Changed Land
A gentle breeze upon the grass
Rippling the lake, before like glass
Tree boughs swaying rythmically
Verdant leaves fluttering loosely
Hollow wind across the land
All is dead, life is banned
Dead tree's skeleton blasted
Death and decay, all that has lasted
Stately castle upon the hill
Shining out light and good will
Many colored banners flying
Breaths of wind, sighing
Darkness reigns, all is dead
Ruins across the lands do tread
Red stained water speaks of blood
All hope has been ground into the mud
Why this awful change?
Why does such evil range?
Who could have caused such desolation?
What could have created such devastation?
No invading army caused this blight
No usurper came with deadly might
The fault lies with the dwellers, us
We have destroyed our God-given trust
December 16, 2011
December 12, 2011
Back from Hibernation
*yawn*
*blinks sleepily*
Well, December looks nice! Let's see... how long have I slept? Oh wow, 12 days!
Not really :P I had a final that kept me from sleeping for the first week, but now that that's over... vacation!!
*Sigh of relief*
NaNoWriMo's over, the college semester is over, about to take vacation off of work... what am I going to do with myself?
Write. Lots and lots o' writing. And here's where it begins!
Anyways, I hope to set myself a blogging schedule (not every day), but at least three times a week. Here's how I hope it will work:
Monday- Tales of Primorlen: Posts about my fantasy series (which is what I will be working on mostly as far as writing goes)
Wednesday- Inkspots and Crumpled Papers: Posts about writing in general, editing, various literary techniques, etc. Anything and everything I've learned as a writer. (This is for me just as much as it is for you readers, telling someone else something is one of the best ways to learn it for yourself :P)
Fridays- Poetry: Exactly that! Whatever poetry I've written, whether two days or two years old.
In addition, I'd like to post movie/book reviews, musings on the awesome majesty and epicness of God (who is so epic I have to make up a word to even try to describe Him!), and possibly fun stuff involving all of you readers! (Bear with me on that one, I'm still rather new to this whole blog thing)
Anyways, that's the plan! We'll see how long it lasts! :P
Until next time,
Farjag
*blinks sleepily*
Well, December looks nice! Let's see... how long have I slept? Oh wow, 12 days!
Not really :P I had a final that kept me from sleeping for the first week, but now that that's over... vacation!!
*Sigh of relief*
NaNoWriMo's over, the college semester is over, about to take vacation off of work... what am I going to do with myself?
Write. Lots and lots o' writing. And here's where it begins!
Anyways, I hope to set myself a blogging schedule (not every day), but at least three times a week. Here's how I hope it will work:
Monday- Tales of Primorlen: Posts about my fantasy series (which is what I will be working on mostly as far as writing goes)
Wednesday- Inkspots and Crumpled Papers: Posts about writing in general, editing, various literary techniques, etc. Anything and everything I've learned as a writer. (This is for me just as much as it is for you readers, telling someone else something is one of the best ways to learn it for yourself :P)
Fridays- Poetry: Exactly that! Whatever poetry I've written, whether two days or two years old.
In addition, I'd like to post movie/book reviews, musings on the awesome majesty and epicness of God (who is so epic I have to make up a word to even try to describe Him!), and possibly fun stuff involving all of you readers! (Bear with me on that one, I'm still rather new to this whole blog thing)
Anyways, that's the plan! We'll see how long it lasts! :P
Until next time,
Farjag
November 30, 2011
Finished!!!
I'm done!!! 50,000 words in 30 days, done and did!!
*crazy headbanging and screaming*
Rawwww!
........
*crazy headbanging and screaming*
Rawwww!
........
Anyways, check out my certificate! (Never fear, detailed post to follow, along with a steady blogging routine again)
November 19, 2011
Caught Up!!
I've caught up!! *shouts silently so I don't wake anyone up*
30,139 of 30,00!
Also, a quote to keep you excited:
“Every one is important, not for who they are, but in spite of who they are”
30,139 of 30,00!
Also, a quote to keep you excited:
“Every one is important, not for who they are, but in spite of who they are”
November 18, 2011
Characters; Gotta love 'em
Well tonight I introduced another main character, one who wasn't in my original idea, but will probably play a key role in this second half of the book (Which I have reached! 27,207 done! I should be at 28,333, but that's all right. Catching up slowly!)
He groaned, turning his head to look around the small room he was lying in.
It wasn’t much different from the room he had used to sleep in at Aunt Silphie’s, with a iron frame bed in the center of the room, peeling wallpaper on the walls, an old rusting desk in one corner and a rocking chair in the other. To his left was a small kitchen, with walls lined with cabinets and a few old appliances gleaming in the harsh light of a unshaded lamp.
The girl stood at the stove, stirring something in a metal pot. She was wearing a pair of old worn jeans rolled up at her bare feet, a plain t-shirt, and a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She turned to look at Alen questioningly, the smear of brown crossing her cheek giving her an almost comical look. Alen guessed her to be just a year or so younger than him
“You all right? You look awful.”
Alen smiled in spite of himself at the girl’s bluntness. “I... don’t think I have any b...roken bones.” He touched his jaw gingerly. “T...hough everything hurts like I did.”
The girl smiled sweetly, turning back to stirring her pot. Alen took another glance around the room. Most of the furniture looked to have been painted white at some time, but they were all so worn and flaking it was hard to tell. The only light came from the lamp on the kitchen counter, and a bare lightbulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling above him.
There was an old sewing machine on the desk, duct taped together it looked like, and the stub of a candle melted over an upside down cup on the nightstand next to the bed.
But what caught his eye was the stuffed animals placed all around the room. They lined the edge of the bed, sat in the rocker, were set up in a line in front of the sewing machine, peeked out of cupboards and were strewn about the kitchen counter.
Alen blinked once or twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He wasn’t.
The girl stopped stirring, and shut the stove off, before reaching up on tiptoe to pull two glass bowls from one of the cupboards.
“Move, Chewy,” she said simply, brushing a stuffed bear further down the counter to set the bowls down. Alen watched her bewilderedly as she picked up the pot with a pair of oven mitts and poured its contents into a tall tea kettle. Two spoons were produced from a drawer, and then bowls, spoons and tea kettle were brought to the nightstand at Alen’s right.
The girl set them down gently, brought the rickety chair from the desk over, and proceeded to pour the contents of the tea kettle into the bowls.
“Here you go,” she said simply, handing Alen the bigger one. Alen set the cooling hot pad down on his lap and took the bowl somewhat apprehensively, peering with one eye at the liquid substance.
“Don’t worry, it’s just matzoh ball soup. Though, I don’t have a matzoh balls. So just soup, I guess.”
Alen sniffed the bowl, and found it to smell quite good, so he took a sip. It was hot, but good.
The girl smiled, and began to eat as well, alternating between taking her own spoonfuls and offering some to the one-eared rabbit that sat on the nightstand
“What’s your name?” she asked, after a time.
Alen blinked. Her bluntness was quite abrupt. “A… Alen. I’m Alen.”
“Pleased to meet you, Alen. I’m Mirra.”
Anyways, this takes place right after Alen has a run-in with a gang and gets severely beaten up.
He groaned, turning his head to look around the small room he was lying in.
It wasn’t much different from the room he had used to sleep in at Aunt Silphie’s, with a iron frame bed in the center of the room, peeling wallpaper on the walls, an old rusting desk in one corner and a rocking chair in the other. To his left was a small kitchen, with walls lined with cabinets and a few old appliances gleaming in the harsh light of a unshaded lamp.
The girl stood at the stove, stirring something in a metal pot. She was wearing a pair of old worn jeans rolled up at her bare feet, a plain t-shirt, and a shawl thrown over her shoulders. She turned to look at Alen questioningly, the smear of brown crossing her cheek giving her an almost comical look. Alen guessed her to be just a year or so younger than him
“You all right? You look awful.”
Alen smiled in spite of himself at the girl’s bluntness. “I... don’t think I have any b...roken bones.” He touched his jaw gingerly. “T...hough everything hurts like I did.”
The girl smiled sweetly, turning back to stirring her pot. Alen took another glance around the room. Most of the furniture looked to have been painted white at some time, but they were all so worn and flaking it was hard to tell. The only light came from the lamp on the kitchen counter, and a bare lightbulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling above him.
There was an old sewing machine on the desk, duct taped together it looked like, and the stub of a candle melted over an upside down cup on the nightstand next to the bed.
But what caught his eye was the stuffed animals placed all around the room. They lined the edge of the bed, sat in the rocker, were set up in a line in front of the sewing machine, peeked out of cupboards and were strewn about the kitchen counter.
Alen blinked once or twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. He wasn’t.
The girl stopped stirring, and shut the stove off, before reaching up on tiptoe to pull two glass bowls from one of the cupboards.
“Move, Chewy,” she said simply, brushing a stuffed bear further down the counter to set the bowls down. Alen watched her bewilderedly as she picked up the pot with a pair of oven mitts and poured its contents into a tall tea kettle. Two spoons were produced from a drawer, and then bowls, spoons and tea kettle were brought to the nightstand at Alen’s right.
The girl set them down gently, brought the rickety chair from the desk over, and proceeded to pour the contents of the tea kettle into the bowls.
“Here you go,” she said simply, handing Alen the bigger one. Alen set the cooling hot pad down on his lap and took the bowl somewhat apprehensively, peering with one eye at the liquid substance.
“Don’t worry, it’s just matzoh ball soup. Though, I don’t have a matzoh balls. So just soup, I guess.”
Alen sniffed the bowl, and found it to smell quite good, so he took a sip. It was hot, but good.
The girl smiled, and began to eat as well, alternating between taking her own spoonfuls and offering some to the one-eared rabbit that sat on the nightstand
“What’s your name?” she asked, after a time.
Alen blinked. Her bluntness was quite abrupt. “A… Alen. I’m Alen.”
“Pleased to meet you, Alen. I’m Mirra.”
November 13, 2011
An Excerpt
I've reached 19k in The Trust Hole (Only one thousand words behind!), so I thought it was high time to post an excerpt. Enjoy!
As they sat at their table, Watson listed for Alen the actual things that made the men he knew different from what they appeared. The Hole wasn’t just a haven for the out-of-work, it was a refuge for those driven from normal life by their abnormalities. Mendel had been a cook in a French cuisine until it was discovered he had a minor case of dyslexia after one of his desserts sent fifteen guests to the emergency room with food poisoning. The mark on his record had kept him out of a job for three years before Nick found him.
Watson grinned wryly. “If fifteen illegal fighters get sent to the emergency room for food poison, who’s to care? But that’s why the big guy always has someone else in the kitchen with him at all times, to make sure he doesn’t do it again.”
Nick, of course, had his size. It was hard enough to get work these days and being too short to do much than office work did not help. Brian was actually color blind to everything but black and white, which made most jobs out of the question. Blue’s body produced nearly three times as much electricity as a normal human’s, so anything electronic would fry whenever he touched it, or sometimes just got close.
Watson actually laughed out loud when he mentioned this. “Oh, you should’ve been there the first night he showed up. A group of us were watching TV in the break room and he passed by. The whole screen went all static and fuzzy for a few seconds, and when it went back to normal, it had switched channels! None of use knew what was going on, so he kept doing it! He must have passed us a dozen times before Martin caught on that it happened whenever he walked past. We all laughed so hard.”
Alen grinned broadly, then grew serious again. “What’s Martin’s… problem?”
Watson frowned. “Martin has… Martin’s brain operates differently from most people’s, but it’s not a disease like schizophrenia or anything. He takes longer to understand some thing than normal people, but others he picks up without even trying. It’s like some parts of his brain are underdeveloped while the rest got overdeveloped. I mean, he can operate fairly normally in the day-to-day stuff, it’s mostly memory and comprehension that I’m talking about. He can take one look at any weapon and know how to use it like a pro, but he can’t add or subtract anything over twenty to save his life. He’ll remember your face for as long as he lives, but he might forget your name within a few days he’s only met you once. One time he forgot if the earth revolved around the sun or vice versa, and only asked me because he remembered something Brian had said about shadows a month before that didn’t make sense if the sun revolved around the earth!”
Watson shook his head incredulously. “He’s an odd specimen, that’s for sure. Incredibly moody, and his condition makes him not as social as most of the other men here.”
Alen nodded, thinking back on his time with Martin on the road here. A lot of his strange behavior was explained, but there was something beyond that in the tall man as well, a glimmer of emotion that had shone through that afternoon in Alen’s room. He had seemed very normal then.
Watson went on to describe most of the other men in the room, pointing them out as he talked about them. There was Bjorid, the Swedish giant, who stood eight feet tall and spoke hardly five words of english; there was Albert, the slightly insane Pole who could make a weapon out of duck tape, paperclips, and an electrical outlet; Vladmir, the deaf Russian strongman; Tecal, the hypersensitive Cherokee with lightning-quick reflexes (Watson warned Alen never to walk up quietly behind the full-blooded Indian when he was eating, since doing so might end with a fork in your gut, unless he was lucky); Pepe, the Puerto Rican whose whistle was so high it could shatter glass; and Cory, the redneck from Alabama who had never passed third grade but could box like Rocky Balboa.
Altogether it was a curious lot...
Watson grinned wryly. “If fifteen illegal fighters get sent to the emergency room for food poison, who’s to care? But that’s why the big guy always has someone else in the kitchen with him at all times, to make sure he doesn’t do it again.”
Nick, of course, had his size. It was hard enough to get work these days and being too short to do much than office work did not help. Brian was actually color blind to everything but black and white, which made most jobs out of the question. Blue’s body produced nearly three times as much electricity as a normal human’s, so anything electronic would fry whenever he touched it, or sometimes just got close.
Watson actually laughed out loud when he mentioned this. “Oh, you should’ve been there the first night he showed up. A group of us were watching TV in the break room and he passed by. The whole screen went all static and fuzzy for a few seconds, and when it went back to normal, it had switched channels! None of use knew what was going on, so he kept doing it! He must have passed us a dozen times before Martin caught on that it happened whenever he walked past. We all laughed so hard.”
Alen grinned broadly, then grew serious again. “What’s Martin’s… problem?”
Watson frowned. “Martin has… Martin’s brain operates differently from most people’s, but it’s not a disease like schizophrenia or anything. He takes longer to understand some thing than normal people, but others he picks up without even trying. It’s like some parts of his brain are underdeveloped while the rest got overdeveloped. I mean, he can operate fairly normally in the day-to-day stuff, it’s mostly memory and comprehension that I’m talking about. He can take one look at any weapon and know how to use it like a pro, but he can’t add or subtract anything over twenty to save his life. He’ll remember your face for as long as he lives, but he might forget your name within a few days he’s only met you once. One time he forgot if the earth revolved around the sun or vice versa, and only asked me because he remembered something Brian had said about shadows a month before that didn’t make sense if the sun revolved around the earth!”
Watson shook his head incredulously. “He’s an odd specimen, that’s for sure. Incredibly moody, and his condition makes him not as social as most of the other men here.”
Alen nodded, thinking back on his time with Martin on the road here. A lot of his strange behavior was explained, but there was something beyond that in the tall man as well, a glimmer of emotion that had shone through that afternoon in Alen’s room. He had seemed very normal then.
Watson went on to describe most of the other men in the room, pointing them out as he talked about them. There was Bjorid, the Swedish giant, who stood eight feet tall and spoke hardly five words of english; there was Albert, the slightly insane Pole who could make a weapon out of duck tape, paperclips, and an electrical outlet; Vladmir, the deaf Russian strongman; Tecal, the hypersensitive Cherokee with lightning-quick reflexes (Watson warned Alen never to walk up quietly behind the full-blooded Indian when he was eating, since doing so might end with a fork in your gut, unless he was lucky); Pepe, the Puerto Rican whose whistle was so high it could shatter glass; and Cory, the redneck from Alabama who had never passed third grade but could box like Rocky Balboa.
Altogether it was a curious lot...
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