ask whether a battle took place.

"I warned him that if he didn't return the stolen goods, he would be starting a fight he could not win. He didn't cooperate, so we fought," he said, mimicking a fist fight. "My back was to the entrance when he suddenly tackled me. We both tumbled over the edge of the cliff. I managed to get a handhold."

"And what of the thief?" the man asked.

Octras tasted the lie on his tongue as he told them, "He tumbled to his own death."

He rubbed his blisters with his thumb as he remembered what had really happened, but the drunk beasts roared at the victory and offered to buy Octras a drink. He refused their invitation, however, telling them that he was tired. Even if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have had any ale; it was a bitter potion that left him numb and depressed.

As Octras turned to leave, a girl half his height pulled on his arm. The barmaid stood on her toes as she said, "You can stay for a little while, can't you? We close in an hour, and you can walk me home."

He shook his head. "I should go, and so should you. A bar is no place for a young woman to be."

As he spun toward the doorway, someone else tried to come through it. They collided; the woman fell against the wall with a smack. She spoke to herself as she tried to recover from the blow. Octras offered his hand and apologized profusely as she struggled to stand on her own. Instead of accepting his help, however, she pushed his palm away and looked right past him.

"This was a stupid idea," she said, and backed out into the night.

Curious, Octras followed her. "Excuse me, miss... are you hurt? I didn't mean to hurt you."

She completely ignored him and sat against a tree. "I bet he wasn't even there," she whispered. Octras asked again if she was all right, though it was obvious that she was not. She looked as if she hadn't noticed him there before. "You--you should watch where you're going."

Something about her voice made Octras feel small. "Hey, I apologize. I just wanted to make certain you're not injured, but you seem distressed about something. Maybe I can help you."

"Perhaps. I doubt the likes of you would understand my problem." She looked at him like he was filthy, and it offended him until he remembered that he was. He suddenly wished he had cleaned up before going to the tavern.

"What is it you're looking for?" he asked.

She looked up, scrutinizing his face. Her eyes were glossy from tears, and though they were sad, he saw a kind of strength he did not recognize. She held his gaze for a moment, and Octras felt a buzzing sensation creep through his spine and into his head. He rubbed his neck as he repeated his question.

She hesitated. "I'm... looking for... a mercenary named Octras. I'd heard he was headed here."

He laughed when he heard his name. "You're looking for Octras? Whatever for?"

Her eyes opened wide as she realized who he was. "I needed a bodyguard to take me to Catarisk. I have important business there."

"Octras of Calvador, at your service," he held out his hand, "and you are?"

"Tsira Kyequa of the Freelands." Her hands remained in her lap.

"Well, Sierra--"

"No, it's Tsira. Please don't make me correct you again. It's annoying."

The seriousness of her expression made Octras want to laugh even more. He had never worked for a woman before, let alone travel as a bodyguard. The idea was preposterous, but when he looked again, her eyes silenced him. They were a deep jade, beautiful and deadly. Something in them pleaded for his help, and he could not deny them. The feeling frightened him, but he was even more afraid of what might happen if he refused.

"Well...milady, how much can you pay me?"

"I have sixty ketts with me, and I'll be able to pay you more later."

"Sixty?" It was a huge amount; it could probably pay for the entire trip twice over. Catarisk was only three weeks away. "More than sixty?"

"Is... that not enough?"

He laughed again. "It's plenty, I promise you. Hey, you're in luck. I was headed south soon anyway. Meet me at the Border Bridge at early rise in two days. I'll be waiting there for you."

"Deal," she said, staring at the ground.

He started walking when he heard her call his name, and he called back, "Yes?"

"I didn't say anything," she said. "I'll see you at the bridge."

He shrugged and kept walking. She was still sitting by the tree the last time he looked back.

Kismet

2009-08-10T15:46:00.000-07:00

The prompt was something along the lines of: there is a person by the lake, he has committed a crime, but you don't know what it is. Go...

Kismet

His reflection pale and grim, not at all like the carefree person he had once been. His eyes stare back at him empty, soulless and black. The Lake is gray and still with no sign of a breeze in the air. He leans closer and sees the black circles under his eyes. The left side of his face is bruised and swollen. He closes his eyes to escape the horrible sight in front of him, but the picture in his mind does not go away. He opens them again to see if his composure has changed; the Lake flouts him with his reflection that is ever growing death-like and turbid. His finger skims the cold, dark surface of the Lake, making the first ripple it has seen all day. The second ripple comes from the grey clouds above; it is a single raindrop. Another hits the bridge of his nose and he looks up, seeing nothing.
Subconsciously, he begins to untie his shoes, his fingers feeling like lead weights as he drags each shoe lace away from the knots. One at a time he throws his shoes far into the heinous Lake trying to release at least a modicum of anger that the Lake had sparked in him. The release was short lived when his gaze traveled back to his reflection. With his fists he hits his reflection repeatedly only to succeed in throwing more water on him than the rain was already doing. Lightning spat against the sky creating an eerie glow around his reflection. Thunder follows the lightning with a burst of sound almost as loud as the beating of his heart.
He pulled off his socks and set them on the ground. His head became tremulous, but his body stays numb, making him feel as though he had never existed at all. In order to feel something he put his right foot into the Lake. But he was not satisfied as the Lake beckoned him to come in further. He complied by putting his other foot into the starving water. Suddenly, he begins to shiver which makes him smile slightly. Without giving it another thought he moves further into the depths of the Lake. The frigid water wakes him up from his death-like trance, but when he tries to leave the Lake captures his legs with thick, unforgiving reeds. Panic immediately sets in and he reaches under the water to free himself, but his hands are quickly ensnared. He struggles aimlessly only to have his head dragged under. He opens his eyes to the darkness of the Lake. Fear takes over as his air expires. The numbness eases its way back into his body as he drifts unfeeling into oblivion…

Writing Goals

2009-08-05T23:45:00.000-07:00

(If you have a goal, you can add it below. As this will be a sticky post, you can also post updates periodically to let us know how you're doing.)

Jaron: Keep writing 1,000 words per day. When I reach 35 days, I win a date with Rachel to Red Robin! Ultimately, I'd like to have a near-final draft of my book by the end of this year.

Amber: Last summer I started writing a novel (among other things). By the end of this summer my goal is to be done with the novel (not including revising and such) and I think I should start reading at least three books a week instead of only two. And lastly, I will spend less time on facebook and more time on writing.

Rachel: My goal is to have a complete draft of my book by the end of the year. By my book, I mean the Mura project. I have other books that need writing but this one is my number one priority. (1,000 words per day for 35 days. Reward: Date with Jaron to Red Robin.)

Sam: Read at least one book a week. Start editing and revising all chapters in my Untitled story involving the child growing up with an addict mother.

Valerie: Finish rough draft of my sequel by the time school starts. Well, I finished that goal, so now my new goal is to do some editing.

Meeting #3 - 08/06/09

2009-08-05T23:13:00.000-07:00

Tonight, we started off with a fun writing exercise where we each write a line of a story and then fold over the line written before ours. Essentially, each person only gets the previous line to base theirs off of. I'll be posting some of the best stories soon!

We talked about creating a lit mag-esque book by the end of the year featuring a few pages from each of us. Everyone seemed pretty interested, so I think we'll go ahead and do it. We also talked about setting a goal for ourselves and publishing it on the blog, so everyone else can help keep us on track. (You can add your goal and check up on everyone else here).

After that, we read a few stories and poems that people brought and talked about them. Although I hope the blog sees more activity soon, I do actually like having the paper copies to read. So if anyone wants to keep bringing those, feel free.

Finally, we watched Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. Thanks to Jo for bringing it!

Now, to some other business. As we get more content on the blog, I'll be making some changes to the format. For now, it would be great if you could add your name as a label on the pieces you publish. That way I can create a handy link on the sidebar to all of your pieces. If you forget or whatever, no worries. I can do it for you too.

Also, Rachel and I were talking after the meeting and we thought it might be great if we all got better acquainted with the various projects we're working on. That way, we'd all have the big picture in mind when we share pieces of our stories or poetry collections or whatever. So I think starting next week, we'll have someone present their current project each week, pass out excerpts, have some Q+A, etc. If anyone wants to go first, post a comment or send me an email. If no one else wants to go, Rachel and/or I will probably have stuff ready. And obviously if you don't have a big project, then this doesn't apply. Maybe we can even convince you to start one? It's great fun.

I also think we should have some open writing time at the end of each meeting. I know I love going to the library to write because it frees me from the distractions I have around my house, so this could be similar. Plus if we're all together, we'll be able to get help with finishing an awkward sentence or finding the perfect word. We'll put this at the end so those who don't have anything to work on won't miss anything important if they want to leave.

Thanks to everyone who came tonight for making it a success. And for those who didn't come, I hope we see you next time. Our meeting next week will be at Jo's house, and I'll get an email sent out with the address and directions. See you there!

OW - Chapter 1, Scene 1

2009-08-05T18:24:00.000-07:00

James Paine stood in the sunlight. He flexed his tanned calves and biceps and pushed shaggy blond hair from his thin face. In his hand, he gripped a striped ball. His long fingers clung to the textured material, reaching nearly halfway around. He narrowed his eyes and glared down the field at his opponent, who was hunched over with his hands forward. A breeze flowed through and a crowd cheered.

James drew back the ball. His arm muscles bulged. In a blur of color, his arm snapped forward and the ball whistled through the air toward his son. A boy of seventeen, Zidaiku Paine leapt into the air and wrapped his arms around the ball. He rolled to the grass and jumped back up, holding the ball tightly against his chest. When he realized he had caught it, he held it high in the air and shouted.

Another gust of wind rattled the trees, and the crowd of leaves cheered for Zidaiku.

James clapped. “Nice catch, son! Toss it back!”

Zidaiku threw the ball to his father, but it drifted too high. James kept his eyes on it while he turned and dove for the catch. Mid-jump, the ball landed in his hand. But when he crashed to the ground, he felt something crush beneath his arm and liquid splashed onto it.

“James!” Sarah Paine laughed, sitting cross-legged a foot away. Her thick, dark hair bounced in time with her shoulders. “You just crushed your lemonade!”

“Looks like I have,” James agreed. He rose to his feet and examined his wet arm. “Did I get any on the blanket?”

She pulled it closer to her. “Nope… looks like it’s dry.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Zidaiku said as he approached them. “Bad throw, on my part.”

James put an arm around his son’s narrow shoulders. “It happens to all of us, son. Besides, we’ve got plenty more lemonades where that one came from. Right, honey?”

Sarah smiled at them. “I’m so glad to see you two are having fun. This was a great idea, James.”

“How could we resist coming to the park on a day like today?” James asked. He took a deep breath. “The sun is shining, the air is clean… It’s a perfect day for a picnic with the family. Am I right?”

Sarah turned to her five-year-old daughter, whose hair shone as brightly as fire. “Honey, could you get Daddy another lemonade, please?”

“Okay, Mommy.” The girl reached her hand into the cooler and retrieved a drink, which she awkwardly handed to her father.

“Thank you, sweetheart!” James took the drink, but he set it down on the grass and picked up his daughter instead. He lifted her up in his arms and spun her around. She giggled and shrieked.

“Don’t be too rough with her,” Sarah warned.

“It’s okay, Mommy!” the girl said as she spun. “Daddy’s strong!”

James smiled. “That’s right! I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, no matter what!”

Another boy, this one a toddler, pulled on Sarah’s shirt. “I hungry,” he said. His blue eyes were full of sincerity and pleading.

Sarah pulled him onto her lap. “You’re hungry, huh? Maybe it’s about time we get out the food.” She turned to James. “What do you think, honey?”

James set down his daughter and nodded. “I think he’s got the right idea! Zidaiku, why don’t you run over to the car and grab the picnic basket?” He tossed a ring of keys to him. “It should be in the back.”

“Sure thing, Dad.” Zidaiku jogged to the car, smiling with anticipation. He found the basket and locked the doors behind him before walking back toward the grass. Cautiously, he lifted one of the basket’s flaps and peered inside at the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bags of potato chips.

A cold wind brushed his arm. He looked toward its origin. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky and moving toward them. In the distance, a thunderclap rumbled. “A storm? Coming on so suddenly?” he mumbled. “Strange…”

He turned toward his family and opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Lying on the grass were his family members, but their only movement was the wind blowing through their hair and clothes. “D-dad? Mom?” Zidaiku called.

They didn’t answer.

He dropped the picnic basket and rushed toward them. As he stepped onto the grass, the life drained from it, leaving only yellow rings around his footsteps. He passed by a tree, and the bark became grey and flaky. Leaves fell from their branches and sliced against Zidaiku’s skin as they drifted past.

He reached his family. All four of them were heaped on the grass, immobile, with their faces against the ground. Even the youngest son’s body lay completely still. Zidaiku stooped down next to his father and gently prodded his shaggy head. A string of wet blood clung onto his finger as he pulled it away.

Zidaiku jumped back. His heart pounded in his chest. “What’s going on?” he asked aloud. “Dad… I only turned away for a few seconds!”

“Your father is dead.”

Someone approached him from the side. Zidaiku spun and met a boy his age with black hair and dressed in dark clothing. The wind swept his hair to the side, revealing deep-set violet eyes. Something about the boy’s face made Zidaiku peer closer.

“Dead?” Zidaiku asked. “But… that’s impossible! How could they…” He looked down at the boy’s arms. They were covered in blood.

“You want this life, but you can’t have it,” the boy said, raising his voice over the howl of the wind. “Your family is gone.”

“It was you! You did this!” Zidaiku shouted. “Who are you? And why do you look like me?”

“This is your reality, Zidaiku!” the boy replied. “Accept the truth!”

“Answer me!”

Zidaiku swung his fist, but he lost his balance and toppled forward. He raised his arms against the fall, but no impact came. He fell through the air toward the yellow grass, spinning through empty space while the storm came over him and thunder filled his ears.

Then everything faded and a voice called to him.

“Zidaiku,” it said. “Wake up. It’s time for work.”

Barbara's story (untitled)

2009-08-05T17:00:00.000-07:00

Just a quickie. I went off the "100 Theme Challenge" I'm doing. The theme was "Illusion".
---
The humidity percentage and temperature were nearly the same, just like any other night. That wasn’t, the drug dealer knew, the reason why the man in front of him was sweating. He was one of his usual clients, who hadn’t shown up at the usual time the past few weeks. Withdrawal was starting to affect him, just like all the others who tried to quit. The street was deserted, save for the occasional stray dog or cat, and the two men were standing at the edge of the yellow pool of light from an overhead streetlamp.
“Haven’t seen you for a while, Marty,” the dealer commented with a sneer.
“I-I know,” Marty stammered, “I th-thought I c-c-could quit b-but-”“Not a problem, not a problem,” the dealer said soothingly, patting his client on the shoulder as his other hand reached into his pocket, “I’ve got your usual fix right here.”
“Oh, g-g-good, thanks…” Marty said with a weak smile, his eyes shifting around nervously as he took the small bag into his hands.
The next thing the drug dealer knew, several police officers were surrounding him.
He looked around wildly for Marty, only finding another police officer in his place.
The officer had similar pale blue-green eyes that Marty had, and was lean like Marty, but with muscle tone instead of just skin and bone. He was taller, with short strawberry-blonde hair instead of long, scraggly black. There was something slightly feminine in his face and build, though…
“Wha…” he turned wildly in the middle of the circle he was now in the middle of.
“James Hillshire, down on the ground,” the officer in front of him said calmly.
James slowly sunk to his knees, eyes wide with shock and confusion.
“Hands behind your head,” another officer ordered, stepping up behind him. James obeyed, reluctantly, as the officer clicked the handcuffs onto his wrists.
The blonde in front of him grabbed his arm to help hoist him off the ground, looking him in the eye as he (she? Something about the pitch…) spoke again.
“James Hillshire, you’re under arrest for possession and distribution of illegal narcotics,” the two officers started escorting him towards a car at the curb, that he knew wasn’t there before. “We have some questions to ask you. As you know, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you a court of law…”
James had heard this before. Before, the officers had to chase him down. Before, he had some idea they were there. Where did they come from?

“Well done, Cannon,” the police chief said as Julie Cannon entered his office. “Thank you, sir,” she said with a smile, running one hand through her slightly spiked strawberry-blonde hair.
“I have to give most the credit to the team, though,” she said, “they were very cooperative.”
“Hmm, well, that certainly was an…unusual way of going undercover,” he said, leaning back in his chair, looking up at the “walking hallucinogen” in front of him.
“…the FBI is going to come take you away from us someday, Julie. This was a big case,” he said, almost warningly, “I hear they have a telekinetic running field operations in their “special” cases.”
Julie grinned, mischief showing clearly in her eyes, “Don’t worry, sir. If that does happen, I’ll put in a good word for you,” she teased with a quick wink.
“Never know what to expect from you,” he grumbled, “I believe you have a suspect to question?”
“Yes, sir.”

Julie sat cross legged in a metal chair across the table from James, a tape recorder between them.
“You’ve been read your Miranda rights, correct?”“…Yeah.”
“Do you understand those rights?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Having those rights in mind, do you want to talk to me now?”
James said nothing, just staring across the table.
“Mr. Hillshire?” Julie asked, her face as calm as her tone.
“…I won’t tell you anything until my lawyer is here.”
“That’s fine,” Julie said, uncrossing her legs, “Do you know the number?”“Yeah,” he muttered, watching her carefully.
“…What happened to Marty?”
“That’s confidential, Mr. Hillshire, I can’t-”“He was there!” he shouted, slamming a fist down onto the table. Julie’s hand twitched to the cuffs on her hip.
“He was there, and then he just suddenly disappears. What happened?!”“I told you that’s confidential, Mr. Hillshire.”
James grabbed both sides of his head, groaning in frustration.
“…Forget the lawyer.”“Pardon?”“I said forget the lawyer! I’ll tell you whatever you want. Can’t take anymore of this…”
“Are you certain?”“Yes!”
Julie smirked, her expression going back to blank as she turned back to face him.
“Alright, then.”

Meeting #2 - 07/30/09

2009-07-29T23:58:00.000-07:00

Tonight, we did a little writing exercise dealing with character creation, and spent some time reading each other's pieces and discussing them.

In the future, I think it might be better if everyone posted copies of whatever they want to be discussed/critiqued here, in the blog, and then we can talk about the submissions at the meeting. That would save a lot of time, especially if the group starts getting bigger. Any of you can post something, whenever you want to, and we'll discuss it fully at the next meeting as well as in the comments here at the blog. If you don't have regular access to the internet, I'd be okay with making exceptions. If you'd like more feedback on the pieces you brought tonight, you can post them here and we can leave comments on it.

(If anyone is having trouble accepting authorship of the blog, let me know and I'll try to work it out somehow. There should be an email from Blogger inviting you to contribute to the blog.)

Next week, I think we'll do a few more writing exercises, only I'll try to come up with better ones and be more organized about it. If you have any ideas for writing exercises, whether it be fiction or poetry or any other form of writing, feel free to share them with us. Word or creativity games are always fun, too. Maybe we'll do something where one person starts a story and the next person adds the next line, and so on?

The newspaper article about getting published that Nick brought can be found here, and some sidebar info is here. Thanks, Nick!

Meeting #1 - 07/22/09

2009-07-28T22:14:00.000-07:00

At our first official meeting, we went over some basic info like when and where to have meetings (for now, it's at my house on Wednesdays at 7 pm), what we wanted to cover in our meetings, and contact info. I sent out an email to those who listed their info on the page--if you didn't get one, let me know.

This week, we'll be meeting again on Wednesday at 7 pm. Bring two or three copies of a short piece you'd like feedback on, or just one copy if you feel like reading out loud. We might also do an impromptu writing exercise to get warmed up. It is a writing group, after all. So bring a notebook and a writing utensil as well.

Thanks to everyone who came last week for making it a success! I was glad to see the good turnout and I hope we can keep it going strong! See you guys!

Hello!

2009-07-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

Welcome! This will be the blog for our unnamed writing group.