Wednesday, August 31, 2011

O is for Ohhh

Ha. I couldn't resist this one. I debated last week’s topic of nothing and decided that it did fit me very well, but it also skipped over one point in that letter that is a major happy place for me.  *drum roll please!* So I'm going to get creative.

It's a little thing called NaNoWriMo. Actually, I should've highlighted the O there to be something like nanOwrimO but never mind all of that, I just want to share about one of my favorite yearly events.(I also want to drag you into the insanity right along with me--erm, I mean, do keep reading my wonderful, charming reader!) ^_^ '

Some days, I feel as if I could be the poster child for NaNo and other days, I'd rather hide in a cave and get lost in my own writing world rather than trying to explain my creative addiction. *sigh* But I'm going to go ahead and explain it. Mostly because of a certain creative friend's fb status that was simply a match to the smoldering fire that I painstakingly stow away for use during November only.  ^_^

I can honestly say I'm addicted here. Really, truly and seriously. Thankfully, I have enough ideas in my head to keep it from becoming a compulsive nightmare of sorts, but since discovering this wonderful adventure a few years back, I have found that I simply cannot skip a year. It's just too fun and I honestly enjoy it.

Yes, it happens in the busiest month of the year. Yes, I am a full-time student and I work as well. Some years have been harder than others, but I don't see that as an obstacle. For those of you who read my blog quite regularly, you've probably out that I have a rather odd system as far as logical reasoning is concerned and that for everything else I do, writing has to fit into it in some way or another. NaNo kind of fits in that category.

NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, though it has been on an international level for several years now as folks from all around the globe join up to participate in the annual event of monthly madness.

The object is to write a novel in the busy month of November. A novel with a minimum of 50,000 words.

Gulp.

Now hold up just a second there, don't you dare quit reading here. Fifty thousand words really isn't a big deal. In fact, when you break it down into small, daily bite-sized chunks, guess what? You're only writing about 1667 words a day. That's quite manageable. Especially, when you consider how many words you probably write on average per day. Factor in work or school articles, blog posts, Facebook status/comments and such. You'd be surprised how much you really do write and that is just for the boring everyday stuff! Imagine if it was something that you really enjoyed writing or a project that you'd been meaning to start for a while.

See where I'm going with this?

Now, NaNo isn't just for writers-if you feel that you'd like to try something different in your life, maybe an autobiography or to consistently journal or blog through a month, this is a great tool and exercise for that. The NaNo community is one of the largest and most supportive groups you'll find for embarking on such a wild creative venture.

You have fun things like a profile where you can post a mock cover of your novel, an excerpt, and participation icons. There's also a spot to update your word count and a spot to keep track of your writing buddies and fellow wrimos.

There's also places for local participation. Most folks can sign into the site and choose a region close to them. The regional coordinator is known as your ML(municipal liaison) and they plan fun things like the kick-off party, the TGIO party, weekly write-ins, group chats, word wars and everything--and they even manage to get their own novel written while making it a cool experience for you. Be nice to your ML's. They like treats. :P

Now, onto the rules. It's very basic. You can't write anything before November first, but you are allowed to plot and brainstorm and write up character profiles and all of that. When the clock strikes midnight, go for it! That's all there is to it. Here's their nutshell explanation if mine didn't do it for you.

Bet it's simpler than you thought it would be. If you're going to take the plunge this year, head on over and sign up, then pop back over here and tell me. I'll happily add you as a writing buddy and bug you through the whole month or annoy you with my word count.

Erm, I meant, I would gladly encourage you to keep on writing through the entire month and I'd be happy to have a word war at any time.

You can find me on NaNo as Scarletfury. You'll know it's me because last year's novel info for Blood Library is still there. (Psst, I have an excerpt, a cover and everything!) :P 

2011 will be my sixth year. I'm absolutely psyched. I can't wait for it.

Three cheers to NanOwrimO and I hope to see you there. Be on the lookout for more NanOwrimO themed posts and bursts of random hyperness as November approaches. (I might even mention how I manage to write 100k words in the midst of chaos!).

NaNo is something I love to pieces and I hope to share that snippet of writing magic with you--c'mon and sign up! Don't just take my word for it. Try it out for yourself and see. You really don't have anything to lose--and you'll have quite a few words to show for the effort, so go! What are you waiting for? 




P.S. To join in the fun of this weekly blog meme, click here!

Friday, August 26, 2011

I Love Him, Not (Friday Fiction)

This week's Friday Fiction is hosted by the lovely Julie Arduini @ her blog, The Surrendered Scribe. Click here to read and share more great stories!

Author's Ramblings: and it's prompt fiction again. LOL. Sorry guys, just too much going on, but I tried to make this one interesting. Perhaps I'll get Disperse finished up this weekend or so and then onto something new. Anyway, I have royalty on the brain, so these two new characters just kind of stepped out from that happy muddle. Enjoy the read!


I felt fifty years old inside on account of the brown bread I ate every morning. The voice in my head explained it as changing fiber content in my brain. I can't believe there is fiber in my brain—but that's what the voice is saying. It’s something to the effect of an explanation for what I do.

I don’t really know what I do that is so amazing it has to make up lies to tell me. I know my head is empty--sort of, and I know that its making fun of me. Maybe it thinks I’m deaf. 

Ha. Gareth would have a field day with this--then again, I guess it doesn't matter. Doesn't look like I'm going to get anything done today. 


*****

“Madrisa!” Allen scolded, yanking me away from the wide window opening into the courtyard below. “Don’t stand so close to the window, suppose you fall out?”

“Suppose you fell out trying to grab me?” I countered.

His grip on my arm tightened. “You were supposed to report to his majesty’s chambers this morning. What has gotten into you, child?”

“He’s not interested in me” I sniffed. “Only in what I can do.”

“You’re his wife-”

“Shut up!” I tried to twist away. “He doesn’t even think of me that way!”

Bright blue eyes flickered with contempt. “You truly are a brat.” He hissed. “It would’ve been best for all of us if you’d just been left in the streets and made into a-”

I gave one good jerk and bolted. He shouted a stream of words after me, but I didn’t bother to decipher them. I ran down the hallway and through the maze of corridors. There was only one room where I could be safe in this horrible castle.

The door to the king’s bedchamber came into sight, the fancy golden decorations gleaming in the flickering torchlights. I yanked the medallion out from around my throat and pressed it into the locking mechanism as Allen’s shouts reached my ears again.

As the door opened, I dashed inside, throwing my weight on it to close it tight.

Giddy relief spun through me as I ran for the large, canopied bed at the far left of the room and threw myself onto the silken sheets. A garbled murmur came from somewhere between them, but I didn’t stop to puzzle those out either.

“Gareth? Gareth, wake up!” I tugged at the covers and ducked down, yanking one embroidered cover over my head.

“Mads?” The sleepy voice answered. “Maddie?”

“Shh!” I countered. “I’m not here.”

Silence reigned for a moment, then the bed shook as the young king leapt out from beneath his covers. I held my breath, waiting—for all his youth, his temper was as quick as mine and his sense of justice rather twisted in kind.

The chimes to the left of the door sounded, announcing someone’s presence in the hallway. With a muttered groan, young King Gareth snatched up a dressing gown from the chair before his dresser, threading his arms through the sleeves as he went to the door.

“This had better be good.” He warned, using his own medallion to open a panel to the left of the door to speak to the interruption. “Allen, good morning.”

“Good morning, your majesty, I’m terribly sorry to have wakened-”

“No, you’re not.” Gareth scowled. “Just say what it is that you need and leave me be. It is too early to be up already.”

“An early rising is-”

“Allen!”

“Madrisa-”

Queen Madrisa, to you.”

Queen Madrisa-” Allen growled. “has taken the liberty of-”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“Sire! You haven’t even-”

“Did she give you another headache of sorts?” Gareth inquired, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

Allen’s pink face grew quite red. “T-that would not be something that I would trouble your majesty with at such an hour as-”
 
“I’ll deal with it, return to your post and be about your duties. You may leave.” The little panel was shut as Gareth turned back to face the room.

I shivered beneath the covers, relived to have Allen off my case and terrified to have Gareth take his place. At fourteen years of age, Gareth believed his one year over me gave him every right to act as he pleased.

“You can come out now.” He sounded bored, shuffling towards the wash table beside the dresser. “The big bad wolf has gone to hunt other prey.”

“Shut up, Gareth!” I popped out from beneath the covers in time for an entire pitcher of cold water to drench my entire upper half. “Eeee! What’d you do that for?” I sputtered, scrabbling in the newly dampened sheets for a dry patch to scrub at my face. “Gareth, you jerk!”

“That was for upsetting my favorite advisor on a day when I really need him to be useful.” Gareth said, mildly. He looked at the empty pitcher in his hands and tossed it to the bed beside me. “Don’t just sit there, get up and get moving, we’ve a lot to do today, you're not the only one with voices in your head. We'll hardly have time to pull this off--what took you so long to get here?”

“What happened to it being too early to move?”

“The sight of your bedraggled appearance is amusing enough that I am now fully awake.” His mouth twitched. “Morning to you too, Mads.” 

I clambered out from the bed, attempting to smooth my wet clothes and hair. “I hate you.”

“and I love you even more.” He recited automatically. “Don’t drip all over the carpet, you’ll get my socks wet.”

“You deserve worse than wet socks.” I shot back, taking care just the same. My socks were dry—I didn’t want them wet either.

“Oh ho.” He sang back. “And would you be the brave one to try such-”

“I’m serious, Gareth.” I ducked behind his dressing screen, stripping out of the wet things and helping myself to one of his fancy dressing gowns. “This never feels right.”

“Then think of it as a game.” He tapped on the screen. “May I?”

 “I’m already done.” I stepped out, knotting the silken belt around my waist. “I’m going to borrow another one of your overtunics.  Milo got ahold of the last one.”

“Milo?” Gareth shooed me out as he began to change. “I’ll never get it back then.”

“Sorry. He said it wasn’t ladylike for the Queen of-”

“I don’t care. That’s not everyday armor.”

“I know.” I ducked into his closet, shedding the dressing robe in favor of the requested item. It didn’t take long to finish dressing—Gareth’s wardrobe was always simpler than my own royal fare.

“Need anything else?” Gareth stepped out, freshly dressed in commoner clothing of simple tunics and pants. “Weapons are in the fourth dresser drawer.”

“I know that, I put them there.” I rummaged through the drawer, retrieving a set of throwing knives. “You replaced these, thanks.”

“Couldn’t let my favorite girl go without her favorite blades.” He moved to stand beside me, looking over my shoulder as I checked each knife.

“Ha. You could’ve saved her the headache by not marrying her in the first place.”

“You could’ve said no.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“And let Analise get her paws on you?” I snorted. “As if!”

“I am not a thing to be traded between you girls.” His eyes narrowed. “How is she?”

“Horrible. She’s been screaming in my head since this morning—all sorts of nonsense.”

“Nonsense?”

“Something about my brain being filled with fiber.”

Gareth burst into laughter. “Your brain is filled with fiber.” He gasped out. “That’s a good one, give her my thanks.”

“Tell her yourself when you rescue her.” I tucked the knives into their respective places. “Are we going?”

“Some king and queen we are.” He chuckled, spinning me ‘round to face him. “Leaving our kingdom in the hands of greedy advisors and a confused court to rescue the childhood friend neither of us can stand.”

“She’s useful every once in a while.” I tried to say.

Gareth threaded his arms around me, pulling close so that our foreheads touched. “Really?”

“Shut up and hold your breath.” I snapped, grabbing his medallion to touch to my own. A soft golden flash swept through the room and then it was empty. 

(c) Sara Harricharan
P.S. Did you guess the prompt? It was fiber... :P

Thursday, August 25, 2011

N is for nothing


I could ramble on a hundred and one jabbers for "N". I could start with my love of nintendo and end with the earthquakes that rippled through North Carolina. Oooh boy, could I start out with "N" I could really get into it.

*flexing fingers above keyboard*

In fact, the more I think about it, there' so much to say about N that I just can't help it, so guess what? I've decided not to do anything at all.

No, wait, hold on--I'm still going to do a post about it, but I'm not going to stuff it so full of nonsense that you can't see my point. It's a very simple point, see--it's called nothing.

One of my most favorite quotes--(right next to the one that reads, Madness takes its toll, please have exact change ready) comes from the hundred-acre wood and a certain honey-loving bear.

"What I like doing best is Nothing."

"How do you do Nothing?" asked Pooh after he had wondered for a long time.

"Well, it's when people call out at you just as you're going off to do it, 'What are you going to do, Christopher Robin?' and you say, 'Oh, Nothing,' and then you go and do it.

It means just going along, listening to all the things you can't hear, and not bothering."

"Oh!" said Pooh."
A.A. Milne (Winnie-the-Pooh)

I loved this conversation between Christopher Robin and Pooh-bear on one of those moments where it's just the two of them walking along and talking to each other. It's kind of all wrapped in warm-fuzzy things and all that.

But they're walking along and Pooh asks what they're doing and Christopher says "Nothing" and explains how hard it is to do nothing, but that sometimes you just have to do it. Feels like that kind of a day today.

Cheers!


To join in this wonderful meme, click here!

History (BBT)

btt button

Sometimes I feel like the only person I know who finds reading history fascinating. It’s so full of amazing-yet-true stories of people driven to the edge and how they reacted to it. I keep telling friends that a good history book (as opposed to some of those textbooks in school that are all lists and dates) does everything a good novel does–it grips you with real characters doing amazing things. Am I REALLY the only person who feels this way? When is the last time you read a history book? Historical biography? You know, something that took place in the past but was REAL. 

A good history book is really fun to read--I've enjoyed quite a few, most of them about the new first ladies of the USA and some about the Indian heroes of India. I don't like to read them much, because sometimes it's a bit too painful (but in a good way, I suppose.) It bothers me to see the struggles that such good people went through to bring about change for those around them, if not the whole world and yet, today--people are still fighting the change or constructing the same stumbling blocks for the new generation.

I think the last biography I read was Abraham Lincoln about two years ago and it was a wonderful read. I don't quite remember who wrote it, because it was an old, fading hardcover that I'd bargained to get my hands on. Fun! ^_^

~Sara

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Endless Reading (Friday Fiction)


(Apologies for the crazy linky widget. I've fixed it now.) Hi everyone! I'm hosting Friday Fiction this week. Join up by adding your link to the widget below. All you need is a blog or a story/article to share where folks can leave a comment on what they read. If you love to read, then browse through the links to find something that tickles your fancy. (For all participants, don't forget to read and comment on at least one piece, we all love the feedback!)



Author's Ramblings: This is a snippet of prompt fiction, thanks to a certain sibling of mine who provided the prompts of "book, sheep, lock and house." I started with the book and it kind of wanted to runaway on me, so I kept it short. :P Anyway, happy reading to everyone and thanks for stopping by!


“Well, are you going to open it?” Lindsey snapped her chewing gum, her perfectly manicured fingers hovering over the thick, gilt-edged book. “It looks good.” 

“It’s a book, how could it possibly be good?” Tasha rolled her eyes, fishing inside her shirt to retrieve the necklace key. “I don’t know, I’ve heard a lot about these books, Gram just said for us to dust them off and put them back up on the shelf.”

“Uh-huh and that’s exactly why you’re gonna gimme that.” Lindsey made a swipe for the golden triangle pendant.

“Ow, hey! Watch it!” Tasha jerked backwards. “It’s still around my neck you know, are you trying to pull my head off?”

“Good grief, like no!” Lindsey sighed, extending her hand in exaggerated politeness. “May I please see that key?”

“And if you open it and something weird jumps out?” Tasha handed over the long golden necklace. “Be careful with that.” Her soft brown eyes narrowed. “And I do mean careful, Lind.”

The blonde rolled her eyes with a particularly loud snap of her gum. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all, if I’m not careful, then I’ll never get the chance to do this again and we all know just how hard it was to convince you to let me help you clean your grandmother’s bookstore.”

“My grandmother’s antique bookstore.” Tasha corrected. “And no one’s twisting your arm.”

“Yeah, but you’re always spending all your free time here and we never get a chance to hang out anymore.”

Tasha snorted. “You mean we don’t get to waste time and money by standing in the mall drinking milkshakes and eating pretzels.” 

“They’re books!” Lindsey scowled. “Big fat books with big fat locks on them and so much dust, I can hardly breathe! You should have a vacuum and a feather duster going in here and—wait, what are you doing?”

“Reading…” Tasha mumbled, having found a seat amidst the stack of books, another pendant necklace dangling between her fingers, still hanging ‘round her neck.

“You’re reading?” Lindsey sputtered. “Now? How can you—wait, you have two of these thingys?” She held up the triangle pendant.

“I have more than two.” Tasha turned a page, settling more comfortably in her seat on the floor, her back resting against a tall stack of locked, dusty books. “It’s part of my job. I told you that already.”

“Part of your job is reading?” Lindsey threaded her way through the stacks of books to look over her best friend’s shoulder. “You said you just had to make sure the books were in good condition and then—what’s going on?”

“Shh!” Tasha waved a hand behind her, eyes glued to one colorful page.

“Why?”

“It’s a story about a sheep.”

“A sheep?” Lindsey slowly curled one free hand into a fist. “You’re reading a story about a sheep?”

Tasha slowly closed the book, turning with an expression of extreme annoyance written on her freckled face. “Lindsey?” Her soft voice demanded that her friend listen close.

“What?”

“Sit down and read your own book.” Tasha’s eyes flickered dangerously with a hint of her redheaded temper. “Now, please.”

Lindsey swallowed. She sat. She waited. Nothing happened.

“Put the necklace in the book.” Tasha murmured, locking and patting the hardcover volume. “Now I have to wait until tomorrow to finish this one.” She sighed, setting the book down beside her and reaching for a dusty specimen. “Do it like this. Read it all the way through and then lock it back again.”

“But-!”

“It’ll clean itself.” Tasha gestured towards the recently returned book beside her. “See? It’s almost all new and shiny again, but you just had to interrupt.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You don’t have to. The books just work that way.” Tasha smiled, fondly. “Trust me, there’s some adventures in here that you’ll want to read over and over again.”

Lindsey opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. There was something about the smile on her friend’s face, even as Tasha’s attention turned to the book in her lap. She watched her friend use the necklace to open the complicated golden medallion on the front and run her fingers reverently over the first few pages.

She looked at the necklace in her hand and then pressed it to the front of her book and twisted, just like she’d seen Tasha do. Within minutes, she found herself caught up in a world where fishes were people and aliens lived in stone castle towers.

“Wow.”

“Good story?” Tasha shifted to sit back to back with her. “Mine’s good, it’s about a shadow that sneaks out at night and puts candy in-”

“Shh! Don’t tell me.” Lindsey elbowed her. “I’m done with this one, that was wild.”

“There’s normal ones in that stack over there.”

“How normal?”

“Houses with happy people kind of normal.” Tasha wrinkled her nose. “Very normal.”

“No wonder it takes you forever.” Lindsey set the newly finished volume on the ground. The book was virtually dust-free and gleaming as if it’d just been printed. “There’s only one of you. Looks like I’ll have to help every afternoon.”

Tasha elbowed her back. “Like I mind.”

© Sara Harricharan

Sunday, August 14, 2011

M is for Marshmallows

To join in the fun of a2z, click here! 

Well, originally I intended to make this post all about the wonderful world of marshmallows, then I had to track down certain siblings to inquire where the marshmallows had disappeared to, because they were nowhere where I left them.

So, to make this work, I'm going to take a different train of thought. M is for mystery.

The mystery of the missing marshmallows.
Found from Becky Gould on flickr.

Are you with me?

Really?

This is going to be serious.

And...you're laughing. I can practically see it.

Ha. You'd better know that I'm serious about this. These were MY marshmallows. I had my eye on 'em. See, they were going to be part of a big project.

The Sara-wants-to-roast-oversized-giant-marshmallows-before-the-end-of-summer-project. It is a rather large undertaking in the project department, especially where the outdoors are concerned. Certain preparations must be made, including the initial finding-and-prepping the perfect roasting stick.

Now, back to the mystery. It could be any of four unnamed culprits--no, wait, I can actually add in a few other suspects.

See, marshmallows are special, rare objects to certain parties found in few kitchens around the world. I'm sorry, did I say objects? I mean to say ah, culinary individuals, yes, that is far more--polite, yes?

Mr. Sweet Potato agrees with me. He mentioned something about a special holiday casserole and crunchy, crispy crusts. I did not stick around to hear exactly how crispy he wanted this crust to be, because his current residence was located between a dark kitchen cabinet and metal vegetable holder. *shiver* Creeptastic.

Anyhow, I took the tip from his friend, the lovely Miss Idaho Spud, to visit a certain Ms. Honey C. Graham. That turned out to be a wasted trip, because all she did was gush over how wonderful marshmallows could be when sandwiched between her and a few friends. Yikes. Never mind.

I took the hint from her and hunted down the famed Cadbury Milk Chocolate, a quiet young thing hiding in the cookie jar behind the kitchen florals on the side counter. He informed me that he no longer associated with a certain Ms. Honey C. Graham and hadn't seen wisp nor spot of my missing marshmallows. He politely offered me a sample for the road, as I explained that the lack of new clues was nothing new and that the search must go on. He agreed. I took the sample.

My searches took me far and wide--almost right back to the grocery store. That's when I discovered the awful truth. *shudder* Believe me, it was absolutely horrible. I had visions of roasted marshmallows dancing in my head--quite similar to the dance of sugarplums, just in case you were wondering--and I finally took this troublesome case to my mother.

Mostly because mothers can fix anything right? Three cheers for them.

My mother, a lovely and wise woman, calmly listened to my tearful hysterical puzzling tale of those mysteriously missing marshmallows. The conversation was somewhat as follows.

"...and so I can't find them. I know I put them in the cart and that means they came home, so why can't I find them anywhere?"

"Marshmallows?"

"Yes, Mom, the marshmallows. If they're in that kitchen, then somebody ate them or kidnapped them. I'm inclined to think it was a combination of both."

"...kidnapped them?"

"M-om!"

"Okay, hold on. What did they look like?"

"What? Mom, it's a marshmallow. It looks like a marshmallow. All marshmallows look like marshmallows. You know-"

"Well, if it's the big bag you put in the cart last week, I took those out and got you cookies instead."

"..."

"You liked the cookies."

"MOM!"

And that, dear blog readers, is why this post is about nothing more than mysterious marshmallows that exist on some faraway realm of imagination. My humor wears thin to non-existent at this moment, so my thanks to you for reading this far. Be sure to keep an eye on your own marshmallows, you'd be surprised what can happen when you don't keep an eye on them...it would seem they have the habit of turning into cookies without your permission.

Cheers!



Friday, August 12, 2011

Namless, They Call Me (Friday Fiction) [Character Swap]

This week's special edition of Friday Fiction is hosted by the talented Rick H over at his blog, Pod Tales and Ponderings. The theme of this week's scribbles is "Character Swap" courtesy of Rick's creative imagination, where some of us have written snippets for the swapped characters. Click here to read and share more great fiction!


Author's Ramblings: Hurray for our first ever Character Swap! Kudos to Rick for this wonderful idea. I have the pleasure of writing for a nameless character belonging to Abel Blake from his blog, my sKetchBook, borrowed from the post of I Listen...even when it hurts. Click here to read his original piece and read on to see my 'addition'. 

~NAMELESS, THEY CALL ME~
I leave Adelai behind as another visitor graces this new grave. I do not know what to say about her, but there is something different—something dangerous. The precious daisies that were gifted in memory of this Lucy seemed to wither beneath the glare bestowed upon them.

I didn’t dare interrupt.

The girl stood there for a very long time. The light fog turned into thick fog and then the overcast skies grew darker with every breath. I watched her.

She stared at the gravestone with eyes that saw nothing and something within in her that seemed so tortured and full of pain that I could not bear to watch—nor had the strength to turn from it.

“I hate you, Lucy.” She hissed, at last. “I hate you!”

The weight of her hatred stabbed through me in the same wound as Adelai’s raw grief. It hurts. It hurts so bad and I don’t know what to do about it. I feel as if I have been betrayed two times over, because I what I have witnessed was never meant to be seen.

Not by my eyes that have no right to judge, not by my ears that hear everything, especially the nothing. Sometimes I think it’s fine. I let it go. I live my life. I remind myself that there are checks and balances in the world. For every happy, peaceful moment that some human being experiences, there is an equal measure of pain and despair for another.

The pain is fading.

It never lasts long.

Just shows its head to prove to me that I am still alive, as if to cut deep enough to draw blood—as proof that I am no specter. But I don’t bleed and I don’t cry. Their misery and their mourning is their own.

I merely see what goes before me.

I observe.

I listen.

I hear when they think no one does.

But what does that make me? No, I don’t want to know. That can be one of those questions for another day where nothing remains to amuse me. I feel strange today, like a child whose playtime has been cut short.

Playtime.

What a strange term to give to these incomplete feelings and rebellious emotions. They betray me. They always do.

The real darkness of night looms widely overhead, beckoning to the ground as it closes in. I watch it approach and I stand there, for I have nothing else to do nor to think. I wish my mind was blank and empty, I almost want to forget, but in my mind’s eye, I still see him.

I see Adelai.

Time passes. I know nothing of it.

The crunch of footsteps on frozen ground draws my consciousness back to the present. I do not need to look to know who it is that comes for me. I feel a faint shuddering of warmth creep over to me, working its way through my half-frozen self until I am aware that something is being pressed into my hands.

It is a steaming beverage of some sort, the common Styrofoam cup design is native to nowhere and promises nothing extraordinary.

It should be safe to drink.

One thick, black-gloved hand rests on my shoulder with every ounce of deliberation it can hold. There is nothing said. There is nothing that needs to be said.

“Coming?” He ventures, after a moment of silence has ventured on too long for his comfort.

I return the cup.

He looks from the wisps of rising steam to me, his face barely visible in the first whispers of light about to emerge. “You can’t stay here.”

I cannot leave.

There is a loud sigh and a he stomps his boots, akin to a toddler throwing a tantrum when he cannot get his way. But there is something softer in his manner as he does it and I know I am pushing my limits.

I am lucky. I am blessed. Were it any other, I know that this would never have played out in such simple, painless terms.

Painless. Painful.

Sometimes, I think it makes no difference.

“Well?” He takes the cup back.

I can feel the cold crackling as it leaves my body, my newly warmed fingers able to flex and move. I hate winter. It brings me endless headaches.

“You could’ve frozen to death.” He grumbles, shuffling through the icy dew.

I watch him walk off and somehow, I know that I will follow in mere seconds. It is taking more than I have to stand here and stare at a lonely gravestone with shrunken daisies and two sets of nearly faded footprints.

“Don’t make me drag you to the-” The threat stops when I turn to look at him.

Within a minute, he is by my side and stuffing a warmed kerchief into my hand.

“Do you have to turn on the waterworks now?” He growls, but there is the faintest hint of fear behind his angry hazel eyes. “You’re going to freeze your-!”

I didn’t know I was crying. I didn’t feel it. I didn’t think it hurt that much.

But then, he is pulling me along, forcing me to follow with a hand on my shoulder and another on my elbow. His grip is strong and practiced, I know well enough by now that I will not be free unless he chooses to release me.

Betrayal. Regret. Grief.

Words to a script that I don’t know how to voice.

He yanks and tugs me through the Old North Cemetery where a black SUV awaits us at the curb. I am ushered into the waiting vehicle and the warmth inside nearly smothers me.

In the choking breath I breathe against the closed tinted window, I feel something stirring from deep inside me.

Adelai.

Somehow, it seems as if my body has betrayed me.


~*~*~*~*~

More Ramblings: This snippet was fun to write and I tried to keep it in character by not naming the MC and writing in the same tense/provided POV. I hope it did it justice. This was fun--can we do it again? ^_^ 


Thursday, August 11, 2011

National Book Week (BBT)

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It’s National Book Week. The rules: Grab the closest book to you. Go to page 56. Copy the 5th sentence as your status/post.
(We’ve done something similar to this before, but it’s always fun, so … why not?)

Camille would tell her what was going on. 

^_^

Zenda : A New Dimension by Ken Petti and John Amodeo.  Happy reading everone!


Tuesday, August 9, 2011

L is for Llama!


Hey, do you know the Llama song? 

No, wait! Think really, really carefully before you answer that, because it's kind of like The Game. Oh rats. I lost. Oh well, not my problem. See, for those of you who don't know, The Game is everywhere and you win by never thinking about it. Yup. Uh-huh. And if you think of it, then you've got to turn to the person nearest to you and tell them that you lost "The Game" (which of course, in turn makes them lose it as well and a chain reaction occurs, but that's beside the point, we were talking about Llamas here, focus people!) 

Now, llamas are really cute and fuzzy and nice and, well, if you're going to have something stuck in your head all day, it may as well be something funny, right? I thought so.  ~_^

There are many, many, many (insert a half-dozen more "manys" here) versions of the song, but of course, the original remains to be found in all its wonderfulness. So, for today's wonderful meme, I have tracked down the simplest (and by simple, I mean an 'unlooped' version) of the Llama song!

*drumroll please* Thank you very much. ^_^

I feel I ought to warn you that after watching this, it may stick in your head for minutes, hours, days or weeks at a time. I hearby reiterate that this is your choice. Upon clicking the video and watching the following display of music and lyrics, I am not responsible for any resulting randomness.

Cheers~!


Well, come on, click already!

Thank you.





And you may now continue with your regularly scheduled Tuesday! ( ~_^ )

If the above video did not work for you, click here to view it on Youtube, or here at a another site




To join in the fun of the a2z, click here to check it out!

Friday, August 5, 2011

Trial by Water (ebook)

 Trial by Water: Sara Harricharan : Short Story : Christian Fantasy : Book 3 in the Twilight Knight Series

Synopsis: Marcus Gillen is a Twilight Knight with elite Gold Clearance gifted to him since his Knightship. Twilights with Golden Queue training are taught to play a game of wits with their mission objective and Marcus is one of the best. But his latest mission has popped up at a bad time. His gift is water--a double-edged sword to an elemental bearer. It can show him the darkness in the world--and the darkness inside himself. Visiting Kainesworth on assignment opens a new set of puzzles for Marcus, including run-ins with an ancient sea serpent and one strange little girl. Digging deep into his past might provide a few answers, but in doing so, Marcus is forced to take a closer look at himself. The darkness he's fighting may be closer than he thinks. Can he win this game or will he drown trying? Book #3 in the Twilight Knights Series.

Now available for purchase on Smashwords.com for $2.99. Click here to purchase. Sample also available for download.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

A Study of Six (Friday Fiction)



Hi everyone! I've the pleasure of hosting Friday Fiction this week. Feel free to jump in and join the fun. Just add your link to the gadget below. You don't have to have your own blog, as long as you have a story to share and a comment section, join us by linking up below!



Author's Ramblings: This week's assigned writing exercise was to describe six characters through dialogue or to at least craft six different personalities in under 1000 words. This is my attempt to do so, I tried to smooth the ending a touch so it would read more like a story. It covers six friends on the same journey for different reasons and that's about as far as I got with it. I think it has some potential, perhaps for this year's NaNo? Enjoy the read and thanks for stopping by!


“I don’t know, there’s something off about her.” Ken shrugged, twirling his broadsword experimentally. “There’s only so much madness the human mind can take.” 

“She isn’t entirely human.” Charles reminded him. “She’s half that and half something else. Her pain tolerance is on another level.”

“I don’t think that’s anything to brag about.” Iola chewed one plump pink lip, worrying it slightly between her oversized teeth. “I mean, she’s awfully small.”

“Size’s got nothing to do with it.” Terran sighed. “Can we please talk about something else?”

“Why? Afraid she’s stronger than you?” Ken teased. “The great King’s Champion is afraid of a living Ko’ial artifact?”

I found this lovely shot through Google Images. Thought it fit.
“She’s the most powerful artifact in existence, the fact that she’s in a half-human form only adds to it. I would be a foolish Knight, if I did not consider myself to be-”

“Oh good grief, make him shut up, Charles!” Iola pouted. “He’s talking all formal again. It took me, like, forever, to get him to stop blathering on in his whole typical medieval-esque type-”

“It isn’t like your speech is any better.” Charles sighed. “This quest is all wrong.”

“It could be worse.” Ken grinned, offering a hearty slap to the back. “Think about it, we made it out of that pit unscathed.”

“Speak for yourself.” Marielle growled, the first words the empath had dared to speak since they’d left the cursed city behind them. “exactly what could be worse?” She winced, gripping her head. “Never mind, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“Mari?” Iola leaned backwards, almost stumbling into the armored knight. “Ow! Terran, don’t just, ow, that hurt.”

“Iola?” Marielle frowned. “I thought you said you were fine.”

“It’s just a scratch.” The bubbly blonde rolled her eyes. “A teensy scratch. Everyone else had way bigger injuries than me, they were more important.”

“You’re all important!” Marielle roared. “Sit down right there. Terran! Charles!”

The rag-tag troupe froze.

A wave of darkened, raw energy rippled up the hill as the empath stomped over to tend to the surprised girl. “That was a cursed city.” Marielle spoke through her teeth, her dark eyes flashing. “Everything down there was cursed, you have no idea what could’ve happened to you with even the slightest of-”

“But the artifact got a nosebleed and no one paid any-”

“That was her own doing.” Marielle retorted. “Terran, hold her still. Good heavens, child, can’t you stay still?”

“You’re not that much older than me and I can too!” Iola huffed. “Ow. Terran!”

“Terran’s barely touching you.” Ken observed, standing over the trio. “Charles?”

“Her name’s Suley, she’s not just an artifact. She has feelings.”

“Right, right.” Iola pouted. “Suley the artifact has feelings. I get it already!”

“I highly doubt that.” Marielle muttered, beginning to bandage a large bruise on the girl’s shoulder, having used her healing energy to negate the effects of any possible curses. “You’ll have to drink antidotes when we camp tonight.” She said, at last, tying off the bandage.

“What? But how come none of the others-?”

“The others were tended to immediately. I was able to handle it. Your wound—it had time for something to sink into your system. I can’t be sure that I’ve got everything.”

“Can’t be sure? What kind of empath are you?”

“A very talented one.” Suley’s soft voice caught their ears as the petite girl finally came into view. “I almost lost you all.” Her smile was heartbreaking. “I’m so glad you stopped for a rest. I’m exhausted.”

“We didn’t stop for a rest.” Terran frowned. “In fact-”

“Iola forgot she hurt her shoulder.” Ken flashed a grin. “We stopped so Marielle could help her. You okay, kid?”

The curly head of pale lilac hair bobbed quickly in answer. “Yup-yup.” She clapped her hands together. “I got it.”

“She really acts like a kid.” Iola swallowed. “That’s so weird.”

“She can hear you.” Charles snapped. “Would it kill you be nice?”

Anticipation (BBT)

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What’s the last book you were really EXCITED to read?
And, were you excited about it in advance? Or did the excitement bloom while you were reading it?
Are there any books you’re excited about right NOW?
 Dee Henderson's Before I Wake was the last book I remember being positively hyper about. I ordered it in hardcover the moment it was available and read it through the same day. It was wonderful and the wait was well worth it. I can't say I've been really thrilled about some of the new books coming out lately.