Video Game!

I want to talk about what happened yesterday, about the event I participated in, what I was even up to . . . but sadly, I'm really worn out, so I'm just going to suggest you head on over to Flappy 2048! Apparently it's a mixed game between Flappy Bird and 2048, both games which I know NOTHING about. That being said though, I enjoyed the heck out of it, although once you hit 2048 . . . ooh, watch out.

Regular-scheduled posting will resume tomorrow (hopefully).

Blessed (very early) Beltane to you! - and stuff I've discovered

Blessed (early) Beltane! I'm afraid I didn't think to post anything until now, my inspiration a little dried up for this blog even as my work on everything else increases tenfold. Did you know that despite all of my projects, I still find ways to be bored? I'd almost disappoint myself, if I wasn't so amazed at my ability to procrastinate.

In any case, Happy early Beltane! Although for those of you who are Christian, I might want to revise my statement and say Happy Easter to y'all instead. It was my perception that Beltane came first in history due to paganism and all, but eh. I'm a little iffy on the whole "this mythology and its set of ideals is original!" religion thing. Now pardon me while I go find a place to hide . . .

I'm afraid, as you might've noticed, I'm not religious at all. But I can tell you some stuff about Beltane - Beltane, in paganism, is a holiday celebrating the consummation of the Goddess and God and largely celebrates the fertility of the Goddess. It's celebrated in the middle of spring, actually, on April 30th or May 1st, so I'm pretty early with this explanation - but that being said, Easter follows a similar-ish theme with rebirth etc, seeing as the Goddess becomes pregnant with the God when she and the God unite (and with Jesus rising from the grave and all - I think. God, I don't keep up). It's an eternal cycle, of course, hence some of the imagery used. In any case, celebrations are done with feasts, rituals, May Poles, and the use of the cauldron in ceremonies/rituals. (Cunningham) Of course, this is what I can gather roughly, at least - I am not a practicing Wiccan, and I'm sure I'm not explaining it as well as a practicing Wiccan could. But that's the summary of my knowledge of it, although I'm totally going off of my book Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner by Scott Cunningham. It's fantastic - if you're interested in looking up anything about Wicca or want a glimpse into a little bit of what paganism is about, I recommend you grab this. Wicca, of course, is just one of the religions in the grouping of paganism, but it's utterly fascinating.

...again, though, I'm not a Wiccan, nor am I a Christian. I'm an atheist - although I will admit that I have a slight favor to Wicca for a variety of reasons.

***

So what am I up to these days? My vacation started on Friday and ends . . . tomorrow. Yeah, just four days for spring break, but whatever. As I said before, I amaze myself with my ability to make myself bored, so I don't think there's any point in complaining at all.

Anyways, I figured I'd just show off some of what I'm into right now, if only to give ya a glimpse into my world for a bit. After all, I do not live in a vacuum, and the last thing I want to do is make this blog all about me. Besides, my inspiration comes from outside of me, too.

(Side note - is this seriously a plus size model? Google is insisting so. She really doesn't look it at all . . . maybe it's the angle, but I dunno. Freaking society!)

First off, this came into my feed this afternoon, although I think I caught it a bit late (three days - obviously!). I started watching Craving's blog mainly so I could keep track of the site, since their stuff looks pretty cool and I would not mind having them in the back of my mind once I get a bank account of my own and can more reliably buy stuff from the internet . . . once I have the money, granted. And yes, I am into this stuff! (Don't ask. I'm older than eighteen, I'm coolio with this stuff at this point.)

I nabbed an imgur post in the last two weeks and have had it in my bookmarks ever since. It's called "25 of the greatest Fantasy books ever written". As a person who enjoys writing and reading fantasy, this is a list I was really excited to find! Unfortunately, I haven't read many of the great works of fantasy yet (J.R.R. Tolkien, I'm sorry to make you roll in your grave a little), but hey - maybe this list can help me get started. After all, there's no excuse for me to wait! . . . besides all of the romance and YA books I keep finding . . . *cough*

I'm sort of embarrassed to share this one mostly because it's not the stuff I usually listen to, but despite the outrageous (and sort of sexist?) lyrics, it's actually really catchy. And of course, I can't help but fantasize about my characters while I listen. Nothing naughty! Just some fight scenes and stuff, because my mind works in fun ways.

And lastly - this is mine! It's a piece I drew and painted using my tablet as part of a persistence project for my Honors Sem. class. It took me at least five hours to finish and an hour to write the accompanying essay, but it's pretty fantastic to look at, at least from my point of view . . . there are obvious flaws (mitten hands! MITTEN HANDS!), but overall, it's not bad for being done entirely on my tablet. My tablet and I agree to disagree, so working with it can be a bit of a pain, but it's still holding up, so I'm content. Gotta love doing things right, too!

That's all I really have to share, then. Sorry to get a little rant-y, but I haven't posted in a few days. Gotta keep up, darnit . . . just keep rolling with the waves . . .

Day 15: Halfway there and the second page done!

Hey, look! I finished the second page out of 4 and 1/10! Actually, I finished this last week, so eh . . .
I am ALMOST at 50,000 words, although surprise, that is not my goal this time! I've been shooting for 80,000 because that was the length of this novel's prequel. If I don't reach it, fine, but I DO want to finish this novel within the month. Gotta finish it sometime, anyway! (And before this turns into a hardcore romance. Natasha, L'Fae, control your hormones!)

One more thing before I disappear -

My friend Pez showed me the channel of Nicolle's Dreams, where this woman makes ball-jointed dolls, and I decided to watch this video since I was a little pressed for time. Oh, my gosh, it was SO worth it! I don't have a particular interest in ball-jointed dolls just because that's something I never got into as a kid, but seeing the craftsmanship and work that goes into this is NUTS! Definitely a cool thing to keep an eye on. And don't forget, you can subscribe to her channel if you want to see more stuff, so go wild! Besides, there's just an extreme amount of perseverance and attention to detail that goes into this stuff, so go Nicolle!

With this being said, I only have one last thing to say - happy halfway point of April! If you're me, it's halfway through NaNo already . . . parting is SUCH sweet sorrow . . .

Day 14: Grief is a finicky thing

Just something I finished typing up. It's really really rough, but maybe you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
Because let's face it - grief doesn't make much sense sometimes anyway. And sometimes, it hits people even when you, too, need to be held.


***

She knew she hadn’t truly understood, or so she figured. Words on the page were mysteries to her, even after trying to read and learn and better herself with her friend’s help. Knowing about her dyslexia made her all the more acute of it, knowing that her childhood being called an idiot was merely the fault of something Cath had known nothing about, a problem she hadn’t been able to face before.

Because of that, she though that she had read wrong. That she hadn’t seen the words, that maybe she’d been wrong . . . But she also knew that she also could’ve been right.

What on earth could her mother have had to do with Valhalla? She didn’t understand. She understood so little of what she’d written, of the name (what she assumed was a name) and its significance and the implications of what her mother had scribed. It made as much sense as the rest of her day had made, which was little. Little to none.

She’d made it to the end of the hall, to the door of the person she’d wanted to see the most - but to her surprise, even as she laid her heavy hand upon the door, she thought she heard shouts. Sobs. Sounds of something breaking, even, but L’Fae didn’t have time to register all of it as she knocked on the door, the steady knock knock knock knock knock-

Eventually, the sounds died away. And so did her rapping at the door.

L’Fae stared at her feet, stared at her bare toes and her bare legs and her bare knees and then at the hem of her dress. She stared at them through blurred eyes, through tired eyes, as she waited and listened to the sounds on the other side of the door. All of them quiet, all of them muted. With more than one quiet whimper passing through the heavy oaken door.

When the door creaked open and Natasha’s bare feet appeared in her view, L’Fae had a feeling she knew what had happened. Barely in her vision were broken shards, remains from anger and grief. L’Fae figured she should’ve known - Natasha had always been so strong to her, had always seemed like she was invulnerable. Even after she heard of her father’s death, Natasha had seemed to hold herself together, strengthen herself with words of vengance and bloody promises.

But instead, she’d just been keeping it all inside. Keeping it inside, and letting it out in anger and frustration by destroying - the thing she thought she could do the best.

And at that point, on the floor before her, L’Fae could see tears dropping from her lover’s face and leaving dark stains on the floor.

L’Fae couldn’t help it. When she looked up and took in her lover’s red, tearstained face, her own tears rolled down her face as well.

“L’Fae?”

L’Fae shook her head; I don’t want to talk. Because she didn’t, didn’t understand and didn't want to talk. And from the look on Natasha’s face, she knew that her own stress - her total mind-numbing confusion - couldn’t amount to what was going inside her lover’s head. What thoughts had to have been blowing through her mind.

So L’Fae shut her eyes and stepped forward, close enough so they could pull each other into their arms, and she gave them both the silent permission to cry right there in the doorway.

And they did.

Anna and the French Kiss

I wish I could come up with a better thought than "READ THIS BOOK RIGHT NOW IT HAS SO MANY FEELINGS AND YOU WILL LOVE IT", but unfortunately, my brain is run dry. Working on so much stuff takes a toll out of you, and here it is, knocking me down a little! Not that I mind at all; I love the work, and though the last few days have been particularly emotional, I'm really really happy with the stuff in my life!

Anyways, this is probably one of my favorite books now - Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins. I heard about this book through John Green at the Vlogbrothers (you'll have to search it yourself - Youtube's decided to glitch on me!), and my reaction basically mirrors his: I thought, "Okay, I'll buy this and read this", and then I couldn't put it down. I finished it in twenty-four hours! Not bad for a book this size.

Anyways, I really recommend that you buy and read it if you're interested in adorable love stories where the ending is happy and the drama keeps you on your feet. My only complaint is that it's definitely a little back-and-forth-y, something that's pretty common in romance (or at least I think so), but that aside, it's a flat-out amazing book, and if you're into YA romance, this is definitely the way to go!

Day 9: Chapter 12

Aaaah, I am almost half-terrified to share this with all of you! One of the things about NaNo is that because of the pace you have to work at, you have very little time to self-edit, if any time at all . . . meaning that this next chapter is going to be really rough. Like a diamond that you can't even see. More like a diamond hidden in a god damn volcano.

Despite my own anxiety on the matter and all of that, I present to you Chapter 12 of Project: Hope. All the back story you need is that A) L'Fae has little loyalty from her platoon because she's gay and dating a woman, B) Elisa is one of L'Fae's friends, and C) God Peter is the ruler of the country in-hiding because of the antagonist. Have fun!

. . . eep.

Word Count: 3,701. It's a long chapter. I'm sorry.

***

It had all started so fast.

L’Fae had just been patrolling with her squadron, attempting to go to each of them and talk to them a week after Jade confronted them. They’d just been circling outside of Evane, and she hadn’t thought it would be risky - she’d gone to them each and tried to make her case, tried to get them to listen to her. She wasn’t as successful as she hoped; most of them flat-out ignored her, if not lashed back with a hateful word or two. But some of them listened, at least, and that gave her hope. Somehow.

But that had been what occupied her when the Rebel Angels attacked.

She immediately shouted for them to draw their arms, and her team did - all of them. But from there, only a fourth to a half followed her commands, and she had to go between air and land and arrows and the bo staff off of her back to attack. It was frenzied - she couldn’t see a damn thing happening as she fought and shouted out orders, her mind swirling too much for her to figure out what she was even ordering, who was even listening. She had no idea.

“Somebody go get backup!” she shouted at one point as she knocked down a man and turned to her forces, spotting Tamesis. “Go get backup, quickly!” she ordered. “Please-”

A flash of pain - and then she screamed and grabbed her left arm, just able to knock the Angel in front of her down and out entirely.

“L’Fae!” Tamesis went to fly closer, clearly concerned and her purple eyes blazing. “You’re injured-”
“There’s no time for that! Get reinforcements, now!” she shouted, and thank goodness, Tamesis listened and flew away, fast. L’Fae looked down at her arm - it was covered in blood. She cursed and put a hand to it, trying to think quickly of what to do, but she could only reach down to the hem of her tunic and rip a black strip from it to tie over her wound. It wasn’t deep - just a gash from a sword wound - but it bled and stung, so she tied the makeshift bandage tight. And then she turned back to the fight.

They were evenly matched, and she knew that from the first. But her group was easily outnumbered three to one, and she could tell, but she still grit her teeth and spun her sharpened staff, taking out eyes and leaving gashes and even stabbing a man through the chest when it was necessary. There was so much blood - she almost couldn’t handle it, how sweet it filled the air, to the point where she could taste copper on her tongue. She bit her lower lip and kept fighting, her spirits sinking as around her, some of her Angels began to droop and then drop to the ground, joining the several injured fallen among the grass.

At one point, she was nearly knocked out of the sky, brain spinning and the sky above her mixing as she spiraled down and fought to regain her balance. She tried, and for once, succeeded; the moment she was upright, though, an Angel came at her in white and purple, sword fully brandished, and she steeled herself and dodged his blow if only to smack him with her staff, to cut open his cheek and wind him-

If only to swing at him once more and have her staff, out of nowhere, shatter.

She gasped, flew back. But the Angel before he, he smiled, and he raised his sword with an evil grin and-
“Commander L’Fae, we’re here!”

She saw the man’s face pale, and she looked behind her and saw them: reinforcements, flying towards her with white and black wings and clothed in dark red and black, and she thanked the beings above and looked back to her enemy renewed-

But he had run. And before she could fully understand, the Rebel Angels retreated.

***

“Everybody move, we have fifteen casualties and counting, somebody get Ms. Rudolle over here-!”
The sounds all melded together as L’Fae ran into the medic ward, and she had to stop and cover her ears from all of the noise. Her arm throbbed in pain; her hasty bandage was coming undone, soaked in her own blood. She could still taste it in the air, that sickeningly sweet copper, and everything was so busy she couldn’t handle it, she thought. So many people lying on the floor with medics kneeling next to them, taking pulses and wrapping wounds and muttering reassurances, and L’Fae thought she was going to be sick.
She pressed herself against the wall and tried to breathe, tried to listen to everything and its lull. It felt like her mind was running too fast, like she was in overdrive. She felt like eyes were on the back of her shoulders and neck, even though nobody was behind her, and she took in a deep breath through her nose. She ran her fingers through her hair and felt the braid running through her hair, separating her bangs from the rest, come undone - it fell away and down her left shoulder, slowly unraveling as she tried to get her senses back, tried to breathe.

Breathe . . . Breathe . . .

“Are you alright, L’Fae?”

She looked up and saw her - Elisa. She was wearing a medic’s typical robe, covered in blood, wrapped around the waist with a sash of red. So much red - L’Fae shut her eyes immediately and covered her mouth, trying to fight bile as she felt herself shiver.

A hand on her shoulder. After just a moment, she felt it, and she heard Elisa’s voice: “Calm down. You’re just high off of adrenaline, okay? I heard what happened. Sounds like it was pretty sudden.”

She spoke through her open fingers. “Y-Yeah,” she stammered. “I-I still- I still feel like I’m being watched.”
“Feeling of impending doom?”

L’Fae could only nod.

“. . . Hmm. Again, adrenaline, and a little bit of shock. Sit down, okay? I’ll tend to you before I get to the others.”

L’Fae listened and obeyed, sliding down the wall as she pulled her hand from her mouth and to her injured arm, still stinging harshly. She opened her eyes, saw Elisa looking down at her with that familiar mix of concern and nurturing, that familiar mix . . . Dulled. L’Fae swallowed, licked her lips. “A-Aren’t there people in more trouble than I am?” she asked as she pressed her wings to the wall.

Elisa shook her head, took her arm, and started undoing the hastily-tied bandage. “The most serious ones injured will be getting here in the next few minutes,” she explained as she pulled away the fabric and leaned in to see the cut across L’Fae’s arm. “I’m part of the intensive care unit, so I need to wait until they come to do anything, really. Sword wound?”

L’Fae bit her lip and nodded.

“Alright, that’s not too hard, then,” Elisa nodded and looked back to her, but at least then, she was able to force a tiny smile. “You’re an emergency medic, right? Because this sure is an emergency.”

“Y-Yeah,” L’Fae nodded. “Do you want my help?”

“Yeah. Let me fix you up and I’ll show you what I need.”

***

She needed a lot, and fast. L’Fae was surprised at how quickly they had to move, how rapid everything seemed to surge around her as she got her wound stitched closed and started helping Elisa, and that was even before some of the worse injuries started coming in. Several of her group had minor wounds - a few of them were harmed more seriously, and some more from the reinforcements that had pursued the retreating rebels and been injured badly.

Still, that eerie red. It made her want to choke.

L’Fae ended up working as Elisa’s assistant for the most part, helping the injured sit up while Elisa stitched their wounds shut, laying wet cloths on the foreheads of those who were feverish with infection. She rarely had to do anything medical herself; a few times, Elisa asked her to sew up a cut or a gash while she attend to more serious tasks, and L’Fae helped as well as she could, even if her stitches weren’t as perfect as her friend’s.

And the scary part of it was just how focused Elisa seemed to become when she worked, how quiet she worked and how few reassurances she could give at the same time. Strangely enough, L’Fae was reminded of the first time she had arrived at the Devil’s Clubhouse, willing to join the Devils in protecting the people so much that she had run away from home. She’d turned up beaten, bruised, and tired - and Elisa, who met her at the door, responded by wrapping her in a warm hug.

There wasn’t time for any of that then, though. So much had changed, L’Fae thought as she fetched another basin of water, that such memories became more and more distant with each day that passed. She wished she could back to it, go back to saving the people without fear of her identity being found or her friends being killed. Back then, she’d known that they were all strong enough to protect themselves, or else didn’t go and fight at all.

But now, she wasn’t so sure.

The worst moment that day was when they started helping a Devil L’Fae knew from the Clubhouse, a man named Asten Smith, whose daughter sat by his side as he laid down on a thin pile of blankets. He had a stomach wound and numerous cuts along his body, the worst of which barely sewn closed. Elisa worked hastily and gave no orders, so L’Fae forced herself to make her own orders: talk. Comfort. And don’t let that father die.

L’Fae held Asten’s hand while she looked to his daughter, named Channery and about her age with pure white hair and dark blue wings. “You two are close?” L’Fae asked at first, unsure where to start.

“Yes,” Channery nodded, her bright blue eyes filled with unshed tears. “My mother and father divorced, and she made me stay with him. I have no siblings or other family, so Dad’s the only one I have left.”

“Don’t say that,” Asten grunted as Elisa took a stitch into his arm, his voice weak and coarse. He squeezed L’Fae’s hand. “You have all of the other Devils here to look after you in my steed. You know that.”

“I-I don’t know,” Channery shut her eyes and shook her head. L’Fae could see her tenseness, pulled in on herself like she didn’t know what to do with herself. “Dad, I can’t lose you. You know that.”

“I-I’m also not-” Asten coughed, his grip loosening. L’Fae’s heart ached in sympathy. “I’m not well enough to hold out, Channery . . . You know that. You’re a little over twenty now - you’ll have to find a way to survive, somehow.”

“But . . .” Channery swallowed.

L’Fae looked up at her and frowned. She remembered so well being in Channery’s position, after she’d ran away from home . . . She tried to give her a reassuring smile. “I ran away from home a few months ago, and I was very very scared. But I survived. Am surviving,” L’Fae said. “You’ll be okay, too, whenever your dad dies. That time isn’t going to be now, but whenever it is-”

“I-I know,” Channery shook her head. “I shouldn’t worry so much, I suppose . . .”

“You worry too much over these old bones,” Asten said with a dry laugh.

Channery shut her eyes and shook her head. “Dad-”

Suddenly- a sharp intake of breath. L’Fae flinched, but the hand in hers had gone limp, and Asten dropped into her arms like a rag doll. Elisa jumped and immediately dropped the needle she was trying to thread, leaning over Asten’s face and listening for breath while she took a pulse.

Channery had gone deathly pale.

“I-Is he-”

L’Fae swallowed and looked to Elisa as she sat up with her eyes shut, still feeling for a pulse, still focused and so far away and too, too solemn-

Elisa shook her head.

“. . . I’m sorry, Miss Channery. His heart gave out, I . . . He’s dead.”

L’Fae felt it like a punch to the gut, like a kick to the chest. She let go of the corpse and grabbed at the hem of her dress, already covered in blood, the loss running through her so fast it was like-

“Oh, Father . . .!”

Channery doubled over and buried her face in her father’s shirt, body heaving with every lost sob and last regret she had, and L’Fae could only watch with a heavy heart, unsure what to say, what to do, how she was supposed to react-

Next to her, Elisa finished packing away her supplies and stood up, took a few steps away.

And L’Fae felt her voice shake.

“E-Elisa?”

Elisa stopped, her back turned, her ruby curls cascading down her back after having escaped their tie hours before. All she said:

“We have to keep moving, L’Fae.”

L’Fae pressed her lips together and fought off tears. She couldn’t help but look at Channery, crying all alone, and feel bad - but still she stood and turned back to her friend, followed her away from the mourner and the mourned, as their duties called ever louder.

But even so, L’Fae couldn’t help but notice that when she’d looked at Elisa, she’d been able to see that her white-knuckled fists has shook far more than her own body ever could’ve.

***

Hours later, L’Fae finally tripped her way down the hallway to her room, sleep dragging down each one of her limbs. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling them sore, and tried to ignore every ache she felt settling in her muscles from fighting so hard both on the battlefield and in the medic ward. Her arm still stung from its wound; her heart hung heavy. As she turned the corner into the hallway near her room, all she hoped for was that she could change out of her bloody clothes and fall into her bed.

But the moment she picked up her eyes, she knew she wasn’t so lucky. Because God Peter, in a white button-down shirt and black slacks, leaned against the wall opposite her door and spread his wings out wider than L’Fae could’ve ever imagined. And to her surprise, he held a book in his hands.

She froze the moment she saw him; her heart beat a million times a minute. But once God Peter saw her, he started, stood up fully as he closed his book and marked his page with his thumb. “There you are, Lady L’Fae,” he said with a quick smile. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

“. . . How long have you been waiting out here?” she asked as she pulled out the key to her room and started unlocking her door. “I’m sure you have more things to attend to rather than wait for me, sir.”
“I chose to retire early, honestly. And please don’t call me ‘sir’ - it makes me feel too pompous.”

“Yes, sir.”

God Peter made a small chuckle behind her as she opened her door and stepped into her room. “Was that sass, Lady L’Fae?”

She tried to force a small smile. Tried, and failed. “A little, sir.”

Her room was sparse, even more so than her room at the Clubhouse. All she really had was a bed, table, and oak chest, the three of which had to store the meager belongings she’d managed to save from the Clubhouse’s destruction. Among those items was her bow, the one she’d brought from Cath and had saved from the fire due to Natasha’s help; it was the one over her shoulder, and she pulled it off her back and knelt to lock it away in the chest, safe and sound, before leaning her (new) bo staff against at the foot of her bed.
She heard the scrape of a chair behind her as she stood, and when she looked back, God Peter was sitting with his book in his lap and his wings tucked in to his back. “You sound tired, Lady L’Fae.”

“I must say I am,” she agreed as she yawned and rubbed her eyes. There was still blood underneath her nails; she shivered and pulled out her own chair so she could sit across the table from him. “I’m sure you heard about what happened earlier today?”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “It sounds like you fought well. After all, ‘the true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him’.”

L’Fae narrowed her brows and bit her lip. “Um . . .”

“Oh, um- my apologies,” God Peter looked away, turned pink in the face. “I’m a prolific reader, you see - and sometimes, literature speaks for me. That was a quote from G.K. Chesterton, he was- he was a writer from Valhalla, actually.”

“Oh . . .” L’Fae bowed her head. “My apologies, my lord. I’m afraid I’m not a good reader, nor a developed one.” After all, she’d only read Of Mice and Men and The Great Gatsby in the previous months, and those two books were locked in her chest. She didn’t have time to read them with the war. She shook away her shame and asked, “What did you need of me, sir?”

God Peter sighed - presumably at the fact that she had called him ‘sir’ again. “I come to you with two questions, Lady L’Fae. First: are your soldiers well? No harsh casualties?”

L’Fae shook her head. “No bad casualties for my platoon. Mostly just minor injuries, except - well, a Devil in the reinforcement squad died. A heart failure, I think. He . . . He died in my arms.”

“Oh, dear . . .” God Peter sighed and shook his head. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Again, you all fight for my sake; it’s cruel for me to ask for your lives.”

“I don’t . . . Think we’re just fighting for you, sir,” L’Fae tried to reassure, fisting her hands in her lap anxiously. “I mean, I fight to protect my friends and family. Jade fights to avenge his fallen father. Natasha fights for-” she stopped, shook her head. “My point is, um, I think we’re fighting for more? You are the leader of us all, yes, but I think we’re also fighting to protect what we care for, so we each have our own motivations and egoistic ideals, although those egoistic ideals do offer us more men to fight with us, which draws the question of how egoistic those ideas really are-”

God Peter chuckled. “And you say you don’t read.”

L’Fae looked at him and felt herself flush. “I-I ramble, I know. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be. At least, not too much,” he shrugged. “But you’re willing to fight . . . That’s good. That segues perfectly into my next question.”

She licked her chapped lips, bitten all the day through with worry. “What is it?”

“I was wondering if you could tell me anything about Miss Sheridan?”

L’Fae froze - and in her mind came up the mental picture of Elisa. Elisa, with her hair unbound. Elisa, with her back turned. Elisa, with her shaking fists as she looked away from the dead.

. . . Elisa, who hadn’t shed even a tear at the pain around her and just shook like mad when she had to feel . . .

“Wh-Why do you ask?”

God Peter shrugged. “Jade and I had been talking about asking war medics to join the efforts, except that when we started talking, he mentioned that Miss Sheridan had been acting oddly as of late. You were with her in the medic ward, I heard?”

“Yes, I was . . .” L’Fae started, but her curiosity won her over, “What’s a war medic?”

“Hmm? Oh- it’s a newer idea, one that I had considered without telling Evina. It might give us an added edge,” he said as he reached up and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “My thought was having a part of our medic force join us on the field of battle with the ability to fight and defend themselves. They could take care of injuries without men needing to retreat, and if the strategy worked, we could have an army of men and some additional fighters when necessary.”

“Oh . . .” L’Fae went, but in reality, she was trapped in her head. When she thought about it . . . She’d never seen Elisa fight. She was sure that Elisa could, she was almost certain of it, but she had never seen her even on the training grounds. Why? L’Fae bit her thumb in thought; she’d always known Elisa as, besides one of her closest friends, a medic and secretary to the Devils. Of course, the latter role was greatly diminished by the fact that they had joined with another force in much more than just clean-up and defense jobs, but if Elisa could fight, she could become a war medic, help protect more people on the battlefield. After all, they’d lost men that day because of the distance between the fight and the ward. More lives could be saved . . .

. . . Yet she remembered Elisa’s fisted hands and got the eerie feeling that it wasn’t as simple as she thought.
“I,” L’Fae swallowed, shook her head. Her firey locks sways in front of her eyes. “I don’t know if she’ll agree to it.”

“I wondered about that,” God Peter agreed. “Jade seemed to describe her as being preoccupied as of late, although with what, we don’t know. Perhaps if you could speak with her-”

“I could try,” L’Fae agreed, but her hesitation held her back. “Why do you think that I could do it? Shouldn’t Jade do it?”

God Peter looked her in the eyes, so straight-on it made her shiver. And then he said, in all seriousness:

“Despite your inability to keep quiet and your timid, almost frightened nature . . . You might have more power to hear somebody’s plight than even I. And that, Lady L’Fae, is an important talent to have.”

***

I shouldn't need to say this, but I will: this is my, T.J. Janneff's, work of fiction. That means it is FICTION, and MY fiction at that. Please don't copy, reproduce, or sell this stuff. If you want to show it off on another forum or share this post, go ahead, but lemme know first, because I put effort into this post for a reason . . . so just don't be a jerk, okay? I hope you enjoyed the taste test of my work!

Stayed tuned!

I wanted to post the most recent chapter I've written today, but unfortunately, the world and its infernal mistress, time, have plotted against me! Stay tuned until tomorrow, when I will have the (very rough) first draft of this chapter up for y'all!

Day 7: Mild Suffocation

What's going on? Everything, it feels like. Knowing that I brought this all unto myself is very helpful, of course, but it surprises me how I can get home from school and can't be bored. There's just too much for me to do for me to be bored.

I was very worried earlier this afternoon, as well, when I tried to start writing. Unfortunately, I didn't reach my daily word count (2,667 words), but then again, I have a lot on my plate. An assignment for my Government class was my top priority this afternoon, although I did take it a little far . . . trying to cover a political current event is not fun. I get really invested and then have to do everything to make a clear judgement! I'm sure a lot of that is coming from the work I'm doing in my Honors Seminar class, too. Lots to think about, thankfully, and also a lot to try and digest. I'm falling into bed exhausted most nights, at this point!

But I digress. Week Two of NaNo is infamous for being the week when the most people quit, where people began to fall off the bandwagon. Why? Because most of the romantic aspect of it, the whole "sitting in a cabin with nothing but candles and a typewriter and a beautiful wilderness beyond the window at midnight" idea, goes straight in the trash. You want to know what writing looks like? Right now, in my case, it looks like repeating Marina & The Diamonds and a sweater replacing a T-shirt, as well as mishappen glasses, improper posture, and a dose of ibuprofen forty-five minutes before I go to bed.

(No, it hasn't kicked in. Stupid medicine and my building tolerance to its effects.)

Week Two, in general, is just sort of a crappy reminder of what the hell you signed up for. What it really is like to be a writer. It's a lot of frustration, a lot of angst, and the occasional rage-quitting as you delete everything you've written that day and shut down your writing program. It's not easy. It's not fun. At least, not for as long as it sits and hangs over you.

The easiest way I've found for dealing with Week Two, to be honest, has been to suck it up and write some of the crappiest work I've ever done. But today, that strategy just wasn't working. I think it has a lot to do with the crap that I've been churning out outside of NaNo work and other stuff, and the fact that that crap had started leaking into my work (on another note - I hate putting "that" twice in a row. It's annoying and there HAS to be a better way).

But sometimes, you get a tap on the shoulder from your muse. You realize that you were writing crap because you were rushing, because you weren't seeing the potential in the scene that you crappily rushed through. You realize that slowing down and being delicate with the little infant of the scene will help it grow into something pretty darn sweet, even if that growing infant isn't quite perfect and all rounded out. And sometimes, your muses amuse you so much they start teasing each other and doing other fun things in your head.

...like running around and chasing each other and playing tag. NOTHING ELSE.

Sometimes, I think we need to remember that there are certain things that will kill our work, and I think that we need to look into ourselves and figure out "why isn't this working? What am I doing differently that's making my work look like crap? How can I improve overall?" I think that by sitting down and considering those questions, we can improve - or at least, help us figure out where we went wrong. In my case today, I was rushing through trying to get through a scene I really didn't want to write, and as a result, it turned out sloppy and poor. Had I taken my time with it, I would've figured it out and been okay. I just needed to slow down and take my time.

Working isn't the only part of your work - your work needs to consider some of your deeper thoughts, too. It needs to consider your ideas and your thoughts and the holey pieces stitched together in your head. After all, if work was all physical and no mental, it'd just be a menial task, at least to me. You've got to keep your brain moving if you want to get stuff done.

After all, nothing happens without the brain.

What was tripping me up so badly anyway? Well, I'm notoriously bad with fight scenes, or at least I think so. Not a good thing in a book with a war! But I'm hoping to post that scene and its chapter as soon as I finish it, so if you want to read the rough draft of this chapter, stay tuned!

Page 1 of 4.1 FINISHED!

Page one of 4.1?? Well, I have a fifth page, but only a tiny bit of it filled out. So yeah.

But yeah, this is the first page with all of its notes! My favorite ones:

• Natasha's claustrophobic?
• Miroslav + Ben can teleport b/c of Loki's pwer. Surprises Natasha + L'Fae. AND
• <--- Married?

I also have some stickers from Spanish class, a note from a friend that I erased because personal stuff, and yep! Definitely proud to have made that kind of progress!

Yes this is my second post today. Whoops! But good stuff, guys, good stuff.

Transforming Hate into Love - literally!

This video speaks for itself, so I'm not going to waste time trying to explain it - it's just sweeter to watch it instead! It's made by Honey Maid and was posted here, then relinked here where I found it. Absolutely amazing - props to Honey Maid for standing up against the hate!



PS: For those of you waiting for updates from P: Hope, fear not! I'm falling behind a little bit in terms of working effort since things are a little exploding-in-my-face, but I will have some content to share soon, I promise!

Word Count: 20,974

There are so many notable things that I want to talk about regarding my writing right now, but unfortunately, I only have the time (and energy) to share with you this:

“I-I guess I know now where your affinity for sharp and pointy objects comes from!” L’Fae squeaked nervously.

That time, Natasha threw her a look of complete confusion. “Do you really think this is an appropriate time for such comments?!”

. . . and that, everybody, is just one of the few things that have made me laugh today. Don't forget to be awesome.

Day 2: And I'm five chapters in already!

How do I get so much work done so fast? (Hint: I was sick yesterday and off of school. Still feeling ill, but never mind that.) I'm already into Chapter 5 of Project: Hope, which is a good place to be. Things are getting set up, people are entering conflicts, Natasha just learned that her abusive father's been dead for the past five years-

Wait. Did I just let that slip?

Since I figured this next piece of text wasn't too plot-intensive nor so wordy, I thought I'd put it up and see what people thought. Sharing is caring, after all! All you need to know for this next piece is that after learning that her father had been dead for so long, Natasha basically tried very hard not to completely melt down . . . only to cry in L'Fae's arms. Typical.

As of right now, the excerpt that comes before this - when Natasha totally loses it - is up on my novel profile. Feel free to check it out or read it before this, although I can't promise how long it'll stay up. Check it out quick, guys!

All of that being said: feel free to go "aww" as much as you like, because it's a little bit sappy.

***

They’d woken everybody - L’Fae knew that, although she was so thankful that nobody walked out and asked them what happened, especially for Natasha’s sake. She knew, too, that everybody would know what happened by morning. Any chance of Natasha’s grief being quiet, then, was utterly ruined.

L’Fae thought of it as she laid in her bed as the morning rose, holding onto Natasha’s sleeping form. It’d felt like they’d stayed in the hall for ages, neither of them really able to remember how much time had passed. It almost felt like a dream; yet, L’Fae knew it wasn’t that, either. Though she couldn’t remember when Natasha composed herself enough to walk to the bed with her, when they fell into the covers together despite the tangles of blankets and limbs and wings, when Natasha fell into an unsettling sleep in her arms. All she remembered was the fact that even as the morning light began to rise through the narrow vents in the ground above them, she didn’t sleep a wink. Whether it was because of the nightmare or the shock from before, she wasn’t sure.

She didn’t even know what the difference was between them.

War, anarchy, and now this, she thought sadly as she closed her eyes, another fruitless attempt at sleep. It felt, again, like it was all happening too fast. Had things really been so simple before, that all she felt she had to do to make things better was run away from home with hardly a tearful goodbye? Join the group of troublemakers that turned out to be composed of half-saints? Yet now they were locked in a stalemate, her best friend saved from the hairbreadth of death and her lover grieved with the memories and knowledge of a father passed. It felt like it had all happened so fast. In reality, it had happened within a few months. Hardly significant time for proper events to unfold.

L’Fae sighed, opened her eyes again. She immediately saw her face - Natasha’s closed eyes, face streaked with tears as her umber hair splayed over the pillows like waterfalls. L’Fae found herself smiling, even if ever-so-slightly, and raised a hand to cup Natasha’s cheek. I’m . . . No good with logic like this, she found herself thinking of as she wiped at a stray tear beneath her lover’s cheek. I rant too much, rave without meaning to, and I can’t compose my thoughts unless I have pen and paper or something else that doesn’t have to be spoken word - and even then, I can hardly do that. She shut her eyes again and tried to slow her thoughts. Despite the lack of sleep in her veins, and regardless of the way her dreams pulled at her, she couldn’t find it in her to smother her thoughts. Not so soon.

But when she opened her eyes, she saw blue staring back at her - blue, matched with a small frown from soft pink lips. L’Fae froze, still cupping her face; all Natasha did, though, was close her eyes again and shift, ever-so-slightly, to nuzzle L’Fae’s palm.

The words: “I didn’t dream last night . . . Did I?”

L’Fae couldn’t bring herself to answer. She just shut her eyes.

I’m no good at explaining anyway . . .