Untitled

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

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

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

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

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.