Freak

I've just added a new author to the blog - author of soon-to-be-published novel Freak, Katie Barrett. Let's all give 'er a hand folks! You can find the blog to the novel here: freakiverse.blogspot.com .  Check it out :)

Shameless Salesmanship

I'm taking advantage of Amazon Associates - which means that if I put a link here, and you buy a book because of it, I get moneys :) Don't worry, though. I wouldn't ever take advantage of your readership by promoting books I didn't believe in.

Which is why I'm starting out with a list of books I've read this past year which are worth your while!

Number one: Interview with a Vampire. NOT your average vampire book. I truly believe Anne Rice is a genius. Written in first person, it chronicles the life of Louis, a nineteenth-century plantation owner who is faced with a difficult choice - and must therefore live with the consequences. Truly, one of my favorite books there is out there. If you read a single book this summer, read this one.


Number two: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close - Jonathan Safran Foer. Read this one for a class, and I think it's an essential read for -anyone- in this modern age. Its main character, a nine-year-old boy, frankly and unabashedly deals with grief and unanswerable questions that come with it. Hilarious and tear-jerking, I give you half an hour of reading before you want to throw the book against the wall (to quote my dear Prof. O'Dougherty) - not because it is a terrible book but because it holds a mirror to your confusingly condemnable spirit and emotions and makes you face yourself. Oh, and it'll make you laugh. A LOT. Buy it :)







On to bigger and better things. I'm finally going to finish Gaiman's American Gods this summer. Honest. Not only because it offers little hints and tips on how to write about gods when nobody believes in them (a huge theme in my current work-in-progress) but because it's just damn good. Filled with mystery and self-searching. I can't wait to finish it :)









Okay folks. Enough advertising. On to the impossible task of outlining. After beginning yesterday, I regretably came to the conclusion that one of my newest, but no less dear, characters had to be cut. Brevity is the soul of wit, so they say (You-know-who), and if that's true I must be among the most witless.

Cheers. Updates on progress forthcoming.

Getting Active

And not just in the physical sense.

I recently bought some books and references on writing that are in the mail, but yesterday I bought two magazines geared toward writers (especially aspiring/struggling writers). So you can now find me on writing.com :) (username: tenmuses). Awaiting approval for one more site. But I shall post some interesting things here, i.e. one dream that rather amused me.

Dream:
Our scene opens on a church courtyard, where a loud three-person pirate crew manning a replica pirate ship, complete with wheels in the absense of water, rolls in and begins to demand audience attention. Of course, the attention is granted, in which case the pirates begin to drag audience members onto the ship to start swabbing the decks! In any case, it's a hilarious and compelling crew of swashbucklers who end up winning the hearts of onlookers. Somewhere in the middle of the show one of the pirates shouts "Where's Swabby! Where's that son-of-a-bilge rat?" And, right on que, a rather large rat scampers onstage. "Swabby ol' boy!" The trained rat takes a bow, delighting the audience with his rodentine antics. After some banter he goes on to scamper up some poor audience member's leg. "Swabby!" cries one of the pirates. "Careful, now! Don't get fresh, or I'll toss you overboard."

...Anyways.

Last night's dream I shan't divulge because it is more heartbreaking than I have effort to deal with, but needless to say I've been having particularly plotted dreams recently and don't think I don't steal from my subconscious for story ideas :)

Peace.

The False Amen...Chapter 1.

I am a vampire. I drink blood to survive. I drink blood because I love it. Because I am addicted to it. My body is dead, and perpetually alive. A reanimated corpse. I see things humans don’t see. I hear what they don’t, I feel what they don’t. I don’t feel anything. I am empty. An empty vessel waiting for some passing spirit to give my unlife meaning.

“At some point every vampire has these thoughts, Sister,” I say in perfect Castilian Spanish, leaning casually against the doorframe examining my fingernails. I’ve been with my companion for three days and it’s agonizing how slowly she is adjusting, as if she were doing it simply to spite me. I glance at the pathetic weeping form on the carpet, covering her face with her shaky hands. Was I ever so low as that? I vaguely remember it but, nonetheless, I am glad beyond measure I am a monster now without remorse. It’s less painful this way, and by far more fun.

A long, sobbing moan escapes Celestina’s lips, and she clutches the fabric of her dress at her stomach as if she were plagued with a human sickness. “I c-can’t,” she gasps, unable to look at me through her red eyes. Unlike my accent, hers is less refined, more mestiza. “I c-can’t do this, p-please change me back. Please, I b-beg you.”

“Change you back?” My gold eyes sparkle, flashing with mirth and contempt. “My dear, once your soul is marked with eternal damnation there is no going back.” She wails again, a pitiful sound that is more dog than vampire. That wail can only come from someone religious, I’ve learned in the past. I smirk a little. My religion is now hers. “Come now, pick yourself up. We can have fun, Sister. I’ll fetch you a young fresh maid, yes? I know you like them.”

I think I struck a chord somewhere deep in her soul that transcends her self-loathing. She glares at me hatefully, her dark brown hair matted to her face with tears. “No,” she hisses hoarsely through her choked voice. I roll my eyes and stroll casually to the other side of the room, where I find a bottle of wine and start pouring us both a glass. The swirl of the amber red in the crystal is intoxicating in itself. If only the alcohol could touch my body like it does humans…Alcohol and sex are really the only things I miss. Oh sure, I can still partake of them both…but they fail to give me what they once did.

I turn casually around and glance at Celestina, who has stood and who has been speaking to me while I was lost in my careless reverie. “I won’t,” she was saying firmly. It’s this spunky spirit I’ve fallen in a trance with, so to speak. She cares for things more than a vampire should, but she also cares for things more than a human should. “There has to be another way. I c-could…I could drink from animals. I don’t care if it’s not as good, I – ”

I cut her off with a sharp laugh, halfway between a bark of derision and light, giggling wind chimes. If I had a ducat for every time someone has said that to me… “Darling, animal blood will not sustain you.” I lean against the table, swirling the wine in the glass in my hand, my focus diverted. She poses no threat to me; she is just a fledgling and will soon learn. “Besides, who said you had a choice in what you drank?” I give her a wicked grin, my fangs showing over my blood-red lips as I delicately sip, as if at a dinner ball. “Oh, worry not. I’ll start you off slowly. We can have dinner guests; you like to entertain, don’t you?” She is literally shaking, her fists clenched at her sides, her dress nothing short of rags on her pretty form.

“How can you…How can you just not care!” Her voice has reached a tense high squeak of indignation. The words do not bother me in the slightest. “These are people with lives, and homes, and…” She cannot continue, falling instead into sobs and turning away to hide her face in her hands again, her shoulders shaking. I realize she is probably speaking from experience. She vaguely mentioned a young son when I first took her several days ago, but hasn’t told me her story. I am glad; I do not want to hear it. Some pathetic excuse for not acting as her nature should accord.

I let the silence ring, peppered with those wails jerked from human experience, and then push myself from the table and set down the wine, walking silently across the floorboards, and over the mangled corpse on the ground (thanks to Celestina’s bloodrage – a thing which I warned her about casually), and put my arms around her. She twitches but, as usual for people with outstanding courage, is frozen in fear at my touch. “Hush,” I whisper into her ear. “This weeping will do you no good.” She sways on her feet, trying not to lean into my arms. “Relax.” I brush some of the matted hair out of her face as she shakes more violently than the London Bridge. I realize now why I got rid of that cat I had. Too much work. Ah, but it will be interesting teaching her the ways of our life... “Why don’t you go lie down in your room, hmm?” Silently, she nods and pulls away from me, staggering towards the lopsided doorframe leading from the living room to the bedroom of her hovel. I turn from her and push my black hair back, tucking it into a long black knot at the back of my black tapestry bodice. She is not the least of my worries, but I certainly am not going to fret over her. There are bigger fish to fry. I look down at our unhappy guest and quickly heft him up over my shoulder and walk to the edge of the small village, dumping him amongst the foliage. He’ll be found in a few days, but by that time I hope to have Celestina out of here. It doesn’t do for her to see her relatives or friends. Soon she will be a cold-blooded killer like me, and that is what I want.

Later on...continued...

Frankly I did not know what to expect, though I had met several people – oth in praise and in doubt – of the oracle’s powers. By this point, I had nearly exhausted every other resource I knew of, and I could not afford to doubt. Doubt I did, however, when I approached the large mouth of the cave, hidden away in a small forest. There was nothing secretive or sacred about it, for that matter. I had encountered wooden plaques on trees all the way along pointing to the direction of the “Great Oracle of Santis,” and when I arrived I was surprised (though, people being people, I should have expected it) to find two merchants just outside the ‘sacred perimeter.’ They appeared to be very much in competetition with one another, for as soon as I appeared they broke from a half-polite stony silence to begin a tirade I predicted was very practiced but seldom used.

“Sir! You look like a fine young connoisseur – “

“ – Came to the right place; that oracle has – “

“ – slow business, but if you step a bit closer – “

“ – can enhance your experience here, guaranteed – “

“ – Nobdy goes in there without this magic crystal – “

I held up my hands to stop them, and waited for several more minutes while they squabbled with me. I did not ansquer until they were silent. “I have no money,” I lied.

“Gods be damned, Olrich, you can’t give the lad some space?” The rapidity with which they turned on each other was absolutely startling. The man’s face was positively red with indignation.

“Me? I could tell he wasn’t the sort, it was you who started it!” The taller, older man had creases of frustration in his brow.

“You scared him off, is what you did!” By this time I had walked calmly past them, annoyed. I had not come here to be goaded by salesmen.

“Well, I bet he has better things to do than listen to a pompous, over-indulgent – “ he said pointedly at the rotund man’s belly – “part-time tinker!”

I stopped listenening when the ill-mannered cursing began, my attention drawn to the cave proper instead. Everything else, including the gentle hum of wind in the trees, the throbbing of the earth’s heart, became background noise. Though the forest itself wasn’t exactly bright, the great gaping mouth stood out blackly as if I’d been lingering in broad daylight. It wanted to eat me, I was certain. It hadn’t eaten in some time and it was ravenously hungry. Part of me wanted to turn back, if only to deny it the satisfaction of the especially satisfying meal my body could afford. I came to my senses of course, as one often does when in that brief state of revolting insanity, and stepped forward. My arrogance did me no good in the face of an inanimate object, as much a part of the Earth as the molten heart itself.

I registered the sharp, bitter smell of oil before I recognized the tangible dampness and pervading sense of intense secrecy, as if stepping into the cave had bound me to a pact in my own blood. Whether it was a spiritual place, or merely had a carefully theatrical air of it, I could not yet tell. My boots made a soft plunking noise in the uneven footing, and I my mouth was open to grumble over the inconvenience before I closed it, feeling as though I would be breaking some unspoken law if I did so.

“Enter at risk of your life.” A deep, booming voice echoed across, back and forth between the walls. It was meant to be intimidating. I crept carefully forward, looking around for the source of the voice. “You do not know what you seek. Turn back.”

I snorted, though m y eyes still shifted around in the darkness, which I found was dimly lit by a single, boxy lamp. The glass on it was cast at an odd bluish tint. “I’m not leaving. I came a thousand leagues to see you.”

“You made a mistake. The Oracle of Santis cast you out!” This last was finished with a shout, and the blue flame flickered ominously.

I stopped, my feet rooted to the floor. A slight doubt wound around my mind but I shook it off. How could word have spread about this oracle if everyone turned away at his casting them out? Determined, I walked forward at a slightly slower pace. Silence, broken only by my trepid feet and a steady but unplacable, dreary dripping reigned. I thought perhaps the oracle, if that entity belonged to the voice that had so determinedly ‘cast me out,’ had forgotten me, or left. More likely, if the mad had any talent at all, he’d discovered my duplicitous/dangerous identy and ran. I wouldn’t be surprised. It had happened before and it would happen again. I would, however, thoroughly ensure my quarry was gone before giving up. I had walked for far too far to be greeted with terrified silence.

“My name is Shaejen.” My voice added to the dreary dripping, a resonant sound I had come to find comfort in, no matter how arrogant that might seem. I had often found my voice to be far more reliable than the voice of any other. “I’ve come to seek guidance and truth. I want to speak with the gods.”

I heard a sound that couldn’t be anything other than a laugh. “You want to talk to the gods, do you?! What if the gods want knowing to do with you! They’ve given up on you. Go home, boy!”

I stopped, clenching a fist at my side. If there was anything I hated it was being mistaken for a boy. I had given away childish notions, any childhood I might have had, to a man named Grayan long ago. “I know the gods exist, and I heard you can speak with them. I’m not leaving until I get answers.”

A bright flash of light could b e seen at the far end of the broken section of tunnel I had fallen into. Fire. It ran toward me along the floor of the tunnel in a bright burst, and I barely had time to leap aside into a tiny alcove for risk of setting my feet and trousers alight.

I was furious. Was this madman trying to kill me? With a short roar, I shouted, “How dare you! I come to you seeking help and you try to roast me alive?”

“Are you going to leave yet?” My frustration and indignation was nearly boiling over. I heard amusement in his voice and I hated him.

“No!” I listened to the sound of my voice echoing back and forth, playing a cruel taunting game, each repeat mocking its owner. I did not know how long I stood there, trembling, my hot breath starting to show itself against the ephemeral blackness. Finally, I saw a dim silhouette against the one blue light which had become my beacon of guttering hope.

“Come.” It was the same voice, and I could do nothing but follow. Even if it meant my death, my feet moved toward him. I felt as though I had been in this hellish cave my entire life and it was time for that to end. Forward, as though I was still and the tunnels moved and shifted around me, I walked, and soon the little blue light disappeared as we rounded a corner. Always I saw the hem of the oracle’s robe, just lighter than the utter blackness of the cave, disappear just around the corner of the next dripping wall. If not for that brief flash of fabric I would have been lost. We started winding down, not down stairs but down a rocky decline, and at certain points I had to grasp onto sharp formations jutting from the wall to maintain my balance. The hike up this thing must have been exhausting, especially for an old man such as the oracle, as I presumed him to be. I smiled vaguely at the thought of him making this walk every time some idiot stumbled into his cave seeking guidance.

Eventually the tunnel opened up into a large cavern, lit everywhere with those same blue box lights hanging from the craggy walls. The air was cleaner here, without the oil on the ground and without that disgusting musky scent, or most of it anyway. There were even curtains draping from the ceiling, which was nearly sky, high above. Long, draping curtains that barely fluttered with whatever wind was in the cavern, curtains of every color. Dark blue, mauve, amber…it was like walking into a traveling circus built for children. I wrinkled my nose, and almost preferred the darkness to this garish display.

But the oracle was there. He was standing, there in a light gray robe lined in a shimmery blue, a pendant of opal and jade hanging down and nearly tangling in his long downy beard. It was as though he had been ripped straight from a stereotypical Lasagn play, just after meeting the brave hero and telling him to trust in his heart. I snorted, a derisive smile playing over my lips as he waved his arms about theatrically, making the flames flicker. “Welcome, my son, to the Oracle’s Cav – Is something funny?” He narrowed his eyes at me down his long nose.

I glanced at him, folding my arms in front of my chest. “No, but you’re not at all what I expected.” I let my frustration creep into my voice, hoping to startle him. I didn’t really plan on spending the entire day here.

“No, I’m better than what you expected,” he informed me sternly, trying to show he could not be intimidated. “Come here. If it is the gods you wish to speak to, I will connect you with them. How heavy is your purse?” He took my wrist and led me amidst the curtains, even as I resisted. There was an elaborate couch across from an intricately carved chair.

“Excuse me?” The first thing he asked was how much money I had? Perhaps I had been wrong, so wrong to come here. The man was a fool and a charlatan, and that was not a healthy mix.

He seemed to hear the indignance in my voice, and waved a hand quickly. “Never you mind, never you mind. Clearly you wish your connection to the gods more than anything, and I will grant it you. Now – “ He held my palm out flat and waved his hand over it. I rolled my eyes and sat back against the couch.

“Your name, my son,” he said, tossing his head back with his eyes closed. The gesture was so false I didn’t know whether to roar at him or laugh.

Instead I answered. “Shaejen. You might have heard of me, old man, but if you haven’t you should know I’m no one to be trifled with. Can you connect me to the gods or not?”

The man stared at me, his aging eyes growing rounder. He let go of my hand. Wise man. He wrapped his hand in his other, wringing them. I stared at him, my chin jutted out stubbornly.

First scene of a novel!

Workin' on a novel (again). No, I have never finished one but there is a first time for everything! This could be the one. There is more to this kid than meets the eye. Here goes.

***

I remember very clearly one evening, when I was very young. I think Undora thought I was asleep, because she was trying to keep her voice down. Her father, however was not.

“You disgrace me, Undora! And you disgrace my name and your fiancé!” The man was short and round, with a bald head that turned nothing less than a sharp cherry-red when he was upset. He was not otherwise very often, at least the times that I saw him.

“Da, you don’t understand!” Undora was angry also, though angry tears accompanied her, making her beautiful brown eyes wet and beautiful in a desperate, proud sort of way. Her once-slender hands, now toughened through years of work, were clenched into fists, as if she were barely restraining herself from hitting him. I would always remember silently praying for her to hit him. I wanted to see the reaction on his face, even at that young age. “I tried to do as you asked, but I was doing it for you and not for me. I found someone –“ She choked, and I couldn’t tell whether it was from emotion or from stumbling over her words – “Someone better, and – “

“Someone better?” he roared at her, the thick hair on his neck nearly bristling. “Better than Tronas! Do you know how hard I worked to find that match for you?! Where is your ‘someone better’ now? Hmm? Is he dead?”

“Stop it…”

“Did he die nobly Undora? Or was he as fed up with you as I am? He found another woman, is that it? A better woman?”

“What do you want me to do?” she shrieked, letting tears fall and weakening. No, mother. Fight back. You’re stronger than that. “You wouldn’t let me speak with anyone for five years! Why do you come to me now! I’m happy where I am.”

“Happy where you – “ He laughed derisively. To this day I don’t think I’ve heard an uglier sound. My chubby little hands clenched too, mimicking Undora’s. “Look at this place. My daughter living in a sty. It’s despicable…” Undora opened her mouth to protest, making a squelched sound of objection, before the little round man continued. “I found another match for you. It’s not as good as the first one but if you give up the bastard you can regain some of the respect – “

“Get out of my house.” Undora was shaking, she was so upset, and her voice was tight and strained. I wanted to run to her and embrace her for being so wonderful but I didn’t dare for fear of both of their wraths. “I never want to see you again. Get out.”

Her father stood there, mouth agape and outraged. He stepped toward her, and I foresaw the sound smack he delivered to her. She turned her face, now red with the blow. “You are dead to me,” the older man hissed, and he turned on his heel and left the house, slamming the door behind him.

Undora slid to the floor, hiding her face in her hands and sobbing as I had never seen her do before. She was always so strong, and it frightened me she could break. I was nearly too terrified to go around the corner of my hiding place and comfort her, but I felt it was my solemn duty to do so. I was vaguely aware she had done this for me, though I didn’t know why I should need protecting. Downcast, and probably looking like a whipped puppy, I crawled into my mother’s lap and rested my head against her chest, where I felt her heart beating, alive and vibrant and well. She stiffened. I could tell she didn’t want me to see her cry. But she kissed my head anyway and held me. Neither of us said a word for a very long time. It was gathering dark when finally she kissed my cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she whispered quietly, then got to her feet, carrying me with her. I squirmed. She must have forgotten I was too old to be carried, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her.

Finally, as she was tucking me into the small bed we both shared, I said, “I’m proud of you, Mama. For standing up to him. I liked to see you win.”

Undora looked down at me with those large, doe-brown eyes, still red-rimmed. For a moment I thought she would be pleased to hear what I’d said, that somehow I’d made her feel better. Instead, she whispered quietly into the dark, “What made you think I won?”

Before I could answer she had left. I should have felt content, in my warm bed and with that terrifying rotund man gone. I should have been glad I could still Undora’s tears. But a vague sense of something terribly, deeply wrong had settled on me, something that I could not shake, nor dismiss as childish fears. It ran deeper than the fear of the dark, or the fear of the Night Demon come to steal the souls of the guilty. For, though I wasn’t fully aware of it, no thing of the dark was more terrifying than myself, and I wasn’t yet guilty of anything worse than a white lie to Undora when I’d gone to the river during a rainstorm. No, there was something far worse that unsettled me that night. Before the week was out I would wish I had a bed to think upon at all.

The paradox of being a writer.

I'm basically reading essays about writers and writing and thinking lots of it is true, but here's something I think is going to be my detriment someday:

What happens when I have this marvellously brilliant idea and find out someone much more famous has already incorporated that idea?

Well I used to think that meant I couldn't use the idea anymore, and then it sort of shifted to making me feel guilty about de-facto plagarism. For example, I have this character named Anath and he is very much in tune with all human senses - and then some - minus only eyesight. I should mention he is not human. And now I learn that Octavia Butler has some alien race just like this if not better!

What's a girl to do. Nothing is original, right? But what if it IS original originally?

Some ideas that've come to me in the past five minutes - (I give them to you on the condition you DON'T plagarize my work ;) ):

• A race like some species of fish that begin female and mature into males. I like to think of it as a comment on social constructs (two individuals can't be together but they want to) and homophobia.
• A woman who has to kill an abusive boyfriend in order to be free of men. Think "Private Benjamin", a movie I will reccommend to anyone. The idea isn't feminist exactly, but more as a self-liberation thing, albeit tragic.
• I really want to incorporate my Zonian warrior women into something. Also a gender issue; they treat men much like men treated women a few centuries previous: as property. They are...um...they're like taking over my brain. Zonians tend to do that to you.
• (There is a bug on me, and sometimes I get paranoid when I am up late at night that there are people in the house. Is that rational or normal?)
• Some irrational fear about something. I don't care if the character is totally mad. The madder the better.
• I want to prove someone wrong about mermaids. They're not gorgeous women laying on the beach for you to look at, boys. They're vicious maneaters. They have teeth.
• Something that has amnesia and wakes in the clutches of humans? Obviously this stems from my current work on Butler's Fledgling. I remember reading something about a trapped angel somewhere, that would be interesting.

Alright folks, looking back looks more like stream of conscious inspired by late-night exhaustion than anything. Give me two weeks and all be all on these ideas like gravy on potatoes.

Peace,

Becs.