I don't have time for a big post about what I'm thankful for. It would take too long and the turkey would get cold. Instead, I'll just make a few shout outs:
1. To my family, who probably doesn't read this. I love you anyway.
2. To all my friends, especially those who re-inspired (or just plain inspired) me to continue this blog. You are all awesome.
3. To the turkey in the oven. Thanksgiving wouldn't be the same without you.
God bless!
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Writing Prompt: Rewrite a Fairy tale AND Write about a novel you want to write
So today's post was actually written in sections, so I apologize if it doesn't make sense. I tried to edit it, but I'm not sure how to fix it without totally rewriting the whole thing, which I'm too lazy to do. So here's my imperfect fairy tale!
Writing Prompt #__: Rewrite a fairy tale
The sun pierced through the dense foliage, making a patchwork of shadows on the path below. Bianca stopped her slow stroll and watched as two cardinals quarreled with each other in high pitched chirps. A twig snapped behind the princess and interrupted their conversation. Her eyes followed them longingly as the two birds fluttered off in a flurry of feathers. If only she could leave so easily.
The air held a crisp bite, but even still the spring-time sun was working its magic on the picturesque pine boughs burdened with snow.
Snow.
Bianca shuddered. She hated her silly nickname. As if she didn't get enough attention being a princess everybody simply had to go around exclaiming that she was the most beautiful maiden in all the kingdom.
"Fairest of them all." Those were his exact words.
Only a fortnight before yet another suitor had arrived at the palace to beg for her hand. This one was different, though. All the other princes were, well, princes. This man could be a beggar off the streets for all anyone knew about his past. He was oily enough to con the teeth from one's dentured grandmother, and had the morality to match.
And everyone bought it. Even Snow's step mother complimented him, a thing unheard of for the queen.
"He is simply charming, isn't he dear Bianca?"
"Yes mother," the princess replied in an uncharacteristic bout of sarcasm, "Prince Charming."
It became his common nickname around the palace to his enjoyment and her mortification.
Bianca stopped dead in her tracks, her heart in her throat. A little way ahead two fauns were grazing on the underbrush near the path. They were young and looked all legs, but their mother, who appeared from behind one of the trees, possessed a captivating grace that appealed to the princess.
Slowly, noiselessly, Bianca crept closer to the trio. Her stealth had improved immensely over the years of wandering through the forest, and now most animals had become accustomed to her presence. But the deer had always been skittish and a loud noise or sudden movement would surely startle them away.
A bush rustled abruptly, violently, and the doe's head shot up for a split second before the three deer bolted off into the woods.
Bianca looked around her, bewildered, until she found the bush in question. She let out a terrified shriek as, instead of settling, the bush spouted six little men, armed to the teeth. They couldn't have been more than three feet tall, but that didn't detract from their overall intimidating impression. The princess had only a moment to register the motley of spears, short swords, and daggers being brandished by the dwarves. The next moment she was struggling, to no avail, in the ropes bound tightly around her wrists.
"Are you sure she's the one?" one asked doubtfully.
"She bette' be, or Durel will have our hides."
Bianca shrank away as they scrutinized their prisoner.
"Wha's the hold up?"
Every head turned at the new voice, and several dwarves straightened up. Bianca's view was blocked, but it was obvious that this man was in a position of authority. And a high one, by the sound of it.
After a bit of foot scuffling by her captors, one dwarf stepped forward gingerly.
"We foun' the girl wandrin' 'bout in the fores' so natrally we followed her. Then i' strikes us, sir. She fits the ex'at perscriptions o' that girl the bounty was abou', no we nabbed her." His fellow conspirators nodded, grunted, and shifted in agreement.
"Y' boys think ye can jus' pick girls up if ye think there'll be a penny in it fer ye?"
Bianca's heart soared. Perhaps they weren't all savages after all.
Another of the dwarves squared his shoulders to interrupt the tirade.
"If ye don' mind, sire, ye really shoul' see 'er."
Again, this was followed my signs of approval by his comrades, and they stepped away from her to give the captain a clear view.
The captain's face underwent a succession of emotions, but to Bianca's horror, not the correct ones. She was expecting something along the lines of surprise, shame, pity, and tenderness. Instead she was met, finally, with an expression of sad, grim resolution.
"Fairest maid in the lan', sir," a dwarf prompted.
"I KNOW WHAT HE SAID," roared the captain, grabbing the rope that bound Bianca's wrists. "Com'on boys," he said in a defeated voice, "le's go home."
Half a dozen dwarves turned on their heel and loped, single file, back the direction the captain had come. Bianca foundered on the ground, cheeks burning, trying to regain her balance. A small, strong hand was offered, and without thinking the princess accepted the help.
As the captain pulled her up, she barely caught his gruff words.
"I'm sorry, princess."
_______________________________________________________________________________
Writing Prompt #__: Write about a novel you want to write.
I got the idea for this novel from this past writing prompt. It got me thinking, because I wanted something original for the story. And thinking is a dangerous past time for a writer. While I wrote that short little scene I accidentally made up the plot for the whole story in novel form. I'll give you some background information before plunging* you in head first.
Characters:
Step Mother: controlling, but NOT evil. Is currently in deep mourning for her late husband (the king, Bianca's father)'s death.
Prince Charming: oily is the first word that comes to mind. When he arrives at the palace he doesn't reveal any information about himself, not even his name (hence the need for a nickname), and still has the audacity to woo Bianca. Hails from a neighboring kingdom.
Dwarves: seven legendary rebels. Their band was formed by Durel to fight against the oppression their people were suffering in the neighboring kingdom. They were finally banished and now have to mine for a living.
Durel: the undisputed leader of the dwarves. His temper is as short as he is. He's just, but uses his own code of honor. Incidentally, kidnapping innocent princesses is not on the "good" side of that code.
Plot
The story begins when Prince Charming arrives at the castle. Bianca, already overwhelmed by her numerous suitors, is also troubled over her father's death, and has taken to walking often in the country side to escape. When Prince Charming realizes that Snow doesn't love him and he's working for a lost cause, he hires the dwarves to abduct her.
The dwarves, especially Durel, would normally never agree to kidnapping anyone, but PC has not only blackmailed them (he'll tell the authorities where the outlaws are) and offered them an army for their cause. Without one, they would never be able to overthrow the neighboring kingdom's treacherous rule.
I'm really not sure how Bianca really plays a part in all of this, except for the damsel in distress. I'm working on that. But in the meantime, she and Durel are going to fall in love.
Finally PC will come to take her away, probably to his own kingdom. There he'll explain to Bianca all his evil plans. (Cliche, I know, but I can't help it). He'll show her his troops and tell her that they will be marching on her home country unless she marries him, thereby putting him in line for king.
She'll be devestated, but eventually will agree to marry him, at which point the dwarves will return to rescue her, overthrow PC's kingdom, and allow Durel and Bianca to live happily ever after.
*Is it even possible to "plunge" someone??
_______________________________________________________________________________
So that catches y'all up on my writing so far. Right now I'm working on a character based off coffee (another of Josie's prompts), but he's giving me some trouble. He keeps disobeying and reading instead of playing sports like I want him to, and go generally Sherlock-Holms on me, so I have quite a bit of work before he's ready to socialize.
And now I've got to go for dinner, so ta-ta!
Writing Prompt #__: Rewrite a fairy tale
The sun pierced through the dense foliage, making a patchwork of shadows on the path below. Bianca stopped her slow stroll and watched as two cardinals quarreled with each other in high pitched chirps. A twig snapped behind the princess and interrupted their conversation. Her eyes followed them longingly as the two birds fluttered off in a flurry of feathers. If only she could leave so easily.
The air held a crisp bite, but even still the spring-time sun was working its magic on the picturesque pine boughs burdened with snow.
Snow.
Bianca shuddered. She hated her silly nickname. As if she didn't get enough attention being a princess everybody simply had to go around exclaiming that she was the most beautiful maiden in all the kingdom.
"Fairest of them all." Those were his exact words.
Only a fortnight before yet another suitor had arrived at the palace to beg for her hand. This one was different, though. All the other princes were, well, princes. This man could be a beggar off the streets for all anyone knew about his past. He was oily enough to con the teeth from one's dentured grandmother, and had the morality to match.
And everyone bought it. Even Snow's step mother complimented him, a thing unheard of for the queen.
"He is simply charming, isn't he dear Bianca?"
"Yes mother," the princess replied in an uncharacteristic bout of sarcasm, "Prince Charming."
It became his common nickname around the palace to his enjoyment and her mortification.
Bianca stopped dead in her tracks, her heart in her throat. A little way ahead two fauns were grazing on the underbrush near the path. They were young and looked all legs, but their mother, who appeared from behind one of the trees, possessed a captivating grace that appealed to the princess.
Slowly, noiselessly, Bianca crept closer to the trio. Her stealth had improved immensely over the years of wandering through the forest, and now most animals had become accustomed to her presence. But the deer had always been skittish and a loud noise or sudden movement would surely startle them away.
A bush rustled abruptly, violently, and the doe's head shot up for a split second before the three deer bolted off into the woods.
Bianca looked around her, bewildered, until she found the bush in question. She let out a terrified shriek as, instead of settling, the bush spouted six little men, armed to the teeth. They couldn't have been more than three feet tall, but that didn't detract from their overall intimidating impression. The princess had only a moment to register the motley of spears, short swords, and daggers being brandished by the dwarves. The next moment she was struggling, to no avail, in the ropes bound tightly around her wrists.
"Are you sure she's the one?" one asked doubtfully.
"She bette' be, or Durel will have our hides."
Bianca shrank away as they scrutinized their prisoner.
"Wha's the hold up?"
Every head turned at the new voice, and several dwarves straightened up. Bianca's view was blocked, but it was obvious that this man was in a position of authority. And a high one, by the sound of it.
After a bit of foot scuffling by her captors, one dwarf stepped forward gingerly.
"We foun' the girl wandrin' 'bout in the fores' so natrally we followed her. Then i' strikes us, sir. She fits the ex'at perscriptions o' that girl the bounty was abou', no we nabbed her." His fellow conspirators nodded, grunted, and shifted in agreement.
"Y' boys think ye can jus' pick girls up if ye think there'll be a penny in it fer ye?"
Bianca's heart soared. Perhaps they weren't all savages after all.
Another of the dwarves squared his shoulders to interrupt the tirade.
"If ye don' mind, sire, ye really shoul' see 'er."
Again, this was followed my signs of approval by his comrades, and they stepped away from her to give the captain a clear view.
The captain's face underwent a succession of emotions, but to Bianca's horror, not the correct ones. She was expecting something along the lines of surprise, shame, pity, and tenderness. Instead she was met, finally, with an expression of sad, grim resolution.
"Fairest maid in the lan', sir," a dwarf prompted.
"I KNOW WHAT HE SAID," roared the captain, grabbing the rope that bound Bianca's wrists. "Com'on boys," he said in a defeated voice, "le's go home."
Half a dozen dwarves turned on their heel and loped, single file, back the direction the captain had come. Bianca foundered on the ground, cheeks burning, trying to regain her balance. A small, strong hand was offered, and without thinking the princess accepted the help.
As the captain pulled her up, she barely caught his gruff words.
"I'm sorry, princess."
_______________________________________________________________________________
Writing Prompt #__: Write about a novel you want to write.
I got the idea for this novel from this past writing prompt. It got me thinking, because I wanted something original for the story. And thinking is a dangerous past time for a writer. While I wrote that short little scene I accidentally made up the plot for the whole story in novel form. I'll give you some background information before plunging* you in head first.
Characters:
Step Mother: controlling, but NOT evil. Is currently in deep mourning for her late husband (the king, Bianca's father)'s death.
Prince Charming: oily is the first word that comes to mind. When he arrives at the palace he doesn't reveal any information about himself, not even his name (hence the need for a nickname), and still has the audacity to woo Bianca. Hails from a neighboring kingdom.
Dwarves: seven legendary rebels. Their band was formed by Durel to fight against the oppression their people were suffering in the neighboring kingdom. They were finally banished and now have to mine for a living.
Durel: the undisputed leader of the dwarves. His temper is as short as he is. He's just, but uses his own code of honor. Incidentally, kidnapping innocent princesses is not on the "good" side of that code.
Plot
The story begins when Prince Charming arrives at the castle. Bianca, already overwhelmed by her numerous suitors, is also troubled over her father's death, and has taken to walking often in the country side to escape. When Prince Charming realizes that Snow doesn't love him and he's working for a lost cause, he hires the dwarves to abduct her.
The dwarves, especially Durel, would normally never agree to kidnapping anyone, but PC has not only blackmailed them (he'll tell the authorities where the outlaws are) and offered them an army for their cause. Without one, they would never be able to overthrow the neighboring kingdom's treacherous rule.
I'm really not sure how Bianca really plays a part in all of this, except for the damsel in distress. I'm working on that. But in the meantime, she and Durel are going to fall in love.
Finally PC will come to take her away, probably to his own kingdom. There he'll explain to Bianca all his evil plans. (Cliche, I know, but I can't help it). He'll show her his troops and tell her that they will be marching on her home country unless she marries him, thereby putting him in line for king.
She'll be devestated, but eventually will agree to marry him, at which point the dwarves will return to rescue her, overthrow PC's kingdom, and allow Durel and Bianca to live happily ever after.
*Is it even possible to "plunge" someone??
_______________________________________________________________________________
So that catches y'all up on my writing so far. Right now I'm working on a character based off coffee (another of Josie's prompts), but he's giving me some trouble. He keeps disobeying and reading instead of playing sports like I want him to, and go generally Sherlock-Holms on me, so I have quite a bit of work before he's ready to socialize.
And now I've got to go for dinner, so ta-ta!
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
News Dump
Procrastination stinks. If I'd just write blog posts more frequently, even every other day, I'd be able to tell you all the details of my mortally interesting life. But, try as I might, I really don't. It's my one weakness. That and water polo. So I think I'll just try to store up my everyday adventures to be told in news dumps like this. Beware. I wrote these all in random chunks, so every adventure could be its own post so it's a little long.
We left for our super long Thanksgiving vacation on Friday evening. We got out of the house only two hours later than we were hoping to. I think it's a personal best for my family.
After four hours we landed in Palm Springs. Or Palm Desert. It looks exactly like the background right now. There we enjoyed Italian food, thrift shopping, and continental breakfasts.Oh my gosh. those breakfasts were good. There's nothing like not working in the mornings to work up your apatite.
Saturday marked my half birthday, but more importantly, the 50th anniversary of the best sci-fi show of all time and space. This is the time to stop reading if you a) have no patience, or b) are not a confirmed Whovian and don't want to hear a detailed analysis of the latest episode The Day of the Doctor. I'm going to do this off the cuff, so it will more than likely turn into an embarrassing display of my more fanatic side.
i seriously don't think I had one problem with the show (surprise surprise!). It wasn't too filled with wacky aliens, we got to see five different regenerations, and watch a good plot to boot. (Spell check doesn't like "regenerations" OR "Whovian". Blasphemer).
This episode rang Matt Smith through and through. Trust this fun loving Doctor to go out of his way to break every single rule in the universe. HE FREAKING MET FOUR REGENERATIONS. WHAT.
I loved the way all the Doctors interacted. They didn't all work together perfectly, but that's alright. It was in their characters. I loved it that John Hurt explained some of the character flaws in Tennant and Smith. Also the internal conflict was heart rending. Hurt was able to see the consequences of his decision and how it would effect himself in hundreds of years. That could shake anyone's resolution, but by the end he succeeded in doing the right thing, despite the obvious personal repercussions, and (duh) saves the world.
That sounds really heavy handed. One of the beauties of Doctor Who is that the writers are able to portray these mega confusing stories in a lighthearted, easy manner. It makes the whole show irresistible.
Choosing what to wear can be a hard enough ordeal for me as it is, but choosing what to wear with a limited wardrobe is all but impossible.
I tried to pack a wide selection of clothes, I really did, but apparently not wide enough. That, added to the fact that I'd forgotten almost half my clothes in the dryer back at home, had me in a funk for almost ten minutes.
Enter the mater. It was at this time that the mother, having concluded the morning meal which I mentioned briefly before and will more than likely be noted again in more detail anon, announced that she had seen some promising looking thrift shops, and that it was her wish to go "thrifting."
I took the irresistible bait and we spent the afternoon digging through vintage sweaters and 70's house dresses, finally ending at a small, funky little consignment store.
After wiling away the past three hours looking at clothes marked $3 a pop I was pretty much shocked out of my wits to see a steam-punk-esq jacket for $65. I steeled myself to leave, but my mom was already engrossed in a rack of refurbished vintage dresses.
I wandered about the store for a few minutes. It really was a funny place. There were floor length ballgowns and 50's style dresses, old lady coats and mink furs. All of it in mint condition,, just not my style, let alone my size. Or so I thought.
When I found my mom again she had only just started on the second rack. I was impressed she'd finished the first. I was about to tell her that I was done and point out how ridiculously over priced these retail items were, when the owner walks in.
Now, let me show you the whole picture. Here we are in this random, out of the way shop. It's small and we're the only ones here. The woman (who had been in the back room) has nothing better to do, so she strikes up a conversation with the mater. In a British accent.
They get to talking, so I begin to retrace my steps around the room and look through everything more carefully.
The woman walks past me to a rack. On the way she stops.
"I think your mom has something for you to try on."
I go back to my mom.
"Here. Try this one." She hands me a mass of heavy, striped fabric. I fumble it around and realize it's a skirt.
"Can I see?"
I open the dressing room door to show her. It's a wonderful skirt. Full, heavy. Maybe a bit long, but seriously, what isn't?
"Twirl."
I grin. The ultimate test. It had already passed, but I couldn't wait to see the look on my mom's face. I spin and immediately feel like a princess. Some clothes just feel pretty.
The woman comes back.
"Oh my gosh! It's beautiful! So many people have tried that, but it just won't fit anyone." She gasps. "Wait a moment."
She comes back with a white sweater and black hat and some polka dot heels.
We spent at least two hours there. Two hours of playing dress up for the first time in years. I forgot how much fun it is! There were vintage party dresses and hand knit sweaters and adorable flats and jaunty top hats. Ooooo! It was bliss. I love window shopping!
Yesterday we left the Palm place to continue on to Arizona. Since we'd already come a fair stretch of the trip we only had six hours ahead of us. Or so we thought. Until we thought it would be an extra two hours. Until we though we realized it wouldn't.
Let me explain.
A few hours after leaving I woke up to my dad and Joe laughing nervously. I didn't feel like fighting to get back to sleep so I sat up and looked around. We were stopped on the side of the freeway, hazards blinking while cars raced by at indecent speeds.
As if on cue, a man (who I guess had parked right in front of us just before i opened my eyes) came up to the driver's side, and my dad rolled down the window.
"What's the problem? Can I help?"
"If you could drive me over to the gas station, that would be great," my dad answered. "I can walk back or call AAA or something."
The man looked at the sign we were conveniently parked in front of: Mobil, Shell, Chevron 2 miles.
"Well, do you have a rope?" the guy asked. "I could tow you and save you a few hours."
I like it when random people are generous and nice. It was like a real life Good Samaritan.
My gratitude only lasted for a while, because ten minutes later we were all hooked up and ready to go.
We couldn't have been towed for more than a minute, but it was the most stressful minute of my life. Pop laughed nervously as he explained to Joe that he needed to steer exactly as the man so as to not pull them both off the road. Oh wait. We weren't ON the road. We went on the shoulder for the next two miles, expecting every second to have to follow the man into a lane. But he didn't, and I can imagine we got some pretty strange looks from the cars who were passing is in the other lane.
But wait! There's more! We were so happy that we rear ended him! It turned out to be only a fender bender, but it was exciting all the same.
Hopefully I'll be able to post a writing prompt in the near future. It's one of the writing prompts that Josie's done and is as unintelligible as usual, but I like it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
We left for our super long Thanksgiving vacation on Friday evening. We got out of the house only two hours later than we were hoping to. I think it's a personal best for my family.
After four hours we landed in Palm Springs. Or Palm Desert. It looks exactly like the background right now. There we enjoyed Italian food, thrift shopping, and continental breakfasts.Oh my gosh. those breakfasts were good. There's nothing like not working in the mornings to work up your apatite.
Saturday marked my half birthday, but more importantly, the 50th anniversary of the best sci-fi show of all time and space. This is the time to stop reading if you a) have no patience, or b) are not a confirmed Whovian and don't want to hear a detailed analysis of the latest episode The Day of the Doctor. I'm going to do this off the cuff, so it will more than likely turn into an embarrassing display of my more fanatic side.
i seriously don't think I had one problem with the show (surprise surprise!). It wasn't too filled with wacky aliens, we got to see five different regenerations, and watch a good plot to boot. (Spell check doesn't like "regenerations" OR "Whovian". Blasphemer).
This episode rang Matt Smith through and through. Trust this fun loving Doctor to go out of his way to break every single rule in the universe. HE FREAKING MET FOUR REGENERATIONS. WHAT.
I loved the way all the Doctors interacted. They didn't all work together perfectly, but that's alright. It was in their characters. I loved it that John Hurt explained some of the character flaws in Tennant and Smith. Also the internal conflict was heart rending. Hurt was able to see the consequences of his decision and how it would effect himself in hundreds of years. That could shake anyone's resolution, but by the end he succeeded in doing the right thing, despite the obvious personal repercussions, and (duh) saves the world.
That sounds really heavy handed. One of the beauties of Doctor Who is that the writers are able to portray these mega confusing stories in a lighthearted, easy manner. It makes the whole show irresistible.
Choosing what to wear can be a hard enough ordeal for me as it is, but choosing what to wear with a limited wardrobe is all but impossible.
I tried to pack a wide selection of clothes, I really did, but apparently not wide enough. That, added to the fact that I'd forgotten almost half my clothes in the dryer back at home, had me in a funk for almost ten minutes.
Enter the mater. It was at this time that the mother, having concluded the morning meal which I mentioned briefly before and will more than likely be noted again in more detail anon, announced that she had seen some promising looking thrift shops, and that it was her wish to go "thrifting."
I took the irresistible bait and we spent the afternoon digging through vintage sweaters and 70's house dresses, finally ending at a small, funky little consignment store.
After wiling away the past three hours looking at clothes marked $3 a pop I was pretty much shocked out of my wits to see a steam-punk-esq jacket for $65. I steeled myself to leave, but my mom was already engrossed in a rack of refurbished vintage dresses.
I wandered about the store for a few minutes. It really was a funny place. There were floor length ballgowns and 50's style dresses, old lady coats and mink furs. All of it in mint condition,, just not my style, let alone my size. Or so I thought.
When I found my mom again she had only just started on the second rack. I was impressed she'd finished the first. I was about to tell her that I was done and point out how ridiculously over priced these retail items were, when the owner walks in.
Now, let me show you the whole picture. Here we are in this random, out of the way shop. It's small and we're the only ones here. The woman (who had been in the back room) has nothing better to do, so she strikes up a conversation with the mater. In a British accent.
They get to talking, so I begin to retrace my steps around the room and look through everything more carefully.
The woman walks past me to a rack. On the way she stops.
"I think your mom has something for you to try on."
I go back to my mom.
"Here. Try this one." She hands me a mass of heavy, striped fabric. I fumble it around and realize it's a skirt.
"Can I see?"
I open the dressing room door to show her. It's a wonderful skirt. Full, heavy. Maybe a bit long, but seriously, what isn't?
"Twirl."
I grin. The ultimate test. It had already passed, but I couldn't wait to see the look on my mom's face. I spin and immediately feel like a princess. Some clothes just feel pretty.
The woman comes back.
"Oh my gosh! It's beautiful! So many people have tried that, but it just won't fit anyone." She gasps. "Wait a moment."
She comes back with a white sweater and black hat and some polka dot heels.
We spent at least two hours there. Two hours of playing dress up for the first time in years. I forgot how much fun it is! There were vintage party dresses and hand knit sweaters and adorable flats and jaunty top hats. Ooooo! It was bliss. I love window shopping!
Yesterday we left the Palm place to continue on to Arizona. Since we'd already come a fair stretch of the trip we only had six hours ahead of us. Or so we thought. Until we thought it would be an extra two hours. Until we though we realized it wouldn't.
Let me explain.
A few hours after leaving I woke up to my dad and Joe laughing nervously. I didn't feel like fighting to get back to sleep so I sat up and looked around. We were stopped on the side of the freeway, hazards blinking while cars raced by at indecent speeds.
As if on cue, a man (who I guess had parked right in front of us just before i opened my eyes) came up to the driver's side, and my dad rolled down the window.
"What's the problem? Can I help?"
"If you could drive me over to the gas station, that would be great," my dad answered. "I can walk back or call AAA or something."
The man looked at the sign we were conveniently parked in front of: Mobil, Shell, Chevron 2 miles.
"Well, do you have a rope?" the guy asked. "I could tow you and save you a few hours."
I like it when random people are generous and nice. It was like a real life Good Samaritan.
My gratitude only lasted for a while, because ten minutes later we were all hooked up and ready to go.
We couldn't have been towed for more than a minute, but it was the most stressful minute of my life. Pop laughed nervously as he explained to Joe that he needed to steer exactly as the man so as to not pull them both off the road. Oh wait. We weren't ON the road. We went on the shoulder for the next two miles, expecting every second to have to follow the man into a lane. But he didn't, and I can imagine we got some pretty strange looks from the cars who were passing is in the other lane.
But wait! There's more! We were so happy that we rear ended him! It turned out to be only a fender bender, but it was exciting all the same.
Hopefully I'll be able to post a writing prompt in the near future. It's one of the writing prompts that Josie's done and is as unintelligible as usual, but I like it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Writing Prompt #13
As the number suggests, my poor character did not have the best of luck during this writing prompt. Actually, I wonder if Josie to put this as the 13th prompt on purpose. Well, anyway, it is quite apt, and without further ado...
Write a scene where you're explaining to a character that they have amnesia.
She was sitting up in her bed when I came into the hospital room. Soon enough the room would be flooded with flowers and get well cards, but it was much too early for that. It had only been an hour since I wrote the fateful words to break my poor character's arm.
"Oh Libby! I'm so glad you're-" I stopped short. The look of alarm and confusion on her face disturbed me. "Are you okay?"
There was a tentative tap on my shoulder and I turned to see the doctor's apologetic face. She beckoned, and I followed her into the hallway.
"Abby-"
"What's the matter?" I whispered, fear creeping into my voice.
"The crash was a little bigger than you expected, I'm afraid. She has received a concussion and is experiencing slight loss of memory. If you could go in and explain who she is..."
I slid down the wall and landed heavily on the floor. How could I have put her through this?
"Is it permanent?"
"Oh dear no! No, nothing like that. She should be better within a month."
"Oh." I tried to be happy for my character. I mean, she'd survived the car crash that I'd put her through, with more injuries than even I had bargained for. Even so, her story would suffer the consequences. It would put a damper of my writing if she couldn't even remember her own name, much less live her ordinary life.
"Would you like to see her?"
I sighed and nodded.
Libby put her book down when I reentered.
"Why did you call me Libby?" she paused. "And why can't I remember my real name?"
"Libby is your real name. Liberty Victoria Alvon." I flinched. Why had I forced such a horrible name on her? "There was an accident and...about you not remembering your name...you're experiencing temporary amnesia and..."
Could I have seen her perk up at those last words? I tried to continue, but she interrupted.
"Seriously?!" she shrieked. "That is SO COOL. Why didn't I think of that?" She fumbled around on the bedside table and emerged again brandishing a pen. "Give...her...amnesia," she mumbled as she wrote on her arm. When she finished she blinked. "Give who amnesia?"
I smiled. I guess there was always a bit of writer in her.
"You'll figure it out. First think why she gets amnesia and write on from-"
Write.
It felt as though four different gears clicked together in my brain, allowing this brilliant, obvious idea to escape. I raced out of the hospital, down the street, and up the long flight of stairs that opened up into our spacious library. A few girls looked up, but returned to their notebooks. I jumped onto the computer and within fifteen minutes was back in the hospital with a stack of 20 papers under my arm.
Now all I had to do was convince my charrie to read them.
"Before you lost your memory you and your friends were writing a book."
I handed her the stack. Hopefully she wouldn't ask any questions. My statement was technically true. In fact, it was absolutely true. The one itsy-bitsy controversial part was implication that the story she held was written by her.
Libby's eyes danced across the pages and her ever present smile tugged at her lips.
I slipped from the room into unexpected chaos.
"Abby!" The poor doctor looked frazzled. "This boy insists on seeing my patient."
Owen gave me a plaintive look.
"She really isn't well..." He did a legitimate face palm and my heart melted. "Oh no! It wasn't your fault. I-" I just got carried away when I broke her arm so you could meet her. Nothing personal. "The doctor says she has some sort of concussion that'll keep her in here for a month, but I'm sure you'll be able to visit her soon enough. And you know what would cheer her up?"
Rain tapped and pattered on the roof and the crackling fire added to the wintry atmosphere. Someone came up behind my armchair. I could tell that she was reading over my shoulder but I didn't care. We're all friends here.
"Oh my gosh, I love Owen," she sighed. "I wouldn't mind getting hit by a car if I could get my hands on those Eoin Colfer book signing tickets!"
I smiled again. Neither would Libby.
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Hope you enjoyed another cryptic story!
Write a scene where you're explaining to a character that they have amnesia.
She was sitting up in her bed when I came into the hospital room. Soon enough the room would be flooded with flowers and get well cards, but it was much too early for that. It had only been an hour since I wrote the fateful words to break my poor character's arm.
"Oh Libby! I'm so glad you're-" I stopped short. The look of alarm and confusion on her face disturbed me. "Are you okay?"
There was a tentative tap on my shoulder and I turned to see the doctor's apologetic face. She beckoned, and I followed her into the hallway.
"Abby-"
"What's the matter?" I whispered, fear creeping into my voice.
"The crash was a little bigger than you expected, I'm afraid. She has received a concussion and is experiencing slight loss of memory. If you could go in and explain who she is..."
I slid down the wall and landed heavily on the floor. How could I have put her through this?
"Is it permanent?"
"Oh dear no! No, nothing like that. She should be better within a month."
"Oh." I tried to be happy for my character. I mean, she'd survived the car crash that I'd put her through, with more injuries than even I had bargained for. Even so, her story would suffer the consequences. It would put a damper of my writing if she couldn't even remember her own name, much less live her ordinary life.
"Would you like to see her?"
I sighed and nodded.
Libby put her book down when I reentered.
"Why did you call me Libby?" she paused. "And why can't I remember my real name?"
"Libby is your real name. Liberty Victoria Alvon." I flinched. Why had I forced such a horrible name on her? "There was an accident and...about you not remembering your name...you're experiencing temporary amnesia and..."
Could I have seen her perk up at those last words? I tried to continue, but she interrupted.
"Seriously?!" she shrieked. "That is SO COOL. Why didn't I think of that?" She fumbled around on the bedside table and emerged again brandishing a pen. "Give...her...amnesia," she mumbled as she wrote on her arm. When she finished she blinked. "Give who amnesia?"
I smiled. I guess there was always a bit of writer in her.
"You'll figure it out. First think why she gets amnesia and write on from-"
Write.
It felt as though four different gears clicked together in my brain, allowing this brilliant, obvious idea to escape. I raced out of the hospital, down the street, and up the long flight of stairs that opened up into our spacious library. A few girls looked up, but returned to their notebooks. I jumped onto the computer and within fifteen minutes was back in the hospital with a stack of 20 papers under my arm.
Now all I had to do was convince my charrie to read them.
"Before you lost your memory you and your friends were writing a book."
I handed her the stack. Hopefully she wouldn't ask any questions. My statement was technically true. In fact, it was absolutely true. The one itsy-bitsy controversial part was implication that the story she held was written by her.
Libby's eyes danced across the pages and her ever present smile tugged at her lips.
I slipped from the room into unexpected chaos.
"Abby!" The poor doctor looked frazzled. "This boy insists on seeing my patient."
Owen gave me a plaintive look.
"She really isn't well..." He did a legitimate face palm and my heart melted. "Oh no! It wasn't your fault. I-" I just got carried away when I broke her arm so you could meet her. Nothing personal. "The doctor says she has some sort of concussion that'll keep her in here for a month, but I'm sure you'll be able to visit her soon enough. And you know what would cheer her up?"
Rain tapped and pattered on the roof and the crackling fire added to the wintry atmosphere. Someone came up behind my armchair. I could tell that she was reading over my shoulder but I didn't care. We're all friends here.
"Oh my gosh, I love Owen," she sighed. "I wouldn't mind getting hit by a car if I could get my hands on those Eoin Colfer book signing tickets!"
I smiled again. Neither would Libby.
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Hope you enjoyed another cryptic story!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Writing Prompt #11
"I didn't mean to do it."
"Just put the gun down, Zack." I edged away from the motionless mass on the ground. "Zack, it's alright, you can put the gun down now."
He looked at me. His eyes looked wild, with a fear verging on terror. I mirrored my own emotions. I beckoned him toward the street. At least there was light there. He gripped the gun harder when he saw me moving. I froze.
"We can't leave." His voice sounded scared, but he tried to control it. "We can't just leave him. Is he...is he dead?"
Tears filled my eyes, but even with the blindness that followed, I could see that the thug was dead.
"Yes." My voice squeaked. It echoed off the alley and added to the ominous scene. Sirens grew closer and Zack's eyes flashed as he turned every which way to find them. The lack of light made him look haunted, ethereal.
"It's not my fault," he whispered.
I hugged him and he fell into me and sobbed.
"No, it wasn't."
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That was a random little blur from a scene that palyed out in my mind as soon as I heard today's writing prompt: Write a scene that begins "I didn't mean to." I know it was extremely cryptic, so I'll sum it all up for ya.
Basically, a girl and her brother are out on the town (probably walking back from Thor 2) when this mountain of a man corners them and herds them into a dark alley. He starts taking their money, there's a scuffle, and somehow Zack ends up with the gun in his hands. You get the picture.
Sorry I'm not able to talk much today. I'll try later or tomorrow. The next prompt looks fun, but difficult, so we'll see how I do.
"Just put the gun down, Zack." I edged away from the motionless mass on the ground. "Zack, it's alright, you can put the gun down now."
He looked at me. His eyes looked wild, with a fear verging on terror. I mirrored my own emotions. I beckoned him toward the street. At least there was light there. He gripped the gun harder when he saw me moving. I froze.
"We can't leave." His voice sounded scared, but he tried to control it. "We can't just leave him. Is he...is he dead?"
Tears filled my eyes, but even with the blindness that followed, I could see that the thug was dead.
"Yes." My voice squeaked. It echoed off the alley and added to the ominous scene. Sirens grew closer and Zack's eyes flashed as he turned every which way to find them. The lack of light made him look haunted, ethereal.
"It's not my fault," he whispered.
I hugged him and he fell into me and sobbed.
"No, it wasn't."
______________________________________________________________________________
That was a random little blur from a scene that palyed out in my mind as soon as I heard today's writing prompt: Write a scene that begins "I didn't mean to." I know it was extremely cryptic, so I'll sum it all up for ya.
Basically, a girl and her brother are out on the town (probably walking back from Thor 2) when this mountain of a man corners them and herds them into a dark alley. He starts taking their money, there's a scuffle, and somehow Zack ends up with the gun in his hands. You get the picture.
Sorry I'm not able to talk much today. I'll try later or tomorrow. The next prompt looks fun, but difficult, so we'll see how I do.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Long time no see.
You may have noticed my lack of postingness lately. In a perfect world that would never have happened. In a slightly less perfect world I would have a legitimate excuse for this unforgivable crime. But this is the world we're stuck with. I've just been so extremely busy (read extremely lazy) that I didn't even post all the writing I did on my trip. And I didn't even tell you that I was going on the trip. So I have a lot to talk about and that just means you'll only need to listen to the condensed version of my stellar life. Let's see. When did I fall off the face of the virtual world?
About a month ago my friend Cece, a fellow writer, came to CA to visit colleges with me. We wend to TAC first and had four wonderful days of sleeping through classes and staying up till after curfew. It was a blast. Intriguing classes. Dancing. Good food. Egyptian Rat Race. Fun stuff.
After the space of one day we left to visit Wyoming Catholic College. We weren't as warmly welcomed there, which really put a damper on the week. It also didn't help that on the second day we went rock climbing. I hadn't realized how much I hated heights till then. All I can say, without going into hysterics, is that I'll never rock climb again. Back on topic. The classes were super interesting (I liked the subjects more than the ones at TAC), but the overall experience was disappointing.
Another fifteen hour car ride later we arrived in CA just in time for a swing dance. It was fun, though there are never enough boys dancing, and we had a blast.
Then Cece left (we miss you!) and it was back to school.
Practically three weeks of no school came back to bite me HARD. That Tuesday I had a history debate (which I won, in case you were wondering) and a ton of other catching up.
The next highlight of my life was our highschool Halloween dance which I had inadvertently volunteered to organize. Bad idea. Anyway. It went off beautifully, I danced my feet off (and still have the blisters to prove it) and was complimented profusely on my amazingness. I'm so shallow, but if it wasn't for those compliments I'd never do anything again.
I love dances.
Yes, that needed its own line.
Then the weekend was over and I was forced to become intelligent again. HA. I made a fool of myself in religion class (well, I admit, THAT was on purpose), I lost my history debate, and failed life.
But a few days later that was all over and I was Abby, without a care in the world, because it was almost the weekend.
That Thursday was Halloween. I went trick-or-treating (NO, I am not too old. LA LA LA I'M NOT LISTENING) and got tons of candy and acquired more blisters and had an all 'round good time.
This is where the REAL fun begins. *drumroll*
Our highschool group took a trip to Magic Mountain the next day. Nothing like celebrating All Soul's day by cheating death. At least, that's what I was thinking going in to it. You see, I'm so paranoid of heights that I fully intended to wait around in lines with my daredevil friends and wimp out of every single legitimate ride. Um no. In no way did that happen. Our first ride of the day was Full Throttle, a ride that none of my friends had been on, but assured me that it would be fine. I pretty much screamed my guts out on that one. It wasn't until later that day that someone told me that that was the fastest loop in the U.S. I was in shock for about half an hour afterward, just enough time for the safety bar to lock on Goliath, and all hope for avoiding the 200 foot drop was lost. After that, the afternoon was a blur of amazing coasters of which Batman and Apocalypse are held dearest to my heart. And Scream. And bumper cars. Rambling. It was wonderful.
But the fun didn't end there. We all trooped over for holy hour after Six Flags. I must say, this is one of my favorite traditions of our newly founded highschool group (I really need to find a name for that. I'm too lazy to spell it out every time). Since September we've been meeting at the church every Friday evening for adoration, then we buy a celebratory doughnut afterwards. There's something wonderful about praying and eating with friends that just makes me happy.
"Wow!" you say. "That's super cool! What happened the next weekend?"
Slow down! I haven't even finished Friday. After adoration we pooled at my house for ping pong, foosball, music, and youtube.
And I was up bright and early the next morning for a Saturday morning choir rehearsal. Cruel, I know, but trust me. We needed the practice.
Later we watched Free Birds (about a dozen steps down from any movie you can think of) and the next day we went to the beach for volleyball and hot dogs.
This past week of school has been a lot easier than usual. I was able to finish everything at a reasonable hour (granted, that meant waking up at an unreasonable one) and had many many things to look forward to: a Doctor's appointment (Josie came over and we fangirled about Doctor Who), youth group (which turned into a fire pit/game night at my house!), Ender's Game, park day, Thor (which was MARVELous. Sorry. Couldn't help myself), adoration, soccer, ice cream, a movie night, and another game night at my house.
It's been so wonderful and I'm so tired. I haven't had more than seven hours of sleep for I don't know how long. But who needs sleep anyway?
Now that you're up to date on my life I will explain the present situation. Josie, as you know if you follow her blog, is doing a really cool 30 day writing prompt thing. Well, terrible friend that I am, I tempted (read forced) her to come to a game night and, in the middle of a game of Bananagrams, she realized that she wouldn't be able to do her writing prompt for the day. I took the bait, because I'd been feeling guilty about my writing, or lack thereof, and offered to cover for her. Today, after three unsuccessful attempts, I have accomplished the feat. Here is the story of how I found myself.
*disclaimer: I need to go right now, so this is the barest, roughest draft because I haven't had time to edit. At all. So be sympathetic.
"Fifteen minutes. Don't touch anything. And for heaven's sake don't read the book!"
Sheesh. This new regeneration of the Doctor was so paranoid. Any time I went out by myself he would go berserk. And what book was he even talking about? Whatever. I made a noncommittal grunt and closed the door of the TARDIS.
The street outside was lined flaming trees and colossal buildings. No. Buildings doesn't cut it. Ancient Roman temples. There was an element in the chilly air that was not commonly found back in California.
I walked along, but was kept from day dreaming by an energetic crowd that was chattering away. They lined the wide sidewalk, and were obviously waiting for something, and I decided to wait too. That was the beauty of a time machine. No matter how much time you wasted you could always get it back. Even standing in random lines could be excused.
The line was made up mostly of girls about my age. After studying a few clusters of them I concluded that that they were all pleasantly nerdy. And excited. For once my curiosity got the better of me.
"What's happening here?"
One of the girls looked at me aghast, but her friend answered me quickly.
"It's the Authors in Training book signing."
I stared at her.
"What's today?"
"Tuesday."
"The date."
"The date."
"The 22nd."
"The YEAR!"
She almost laughed, but then realized I was serious. "2028."
"Can I borrow that?" Without waiting for an answer I grabbed one of the books tucked under her arm. My heart sank. The Hidden Arsenal? What sort of a series steals my title, then writes books like this?
"You haven't read these, have you?" The girl's voice woke me from my stupor. "Here," she said, holding out another book, "Start with this one. This line is going to take a few hours, you should be able to finish it."
I took the book glumly. What would this one be about? The zombie apocalypse? Future books looked no better than the average 2013 ones.
I read the title and practically dropped the book in surprise. The Life and Times of Sharpie Sharp by Josephine Paige, Abitha Henderson, and Mercy Henderson.
I've never been a fast reader, but since I had written almost half of this book I was able to race through relatively quickly. Granted, I haven't written most of it yet, but I can sift my style out of my friends' and get the gist I'm proud to say that I'm a pretty good writer in 2028.
The line marched through the impressive doors at a nicer clip than we had imagined, and forty-five minutes later we entered the massive library, and twenty minute after that we were at the table.
Behind it sat three women, all ridiculously familiar, but different. On one side was a tall one with curly blond hair and a mischievous smile, holding a book in front of her labeled Hidden Arsenal. Oh duh. That was the one about her character Alex. It was strange to see my sister as a thirty year old woman, but there she was. Josie was in the middle, as was to be expected. Sharpie was her character, and she had been the driving force that kept the story going back in 2012. She looked as small, curly, and cute as ever. Next to her I sat. That is, thirty year old me sat. She signing a girl's book, but looked up at her friend's amazed gasp.
Josie pointed to me with a look of horrified excitement. Mercy stared for a moment before recovering her this-is-all-part-of-the-plan
Abby finally shook herself and ushered me outside. Mercy and Josie looked disappointed, but went back to signing their fans' books.
"Who are you?"
"Abby Henderson."
"How am I supposed to believe that?"
"I don't actually believe it. I had no idea that he would bring me here..."
"Who?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"You're kidding me."
We grinned. I'm not sure if we were both in shock or if we were just being our normal selves, but it felt nice to laugh.
"When did you publish Authors in Training?" I asked as soon as our giggles abated. The question had been on the tip of my tongue since I heard about it, and I was dying to learn more.
"Three years ago. We had decided to rewrite it a year before that. No offense but it really needed the rewriting."
"Offense taken! I was the one who invented Libby!"
"And the poor traumatized character had STILL not recovered from that horrible broken arm you gave her out of the blue. As far as the reader knew she wore that wretched cast till the end of her days."
"Oh," I said in a small voice, "I knew I forgot something. Wait, you can talk to her?" I've always envied people who could interact with their characters as if they were real people.
"It was hard not to, once I went back to write it. You never explained in your first draft what a talker she is."
"Mostly because that would involve dialog," I admitted.
"Good. Now you know what you need to work on. I know how much trouble you have with your writing. I've gone through all that too, believe it or not. But you can't quit now. I like my present life here and so will you in a few years. Don't let your work go to waste."
The Doctor was freaking out when I got back, and didn't object to taking me right back to earth, 2013 where I belonged. He didn't even notice me stashing the book into my back pack. The whole thing was never meant to be. Anyway. I didn't need him, now that I knew who I could become.
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So now you know what I've been up to. There's more writing on the way (I'm going to try to jump in on Josie's writing prompt thing) and my goal is to post at least two more times this week. We'll see how that works out :) Wish me luck!
_________________________________________________________________________________
So now you know what I've been up to. There's more writing on the way (I'm going to try to jump in on Josie's writing prompt thing) and my goal is to post at least two more times this week. We'll see how that works out :) Wish me luck!
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