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Taking the first watch, I focused my eyes on the shadows of the treeline as the final throws of golden light glanced green across the rippled surface of the lake.
Rain spun by like so many wind-stolen tears.
"But why must you live only in the moment?""Because to remember is to regret and to hope is to deceive one's self."
The western sky blushed coyly as the sun swept a gentle dance into the arms of the horizon.
"You live and you learn, but do you really pay attention?"
Stepping out into the morning mist I was immediately blinded by the agressive sunrise. Refusing to appear weak-willed in front of my new subjugates I hardened my brow and glared at the brightness as if it were my worst enemy. This lead to the unwanted result of streaming tears and an unattractive grimace. Would all my efforts lead to the oposite of my intentions?
((thank you :3))The dream clung to the fringes of my mind as frost does to glass - hazily gathering at corners in elaborate twists before melting away.
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What colour is the plain white snow when the evening turns everything blue? I tried so hard to blur my vision and see the colour for the colour by my eyes saw only snow in the evening.
((that's it for what scribblings I could find close at hand.))
Haha I could really use some lessons from you in this style of expressive writing. I'm fine with sarcasm and snarkiness and some angst, but your words paint a picture :)
Mod
Okay opinion time :) I'm working on a high fantasy novel and I need a method of quick communication or my plot somewhat falls apart. I don't want the magic in the story to be powerful enough for that, it's going to be extremely limited and very strict on proximity - so I can't imagine communication working like that. I have an idea of using pixies as a sort of enigmatic race that is drawn to magic. Almost like pilot fish and sharks. They'll be fully sentient and complex characters who mostly show disinterest and lack of sympathy toward the lives of humans. However, they can be tempted to follow one and bask in the magic the emanate and sometimes might become helpful by carrying messages for their human. Most major cities have managed to gain a handful in service to the local magician's guild.
They will be elusive, mercurial and probably named something else.
And that's how I want to explain the sending of messages without magic, a person on foot, or using a damn bird.
Thoughts? If you were reading a novel and it introduced that idea, like "oh no, I'm getting kidnapped, good thing I have my handy-dandy pixie here to let someone important know!" would you probably have to roll your eyes? (that's not an exact quote fom the novel :P)
Samantha....I love the way you express yourself....what a colourful mind ...I am eager to hear more....keep going...having said that....answering your question....I think your idea of "handy-dandy pixie" sending a message would make me smile, not roll my eyes....go ahead would be new and interesting to read! Best of luck!
Thank you very much Roma :) also *highfives* charlie. People make jokes about the voices in their head but we both DO have that, it's just our own lol.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/14... This link is to my latest fun project. I've been playing tabletop games this past year with a group of friends and for our newest campaign I'm playing a somewhat ditsy air elemental. She's traveled a great distance at the point where she happens upon the other group members and I thought perhaps I'd outline her travels leading up to that point in a diary.
It's mostly for fun but also for practice writing in first person since that is my intent with a major project I'm working on seriously.
I'll scribble out her backstory for anyone curious.
Nava Radaya is a Sylph Cleric in a Pathfinder campaign, Sylphs have rather long life spans and at age 60 she's hardly considered an adult. Her mother is the high priestess of the Ocean/Sky/Weather God/Goddess Gozreh and age 20 she was granted the great honor of being visited and impregnated by a Djinn (air elemental in the Pathfinder universe) The expected baby (Nava) was meant to be some sort of messiah of Gozreh and her birth was greatly anticipated by the folk of the city.
So Nava was born right into the life of being groomed to be the next high preistess but throughout her many years of studying she showed little to no potential to be any sort of leader. She was lazy, disinterested, flakey and had a very poor sense of personal space and ownership. After a while the townsfolk realized she could never have the potential to fill her mothers shoes. Her mother married again and bore another child when Nava was 20 and everyone decided to focus on the second daughter as their future high priestess. Nava became a bit of a joke, she suffered no abuses at the hands of the disappointed townsfolk, she just fell out of recognition. Finally, at age 60 and considered an adult at last she decided to just go traveling and get away from the city to see the world. She has no goal at the point when she leaves.
Ultimately I decided to make this character the way she is because I often fall into a leadership role within our group simply because I take notes during session and I have a stretegic mind. So I made a somewhat useless and annoying character with the indispensable skill of healing so the group more or less has to tote her around even though she gives them very little reason to like her. If I want to play her in character, I'm forcing myself to be less bossy with my friends. She was somewhat designed after Tasslehoff Burrfoot, the Kinderfolk character from the Dragonlance series by Weiss and Hickman (the Seasons) but without the hobbit-like innocense.
Just to clarify, she's not malicious in any way, nor is her disinterest at all cruel, she's just a very distractable person with a terrible attention span and little to no charm or charisma.
I've decided, also, to add my eulogy that I put together for my grandmother's funeral just this past September. Most of it is self-explanatory but certain aspects were visual. First I'll say that the eulogy was delivered during the burial and that she was being interred next to her husband who had passed on in 2008 and her youngest child, Glenn who died of an illness long before I was born in his 20s. The eulogy makes mention of me playing a clarinet, the joke is that I do not play the clarinet; I play the flute. My granddad always forgot and asked me how my clarinet was going for as long as I can remember so when nanny made the same mistake for the first time I felt as if she was getting closer to granddad.
The other thing I must explain is that nanny actually passed on while her daughters stood in her bedroom singing her favourite songs to her. Nanny's favourite song had always been a gentle little ditty called Let the Rest of the World Go By, it's quite lovely and my mother, aunt and myself used to sing it for her in three-part harmony.
I wasn't there the day she died but I was told that rather than letting go during that song she held on till the very last note of Somewhere Over the Rainbow before she fell asleep. I'm sure I don't need to tell any writers out there that composing a eulogy with inspiration like that was hardly a challenge.
At the end of the piece I make mention of a "song for the road" and at that point I played Somewhere Over the Rainbow on my flute.
Lastly, it seems a silly thing to critique my work on this eulogy as if it were anything short of an emotional necessity but I do feel the need to point out that even while writing it I felt I was being a little heavy-handed with the sap, but I tried very hard to tailor the entire thing to what I knew my family needed to hear. Mine is a family full of talented people and as the youngest member who could read and write - and especially given that I can hardly claim to have been closest to her - it was a very great honor and pressure to be charged with sending her off properly.
Another little note of humor, this was a very difficult thing to get through with my aunt clutching my shoulder and shuddering with sobs but nanny's burial plot was located at the edge of the cemetery and right next to a very loud highway. Because of this I had to yell quite loud to be heard and incidentally this kept me from being overwhelmed. There is a certain sort of silly humor in pouring one's heart out at the top of their lungs and it kept me level throughout.
So without further ado here is the eulogy for anyone to read should they want to, and if they do I hope they enjoy the image it paints of my grandmother, at least how I knew and will always remember her.
Beautiful Sam! =)
Blue Birds FlyEulogy for Winnifred Jeanne Garagan
By Samantha Young
Crystals in the window, white stone garden paths, plates on the wall, boxes and boxes of fabrics and paints…and Disco balls on the Christmas tree. I’ll remember my grandmother for many things. I’ll remember the hockey games that I had always mistakenly attributed to granddad but were mysteriously still droning away on the TV even after he was gone and I’ll remember the many games of Trivial Pursuit during which Nanny kicked all of our butts. She had a fascinating talent for knowing at least a little something about everything and almost always managed to have an insightful chat even with an expert on the topic. Her other talent was to disguise as a kindly and benign woman while a mind as quick as a whip whirled away within.
My earliest memories of her mostly seem to involve china dolls and that lovely garden in her back yard with all the butterflies and interesting rocks that I loved to examine. As well as the jewelery that sparkled and mesmerized as she nodded her head and offered me anything she thought I would want. I remember going up to the attic with her to pick out little swatches of sparkly and sheer fabric to use with my dolls and I must confess that the only thing that escapes my memory entirely is an instance where nanny said “no.”
Visits with her were punctuated by the clickity clack of knitting needles and rainbows that danced and swayed on the walls. She was so considerate to leave us all with many mementos to cherish. She made us all holiday cards, quilted like nobody’s business and painted with the eye of a master. And let’s just say none of the Garagan family babies ought to be getting chilly any time soon. She hummed and nodded and watched with attentive blue eyes or closed them entirely to absorb and enjoy any music she heard. And she sang in a gentle voice that cooed and warbled like a dove but somehow filled any room right to its corners. With little cajoling or preamble we could always surprise a song from her lips. And in fact the song often happened to be a preamble that no one else in the room knew existed.
She was also a very tolerant and dignified woman – I cannot recall for the life of me a situation to which nanny did not react diplomatically and almost no one would hear a complaint without asking and asking …and asking if anything was wrong. And she never left the house without her hair done. She seemed always to be happiest in a room overstuffed with people chatting and squabbling and breaking into song and whether she participated in the conversation or not she sat companionably to the side and took everything in. And although her speaking voice may have been a tad quiet (Not that certain among us haven’t definitely heard her raise it a time or two – not me though) when she started a story, and we all had the good sense to shut up and listen, she could hold that audience in a captive silence till she was done, all on a whim with no preparation and certainly no nerves.
Something funny happened while we were picking out the flowers for yesterday; I asked what Nanny’s favourite colour was and no one could really answer. Someone finally said she didn’t have a favourite colour; she liked them all too much - and whatever colour a flower was, well that’s the colour she liked most on it. Everyone chuckled and got back down to business but something about that stuck in my head. Nanny liked anything beautiful and as an artist I suspect she saw that beauty in all kinds of things…and all kinds of colours. Next time you look at one of her paintings play the game that I always play and count the colours in the stones or the trees. For nanny nothing was limited by its natural colour and you’re very likely to spot reds in her rocks and blues in her trees.
I think, to Nanny, that all the people she knew and met were flowers and colours because whether you called her Winnie, Mum, Mummy when you wanted something or Nanny she loved you and was sweet to you all the same. Myself, I called her nanny.
To Nanny;
I think about the lyrics of your favourite song and how apt they are; about perfect peace and ceaseless joy and it brings me a smile to know that you surprised us all in your small quiet way by deciding peace and joy just weren’t good enough for you. You weren’t satisfied to let the world go by, you had your eyes set a little higher and held out for a more ambitious song to play you out.
And this more ambitious song happens to end itself with a question, “If blue birds fly beyond the rainbow, why oh why can’t I?” And you had an answer all ready for that question, your answer was “I can” as you proceeded to do just that.
And so it was that you left us on the wings of that last note to follow the bluebirds over the rainbow where you would meet up with your husband, son, and any other loved ones lost.
It was a beautiful outro for a beautiful woman and a beautiful life.
Finally I want to recall quickly one of my more recent visits, Nanny was sleepy so we gave her a kiss and headed out but just as the door fell closed behind me I heard her wake up and tell one of her care workers about how talented I was with the clarinet.
Well. That sounded awfully familiar and it’s a thing I haven’t heard since a certain someone else was around. So Granddad, Glenn if you came along for the ride, and most especially Nanny, here is a Clarinet song for the road.
I just want to read and read and read! =)
hey missy, I'm gonna hop in the channel for a bit before I go to bed, hope to see you there!
Be there in a minute!
Excerpt from my first draft - a very short chapter during a point when perspective is changing frequently between the two sisters:Kenna
I tried sitting still for several minutes - although this spot was meant to be safe it was still unwise to take unnecessary risk by crashing about the bush in a noisy fit of nerves. My patience didn't last long of course so I shot to my feet to pace in tight circles while we waited for our contact to appear over the hill. I noticed no one made a move to stop me and would have been amused by how much I intimidated these men had I not watched my sister being tortured mercilessly only hours ago. My agitation increased until I was wringing my hands as I paced, itching for something solid to strike. Every hour could mark Rinah’s death and I was expected to wait nine of them before I was allowed to rescue her. The thought alone created a bitter taste in my mouth and I spat on the ground before I realized the taste was bile. I pushed down my nausea and took deep breaths - it would do me no good to show weakness here in front of Alaric’s men and especially not when the contact could appear any moment. My space here was earned by my usefulness, not station and I would not allow myself to forget it.
Continuing my manic circuit around the rotted stump and boulder in our hiding place, I kept my eyes fixed on the hill. The midday sun was behind the clouds when he finally struck a dark silhouette at the crest of the hill. There was still some distance between us but I could see that he was tall and muscular with a narrow build. His motion was as tense as I felt and I forced myself to stand still and meet his eye.
After that it gets a little fuzzy I guess. When I saw the yellow eyes and shaggy blue-black hair I must have recognized him pretty fast as the man I watched ripping out my sister’s fingernails because before I knew it I had him pinned under my hips with a hand around his throat and a dagger poised to cut.
Two little blurbs I scribbled yesterday when I went for a walk and visited my favourite tree."The blades of grass bowed sweetly to each other as they craddled the twirling raindrops to the ground below."
"An ornate latticework of desicated bark clung to the swelling trunk of the ancient tree. At just the right angle it skattered sunlit diamonds across the plush, mossy earth."
(Just to explain about the bark; it's amazing and the reason I love this tree so much. A whole layer of bark is falling away with new bark beneath it. The process is almost complete at this point and about halfway up the tree you can see just the remnants and they do look just like lattice, most of it is lifted enough from the trunk for the sun to shine past.)
Here is a complete chapter of my current project, I'm actually quite pleased with the character's voice.Kenna - immediately after a fight with her sister.
My breath came in searing gasps and my vision was blurred by black and red. Not tears. Definitely not tears. I jumped from a branch and grabbed at another, but it was so hard to see that I missed it and landed hard on the ground. Knees, elbows, I somersaulted to lessen the blow and noticed wetness on my face. My gasps, I realized, sounded far too much like sobs.
I slapped myself, hard, and staggered to my feet. I shook my head though it did nothing to dispel the fury that seemed to clog my mind. It coiled in my chest like an animal; a beast. I scrubbed my face dry and began to go through some of my tumbling exercises to loosen the rigidity of my body. It was not enough. I was wracking my brain for something more physical when I heard the footsteps behind me. Heavy, ungraceful steps that I knew could not be her.
Rinah. My pretty, perfect sister walked so lightly and gracefully. She was such a perfect image of femininity. No, this was not her approaching so who?
I whirled around and pinned Alaric in place with a glare. He took in my face and surprise registered fleetingly before he smoothed his features into something resembling...what? Sympathy?
His eyes were deep pools of violet in the moonlight and his mouth turned down at the corners, so serious and lovely. His tousled hair shone platinum as he ran his hand through it nervously, dislodging a twig. This tender concern was new to me, and it was unacceptable. I stalked to the opposite side of my tiny clearing to widen the space between us. The clearing was small, I noticed now, far too small and intimate for a conversation.
He took a step toward me, hand outstretched, his body turned slightly to the side. I realized he was approaching me as he would an agitated horse, liable to lash out. I supposed he wasn’t wrong.
“You left a bit abruptly, I wanted to see if you were alright.” He started slowly, studying my face. Why did he sound so sincere? Why was his voice so horribly soft? How cruel he was being in his kindness, I could more easily have borne his insults.
I met his too-honest eyes and glared at him, silently until he appeared to shrink. Finally he looked away and I felt heartened by the small victory. “Kenna, talk to me, I’m here to help.” His voice cracked with hoarseness while he spoke; he flinched.
“And what would you like to talk about?” I forced my words through gritted teeth.
Some muscles in his jaw twitched at my comment but he put on a smile and said “No need for the brave face, I’ve grown up with a mother and two sisters, I’m accustomed to weepy women.”
It was a joke but I was not inspired to laughter. I stepped toward him and jabbed his chest with my finger as I growled, “Do you see tears in my eyes?”
His own fingers wrapped carefully, so gently around my jabbing one as he pushed my hand from his chest and held it between us. Shocked that I allowed it, I ripped my hand from his, hoping it wrenched. Frustration or hurt flashed in his eyes and his hands closed into fists. “Will you cut me some slack? I’m trying to help. I’m not very good at...”
“Well you’re not helping.” I snapped, cutting him off. I sounded like a child but I didn’t care.
“Fine!” He threw the word at me. “Forget it, I’ll just go. Should we wait for you in the morning or will you return at all?”
“Do whatever you like. The way you travel I could track you if I wanted to anyway.”
As he straightened his back and turned to leave I could almost feel him actively suppressing his temper at having been rejected. He so rarely did anything for other people and in any other state of mind I might even have been flattered.
But his anger was too tempting to resist. The foul, beastly creature in my breast demanded action and I was a slave to its commands.
Alaric was already so angry. So angry. So easy.
“Wait!”
Just a spot where I can post some of my pretty phrases for now.
It feels like an author lives in my subconscious - who whispers lines to me whenever I see something beautiful. I don't actively form this line in my mind, it just floats to the surface fully-formed.
Probably because I'm constantly narrating my life, I just notice it more in the face of beauty.
These aren't going to fit together or anything, they're simply random. There is no context as of yet but I probably will incorperate them into my novel wherever they may fit.
Absolutely feel free to comment, criticize (compliments are always welcome) I'll be using this thread for more specific questions for advice when I get deeper into my writing.
This is a bit of a step for me, I'm usually pretty private about what I write (only because I judge myself very harshly and I'll usually find a reason to scoff or roll my eyes at something I've written even so little as a week later) but if I hope to write a novel I'd better get used to the idea of people reading my stuff so this community on Goodreads seems like the ideal place to start. Thank you all for being supportive :)