- 1. Favorite childhood book? Hmm... I loved any books from the Magic Tree House series, or the Bailey School Kids series. I also went through a phase where I read children's Scooby-Doo chapter books, despite having never seen the show. That was what I read in my single digits for the most part. When I was around ten, my all-time favorite book was The Indiana Jones Handbook: The Complete Adventurer's Guide. I loved me some Indiana Jones.
- 2. What are you reading right now? A Mighty Fortress (Hymns of the West), by Faith Blum; as well as The Doctor Who Character Encyclopedia.
- 3. What books do you have on request at the library? I have The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer's Guide To Character Expression, by Angela Ackerman on hold. I usually have a lot more, but with college classes and such, I haven't had a lot of time to read, so I've had to cut back on how many books I place a hold on. *pouts*
- 4. Bad book habit? Hoarding. I get books from the library, read them, and then hoard them for as long as I possibly can because 'what if I want to re-read it?'. Or I hoard them and tell myself, 'I'll have time to read this soon'.
- 5. What do you currently have checked out at the library? Hehehe... lots and lots of stuff. Among them are Living and Working in Britain (David Hampshire); Cultures of the World: Great Britain; Feed The Children First: Irish Memories of the Great Hunger (Mary E. Lyons); Focus on the United Kingdom; Being Irish (Paddy Logue); Living and Working in Ireland (Joe Laredo); and The Magician's Nephew (C.S. Lewis). Yes... you can see my obsession with the United Kingdom quite clearly, I'm sure.
- 6. Do you have an e-reader? Sort of; I have a Kindle app downloaded onto my laptop.
- 7. Do you prefer to read one book at a time, or several at once? I usually read several at one time; I always have. I don't know why.
- 8. Have your reading habits changed since starting a blog? No, I don't think so.
- 9. Least favourite book you have read this year (so far)? That would have to be The Complete Idiot's Guide to Vitamins and Minerals, which I was required to read for school. Bleh. :P
- 10. Favourite book you have read this year? Come on, let me choose the top three, people! Angel Fall (Coleman Luck), Firmament Radialloy (J. Grace Pennington), and Unlikely Loves: 43 Heartwarming True Stories From The Animal Kingdom (Jennifer S. Holland).
- 11. How often do you read out of your comfort zone? I read some more sci-fi this year than I usually do; but I don't often read out of my comfort zone. I should fix that.
- 12. What is your reading comfort zone? I tend to avoid romance, though lately I've been changing that. My only real requirement is that a book is always rated PG. I will not tolerate explicit violence, gore, romance, language, etc.
- 13. Can you read in the car? Yepyep! I prefer to listen to music and daydream though; then I get new story ideas. :D
- 14. Favorite place to read? Hm... I tend to read anywhere and everywhere (usually on the floor), but lately I've very much enjoyed reading on our new sofa.
- 15. What is your policy on book lending? I trust probably 97% of my friends to borrow a book from me and return it in good shape, so I'm totally willing to lend books to them; I'm only a little wary if they have younger siblings or animals that might possibly pose a threat to said books, but I'll still lend it to them, trusting them to keep it safe.
- 16. Do you ever dog-ear books? *coughs* Heh... yes. I'm really lazy and rarely use bookmarks, except in very special books or my Bible. And when you're keeping track of, say, lots of recipes, or several writing prompts, it's easier to dog-ear than to stick over a dozen bookmarks or slips of paper into the book.
- 17. Do you ever write in the margins of your books? Never. Well, there was that one time when I was a kid, and I scrawled stuff in the margins of my Calvin and Hobbes book... but I was a kid then.
- 18. Not even with textbooks? I haven't written in the margins of a textbook yet... okay, I take that back, I doodled in the margins of my co-op's writing textbooks when I was ten. Other than that, I haven't though. *grins*
- 19. What is your favourite language to read in? English. XD
- 20. What makes you love a book? Third-dimensional characters that I can relate to or look up to; realistic emotion, and lots of it; an engaging writing style that doesn't sound too formal or old-fashioned; and I also love a book with some humour and/or situations I can relate to.
- 21. What will inspire you to recommend a book? If it's a book one of my friends wrote (and all books written by all of my friends are good, so it's totally acceptable!), I'll always recommend it. I'll also recommend a book if I know it's something a person will be interested in, or if I think it will help them in some way. It honestly depends more on the person instead of the book, when it comes to choosing to recommend a book.
- 22. Favourite genre? Ack! Um... poetry, fantasy, sci-fi (sci-fi that isn't too technological; if I can't understand the terms or concepts used, I lose interest in a book, unless the characters are phenomenal), fiction set in certain historical eras, I've recently begun to get interested in romance... anything good, really. *laughs*
- 23. Genre you rarely read (but wish you did)? Sci-fi. I love a good sci-fi book, but I can rarely find one that captures my attention. I can probably count on one and a half hands the sci-fi books I've read and actually enjoyed.
- 24. Favourite biography? *ponders* I've not read many in my lifetime... if I had to say, probably the one on Steve Irwin I first read as a nine-year-old, and re-read many times throughout the years. Steve Irwin has always been one of my role models; I wish he had lived longer.
- 25. Have you ever read a self-help book? Erm... what's that? I've read 'how to write novels/poetry/fiction/etc.' books, I've read books intended to help me learn how to make my panic attacks go away (it didn't work)...
- 26. Favourite cookbook? Any cookbook that tells me how to cook things from a book or a show. A Middle-Earth cookbook, or a Narnia cookbook... or a Doctor Who cookbook if I could find a decent one...
- 27. Most inspirational book you've read this year (fiction or non-fiction)? I've read a few. One is Firmament Radialloy by J. Grace Pennington. Another is A Mighty Fortress by Faith Blum. Do Hard Things by the Harris brothers. Angel Fall by Coleman Luck. Annnd a book two wonderful adoptive family members of mine are writing but haven't finished yet. So I shall keep the title a secret. ;)
- 28. Favourite reading snack? Something that won't make a mess; cheese crisps I can use a spoon to eat are nice, though very rare. I love to drink tea while reading or writing as well... or while I watch things, such as Doctor Who.
- 29. Name a case in which hype ruined your reading experience. Probably... The Hunger Games. Everyone was going on about how amazing it was, but when I read it, I didn't understand why people like it so much - it's violent, and most of the characters annoyed me in some or other way.
- 30. How often do you agree with critics about a book? I haven't the slightest idea.
- 31. How do you feel about giving bad/negative reviews? I don't like it, but I try my hardest to be honest, while at the same time, finding the good things about the book as well. I'm very laid-back in my reading, so I don't often have a totally negative review - in fact, most of the time, the only problems with a book are minor things going against my moral views, and various grammar/spelling/punctuation problems.
- 32. If you could read in a foreign language, which language would you choose? Gaelic or Welsh! Both are such lovely languages.
- 33. Most intimidating book you've ever read? Hmm... probably The Hiding Place, by Corrie Ten Boom, which I read for school in 7th grade. I should probably hunt that book down and re-read it.
- 34. Most intimidating book you're too nervous to begin? Um... George Orwell's 1984 is the first one to come to mind.
- 35. Favourite poet? Ophelia-Marie Flowers, Juliet L., and Elizabeth K. *grins* But other favourites include Robert Frost and Robert Burns, though I like others as well.
- 36. How many books do you usually have checked out of the library at any given time? Oh... it used to be around twenty-five. Since school got harder, though, it's more like ten or so.
- 37. How often have you returned books to the library unread? Many times, but mostly recently - it's not my fault, college plus my mom's insistence on a specific (and rather early) bedtime make it hard for me to finish or sometimes even start books.
- 38. Favourite fictional character? Not fair! Um, Dustfinger from the Inkheart series... Boromir from the Lord of the Rings series... Jed from A Mighty Fortress... the talking cats from the Books of Elsewhere series (especially Harvey)... Alex and Amanda from Angel Fall (along with every single other character)... Crash from Firmament Radialloy... oh! And Scarl from The Farwalker Trilogy. So many favourite characters!
- 39. Favourite fictional villain? Hmm... I have no idea... Murtagh from the Inheritance Cycle. Because I don't and never will consider him a villain, but others seem to think he is. : P
- 40. Books I'm most likely to bring on vacation? It all depends. I haven't been on vacation in eleven years; this November was the first time. I brought my Bible and Aubrey Hansen's Peter's Angel. I know that whenever I go on vacation from here on out, I'm definitely always bringing a Bible.
- 41. The longest I've gone without reading. Hmm... probably about a week. But that's only if you don't count reading textbooks. If that counts, I've probably never gone longer than a day or two.
- 42. Name a book that you could/would not finish. I never managed to finish Brisingr by Christopher Paolini; it just wasn't as enjoyable as the first two books. Nothing else is coming to mind at the moment, though I'm sure there are more.
- 43. What distracts you easily when you're reading? Loud and/or obnoxious noises. I hate it when people are vacuuming while I'm trying to read, or when my brother is doing something annoying (such as bouncing a hard plastic ball against the wall, producing a loud clacking sound, repeatedly), or a loud television in the background (it's even worse when the movie/show that's playing is something I don't like).
- 44. Favourite film adaptation of a novel? Hmm... Inkheart... and Eragon. And How To Train Your Dragon... I like almost all film adaptations of books.
- 45. Most disappointing film adaptation? I... can't really think of one at the moment.
- 46. The most money I've ever spent in a bookstore at one time? I rarely get to go to bookstores. I went to Barnes & Noble once though, and spent about fifteen dollars on a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories; but I spent the money using a gift card.
- 47. How often do you skim a book before reading it? Quite often. I don't know entirely why; maybe to get a feel of the book to see if I'd enjoy it. If it's nonfiction, I skim from section to section depending on what I want to read about first (like with the 'living and working in' books I mentioned earlier, I tend to skip around to avoid the stuff about finances because I don't understand that stuff at this time in my life, XD).
- 48. What would cause you to stop reading a book halfway through? Bad language, excessive gore, or something or other that might give me nightmares. Or explicit romance. No, nope, nopity-nope.
- 49. Do you like to keep your books organised? Yes. But somehow they always get disorganised again. XD
- 50. Do you prefer to keep books or give them away once you've read them? It depends. I tend to only get rid of books by giving them to friends as gifts, or if I've grown out of them.
- 51. Are there any books you've been avoiding? Not that I know of...
- 52. Name a book that made you angry. The Miller Brothers' book Hunter Brown and the Consuming Fire, in which a favorite character of mine died. At the same time, I loved the book, because it introduced one of my favorite characters - Stoney. I was also angry when Christopher Paolini killed off Brom, and made Murtagh 'turn evil'.
- 53. A book you didn't expect to like but did? Hmm... I tried reading Inkheart when I was about ten, but didn't like it. Then I saw the movie, realised which book it was, tried the book again... and loved it. Also, the Books of Elsewhere series.
- 54. A book that you expected to like but didn't? The Hunger Games.
- 55. Favourite guilt-free, pleasure reading? ... which means...?
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Author Interview With - J. Grace Pennington!
And, introducing Miss J. Grace Pennington! It was a joy to get the chance to interview her.
1. So, tell us about your latest book.
My latest book is called Firmament: In His Image, and is the second book in my Firmament sci-fi series. The logline is: After accidentally running awry of the laws of a civilization that scientifically shouldn't exist, a stranded away team must figure out what?s going on and find a way to escape before they are all executed.
More information can be found at http://firmamentseries.com/in-his-image/
2. How long have you been writing?
Since I was about five years old. I was always a storyteller, and one afternoon while my mom was napping, it occurred to me that I could write a book, so I did. It only had six pages, but it was a book nonetheless, and I haven't stopped writing since!
3. What is your favorite genre(s) to write in?
Science-fiction, hands down. I enjoy exploring ideas to their furthest potential and creating fascinating new worlds and problems, but still leaving a semblance of reality. I think sci-fi is a great genre for Christians, because they can address a lot of issues very strongly.
4. Where do you get inspiration?
Everywhere! Dreams, life, books, movies, imagination. A lot of times I'll start off with a list of different things I want to include (a specific relationship, a setting, a premise, even an object) and try to build a story that includes all of them.
5. What is a typical schedule for you?
Schedule? What's that? ;) I suppose loosely I get up between seven and eight, do chores for my family, then after lunch I try to do writing-related stuff. But I often will write none at all for days and then thousands of words in one afternoon. It's sadly erratic. I must remedy this.
6. Do you have a favorite food or drink to snack on while you write?
Tea and homemade granola is good. Preferably black tea. But milk and brownies or cookies will do. So will M&Ms and water. But tea is a favorite.
7. What is one tip you would give to other writers?
My secret? Writer's block doesn't exist. Keep writing and don't stop, not even when you have no ideas. Like genius, writing is about one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. Hard work and perseverance is what gets books written. Press forward even if it's junk, because you can edit anything but a blank page!
Thanks for the interview!
1. So, tell us about your latest book.
My latest book is called Firmament: In His Image, and is the second book in my Firmament sci-fi series. The logline is: After accidentally running awry of the laws of a civilization that scientifically shouldn't exist, a stranded away team must figure out what?s going on and find a way to escape before they are all executed.
More information can be found at http://firmamentseries.com/in-his-image/
2. How long have you been writing?
Since I was about five years old. I was always a storyteller, and one afternoon while my mom was napping, it occurred to me that I could write a book, so I did. It only had six pages, but it was a book nonetheless, and I haven't stopped writing since!
3. What is your favorite genre(s) to write in?
Science-fiction, hands down. I enjoy exploring ideas to their furthest potential and creating fascinating new worlds and problems, but still leaving a semblance of reality. I think sci-fi is a great genre for Christians, because they can address a lot of issues very strongly.
4. Where do you get inspiration?
Everywhere! Dreams, life, books, movies, imagination. A lot of times I'll start off with a list of different things I want to include (a specific relationship, a setting, a premise, even an object) and try to build a story that includes all of them.
5. What is a typical schedule for you?
Schedule? What's that? ;) I suppose loosely I get up between seven and eight, do chores for my family, then after lunch I try to do writing-related stuff. But I often will write none at all for days and then thousands of words in one afternoon. It's sadly erratic. I must remedy this.
6. Do you have a favorite food or drink to snack on while you write?
Tea and homemade granola is good. Preferably black tea. But milk and brownies or cookies will do. So will M&Ms and water. But tea is a favorite.
7. What is one tip you would give to other writers?
My secret? Writer's block doesn't exist. Keep writing and don't stop, not even when you have no ideas. Like genius, writing is about one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration. Hard work and perseverance is what gets books written. Press forward even if it's junk, because you can edit anything but a blank page!
Thanks for the interview!
Monday, November 18, 2013
Angel Song
How funny it is that one place, one house, can waver between ‘home’ and ‘wasteland’.
When you were here, the lonely ocean suddenly blazed with dawn light… and I felt the peacefulness of home. Your heartsongs made me brave. Walking the woodland paths at night no longer terrified me—my mama by my side, my brother up ahead. How could I be scared when you were with me?
The shifting shadows and night-creature sounds no longer struck fear into my soul. If truth were to be told, I barely noticed them.
The fuzzy blue light glows from the small devices in your hands chased the shadows away. My mama’s voice, clear and soft and beautiful—the voice of an angel in a dream too wonderful for words—ringing through the cool night air, echoing above the night noises and the rustling of the leaves.
The leaves. As the singing fills the night, the leaves spiral down and around, whispering their way through a dance only they know the steps to. Fluttering and flickering, caught in the breeze; caught in a dance that ends when they land at our feet with a final hushed murmur, bowing to us—young princesses and a prince, standing in a forest glade; feeling so very close to Aslan.
The cold begins to become too much, but we stay in the glade, talking quietly. It seems we’re the only ones in the entire forest. I stand on the edge of a hill, murmuring fantasy tunes to myself.
The realization strikes me—I’m here, in the forest at night, with some of the people I love most in this world. A mama and a brother whom I have never seen and may never see again after this night.
The sudden need to return to the glade, where I can see you, hits me. I leave the woodland and go back.
Later, we sit in a square room that is colder than the rest of the house. This room holds so many memories, some of them painful—but I have never felt safer or happier than I do now, here with you.
I haven’t laughed or grinned this much in what seems like ages upon ages. This happiness I feel… so strange… something I haven’t felt in so long.
As usual for me, I try to move and instead nearly fall off of the swaying mattress. I find myself in Mama’s arms and relax. I had forgotten how peaceful and infinitely loved being held makes me feel. I want to stay in her arms forever and ever.
I know I can’t. There is a curfew for me, even tonight. I soon have to leave and return to my own little wolf den at the other side of the house. I stand, say quietly ‘goodnight’ and ‘I love you’.
Mama tells me she knows. I turn to leave; my feet are just as clumsy as always, and I stumble. Cheeks warming, I glance back sheepishly, and see a warm and smiling face looking at me. I smile back, and then bumble my way down dark steps, through a dimly-lit series of rooms, and up more dark steps to my wolf den.
I leave my clothes on rather than change into pyjamas. I smell traces of my mama’s perfume, and it keeps me calm; makes me feel as though I’m still in her arms, instead of alone in my room—as I so often am.
I type away in my journal before being whirled away by the Sandman to the Land of Dreams. I awake early, remember just who is asleep on the other side of the house, and become excited all over again. I force myself to return to the Land of Dreams—there is no use wandering the house five hours before anyone else has been roused.
My big brother is the first to appear, the rumple-haired prince with his gentle smile. I only just met him for the first time, but feel as close to him as I do with all of my brothers—feel the same heartache-mixture of little-sister pride and love that I feel for all of my brothers.
The princesses soon wake up as well—my mama and her twin sister, both as beautiful as they were the night before. I’m quieter than I was last night, but I watch everything with a smile on my face.
A smile that falters as the realization hits; these special, wonderful people through whom God shines so brightly… will be gone a mere two hours from now.
The smile stays, but with a bittersweet shadow of dread tucked away at the corner of my lips. The thunder of my heart starts to speed up as I resign myself to the fact that this dream of beauty and happiness and I-feel-like-I’m-home is about to end.
And the moment comes too soon, just after I give my mama two gifts which I had planned to give her long ago—a ceramic figurine and a bracelet which I made myself… a bracelet of red and gold and purple. Red for Christ’s blood, gold for hope and light, and purple for the royalty of our King. I chose the colors with care.
Snapshots are taken, frozen glimpses as poor substitutes for the reality that was. Memories caught in the tumbling crimson and stars that is Time.
The end of the peace is oh so near. I can feel it in my bones, in my soul—the ache is returning.
I am unable to bear the thought of staying inside while the three of you leave. The little child inside of me tags along after you, just barely managing not to cling to her mama’s hand.
Mama hugs me. I hug her back fiercely tight, and I wonder—can she sense the way my throat is tightening, the way I struggle to force the words out without choking them? Can she see the tears hiding just behind my eyes, a mere breath away from glittering on my eyelashes?
I turn, and go to hug my big brother. He holds out his arms before I reach him, and I stumble into them. And for a moment, in his arms, I don’t feel so very lost. He hugs me tight, and I hug him back, whispering that it had been nice to meet him—unable to say anything more without sobbing.
I was shaking. I didn’t even realize… but you did. You felt me trembling, and wondered why. Perhaps I should have spoken the truth—that I was struggling to hide the tears, that my heart was already breaking to see them leaving. But I could not have found the words, even if I had tried.
I manage a tremulous smile, letting my gaze fall upon the prince and princesses one last time before turning. Instead of bolting—flying like my crumbling heart desires, fleeing to hide in a lonely corner and sob the pain away—I force myself to walk. The flood of heartache comes rushing in, and once again I feel lost in a sea of uncertainty and nameless emotions without faces.
Every step is an effort; can anyone see it? Movements like a robot. One foot in front of the other; you can do it, you sad little lass, you can. One step, then another, and another—movements slow and methodical, that of a mechanical toy.
The door is reached, and it feels miles away. The tears enter my eyes as I enter the house, and through the window I see the red car drive away… as warm liquid shards of my heart chase one another down my cheeks.
~~
Never say goodbye, because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.
I don't want to forget. Never, ever. It hurts so much to remember, but I have to. I have to cling to the silver threads, keep my gaze upon the glowing firedust that drifts from world to world, from time to time.
How can such tiny and frail things such as tears send a person to their knees? Send a person collapsing to the floor, into shuddering sobs that make her insides feel as though they're caving in?
Tiny things, tears. Such little things.
And so powerful.
The stars, fallen tears of angels, creating glittering trails of light in the sky, joining hearts together from oh so far away.
Can you see it?
I can, even though the shadows hide it sometimes. It makes my heart ache with the pain of longing and sorrow and love and so many dreams.
Can you feel it?
I can. Oh, I can. Every single heartbeat.
And you know what else? Sometimes, late at night, when no one is awake but me and my dreamworld companions and the Doctor...
The sweet song of an angel's lullaby echoes to me from across time and space, from a fairy land across the sea, wrapping me in the loving arms of my very own angel.
Can you hear it, my friends?
I can. Oh, how I can.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Another Giveaway!
You are invited to a Winter Giveaway with Gillian Adams over at ofbattlesdragonsandswordsofadamant.blogspot.com. Enter the giveaway for a chance to win two fantasy books!
Friday, October 25, 2013
Advertising for a giveaway!
My awesome friend Faith is hosting a giveaway, right here:
http://faithblum.wordpress.com/2013/10/25/amazing-surprising-fun-exciting-giveaway/
It's part of a thing called the No Fear Indie Blog Hop. Basically, there are a ton of fun giveaways to enter, and Faith's is one of them. I encourage you to check it out!
http://faithblum.wordpress.com/2013/10/25/amazing-surprising-fun-exciting-giveaway/
It's part of a thing called the No Fear Indie Blog Hop. Basically, there are a ton of fun giveaways to enter, and Faith's is one of them. I encourage you to check it out!
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Book Review: "The Missing Kitten"
However, I am writing it now. So, without further ado – the book review of The Missing Kitten.
The first thing I’m going to mention is that, though I believe the book was aimed towards a younger audience, it will be enjoyable to people of any age – I’m sixteen, and I enjoyed every single page of the book. So don’t let the age range you perceive the book to be aimed at deter you from checking it out, I beseech thee!
Here is the description of the book, as seen on Amazon:
Missing In Action!
When imaginative Rambo discovers his kitten friend Seabert has vanished, he isn’t immediately worried. However, once he starts looking, he finds himself drawn into a plot involving a catnapping and a scheme to destroy the farm. Can Rambo rescue his friend from the forest, or will Seabert be lost forever?
I don’t know about the rest of you, but that description alone would be enough to convince me to buy the book.
The Missing Kitten is a story of excitement, adventure, loyalty, and courage. You find yourself emotionally invested in the characters quite soon off; all of them are very third-dimensional and fun to read about. They all have quirks and flaws, just like real-life humans (and animals!) do.
Okay, all of my excited rambling aside, I’ll get on to the pros and cons. And don’t expect many cons, just as a heads-up.
~~
Pros:
- The characters were well-developed and extremely likeable. You find yourself mentally cheering them on and hoping the protagonists succeed in their mission. I believe that Jesse Rice did a very good job, however, of not making all of the antagonists completely unlikeable either; some of the antagonists have a side to them that make the reader sympathize somewhat—but not enough to stop rooting for the good guys. That is a hard balance to meet, but Jesse meets it perfectly.
- There is a well-kept balance between the excitement; there is plenty to keep a person turning the pages, but it’s not all action, all the time, which is always a good balance to have in a book.
- The writing style and choice of words are easy enough for younger readers to understand, but not so much so as to bore older readers. Somehow, Jesse managed to write it so that both older and younger readers could enjoy it.
~~
Cons:
- Uhhh… the only cons I could find were fixed in the last edit of the book, to be honest. *grins* I’m telling the truth, I really don’t have any cons for this book. It’s a wonderful story!
~~
So yes, I think that’s all there really is to say! If you get the chance, definitely check out this book; it’s well worth it. And, there will be more. A sequel is already in the works. If you like this first book, then you’ll get to read more!
If you have any questions about the book, let me know, and I’ll answer them!
God bless.
~ Theodora Ashcraft
Saturday, October 5, 2013
A Call For Beta-Readers
I'm actually rather nervous about this, because I've never had a beta-reader before. *smiles a bit*
My latest project - Tomorrow's Bones - has, in a way, seized hold of me and now has me trapped. In other words, I haven't felt this worked up over a story in quite a while. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still very excited about the prospect of finally getting to work on my fantasy trilogy.
However, that is going to be a large undertaking, and something I have high hopes for; I want to take my time with working on it.
Tomorrow's Bones, on the other hand, is, in all likelihood, a standalone. Not only that, but it's going to be fairly less complex than the Songs of Old trilogy.
So, being this excited about it, I want to start writing it as soon as I have the plot at least mostly figured out. Except I have the tendency to either lose steam very quickly, or procrastinate horribly. As many of you probably know.
So, I was thinking perhaps beta-readers might help me get on track. :)
I've not written a logline yet, unfortunately, but I'm working on it. For now, here's a bit of a statement on what the story (or what I have of it planned out) is about.
Two years after someone killed Lenard Calderano and stole his starship, a ragtag group of people - the starship's navigator, his fiery young friend, an adventurous security guard, two ex-soldiers, and Calderano's own daughter - embark on a journey to find out who killed Calerano, and why.
I just realized that sounds pretty typical for sci-fi and/or mystery. Well, one thing that might play a part of the novel that could pique ya'll's interest - there are two rooms, the Future Room and the Past Room. Together, they're called the Time Rooms. And something went wrong while they were being invented that makes them quite dangerous...
Nope, I'm not telling you what that is, because I have to keep some mystery about it. *grins mischievously*
It is also told from two viewpoints, I probably should mention that. :) I hope to keep it from being too confusing though.
That's about all I have to say on it at the minute; here's the Pinterest board for the novel if anyone's interested:
http://www.pinterest.com/homesickdreamer/tomorrows-bones/
And here are links to excerpts I wrote with some of the characters, if you want to see a bit of that:
http://whispersofwindandsong.blogspot.com/2013/07/a-random-scene.html
http://whispersofwindandsong.blogspot.com/2013/08/another-excerpt-from-tomorrows-bones.html
So yeah, if anyone is interested in beta-reading after that really boring summary, let me know. Then I can actually link you to the Google Docs where I do planning and character profiles, and you can see those to get more information before making a decision on if you want to beta-read or not. :)
God bless.
Theodora Ashcraft
My latest project - Tomorrow's Bones - has, in a way, seized hold of me and now has me trapped. In other words, I haven't felt this worked up over a story in quite a while. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still very excited about the prospect of finally getting to work on my fantasy trilogy.
However, that is going to be a large undertaking, and something I have high hopes for; I want to take my time with working on it.
Tomorrow's Bones, on the other hand, is, in all likelihood, a standalone. Not only that, but it's going to be fairly less complex than the Songs of Old trilogy.
So, being this excited about it, I want to start writing it as soon as I have the plot at least mostly figured out. Except I have the tendency to either lose steam very quickly, or procrastinate horribly. As many of you probably know.
So, I was thinking perhaps beta-readers might help me get on track. :)
I've not written a logline yet, unfortunately, but I'm working on it. For now, here's a bit of a statement on what the story (or what I have of it planned out) is about.
Two years after someone killed Lenard Calderano and stole his starship, a ragtag group of people - the starship's navigator, his fiery young friend, an adventurous security guard, two ex-soldiers, and Calderano's own daughter - embark on a journey to find out who killed Calerano, and why.
I just realized that sounds pretty typical for sci-fi and/or mystery. Well, one thing that might play a part of the novel that could pique ya'll's interest - there are two rooms, the Future Room and the Past Room. Together, they're called the Time Rooms. And something went wrong while they were being invented that makes them quite dangerous...
Nope, I'm not telling you what that is, because I have to keep some mystery about it. *grins mischievously*
It is also told from two viewpoints, I probably should mention that. :) I hope to keep it from being too confusing though.
That's about all I have to say on it at the minute; here's the Pinterest board for the novel if anyone's interested:
http://www.pinterest.com/homesickdreamer/tomorrows-bones/
And here are links to excerpts I wrote with some of the characters, if you want to see a bit of that:
http://whispersofwindandsong.blogspot.com/2013/07/a-random-scene.html
http://whispersofwindandsong.blogspot.com/2013/08/another-excerpt-from-tomorrows-bones.html
So yeah, if anyone is interested in beta-reading after that really boring summary, let me know. Then I can actually link you to the Google Docs where I do planning and character profiles, and you can see those to get more information before making a decision on if you want to beta-read or not. :)
God bless.
Theodora Ashcraft
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Always
This... is a short story I wrote last night, after a discussion with my big sister Ophelia. When I wrote it, I had just read a poem Ophelia had written, so some of this story is inspired by her poems. I was just thinking about my past a whole lot while I wrote it, so it's intensely personal to me and I was rather afraid to post it. But I think it could serve as a good reminder - not just for other girls, but for guys as well. The same idea applies. I hope it is an encouragement to you.
God bless.
~~
God bless.
~~
The rain falls in the dusk, a
whispering cascade of droplets cold against my face.
I huddle in the corner; against a boulder. Tears stream down my face, and I tremble.
I can hear Him approaching. My heart pounds in my head. I’m all too aware that He knows where I am; He always does. But I hold onto the vain hope that perhaps He doesn’t this time.
How can I face Him? My gown, once clean and white, is muddied and ragged now. How could I have done those things, thought those thoughts? I have fallen from His will… I have failed Him. The tears come faster now, as I hear His footsteps come nearer and nearer, finally stopping mere inches away.
I feel His hand on my shoulder, and I cringe away, thoughts whirling through my mind—the shame, the anguish, the dread of waiting for words of angry admonishment.
Instead, I hear His gentle voice say, “Come, little one. Come warm yourself.”
Too dazed to pull away, I let Him lead me to the fire flickering nearby. I lower my head, unable to meet His gaze. Now He can fully see the sorry state my once-white gown is in. I stand still, awaiting judgment.
To some surprise, instead of the punishment I expected… He gently places His hand beneath my chin and raises my face to look into my eyes. And I see then that His eyes are sad… but also brimming over with love.
I tremble as I try to choke back the tears. I want to look away. I don’t deserve the forgiveness I can sense in His eyes. I am confused. I see sorrow in his gaze, and yet… He still seems to care so deeply about me. I don’t deserve it, I don’t!
He says softly, His fingers wiping my tears away, “Oh, my dear child. I love you. You are my precious daughter.”
I pull away, mind wild with my own guilt. I stumble backwards, sobs trying to make their way from my throat. I cry out through the tears, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew who I really was! If you knew what I had done!”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize how foolish the words are—of course He knows what I have done.
His voice is ever-gentle. “I already know what you have done. And I know who you truly are.”
Shaking, I cry, “Then how can you love me? Why don’t you cast me out like I deserve?”
“Little one…” He smiles sadly at me. “You have already been forgiven.”
I have no more energy to speak, and I begin to weep freely. He comes closer and puts His hands on my shoulders. Through my tears, I vaguely notice my gown become clean and white again. I feel His strong arms wrap around me, and I do not have the strength to pull away, though some part of me wishes to. A broken whisper of “How can you still love me after all I’ve done?” escapes me.
He says softly, “My dear child… I died for you. I knew everything you would do before you ever did it. I was beaten, mocked, and tortured; I died so that your stained garments could be made clean; so that your sins could be washed away.”
The sobs come now, and I feel more guilt weighing heavily on my heart. “I was the cause of Your pain… how can you still love me after what I did to you?” I whisper, still held close in His arms.
When He speaks, I can hear love mingled with sorrow in His voice. “Little one… I endured that pain because I love you. And I have already know all that you have done or will do. It has been forgiven—it has been paid for.
“I know that you stumble. I know the doubts you will feel and the mistakes you will make. You are still growing, my dear daughter. But no matter how you fall, no matter how you sin… My blood has made you new. I will always love you. And I will never let you go.”
I huddle in the corner; against a boulder. Tears stream down my face, and I tremble.
I can hear Him approaching. My heart pounds in my head. I’m all too aware that He knows where I am; He always does. But I hold onto the vain hope that perhaps He doesn’t this time.
How can I face Him? My gown, once clean and white, is muddied and ragged now. How could I have done those things, thought those thoughts? I have fallen from His will… I have failed Him. The tears come faster now, as I hear His footsteps come nearer and nearer, finally stopping mere inches away.
I feel His hand on my shoulder, and I cringe away, thoughts whirling through my mind—the shame, the anguish, the dread of waiting for words of angry admonishment.
Instead, I hear His gentle voice say, “Come, little one. Come warm yourself.”
Too dazed to pull away, I let Him lead me to the fire flickering nearby. I lower my head, unable to meet His gaze. Now He can fully see the sorry state my once-white gown is in. I stand still, awaiting judgment.
To some surprise, instead of the punishment I expected… He gently places His hand beneath my chin and raises my face to look into my eyes. And I see then that His eyes are sad… but also brimming over with love.
I tremble as I try to choke back the tears. I want to look away. I don’t deserve the forgiveness I can sense in His eyes. I am confused. I see sorrow in his gaze, and yet… He still seems to care so deeply about me. I don’t deserve it, I don’t!
He says softly, His fingers wiping my tears away, “Oh, my dear child. I love you. You are my precious daughter.”
I pull away, mind wild with my own guilt. I stumble backwards, sobs trying to make their way from my throat. I cry out through the tears, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew who I really was! If you knew what I had done!”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize how foolish the words are—of course He knows what I have done.
His voice is ever-gentle. “I already know what you have done. And I know who you truly are.”
Shaking, I cry, “Then how can you love me? Why don’t you cast me out like I deserve?”
“Little one…” He smiles sadly at me. “You have already been forgiven.”
I have no more energy to speak, and I begin to weep freely. He comes closer and puts His hands on my shoulders. Through my tears, I vaguely notice my gown become clean and white again. I feel His strong arms wrap around me, and I do not have the strength to pull away, though some part of me wishes to. A broken whisper of “How can you still love me after all I’ve done?” escapes me.
He says softly, “My dear child… I died for you. I knew everything you would do before you ever did it. I was beaten, mocked, and tortured; I died so that your stained garments could be made clean; so that your sins could be washed away.”
The sobs come now, and I feel more guilt weighing heavily on my heart. “I was the cause of Your pain… how can you still love me after what I did to you?” I whisper, still held close in His arms.
When He speaks, I can hear love mingled with sorrow in His voice. “Little one… I endured that pain because I love you. And I have already know all that you have done or will do. It has been forgiven—it has been paid for.
“I know that you stumble. I know the doubts you will feel and the mistakes you will make. You are still growing, my dear daughter. But no matter how you fall, no matter how you sin… My blood has made you new. I will always love you. And I will never let you go.”
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Gray Threads
This is a random essencey sort of thing that I wrote last night. It's sort of addressed to an old friend of mine, but it's not a letter... I don't know how to explain it really, but I liked it, so I put it here. *smiles wryly*
Sidenote, but the name of the girl I mention is not really Lea. I'm using a different name for privacy.
~~
I truly do not know why I’m writing this to you. I won’t ever show it to you, and you’ll never see it anyway—or will you? You used to read these ramblings of mine… but that was two years ago.
I still haven’t let go. I’m still clutching that banner of gray you left behind… as time marched past, it began to fall apart, though. Soon it became mere shreds. During my fight to let you go, I even dropped some of the shreds on my own—of my own free will. I whispered goodbye as I watched them drift slowly down the river of memories.
Several threads still remain, held tight in my fist. I want to let them go. But for some reason, I just can’t. I can’t do it.
Lea says I’m so very strong for having let go of so many of the shreds. But she only knows the surface. If only she knew how hard it is for me to let go of the last few gray threads.
A Russian flag still hides somewhere within the pages of a notebook, along with pictures of you, for you always dreamed of going to Russia. I kept them there among the pages to remind me that even though I so often felt like no one cared… you did.
At least, that’s what you led me to believe. You had Lea believing it too. Was it truth? She thinks it was and still is, and perhaps she’s the one who has it all figured out. I myself may never know. The notebook is buried deep within the recesses of the bookshelf or perhaps the closet, where I hope to have forgotten it.
I have always been a dreamer, old friend. It only worsens as time goes on, an all-too-real condition that has me trapped within the dreamworld more and more often now.
Though it’s not trapped, not really. Being trapped is being somewhere you don’t want to be, unable to leave. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t think I want to leave the dreamworld. I should. I could. But… I won’t.
I think, sometimes, that our friendship was a dream too. Perhaps that comes from the uncertainty of whether dreams are reality or reality is a dream, or maybe they’re all just imaginary in the end.
It doesn’t matter. Whether it was a dream or not, it hurt. Burning like fire and ice. You gave me hope, and then you took it away. Heaven only knows what that did and will do to me.
Sometimes, I understand the whys and the wherefores. I’m not as ignorant as most suspect; at least not all of the time.
You have your own life to live. And you were brave enough to make the choice to move forward, whatever the costs—for you or anyone else.
I blame myself for your leaving though. I had to have done something wrong. I hurt you so many times… perhaps you finally decided that enough was enough. I’m sorry, brother, for what it’s worth. I’m so, so sorry.
I hope you don’t feel the same. Blame is something you once knew all too well. I hope you don’t feel that way. Collect your courage, collect your horse, and ride into the sun. I pray you never feel this same kind of remorse.
Sometimes, I like to watch the model airplane’s shadow flicker on the wall and imagine that you miss Lea and I too; that even though you left, you still think of us. Perhaps it wasn’t abandonment like I once thought. After all, it’s only abandonment if the person doing the abandoning cares naught for the feelings of the others.
Maybe… maybe at night you stare at your ceiling too, and think of the ones you left. Maybe you still care.
And when I spend nights staring out the window at the dark velvet sky, wishing you could hear me when I whisper ‘I miss you’… or spend nights sobbing into my pillow, alternating between talking to you in rushed words from three thousand miles away, to crying out for someone—anyone—to help me… maybe you do hear me.
Maybe my words echo through your dreamworld, and you do hear them. But when you step back into reality, you wonder whether it was simply a dream; the words you hear in the dreamworld are no more tangible than the cluster of pixels and electronic words I was to you in the past. It would make sense.
Maybe you think of the promises you made. Do you feel remorse for breaking them, or do you wonder how I or Lea could have possibly fallen for it?
Perhaps you and Allison knew exactly what you were doing; perhaps her deceit and many attempts to break Lea and I down to shards weren’t as disconnected from you as I once believed…
Or perhaps my imagination is dashing wildly down the jungle trail again, and I’m being silly once more. I always was, you know that.
I think of the promises too, though; all the time. They’re made from the same gray threads I hold in a death grip, even now. All the times you said you cared. All the times you said you would never leave. All the times you said you would miss me if I cut the gossamer strand that kept me trapped here on this broken world… that you would miss me if I went to spin my way through the clouds and the stars and the wishes that fill the sky.
I want to believe your promises and words were true; that you weren’t deceiving me and Lea like everyone else. But when everything you ever said becomes a paradox, one has to wonder—what was the truth and what were lies?
You stole my trust. I never quite found it; instead, I second-guess myself and over-think what friends say, wondering—is this going to end the same way your friendship did? With broken promises and revealed untruths? Do any of them really care? Or is this simply all a game, or a matter of not wanting to seem discourteous?
One knows their trust is wavering uncertainly if they begin questioning the motives of those they love most.
You said you would miss me if I left and went Home. You kept me here; kept my gossamer lifeline secured tightly to the ground. You promised—there it is, more promises that came from your mind and onto the screen—that the pain would go away if I could just keep my gaze fixed on the flickering flame of hope.
You said you would miss me if I left, and so I stayed.
I said I would miss you if you left. And so… you left.
You didn’t go Home, and for that, I am so thankful. But you did leave. Oh, my brother, my dear, dear brother… I went left, and you went right, down a path that makes it so I cannot follow you.
I’ll never see you again. I’ve held onto the dream for over a year now, dreaming that I might see you again—that my first big brother might come running back from Russia to give me a hug and tell me he missed me, and that he had come back.
But that will not happen. Not in this lifetime.
I understand. You have your own life to live. I was and would be only a hindrance now. And that was always the last thing I wanted to be to you. I often said I would do anything for you if I could—I said that almost as often as I apologized for hurting you, as I did so many times.
I said I would do anything for you, and I meant it. And now, the most important thing I can do for you is to let go of the gray threads. To let you move on down the path to your future. And it hurts, it hurts so very much. But I made the promise. And I’ll keep it, no matter how violently it makes the dreamworld quake; no matter how many dream-flowers it shatters.
I’m keeping my promises, even though—and perhaps because—you never kept yours.
I know. I know. I’m being that foolish girl again, with her head in the clouds and stars in her eyes, but her feet firmly planted in the dust of the earth. Feet that are stuck there now because of you.
I could uproot myself, brother, and finally be Home. But I won’t.
I constantly make an utter mess of things. You saw that in me more than anyone. But I’m not going to give in this time. Not like this.
Because I made a promise to you. And no matter what happens to me, or to you, or to the rest of the world, I am not going to break my promise.
Some people would. Some people do. Some people will. Some people are, right at this minute.
I know firsthand that the shards from shattered promises hurt, and cut most deeply into the heart. The pieces of promises strewn over the world cause even the staunchest hearts to bleed.
I won’t cause anyone that pain. The reason I kept my promises last year was because I knew it would make your heart bleed.
And even if you’ve left… even if you no longer care whether I uproot myself… I have new brothers, and new sisters, who would be hurt if I break my promises.
So I won’t.
You broke yours.
But I’m not blaming you for it.
I haven’t forgiven you, but that’s because there was never anything to forgive.
I always did tell you, brother, that you could do or say anything you wanted, and I would never mind it; that I always forgave you because you were my brother, and that’s what siblings do. They forgive.
I held true to that. You can still do or say whatever you like. I won’t hold it against you.
Because I still love you, brother. I don’t know if I was ever really your little sister. But you were my first brother, and I’ll always remember.
You can forget.
But I’ll always remember.
And I’ll stand here through the rain and the snow and the sun, with my feet firmly planted on this cold, cold world. I made promises in the then, and I’ve made promises in the now.
I’m going to keep them.
And maybe someday, we’ll see each other again. Though not really again, since I never truly saw anything but your words and your dreams and your hopes.
You’re going to do wonderfully no matter where you go. Get lost in Russia, if that’s what you want to do. But don’t lose yourself, brother. Always know the path back home and keep it seared in your mind.
Keep your compass in hand and your heart in hope, and everything will be fine in the beginning that comes after the end.
You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Lea will be fine.
The fellowship has been broken, but we always knew it would be. And I know that everything sad will come untrue in the beginning; our King made that promise, you see. And He never breaks His word.
Never forget that. I certainly won’t.
So walk on into the light, old friend. Live your dream. I’ll meet you again in the Gray Havens, when the shadow passes and the dawn shines ever brighter.
Sidenote, but the name of the girl I mention is not really Lea. I'm using a different name for privacy.
~~
I truly do not know why I’m writing this to you. I won’t ever show it to you, and you’ll never see it anyway—or will you? You used to read these ramblings of mine… but that was two years ago.
I still haven’t let go. I’m still clutching that banner of gray you left behind… as time marched past, it began to fall apart, though. Soon it became mere shreds. During my fight to let you go, I even dropped some of the shreds on my own—of my own free will. I whispered goodbye as I watched them drift slowly down the river of memories.
Several threads still remain, held tight in my fist. I want to let them go. But for some reason, I just can’t. I can’t do it.
Lea says I’m so very strong for having let go of so many of the shreds. But she only knows the surface. If only she knew how hard it is for me to let go of the last few gray threads.
A Russian flag still hides somewhere within the pages of a notebook, along with pictures of you, for you always dreamed of going to Russia. I kept them there among the pages to remind me that even though I so often felt like no one cared… you did.
At least, that’s what you led me to believe. You had Lea believing it too. Was it truth? She thinks it was and still is, and perhaps she’s the one who has it all figured out. I myself may never know. The notebook is buried deep within the recesses of the bookshelf or perhaps the closet, where I hope to have forgotten it.
I have always been a dreamer, old friend. It only worsens as time goes on, an all-too-real condition that has me trapped within the dreamworld more and more often now.
Though it’s not trapped, not really. Being trapped is being somewhere you don’t want to be, unable to leave. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I don’t think I want to leave the dreamworld. I should. I could. But… I won’t.
I think, sometimes, that our friendship was a dream too. Perhaps that comes from the uncertainty of whether dreams are reality or reality is a dream, or maybe they’re all just imaginary in the end.
It doesn’t matter. Whether it was a dream or not, it hurt. Burning like fire and ice. You gave me hope, and then you took it away. Heaven only knows what that did and will do to me.
Sometimes, I understand the whys and the wherefores. I’m not as ignorant as most suspect; at least not all of the time.
You have your own life to live. And you were brave enough to make the choice to move forward, whatever the costs—for you or anyone else.
I blame myself for your leaving though. I had to have done something wrong. I hurt you so many times… perhaps you finally decided that enough was enough. I’m sorry, brother, for what it’s worth. I’m so, so sorry.
I hope you don’t feel the same. Blame is something you once knew all too well. I hope you don’t feel that way. Collect your courage, collect your horse, and ride into the sun. I pray you never feel this same kind of remorse.
Sometimes, I like to watch the model airplane’s shadow flicker on the wall and imagine that you miss Lea and I too; that even though you left, you still think of us. Perhaps it wasn’t abandonment like I once thought. After all, it’s only abandonment if the person doing the abandoning cares naught for the feelings of the others.
Maybe… maybe at night you stare at your ceiling too, and think of the ones you left. Maybe you still care.
And when I spend nights staring out the window at the dark velvet sky, wishing you could hear me when I whisper ‘I miss you’… or spend nights sobbing into my pillow, alternating between talking to you in rushed words from three thousand miles away, to crying out for someone—anyone—to help me… maybe you do hear me.
Maybe my words echo through your dreamworld, and you do hear them. But when you step back into reality, you wonder whether it was simply a dream; the words you hear in the dreamworld are no more tangible than the cluster of pixels and electronic words I was to you in the past. It would make sense.
Maybe you think of the promises you made. Do you feel remorse for breaking them, or do you wonder how I or Lea could have possibly fallen for it?
Perhaps you and Allison knew exactly what you were doing; perhaps her deceit and many attempts to break Lea and I down to shards weren’t as disconnected from you as I once believed…
Or perhaps my imagination is dashing wildly down the jungle trail again, and I’m being silly once more. I always was, you know that.
I think of the promises too, though; all the time. They’re made from the same gray threads I hold in a death grip, even now. All the times you said you cared. All the times you said you would never leave. All the times you said you would miss me if I cut the gossamer strand that kept me trapped here on this broken world… that you would miss me if I went to spin my way through the clouds and the stars and the wishes that fill the sky.
I want to believe your promises and words were true; that you weren’t deceiving me and Lea like everyone else. But when everything you ever said becomes a paradox, one has to wonder—what was the truth and what were lies?
You stole my trust. I never quite found it; instead, I second-guess myself and over-think what friends say, wondering—is this going to end the same way your friendship did? With broken promises and revealed untruths? Do any of them really care? Or is this simply all a game, or a matter of not wanting to seem discourteous?
One knows their trust is wavering uncertainly if they begin questioning the motives of those they love most.
You said you would miss me if I left and went Home. You kept me here; kept my gossamer lifeline secured tightly to the ground. You promised—there it is, more promises that came from your mind and onto the screen—that the pain would go away if I could just keep my gaze fixed on the flickering flame of hope.
You said you would miss me if I left, and so I stayed.
I said I would miss you if you left. And so… you left.
You didn’t go Home, and for that, I am so thankful. But you did leave. Oh, my brother, my dear, dear brother… I went left, and you went right, down a path that makes it so I cannot follow you.
I’ll never see you again. I’ve held onto the dream for over a year now, dreaming that I might see you again—that my first big brother might come running back from Russia to give me a hug and tell me he missed me, and that he had come back.
But that will not happen. Not in this lifetime.
I understand. You have your own life to live. I was and would be only a hindrance now. And that was always the last thing I wanted to be to you. I often said I would do anything for you if I could—I said that almost as often as I apologized for hurting you, as I did so many times.
I said I would do anything for you, and I meant it. And now, the most important thing I can do for you is to let go of the gray threads. To let you move on down the path to your future. And it hurts, it hurts so very much. But I made the promise. And I’ll keep it, no matter how violently it makes the dreamworld quake; no matter how many dream-flowers it shatters.
I’m keeping my promises, even though—and perhaps because—you never kept yours.
I know. I know. I’m being that foolish girl again, with her head in the clouds and stars in her eyes, but her feet firmly planted in the dust of the earth. Feet that are stuck there now because of you.
I could uproot myself, brother, and finally be Home. But I won’t.
I constantly make an utter mess of things. You saw that in me more than anyone. But I’m not going to give in this time. Not like this.
Because I made a promise to you. And no matter what happens to me, or to you, or to the rest of the world, I am not going to break my promise.
Some people would. Some people do. Some people will. Some people are, right at this minute.
I know firsthand that the shards from shattered promises hurt, and cut most deeply into the heart. The pieces of promises strewn over the world cause even the staunchest hearts to bleed.
I won’t cause anyone that pain. The reason I kept my promises last year was because I knew it would make your heart bleed.
And even if you’ve left… even if you no longer care whether I uproot myself… I have new brothers, and new sisters, who would be hurt if I break my promises.
So I won’t.
You broke yours.
But I’m not blaming you for it.
I haven’t forgiven you, but that’s because there was never anything to forgive.
I always did tell you, brother, that you could do or say anything you wanted, and I would never mind it; that I always forgave you because you were my brother, and that’s what siblings do. They forgive.
I held true to that. You can still do or say whatever you like. I won’t hold it against you.
Because I still love you, brother. I don’t know if I was ever really your little sister. But you were my first brother, and I’ll always remember.
You can forget.
But I’ll always remember.
And I’ll stand here through the rain and the snow and the sun, with my feet firmly planted on this cold, cold world. I made promises in the then, and I’ve made promises in the now.
I’m going to keep them.
And maybe someday, we’ll see each other again. Though not really again, since I never truly saw anything but your words and your dreams and your hopes.
You’re going to do wonderfully no matter where you go. Get lost in Russia, if that’s what you want to do. But don’t lose yourself, brother. Always know the path back home and keep it seared in your mind.
Keep your compass in hand and your heart in hope, and everything will be fine in the beginning that comes after the end.
You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Lea will be fine.
The fellowship has been broken, but we always knew it would be. And I know that everything sad will come untrue in the beginning; our King made that promise, you see. And He never breaks His word.
Never forget that. I certainly won’t.
So walk on into the light, old friend. Live your dream. I’ll meet you again in the Gray Havens, when the shadow passes and the dawn shines ever brighter.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Reality
A random thing I wrote that's overloaded with way too many adjectives and confusing metaphors, I'm guessing. I don't really want critique on it at all, I just know one or two of my followers would like to see this particular writing, so I'm posting it.
The stars of frost fire gaze down from the sky. I’m lying among a sea of jewel-bright wildflowers, surrounded by the kitten-fluff of soft dandelions and the rosy pink-whites of clover flowers; all with four leaves. Shy, color-gleaming butterflies flutter to and fro, whispering in my ear—velvet wings tickling my face.
I remember…
But I don’t remember. There is nothing to remember. Nothing at all. None of this ever happened, none of it is happening, and perhaps none of it ever will happen.
Reality. The dreamworld. The edges blur together, like dusk, like the twilight hour; like pearl-pale moonlight filtering through the tresses of a waterfall’s rushing. What is reality? What is the dreamworld? Is reality real and is the dreamworld a dream, really and truly?
The song of the winged wolves echoes through the air, and I feel the beat of the distant thunder of unicorn hooves vibrating through my heart. The golden fur of a lion fades in and out of the shadows among the forest trees.
One difference. There is one difference that tells me where I am.
The dreamworld is safe and warm, a place where I can stay with those I love without fear of someone vanishing, where we will never be hurt. The dreamworld, made of hope and love and courage and joy, of laughter and smiles and warm embraces. The dreamworld, made of fairy-dust and flickering fireflies and a blazing light like a beacon.
The reality…
Everything the dreamworld isn’t. Darkness, darkness everywhere and nowhere. A crashing wave of overwhelming… overwhelming realness. Pain and sorrow and fear and loneliness. So much loneliness, always and forever stalking you. The loneliness with the haunting eyes, glowing with ghost-light. Thorn-sharp teeth, dragging you under the wave.
Is it any wonder? Can you blame me for the terror I feel when I think of stepping out of the dreamworld to face the reality of all things that should not be and yet are?
In the once upon a time, I left the dreamworld. I braved the waves, the hurricanes made from pain rushing through my veins. I tried to fight and failed. The waves claimed me, and I became one with them, a child lost to the sea, becoming a mystery. But then something, someone, saved me. And yet, it feels as though they left me, and are gone now.
I retreated again to the dreamworld, the place of magic and safety. Here I am and here I will stay, no matter how many tomorrows turn into yesterdays.
Soft wisps of wishes, caught high in the midnight breeze, drift from the dandelions and soar away. Free… freedom… peace…
I watch the wishes float away, following the spiraling wind-road to wherever it may lead, on and on and on.
Now I hear someone calling me from far away, a familiar voice in my head. I shiver as the fireflies dance above me.
The voice—it is the voice of the one who saved me from reality the first time. It is calling me away. It wants me to come away from this dreamworld, away from my Gray Havens. It’s telling me to be brave and leave, come back to reality.
The teardrops chase one another, trailing down my face. Please, no. Don’t make me leave, not here. How could you do this to me, after saving me from the very place you want me to stumble through again now? Don’t make me go back to reality. I want to stay here, where it’s safe and warm; where the loneliness can’t claw me and the waves can’t claim me. Please don’t make me go. I won’t come, I won’t! Never!
But the voice keeps calling me, saying it won’t let the waves and ghosts hurt me. It says I have a journey to complete, and that the path to take for that journey leads away from the dreamworld, but the end will be the end of endings; there will be a beginning.
Is there a There and Back Again?
If I don’t take a chance, and step out onto the road to tread the dawn, I may never know.
The stars of frost fire gaze down from the sky. I’m lying among a sea of jewel-bright wildflowers, surrounded by the kitten-fluff of soft dandelions and the rosy pink-whites of clover flowers; all with four leaves. Shy, color-gleaming butterflies flutter to and fro, whispering in my ear—velvet wings tickling my face.
I remember…
But I don’t remember. There is nothing to remember. Nothing at all. None of this ever happened, none of it is happening, and perhaps none of it ever will happen.
Reality. The dreamworld. The edges blur together, like dusk, like the twilight hour; like pearl-pale moonlight filtering through the tresses of a waterfall’s rushing. What is reality? What is the dreamworld? Is reality real and is the dreamworld a dream, really and truly?
The song of the winged wolves echoes through the air, and I feel the beat of the distant thunder of unicorn hooves vibrating through my heart. The golden fur of a lion fades in and out of the shadows among the forest trees.
One difference. There is one difference that tells me where I am.
The dreamworld is safe and warm, a place where I can stay with those I love without fear of someone vanishing, where we will never be hurt. The dreamworld, made of hope and love and courage and joy, of laughter and smiles and warm embraces. The dreamworld, made of fairy-dust and flickering fireflies and a blazing light like a beacon.
The reality…
Everything the dreamworld isn’t. Darkness, darkness everywhere and nowhere. A crashing wave of overwhelming… overwhelming realness. Pain and sorrow and fear and loneliness. So much loneliness, always and forever stalking you. The loneliness with the haunting eyes, glowing with ghost-light. Thorn-sharp teeth, dragging you under the wave.
Is it any wonder? Can you blame me for the terror I feel when I think of stepping out of the dreamworld to face the reality of all things that should not be and yet are?
In the once upon a time, I left the dreamworld. I braved the waves, the hurricanes made from pain rushing through my veins. I tried to fight and failed. The waves claimed me, and I became one with them, a child lost to the sea, becoming a mystery. But then something, someone, saved me. And yet, it feels as though they left me, and are gone now.
I retreated again to the dreamworld, the place of magic and safety. Here I am and here I will stay, no matter how many tomorrows turn into yesterdays.
Soft wisps of wishes, caught high in the midnight breeze, drift from the dandelions and soar away. Free… freedom… peace…
I watch the wishes float away, following the spiraling wind-road to wherever it may lead, on and on and on.
Now I hear someone calling me from far away, a familiar voice in my head. I shiver as the fireflies dance above me.
The voice—it is the voice of the one who saved me from reality the first time. It is calling me away. It wants me to come away from this dreamworld, away from my Gray Havens. It’s telling me to be brave and leave, come back to reality.
The teardrops chase one another, trailing down my face. Please, no. Don’t make me leave, not here. How could you do this to me, after saving me from the very place you want me to stumble through again now? Don’t make me go back to reality. I want to stay here, where it’s safe and warm; where the loneliness can’t claw me and the waves can’t claim me. Please don’t make me go. I won’t come, I won’t! Never!
But the voice keeps calling me, saying it won’t let the waves and ghosts hurt me. It says I have a journey to complete, and that the path to take for that journey leads away from the dreamworld, but the end will be the end of endings; there will be a beginning.
Is there a There and Back Again?
If I don’t take a chance, and step out onto the road to tread the dawn, I may never know.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Another Excerpt From "Tomorrow's Bones"
Here is another excerpt from Tomorrow's Bones for ya'll. I hope you enjoy! :) And some of it won't make sense, perhaps, but that's because it's an excerpt from chapter three or so. XD
Roman sat on a sofa, drumming his
fingers on the small table next to it. He knew he shouldn’t be impatient, but
nearly everyone who had responded to tell him they were coming had arrived at
his apartment already.
Sireus
Teono and Jaycin Spinner sat at the table talking in low voices, while Seana
Sunfire stood in the corner of the room. He hadn’t planned on contacting her;
in fact, he didn’t even know her. She was a friend of the navigator fellow who
used to work on board Calderano’s Hope … Anden Ramoor was his name. When
Seana heard about the plans, despite Roman’s hesitant protests, she had
insisted on coming.
Clearly
she had arrived before Mr. Ramoor himself. It was a quarter to 8pm—the man was
already forty-five minutes late. Roman found himself tempted to just start the
meeting; after all, Ramoor was the only one missing.
Just
as he opened his mouth to address the other three, there was a knocking at the
door. Sireus and Jaycin both jerked their heads in the direction the sound had
come from.
Roman
couldn’t keep back a satisfied grin. He started to call that the door was
unlocked and that Ramoor could just come in—then he decided that wasn’t very
professional and stood up to go open the door.
He
swung it open. A tall man stood there, an amiable smile on his face.
“Hello
there,” Roman said. “You’re Anden Ramoor?”
“Yes,
that’s me. I’m sorry I’m late,” Anden replied.
“That’s
okay.” Roman stepped back into his apartment. “Come on in; you can hang your
coat on the coatrack or on one of the hooks over there.”
Roman
turned and went back to the couch to pick up the newspapers and other
information he had acquired on Lenard Calderano’s mysterious disappearance. He
heard Anden murmur something inaudibly, and then footsteps coming further into
the apartment.
Suddenly,
Seana spoke up for the first time since she had arrived, her accented voice
soft but surprised. “Anden! Who—?”
Roman
spun on his heel, wondering just who the navigator had brought in now. First he
had told Seana about the plans, and now she acted as if Anden had brought
someone…
All
of Roman’s thoughts shut down in confusion when he saw that the newcomer with
Anden wasn’t even an adult.
Anden
still stood closer to the door than he did to anyone else in the room. A girl
who looked to be in her middle teens hid partially behind him, peeking around
his side at the other people present.
“Who
is that?” Jaycin asked curiously.
Anden
glanced over his shoulder at the girl, who was holding tightly to his arm and
showed no signs of letting go until she calmed. “This is Skye.”
Roman
blinked several times, struggling to remember where he had heard that name
before. Then it clicked. “Skye Calderano?”
“Yes,”
Anden said, smiling a little. “I was surprised to find her on the way over
here; I’ve not seen her in… oh, ages; probably a good five years by now.”
“And…
you know her?” Roman asked, fighting to keep from asking thousands of questions
all at once.
“That’s
something I didn’t tell you about myself yet. Yes, I worked as navigator on
Lenard’s ship. But the reason for that was because I’ve… I had been friends
with Lenard since we were both teenagers. When he got married, I ended up
living down the street from him and his wife. I watched Skye grow up.” Smiling
again, this time a little sadly, he added, “I helped take care of her after…
after her mother died.”
The
room fell silent for several strained moments. Finally, Roman said, “Well… that
explains a lot. But how is she here and why?”
Anden
took a step to the side, forcing Skye to stand in view of the others. She
jumped a little, clearly surprised at her protection having moved away, and
attempted to edge behind Anden again.
“Ah-ah,
no,” Anden said quietly. “Come on, tell them what you told me.”
The
girl drew in a deep breath and then spoke to Roman in a quiet voice. “I found
out that you were going to try and figured out what happened to my dad. I want
to help.”
Roman
stared in shock for a second, and then protested, “Look, that’s understandable
since he was your dad and all, but you’re just a kid. You can’t—”
“I
want to help,” Skye repeated, her voice a little louder but no stronger. It
shook a little as she added, “Please. I want to know what happened to him. Who…
who killed him.”
Anden
put a reassuring arm around her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, and both
of them looked to Roman, awaiting an answer.
Roman
worked to keep his mouth from falling open in complete shock. He stared at the
two of them for a long minute, his mind racing.
They
were obviously very close, and yet both of them were so different. Skye’s small
build, long, straw-gold hair and wide eyes were a stark contrast to Anden’s
tall form and dark hair.
Roman
knew it was a bad idea to let the girl come. She would no doubt be very
emotional, and most likely unable to handle the journey.
However,
looking into both Anden’s face and Skye’s, Roman could see that neither of them
would take no for an answer. Skye would plead, Anden would reason, and Roman
would end up giving in anyway.
Biting
back a sigh, Roman said reluctantly, “Fine.” He turned what he hoped was a stern
gaze on Anden. “But you’re going to have to look after her. I’m not going to
slow down or stop if she can’t keep up.”
A
spark of what seemed like protectiveness shone in Anden’s eyes, and Roman
almost expected the older man to give him some sort of warning about treating
Skye kindly. Instead, Anden said nothing and simply nodded.
Monday, July 22, 2013
A Random Scene...
This is a random scene from Tomorrow's Bones; a scene from much later in the book. I haven't even gotten to this point yet. I only wrote this because it was what came to mind for a challenge I'm partaking in for the Holy Worlds blog. Included is a link to the picture that I chose to write my scene in for the challenge. Enjoy!
Morning
was beginning to awaken, leaving the jungle awash in dim gold. Even through the
glass windows of the starship, one could hear strange creatures chittering and
roaring somewhere in the thick undergrowth.
Skye
sat in a metal chair in the hallway, her shoulders hunched as she stared
dazedly out the windows. She shivered; despite the fact that she had her blue
jacket on, it felt as though her very bones had been turned to ice.
Footsteps
echoed down the hall to her right, and her eyes flicked in that direction to
see who was coming. It was the tall and sturdily-built man who had locked her
in a cell the night before.
He
stopped in front of her and regarded her with eyes as emotionless as his face. “Good
morning. I see Mr. Sonoda let you out of your cell like I told him to.”
Skye
said nothing. She lowered her gaze, fixing her eyes on the cool metallic floor
beneath her. A silence fell, so cold and stifling it made her head throb.
Finally, unable to stand the noiselessness any longer, she burst out, “Who are
you? Where are we, and why are we here?”
The
man studied her for a moment. After a few moments, he responded, “We are on Azgon
II. No doubt you felt the starship stop here last night. As for why we are here…
well, a colleague of mine has captured someone; a friend of yours, I believe.
He’s bringing them on board right now. I simply thought it would be nice to let
you see a familiar face.”
Before
Skye could completely get her thoughts in order, the man came forward and knelt
down in front of her. She bit back a gasp, and shrank back as far as the metal
wall behind her would allow.
Without
saying a word of either comfort or intimidation, the man unlocked the restraints
secured around her wrists. “There you are. There’s no need for those right now.”
Skye
rubbed at her sore wrists, still trying to keep as far away as possible from
the man who had kidnapped her.
He
straightened up and stepped back. “Come on. Let’s go meet our friends, shall
we?”
A
rebellious side of Skye considered staying right where she was. Her sensible
side, however, told her that she would rather walk on her own than be dragged
down the corridor by this stranger. She stood up with unsteady legs, and slowly
followed the man down the winding hallway.
After
several minutes of walking, Skye’s mind began to wander. Where was she going?
And exactly which ‘friend’ had this man spoken of? Was it a ploy to get her to
follow him somewhere else without fighting, or was someone she knew actually on
board?
The
man stopped abruptly, so sudden that Skye crashed into him. She stumbled
backwards, trembling.
He
glanced back. “Well, there you are.” He stepped sideways so that she could see
down the hallway in front of him.
Skye
froze, and her heart froze along with her for a split second before speeding
up. There, standing at the end of the hallway, being watched by two guards, was
Anden.
“Andy!”
Skye exclaimed. Before her mind could catch up to her body, she was running
down the hall. She threw herself into his arms, and he laughed a little,
spinning her around in a circle before carefully setting her down.
“Hey,
little sunbeam,” he said. His face was drawn and haggard, but a smile lit up
his eyes. “Are you okay? They haven’t hurt you, have they?”
“No,
they haven’t,” Skye replied breathlessly. Tears of relief suddenly stung at her
eyes, and she blinked them back. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was… I’m so
scared.”
“Awww…”
Anden put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I know—” He stopped short,
staring at someone behind Skye.
She
turned around, leaning against Anden and hiding beneath his arm for protection.
The person who had caught his attention was the same man who had brought Skye
there.
“You.”
Anden’s voice was quiet. Quiet but steely.
“Yes,
I suppose it is me, isn’t it?” the man said. “And I remember you as well. You
were the navigator I knocked over the head, weren’t you? My, it’s been a long
time.”
“Andy?”
Skye whispered. “What’s going on?”
Anden
drew in a deep breath, steadying himself. Then he looked down at her, keeping
his arm protectively around her shoulder. “Skye…” He trailed off, seemingly at
a loss for words as he looked into her eyes.
Then
he lifted his head again, fixing his gaze on the man again. “Who did you think
you were, huh? Stowing away on the Fate—”
“It
was a means to an end. I wanted to get to Calderano. In order to do that, I had
to stow away.” The man shrugged. “It’s really quite simple.”
Skye
listened with increasing horror as first her father’s starship and then her
father himself was mentioned.
“Why
did you kill him?” Anden snapped. “You took away the greatest friend I had on
any world, and more than that…” He stuttered for a second, trying to choose the
right words. “More than that, you took this girl’s father away from her! Why?
What was the point of it all?”
The
man shrugged nonchalantly. “I have my reasons. And none of them concern you.”
“Stop
beating around the bush and give me some straight answers!” Anden demanded,
taking a short step forward. “Or I—”
The
man tilted his head back slightly, regarding Anden with a pale gaze. “Stop
right there, sir. If you come any closer, I just might have to have one of my
colleagues do something to that young lady you’re so protective of. And
considering her father asked you to watch over her, I don’t think you’d want that,
would you?”
Skye
swallowed hard, trembling. “Anden?” she whispered. “How does he know what Dad
asked you to do?”
“Shh…”
Anden murmured. Without taking his eyes off of the man, he reached one arm back
and took Skye’s hand in his. “Everything is going to be okay, Skye. I promise.”
Thursday, July 4, 2013
"Tomorrow's Bones"
Here we are, four days into July and Camp NaNoWriMo... and I haven't written a single word towards my word count goal.
That is because I originally planned on writing Ireland: The Banshee's Cry, which some of you may have heard of. However, I changed my mind. Why? I'm not sure. I think I decided I would much rather write something else. I still want to write Banshee's Cry, don't get me wrong, but I have other story ideas too, and I guess I just decided I wanted to write one of them instead.
In the end, though, I ended up deciding to write something that wasn't even a plot. It was a mash-up of various genres and characters that I came up with a long time ago. Let me explain.
Once upon a time, when I was about twelve, I watched Sherlock Holmes. You know, the movie with Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. in it. I've always been a mystery fan - I read Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Encyclopedia Brown, and various other books as a kid. As a young child, I read Nate The Great, if any of you remember those books. Heh, when I was about nine, my mom bought me a detective kit for my birthday. I donned her trench coat, a hat, and the special plastic sunglasses that allowed you to see who was behind you, and went out into my yard to solve nonexistent mysteries with my brother.
(And my mom was none too happy when she realized I was getting my fingerprinting powder and such all over the patio table...)
Anyway, a few days after watching Sherlock Holmes, I was outside thinking about three things - the movie, my writing, and the really odd-looking and (or so I thought) mysterious stain on the pavement.
Somehow, I decided that the stain was poison and someone had been murdered. I also decided this would make an awesome story. Another thing I decided was that, even though I knew a lot (perhaps too much) about various poisons and toxins for my age (writers know these things), I would much rather not do the research.
As a remedy, I decided the story would be sci-fi, so I could just make the poison up. I also decided that it would be a Sherlock Holmes-meets-Star Wars type of thing.
That was all I decided, and I never wrote a single word of the story.
Anyway, literally just two days ago, I decided to return to it. I added a twist on the mash-up of genres. Now, if I can manage to integrate them without making a proper fool of myself, the genres will include steampunk, space opera, mystery, and a dash of fantasy.
It took me a while to come up with a title I actually liked. I came up with several, and then asked others for their opinions. My good friend Lizzy was the one who helped me make my final decision. Her vote was for Tomorrow's Bones, because 'it has good essence and is attention-grabbing'. And so my sci-fi novel that still had no plot now had a title.
I have the two main characters planned out, except for one minor detail - one of them only has a last name, and the other only has a first name. So I'm trying to smooth those problems out as soon as possible so I can start writing.
I do have a vague synopsis though. It is by no means complete, or very good, and who knows whether the plot will change later on. But for now, here you go:
A motley group of men and women embark on a journey to find answers to their questions. Who killed the pilot of the starship, "Rush's Fate"? More importantly, why did they kill him?
In order to discover this, this group of brave souls have to break into a high-security museum in order to commandeer the time machine that once belonged to the Fuhrer, hundreds upon hundreds of years ago on a distant planet called Earth.
Will they find the answers to the questions they seek? Will they survive the past, in order to discover the secrets surrounding tomorrow's bones?
So there you have it. I will hopefully keep plugging away at this for the next few months (since I have a feeling I'll never finish a novel in one month ever again, at least until I get out of college), and have it finished by the end of the year.
That is because I originally planned on writing Ireland: The Banshee's Cry, which some of you may have heard of. However, I changed my mind. Why? I'm not sure. I think I decided I would much rather write something else. I still want to write Banshee's Cry, don't get me wrong, but I have other story ideas too, and I guess I just decided I wanted to write one of them instead.
In the end, though, I ended up deciding to write something that wasn't even a plot. It was a mash-up of various genres and characters that I came up with a long time ago. Let me explain.
Once upon a time, when I was about twelve, I watched Sherlock Holmes. You know, the movie with Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr. in it. I've always been a mystery fan - I read Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Encyclopedia Brown, and various other books as a kid. As a young child, I read Nate The Great, if any of you remember those books. Heh, when I was about nine, my mom bought me a detective kit for my birthday. I donned her trench coat, a hat, and the special plastic sunglasses that allowed you to see who was behind you, and went out into my yard to solve nonexistent mysteries with my brother.
(And my mom was none too happy when she realized I was getting my fingerprinting powder and such all over the patio table...)
Anyway, a few days after watching Sherlock Holmes, I was outside thinking about three things - the movie, my writing, and the really odd-looking and (or so I thought) mysterious stain on the pavement.
Somehow, I decided that the stain was poison and someone had been murdered. I also decided this would make an awesome story. Another thing I decided was that, even though I knew a lot (perhaps too much) about various poisons and toxins for my age (writers know these things), I would much rather not do the research.
As a remedy, I decided the story would be sci-fi, so I could just make the poison up. I also decided that it would be a Sherlock Holmes-meets-Star Wars type of thing.
That was all I decided, and I never wrote a single word of the story.
Anyway, literally just two days ago, I decided to return to it. I added a twist on the mash-up of genres. Now, if I can manage to integrate them without making a proper fool of myself, the genres will include steampunk, space opera, mystery, and a dash of fantasy.
It took me a while to come up with a title I actually liked. I came up with several, and then asked others for their opinions. My good friend Lizzy was the one who helped me make my final decision. Her vote was for Tomorrow's Bones, because 'it has good essence and is attention-grabbing'. And so my sci-fi novel that still had no plot now had a title.
I have the two main characters planned out, except for one minor detail - one of them only has a last name, and the other only has a first name. So I'm trying to smooth those problems out as soon as possible so I can start writing.
I do have a vague synopsis though. It is by no means complete, or very good, and who knows whether the plot will change later on. But for now, here you go:
A motley group of men and women embark on a journey to find answers to their questions. Who killed the pilot of the starship, "Rush's Fate"? More importantly, why did they kill him?
In order to discover this, this group of brave souls have to break into a high-security museum in order to commandeer the time machine that once belonged to the Fuhrer, hundreds upon hundreds of years ago on a distant planet called Earth.
Will they find the answers to the questions they seek? Will they survive the past, in order to discover the secrets surrounding tomorrow's bones?
So there you have it. I will hopefully keep plugging away at this for the next few months (since I have a feeling I'll never finish a novel in one month ever again, at least until I get out of college), and have it finished by the end of the year.
Monday, June 3, 2013
Walk On - A Poem
The thunder rolls
Up in the black ghosts
Of clouds that died.
Silver threads of lightning
Tear the sky.
The angels cry,
Causing the rain to fall.
I'm nothing but
A lonely wanderer
Hopeless and helpless
But free.
I walk along the edge of night,
Chasing dreams around
The rim of the sky.
The wind is cold.
The shadows deep.
It means nothing to me.
Once it struck fear into me...
But now, no longer.
Restlessly pace through the wilds.
Sleep beneath the willows.
I cannot return to
The place from whence I came.
Not at all, for it is impossible.
If I return
Those memories and words
Will shatter my heart
And break my spirit
Once again.
Awake in the gray dawn,
And walk on, walk on.
I find myself on the beach
Moving through the ashen sand.
And I hear the piercing calls
From the distant shore.
I dread those banshee cries
More than anything I have ever known.
Stumble onwards, always wandering.
Trying to escape
That enemy which I cannot name.
Stagger, fall, cut hand on sharp stone.
Crimson stains the pale sand.
I stare blankly.
Stand up.
And walk on, walk on.
No rest.
If I rest, that enemy will catch me.
Walk on.
Walk on.
Of clouds that died.
Silver threads of lightning
Tear the sky.
The angels cry,
Causing the rain to fall.
I'm nothing but
A lonely wanderer
Hopeless and helpless
But free.
I walk along the edge of night,
Chasing dreams around
The rim of the sky.
The wind is cold.
The shadows deep.
It means nothing to me.
Once it struck fear into me...
But now, no longer.
Restlessly pace through the wilds.
Sleep beneath the willows.
I cannot return to
The place from whence I came.
Not at all, for it is impossible.
If I return
Those memories and words
Will shatter my heart
And break my spirit
Once again.
Awake in the gray dawn,
And walk on, walk on.
I find myself on the beach
Moving through the ashen sand.
And I hear the piercing calls
From the distant shore.
I dread those banshee cries
More than anything I have ever known.
Stumble onwards, always wandering.
Trying to escape
That enemy which I cannot name.
Stagger, fall, cut hand on sharp stone.
Crimson stains the pale sand.
I stare blankly.
Stand up.
And walk on, walk on.
No rest.
If I rest, that enemy will catch me.
Walk on.
Walk on.
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