Wips = Works in progress :)
1. Sparrow Falls - inspired by a dream I had last year, I wrote a few paragraphs of it back in September and have odd notes in different places but I hope to get at least the first 10k or so of it done this year
(I know that is a pretty piddly goal but I'm coming off night shift right now and have zip ambition for anything but sleeping)
2. Mesiebed - My Nano from 2009 was abandoned just before the climax of the novel. I would really like to write this one's ending.
3. Errant Adventure (or another GEH related book) - I would like to tinker around with more scenes for this middle grade series. I don't think the story is rooted deep enough in me yet but it does still interest me. Plus, it was birthed as a collaboration between my youngest sister and I.
4. Wolf's Lullaby - I originally conceived this idea as a novella or short story but now it is spinning off in my head into more of a web serial. ...which is a tantalizing thought. We'll see what happens when I actually put words to paper/screen.
5. Awake Now - one of the opening novellas for... I'm really not sure how to describe this project. But it makes me happy.
6. (no working title) - some sort of group write - I don't know that snippets of this would ever appear on my blog but I am very much hoping to do more group writing this year.
7. 2012 NaNo - I don't have a working title for this novel yet but I have a friend who wants me to ghost write an idea she has been imagining for quite some time. And there always has to be some sort of new/bizarre challenge for my NaNos so writing someone else's book would definitely fit.
Hooray!
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Thursday, March 17, 2011
SS - Ready
March Song Scene for Britt Nicole's "Ready"
POV character is from my middle grade (?) fantasy series. This scene takes place during the timeline of the second book but probably won't be included. Lisa is a character I have been coming to know but all the others in this scene are totally new to me.
POV character is from my middle grade (?) fantasy series. This scene takes place during the timeline of the second book but probably won't be included. Lisa is a character I have been coming to know but all the others in this scene are totally new to me.
The green hill between three mountains came into view. By now, sentries would have alerted the Rhabdi to Lisa’s arrival. Too late to turn back. Lisa closed her eyes and took a couple slow breaths. Relax, she told herself. The heat of the summer sun ran through her wings and a delicious summer wind pushed her along but she couldn’t unclench her fists and her pulse throbbed inside her head. The small bag between her wings might have been loaded with rocks the way it seemed to press against her back.
Lisa descended lower. She could identify the four people gathered on the open grass now. Aerad waited with arms folded, wings out of sight. Sunlight flashed from the rings on his hands and the bronze scales on his arms. Toma lounged on the grass, a dark grey shadow against the bright green and yellow. His presence might have been a welcome reassurance except for the last two: Iras and Guinevere.
Lisa’s nails bit deeper into her palms and the pain brought a halt to the panic threatening her composure. Liars. Anger welled up afresh and the fear dissipated. She vanished her wings while still above head height. The heavy impact of her landing against the soft turf was very satisfying. She straightened up and raised a bent arm over her head briefly in greeting to Aerad.
“Blue skies, abAearad, and a wind to your back.” Lisa nodded to Toma and turned a radiant smile to the two women. “Pardon my interruption.”
Suspicion darkened Iras’s face but Guinevere smiled back, “Pardoned indeed! Great news is always a welcome interruption.”
“You have returned much earlier than planned.” Aerad said. “You were successful?”
Lisa kept her smile in place as she swung the velvet bag from her shoulders. “More successful than planned.” She held the bag loosely in front of her.
Toma rolled onto his back, “Don’t torment them, child, spill your secret.” He opened one yellow eye to look at her. “I hope the truth is at least half as sensational as some of the rumors. I’ll be disappointed in you otherwise.”
“With all respect due to my elders, I would like to propose a trade.”
“A trade? You know whatever you have reclaimed is already the property of the Rhabdi.” Aerad’s expression didn’t change but he’d slipped into his disciplinary lecture tone.
“Oh, not for this, abAerad.” Lisa lifted the bag slightly. “Toma mentioned sensation and rumors. I only want to trade truth for truth.”
Toma opened both eyes and seemed interested for the first time but Lisa didn’t look to him. Puzzlement wrinkled the foreheads of Aerad and Guinevere. “What do you want to know?” Aerad asked.
“Where did the Galth virus come from?”
Aerad’s gaze was steady when he answered, “you know your history, the virus originated in one of their underwater labs, a tragic experiment,” but then, he had been the one to teach her how to detect signs of lying… and how to lie convincingly when necessary. “What else did you want to know?”
“That’s enough.” Lisa shrugged. She reached into the bag and closed a hand on the hidden orb. She winked at Toma. “The truth is rather sensational.” Lisa locked eyes with Iras. She wanted most to see her reaction. “There are survivors and they had the hab with them all along.”
She threw the orb down, her wings already unfolding as she leapt away from the explosion. Heat seared her bare arms. She flew straight up until the air became frigid and thin around her where no adult could follow. The cold eased the sting on her arms and Lisa slowed to catch her breath.
Any moment now she would feel the thrill of her victory. Liars. Tricksters. She’d fooled them! But she felt only hollow and lost, worse than the feeling after she had betrayed Maro and left him. Lisa grasped for any remnant of anger. Nothing. Iras’s final expression had erased it. Lisa had been prepared for shock and anger or fear and guilt but Iras had only looked sorry.
Friday, November 12, 2010
A Parable -NaNo2010
(another story, this one is told by Gara Sarah)
“Once, near the beginning, a man went in search of his daughter. She had been stolen away from him in the shadows of a careless night.
He searched through ancient forests and young fields. He passed through the labyrinth of the lonely mountain. He answered seven riddles and walked freely through an enchanted garden.
Oh, what joy when finally word of his daughter safe and not far off reached his ears. He cried for joy and his strength was renewed.
But when he came to the great city where she now lived, she did not remember him. She remembered no theft in the night. Her young mind was enthralled by the glories and mysteries of the city.
She told him of a handsome man who had come to court her. The father reacted with rage and told his daughter she would not be bonded to any man of this foul city. He took her by force away from the place. He did not let her say farewell to her love.”
Gara Sarah paused to gauge her audience’s attentiveness. Both seemed to be listening very well. Hm. Unusual.
“The father did not realize, in taking his daughter by force from one whom she loved, he had caused her heart to tear away from her body. He had his daughter with him again but she lived as one who has died.
She ate what was put before her. She helped with the household chores. She washed herself when instructed.
But she never laughed. She never cried. She never raged. She never dreamed.
The father wondered what enchantment had been laid upon her. He called for the trusted and wise but they could do nothing for her. He despaired. He begged for aid from the foolish and reckless who mixed potions and muttered incantations to no avail.
The father sent word to travel as far as may be by land, by air, by sea, by unearthly channels and magical means to let it be known that any one who could restore his daughter could claim anything the father had within his power to grant.
But long before the father sent out his message, the beloved of the daughter had not been idle. Great was his grief when he found she had been taken away! When he heard it was her own father, a true and worthy man, who had stolen her, the man was troubled and doubted what he should do.
Then he found her heart, torn and trembling. He vowed that nothing would keep him from returning the precious heart to the one he loved. The journey was hard. He fought seven dread beasts. He nearly perished of thirst in an enchanted garden. He passed through the labyrinth of the lonely mountain. He walked through fields of harvest and new sprouting forests. And he came to the land where his beloved lived as less than a wraith.
The beloved of the daughter did not know of the father’s offer. He went humbly to this man whom had scorn him unseen and asked permission to see the daughter. The father, worn and impoverished by countless charlatans and helpless heroes, wondered at the diffidence of this young man.
-If you can save my daughter, please do not hesitate but go at once.- He said.”
“Once, near the beginning, a man went in search of his daughter. She had been stolen away from him in the shadows of a careless night.
He searched through ancient forests and young fields. He passed through the labyrinth of the lonely mountain. He answered seven riddles and walked freely through an enchanted garden.
Oh, what joy when finally word of his daughter safe and not far off reached his ears. He cried for joy and his strength was renewed.
But when he came to the great city where she now lived, she did not remember him. She remembered no theft in the night. Her young mind was enthralled by the glories and mysteries of the city.
She told him of a handsome man who had come to court her. The father reacted with rage and told his daughter she would not be bonded to any man of this foul city. He took her by force away from the place. He did not let her say farewell to her love.”
Gara Sarah paused to gauge her audience’s attentiveness. Both seemed to be listening very well. Hm. Unusual.
“The father did not realize, in taking his daughter by force from one whom she loved, he had caused her heart to tear away from her body. He had his daughter with him again but she lived as one who has died.
She ate what was put before her. She helped with the household chores. She washed herself when instructed.
But she never laughed. She never cried. She never raged. She never dreamed.
The father wondered what enchantment had been laid upon her. He called for the trusted and wise but they could do nothing for her. He despaired. He begged for aid from the foolish and reckless who mixed potions and muttered incantations to no avail.
The father sent word to travel as far as may be by land, by air, by sea, by unearthly channels and magical means to let it be known that any one who could restore his daughter could claim anything the father had within his power to grant.
But long before the father sent out his message, the beloved of the daughter had not been idle. Great was his grief when he found she had been taken away! When he heard it was her own father, a true and worthy man, who had stolen her, the man was troubled and doubted what he should do.
Then he found her heart, torn and trembling. He vowed that nothing would keep him from returning the precious heart to the one he loved. The journey was hard. He fought seven dread beasts. He nearly perished of thirst in an enchanted garden. He passed through the labyrinth of the lonely mountain. He walked through fields of harvest and new sprouting forests. And he came to the land where his beloved lived as less than a wraith.
The beloved of the daughter did not know of the father’s offer. He went humbly to this man whom had scorn him unseen and asked permission to see the daughter. The father, worn and impoverished by countless charlatans and helpless heroes, wondered at the diffidence of this young man.
-If you can save my daughter, please do not hesitate but go at once.- He said.”
Monday, November 08, 2010
the missing Heir -NaNo2010
“Anwell! Keary! Bryce!” Drystan skidded to a stop in front of them and crouched down, “a message came from Na-Torral. We would have missed it but I was back here before any of you and thought to escape the city for a spell. As it was, I heard only the second repetition.”
“A message?” asked Anwell.
“What did it say?” Keary rocked forward onto one knee and leaned forward intently.
“Cullen sent it. He says the Heir is dead and we must all return for an assembly in thirteen days.” Drystan bounced on his heels.
Bryce might have fallen down if he had not been already seated. The heir dead! An assembly!
“How did Cullen get such news? He has had no part in the searching.” Keary said.
“Natan is dead?” Anwell didn’t sound as though she believed it.
“No,” said Drystan, “I think he is lying.”
Something flickered in Keary’s eyes, “provocative words, Drystan.”
“Do you trust him, Keary?” Drystan challenged. “Or you, Anwell? He doesn’t travel as all vagabonds do and his words are always coated with honey. He lies.”
“Perhaps, he does.” Keary said. “Either way, we must leave at once to reach the capital of Na-Torral.” He stood, offering a hand to Anwell.
“No,” Drystan countered again, “I think we should go farther west.”
This time, Keary and Anwell said nothing, waiting Drystan’s explanation.
“The Heir lives. Cullen’s assembly is a farce, a false show in opposition to the heirship but without the heir we can say nothing against him. We must have evidence to counter whatever he has dredged up.” Drystan spoke confidently without a trace of his usual teasing humour. “So we must find the Heir first and take him with us back.”
“Drystan, what knowledge do you possess that you can speak of finding the Heir as if the vagabonds have not searched for days upon days –since you were a toddling boy!- for him.” Anwell’s words were sharp but her expression was frank.
“The Heir lives and he is somewhere west of here.” Said Drystan, “this I know. I can’t speak for any of those who have spent days upon days searching.”
“Watch your tone, Drystan,” warned Keary.
Drystan bowed his head slightly.
“You would have us travel into the outlands of Na-Gren for a… hunch? Drystan, it is no small matter to miss an assembly.”
“It will take longer than thirteen days for everyone to gather and even with the baby we travel faster than most.” Bryce pointed out. Drystan drove him crazy sometimes but Bryce had never seen the older boy so serious about anything.
Anwell spread her hands over her stomach. Keary placed one of his hands over hers, “There is that to consider as well. The outlands are no place for a birthing.”
“I don’t mean for us to wander for days.” Drystan said, “No more than a night, a day and a night.”
“You are very certain.” Anwell said.
Drystan shrugged, “I know it.” He took a deep breath, “If you will not go, then I will break my bond with you and go myself.”
“Drystan!” Anwell looked as though he had slapped her.
“It is not only your own word, you would break, Drystan, to separate would break ours as well. You do yourself and us and Bryce a grave injustice to suggest such a thing.”
Drystan’s face fell, “Forgive me, but you don’t understand that I must go. The knowing grows every moment and with it a burning urgency. Some opportunity is slipping away as we debate. I came back to speak with you because of our bond but I must go.”
Something passed between Anwell and Keary. “A day and a night and a day, then we turn back.” Keary said. He shouldered his small pack, “Let’s be off then.”
Drystan grinned and seemed more like himself. He pushed Bryce with his shoulder as he passed. “Ready to be off the highway, cousin?” He swung his smaller drum forward and tapped a quiet beat on it as he led the way.
Bryce followed behind Anwell and Keary. A tingle ran down his spine. Could they really be the ones to find the Heir? What would it mean if they did? What kind of king would the lost Heir be?
“A message?” asked Anwell.
“What did it say?” Keary rocked forward onto one knee and leaned forward intently.
“Cullen sent it. He says the Heir is dead and we must all return for an assembly in thirteen days.” Drystan bounced on his heels.
Bryce might have fallen down if he had not been already seated. The heir dead! An assembly!
“How did Cullen get such news? He has had no part in the searching.” Keary said.
“Natan is dead?” Anwell didn’t sound as though she believed it.
“No,” said Drystan, “I think he is lying.”
Something flickered in Keary’s eyes, “provocative words, Drystan.”
“Do you trust him, Keary?” Drystan challenged. “Or you, Anwell? He doesn’t travel as all vagabonds do and his words are always coated with honey. He lies.”
“Perhaps, he does.” Keary said. “Either way, we must leave at once to reach the capital of Na-Torral.” He stood, offering a hand to Anwell.
“No,” Drystan countered again, “I think we should go farther west.”
This time, Keary and Anwell said nothing, waiting Drystan’s explanation.
“The Heir lives. Cullen’s assembly is a farce, a false show in opposition to the heirship but without the heir we can say nothing against him. We must have evidence to counter whatever he has dredged up.” Drystan spoke confidently without a trace of his usual teasing humour. “So we must find the Heir first and take him with us back.”
“Drystan, what knowledge do you possess that you can speak of finding the Heir as if the vagabonds have not searched for days upon days –since you were a toddling boy!- for him.” Anwell’s words were sharp but her expression was frank.
“The Heir lives and he is somewhere west of here.” Said Drystan, “this I know. I can’t speak for any of those who have spent days upon days searching.”
“Watch your tone, Drystan,” warned Keary.
Drystan bowed his head slightly.
“You would have us travel into the outlands of Na-Gren for a… hunch? Drystan, it is no small matter to miss an assembly.”
“It will take longer than thirteen days for everyone to gather and even with the baby we travel faster than most.” Bryce pointed out. Drystan drove him crazy sometimes but Bryce had never seen the older boy so serious about anything.
Anwell spread her hands over her stomach. Keary placed one of his hands over hers, “There is that to consider as well. The outlands are no place for a birthing.”
“I don’t mean for us to wander for days.” Drystan said, “No more than a night, a day and a night.”
“You are very certain.” Anwell said.
Drystan shrugged, “I know it.” He took a deep breath, “If you will not go, then I will break my bond with you and go myself.”
“Drystan!” Anwell looked as though he had slapped her.
“It is not only your own word, you would break, Drystan, to separate would break ours as well. You do yourself and us and Bryce a grave injustice to suggest such a thing.”
Drystan’s face fell, “Forgive me, but you don’t understand that I must go. The knowing grows every moment and with it a burning urgency. Some opportunity is slipping away as we debate. I came back to speak with you because of our bond but I must go.”
Something passed between Anwell and Keary. “A day and a night and a day, then we turn back.” Keary said. He shouldered his small pack, “Let’s be off then.”
Drystan grinned and seemed more like himself. He pushed Bryce with his shoulder as he passed. “Ready to be off the highway, cousin?” He swung his smaller drum forward and tapped a quiet beat on it as he led the way.
Bryce followed behind Anwell and Keary. A tingle ran down his spine. Could they really be the ones to find the Heir? What would it mean if they did? What kind of king would the lost Heir be?
Monday, November 01, 2010
Hope - from chapter 1- NaNoWriMo 2010
Grey orangle light filters through the trees and eases the shadows by the time we break from the tree line up on the High Ridge.
The effects of the water have mostly worn off and I feel grateful to rest as we caome to the cliff’s edge. The wood stretchs out behind us, covering the backside of the hill. Below us, Holen lies quiet and deceptively at ease. For a moment, I wish the peace was real but that would mean taking back all the events of the last seven days. I can’t honestly wish that. I wouldn’t take back from Nathan what he has only begun to discover.
Even the murder?
He did not murder her!
“Nathan liked this place.” Nick interrupts my internal quarrel. He leans forward at the very edge of the bluff. His precarious balance makes me feel lightheaded.
“He did.” The truth of the comment strikes me then. “How did you know?”
The old man shruggs slightly and his body sways to counter balance the gesture, “You can see this ridge from his room.”
I picture the view from his window. He is right but he hasn’t really answered the question. Just how well had Nick known Nathan before he came to Holen? “Did he like high places when he was a child?”
“Perhaps.” Nick says, noncommittal again. “I had thought to come up here first before I came across your bit of skullduggery.”
I think back to the tattooed man at the well and the creepy call. “It served its purpose.”
“Perhaps,” Nick frowns, “even a little delay can help… or hinder. He has a night’s start in front of us all.” He took a breath and I knew the question was coming again. “Tell me, adalan, did Nathan leave as a fugitive, or not?”
Not the question I had expected. I would have taken offense but there was no slight in the way he asked it. He truly wondered.
“The council would mark him a fugitive.” I say. The light continues to grow. The council would be ensconced with Jared now to deliberate pursuing Nathan.
“And you?”
You are not a murderer, Nathan. “I would call him seeker.” I say at last.
“And what does he seek?”
“Sneaky,” I reply, “isn’t that another way of asking where he is going?”
“I have not passed judgment on him yet.”
I look away from Holen to face Nick, “but you would put him on trial.”
Nick meets my gaze, “He confessed to murder.”
How did Nick know that? The simple words pierce my confidence. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what he said.”
“Your entire council witnessed his confession. It is recorded in their meeting records. Do you accuse them of falsehood?”
I turn away. I can hear Nathan’s voice in my head, speaking the words I refuse to believe. I swallow and blink back tears. “Not of falsehood, I think they misunderstand.”
“You weren’t there.”
My own words turn on me. “No. I wasn’t.”
“I read the record. There is not much room for ambiguity in what he said.”
I know my anger towards Nick is irrational but I can’t keep the hot flush from spreading up my face. I ball my fists, missing the reassuring feel of my stave. “You said, you haven’t judged him. Why not if the evidence is so clear?”
“I try to make a point of not judging a man in his absence.” Nick’s voice remains impassive, making my venom even more shameful. “You seem very certain of his innocence, in spite of his own words, why?”
I open my mouth and press it shut again. There is no contempt in his statement, only puzzlement. My anger ebbs almost as quickly as it had flamed, leaving only sorrow.
How can I explain something to him that I can’t explain to myself?
My legs refuse to hold me and I sink into the grass. I hold the grief in, let it wind through the whole of me unreleased. If I cry now, I don’t know when I will stop.
Nick kneels down near me. Errol whines and whirrs deep in his throat.
“You love him.” He says.
“My heart is held in the palm of his hand .” I reply. How strange to first say the words to a stranger and not to Nathan.
Oh, how I miss him already.
Compassion tinges Nick’s next words, “If he is a man worthy of such esteem, then I promise you, I will not be his enemy.” Errol flitts from his shoulder to bump his head under my chin. He chirrups encouragement and I can’t help but smile.
“Please,” Nick says softly, “tell me where he went.”
The effects of the water have mostly worn off and I feel grateful to rest as we caome to the cliff’s edge. The wood stretchs out behind us, covering the backside of the hill. Below us, Holen lies quiet and deceptively at ease. For a moment, I wish the peace was real but that would mean taking back all the events of the last seven days. I can’t honestly wish that. I wouldn’t take back from Nathan what he has only begun to discover.
Even the murder?
He did not murder her!
“Nathan liked this place.” Nick interrupts my internal quarrel. He leans forward at the very edge of the bluff. His precarious balance makes me feel lightheaded.
“He did.” The truth of the comment strikes me then. “How did you know?”
The old man shruggs slightly and his body sways to counter balance the gesture, “You can see this ridge from his room.”
I picture the view from his window. He is right but he hasn’t really answered the question. Just how well had Nick known Nathan before he came to Holen? “Did he like high places when he was a child?”
“Perhaps.” Nick says, noncommittal again. “I had thought to come up here first before I came across your bit of skullduggery.”
I think back to the tattooed man at the well and the creepy call. “It served its purpose.”
“Perhaps,” Nick frowns, “even a little delay can help… or hinder. He has a night’s start in front of us all.” He took a breath and I knew the question was coming again. “Tell me, adalan, did Nathan leave as a fugitive, or not?”
Not the question I had expected. I would have taken offense but there was no slight in the way he asked it. He truly wondered.
“The council would mark him a fugitive.” I say. The light continues to grow. The council would be ensconced with Jared now to deliberate pursuing Nathan.
“And you?”
You are not a murderer, Nathan. “I would call him seeker.” I say at last.
“And what does he seek?”
“Sneaky,” I reply, “isn’t that another way of asking where he is going?”
“I have not passed judgment on him yet.”
I look away from Holen to face Nick, “but you would put him on trial.”
Nick meets my gaze, “He confessed to murder.”
How did Nick know that? The simple words pierce my confidence. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what he said.”
“Your entire council witnessed his confession. It is recorded in their meeting records. Do you accuse them of falsehood?”
I turn away. I can hear Nathan’s voice in my head, speaking the words I refuse to believe. I swallow and blink back tears. “Not of falsehood, I think they misunderstand.”
“You weren’t there.”
My own words turn on me. “No. I wasn’t.”
“I read the record. There is not much room for ambiguity in what he said.”
I know my anger towards Nick is irrational but I can’t keep the hot flush from spreading up my face. I ball my fists, missing the reassuring feel of my stave. “You said, you haven’t judged him. Why not if the evidence is so clear?”
“I try to make a point of not judging a man in his absence.” Nick’s voice remains impassive, making my venom even more shameful. “You seem very certain of his innocence, in spite of his own words, why?”
I open my mouth and press it shut again. There is no contempt in his statement, only puzzlement. My anger ebbs almost as quickly as it had flamed, leaving only sorrow.
How can I explain something to him that I can’t explain to myself?
My legs refuse to hold me and I sink into the grass. I hold the grief in, let it wind through the whole of me unreleased. If I cry now, I don’t know when I will stop.
Nick kneels down near me. Errol whines and whirrs deep in his throat.
“You love him.” He says.
“My heart is held in the palm of his hand .” I reply. How strange to first say the words to a stranger and not to Nathan.
Oh, how I miss him already.
Compassion tinges Nick’s next words, “If he is a man worthy of such esteem, then I promise you, I will not be his enemy.” Errol flitts from his shoulder to bump his head under my chin. He chirrups encouragement and I can’t help but smile.
“Please,” Nick says softly, “tell me where he went.”
Tuesday, September 07, 2010
August Song
Paranoid Android
“Did you hear that?”
With considerable effort, I pulled away from my sketches to answer my usually silent friend, “What? The air filter?”
“No,” Joam shook his head impatiently, “The sound that doesn’t fit. Wait a minute and listen.”
I waited. The struggling air filter cut in and out, our cooler hummed in one corner of the room, muted conversation came from somewhere further down the hall, nothing that “didn’t fit”. “Joam-“
“Sh.” He held up a hand. His face was tense with concentration.
Annoyed, I stayed silent but my mind began to turn back to the assignment I had been working on. How could I lower the energy needed to Slyman’s limit? Maybe if I-
My thought process slammed to a halt. What was that? Now that I heard it, I wondered how it had escaped my notice before. It was mesmerizing.
Joam raised an eyebrow at me.
I nodded but didn’t speak. The noise reminded me of a pre-storm wind but more delicate and piercing with a mathematical precision to its movement up and down in pitch. I felt an absurd urge to cry.
“What is it?” I whispered.
Joam opened his mouth to speak but the sound stopped abruptly. Ponderous curiosity changed to confusion on his face. Then an alarm began to shrill.
Air breach, dorm seven. Air breach, dorm seven.
I scrambled to grab my oxygen mask as the door to our room sealed and the air filter cut off completely. The warning sirens shrilled in my ears even after I had sealed the bulky mask in place but the haunting sound from minutes before replayed in my mind. I had to find its source.
“Did you hear that?”
With considerable effort, I pulled away from my sketches to answer my usually silent friend, “What? The air filter?”
“No,” Joam shook his head impatiently, “The sound that doesn’t fit. Wait a minute and listen.”
I waited. The struggling air filter cut in and out, our cooler hummed in one corner of the room, muted conversation came from somewhere further down the hall, nothing that “didn’t fit”. “Joam-“
“Sh.” He held up a hand. His face was tense with concentration.
Annoyed, I stayed silent but my mind began to turn back to the assignment I had been working on. How could I lower the energy needed to Slyman’s limit? Maybe if I-
My thought process slammed to a halt. What was that? Now that I heard it, I wondered how it had escaped my notice before. It was mesmerizing.
Joam raised an eyebrow at me.
I nodded but didn’t speak. The noise reminded me of a pre-storm wind but more delicate and piercing with a mathematical precision to its movement up and down in pitch. I felt an absurd urge to cry.
“What is it?” I whispered.
Joam opened his mouth to speak but the sound stopped abruptly. Ponderous curiosity changed to confusion on his face. Then an alarm began to shrill.
Air breach, dorm seven. Air breach, dorm seven.
I scrambled to grab my oxygen mask as the door to our room sealed and the air filter cut off completely. The warning sirens shrilled in my ears even after I had sealed the bulky mask in place but the haunting sound from minutes before replayed in my mind. I had to find its source.
Monday, June 28, 2010
What Do I Know of Holy
June's song
What Do I Know of Holy - Addison Road
Water pours over bare feet and the cracked earth turns to mud below. The skin beneath the muck emerges, first grey, then red-brown, finally deep bronze. Calloused hands massage oil into the exposed wounds on each foot. It burns worse than the sun-baked sands but constant blistered ache burns away with it leaving a sensation of mint through her toes.
“He washed your feet?” The questioner raised one eyebrow, “After all that trouble, chasing you through the desert and singlehandedly fighting off the Skorhai, the man kneels down to scrub camel feces from your heels?”
Anna blushed and shifted in her seat. It sounded even more ridiculous to hear him say it.
“A strange man to act as both warrior and slave, a man who moves unseen with greater skill than the Skorhais’ own assassins.” The questioner focused back on Anna, “Describe him.”
“I never saw his face. I was afraid to watch and then…” Anna broke off. The desert seemed to press around her again and her heart beat a panicked rhythm. She could see the questioner’s black eyes demanding her answer but all else behind him had faded. Only the desert wind blew in her ears. She tasted the warm salt of tears running free down her face. She felt the burning again in her feet. “I couldn’t bear it. I don’t understand. Why would he choose me?”
What Do I Know of Holy - Addison Road
Water pours over bare feet and the cracked earth turns to mud below. The skin beneath the muck emerges, first grey, then red-brown, finally deep bronze. Calloused hands massage oil into the exposed wounds on each foot. It burns worse than the sun-baked sands but constant blistered ache burns away with it leaving a sensation of mint through her toes.
“He washed your feet?” The questioner raised one eyebrow, “After all that trouble, chasing you through the desert and singlehandedly fighting off the Skorhai, the man kneels down to scrub camel feces from your heels?”
Anna blushed and shifted in her seat. It sounded even more ridiculous to hear him say it.
“A strange man to act as both warrior and slave, a man who moves unseen with greater skill than the Skorhais’ own assassins.” The questioner focused back on Anna, “Describe him.”
“I never saw his face. I was afraid to watch and then…” Anna broke off. The desert seemed to press around her again and her heart beat a panicked rhythm. She could see the questioner’s black eyes demanding her answer but all else behind him had faded. Only the desert wind blew in her ears. She tasted the warm salt of tears running free down her face. She felt the burning again in her feet. “I couldn’t bear it. I don’t understand. Why would he choose me?”
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
I Will Rise
-May song story from Chris Tomlin's "I Will Rise"-
When I step through the veil, everything changes.
The incessant buzzing stops so suddenly, the silence is like music. I take a slow breath and the air tastes free. I want to open my eyes but then the anticipation will be over. I wait.
Softly, music does begin. An oboe beckons with a sound at once so far away that I take another step forward and yet so close that my spine tingles up to my ears. How can it be both at once? I don’t know.
Other instruments join, drums, piano, guitar. If I focus, I can hear the individual melodies in the harmony. Each tells a different story. All entwine into an epic so strange and familiar and romantic, I start to laugh.
A breeze, scented with lilac and cinnamon, swirls and spins around me. It teases my face. The grass tickles my toes.
Do I dare step in further? Do I open my eyes?
A low rumble moves through the music. The light against my eyelids remains as bright as ever but now gentle raindrops fall. The wind catches the rain and tosses it about so it falls up as well as down.
Already dizzy with laughter, I spin in the rain.
I don’t know how or when it happens but the ground disappears from beneath me. I am rising, flying.
It is nothing like swimming or falling or floating or anything else I ever imagined flying might be. I’m dancing and the centre of gravity has changed. I am not drawn up or down, I am drawn further in.
The rain ebbs. My feet touch down on warm mossy rock. Mixed in with the music, I hear the laughter and murmuring of other people but the place where I wait belongs only to me and one other.
When I open my eyes, my heart knows whom I will finally see.
When I step through the veil, everything changes.
The incessant buzzing stops so suddenly, the silence is like music. I take a slow breath and the air tastes free. I want to open my eyes but then the anticipation will be over. I wait.
Softly, music does begin. An oboe beckons with a sound at once so far away that I take another step forward and yet so close that my spine tingles up to my ears. How can it be both at once? I don’t know.
Other instruments join, drums, piano, guitar. If I focus, I can hear the individual melodies in the harmony. Each tells a different story. All entwine into an epic so strange and familiar and romantic, I start to laugh.
A breeze, scented with lilac and cinnamon, swirls and spins around me. It teases my face. The grass tickles my toes.
Do I dare step in further? Do I open my eyes?
A low rumble moves through the music. The light against my eyelids remains as bright as ever but now gentle raindrops fall. The wind catches the rain and tosses it about so it falls up as well as down.
Already dizzy with laughter, I spin in the rain.
I don’t know how or when it happens but the ground disappears from beneath me. I am rising, flying.
It is nothing like swimming or falling or floating or anything else I ever imagined flying might be. I’m dancing and the centre of gravity has changed. I am not drawn up or down, I am drawn further in.
The rain ebbs. My feet touch down on warm mossy rock. Mixed in with the music, I hear the laughter and murmuring of other people but the place where I wait belongs only to me and one other.
When I open my eyes, my heart knows whom I will finally see.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
Into the Black
Falling to the black
Slipping through the cracks
The smell of lightning hung heavy in the air. Dark clouds approached from the left. Barak resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and kept his eyes on the danger in front of him. Avi would lead the refugees out of the black desert to safety in spite of the storm if only Barak and the few who stood with them could delay the soldiers long enough.
“They’re coming.” Lora fidgeted on her feet not far from him.
No one answered her. The sound of many boots tramping over hard rock rang over the distant thunder and the dark red and grey of the Capitol soldiers’ uniforms stood out all too well against the black landscape. They moved slowly now that they had crossed into where the black desert’s treacherous cracks rippled beneath a thin layer of rock but they hadn’t turned back.
Thirty-six. Thirty-six of the Capitol’s best against seventeen desperate but mostly untrained refugees. Maft. If we can just slow them down…
A soft moan came from behind Barak. Some one else had been counting the odds as well.
“Peace,” Barak spoke loud enough for each to hear and took a few moments to meet the eyes of as many as he could, “stand firm. Listen for Achala and Ethan’s warnings. Do not let yourself be moved from the safe ground.”
Achala, unarmed and unafraid, winked at him. Perhaps even more so than Avi, she knew the pattern of the desert’s cracks and had confidence in using them against an enemy. But she didn’t know how relentless the Capitol could be.
He could smell them now, a mix of aeran dye, mated iron and bloodlust. He recognized the face of the Captain but didn’t know the man’s name. Several of the soldiers carried the Capitol’s short crossbows but Barak did not think them foolish enough to use them here. Ethan’s arrows, on the other hand, held no risk of enflaming the volatile desert.
So much for your dark inventions and trickery. Your numbers are your only advantage here.
Rain began to fall in slow heavy drops. Perhaps the Captain sensed the trap ahead because he brought his soldiers to an abrupt halt still some distance away but well within Ethan’s range. Barak willed an arrow to fly straight into the Captain’s unprotected neck but none came.
Curse your sense of honour, Ethan! What are you waiting for?
The thunder rumbled closer but neither side moved as the Captain studied the refugees with undisguised suspicion. Impatience chafed at Barak. When the Captain turned his way, he offered a full mocking grin.
Scared?
Recognition and anger spread across the Captain’s face simultaneously. He gave a harsh command to his soldiers and a half dozen moved in front before the whole company started forward again. Short swords rasped out of sheaths.
Ten more steps… Four, three, two-
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Blind Arol
The priestess crouched on the black stone behind the curtains. Her hands moved through a squat pink tongue of fire she could not see. It did not burn her. Sullen night held sway outside of the temple walls but Arol did not care. Blazing sunlight or moonless dark, it was all the same to her.
Without removing her focus from the Hya flame, she spoke, “What do you want?”
Only a beast’s eyes could have made out the intruder’s form. Very few ears besides Arol’s would have marked his jungle cat tread.
“I wish to give you sight.” Said the man. His voice held the polished accent of the Capital’s citizens.
Arol wove her flame, “Only the god can give sight.”
“So it is said,” said the man. He pushed aside a transluscent black curtain to stand before the embers, “But tell me, Arol, what would you give to be able to see? To know color and intangible shape?” He knelt and plunged his own hand into the fire’s heart, which spurted blue in response, “To know light?”
Arol brought her palms down on top of the embers and the fire vanished without smoke. Darkness, nearly as deep as blindness, smothered the temple.
“Perhaps for this,” said the stranger, “you would offer even your soul.”
Without removing her focus from the Hya flame, she spoke, “What do you want?”
Only a beast’s eyes could have made out the intruder’s form. Very few ears besides Arol’s would have marked his jungle cat tread.
“I wish to give you sight.” Said the man. His voice held the polished accent of the Capital’s citizens.
Arol wove her flame, “Only the god can give sight.”
“So it is said,” said the man. He pushed aside a transluscent black curtain to stand before the embers, “But tell me, Arol, what would you give to be able to see? To know color and intangible shape?” He knelt and plunged his own hand into the fire’s heart, which spurted blue in response, “To know light?”
Arol brought her palms down on top of the embers and the fire vanished without smoke. Darkness, nearly as deep as blindness, smothered the temple.
“Perhaps for this,” said the stranger, “you would offer even your soul.”
Friday, January 22, 2010
Ùghdair notes
In the second draft, I am adding letters, emails and notes to my MC between chapters. I hope they will help fill some of the plot gaps from the first draft and be an interesting lead-in to the letter at the end.
These two notes come between chapters 4 and 5 and would be in a handwritten font when printed. They would also have scrapsheet/stationary backgrounds to show they are separate.
Rae the Sunshine,
(a.k.a. best assistant stage manager ever)
Kudos for your brilliant suggestions in the Midsummer Night’s Dream meeting! The show would not go on without you. A couple months early I know, but the Tim Horton’s gift card is my thank you for all the blood, sweat and tears that the audience will never see.
-Ryan
51 days and counting til SUMMER’S HERE!
I think you, Rev and I should kidnap Ryan to Silvan Lake for a pregrad celebration on May long. When I asked him about it, he said something about needing to study and prepare for the play. Pfft! My bro the responsible one.
Anyhoo, facebook me before youth group if you need a ride.
LOVE YOU!
Kyra
BFF
These two notes come between chapters 4 and 5 and would be in a handwritten font when printed. They would also have scrapsheet/stationary backgrounds to show they are separate.
Rae the Sunshine,
(a.k.a. best assistant stage manager ever)
Kudos for your brilliant suggestions in the Midsummer Night’s Dream meeting! The show would not go on without you. A couple months early I know, but the Tim Horton’s gift card is my thank you for all the blood, sweat and tears that the audience will never see.
-Ryan
51 days and counting til SUMMER’S HERE!
I think you, Rev and I should kidnap Ryan to Silvan Lake for a pregrad celebration on May long. When I asked him about it, he said something about needing to study and prepare for the play. Pfft! My bro the responsible one.
Anyhoo, facebook me before youth group if you need a ride.
LOVE YOU!
Kyra
BFF
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
from Chapter One
Kas’SaDe knelt down in the thick spongy moss of the forest floor. No discernable path lay before or behind her but she knew the way to go. ToByan was home. She knew the life and routine of the forest as surely as she knew herself even if she had never ventured this far before now. She knew dozens of safe plants and insects to eat, the restorative uses of tera seeds and how to overcome jaglars. She knew all the frog songs and what they foretold. She knew the smell of imminent rain. But she had never, even when deep in the haunts of jaglars, known the experience of being hunted.
The uncomfortable sensation of vulnerability had clung to her for more than an hour now, growing progressively in strength. Goosebumps rose across her arms, the muscles in the back of her neck contracted tightly and every sense tingled with heightened awareness.
As she had done repeatedly throughout the past two days of her journey, she waited, crouched in the tricky shadows of ToByan. One hand rested on the woven pouch belted to her side. She listened. Tiny flies buzzed over her lips and nose but she kept still. Only her eyes moved, scanning slowly through the dappled patterns of light in moss, brush and tree. Vy toads wooed each other in the canopy above and vy irises saturated the air with pungent spice. A bramble snake slithered across the ground within arm’s reach. She made a note of its movement to her left as it circled a large boulder and vanished into the thorny entanglement of bramble tress behind. Nothing else moved over the ground. All was as it should be, indeed as it had been for the past two days, but Kas could not shake her unease.
The hand over the woven pouch tightened subconsciously.
So much trouble for a simple letter!
Kas didn’t need to pull it out of the carrier pouch to picture it clearly before her. The gravity with which the letter was entrusted to her had sealed its image in her mind. A small white square sealed with dark red wax on the front and addressed with a single name in black flowing calligraphy on the back. Besides brief initial direction, that name was all Kas had to guide her. It was unfamiliar to her and her tongue stumbled over the strange pronunciation:
Ùghdair.
The uncomfortable sensation of vulnerability had clung to her for more than an hour now, growing progressively in strength. Goosebumps rose across her arms, the muscles in the back of her neck contracted tightly and every sense tingled with heightened awareness.
As she had done repeatedly throughout the past two days of her journey, she waited, crouched in the tricky shadows of ToByan. One hand rested on the woven pouch belted to her side. She listened. Tiny flies buzzed over her lips and nose but she kept still. Only her eyes moved, scanning slowly through the dappled patterns of light in moss, brush and tree. Vy toads wooed each other in the canopy above and vy irises saturated the air with pungent spice. A bramble snake slithered across the ground within arm’s reach. She made a note of its movement to her left as it circled a large boulder and vanished into the thorny entanglement of bramble tress behind. Nothing else moved over the ground. All was as it should be, indeed as it had been for the past two days, but Kas could not shake her unease.
The hand over the woven pouch tightened subconsciously.
So much trouble for a simple letter!
Kas didn’t need to pull it out of the carrier pouch to picture it clearly before her. The gravity with which the letter was entrusted to her had sealed its image in her mind. A small white square sealed with dark red wax on the front and addressed with a single name in black flowing calligraphy on the back. Besides brief initial direction, that name was all Kas had to guide her. It was unfamiliar to her and her tongue stumbled over the strange pronunciation:
Ùghdair.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Why Write?
Bizarrely enough, listening to Romeo Dallaire the other night reminded me of why I want to write (besides the whole characters who talk back when I talk to them crazy story loving obsessiveness).
I want to be able to write down the stories of others. The tragic, the beautiful, the simple, the ridiculous. More along the lines of collections of short stories than complete biographies. I would like to spend time in long term care centres learning/writing the stories of the seniors. The same in refugee/displaced persons' camps.
My writing skills have a long way to go to reach this but we'll see.
In the realm of fiction, I am drawn mostly to allegory. I would like for people to be able to see their own lives/experiences in the stories I write, to relate to the brokenness and then the hope. Blurring the line between reality and imaginary in my stories that the readers might be more likely to see the connection between the physical and the spiritual.
I want to learn how to tell stories in the old fashioned auditory way as well, to make bedtime stories for my kids like I did for the campers this summer.
All that said, I don't see myself writing as a career. More like writing will just be a part of the other things that I do. I am a nurse, a dancer and an intercessor all of which connect to story.
Most of all, I really want my writing to be another way I show God I love Him, another form of worship.
Oh the Great Romance!
*dances in circles*
I want to be able to write down the stories of others. The tragic, the beautiful, the simple, the ridiculous. More along the lines of collections of short stories than complete biographies. I would like to spend time in long term care centres learning/writing the stories of the seniors. The same in refugee/displaced persons' camps.
My writing skills have a long way to go to reach this but we'll see.
In the realm of fiction, I am drawn mostly to allegory. I would like for people to be able to see their own lives/experiences in the stories I write, to relate to the brokenness and then the hope. Blurring the line between reality and imaginary in my stories that the readers might be more likely to see the connection between the physical and the spiritual.
I want to learn how to tell stories in the old fashioned auditory way as well, to make bedtime stories for my kids like I did for the campers this summer.
All that said, I don't see myself writing as a career. More like writing will just be a part of the other things that I do. I am a nurse, a dancer and an intercessor all of which connect to story.
Most of all, I really want my writing to be another way I show God I love Him, another form of worship.
Oh the Great Romance!
*dances in circles*
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
NaNoWriMo!
Hurrah, I am in the midst of a story.
Perhaps I will post an excerpt here at some point. :)
Email me if you would like to read the whole thing.
*writes in circles*
Perhaps I will post an excerpt here at some point. :)
Email me if you would like to read the whole thing.
*writes in circles*
Friday, November 23, 2007
After NaNo, blogs coming
There are many topics I hope to blog on in the near future, things that have been keeping me awake at night.
But a certain something called NaNoWriMo - http://www.nanowrimo.org/ is keeping me busy with any free time.
I have only done 12,000 words but it has been an incredible experience. I think I am going to have to do this thing called "writing" more often. ;)
But a certain something called NaNoWriMo - http://www.nanowrimo.org/ is keeping me busy with any free time.
I have only done 12,000 words but it has been an incredible experience. I think I am going to have to do this thing called "writing" more often. ;)
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