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

Advice to Twilight characters

So, a long, long time ago in a galaxy that seems to be nonexistent, a friend asked me to write a review on Twilight by Stephenie Meyer.  Being the level-headed, sane person that I was at the time, I said no.  (The implication: people who do write reviews about/choose to read Twilight are...?)  However, way too much time has passed since the request, and my sanity has long since vanished.
Yes, guys.  I did it.

It took me about a year, but I managed to swallow the first novel in the Twilight Saga.

Now, I thought and I thought (for about half a second) whether I wanted to write a review, critiquing the novel, or if I wanted to write a review, praising the novel, but I decided that because I'm not particularly fond of assassination attempts that I would do a different sort of reader response: I'd write down several tips of advice (and some other extraneous comments) to characters from the first book.  (However, I did end up writing a review on lustful-romance based books here if you want my serious take on Twilight's moral/spiritual side.)

Disclaimer: spoilers are included.
Disclaimer: if you try to murder me for this review,  I am not held responsible for any blood, bruises, or broken bones that you may receive in my "self-defense".

Aaand...without further ado...



     1. TO ALL THE "VEGETARIAN" VAMPIRES: So...apparently, smell is a big deal to you guys, right?  Like...smell sets you off, and smell makes you hungry, and smell turns you into a blood-drinking monster.  ...so...why don't you just keep clothes pins handy to wear when you're in risky situations involving blood?  I mean, honestly, I'm not a very original girl, but this solution came to me before Edward had even finished sniffing out Bella in the forest.

     STORY LOGIC.

     2. TO JACOB: BRO CODE, Mother Seal, HAVE YOU HEARD OF IT?!
     3. TO MIKE: BRO CODE, Mother Ugly, HAVE YOU HEARD OF IT?!
     4. TO THE CULLENS: Okay, I get that you're all super strong and fast and whatever, but I guess your brain had to compensate in order to give your bodies all that power or something because, I mean, really.  You're taking Bella, a normal human, to watch a baseball game up on a mountain...during a THUNDERstorm?!  Screw those flipping vampires; aren't you taking into consideration that, with her luck, she'll get struck by LIGHTNING?!

     HEESH.

     Now we know how Edward REALLY feels.
     5. TO EDWARD: Your vocal volume level seems to be stuck on either "murmur" or "bellow" at all times.  Please visit your nearest car mechanic as soon as possible.
     6. TO BELLA: You can - believe it or not - describe your boyfriend without using the words "stony", "cold", and "perfect", and you might actually at least appear to have an IQ over 20.
     7. TO EDWARD: I don't know what's WRONG with you, idiot.  I mean, goodness. bloody. gracious., the girl is in the HOSPITAL with PAIN MEDS.  BITE HER.  MAKE HER A VAMPIRE.  Then you get her forever!  Isn't that what you want?!  She won't feel a THIIING, but, NOOO, we already clarified how you REALLY feel, and, obviously, you wouldn't care if Bella grew old and died as a withered raisin granny.

     RIGHT.

     8. TO BARBIE AND KE--I mean...BELLA AND EDWARD: I...don't...understand...either of you.  Your relationship seems to be entirely based off of the fact that you both are super hot and intimidating in each others' eyes, because, I mean, for reals, Bella, could you still love Edward if he looked like Barney and was in the throes of raging diarrhea?  Mhm.  Mhm.  Mhm.  Relationships are built on more than scawy bodies, geniuses.
     9. TO STEPHENIE MEYER: I'm sorry in advance for what I'm about to say.  Apparently, since you're world-renowned and whatever, I should be taking a hint from you, but, honestly...the last four years' collection of entries from my journal are FAR more exciting than your...book.
     For example, you expounded on Edward's clean, smooth skin quite a good bit, which is fair enough, but, when you're mentioning his skin in every single description paragraph of him, I...just...like, any girl with an IQ over 20 (which doesn't include Bella, I sadly understand) notices more than a dude's skin.  Even the small things - the shadow that forms in his jaw when he grits his teeth, the acute veins along his forearm, the round vertebrae that peek out of the hem of his shirt on his sinewy neck - those can get us more than markless skin.  Just.  Saying.

Write on! ...but, if your name is Stephenie Meyer, please.  We're good.
Clove

Dearest Diary~

*le doctor infomercial voice*

You have a poor writing life and
--you run or move around quite a bit without really feeling tired inside
--you feel an urge to tell personal sob stories to strangers
--you mope
--you eat a lot of junk food
--you feel as if you can't feel a single emotion and can feel every emotion all at the same time
--you snap at people more than normal
--you want to cry, but you can't

If you have one or more of these symptoms, you may have to take a non-journalling-itis test!  This disease is very serious and rampant amongst authors who spend too much time experiencing life without the necessary means to expel their emotions.  Do not take this message lightly!  Avoidance will lead to death!  (…eventually…)  Once again, if you have one or more of these symptoms, you may have to do a non-journalling-itis test and begin your journalling rehabilitation sessions immediately!

*le doctor informercial voice goes away*
*back to my voice*

So yep, I'm here to blog about legit journalling today, and, before you run away, terrified that I'm leading you into some cultish writing habit, let me clarify what I mean by "journalling":
1.) You write whenever you feel like it.  I don't want you to turn into one of those psychopathic ten year old girls who ritualistically cuddles up under their blankets at night with a flashlight to jot down the meaningless things they did that day.  Just, if you've had a rough evening, if you met someone who really inspired you, if you had a great evening, an unheard pet peeve tirade, a problem that needs sorting out, anything that you feel passionately about, write about it.  Whenever.  Once a month.  Twice a day.  I don't care, just whenever you feel like you need to write.
2.) You write where it is easiest to write.  If I tried to pump out 2000+ word entries on an actual piece of paper with a pen, I would most definitely do some damage to my hands…and, you know, I'd burn through trees pretty quick.  Therefore, I email entries to myself and, at the subject line, put the date and the title of the journal entry.  When the entries come into my inbox, I file them in a folder titled "Junior Journal" (versus last school year when the folder was titled "Sophomore Journal").  It's easiest for me (and private), so I do it.  You do what's easiest for you.
3.) You write how you like to write.  Yes, I still encourage the proper use of grammar and punctuation, but you should personalize everything about your journal so that you feel like you can relax and be yourself when writing, instead of trying to format everything into uncomfortable perfection.  To be entirely honest, the only formatting rules that I have for my personal journal are 1.) start out each entry with "Dear Me" (because I'm speaking to myself) and 2.) end each entry with my name.  That's it.

Okay?  So, I'm not talking cutesy, silly, quaint; I'm talking personal, private, and comfortable.

But now presents the question as to why.  Why go into all of this effort?  Why will journalling help you get out of your non-journalling-itis problems?
Well, if you experience a lot of life without having a way to verbally, clearly vent all of your emotions, they can get bottled up and stuffed down inside of you, so that, when you sit down to write, you end up making miniature plot points about your life instead of keeping to an outline.  Journalling allows you to get out your problems and rants and squeals and debates and passionate descriptions and calm analyses onto solid paper, draining you of all that blockading feeling.
Journalling also makes wonderful character development arcs.  If you start journalling today, in a few years, you'll have quite a lot of well-written, raw emotion to work with and include into your stories in some form, shape, or fashion.

So try it out and see how it all works for you!  Or, if you've been journalling before, let me know about some journalling benefits that you've experienced in the comment box below, and, as always...

Write on!
Clove