Tuesday, November 30, 2010

A Writing Snippet!

I love to write. This is no secret. Sadly, with all the work I have with school, sometimes my writing time gets cut down or even deleted. It saddens me greatly. Last night, I decided that I would at least write something! My fingers were twitching as they always do when I crave to write and I felt an idea at the edge of my mind.

I didn't write for long, but I like what I created. It's a short snippet of a greater story that remains unknown. I'd love to hear what you guys think of it and your ideas for what could happen next. It's all one big mystery!

Enjoy!

Feet pound into the earth. Thud. Thud. Each step sends shock waves of urgency jarring through her body. Mud clings briefly to bare toes, painting them brown before dropping off like flakes of snow in her wake. Dirty droplets splash up the back of her body, painting a polka dotted design on her clothes. Faster her feet push into the earth as if trying to break free of the ground altogether and soar into the sky.

Short gasps of breath squeeze from her lungs as she races up the hill. Sweat trickles down the sides of her face and her back. Stumbling, she falls into the muddy slope, her fingers and toes both scrapping at the dirt. She scrambles to her feet, ignoring the scrapes and cuts that mare her legs and arms. She lifts her eyes ahead and frowns in determination, her thin brown eyebrows coming together in her small face.

Orange and red lights flicker over the horizon, painting a foreboding image on the fading blue sky. She pushes forward towards the light, her arms pumping furiously at her side. Dark strands of hair escape from her pony tail and drop forward before her eyes. She pushes them back behind her ears and forces herself onward.

She slips twice more as she climbs to the top, her faded blue t-shirt becoming unrecognizable due to mud and grass stains. The fabric sticks to her sweat ridden body, displaying her muscular and starved frame. With a mighty shove, she uses the last bit of energy she has to force herself to the top--to the flickering lights.

Her eyes close shut for a minute as she fills her lungs, breathing hard and fast. At last she stands and turns to face the scene before her. Grey eyes widening in horror, she takes a step back.

"O great mother, what have I done?"

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

a poem

Written Oct 31, 2008

Alone in darkness she patiently waits,
for captors with knives and evil with pain.
No glimmer of light will come to her aid,
rusted shackles cling to frail arms in chains.

Grit covers floors while water seeps down walls.
The stench of mildew still lingers around.
Critters watch her with glassy eyes like dolls.
She cries out in pain and prays to be found.

Here they come with their blades, and whips, and spikes,
Satan’s silent sentries, juggling death’s flame.
Suffering in their wake--they are black knights
stopping at nothing to play their cruel game.

Alone she cries out from dark prison walls.
Lifting her voice, to Lord Jesus she calls.

Monday, November 08, 2010

NaNo... Update and Snippet

Well, it's a week into NaNo and I'm already a full day behind. Yay... o man. At this point, I have no idea if I'll even finish. The teachers are really loading up the workload and I will be so busy in the next coming weeks. I'll do my best, but like I said before I started, I am not putting NaNo above my school work. At this point in my life, my school work is much more important.

With that in mind, I'm really liking where I'm going. Over the past couple of days, some really great ideas have emerged and I have really enjoyed exploring the new twists and turns my story has taken. Though I don't have time to super edit, here is short excerpt from one of my favourite scenes so far!

I hope you enjoy it! Please comment and let me know what you think:

Disclaimer : Not my Photo
As she sat down and closed her eyes, a night ware emerged from the shadows, binding the Time Keeper with a thick paste. Opening her eyes in shock, the Time Keeper looked around herself in fear. Upon seeing the night ware, her lips curled down and she moved as if to push him from time. She tugged at her arms but they remained nestled at her side. Glancing down in alarm, she saw the paste and her eyes widened in alarm.

“That’s right, little keeper,” the night ware sneered, his voice scratching and grating against her ears like fingernails on a chalk board. “Struggle all you like but you cannot free yourself from its clutches. You are trapped in our web and you will not be able to escape so easily.” He began to laugh, his cruel voice jarring as it bounced off the folds of time.

“What do you want with me?” she demanded, her voice dripping with poison. “I cannot give you anything and I wouldn’t even if I could.”

“Oh, that’s where you are wrong, dear girl. You can give me something. You can give me the secrets of time.”

Her eyes widened for a moment and then she snickered. “And how do you suppose I’ll do that?”

“Don’t play ignorant with me, witch! The book of secrets! I want the book. Give it to me!”

She spat at his feet. “I don’t have it.”

A loud slap rang out and her cheek glowed red. “Don’t lie to me, wench! I know you made it.”

She smiled grimly. “That may be so, but I do not have it any more. It’s somewhere you will never go and it will be found by someone you do not yet know.”

“More lies!” he growled, pacing back and forth.

“Believe what you like. You cannot get what I don’t have. Search all you want, but you will not find when you don’t know what you seek.”

“SILENCE!” he turned on her and bared his teeth, leaning close to her face. She could smell his putrid breath and feel the evil growing and churning within him. “If you so refuse to tell us the secrets, you shall tell no one the secrets!”

The night ware pasted her mouth shut then hoisted the Time Keeper on his shoulders. Glancing around swiftly, he then jumped through the time rift and disappeared into the unknown, the Time Keeper gone with him.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Scarred..? - day 28



A scar you have and it's story

DISCLAIMER : Obviously not my photo..
Well, you see this scar on my brow?  I received it years ago when I battled against the fearsome ripple-beaked cockatoo.  This rare bird is brother to a basilisk and relishes leaving markings upon its opponents.  Shorter than an average tree and yet taller than a bolder, the ripple-beaked cockatoo has brightly coloured plumage that range from reds to blues.  The beak, a luminous orange, can break through even rock and is as sharp as a blade.  This bird is truly deadly.  Why I sought to fight it, I do not know.


  I narrowly and gallantly won my life, but this scar will forever mar my face.  People look on me with fear and loathing, somehow hating what this line symbolizes.  Why they judge me so, I do not know.  I only want to have my own honour and, of course, power.  Is that so much to ask?
.
.
.

 
Okay, so I don't really have any scars with good stories.  I have markings and indents and burn marks, but no real scars that stand out.  Hmm... Maybe to solve all that, I need to find this ripple-beaked cockatoo, eh?



post signature

I am thankful for medicine and bandaids that provide us with a means of healing ourselves when we are injured!

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

my word hobby - day 20

A Hobby of Yours

DISCLAIMER : Not my photo
I suppose writing is my hobby. I love to do so many different things and sometimes, I wonder if I even have a hobby. I love to read, I love to make things with my hands and do different crafts. I love to play sports and so many other things. Can each of those be a hobby if I don't do it in excess? See, I'm not too sure...

And thus, I suppose that writing is my hobby. I mean, I'm writing all the time. I write these blog posts, after all, and that's just a small portion of my writing. There is the school work I have to do [which is sometimes fun and engaging--always challenging to some aspect], and there is the creative writing I do. I always need to have pen and paper with me because I find myself with all these ideas waiting to be expressed.

DISCLAIMER : Not my phot

Now, I'm not really a poet, but since I don't really have any specific passages that I'm working on at the moment, a poem will have to do. Below, you'll see a poem I wrote back in September. I was trying to capture my feelings at the prospect of university. I didn't really have a style going in or a feel that I was going for but this is what emerged. Enjoy!


post signature

[P.S. NANO IN 11 DAYS!]

Change
Verdant, lush, burning, crimson
Aureate, honeyed, auburn, brown
Perfect, whole, braking, falling
Crumpled beneath feet
Changing

Royal azure, trickling foam
Rippling, burbling over stone
Crisp, biting, winds blow
Freezing ice crystals
Changing

Lustrous, unique, sparkling
Purring power, rumbling
Tarnish, deteriorate, corrosion
Scrap withering away
Changing

Gentle glow, first breath, fresh tears
Rosy cheeks, soft skin, no fears
Play, laugh, scrapes, booboos
Time goes by
Changing

Pencils, binders, lineups, bells
Words, numbers, problems
Job, clothes, diplomas
Leaving home
Changing

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

a birthday bash & poem!

Today is a very special day. Today is my best friend's birthday and she is now 18 years old [like me!]. Sadly, because we are both in University, I can't just walk to her house and give her a big ol' hug or surprise her at school with a huge note on her locker. I can't really plan a surprise party and ship it five hours away... I just don't have the connections to pull off such a stunt.

What I can do, though, is tell you why she is my best friend and why I love her so.

doesn't she look beautiful in whip cream?
us.. feb 2009
Bananer, as I call her, is a beautiful young woman of God. She's smart [though like anyone, she has her blond moments] and talented. She's a graceful dancer who loves what she does. She knows music way better than I do and watches French recipe shows--which is awesome. She puts her heart in everything she does, though she often takes on a whole lot at once.

Ana puts up with my silly antics and even joins in when I go to cause mischief... which can be often. She makes me laugh by doing the silliest things and I know I make her smile through the weirdest/most random things as well.

because her name is anastasia
Ana knows that sometimes, all she can do is listen when I spill my guts, but then she also knows that at other times, she needs to kick my sorry but into place. Though her words aren't always what I want to hear, they usually are needed to be heard and I appreciate her for that.

Ana is a precious jewel who shines brightly for Christ. She knows who her Saviour is and seeks Him with her whole heart. She is my best friend, a counsellor, a cohort and my sister and I love her so very much!

Today, Ana, have a happy birthday!

Why I love you
a poem by rae b

Chocolate curls dance around your face,
you navigate at your own pace.
Hazel eyes catch my smallest cue,
let me tell you why I love you.

Dancer supreme with lots of flair,
you move with grace, a debonair.
Bright (blonde) one, intelligent too,
let me tell you why I love you.

Plans and charts, for crazy antics,
you remain through my silly tricks
tossing in an idea or two.
Let me tell you why I love you.

You listen when there's words to say,
when there's not, you stay anyway.
A strong shoulder and force to boot,
let me tell you why I love you.

Your light blazes amidst the dark;
a diamond with no secret spark.
Take up the cross, always stay true,
let me tell you why I love you.

You are my best friend--nay--sister,
together we're a tongue-twister.
Allow me an end with this clue,
let me tell you that I love you.

best of friends...

Thursday, June 03, 2010

Where I'm From...

a poem...

I Am From Dreams and Memories
I am from movie nights and pizza,
from family fun and games.
I am from summer days and winter forts,
adventuring hikes and painted tree art.
I am from moving homes, tree top climbs,
roaring fires and mosquito massacres.
From water to land, I have no true sport.
I am all of the above.

I want to be the very best!
I am belonging to the light crest.
I am from the inquisitive land,
journeying for les réponses.
I am disguised by my hat, a shadow of my prey.
I am from secret hearts and open minds.

I am a player of games and a joker at heart,
one who stands firm for what she believes is right.
Wordsmith am I, opinionated, too,
though, deaf, I am not.
From the book of KleeWyck, I am,
laughing late unto the day.
A friend of all though silence is no stranger,
I am from tranquility and yet know and welcome storms.

I've travelled through doors within,
seen many worlds and creatures beyond,
creating my own guide of the universe.
I am from many cultures.
I am from one culture.
I'm from a relationship of truth and I can FROG it, too.

I'm from cloud watching afternoons,
from hide-and-seek in pews.
From picnics by the riverside to campouts in basements.
Many things have shaped me.
I am from a famille des amigos,
and a home built with care.
I am from a place of dreams and memories,
a place of hope and love.
That's where I'm from.

post signature

Monday, April 05, 2010

A Clash to Remember

A Movie Review for my school's newspaper...

Better than Troy though not better than Gladiator,” says my friend.

The gods rule all. They control life, death, prosperity and poverty. In a moment of anger, a hand wave may bring about unexpected famine or storm, destroying a chunk of humanity in the process. It’s no surprise that the people grew restless. They were angry at always having to appeal to the gods and wanted to have control. The people rebelled against them and tore down their statues, daring to insult the mighty Zeus (Liam Neeson –Oskar Schindler, Schindler’s List & Aslan, Chronicles of Narnia). Enraged, Zeus chose to punish the people for their arrogance.

Zeus called forth his brother Hades (Ralph Fiennes – Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter), whom he had tricked eons earlier into ruling the underworld, and told him to unleash the Kraken in order to annihilate the Greek city Argos. Unbeknownst to Zeus, Hades was more intent on destroying his brother along with the people that worshipped him with such earnest. Putting on a loyal facade, Hades secretly plotted his revenge.

Meanwhile, on earth, a young man sets out on a journey for his own vengeance against the gods. Perseus (Sam Worthington – Jake Sully, Avatar), son of Zeus and demigod, has lost his earth family because of Hades and vows to punish the gods for their insolence. He is tired of the gods playing with people’s lives and wants to set things right. Setting out on a mission to knock the gods off their high horse, Perseus sets out to kill the Kraken.

Thus the mission begins and the adventure takes flight. Clash of the Titans came out on April 2, 2010. A movie full of excitement and adventure, this film greatly outshone the 1981 version from which it was derived. Though a talented film in its day, the past 1981 version provides more laughs than heart-thumping adventure footage with jerky transitions and makeshift costumes. Not only does the new film have a storyline both more in-depth and elaborate, but with the years that have gone by, the special effects were greatly improved and flowed smoothly into the fabric of the film. The musical effects topped off this fantastic feature, spurring emotion and suspense with the different tones and complexities, all in all enhancing the movie.

It wasn’t as good as I thought it was going to be,” said my friend, Ana. “It was definitely worth seeing but not in 3D. I was flicking my glasses the entire time.” Unfortunately, Young had a point. The credits had more ‘pop’ than the actual screen play and the plot itself would draw a solid fan base without the 3-dimensional aspect. It also wouldn’t hurt to save a buck or two by not seeing the film in 3D.

On the other hand, an anonymous student said, “It was awesome!” Judge for yourself and discover if Perseus can accomplish his mission to break free of the gods and destroy the Kraken.

post signature

Monday, March 08, 2010

A Torturing Brain!

Why is it that our brains can be our most fearsome enemy at times? Shouldn't our brain help us through our endeavours and aide us in our tasks instead of creating problems that deter us from our goals? It just doesn't seem logical for our brains to trip us up and yet they do constantly on a sometimes daily basis.

During tests and exams, those most crucial brain moments, they choose to wander away, leaving a blank mind to stare at blank questions. When we hope to say something intelligent in order to impress people, the brain steps away and BAM! mistake city here we come! Embarrassment Avenue, we seem to be in the need of a vacant lot. Oh! That torturing brain. It likes to watch us struggle, eh?

The worst part is, we don't always see it coming until it's two late. Think of twenty words, we were told. Twenty words pertaining to a sentence selected by the rest of the class. My sentence ended up being, "If the sun were purple would light be different?" First torture technique right there! I didn't really have anything on my mind and so my brain stepped in with something random as it usually does.

All right, so I have this sentence. Next, twenty words. Okay, no big. I can think of twenty words. Here we go:

surreal, laughing, water, space,
crocodiles, river, stars, awake,
golden flowers, world, dreaming, fields,
blue, borealis, grey, mountains,
valley, rural, pale, tinge


Okay. Can you see the next mistakes already? My brain thought of CROCODILE! Geez. Where that came from I will never fully know. I will blame the colour purple. It most likely hangs out with crocodiles when it's not being used and decided to bring it along for the ride. Purple is very social, don't you know.

Anywho, so there I was, sitting at home with these twenty words, trying to think of how I could squeeze them all into a poem without making it sound forced or retarded. Well, at least my brain was good for something, I must say. When in doubt, use SYMBOLISM! Hip-hip-hooray for 4 years of high school English! Symbolism is now emblazoned upon my cerebral cortex.

I must admit though, I enjoyed trying to think of what different words could represent in my poem and I am proud of the outcome. If I had had to rhyme the poem... well, let's not even consider that torturous endeavour now, okay?

Anywho, I entered the poem in a contest through my class and cannot post that here on my blog, but I will share with you the short story that I made at the same time, using the same 20 words. I hope you enjoy!


~Rachel

A Purple Sun?

"If the sun was purple, would light be different?" I ask my mum as we walk through Walmart. "Would colours be the same? Would the world be different?"

My mum glances at me sideways, an eyebrow raised to the side as a smile tugs at her lips. "Well," she begins, "I think they would pale in comparison. Things would be grey, dull--or they might adopt a bluish tinge."

"Hmm… Makes sense, I suppose. Without a yellow sun, there'd be no golden flowers, orange-red sunsets or vibrant green fields and valleys. The river waters may no longer be so in-depth." We turn down an aisle and slow our pace to study the many paintings that line the walls. "That's kind of sad, really. To think that a mountain sunrise would be lacking a primary colour… It would be surreal!"

"You want to see surreal, take a look at this painting," my mum says from a few feet away, "This artist has painted a crocodile in space. Just look at his pink neon spacesuit! He clashes like crazy among the stars."

We start laughing at the absurdity of the piece and turn to look at the next. Equally obscure, a cow grazes in solitude under the aurora borealis, completely oblivious in his rural landscape. I tilt my head to the side and see an eye hidden in the colours of the borealis.

"Awake and Dreaming," my mum says, "that's what this piece is called."

I chuckle. "Well, I certainly don't think that cow is awake! Can you imagine the craziness that would ensue if the world was indeed different? Who knows, maybe if the sun were purple, crocodiles would become astronauts…" I shudder. "On second thought, I think I like the current colour."

My mum chuckles.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

A Strike Among the Hired Help? Down with Writer's Block!

I sit and stare at the blank screen, the little typing do-hickey flashing on my screen, mocking me. It knows I want to write--no!--it knows I need to write and yet it flashes it's rebellion, refusing to produce the words I need, the words I want.

"Stare all you want," it says, "but I shall not budge. I shall not yield to the whims of you writers. All day long I'm at work! All day long I move across your screens and make words appear for you. I go here, and there and back again, correcting YOUR mistakes. I've had enough, I say! For once, I shall not do as you bid. I shall stand here and rebel and no matter how much you stare, I shan't move an inch. All those words in your head, that's where they will stay as I stand up in protest today!"

... Okay, so that doesn't really happen and that little flashing line doesn't ever go on strike in reality, but when you find yourself stuck in a story that is what it feels like. As much as you'd like for things to progress and as much as you try different ideas and tactics, you may find yourself moving nowhere. And all this because of writer's block. [Or, the STRIKE AMONG THE HIRED HELP!].

Write a line, then erase it. Write once more, and back goes the line, preventing you from moving forward and keeping you held back. As it flashes on and off, it taunts you. Daring you to make it move and yet telling you, as it stays in one place, that you can't. Curse that mocking line!

There are many different ways to get over that road block and many ways to move that line. One way is simply to leave. Stand up, walk away and do something else. Clear your head of all thoughts. If you spend too much time over analyzing or thinking about a situation, you will not be able to derive an answer. Your brain will simply be too tired and too tangled up in itself to see straight. Never good for writing. So, leave that mocking line and go outside, go read a book, watch a movie, just let your thoughts wander to where they will and you may find the answers coming to you soon enough.

Another way could simply be to close your eyes [if you can type without looking]. Put that text cursor out of sight and out of mind and just let your fingers explore the keyboard, writing what comes to your head without worrying about how it sounds or how it looks. In this you can better visualize what you're typing, too, which might also help, it depends on the person.

I find talking a plot out with people is also useful. Even if you don't use any of their ideas, they can help unlock the doors hidden in the corners of your mind so that new ideas may spill forth. I'll ask my one friend, how do I kill my villain? and she'll give me all these good ideas, but I won't like any of them, and yet, through talking to her, I can devise my own method.

We can boycott the strike and win if we just try hard enough! That little text-line shan't win in his rebellion and words will prevail in the end! Just find what works for you and force it forward!

The cursor blinks at me. I blink back and smile and close my eyes. Try to mock me now, little do-hickey, I think. I am the wordsmith and you are my employee. There is no escape. And with that, my fingers begin their dance...


~Rachel

Thursday, January 07, 2010

Embyr's Light, Scene 3

G'day!

So, here's scene number three of my lovely story! I'm a little bit embarrassed at the quality of the writing. I'd like to think I've progressed since I've written this and all...

Anywho, enjoy!

~Rachel
His Child


Hours later, Anita, Ethan and Theo sat around the table having tea. No one spoke as Theo reached for a cookie, her hand shaking. She quickly drew it back to her chest and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice shaking like her hand. “I thought I would be more help–That’s never happened before!”

Anita swallowed a mouthful of tea and attempted a smile. “It’s not your fault. Besides we do have a lead, Obsidian.”

“Yes I know.” Angrily, Theo rubbed her hands together. “I should have guessed though! Obsidian is the stone of legend and–” she broke off.

Ethan rested a hand on Theo’s shoulder. “No worries mum, you have more done than you thought.” Both females stared at him and he went on. “In all of Acacia, only one mountain range harbours obsidian stone. As well, the obsidian capital is all but 2 hours gallop from here. We can be on our way at once.”

Silence once more filled the air as Anita absorbed his words. Her chair scraped against the floor and before Ethan could call out, the front door was creaking shut. He smiled apologetically at Theo. “Well good-bye I guess. We’ll see you… when we see you!”

Theo returned the smile and raised her glass. “Safe journeys.”

~*~

Anita pushed her horse onwards at a gallop as Ethan pulled up the rear. Once more they were heading north on the ever rising terrain through the mountains. Fifteen minutes from Kinstai, the obsidian capital, the entered into a valley and stopped. A lake separated the two ends of the valley but that is not what caught them off guard. The forest that should have stood between them and Kinstai was gone and all that was left were dried stumps. On top of that, the noise had stopped.

“Something’s not right,” muttered Anita. From behind, the sound of metal on metal made her turn her head. Ethan had his swords drawn, a grim expression on his face.

Stones shifted on her right and instantly, without a thought, Anita let a dagger fly, two more quickly filling her hands as she slid off her mount. A cry from a man signalled her hit and the attack.

Bandits emerged from holes in the rock bed and from the shadows of larger stumps. Anita and Ethan were surrounded.

Ethan dismounted and threw his reigns to Anita. “I suggest you leave before you are hurt,” he threatened as Anita tied the two horses together. She now had two daggers in each hand.

On bandit, fat and short with a black beard laughed. “It is yeh who’ll be hurtin’,” he spoke with a thick accent. Weapons appeared from the folds of their clothes as they advanced.

“Ethan, you take those three and I’ll take these two?”

“Sure, first one done gets dibs on supper!”

Anita grinned. “Well, I say we’ll be having spaghetti tonight!” Another dagger whistled through the air slicing a long slash on a thin man’s cheek and cutting his ear in half. He screamed in pain and made to come at her with a short sword but a dagger appeared in his chest and he fell down.

She dared a glance back and saw another body covered in blood. A hand flew to cover her mouth and to prevent her breakfast from returning as a chubby man dodged her latest dagger.

He threw his own at her face but Anita turned on the spot, sweeping her left hand up to grasp the small hilt as it flew above her head.

The man paled. A swish and then a clunk sounded when the two daggers made contact with his body. Anita turned her thoughts on spaghetti with meat balls and tomatoes. Ethan clapped at her performance, his foot on the three bandits’ blades. “I think you’ll find we’re having chicken tonight,” he said. The smiled on his face faded as he turned to see an arrow sprouting from his left shoulder. Face contorted with pain he staggered forward.

Movement caught Anita’s eye and she looked to the right. Five bandits were fleeing for the tree line, one glancing back over his shoulder, a bow in one hand. Fury coursed through her veins but she held back from the chase. Ethan was her concern.

“Ethan! Grab onto the horse and I’ll get you up,” she cried bringing his horse forward. With a bit of effort he sagged into the saddle, blood gushing from his shoulder. After typing a lead between the mounts, Anita mounted and headed for the town as fast as she dared.

Ethan was her best friend beside Runil and Sally. She had met him two years ago after she and Runil had fled the burning remains of Runil’s father’s mansion. On the road they had been cornered by slave drivers who attempted to capture them and sell them to trolls. Ethan had come out of the woods and together, they managed to escape.

Anita wiped a tear from her eye. She remember some of the first words he had said to her.

“Now miss, what is a pretty little thing like you doing so far from home?” he had asked.

“Me? Pretty, you flatter me sir, but I’m afraid I ain’t got no home,” she said as a slave to her superior.


He had laughed, she remembered and she missed that laughter now. It was true she wasn’t pretty, but Runil and Ethan always said that she could make an ogre smile by telling a joke.

“Hang in there Ethan,” she murmured as she approached the town, growing larger in the distance.