Category Archives: Writing

Being Free

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I am the first person to say I hate when people write everything they did to exercise, or that they even exercised. It just isn’t something I feel like needs huge pats on the back, unless of course, it is a huge milestone for you.

That being said, this post is going to be about exercise. Well, sort of. Last night I went running. It is the first time I went running in probably close to a year. Maybe less, maybe more, time always has a way of escaping me. Anyways, we were watching a movie and it was starting to get dark and I decided, no, this is enough. I went and changed into my running shoes and work out clothes, slipped on a jacket (because it was raining) and went on my way. 

I did not know where I was going. I did not know how I was going to run. I did not even know if I would make it out of the drive way of our apartment community without having to stop. Instead I ran and just gave myself over to the feelings of the run. I let the cool mist of the rain cool me down and the thick air choke my lungs but I did not care. I just ran. I ran until I found the old abandoned track about a mile away from my home. I haven’t ran that straight in, who knows how long. I walked down to the track and then continued to do laps around it, jogging, running, walking. Whatever I could do. I just kept my eye on the sun setting and the looming clouds overhead. After about three laps (because let’s face it I am really really out of shape) I decided to walk back up the trail and head on home. 

I had to chant to myself in my head not to throw up, that I can keep running. I ran until I hit the stairs to my building. I got home and wanted to collapse. I had done just over three miles (at the time I thought it was closer to 4, but it was actually 3). But I felt free. In those moments surrounding by mostly nature, and just giving myself over to it. I felt free. 

It was a great night for a run.

The Start of Great Beginnings

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Long time no blog entry. Now the title of this blog might be a little grand for something that I wrote in only a few minutes with no editing. Yes it is straight from the word document, nothing done to it (so be gentle!) I do, however, think this is the start to a great new story. Enjoy!

Darkness. It is everywhere, within everything. No stars lit the sky, the room was not lit by any light of candle or orb. It was just black. Even the coldest darkest night had more light. A woman’s chest fell and rose heavily as her back was pressed against the cool damp stones that formed the wall. She fought to control her breathing, her heart racing in her chest. It was a game of cat and mouse and this time she feared she was not the cat. The woman brushed the nearly white hair out of her face and tried to push it back into the braid she had started out with. She felt her hands on her daggers on her thighs and the bastard sword digging between her shoulder blades. She had more weapons than she knew what to do with on her and yet she still felt under dressed. Tight leather clung to her skin as sweat made her skin glisten. If there had been light she would have been afraid her position would have been lost. She inched her way around the corner seeing the first glimpse of torch light in the distance. A knife met her throat, she felt a drop of blood moisten the blade.

           “Lost again Cerena.” She was forced up against the wall, muscular arms pushing her back until the sounds of metal echoed through the hall. The blade retracted and she used her opportunity. A kick was sent in the air and a male groan audible. A swift kick behind the knee brought her assailant to his knees and one of her own daggers to his throat.

           “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

            “Ah well Cerena, I can’t kill you now can I?” His voice broken with the threat of the dagger against his throat. His hair was plaited back behind is his head in multiple strands reaching down to one long braid down his back. His armor was leather, not the kind he normally wore. It still shone like it was new but it was beyond broken in. New leather is tight and will get you killed.

            “Let me up.” he tapped out on the wrist holding the dagger. Normally her dagger would not have hesitated to draw blood from him but then again, it was practice after all.

           “Can’t kill my brother now can I, Fionan?”

            “Nah, I suppose not sister. You still lost.”

            “You still dropped your guard.”

            “You breath as heavy as a horse in heat.” A smack echoed off the walls followed by a muffled laugh.

          “You little.”

           “Yes my beautiful?” Cerena mocked back putting in a small bow with it.. His hair was the same color as hers, nearing white.

          “Cerena, Fionan. Your mother would like to speak with you.” The masculine voice had always sent shivers down her spine.

               “We will meet her right away, won’t we sister?” He pulled at her arm as she fought the urge to look up into his eyes. Judgement was the form of all punishment throughout the kingdom and there in front of her he stood.

            “Yes, of course Judgement.” She finally looked up into his eyes, fighting the urge to show fear. Something of her young years had taught her is you never showed emotion on your face. Fionan had a huge smile on his face like everything was a joke. She looked up and put a smile on her face, making it reach all the way to her eyes until they glistened with life and joy. It was the way of the court, it was made you survive. Any emotion could be torn out of you and used to someone else’s advantage. There were reasons why they trained so hard to survive.

Love to hear what you think!

Writing- Emotionally

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Yesterday, I sat down at my computer and wrote. I have been doing this on and off for years. My blog is not an accurate representation of how much I write because honestly I find I am not the blogging sort. Well, I am in spurts but I like to only blog when I feel called to and not as a mandatory thing. Anyways, back to my original point.

I was writing yesterday. Sitting at my computer, typing away at a very emotional scene. It was not so much emotional on paper as it was within my own being. I wanted to cry, I wanted to break down and stop writing but I continued forth, and proudly without a tear draining from my eye. I write very much from experiences, from my own emotions and from what is in my life (with of course twists and fantasy flair.) I take inspiration from the pain, the happiness, the sadness, the love. From it all. Sometimes this causes me to fear writing. Fear making me face reality and the imaginary. Fear of making me deal with things I do not what to deal with. This has caused me to take breaks from writing. Longer than I wish to admit and shorter than sometimes warrants to push those emotions and personal issues aside.

By no means do I have a bad life. Quiet the opposite. I have a wonderful life and I love almost every moment of it but there are always things in people’s lives that haunt them, no matter how peaceful and happy their life might be. I take this and I use it. I think a lot of writers do, or should. I feel as that emotional connection with their writings, their worlds, and what is in side them makes stories more believable, more sincere. I might not have the best grammar, or spelling, or writing technique, but those are all things I can work to improve on everyday. The emotional content of writing; that I feel as though that is really something you cannot learn. Something that sparks a writer to write. Not to create world, yes that is part of it, but to explore their own self. To find themselves through these worlds and deal with issues that somethings they just cannot deal with in real life. Sometimes problems are imaginary, sometimes problems are real but that doesn’t mean that they cannot be worked out on paper (or a computer screen as it might be)

This my emotional rant for today. My way of expressing what writing is to me. I see so many quotes of I write because like breathing I cannot live without it (paraphrasing) and I think that is true. At least it is for some of us. I write because I have to and because I love to.

The Daunting Task of World Building

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This past month I have been overwhelmed with the idea that for NaNoWriMo I am going to build a complete other world and flush it out so that after it is done I will have the complete back story and information I need to write a completely new series. It is daunting to say the very least. 

I am the first to say that I am not an expert on it. I have done it before, once before, when I was a teenager. But I didn’t really do it the “proper” way. I wrote things down as they came up and created political systems and history of the world on a whim. Did it work for the story? Completely. Was the story a mature, full thought out, ready to publish manuscript. Hell no. And no, a simple no would not have worked in that scenario. It was really rough, but looking back on how I wrote it, the history of the world was getting more and more flushed out each day I wrote it. 

So this is my dilemma. I know I really should spend all of NaNoWriMo writing out the history and back story to the world and the characters because it is a very in depth story plot and lots of little details of the characters past will come out to change the plot and help shape the world they are living in. However, I know that I am a gardener style writer. I know that I write best and get the most motivated to write when I can take my time (even if writing 2000 words a day or more, which I also want to state I haven’t done in a while) and develop the characters and the story as they tell me how their story is suppose to go. I love discovering their history as I write and if I have to go back and edit the crap out of it later because of small details that come up mid way or at the end then I love doing that. I love developing them how they want to be developed and look into their world instead of me telling them how their world is going to be. Again, but I know I wouldn’t have to edit as much and the story would be more complete the first time around if I wrote up all the back story first. 

I know it is one of those things that I need to learn to adapt to and it will help me develop as a writer. The thought of it is daunting, creating an entire world before diving into the characters and I like the idea of creating lots of different characters and back stories before jumping into the main characters I want to write about. Writing about different peoples and land masses and countries and political systems. The list goes on and on and I am exciting to do it but when I look at the huge list in front of me of all I need to accomplish before I can write my characters I get overwhelmed and defeated feeling before it even starts. 

I know I need to just start it and work on one item at a time and I will get through it in no time. The hard skills to master of writing in depth story plots. Lots of back work to do first before you can get to the “good stuff.”

My writing thoughts for today. Now I should get back to work and start trying to make some progress. 

Home

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I forewarn you this is going to be a completely random post, and really nothing to do with writing.

Home. What is it? And when does it change? I grew up in Wisconsin, my parents and all my family still lives there except for a few random relatives here and there. I am the furthest away being in Washington now. Literally half the country away. I am to go back there this weekend to start planning more in depth for my wedding which will be taking place in my parent’s backyard. But that isn’t the purpose of this post. The purpose is more about when does home change and when does it become someplace else.

I love my parents dearly and they keep saying “I can’t wait until you come home to visit.” but now in my heart I feel as if I am leaving my home to go visit them. To go visit my friends still back in Wisconsin. When did this change? This is the question I keep asking myself. The first few times I went back “home” it really did feel like I was coming home. Like I had been away for a long summer camp or something similar. I felt back in the comfort of the walls of my childhood and in the neighborhoods I grew up in. Now I feel like it is almost alien, someplace so foreign I scarcely recognize it. So much has changed in the little time I have been gone. And then I look back and I haven’t really been gone all that short of time. I have been gone more than three years now from that sleepy little Wisconsin town.

I find myself already feeling like I am going to miss my home for those few days, miss my dog Ronnie, who is more like my baby than a dog at this point. I feel myself missing my fiance, Michael,who couldn’t come with me due to work and flights. I feel myself missing the quiet neighborhood I live in currently and thinking “Am I going to miss the trees color changing as they show off their fall colors? Am I going to miss the deep change of Autumn that is already sweeping across my area?”  I know I probably will and then I remember back to my childhood and remember how beautiful Autumns are in Wisconsin. The local apple orchard that makes the best apple cider and apple butter. The little haunts I used to call my own and being able to visit them and I get nostalgic, instead of home sick.

I know it is a part of growing up and living out on your own, especially when at such a young age you decide to move so far away from your birth place. My family didn’t move much growing up, we grew up in the house my parents still live in since I was in kindergarten and I remember the exact place when Roy our bus driver would pick us up for school until he retired. Yes I can still remember his name and probably always will. We lived in one place for most of my life and I think it is safe to say I am glad we did. I have very fond memories in that area and some not so fond ones. But growing into more of an adult I am learning to forget those bad times and just remember the good. Remember all the fun times I had and all the friendships I had over the years instead of the mistakes and hurt feelings along the way.

I know this post probably seems like the ramblings of someone trying to figure out what is going on in life, and you would be right. I am trying to figure out when time changed and I changed. When I started seeing the world differently and I can’t remember the exact date it happened. It wasn’t like some switch got turned on or some dial got changed. It was gradual, it was me turning into an adult and actually realizing that I am happy exactly where I am and that I don’t want to relive part of my childhood. I want to live my own life now and although I will always hold a special place in my heart for where I grew up I know I would never want to move back. That part of my life is done and it is onto the next chapter for me.

In conclusion I think what I really wanted to say is home really is where the heart is and you can have many homes over your lifetime and each one has its own special place in your heart.

Until next time,

Progress… It’s Getting There

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I have been steadily working on draft two of “The Girl Who Cried Fae.” It has been going slowly as it required a lot of rewrites. I will be the first to say I kind of rushed through the first draft in order to get it all written out, now it is time to actually go back and make into something worth reading. Details are especially important and I left a lot of important ones out. I know this, and I know how I need to get better at it so that is what I am doing.

I am also being realistic. I don’t think draft two will be worthy of print, and maybe not even draft three or four. The thing is that doesn’t get me down one bit. I know I have so much to learn about writing and improving myself to where I would like to see myself and I think that is great. I think it also shows a huge growth for me. Especially in my younger years I would expect to write something utterly brilliant, best seller in every country, the whole nine yards in one draft. Are you kidding? Most professional authors can’t boast that skill. That is why editors are still a huge part and will always be a huge part of the writing industry.

So my update, mostly I am writing and a lot. I want to try to get the edits of draft one (making into draft two) by October 31st. At my current rate I don’t even know if that is possible but I am going to try. I have completely rewritten chapter two of draft one and have already made it into two different chapters. I know I need to expand on a lot of concepts and not rush into things like I did for draft one just to get the story out there and on paper.

For NaNoWriMo I really want to do something completely else and use my word counts just form that. So we shall see. It is going to be a huge project for me to undertake because it requires building an entire world, political systems and different races of people. I am excited to do it and I love the story idea that has sparked this whole thing, so we shall see.

That is all the update I have for now. Will try to update again next week. Hopefully I will closer to my goal than I am now!

A Little Taste of What is to Come

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So this is a background information for the novel I have just finished. “The Girl Who Cried Fae.” It isn’t part of the story and yet I feel like it should be so I am sharing it with you. The book is written in 1st person with Cel (or as she calls herself Kathryn) as the person living through the events.

But this is Jacque, the man she desperately tries to save. This is a part of his story and I think it turned out quite well. It is rough form so don’t judge it too heavily 🙂 Enjoy.

Alone in a blackened room with nothing but a pinhole of light coming from the crack in the lock as company was a man. It was only when that company of light disappeared and the room went completely dark that he knew his torture was about to begin. He hung by his wrists in metal shackles made of iron. If he had been anything but a pure-blooded Sidhe his wrists would have burned clean off by now. However, he was a pure-blooded Sidhe so the shackles burned into his skin and they did not heal but they did not rot either. His shoulders slumped out of place long ago and he did not even bother moving his fingers to stimulate circulation of his blood. Now it just caused more pain to his numb arms than relief.

“Cel, oh Cel what have I done.”

“Hello? Whose there.” A voice returned to him. A voice, he must have broken. They must have finally won. Maybe under it all he would give into them, maybe he knew the answer they sought. Maybe this was another trick.

“If you are who I just called than you know who I am.”

“Hearing voices again, Kat, pull yourself together. The voice doesn’t exist.”

“I exist, but do you?”

“See! My mind is even agreeing with us. We are crazy.”

“Cel?” Emotion vibrated off his voice. How could it be her? She has been dead for more than a thousand years. He witnessed her death. He saw her agony as he held her in his arms. Memories flashed in his mind. Memories he had long wished to forget. Her hair cascading down his body when they were in war, her naked body against his as the only thing protecting them from the cold inside their humble tent was the furs upon the ground and their body heat. Hot breath against skin, passion overriding all sense. The scene changed in his mind to one of them riding side by side the next day on battle, her armor of silver as her long, almost white hair came out in a long strand in the back of her helmet, her hands holding onto the reins of her horse as her two double swords rested in their sheaths on her back. She was stunning, beyond stunning the way he remembered her. Then another memory ripped through his mind. This time it was pain, agony. It was a different woman. No it was the same woman, a different face, different body. She still had the same eyes. She wasn’t fae, not entirely. A group of men surrounded her. Fear ripped through his mind from hers, as they ripped off her clothes and teeth ripped into her skin. He screamed against them, enraged to what they were doing. Hatred for them poured out of his veins, out of his soul. They had smelled what she was, she was fae and they wanted to eat her alive.

He head soft sobs filling his mind. “Jacque.” She whispered. It was like a candle in the dark, the eternal flame that kept him alive.
“Oh my sweet Celyn. I am here.” He felt a warmness surround him, he felt her arms wrap around his body. They were closer than blood. He let him mentally hold her back and he felt her sigh against his chest. He closed his eyes and he saw her in a tiny apartment. She was so young, so brand new. She still had the stitches on her arm from the attack.

“Jaque, I have missed you so much. Why did you leave me?”

“Oh Cel. I never left, we just got a little lost is all.” He felt heat soak back into him. Part of him that died was coming back to life. He was going to escape and be with her no matter what it took.

“Where are you?”

“I am someplace you should never come, my sweet one.” he kissed her forehead with the gentlest of touches and she looked up right into his eyes and he felt her press her lips to his. With centuries of being alone his body roared to life. Even if it was just a thought in his head, her magic and his together were making the sensations real. This was a worse torture than anything had been done to him. Now he craved her flesh underneath his hands, her lips pressed against hers, to see her smile in person and the beautiful blue eyes he would never forget.

She pulled away. “I am sorry. I am crazy. I am kissing a spirit. I am kissing my imagination. This can’t be real.”

“Please, don’t stop.’ He pulled her face back into his and kissed her, harder. He knew she closed her eyes because the picture got clearer, the sensations more intense. He tasted the salt of her teas upon his lips, over his tongue.

“You cut your hair.” Her fingers played with the brown rags left upon his head. He tried to change the appearance of himself in front of her. At least he wasn’t covered in bruises and his body didn’t look in ruins to her. All of a sudden his view of her was different. It was the old Cel, not her new body, her new form.

“You were beautiful just the way you were. Why do you change your appearance to me?”

“I am not nearly as beautiful as her. I don’t want you seeing me like this.”

“I don’t want you seeing me like this either.”

“You look like a god, and trust me I have met a few of them to know.”

“I do not look like a god.” A laugh filled his mind.

“Oh Jaque. What happened to the cocky guy that knew he was hot shit?”

“Hot shit? I do not think I was a pile of dung.” She shook her head in his mind’s eye as her eyes sparkled with laughter.

“It means, the best, the most attractive, the most wanted.”

“Oh. Yes there was a time I felt that way.”

“Jaque. Nothing they could have done to you would have made you any less than beautiful.”

“What do you know about what I have been through?”

“They blamed you for my death didn’t they?” Silence.

“Where are you Jaque?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss that with you.” Suddenly his eyes were open, he was looking around the room but it wasn’t him. What the hell kind of powers did she gain during these lifetimes.

“Jaque. What are they doing to you?” Silence filled the empty space. Silence he had gotten used to and now it just seemed dead, like heaviness was pressing against him.

“Jaque, please don’t ignore me.”

“They aren’t doing anything.” It wasn’t a lie. They weren’t doing anything this moment, later they probably would be but now they were not touching him.

“That is too close to a lie, even for you.”

“They aren’t. I give you my word.”

“What have they done to you?” A harder question to answer without directly lying.

“Nothing I cannot handle my sweet Cel.”

“I will find a way to get you out of there, Jaque.”

“What happened to the Ice Queen who would never go back for a fallen man.”

“I am not her. I will save you Jaque.” And with those final words before the light went dark he had hope. He blocked her out from his mind, completely and fully. He didn’t want her to feel the pain he was about to experience, the torture he endured for her. The new Ice Queen would want to know that she was alive, and he feared for Cel’s life when she did.