Short Stories 0001: Seven Night- Part II

At last, another writing spree. Part III will be out much quicker, I promise. So here you have it, Part II of the Seven Nights and writing spree. Without further ado, Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, animals and beasts, Seven Nights Part II by me. (Who else would it be by?!) Enjoy! :)

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For seven nights now, Clara had been living a nightmare seven times over. Over and over again, the same night. The night after her coronation. Last night had been the worse some things not happening and some things happening that weren't supposed to. It was all a disaster.

Now Clara knew who was to blame. Roderick Vilton, her Head-of-Defence. It was his lust for the throne of Cannon that kept her locked up in her night after night, living the same night. And Clara knew all this from someone she least expected. Her slave.

After Clara drifted into restless sleep, her slave had crept in, leaving her a note providing all the information. Like how Roderick was doing it.

In Cannon's treasury, there lies a plain rusty wooden box. The key hangs around Clara's neck. In the box there is a secret so deadly, it could kill Cannon off. And that is just what Roderick was doing. He...

Clara thoughts were forgotten when a knock resounded off the door and around the room. She sat up, taking deep breaths to prepare for the ordeal ahead of her. Her slave told her Roderick planned on making her  abdicated publicly, giving the reigns to Roderick.

Three guards led Clara down the long corridor to the Defense Office, where presumably Roderick was waiting. Usually Clara had walked down this corridor relishing the moment to give a command and have it obeyed, but now she was being commanded. And she didn't like it one bit.

As the heavy oak doors swung open, Roderick began talking.
"You have been alerted, Your Majesty, of your current situation?" He used the term "Your Majesty" mockingly, as if teasing me that she was no longer Queen.
"Yes. I am...quite aware of my situation. As you should be of your's. You are not in control, and if you are, it will not be for much longer." Clara tried to sound convincing, but her voice came out a deep growl.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you warning me? Well, sorry to break it to you darlin', but it ain't working! And am I supposed to be scared that Cannon will fall when it has survived all these years? Because I can tell you now, it's. Not. Working!" With these last words, he leaned in till Clara could smell what he had for dinner.
"What do you think you're doing! And how did you get the key anyway?" The gaurds now restrained her.
"So you do know what I did? I thought it might take a while. Seven days. Not bad. The Reverser can only dictates what happens as long as you know what's going to happen. Last night you didn't expect the key to be gone, so the Reverser stopped working. Not really though. You don't notice it but, it is still the same night as it was eight days ago. Time is frozen, and until you abdicate, it will remain as such. So it's up to you, darling, to make time right."
"Don't you get it? The Reverser will use up all of Cannon's energy. That's what it runs on. Cannon's energy. Ever wonder why it wasn't used. Very soon Cannon will run out, and never come back on. You are killing Cannon. Is getting me to abdicate worth burning Cannon?"

For a long time he just stared, his face right next to mine. Finally he spoke.
"Release her," he told the guards, "and as for you, my Queen, you will turn it off. And then abdicate. Is that clear?"

When Clara didn't answer, he continued, "Or is destroying Cannon worth being it's queen?" He knew he'd got her, and she knew he knew he had.

"All right! I will turn it off. But we need to move fast."

The treasury was far below the surface, seven hundred stairs down. Stair after stair they climbed, Clara still bound. It was not until they reached the heavily gaurded treasury door that her hands were cut free. "You hear me, my Queen? You will abdicate, or you will die." Roderick whispered in her ear. The gaurds let them through, then shut the oak door behind them.
"Turn it off. NOW!!" He yelled at Clara.

She took a hesitant step forward.
"I..." She began, feeling the words catch in her mouth.
"Come on, my lady." The words were quiet, but menacing. Clara had no choice. She stepped forward, heading down the spiral staircase that led down to the heart of the treasury.

She stopped at the bottom step and turned to face Roderick.
"I want you to know that I am doing this because of Cannon, not you."
"Whatever the reason, you are to do as I ask, yes?"

The heart of the treasury, a place topped with gold and containing one of the only such items in the world, the Reverser. Clara knew something Roderick did not, the Reverser could only be turned off by taking the life of the individual who turned it on.

"Just out of curiosity, who actually turned it on? Like, who flipped the switch?"
"Myself. I did not trust such a job to one of lower rank and wisdom."

Clara turned away, ignoring the growing apprehension she felt gnawing at her. Shuffling toward the box mounted on a pedestal, Clara unhooked the key from around her neck. Inserting it to the rusty lock, she twisted the key and opened the lid that should never be opened.

Glowing green light illuminated the opaque green cube. The Reverser.

For a while she just held she cube in her hand, staring.

"Go on then! You said it yourself, not a moment to lose!"
"Um....well, you see, to turn it off, I need something. Send your gaurds up to my room and your office. I need both copies of History of Cannon. Hurry!" Roderick gave the signal, and off the fled, leaving Clara and Roderick. She was nervous, and her hands shaking so much, she feared she may drop the Reverser.

"What's wrong then? Turn it off!"
"Uh...the books, I need the books."

Roderick went back to grumbling, and Clara went back to worrying. How will I? I mean, I can't very well just plunge a knife through his heart. Or can I....? 

The guards weren't back yet, and Clara was confident she had enough time.

"Oh dear. I forgot. I need something else hidden in here." She went of searching for the "thing" she needed, but inside her brain was busy formulating a plan. She stopped just before a wooden chest. The lid creaked as she lifted it up, but inside, a dagger was nestled inside a cloak. She grabbed that and the cloak, concealing the dagger from detection.

"Why do you need a cloak?" He asked when she came back.
"Uh...."

With one deft motion, Roderick snatched the cloak from me, revealing the cold glint of the blade of the dagger.

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To be Continued: Part III 

Happy Writing!

Scarlet

New Title, New name, New characters

Okay, just realized something. Dead Earth? Not so original. Spur of the moment decision to name my book, The Dead Earth. Actually, it's not even about earth! *takes deep breathes*

So here are some alternate titles:

-Experiment 56
-The Arena
-Rebel/ Rebellion
-The Prophesy of Chandra (or Gālian)
- Doubleblade
-Shadow Slayer
-Ruthless
-A Dark World

All not in favor of the last one, say "aye." Aye. It is a complete rip off of Thor: The Dark World. But then again, its a dark world not the dark world. :)

Right so. I am completely open to name suggestions... Finding names is not my strong point. Hero is my main character...so a rip off of Much Ado About Nothing. (Side note, just went to see it in theaters [free movies all week, but only certain films] and my gosh, Joss Whedon rocked the Avengers, but romance is not his strong point. It should have been rated DR for dirty romance.) My helper character/side kick/ not-my-protagonist-but-second-to-her is named Callum nicknamed Cale. Original? Pretty original if you ask me. Weird and not a real name? Definitely.

While I am on the subject of names, I need a futuristic science-y geek name for a guy. I was considering Camden, Peter, or Pierre. Whad'ya think? His co-worker's name is Raven. She will probably be most like me. Except in the fact that she will wear glasses and I happen to be blessed with 20/20 eyesight. Lucky me.

Got a little side tracked there, but if anyone has any name that is debatably better than these, leave it in the comment box. And if you prefer one of the new titles to the old one, leave your preference in the comment box.

Happy Writing!
Scarlet

P.S. On the subject on names, changed mine! If I ever get published it will say, "By Scarlet Willow" I mean, Jordan Maupin doesn't have that magical effect on people (Maupin is apparently not a word. The computer keeps underlining it in red.) Take Lemony Snickket, for example, everyone wants a name like that, right? Sorry, a little bit sidetracked there too, but...yeah. My new's name's Scarlet. At first I had, Scarlet Yellow, but two colors in a name, a bit over kill on the imagination. *sigh*

Writing highs, spiritual highs

"Dr. Jones, what's wrong with me? I feel on fire inside."
"I am afraid to say, you have a high."
"Which kind?"
"Spiritual."
I jump off the hospital bed and dance around, singing "Amazing Grace" at the top of my lungs.
"I am on fire for the Lord!" I run up and say, "Jesus loves you!" to Dr. Jones and rush out of the room. To every person I see for the next three days, they all get a "Jesus loves you!" and kind actions. And then one day, I wake up a bam! spiritual high is no more. I still love God, and I still am as kind as I can be, but nowI am not the nice, peppy, lovely person I was with the spiritual high. Life goes back to normal.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who loves spiritual highs. Spiritual highs. The stuff Christians crave to keep them loving God. For about three days you are a dedicated Christian. You are on fire for God and no one is going to stand in your way! Then you wake up one morning and you are no longer a top notch Christian, you're only average. (Click here to watch the best video on spiritual highs! I laugh every time!)

So why am I talking about spiritual highs? 'Cuz I have a high. A writing high. That's right, for about three days, ideas and words are plenty, and I complete more chapters in those three days than in a week. Your work sounds sooooo much better, and you consider yourself a fully fledged author. And then, the inevitable...

It leaves. And then you write about a paragraph every day, if even. And those paragraphs are stiff and formal, and stereotyped like crazy. Then about a week later, you fix onto a normal writing routine, your writing is back to how it was.

And then, it strikes again. This time in a different form: Creativity high. Your characters are real, living, breathing. Your writing is decent, your plot rocks, your characters superb, your words aren't beyond what a thesaurus can't fix.  All in all, your a pretty awesome writer with epic plots. Life is good.

Your stories take on unexpected turns that are new and original. You start bragging a bit, referencing your blog to others and even work up the courage to email your favorite author. People start commenting things like, "You're a New York Times bestseller!" "Waiting for more!" "Emailed my favorite author a link to this!" You get your ego up, posting more adventurous things like, "What makes a good author?" or "When am I gonna get published?" You even send a publisher a copy of your story. For a while, you are at the top of the author food chain. And then,

It leaves.

You once again return to a normal writing style, people stop commenting, you stop emailing your favorite author. Life is normal. You write less and your blog posts are more like, "My favorite authors" or "Why my books aren't so great" and stuff like that.  Your story is still awesome, just a bit tedious and drags out for pages after it should've ended.

And then, a week later, you get a call.
"Hello. Publisher speaking."
"Hi."
"Is this Ima Author?"
"Yes!"
"We enjoyed your book, but it needs work. Once you redo it, we'll look at it again and maybe publish it. Have a nice day, Ima Author!"

You are on top of the world. Your writing highs last for four days now! And, they come every week! Its manna and quail from God. You thank him for this wonderful opportunity. And then, bam! you have a spiritual high. Life is awesome.

Then it just keep going in a cycle. Write a really good paragraph= writing high. Writing high=spiritual high. Spiritual high= really good paragraph. :) So you are stuck in what I call, the High cycle. You get a high, wich leads to a different high, wich leads to a different high, wich leads to the original high. Repeat x∞ (∞ is infinity) So life is at it's highest.

You write, then you get hit in the gut. The publisher won't publish kids. You cry. Whoosh! Status of spiritual high, gone. Status of writing high, gone. Status of all highs belonging to Ima Author, disappeared. Life is hard.

But you know what's coming.

A week later, the High cycle strikes again. And stay tuned for the sequel: My High is Higher Than Yours.

Happy Writing!
Scarlet

Quizz answer

Yes, it's true, Merlin is my favorite t.v show. I mean, Colin Morgan? Who can resist. Consequently, he also played in Doctor Who, though he was not the Doctor but one of those one-time-only helper character people.

Where to Start?

"Where do we start?"

"The beginning. That's usually a decent place to start."

How many times has my band had the conversation? The conductor will tell us to play a piece and someone, someone will have to ask, "Where do we start?" The beginning, you primitive creature! Just kidding.

So I have a problem. I am not one to waste energy or time. If they story makes sense without it, it's not going in. I know, not exactly the best trait for an author. I have a habit of rushing through the beginning and taking way to long in the middle, then wrapping up abruptly.

First of all, the beginning is as important as the middle. Set it up right, you get a great plot. Lure in your readers and you are sure to be a bestseller, no matter how bad the story is.

I once read a book. Well, sort of skimmed the pages. The beginning was awful, boring, only one character, and I plain fell asleep. After you got past the sleepable beginning, it was pretty good. Actually really good.

The beginning is what we judge a book by. That and it's cover. Make sure you do it right!

Second off, does any one have a suggestion that might make me write my beginnings with more detail? Suggestions will be greatly appreciated.

Thirdly, Doctor Who and Merlin use the beginnings to set up the whole story. How do they do that so well? I tried to do that and, well, judge for yourself.

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I had been walking for at least another minute when I realized something had to be wrong. I stopped, puzzled. The loud footsteps continued to rapidly approach, and with each footfall, my heart jumped to my throat. I slowly turned toward the direction of the great beast, knowing I could not find a tree in this darkness before the beast was upon me. I slid my hand into my jacket, where I pulled out my familiar dagger, a present from my deceased father. Holding it over my head, I shouted: “Gālian et withÿ!” For Gāliana and glory!

Abruptly the footsteps stopped. I felt the ground shudder, and imagined the red-eyed beast with huge fangs slowly turning around, hungry for meat and blood. 

I began shaking, probably sobbing, but I didn’t know. I only thought about how this was my death. Goodbye, Kalì Doubleblade. Goodbye Miles Nevershoot. Goodbye Deynira Oldone. In my mind, I said goodbye to everyone in my tribe. The girl I never spoke to, the boy who taunted me, every Old One; all these I remembered, hoping somehow someone would know I was gone. Forever. With these thoughts in mind, I faced the beast.

At least I assumed I was facing the beast. The darkness clouded all vision from my eyes. I looked for the glowing red eyes, but found none. I listened for the ragged panting of the beast, tired from it’s hunting. And it’s hunting was about to be over, with me as the main course. I sniffed, inhaling not the smell of a carnivorous bloodthirsty beast, but just the familiar woody forest smell. Then I felt it. The light breeze of something brushing past you, close enough to create a breeze but not touch you. Or something raising it’s arm to swing at something. Particularly me.

The thought came a fraction to late. I was knocked of my feet with the force of the blow, and for a while all I felt was shock. The burning pain stung seconds later. Great. First a blee sting and now this! My life right now can’t get any worse, I thought. But you have to be carful when you say that, because I can promise you, life always gets worse. Cursing, I twisted my head around, trying to make out at least the silhouette of the beast, but darkness was the only thing that greeted my eyes. Strangely enough, no subsequent attack followed. Pushing myself up, I frantically hunted for my dagger, so as to protect me, which now hidden in the dead leaves.

Dead leaves? Why would dead leaves be here; it’s not even …Oh wait, a second. There was still two months till the Days of the Trees. I left the tribe two months ago. That makes it…the Days of the Trees!  The Tree Days Festival was already here. All at once, information flooded my mind, making connections faster than I had followed the information. I thought of all that I knew about the Tree Day Festival. Gālians celebrate the Tree Days Festival, making offerings of water and seeds. They then would plant the seeds of offering in a circle around our village every Festival, to keep the trees from going to extinction. The trees would in turn thank us with their leaves for our fires and the fruit for our tables. That night, a great bonfire composed of their own leaves would be lit, and it would stay lit all through the Festival. The bonfire would commemorate the Days of the Trees. Suddenly, I knew what my attacker was.

My attacker was a tree. 

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Happy Writing!

J.M

First Person V.S Third Person

I write in first person. To me, it just makes sense to do that. It is so much easier to convey thoughts and actions of your protagonist. Their is no doubt who is your protagonist, who is your side kick (I'm sure there is a more technical term for a side kick other than side kick.) But back to the point, first person allows you to connect and get more personal. For instance:

Three days now. They had been on the island for three days. I set down my heavy pack, allowing myself a sip of the precious water. I felt like crying, the strain of it all, the heat, the lack of food. The feeling of abandonment. Everyone in the group, including Kat was tired out and worn from the long march to the safe side of the island. Personally, I thought when we reached the "safe" side of the island, it would be just as dangerous there as it was here. The sand would still burn your skin, the trees would give out disastrous amounts of carbon dioxide, and the rain would still be as acid as ever.
"Move along, Selene!" I heard Kat say, and hoisted my pack onto my aching shoulders and tagged after the ragged group.

Or:

Three days now. They had been on the island for three days. Selene set down her heavy pack, allowing herself a sip of the precious water. She felt like crying, the strain fo it all, the heat, the lack of food. The feeling of abandonment. Everyone else in the group, including Kat, was tired and worn from the long march to the safe side of the island. Personally, Selene thought that when they reached teh "safe" side of the island, it would be just as dangerous there as it was here. The sand would still burn your skin, the trees would give off disastrous amounts of carbon dioxide, and the rain would still be as acid as ever.
"Move along, Selene!" Selene heard Kat say, and she hoisted her pack onto her aching shoulders and tagged after the ragged group.

You see how the first person made more sense in this kind of paragraph, specially added to convey emotions. Of course, third person made sense, and you could alter it some to fit your needs, but the emotions were more distant compared to the first person paragraph.

Books Written in First Person
-Double Vision by F.T. Bradley
-Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
-Red Blazer Girls by Dr. Beil
-Shadow Spinner by Susan Fletcher
-Report Card by Andrew Clements
-War Horse by Michael Morpurgo

The Downers to First Person
Unfortunately, you can only convey one person's emotions and thoughts: those of your protagonist. What if you wanted to show that your side kick is mad, but doesn't show it, how will you make your reader see he is mad? You could switch who you is talking (Change the side kick to first person for a while) but that is confusing and un-original. You could just ignore it, but were would your story be? Remember, writing is about emotions. You just have to somehow make your character see that the other person is angry, or have them tell your protagonist later on in the book. Of course with the later you risk your reader not remembering...

Third Person
Third person is for me more difficult. (On Seven Days, I caught myself putting in "I's" instead of "Clara.")  The good thing about third person is it opens your horizen to other characters, like you side kicks. Third person also allows you to notice little things, like what other characters are doing. For instance:

Selene tended to the dying flames while rallying the camera crew together. "I know we've been lost for a month now, but don't lose hope." Charlie groaned, tossing more sticks in the fire for the flames to eat.
"Face it, Selene, we're never going to leave." Selene and Charlie were quarreling now, both forgetting the fire. Cole and Jessie were silent, still preparing their meager portions of dinner: Chicken and a few green leaves Kat had found. Kat yanked back her tent's flap, intervening the two.
"Enough!" She yelled, stooping to exit her tent.

See how Selene was the main character, but you could see how many other characters were doing different things. You still were focused on Selene and Charlie, but you saw how the other crew members responded to the fight. Cole and Jessie were cooking, and Kat was apparently sleeping. You could show what others were doing without leaving your main character. (Selene)

I tended to the dying flames while rallying the crew together. "I know we've been lost for a month now, but don't lose hope." Charlie groaned, tossing in more sticks in the fire for the flames to eat.
"Face it, Selene, we're never going to leave." Charlie and I were now full on fighting. I noticed Cole and Jessie were still preparing the dinner, and Kat was lifting her tent's flap.
"Enough!" She yelled, stooping to exit her tent.

You can see how this one was badly expressed compared to the third person paragraph.( If you want to convey a fight seen while focusing on others, make your main character watch for a while, describing what she/he sees and others are doing, then make she/he intervene if they need to after you have shown all you needed to. Just a bit of a tip that works for me.)

Books Written in Third Person
-Eragon by Christopher Paolini
-Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
-The City of Ember by Jeanne DePrau
-The Egypt Game by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

The Downers to Third Person
Third person doesn't give the prominent feeling of a close relationship between the reader and the protagonist. It makes the reader feel as if she's there watching them, but can do nothing. With first person, it makes the reader feel like she would say those sort of thing that the protagonist is doing. First person allows you to connect better. For instance, in Double Vision,(First person) Linc goes into a bakery where he is followed in by the evil Benjamin Green. When Green tells him that he told Linc not to go to the bakery, he replies, "Well, you're not the boss of me." He says to himself after saying that, "Way to sound mature, Linc." That is exactly how I would have responded! :) (I'd like to say I had to look that scene up, but I had that one memorized by heart. I laughed my head off because I can picture myself in that exact dilemma and saying something less than, uh, mature. :))

Third person is harder to show who's who. For instance, if you want Charlie to be your main charcter later in the book, but you focus on Selene in the first bit, they will wonder who actually is the protagonist. With first person, you could simply divide the book in to parts, and switch who "I" is refering to. With second person, you may have a hard time doing that. I'm not saying it's impossible....if you are a good author both should be relatively easy for you.

Please remember, this is all a matter of opinion. I prefer to write in first person, but that doesn't mean third person is bad. In fact, most of the books I like are in third person. It is completely a matter of opinion.

In fact, I like to practice using both. (Click here for my pitiful attempt at third person)

Happy Writing!
J.M

"Are you using me?"

My dear character asked me. The answer to that is yes. I am using you, my dear character, to make a point. Just like President Snow used District 13 to prove a point. *shudders* Anyways, my dearest character, I have constructed the perfect way to use you to prove a point.

Let's say you wanted to make your protagonist look small and weak. (Why you'd ever want to do that, I don't know.) You might introduce a new side kick, a strong, mean, warrior kinda person.

Mayla stepped toward me, bow in hand. She narrowed her eyes, as if evaluationg me to see if I would do. From the woods nearby, a mournful howl of the wolf rose up to greet the rising moon. Without any sign of emotion, Mayla notched an arrow and ended the howl forever. She didn't even bother to go get the carcass, she just left it to rot or feed another wolf. I was crouching now, trying to escape her permeating gaze, but it found me wherever I was. A small whimper escaped my lips, drawing a menacing smile to her lips.

Cale scampered down from his lookout place in the trees. He was startled to find Mayla towering over me, and did nothing but watch as Mayla shot him through the leg with an arrow. A cry pierced the stillness of the night air, and Mayla watched as he slowly crumpled to the ground. Standing up, I dashed for him, worried, but of course Mayla wouldn't let me pass, and shot me too, without blinking an eye. The pain originated in my shoulder, but quickly the pain was spreading elsewhere. My eyes began blacking out, and the pain threatened to make me pass out.  Mayla's face was now close enough for me to feel her breath on my cheek.
"Sleep well, my darling." A malicious smile pressed on her face was the last thing I saw before I slipped away into the world of darkness.

See what I did there? Who was not to be bothered? Mayla. Who was weak? Hero. Cale was used to show that even if both of them were to unite, Mayla would defeat them. The wolf being shot then left to rot proves she kills for fun. The total message? Mayla, not to be messed with; Hero, trying to resist; Cale, a total wimp.

Of course you could use this method for a lot of other things, not just showing the protagonist or another character is weak.

Selene used the stick to stir the meager portion of soup. The stranger was big, hungry, from the looks of it. His eyes never left the pot. Cole and Jessie were looking regretfully as the last of the meat disappeared into the pot. Kat was inspecting the stranger carefully, as if surprised someone could be hungrier than them. Charlie was still out foraging, and had told them to eat without him. The soup was done, and five small portions ladled into the bowls.

The stranger immediately pressed the bowl against his lips and drank in the soup greedily. He was finished before they had taken a spoonful yet. Selene spooned the last ladle of soup  into the stranger's bowl. She drooled as she watched the soup disappearing down the man's throat. Before they were even halfway full, the soup was gone. The stranger stood up, taking a loaf of bread with him.
"Thank 'ya misses and sire," he said, tipping his non existent hat at them. He ambled away, gnawing at the bread. Cole rummaged through the packs.
"That was the last loaf," he moaned, staring in the way the stranger had gone.
"And the last of the vegetables, not to mention meat," Jessie complained, cursing under her breath. Selene looked out to the forest.
"Perhaps God will send manna and quail."

The last line (For those of you who know their Old Testament) was a reference to when the Israelites were wandering in the dessert with Moses for forty days and forty nights. They were growing desperate, so Moses prayed to God, and he sent manna in the morning and quail at night, to provide for his Chosen People. So, by saying that, it would prove just how desperate they were.

The stranger was the character used to prove a point, a point that they were hungry. The soup using up the last of the meat and vegetables, and the stranger taking the last loaf of bread goes to prove that they were indeed hungry. And Selene watching the soup go down the man's throat? Complete proof they were hungry.

Side note, my youth pastor, Thomas, told us that he was doing the dollar a day challenge. You do it for a week, so you have seven dollars to spend per family member for the week. We did it, and oh my gosh. I was so hungry, I watched the people on the train with their chips and candy bars and I am pretty sure I was drooling! :)

But I digress. In Merlin episode 5, they use a character to prove a point. In the beginning, Merlin is out in the woods picking fungi. A terrible creature, a griffin, charges him. He runs, trips, and is left at the griffens mercy. Just then, a wanna-be knight dashes out to rescue the helpless Merlin. He saves both of their lives, and the story continues.

They used Merlin to prove that Lancelot, the wanna-be knight, is a great swordsman and is knight material. Merlin could have used magic to save himself, but that would've made Merlin stronger than Lancelot and thus no one would have really liked Lancelot.  (I was shouting at the tv the whole time, "Use your magic, Merlin! You are so dumb not to use your magic! Merlin! Look, now a not yet knight has to save you. You could've used magic! No one would have seen you!" It was a very emotional time.)

But back to the topic. Merlin 'needed' rescuing, and to make Lancelot more brave and beloved, they made him rescue the 'helpless' Merlin. Then they go on to show how he...well, you'll have to watch to find out. (I don't recommend it because someone *coughGWENcough* falls in love with someone she's not supposed to *coughLANCELOTcough* and not someone else *coughMERLINcough*. It was sad.

So, my dear authors,  I encourage you to use your characters. And gentle Readers, don't get mad if the protagonist looks weak or scared or more brave then normal. It's just part of the story.

Happy Writing!
J.M

Review 0002: Inkheart

I usually stick to fantasy, so this book was out of my comfort zone. Inkheart holds some subliminal element that makes it addicting. Well to me, anyway. Inkheart is a classic good versus evil plot, with the villain of the year: Basta. (Capricorn is too...distant from the story to be the best villain.)

A girl gets whisked up into her very own story when a mysterious Dustfinger arrives at her house. (Meggie and her father are book-aholics)Traveling to her Aunt Elinor's house, Mo (her father who she loves to the moon) is kidnapped by Basta and some other thugs. Meggie, Elinor, and Dustfinger go to Capricorn's village, where Mo was taken. Meggie learns Mo can read things to life out of a book, like Dustfinger, Capricorn, and Basta, who he read out of Inkheart. The price though, is someone disappears into the story. Meggie's mother disappeared into Inkheart after Capricorn, Basta, and Dustfinger came out.
 After escaping from Caps' village, Mo goes in search of Fenoglio, the author of Inkheart, to look for another copy of Inkheart. After a turn of events, Meggie is captured, AGAIN, but this time with the author Fenoglio. Meggie discovers books hidden under her mattress in her prison cell, and begins to read aloud, hoping she inherited her father's gift. Unfortunantly, she had. A small Tinker Bell arrived on the scene after Meggie reads her out, and Basta figures out Meggie is blessed with the "Silvertongue." Capricorn is going to use Meggie, or rather her voice to read out the Shadow out of Inkheart. The Shadow will destroy anything in it's path, and win Cap the earth. It's like the Destroyer in Thor. But Fenoglio rewrites the paragraph when the Shadow first appears in the book, making the Shadow literally disentagrate and Capricorn melt. Finally Mo, Meggie, and Resa the story continues in Inkspell.

Though the book ends all happy and sparkly, that was not the message in the book. So what did I not like about it? The gruesomeness of the book was the big one. A child, getting kidnapped and mistreated? *shivers* Another is Elinor. Elinor rocks, no questions asked. But, she did curse WAY to much. "Bloody" was her favorite, which after coming to England, that's one I hear daily on the tube, so I guess now I'm accustomed to. But before then, I would cringe every time I read it. I mean, come on Cornelia Funke! It's a children's book! Yeah well... Inkheart also was a bit terrifying. My worst fear is that a kidnapper will break into the house. Basta breaking into Meggie's house? Heart-stopping. As I said earlier, it's a children's book.

Other than that, the book was positive. Good wins, but evil escapes (evil can be used synonymously with Basta) Meggie is endearing, Mo is awesome, and Resa comes back. Perfect. A great villain is defeated, and all's well that ends well, right? The plot keeps you entranced till you can't bear it, and the characters are real. (Right now Fenoglio is walking down the hallway, making a sassy remark.)

But what of the author, Cornelia Funke, you might be asking. Well, uh, I don't like her other books that much. Dragon Rider? Forget it. Thief Lord? Not that great. But, without a doubt, Inkheart is one of my favorite books.

Happy Writing!
J.M

P.S- did any one else hate who they got to play Capricorn in the movie. *raises hand then slowly withdraws it when I see I'm the only one who agrees* *sighs* I hate being the only one with questions. I mean, in Algebra, I am almost the only one who has questions. I don't know what that says about me, but...Thanks, Faith, for having questions too! :)

My new Favorite Villain

I read on a friends blog (click here for her blog and here for her choice of characters) that it helps to make a character more life like to choose an actor or someone with a face (that shouldn't be to hard to find now, should it?) and base your character of that person.

My villain is going to be amazing. (I hope.) (I always did like my villains best...I wonder what's wrong with me...) So I needed someone amazing to represent him. So I chose Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock is aloof, powerful, smart, and tricky. Perfect for a villain. The only problem is Sherlock is good, villains are bad. Guess I'm gonna have to fix that somehow....Oh wait! I know! *facepalm* Moriarty. James Moriarty. The perfect evil villain of all times. (Maybe next to Loki but...still...it's perfect) For all of you geeks *coughs awarkwardly* who watch Sherlock from BBC *blushes and coughs some more* you'll know what I mean when I say the perfect villain. Irish, not bad looking, slippery, nonchalant, and down right the devil-in-carnate. And it didn't take long to follow up that conclusion to use Moriarty as my villain to then say, "Where in the world is Sherlock??!!" So, I've decided to use Sherlock as my humble protagonist's side kick's side kick. 

I know, if my work is anywhere near as good as Stephen Moffat's, (Writer of Sherlock and Doctor Who) I will faint. Or pass out. Or have heart attack. Or die. Or all of the above.

Stephen Moffat is a British televison writer (which I don't watch. At all. *blushes and clears throat*) Okay. I can't lie. I am officially addicted to BBC and Stephen Moffat. Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Merlin: all BBC. (Let's not forget ITV: Downton Abbey. Btw, the fourth series just came out in London, so I know what's going on already!!! Haha, all you Downton fans!) But moving back to Stephen Moffat. Moffat became Doctor Who's head writer when Matt Smith became the Doctor. It is now a given fact that Stephen Moffat had no heart. *tears falling down face* *screams out "Doctor! No!" and curses Stephen Moffat for ripping our hearts out*

Stephen Moffat is convinced that breaking everyones heart is a good thing and will keep up viewers. Well I'll say, "It's not working! It looks like for once everyone is gonna have to live! Ha to you Moffat!" Unfortunantely, Moffat's plan totally works.

But I digress. Back on the subject of...my new bestie....my villain in The Dead Earth. I think we can all guess who my villain is going to be, but I won't ruin it for you. Spoilers! (Couldn't resist adding that in! Hehehehe, all those Whovians will understand.) Annyywwaaaayyss....back to my villain. So anyways, I based my evil friend of James Moriarty, using actor Andrew Scott's face. (He plays Moriarty in Sherlock) So what do you think? The perfect villain?

That is Andrew Scott as Moriarty. This will be my villain when he's in Gālian.

This will be him when he's in Hūmian. Still the same fellow, just more toned down. More...uh...normal?

This will be my protagonist's side kick's side kick. (I know, it's confusing. Don't worry *pats person on the back* you'll get it one day, mate.)

That is Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock, with the much hated hat. (Can someone please tell me why in the world he wears a that kind of hat!!??) Anyywaaayys....moving on.

This is Benedict Cumberbatch as...well...himself, I guess. 

So that's who I am basing two of my characters off, and of course my protagonist is based off me. Do you guys think it's prideful or strange to base protagonists off yourself?  Also another thing I can't do is make guys my main character. I just don't understand what goes on in guy's brains other than, "Did you see that football game?" I'm guessing my understanding is a bit limited...let's blame that lack of knowledge on me having no brothers. Just three other sisters. My house is full of, "What should I wear?" and "I have no good clothes!". Life is hard. Really hard. Just kidding. :) 

Back to the topic. Anywaysssss. So were was I? Oh yeah. Me being the protagonist. I like to imagine myself (Of course in a made up world) as one of those super-strong always-aim straight kinda gals. Sad to say, that's not really me. At all. I'm more of those commanding people that sit back and watch. But anyways, I've worked out that if you put a super-strong always-aim-straight people as your protagonist, people tend to hate them. I know 'cuz I've tried. Put them as a side kick, like a side kick's side kick's side kick. (It's okay if you didn't process them correctly. You'll get it one day.)

This is me, the model for your humble protagonist. (Obviously not humble enough not to do model poses! :)) Annyywwaayyss....there's a face to go with the character. Or the back of one anyways. 

Now there's a face to go with the character! (If your'e wondering what I'm doing rubbing a pigs snout, it's a long story. Basically, I went to some Florencian market in Florence where the myth is, if you don't rub this pigs snout, you won't be coming back to Florence. Of course I rubbed it so I could go back to Florence!! :) (It was gross though, a steady stream of water pouring from it's snout, all I could think about was spit!)(Btw, if you want to read about my family's travels in Europe, visit my sister's blog.)

So there you have the models of  my new bestie the villain, my side kick's side kick, and my protagonist. Let me know what you think, and if you have any other perfect evil devil-in-carnate kinda guys. (Unless they're the Muppets, cause then I already know about them. I briefly considered using Kermit as the villain...but then I thought, "A frog villain? You've got to be joking.)  Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think of my choices!

Keep writing! 

JM

Hitting the Repeat Button

I have what I call, hitting-the-repeat-button. It usually occurs when you have been staying up all night writing. Which I don't do. At all. Um...yeah, back to the subject... This is what my writing is like after a good night's sleep:

“Soldier, snap out of it!” There was such a tone of authority that I obeyed, and for once I was fully aware of my surroundings. Little details stood out to me: the morning dawning, a butterfly landing on a blossoming flower, the sun climbing into the sky. All around me were new beginnings, and now, I was in for a new beginning. The City was in for a new beginning. Gālian was in for a new beginning. And I would bring that new beginning. I would rebel. 

Not the most original, but interesting. (I hope.) Here is what it's like at 12:00 at night.

"Snap out of it!" I obeyed without question, and noticed where I actually was. The morning was beginning, the flowers were blooming, and the sun was rising. Everything was beginning, and Gālian was in for a new start. The City was in for a new start, as was I. I would rebel, rise up and conquer Gālian, and free it from it's bonds.

Okay. So which is better? It is a matter of opinion, but hopefully you liked the first better. That's because I wasn't hitting the repeat button.  When I hit the repeat button, all creativity is shut off, and all my sentences sound the same.

"How are you?" I asked.
"Good. How are you?" He replied.
"Good."
"Are you good? Or just OK?"
"Good. I'm fine."

Or:

The sun rose on the green mountain. The green grass grew out as weird angles. Trees grew upwards, throwing their green branches to the sky. People walked around. Animals walked the streets. All around me, the town was coming to life. People spread out their wares, and buyers spread out their money. The town was awake.

That is what hitting the repeat button does. Notice green is used to describe all the foliage? If I had wanted to convey that the town was green, it would have been fine. But since I only used it to describe foliage, it was wasted. The sentences were short and didn't flow. If you hit the repeat button, you use the same length sentences and the same words.

Now why am I telling you this? Because I have been hitting the repeat button. I am working on Part II of Seven Days, and I noticed I used suddenly and quickly way to much. My sentences all sounded the same:

"Clara stood up, unwilling to move."

"Clara looked out the window, unsure of what she'd find."

They all follow the same form: Independent clause and a dependent clause. Ughh....three pages had to be completely rewritten. I'm going to cry...

An hour later:
*sniffling* Hi guys. *sniffles* I'm back.

Back to hitting the repeat button. I found a genius way to fix hitting the repeat button. Here is my serum:

Step 1. Watch funny Youtube videos. My favorites are Blimey Cow and HISHE. Speaking of Blimey Cow, if you are a homeschooler suffering from Hitting-the-repeat-button syndrome, click here.(Warning! If you are not a homeschooler don't click the link! ONLY if you are homeschooled.) If you laugh or forget about your project, chances are you will be able to stop hitting the repeat button.

Step 2. Listen to Music. Music is what makes the world go round. Next to love of course. Find your favorite song, and shout the lyrics! *sings "Things We Lost in the Fire" very badly* "Things weeee lost, to the fla-a-a-m-e-sss, things we'll n-e-e-v-v-e-e-r-r  s-e-e-e-e again, all that w-e-e-e-e-e amas-s-ed sits before us, s-s-h-h-a-a-t-e-r-e-e-d into ash, (Faster tempo)  these are the things, the things we lost, the things we lost in the fire, fire, fire, (Repeat) (I won't sing the whole song to you, but click here to hear it.)

Step 3. Watch BBC. For those of you with Netflix, search "Doctor Who: Doomsday". I guarantee  you will be crying at the end. *sniffles* Or if you like adventure, watch "Sherlock". You'll feel way smarter if you can keep up with him. Besides, Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman? I couldn't resist. Or if you like magic, find "Merlin." Just watch BBC!! You could even watch the five hour Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth. I don't care. Just. Watch. BBC!! I am done with my rant. *deep breathes*

Step 4. Ride the subway or train. It doesn't have to be far, just a stop or two. On the train, make up stories about the people you see, making no effort to stop hitting the repeat button. By the time you return to your worst enemy the computer, your hitting the repeat button syndrome will have disappeared.

Step 5. If the previous steps haven't helped, then.... Watch Downton Abbey Season 2 episodes 7 and 8. Sybil and Branson....Don't get me started. I promise you will fall in love. And voila, your syndrome of hitting the repeat button is done. Problem solved!

You can also use these steps to exterminate Daleks, er, no...where was I? Oh yes, to exterminate writer's block.

Keep writing!
J.M 

Am I a Wanna-be Author?

Sometimes life is hard. Actually, life is always hard. Which is why, when you hit writer's block for a week, you fail a test, your computer hates you, even through all of that, one thing prevails: Emotion. And that is my definition of writing: Writing is the practice of therapeutically taking out any emotions in your life and constructing an enjoyable work of art that glorifies God. That is my definition of writing. Here's Wikipedia's. A sequence of real or fictional events. Yeah...if that's all writing is, that would be a sad life. Luckily it's not and Wikipedia is just crazy. I hope. But back to the topic: Am I a wanna-be author?? :O (that's an "Oh no! My life is over!" face, for those of you who were wondering.)

So here it is: The confessions of Jordan M. Dun, dun, dunnnn.....! *coughs and stammers for a bit, prolonging the oncoming truth*

So here is the truth:
I call myself an author, even though only a few short stories have actually been completed. I enjoy creating stories and expressing my emotions in a real way. (Telling everyone of Facebook: "I hate life!" doesn't count) My mind is constantly filled with half finished stories, or even almost finished stories. On all my travels in Europe, I create a story off what I've seen. Rome gave birth to the Dead Earth, though Gālian had been born long before. In Paris, the Palace of Versailles inspired the idea of Marie Antoinette's maidservant helping her escape in her secret passage that saved her life one night. (I hate doing research, so any historical fiction is out of the question. Thus, the story was trashed before I had even written it) Because my mind can create a story, I consider myself an author. (The story doesn't have to be good, gentle reader, to be a story) (Btw, does anyone know why the term "gentle" is used to describe reader?!)

So no, I do not consider myself to be a wanna-be author. In fact, I'm currently working on a book write now, The Dead Earth. Never mind all those short stories I'm  workin' on. And those history papers. But besides all those projects, I'm not writing, so I guess you could call me wanna-be! ;)

So does anyone else consider themselves an author but they've never written it down? Write it down! Who knows, you might be the Jane Austen. :) So my dear wanna-be authors or already authors, that concludes my rant on writing. (I felt very writish-y today.) :)

Keep writing! (or reading if you're a gentle reader)

The Dead Earth: Prologue.

 “Is the experiment ready?” A well-known voice echoed through the sterile white halls of Hūmian Protection Laboratory.

“Sir, of course it is.” There was a pause. “What’s more, I’ve been there, lived there, conquered it, prepared it for Group 3.” There was no mistaking the pride in the Russian’s voice.

“Impressive, I must admit. But the real question here is, will it be ready for me? Will it be safe for me?” There was a silence so long and heavy the President turned away, whatever hope he had lost. When the scientist replied, it was in a voice so solemn and low the President strained to make out the words.

“No. Not yet. One more group.” The President, who had kept his temper, now swore loudly at the scientist, causing several cameras to swivel in their direction.

“I gave you two groups, and now you demand another? The people are revolting, Berlin. It doesn’t matter to them that the world is burning. It doesn’t matter that our country are the only ones left. The only ones! No one but us on this dead planet, and they complain that we are taking their children. It doesn’t seem to matter that the children will be dead if we don’t do anything about it! You are going to explain to the people what Gālian is and why they need to let us use their children. One more year, Berlin, one more year is all I can give you.  We may be in before then though, so keep it safe, Berlin, keep it safe.” The president apparently was finished, because he walked out, clutching the precious documents labeled: “Experiment 56: Gālian.”

Berlin turned toward the door concealing the room holding his masterpiece, his kingdom. Out of his lab coat pocket, he pulled out a rusty key, dating back thousands of years. It’s been too long since I’ve ruled my kingdom. He thought. The President hates me, the world’s crumbling; what better time to escaped but now? Goodbye Hūmian, hello Gālian. With that he walked to the door, ready to return to his kingdom.                    

                                                                                     

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    I know, you probably already turned off the computer, or at least fallen asleep. It's all the same stuff you've read before: Mysterious conversations, a dying earth, an evil scientist, a Russian, and an angry President. I tried to make it mysterious and suspenseful, you can decide for yourself if I succeeded. My next chapter may be out quite soon, in about a week or two.  Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! 

Review 0001: The Hunger Games

It's with books like these that I seriously doubt the mental stability of authors. Kids killing kids? How morbid is that? Nonetheless, I thoroughly enjoyed the book. The plot was enticing, and Suzanne Collins is a master at bending the reader to her will, drawing them to the book. The writing was fresh, the world carefully thought out, and the characters masterfully sculpted. Now that we've talked about all the things I enjoyed about it, let's move on.

The book follows sixteen-year-old Katniss Everdeen, a girl from the poor District 12. Somehow or another, the Capitol rose up, dividing North America into twelve districts. After a revolution, the Capitol created the Hunger Games, where two tributes, a boy and girl, are sent from every district to participate. The twenty four tributes are flown to an arena, rigged with traps and just about anything that can kill. There they fight off to the death, until only one is pronounced victor. Katniss' younger sister, Prim, is chosen for the Hunger Games, so Katniss volunteers. Along with District 12's other tribute, Peeta Mellark, Katniss is flown to the arena, and barely gets past the first day. The book follows her through traps, friends, deaths, and love. Will Katniss survive?

So there you have it: the good bits and the story line. But what about the bad bits? First of all, the theme is a bit sickening, kids killing kids, and not of their own free will. Now as a Christian, it contradicts all of my morals. But Katniss didn't have a choice, and she never actually kills anyone, except as a mercy death. And a revenge death. And setting mutated killer bees on someone. And  poisoning someone.  But other than that, she doesn't kill anyone. :) The book portrays a conflicted girl, angry at the Capitol, but unsure what to do. She is a master killer, a born hunter, who uses those gifts to survive, even kill, in the Games. Apart from all the blood-lined theme, the book was quite interesting, posing the question, "Is that what our future holds for us?"

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Please tell me what you think of the Hunger Games, and of my review. Hope you enjoyed! 

Short Story 0001: Seven Nights- Part I

My Mom and Dad often go to the out at night, leaving me and my sisters to act as we choose. (Don't worry, the house is still intact when they get back) One of these privileges to staying home alone is no bedtime. When you drop, you drop. It was on one of these such nights that I had a writing spree at eleven o'clock at night. (Not exactly the best time, but still, you don't exactly choose when to have a writing spree.) I finished Part I (of III) in about thirty minutes. I was quite glad it didn't take an hour, 'cause when you have a writing spree, you got to see it out till the end. There is no time for sleep, school, reading, or all of the above. (There's always time for tea though! :)) So I hope you enjoy, gentle Reader, the fruits of my night's writing spree.

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Clara woke with a start. The sweat dripped from her brow and onto her starch white sheets. She had felt it again. Tossing of her covers, she swung her legs out of bed and peered out the window. It was a full moon again. Just like it had been for the past several days. The same thing over and over again, the same dream, the same presence in the room, the same night sky.

It had started a week ago, with Clara's coronation. She was now Queen of Cannon, the nation of Living Dead. It was true, she was the queen of the living dead, but not the living dead you'd think of. The people of Cannon were survivors of a shipwreck, 1000 years ago. Clara's great-grandmother, captain of S.S. Cannon, became the queen, and had passed the crown down until it came to Clara. They were called the living dead because everyone down in Earth thought them to be dead. But oh no. They crew of Cannon had survived, building up a civilization so grand, it far exceeded any kingdom known. 

The Cannon Dwellers were said to be strong, to show no fear, for they were the Living Dead. And now I am showing weakness! Their Queen! Clara thought miserably, wiping away the tear that came rolling down her cheek. But she was scared. A week of the same night, the night after her coronation. A week of the same torment, a nightmare, a presence in the room, a knock on the door. 

Clara frowned. Tonight there had been no knock on the door. Yet the dream, the presence in the room, everything had been the same. Except the knock never came. And Clara knew, somehow, that when the knock finally came, Clara would be dead.

Maybe she already was. Maybe this is what it's like to be dead. Reliving the night you died. Over and over again, the same actions, the same feeling, the same thoughts. The same heat, the same chill....

Clara ran through the seven nights in her head. Go to bed, wake up sweating after nightmare, recognize a presence in the room, look at the stars,  the knock comes. Then relive it all again. Over and over she analyzed the night. Suddenly, the missing piece hit her so hard, she realized why she had sweated so bad tonight. There was no breeze. The window had been open the past six nights, letting in a cooling breeze. But not tonight.

The window being closed just reinforced the fear she now felt rising to an unhealthy level. Clara tried the window, hopefully, but to no avail. The window sash stubbornly refused to budge, not even to Clara's pleading. She turned away from the window, discouraged. 

Her eye fell on the glint of steel. My key! Clara nearly screamed as she felt for the familiar weight around her neck. She moved over to it, examining it closely. She strung the key back on its chain, clasping it around her neck. 

It had definitely been around her neck the other nights. Something was changing tonight, but what?

As it turned out, Clara was about to find out. From outside her window rose a horrific wailing. Clara resumed her vigilant watch out the window, seeing a sight far more terrifying than the changing night. Her guards, Cannon's army, (Though they didn't them because no one knew Cannon existed.) was gathering outside her window. There were torches being passed around, feet being stomped, horses neighing, men wailing. All of it was like her nightmare. 

Except now, it was real. 

Clara couldn't keep it in any longer. She screamed! Loudly. Loud enough so that the activity outside her window stopped. It began again, though, with more relish. Louder and louder it became, until Clara, overwhelmed by the noise and the nightmare she was living, fell onto her bed, covering her ears with her pillow.     

Finally it seemed all that the world existed as was the noise outside her window. Clara had a vague feeling the noise had stopped, but inside her head, the racket continued. On and on it went, until it forced her to sleep, lulling her back into her nightmare. Tonight was over, but what would tomorrow's night hold?                                                                                ∂π                                                                    

Greetings, gentle Reader

Greetings, gentle Reader. Welcome to a virtual bookshelf of unfinished and close-to-finished stories, written by your very own, Jordan. Here you'll find short stories, chapters of my current book, an occasional poem, tips from authors for authors that I've found useful, and book reviews. Remember to read with obvious gusto, and spread the word. (It might help when I try to get published.) And one more thing before you dig in, gentle Reader. Enjoy.

J.M