Tuesday, 23 December 2014

Quick Note


The year is almost over, and the way I see it, I haven't posted here since.....February.

Right.

Now, before any of you decide to throw your shoes or tables at me, teeny tiny notice that I probably should have made around four months ago.

The reason why I haven't been posting any new articles or stories here is mainly because I haven't written any. And that is because I've been concentrating on my larger writing projects and have been, since September, a published author.

Rah rah sis boom bah.

Yes, so if you're adventurous and want to dare to read my book, you can find 'The Falcon's Eye' here:
http://amzn.to/1B9c85T

And if you want to check out my author blog, you can find it right over here:
http://amzn.to/1B9c85T

So, now that that's out there, I have two giant WIPs and around three smaller ones, one of which needs a beta. Gottagobye!

*ducks under flying table*

Thursday, 27 February 2014

Infinity in a Speck of Dust


Sometimes, I wonder what writing does to us.

Last night, I was doing my daily two to three hours of editing my manuscript while helping my brother out on a writing project of his own. He was writing a script as an audition for a theater club in college and I was talking to him about the power of dialogue, revealing and not revealing facts about characters, empathizing with fictional people, giving emotional payoff to the audience, yadda yadda yadda. At one point, I asked myself: when the hell did I learn all this?

'Cause there I was telling him to empathize with his characters, understand them - not just know them - and become them. Literally put yourself in their shoes and just write what they do and I realized just how many times I do that in a day.

I participated in NaNoWriMo for the first time in November and it gave me a habit of discipline to properly sit and write for at least three hours everyday and immerse myself in every character I write, and I do. I love it, more than anything. And I find myself becoming these strange people, who are so similar and yet so different from me.

If anyone reading this is a writer too, you probably know what I'm talking about. And you're probably wondering why I'm talking about stuff that we all know about. But hey, it felt like it needed saying. There I was, realizing that I was breaking myself into a hundred different people and piecing myself back together every single day. It's a weird sort of revelation and probably a lot smaller than it seems to me right now, but it was still a bit of an epiphany.

So, I do wonder sometimes what writing does to us. I feel that it expands us, makes us so much more than the singular creatures that we are. We are the worlds we make and the characters we create, and every time we step into a fictional person's shoes, we become someone new before returning to who we are. It feels like opening up a walnut and finding a galaxy inside.

'Cause in the end, we're all infinite.

Friday, 31 January 2014

It's Been a While


A long while. November came and went with pomp and glory. December flew past in a blaze. The new year burst out like a phoenix from the ashes and rang out with optimism and promise, and now January is over.

It really has been a while, but I'm still alive.

NaNoWriMo was a blast. It's something that I would definitely recommend to anyone who wants to write, whether you're a fledgling dreamer or a full-fledged author with titles and accolades to your name. You get to meet and interact with hundreds of writers from all over the world, you have a goal set for you to work towards, and best of all, this event gives you discipline.

Previously, I would procrastinate and put off my writing, blaming it on the usual 'writer's block'. Thing is, in NaNoWriMo, if you want to finish the challenge, you can't use writer's block as an excuse for too long or else, you'll run out of time. Everyday, come what may, you sit and write. Whether it bee 500 words, or 1000, or 2000, or even more, you write. And that habit stayed with me even after November got over.

And I won the challenge, in case you were wondering. I took a break from my light-hearted or bittersweet short stories and my epic fantasy manuscript, and wrote a short sci-fi novel. I've uploaded it on Wattpad. If you'd like to read it there, here's the link below:


http://www.wattpad.com/story/10231273-ascension

If you're not that fond of reading on Wattpad, I'll start putting it up here.

And another little piece of news, 'The Hatter's Wife' was published in an online magazine called HelterSkelter. You can check it out at:

http://helterskelter.in/2014/01/the-hatters-wife/

So it's been a busy four months. Along with that, I've got a manuscript in the editing pot, which is coming along beautifully and hopefully, should be off the fire and ready to read before May. Somewhere in between, I have to adjust my schedule for Game of Thrones Season 4. No way in HELL am I missing that.

So busy busy.

Again, sorry for not being here for so long, but I'm alive, I'm kicking, and I'm still reading and writing, so stay tuned for stuff.


Saturday, 19 October 2013

Embracing Klutzdom




Hear ye, hear ye! Everyone make way! Make way for me, the Self-Proclaimed Queen of Klutzdom! Honestly, do. I just might end up missing my own shoelaces and trip over yours. Worse, I may just drag you along. I won’t get hurt much; my skull just might be made of adamantium, the number of times it’s been struck. I’d be more worried for you.

‘Self-proclaimed’ may not be the best word to use in the case. I’ve been a klutz for as long as I can remember and have been called so, though in various different forms of the word. If I was ever graceful, I’m sorry I missed it. Once upon a time, it used to bother me, with the number of times I had my head in the clouds and walked into walls or somehow managed to stumble over nothing on a flat floor and skid on my heel down a hallway. True story, I do not lie. But nowadays, I’ve given up on ever trying to be a swan and have embraced klutzdom in all of its klutzy glory.



Looney Tunes taught me something: ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.’ In this case, I might as well live with it and have fun while it’s around. Sometimes, when I’m in a good mood, I sing Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra and dance in the hallways. That way, if I stumble, I can cover it up.

To anyone who is reading this, don’t tell me that you don’t have similar moments. You’d be lying through your teeth. Or rather, through your brain. That saying never really made sense to me. Every person wants to look as cool as ice at all times and a lot of people manage to, at least to the public eye. But somehow, just when you need that grace the most, it seemingly fails you, like that awkward moment when you’re trying to talk to the guy you’ve been crushing on for ages or when you’re trying to give a big presentation that’ll cover half your semester scores. Note to readers: these two were purely hypothetical, not true. Somehow, something happens and even if it doesn’t, you worry to bits that something will and end up sweating through your collar throughout the entire ordeal about it.

But really, in all honesty, what does it mean to be graceful? It’s a many-layered term; Shrek would probably call it an onion. It doesn’t only deal with managing to place both feet firmly on the ground while walking, or managing to cover a certain distance without bumping into anything, or heaven forbid, not tripping over nothing. I still have no idea how that happened. It’s something that means so much more than just being stable on your feet and being a picture of constant elegance.


I read this article in a friend’s blog once. Actually, it wasn’t an article, it was a story. A good story. It won a prize. Good stuff, mate.

Anyway, what it says it that grace is so much more than just good footwork and a man being manly or a woman being feminine. It springs from something that rests deeper than the shoes on your feet, something that exists at your very core. People say ‘you are what you eat’, or ‘you are what you wear’, but in reality, a person is not defined by their appearance or their gait. They’re defined by their actions. It’s like how you judge a book not by its cover, but by its contents. And those actions are what defines a person as ‘graceful’ or not.

Sometimes, the simplest words are the most profound, and the word ‘grace’ is one of them. It is defined not by what people see at their first glance, but from what people see when they look past what you show everyone else and stare straight into your soul. Such grace can only be perceived by those who truly try to know the person in question, to know the real person who exists behind the general pretentions made as a natural defense to the world. To those people who know your grace, you are fortunate to know them. To those who can’t see it or choose not to, they probably just don’t deserve to know you so well.

As for being graceful on your feet, there are those who are fortunate to have natural iron grips at their soles and then there are those who somehow manage to muck it up without even trying to. But at the end of it, if it’s an incurable feature, accept it as a part of who you are and embrace the idea of klutzdom, because honestly, what could you do about it anyways?


Getting Ready to Nano!


Today is the 19th of October and there are exactly 12 days left until November 1st!

Yes, I know you can do the math, probably much faster than I can, but the reason why this means that much to me is because *hem hem, cue drumroll* I am joining Nanowrimo for the first time this year.


Hee.

So yes, I'm excited. I've actually wanted to try for Nano for the past two years, but we all know about work schedules and how college submissions can pour cold water on pretty much anything. So now, in the middle of a day job, working with my editor and other miscellaneous duties that keep a person alive, I am finally going to take on the Nano challenge.


Yes, I've been doing prep work, which is why I haven't posted in a while. Besides the short stories that I put up here, I generally write fantasy, but this time, I'm planning to try my hand at sci-fi/supernatural. Yeah, I know, the two genres are practically siblings, but still, I'm actually using technical terms instead of using the word 'magic', so I guess that makes a difference, right?


Imagine Dragons's 'Radioactive' and Cecil Baldwin's voice are currently my two choices of mood music. At least, I get certain scenes in my head when I listen to them. I've got a fairly sound idea down and I'm just waiting for D-Day.

Anyhoo, back to musical inspiration. In the words of Warren Zevon, 'play it all night long'. (And that song is awesome, I don't care what people say.)


Wednesday, 25 September 2013

Consequence


The dark before the dawn was always the strangest dark of all. The sky was not black, but rather a deep indigo, paling into shades of lighter blues and touched with distant purples with telltale dots of white and yellow that twinkled like foreign lanterns. At least, it may have looked that way if not for the film of dark grey that hung over it like a veil hiding a bride. And from that sky, the snow fell, forming a soft blanket over the bare ground, covering the dead brown and ashen yellows with soft white. The only light that shone in the whole street was the lone streetlamp. It spilled a fount of yellow over the ground, illuminating the fresh frost with gold.

Gold and diamonds. Come morning and come people, it’ll all be a pile of grey mush.

“And a real pity that, ain’t it?”

Sam looked at the skinny boy who stood next to him with an arm slung around his neck. He wore an old Rolling Stones t shirt with a faded varsity jacket over torn jeans. His sneakers crunched in the snow as he swayed lightly to a rhythm in his head. Tipping his head back, he gulped down a few mouthfuls of vodka from the bottle in his other hand.

“But that’s just the whole damn world, ain’t it, Sammy boy?” he drawled. “All pretty and shiny for a itty bitty little while until cold hard reality comes around, kicks you in the arse and turns it all into…what did you call it?” A leer stretched across his face, revealing yellowed teeth. “Grey mush.

Sam growled low in his throat, pushing the boy’s arm off and pacing away from him, brushing snow out of his hair as it dampened his scalp.

The boy put his hands up in a placatory gesture, taking dawdling steps forward. “Easy there, big boy. What’s the matter, love? I thought you’d be happy.”

Sam barked out a humourless laugh, his eyes rising to the dull, dark sky as if praying for a miracle.

“What’re you looking up there for? You think you’re gonna find something in the sky and the snow before it becomes mush? Don’t think I don’t know what’s running around in that noggin of yours.”

Sam worked his jaw up and down, looking everywhere but at the boy next to him. He stiffened, knotting his hands into fists as the skinny boy sidled up next to him and threw his arm back around his neck.

“You know, you should treat me better,” he said in a serious tone, pouting his lower lip as he ducked his head to look into Sam’s face. “After all, I’m the one who’s always been with you. I stayed with you when everyone left. I’m always here to talk whenever you need to be a giant girl and gush about your feelings. I was true to you, never ever cheated on you.”

He moved closer to Sam and tightened his arm around his neck, ignoring the way Sam’s heart quickened as he moved around to stand behind him and dropped his chin onto his shoulder. He pressed his nose into Sam’s hair, inhaling the scent of him as the other boy shuddered.

“Oh, Sammy. Sammy Sammy Sammy.” He shook his head morosely. “Why won’t you ever see?” He took another swig of his vodka and raised the half-empty bottle up to point at the sky. “You remember mummy? You dear pretty mummy? She always said that she’d watch over you, she and all the angels. She said that every little star in the sky was an angel and one day, she’d become one of them and even from there, she’d protect you.” Sam let out a dry sob. The boy peered around, the corners of his mouth dragging down as he batted his eyes sadly. “She lied, Sammy. She didn’t protect you and neither did her poofy-winged little buddies. She lied, just like everybody else.”

“Shut up, M,” Sam muttered.

M’s eyes widened like green lanterns in his pinched, unshaven face. He dropped his bottle, circled around to stand in front of Sam and gripped him by the shoulders as a wide grin spread across his face.

“Say that again,” he breathed. Sam tightened his jaw, pressing his lips together and looked away as if the very sight of M’s face pained him. It didn’t seem to deter the other boy. “You said my name,” he sighed happily. “You told me to shut up.” He gave a little laugh, shaking Sam playfully. “You actually told me to shut up!”

“Stop it,” Sam whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” M let go of him, picked up his bottle and took two more gulps. He tilted his head pointedly, shaking one finger at him. “That’s not very fair to me. I was the one who was always looking out for you, even when mummy died and daddy left and big brother and big sister tried to put you away.”

“They were trying to help me,” said Sam in a small voice.

M shook his head sympathetically, stepping forward and holding the taller boy by the shoulder. “Is that what you tell yourself?” he asked, raising his brows at the indecision and anguish on Sam’s face. “Oh, Sam. That’s what people say to make themselves feel better. They wanted to lock you away.”

“I could have hurt someone.”

“You?” M laughed aloud. “You couldn’t steal candy from a baby if you tried.”

“I was sick.”

“They wanted to put you down like a dog.”

“They didn’t! They’re my family!”

“If you trusted them so much, then why did you ask for me?”

Hate burned in the dark pits of Sam’s eyes. “I didn’t ask for you,” he growled.

“You prayed and prayed to your mummy and your angels and none of them came. You may not have asked for me, love, but I came. And you took me.” He pointed a finger at him. “You wanted me.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“You needed me.”

“Shut up!”

“You loved me.”

“Shut the hell up!”

“I stayed with you and took care of you. You did love me, Sammy. I could see it in your baby blues that you did.” Sam made a choked noise of disgust. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re my favorite too. It was always us: you and me against the world.”

“Just leave me alone!”

“I can’t do that, Sammy. You wanted that deal.”

“Then, I want out!”

Sam stood panting in his place. The cold and the wetness was beginning to seep through his canvas shoes and socks, but he could barely feel it. M shook his head pityingly, stepping closer to Sam until they were toe to toe.

“Nobody breaks deals with me, Sammy boy,” he chided. “You knew that when you took it.”

Sam trembled, tears welling in his eyes. “Please,” he begged. “Please…”

“Come on,” he grinned. His yellow teeth were all strangely pointed, stark against the red that smeared around his mouth. “It ain’t all that bad. How does that song go?” He bobbed his head, humming a tune. “Baby, take my hand, don’t fear the reaper, we’ll be able to fly, don’t fear the reaper…baby, I’m your maaaaaaan.” He smirked, the expression twisting across his face. “Blue Oyster Cult. Good stuff, love. Big brother had good taste in tunes for what it was worth.” Sam glanced at the blood on M’s face, biting his lips to stifle his sobs.

“I gave you everything, Sammy,” said M seriously, spreading his arms out. “I took care of you and dealt with everyone who wanted to hurt you. It’s just about time you give me something back.” Sam clutched at M’s forearms, bawling. “Don’t you worry, love,” he assured, caressing Sam’s face, running his thumbs over his cheekbones and leaving streaks of red. “It’s a bit hot down there, but you’ll get used to it. We’ll have good fun, you and me, you’ll see. Sam and M, M and Sam, just as it’s always been and should be. After all,” he whispered, pressing a red kiss to the boy’s forehead, “It’s only forever.”

As the sun rose and shadows stretched across the white, the gold of the streetlight faded away and the sunlight refracted through the fragments of ice, casting miniscule rainbows and splashes of blue and lilac. All that remained of Sam and M were a set of footprints that disappeared at the edge of the sidewalk.

My Dog Ate My Tardiness Note

I don't have a dog. Technically, I don't have any pets, unless strays count. In that case, I have had nine generations of pet cats. And one in the present generation is pregnant. So ha.



Anyway, things have been rampant on the editing angle. My editor, Derek Prior, is fantastic, but has as much mercy as an axeman on steroids. Meaning, he's exactly what I needed, though that thought of all the subsequent work that is due on my end once he's finished has my innards a-freaking. Ah well. That's a bridge to cross when we come to it.

Otherwise, I've been working on the maps for the book and have so far, finished a full city plan. To all of you artists who do this professionally, I salute you. Seriously, I have been studying the weirdest things in geography links on Google, just to make sure I get it right. And knowing me, I'll beat myself up a thousand times and keep redoing it until I'm satisfied that it's somewhere in the realm of okay.

I might be a wee bit of a masochist there. Or a perfectionist. I sometimes think I'm too lazy to be a perfectionist.

I digress.

Anyway, I'm giving you all a break from my travelogue, which I have been boring you with and am going to give you one of my short stories, one I've thought about a number of times on whether to show it out or not. I've mostly written light shorts till date, and even with ones on heavier topics, I dealt with them in a more casual manner. This one's a bit different.

And before you read it, just FYI: I'm really not a creepy person. I like peppermint and pinwheels.