Sunday, April 9, 2017

Rise From the Grave

Okay, so I wasn't technically dead, but...well, maybe I was. You can't prove anything.

Hoo, it's been a while. I suck at this blog-y thing. My default state is 'don't look at me'. I'd be a great assassin. I really would-the amount of times people have walked into me and gone, 'shit, I didn't see you!' is weirdly high. I mean, I get that I'm little, but c'mon.

Oh, well. That's my superpower, being unnoticed.

I have been writing, though, even though I'm not media-ing. Between you, me, and the internet, I sorta hate social media-ing. What d'you put? How d'you not sound annoying and fake? I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M DOING.

Oh, well. I've been working my wrists into their braces getting my fantasy novel off the ground. Y'know, I didn't intend for it to become this hugely epic thing. It was a little writing exercise, and then Loki was like, 'Novel. Get on that.'

I'm telling y'all now, if you're gonna do a writing exercise, don't pick a god. Any control you had will fly away.

Gotta be honest, I'm not even mad. I haven't had this much fun in ages. It's not like I don't love my other stuff, because they're all my babies and of course I love them, but this...DRAGONS, guys. DRAGONS. And giants and magic and epic friendships!

It's so beautiful...I wish I could draw, this wants art. But alas, I cannot draw. Seriously, I can't draw a straight line with a ruler. Every art teacher I've had starts out with, 'everybody can do art!' and ends with 'well...that's nice.' Sorry, art teachers of mine. I tried to tell you.

But yeah, fantasy novel. It'll be a bit before you get to look at it, because I actually had to plan this out. I don't plan. I hate outlines. I'm always, 'your outline stifles my creative spirit!' but this time I really did have to kinda plan, because we kept going off-road and I couldn't keep up with the end goal without a map.


Wednesday, January 4, 2017

To Bait a Mouse

Happy New Year's! For my fellow Sherlockians, anyone else's reaction to the new series best summed up as 'fucking hell'? Anyone else freakishly excited for the next episode? Oh, brief, yet so bright, a comet of television...right up to the cliffhangers. Ouch.
As promised, a teaser. This is what started the whole book-I don't remember where the hell it came from (and it used to be in first person), but no matter. Here you go.
It’s threatening rain. The air is sticky, the clouds low. In the distance, she can see dull flashes.

The storm will be bad.

She is sitting outside the church. Her parents made her stay here-they were acting odd. She doesn’t know why. They promised they wouldn’t be long, but…


Six-year-old Cristyn Darke flinches and draws back against the building, eyes fixed on the horizon. Why won’t they hurry?

There’s another flash and a bone-shaking BOOM. No. She can’t stay out here. She’ll just slip inside and wait by the door.

The church door creaks but nobody looks at her. They’re too busy murmuring amongst themselves, their voices a low drone in the echoing building. Normally the cool air is comforting after the humidity, but today it feels different. Like the chills she gets when Mama tells her a ghost story.


The inside is different, too. At the front, where the minister usually stands, is a rope. It’s been thrown over one of the rafters and one end is knotted into a loop that swings lazily from side to side.

Next to the rope are three people. The butcher, the baker, and Christopher-everyone calls him Kit-Bishop. The butcher and the baker are standing on either side of Kit, whose hands are bound behind his back. He looks sick, scared.

What are they doing?

The minister nods and Kit suddenly speaks, his voice high and panicked.

“No, please, I’m innocent! Please!”

Innocent of what?

The rope is placed around his neck and the butcher takes the other end. With one quick jerk, Kit is pulled off his feet, choking and coughing.

He gets his hands free and clutches at the rope above his head, struggling to pull himself up. Somebody-Cristyn can’t see who-picks up a gun and levels it. Kit has time to shout, “Please!”

There is a gunshot and he silences. For a minute there’s coughing, choking, but she can’t see anything because of the smoke.

When the smoke clears, Kit’s body is swinging limply at the end of the rope.