Rule of Three Blogfest: Part Two

This time I'm running truly late, but alas, life sometimes just makes what you want to do impossible. Hopefully I will be able to make rounds and comment on everyone else's posts soon! I hate not being able to see all your creativity out there! This time I chose the prompt where one of the characters is revealed to not be who they seem to be. If you missed it, check out the first part here. Enjoy!

               The clank and tinks of metal against metal blended with the pounding marches of one hundred caramel and chocolate colored feet. Dubhan moved with his men as their commander and their equal. The sun was on the horizon, painting the sky with the red of spilled blood and gold like the sands of their home. Of his daughter’s proper home.

            Having the crown princess disappear for thirteen years was completely unacceptable. Who would have thought she would be hidden in the worthless trading town of Renaissance? He certainly hadn’t. It was a spy that had been the one to inform him of the Schiav orphan the town currently housed.

            And now they would pay.

            His general clapped a large hand over his shoulder with a gentle grimace. A cut to the face had rendered him incapable of smiling three years ago.  “We will find her, my friend.” His weathered eyes smiled when his mouth could not. “He would not lie about such a precious thing.”

            Dubhan grasped his comrade’s hand and nodded, pausing in his steps to look down on the glittering town. These people—if they could even be called that—would regret tearing his family apart. His wife had never been the same after the princess had disappeared. He didn’t care how many houses he would ransack, how many fathers, sons and brothers he would kill. He and his men were going to find his precious Moirana.

            “You are sure we can trust this boy, Yoran?” A black gaze met his. “We have already damaged much in our searches.” Hundreds of towns and cities bordering the desert. They had checked every single one and had left the wreckage for the citizens to clean up.

            “We can trust him.” Yoran removed his hand to readjust the scabbier on his hip. “He will lead her to us. And keep her safe.”

            Safe? “You think they will harm her when we attack?” Blood surged through his body, racing like a sandstorm. If they dared lay a finger on her, no—if they even looked at her wrong he would gouge out their eyes before he snapped off their fingers. That was if he was feeling nice.

            “Calm, my king,” his friend said. He urged him to continue walking, and the rest of his army followed. Nothing like being persecuted could bind a group of people with the strings of eternity. “She will be safe. There isn’t any use in getting angry over things that won’t happen.”

            A sigh slipped from his lips. Dubhan stopped once again, this time turning to his men and holding his arms out. Their dull chatter halted. “This is our last town before we give up the search for our beloved princess.” The faces of the men fell. “But we will make it worth it. We will feast on their livestock, drink their beer and deface their homes if she is not there. We are Schiav! No one steals from us! And we will give them an example as to why.”

            The men cheered; raising swords, spears and anything else they could use to inflict fear and pain. “Go! Prove to those worthless men how fearful we truly are!”

            The sea of bodies parted just enough to go around him and Yoran, reconvening together in a mass of people trampling down the hillside. The sight warmed his soul like the sun.

            He and Yoran followed in their wake. “What is this man’s name again?”

            “Alexi,” he said. His voice remained calm despite their sprinting. “The spy’s name is Alexi.” 

In Which I Shamelessly Copy

Or Happy Birthday to my bestest friend in the entire world! (AKA Jessie)

In which I'm sure you'll read (at least at first) with a:

Not quite your disbelieving look, but it was the closest I could find. Forgive my lack of gif finding genius.

I could list on and on as to why you're basically the best other half that a person could ever have. I'm sure you know most of them, but I don't think it hurts to say a few, right?

1. You're one of the most passionate people I've ever met when you get going on a topic that makes you tick--in a good or bad way. You're opinionated and if you have a point to make you don't rest until it's been made.  And clearly.

2. You're cerebral in ways I can't compete with at the moment (perhaps when I graduate from university? We'll see.) And even though you could lord it over people, and I'm sure you've had moments where you want to, you don't.

3. You could put a Hufflepuff to shame with your loyalty, make a Slytherin gape at your cunning and bring a Gryffindor to tears with your bravery. (Though I'm positive you're a Ravenclaw in all the best ways.)

I could go on for quite awhile, but I think you'd rather keep it to a minimum. No matter what happens, I love you as my best friend, as the sister I've never had and always wanted and as the cousin I wouldn't want to live without. I hope our relationship continues to grow in all the best ways, and I hope I'll get to celebrate many more birthdays as well as a few book deals. :D

So Happy Birthday! Make it a good one and just relax. You deserve it. 

See, even Ron agrees.

Let's continue working on forever. :)

Rule of Three Blogfest, Part 1:

So, it's a bit late (sorry! I'm a slave to the school T_T) but here it is. This is my attempt at the "impending doom" prompt. Let me know how I did? Also, I wrote this thinking it was a bit more in the past--which you can probably tell but I wanted to say it out for sure! 

Moira gazed to the brilliant pink and orange sky, swinging a pale of water in her hand. A merchant eyed her as he passed in his caravan, face pinched and knuckles white from gripping the reins too hard. Of course. She turned to him and forced the corners of her mouth up into the semblance of a smile. He swallowed and slapped the reins against the horses’ rears.

                The travelers that came through Renaissance were unused to seeing her kind in the trading outpost. After thirteen years of experiencing the looks and distrust, she should’ve been used to it. Even by the towns’ people. It wasn’t like she had gained any of the habits of the Schiav, a tribe of gypsies, murderers, and thieves that lived in the Schiavona Desert. She’d been lost at the tender age of three when her brother found her.

                She slipped into her house, the first one on the Villein trade route. It was a modest little thing with a smaller room on the edge of the lot that they loaned out to travelers when the main inn was too full. Beef and potatoes tickled her nose, the sound of carrots being chopped caressed her ears. Mm. Her mother’s stew.

                “You wouldn’t believe how long it took them to give me the water, Mom,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen and let the bucket thud onto the counter. “Twenty minutes. Twenty.”

                “I’m sure the boys just wanted to flirt with you.” Her mother smiled and tucked a lock of Moira’s black hair behind her ear. “You’re growing to be such a beautiful woman.”

                A snort came from the doorway. “More like they wanted to be idiots and just ignore the fact that she’s a girl and concentrate on her skin color,” her brother, Sully, muttered and swept to the cupboards for a mug. Probably grabbing a beer.

                “Sullivan.” Her mother gave him a disapproving look—whether for the comment or the drinking Moira wasn’t quite sure. She’d never been fond of it, though she didn’t know why. “There’s nothing different with her skin, why do you always say things like that?”

                Moira shook her head and kissed her mother’s cheek. She thought that ignoring the difference and pretending it didn’t exist was the best way to deal with it. “Will dinner be ready soon?”

                “Yes. We’ve just got to let the carrots soften up and then we’ll be done.” Her mother smiled and wiped her wrinkling hands against her apron.  “Will you cut some bread for us?”

                “Of course.”

                Once her mother had danced out of the room, Sully snuck to get himself a lager and left her to deal with the rest of dinner. She sighed. Moira rummaged for an adequate knife and was about to start when there was a pounding on the door. She listened for her mother before striding to it and opening it.

                Alexi—the mayor’s son, and her best friend—panted against the doorframe. “Moira…”

                Worry clawed at her stomach. “Why are you so out of sorts?” Someone as fit as him shouldn’t be so out of breath. The town wasn’t that big.

                “The Schiav are coming—”

                Her eyebrows furrowed. “Wh—?”

       “—They say we’ve stolen their princess.”

Now to read all the other posts! I'm really excited to see how many stories there are out there. :D

Inspiration or Obligation?

I think I can safely say that, for most of us writers, we feel guilty when we aren't putting our ideas on paper (real or metaphorical). The moment you declare yourself a writer there's this urge to prove that yes, you can write a novel, thank you very much. And no, it's not going to take you thirty years to whip out a draft.

Some people write every day and they can crank out the beginnings of a masterpiece in a month. Their imaginations are a freaking machine. These are the people we're jealous of. Or would be if we let ourselves feel such envious things--or if we weren't already those sorts. (No need to be modest, machines! It's a good type of envy.) 


Others of us have the ideas, but don't have the inspiration. Or we've got the inspiration, but not the ideas. There's always something. But, no matter which way, we take a day off from the MS, perhaps even two or three, until the guilt eats through your insides.

And then comes the sitting in front of blank word documents, struggling to get out whatever we can. Waiting and hoping for the day when our machine moment will come.

Now that I've been working on a different story, I've had less of those obligation days and more inspiration days. I can't say I'm anywhere near being the mental wonder of certain writers, but it's definitely an improvement.

So, what kind of writer are you? Mental machine? Guilt-tripper? Or perhaps somewhere in between?

Also, is anyone else joining the Rule of Three blogfest? It looks like it's going to be fun~ Some of you machines out there could do this in three minutes. :P

Are You a Juggler?

How many of you out there are the type that get yourself completely immersed in one story and have to get at least the first draft written--or hell, have to even get the entire set of revisions completed until it's query ready before you can move onto another story?

And what do you do when you've got other ideas itching at the back of your brain, trying to coax you into spending time with them instead of the characters you've already got dancing around on your temporal lobes? Do you ignore them with a promise of revisiting later? Or perhaps you choose to ignore completely?

I've had another story idea chirping in the back of my mind for some time now. So while I really like the idea of finishing a story before I go onto another one, I've decided that I can handle two at the same time. It's how I've always written when I was younger. Why not now?

It'll be exciting to get this one out, and to see the differences between the worlds in both my stories. Ah~ I'm just excited for it in general! This involved everything that I love the most! Magic, secrets, a backstabbing villain with a sexy voice (that bit is optional :P) and a lot of romance!

Yep. It's about as exciting as winning the lottery on your birthday. (Wouldn't we all like for that to happen?) So how do you like to work? One thing at a time or are you a story juggler?

If only I could juggle in real life too...

What's the Rush?

Yeah, that whole scheduling thing? Not working out so much, haha. But, I've gotta get myself on track somehow! And I'm going to be trying a bit harder at keeping it up. We shall see how it goes....

Anyway, my goal for finishing my first draft before my birthday is just not going to happen. 56k in 11 days? Not going to happen with this lady behind the keyboard. That's over 5000 a day. And even on a good day, I can't manage that much. My peak has been just over 3000. Some people are maniacs and can whip out chapters like nobodies business. They can crank out a first draft in a month. But that's just not me.

Whether I'd like to be fast or not, doesn't really make a difference. I've learned that while yes, people can change it's about as easy as sawing off your own arm. And not all of us have the balls of steel like Aron Ralston. (Would you be able to amputate your arm to save your life like he did? I don't think I'd be able to.) So I've learned to accept the fact that I like to take certain things slow.

Which in this world, just doesn't cut it. Everything needs to be done right now. If you don't cram enough into your day or work at the speed of sound (cause if you work at the speed of light, you're a busybody.) then you're just lazy. If you don't want to finish your book within three months, then do you even really want to get published?

I know I've felt that sort of pressure. If you aren't doing it as quick as you can, then do you really want it? Is your dream of becoming an author really true? Yes. It damn well is true.

My favorite teacher in high school instilled this saying that I've kept with me: Quality, not quantity. Of course, he was talking about plants... but I've found that it can be applied everywhere in life. He should be proud, because three years out of high school I'm still abiding by that motto--even though it's the opposite of the world at large.

So yeah, it's taken me six plots to reach one I'm happy with. And it's taken me about two months to write five chapters. I'm just going to keep at it and when I finish my first draft, I'm going to celebrate because I completed it. Not because I did it before some date.

Not that I'm not going to try to finish it soon, I'd like to, but I'm not going to beat myself up for being a bit of a turtle. Sometimes slow and steady really does win the race.

And even the slowpoke gets a prize at the end.

What type of person are you? Do you like to go, go, go? Or are you the take it easy type?

Getting in the Mood

Into the writing mood that is! There are so many ways to get inspired and get the creativity flowing. It's different for everyone. Sometimes just getting away from your ms and not thinking about it until your muse goes "IDEA!" helps or sometimes looking at pictures sparks the imagination.

But what about when we're actually writing? I know a lot of us play music when we write that goes with the feeling of the scene Action scene, fast paced music. Emotional scene, something with a down beat. I've also heard of people using scents to get into the mood (I've yet to try this one. I'll take any excuse I have to buy more scented candles though. :P) 


Most of the time I have to write to music that makes me happy, rather than listening to music that fits the emotion of the scene. And lately I've been finding that where I am also helps. When I'm at home, if it's sunny (which is a rarity at the moment), I'll take my laptop out back and chill out on the deck--let my legs catch some sun (under 2 layers of 70spf)--and start tapping away on the key board.

Being alone and away from the distractions inside my house help infinitely! There's also just something really inspiring about just relaxing. Feeling the heat--at an astounding 72 degrees F (yes, it's so hot. I'm positively melting.)--listening to the sound of the wind through the trees, chimes tinkling together and the birds. Even the sound of someone mowing their lawn four houses down and a plane with parachuters humming above. Plus seeing all the green! I just can't help but get in the mood when it's like that.

What gets you into the writing mood?

Also, the schedule has changed a bit. It's going to be every Monday and Thursday. :)