May Highlights: Blogs, Editing, and A Vlog

My Life

I know, I know… It’s June. But I’m only two days late, and I have a valid excuse. It’s this blog, mainly. Notice anything looking different? *grins* I’ve switched to paid hosting and have everything on one website now, instead of two. It took about a week of working and waiting and more working and more waiting… I didn’t realize it took a week for domain names to transfer. But it’s set up now, and I’m very happy.

Only two minor details. The first is that I figured out how to transfer my followers from my wordpress.com site to wordpress.org! The only note is that, if you were following me through WordPress instead of by email, you’ll get notifications in your WordPress reader about a new post but you won’t get an email when I create a post like you might have before. Second, commenting is slightly more a pain in this template. One actually has to click on a post to comment. I don’t think that will be too big of a deal, though.

Life is good. Life is also crazy. I went to a Memorial Day outreach Monday. Saturday is a wedding, Sunday I have my first ever official sleep-over (yes, I’m 22 and this is the first ‘real’ sleep-over I’ve had). Then, next Wednesday night, I’ll be taking a train to Pittsburgh for a Kingdom Pen retreat and won’t return until Sunday night. I’m looking forward to that, but the train trip is overnight both ways and I sometimes get migraines when I’m really tired. I don’t want to get one while on the train or at the retreat, so prayers would be appreciated.

My Writing

WIPs:

  • Scarlet Rose: Not telling. It’s way less than I should have done…somewhere in the vicinity of five chapters. I’ll get moving on it more this month. Or next month…
  • Fidelyon: 14,447 words/6 chapters rewritten – again, not as much as I’d like. But blog and Rose of the Oath took up extra time this month.
  • Rose of the Night: PUBLISHED! Check out more here
  • Rose of the Oath: SET FOR PREORDER!

Goals:

  • Pricematch Rose of the Oath down to free and publish
  • Finish part 3 of Scarlet Rose
  • Fidelyon… as much as I can get done; another 10-15 chapters

Google Searches:

  • How long does a stab wound to the lung take to heal why can’t you just give me one single answer, Google? On another note, it is fascinating to see how many other writers have already asked this question
  • Recovery time for a stab wound to the chest at which point I remembered I had an Aunt who was a respiratory therapist. Twenty minutes of texting and details such as age and health and I got solid answers – collapsed lung: 2-3 weeks healing, 4-5 weeks before in fighting condition, barring infection and complications. Every writer needs an Aunt who knows medical stuff 
  • What is the front of a ship called? yes… I did just ask that
  • Flowers that mean sorrow Did the author of Hunger Games have any idea that Primrose means something along the lines of ‘can’t live without’? I did not need that…
  • Pictures of hazel eyes cause you need pictures if you’re to describe something properly
  • How long to apply a brand to the skin 30 to 60 seconds for a good brand. Ouch. I’m… I’m so sorry. Also, people apparently brand themselves for fun, like tattoos, only much more painful. *shudders*

Other Writing:

Me

A vlog! You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? Actually, you probably forgot about it… Nevermind. Here is May’s Vlog.

Let’s chat! What have you been up to? How are your writing projects going? Have you ever traveled in a train before?

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January Highlights: Writing, Reading, and Outlining

I give up. I don’t know what normal weather here in the midwest is anymore. We had a few good snow falls earlier in the winter, but part way through this month all the snow melted. Which generally happens sometime each winter, except this year it kept getting warmer. We had a few days was it was in the 50s and 60s! I went out shopping with no coat! And we saw the sun. That was a nice treat.

A few days before the day it was sunny, my brother mentioned how the weather was supposed to be cloudy for the next week and a half. Mom made a comment about ‘no sun’ and I blinked. The sun? Right. I forgot about the sun… And then I wished they’d not mentioned it because I started missing it, despite the drama of mist and gray weather.

My Life

Home life is busy. My sister and I used to split a number of tasks, but now she is either at college or work six days out of seven so I have a little more to do. Though with a brother who helps make bread now, and Mom and I splitting laundry days, it isn’t too bad.

My own job of knitting hats is easing up. I’m only making ten a week now and generally go to the shop three days a week for an hour or hour and a half.

I’ve also started trying my hand at calligraphy (read: I got the markers out and doodled with them one night when I couldn’t think about writing anymore.) And I’m trying to find time for painting. Kind of. Watercolor is very fun, but it’s not high on my list of things to do; not with all the writing I’ve been doing.

Writing

Every month I seem to try and do more…

WIPs

 

  • Shadows of the Hersweald is going well. After working through beta reader corrections and some polishing of my own, it is now in the hands of an editor.
  • I outlined Scarlet Rose this month. First the book, then the trilogy and overall character arcs. When I decided to write a trilogy, I didn’t realize how more than one book complicated a story arc. But I am pleased with the results of my brainstorming. I’ve the main plot points of each book worked out and am working an hour a day on Scarlet Rose itself.
  • Fidelyon… *insane laugh* I have, umm, reoutlined this novel. I knew something was missing and finally realized the first half of the main character’s arc was missing and there was no definite midpoint to the story. So I’m plunging into another rewrite. Well, I say rewrite… some parts will stay the same, with just minor changes. Other parts, especially in the first few chapters and pretty much the whole last quarter, are up for a major overhaul. I’m excited about it, even if I do wish I could just GET THIS NOVEL DONE!

Other Writing

Writer’s Confessions

  • Sometimes I run a search on my own blog to find past articles
  • I schedule posts a month in advance but don’t add content until about a week before they are due to be posted. So if I ever die vanish into another world, you guys are going to get a bunch of blank posts… *smirks*
  • I can’t brainstorm on lined paper. I can outline with lines, but I need blank paper to let my ideas flow right
  • When I do use lined paper for notes, I write super small, fitting two lines in the space of one line. Still not sure why I do that…
  • I have been writing for years, but grammar remains a mystery and sometimes even spellcheck doesn’t recognize my words
  • I use the effort of brainstorming a project or the triumph of finishing an outline or manuscript as an excuse to go get onion rings at Culvers

Me

Yep, you never really know. Same if I am humming under my breath. I might be happy, or I might be trying to keep frustration or stress contained…

Oh, one final bit of news. I was on Kingdom Pen‘s first Live Panel Writers Discussion last week, talking about writing for a full hour! I was supposed to be one of three writers, but due to technical difficulties, I was the only one who ended up getting on. So it was just the moderator and I. But it still went well and I think all involved had fun.

So, what about you? Have you seen the sun much this winter? Have you ever outlined a book series before? What is your favorite treat to reward yourself with during or after your writing?

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Christian Convictions: Writing on Sundays

I don’t write on Sundays. I’m not saying no one should write on Sundays, but for me – I can’t do it. Well, I could very easily, and that is why I don’t. I get so obsessed with getting this done and getting that done. I mean, seriously, a dozen novels in my mind… where is one to get the time?

And that’s the thing. For me, writing will take up any time I allow it. It is my job. And Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath (and yes, I realize the Sabbath and Sunday aren’t the same. The point is, we take one day a week from our normal schedule and business of work to rest, renew our minds, and worship God.)

I, early on in my writing, and with my dad’s leading, made up my mind that I’d not write on Sundays. I’d rest. I’d relax. And I’d pick up my work the next day.

We need to have time to rest. To recuperate. We can’t be working nonstop all the time or we wear ourselves out. God doesn’t do things for no reason, and resting one day in every seven is no exception.

Though I do ‘lose’ a day of writing each week, I have found resting on Sunday has benefited me and my life.

For starters, I have a solid cutoff. I aim to get everything for the week done by Saturday night because I won’t be working the next day.

Monday is a new week, which I enter fresh from a day of being able to ignore my plot holes or staring blankly at the screen. The day of clearing my mind lets me start the week with fresh energy, not to mention I get some extra sleep and file away more reading than normal.

Now, I’m not perfect. There has been a day or two I finished a scene really quick. Or a piece sprang into my head that I needed to write down. If I am stuck on a plot hole, the story runs through my head as I try to find some solution before I have to sit back down and write again the next day. But, as a general rule, I lay my writing to the side one day a week.

Choosing not to write on Sundays is a personal conviction for me. I don’t think it is a sin to write on Sunday, and I think there are those who can handle it without letting writing take over their life. But, as for me, I believe it is a Biblically promoted idea to rest one day a week. Not only does it open up time for us to worship God and reflect on matters we ignore in the hurry of life, but it gives us new strength and refreshes our mind to plunge back into the work of our story the next day.

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December Vlog

Hello, guys! Ready for another Vlog? This one is pretty short because I didn’t have questions and I was in a hurry. Still, you should enjoy it. 😉

And, like normal, feel free to ask any questions you want below so I can answer them in my next Vlog. Or maybe the one after, since the next one will be about Shadows of the Hersweald. We’ll see. *grins*

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Beyond the Parchment: Part 4

So, in my serial story, Beyond the Parchment, we learned that a dysfunctional portal, invented by a weary writer, May Ann, actually begins to work, bringing characters to our world. And now she has just leaped through the portal, dragging one of her wounded characters with her, to escape her villain.

But, first, I spent some time starting to get a Beyond the Parchment pinterest board. Here are a few pictures I found. 🙂 No collages yet, but they’re coming.

May Ann

Daraton or Jerinthreo

They are identical twins, after all. *scowls* I should have considered pictures before I came up with that idea…

Anyway, you can read the first parts of the story here:

Part 1: It Just had to be Lord Jerinthreo Kraven Balstin the Second

Part 2: All brothers fight sometimes, right?

Part 3: My kitchen will never be the same

I’m Never Doing That Again

Shards of blue light stab through my brain, surging about me, tearing at my hair and clothing like a wild animal. The roar of thunder fills the air, echoing in my ears, strobing a blur of glinting silver and darker shadows behind my eyes.

Nothing exists. Nothing but noise and light and something hard I have clutched in one hand. Then even the thunder is gone. There is nothing. Shadows close on all sides of me. Silence echoes in my ears. Something itches beneath my cheek. My breath is hot against my lips.

Somewhere, as though from a distance, I hear a muffled groan. My stomach churns and every muscle in my body aches. I roll over on my back with a moan, staring upwards at the blur of red and orange flickering in and out of focus.

A torch?

Braceaon! Daraton!

I draw a quick breath, shoving myself into a sitting position. My head spins, the shadowy scene swimming before my eyes. I gasp as I plant both hands on the floor to keep myself from falling. How had the others come through the portal so effortlessly? Because I am not about to go through it again.

Not even to get back home.

Besides that, of course… I blink away the gloom, but there is no sign of a portal. Just a ring of charred earth and glowing embers on the straw of what must be the stall of a stable. Something shifted in the shadows beyond the glowing ring and I stagger to my feet, then stumble forward.

“Daraton!” I drop to my knees beside him. His fingers curl around my wrist.

“What… have  you… done?”

“Saved your life, for starters. Again.” I scowl, my gaze skimming his pale drawn face and clenched jaw. His sword still hangs from his hand, but that is the least of my worries, whatever the suppressed rage surging behind his eyes.

I stretch my fingers toward the slim dagger still embedded in Daraton’s side, then jerk back before I actually touch it. Isn’t there something about leaving such things inside a stab wound until they can be properly cared for so the patient doesn’t bleed to death in the meanwhile.

“You’re… hurt.”

“Which is the only reason I’m still lying here.” Daraton pushes himself up on one elbow, then winces. I press him back, the dark stain about the dagger growing.

I swallow hard, my breath hissing between my teeth.

Come on, think! You’ve hurt characters worse than this before and they survive. Well, sometimes.

Yes, and they all had expert healers or at least friends who knew what they were doing to dress their wounds.

So?

I don’t know what to do! I’ve only ever said ‘his wound was bandaged’ in my own writing.

Lazy research. Serves you right.

“Shut up!” I hiss the words out loud, then blink as Daraton stares at me. “Not you I just… I need more light.” I stumble to my feet and yank the torch from its socket, slipping the stone both brothers seem to view as so important into my pocket as I step back across the sifting ashes. There must be a way to turn the portal back on. Or something… I don’t have time to worry about it right now as I crouch down at Daraton’s side.

His eyes narrow as he watched my face. “You have no clue what you are doing, do you?”

“I…”

He rolls his eyes, then grits his teeth as he props himself on his elbow and drags himself backward so he is half sitting against the stall wall.

“Be careful!” I shove the torch into a rack on the wall and turn back towards Daraton as he yanks the dagger from his side. So much for that.

His fingers fumble with a pouch at his side and I shove his hand aside, unbuckling it and pulling out a strip of white cloth. “You carry bandages with you?”

“You don’t?”

“I will now,” I mutter under my breath, pressing a portion of the cloth against the wound in his side. “So…”

Daraton grits his teeth. “Over the tunic. We’ll get it better later but… we have to get out of here…” He leans his head back against the stable wall, his eyes closed, his teeth clenched. Swiftly I wrap the bandage around his midsection, adding extra wrapping he gives me against his side, then fastening it off tightly.

The wound is low enough, but not too low, and it doesn’t seem extremely deep either… I rock back on my heels as I finish. “The bleeding is slowed down. You should survive.”

“Survive the cut or the poison?”

“Poison?” I bite my lip before I can utter a very unladylike comment. That is so not fair. I never even decided that Varizan dabbles in poisons. Much less that he coats each weapon with them. Quite a personal hazard, I’d have thought, though not a bad idea if…

A distant crunch of hurried steps filters through the night and my head snaps toward the stable doors.

Daraton muffles a groan as he grasps the top of the stall, heaving himself to his feet. “We have… to get out of here.”

“Isn’t this your home?” I demand, throwing one of his arms over my shoulders. His foot slipped and I staggered under the sudden weight. “Shouldn’t we be getting you help?”

“Not here.” Daraton shakes his head. He motions towards the opposite side of the stable, but I am already heading towards the semi-secret entrance. That, at least, is something I know about. “Varizan…”

Right, Varizan.

My mind sifts through one possibility after another as I help Daraton across the stable. Outside, the calls are getting louder.

How had Varizan even known of the portal? Though it wasn’t any surprise that he did, I suppose. He has spies everywhere. I should have known better than to give him so much persuasive charm. Had he killed the old lord then, and set the brothers on each other? But why? I scowl, my breath hissing between my teeth.

Varizan. The one character I’ve next to no backstory on. It is a tragic one, I am fairly sure. Other than that… nothing. Though it probably has something to do with Lord Balstin, seeing he is the only one dead at the moment. At least I hope so… My mind flits back to Jerinthreo. But no. With Daraton gone, Varizan will surely keep Jerin alive. I hope.

We reach the stable wall and Daraton leans against the wall, his hand feeling for the latch. The double doors at the other end other end of the stable are thrown open.

“…can’t be.” The voice is deep, with a drawling accent I almost recognize.

Daraton mutters a low oath.

“Didn’t Varizan say…?”

“I don’t blazes care what he said. Everyone vanishing isn’t natural, even for him. He’ll have got himself in deeper than he meant to this time…”

Daraton eases the door open. His hand pushes me through. My foot catches on a protruding brick. I stumble and, by the time I’ve regained my balance, Daraton is outside as well, silently shutting the door.

A squad of soldiers, their caps lined in the black and silver of Salendria tramp by. Daraton presses me back into the shadows, though I’m already huddled tight against the wall. They vanish without so much a glance in our direction and I move under Daraton’s arm so he can lean on me.

“Where to?”

“The village…” His breath is coming shorter now. Already. The wound or the poison? “We can get help there. It’s…”

“I know where the village.” I turn my steps toward the wood sweeping up against the pastures. A pity it isn’t day. Lord Balstin’s gardens were supposed to be the most enchanting of the land. Though I don’t suppose we’d be able to hide in shadows if it were light out. As it is, the moon is enough to give us away if anyone has a sharp enough eye.

But who is in the village? I hadn’t… oh, right. I almost smirked. Daraton has a secret love interest there. This Ethred I keep hearing about, perhaps?

The shadows of the forest close about us, but we strike a path soon. Daraton’s steps are growing slower, but he presses on, his breath rasping in my ear. The village. How far is the village again?

“Who goes… Daraton?” A lithe figure cuts the challenge short, springing onto the path before us. A quiver hangs across her back and she slips the bow across her shoulder as her hands cup Daraton’s face and she stares up into his eyes.

He manages a tight smile, but she places a finger on his lips before he can speak. “Later. I’ll get you to mother…” Her eyes skim me. “What happened?”

“Varizan.”

Her eyes darkened. “Poison?”

“We think so.”

She moved to Daraton’s other side and between the two of us it is only several minutes later when we break into a clearing just outside the village. Warm light spilled from a window, and in the open door a short, wiry figure stands, waiting. Her white hair hangs to her waist, bound carefully back, and a cloak is wrapped around her shoulders.

“Must you always get yourself into trouble, my dear?” She shakes her head as she scans our small party, focusing on Daraton, then steps aside. “The bed, quickly.”

We deposit Daraton on a wide bed. Staggering back a step, I rub my shoulder as the two woman bend over Daraton, stripping the cloth from his wound, cleaning it, and rebandaging it. The younger girl sits at his head, her fingers brushing away his hair, as her mother finishes the examination. The light gleams gold on her hair and her lips pucker into a charming frown. It’s no wonder both the brothers like her.

Some of the color has returned to Daraton’s face, but he is still pale, his eyes closed, his jaw tensed. But finally his breathing relaxes.

“He’ll sleep for a good bit.” The older lady announces, rising to her feet. “Now,” she turns on me. “How about you tell us exactly what happened?”

“Without even proper introductions, mother?” the younger girl rises, forcing a smile as she rounds the bed.

I return the expression. “My name is May Ann.” My fingers touch the stone in my pocket. “I presume you are Ethred?”

The older lady snorts out a laugh, her frown easing into a smile. “No, my dear, I’m Ethred. That is my daughter, Adella. Lord Daraton’s wife.

 

Well, what say you? I have the basic story outlined now, but what do you think/want to happen next?

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November Vlog

Hey, it’s Wednesday and I am posting! Well, it is a special post…a vlog post. *grins*

Once again I’m taking part the Very Awesome Vlog Challenge put on by my good friend, Ivy Rose. For more information on that, you can click the cool picture below.

www-lakesidepublications-com_-2-300x300

And now, without more ado because I do have things I need to be attending to…and because I speak for myself in the video below, here is this month’s rambling vlog.

Have any questions for me for next month? Ask away in the comments below!

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Another Vlog!!!

Another Vlog!!!

So I decided to make this a monthly thing because these are fun to make. In this vlog, I’ve managed to show you where I work, what I do, and answer the questions from the last vlog.

And…that’s that. I need to work on my openings. Perhaps I’ll focus on that next time. *smirks* Anyhow, now is the time for questions…If you have any you’d like me to answer next month, ask away below!

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Christian Convictions: Magic in Writing

Christians and Magic

I don’t care for the word ‘magic’. It can be a touchy word in the Christian community. Is magic bad? Is some magic fine to read and other magic not? Is it fine to write? Can I love Lord of the Rings but decide against reading Harry Potter* **? The word magic is so broad that everyone can have their own picture of it without anyone being wrong.

*The answer is yes, by the way. You can choose what to read as you please. You only need to have logical arguments involved if you’re trying to prove why one shouldn’t be read and the other should be read.

**Also, I’d like to note that I’ve not read Harry Potter. I’ve read arguments both for and against reading them, but I’m not currently making any judgments one way other the other. *glances to either side, wondering if I’ve managed to avoid offending both sides or have successfully riled everyone*

Christians and magic

I split magic into two main categories. The larger category is fantasy magic, which I like to address as abilities, gifts, or powers. The second one is real-world witchcraft.

Fantasy Magic

Imbedded abilities

This allows characters in fantasy lands to communicate telepathically, animals to talk, shape-shifters to walk the land, gifts of invisibility or creating fire to be given from person to person, or an unusual ability to pass down a family line. I don’t consider any of this proper magic, nor would I call it magic in a book. There’s no mysterious force involved and no spells and chants. It’s simply the way things are in some faraway place. Why should one expect the laws of nature in a fantasy world to operate the same as natural laws here on earth? That’s the whole point of fantasy; to be able to create something new. Something different. I don’t think there is anything in general imbedded abilities which a Christian need shy away from.

Spiritual Powers

Especially in allegory, this can be fascinating to work with. Characters may have abilities which are gifts from the allegorical portrayal of God. Once again, these aren’t chants or ceremonies or something the character is making happen. It is a gift, and should be used as such or there will likely be consequences. And if there are gifts given by the Creator, there might be dark gifts given by the allegorical equivalent of Satan. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with this type of power either, if handled carefully. There were prophets in the Bible who God healed through, and there were also sorcerers. As writers, we don’t try to ignore the darkness in the world, but rather we show it for what it is, reveal the consequences, and bring out the brightness of the light. That being said, even in allegory I, personally, would not go into great depth of any sort of rites powered by the darkness.

Immaterial Force

In a fantasy world there might be an immaterial force or energy which anyone trained can tap into and use for good or bad. It might be called magic. It might be called science. Or it might be religious in nature. I waver on this issue. I would not call it wrong, but at the same time I think a writer needs to be careful with this type of magic. Here, in the real world, magic is bad. There’s not white magic and black magic. The dangers of using an amoral force is that readers may bring the ideas of a force which can be used for good or bad from the fantasy world and apply them to the idea of magic in this world, especially if one is using wands and spells and chants. A lot goes into how it is portrayed. Is it a sort of energy one can draw out with the right tools in a very science-like manner, or is the tone very magic ridden, with rites and ceremonies? Like I said, I wouldn’t go so far as to say this kind of ‘magic’ is always or completely wrong, but it also wouldn’t be my option of choice.

Portal Magic

This is the ‘magic’ that crosses the borders of time and space, dropping characters into the past, the future, or even different worlds. This can be portrayed as science. Or you can mix fantasy with real-life, as if it is something which always exists, most people simple don’t know about it. I’ve no problem with either of those aspects, though I’d not condone portraying it as a magic one has to speak spells over.

Real Magic

Here in the real world, there are only two sources of power. Power from God, and power from Satan. There’s not white magic and black magic; any magic is from Satan and should not be meddled with, which is why I don’t think any character in this world should have magical powers. They might have fantastical abilities due to a science experiment of some sort, but what they can do should have a natural explanation.

As I mentioned early, just because we are Christians doesn’t mean we avoid writing about any kind of evil. How graphically we describe the evil is a topic for another conversation, but there is evil in the world and we don’t try to gloss over it for our readers. Rather we show its consequences and the power of the light. All this to say, magic is a possibility in writing, if you are working on something like a spiritual warfare thriller, but it should never be portrayed as good. And I’d deal with it only in general terms. There is no need for a Christian writer to study the occult to write a ritual, and readers aren’t going to benefit from soaking up details about the darkness which are best left alone.

So when writing, there are a few basic questions you can ask. Is the book here, or in a fantasy world? If in this world, then magic should not be tampered with as an amoral power. Are there cool abilities you want give a race of people? Go for it. Do you want spiritual power in an allegorical world? Make sure the source of good and evil are clearly defined and don’t get carried away on the dark side with blood magic and spells.

Real magic in this world is always evil and should be handled with care, if at all. But what many call magic in fantasy is nothing more than fascinating abilities. And as for the real magic in fantasy, look at the source, the uses, and the portrayal to decide if it is worthwhile or not.

Note: What I write is what I believe after reading the Bible and holding conversations with friends and parents, but that does not mean I’m not interested in Bible evidence for another point of view. If the topics interest you, I encourage you to study them on your own as well. Friendly discussion in the comment section is encouraged if you have points you’d like to bring up, but this is not the place for a full-scale debate. : )

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My First Vlog…

Hello, everyone! So I finally decided (after many nights of agonizing with myself and telling myself that posting three times a week was enough and no one wanted to hear more about me) that Saturdays are going to be my random days for occasional posts…things like writing or book tags. Or vlogs!

Thanks to my friend, Ivy Rose, I have now started vlogging. Well, a little. I’m taking part in her Very Awesome Vlog Challenge and will be making a vlog once every two months at least. I may do it more often if they happen to be wildly popular or something weird like that. 😉

So, without more ado…here I am with all my pauses and umms and rambles.

*peers between fingers*

Are you done yet? *exhales* Good. 😉

Oh, and just so you know…this means I also have a YouTube channel now! So you can check it out and even, you know, subscribe if you want right here. I don’t think I’ll be posting too often; just vlogs and book trailers and…who knows? But I also have some writing music playlists and such which you other writers might be interested in.

If you have any questions I didn’t get to, just ask them again. And ask new questions…random and weird ones are welcome. Have fun!

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Beyond the Parchment: Part 1

Last month I gave you three options for the beginning of a serial story, and the third one won by a landslide. And so, without further ado, here is the ‘pilot episode’ of my serial story (including what I wrote last time). Enjoy!

It Just Had to be Lord Jerinthreo Kraven Balstin the Second

I wake up in the dark. Shreds of parchment flutter around me, sifting through the shadows in a noiseless wind. I watch them vacantly for a long moment as my thoughts slowly connect. A late night of writing. My muttered threats about deleting the whole document if it didn’t cooperate. My dreams filled with vague faces, half remembered prophecy fragments, and a gleaming silver sword a character was given as proof of his kingship…which he then accidentally stabbed into a stone, couldn’t pull it back out, and ended up leaving behind.

My lips, which have gradually turned upwards in a smirk, widen into a smile. Now that idea I’ll have to write down. I roll over, reaching for the notebook I always keep by my bed.

And freeze.

It isn’t there. Only darkness and the paper fragments, quickening in a wind I can’t feel. I narrow my eyes. Am I not awake then? Is this an inception type of dream? I frown. But I have to wake up. To write down that idea before I forget it. What idea was it again…? It will probably be something really weird once my logical brain gets a hold of it.

Except…

Except I feel awake. And the wind about me almost looks like… It looks like the portal cavern I’d been trying to invent the day before. That jolts me into a sitting position.

“Calm yourself, May Ann,” I growl to myself, then, “what if this is real? If I should be so lucky.” I raise my eyebrows. “Which I doubt, of course. Luck indeed. The portal didn’t even work. But then…you never know. It’s good for description anyway.”

The parchments have sped into a blur now. I stretch out one hand. For the fraction of a second, a cold gust slices against my skin, then it is gone. The paper. The wind. The darkness. Moonlight seeps through my window. Everything is as it should be.

I swallow down an unreasonable touch of disappointment and reach for my notebook. At least…

My breath quickens.

I’m not alone.

Reaching backwards, my hand closes about the dagger I keep by my bed as a shadowy figure steps through my door. I stare, barely even remembering to breathe as I take in the fair hair, short beard, leather armor, emblazoned hammer and whip, and the sword clenched in the man’s hand.

Emotions and thoughts batter about my mind too quickly to even acknowledge them, but one thought sears through all the rest. Why him? Of all my characters, why had the portal brought him through? There were so many others I’d rather see.

You’re asking why him when you should be asking why at all? Are you insane? Do you realize what you have done? What will happen now…boy, but he is perfect isn’t he? That sneer and the way he holds himself with such…such vainness. Even my inner voice is having trouble focusing on scolding me the man strides to the middle of the room, slowly turning as his gaze skims the maps covering the wall.

I should probably introduce myself. Something calming. Perhaps some flattery.

He steps towards my desk, his hand curling around a crystal figurine.

“Don’t touch that!” The words snap out of my mouth before I can stop them and the man spins, his eyes searching out the shadows. One long step, and his hand wraps itself around the front of my nightgown as he drags me from the bed, bringing the cool edge of his blade against my throat.

“You dare give me orders?” He demands. “Do you even know who I am? Of course you don’t. You should though. You will too, after tonight. You’ll remember me. Your whole world will remember me. Also, how far is your nearest tailor shop? Because I require the best of whatever –”

“What you require is something I’m going to be sorry I didn’t give you,” I grumble, twisting backwards.

“And now you’re interrupting me.” The man shifts his grip to my hair and holds up his blade before my eyes. “Don’t you know what this is, girl? It’s a sword. It will kill you.”

I smirk as my eyes travel adoringly up the engraved blade to the ruby studded hilt. “Well, it might if it weren’t Andrith, the third most powerful blade in Braceaon and incapable of killing anyone who is innocent. Frankly, you’d do better with a normal dagger. Can I hold the sword?”

“No.” The man growls out the word as he slams it into his sheath and thrust a dagger under my skin. The edge of this blade is sharp. Idiot that I am. “It’s the second most powerful blade. Now who exactly do you think yourself to be? And what are you dressed in? Is that the fashion here?”

“Andrith is the third most powerful blade. And it’s a nightgown. Something which, in your world, would be very improper for you to see.” The man snaps himself out of his perusal of my long nightgown with a suddenness which makes me suppress a grin. On second thought, there are worse characters who could have appeared at this time of night. “Also, I’m May Ann. Will you please remove that dagger from my throat?”

The man scowls, but actually complies, even though it’s only to step back and sweep a dashing bow and flick his cape over his shoulder. “Lord Jerinthreo Kraven Balstin the second, Earl of the third shire of Braceaon.” He never could resist introducing himself with a flourish. “And owner of the second most powerful sword in the world.”

Yep, just as vain as I imagined him. As far as swords were concerned…I’d looked forward to the discovery of the most powerful blade in my book for this very reason. I just hadn’t expected to be the one to tell the second son of one of the most powerful lords in Braceaon about it. For now the matter was best left alone. As well as the fact that Jerinthreo was claiming his brother’s title.

“Well, then maybe –” I reach over and flicked on the light switch. The next moment I am pressed against the wall, the dagger at my throat once more.

“Traitor!” Jerinthreo spat out the word. “Firstly, you can call me Lord Jerinthreo. And what do you want to do, signal my enemies?”

“It’s a light!” I protest. His glare deepens and I amend my statement. “Lord Jerinthr… Jerinthre… will Jerin do?” The names I make up; I’ll never be able to add that perfectly accented ‘eo’ like Jerinthreo had said it. “Everyone has them. Look!” I point upwards and at the light fixture and Jerin followed my gaze. I take the opportunity to shove his hand out of the way and sidestep towards my chair where I’d draped my clothes.

“It’s…natural then?”

“More or less.” I shrug. “Did you expect everything to be the same in this world?” How has he even gotten to this world anyway? The portal machine isn’t his, though I don’t put a bit of meddling – or outright stealing – past him. He must have got in another fight with his brother…

My eyes widen. “Daraton?”

Jerin’s gaze hardens. “What do you know of my brother?”

For a second, my breath catches in my throat as my mind sifts through the tangle of half-formed plot twists and characters. There’s no way to know exactly where the characters are or if they’ve even followed my storyline exactly, but as my gaze skims over Jerinthreo again, this time under the light, I pick up signs I missed the first time. The tear in his velvet sleeve. The lopsided clasp on his cloak. The scuffs on his boots. The tightness lurking under the faintest sneer which curls his lip and lifts the side of one nostril. My eyes end at his, taking in the green glare which masks fury and pain.

He takes a step forward. “Are you in league with him too?” His fingers tighten over his dagger. “Whoever you are; however you know so much about us –  because it obvious you’re not from Braceaon, tell me what you know about my brother right now. Because if you helped him murder my father, then by the blazing mountain itself…” His cavalier attitude has vanished but I hardly notice as I stare at him.

“Lord Balstin is dead?”

“Why else do you think I’m here?” Jerin spits out the words.

No. It’s not right. Something is missing. A few pieces shift in my mind. My picture is different from anything Jerinthreo or Daraton will guess, but it’s still far from clear. Except in one point.

I spring for the light switch, plunging us both back into darkness. “Is he here? Daraton? Did he follow you?”

In the moonlight, it’s hard to decipher Jerin’s expression. In any case, he doesn’t have a chance to answer as glass crashes downstairs. Jerin’s jaw clenched and he steps toward the door, drawing his sword. I grit my teeth and snatch my clothes and shoes from my chair, then grab Jerin’s arm, ducking as he swings his dagger.

“Come on. I know a way out.”

His eyes narrow. “Any why should I trust you?”

Feet thud through the house, nearing. Where has the portal let out at and who has come through? More than one person, from the sound of it. I send a glance desperately around my room, finally pausing as they rest on a green stone, framed with silver petals.

I spin back to Jerin. But it’s too late. Another figure fills the door in the moonlight and the room explodes in a clash of silver and metal.

So, what do you think? What should happen next? Any guesses as to backstory? Or clothes Jerin should try out, assuming he survives the fight?

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