Saturday, December 21, 2013

Saturday- Writing Update.

Hello all!

Thanks for all your support, and reading my blog posts, even when they may not be very interesting.... Today, I'm posting the first chapter of my NaNoWriMo novel, Titanium! Please enjoy, and tell me what you think. (REALLY. DO. I Love criticism.) So please- enjoy!


Chapter 1- Tara
The End of Summer and Beginning of Something else
I wave to my friends as I get off the bus. My best friend, and one of my only friends, Martha, waves back and gives me the last smile of hers I will see all of this summer. Then, after one last glance backward, I pull my backpack up onto my shoulders, grunting as the weight of the books comes up onto my shoulders, and walk up to the door. I unlock is and open it to see my father standing there, grinning.
“Hi, Tara.” His smiling, bearded, mouth says. I grin back at him, ecstatic, and drop my backpack on the ground, giving him a hug. He puts his arms around me and lifts me from the ground, grunting a little.
“I made through!” I yell as he spins me around. “I’m done! Summer is here!” Summer had always been my favorite season, and not just for the weather or the fact that there’s no school, but because my father works on summer hours, and we can spend time together more often. The fact that there’s no school is just a bonus. Even though this year, he’s taking a few weeks off to go visit his sister in South Dakota. It’s about a three hour drive, but it’s not the driving I mind. It’s my cousin, James. Ah. James K. Spurling, world’s most annoying cousin.  When I was young, about four, we were the best of friends. The best in the world. We went to the same school, and liked the same classes in school, ate the same lunches on field trips, and everything in common with each other that was possible for some five and three year olds. But when I was almost six, my mother went into a coma. My dad was completely broken. In the midst of all of the pain, planning the funeral, and my dad trying to k my uncle was offered a job in South Dakota. I begged him with everything I could, but two weeks after my mother was lost to this world, my best friend in the world moved away. He now lives in Sherman, SD, where the closest thing to him is a cemetery. I was mad at him for moving away, and the feeling more or less stayed as I got older. I suppose I could try to get along with him now, but I think the damage is done. James hates me; probably will for the rest of both of our lives. The sadness of that hits me hard, and I just stare at nothing and something and nothing.
“Tara?” My dad asks worriedly. I realize I've just been standing in the doorway for the last few minutes, my face ashen and sad. “Are you OK?” I nod, walking inside to our couch.
“Just...” I start. My dad holds up a finger to stop me and sits on the worn out couch next to me.
.“Hey.” He says slowly, quietly. Sadly. Like his voice was when he told me about mom. Tears swell in my eyes and I can barely meet his. When I do, I see they're filled with tears
“Tara, I know you don’t get along well with James. Or with most of your cousins. But I need some time with your Aunt Lillian- with my sister. Just... Please. Try.” I sit there, not sure what to say, if anything. After a very short eternity, an endless silence, I nod.
“I’m sorry Daddy” I say, in a way not unlike a small child would. “I was being selfish.” I whisper, quieter then he should be able to hear me, but I know he does anyway. He is my father, after all. He could hear me if I was in France. I’m not sure what else to say, My father turns away and reaches into his pocket, and I know to not speak. I know he’s clutching my mother’s wedding ring. And he’s gone. Gone off to the world where he’s thinking about mom. I smile, pat his arm, and go to room to finish packing.
The next day, we throw our suitcases in the back seat and jump in the car. Despite the fact that I don't want to go to my cousin’s house, I am excited about spending three hours in the car, filled with one on one time with my dad. We drive along, singing to our favorite songs and laughing over the funny things I did in school this year. My dad tells me about his pay up in the science lab he works at, and I scream with delight. We stop for lunch and my dad decides we should catch a movie. We watch The Wolverine and cheer louder than anyone when it’s over. We grab an ice cream and finish the last half-hour of driving. Dad tells stories of him and Aunt Lillian as a child. And I’m almost looking forward to seeing Aunt Lillian when we pull into the driveway. I look out the window and see 3 year old little Eliza and her 8 year old brothers, Elijah and Joel, playing on the lawn, James exercising his dog in the back, and eight month old Silvia lunging at the green grass. I jump up and run over to hug my aunt. She laughs.
“Oh, Tara. It’s been so long.” She stands up and takes a step back, making a clicking sound with her tongue. “Too long. Let me have a look at you.” I groan and play along, slowly turning around, rolling my eyes.  “Those boys must be a big fan of you.” She says, laughing, She looks over at my dad questioningly. He shrugs, and then gives me a mock glare. I shrug back and go over to say hi to my little cousins. I stay away from James, and he makes no move towards me. I kiss Eliza on the head, shake hands vigorously with the little boys, and go inside to big, blue house they have and up the stairs, down the hall to the room I always stay in. I throw my stuff on the bed and flop down next to it. I close my eyes for a minute and when I open them, James is standing there with his dog.
“Let me get this straight.” He says, pulling back on his dog’s leash. “I don’t like you, and neither does Sabrina.” Sabrina snarled and thrashed forward, but James has a very strong hold the leash. That’s what worried me. He looked like was quite enjoying making me uncomfortable. I realize the reason he doesn't like me is because I wasn't nice to him after he left. It wasn't his fault, but I treated him like a murderer. Not a friend. Just because you missed him, you killed him. Killed the friendship you had. I reach down to my calf and pinch it real hard, as if doing that, punishing myself, will help. Tears come to my eyes. James turns around to leave.
“James.” I say. He hesitates, but turns around. “I’m sorry for all I did to you. I was rude, and pushed you away, because I need you.” I sigh. “That doesn't even make any sense, does it?” He shakes his head.
“I don’t know what that means, but I know you're just trying to get your lackey back. The reason I don’t like you...” He turns around and leaves before he finishes. I hit the pillow and yell. It doesn't help. It bends and moves to easily. I scream into it and throw my suitcase across the room. It hits against the dresser and falls open. I don’t make a move to pick it up, to put my clothes away. I don’t move at all. I feel it’s my best option. Do nothing. Nothing at all.
Eventually Aunt Lillian calls for dinner, and I sit far away from James, next to the grownups. It looks completely innocent to my aunt, seeing as I’m two years older than him. Dinner is delicious, and during dessert my sadness turns sour. I decide to play James’s game with him. I will ignore him. I laugh along with my father and tell stories to the little kids. I help clear the table and wash all the dishes. I play twister with the kids until seven-thirty when they go bed, then I sit in the living room with a mug of tea and listen to my father and his sister laugh together, happy. And I’m truly  joyous to see him this happy, smiling big. So I just listen, trying not to think about James. When it’s ten o'clock, I rinse my mug out in the sink and go to bed.
I wake to birds singing and hum along. I go over to my dresser and pick out my favorite shirt, a creamy white shirt with green and blue painted designs on it. I pull on my denim jacket and faded jeans. Last of all, I pick up a thin gold chain with a single, large, black pearl, so black it’s almost green, hanging on it. It belonged to my my mother, and hers before that. I wear it every day. The birds stop singing and I continue on my own. I sing Titanium by David Guetta, surprised by how well the words work with my life right now.
You shout it loud
But I can’t hear a word you say
I’m talking loud not saying much
I’m criticized but all your bullets ricochet
You shoot me down, but I get up
I’m bulletproof nothing to lose
Fire away, fire away
Ricochet, you take your aim
Fire away, fire away
You shoot me down but I won’t fall
I am titanium
You shoot me down but I won’t fall
I am titanium
Sadly,I’m not able to finish my piece, because the tears come. Lots of them. I say what I always say, a little ditty I made up, whenever I think of my mother. Or my father. Or my cousin.
“I miss you, I love you, you hate me, can’t see me. But someday I’ll tell you this, and I’ll tell you to your face. And then the world will be fine when I do.” I say that, wipe my eyes, and go downstairs.
For breakfast, I am served a heaping serving of waffles with whipped cream on top. And being avoided by James continues. After breakfast, my dad goes out to get some food and things, while I help clean up the house. Aunt Lillian invited their neighbors for dinner. I’m busy all day, and when it’s finally three thirty, I’m really tired and ready to fall asleep on my feet. But I’m too worried.
“Dad’s still not home.” I say to Eliza. “Should I worry?” She smiles, taking her thumb out of her mouth, and scrambles into my lap.
“No.” Eliza says softly. “Don’ worry, Ta-Ta.” I smile at my new nickname and give Eliza a hug.
“But where is he?” I whisper into her ear. Eliza looks at me funny and says;
“Call on phone!” I laugh because it’s so obvious. I run up to my room to my purse. I pull out my phone and type in the 1 and then send. After a few rings, it goes to voice mail. I leave a message.
“Hey Dad. I was wondering when you would be back at the house.The Roberson’s will be here in an hour and a half or so, and Aunt Lillian needs the sour cream and beef. Call me soon. Love you.” As I push the End button, I get a weird feeling in my gut, like, something’s wrong. Then, I feel a void underneath my feet, and then, all I see is black.
Suddenly, I am falling. Falling to nowhere. I can’t explain the feeling of seeing nothing, Hearing nothing. Nothing at all. Then- Impact.
I wake for a single moment and see a blue sky for a single second. Then, the sky turns red, and everything goes black.

Friday, December 20, 2013

Friday- Fictional

Hia! Today, I am posting a song I wrote, titled Fictional. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think! sometime after Christmas, I hope to post a fully recorded song, and maybe even a music video! Enjoy, and have a wonderful day!

Elsie

Spill saltwater tears in my wounds
I didn’t think the end would be so soon
Our time together making a story
I thought you were writing it with me
But now my page is gone and I write on myself
And the words don’t mean anything to anyone else
Our story came to an end
When you told me it was all pretend
You were fictional
You weren’t real
I wasn't intentional
You didn’t feel
Anything for me
Our love was fictional
Spill impure water in my mouth
Poison me it doesn’t matter anymore
Our time together making memories
I thought you were remembering with me
But now you are gone and the pictures have just one
Person -not smiling all alone
Our story came to an end
When you told me it was all pretend
You were fictional
You weren’t real
I wasn’t intentional
You didn’t feel
Anything for me
Our love was fictional



You gave nothing back when I gave to you
Half of the time the things you said weren’t true
Our time together making paper hearts
To have you just go and tear them apart
Now that you’re gone and I threw them away
I found I didn’t even want them to stay
Our story came to an end
When you told me it was all pretend
You were fictional
You weren’t real
It wasn’t intentional
You didn’t feel
Anything for me
Our love was fictional
Verse one-
Spill saltwater tears in my wounds
I didn’t think the end would be so soon
Our time together making a story
I thought you were writing it with me
But now my page is gone and I write on myself
And the words don’t mean anything to anyone else


Our story came to an end
When you told me it was all pretend
You were fictional
You weren’t real
I wasn’t intentional
You didn’t feel
Anything for me
Our love was fictional


Verse three-
You gave nothing back when I gave to you
Half of the time the things you said weren’t true
Our time together making paper hearts
To have you just go and tear them apart
Now that you’re gone and I threw them away
I found I didn’t even want them to stay
Refrain-
Our story came to an end
When you told me it was all pretend
You were fictional
You weren’t real
It wasn’t intentional
You didn’t feel
Anything for me
Our love was fictional

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Wednesday- Curse

This week I'm posting a short story from a writing friend of mine, Maddie. I really love this piece by her, and I hope you do to. Please sit back and enjoy this captivating, amazing story, called- 

Curse.


She sat at the window, nose pressed against the glass until it was numb with cold. She imagined her breath brought frost and her blinks brought rain. From inside her tiny room, she controlled every element of the world outside.
The rain slapped harder against the wet asphalt with each teardrop that fell, sliding down her pale cheek.
Frosty green eyes stared longingly out the glass panels, as the girl moved forward to place her hand on the cool window. Skeletal fingers traced strange spirals and abstract shapes on the dew already beginning to form on the glass.
A lone red hair, straying out of her braid, drifted down, right in front of the girl's eyes. Gingerly, she scraped the hair back behind her ear, not noticing as it fell to the wooden floor. The hair floated lightly on air for a second, before gently hitting the ground.
It was instantaneous. Fluffy white flakes headed for the ground in a downward spiral, coating everything in sight. In minutes, everything was gone. All that remained was white. The townspeople locked themselves indoors, cold, and mourning for those who had been unlucky enough to get trapped in the freezing snow.
The girl's tears still fell steadily, and as it rained and snowed and stormed outside of her tiny prison, the girl closed her eyelids and let a fat teardrop slip out of the corner of her eye. The glistening teardrop was the biggest one yet, as it hit the floorboards.
Outside, lightning flashed, illuminating the night as she bent over and wept.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. Birthrights were supposed to be gifts, and they were; all except for hers. Her birthright wasn't a gift, but a curse. Her birth was a curse.

She was a curse.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Stories....

Hi!
Sorry I haven't posted in so long... I've been having trouble getting back into the groove since NaNoWriMo. I'm going to put up a new schedule soon. Thanks for bearing with me on all this, everyone.

Anyway!...

Recently, I wrote a couple short stories with some writing friends of mine. It was actually really interesting, because I would write for a while, then send it off to one of them. Then, one of them would write for a bit, then send it off to the next person. And when I got it back again to read, it would have grown into something totally different then I imagined it could be. My meaningless "Doodling" got turned into a story. So here they are, the three stories we wrote-



The jungle foliage snaps across my face, slicing gashes on my cheeks. Thin lines of blood begin to form, dripping onto my torn white shirt and causing stains that would probably never come out. The air is humid and dank, and beads of moisture and perspiration begin to form on my forehead. I hear the thunderous heartbeat of heavy feet charging after me, getting closer and closer while their owner thirsts for my blood.

Despite the commotion, the golden timepiece on my wrist stays intact and connected to me, my last keepsake from home. I remember my grandmother wrapping my hands around its metallic finish, smiling into my eyes on the day that I left. But then, with my grandfather dead and the original mission for exploration completely lost, I regret ever leaving London.

The wild whoops of spider monkeys and the booming stomps of the rhinos echo in the forest, only feeding my fear and remorse. They speak in unison with my mind, the nerve-racking feeling of imminent death peeling away at my consciousness as I duck behind a large fern, hoping that the rabid animals won’t find me. But just as I think that I am safe I hear a rustling just to my left. I gasp and turn around, my eyes trying to jump out of my head and find a safe place to hide. I wipe the sweat and tears from my face and see a little girl sitting there, looking scared.
“Hello,” I whisper, my voice raspy and tired. “Are you okay?” She shakes her head.
“They are trying to get me.” I shiver and try to keep calm. My heart starts beating at the speed of a cheetah racing for his prey.
“Who? Who is trying to get you?” My voice has a squeak in it, and I resist the urge to clear my throat. The girl’s eyes widen with fear, and I feel a sudden presence behind me. I say a last prayer, turn around, and scream. In front of me is a huge, terrifying, spider lion. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a spider monkey, this is ten times worse. I scream and close my eyes as I wait for inevitable death. My heart, if it’ s possible, starts beating even faster, and the cuts on my cheek start to sting even more. I clutch my watch, holding on to the last bit of home I will ever see again. But the blow of pain and endings never comes. Finally, I open my eyes and see the monster that had been in front of me, running off with the girl, who is frozen with fear.
I must get up, must go save that girl. She looked no older than ten, almost the same age as Ema when she went. The thought only makes me feel even more lightheaded and I’m feeling woozy. But I can’t seem to snap out of it, the fatigue and fright has caught up to me at last. I slump and lean against the plant, which creaks and shudders under my weight. Shutting my eyes, I try to regain my spent breath as my mind is a whirlwind, thinking about everything, all the time, all at once.
That girl looked like Ema, too, I think. She was the same height, had the same hair, the same vibrant eyes, filled with fear, just like hers that day I let her die. A strangled sob escapes my lips, and I fight to keep quiet, or I know the spider monkeys will surely find me. It’s getting harder now, though, as I close my eyes and the only thing I can see is her last expression, petrified. She probably has a family to get back to, the all knowing voice in my head says. I tell it to shut up, but it doesn’t. She’s probably going to die with that spider lion, and she isn’t even eleven years old yet.
Against my better judgement, I stand up unsteadily, the world spinning so that I can’t tell up from down. Then I brush the dirt off myself, however useless I know it will be, and start running in the direction she was taken. I’m going to save the girl that looked like my sister, because maybe if I do, just maybe, I can forgive myself from failing to save her.
Ema.


Alright. That is the first one, which, if you care, I wrote the middle part of. The next one, if you'll bear with me, is a bit odd, but was lots of fun to write.


I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The smell of the saltwater sea caresses my heart as I try not to think about last time I was here. I almost died, I’m sure of it. As hard as I try not to think about it, the memories float back in to my mind, pushing me likes the waves I stand so close to. After fighting with the painful part of my life, I open my eyes, face the sea, and let the flashback overtake me.
I jump out of the car, grinning to myself. I spin in a circle and sing the song that’s been running through my head for so long I can’t contain it anymore. Besides, I think to myself, No one is here yet anyway. I listen to the sound of my hair blowing in the wind for a moment, then begin to sing.
“You think you're so small
Like you're itty bitty.
Just one match in the lights of the city
Walking by strangers on the side of the street
Like a quarter in a cup'll get 'em up on their feet, like
You think you're never gonna make your mark
Sit back and watch the world while it falls apart, like
Out of sight, out of mind, like, like
It's just a waste of time,
Like, like, like”
I hear a sound behind me and stop singing. "Oh, hello," I say, smiling into the face of the stranger. "Who are you? And what are you doing here?"
His face is impassive, hard. He's got a hat on, plus a scarf that's wrapped around his neck and his hands are safely stowed away in his pockets, like he doesn't want to show more skin than necessary. He says nothing and stares at me. I can feel the intensity of his gaze.
"What do you want?" I say, my smile slipping. His demeanor is unnervingly stoic and it's starting to scare me. Only a little bit, though, because I have learned to contain my feelings since the incident. A brief thought crosses my mind, but now is not the time to think of such things. "Who are you?"
For the first time, the man breaks eye contact. He dips his head and the brim of his cap shades half of his face. Then he looks up at me again and his expression looks almost human now. "I'm Vince Larson," he says. "I'm a police detective for the state department, and I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me." He pulls a hand out of his coat pocket, extending it to me and I step away instinctively. "What do you want?" My voice sounds shrill.
“Whatever you have in your pocket,” he says. “A timepiece, I believe, passed down from generation to generation to you. It’s an… important artifact.” His voice was calm and threatening, kind of like identity.
“It’s mine. What gives you the right to take it from me?” The timepiece had been in my family for generations, I wasn’t going to give it up this easily. I reached my hand into my pocket, opening and closing the faded gold pocket watch with my thumb.
All of the sudden the wind begins to whip, sending the sharp scent of wafting seawater through the air. The clouds grew dark and ominous, and hooded figures began to appear around me. I did die here. This is the memory. This is where my moment will end. But how can I remember where I am? I’m certainly not here. I’m in a jungle, nowhere near this place. The hooded figures enclose around me until my vision goes black…


There is a faint voice. If you could, would you choose to know when, and how, you would die?

Yes, yes, that one was a bit out there, but still fun, right? Again, if you care, I wrote the beginning of it.
Alright now, this is my favorite one that we did. IT IS AMAAAZING. Really good. Please sit back and enjoy it, take your time to read it.
If you could, would you choose to know when, and how, you would die?
Bear with me here; I know it's a strange question.
But really think about this for a minute. If you said yes, you would know when you would die, maybe have a chance to prepare. You could say goodbye on your own terms, live out your last wishes. If you said yes, you would know the exact situation in which you would be delivered into Death's hands. Maybe you would meet your end in a car crash that resulted in a fatal blow to the skull. Maybe it would be in an explosion, maybe in the sea, or possibly you would trip and fall and tumble off a cliff. Maybe you would die peacefully in your sleep like you, and everyone else, had always assumed. Say that, for this instance, this is a real offer. Some take it, some don't.
Whatever the case, there's always those few people who decide they don't like the way they go. They feel cheated of a full life, of everything they had dreamt of for the future. You're one of them. That's why you're here now, talking with me, isn't it?
But possibly, what if I could tell you right now, all in speculation, what the cause of your death will be? And what if I told you that I could sense it? What if you were to die tonight? Remember, this is all in theory, but would you want to know? You’re all the way out here, and your family is far away and you wouldn’t get to say hello to them and tell them your last dying wishes and say your goodbyes. You’d be here with me instead, and that would be all right, I suppose, but you probably wouldn't like that.
But if I were to do that, then I would have just eliminated the entire idea of choice, creating it nearly impossible for you to choose, because I already would have told you. So what is your choice? Well, the problem is that none of this is speculation. I have told you the truth. You are to die tonight, in this very room, and by a very peculiar cause. Your death will not be because of a car crash or a deadly fall off of a cliff. You see, you have something that I want, and your death will be on my account. Because of what I have done, you will fall. Maybe I’ll be able to change it, but the chances are so unlikely it hurts me. Because when you knock on that door, everything will end. And I’m sorry. I’m so very, very, sorry. I wish I could have known who you were, or what you looked like when you smiled. But I can’t even think about that, because I know that when you die, I will rush forward, not to say goodbye, but to take the small item in your pocket. “But why?” You will ask. I will shake my head and walk away, clutching the stolen item in my hand. But now, moments before you walk through the door, I ask myself, why? Why would I kill you? someone I don’t even know, someone who has a family, who has a life, that I know nothing about. I would kill for something I think I need? But I do need it…. I need this; I need to be able to see my mother again. But I never will. Even if I get this, I won’t make it in time. But why not try? Why not try? What’s the point in doing this, anyway? Running around in circles, trying to find something to live for, trying to figure out the right the right thing to do. I close my eyes, trying to comprehend this. I hear a noise, and my eyes flash open. And you’re walking through the door.

So those are the stories we wrote, a little raw, I know. But It makes me really happy. Thanks for reading, and have a great Christmas!

Still Writing,

Elsie

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Without you- An ode to my NaNoWriMo friends

This is a song I wrote for my friends in the NaNoWriMo group. Whenever I needed something, whether it be just a more poetic way to say puke, or I'm feeling down about something my characters did that was really dumb, they were there for me. They would make me laugh, they would help me cry. They're more wonderful and helpful then I can say.

I made a choice
And with my voice
I have a story to tell
I know it turns out well

And when I cried
You always tried
To lift me out of my funk
When my heart it was shrunk

But now?
But how?
Did I do this?
but now?
But how?
Is there such bliss?
Because, my friends
They never end
They're answer to my cry
I'll always know why
I never could have made it
Without you.

The words fell out
With my shout
I told you who she was
And how she broke the laws

And when she said
It was pretend
You told me it was real
You were made of steel

But now?
But how?
Did I do this?
but now?
But how?
Is there such bliss?
Because, my friends
They never end
They're answer to my cry
I'll always know why
I never could have made it
Without you

Whenever you
Need it too
Just give a cry
And we'll know why

Whenever they
Show the way
It's something more
Then it was before

But now?
But how?
Did I do this?
but now?
But how?
Is there such bliss?
Because, my friends
They never end
They're answer to my cry
I'll always know why
I never could have made it
With out you

And I
I know
When you
You show
How much a story means
How it's more then it seems
And how you understand
Together in one band
Of Creativity
Of beautiful stories...

They're answer to my cry
I'll always know why
I never could have made it
Without you

Without You