News

News: I moved the keyboard to my room and now I feel strongly inclined to tell the world that I adore Phantom of the Opera. Everything is perfectly normal and no, I don't have access to any secret underground labyrinth...yet.

--12 August 2017 --

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

September 28, 2013

A Writer's Fascination with Physical Experiences

I like to write, as I'm sure many of you are aware by now, and I think that one of the many things a good writer always looks for is experience - ways in which one can expand the craft and master the pen.

One part of experience is entirely physical. If you're going to write about it, you can only come close to doing a situation justice if you've actually experienced the thing for yourself. Ever been knocked unconscious by a fall from your valiant steed? You might be a mighty and powerful wordsmith, yet if you've never experienced so much as a simple slip or fall, it will be difficult for you to do justice to a character in a brain-bruising situation.

I think this is one of the reasons a lot of writers are often found saying, "Oh once I've experienced *insert item here* then I'll know exactly how my character feels!" I've seen such people get thrilled with even little things, like the way the setting sunlight accentuates the skin tone of a passing stranger,

"Oh Crowley! Look! He seems just like my MC but I think he's got broader shoulders. It's like the scene out of *names work in progress*. Oh it's beautiful. Let's trail him. I need this moment to last." *proceeds to follow at a distance*

or...

"Agh! Mom, mom, my finger. I slammed it in the door, it's going to fall off."
"Oh, that looks nasty already dear."
"Hurts like stink... oh! Oh this is perfect! Oh this is just what I needed, it burns a bit and tingles. Ok, I need to write it out quick while I remember. It's very similar to what Jesteen feels when Carolwik smashes his hand against the tavern counter with the pommel of his sword. Gah, I hope it doesn't bleed. Ugh. Anyway, it's not just a quick slip and retraction of the hand with a little shake, it's gonna be genuinely painful. Oh dang."
"You might want to put some..." *daughter races up stairs to room* "...ice on it. Oh dear." *mother returns to housework*

pinterest // folks, I really really love wildflowers


Those are a few silly examples; more often than not (at least in my case), the noting and recording of such experiences is an internal and personal one, rather than public. However, let me share something with you.

I've been recently reading a bit before bed and a bit in the morning, just to get my mind going; it gives me something to look forward to as a break from my studies. In any case, in one of the books, the main character is poisoned and the author describes the pain that he feels in detail.

Returning to my situation: I've been subjected to infrequent and surprising bouts of extreme nausea lately (compared to this summer, in which those bouts were much more frequent and lengthy, I'd say it's an upgrade). This afternoon I had a particularly surprising one of great intensity. I was quietly studying in the living room when I felt an upwelling sensation of disturbance at my solar plexus. Within minutes that upwelling had bloomed into a fully-body sweat and terrible, crashing waves of intense heat, and a hardy desire of my stomach to empty itself. It forced me into a rather unbecoming ball of whimpering human flesh. Then, just as soon as it came, it was gone 10 minutes later.

In between sucking air through clenched teeth and threatening to tear the upholstery off the couch, my mind wandered back to the MC that had been poisoned in the book I was reading,

"Good gravy, if this is what he felt like at the onset of being poisoned, then I must truly admire his skill at running miles to the apothecary to find an antitoxin to cure his travel companions and himself."

With that, I made a mental note to attempt the poisoning of a character at some point or other in the future. Do realize, though, that I'm not saying intense nausea is the same as being poisoned, I'm sure the latter is far more unpleasant, particularly if it ends in death. Death is never a fun thing to experience. It generally means the conclusion of life *shrugs*.

Thus, here ends my short discussion of a writer's fascination with physical experiences, both good and painful. I'm sure you'll come to appreciate the maniacal glow in your friend's eye when they whisper, "For the love of authorship!" as they probe at their broken toe, a long-forgotten soccer ball shuddering to a stop in the distance.

Signed with one substantia nigra,

Squeaks.

September 23, 2013

Dare to Love -- {Poem: Fan-Fiction}

I wanted to do a little spin-off of some poetry I read by Anne Elizabeth Stengl (see her blog HERE; she's amazing!); so below is a piece she had tagged on with her pitch for Shadow Hand, followed by my fanfiction, if you will it :P It's not a complete nor fantastic work of art. Just something I scribbled out in 5 or so minutes.

***
Be bold, my heart!
Now is the hour
You've dared to love
The maid Starflower.
--Anne Elizabeth Stengl 

***



pinterest


-----

Dare to Love

Be bold, my heart!
Now is the time
You've dared to love
And deal in crime.

Be bold, my soul!
Your steadfast beat
Has parried off
The incomplete.

For in your haste
You've left a hole
And opened up
Your childish soul.

And from the outside,
To the inn
The darkest world
Will chase and pin.

Your heart is beating
Yet it will stop
If you should lose it
To the fop

They hurry out
In dandy glaze
With eyes a flutter
And tongues of praise

Their jowls glisten
And purses clink
With cruel jest
And lies in ink.

Beware your beauty,
It draws a beast
And from the forest
A pagan priest.

And on your chest
They'll flay you out
And sacrifice
Without a doubt

Your tender soul-
Will darken yet
When love's fool heart
Bequeath's a threat

And that once innocent
Turns to shade
A deeper darkness
And tarnished maid.

Be bold, my heart!
Now is the time
You've dared to love
Now risk the climb.

Be bold, my soul!
Your steadfast beat
Has parried off
To winter, sweet.


----

That's all for now my dears,

Signed with a little bit of Lemna minor,

Squeaks.


September 21, 2013

Clipped Wings -- {A Poem}

I wrote a poem today after contemplating life. It's definitely on a topic that I still wrestle with: the concept of loving someone even if they're perverted and sinful in the most extreme way. How can you love someone who has taken a life or ruined a life? I must be frank with you... I have extreme trouble forgiving those kinds of people and I still have mountains to climb with regards to that. However, I suppose this poem is more or less my thoughts on the subject written by the me I really wish I was: a quickly forgiving individual. In any case, I hope it's enlightening to you :)

pinterest


---

Clipped Wings

Sometimes I let my mind get the better of me,
I think I need but I only just want.
I’m learning to let those things go
And hold on to the basics of life,
The bare minimum,
The stage without the props.

I still don’t really know,
Forgive my indecision.
I want to answer more than think,
But thinking is a prerogative of my life
It’s the way I’ve always done things.
So forgive my indecision.

I just want to say a few lines,
A couple quickly-written words
The fading notes of a summer song.

I don’t love people only when they are what I want them to be.
If I did, I would be a hypocrite,
Because I love myself and I am not who I want to be.
I love people for who they are naturally,
Liars and thieves,
Abusers of good will and fools.
Perverted and procrastinators.
They’re all the same in my eyes,
We’re all drinking the same water
We all walk on the same earth
Breathing in a conjoined atmosphere.

Many times I want to distance myself:
In some ways we like to think we’re better
That we’re not ‘as’ tainted,
But if we’re honest, we’re all no better at the core
Than the booze-addicted neo-pagan guy on the street corner.
We share the same roots as the murderer on death row
Who slit his mother’s throat.
We’re all under the same curse that has plagued man since The Fall.

I reach out to an apple,
It’s hanging from the tree,
Swaying in the breeze,
Red flesh glistening against the sunshine.
I take it and bite.
It’s delicious.
The taste refreshes my senses
It is everything good at once
Like the cool wind blowing from the north
And the heavy scent of autumn
And the faint brushes of a kiss
And the tantalizing warmth of a heartbeat
And the soft call of the birds, flocking and flying.

There is good in this world,
And there is bad.
And I think our haste to judge at face-value
Is an inherently awful thing.
Because yes there are serial killers
And teenage thieves at Walmart
And people who bake razors in candy.
But there’s also the guy that holds the door for you,
And the gymnast, sweating and victorious
And the new parents crooning over their child
And the crazy uncle, eager to entertain.

There’s backyard barbecues
And boating trips in the summer
And snowball fights
And unexpected phone calls from a friend
And a wilted flower in the hands of an admirer
And a parcel from back home.  

There’s a soft furred kitten,
And a warm fireplace
And a hug when you’re sad
And a full meal to satiate your hunger
And the satisfying click when you flick off the light-switch.  

I crawl under my sheets at night
And put my glasses on the little table.
I turn up my eyes to the ceiling
And heave a sigh of relief that another day is over.
Sometimes I’m really happy that it actually is over
And I don’t have to worry about people or grades or appearance;
And sometimes I wish I’d done things differently,
Been a little more kind, a little more inclusive,
Smiled more and shown some encouragement.

I never can turn back time,
If I found out how, I’d live my life all over again,
Because I think I messed up when I was 3
And felt jealousy when I first realized my little brother was coming to live with us.
But if I turned back the clock, I wouldn’t be writing this
And I wouldn’t be sharing what I know in the best way I can.
Not that this is of any use to anyone,
For all I know you’ll examine it for rhythm and meter and rhyme
I assure you there is none.
This is the heartbeat of my soul.
And its intricacies are unknown even to myself.

What I’m trying to say is:
When a bird captures your vision
And you stare at its beauty and freedom
As it overcomes gravity with a thrust of muscle and sinew
You will think of it as glorious
[either that or as just another bird]
But in any case, at some point or other, we’ve been fascinated.
And we don’t stop to think of how complex its life must be
The bird isn’t exactly guaranteed another meal
And it has to go build its nest.
There’s no pre-built homes for it to buy
And no drive-thru’s to conveniently provide dinner.
There’s no running water in the tree-trunk
And no soft bed with flannel sheets.
They’re on their own,
Roughing it the mountain-man way 24/7
With two legs and a set of wings.
So what do we say?
We say they’re beautiful.

That’s what I’m trying to say.
You’re beautiful and I love you
Just as you naturally are.
With your bad morning breath and sweaty feet
And the way your hair is unruly when you roll out of bed
And your unexplained anger at the incompetent drivers in society
And the fact that you hate flossing your teeth
And the times when you’re sick and miserable
And the times when you’re sobbing and stressed out.
It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor,
A+ or C-, straight or gay,
Atheist or Christian
Pro-life or pro-choice.
I don’t have to agree with your decisions,
But I still love you.
Because every person deserves to be loved,
Even if they’re hell-bent and on death row,
There’s still a piece in each of us, however small,
That demands nurturing and encouragement
And that seed, if watered,
Will grow into a beautiful tree

And that tree will stand tall one day
And it will overshadow the animals of the field
Providing refuge for the birds of the air
And the beasts of the woods,
And I hope that a little love from my heart to yours
Will help you grow just a bit more,
Even if you’re still below the ground,
Curled up in fetal position,
Scared to make a move,
Hiding behind a fa├žade of your choosing.
I still love you. And so do many others.
So step forward, make a new beginning

And grow.  

September 7, 2013

A Source of Solitary Breath -- A Poem

Here's a small poem for you guys :) Enjoy! And yes, inspired by Mosani Pi by E.S. Posthumus. Glory! I honestly don't even know what the poem means...I just wrote what came to mind. It's nonsense to me. If you think otherwise then please do share and maybe the inner workings of my mind will be revealed to me :P

---





A Source of Solitary Breath

Closing upon oneself, a flower, a flower,
Petals and colour [thick colour, the kind that
just. The kind that is. The kind that I. The kind.
The colour. It's just. It is. You taste and feel,
Earthy, velvet colour, so thick and full
So thick, full, thick, oozing and plastic]
and striking sunlight and moonlight
Stars breathe.
Standing and shrinking, blooming, bursting,
Stretching to the sky and collapsing and caving
Withered and earthy.
Wind blows, leaves crack and fall and disperse

Trust and compassion,
Hope. Love. Peace. Virtuous.
Shining.
Touch my hand, take a grip
A small grip.
A small touch. [it gives life and life is]
A little bit of life between death.
Complete.
An inhale and an exhale.
A smile and a glance
A true love.
Love. Waterfall, kaleidoscope of brilliance.
Brushed with artistry and glory
A masterpiece,
Not framed, free, free as life.

I shoot, I writhe, inside outside back forth
I extend my soul, plasma hot
Hot hot, burning, skin, touch
Velocity and scream and glance and touch
Dispersing through the universe to touch
One touch, one glazing of a shoulder
One heavy breath, miasmal air.
One simple and only -
One small -

A break. A snap. A silence.

Closing upon oneself, a root, a shoot,
Believing in oneself, or not,
It's universal, what you extend to.
[extended so far, I split my mind thinking about it
Across the world even! in two places but one time]
Planted and rooted, then -
Time. It stretches us. Weaves us
Breaks us
Pulsation of life.

I escape through the barricade,
Pounding feet on pavement,
Exempt of it and free
Soul- soul! free as light
Light rays spilling everywhere,
A broken body, light spilling, flooding,
Immersed in light and light and light.
Snap back, neck, front drenched, sweat
Camouflage and combat gear and mud and sweat
Human, mortal, finite,
Solitary.
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