The Color of Fire

Here's another rambling bit of prose. I called it: The Color of Fire, but I honestly don't much like the title. Sadly I can't think of anything else, so that's what it'll remain for now.

***

She gazed up at the blurry ceiling until her eyes watered and the ceiling began to shift. She blinked and tried hard to focus on the brown-ish star shaped form above her. She knew it was a ceiling fan, but without her glasses it was merely a brown blob. The lights in the fan could have been anything from stars to tiny suns, but they were simply bright glowing circles.

It was so much like what the rest of the world saw. Only her own sense of wonderment could make the blurs more than what they were.

She couldn't stare for long. The need for vision tugged at her and she cleaned her glasses idly before slipping them back on.

People seemed to assume that with clarity brought stark logic and without it was where imagination ruled. But she heartily disagreed. The blurred, washed out colors were what people saw and defined as clarity. True clarity was seeing the defined lines in their colors and designs and recognizing the adventure that the world still held. It wasn't so hard for her to imagine the movement out of the corner of her eye to be a faerie or recall the entirely romantic, but utterly true notion that somewhere, in a world she had yet to see, she was a princess and her very existence mattered more than she could even comprehend.

It was hard, though, in the mundane, dying embers to see that there was still a fire under the logs.

Imagination was distorted, the definitions had changed and something had died without a sound. She mourned it everyday as her peers considered another night of drinking as exciting and books about the everyday mundane dramas and memoirs of painful times seemed to gain popularity. There was no escape and she felt trapped in the gray, bleak place that everyone else only ever saw.

There was still something left in the embers, not that anyone ever cared to shift the logs and she had always dreamed in bright color.

Lullaby

Okay, so this started out as a song, a lullaby per the title, but since I can't write music it is currently just considered poetry. One of these days, however, I will find someone to write music for this.

Please note that blogger refuses to let me keep the spaces between verses. The asterisks are my attempt to keep my spacing.

Lullaby

By: S.J.S. Manacapilli

Be still
Take my hand and hold it tight
Don't fear
I'll be with you through the night
No matter how far you've fallen
Or how loud the thunder roars
I'm here
I'm still here

*

Don't cry
The sun will always rise
Don't fret
I'm still here when you close your eyes
No matter how dark the night gets
Or how loud the monsters roar
I'm here
I'm still here
*

It's never going to last forever

And soon the sun will rise
But I'm here
I'm always here

*

You're not the only who fears
And cries through the night
The monsters only lie to you
I'm here holding you tight
I'm here
I'm still here
I'm always here
I am here.

An Emotional Summoning

I wrote this on a whim. It was one of those moments in which I felt I absolutely had to write something, but I didn't know what to write. This is fiction, not to be confused with how I feel in any way. I wanted to invoke emotions, but I wasn't quite sure which emotions I wanted the reader to feel.

The end result was mostly confusion. Still, here, have a drabble.


She studies her painted toenails with all the aplomb of a statue until her eyes glaze over and she has to blink to refocus.

The quiet isn't what she came for, but she can't help but seek it out. She's been on her own for so long now that hearing the daily noises of other people is both odd and slightly unnerving and she almost wants to go find them and tell them to shut up and get out of her house, but it's not her place to say that. She loves those noises because they remind her that she's no longer alone and that she took the time and the money to see the people she loves. Although not just to alleviate the loneliness, but it was a big part of it.

But she's tired. They're selfish feelings and still it's good to be cared for. She never takes care of herself because it doesn't mean nearly as much when you try to tuck yourself in or make a bowl of soup.

She's weak and sickly and they know it. Keeping her warm and making her eat before she passes out means more. She clings to it because it's her own fault and their actions don't make her feel the slightest bit guilty and she doesn't know how much more guilt she can push away.

Life, however, is about making your own choices and even at nearly twenty-one she considers people she no longer lives with or is accountable to. But it's all selfishness because she can't make decisions for herself any better than she can stay healthy for more than a month.

Shatter Piece

Okay, new NaNo novel that I suddenly decided to start and now have 23k on.

It's called Shatter Piece and it's a mix of Irish and Welsh Mythology with a bit of Norse Mythology sprinkled in for flavor.

It's about a girl named Sirame who, after the mysterious death of her parents, discovers that she's a Banshee and full-blooded Sidhe.

Twelve years later the gates to the Otherworld have opened and the Sidhe royalty is asking for all the young Sidhe who grew up outside of Tir Na Og to return and learn to wish their magick to fight the war against the Demons.

But is the enemy really who they seem to be? And why does it feel as if someone else is pulling the strings?

It's about chess. Specifically a type of chess known as Circe Chess which has some pretty cool rules.

I made my own rule based on one of the Circe Chess rules.

It's called a Shatter Piece (yes, the title).

In Circe Chess the pieces circulate, meaning once they die, they can reappear on the board during the player's next full turn. The pawns must reappear in a pawn space, but the other pieces reappear (or respawn if you play too many video games) on the space they were killed.

A Shatter Piece is when a pawn has been crowned and then dies on a pawn square. Both the pawn and a new queen piece are in a sense "shattered". A Shatter Piece can grant two queens to the player.

A Shatter Piece Check is when one or both of those pieces places the king in check.

Writing this has given me a newfound love for the game of chess, which is played haphazardly when I was younger. I'm based chapter titles off the moves of a game played by a grandmaster.

It's all pretty crazy even if the novel itself doesn't actually seem as if it's so complicated.


It's really, at the heart of it all, just about a girl discovering who she really is and the difference between good, evil, and the gray areas.


It's hard to post an excerpt when it's a bit confusing unless you read it from the beginning, but here's a little something:


“Ame! Grandmother's here!”

The small ten year old with chestnut curls jumped up from where she'd been playing in the dirt. She wiped her muddy hands on the floral spring dress she was wearing and smoothed the curls from her forehead before calling, “Coming mum!”

She tore through the blooming gardens, and flung open the kitchen back door to the three story Victorian style manor with relish as she shrieked, “Grammy!”

Her beloved grandmother's blue eyes sparkled. “Sirame, darling! Have you been digging in the garden again?”

“Of course! Mum planted white coral bells! Like the ones in the song!”

The girl's grandmother smiled as the little girl began to sing:

“White coral bells
Upon a slender stalk
Lilies of the Valley deck my garden walk.

Oh don't you wish
That you could hear them ring
That will happen only when the fairies sing!”

“Very good, Sirame! But you know you won't find fairies by digging in the dirt! Go change and wash up before your mother sees you.”

The very next day, Sirame went to stay with her Aunt and Uncle as her father, mother, and grandmother left for Ireland. “It's only for a week.” Grandmother soothed. “We'll be home before you know it.”

“But who will find the fairies with me?” Sirame begged with big teary eyes.

“Sweetie, you know what the song says.” her grandmother pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with roses that smelled of soft perfume which she used to dab at the girl's tears. “Just watch the flowers. The fairies can't resist white coral bells. When the bell rings that's when you'll find your fairies.”

The girl nodded and her grandmother pressed the sweet smelling handkerchief into her hand. “If you miss me, then just smell this and it will be like I'm there with you.”

Six days later, when Sirame let loose a haunting keening and knew her family was dead, she never noticed that the white coral bells began to ring.

Pearl Shade Cover

So, here's the cover for my NaNo novel. I needed to do something to bring the inspiration. This works perfectly.

Not too much has happened in the novel...Lenora is in Atlantis. I wrote a lot of random stuff at like one in the morning.

In other news that's not about my story...well there really is none.

I rather enjoy being an analyst. I may dislike the desert, but the mountains are quite spectacular!

NaNoWriMo

It's nearly that time again! What time? Why NaNoWriMo time, my friend! http://www.nanowrimo.org/ Go here for more info!

In a nutshell, NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) is a crazy fun, self-paced race to write 50k in just 30 days. The basis is, if you can just get the story down on paper (regardless of quality) then you've already won half the writing battle ("And knowing is half the battle!"). Most writers it seems, myself included, have a problem with just finishing the initial draft of the story. But if you can just get it all out there, then you've jumped the first hurdle. After that, you're free to edit to your heart's content.

I first attempted (and won) NaNo back in 2006. My story was called Measure of a Mortal. It's the second full length story I've ever finished in my life.

Yeah, the story sucked. I mean, it was pretty awful. But it was great fun to challenge myself and keep writing even when I thought I'd wrung my imagination dry.

I didn't get to NaNo it out in 2007 due to military obligations, but this year my calendar is (mostly) free and I'm going to go for the gold!

What do you win? Nothing but satisfaction...well...and your name on a long list of winners, but trust me, the satisfaction is a great prize.

And in 2006 Lulu Self-Publishing was offering one free copy of the winner's completed NaNo novel.

Yeah, even if Measure of a Mortal is a crazy bit of purple prose, it sits proudly upon my shelf with my name emblazoned across the cover.

That, is quite seriously, always the best feeling in the world to see my name on a book.

It really helps on those days that I'm just down in the dumps. That and the fact that the story makes me laugh every time I read it.



Anyway! This year I'm going to writing Pearl Shade. In NaNo you're allowed an outline and some notes ahead of time, but the very first sentence of your novel gets written at midnight on Nov 1st...Oct 31st kinda. 0001 if you're military.

NaNoWriMo = Writing Happiness

Blackthorn

EDIT: GAAAAAH! Screw proper spacing. Blogger hates me. Alright. Sorry, ya'll have to look at an annoying giant block of text. I tried. Sorry.

EDIT AGAIN: I feel it might be important to stress that Ana ISN'T a necrophiliac. Okay? Yeah.


So in effort to understand the Mage Wars and some of my characters I have realized I need to revamp the timeline somewhat. I originally had the Mage Wars lasting for over fifty years or so before Z sealed the wraiths and Keleo disappeared. However, the timeline is going to shrink a bit.

So now, I have Keleo making the stones about 50 (52-ish) odd some years before Ana arrives in Mycp. About. I need to redo the timeline.

Anyway, this is going to be the story of the downfall of the Mages basically. Told most from Gavin's POV. Ana's real parents are in it, as well as her first set of adopted parents.

Yes, Gavin is much MUCH older than Ana. Heck, he's only three years younger than her first adopted father. However, before you tell me how creepy and weird I am, although Gavin is chronologically about 48 when Ana first meets him, due to what Keleo does to him, the poor boy is really only between 25 and 28. It's a little hard to age when you're dead. Opps, I can't give everything away yet!

To further add to the creepiness, Gavin will likely be meeting a baby Ana. Cause I'm a loon like that!

Anyway! I'm doing this to mostly understand what happens before Ana gets there. And I really need to figure out who Gavin was before Keleo brainwashed him. It might make it easier to write him.

For further "in case you were curious and even if you're not" information:

Gavin's father is half Arnog, half mage. Gavin's mother is just a mage. Because of the Arnog blood, Gavin's magick is less diluted than most mages, making him more powerful. Gavin's family is one of three families with this purer blood. And as a hint I'll tell you that Ana's birth parents come from one of the other families.

Okay, so here is the short first chater of Blackthorn

I

Dear Gavin,
It has been far too long. I must insist that you quit your ridiculous studies and come home this instant. In your absence, mother has decided that I shall be married by the end of the year just as soon as I make my official debut in Calgary. The new king shall be there and mother is convinced that once he sees me, the king will fall hopelessly in love with me. I hate to tell her that I have absolutely no aim to become queen, but mother would never listen.

You must come home. I am overcome by scores of giggling servants and an equally absurd mother. Per usual, father rarely comes out of his study and would likely never involve himself in the affairs of mere women. I miss your quick wit and more importantly I long for your rational conversation.

I beg you, if you love me at all, you must abandon your studies and come rescue me from my fate of lace, hairpins, and simpering fools.

All My Love,
Yelane

Eighteen year old Gavin smiled fondly at his younger sister's note. He knew for all her complaints Yelane did not hate her fate overly much. She had been given the choice to attend the practicum with him and had refused. Yelane took too much after their mother and her magickal abilities were limited to mere illusions and—if she concentrated enough—some shield spells.

Besides, Yelane had to represent the family name at the social functions. His father never went out and barely left his study and their mother was simply too weak since her last bout with the fevers.

It was the curse of carrying the Blackthorn name.

Gavin had tasted only a bit of the curse during his studies. His professors expected him to be as gifted as his father. Gavin was indeed gifted and had been hailed by many as a genius in the field of Alchemy. But then, he supposed it came with the blood of being part Arnog and part Mage. His magick was less diluted than most. Unfortunately, alchemy was less flashy than his father's destructive magick.

Gavin sighed. He simply could not please everyone. And today, his own sister had to suffer the consequences of his rigorous study. Gavin just did not have the time to return home for a quick visit.

Fumbling through a pile of ink-stained sheets of parchment, Gavin found a mostly clean piece and began writing.

Yelane Blackthorn scowled at her reflection in the looking glass. The dress was a confection of silk, lace, and pearls in shades of pale blue and gray. She supposed the dress complimented her pale complexion and golden hair, but thoughts of the stuffy ball pushed any pleasure a pretty dress might conjure straight from her mind. “Oh my darling! You look enchanting! The King will not be able to take his eyes from you!”

And that settled the matter in Yelane's mind. The dress was a spawn straight from the Dark Gates and later she would burn it. “Thank you, mother.” Yelane replied dully.

Lady Blackthorn had likely been very beautiful in her youth and she still retained her exotic pale blonde hair and violet eyes, but the look was dulled by a distinct weariness. She had fought against the fevers for nearly ten years now and each episode took a toll on her. She coughed daintily into he lacy handkerchief and smiled at her daughter.

To most, the Lady Blackthorn appeared to be a happy—albeit tired—oblivious sort of woman who was better suited as arm candy than as a conversationalist, but that had not always been. Lady Blackthorn was careful and calculating, even if the fevers had taken the worst of her disposition from her. She was dead set on having her only daughter become the next queen. It was her dying wish one could say. But Yelane was too much like her father and brother, even if she lacked their genius.

“Lord Mayborne will be arriving to pick you up soon.” Lady Blackthorn reminded her daughter.

Yelane's pretty face twisted in disgust, but she did not vocalize her displeasure. “You do not like him, darling?” her mother asked sweetly.

“He is...” Yelane paused to choose her words. “Self-absorbed. I can only take him listing his virtues for so long.”

Lady Blackthorn offered her daughter a practiced vapid smile. “But darling, it is hardly bragging when one is speaking the truth. Were the king not available, I would have you marry Lord Mayborne. He is such a nice boy after all.”

If Yelane noticed her mother's duplicity she did not give anything away. Instead she offered her mother an unladylike shrug of her silken shoulders and settled back to scowling at her reflection.