To: The One That Got Away

I am posting twice in one day, whee! But I also want to post this before I regret it.

Watch this, and you will understand.

The following was my message.

***

It’s weird to address this to you, because this project is called “the one who got away”, and, well . . . I sort of let you get away. And that’s not your fault or mine or anybody else’s. It was time.

I still want to say I’m sorry though.

It’s been two years now. Everything that happened is a long lost and foggy memory now in the past. I remember I had a lot to thank you for, such as thinking that I am so much more amazing than I believe I am, but I also know that I was very sorry. Sorry for your bad back, very sorry for your mom, very very sorry for the distance between us. And that sucked. And I wish I had done more apologizing, although I’m sure you would’ve giggled and told me not to say that so much. And I, of course, would’ve smiled, just as I am smiling now.

I don’t mean to drag this out. So I’ll just go ahead and say it, and end with this: I am sorry for all the things I could not fix. But I also thank you. I thank you for helping me learn more about myself, and I thank you for being there for me even if I didn’t think that I needed you.

***

This was a fairly personal message for a very personal reason, but it was the first thing I thought of when I read the phrase, "The One That Got Away". And I mean it, really - she didn't get away. I let her leave. And hell, that's what matters, right?

I'm not going to give you the name or the details of who this was to and why, though I'm sure you can glean some information from the message I left. So please don't ask, alright? I will say, though, that this was my first Art Assignment, and I loved it. I feel at peace, weirdly enough, having read and done that.

This was a cathartic enterprise, even if spur-of-the-moment. So I suggest you take the video's advice and follow the same journey I did. If you're in Canada like me, add (1) to the beginning of the number, and you'll do fine. I hope this helps you as much as it helps me.

(Keep in mind that if you later come back to view this and find it's gone, it may be because I took it down, I'm already nervous sharing this, although I am glad for the anonymity at the moment.)

Avoiding Anger; AKA, Why I Write

The world is stupid, everybody. But then again, I think we all knew that.

The last few days have been totally bat-shit weird. I know I haven't been very active on this blog due to university taking a giant poop on me, but here are some of the events that I know people will be able to relate to:

• Sleeping past my alarm one day after the other, and having to rush to class with nothing more than a muffin/granola bar.
• Finding my dorm room incredibly cold, when my roommate doesn't even flinch.
• Having to get a form filled out by my doctor, only to learn that it was going to cost me MONEY (how the hell . . .?)
• Getting a "fuck you" from my body this morning, which, to keep it from TMI, I can only explain as being the reason for why the past few days have been my body's worst nightmare.

It sucks.

BUT LET'S IGNORE THAT AND DO A MEME ANYWAYS!

Super-Fabulous-Me has been following Gala Darling for the longest time, just so I can be even more super-fabulous. But, as she will tell you, it's not easy being super-fabulous all the time. So she blogs a TON about how to stay your super-fabulous self! Anyways, she did the Why I Write meme-thing that's been going around (apparently . . . I don't always keep up!), and I decided that it was the perfect meme for me, and I needed to do it. And hey, at the end, she tagged everybody who was reading. What a coincidence!

. . . okay, so I needed an excuse to do this. But screw it. Girls just wanna have fun!

WHAT AM I WORKING ON?

Right now, my consistent project is a fanfiction called Moments of Polarity, which is about my OC Alexei. Alexei is a polyandrous and genderfluid shinobi, who has to deal with issues like war, acceptance, death, and forgiveness. I'll let you guys guess at what it's based off of (Hint: It recently ended in controversy).

Besides that, I have some backburner projects in my head - I want to do a revamp of my Project: Chant, and I want to start working on an anthology examining different sexualities and gender identities. Oh, and in and amongst this, I'm working on Pathfinder backstories. Someday, I will be a GM . . .!

HOW DOES MY WRITING DIFFER FROM OTHERS IN ITS GENRE?

I am, for the most part, a fantasy writer. I have a heavy focus on religion and diversity, which may not be surprising until you realize that I work within the contexts of the religions that already exist - Project: Chant involves the main character attempting to distance herself from a religion that she doesn't fully believe in, Christianity, as well as acknowledging the internal flux and violence within a religion of my own making, Tamesism. Project: Faith is clearly based off of Christian ties, though it will also need a reworking once I begin to learn more about Christianity; it also works off of the main character being a lesbian, which is explored in a great part of the book because - by the way - there's a side romance involving another woman who happens to return her feelings.

Besides that, I think my writing tends to delve into the poetic more than other fantasy writers? Although I'm not going to claim that too quickly . . .

WHY DO I WRITE?

Mostly because I can't help it. I have a mind that likes to run a thousand miles a minute, and I'm so often coming up with insightful and serious phrases that I have no choice but to record somewhere. Right now, my shelf has ideas and quotes scribbled onto Post-It notes hanging off the hardwood, and I have a small booklet that I'm writing in to record my ideas. Most recent thoughts: some interesting facts about color that I discovered.

Again, though, I think lots of writers write because they have no god-be-damned choice in the matter. It's either that, or lets the ideas float around in your head. After a while, it starts getting cramped up there.

(You could also make an argument several years ago that I wrote, especially during this month, so I could try and push my thoughts away from the nastiness that began in my past at the beginning of November, in seventh grade. But that's another story for another time.)

HOW DO I WRITE?

I open my laptop, boot up whatever word processor I feel most comfortable with at the moment, and I start clacking away. Right now, Moments of Polarity is being written in Word, but many of my projects have started off in Scrivener, one of the best writing programs I've found. Sadly, it is an expensive program, but my method was to use the trial for a month of NaNo, win, and buy it with the 50% discount offered. It's worked for me before.

I almost always write with music on my headphones, and I often write at nighttime, when my brain is less focused on the events of the day and more focused on whatever the hell I want to do next.

HOW DO I GET PAST WRITER’S BLOCK?

Great question! I've been trying to answer that myself for the last several years. I no longer remember how long ago it was, but I dropped into a bin with writer's block and could only make real progress if I was writing a novel-long piece. Thankfully, I seem to be escaping that hole now that I'm at university and able to bat around different ideas, but regardless, that's been the longest and most painful period of writer's block I've ever had.

How to deal with it on a daily basis, though? I do a couple of different things, but it mostly boils down to either avoiding the work for a little bit until I get an idea, or forcing myself to sit down and write my way through it. Both techniques work depending on what the problem is, but they vary beyond that simple formula.

I PASS THE BATON TO…

I really want to tag Austin Kleon for this, but unfortunately, I can't find a way to reach out to him without feeling like I'm being a bother. Of course, though, whoever is reading this can go ahead and do it as well - I'm curious!

Hugs and kisses all around, as well as some hot cocoa and blankets. It's COLD out there!

A Thought and an Announcement

A double post? From me? Aw, of course not! The post earlier today was . . . uh . . . time traveling! Heaven knows I've done that enough, at least in Animal Crossing.

Anyways, I don't have much to say right now, but there were two things I wanted to touch on, mostly because it's late and I have nothing else to do.

First off: look at this poll.

For those of you who are rebellious and didn't click the link, good for you. Always question the man! The question was, "Do you believe that art can fundamentally change your sense of who you are?" Besides just a poll answer or a comment, I figured I'd share my own thoughts.

Short answer: Yes, I think art can change you.

Long answer: Yes, I think art can change you both introspectively and extraspectively (is that a word . . .?). AKA, it changes you on the inside and on the outside. I think it changes you even more when you're the one making the art.

Lemme give you some examples.

The series Naruto and Naruto: Shippuden are based off of manga, or graphic novels, as we'd call them in the US. It's dialogue with pictures; it's not hard to find scanlations of the chapters so you can read or else keep up with what's going on. I mean, buy the books if you're going to be reading it a lot, but if you want to keep up because Japan . . . well, whatever, I don't judge.

In my case, Naruto has influenced me to a huge degree. It's influenced my writing, which I'll talk about later, but basically, it's what's helped me get into and stay in writing. Naruto is also the reason I met my best friend, which I'm never going to forget, because I really like my friend. I'm also a fan of drawing the characters sometimes (often in drag . . . sorry, Madara!), so it's helped my drawing skills. So it's influenced both my art and my external, working self.

The other example that I can give is about introspective changes inside, or at least demonstrating those changes; when I was younger and had a more difficult relationship with my dad, I noticed after time that all of my character's fathers were either A) not there or B) fairly . . . bad. Them being bad was, of course, on a different level than my dad; he just wasn't around all the time because of work. But some feelings about my dad not being around leaked into my work, affecting my characters.

Art is also a form of support, too. There's a reason we have art therapy, after all, and I know people who make art because it's either that, or having to deal with . . . compromised health (and that's as far into that as I'll get). In my case, I'm writing a novel right now because I know I need to in order to cope with the fact that - surprise! - I'm moving away in a month and a half. Not only that, but guess what kind of novel I'm writing? A coming-of-age novel! See what I mean?

Lastly, I think that art made by onesself can also help explain our thoughts and expound upon them. A few years ago, I was writing a piece that included a part about the main character's religion, or lack thereof. At the time, I'd been having some issues with my own religion, specifically that my mother thought I couldn't "choose" my own religion at my age. When I wrote the central scene for the religious subplot, so much of what was written just popped into my head and onto the page, and I realized only later that what I had written was exactly what I had been wanting to tell my mother: religion is a personal thing and for the person themselves to choose, not their parents. So by making art, I further knew myself.

Anyways, to sum it up again: Yeah, art changes us. But it also helps define us, which I think is fairly important for those of us who need to understand who we are and what the heck we're doing.

***

Anyways, this is the announcement: I have another blog now.

And it's for my CampNaNo novel.

I've been writing second-generation fanfiction for the Naruto series, and I decided early on that I wanted to edit the chapters and publish them along with my work. After thinking about it, I realized that my work was a little more intensive than I thought, and I knew I didn't want to post it all on this blog. As a result, making another blog was the option.

To quickly explain to those who are curious: the story I am writing is about a girl named Katya whose parents, one of which is Itachi Uchiha, are ex-criminals. In order to try and escape the persecution she faces at home, she decides to travel and make a name for herself. Of course, this doesn't go off without a few hitches, though.

You can find my blog for this Camp NaNo novel here; there will be no chapter updates until August, but I will be posting some of my research as I go along, so stay tuned, okay? It's going to be a wild ride!

Review: "A Time to Dance" by Padma Venkatraman

"The priest's laugh rumbles up into my ears. 'Place a hand on your chest. Can you feel Shiva's feet moving inside you?' I press on my chest. Feel bony ribs. Under them, thumping, faint echoes of a dance rhythm: thom thom thom. Shiva outside me, gleaming in the temple sanctum. Yet also leaping, hidden inside my body."

I regret, so often, that my own Time to Dance has passed. I learned the steps of ballet and tap when I was small, but due to my parents' unpleasant encounters with my dance instructor (the details of which I know little of), I was pulled from dance. I couldn't have been more than ten. Probably younger than even that.

I miss those times. I miss taking classes, and I wish I could go back, struggle a little more, so I could continue. Who knows what kind of person I would be now if I had?

I miss those times - but this book makes me miss them more.

Today, I'm reviewing A Time to Dance by Padma Venkatraman.

***

I discovered this book by Diversity for YA's tumblr. I'm not entirely sure what drew me in at first - maybe the cover art. Actually, the cover art is definitely a part of it; I love the rich oranges that make up the background as well as the greens and reds of the sari the woman seems to wear. It's gorgeous, truly, and the perfect cover for a book like this. Even the cover's texture is absolutely amazing; it drags me in by the hands. It's certainly not the glossy cover you find on most hardcover books, and I'm grateful for that; it helps transform the book into an experience.

This book took me less than 24 hours to read, and I just finished it. I'll withhold any spoilers until the end, because I know there will be at least one - until then, keep reading. I'll keep it clean of spoilers for now.

***

The main character, Veda, has her own unique voice, and she tells the story from her own unique perspective. Her voice is wonderful - it's graceful and full of emotion and passion. She doesn't hide her thoughts in her voice - she reveals them. And the tragedy that strikes her life doesn't stop her - she continues with that same passion, fighting for what she wants to do the most - dance.

The book is written entirely in a very poetic form. There are line breaks, clear structure - it's like a free versed poem. I do a very similar thing with my own poetry (you can trust me on that part), but Venkatraman takes it to a whole other level. While it's a bit disconcerting to follow at first, it becomes very easy to fall into a rhythm with it, and then it eases up and becomes a pure joy to follow in.

***

I think another part of what made me pick it up was the plot. As I mentioned before, it was featured for being a diverse novel, and in fact, it's not the typical diverse novel I usually pick up - this one does not have to do with sexuality at all, but with ableism. The main character, Veda, is a dancer, and she feels confident and assured in her dancing at the beginning even with her mother's criticisms. However, an accident destroys her right leg from the knee down, and in order to save her, the doctors removed part of her leg and made her a below-the-knee amputee. However, she does not wallow in this - she decides to continue to pursue dance anyway, starting from the very beginning, knowing that she'll find a way to do it somehow.

What I really like is that her accident and "disability" (if you can even call it that - I think it's a touchy term . . .) are not the only parts of the story. There is so much about love and spirituality, to the point where I enjoyed reading every part of everything. It wasn't a "whine and complain about this and that" book - it goes from being about the catalyst, the accident and her "residual leg", to encompass her spirituality and the affection she feels for others.

***

As I mentioned before, a lot of what this book tackled was about ableism. I am a very fortunate person - I have all of my limbs and appendages attached. I am not limited in what I can do because of any part of my body, and I am incredibly thankful for that. I can type at my computer and I can dance like a lame white girl (pardon the dip into nerd culture for that reference), and I've never had anything that truly hampered that.

Veda is different. She loses a leg - she deals with, on occasion, severe phantom pain. I never truly understood what phantom pain was like until I read about Veda's suffering from it. It left me in shock - how painful must it be to lose a limb yet still feel its pain? I remember one night, a few months ago, I'd been sitting at my computer and sitting in a strange way as I worked. When I got up, my right foot was entirely numb - I couldn't even feel the weight I left on it, and I stumbled so many times trying to walk until the feeling returned.

That was hard.

I can't imagine what that must be like for those who never get that feeling back, who don't have the real appendage to even feel with anymore.

A Time to Dance opened my eyes to all of this - how lucky and fortunate it is to have these abilities. But more than that, it also taught me that just because somebody has a prosthetic doesn't mean that they are "disabled" - that's not a fair word. In the book, Veda is referred to being "differently abled", but I'm not sure that's the case either. Because she is abled - she simply has some other, different restrictions in her way than other people, and that's not a bad thing.

***

I'm trying to think if there's anything I didn't like about the book, but to be honest . . . I can't think of anything. Whoo! That being said, I want to start talking about some of the plot points of the book, so it's time for spoilers.

SPOILERS BEGIN HERE.

***

***

Paati was one of my favorite characters. She was obviously a very religious woman and a hardworking one, and I was amazed at her spirituality. Throughout the book, she seems to act as a spiritual guide for Veda, at least until Veda needs to find her own path. I was truly saddened and shocked by her death; I could see the signs of it coming, of course, but it hurt to see her die. Even more than that, I could empathize with Veda when Paati did die; I also had trouble shedding my tears when my own grandmother died. I know very well how she felt.

***

For once, I loved the love triangle in the book! It doesn't last for many chapters, but it quickly ends when Veda's feelings slip past her lips. And not only that, but I love how there weren't bitter feelings within the love triangle at all - when it ended, there was some sadness on Veda's end, but then it moves into a more intimate relationship with her dance instructor, Govinda, and that's where the emotions come in. It's so rare for me to enjoy a love triangle. This was very well done.

***

When Veda starts teaching, I had a lot of curiosity about Uma, and this is part of the reason I decided to review this book. Uma was always wearing a scarf around her face, careful never to let it fall. I was very curious about if it was a religious thing - why doesn't she say if she's religious? - but then Veda confronts her directly and gently, and the scarf falls.

And it turned out that Uma had a cleft lip.

My first thought: oh my GOD! I get it now!

The reason I understood Uma's fear so badly is because I had a cleft too - a cleft palate. Mine wasn't visible, or as visible, as a cleft lip would've been; mine was fixed when I was young, and besides some difficulties with speech (and a nasal quality to my voice that still seems to haunt me - ugh), I didn't have many problems with it. But Uma never had hers fixed, and Veda even mentions that it might've been that her family didn't have the money . . .

I understood, immediately, what Uma was feeling, and that tugged on such a personal note for me that I fell deeper in love with the book. And later, when Veda shows her own prosthetic and sees Uma's scarf fall, my heart sung with joy. Because I think I know how Uma must've felt, and I'm glad she was able to get past that, at least for a little while.

***

SPOILERS END HERE.

***

***

I'm going to go with the same system I used last time and stick with five points.

Use of Voice: 5/5. Veda's voice was strong and unique, and I loved reading it from her perspective. I could understand her pain; I could understand how she felt immediately. That's very rare in a book, I think, to touch so deeply like that.

Style: 4.5/5. It was difficult to get used to, but I think the style complimented the voice so perfectly. I only take off the half point for my struggle to adapt to it.

Plot: 5/5. Brilliant - just brilliant. The book is not just an issue book about ableism, it's also about spirituality. It looks at Veda as a person, not a disability.

Readability: 4.5/5. Again, challenging at first, but overall lovely.

Averaged: 4.75/5. Perfect score - and it would've maybe even made it higher!

OVERALL...this book was absolutely wonderful. It showed a deep story about a bright young lady losing her leg and having to adapt as well as covering her spiritual and emotional struggles. Normally, a book like that does not grip me, but this did. I'm definitely sliding this onto my shelf of favorite books!

***

One more thing . . . the type of dance referred to in this book was Baratanatyam. I decided to look it up on Youtube and was not disappointed; check it out.

Is it the Cursing, or the Sexuality?

I thought the sexuality thing was supposed to be getting easier. Instead, I feel like there's more that needs to be done than ever, although maybe that's more to do with my hyperawareness about the issue.

What am I going on about, you ask? This. Go ahead; read it. I think it's important that you do, because I really can't sum it up in my words - it's best explained in detail.

Done?

I can't say much about the issue right now, because I'm a little upset about it, but I did take advantage of the emails provided on the website in order to send an email to the school board. Of course, I talked about the sexuality thing. I agree with the writers of the article; it seems much more likely that the issue had to do with sexuality, not the cusses. Let's face it, most teenagers hear cusses every day from their family than they read in a single book.

Here's my real concern, though: as a school board, how can they discourage the reading of a book that would encourage and educate those that pick that same book up?

It seems to me that the school board has taken what is pretty clearly an issue book from their reading list for the reason, "It has a couple of swear words in it". Is that really all? Issue books can help readers identify and empathize with those who are deeply invested, personally, in those issues. It makes it easier to understand your best friend, or even yourself and your same-sex partner. Those issues, especially these days, are REALLY important in high school, where each year is another bumbling jog to figuring out who you are.

Why would you deny that to the people who need it most?

The other issue is that by taking the book off the list, they've merely ensured that people will read it. I mean, I'm considering RIGHT NOW looking up the book and reading it (because I may not have read it, but that doesn't mean I'm totally ignorant!). One of the things I've heard most often about banned books is that people are more likely to read banned books BECAUSE they are banned. Back in April, I was writing Project: Hope and filled out a survey about if it would be banned or not. Answer: Yes. Funnily enough, I was okay with that (it was banned for more than just sexuality. I do not write by the rules).

So, to summarize: I'm irked. I'm irked, and I'm irked because it both discourages the education and empathy towards LGBT* persons while also ensuring that everybody and their dog is about to pick up . . . which really means that the school board just shot itself in the metaphorical foot.

. . . I really hope the school board never gets their hands on this post, now, for saying that. But I want to be honest, and that's just what I think: taking it off the list was a bad idea, and it has a lot more potential for blowing up in their faces than just the scores of emails I'm sure they're getting.

Remind me never to work in education.

(BTW - I used lots of sources when I was talking to them. Check them out.)

ETA: I just remembered: in the link where I learned about this, I read about a couple of booksellers that were donating books to give to people to read, so that way this book could get around. INSTEAD, might I suggest buying a few copies? Let's support the writer, guys!

Review: "Grasshopper Jungle" by Andrew Smith

"There are things in here: babies with two heads, insects as big as refrigerators, God, the devil, limbless warriors, rocket ships, sex, diving bells, theft, wars, monsters, internal combustion engines, love, cigarettes, joy, bomb shelters, pizza, and cruelty. Just like it's always been."

My feelings about this book are so mixed you could pour them in a pan, pop it in the oven, and pull out a fluffy cake half an hour later. You know what I mean.

Today, I'm reviewing Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith.

***

First off, I want to complement the publishers (Penguin Group/Dutton) for dragging me in by the hair. I found this at my local bookstore and, upon seeing the cover and reading the blurb, was drawn in. I decided to grab the book after some contemplation, and along with another purchase and an extra book called-in, I had a stack of reading to go through. I started this one immediately.

I began Tuesday. I finished today (actually, technically yesterday - today is just two hours old). I read a part a day, skipping Thursday, and finished a few hours ago. I'm still working on digesting all of the story, but I'll do my best to discuss the contents, but I will discuss some spoiler-y stuff at the bottom. Don't worry; I have warnings posted.

***

One of the things that you can complement Smith for is his excellent mastery of voice. He tells the story from the perspective of Austin Szerba, a 16-year old Lutheran boy who has a knack for history and, oddly enough, arousal jokes. Yeah, not the first person you'd think of as a narrator, but a good choice for the novel. Besides, Austin's not the weirdest part of this story, not by a long shot.

Anyways, Smith's use of voice was excellent, exceptional even. The issue was that because of the nature and voice of the protagonist/narrator, things naturally started to get unhinged and hard to follow. While Austin enjoys history and the connections made in history and the present moment, he tends to ramble a lot. And I mean a lot. A lot of what he rambles about carries throughout the book, of course, but not all of it does, and it results in an awkward dance between the story and what's just going on in Austin's head. In addition, it also makes it harder to tell what is happening in the story; while it's not always difficult to piece together the events, there are certainly moments that left me head-scratching.

It was confusing, to say the least.

***

Now, as for the plot.

*intake of breath*

The plot is about how two boys accidentally let loose an army of hungry and horny praying mantises that put their Iowan town - and the world - in grave danger, leaving them the only two who can stop the stampede.

...

I'm seriously not kidding.

The moment I read the blurb, I laughed out loud. I mean, nobody publishes plots like those. That's the type of plots typically joked and laughed about, right? That's the type of plot a twelve-year old would come up with! Despite that - more like because of it - I was prepared to pick up the book and be dragged into a crazy ride.

I mean, it's fun, silly, and still incredibly contemplative.

Oh, and trippy. Really trippy.

...and I'm still not kidding.

***

The other reason I decided to pick up this book was because I had seen the cover of the book before. Where? Online, at the Diversity in YA tumblr. Unbeknownst to me, I'd been on the diversity side of writing for years, since I've been writing about sexuality and LGBT characters since - hmm - 2009-ish? Of course, I was fooling around a little more back then, but I began to delve more seriously into the issue when I began writing Project: Faith. That was not an issue book, of course; I wanted to work in a world where that didn't matter, or at least didn't come clean. The sequel, Project: Hope, did become more issue-oriented.

But enough about me. This is about Grasshopper Jungle. And the easiest way to categorize it is in the same way I categorize Hope - it's issue-oriented, but it's not the main focal point of the novel.

Now, I should introduce two of the main characters: Shann and Robb. Shann, of course, is Austin's girlfriend; Robb is his best friend. The sexuality conflict in the beginning stems from, strangely enough, Austin's oft-mentioned fantasy of having sex in Robb's car with Shann while Robb watched. What eventually transpired was a more serious, gut-wrenching talk about his feelings both for Robb and Shann, which, in some ways, mimic the way many teenagers feel these days. I'd want to hope I'd know - I've sort of been there.

So the subject of sexuality was tackled, and it was tackled in a very meaningful and accurate way. I mean, it's not rocket science, but Smith managed to discuss it without being nasty, crude, or rude. I mean, he talks about sex more crudely because of Austin's voice, but it's all relative.

...an aside note, as I was editing this: Austin, while struggling with his bisexuality, also seems to be dealing with some polyamory as well. I don't know that polyamory is necessarily connected to sexuality - although I tend to think more about orientation than anything - but I will say that I think he did tackle it meaningfully within the context of the story. Could've done that part better, maybe, but he took a chance. Gotta admire that.

***

Voice was grand, plot was trippy, and sexuality was acceptable. Anything I really didn't like?

Yeah, admittedly, there was. And it had to do with keeping track of events.

Now, I don't want to start spoiling stuff yet, but to put it simple, the narrator would discuss his current situation, typically with his friends or something . . .and then he'd suddenly start talking about "on the other side of town" or "at the same time" or "in the meantime", which was incredibly disorienting and not at all fun to read. I mean, I can understand why the story was told that way, because it's discussed more at the end of the book, but it's super confusing in the meantime. I mean, I want to know about the characters I have emotional investments in . . . I don't need to know about the people getting maimed all around town.

The bright side to this is that Smith does a great job of keeping everything connected in some way. For example, there are pieces you don't even think about the first time around, which are then referred to later in the book. And they're even plot significant! It's not an easy task to keep track of that, but it certainly narrows down the number of plot holes. I'll applaud for that, of course, but I still insist that it could've been done better. Flashback if you must - I love flashbacks when done right - but don't interrupt the action, please.

***

I think that I've talked enough about the style points I wanted to cover - for now, I think I'm going to get into spoiler territory about specific points in the book, mostly because there was at least one part I wanted to discuss.

Again, SPOILERS AHEAD.

***
***

First - still loving the cohesion. The beginning of the book where Robb is nosebleeding onto the alley's blacktop is so well-connected to the rest of the plot, especially as we begin to learn about 412E, that it's left me in awe. It's not easy to tie all of those parts together, and especially in a manner where I can still remember that beginning event without having to go back and look for the scene again. Excellent job indeed.

***

That being said, I can't keep up with the names. I know Smith's trying to keep everything neatly tied, but I don't need to know everybody's name, especially the name of the cat the neighbor has. Eeep.

***

The history lessons about Austin's family tree were pretty interesting, although again, there were so many names it was hard to remember. It was cool to read through it, though. Props once more.

***

Which mother is named Connie?! Are they both named Connie?! Good gravy, save me.

***

I need to bring up Shann's behavior in part 4 specifically, because all of a sudden, she turns into a bitch. I mean, I liked her before, but then she suddenly has it put-together that Robb loves Austin and they've kissed and in an instant, Shann becomes Homophobe of the Year. What the hey? That came from south of WTF-land.

I mean, I'm not saying it was bad.

But I did want a warning.

***

And then Shann and Austin fuck everything better.

***

. . . or . . . not?

***

WAIT A SECOND THAT WAS HER FIRST TIME.

I KNOW IT CAN HAPPEN BUT WHAT KIND OF TIMING IS IT THAT SHE GETS PREGNANT?!

***

I  like the plot twists with the Szerba family. And the talk about Eric. Actually, I just like Eric in general.

***

I mean, I don't appreciate the ONE REFERENCE to Eric contemplating suicide. That was weird and out-of-place and, strangely enough, the one thing not followed up on. Eric, don't die sweetie. You sound cute. Getting convinced by two prostitutes to ask for a blow job makes you one of the cutest characters in the book, which is both pretty weird and definitely not something I ever contemplated writing.

***

Lastly - just to say one more awesome thing about the book - it definitely dragged me along for a ride. I could barely put it down, except for the moments where I needed to stop and breathe. Stuff that intense makes me need to put it down and digest. Not only that, but it made me think, which is wonderful and something I want every book to make me do.

***
***

SPOILERS ARE DONE HERE.

***

So, let me sum it up with a five-point system!

Use of Voice: 5/5. Seriously, I loved the voice. It was unique and telling and just something that lots of people aren't good at that Smith is. So congrats on that point.

Style: 2/5. Again, the interruptions in story were disorienting.

Plot: 4/5. Loved the cohesion, and I loved the strangeness in plot. I mean, it could've been handled differently, but it was still fricken' awesome.

Readability: 2/5. I added this because it really was hard to read. The writing, in and of itself, was simple, but the jumping between history and at-the-same-time's and the present moments was unpleasant, and I wasn't a huge fan of it.

Averaged: 3.25/5, which seems about right, actually. I mean, it was WEIRD, and there were parts of it that were out there, but it was a decent read. It's definitely made me think, obviously.

OVERALL . . . if you want a diverse read and something to make you raise your brow, laugh out loud, and tilt your head to one side, grab this book and give it a once-over (or more, if you like). It was a good and thoughtful read, and it deserves a peruse, especially for the way it was written. Andrew Smith, great job on this book - it was a great story!

Titled: Title - Part 2

On THIS episode of "Watch T.J. Struggle with a Miserable Cold and Not Seem Like a Jerk About It" . . .! Well, you get the deal. Last time, I ended up linking to a bunch of websites and articles that I thought were cool, but this time, I think I'm going to stick purely to Youtube. Despite the overall-meaningless cat videos and people doing stupid things, there is legit gold on there, although I'm sure none of you are surprised to hear that.

So, Mr. Fancy Blogger Format, if you will . . .

"Out of Sight (Language-Symbol Things)" by Language-Symbol Things

Okay, so my tact with identifying language symbols is debatable, but that's not the point! I got this sent to me by a friend and, stupidly, didn't recognize from the FIRST that the girl is blind. (Apparently that's obvious? For those as oblivious as I am, sorry for spoiling!) It starts off a bit worrisome, but it develops into this adorable story about a girl who just has to work out how to move around a largely-blank world. It's cute, for sure, so give it a watch! If it doesn't have you "aww"-ing by the end, then you probs have no soul and should get a doctor to check on that . . .

"YOU ARE NOT YOUR PARENTS" by Emma Blackery

How did I stumble upon this? Probably on a tumblr, but I can't be sure anymore because I FORGOT. *d'oh* However, this is flat-out good advice. Miss Blackery nails it on the head - you have to pursue whatever career YOU want, not what your parents want. It also echos for those who feel reigned in by their parents, which I'm aware many of my fellow classmates peers do. And overall, she's just very smart and very wise. So whether you're a kid, an adult with kids, or never planning to have kids at all, watch. It might open your eyes a little.

"The Body is Not An Apology" by Sonya Renee

Once again, I don't remember the exact source for this, but I'm going to take a guess and say I got led to it via Speak and Be Heard on Tumblr. It's about Slam Poetry, or spoken poetry, which is something I'd like to do but probably won't because I'm not that comfortable shoving my face all over Youtube, never minding that I'm crap with a video camera. But anyways, I live in a household where a common complaint is "I can't eat that" or "I'm fat" or other downputting comments, and it's really tiring to me because those are the thoughts I try to keep out of my head, too. I could go on a tirade about it, but this lady sums it up really really well. The only downside is that people whooped while she was talking, which I thought was really inappropriate. Let the woman speak, gosh darn it!

"BBC Geisha Girl (2005)" by LadySythe

Another video my friend sent me! (I might want to add that this friend of mine is my bestie. She finds tons of cool stuff). It follows the journey of a girl named Yukina on her way to becoming a Maiko, which is one of the steps to becoming a Geisha. And before you start talking about prostitution - think again! Unfortunately, the comments seem to indicate that there are some inaccuracies in translation of information, but it's a good watch anyway, and definitely something to help motivate you if you want to learn more. Some books are recommended in the comments (which reminds me, I need to check so I know what to add to my next book run . . .)

"Alex Dang - 'What Kind of Asian Are You?' (NPS 2013)" by Button Poetry

I saw this ages ago and, after a hint-in from Speak and Be Heard (link above), I found it again. Alex Dang starts off fairly humorously, but his poem turns serious and even dark as he insists upon what society has caused him to learn, what it has caused him to feel. It's a serious reminder of the struggles we all deal with in terms of stereotypes, and how those stereotypes can negatively impact people. This is probably the number one reason why I appreciate poetry, even if I don't read it so much - poetry gives us such a link into other people that it forces us to remember that the person speaking or writing is a human being. It makes us see in 3D. It's important. (That's not say that all poetry is a direct link to the person, as many poems are writing in a character's voice, but never mind that.)

"Nick on Identity" by sexplanations

So before you get on the rage bus, sit down and listen: what Nick talks about is largely what he thinks of himself, how he views himself. He also talks about how those affect him - which labels have motivated him and which labels have hurt. His spiel makes sense - identity is important, although it stings that we often have to narrow it down to labels. It's actually something I've been meaning to focus on within myself - after all, I am going to university soon, which will certainly help in the process! Unfortunately, I did see comments arguing about his "superiority" as a "straight white male", but of course I have to say to those commenters: GTFO. We're all equal. Deal with it. Anyways, stop reading this and go watch it.

"Jamie Kilstein on Gay Marriage With Lewis Black Ron White An . . ." by Jamie Kilstein

For the delicately-religious: you might want to cover your ears. Pretty sure I got this video while hopping around after the Alex Dang video. Anyways, while I'd like to think/pray/HOPE that he refers to a strong minority who are the anti-adoption folks, and while he DOES straddle a thin line, he has a lot of good points. Just . . . just keep in mind that this is a comedian we're talking about? He makes great points and political commentary, but no need to get too upset about it. Regardless: LOVE IT.

"10 Ways A Condom Can't Protect You..." by 10 Ways A Condom Can't Protect You...

EXSPERMINATE. Seriously though, this is not just really funny, it proves some good points. So . . . what's the excuse about not wearing a condom again? And I've seen condoms stretched over a lady's foot before, so don't give me the crap about it "not fitting". That's your deal, not mine, and if your girth really does make it painful . . . I'm concerned*. Found at tum bling doe on tumblr.

Anyways, I hope those are at least somewhat interesting to you guys! I thought they were really funny and really heartfelt, in many cases, and hey, we all need a mix of that every once in a while! Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cough up a lung and prepare for my next post . . .

*And no, I am not penis-biased, I just realize that girth can be an issue for some guys and in that case, it can make it a little more difficult to find condoms that fit. And anyways, I'd rather a lady in the first place.

Don't Expect the Context.

Should I strive to be more like you?
I feel judged for so many things.
My passion,
my views,
my faults.
Yet behind so many of those judgments
feels to be you.
Am I an adult?
Do I truly know what it is that I speak of?
Is my work too dark? Should I stop?
No, the question is should you stop.
I am an individual. I love the earth,
and I love my work.
But it's not for you. It never was!
I write, draw, dream for myself. For me.
And you take my thoughts and slice them apart.
God dammit, I am not a machine!
And I am no reflection of you - I'm me!
Eighteen years of running a body I've spent ages agonizing for,
Eternities finding who I am, and more forevers for me to redefine and define!
Your words, your "truths", sting like the ashes of the burning knife you press against my skin.
No longer. I am not your cutting block.
I am me. When I look into the mirror, I yearn to see myself.
I don't want to see you over my goddamn shoulder.
It blurs the image into ashy fog.

***

So that's something I wrote a few days ago. I won't lie - this is a fairly personal poem, like many poems are, although I didn't expect that I was really going to post it. But the angst has been growing a little bit, and I figured since it was a good piece of poetry coming from me anyways, I figured I'd show it off, as it were.

You might be able to expect another post tonight - I have some videos I'd like to share, but I don't know if that will get up tonight or not. I am SICK, with the sore-throated and congested deal. Feels a little like I've snorted hot sauce and lemon juice, but never mind that.

I haven't forgotten the AC posts either, by the way; my life's just being a little weird these days. But I will try to post ASAP, whether that's again tonight or sometime tomorrow.

In re: "Yes, Adults should be Embarrassed to Read Young Adult Books."

You know, I was going to just chill out and go to bed before I got into this, but my curiosity overcame me. After reading this, I decided to go find the actual article it discusses and give a peruse myself.

So now is my response. Madame Writer:

GET OUT.

You not only insulted the adult community of YA readers by publishing this article, you've also insulted the teenage community reading YA by implying that what they were reading was not as in-depth and important as adult, classical literature. I've been reading YA books since I was eight, and since then, ten years have passed. I'll be moving away to college very soon, and the only way I'm keeping myself together at the seams is with the lessons I learned from YA fiction, about how to handle moving away from home and how to handle loss and loneliness and love. I'm still in one piece and not falling to the floor screaming out my every anxiety because I know that waiting up in my bedroom is a bookshelf full of advice and pseudo-realities that will promise me everything is okay, you'll be fine, you've got this. By demeaning that, you demean the methods that so many of us "young adults" use in order to cope with a world we know so little about. And I'm not even going to get into the implications laid upon those that write YA fiction, god forbid, because I can imagine that many of them might be duly terrified to hear that they shouldn't be reading what they're writing and, as a result, shouldn't be writing it at all. It's really hard to write for an audience when you can't read their focuses.

By taking the stance of the "all-knowing adult", you've severed yourself from not just the adult community, but from the community of people who are using YA to sustain themselves into the "real world". And I believe you owe everybody an apology.

You are entitled to your own opinions. You are not entitled to shove them down others throats with the excuse "I'm an adult, I know better".



If you really want to read the article, it's here.

Titled: Title - Part 1

Yes, I really am that bad at titles.

On my hops through the internet, I've managed to find lots of juicy goodness for all kinds of people. Artists, linguists, creative types . . . really, if you're a human being, you'll probably find interest in something I've scoured up (or so I hope). I mean, I make no promises, but let's be positive for a little bit, right?

This being noted, I do think that it's my responsibility, when I find cool stuff, to share it and let others discover some new stuff too. After all, the only way I found some of this stuff was via others recommending the stuff to me, too! The Internet leaves us in a unique position to share stuff with other people, including with those we don't even know. But the only way to really make it big on the Internet these days is to get people to talk about your stuff, so if you find something new, you've gotta share it - it's the easiest way to get that person noticed and to do them a favor! That's yet another gem I found reading Austin Kleon's books . . .

Moving on! Here's what I've found over the last few weeks that I've wanted to share with y'all. Hopefully you'll find some of your own gems in here, too!

• Charahub. This is perfect for writer types (like me) who need a place to keep track of all of their characters. I generally have 2 ways of remembering my characters' details: writing down on scrap pieces of paper, or using a template I found on deviantArt to list the important stuff. There are pluses and minuses to each, of course, but Charahub has quickly become my third method for logging stuff about my characters. You start off by entering the name of the character, and from there you go into their bio, links to other characters, and answers to selected questions by Charahub. You can even get rid of a question if you don't want to answer it for all of your characters! There are some downsides, i.e. I think they repeat questions sometimes, but it's a pretty good tool for keeping track of your characters, and hey, it's free. Found this on tumblr via a friend's link, although I've since lost that link. D'oh!
• Seibei's post about the 50 Tee Challenge. This is just one form of a pretty awesome idea that seems to be running around the creative community. At the risk of butchering his explanation entirely, I'll just simplify it like this: Seibei makes T-shirts, so in order to make some decent designs, he forces himself to draw 50 shirts and decorate them all, without overthinking, overworking, or overjudging any design. He's recently expanded this idea to encompass 1,000 t-shirts, which is an awesome idea. I got this gem from Austin Kleon (linked above) yet again, and it's been making the gears in my head turn ever since. Think of the versatility of this! You could expand this idea to drawing 50 characters in a week, making pneumatic devices for 50 foreign language words in a day, or even writing 50,000 words in a month! . . . wait a second . . .
• Duolingo. Having officially graduated from high school (Booyah!), I've been super excited to go to college for arts, languages, and all of that jazz. Here's the problem, though - the school I'm going to doesn't offer much in terms of Spanish, which is my second language. Pooh! However, I discovered Duolingo due to an imgur post and decided I would just derp around with the Spanish course before delving into French, thinking it would be a series of lessons I could finish like that *snap*. I was so wrong! Along with lessons, Duolingo provides discussions and immersion, which I've already hopped into by offering some translations for an article about Chambao (more on that later). While I've only had a few hours to explore it, I'm pretty pleased with its range of activities. It even allows you to take a placement test that will helpfully get you past some of the lessons you might already know! There are lots of options to go with it, and I'm excited to continue with the lessons!
• Chambao. Oh, hey, it's later! While translating an article on Duolingo about this band, I decided to do myself a favor and listen to some of the music while I worked. This sort of music isn't usually my thing, but it's pretty chilled out, and I can get behind that! It's Spanish, of course, but it's great if you just need some background music to work with. Of course, they say that music with lyrics hampers work, but I don't believe that . . . anyways! If you need something new to listen to and don't mind some Spanish, check them out! I linked to a Youtube playlist above.

I have some more I can add to this list, of course, but I think I'll hold onto them for a little while longer - gives me some excess material to make another post about! Have fun with these sites, and don't forget - the Internet is a lot more fun when you're sharing your stuff with everybody else.

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.

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!