“Deidra’s News”

11 09 2011

I’m in nursing school now. If I manage to update, it’s just gravy. In the meantime, here’s a tidbit from a novella-esque piece I’me working on. It tells about Deidra’s life before becoming a world-saving hero:

                “You’re sure?” Tobiah asked again.

                Instead of replying, Deidra took his hand and placed it on her stomach. Tobiah couldn’t deny the small swelling of her stomach. She looked up at him with a neutral expression, revealing nothing about her true feelings regarding this unexpected news.

                “How long has it been?”

                “Almost three months,” she replied.

                A slow smile spread across his face. A man of few words, he simply rubbed his hand against her stomach. “A rainy season baby,” he murmured. “Good chances of surviving the snowy season.”

              Deidra’s mask faded as she smiled at him. Several moments passed as they basked in the reality of the news. They had been husband and wife for three seasons now, and by some standards, this announcement would be long overdue. Deidra had yet to worry. She was still reveling in the joy of being the bride of the most eligible bachelor in Reju. To be his wife and the mother of his child only brightened her heart. Only one worry threatened to dampen her spirits.

                 “Do you think Ophilia will be pleased?”

                Tobiah’s smile broadened. “Mother will be very pleased.”


“The Captain’s Speech”

10 04 2011

I’ve never written a story involving a military in it, let alone included a scene where a captain must urge his men into a dangerous situation. This was a difficult scene to write, but I think it turned out rather well.

In this scene, the Xenna Corporation has finally captured the elusive Dragon Summoner, Cailie. She is a powerful woman, believed to be something of a voodoo woman in the modern era. Her magical powers are the subject of many horror stories told to children and adults alike. The soldiers are afraid of coming face-to-face with this woman after a lifetime of hearing stories about her. Captain Donavan Wolfe gives his speech to prepare his men for the encounter:

The majority of the men saluted while others had yet to notice the commanding officer through their nervousness. “Gentlemen, these walls are lined with mytheril and reinforced steel,” Donavan continued. “There are eight gateways the truck must pass through in order to reach this room, each of those guarded by a small platoon of men like you. Yet do you fool yourselves into thinking that if all hell breaks loose, you can just shoot her?

“She is worth more than every life in this building. She is worth more than our lives, our laboratories, our research, and anything you can possibly place a monetary value upon. Even if by some prayer of a chance you DID manage to shoot her and bring the situation back under control, it will be every head in this docking bay that will be served to the President on a silver platter if she is harmed.

“It has taken decades to track down the last Summoner’s heir after some fool felt it necessary to put a bullet in her head while she slept. No one knew the whereabouts of her sister, or if she was even still alive. If it took us this long to find a known heir, you can only imagine how difficult it would be for us to find the next in line. We’re outta sisters and intelligence has yet to find any offspring. Kill this Summoner and we’re F.U.B.A.R., and I will personally see that the person who creates more paperwork for me finds him or herself on permanent sewer detail.”

Donavan turned to a very nervous looking lab technician stationed by the door. “I want tranquilizers, and I want them in abundance. Every man here will be armed with tranq-guns and a religious text of their choice. If we can’t sedate her, god is all we’ve got left.”

Sceneshot Sunday: Issue #1

27 03 2011

While many writers are taking place in the Sunday Six Challenge, I am once again going against the grain and blazing my own trail. I tried doing the Sunday Six, but it just wasn’t working out for me. I liked the challenge, but it felt too limiting, especially for someone like me who is just coming out of a *mumble* long writing hiatus.

Instead of the Sunday Six, I present to you a little thing I call “Sceneshot Sunday.” Every Sunday that I’m not distracted by something else, I will present to you a small scene from one of my works, usually no more than a few short paragraphs. I think some people do this for “Teaser Tuesday,” but like I said, I’m a writing rebel! Phooey on the already established norms!

Last week, I had mentioned sharing the full version of Dee and Jimmy’s kiss from my “Untitled Epic Book Series,” alias “The Jade Stories.” However, I haven’t gotten around to polishing that scene just yet. Instead, here’s a scene from a work I have been polishing a little. It’s from a work-in-progress I’ve entitled “All She Has Left.”

In this scene, Grant Banner attends the wake of the husband of his old friend, Julie Wright, with whom he’s lost contact with after grad school. After five years had passed, Grant finally sees Julie for the first time as she is hiding in her bedroom, trying to escape the family and friends who filled her house with good intentions, but little privacy.

“So, um… How are you?”

Well, that was original, Banner, he winced.

Julie sniffled faintly. “I’ve been better. Things have been pretty crazy around here and… and…”

When she hesitated, Grant began to worry he’d said something to trigger even more tears. Instead crying, however, Julie finally lifted her head as she turned to face her old friend. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards in the attempt of a smile. Her eyes were red–no doubt from the last two sleepless nights–while dark circles hung like crescents beneath her eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a single braid that missed her waist by mere centimeters. The black dress she wore made her face pale as milk. Make-up smeared from crying stained her cheeks, but her forest green eyes were strong and she was as beautiful as ever, but why did any of this surprise him?

“Do you want me to fix you something to eat?”

Grant couldn’t help but smile. She really hadn’t changed a bit.

Like what you’re reading? Want to stalk me? Visit me on Twitter and feel free to steal my idea for #sceneshotsunday if you’d like! Stroke my ego and let me know if you’re giving it a try. Until next time, folks!

Another Belated Sunday Six

21 03 2011

Let’s be honest here for a moment, folks… I suck at deadlines. If my life/grade doesn’t depend on it, I will probably be late when it comes to producing something. Whether it’s mailing something out on time or posting six sentences, chances are it will be late.

But enough about me. Let’s talk about this little paragraph from my story. This is a scene I’ve had bouncing around in my head for a long time. Dee and Jimmy are my favorite couple in all of the stories I’ve ever written. The love/hate tension between them builds and festers for a long time before Jimmy finally makes the first move. I know it might come off as Jimmy being a major jerk in this scene, but… well, he kind of is, but for “good” reasons I haven’t told anyone yet.

Also, this segment happens to be seven sentences, not six. No matter how I rephrased everything, the seventh sentence had to stay. I also refused to remove any of the others. I really like this little “sceneshot,” and I hope you do, too. It starts in the middle of a rant Dee is unloading on Jimmy for being “reckless, arrogant, self-absorbed” and the like when he suddenly cuts her off mid-sentence…

(It also helps to listen to “Hanging By a Moment” by Lifehouse when you read this. I wrote this while listening to it, just fyi.)

Without warning, Jimmy grabbed her arms and slammed her against the wall. Dee’s eyes grew wide as Jimmy’s lips crushed into her own, bringing her rage to an equally violent halt. He kissed her angrily, almost viciously, with a passion she had never known as his hands squeezed her until she would surely bruise. And yet somehow, her anger had vanished, and  she didn’t care what he did as long as he didn’t stop. Her breath was taken away while her heart pounded against her chest, engulfed in a firy rampage within her thoughts. She hadn’t felt such a surge of emotion since Tobiah—

Finding what was left of herself, Deidra shoved against his chest, cursing under her breath as she turned and hurried away from him. It was too late to hide her tears.


You like? I like. Well, sorta. I wish I could include more. As I’ve learned the last three Sundays, “the Sunday six” just isn’t really working for me, at least not on a regular basis. I like the challenge of making every word in every sentence count, but I don’t like cutting my scenes short. I cut this scene short and I’m not too happy about how it turned out.

After Tweeting back and forth with Lexcade a bit, I’ve decided that any writing I share here will be along the lines of “Teaser Tuesday,” or maybe make it my own by calling it “Sceneshot Sunday.” I don’t really know yet what I’ll call it or when I’ll post it, but I do know Mondays are better writing/blogging days for me than any other. I think for my first post, I’ll share the full sceneshot from above. This really doesn’t do it justice.

Tune in next time, folks.

Monday Six & Stuff

14 03 2011

I meant to post my Sunday Six yesterday, but alas… I’ve been dabbling in other things this week. I actually have pictures, too.

(Click for larger view!)

These ugly things are called pallets. You can find them at any lumber yard or home improvement store. Our local surplus store has an abundance of pallets from their many, many neat things like hardwood flooring. They pile the pallets up beside the dumpster with a sign that says “free pallets.” Unfortunately, their sign usually vanishes before the pallets do.

So what good are these pallets? Until a couple of weeks ago, I would have said “not much.” I have a few around for my goats to climb on, but that’s as far as my knowledge goes with pallets. My husband, however, is a very handy fellow. He found out that you can actually build things with pallets.


Did you know you can take pallets apart? I sure didn’t. Well, to be honest, I had never really given it much thought before. It takes a hammer, a circular saw, and sometimes a pry bar to break the pallets down into smaller boards. It’s rough lumber, so some leather gloves come in handy, too.

Once you break down the pallets, you can make all kinds of things from them. We’ve seen plans for chicken coops, lawn furniture, dog houses, you name it! Right now, we lack the chickens for a coop, have a healthy disdain for direct sunlight, and our dog stays inside. So what are we building?


Can you tell what it is? Probably not, because at the moment, it’s only half-finished. We’re building a house for my pygmy buck, Frank, who has destroyed nearly every manner of housing we’ve supplied for him in the last almost-three-years we’ve had him. He’s destroyed two dog houses and a “goat lean to.”  He’s a very destructive goat, so we’re hoping that by building him a little house, he will finally have a place to sleep that won’t be destroyed in a few months.


The only problem now (besides doing the math to figure out the pitch of the roof) is that I have concluded this house is much too nice for Frank. I think it would make an excellent little club house, especially if it had a window and some paint. I can sit inside it quite comfortably, and it feels quite cozy inside it, thank you very much. However, the rough lumber makes it quite uncomfortable for lounging, so just this once, Frank may have his own little club house. I’ve already christened it “The He-Buck Doe-Haters Club.” I plan on making it a sign that says as much.


And now, for my meager Sunday Six attempt:


Deidra  rolled her eyes as she turned her back to him. “Then what, Jimmy? Let’s say we do win this war and bring them down. What am I supposed to do then? My son is dead, my husband betrayed me, and there’s no one else who cares whether or not I live or die.”

“You could always come with me.”


Until next time, folks.

Sunday Six

6 03 2011

This winter has been exceptionally harsh. I haven’t felt like updating over here in a long time, though my sporadic hobbies continue. Over the last few weeks, I was trying to rip apart a sweater, but that isn’t going so well. Instead, I’m refocusing on my writing. A few nights ago, I actually *gasp* WROTE STUFF DOWN!!! I’m as shocked as you are, believe me. I wrote 480 words, which is 480 more words than I’ve written in the last *mumble* years combined as far as non-school related writing goes.

Now I’m feeling a bit more confident in my writing. Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t share those 480 words with anyone right now. I started writing at one in the morning while fighting sleep. I haven’t even opened the document since I saved it because I don’t want to know just how rough my rough draft really is.

In hopes of building real writing confidence, I’ve decided to bite into the “Six Sentence Sunday” thing. A friend of mine has been doing this for the last few weeks over on her writing blog, and it’s really helped her out, especially when trying to write her troublesome ending. I figure if it worked for her, maybe it will help me out. If nothing else, it might motivate me to at least write something once a week.

So without further ado, I bring you an oldie-but-revised-y… An except from a prologue to one of my “Jade” stories:


The grieving mother stopped her prayers. Had she been answered so soon? Without the strength to lift her head any longer, Jade was forced to shift only her eyes in the direction of the shack’s only exit. Through her tears, she could see a tall figure in a long black coat. A sandy ponytail rested at the nape of his neck as his bizarre golden eyes darted about suspiciously.

Jade could hardly breathe a sigh of relief as she whispered, “Donavan… of all the angels, Lor has sent you.”


My poor prologue… it’s undergone years of revision, but I’m very proud of how it’s turned out. Sadly, I don’t know if I can still use it. Right now, I’ve abandoned my original trilogy brainchild for a “prequel,” which may or may not ever make it beyond my close circle of friends. I don’t mind, though. My mind needs to be refocused, to think these things through so my original idea will benefit from it. Once I know the origins, hopefully the rest will fall into place.

Everything Has a Beginning

8 11 2010

Sometimes I wonder whether I’m a terrible writer, or maybe just a slow-thinking genius.

Okay, let’s be honest… I’m not a genius. I’m far from it. It just takes me a really, really, REALLY long time to come up with a good idea. Sometimes it takes me twice as long to figure out how to solve a problem with my story that had a solution so simple, I’m embarrassed to admit it was even a problem to begin with.

Recently, I’ve had to sit down and figure out why my story was so terrible. Okay, that’s not exactly true. It’s not terrible, but it had a terrible beginning. Things were jumbled up and made absolutely no sense. The biggest question of all couldn’t be answered: Why? Why was this character here? Why is s/he this way? Why did they cross paths? Why did they continue on from here rather than going their separate ways?

I couldn’t answer these questions, so I couldn’t continue. If the story makes no sense, then you don’t have a story. You just have a bunch of words on paper (or in my case, on a screen) with interesting characters, a semi-interesting environment, but no direction. Who wants to read a story without direction? I sure don’t.

Because of these problems, I had to make some changes. Some are still rough around the edges, of course. When you’ve had an idea in your head for 6+ years or so, it’s hard to change it overnight. I’ve changed living arrangements, backgrounds, present lives… I’ve even totally changed how the characters meet one another. I think changing how they meet has really helped a lot of things. Before, it made no sense as to why two characters would leave everything they know, everything that’s safe and familiar, just to help some girl they just met.

Now, I’ve brought her to them. I’ve moved an entire race of people, an entire culture, to another continent altogether. Everything is starting to fall into place and make sense now. I feel as though I actually have a beginning I can work with, something I can actually begin writing without embarrassing myself. I think this will finally work.

Next comes the hard part: Actually sitting down and writing.

So, does figuring this stuff out before I actually write it make me brilliant? Or does it make me a slow thinker who could have had this story finished 10 years ago? I don’t know. I don’t really want to know, to be honest. Someday, I will finish this story, and I can finally be proud of my life’s work. This story has been my life for so long, I can’t imagine giving it any less than my absolute best, no matter how long that takes.