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  • Posted on June 8, 2017 at 1:50 pm

 

Welcome to the Work In Progress Tag! I was tagged by the adoring and adorable Briana Herr, who was kind enough to inform our whole discord server about the tag! For this tag, I’m going to focus on my mostly complete WIP, rather than the ones I keep starting to avoid Writer’s Block. XD

Without further ado!

1) What is your working title?

“A Knight of Kuryle”, which is supposed to refer to the main character Dirk’s position once he has accepted his fate.

 

2) where did the idea come from?

I had a dream, a long, long time ago, about a sorcerer and a swordsman. The sorcerer was the enemy of the swordsman, but when the swordsman ran him through, he collapsed into the swordsman’s arms and breathed out, “You never could protect me, could you?”

I fell in love with the dynamic, and with the pair, and so that’s how Dirk and Yumil/Kier were born.

 

3) what Genre would your book fall into?

I like to think Epic fantasy, since it follows more than one character’s journey through a fantasy world. But it’s probably just straight fantasy. XD

 

4) what actors would you choose to play in your movie rendition?

I really don’t think about actors for my characters, if only because it’d be very difficult to choose them, and because by the time I choose them, they don’t look the way I need them to for the character. Plus, I don’t think there’s a man alive pretty enough to match my mental image of Yumil/Kier

 

5) what is the one sentence synopsis for your WIP?

For the first novel: When his village is destroyed by an unknown mage, Dirk goes looking for justice, and finds something so unexpected that it throws his worldview out of place.

For the series: An ancient grudge sets into motion the necessary components to end the world, or bring it back into balance, and it’s up to one family to choose which.

 

6) Will you self-publish or be represented by an agency?

I’m planning to self-publish, although I wouldn’t say no to an agency if they wanted to represent me.

 

7) how long did it take you to write your first draft?

About a month. I was doing nanowrimo and had nothing else to do but write, so I literally ended up writing 250k words and finished it. Then I had to cut it down into smaller books, and I still haven’t finished the first draft of the smaller book. XD

 

8) what other books would you compare this story too?

Probably a combination of the Inheritance Cycle, Dragon Blood by Patricia Briggs, and Lord of the Rings. Sort of. Very, very loosely.

 

9) who or what inspired you to write this book?

When I first wrote the first draft, I was inspired by my then boyfriend, Wesley Pruett. As I went on to editing and eventually breaking up the story into smaller books, however, I found that my inspiration and help came from my mentor, Chris Votey. He’s been invaluable for helping me through all the crags and crannies of writing, and I wouldn’t have made it this far without him.

 

10) what else about your book that might pique readers interest?

Well, the main characters are almost all tumblr-worthy. Dirk is an asexual black man, and Yumil is a genderfluid homosexual. Their adoptive son, Jorgan, later in life goes on to be the savior of the world. So there’s that. XD

 

There you have it, my WIP, which I haven’t touched in several months. This blogpost, however, has rekindled my love for it, and I think I’ll be starting editing again. So thanks so much for sticking around and reading this! Post your information down below, and I’ll tag you in it, so that you can gush about your WIP too!

IWSG – 03/01/17

  • Posted on March 1, 2017 at 12:15 am

There’s a lovely group of people who listen to my woes and comfort me every month, and this month I have the honor of giving back by co-hosting the lovely Insecure Writer’s Support Group. If you don’t know about this group or are relatively new, here’s how it works:

  1. Click on the picture
  2. Sign up
  3. Post a post every first Wednesday about your struggles as a writer, your triumphs as an author, and any encouragement you have to give others. (prompts are provided, most times.)
  4. Go and read about other’s struggles and comment with support!

When I was fourteen years old, I had a dream. To this day the only thing I can remember about the dream was that there was a sorcerer and a swordsman, and the swordsman ran the sorcerer through with his sword. He caught the dying sorcerer, and the sorcerer said to him, “You never could save me.”

That’s how two of the main characters of the Kurylian Saga were born. Others came afterward, but Yumil and Dirk were the ones who stuck around the most. I drew comics of them, I wrote short stories to myself. I even considered making a full-blown manga out of their adventure.

In the end, I settled on a book, and with the encouragement of my then-boyfriend, in 2013, I wrote the first draft of the Kurylian saga. The characters were wonky, the settings were forgettable, and the action was… well… inactive. I met my mentor, Chris Votey, and began work on the second draft. And then the third. And then I put it away for almost a full year, while I was homeless and running around my town trying to get my feet back under me.

Most recently, I’ve been struggling with a feeling of dejection. That the story I was telling was either not good enough, or that I, as a writer, didn’t have the skill to tell it. I absolutely drove myself mad over it to the point where I considered whether or not to scrap the book entirely and just move on.

I tried to do just that. I opened rough draft after rough draft. I tried different genres. I tried everything. But I always came back to Dirk and Yumil. The two of them needed their story told, and my fourteen-year-old-self was still in love with the way their world worked.

So I went to Chris and I asked him for help. As always, he gave me lovely lessons on world building, and how to use what I was learning in college in my writing. Then he set me the challenge of writing short fiction. Just real quick 500-750 word drabbles centered around one of the other characters in the story named Eamon.

Doing this unlocked something in me, and I found myself starting to get excited about the book again.

However, those doubts started niggling again. I couldn’t possibly be writing this right. I was obviously doing something wrong. Why was Eamon acting this way, when I had thought she was a more simple character?!

Chris came to me again and offered me the chance to analyze Dirk and Eamon, to see how they really ticked. I jumped on it, thinking that, as always, Chris must have some kind of reasoning behind it. And to be honest, I’m not the greatest at Character Profiling. Or world building. Or prose. Or, well you get the drift.

The first thing we did was sit down over voice chat, and he started asking me questions. I was instructed to answer the question three times. Once for Dirk, Once for Eamon, and Once for myself. I recognized the questions as being similar to an MBTI test I took and abandoned halfway through a long time ago.

For those who don’t know, MBTI stands for Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, which is a psychological profiling system. It’s become very fashionable lately to know what your MBTI is on Tumblr, so I’ve kind of been rolling my eyes at it as any kind of diagnostic tool. However, Chris is on the verge of something wonderful, so I went along with it.

Going through the questions made me think about things I’d never considered before. Was Eamon organized? Did Dirk like being in the center of crowds? Did either of them enjoy spending time outdoors or indoors more? The questions were thorough and difficult to answer.

Over the course of the questions, however, the two of them started to form more solidly in my head. These were real people I was talking about suddenly. Not characters in my mind, but people I knew more intimately (apparently) than I knew myself!

It got me to thinking, however, about the characters and how they were and what they were doing. I started asking myself questions about my other characters, like Yumil and Jorgan and Anelace. Were any of them wallflowers? Did any of them answer emails promptly? It made me feel more connected to the story, which suddenly made me want to write more on this behemoth that had already taken up four years of my life.

And then, a few days later, Chris said he had the results. And when we went over them, something amazing happened. It was more than just a confirmation of who the characters were. It was like Chris was reading to me a manual on the characters that I had dreamt up, loved, and written for years. They came alive on the paper, and their actions suddenly made SENSE.

Dirk adopted Jorgan because his emotions thrive on love and care, and children are love and care incarnate. Eamon feels pressure to be like her father because it’s difficult for her to be original because of her personality. Everything made sense. I wasn’t crazy. These characters really were like real live people.

More than anything, by getting to know these characters, by learning how they think, how they feel, and what their rich inner lives were like, I knew that I was doing the right thing. That I was the writer to tell their story. After all, if I could make a complex character that fit into a personality profile used by psychiatrists, how could I possibly be doing my story injustice? I hadn’t known that these profiles existed when I made Dirk. So I wasn’t copying.

I had known Chris was doing research on personality typing for character creation, and he had mentioned MBTI types as well as astrology. Now I couldn’t help but wonder if his research for that project was what he used to help me. He confirmed it, of course, when I asked him. I felt so privileged that he would share such a thing with me.

I was so giddy with elation I rushed out of our voice chat, leaving poor Chris behind,  just to write all of this down. So let me tell you, fellow writers. If you are lacking motivation, or if you feel like you aren’t good enough… Sit down with your characters. Get to know them. Learn their inner lives. Do these things, and you’ll find that you ARE a writer, you are a good one, and you can do this.

After all, they chose you to tell their story.

So get out there, and tell it.

By the way, the test Chris recommended I use to find out the other characters MBTI profiles is right HERE, so feel free to use it! I also recommend THIS WEBSITE for getting to know each MBTI type.

As an aside, next month I will be joining the Blogging A to Z Challenge, co-hosted by IWSG’s Alex Cavenaugh! Follow me now for awesome articles every day in april!

Email address

Sassy Saras – Serial #2

  • Posted on February 11, 2017 at 4:05 pm

“You’re in my light, sissy,” Saras declared with all the disdain an eleven-year-old could muster. “I have but an hour to finish this chapter before I return to my lessons.”

“So you don’t wanna hear my good news, then?” she baited, quivering her lip and fluttering her eyelids.

The preteen huffed and closed his book, turning their father’s piercing green eyes onto her. “Fine. Speak,” he barked.

“I’m going to be taking the trial.”

Wrinkles appeared on the bridge of his nose, as he blinked rapidly. “Aren’t you a little young to be going through the trials?”

“Well ya, but Sir Harrod said himself,” she admitted, crossing her arms. “That I’m one of the best fighters in the pitch. No one can match me with the sword, and my use of strategy and tactics is second to none.”

“You should be proud. I’m sure none of this has anything to do with you being the daughter of the Priest-Queen, and the Paladin himself.”

Her face turned red, and she felt a boiling inside her. How could he say such a thing? She worked hard for what she obtained, she spent nights in pain and days bandaged up. This isn’t the life she chose for herself, but one thrust upon her by the Lord of the Moon, who deemed her unworthy to be a priestess. She knew she was worthy.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he warned her, as he sat back and opened the book. “I’m certain of your skill, but even you must acknowledge there is a level of nepotism at work here. Have you ever heard of someone being promoted from squire to knighthood at such a young age? Really now.”

“No…” She admitted and hated the fact that he was starting to make sense.

“Ever seen a knight-to-be squire who hadn’t seen a few battles?” he sneered.

This time she didn’t respond, feeling her face scrunched up in annoyance. She hated that Saras gloated, no matter how right he was. She couldn’t help but think it was true, that maybe her hard work meant nothing compared to her pedigree. She chided herself immediately for thinking that. She did the work, and now it was her time to be a Knight. Noble-birth or not, she earned this.

“You don’t have to respond,” he interjected. “We both know it to be true. Just don’t let it get you down, we both know you don’t handle your emotions well. Would hate for you to do something… regretful. Father would be disappointed that you won’t be under his tutelage. Someone has to replace him as Paladin.”

Saras turned back to his book, as his indication that his sister was to dismiss herself from the conversation. She turned and went towards the hallway, but right at the door, she stopped. “Just so you know, the Princess doesn’t marry the Prince in the end, but the Pirate Lord instead, dear brother.”

As she walked out, he slammed the book shut.

Eamon’s Way – Kurylian Saga Serial #1

  • Posted on January 26, 2017 at 4:32 pm

At the suggestion of my writing mentor, the lovely Chris Votey, I’ve been doing some practice writing short stories. So I’ll be doing a short serial of flash fiction set in the same world as my Kurylian Saga, a book I intend to publish very soon. This practice is meant to get me used to the world again, to get me used to writing short fiction, and to improve my writing in general. Please, let me know if you notice any grueling inconsistancies, or any sort of growth whatsoever. Thank you!


 

When Eamon asked him to hit her hard, she hadn’t quite anticipated a gauntlet to the back of her head. It sent her reeling, certainly, but it was a credit to her balance that she didn’t end up on her ass. Years of training told her to not waste a moment in combat, and she quickly turned towards her opponent, swinging her practice sword at his shin.

Herod hissed, bouncing on his good foot, shaking the armoured leg she’d managed to strike. The impact caused a noticeable ringing noise. She was pleased, a ring of the armour, for the ringing of her head, she had thought to herself.

She pressed her sudden advantage, and kicked his bouncing leg out from under him. From there it was easy to press her practice sword to his throat.

His eyes confirmed what she already knew. She had finally won against Herod the Giant. The smashing headache caused by his gauntlet disappeared as she tore off her helmet, and only out of respect for where the armor had come from, didn’t toss it to the side. Instead, she set it down next to her, then removed the sword from his throat, and offered her hand to help Herod to his feet. Herod refused, getting himself up. They both went to a bucket filled with water, and dipped their hands in. The pain of their bruises hurt worse in the cold water, but was necessary to their recovery.

“Good show, Lady Eamon,” he stated.

Eamon was surprised. A new title from him. Herod usually called her “Lil Miss”. She gave him a rueful smile. “Near knocked me on my ass, Sir Herod. But I finally did it. I finally had you on your back.”

“Aye, you did,” he acknowledged.

He patted her shoulder the same way her father might have, and her smile grew brighter. She didn’t feel like the fourteen year old squire anymore. She felt twenty feet tall.

“Same time next week then?” she asked.

She had been sparring with Herod for several months now. Before that was Jurin, though Jurin didn’t have the size Herod had. He was wirey and thin. And before him was Minna, stout and quick with a mace. Each one she fought, and each one she bested. She was determined to be a real fighter, like her father.

“I think not, milady. I think I’ll be informin’ your father that you’re ready.”

Her thoughts ground to a halt, and her breath did too. “You mean…”

“Yeah,”Herod interjected. “I think you’re ready for the Trials.”

She swallowed, and kept at bay the tears that threatened to spill. She felt she was ready for the title of Knighthood, but to hear Heroid caused her to choke up a bit. If Herod thought she was ready, surely her father would agree with him. All she had to do was pass the trial, and she would be a Knight of Kuryle, a true defender of the realm. If she could prove her bravery, her mettle in combat, and her valor, then surely they would allow her to be named a Knight.

She couldn’t wait to tell Saras the good news.

 

Pet Peeves

  • Posted on July 16, 2015 at 1:47 pm

“Stop, stop stop. You’re doing it wrong.” The spoon was snatched out of his hand, and Dirk blinked, frowning up at the interloper. The silver spoon balanced from Yumil’s fingers like a cigarette from a 1950s audrey hepburn. “you stir without clanking. Otherwise it’s annoying.”

“Does it really matter?” Dirk asked, “It’s stirring. With a spoon. In coffee.” He made sure to raise an eyebrow to emphasize just how stupid Yumil was acting.

“Just… Do it right, alright. You gently scrape the bottom.” Yumil’s brows furrowed, and he gave the spoon back. “It’s one of my pet peeves.”

“A pet peeve?” Dirk demanded.

“Yeah. A pet peeve. Like when I pick at those lumpy little bits on the socks you knit.” The derision in his tone was matched by the sarcastic tilt of his body as he plopped into the other, matching, floral-print armchair they’d bought at some or other garage sale.

“That’s completely natural. It’s not nice to pick at things made for you. I work hard on those damned socks.” Dirk’s eyes strayed to the lumpy, soft yarn sitting in the bin he used to hold it while he was knitting.

“Just accept it.” Yumil sighed. “Everyone’s got their pet peeves.” He started poking off fingers as he counted their friends. “Eamon’s hair getting in her eyes. Anelace being cut off in traffic. Lette hates being interupted in conversation. Espin can’t stand the sound of a dripping faucet, and Jorgan’s always getting annoyed when he finds hair in his food.”

“That’s natural too. Your hair gets everywhere.” Dirk’s nose crinkled in annoyance. It was true. His partner’s long hair shed like a husky, and it always ended up in some form or another in the food they ate. “You really should tie it up before you cook.”

“Oh shut up.” Yumil answered, good-naturedly. He changed the channel on the tv to the home and gardening network.

“I was watching that.”

“Sure you were. Just like you were stirring your coffee properly.”

Favorite Books

  • Posted on May 26, 2015 at 4:00 pm

Dirk

  •  The Tales of Sir Duodect, transcribed by Priest Bodelaire – An accounting of the great hero, his triumphs, and his vendetta against the BoneMan.
  • An Unabridged History of Sorciere by Danika Bleuwig. – A thick tome that describe the wars and politics of the countries that make up the continent of Sorciere, Kuryle, Shea, Durdil, and Thosfig.
  • Is Donato by Drata Imrun – A definition of how a prince is meant to behave, look, rule, and function in society in order to find peace within himself and peace with his people, written by a Durdilian noblewoman.

Yumil

  • Is Donato by Drata Imrun
  • An untitled black leather volume written by their master
  • Irveine’ The Beast Wife – A novel written by a Kurylian noblewoman. A young princess is cursed to be a hideous beast, until the day she can earn someone’s love.
  • A Treatise on Proper Gardening by Intir Lakayma – A Shaean gardener’s manual, which describes many way to cultivate plants and herbs in arid and often non-inviting locales.

Jorgan – Cannot read yet, however, he enjoy listening to others read, and looking at illuminations in the books.

Eamon

  • Is Donato by Drata Imrun
  • A Priest-Queen’s Role,  Translated by -ridiculously long list of names- -A book of poetic retellings of the history of Kuryle, based around it’s many Priest-Queens.
  • And She Broke by LaVire – LaVire is a penname for the most scandalous novelist in the continent. Her books end up everywhere, and they are filled with infamous descriptions of liaisons between women with almost no men present.

Lette

  • Irveine’s The Beast Wife
  • Irveine’s The Blackbird – Princess Ondine is turned daily into a crow, and during the night, she is kept like a queen by a sorcerer whom loves her obsessively. She meets her true love, and they escape together into the night, the sorcerer hot on their heels.
  • A Priest-Queen’s Role

Anelace

  • Is Donato by Drata Imrun
  • Durdilian History – Seven volumes compiled by numerous scholars and wise men.
  • The Book of Omens by Lady Andess do Extavir – the almanac by which Durdilian nobles follow to a tee, said to give good luck when followed, and horrible disaster when ignored. The book is reprinted every year with new information.

Espin

Before You Were Born

  • Posted on January 18, 2015 at 2:58 pm

((A writing prompt from Amanda Patterson‘s Tumblr, Amanda on Writing. The prompt is:

Writing Prompt

I’ll be filling it with two protagonists.))

Karabela felt a quickening in her belly, and smoothed her hand over the soft white cloth covering it. Since her pregnancy, Katar had been providing her with nicer things. Things that took him more time to earn, to hunt. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this. Especially since he was moving her from her home, from her tribe. She should have known marrying from one of the wandering tribes would end in her own wandering. But she’d seen the dark swirls around his eyes and his knuckles and the breadth of the darkness swirling on his back, and she had fallen in love.

‘Hush now, little one.’ She thought to the child in her belly. He would be a fierce warrior, she knew. A hunter, and a leader. She smiled, her thumb rubbing the swell of him there. She could not know if it would be a boy or a girl, but no matter what, the child would be a fierce warrior, a hunter, and a leader. The cart shuddered underneath her, and she lost her smile for a moment. Katar screamed at the poor beasts pulling it. Donkeys he’d purchased from a white-skinned trader. His shaved head shone like mud in the sun, and she glared at him, for the mistreatment of the animals. In the back, the crate of four chickens clucked nervously next to the grains he’d purchased as well.

He was serious about this, about their joining some strange pale-skin village, about living there, and seeing how they live. She did not like this, she really didn’t. What kind of life would their little one lead? What kind of home would he have, without cousins to play with, without girls to teach him kindness, without other hunters to teach him knots and bows and slings? He would be nothing but a farmer, and that was not what she wanted for her son. But her husband insisted, believed it would bring them closer. She didn’t laugh in his face out of respect for his passion.

The child within her swollen womb moved again, and as she comforted him, she comforted herself.

~*~*~*~*

Nikola stared, once again, at the putrid green herb sitting on her table, next to the lavender she grew for her skin, the tea tree for her husband’s callouses. She’d always loathed parsley, even in her food, but now… She grit her teeth, glaring at her useless lump of a husband. He lay, drunkenly passed out, in their bed. They’d just sold off Mendala, her apprenticeship putting them in enough money to actually survive for a few years, provided he doesn’t just drink it away. Now, he’d managed to get her with child again.

She turned, her green eyes staring out the window. The Oleanders were in bloom once again, and though she loved the smell, the children running through the petals outside just filled her with rage. She refused to acknowledge that her jealousy perhaps had something to do with it. She was jealous, yes, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was what to do next.

She touched the barely-there swell of her child. No. No she wouldn’t think of it that way. This was a nuisance. Just like all the other children before. A crying, shitting, useless pile of flesh that only became profitable once men started drooling. She looked once again at the parseley, but didn’t get up to make the tea. Might as well secure their future. The screaming would at least make Dane leave for awhile. She pushed back her freshly washed red hair, and plucked one of the oleanders growing beneath her window. Taking a deep breath, she smiled, and set it in her hair.

This child would be a burden. A useless creature whose life would only have worth with legs spread. It felt sort of poetic, actually. Her crimson lips curved into a sardonic smile, as she thought of all the humiliating things she can have this child do. She hoped it was a boy. Boys were easier to raise. Mendalla, Maka and Anna had all been absolutely horrid to raise, much less to sell. Her hand smoothed over her belly in an almost tender gesture, the same sort of soothing one gives a pig before you slaughter it.

Winter Spirit!

  • Posted on December 2, 2014 at 6:56 pm

Alright, welcome back all my lovely readers! I’m sure most of you noticed that I was pretty much completely gone this november. A few posts here and there, mostly about NaNoWriMo, which I WON!!!! *pops a champagne bottle* Alright, so for those of you who don’t know what it is, or haven’t read any of my previous posts on it, NaNoWriMo is basically a giant writing marathon!

Last year, I finished the first draft of my novel, The Sorcerer and The Swordsman, with 150,000 words.  This year, I went for a much saner goal, as my job had changed and no longer allowed me to write during work hours, and as I no longer had someone to help around the house while I spent my time manically typing at the keyboard. I broke up the words into a retelling of the first chapter-or-so of TSATS, and a short story I plan to submit to an Anthology later this year. I even had a few thousand words left over to put towards the second chapter-ish of TSATS.

Things I learned from NaNoWriMo14:

  1. You can start out ahead and still fall behind.
  2. Finding the best place/time/people to write with should be top priority.
  3. Admit your faults. Don’t let them hold you back.
  4. Sleep is for the Weak. No seriously, you can sacrifice sleep for one month, if you need to.
  5. Always, Always, Always keep someone on hand to bounce ideas off of. Loneliness sucks.
  6. No matter what you’ve done before, doing something new is always worth celebrating.

Now that NaNo is over, I can calm down a little. Post more on here, maybe get that short story done for the anthology. I do however, have a few announcements.

One: I will not be continuing the Breaking Down Nemesis series. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from NaNo, it’s that writing things that you aren’t interested in only results in shit. So, sadly, I must discontinue this. I have learned a lot, and will greatly raise my level of writing from this, but I will not continue reading a book I cannot stand.

Two: I have a deadline! I will be publishing the first Novella of TSATS by June of 2015. You can look forward to it, and it’s sequels, here on this blog! I’ll be posting little snippets here and there, to gather opinions on it! Feel free to subscribe to keep up!

Please, let me know what lessons you’ve learned from NaNo in the comments! <3

Imagine Your OC – Practice Drabbles 1

  • Posted on October 19, 2014 at 10:15 pm

In the spirit of NaNoPrep, I’m taking some time to build my characters! And in doing so, apparently, I am avoiding all responsibility by surfing tumblr. Anyway, I found this post here, entitled ‘Things to consider when making your OCs” and I realized, honestly, they’re some pretty amazing prompts! So here we go! I’ve picked random characters for each prompt, and will flesh them out some! This should be an adventure, yes it should.

~*~*~*~*~

How would they react upon accidentally walking into a glass door?

The pain was nothing to the embarrassment. Knocking into the sliding glass door only caused a slight ache in the bridge of his nose, but Dirk’s pride? Now, that was bruised beyond repair. With Yumil laughing in the background, he groaned, rubbing the sore area. Stay calm, Strausson, stay cool. No need to let the normally-unflappable idiot you hang around with take the wind out of your sails.

“I meant to do that.” Dirk stumbled, saying the first thing he could think of. This, of course, only increased the howling of laughter from Yumil.

Jorgan, sweet, innocent Jorgan, took the handle of the door, and opened it. “There you go!” Dirk knew letting Jorgan hang around his older brother was a bad idea. Look at that tiny smirk. Yumil was a bad influence. Giving up, the mahogany skinned man slid past Jorgan and out into the yard, ignoring the burning of embarrassment in his ears.

*~*~*~*~*~*~

How do they react to having their name spelled wrong on a Starbucks cup?

“…Excuse me. This…” Dirk was holding a cup, on which his name had been… well… The letters in scrawled sharpie clearly emblazoned the word “DICK” instead of Dirk. He stood at the counter, as the person behind the counter stared placidly back. Before he even finished, he realized he’d already lost this battle. However, Dirk was never one to give up.

“This is unacceptable. This kind of profanity is unprofessional.” He managed, fighting through annoyance and embarrassment. Everyone was looking at him at this point, but Dirk had to make a point here. What if this had been for some impressionable preteen? What then? “I’d like to speak to your manager.”

“Sir, I am the manager.” The employee intoned, soulless eyes staring sightlessly. “If you’d like to register a complaint, you can go online-” This was where Dirk sighed, giving up entirely. Maybe if Yumil had been here, he’d have gotten somewhere. His partner never turned down a challenge. Although that might end in the Starbucks being burnt to the ground… Best he wasn’t here at all then.

“Excuse me, sir? My name is Dick Dickerson, and I believe that’s mine.”

*~*~*~*~*~

What kind of vines do they make?

“Wait, why am I holding a pot again?” Dirk asked, possibly for the third time. He couldn’t quite remember. He honestly was trying to convince himself that what he kept hearing WASN’T incredibly stupid. But of course, this was Yumil, with his sidekick Lette he was talking about, who tended to bring out the worst in each other. He looked at the odd old-fashioned crock-pot he was holding, and wondered, again, why it was filled with fish.

“Just don’t move, alright, and keep still.” Yumil hissed, holding the phone. “Alright, go ahead Lette!”

Lette grinned into the camera, making a peace sign with her teal-painted nails. “Hi, I’m Lette, and this is jackass!” Then, she turned around, and Dirk got to see what she was holding. A bat. Oh god. He flinched back immediately, and the crock-pot went flying. Water and fish flew everywhere, and he stared at Yumil’s  laughing grimace, realizing that he, perhaps, did not have the best of friends.

*~*~*~*~*~

What would their reaction to your favorite character be?

He really didn’t understand this show. He supposed he could understand the characters. Leon, he was an officer of the law, and someone Dirk respected. Well, despite the fact that he acted like an eighties thug. But he really did want to stop people being hurt. He didn’t really understand the other character though. D, this so called-count. He was reminded of someone, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“God, could Leon be any more stupid? of COURSE it’s a mermaid!” Yumil shouted from an armchair, painting toenails pink again. Long black hair was piled high up on the back of a pretty head. While D was incomprehensible, it was Leon he understood perfectly.

After all, his own incomprehensible idiot sat right across the way from him, didn’t he?

*~*~*~*~*~

How would they play the Sims?

Dirk checked the meter once again, and then smiled. Good. Every single one of their meters was alright. Although, little Eamon looked like she was going to end up peeing herself if he didn’t get her away from that computer. He clicked on the toilet and got her to head that way. He intercepted little Yumil from trying to set a plant on fire, again, and sent him to the library to study next to little Dirk.

He liked it best when everything ran well. Little Yumil is a scientist, and little Dirk is an author. little Jorgan is still in school. He ended up having to make him little Yumil and little Dirk’s kid, but it was worth it. Little Eamon was a cop and Little Anelace her partner. Little Lette was a movie star, and little Espin was the chore-boy. But he seemed happy enough that way.

Dirk saved, just to be safe, and started adding on the new wing of the house. After all, pretty soon little Dirk and little Yumil would be adopting some kids. That’d certainly keep them busy, wouldn’t it?

*~*~*~*~*~*~

What would their finishing move be?

“YUMIL!” He roared, cutting through another enemy to get to the summoner. He could see the summoner trying to call down Ifrit, his favorite summon, but he knew it would be too late.  The behemoths were quick, despite their large lumbering forms.

Things seemed to slow. His feet pounded the floor. His breath slowed. He felt it, then. Something powerful. He roared, leaping. Into the air he went, his sword raised high. Down, it came.

“EXCALIBUR ARCH!” A blaze of blue light, and the behemoth threatening their summoner dashed into a thousand shimmering pieces. Once it was done, he whirled, and Yumil’s back touched his, a renewed sense of purpose washing over him. “Everyone, REGROUP!”

First Light

  • Posted on October 17, 2014 at 12:29 am

Memory is a fickle thing, inherently wrong, yet personal in the greatest of ways. All of our memories are biased, based upon information our mind stores and corrupts. Stories we tell ourselves become memories, despite never happening. Things that happened turn out a different way when we think back on them.

Most personal to us all, and most telling of whom we will become, is our very first memory. The first bit of light our mind stores away for us in the world. These memories hide from us, little snippets of time. And then, like magic, a scent, or a sound, the touch of a familiar fabric, or the hum of a certain frequency reminds us, and it comes crashing back like nothing was ever missing at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The prickly poking of hay. The scent of his mother, soft and creamy like milk just warmed up, and the sound of his father’s quiet voice. Later, Dirk would learn that the conversation was their first discussion about whether they should go back home to Thosfig, back to their tribe. His nose itched, and he rubbed his little fingers against it to make it go away.Noticing how sharp his little fingernails were, he curled them into his palms. Crickets chirped somewhere, and he could hear crackling, like fire. His eyes felt heavy, and he didn’t want to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pain. Yumil remembered pain first. A too-tight grip of an adult hand around a small wrist. The red of lines cut into child-soft skin by fingernails dyed with pigment from berries.  Yumil remembers looking up at her, her tawny hair shining in the sunlight. She is beautiful, and frightful. She calls him a bad boy,voice hissing. Yumil feels his stomach twist and clench, fear climbing inside. She is angry, and to Yumil it’s as if she has always been angry and will always be angry. He finds anger burning inside himself to match, hot and terrifyingly close to tears.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She can’t remember the words anymore, but Eamon remembers the soft feeling of her mother’s chest. Her cheek fits against it perfectly. She remembers the hard push of her sister’s knee against her own leg, and the laugh in her mother’s voice. She recalls the lines of her sister’s hand and how it felt to rub her thumb along them until Lette shrieked with laughter, like it had tickled her. Eamon remembers how warm she felt, wrapped up in the two of them. A mix of flowers and cool water always brings this memory to her mind, and she smiles.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Grass tickling her nose, and a small round bug crawling along between the blades. Red like string scattering across her vision, as she was lifted from the earth. Her hand still reaching out for the little black bug, bigger hands tight against her ribs They squeezed a little painfully, but only enough to make her whine in the back of her throat. A murmur of her name, and Lette looks up. Her father’s green eyes smile down at her like the water of a murky lake. She smiles back, and giggles. His hand, scratchy with callouses, brushes back her hair.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blurs moving past him, dark things swimming around the edges of his vision. Espin remembers crying, crying so loud and so long that he was sure no one heard him. He remembers unpleasant smells, something he later knows is the smell of sickness and waste. He remembers the crying making it worse, stopping his nose and how panicked he felt. A cool hand on his forehead was all that kept him awake, and he cried, and cried. Sleep would be kinder. His stomach lurched, and he felt hotness sear his throat and splash out his lips. Nothing eases his pain.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her big brother’s back, warm and strong. Anelace was tied to it, she could feel the soft cloth against the back of her neck, feel the bounce of his step as he walked. He talked to her, telling her stories, and she burbled back to him. Her fingers found his coarse woven dreads, tugging for attention. She remembers how he smelt like sunshine and camels. He was so big, and strong, he carried her like she was smaller than an ant, and it made her feel small and she thought he must be the most powerful thing in the world.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She was always angry. So angry. His mother was angry at him, yelling and screaming, and Jorgan hated yelling. He wanted to hide and forget. It made him cry, which made her so much angrier. She called him hurtful things he can’t remember later, things that might be true. Her palm struck his cheek, and his world went spinning. Pain blossomed in his jaw, his teeth rattling, as he toppled over. His cries came louder. The snap of a belt made his chest squeeze, and fear silenced him. His father’s footsteps, shaky and unstable, curled him into a tight ball.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What glimpse does this first light give?

photo courtesy of flickr.com

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