it's the night of our nightmares

I've been working on Dimension Tournament, off and on-ish lately, mostly outlining but working on some scenes too. The problem is, what I have (about 13k) was written more than a year ago, so I kinda have to rewrite what I have before I can really move on. That's just the kinda girl I am. So Snazel, I AM working. Trufax. I just don't have much of anything new for you yet.

ANYWAY, I've been thinking a bit about Nanowrimo lately as well, cuz people/Nano have been thinking as well, and I was thinking about Chester again. Anyone remember the poor guy? My nano novel last year, Wyrd, was originally going to star him and Marly. Then, as the plot evolved, Marly faded into the background a bit and Chester/Cheron was replaced by Fenwick, who is a completely different kind of awesome.
Tonight I was thinking about where I could possibly put him, and realized that he would be PERFECT for DimTourn. I mean, really, he's completely homeless and friendless, so a multi-world story where I wouldn't necessarily have to give him an entire world and backstory and everything, would be excellent. Here's a brief character design (not history) for you:

Chester is a 23-year-old gentleman, typically dressed in an all-purple three-piece suit. He occasionally sports a purple fedora as well. His ethnicity is similar to a Native American, although he will not be placed in our world. He wears his hair fairly short. His weapon is a two-bladed spear, about 6 feet in length: each blade is about half the length of the handle and leaf-shaped, while the handle is well-worn brown leather wrapped around a steel core. He himself is just over 6 feet and rather thin. His personality is particularly callous, but he enjoys his callousness and is rather charming about it. He can come across as extremely charming and gallant when he wants to, but his lack of friends and abundance of enemies would tell you otherwise. He has a liking and affinity for cats, however, and is often to be found with one, although he has no constant feline companion. Despite his wealthy appearance, he owns no property. He likes to travel and rarely stays anywhere longer than a week unless he's found something of profit to work on. His skills are in the use of his weapon, gambling, and politics.

A Fairy Tale

When do you use "further" and when do you use "farther"? That is my question, friends.
I had to write a fairy tale as part of my children's lit midterm (other parts of the midterm include analyzing my own fairy tale....gross). I had to make sure there were some cultural and/or social values included, and I also had to choose 5-7 elements from a list and incorporate them. I chose the prince, the sea, a talking fish, a lion, a golden ball, and a sword. I also had to do it in 2 double-spaced pages, which was DEFINITELY the hardest part of the whole assignment.
Here it is, and my apologies for its utter lameness, clicheness, and overall hoity toity tone. I haven't done a hoity toity in years; it was kinda fun.

Once upon a time there was a prince who lived in a castle by the sea. His father the king ruled over his people, the Marans, who all had a great love of ships and seafaring. The prince, too, loved ships, and when he was fifteen years old he began to build himself a seaworthy boat. When he was 20, it was finished: a beautiful light ship, fast and sturdy. He named it the Spearfish. Obtaining leave from his father, the prince sailed off on his first sea-voyage alone. He had decided he would not return home until he found something of value, or something to prove that he was worthy of being the king’s heir.
His voyage started smoothly. He visited several nearby islands, and then ventured far away from the mainland, farther than he had ever gone before. After many days he had nearly depleted all of his food. The prince tried to catch a fish to feed himself, and at last caught one. It was very large. The sun sparked off its silver scales as the prince dropped it on the deck of his ship, about to kill it and clean it. To his surprise, the fish stared up at him and spoke!
“O Prince, please do not kill me. If you release me, I will show you to an island no man has seen before!”
The prince, amazed that the fish could speak, felt sorry for it. He put it back in the water, even though he did not believe the fish would actually show him to land, and said, “Be free, fish!”
The fish swam around the ship, happily, and then poked its head out of the water and said, “Now, if you follow me, I will show you to the island, where my mistress lives and rules over the animals.”
The prince, still not sure if he believed the fish, decided to follow it anyway. He followed it all of that day, and just as the sun was setting, they reached land. The prince did not recognize the island, but moored his Spearfish and went ashore. Just as he set foot on the sand, a woman came walking out of the trees toward him. She was very beautiful, with golden hair and bright blue eyes.
“The fish has told me of your kindness,” she said. “Now I am hoping you may help me as well. I have lost something very important to me, my magic golden ball. It was stolen from me by a lion; he ran off into the woods. Could you go after the lion and get it back to me?”
The prince, although surprised by this turn of events, told her he would. After all, she was a beautiful lady, and he was a young man. He started off in the direction she indicated.
A few miles into the trees, the prince found signs of the lion. He followed them, eager but cautious. He tracked the lion to its cave, and saw places where its hair had rubbed off, but of the lion he could see nothing. The prince walked carefully up to the cave and peered in. He saw a glint of gold somewhere inside so he entered. There at the back of the cave was the golden ball! The prince hurried over to it and picked it up; it was cool in his hand.
At that very moment he heard a growl, and turned around. There was the lion, blocking the entrance of the cave! The prince drew his sword with his right hand, holding the ball in his left.
“Give it back to me,” the lion growled, threatening the prince with a massive paw. “It belongs to me.”
The prince shook his head. “It belongs to a lady. She has asked me to give it back to her. I will not fail.”
The lion roared furiously and leaped at the prince, who dodged aside. The two battled in the cave, one using teeth and claws, the other using his sword, until at last the prince saw an opening. He ducked under a swipe of the lion’s paw, moved in, and was about to run his sword through the lion’s chest when the lion looked down at him, and the prince locked eyes with it. He dropped his sword with a clatter, and instead held the golden ball out to the lion.
“Here is your treasure, lady,” the prince said.
The lion roared, and then transformed back into the beautiful woman.
“You have done well,” she said. “You are both kind and clever. You are worthy of being king after your father.”
After that, the magical lady from the island went home with the prince in the Spearfish, and when they arrived back at the castle, she became his wife, and they lived happily ever after.

Things will not calm down. They will, in fact, calm up.

Work on the Stranger continues! At a belabored pace. I'm so amused at how confused I am now about the last few episodes. There's sooo much that has to happen, and not really any of it can be assigned to one episode or another? So I don't know if it should just be a massive four-parter or what. :P I've written quite a lot, I just can't really decide where the episode should stop. Soooo yeah.

In other news, I have to write a fairy tale for my children's lit class! *excited* It has to incorporate a few elements from a list that we were given, and has to have some sort of a moral lesson. I haven't really gotten inspired yet but I'm going to do some freewriting today and see what happens. I know I'm going to use a prince, possibly not as my hero.

I am, therefore I fail. ;)

I started writing the next Stranger episode today, and realized I could NOT, because I screwed up about five things in the episode I just posted. Soooo I'm pulling the episode for now until I can fix everything. *shakes head* I think I was asleep when I reviewed my continuity checklist for that episode. :P

Hahahahaha funny story, too! I realized (in class today, good grief) that I could totally write a spin-off series and call it, "The Stranger: Atlantis." That made me choke back a laugh in class, let me tell you. I'm NOT, of course, because...that would be stupid, plus I really just don't want to write that much about the destiny-obsessed crazies over there.

"That's the dramatic warning I was expecting."

"Ohmigosh, no wai!"

I wrote today! I totally did! And it wasn't for school, or blogging!
I finished the next episode of the Stranger. It needs a lot of editing, though, cuz it's too long and really rambling. :P I'll try and work on it later today, I guess. After this one, there's only 3 more! Yay! I HAVE to finish by September 6th, because there is NO way it should have taken a year to do the series. :P Let's face it.

I have to go do stuff now, but then I'm going to force myself to come back and edit some of HHNF. I want to finish the third edit of that before the summer ends. *fierce* I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.....

something for snazel to read

I'm in a serious writing....I dunno....hell? Any self-motivation that I managed to scrape together during my short life has completely fled away to the far corners of the galaxy. Any inspiration or desire or liking for writing went with it. I think they're having an affair, personally. I try to write, and get a couple sentences down, and then I wince at the pathetic-ness and slink away. I have soooo many projects that used to be fun that I *could* work on. I just don't. I don't force myself to write every day like I should. It's summer, so I finally have TIME to work on projects, and I don't.

On a slightly more positive note, I *am* helping snazel to write more. Not that she wasn't doing an excellent job of productivity before. ;) One of my favorite bloggers, Merc, wrote this post about how to finish stories. I sent it along to snazel, who immeditately asked me to physically threaten Varesh Elm, a character of mine. He's one of the leads in Dimension Tournament (working title, it really needs an actual title, lol) and also stars in this short story. If she fails of her goal, I'm going to be really annoyed cuz I'll have to kill him. And I would really rather not. *glares severely at snazel* I will do it, though.

Anyway, as I said, nothing productive, enlightening, or even particularly entertaining in here, but go read Merc's post! Follow her! Adore! Worship!

black holes and book covers

I'm sorry I haven't been posting regularly in this blog at all. :( I'm still made of fail, fail, fail.

But happeh news! I got my copy of Hell Hath No Furies today! That is like epicly speedy, cuz I ordered it on the 27th, I think? Or the 28th? No earlier, anyway. My mom kinda freaked out, despite me telling her that it really doesn't mean anything to have a proof copy of a self-published book. :P Or maybe I'm just overly cynical. But I don't think so. Anyhow, Nanowrimo/CreateSpace contract FTW!!

[I was going to insert pictures here but they turned out crappy so I'll try again later.]

Let me introduce you

Once upon a time there was a girl who read the whole world.
The stories she read and the books read her
and the words covered the backs of her eyes.
She saw the whole world and lived amongst creatures of ink.
But then one day the words fled away, and all that was left was the sky.
She cried and she cried but when
she searched, queried, and fought,
the words didn't come back from beneath the earth:
had they died?
At last she looked up, and saw in the sky,
that every it-thou-and-God she had ever read was up there,
lacking only paper and ink.
She sighed, and smiled, and lived all the world.

your intellect is undermined by your insufferable levity.

I am making progress on the Stranger at last! I have an extremely rough and over-long draft for the next episode. Bleh now I just need to rip out its guts and replace them with something approaching readable. Go me.

Script Frenzy Follow-up

Pages: 50

I reached my alternate goal, lol. I'm going to finish the script, and possibly use it as an outline for a novel. The story itself isn't anything I'm going to attempt to publish, as it's 70% silliness and 30% sarcasm, but it's fun. :)
The most valuable lesson I learned during Screnzy? I loathe writing scripts. :D This is a good lesson. It just drove me crazy not being able to "see" everything. Is that an OCD tendency, do you think? I think maybe if I had a steady job writing scripts for theater or cinema, where I had a good chance of eventually "seeing" my script played out, I would be more inspired. But as it was, just writing script kinda killed all drive, momentum, inspiration, etc.

My goals as of now are the ones I've had all year so far, good GRIEF. Finish the Stranger, finish editing HHNF, finish Screnzy script. Wyrd is somewhere on the edge of the horizon, too.

Time for another writing survey!

What’s the last thing you wrote? Hmm a blog for this blog. :P Before that, a blog for my OTHER blog.
Was it any good? Kinda a spazzy account of my weekend, but sure.
What’s the first thing you ever wrote that you still have? Hm, I believe it’s “The Adventures of Coconut” and “Coconut goes to Paris”, about a dog. Yeah.
Write poetry? I have written poetry, but I try to avoid it, in protection of the world.
Do you type or write by hand? Both. I type when I want to get a lot of rough done, but write if I’m experiencing writer’s block or have more time at my disposal.
Do you save everything you write? Basically, yeah. When I type a first draft, I keep the original, but then once I start editing I don't save all the different versions. Hand-written stuff is usually in notebooks so that's saved, too.
Does music help you write? Only non-vocal music. Otherwise it’s reallyyyyy distracting, OR affects my writing in really strange ways. Enough said, I think. O.o
Do you even show people your work? Yes, and usually regret it.
Do you want to write for a living? YES?
Have you ever written something for a magazine or newspaper? For my highschool newspaper. :P And I’ve submitted some stuff to my college literary magazine.
The last thing you’ve had published for pay? Nothing.
Fiction Writers…
Where do you get ideas for your characters? That’s a good question. Sometimes characters from other things give me an idea, like, “What if there was a character like THAT only they [difference].”
Are you a Pantser or a Plotter? (what’s a pantser? O.o) I guess a plotter. I usually work off of an outline. But I dunno, sometimes I don’t. So whatever. Do what feels right to me.
Have you ever written sci-fi, fantasy, or horror? Yes. :P That’s mostly what I write. Well, horror not so much, but “Absence” had some freakish elements.
Ever written romance or teen angsty drama? No. Although I'm sure elements of both are in my stuff without asking permission.
Genre of choice? Er fantasy I guess.
Do you favor happy endings, sad endings, or cliff-hangers? I guess I prefer happy endings, but really anything with closure, unless it’s in the middle of a series.
Quote something you’ve written. The first thing to pop into your mind.
Something from The Missing Door, an unfinished rough draft from last year:
“Watch out for any yellow-spotted lizards,” Ramy said, giving her one of his fake smiles. Ramy had, Tara had noticed, a large range of expressions, most of them fake. “They’re poisonous. Lethally so.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tara said drily, not sure if she believed him.

Workshop report

Sooooo last weekend, or more specifically Friday night and Saturday, I was at Bob Welch's Beachside Writing Workshop! Yay! Throws confetti! Dances? I dunno.

Friday night we ARRIVED (actually a whole five minutes early, SHOCKING!). They were set up in a school gym but actually it was pretty neat.....Bob's wife did the decorating and she's kinda hardcore. There was a section for eating (meals were provided, yay!) and a section for the workshop. On the dining tables were large, old books with their innards sliced out and replaced with dirt and grass. Haha I alternated the entire time between horror, fascination, and admiration. Lolz. They were cool though.
We also got plenty of snacks provided for us! The whole food thing was pretty pro. For Saturday breakfast we got this insane French Toast insanity with cream cheese and stuff. It was like....all meshed together. Yeahhhh....and fruit salad and epicness. For Sat. lunch we got CRAB LASAGNA and other stuff. Crab lasagna! Whose idea was that, anyway? It was REALLY fantastic except they used quite a bit of lemon.....lemon in food is probably my least favorite idea, lol. I remember a lemon soup I had at Augustine that I downed through sheer hunger and willpower alone. :D
So Friday night we did sort of the introductory sort of sessions, stuff about inspiration and imagination and Bob's life, etc. lol. He has a plethora of interesting stories about himself, his writing, and how he found the stuff to write about. I decided, even more after talking to him, I would HATE to be a columnist. Like....that's just a LOT of columns. He said he's in the 2000s. Three columns a week, year after year? No thank you. But it was fun hearing the stories. He told us a lot of what went into his American Nightingale book, which is about an American nurse, Frances Slanger. He spent like $67,000 going around Europe researching the darn thing. Crazy. But I need to read that, as well as A Pebble in the Water and the book about the Easy Company guy (Easy Company is the company in Band of Brothers, which is a book I've read and also a mini-series I have not seen).
We also got free stuff! YAY! A t-shirt that says, "Metaphors be with you" (lolz) and a notebook-binder with lots of stuff in it. Wheeee! Also a paint chip. *nods*
Saturday we went through his ten tips for writing, which was kinda hardcore, and then did the whole lunch thing. Besides worksheet-ish stuff in the notebook, we wrote two short pieces during the weekend for various purposes, but kinda overall before and after things. My first one had to be based on a fortune-cookie fortune, which was "You will soon find your treasure." My brain was SO dead that night so somehow I wrote about a girl who was on an angsty road trip by herself and the car broke down. Yeahhhh.....that's what I said too. My second one was about Oregon vs. Ottawa weather. :P
Yeah so more of Saturday was writing and critiquing each other's writing. What I think is interesting is that the main comments I got was that I was very descriptive and I did a good job of wrapping stuff together into one thing. I think I was so nervous about my atrocious descriptive skills that I overcompensated? Ah well.
The people at the workshop were a variety of nice, odd, and strange. lolz. Everyone was prettty old (like 30 and above) except for me and this one guy who I didn't speak to. But Beverly, Mary, and Jan were my friends. <3 But in general it was just REALLY AWESOME to get together with people like me who don't write for a living (yet) but really want to get better at it, and most of them loved writing as much as I do. I'm hoping to get into some regular correspondence with some of them, and I'm more inspired than ever to get involved with a writing group in my area.

White picket fences are bloody dangerous.

Hai guyz. My life is a hopeless whirlwind of time-sucking demons right now, so I'm lowering my goal to 50 pages. I'll do another 50 next month. :(

On a happier note (maybe?) I'm going to a writing workshop this weekend, held by a local writer who pwns faces. I've never gone to one before and I think it'll be an interesting experience, if not anything else. I'll write up a full report when I return. ;)

May your pens spew ink! Or somesuch poetic line.

Screnzy Update 2.0

Page count: 30
Page count I SHOULD be at: 63
Chocolate consumed: many, many eggs
Time wasted on Youtube: *hides*

I don't know why I'm having such problems! I'm honestly enjoying my script. It's a lot more fun than a LOT of my other projects. I do have time constraints, but obviously that's not the whole problem. *points at Youtube*
My goal for tonight is 10 pages. I have some fun things planned: character cameo from another story, we find out more about the villain, and a previously-named character death. If I get 10 done, and do about 5 a day from here on, I should be okay. :P Let's go!

Lightbulb moments

"I love those moments. I like to wave at them as I pass by."

I finally had my first, honest-to-goodness ScriptFrenzy lightbulb moment! It made me laugh a lot too. I was pondering a logistical problem I was having with Bahnree (a character) and also pondering a "What should I do with him?" problem I was having with Rogue. Then Rogue just sat beside me on my bed (this is not meant as an innuendo, I was sitting on my bed at the time, okay????) and told me what he was up to. I rofled. I don't know if I'm cute when I rofl, but I did. :P I didn't realize Rogue could make me laugh that much. I didn't know he could be so helpful, either: he took care of both my problems!

TO: YOU FROM: BAHNREE

STILL AT TWENTY TWO PAGES STOP STILL NOT GIVING UP STOP PRAYERS ARE APPRECIATED STOP

Screnzy Update

School is eating my life again. The sillies.

I have 22 pages of Screnzy, and I believe I should be at 29.7 today? Or somesuch. I haven't given up yet, of course, I'll just have to do some massive catch-up. I might try and pump out some tonight, after I finish reading this godforsaken book for school.

Out peace.

"And then they laugh at him, and beat him."

I might cry. Or laugh. It's in committee.

I've been posting my ScriptFrenzy as I've been writing it over on my friends-only LJ. You know that character, Rogue? All of my readers LOVE him! WHY? WHY, O MUSES, WHY???? To me, he's one of those slimy good-bad types that's over-the-top good-looking and ought to be PUNCHED or beaten with a large, blunt object. There are way too many hunky "gray area" guys in literature, let's face it. And I love Han Solo and Boba Fett as much as anyone.

Breathe, Bahnree, Breathe. Rogue exists for me to make fun of myself, and I'm going to stick to that goal, no matter how many females love him. 

The GOOD news is that I'm up to 18 pages on my script! Yay! I not only caught up completely today (I was aiming for 15 by tonight) but am ahead a bit! :D Wootage. It's all thanks to a super epic scene wherein Alec told people how it was several times, Conrade yelled a lot, and Rogue let people know stuff only because it suited him. Oh, and I created another character on the spot: The Serpent, a professional assassin. I know, how original. I just needed an assassin. I don't even know if it's a chick or a dude!

Oh, and I keep forgetting to post this, my Screnzy profile: http://www.scriptfrenzy.org/eng/user/200913

gotta getcha head in the game

Whew! I'm a bit behind on Screnzy. But I HAVE been getting stuff done. Namely homework, going to a play that a bunch of my friends are in, editing the Stranger, editing the Varesh-as-a-child story, etc. :D I'm at 10 pages now, though, for Screnzy. I'm really curious how the story is going to turn out...I don't have much of a clue or outline at all. Characters keep popping up, like Vana and Rogue. Rogue, particularly, is a funny story. I was thinking tonight about how I often like the scoundrelly, ruffian, rogue types in movies and books. SO I decided to make a character named Rogue who's a scoundrelly type, and then totally tear the poor guy apart. :D Fun times. My sarcasm shall be his death. It'll be interesting. It'll be like a metaphor for me getting over the whole rogue-novelty thing. Or something.

Okay, yeah, it's lame. 

it's the fear-fear of the darkness growing inside of me

I woke up this morning and realized a new episode of The Stranger was due today. Lolz. So I ran through the final edit and it is up HERE. I'm pretty excited about this episode. It's the first one past how the story has gone before, and we meet a lot of people in it, some who will be important later, some not. :P

Of course, now I have to hurry and finish 17 in time for next Friday. The next episode is just a mess, probably because I'm trying too hard. :)

Day Two of Screnzy was rather disappointing. I hate every word that I wrote. I'm regretting the massacre in scene three. Ah well! Keep going, wot?

And then the ice weasels come.

I've been finding spectacular ways of procrastinating from writing my first paper for the term, which happens to be due tomorrow. :D

Anyway, it occurred to me that I should write a First-Day-of-Screnzy post. For posterity. And for the furthering of said procrastination. :) Note: Why do I always seem to end sentences with emoticons? That is irritating and I just noticed it. For instance, I wanted to put a :S after "emotions?" and a D: after "noticed it." Sick. I think my sudden new resolution is to temporarily stop using emoticons.

OKAY ANYWAY SCRENZY!

I've written a bit over 3 pages, which is, you know, what I should have for a day but it's good to create a buffer in the first week, right? :S Ah well. I like what I have, although I wrote the scene way too fast and I know I left out a bunch of stuff that I needed to put in...but oh well! I'll add it later. I'm having a lot of fun so far (which isn't saying much as it's only the first day, but hey!), but it's REALLY hard for me to not wax descriptive on every little mood and facet of the characters. I didn't realize how much I liked describing my character's speech and motivations. Weird, huh? Although I'm also noticing I don't miss describing locations AT ALL. Me and locations=fail. For anyone who's read my infamous Olympus scene.....yes. Case in point.

Tomorrow I'm writing a scene wherein my mercenary commander gives his best and brightest a run-down of their new duties, a tour of the palace, and possibly a glimpse of the ferret terrarium thrown in the mix! :D

Write it, cut it, paste it, save it, load it, check it, quick rewrite it,

Script Frenzy! 2009 starts in 4 hours, 7 minutes for me. Bleh so not ready! I have my characters roughly sketched out. I have my setting. I have my opening events. I have the vaguest shadow of a plot. *sigh* That's about it. Besides which, I have several more hours of homework for tonight, not to mention to get done in the few hours I'll have tomorrow.

Ah, well, that's what makes these things FUN!

My Writing Blog....in Twitter

Bahnree:

-loves writing
-is having trouble with the current Stranger episode

-is feeling very anxious about Screnzy....should I do it??? Will it even work? Will I totally fail in school because of it? How hard IS a screenplay?

-trying not to let Lilith affect her writing

-seems to use the words "moment" and "stare" a lot

-uses her powers for good, most of the time

Writing Windows

I like windows beside me when I write, although I can write just about anywhere and have written just about everywhere. But my preferred places to write in my house are in my room beside my window, and at a window in our family room. Some people claim windows are distracting; they prefer to lock themselves in dark rooms so they can concentrate.  However, I feel I need some connection the “real world” when I lock myself in my mind, so that I can remind myself what it’s all for and what it’s all about. I need to see the sky. The natural light doesn’t hurt, either.

There’s not much of a view outside my bedroom window, anyway. My neighbor’s garage takes up a large portion, gray slatted roof and smooth gray paneling. A tree from my back yard can be seen, a young birch: its branches tease the right hand side of the view. Behind the garage are several stands of trees, layering back, presumably, to the horizon (my neighborhood has a lot of trees). If I crane to the left, I can see more of the birch and the green grass of my neighbor’s yard. If I crane to the right, I can see my neighbor’s driveway, crumbling pavement, and a vehicle or two. Above all of this is a patch of sky. In the evening, I can watch the stages of the sunset in it. So, all in all, not much of a view.

Our family room window looks over the street. There’s a lot more distractions to be had from this one, as I can watch passersby (who are frequent, because we live down the street from a park), passing cars, my neighbors, my neighbors’ pets, etc. Across the street there’s a yellow lab; one of the boys plays with it outside a lot. Then my dog barks, and runs upstairs and puts his front paws on the windowsill to watch. I yell at my dog, and eventually get back to work. This window faces south, so I usually miss both the sunrise and the sunset. All in all I like this window better, as sometimes I get ideas for descriptions from it, even if it’s more distracting.

So, what do you think? Windows or not? View? No view?

Motivations

[Sorry if this is cheesy. Just a post I've had rolling around in my mind for a while.]

Why do I write? Why do I spend so many hours of my life writing, editing what I’ve written, planning what I should write in future? I’ve heard a lot of reasons for a person to write, and I think all of them come into my own personal reasons to a degree.

Some people do it only when they have to: for school, for work, for correspondence. They write papers, reports, emails, only from necessity; as soon as they’re finished, they put down their pen with relief.

Some people do it simply for the enjoyment: they like being the master of their many worlds, creating people and places, deciding what should happen and when; or being master of their argument, laying forth the facts and persuasions as seems good to them. They like losing control and letting their worlds grow into beasts that demand their time and resources and soul. They can write a hundred pages a day and not get enough.

Some people write for attention. They ask themselves, what would be the weirdest way to deliver a poem; how can I get the biggest rush out of a story or the most outcry from an essay or manifesto? They write for the praise and the ridicule and the interviews and the critics and the fans.

Some people write because they have something they must communicate, out of want or need. They are driven by their dire conviction that as many people as possible must hear what they have to say. This isn’t, necessarily, out of an arrogant presumption that they know better than everyone else. Sometimes it is a purely altruistic thought: they truly believe they are writing for the benefit and knowledge of others.

I can’t say I’m completely free from any of these reasons. I think, perhaps, I possess a little of each. But most of all, first and foremost, I write because I must. I have to write; it is a demand from my innermost self. It is my outlet, my communication to myself, my creative bend, my hobby, my life. If I didn’t write, my self would be contained and never escape. My thoughts, my dreams, my worlds, my friends, my creatures, come out in my writing. Because they have to. Because I have to. It is my mission, set by myself, in some place and time outside of myself. And that is why I write.

OC Madness

Chose ten of your OCs. If you don't have ten of your own, chose ten cool people. 

1 = Clai

2 = Numair

3 = Dionysus

4 = Ramy

5 = Varesh

6 = Callen

7 = Alice

8 = Alec

9 = Adrastus

10 = Jahara

 

1.)   4 invites 3 and 8 to dinner at his house. What happens?

Ramy: “I think it’s time the brains in these worlds need to come together and…you know. Right?”

Dionysus: “So wait, are you hitting on us or suggesting world domination? Either way, I’ve got time.”

Alec: “Oh, wow, look at the time! I have to go make sure what’s-her-name doesn’t get killed on her way home…”

Me: “Can…I….please…come too?” *ded from fangirl squee*

 

2.) 9 tries to get 5 to go to a strip club. 

Varesh: “Hey, man, I don’t think this place is what you think it is…”

Adrastus: “Whaddya mean? Dionysus said it was really great; said the steak is delish…”

 

2.)   You need to stay at a friend's house for a night. Who do you choose, 1 or 6?

I’m not sure if Callen would let me IN his house, after what I did to him…but yeah, I’d definitely go with Callen, seeing as he lives in a palce and Clai is a bum…

 

4.) 2 and 7 are making out, 10 walks in. What are the reactions?

*Jahara takes one look and leaves in a state of dignified rage*

Numair: “Wait, wait! I CAN EXPLAIN!”

Alice: “Well, gotta go. Chad and I are going out for dinner.”

 

5.) 3 falls in love with 6, 8 is jealous. What happens?

*Callen is overcome by the absurdity and wrongness of it all; he esplodes*

*Dionysus and Alec return from their brief insanity*

*all is well*

*except for Callen, who iz esploded*

 

6.) 4 jumps you in a dark alleyway. Who comes to your rescue; 10, 2 or 7?

Numair attempts to rescue me, and then Ramy takes me away to other worlds….if ya know what I mean.

 

7.) 1 decides to start a cooking show. Fifteen minutes later, what is cooking?

Varesh’s hair.

 

8.) 3 has to marry either 8, 4 or 9. Who do they choose?

Dionysus uses his godly powers to switch one of the females into 8, 4, or 9 (probably Alice)

 

9.) 7 kidnaps 2 and demands something from 5 for 2's release. What is it?

Alice: “You. Me. Dimensions.”

Varesh: “Okay…you didn’t have to kidnap the pirate, though.”

 

10.) Everyone gangs up on 3. Does 3 have a chance in hell?

*Dionysus smiles angelically*

*censored content*

 

11.) Everyone is invited to 2 and 10's wedding except for 8. How do they react?

*Numair and Jahara are very happy that not only are they a man-woman pairing, they’re a canon pairing from their story*

*Alec sends a herd of stampeding horses through the wedding ceremony*

 

12.) Why is 6 afraid of 7?

Callen: “She’s terrifying. You ask her if she’d like anything to drink and she gives you a look that says she’d like to pour her drink on you and lick it off.”

 

13.) 1 arrives late for 2 and 10's wedding. What happens, and why were they late?

Clai: “Sorry, Faulkner tried to fake my arrest again. I stabbed him in the brains with sound waves.”

*silence*

Varesh: “That’s my girl.”

 

14.) 5 and 9 get roaring drunk and end up at your house- what happens?

Well, first I’d put Adrastus to bed, as he can NOT hold his liquor. Then Varesh and I would stay up, er, discussing what should happen in DimTourn. Yes.

 

15.) 9 murders 2's best friend. What does 2 do to get back at 9?

I don’t think Numair would ever suspect Adrastus in the first place, so Adrastus could live in peace. Regardless, Numair doesn’t really HAVE a best friend to get murdered.

 

16.) 6 and 1 are in mortal danger. Only one of them can survive. Does 6 save himself or 1?

Callen’s a decent bloke, unfortunately. He’d save Clai, if she let him.

 

17.) 8 and 3 go camping. For some reason they don't have any food. What do they do?

(why is it always 8 and 3? And WHY are Dionysus and Alec 8 and 3? Lolz)

Dionysus would just use his godlike powers again. Lame, I know. And Alec would get extremely tired of grapes and wine.

 

18.) 5 is critically injured in a car crash. What does 9 do?

(again with the 5 and 9!!)

Wonder what in the heck that big, moving metal box was.

For years I've been telling myself the same old story

I'm reading a fantastic book by Annie Dillard called The Writing Life. It's completely fantastic! Seriously, all writers reading this blog, you should check it out. It's only a bit over a hundred pages, but it's great. 

Here's a couple of brief excerpts:

"To comfort friends discouraged by their writing pace....

Faulkner wrote As I Lay Dying in six weeks; he claimed he knocked it off in his spare time from a twelve-hour-a-day job performing manual labor. There are other examples from other continents and centuries, just as albinos, assassins, saints, big people, and little people show up from time to time in large populations. Out of a human population on earth of four and a half billion, perhaps twenty people can write a serious book in a year. Some people lift cars, too. Some people enter week-long sled-dog races, go over Niagara Falls in barrels, fly planes through the Arc de Triomphe. Some people feel no pain in childbirth. Some people eat cars. There is no call to take human extremes as norms."

(about Jack London):

"In subsequent years, once he had a book of his own under way, he set his alarm to wake him up after four hours' sleep. Often he slept through the alarm, so, by his own account, he rigged it to drop a weight on his head. I cannot say I believe this, though a novel like The Sea-Wolf is strong evidence that some sort of weight fell on his head with some sort of frequency-but you wouldn't think a man would claim credit for it."

Meanwhile, I finished the episode I was working on, and am working on the next. This one is giving me Numair-esque difficulties: Numair is just a hard POV to write!!! He won't let me leave him, either.

"Here's to Poosh." "To Poosh!"

When it rains, it pours. I've finished the next Stranger episode and will post it next Saturday, probably, although it's rather short so I'm going to need to do something about it. It was WEIRD rewriting this one, which is the rewrite of the one where the Stranger gets his soul back. This time, it ends QUITE differently.

The episode I'm working on now, by contrast, is turning out really LONG so I might have to chop it in two. He's visiting more places from before, and several new characters dropped out of the sky (think dragons and historians). Also, an old face will be reappearing. Four locations so far have to be visited. All of that adds up quite a bit in wordcount. I sometimes question myself and wonder if I should just write a novel about the whole business, but I don't think I could do it. Not in a way I'd be pleased with it, anyway. I think the Stranger will just live perpetually in my consciousness and bother me, insisting on being rewritten every few years. :P

"It's said to be nearly unbearable to witness, but I'll do my best."

At LONG LONG LONG LAST, the fourteenth episode of the Stranger has arrived!

http://www.freewebs.com/soulcollectors/index.htm

http://bahnree.deviantart.com/art/The-Stranger-Episode-Fourteen-116656536

Lulz. I'm so made of fail. But there it is.

Spring Break has begun and at last I'm getting back into writing fiction, which is lovely. I wrote some of the Alec Horsemaster madness last night, which was fun.....that story is SO erratic, inconsistent, and hilarious, it's great. I kinda thought I'd practice writing his character, though, since he's going to be in ScriptFrenzy. I'm not counting on winning ScriptFrenzy at this point. I'm just going to do my best. But I have characters popping into my mind. Alec is the advisor, Bahnree is the dictator, Conrade is commander of the mercenary forces (A-B-C theme, yeah? Lulz) and Danner is another character. I'm possibly going to have a villain character named Zeugma, which is the ultimate Latin geekery, rofl. Anyway the villain will either be Zeugma or Evan's communist regime and Eric's republic will be the enemies. But probably Zeugma will be the villain and Evan and Eric will just be characters for comedic exploitation. Should I keep their real names, or give them aliases? I dunno. 

So yeah, enjoy the Stranger. I'll try to update DAMDL this weekend too.

to see a world in a grain of sand

Wow, poetry overdose, much???? For my lit class we've been reading Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson, and for my own leisure reading I've been reading a Dover selection of William Blake. I'm enjoying all of them, although, IMO, they're all completely different. Anyway, this is affecting my brain because I was TAing today and a couple lines of a poem sprang into my head, which hasn't happened in a long time. Don't get me wrong, the little poetry I've done isn't great, but I like it when I'm spontaneously inspired and form a whole poem around a few lines.

http://bahnree.deviantart.com/

I have a few poems over there, and if anyone wanted to give me some feedback on it, that would be great. :) I posted the one from today there as well.

Anyone else have an extremely amateur interest in poetry? :)

the frenzy is beginning

the script frenzy challenge: 30 days. 100 pages. April.
Are you in?

"I'm naming all the stars the same name. There's terrible confusion."

Wow I feel so productive blog-wise! I've posted in my LJ several times recently, and I posted in my Star Wars blog today! SHOCKING!!!

However I am still failing in my fiction writing. :(

I technically have been writing a LOT though. So far this term I've written four responses for my literature class, four short papers for my mythology class, a long paper for Chinese religions, and a long paper on The Scarlet Letter. Altogether about 24 pages, double-spaced, so roughly 6000 words? Okay I guess that's not great for two months, but HEY, it's academic, which is harder. Well, not really. Well, you know. SIGH I'm just feeling guilty and trying to justify myself. ;)

Anyway, goals!

-Finish the Stranger in the next two months

-Finish editing Hell Hath No Furies in the next two months

That's all I'm committing to for now. By the end of March, those things should be done. The problem is all this academic writing. :P Sucks up my time, cuz I'm getting graded on it so I overthink everything and-yeahhhhhhhhhh. I'm doing it again.

kthxbai.

Base command will commence battle on Statistics front. Over and out.

I so decided what I'm doing for ScriptFrenzy today. :D Not going to talk about it quite yet, though, so I don't lose the inspiration all in a moment.

Overall I'm feeling ish about ScriptFrenzy. I've never done it before and my dialog has a tendency to be even crappier than the rest of my writing. ;) But it's new and crazy, so it should be fun, right? :D

"Titus, it is your DENSITY!"

I am a literary failure at the moment. :D

I have been writing. Some. A little. Well, okay, mostly papers and crap for school. But I HAVE been working on The Stranger, a tad, although obviously still not done with the next episode. So much for every Friday, but I did pretty good for a while.

The truth is, I barely have time for LIFE, much less blogging and reading and writing and watching the Office (the power of that last one, alas, must not be underestimated. I have become one of Them).

The point of this post is mostly to say I AM alive and still love writing just have issues with 17 credits and work.

The other point of this post is a book-gush. Nyeh. I received Titus Groan by Mervyn Peake for my birthday (the 27th) and have read, wow, a whole 33 pages! This is admirable taking into account the whole time issue, mentioned above. But wow, the book is DENSE! Definitely gives me flashbacks to Charles Williams, just for sheer density.

I scribbled down a few notes as I was reading, mostly characters, cuz there are a LOT of them with strange names. I don't like any of the characters yet, amusingly enough, although judgment on Steerpike is pending and, as I said, I'm not that far in. But the awesomeness! The first paragraph is GOLD: "a certain ponderous architectural quality", "arose like a mutilated finger from among the fists of knuckled masonry and pointed blasphemously at heaven". The main word of the book so far seems to be "ritual."

I realize this is nothing even close to a review; I'm mostly just proclaiming my STRONG GOOD FEELINGS for the book so far. :D

Over and out.

Varesh Elm short story

I decided I would ring in the new year with a short story (I actually did write this on Jan. 1st, just didn't post it here yet). I chose to write it about one of my characters, Varesh Elm (just admit it, you wish you had a name as cool as that), specifically when he was young. This is kinda a significant event in his life. I actually know almost his whole backstory, now, from writing this. :D

Read and comment if you'd like, just remember this is a rough.

Oh, and be aware: I don't do first-person often. Or males. Or nine-year-olds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My little brother was the only one who saw me the first time I Summoned. Luckily for me. Summoning, while obviously useful, is not a respectable trade where I come from. To be honest, it’s not a trade at all: it’s a crime. I’m not sure when it all started, but I think years ago, maybe hundreds of years ago, some Summoners went bad and terrorized the countryside or killed someone. That would be enough for my people to not want Summoners among them unbranded ever again. It was enough for me, until I became one of them.

“Ven, stay close,” I murmured to my kid brother, clamping a hand on his shoulder for emphasis.

Venner, or Ven to me, nodded his tousled dark head, but didn’t slow his pace down the street, eager to get out of the rain, pouring down on us in large, frigid drops. I had to hurry to keep up with him, even though he was only six and I was a big kid of nine. The people who kept jostling me, also all on their way to shelter, might have had something to do with my inability to sustain a quick speed. The rain had come annoyingly quickly; I pulled my coat closer around myself, hefted the bag of groceries, and glared up at the sky. My brother and I had been at the market, picking up a few groceries our mother had sent us for, when the heavens had opened, as they say, and the shops, little more than tents, immediately closed.

We hurried on down the street back toward our house, which was little more than the upper floor of a washer-woman’s business where our mother and both of us were employed. Our father worked as a laborer at the palace: an honor we never forgot when we barely had money to buy food for the day.

At last we reached the door to the washer’s shop. Ven pulled it open and dashing inside, leaving me to leap for the door before it closed. I almost dropped the groceries while doing so, but managed to get inside at last, water dripping from every inch of me.

Ven was standing still just inside the door, but before I could ask him why I heard a shriek from the floor overhead: our floor. There was no sign of Neah, the washer: she must have gone home already. Without thinking I sprinted for the door to the stairwell and wrenched it open. The stairs were made up of large, oaken steps but I took them two at a time, pressing my palms against the rough walls for leverage. I told myself the shriek I had heard was not from my mother.

I reached the top of the stairs and stopped, much like Veno had done below, and took in what was to be seen in the front room of our tiny, cramped, messy, wonderful home.

A beefy man with a shock of gray hair was straightening from over my mother’s body, holding a bloody knife. My mother lay still, her eyes open, blood spattered all over her neck and chest. My father was beside her, already dead: he had even more blood all over his body. Perhaps he had fought. There were two other men, who were calmly rummaging through the family chest and the shelves on the wall.

What do they think they will find? a quiet, small part of my mind wondered. We were the poorest class of people: not worth stealing from. Not worth murdering.

None of the men had noticed my entrance, probably because of the rain, drumming like a million miniscule gongs on the tin roof. How often had my mother complained about that leaky roof to my brother and I; how often had she asked my father to fix it; how many times had my father refused because he was so exhausted from the day’s work?

I swallowed: it seemed noisier than the rain. And I realized I was afraid, I was terrified of these men. I wanted nothing more than to turn around, go down the stairs, and disappear with Ven into the rain.

My realization, however, made me angry. How dare I be afraid when my parents’ corpses weren’t cold yet, when their murderers were casually robbing our family, when my little brother needed a place to sleep during the cold, drenched night?

My anger sparked like a little fire in my chest and grew into a fury. I concentrated all my aner and fury on the grey-haired man: How dare he! If only I had a weapon. I’d cut him open in a second. If only I could kill him—

“Oi, boy, whatcher doin’ there?” one of the men said, finally noticing me. His surprise quickly faded to resolution, and I knew they were going to kill me.

“You live here, boy?” the grey-haired man asked. His knife was drawn but held loose at his side. What had they to fear, after all, from a nine-year-old boy? “How long you been standing there?”

If only I had a weapon, I thought again. If only he would just die!

A loud tearing sound interrupted my thoughts, although not my black anger, and I looked at the other side of the room to see something similarly black, apparently floating in midair.

“What in the three kingdoms is that?” I heard the third man say.

It wasn’t actually floating, I noticed with detached interest. It was as if the air in the room had been torn like an old garment, leaving a black rent. As I watched, eyes appeared in that rent. The eyes came out of the gaping hole, set in a face on a head like a cat’s, followed by a shadowy feline body. The entire creature was about the size of the large dogs the lords used to hunt with, but it didn’t seem solid like a real animal: it was more shadow and mist than flesh.

I was too angry to feel fear, but I almost took a step backward as the pair of eyes fell on me.

You called me, a scratchy voice said. I come.

“Help me kill them,” I said, and realized from the soreness of my jaw that I had been clenching it for some time.

The creature’s teeth bared in what could have been a smile.

“What the lukk, Darvin!”

I looked at the murderers: they were backing towards the windows, knives in their hands, staring at the creature. My creature, I was somehow certain.

“Quick, before they get away!” I yelled, my panic and anger feeling like a line, directly from my heart to the shadowy cat.

Without answering, the creature obeyed, leaping at the men. Out of the rent came four other creatures, very like the first, and followed its lead.

I didn’t close my eyes once during what followed. I watched as those men screamed and bled and died. I had to watch, I knew: whether because I thought it would make my revenge complete, or as a punishment to myself, I’m still not sure.

The creatures finished and turned to me once again. Now that it was over I felt a flicker of fear once again.

What about that one? the leader asked, peering over my shoulder.

I spun, terrified, to find myself staring into the eyes of my little brother Ven, standing on the step below me, his own eyes wide with disbelief. Horror replaced my anger like ice water.

“N-no,” I said. “Not him. Not him.”

Very well.

“Just leave!” I screamed, turning back to the things I had somehow brought into my home. “Go! Get out! Leave us alone!”

The creatures didn’t seem angry. The leader’s eyes didn’t waver as they stared into mine.

Yes. Until you need us again.

It turned away, and one by one they leapt back into the rent.

I know how to close a Portal now, of course, but I still have no idea how my nine-year-old self first managed to do it, as traumatized as I was at the time. perhaps whatever subconscious talent had allowed me to open it in the first place decided to give me a break and closed it, too.

After all signs of my Summon, my crime, had disappeared, I just sat down right there on the floor and wrapping my arms around my knees. I didn’t see or hear anything for hours, and don’t remember anything from the rest of that day. I don’t remember Ven trying to talk to me, although he told me later he had. Apparently, when I wouldn’t respond, he went back outside and got help. He told the lies that I wasn’t able to, to all who inquired: that we had come home to find our parents and their murderers dead.

Ven never told anyone my secret.

But I knew the truth. I knew I had broken a law: the law that says that no one, not even the king, may Summon anything. I couldn’t stop once I had started: that is impossible. And once I began Summoning, I knew I was a criminal. Even if I felt like I was doing nothing wrong, it didn’t matter. In my world, it was a crime, and I was a criminal. I decided that if I was already a criminal, I might as go all the way. That decision was what set me on the path to becoming a part of the Brass Snake, the largest crime syndicate in the northern cities.

But that’s another story.