Text From Last Night - Writing for Fun

   "Jace, do you mind?"

   Looking indignant, my dark elf companion pauses mid-stride in the middle of our office and fixes me with a steely gaze.  It's about eleven o'clock at night, and we're both trying to get some last minute work done before bed: me, with The Wealth of Nations by Adam Smith (may he rest in peace and stay resting because, I swear, if he writes any more books on economy...) and Jace, with some tattered dark elven document.

   "Is my pacing really that distracting?" Jace snaps.

   "Not your pacing," I retort, "You murmur unconsciously when you read."

   He cocks an eyebrow defensively and then dangles his manuscript, written in ancient, swooping letters and marked with geometric designs, in front of my face.  "This isn't exactly child's play."

   "Yeah, well, neither is Smith."  I put down a few more notes in my outline and ask, "What are you researching anyway?"

   He laughs briefly.  "What I'm not researching is the better question.  I'm looking up communication methods between elven races, but this book seems to include a lot of other junk: creation of life forms, instilling magic into elements, magic deviations...tedious, mathematical stuff."

   "Hrngph, sounds dull."

   Speak of the devil, I think grimly as the next paragraph in my reading includes a flurry of if-then statements with pronouns without clear antecedents.  Disgusted, I push away from my laptop and turn in my swivel chair to face Jace.  "So what do you need the communication for?"

   "--ahhh, well..." Jace closes the book and sits down in the chair opposite me, a dark hue on his cheeks.  "It has been a few years since I last talked to Araine.  She doesn't know that you've put my essence in a new body yet..."

   I smile grimly and close my laptop.  "You're wasting your time, you know.  Even if you could find a way to talk to her, what good would it do you?  Your legend with her goes unwritten and unsung, not to mention you put her through some pretty intense pain.  Who's to say she'll even care anymore?"

   "Oh, please."  Jace meets my smile with an irrationally dogged seriousness that I've seen burn continually in my own eyes for too long.  "You of all people don't need me to tell you why I want to talk to her again."

   "M'yeah, maybe.  It'd be nice if you could pinpoint specifically why you want what you want, though.  Instinctive desire is dangerous desire."  I get up and stretch.  "Anyway, if you don't discover anything on your own, I'm open to writing you and her together.  I did always enjoy your relationship's dynamic."

   Jace chokes on his laughter.  "No way, darling.  I don't need your so-called help.  If I let you touch my fate again, Araine and I would end up stranded with a bunch of loco killers on a tiger-infested island that catches fire and happens to be the attack point of a massive government infiltration.  No thanks.  I'm good."

   I snort and feign incredulousness.  "Why would you assume such a mean thing about me, Jace?  I'm not that cruel of an author."
   "Hah.  Hah.  You killed me with an undeveloped dead-ringer-poison plot arc and missile shrapnel--"
   "INCORRECT.  The missile shrapnel wasn't my idea, elf.  Get your story correct."
   Jace just pushes his palm against his forehead and sighs loudly.  At his defeat, I crack up and add more kindly, "Anyway, whatever.  Just make sure you piece together your motives before you do anything reckless.  Once you find a way to contact her, it'll be harder for you to think clearly."
   "Sure."  My elf companion glances at the wall clock and mutters, "But I'll do that tomorrow.  It's late, and I'm behind on sleep, no thanks to this thing."  He waves the book and then yawns, getting out of his seat and moving upstairs.

   "Sleep well, Jace."
   "Yeah, 'night."

To be continued...

~ ~ ~

Write on!
Clove

A Second Excerpt from DWBSN Reworked

Give a year of merry thanks for new Christmas, all~

...

e_e

...

Anyway, I'm back with another excerpt from my DWBSN reworked story, only, this one, I think will probably make it into my book.

(***SORT OF SPOILERS***)
In the old version of DWBSN, Skain was forced to a sort of "gang initiation" when he joined a government rebel group (and, yes, I used a "government rebel group" instead of a straight-up bloody "gang" because everything that I wrote when I was twelve was a rip-off of the Hunger Games, wooo~ so much fangirling~!  >.<).  Throughout the whole ordeal, he was obligated to fake affection for a girl named Iris in order to save the life of his older sister and the girl he really liked (the latter of whom he was ordered to kill in his initiation, the former of whom would be killed if he failed his initiation).  However, 1.) the threat that forced him to make such a bizarre plan was really plot-holish and 2.) I didn't really flesh out the agony that he went through because I only wrote from Silvia's perspective.  ...so...in this reworked version, I wanted to do both.
(***END SORT OF SPOILERS***)

Oh, also, for those of you into MBTI who are looking at Silvia in the below and thinking, "What even, Clove, that's totally not ISTP behavior."  Yes, you're absolutely right.  After trying desperately to get Silvia ISTP and Skain ENTJ to behave, they overruled me and made Silvia into a hot-headed ENFP, which, for all intents and purposes, works better for the sake of normality and is still compatible.  (Plus, I'm pretty sure no one wants to read about how a non-emotional ISTP and a heartless ENTJ interact romantically, even if I find that particular type pairing as entertaining as a Chinese circus, which is to say: a wordy lot.)

...so, without further ado, please enjoy my new writing from Skain's perspective~  ^_^

~ ~ ~

     I shouldn’t move her.
     I shouldn’t wake her up.

     After all, even though we’re safe and alone for once, she’s sleeping remarkably lightly in my lap, her head cradled against my shoulder.  But I’m tired too, and, if I drift off, I’ll release her and probably startle her awake in the process.  Smiling weakly, I lean my face against her hair, inhale her scent, and caress her breath with my lips.  I’ve always wanted to hold her like this, and I hate myself for feeling so exhausted, but it’s been weeks since I’ve had proper rest, and that lack has started to show.
     After nearly dropping off for the nth time, I cautiously push my legs under the covers of our bed and gently lower myself to a lying position, letting Silvia slide onto the mattress next to me, the arch of her neck over my arm.  She stirs at the movement, and I turn to her warily, hoping for her own good that she stays asleep, but, much to my personal angst, her eyes flutter open after another second.
     With a massive yawn, she glances at me - and then at the clock next to me - and gives a little start.  “Oh, Skain, I’m sorry; I must’ve fallen asleep when we were talking…”
     I close my eyes and pull her closer to me.  “No, it was my mistake for gabbing for so long…”  A few seconds of peaceful silence blankets us before I add, “You’re so…fascinating to me, Silvia; I could talk to you for days and forget to eat just to hear your voice…”
     She laughs and swats me playfully.  “My voice is so great now, is it?  Don’t try to throw that one over me, silly; you’re still just a silver-tongued, rich-kid playboy.”
     “Playboy?”  I open an eye.  “You know, it’s not flattery if it’s true.”
      Smirking mischievously at her, I find myself caught between the numbing grip of sleep deprivation and the stimulating fingers of beauty.  Silvia leans over me, her hand on my sternum and in my hair, and I gaze back up at her with overwhelming affection as she tilts her chin forward and positions her mouth over mine.

     Too soon, she pulls away, and I close my eyes, drained completely of energy, as our breathing rates slow together.  Right before I drift off, though, it suddenly seems so important for me to tell her that I love her, that I love her more than I’ve ever loved a human, and that I need her.  It seems vital - I can’t lose her - and yet I can’t find the strength or will to say so before I’ve fallen asleep.

- - -

     …and, before I can dream, I’m awake.

     Warmth has spread through my whole body over the night, and, for once, I don’t feel an endless chain of exhaustion winding around me and binding me.  I’m happy here, I realize, and happiness is rare, so I savor it, reaching out slowly for Silvia.  Concerned when my hand finds only air though, I open my eyes and feel my forehead tighten when I realize the other side of my bed is made.  Quickly, I observe my surroundings: the late afternoon sun, my phone with new, emotionally abusive texts from Ice, and…

     Iris?!

     Reality crushes me swiftly.

     I turn so that she doesn’t see me and grip my mouth tightly with both hands, nauseous from grief and frustration, both of which hit me exponentially harder when stemmed from my dreams.  Sensing that something’s wrong, Iris puts down the schoolbook she was reading and walks over to me.

     “Are you all right, Skain?”

     My arm hides my tears, and I reply evenly in a muffled voice, “Yeah.  I’m fine.”
     “Okay.  It’s almost five o’clock.  Do you want to leave soon?”

     Leave soon.
     To dinner.
     On a date.

     Because I’m trying to save Silvia.
     Because I love her, and, right now, she thinks that I’m heartless…
     …and, to an extent, certainly I have to be to do this to her.

     Iris sits at the edge of my bed and runs her fingers over my back; I struggle to not lash out at her or shove her away from me, but there’s nothing I want more than that.  Instead, I take a deep, shaking breath and reply, “Yeah…” My head is still down, and I wipe the dampness away from my eyes as I get up, my body still sore from all the work I’ve done recently.  “Let me get cleaned up really quick, and then we can go.”
     Iris nods, and I smile weakly at her, grabbing my phone and heading to the relative privacy of the bathroom.

     As soon as I lock the door and throw on the sink water, I’m back on the ground, gripping the toilet and trying desperately to conquer the waves of sickness that keep sweeping me.  Only sheer willpower keeps me from heaving, and, when the urge has left, I lean back with sweat soaking my shirt and glance at my phone, quickly reading through the texts from Ice:

     Sent 4:15 P.M.: What a heartbreaker you are.  Already taking on a new girl?
     Sent 4:16 P.M.: I guess this means Silvia didn’t teach you a THING about love if you’re still relying on romance as an emotional crutch.
     Sent 4:16 P.M.: Dad will be so disappointed, little bro.
     Sent 4:16 P.M.: …but that’s your life, isn’t it?  Just don’t do anything you’ll regret later.

     The messages end there, and I let the phone drop out of my trembling hands.

     Somehow, I’m going to do this.
     Somehow, I’m going to get through today.

     I just don’t see how when my legs won’t even support me.

     Grabbing the countertop for support, I throw off my shirt - my bruises are still visible, so Silvia’s must be too - and wash my face and neck with cold water, trying to stop sweating.  Eventually, my body returns to a normal temperature - though the marks of true, extended fatigue are still present - and I grab a towel, wiping myself off and opening the door.  Iris starts at the sight of me, and I get a new shirt out of the dresser next to my bed with decided neutrality.

     “All right.”  I duck into my new shirt, and Iris’ face morphs from light pink to dark red when I grab her hand and kiss her lightly on the cheek.  “Shall we go, beautiful?”

     Shall we go and convince Ice that you’re my sacrificial lamb?

~ ~ ~

Write on!
Clove

Text From Today - Frame of Mind

Today, I was challenged by my older brother to make a character bio based off of this song, but, because I'm so psyched to have my best friend back from college for the holidays, I came up with two sketches.  BOOM.  ;D  Thus, here's my best attempt at song translation and correlating story crafting.  Feel free to take either of the below ideas and run with them, mildly cliché and uncut as they are.

For now, you can stay.

Right here, we will play

until, somehow, you can find

a slightly different Frame of Mind.

Right here in my arms,

away from all harm,

you'll be safe from all the flares,

although I know you don't care.

You can lift your head up to the sky,

take a deeper breath, and give it time.

You can walk the path among the lines

with your shattered Frame of Mind.

Instead, you could always stay.

We can wait right here and play

until, somehow, you can find

a slightly better Frame of Mind.

When they say you will fall,

you can reach nothing at all.

Hide your tracks

beneath the rind

of a different Frame of Mind.

Is that what you heard?

Broken words in the dirt,

yelling out into the Sun,

"Here we come!

Here we come!"

You can lift your head up to the sky,

take a deeper breath, and give it time.

You can walk the path among the lines

with your shattered Frame of Mind.

I wish that you could always stay.

We can wait right here and play

until somehow you can find

a slightly better Frame of Mind.

You can lift your head up to the sky,

take a deeper breath, and give it time.

You can walk the path among the lines

with your shattered Frame of Mind.

Instead, you could always stay.

We can wait right here and play

until somehow you can find

a slightly better Frame of Mind

And when daylight comes through,

when the day is anew,

then it will be time

for a new Frame of Mind.

When all eyes are on you,

you will know what to do

since you will have found

your new Frame of Mind.

When you lift your head up to the sky,

take a deeper breath, and give it time.

You can walk the path among the lines,

but always know that you'll be safe.

I'll be here throughout your days.

Come find me and we will play.

~ ~ ~

MODERN DAY AMERICA SETTING

   This is the theme of an aged father whose young, ambitious son was enlisted into the Air Force.  During the holidays when the son comes back home - now feeble and indecisive - the father realizes that his son has post-traumatic-stress-disorder and can't often sleep for more than a few hours at a time, but the son brushes off each nightmare with a weak smile.

   Still concerned, the father takes his son on several outings - from the park where they played football so many years ago to the local burger place where they often shared a milkshake - and tries to instill in his son a reason for fighting: to protect those that he loves, to preserve the memories, to create a better future for progeny.

   By the time the son must be deployed again, he has a new Frame of Mind: of courage, patriotism, and overwhelming love for his family.

MEDIEVAL AGES SETTING

   This is the theme of a brother pair whose parents were murdered by a villainous force.  While the younger brother grieves, the older brother cultivates hatred until, when the mourning is over, he is restlessly preparing to take revenge.  Soon, the younger brother finds out about his older brother's plans and attempts to stop him from taking such drastic action with such twisted motives.

   "If you think murder will help you heal grief," the younger brother pleads, "you'll end up just like them."

   However, the older brother is resolute, and, on the day of his departure, the younger brother sadly reminds his older brother - who he know he will lose just as he lost his parents - that safety will always be at home.

Write on!

Clove

An Excerpt from DWBSN Reworked

Hullo one, hullo all~

It has, indeed, been a long time, hasn't it?
Life for me is intriguing, as always: a mixture of tedious, educational mundanity, nostalgic and sentimental pain, and ridiculously hilarious and absurd social ventures, which means, yup, I've been writing and writing and writing between the hours of school and violin.

Muchos emotion = muchos words.

Currently, as I've mentioned, I'm redoing Death Would Be So Near, which has been absolutely fantastic.  Two major changes that should be noted: I believe I'm going to change the title eventually because the title DWBSN, which my twelve-year-old brain thought was epic, makes absolutely no sense.  Also, I've decided to change the name "Deidre" to "Silvia".
(...aaand, for those of you who didn't follow my writing career when I was twelve and have no idea what I'm talking about, CONGRATULATIONS - you still must have your sanity.)
All such and such to say, I'm writing a new novel based off of my old novel DWBSN (and putting my old one with Millis, Pleibea, and Patra on the back burner because I do that with all stories: I get inspired/uninspired in bursts).  Right here, I've got an excerpt from said novel that I'm posting because 1.) I don't know if it'll ever get into the end product, 2.) I love it too much to let it go unpublished, and 3.) it represents a lot of the feels in my life right now.

So.

Introducing~
--Skain Wolfe, ENTJ: a gang leader's son, a Darky (i.e. a member of an emo school club),  and the total genderbent version of me.

dark-ebony, nearly-black hair
brown eyes that look like the steel color of a gun at night and like golden maple syrup in the day
pale skin
lithe, hard-muscle frame

dominant, stubborn, charismatic attitude
either 100% self-inflated or 100% self-incriminating at all times
expert tactician for his gang, less expert at coping when things go awry (because things so rarely go awry for him)
addicted to power
humility issues

--Silvia Thornton, ISTP: a "Christian" living a double-life for adrenaline-junky purposes, a Riser (i.e. a member of a popular-kid school club), and the recipient of Skain's undying, entertaining love.

tan, tousled hair
green-brown eyes that basically include every shade of a summer forest after a warm rain
cream-hued, clean skin
small, thin frame

thrill-seeking, resilient, rational attitude
80% reliable friend, 20% explosively-energetic episodes (in which getting drunk and into fights is quite common)
expert manipulator, less expert at being feminine
addicted to adrenaline
issues...she's just got issues, this one.  x)

So, without further ado, welcome to the wonderful world of my this-probably-won't-even-get-into-the-final-edit Death Would Be So Near excerpt except-that-I'm-changing-that-name-soon-and-if-you-have-suggestions-le-comment-box-is-below~!

*gasps for air*

~ ~ ~

SKAIN'S PERSPECTIVE

     By the time we’ve reached the Kranks, I can barely see straight.  The day was stressful and exhausting, but, worst of all, the day condemned me more fierily, earnestly, and accurately than anyone has ever accused me before.  On the clean, northern side of town with shallow, excited teenagers in a mesh of hot colors and shining lights, I realized - it took me all that to realize - that I’m hardly human.

     Yeah, I play the part, maybe, but hours of acting have left me dry, and the truth - that I’m a heartless killer with no guilt - is battering me worse than the cracked road is beating up Silvia’s car.

     Rubbing a hand against my face, I close my eyes and drown in the murderous voices of my conscious that remind me of how many bullets, when, where, the bruises, the roaches, the girls, and everything else criminal that I’ve done in the Kranks as Dad’s valuable pet.  I’m too tired to think nicely about myself; I’m too convinced otherwise to even try, so I don’t.

     Eventually, Silvia drives up to my house and parks, shaking me gently and obviously desiring some attention, but I avoid her alluring gaze and gather up my stuff as she asks, “Did you have fun?”

     I nod stiffly.  “Yeah, thanks, Sil—“

     My voice cracks, and I clear my throat, trying to take the haggardness out of my voice as I say, “I really enjoyed myself.”

     Unconvinced, she turns to me with a playful, accusatory glare, and I hastily open the door, not even taking the time to kiss her goodbye as tears begin to well in my eyes.

     “Bye, Sil.  I’ll see you tomorrow—”

     “—hey, Skain!“

     Ignoring her disappointed pleading, I close the door before she can call me back or see my face - and run; running past my house, sprinting into the forest that borders our perimeters, and crumpling on the ground as a sob wracks my chest.  My whole body tightens; I’ve not cried in years, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me now, except I keep hearing myself screaming in my mind, and I keep feeling under my hands the sensation I receive when I impact flesh with a knife, and I keep facing my own violence and darkness against the white backdrop of those perfect, loving teens who invited and included someone who is only alive for killing, manipulating, and strategizing.

     I’m a Darky, yes.

     …but I’m more than that.

     I’m a terrible person.

     I’m a terrible person.

     My knife finds its way into my hand, and, through blurry vision, I rip off the spiked bracelet that hides my only tattoo: the word SUBJUGATED in white ink, and begin to cut at my forearm and at the marking, teeth grit to the pain, throat closed to my tears.

     Blood and hurting.

     It’s all sedation.

     I just want to be sedated.

     Silvia finds me in a few minutes like I assumed she would, and I straighten and scrub my face rid of tears quickly, but I know she could hear my high-pitched keening sounds.  As if walking in a minefield, she sneaks up to me and sits on the cold humus in front of me, not touching me and not saying anything.  I keep my head bowed, embarrassed and angry for some reason, though I don’t know what with.

     Emotions are useless in the Kranks, so, whenever I feel them and I don’t like it, I take a knife to myself or swallow some Ritalin, but I’m not proud of my coping methods, and the fact that I can feel blood slithering into my palm bothers me.  When she sees the damage that I’ve done to my skin in the dim twilight and pieces together why I was wearing long sleeves in the nice weather today, she reaches forward and grabs the dirty knife out of my hand, pitching the weapon a few meters away into the forest.

     I open my mouth to object, but don’t trust myself to speak, so she speaks for me, directly and seriously and calmly.

     “Skain, what’s wrong?  Did I…do something?  Why are you so upset?”

     Upset.

     Because of me.

     My heartlessness.

     My past.

     “Please, Silvia.”  Aggravated by her altruism, I climb to my feet and pace off into the forest, finding my knife, wiping the blood on my shirt, and then pocketing the weapon.  “Go home.  I’m fine.”

     “Yeah, like heck you are,” she snaps.  Hoping nimbly to her feet, she grabs my cut-up wrist tightly, and I cut off a cry of alarm as her nails dig into the deep lacerations I drew on myself.  “People who are fine don’t do this, Skain.”

      I unhook her thumb with my good arm and release myself.  “Well, I’m fine now.  Please leave me alone.”

     “Why?” she retorts, “So you can go inside and keep cutting?  I don’t think so, idiot.”

     “Sil, I’m not in the mood to be babied.”

     “And I’m not ‘babying’ you.  I’m telling you that it’s fine to be weak and to admit that you need help sometimes, so quit acting like a fool and let me help.”

     Silvia faces me, her hands on her hips, her chin stuck out slightly.  Caught in the moment and dulled by my tears, I let my gaze wander across her face in the dim light of evening, her perfect features and the shadows of her collarbones.  She stares back at me, stolidly and then with a softer expression after a second, and I take a step towards her, fingering her warm chin with cold fingers.  Green eyes wide, she watches me, and I slowly, carefully, press my mouth against hers, eyes closing to myself and body loosening in sorrowful pleasure, but another tear slithers down my face when I realize that I’ve never loved anyone in my life as intensely as I’ve loved Silvia.

     …and yet she doesn’t know what I’ve done.

     And how could I tell her?

     Tell her that I lost my virginity when I was eight, that Dad himself gave me my tattoo when I was ten to remind me of his total authority over my life, that I’ve killed and hospitalized more people than most Towner criminals could ever dream of killing and hospitalizing.  She doesn’t realize what I’ve done, and she doesn’t realize that, for all the show that I put on, I’m unable to even save my sister from her torturous life.

     I can’t protect Silvia.

     I can’t love her.

     I shouldn’t have even helped her in the first place.

     Tasting salt between our lips forces resolve back into my actions, and I pull away with a small noise of angst and feel guilt wash over me again when Silvia tries to follow, her hand reaching to hold me close.

     “I’m…sorry, Silvia.”

     Yeah.  No luck trying to hide the agony in my voice now.

     “Please go home, Sil.”

     She crosses her arms with a return of weaker determination, but I take off quickly and lock myself inside and sprint up to the loft, peering out to the driveway in time to see a defeated Silvia make her way slowly to her car.  For a second, I’m tempted to throw open the window and call out to her that she’s beautiful, more beautiful than all of the altered sluts I’ve met in the Kranks and more beautiful than the forest in autumn, and that I love her and I need her and I can’t possibly manage without her.

     …but rationality stops me -  I can’t let myself have her, defile her, and ruin her with myself - and so I leave the window when she’s gone and gingerly wash the sticky, crusted blood off my arm, falling into bed even though it’s not even seven yet, tired and ashamed and more internally devastated than I’ve been in my whole life.

~ ~ ~

Write on!

Clove

A Poem - Ugly Duckling

Right now, I'm just a fledgling.
I have no crown or ring.
They call me Ugly Duckling,
but that name's incomplete.

I might still cling to pondweed.
I might have small, gray wings,
but under-estimate me
and straight-up wrong you'll be.

I'm "shy" - because I'm busy
seeking victory.
I'm "weird" - because I'm absent
chasing silver dreams.

I don't have time for playing.
I don't have days to sing,
for, soon, I'll take to flying
with broad, white, glossy wings.

And, when I'm in the sky,
I'll see my home below.
I'll see young ugly ducks like me
and call to them hello.

And, unlike all of you,
whose pleasure will be spent,
who cannot understand
our thought-provoking bend,

I'll know the pain they feel.
I'l feel the laughter gone.
I'll show to them what they'll become:
like me, a regal swan.

Write on!
Clove

Word Crimes...in song form…so you NEVER FORGET THEM.

For your general entertainment and pleasure:

Write on!
Clove
P.S. Okay, so, fun stuff, I was reading through Death Would Be So Near (an old story of mine) the other day, and I decided that I'm totally going to rewrite it so that a.) the dialogue doesn't sound like it was for a Dora-episode-gone-sour, b.) I'm not ripping right out of the Hunger Games in the setting (I'm switching to gang culture instead), and c.) I can give another shot at including religion into writing.  ^_^  Excited?  YES.

A Sad Announcement

Hey guys,

Well, I have, as the title suggests, a sad announcement.

Last week, I got all of my classes, and, so, my junior year has officially started.
…and, frankly, I don't have time for anything extracurricular anymore.  :\  Thus far, I've had two mental/emotional breakdowns and a couple of I-need-to-drop-a-class-crisis moments, and Asian me is working hard under tight parental supervision to manage a bursting-at-the-seams full schedule and ignore all of the self-doubts drowning me.

Basically, that all means that this blog is going inactive for about a school year.  Naturally, if I do have time to blog, I will post lengthy, thoughtful, vent-ish posts, but, for now, school has become my liiife, and I don't want to have you all waiting in this corner of the internet world for no reason, peering around and asking what happened to me.

I promise; I haven't died.

…yet.

Write on anyways, guys, and I'll, Lord willing, be back soon!
Clove