Sunday, December 28, 2014

Missing Nena (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


I miss you, Nena.

I miss you more than words can say.

I miss you more than all those sappy love cliches I hear every day.

I miss you.

You made me laugh instead of cry.

You reminded me that I was the only one who could change me.

That getting up and making a difference was the better option in life.


I miss you.

I miss you a lot.

Because instead of standing here in front of your pyre, with the flames dancing in my hand, I know it should've been me up there.

You didn't have to take that for me.

You didn't have to, but you did.

I'll miss you. But I will honor your memory by God's grace.

With all my love, Nena, I hope you're happy where you are now.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Saturday, December 27, 2014

Interview (Flash Fiction)


“An interview?”

That was all the warning anyone had before everything came pouring down on our heads. Everything and nothing and that alone, ate everything in sight. 

It wasn’t a safe word. It wasn’t a dark word.

But it was a word of power and with those sorts of words, destruction of worlds and realms hung in the balance.

No wonder there were no more heroes. No more villains. No more curiosity.

There’s a different kind of terror that swallows you whole when it comes down to erasing your existence or erasing your boredom.

Interviews were once done for entertainment or information.


Once upon a very long time ago.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Friday, December 26, 2014

Writerly Reflections (2014 version)

Do you have a pen/pencil collection? 
Yes. I probably always will. I just collect too many to throw away. This year, I acquired a wooden pen carved to look like a red macaw parrot. It’s adorable.

How about styluses? 
I have two or three of them, my favorite is a slim red one that I cannot remember the brand name of…

Are any of them chewed? 
One or two pens, no pencils and definitely not the styluses. 

Do you prefer handwriting or typing furiously? 
Depends on the situation. Sometimes I don’t have the option of typing furiously, which I do prefer, because I can say so much more in shorter time spans. 

How often do you get inspiration? 
In bursts, these days. Sometimes I don’t have anything for days or weeks, then it’s like—whoops, we forgot to be inspired, so let’s just open the floodgates and wobbly…there’s more than I know what to do with. 

Are you blogging from a desktop, laptop, tablet or something else? 
Trusty laptop, of course. 

Does inspiration strike in the early morning or late night?
If it’s smart, then it’s late at night, because in the morning I am nowhere near coherent these days. I’m more likely to go back to sleep, dream the idea, consider it brilliant and thus “dreamed to life” and requiring no additional action aka—writing it out.  

Do certain books/music/movies inspire you? 
Definitely! This year, I’ve found myself rereading a lot of old classics and some of my favorite (and first! Fantasy novels. It’s been a wellspring of inspiration and encouragement)

How do you incorporate God into your stories?
Lately, I’ve been doing it as allegorically as possible. For instance, in my Twilight Trials series, He’s referred to as “The One”.  

How evil are your villains? 
Very evil. Terrible, horrible villains. People who made the wrong choices and have no regrets about doing so, with no intention of changing their ways even as it costs them more than they will ever be able to pay. 

Do you kill off your villains? Why or why not? Are they redeemable?
Some of them are, but most of the time, they’d be better off dead. I wouldn’t redeem the current one I’m working on, because he doesn’t want to be redeemed. He’s happy as he is in his own twisted way and changing that would change the whole story.  

Are the majority of your characters magical beings, humans or halflings? 
I wish I could say human…no, not really. I like my halflings. Probably always will. 

What genre are you most comfortable in? 
Need you even ask? Fantasy! I still dabble in my inspirational pieces and I’ve picked up poetry again, recently. 

Do you work better solo or in a collaboration? 
Solo! I’m becoming more partial to it, because trying to explain my brain has led to more frustration than anything else. 

Do your stories make sense or do they just ramble all over the place? 
They make sense these days. I’m trying not to be as abstract as I used to be. 

Are your characters mostly renegades, peacekeepers or a mishmash of both? 
Both. They dabble in both sides, but realistically, they are bits and bobs of both. 

Are you a sucker for good grammar? 
I love beautiful writing and I will not lie. 

How is your handwriting? 
It’s become more simplified and I’m using my shorthand quite a bit now. 

Do you have CTS? 
Carpal Tunnel? No. Thankfully, no. But my wrists do ache when I’ve typed quite a bit. This year’s NaNo reminded me to slow down, for goodness’ sake. 

Are you long-winded or succinct? 
Becoming more succinct by day. 

Do you have typical writer traits such as ink stains on your fingers, a writing instrument always in reach or a piece of notepaper for quick jots?
Smudges, yes. A pen stuck through my ponytail or bun, yes. Notebook within five feet. Yes. If not, my phone is always a good substitute. 

Do you write poetry, stories, novels or a mixture?
Still writing a mixture of everything and I want to keep it that way.  

Do real people or places inspire your writing? 
Real people and the “what if” question, then my imagination takes over from there and it doesn’t even resemble what I started out with. This year, new experiences have played a large portion in my new inspirational threads for this year. 

What is your favorite character this year? 
Milana! She is the unofficial FMC in my novel, Trial by Earth and she honestly caught me by surprise. As much as I loved writing Ellis, I didn’t expect to find myself so attached to her character as well. I had fun writing her interactions with Ellis. 

What was the most difficult character this year?
Ellis!! And of course Greya and Hugo from my Nanowrimo novel this year. 

Do you talk to your characters? Do they talk back? 
Lately, they’ve been quiet. Very, very quiet. It worries me, because it means they’re planning something. Something, for instance, like a hundred stories to stuff through my muse by the new year. 

Are you more comfortable with male or female characters?
I’m about equally comfortable with them now. After writing Ellis this year, I’m more inclined to lean towards the guys, but I’m getting back into both sides with my nano novel.  

Do you follow basic (sometimes overused or cliche plots) with your own twists in or do you just write something different altogether? 
I’ve been using old themes and putting my own twists on them, so yes, something different. 

Do you feel called to be a writer?

What are you most proud of writing this year? 
Trial by Earth, because it was three years in the making and I almost didn’t know if I would ever finish it. Just being able to write the end was a breakthrough for me. I was also able to write “The End” on my NaNo14 novel and that was another moment, because I hadn’t been able to do that for a few years as well. 

Did you finish everything you wanted? 
I finished my NaNo novel! That was something I didn’t expect, as I’m usually always writing  well into the new year. I haven’t finished my Christmas stories and I’m not very happy about that. I’m trying to finish everything I can in the next week or so, but I’m not going to rush it if something doesn’t pan out. 

Will you be writing in the upcoming year? 
Absolutely! I won’t be stopping any time soon. 

What do you plan to write? 
I have Trial by Metal coming up next, Terrance’s story. I also have my Cupid Cafe novella that I’ve been hoping to release, along with Crooked. Both of them are being rewritten and edited, according to earlier rewrites. I hope to publish them in the upcoming year. 

Have you set any writing goals? 
To finish two novels and to write at least four short stories. I’m working with flexible goals this coming year, instead of rigid numbers, so I can maximize my creative energy and output. 

I think that’s it for this year. It was fantastic! 
Happy reading and best wishes for you all in the new year. 

~Sara Harricharan

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Accidental Summons (Friday Fiction)

Friday Fiction is a weekly blog meme where writers can share clips from their WIPs or pieces of  short fiction. ^_^ 
 To join in the fun, add your story link to the widget below. Stories must be PG-13. Don't forget to read and comment. 

FRIDAY FICTION : Accidental Summons

“Piece of paper—over here, one more mark—and then—oh. Got it. There we go,” Lora wiped her forehead, scowling when her too-short bangs flipped back in her face. She’d done this ritual every semester since freshman year. Capping the marker in hand, she surveyed the colorful squiggles that made up her artistic mandala.
Drawing things always refreshed her and the more colors she used, the better. She’d used every single marker in the twenty-four pack she’d squeezed into her grocery haul. The result was a gorgeous rainbow of shapes, swirls and even some stray glitter eye shadow.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Awkward Thief (Friday Fiction)

Friday Fiction is waking up from a very long nap and checking to see if there are any interested writers looking to share their short fiction. ^_^ 

To join in the fun, add your story link to the widget below. Stories must be PG-13. Don't forget to read and comment. 

FRIDAY FICTION : Awkward Thief

Simone froze when the masked figure straightened to his full height. “Well, this is awkward,” she muttered.
Fenwick was not supposed to be here.

No, really. He wasn’t supposed to be in Haddock’s Custom Jewelry at four past midnight, stuffing the contents of the left-side glass case into a frilly pillowcase.

Not Fenwick. Not straight-A, I-will-be-a-detective-just-like-my-father Fenwick. Not the one who had managed to single-handedly apprehend the notorious Comet Chaser gang.

He sneered at her and went back to shaking the velvet holders into his loot bag. “Don’t just stand there,” he growled. “Come and help, if you’re only going to gawk.”

Monday, August 11, 2014

Now on bloglovin

Fiddling with my blog today, adding some new buttons and trying to simplify the look a bit. Thanks for sticking with me, everyone!

I'll be having new stories and articles coming up soon. If you'd like to follow me on bloglovin, then just click the link below.

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Thanks so much,

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

ISWG : Writing Scared

I'm afraid to fail.

There. I said it. Too late to take it back now. I'm downright terrified of failing. What if I flop? What if I completely screw everything up? What if I muck it up so badly that there's no hope of---oh wait, I'm not talking about myself here, I'm talking about my writing. Right.

Writing, which is my dream, my hope and the one thing that puts a ridiculous smile on my face even on a dreary Monday morning.

But still--I'm afraid to fail. I'm afraid to really unleash my crazy imagination, to put into words the worlds in my head and share the craziness that makes my ordinary life extraordinary. To really write the stories that I want to read--the stories that are needed. I'm scared. I'm terrified. I don't want to be rejected.

And I'm also procrastinating. Because if I have a reason--any reason at all--be it a legitimate feeling or just those cliche butterflies in my stomach and I can talk myself out of taking that big, nerve-wracking risk, I'll take it. I'll stay in my corner with comfy pj's, a monster-sized cup of tea and a thick, fat notebook, mumbling about how I could've been.

That's a pretty sad picture. So when I found this quote, I turned it into my desktop background, so I'd see it on a daily basis and remember to be brave.
B-but what if I fail? Oh, my darling, but what if you fly?
Am I writing scared? Yep. Probably always will be. Probably will still manage to talk myself down--and back up to where I need to be. Yes, I can bellyflop straight into a pile of misery, novice mistakes and worse. But I can also keep on writing and working on improving that writing. Because if I don't fail--I guess I'm flying, because my feet aren't on the ground.
This is my first post for the the Insecure Writer’s Support Group. It is an online community where writers can share their encouragement or insecurities on the first Wednesday of every month. To join the group or find out more, please click here and check it out!

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Cutlery (snippet)


He fumbled with the cutlery, then looked up with wide, panicked eyes, to see if anyone had noticed his blunder.

We all pretended not to notice, going so far as to talk about how loud the air-conditioner rattled from its place in the apartment window. It was pointless, meaningless and yet, we protected his fragile self out of habit.

For we were family and sometimes, that meant doing this even when you didn't understand why it had to be you.

(c) S. Harricharan

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Coarse (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


"Ugh, it burns," Miriam made a face as she slopped another handful of the herbal salt scrub on her green-tinted skin.

"Be glad it's only burning," Adal snapped. "What were you thinking playing out in the forest? Mamere and Pavi said you promised you wouldna go!"

"I didn't do it on purpose," Miriam grumbled. "Why don't any of you ask Luken, huh? I wasn't the only one in there."

"That's because he's refusing to say anything without you," Mamere said, stepping into the mudroom. "Adal, leave youR sister alone and give her some privacy to finish washing up. Honestly!"

"This is all her fault," her twin muttered, ducking out of the room. "We were just settling in!"

"It's no one's fault, we would've been leaving anyway," Mamere called after him. She shook her head and gathered her skirts up before stepping into the small room. "We would've been leaving soon anyway. There's no work for us here," she sighed. "Look at me, child." She held out another bowl of oily herbed coarsely ground salt. "You must use all of it, or else the poison will linger in your blood."

"I know, but it hurts," Miriam bit her lip, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. "I was honestly just helping, Mamere."

"Shh. I know, I know," her mother soothed. She dropped to a crouch and picked up the half-empty bowl. "Did you save it?"

Miriam's head snapped up.

"The fairy sprite," Mamere said, calmly, waiting for Miriam to finish shrugging out of her clothes. "Did you?"

Miriam nodded, slowly, well aware that she shouldn't even reference such things when there was the slightest possibility of Pavi being around to hear.

Mamere's beautiful smile was bittersweet in answer. "Good for you then," she hummed. "Well done, daughter of mine."

(c) Sara Harricharan 

Monday, July 28, 2014

Nature Fairy Rehab (Snippet #1) : Merrins

ski lodge in Montana : found in google images


"Sky?" Merrins squinted up at the blue sky--or rather, what she could see of it through the window of the ski lodge. "I don't think it works that way, Cy."

I tried not to roll my eyes and snapped my fingers in front of her face to regain her attention. "Not sky," I said, taking care to speak slowly. "Ski."

"S-ki?" she rolled the word around in her mouth and shook her head.

"You strap thin sticks to your feet and slide down steep hills with them," I explained. "You also have little flexible sticks to steer with. C'mon, it'll be fun."

Her lip curled in the way that meant she was going to be stubborn, whether I wanted her to be or not. "No. No ski."


The curled lip morphed into a pout. "Noooo," she whined.

I looped an arm through hers and pulled her to the door. Nature fairy rehab. Right. I should have taken a different job for the school holiday, but this paid the most. "Yes, yes and yes," I muttered, wrestling her out the door. "It's just a bit of cold, alright--whoa!"

She yanked her arm back from me, hugging both arms to herself as her teeth chattered. Her lovely blonde hair turned bright, neon blue and one olive-green eye had fluxed to royal blue. Her lips faded into purple as a faint sparkling tinge crept over her face. "You didn't tell me it was cold, Cy!"

"It's winter," I growled. "Do I have to explain that winter is cold?"

(c) Sara Harricharan

Friday, July 25, 2014

Venture (Short Fiction)

found on google images


“If we don't leave soon, we'll miss our chance.” Marian stood by the window, pretending that she wasn't looking into the street below and timing the guard's circuit around the boys' dorms. "And if I've wasted my time sneaking over here for-"

Owen shook his head ever so slight, just within her line of sight and not within that of his best friend, Rei. "Just keep timing him," he said, quickly. "It's not that late yet. Come on, Rei. It'll be fun."

"I don't need fun. I was having a perfectly decent Friday afternoon right before-" Rei bit off the rest of his words when Owen elbowed him in the side with more force than neccessary.

"The rest of us would like to go out," he said, meaningfully. "That means you're going to help us." He reached up to tuck his blond hair behind one ear, exposing the dull triple studs in one ear. His soulstone only functioned under sunlight and after an exhausting day in the practice fields, the last thing he wanted to do was pry the power out of them.

Marian fidgeted in her corner, her lips moving silently as she counted the paces that the guards took before the change over. "Feels like we're prisoners instead of trainees," she muttered. One hand was clasped around the ruby pendant that hung from her neck--the exact shade of the eyebrow ring over her right eye. It glimmered proudly in the single light of Rei's bedroom.

Owen swallowed, well aware of the destructive power hidden behind the red gem. He'd had far too much experience with Ruby users and the last thing he wanted was an irate Marian on his case. As one of the few female cadets that consisently ranked in the top tier, she was powerful enough to throw her weight around--if she wanted to.


"Owen..." Rei sighed. "Not happening."

"Now's our chance," Marian said, pushing away from the window. Her free hand was currently tapping through the air, counting the time, even though she couldn't see the guards. "Now, Owen. You promised."

Owen winced and turned back to Rei, who was studiously avoiding Marian's dagger-eyed gaze.

“You couldn’t pay me to set foot out of this room,” Rei said, stubbornly. He turned away, his lean arms folded over his chest. A ray of light caught the blue crystal cross dangling from one ear–the exact shade of his cerulean eyes.

Owen and Marian exchanged a look. He'd done the best that he could, but Rei was one of the lucky few that could avoid his usual charm.

Marian stepped forward, linking her arm through Rei’s. “Sweetie, darling–cupcake,” she purred, barely stifling a shudder at the too-sweet endearments. “I’d never venture anywhere outside without you.” The ruby pendant fell from her hand, shining brightly where it nestled in the ruffles of her fancy blouse.

Rei snorted. His blue earring glowed faintly, a hint that he was caving in. It would always direct him towards the safest choice and from the looks of it, he was safer going along with Marian than not.

The look she gave him said that she knew fully well what was running through his head and that she wasn't above using her stone's abilities to manipulate him. She tapped her foot and her left hand continued to time the guard's circuit.

“Fine. We’ll go, but I’m not participating in anything," Rei said.

Owen smirked from behind as he pushed his glasses further up his nose. He knew just how to break that resolve. Rei’s synchronization with his soulstone meant that they would all get lucky tonight and that detail made the unplanned excursion worth it in every way.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Blurry (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


It’s getting blurry.

How did this turn into such a mess?

I don’t get it.

It was a fantastic line, it was a great moment, it should have been perfect.

But you didn’t smile. The look in your eyes–was that fear? Why are you afraid of me? I made sure that I wore my contacts today. There’s no way you could’ve seen my eyes. My weird two-colored eyes.

There’s no way you could have known.

But you did.

I loved you–is that why it hurts right now?

(c) Sara Harricharan

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Trial by Earth (Excerpt) & Release Info

TITLE: Trial by Earth
GENRE: YA Christian Fantasy

Ellis Lathmore is the only Earth elemental bearer in the Amerinth Twilight Academy. Lately, it seems like his gift has been multiplying exponentially and in the very worst kind of way. From earthquakes to unexpected displays of strength, Ellis is worried that the monster inside of him might destroy everything he’s ever cared about. But when an old acquaintance turns up alone, bloody and pleading for help for his partner, Ellis doesn’t have time to contemplate whether he’s field-ready or not. If he can’t rescue a missing Twilight Shirron, then he might just unleash his inner monster after all.

Want to read a full-length excerpt? Click here!

Have you read the prequel, Earthen Shadow? Download it here for free.

Purchase on iBooks  | Purchase on Barnes & Noble  | Purchase on Kobo  |  Purchase on Smashwords 

Thanks for your support!

Earthen Shadow (free ebook)

Hey everyone!

So, I've been busy over at my tumblr for most of this month, prepping for the Trial by Earth(TBE) release that happens tomorrow. I am so excited, but first things first, Earthen Shadow went live this week as a free short story prequel to TBE.

Earthen Shadow was my pet project while TBE went through the editing and revision stage. This prequel-ish snippet from the Twilight Trials universe, features training Master Kalen, from Trial by Earth (releasing July 24th!), and what led up to the starting point for Ellis’ story.

It’s free now and forever. You can download it off of Smashwords in any form that you like, (epub, kindle[mobi], a pdf or just read it right there in the browser). It should appear at other vendors by next week. Please feel free to share it, tweet it, or link to it. Review if you like. An excerpt from Trial by Earth is also included in the back.


Master Kalen is the training master for earth elemental Ellis Lathmore, best known as the youngest Twilight Guardian in fifty years. Kalen has a fickle version of precognition via reflective surfaces, possessing the ability to tell when something significant lurks beneath the surface. When Ellis’ former sponsored student, Terrance McGowen, comes to ask a favor, he sets the stage for a chain reaction that won’t be stopping anytime soon. Kalen rarely interferes unless there is no other choice, but now he must decide whether to prepare for the incoming storm or try and prevent it.

Download from smashwords

Thanks for your support!

Friday, June 20, 2014

Bellhop (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


“Here, just give it to the bellboy,” Thom fished in his pocket and drew out a scrap of folded paper. “Hurry now, would you?”

His niece looked at him, then at his hand and rolled her eyes as she took the proffered tip. “He’s not even here helping us,” she complained. “Why do we have to tip him?”

“Because he’s not the bellboy, he’s our bodyguard. Now go and give it to him. The one with the scar at the desk. If I go, they’ll know something’s up. Hurry.”

His niece hesitated for a moment, then turned towards the reception desk. “You’ll still be here, right?” she asked.

“Of course I will,” he lied. “I would never leave you alone.”

(c) Sara Harricharan

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Duct (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


They put me in the air duct.

The one between the kitchen and the library. A piece of burlap was thrown over the top, so I could see out and no one could see in. I had to hide, you see, because no one could know I existed. My existence was wrong. Terrible. Horrible. Never should have happened.

At least, that’s what they told me.

I’m scared. So very scared. I can’t stand to be found. I can’t find be hidden. I’m afraid to live and I’m terrified to die.

Terrified. Scared. Afraid. I don’t know. This is confusing.

I’m not sure when I started asking them to hide me, but I wish that I hadn’t.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Billiards (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


Allen leveraged himself up onto the billiard table, careful to keep one foot touching the ground. he tried not to make a face at the mess of colored balls scattered across the table top. Personally, this wasn’t his favorite version of the game.

His version usually involved a lot more personal space and sharp things. Very sharp things.

“Keep your elbow down, darling,” Veronica said, touching his arm as she glided past. Her hand settled on the crook of his elbow, then dropped down to smooth over his thigh as she maintained her perfect hostess smile.

He lowered his elbow a fraction of an inch and resisted the urge to scowl at her. “Is the coffee ready or did I miss something?”

“You didn’t miss a thing,” Veronica’s smile morphed into a smirk. “And you’re really not going to hit anything like that.”

“I’m not trying to,” Allen stopped. He aimed at the nearest pocket and jabbed the cue stick awkwardly in that direction. He felt the whistle of the wind right before he saw the actual result.

The dainty scone knife was buried in the face of the panicking Gareth and all the other players had instantly drawn their weapons.

Allen rolled off the edge of the table and snatched the gun from his ankle holster. Veronica joined him on the carpet, her eyes alight with an eerie blue fire. “You could have warned me!” he hissed.

“Oh but darling, it’s glorious!” She looped one arm through his. “I know you hate playing billiards, so don’t make such a face. They can’t see us anymore anyway.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Monday, June 16, 2014

Cornered (Flash Fiction)

found on Google Images


“This way, this way!” The officer shouted. He scrambled over the trash cans in the back alley and pushed off against the brick wall of the buildings. He ignored the narrowing of the space and continued on, listening for the frantic footsteps of his quarry.

“I see her, she’s here!” Another shout came from off to his left. “She’s in sight!”

“Take her down!” The cheif’s voice crackled through the shared communicators. “I want her dead, do you hear me? Take her down!”

The officer skidded around the corner and came to an abrupt halt. He felt something slam into his throat and his head smacked into the brick wall, hard enough to send stars dancing through his vision. He sucked in a breath and shoved back, shaking his head to clear it, and lashing out with his free hand.

A soft grunt met his ears, right before a sharp kick to the legs and a heavy weight bowled him over from behind. He lay sprawled on the floor, aware that there were no others present, no backup in sight and the alley was very dark and very small.

“Did your brains catch up to you yet?” The woman asked, hefting a brick in her hand. There was a dark smirk on her face. “That’s alright, doesn’t really matter to me either way.” She approached him, the smirk becoming more twisted. “What was that he said? Cheif Holding said–ah yes, kill her? Don’t spare her? Don’t stop to listen to what she might have to say about corrupt badges parading around and handing out tainted justice?” She laughed, loud and mocking.

“D-delia…” the officer gasped. “Please don’t do this.”

“Oh, lovey,” Delia crooned. “I don’t want to do this, but you’re not giving me a choice.”

“You sold us out!” he cried, desperately. “You’re a traitor!”

Delia dropped to a crouch beside him and gently rested the brick on his buzzing head. “So you think I’m a rat?”

“They–they have evidence.”

“A cornered rat, always bites back,” Delia said, sadly. “Congratulations–I’m cornered.”

(c) Sara Harricharan

A/N: This was just working off the prompt of cornered. It's not a part of anything larger at the moment and it was written in three minutes

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Dear Dad (short story)

found on google images

Dear Dad,

Happy birthday! It’s me. Your favorite (and only!) daughter. I was thinking about you last night and trying to write a matching poem for your card. You'd better like it, it took forever to rhyme. 

I kept remembering all these crazy memories instead, so as a birthday present, I’m going to list them for you. Ready? 

First, remember the day we were fixing the front porch? I was holding the light for you and talking about everything I did that week, including my newest story. You weren’t really paying attention and just for a laugh I said. “So I can keep on talking and you’ll never hear a word I say, right?” And you said. “Right. Hand me that screwdriver.” 

Second-That one time I went with you to work and you forgot your cell phone, I told you to “Call home and tell mom to bring it.” We laughed halfway to work. 

Happy memories, huh? I finally upgraded my driver’s license. The picture came out good and they finally took off that little red bar that says “under 21”. I never would’ve gotten it without you. Thanks for taking the time to teach me to drive. 

I remember my first time driving. I was so scared. You weren’t helping much either when you kept pointing out everything on the road. For example, the dead can and leaf.

And the first time I went to get you coffee? I was terrified I’d plow right into the side of McDonald’s. I was in such a hurry to get going, I forgot to say hi to the girl who took my change and couldn’t hold all the creamer in one hand, so I dumped it on the passenger seat. This, in case you’re wondering, is the reason you stepped on one the next day. Afterwards, I had to park in a corner to get my nerves under control. I was shaking so bad-it was ridiculous. All for a cup of coffee. 

Remember the first time you taught me to make instant? You told me to use your favorite cup, heat it for a minute and a half. Get the coffee and add a half teaspoon and stir. Check the color. Add another half teaspoon and stir again. It should be black and then add the creamer. 

I did exactly what you told me, except for the coffee didn’t get very black, so I had to keep adding more. I guess I got it backwards though, because I only put in two spoonfuls of creamer and that made it turn a nice brown. No wonder you said it was three cups in one. 

Oh, and that quiz. The one that said you were a lion for leadership and managing skills. I really thought I would be just like you and instead I turned out to be a beaver. Which meant I was a perfectionist and liked things to follow in a logical order. 

I guess that’s kind of like when people tell me I look like you. Sometimes I think it’s a compliment. And then I remember it’s because we work so well together. 

Anyway, this letter is turning into my latest novel. I’ll end it here and wish I was there to help eat your cake (and the frosting!).


Your dearest, darling daughter,


(c) Sara Harricharan 
A/N: This is a "repost" from an old FWC entry for the topic of "humor" in honor of Father's Day for my Dad--who did actually warn me about a dead leaf during those long-ago days of driving school. ^_^

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Instigator : Snippet Prompt


“Well, obviously, he’s the instigator,” Alven tipped his head to the side, his fiery eyes gleaming. “Don’t you agree, Cameron?”

Cameron shifted uncomfortably, his blue-eyed gaze never lifting to reach Terrance’s silver ones. “You probably should just let it go,” he muttered.

“Did you say something?” Alven countered, pleasantly.

Cameron made a sound in his throat, part frustration, part annoyance. “You have a difference of opinion, let’s leave it at that,” he snapped. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not ready to go,” Alven said. He glared at his friend even as his russet hair burst into the characteristic flames of his fire element. “I’m definitely not ready to go. Because for a moment, it sounded like you were suggesting that we run away with our tails between our legs.”

“Look, Lathmore may not be paying attention or maybe the kid isn’t ratting you out, but if you do this–on the grounds of-”

“On the grounds that he’s an annoying little-”

(c) S Harricharan

A/N: I'm using the characters from my Twilight Trial universe here, between three characters, Alven(fire), Cameron(water) and Terrance (Metal). They're about to get into a fight. Happy weekend!

Friday, June 13, 2014

Watchtower (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


"Get to the watchtower, the watchtower!" The field general barked. He threw a hasty glance over one shoulder, sending a silent prayer heavenward that his wife and daughter would have taken advantage of the precious few minutes his regiment had gained for the civilians to escape to the craggy, cruel mountains.

Crusted in snow-blown ice and carved by nature herself, these mountains were nestled at the far end of their little trading town and at the very top, with a spire worthy of a church and jagged, barbed points, the watchtower held the ghost of a guardian from an age long ago.

"Sir, hurry!" his aide appeared beside him, a glowing blue transportation orb in his outstretched hand. "The others are coming, but if we don't have you, we'll fall." He shoved the glowing ball into the general's hands. "Get!"

The general bit back the words in his throat and opted to simply give the aide ad pat on the shoulder as he accepted the ball of light. There was a burning sensation in his hands, even though the armored gloves, before a painful, searing sensation ripped through his entire body.

When the pain subsided, he gasped in great gulps of icy air and looked around to see where the orb had brought him. The wispy strands of whiteness glistened in the faded afternoon sunlight as the general straightened in a mixture of awe and shock.

The watchtower.

It had brought him to the watchtower.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Sunday, June 8, 2014

To Write Courage In Her Heart (Short Story)

Maya Angelou

I cried when Maya Angelou died. 

It was as if I’d woken to some terrible dystopian reality. The news stared blankly at me from my cellphone screen. Her news. Her death. 

I got out of bed. 

Shoving my feet into slippers and my arms into my fuzzy bathrobe, I stumbled out of my bedroom and into my empty apartment. 

I went straight to my workstation, snapping the laptop out of standby and turning on the hot water maker. I filled my chipped mug with steaming liquid and padded back to my digital lifeline. 

Article after article. Essay after essay. Poem after Poem. Memory. 

One memory. 

I read until my stomach growled. I drank more water and I wrote a blog post. I tried to say things in the same, beautiful way that Maya had. I had to pay tribute in the only way I knew. 

Snatches of memory danced through my head. The first time I heard her name. The first time I read her work. The first time I heard her voice. The first time I saw her face. 

What a contrast! What an inspiration. What a phenomenal woman. 

The blog post was written too soon. I had so much to say for my poor, humble little tribute. My fingers quivered, my hands shook. My third cup of hot water turned lukewarm. I sat in my desk chair, long after I’d hit the published button.

I thought back to that first memory. To the moment where my world had grown beyond the confines of my mind, because of those beautiful words, raw and evocative, meaningful and painful, had stabbed through my very soul. 

Attending classes had been exquisitely excruciating. I was too shy to sit in the front. Too quiet to answer any question. Too nervous to defend my own work. Too afraid to be right and wrong. 

There was little place for someone like me, a slip of a shadow that barely understood what her sun was. I just wanted to survive, to finish and to fade away, a nameless echo, without any trouble, struggle or interruption. 

I wanted to be a ghost of myself, because it was safest. 

But Maya…

She made me want more. To want to stand up and live strong. To be proud of myself and what I’d done. To be braver than I’d ever been. I recited her poems from heart, because I read them so much. Her words buried themselves in my hurts and soothed them all away. 

Be strong. They told me. Stand tall.

I went to sit in front of the apartment door. I let my head rest against the cool metal and I listened to my neighbors. How they walked across the hall, went up and down the stairs, laughing and talking with each other. 

How they lived. 

I waited for tears that wouldn’t come—yet. 

When the ache in my head matched the one in my heart, I gave in. I clasped my hands together. I prayed. Angry, hurt and hurting, I spoke to my forever friend.

It hurts—it hurts—it aches. She didn’t know I existed, but she was my friend. I'll miss her. You gave her words. Thank you. When I read her work, courage imprinted itself in my veins. Thank you. For giving me an example of someone who had the strength to make something of her life Thank you.

I cried. 

Silent tears, hunched shoulders, head pressed to that hard, cold door. I thought of that first, beautiful memory. The moment when I realized that beauty could be broken, but still beautiful. That poetry was more than mere rhymes. 

Maya, who wielded her God-given talent like a true wordsmith. Her words wrapped around me. Her memory settled. 

In a little while, I would play ‘Gulf Coast Highway’ on my laptop. I would sing every word, stuttering lisp and all. I would take the voice that was mine to celebrate her life for all she was to me, a friend, a mentor, an inspiration. 

That’s what friends were for. To lift you up when you wanted to crumble. To stand beside you when your knees buckled. That’s what Maya had done for a timid, invisible girl like me. 

I would let her memory rise and take comfort in her legacy. I would stand tall and follow her example to leave a mark behind in the best possible way, reaching out to someone who didn’t know they needed it. That’s what I would do.

(c) Sara Harricharan 

A/N: this was submitted to the FWC for the topic of "Bestie" it ranked 13 out of 52 total entries and is less than 750 words. Maya was an amazing writer and a significant inspiration to me. This story is my tribute to her--she was truly a phenomenal woman. Thanks for reading!

Thursday, May 29, 2014

Desolation (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


Complete utter desolation.

I picked my way through the wreckage, silently chanting a mantra in my head so I wouldn’t puke my guts over the ravaged battleground. When they said they were sending a monster, I’d expected a monster.

An ugly hulk of a thing with grinning yellow teeth, wicked spiral horns and skin so thick it would be a hide of armor plated scales. I expected worn in battle-gear and bloodstained garments with cursed weapons and a permanent sneer.

I expected a monster.

I never thought it would be one little girl with eyes so dark I could swear that the shadows lived there. A girl with the voice of an angel and the body of a child. A girl who looked every single one of those battle-weary soldiers in the eye and promised that she would do her best by their stained souls.

The other side never stood a chance. She walked onto that field, alone. So small and tiny. So calm and collected. So cold and fierce. I will never forget screams that make my ears bleed.

They called her a monster.

I don’t want to know what they did to make her into one.

(c) Sara Harricharan

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

RIP Maya Angelou

The first time I heard of Maya Angelou was in my second comp writing class. I had never heard of her before, but we were moving on to poetry in the curriculum and we were going to watch a video. I was somewhat interested, because most of the poets we'd covered were men or dead, like Emily Dickenson.

We slid our chairs out into the aisle and turned the lights low so we could all see the video. It was part of an interview and she was reading one of her own poems. The first thing that caught my attention, was her voice. It wasn't at all like I'd expected her to sound.

At that point in time, my grasp of poetry was a bit skewed. I thought everything had to be deeply profound and extremely flowery. I thought it had to be complicated, because the more I learned about poetry, the more confusing it was.

Maya read her own poem, "And Still I Rise" and I sat there, transfixed until the end of the video and a bit in awe by the end of the class. When the day passed and the week, I felt stuck. I didn't know how to process what I'd experienced.

The poem that she'd read, in the voice she'd had, was beautiful and broken to my ears. Broken, because it picked at all those little things that made your heart hurt, if you really thought about it and wasn't poetry supposed to make you happy? Beautiful, because I'd never, ever heard something like that before and I hadn't realized that words could reach so deeply into a person.

She changed my perspective on poetry and simplicity in writing, through a recorded video that was barely ten minutes. I found her death listed in the headlines this and I felt stuck all over again. I couldn't believe she was dead. But going back and reading her poems, watching a video or two and reading the articles, it reminds me that there's a courage on a page, whether you're alive after you've written it or not. Maya will be one poet who will have her history documented not just in books, essays and articles, but in videos, her last tweet and digital memorials. It's a thought that is just as bittersweet as the first time I heard her speak.

R.I.P Maya.


Monday, May 26, 2014

Educated (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


“If you take an idiot and you-”

“Stop it, Stephen.”

“-and you teach him everything you know, all you wind up with, is a-”

“I know it already, stop!”

“-an educated idiot.”

Cassie froze in mid-step. She waited just long enough for her friend to realize he’d pushed a bit too far and then stop just out of reach of her fists. She turned around, letting her displeasure show on her face. The ridged scales along the sides of her face gave an ugly expression to her normally narrow features.

“So if I go ahead and teach you a lesson about screwing with my head when I have important real-life things to deal with, would that make you educated?”

Stephen blinked. “Er, well…”

“Or would that make you an educated idiot?” She crackled her knuckles, lowering into a crouch. her body twisted and rippled, her morphic nature asserting itself. “You can have a ten-second headstart if you think you need it.”

“I need it,” he squeaked. There was a blur of color before he took to flight in his avian form.

Cassie watched him streak away, before she shook her shoulders back and drew on the form of the lithe cat within. His endurance was a little more than hers, but she’d been practicing. He’d get tired of flying, right about the time she’d catch up to him.

A snort of amusement escaped. 'Edcuated idiot indeed.'
(c) S. Harricharan

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Trial By Earth Update

Twilight Trials Books 1-3

Hey everyone!

Camp NaNo actually went pretty good. I did make my goal and I have a much more viable story draft to work with than I did from last year's attempt. Hurray for NaNo! Anyway, today's post is for a huge milestone in my Twilight Trials series today. (no relation to vampires and werewolves, I promise!).

I'm so excited to have an update for the Twilight Trials. I started them in summer of 2011, with Shatila Briston, a fire elemental with an anger management issue. It continued on to Layta Arrons, a air elemental with low self-esteem and then to Marcus Gillen, a water elemental with a murky personal code of ethics. Strong young men and women learning to balance their powerful elements with the responsibilities that came with them, while growing in their faith.

These first three books gave me an outlet for my crazy imagination and a way to write about elements, one of my favorite superpower styles. I promised at least six books, however, an Earth, Metal and Storm, to follow after the Fire, Air and Water. Due to my academic career, family and some personal complications, I was unable to keep up with such a large project.

So, drumroll please: Today I'm announcing a complete rough draft finished for TBE (Trial by Earth), which is Ellis Lathmore's story, finished just this past week. 

This means a book cover reveal, an official excerpt, and some more fun stuff to come. ~_^ Thank you for your support, encouragement and sticking with me and the Twilight world for these past three years! It means the world to me.

Have a great weekend,

Trial by Earth Update

Twilight Trials Books 1-3

Hey everyone!

Camp NaNo actually went pretty good. I did make my goal and I have a much more viable story draft to work with than I did from last year's attempt. Hurray for NaNo! Anyway, today's post is for a huge milestone in my Twilight Trials series today. (no relation to vampires and werewolves, I promise!).

I'm so excited to have an update for the Twilight Trials. I started them in summer of 2011, with Shatila Briston, a fire elemental with an anger management issue. It continued on to Layta Arrons, a air elemental with low self-esteem and then to Marcus Gillen, a water elemental with a murky personal code of ethics. Strong young men and women learning to balance their powerful elements with the responsibilities that came with them, while growing in their faith.

These first three books gave me an outlet for my crazy imagination and a way to write about elements, one of my favorite superpower styles. I promised at least six books, however, an Earth, Metal and Storm, to follow after the Fire, Air and Water. Due to my academic career, family and some personal complications, I was unable to keep up with such a large project.

So, drumroll please: Today I'm announcing a complete rough draft finished for TBE (Trial by Earth), which is Ellis Lathmore's story, finished just this past week. 

This means a book cover reveal, an official excerpt, and some more fun stuff to come. ~_^ Thank you for your support, encouragement and sticking with me and the Twilight world for these past three years! It means the world to me.

Have a great weekend,

Friday, May 23, 2014

Carrie Underwood - Blown Away

Feels like a good writing day to have Carrie playing as the backdrop while I work.

Happy Friday!


Sunday, March 23, 2014

Avoided : Snippet Prompt


"You've been avoiding me." Master Ruge stretched his foot enough to push out the empty chair at the opposite end of the small table. "Sit, apprentice-mine."

Shatila eyed it and him, before pulling the chair away from the table and carefully easing her tall frame into it. "I have not." She said, carefully.

"Then you are avoiding someone else in my recent company?"


"I dislike riddles."

"I dislike being analyzed."

"Fair enough." Master Ruge acknowledged. He slid a sealed envelope across the table and watched as she made no move to take it. "That is one of your eight standards. You may open it and review it, if you have need of my assistance, I expect you to seek me out and request it."

"And if I can manage?" Shatila looked from the envelope to him.

"If you have need of me, I expect to see you." Master Ruge repeated. "I dislike being avoided because you believe I need to be protected. It is not your duty to see to that. I am to look after you, train you and guide you until such a time as the contract between us is satisfied. Please uphold your end of our oaths." He rose from the chair, his thick black robes falling neatly into place around his trim figure.

"I would never go back on my word."

"Good girl." He praised, gliding out of the small kitchen. "See that you don't."

Shatila watched him, he paused, just long enough for her to notice. She bowed her head and reached for the envelope. "...yes, Master."

(c) Sara Harricharan
A/N: I've been playing around with the characters in my "Trial by" universe and couldn't resist doing one of these little prompts for my favorite Twilight Titan, Shatila Briston and her training Master, the enigmatic Master Ruge. Thanks for reading!

Selective (Flash Fiction)

found on google images


“She’s –selective. She’s not like the rest of them.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, Father.” Miriam straightened her skirts and clasped her tiny white purse in her gloved hands. For a young woman carrying the most dangerous poision in existence within her pearl-covered purse, she was the picture of calmness.

“It is–difficult.” Her father managed to choke out. “You do not know her as I do. She is not to be trusted. Never trust her!”

“She has given me no reason to doubt her,” Miriam said, mildly. “Is something the matter, Father?”

He looked at her strangely for a moment. “I am fine. Come along, we have much to do before the day is over.”

Miriam watched him stalk off into the masses and paused on the sidewalk. She rubbed her nose with one gloved hand, the same one that had placed the poison inside her purse. The effects should be untraceable–would be, she knew, as she quickened her step to catch up.

Selective, her father had said. Well. She’d just have to show them both, wouldn’t she? Miriam sneezed and grimaced, before gathering up her skirts and sprinting before she lost sight of her father’s ridiculous hat.

(c) Sara Harricharan
Thanks for reading! 

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Heightened (Flash Fiction)

found on Google images


Leda’s head snapped up, turning in the complete opposite direction of the Cheif’s scouts. She cocked her head to the side, heightened senses clearly picking up something that no one else could.

A feral smile played across her innocent features and red fire burned at her fingertips.

“Leda?” The Cheif ventured, cautiously.

“Found them.” She cracked her knuckles, the red flames growing larger and warmer, licking up her arms. “Orders, sir?”

The Cheif’s eyes narrowed. “Burn.” He said, coldly. “Burn them all.”

“Yes sir!” Leda said, sweetly. “In the name of the Crown, I’ll burn them to the ground.” She vaulted off her twitchy mount and her entire lower body transformed into a whirlwind of flame. She hovered before them for a second, then blurred off into the distance.

“You heard the Cheif!” The second-in-command officer barked. “About face and follow that girl!”

(c) Sara Harricharan 
Thanks for reading! 

Remember Me (Poem)

found on google images

Remember Me

I wanted to be your friend
I wanted so desperately to be your friend
I thought we were friends

You laughed
I smiled
We talked together
We wrote many words

Will you remember me?
They say you're leaving
They said it's fine
You didn't tell me
How is this okay?

Will you remember me?
I wanted to be your friend
Even before I understood you
I wanted to make you smile
Because I saw myself in you

Will you remember me?
Remember that I cared?
That I wanted to see you happy?
That I thought you were brilliant?

Please remember me
Remember the words we wrote
The memories we made
The time we shared
Remember me

You were always my friend
My shot of cheer
In the midst of the doldrums
Under the blanket of despair

You were always my friend
Please remember me
And if you need it,
If you want it,
Please, let me be your friend

Take care of yourself
Enjoy the adventures ahead
Breathe in life
And dream among the star
Remember me
The way I remember you
Because you made a difference
--To me.

(c) Sara Harricharan

A/N: This time of year brings back a lot of different memories and emotions for me, hence a stab at poetry after such a long break. Enjoy and thank you for reading. 

Monday, March 17, 2014

Forefront (Flash Fiction)


When I first laid eyes on it I thought I was seeing things. Surely they wouldn't have put a child at the forefront of such an important battle and surely that child could not a girl. But the evidence was before me and when I thought I had indeed witnessed an honest illusion, she turned and smiled at me.

Her small, petite figure was perched atop a massive, black warhorse, the golden reins and bridle accenting the contrast between the figures. She had a crown of honey-blonde hair and her eyes were the color of autumn before all life had left.

Pretty pink lips parted in a soundless murmur and I looked away, staring straight ahead through the perked ears of my own mount. I felt a shiver run through me and then I heard her warcry.

An unearthly scream shook the very skies above us and we charged forward.

So that was why.

(c) Sara Harricharan
Thanks for reading!