Wednesday, December 31, 2008

The beginning!

So, I don't know if I told of one of my recent ideas. When I was younger, I wrote about two girls who one day, when they were playing their computer, were sucked into the game. Now, the story was never finished, and actually was quiet bad. (hey, I was young!)
The basic premise, though, wasn't that bad, so I thought I would rewrite. It's drastically different from the original, though it still contains two girls and one crazy computer.
I thought that I would post the first chapter here...


I winced as I heard my name, the intensity and proximity propelled me to groan, and I buried my head under my pillow.

“Maeve! I’m stuck!”

My covers were cruelly thrown off, and I curled up in a ball, protesting the sudden cold.

“Maeve, wake up already!”

Next to go was the pillow that was sheltering my eyes from the harsh light. It was torn away, and at this injustice I decided I had had enough.

“Kyla,” I growled, sitting up and glaring at my sister.

At this ungodly hour in the morning it was extremely disconcerting to glare at my sister; it was like glaring into a mirror.

“Kyla, what in the world could possess you to be so,” I struggled to find the word, my mind still muddled with sleep. “Awake!”

“Maeve, it’s nine o’clock,” she pointed out, her eyes wide.

“Kyla, it is Saturday,” I exclaimed, falling back on my bed, and covering my head with my arms.

“Come on, get up! I’m stuck-”

“What?” I peered up at her, confused.

“That game you introduced me to?” she said, tapping her foot.” Remember?”

“No,” I lied, closing my eyes again.

“I’m stuck, and you will get no sleep until you help me.” Kyla knew that she had won, and her tone held a victory ring.

“I hate you.” With as much dignity as I could possibly muster this early, I rose and with one last glare at my sister, I sat down at the computer desk.

“Well, thank you,” Kyla said, as if I had not been coerced but rather by my own free came to help her.

“Why did I ever give you this game?” I lamented, as I viewed the computer screen.

“Because you are my sister and you love me?” Kyla suggested, leaning over my shoulder to see the screen.

“Ha,” I said shortly. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

“Well, I’ve battled all through this temple thing, and now I ready to go into the boss of all bosses’ room and well, battle the boss, but the problem is-”

“The door is locked, and you have to solve the code to get in,” I finished her sentence, frowning as I considered the situation, absently clicking my fingernails against the mouse.

“I’ve completed half of the little riddle, but I can not get the second half-”

“And you found that more important than my sleep?” I irritably interrupted her.

“Maeve, I’ve been working on this for at least one hour-”

“Do you sleep?”

“Yes, I do, but I don’t waste the morning away like you,” she said curtly. “Can you finish it?”

“Well I don’t know, I just woke up,” I grumbled, my eyes scanning the screen, finding a way to solve the riddle. The riddle was not an overly hard one, but then again, I always had a knack for solving riddles, one particular trait that I did not share with my twin.

“It’s a really good game, I’m glad that your friend showed it to you,” Kyla said as I started the finish the riddle.

Aside from the lack of sleep issue, I was glad that my friend had pointed the game out. We were both in a store, and I was lamenting the fact that I had nothing to give to Kyla for her birthday-well technically for our birthday. The friend pointed to a popular fantasy video game, the type that my eyes had instinctively passed over. Lucky for me, it was a hit.

I opened my mouth to tell Kyla that I had almost finished the riddle, but my words were cut off by a large vibrating sound.

“What the crap is that?” I cried, annoyed.

“I don’t know,” Kyla replied evenly, as if the sound didn’t matter.

“Kyla, it sounds like it’s coming from the computer,” I told her, trying to get some sort of reaction from her. The vibrating sound increased in volume until the low buzz shook the desk.

“Zut, what is that?”

I rolled my eyes. Trust my sister to cuss in French.

“I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound good,” I said, slowly pushing the chair away from the desk. The brown wood bounced with the vibration. Pens fell off, clattering on the wooden floor.

“What did you do to it?” Kyla cried, as the image on the screen became distorted.

“I didn’t do anything!” I cried back. “I just woke up! Don’t blame me! I didn’t do anything to the stupid computer.”

The vibrating noise was starting to change frequency into a lower pitch, and the desk’s shaking slowed down.

“Good, it’s over.” Kyla breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, with one large ripping sound, everything went black.


“Maeve? Maeve, wake up.” Someone was shaking my shoulder, and for a minute I was confused.

It must have been a dream, I realized. Granted, a very vivid dream, but a dream nonetheless.

“What?” I mumbled, wanting to sleep for just a bit longer.

“Maeve, wake up.” My sister’s voice held a frantic note to it that I had never heard before.

“What, Kyla?” I asked bringing my head up to look at her.

“What the-” I was unable to find a fitting word, though my mind did run through a good many four letter ones to fill in the blank. My eyes scanned the large room, getting wider, as if to help me process what I was seeing. The floor that I stood on was stone, or at least, it appeared to be stone, the rough material inlaid with some swirling pattern. My eyes slowly pulled up from the floor, viewing the wide chamber. In the middle was a perfectly circular pool, and the water in it was still, reflecting the darkness above like a mirror. The room itself was circular as well, and the little lighting hid the ceiling from view. Little lantern type devices were attached everything three or four feet along the wall, which confirmed my suspicion that the room was circular. Along the pool, acting like some sort of barrier, were columns, majestically rising their dark fingers dissolving into the black above us.

“Kyla, what in the world-”

“I didn’t do anything,” she broke in before I could formally accuse her.

“You didn’t? Then who did?” I exclaimed.

“I don’t know! If I was immature, I would throw your comment back, and proclaim foolishly that you did it. That is pointless though, as if you did,” she paused, throwing her hands out for emphasis, “this, I think that you would not be here.”

Her implied insult, the insinuation that I was being immature in accusing her, was enough to add fuel to my anger, but I bit back my snappy reply. Hard as it was, I didn’t think that fighting would help anything.

“Okay, so, let’s start at the beginning,” I said, taking a deep breath before coughing from the smoke. Glaring at the lantern that was fixed to the wall next to me, my concentration was broken when I realized that I felt heavier than normal. Looking down, I let out a startled yelp. Gone were my fuzzy pajama bottoms, replaced by some dark pants. The fabric, which felt thicker than blue jeans, was fit tight against my upper legs, and disappeared into my dark brown boots. On my left side hung a sword, the hilt protruding from a brown scabbard that was covering with abstract blue designs. The sword hung on a leather belt of sorts. Along the leather belt, which was a few inches wide, hung various pouches, making me feel more like a carpenter than a swordsman. Pushing my arms out in front of me, I saw that I was wearing a dark brown tunic, which was tucked into my belt. The tunic’s sleeves were cut off at the shoulders, and under it I was wearing a black long sleeved shirt.

My eyes jumped to my sister, and saw that she wore an identical outfit.

Oh boy, I thought sourly. Perfect. My identical twin and I are wearing the exact same thing. This was exactly what I avoided ever since I was little. A lot of twins like to dress alike, but I was not one of them.

“Oh, that makes sense.” My sister’s voice was pleasantly surprised, and her emotion was so different from mine that for a second I was at a loss for words.

“What the heck are you talking about? How could you sound so, so-” I exclaimed, trying to think of the right word. “Not panicking! We are in different freaking clothes! I have a, a sword on my side. Doesn’t that creep you out in the least?”

Her green eyes stared back at me, wide and unassuming, a quizzical look in them as if wondering what my sudden outburst was about.

“Well yes, it is a bit disturbing,” she said evenly. “But it’s only logical.”
“Logical?” I echoed, not believing my hearing.

She rolled her eyes, impatient that I didn’t understand. “Maeve, look around. Ring a bell?”

I slowly viewed the chamber again. There was one thing that I had missed in my initial shock. On the opposite side of the pool lit by two torches on either side was a large, circular inset, the stone a light grey. My eyes flittered over the other small details. Leading down to the pool, on all sides, were grey stone steps, with black designs painted upon them. The columns were a dark, dark red. The ceiling was still clouded in darkness. The lantern next to me was hissing. There was nothing that I could see that explained where we were.

“Sorry Kyla, but there are no bells ringing,” I said. My anger and disbelief were beginning to dissipate, and I felt a little shell shocked. It was just so real; I could feel the stone beneath my boots, I could feel the heat coming from the lantern to my right. I knew if I reached out, I could run my hand over the rough stone of the column.

“Well, it makes sense. After all, you did not play that often,” Kyla mused.

“Explain yourself,” I said shortly. If I didn’t, she could go on for hours, her runic and cryptic sentences doing nothing but making me angry.

“Maeve, this, well this is,” her hands wind milled about as searched for the right words. “This is, Haven.”

“Haven?” I repeated dumbly, wondering briefly if Kyla had hit her head.

“Yes, you know-”

“No.” My voice was soft, but it was enough to stop my sister. I thought back to that day in the store. There had been so many computer games; I was at a loss to find one that she would like. I never was one for fantasy games, not like Kyla. I was contemplating just picking up a gift card, until my friend pointed to one. It looked just like the next one, a glossy cover showing some young man dressed oddly with a sword in one hand. Its’ name had been in raised, white large print, spelling out the name of this particular fantasy game.

The name had been Haven.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Prompt: It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between. (12/21/08)

My response is not really related to the prompt, not like the rest are. It's not as good as yesterdays, I did not enjoy writing it as much. I did get more words though.

(December 21, 2008)
Prompt: It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 834

The books were too heavy for me, and my arms burned with the energy I used simply to hold them, but my pride forbade me to release them. I took large, leaping steps with every intention to reach my destination within the shortest amount of time. My steps were too large for carefulness, and I misstep landing on a fallen book. The leg was torn out from under me, yet somehow I managed to grasp my balance and hold it, balancing on one leg only, until I regained use of the errant leg. Shaking my head, I swung my sweaty hair out of my face. It was hot up here, as hot air always rose, in this attic study. I made no complainants, for who was to hear me? Could I complain to the very person that I kept the study a secret from?

I reached my destination at least, my arms trembling before giving out, and not a moment too soon. The books crashed upon my desk, spreading out in a messy pile. The crash was not a silent one, loud and obnoxious as most crashes tend to be, and for a second my breath caught in my throat, and I cast a worried glance at the door, as if expecting Uncle to tear it open any second. But Uncle was gone, and I was all alone, for the moment at least. Taking a deep breath, I turned my back to my desk, surveying my messy attic.

It was not pretty, not by any standards. What little space there was, was covered in something, be it books, paper, clothes, perhaps a cot to sleep on-there was not empty space, and not a glimpse of the wooden floor was to be seen. Absently, I made my way to the only window there was, my feet automatically falling a tricky path, the only safe passage from one wall to another. On instinct, without my thoughts, my feet passed over things that would trip them up, choosing a path that allowed me to reach the window safe. Leaning my elbows on the dusty, paint splattered table, I pressed my face close to the window, peering out. The window was spotless, one of the few things in the room that could boast that. I had taken special care in it, as it was precious, allowing my a glimpse of the beauty of the outdoors.

I didn’t know much about the wilderness outside the house. What I did know of it was locked away in dusty, decaying memories that were discolored with time. If Uncle knew of this window…

If Uncle knew of this study, I reminded myself, forcing my thoughts into a more pleasant realm. Dancing away from the window, I lightly jumped, my arms flowing out in what I assumed to be artistic and light hearted. In reality, I had only read of dancing, and had never seen any type of ballet. Even so, I was sure that I rivaled the best as I twisted and twirled, my feet deftly landing softly, never tripping up over anything. I reached my destination, the left wall, and absently ran my finger over the books that were housed in the shelf. There was dust on a few-evidence of a hobby that I had discarded-but most was fresh, and looked as good as new.

At least I hoped. The ones I were done with would make the dangerous journey from my study to Uncle’s library. Uncle was rarely in the library, a rare blessing for me. The blessing allowed me to journey to and from his library with just a little less danger than every other trip. Even so, the journey to the library was not without danger. If I was caught…

Stop that, I told myself, moving away from the shelf to flop down on the pile of blankets I had amassed and laid on top of the cot I had nicked from maids. The maids like me, or they took pity on me, and often risked facing Uncle’s wrath by smuggling things to me, such as the cot, and the blankets.

I lay on top the blankets, my eyes open, but my mind not seeing the ceiling. Instead, I was running through a meadow, with the honey colored grass, and the wind that blows so softly against my hair. I was feeling the golden blessing of the sun, and dancing and twirling about, as deft as a nature spirit.

Suddenly, I jumped up, anger replacing the joy I had. Why were all my dreams built form books, rather then memories? Why did I have to imagine what walking through a meadow would be like? Why was I forced inside? Why….

My anger was crumbling against the well of despair that always appeared when I was angry at my Uncle. Why couldn’t I see the sky? Why couldn’t I know the pleasures of laying out in the sun for hours? Why couldn’t I see what I’ve always read about?

Friday, December 19, 2008

Prompt: He who pursues fame at the risk of losing his self is not a scholar. (12/18/08)

I know, a prompt! It has been so long-I've been so busy. Basically, I tried to continue writing on the story that I mentioned in my last post but I just couldn't get over the self-doubt. So I decided to do a prompt. I tried to get some from NaNo but I could not find a relatively clean one so I ended up searching for a quote's website, and found-
"He who pursues fame at the risk of losing his self is not a scholar." Which was said by some guy who by the name looks Chinese. Anyway! As I wrote the story unraveled and I remembered the sheer joy of writing. I knew what the next sentence was, but in the beginning I had no idea what they were talking about. As I wrote, it came to me, bit by bit. It's one of the only stories that I don't have a good ending sentence, I wrote one, but since I had a minute or so left, I decided to continue.
What's interesting about this prompt is that it is not really relatable to the actually prompt. The prompt gave me a setting, and a vague idea, but my characters sort of took over and took it in a different direction.
EDIT: Haha! You know what? I actually misread the quote completely! In my mind, for some reason 'fame' was replaced with knowledge...I'm glad I did misread it; reading over, I would not have chosen it (and thus would not have written what I did) if I had correctly read the quote.
(December 18, 2008)
Prompt: He who pursues fame at the risk of losing his self is not a scholar.
Time: 15 min.
Words: 774

He doesn’t see me, not yet at least. His head is bent downwards and for a second my heart skips a beat, fearing that my dream had been realized. My breath came back when I was close enough to realize that the angle it was bent at was natural.

“Zack? Zack?” I called out, threading my way through the books. The room was covered with shelves upon shelves of books. Briefly, my eye was caught on the bookshelf that lined the wall to my right.

“Ancient Greek Literature,” I read out loud, one finger running through the dust that had accumulated upon the surface.

“Zack, where are you?” I called out, stretching up, trying to catch a glimpse of his brown hair.

“Over here,” he responded, his soft voice nearly lost in the dusty tomes.

I slowly made my way through the books, following the sound of his voice.

“Listen to this, Erin. ‘For all things were given to me, but not all things shall be given unto you. He who asks receives, he who wants gets.’”

“Sounds like the Bible,” I muttered, turning a corner and seeing him once again. He was sitting, his back up against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes flickered from me back to the book.

“No,” he said suddenly. “No, not the Bible. It’s by a writer who liked to think he was holy enough to be in the Bible.”

Slowly, I crouched down, waiting for him to finally meet my eyes. His silver eyes darted all over the room, refusing to settle down on me.

“Zack, look at me,” I said softly. His eyes reluctantly look at me, their silver lakes reflecting back my emotions at me.

“There isn’t any reason to be afraid,” I told him, but my eyes were worse liars than me, and I found myself unable to keep eye contact.

“I know,” he whispered, but we both heard the ill concealed lie within those two words. We were both afraid, more afraid then I could remember ever having been.

I struggled to find the right words. “You, you never know…he may come back unharmed.”

Zack’s eyes shone at me with more force. “We both know that that is wishful thinking.”

I hesitated, letting my quick reply die on my lips. “Zack, he was-“

“I know what he was, Erin, there is no need to beat it over my head once more. Gods know I’ve heard enough times to recite. ‘He’s my brother, my brother’”, he mimicked my voice, raising it about two octaves too high.

I stayed silent. Zack was scared, and in his fear he was lashing out- and I very easily could be doing to same.

“Zack, I know that it isn’t easy, and that, that it…” my voice faltered and then faded out. I had no words to comfort him, no thoughts that I could comfort even myself.

“Just say it,” he commanded suddenly, his voice tough.

“Say what?” I asked, viewing him confused.

“Just go out and say it; you wish I was the one gone, not John,” his voice was deadly, the sharp edge cutting.

“Zack!” I gasped, shocked. “I could never say that!”

He ignored my protests. “Just say it! You wish that I was gone- and may never return. You would rather John take my place.

“Zack, we talked this out! We all have our parts. John was to go first, you know that! I wish it was safer for him, that’s true, but I….I don’t want you gone as well.” My voice dwindled until it was nothing more than a whisper.

The angry wall behind his eyes started to crumble away under my words. I saw underneath them a fear, a chilling, choking fear that I felt rising up in my own chest.

“Something went wrong,” I whispered, my eyes catching his. His eyes were on mine, and I saw the same conviction written deep in there swirling deeps.

“Something happened to John.”

We tore down the halls, sliding to a stop as we tried to remember which way to go. Was it left or right? Which old wooden hallway housed out answer? The very answer that was the more important thing in the world right now. Where was he?

“Didn’t the professor say that it was…it was in the left wing?” Zack panted, his eyes wild.

“I, I don’t remember!” I cried out, frustrated and scared.

“Left!” He cried out, upon sudden inspiration.

I didn’t pause to argue; instead I tore down the hall after him. The portraits, the flowers-everything was a blur as I raced after my brother.

Thursday, December 18, 2008


I feel horrible for not getting anything done with my story...I realize how much I miss NaNo. NaNo was just that prod, that burning iron in my back that pushed me forward. No matter how much I squirm, or fought back, that prod pushed me further and further down the treacherous path of my novel.
And that right there told me I need to be writing. I normally don't go into that much detail over something that trivial. I need to write. I want to wright. So why don't I?
I don't know why. I just won't settle down and actually /write/. I need to.
Okay, now I'm sounding repetitive. I think the reason why I am hesitant to start out with Kyle and Maeve is because right after NaNo I started with another story. I wrote about three pages, and-I don't say this often-but it was really good. As in, really good. The description was unique and spot on, creative and fun to read. It was just perfect.
Then my computer went through a power outage and I lost everything. I had to completely re-write those pages, and what I rewrote was nothing like the original. Of course since I can't see the original, I think of it has perfectly sent from heaven while it really wasn't. I guess I was still mourning the loss of my work when I rewrote, and now all I can do is look upon the story with disgust. I like the plot, it grew out of a daydream (as all my plots do), and it was actually based around one scene that was playing over and over in my head.

A young girl-teen-is dressed in dirty, wet clothes, a loose fitting white tunic over ill fitting brown pants. Her hair hangs, dirty and unwashed over her dirt-smudged face. Her shinning blue eyes glare out defiantly, which fear hiding in them. She is surrounded by a circle of men who resemble Native Americans. They are outside, close to a river. She is almost bent over, fearful turning in a circle, trying to keep her fear off of her face. They intend to sell her as a slave, she was captured by a man who is in the circle. The man brought her here, and then displayed this stranger to the rest of the slave traders. They had never seen a girl like her, with her fair skin and dark orange hair. She knows their intentions (though I'm not sure if she understands their language) and fears gives her the energy to break away, struggling out of one of their grasps and running towards the river, away from them. They chase after her, and when the reach the river she plunges in. Only one is close enough now, the others have all stayed behind. He plunges in behind her, and catches her. Because it is shallow, he stands, one hand securely on her arm. To teach her a lesson (after all, she is to be a slave and rebellion is not tolerated) he pushes her almost carelessly under. After waiting until her trashing stops, he yanks her up. She is not dead, but severely shaken to say the least. Even though she is shaken, she still is rebellious. Her arm is wet, and slips out of his hold when he exists the water. She takes advantage of this, and bolts off, down the river. There is a horse (she doesn't know why at the time) that is taking a drink, just a little ways down. She's crazed with fear and the shock of the near death, so she is yelling at the horse, yelling it to stop, stay there and let her get on and then run off.
When she reaches the horse, she realizes that she doesn't have to energy to mount it. The horse bends down, and somehow she gets on it. The second she is on, the horse shoots off, carrying her away.

Wow, that went on a lot longer than I had expected it to. What it did do was pipe my interest in writing it again. Which is good. =)

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

No school today either....

Which is good, I suppose. Tomorrow I have my two hardest (along with one easy) semester tests, so I have more time to study.
I find that I am quiet good at, well, not doing anything constructive. So far I've, read my book, watched X-Files, knitted, played piano, and organized some loose sheet music.
None of these involved my book, or my tests. Ops.
Oh well, I guess I can get started on those now...
*cough* Actually right now I'm about to play Zelda on my Wii. Talk about being constructive. While I'm playing, I'm going to be reading all the chapter essay's I've written for history, in hopes of reviewing for the AP class. Since it's AP, the test will be...well horrible. It will cover sixteen chapters, with a twenty question cushion! This is the awesome part of the class. I can miss twenty questions and get a 100.
Not that that's gonna happen, but still.
I planned on plotting some in the post but that hasn't happened yet, and now I'm off to play Zelda. :)

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

No school!

So, yesterday, starting about 2:30 pm it started to sleet. This continued the whole day, and into the night. Thus, no school today!
Also, I just found out, there will be no school tomorrow! =D
Of course this really screws up the semester test schedule and means that we will have to attend school on Friday to take some of the tests, a day I had previous had off, but who cares.
All of this should mean that I am on schedule, nay, I should be ahead of schedule....
Should be, being the key word here.
No, I haven't done anything. I still don't really have a plot, though bits and pieces are coming to me as I do other things. I really should sit down and plot out what happens...
Well, here is what I know so far:

-Two twins, whose names are Kyla and Maeve. They are identical twins, with long black hair, pale skin, and vivid green eyes. They are Irish, and are the rare 'black' Irish. Their mother has the traditional Irish beauty, long red hair, but their father has the black hair-they got their looks from him.
--Maeve can be bitter to her sister because her sister is the one that (Maeve thinks) gets all the attention at their high school. Maeve is arguably the smartest of the two, though both are very intelligent. Boys are just falling over her, and everyone seems to want to talk to her, rather than Maeve. Because she wanted to stand out from her sister and be different, she recently streaked her hair bright red/orange. By the time of the story, she has returned to her natural black color, though I'm not sure why. I do know that sometime (before or during the story) they reconcile their grievances against each other (Maeve sees it through her sisters eyes, and realizes that she has friends who like her for who she is, and people who want to talk to her, not her sister) This may be why she has her natural black back, but I thought this scene would take place in the middle of the story, when the twins are in a trying and stressful situation and things boil over.
---Kyla is completely clueless with relationships, so she doesn't understand when Maeve is jealous. I think she has been on at least one date without ever realizing that she had even been asked out.
Anyway, Kyla is somewhat jealous of the independent spirit she feels her sister has. She is worried that she is, truly, simply a follower, lacking the authority and independence that her sister has. Kyla has never really been alone, and takes for granted her sister and friends. A while back, she streaked her hair purple. Why she did this, I'm not sure. I think she did this because she felt that she paled before her sisters' fiery personality, and when Maeve dyed her hair red, Kyla thought it was natural to follow.

Hmmm...I think that's it for now. That's pretty good, it's nice to get things written down.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

It's over!

NaNo has finished. It's over for this year, and that sentence alone is saddening. My creative output has gone from HERE *jumps up and down* to well, nothing. Once NaNo was over, I rushed back to life, and my time was filled with piano practice for the upcoming recital to homework on top of homework.
And now, finals are coming up! I have all Pre-AP and one AP class, so finals
Yeah. Fun.
Anyway! I really miss writing. During NaNo, I had all these characters that wanted a story. As soon as I stopped writing, all of their different voices died out, and I actually forgot about them. Now I'm trying my best to wake them up and I've succeeded with one story. It's somewhat of a re-write of a story that I wrote when I was really young. The story I wrote was atrocious but the plot line was savable.
Meet Kyla and Maeve. The twins that are the stars for my next story. I have yet to plot out the entire plot yet, but I'm hoping to work more on it. Once Christmas break comes, I'll have a lot more time for writing. Until then, I've proposed for myself a little challenge, which marks the level of my sanity.
Here it goes....

Monday: Plot and 500 words
Tuesday: Finish essential plotting and 500-1000 words
Wednesday: 1000 words
Thursday: 1000 words
Friday: 1000 words

Which means that by Saturday I should have a somewhat working plot line and the beginnings of another story!
Why not, I say, why not?