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.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Zidaiku's Dreams
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.
---
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.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Meeting #4 - 08/12/09
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! :)
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! :)
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Another part of last week's story
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.”
---
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.”
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Scene 1 - Mura
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.
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.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Kismet
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…
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Writing Goals
(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.
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
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!
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
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.”
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)
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.”
---
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.”
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