Time to write!
So, yesterday I moved out of one apartment and into another and then had a movie party and didn't post my writing exercise cause I'm silly. So I will post days 2 and 3 right here. :)
Day 2: Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.
Lila didn't know what to do. There was no way to escape. No fairy, not even the most powerful or important fairy, could fly with only one wing. Her shoulder ached. The skin was raw from where the wing had been pulled out by the cruel little boy, who thought he was just catching a little person butterfly.
She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go in the glass mason jar. Besides, every time she stood up she nearly fell over, being so off balance.
Lila knew there really wasn't anyway she could get out of this on her own. She wasn't strong enough physically in her current state, and everyone - especially the fairy council - knew her magic would never be able to save her in a situation like this.
While Lila was a perfectly nice fairy, and looked the part of the proper little pixie, the only spell she'd ever been able to manage was collecting the dew and directing the water. How on earth that was uesful, Lila could hardly imagine. It hadn't done much for her in the last one hundred years or so.
Day 3: Tell about someone putting their foot in their mouth.
"What do you mean Jenna's kids are going to be ugly?" Vivian said, hands on her hips.
Jason had thought his critique of a less popular girl would impress the queen bee. As she glared at him with expertly lined eyes, Jason found himself stammering.
"Ha ha...you just...just like...she's not, um, really...you know. All that attractive. And so, um...ha ha. Genetically?" Jason didn't know how this 5 foot 3 girl could make him feel so tiny and powerless. Maybe it was the 3 inch stilettos, that seemed a little out of place in the red and gray linoleum halls of West Chapel High, but which no one would every comment on as long as they were on the size four, narrow feet of Vivian Mason.
"Jenna is my cousin." Vivian said. "Our mom's are twins. We have the same genetics."
Jason could do nothing but try to duck his head to hide the embarrassed redness on his cheeks as Vivian shook her head, making her chocolate brown curls bounce, and stalked down the hall.
Yes, I did really want to write about someone physically putting their foot in their mouth but I saved my immense humor for another time.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge Take Two - Day #1
Time to write!
Once I started a 30 day writing challenge and it failed horribly. Horribly. I believe I made it to day 8. Ouch. Ouch is what that is. However, I will not be deterred. I have 36 days until my wedding. I'm going to take my honeymoon off. Sorry, that's just as far as my dedication goes. However, I really want to do this challenge beforehand because once I'm back I want to make serious progress on my novel. To keep my mind fresh though, and as a writing warm-up I intend to write here in the mornings. And such is the plan! Let's see what happens.
Day 1: Select a book at random in the room. Copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.
In a garden of state, treason was a weed; just when you thought you'd rooted it out for good, it returned more virulent than before.
And that was the trouble with ruling a kingdom. There was no job security.
Calren rubbed his eyes and tried not to heave an unkingly sigh as he tried to process the letter before him. The courier waited impatiently in the doorway, hands twitching for a coin as a tip or a return letter.
"Thank you," Calren said finally, not bothering to glace up at the courier. "You may go."
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from muttering as she walked away. He could've decided no reply was needed fifteen minutes ago when she'd first delivered the letter. But he was king now, and her sass did not belong in the royal court. She couldn't count the number of times her mother had reminded her of that when she'd left to serve in the capitol city.
It wasn't until after the courier's footsteps had faded completely that Calren took off the crown - no gaudy thing with fur or embellishments, but a simple gold circlet - and laid it on the table in front of him. In the six months since his coronation he still had not gotten used to it, and even the informal circlet persisted in giving him headaches.
Royal Liege,
It was with a dire sense of duty that I write to inform you there is mutiny among your ranks.
Not a promising thought, especially when the peasant uprising led by the Marquis of Refflin had only put down what they had assumed was "for good" a week before the coronation had taken place.
Once I started a 30 day writing challenge and it failed horribly. Horribly. I believe I made it to day 8. Ouch. Ouch is what that is. However, I will not be deterred. I have 36 days until my wedding. I'm going to take my honeymoon off. Sorry, that's just as far as my dedication goes. However, I really want to do this challenge beforehand because once I'm back I want to make serious progress on my novel. To keep my mind fresh though, and as a writing warm-up I intend to write here in the mornings. And such is the plan! Let's see what happens.
Day 1: Select a book at random in the room. Copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.
In a garden of state, treason was a weed; just when you thought you'd rooted it out for good, it returned more virulent than before.
And that was the trouble with ruling a kingdom. There was no job security.
Calren rubbed his eyes and tried not to heave an unkingly sigh as he tried to process the letter before him. The courier waited impatiently in the doorway, hands twitching for a coin as a tip or a return letter.
"Thank you," Calren said finally, not bothering to glace up at the courier. "You may go."
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from muttering as she walked away. He could've decided no reply was needed fifteen minutes ago when she'd first delivered the letter. But he was king now, and her sass did not belong in the royal court. She couldn't count the number of times her mother had reminded her of that when she'd left to serve in the capitol city.
It wasn't until after the courier's footsteps had faded completely that Calren took off the crown - no gaudy thing with fur or embellishments, but a simple gold circlet - and laid it on the table in front of him. In the six months since his coronation he still had not gotten used to it, and even the informal circlet persisted in giving him headaches.
Royal Liege,
It was with a dire sense of duty that I write to inform you there is mutiny among your ranks.
Not a promising thought, especially when the peasant uprising led by the Marquis of Refflin had only put down what they had assumed was "for good" a week before the coronation had taken place.
Finally Writing Again
Time to write!
"You were right," said the old man, leaning back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. "We were there." His slow, lazy voice and half closed eyes made me feel like he thought this was the most casual conversation in the world.
I didn't know how to answer. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, my wrists tied together behind my back with a zip tie which dug into my skin.
I wish I'd read that full "How To Escape From a Zip Tie" link I'd seen on the internet back at school.
"If you promise not to tell," the old man continued. "We might tell you about it."
"Harold!" whispered the old woman sharply - I assumed she was his wife. She looked at me with distrustful eyes. They had caught me in their cornfield last night. I'd followed them after I realized they looked an awful lot like the people from the background of that picture on the front page of the newspaper.
There had been a massive bombing. New York's remains were plastered all over the papers, and in almost every single picture of the wreckage, there was an old man and an old woman - dead ringers for my captives.
"You were right," said the old man, leaning back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. "We were there." His slow, lazy voice and half closed eyes made me feel like he thought this was the most casual conversation in the world.
I didn't know how to answer. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, my wrists tied together behind my back with a zip tie which dug into my skin.
I wish I'd read that full "How To Escape From a Zip Tie" link I'd seen on the internet back at school.
"If you promise not to tell," the old man continued. "We might tell you about it."
"Harold!" whispered the old woman sharply - I assumed she was his wife. She looked at me with distrustful eyes. They had caught me in their cornfield last night. I'd followed them after I realized they looked an awful lot like the people from the background of that picture on the front page of the newspaper.
There had been a massive bombing. New York's remains were plastered all over the papers, and in almost every single picture of the wreckage, there was an old man and an old woman - dead ringers for my captives.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Love or Madness
Time to write!
It's been AGES! However, my dear fiance's family's interest in my writing has reminded me that I need to do it a little more often.
The main reason I stopped writing in this blog because "The Forgotten" which I first started writing here, really took off and I started working on it as a complete novel. I still want to finish that - it's my goal to make significant progress on it this summer - but updating this blog with ideas and blurbs is never ever a bad idea.
I don't have lots of time to write at the exact moment because I need to continue studying for finals, but I was reading some [translated] Urdu poetry for my English class and came upon the following stanza by Ghalib:
"What I have
Isn't a case of love
but madness --
I grant you that.
But then it's true --
Your reputations rests
Upon the fact that was you
who drove me mad."
I don't know why but that struck me. I would love to write a quick scenario based on that verse, or the theoretical letter from one lover to another based on these lines, but that will need to wait at least until I finish reading all the Urdu poetry which I didn't actually read when it was assigned because oops.
It's been AGES! However, my dear fiance's family's interest in my writing has reminded me that I need to do it a little more often.
The main reason I stopped writing in this blog because "The Forgotten" which I first started writing here, really took off and I started working on it as a complete novel. I still want to finish that - it's my goal to make significant progress on it this summer - but updating this blog with ideas and blurbs is never ever a bad idea.
I don't have lots of time to write at the exact moment because I need to continue studying for finals, but I was reading some [translated] Urdu poetry for my English class and came upon the following stanza by Ghalib:
"What I have
Isn't a case of love
but madness --
I grant you that.
But then it's true --
Your reputations rests
Upon the fact that was you
who drove me mad."
I don't know why but that struck me. I would love to write a quick scenario based on that verse, or the theoretical letter from one lover to another based on these lines, but that will need to wait at least until I finish reading all the Urdu poetry which I didn't actually read when it was assigned because oops.
Friday, February 1, 2013
Things that I can't Remember
Time to write!
I can’t remember the first birthday party I went to.
I can’t remember what I wore on my first date with Austin. I really can’t remember what he wore.
I can’t remember when the first time was that I told my brothers I loved them.
I can’t remember what my favorite outfit was in the seventh grade.
I can’t remember the words to certain songs I thought I’d always know.
I can’t remember how many times I fought with my cousins.
I can’t remember who my first real crush was.
I can’t remember why I ever liked Jarrett-it sounds like ferret.
I can’t remember the dream I had last night.
I can’t remember the choreography to dances I did even a couple years ago.
I can’t remember the first time I wasn’t afraid of a dog.
I can’t remember the last time either of my parents yelled at me.
I can’t remember when the last time Andrew and I had a real conversation was.
I can’t remember what I ate on my ninth birthday.
I can’t remember.
I can’t remember what else I can’t remember.
I can’t remember the first birthday party I went to.
I can’t remember what I wore on my first date with Austin. I really can’t remember what he wore.
I can’t remember when the first time was that I told my brothers I loved them.
I can’t remember what my favorite outfit was in the seventh grade.
I can’t remember the words to certain songs I thought I’d always know.
I can’t remember how many times I fought with my cousins.
I can’t remember who my first real crush was.
I can’t remember why I ever liked Jarrett-it sounds like ferret.
I can’t remember the dream I had last night.
I can’t remember the choreography to dances I did even a couple years ago.
I can’t remember the first time I wasn’t afraid of a dog.
I can’t remember the last time either of my parents yelled at me.
I can’t remember when the last time Andrew and I had a real conversation was.
I can’t remember what I ate on my ninth birthday.
I can’t remember.
I can’t remember what else I can’t remember.
Fear
Time to write!
Fear
“You can’t move a muscle,” Zachary said, his face very close to mine, his blue eyes sparkling with
mischief.
“But I’m not comfy, Zach,” I complained to my older brother. I already resented being put to bed so
early so that my brothers could go watch a movie while my parents were out on date that Friday night,
and now Zachary was squishing me, pulling the blankets so tightly around me that I couldn’t move my
legs at all.
“Listen, Breanna,” he said, very patiently, mooshing the blankets around my face and making me feel
like I was some sort of Breanna-filling in a big comforter taco shell. “Tonight is the night of the Living
Dead. If I don’t wrap you up this way, the vampires will come and they’ll kill you.”
At this age I’d laugh at such a statement. At fifteen I would’ve rolled my eyes. My twelve year old self
would’ve been beyond irritated at the incessant teasing and would’ve kicked the blankets off definatly-
probably kicking a bit of older brother too, just for good measure. But at nine years old, my only reaction
was horror.
Night of the Living Dead?
Who even knew there was such a night? And why in the name of all things good and gracious had my
parents left that particular night? Didn’t they love me at all?
Fear
“You can’t move a muscle,” Zachary said, his face very close to mine, his blue eyes sparkling with
mischief.
“But I’m not comfy, Zach,” I complained to my older brother. I already resented being put to bed so
early so that my brothers could go watch a movie while my parents were out on date that Friday night,
and now Zachary was squishing me, pulling the blankets so tightly around me that I couldn’t move my
legs at all.
“Listen, Breanna,” he said, very patiently, mooshing the blankets around my face and making me feel
like I was some sort of Breanna-filling in a big comforter taco shell. “Tonight is the night of the Living
Dead. If I don’t wrap you up this way, the vampires will come and they’ll kill you.”
At this age I’d laugh at such a statement. At fifteen I would’ve rolled my eyes. My twelve year old self
would’ve been beyond irritated at the incessant teasing and would’ve kicked the blankets off definatly-
probably kicking a bit of older brother too, just for good measure. But at nine years old, my only reaction
was horror.
Night of the Living Dead?
Who even knew there was such a night? And why in the name of all things good and gracious had my
parents left that particular night? Didn’t they love me at all?
Sincerest Apologies
Time to write!
Over the break I took on the task of writing a novel, which entirely took over my writing time. I didn't even mean to stop writing here, but it happened. While that is disappointing, to me more than anyone, I'm sure, I think it's worth noting that the novel is coming along wonderfully. I've been working on it just about a month and a half now and I am over 100 pages. Only a few people have been allowed to see it so far, my parents and a couple friends have looked over portions of the first draft, but I'm extremely excited about it. It's called "The Forgotten" based off of a piece I started on this very blog! If that isn't great news, then I don't know what is. Except for the chance of possible publication. That sounds heady, and I obviously don't know what's going to happen, but those who have seen the beginnings have told me repeatedly that the story has potential. I'm just enjoying taking the characters on this adventure, even though its kind of heck for them. Ah, the luxuries of the author.
I'm also writing quite a bit for a Creative Writing course I'm taking this semester. It's a bit hard core, and functions more as a workshop than an actual class, but I really enjoy it. Maybe I'll put some of the stuff I've written for that class up here, and then I can have stuff compiled a little better. This is just me thinking in writing here, however, making a longer post than necessary.
Over the break I took on the task of writing a novel, which entirely took over my writing time. I didn't even mean to stop writing here, but it happened. While that is disappointing, to me more than anyone, I'm sure, I think it's worth noting that the novel is coming along wonderfully. I've been working on it just about a month and a half now and I am over 100 pages. Only a few people have been allowed to see it so far, my parents and a couple friends have looked over portions of the first draft, but I'm extremely excited about it. It's called "The Forgotten" based off of a piece I started on this very blog! If that isn't great news, then I don't know what is. Except for the chance of possible publication. That sounds heady, and I obviously don't know what's going to happen, but those who have seen the beginnings have told me repeatedly that the story has potential. I'm just enjoying taking the characters on this adventure, even though its kind of heck for them. Ah, the luxuries of the author.
I'm also writing quite a bit for a Creative Writing course I'm taking this semester. It's a bit hard core, and functions more as a workshop than an actual class, but I really enjoy it. Maybe I'll put some of the stuff I've written for that class up here, and then I can have stuff compiled a little better. This is just me thinking in writing here, however, making a longer post than necessary.
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