About five minutes ago I emailed my professor and told her I was too sick to go in to class today. The real reason? I got so addicted to the Taiwanese drama I've been watching I don't want to stop it to go to class.
The story is that the main character's number one love interest has just gone into a coma. Her other love interest is going to Germany for a dream job and she has to decide if she should give up her life to be with the one she really loves or follow her dream and stay by the one that loves her the most.
Now, I'm hearing myself describe this and thinking what I thought when I was a little girl, "Who would really fall for this kind of story? What kind of idiot would get into a soap opera like this?" But there's also a part of my brain that reminds me that I'm into watching this in the same way I'm into reading books. I feel for the character, I think I know her and it makes me continuously go back to the story.
I guess it makes me wonder which is more important, characters or story? In a book, story moves everything forward but it might be just because we can't see the way the character in a book smiles. It doesn't matter how many crooked smiles you read about, if you can't see the way his eyes light up and his head tilts ever so much to the left so that he can hide the smile away, then character alone won't provoke your emotions for him. If you can't see the dead, not-there quality of his face as he's being put into the ground, you need more to make you cry over it.
I want to become a screenwriter. At least, I'd like to try. I think that my stories lack something in print but my dialogue and my characters might be good enough for a movie or a show. And then I'd be able to see my characters grow and develop before my eyes. I'd see the silly way my character laughs in small spurts with her chin up and out and her head tilted back like the laugh continues behind her head into the back of her brain.
This is just something I was thinking today.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Story Idea
I watched that jet lee movie about a guy that was trained like a dog to fight and live in a cage and wear a collar an everything. So I wrote a story inspired by that. Right now it doesn't have a title but it's just an idea that inspired me for roughly 10 pages. This is just the opening few pages (2, I think).
Tuesday.
“He will kill you if you let him.” Piren whispered into her ear. Annika glanced over her shoulder at the scrawny pup of a man behind her. His eyes were wild and his nose began to bleed. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Annika nodded.
“Yes, master.” She readied herself for the fight at hand. Piren grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her to meet his eyes. His other hand was tight on the handle of his cane. The merciless expression on his face did nothing to hide the fact that he was not long for the world.
“If you don’t kill him, I will kill you.” He warned her. Annika merely glanced back at the pit. From where she stood, she could see it all. The dirt floor of the pit was stained with sweat, blood, and fear. Over the years, the pit had seen more blood than it’d ever seen of water. And it left the ground with a sodden uneven feeling. It was a feeling that stuck, one she remembered. Piren released her but his bloody handprint remained. “I can’t have a repeat of last time. Someone has to die.”
“Yes, master.” Annika murmured before she was shoved off the platform. She fell hard to the grimy dirt. She scrambled to her feet. The bear-like man across from her, started to laugh. But whatever amused him, he didn’t find it funny enough to take his eyes off her.
“Hello little girl. You’re a bit small for this, ain’t you?” He grinned. Annika didn’t speak. Fear had made her mute. It muddled her thoughts until the only thought she had was that his wrist was bigger than both of her arms put together. He could snap her into two pieces, four, six... Her mind kept repeating it.
“Annika! Start fighting!” Piren commanded her. She lunged at the man across from her. She got one good hold on his neck. She let her power flare up and kept her hold. He screamed. Annika forced her hands to become even hotter. She burned him like an all-consuming fire. Every time he hit her, he just cried out in more pain. He got one opening and punched in the face. She flew across the pit and into the opposite wall.
“I know what you are!” The man shouted at her. His neck and the bigger half of his chest were burned down into the muscle and raw. She could barely breathe for the stink of his charred flesh. There was shock in his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Annika braced herself to continue fighting.
“I don’t want to die either.” She whispered, tears blurring her vision. He took the opportunity and punched her quick. He’d grabbed and released before she’d had time to heat up. He kept at her with a flurry of hits. He was too fast. She grabbed handful upon handful of the gritty ground. She pressed it into his wounds. He screamed and backed away. She heated up and made a dive for him. There was screaming and struggling and the smell of burned flesh and when she finally let go he was dead. She glanced up at Piren from the pit. His foul yellow teeth were bared in a smile.
“Good girl.” He said simply. She was pulled out of the pit and dropped back onto the platform, her legs collapsing under her from the drop. She knew better than to stand in a hurry. They might throw another fight at her if they thought she was ready. Piren peered down at her, leaning on his cane to do so. He glanced up. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring it again.” He informed someone that Annika couldn’t see. She had no doubts who the it was. The person made a throaty noise before tossing Piren a small bag of coins.
“If you come tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a fight ready. But I can’t have it using powers in the pit anymore. That smell will drive my audience away.” Someone said gruffly from just behind her. Piren’s face twisted with rage. Annika stayed on the ground. She knew it would be better to stay out of his sights when he was in such a mood.
“That’s all she’s got! Look at her, there’s not a scrap of muscle on her!” He snapped. Annika didn’t hear anything but for some reason Piren suddenly changed his tactics. “You know it’s always good for business to have a little slip of a thing beating someone like that.” Piren motioned to her dead opponent. All the muscles in the world hadn’t helped him. He was being hauled out of the pit carefully. No one could bear to even touch him.
“And you think I can’t get another little girl in here?” The voice demanded. She glanced up meekly. It was a well dressed man with a grey beard. Catching her eyes on him, Piren slammed his cane down just beside Annika’s head. She closed her eyes tightly.
“Can you find one that wins?” Piren’s voice was soft as silk.
“Then find a way for it to win without making a stink.” The voice snapped. “Or unload it and get a new one.” The voice suggested. There was a swish of cloth and the man left. Annika got to her feet. She tried not to think about the man’s suggestion. Piren grabbed her by the arm. Years of experience had taught her better than to cry out about being held too roughly. It would only earn her even worse treatment.
“You'd better be thinking of something.” He barked. He shoved her ahead of him out the door and towards the marketplace. Bright light broke over her face as she left the dark building. She blinked and made her way towards Piren's carriage while he limped on behind her. A slow smile filled her face as she thought about the reward awaiting her at home: one hour in the house gardens and one flower to take back to her cage with her. Her thoughts distracted her enough that she didn't notice the man step in front of her and crashed into him. they fell in a tangle of elbows and knees.
“Watch where you’re going!” The man yelled at her, getting to his feet. Piren came to her defense. The two began trading insults in loud voices. Annika darted away and huddled by herself by the carriage. The driver glanced over but knew better than to speak to her. Annika watched the two fighting, everyone turning to stare at them.Then a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“What’s your name?” A boy asked. His smile was kind as he looked her over. He noticed the scars on her arms but didn’t seem bothered. Yet, Annika felt panic rise in her throat. She watched the ground by her feet, ignoring him. “C’mon, what’s your name?”
“Please go away. I don’t want him to get angry.” She said in a voice so soft she wasn’t sure she’d even spoken. The boy grinned. His dark eyes seemed to dance in the light. Annika lowered her gaze.
“Him?” He nodded towards the growing dispute. “Is he your father?”
“Please go away.” She said again. The boy sidled closer to her. There was such kindness in his face, she was afraid to look at him.
“Don’t be afraid.” He murmured comfortingly. “How’s this? If I guess your name, will you tell me?” Annika almost felt like smiling. It was a weird sensation and, in the end, she just nodded meekly. “Is it Annika?” He guessed right on the first try.
“How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess, I guess. I’m Davon.” He reached a hand towards her but Piren caught it.
“That will cost you twenty camars, upfront.” Piren laughed. There was no amusement in his face.
“What?” Davon scrambled to get free. Annika watched his struggle with emotionless eyes. Davon gawked at her as though she should save him. She turned away, trying not to remember his face.
“Here’s a lesson, boy. Don’t touch things that don’t belong to you.” Piren snarled. His grip turned merciless on the Davon’s arm. Piren cracked him over the head with his cane before releasing him. The boy hurried away. Annika glanced up for orders and she saw Piren coughing. As though to make up for letting her see a weakness, her pushed her towards the carriage door. “Get in already!” He commanded and she hurried to obey him. Piren clambered wearily into the seat beside her. With the sound of clomping hooves, the carriage lurched forward. The pit, the market, the boy, and all thoughts of the man she killed fell far behind them.It was just another day.
Tuesday.
“He will kill you if you let him.” Piren whispered into her ear. Annika glanced over her shoulder at the scrawny pup of a man behind her. His eyes were wild and his nose began to bleed. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Annika nodded.
“Yes, master.” She readied herself for the fight at hand. Piren grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her to meet his eyes. His other hand was tight on the handle of his cane. The merciless expression on his face did nothing to hide the fact that he was not long for the world.
“If you don’t kill him, I will kill you.” He warned her. Annika merely glanced back at the pit. From where she stood, she could see it all. The dirt floor of the pit was stained with sweat, blood, and fear. Over the years, the pit had seen more blood than it’d ever seen of water. And it left the ground with a sodden uneven feeling. It was a feeling that stuck, one she remembered. Piren released her but his bloody handprint remained. “I can’t have a repeat of last time. Someone has to die.”
“Yes, master.” Annika murmured before she was shoved off the platform. She fell hard to the grimy dirt. She scrambled to her feet. The bear-like man across from her, started to laugh. But whatever amused him, he didn’t find it funny enough to take his eyes off her.
“Hello little girl. You’re a bit small for this, ain’t you?” He grinned. Annika didn’t speak. Fear had made her mute. It muddled her thoughts until the only thought she had was that his wrist was bigger than both of her arms put together. He could snap her into two pieces, four, six... Her mind kept repeating it.
“Annika! Start fighting!” Piren commanded her. She lunged at the man across from her. She got one good hold on his neck. She let her power flare up and kept her hold. He screamed. Annika forced her hands to become even hotter. She burned him like an all-consuming fire. Every time he hit her, he just cried out in more pain. He got one opening and punched in the face. She flew across the pit and into the opposite wall.
“I know what you are!” The man shouted at her. His neck and the bigger half of his chest were burned down into the muscle and raw. She could barely breathe for the stink of his charred flesh. There was shock in his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Annika braced herself to continue fighting.
“I don’t want to die either.” She whispered, tears blurring her vision. He took the opportunity and punched her quick. He’d grabbed and released before she’d had time to heat up. He kept at her with a flurry of hits. He was too fast. She grabbed handful upon handful of the gritty ground. She pressed it into his wounds. He screamed and backed away. She heated up and made a dive for him. There was screaming and struggling and the smell of burned flesh and when she finally let go he was dead. She glanced up at Piren from the pit. His foul yellow teeth were bared in a smile.
“Good girl.” He said simply. She was pulled out of the pit and dropped back onto the platform, her legs collapsing under her from the drop. She knew better than to stand in a hurry. They might throw another fight at her if they thought she was ready. Piren peered down at her, leaning on his cane to do so. He glanced up. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring it again.” He informed someone that Annika couldn’t see. She had no doubts who the it was. The person made a throaty noise before tossing Piren a small bag of coins.
“If you come tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a fight ready. But I can’t have it using powers in the pit anymore. That smell will drive my audience away.” Someone said gruffly from just behind her. Piren’s face twisted with rage. Annika stayed on the ground. She knew it would be better to stay out of his sights when he was in such a mood.
“That’s all she’s got! Look at her, there’s not a scrap of muscle on her!” He snapped. Annika didn’t hear anything but for some reason Piren suddenly changed his tactics. “You know it’s always good for business to have a little slip of a thing beating someone like that.” Piren motioned to her dead opponent. All the muscles in the world hadn’t helped him. He was being hauled out of the pit carefully. No one could bear to even touch him.
“And you think I can’t get another little girl in here?” The voice demanded. She glanced up meekly. It was a well dressed man with a grey beard. Catching her eyes on him, Piren slammed his cane down just beside Annika’s head. She closed her eyes tightly.
“Can you find one that wins?” Piren’s voice was soft as silk.
“Then find a way for it to win without making a stink.” The voice snapped. “Or unload it and get a new one.” The voice suggested. There was a swish of cloth and the man left. Annika got to her feet. She tried not to think about the man’s suggestion. Piren grabbed her by the arm. Years of experience had taught her better than to cry out about being held too roughly. It would only earn her even worse treatment.
“You'd better be thinking of something.” He barked. He shoved her ahead of him out the door and towards the marketplace. Bright light broke over her face as she left the dark building. She blinked and made her way towards Piren's carriage while he limped on behind her. A slow smile filled her face as she thought about the reward awaiting her at home: one hour in the house gardens and one flower to take back to her cage with her. Her thoughts distracted her enough that she didn't notice the man step in front of her and crashed into him. they fell in a tangle of elbows and knees.
“Watch where you’re going!” The man yelled at her, getting to his feet. Piren came to her defense. The two began trading insults in loud voices. Annika darted away and huddled by herself by the carriage. The driver glanced over but knew better than to speak to her. Annika watched the two fighting, everyone turning to stare at them.Then a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“What’s your name?” A boy asked. His smile was kind as he looked her over. He noticed the scars on her arms but didn’t seem bothered. Yet, Annika felt panic rise in her throat. She watched the ground by her feet, ignoring him. “C’mon, what’s your name?”
“Please go away. I don’t want him to get angry.” She said in a voice so soft she wasn’t sure she’d even spoken. The boy grinned. His dark eyes seemed to dance in the light. Annika lowered her gaze.
“Him?” He nodded towards the growing dispute. “Is he your father?”
“Please go away.” She said again. The boy sidled closer to her. There was such kindness in his face, she was afraid to look at him.
“Don’t be afraid.” He murmured comfortingly. “How’s this? If I guess your name, will you tell me?” Annika almost felt like smiling. It was a weird sensation and, in the end, she just nodded meekly. “Is it Annika?” He guessed right on the first try.
“How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess, I guess. I’m Davon.” He reached a hand towards her but Piren caught it.
“That will cost you twenty camars, upfront.” Piren laughed. There was no amusement in his face.
“What?” Davon scrambled to get free. Annika watched his struggle with emotionless eyes. Davon gawked at her as though she should save him. She turned away, trying not to remember his face.
“Here’s a lesson, boy. Don’t touch things that don’t belong to you.” Piren snarled. His grip turned merciless on the Davon’s arm. Piren cracked him over the head with his cane before releasing him. The boy hurried away. Annika glanced up for orders and she saw Piren coughing. As though to make up for letting her see a weakness, her pushed her towards the carriage door. “Get in already!” He commanded and she hurried to obey him. Piren clambered wearily into the seat beside her. With the sound of clomping hooves, the carriage lurched forward. The pit, the market, the boy, and all thoughts of the man she killed fell far behind them.It was just another day.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
CH1
Chapter 1
A young girl dashed across the open field, dark brown hair falling in her eyes. She flapped an impatient hand at the boy awaiting her. He held the reigns of two chestnut brown mares. She raced past him into the small stable. Its silence was, for once, a comfort. Thankfully, it was deserted as the stable–men ate their midday meal. Stepping into a relatively clean stall, she stroked her expensive dress. Her thoughts wound into dangerous patterns. If mother knew, she would be furious. She yanked the mass of silken fabric over her head. Underneath she wore a white billowing shirt and a tan pair of fitted breeches. She rolled up her dress and shoved it into a clean spot of the stall floor. The hostlers would take care of it when they returned. They always did. Stumbling out into the sunlight, she hurried over to the young boy. He yanked and prodded her, tying her hair back, making her into a fair resemblance of any other boy.
“Ready, Tirana?” Liam smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. His flaxen hair was cropped just above the ears. Tira narrowed her eyes anxiously.
“Why don’t you just shout that I’m a girl if you intend on revealing me?” She snapped in a soft voice. “If they find out that I’m not a boy then I’ll be whipped for certain.” She reminded him in a desperate whisper. Liam made a guilty face.
“You know, every week you look less like a boy. I think everyone in the village knows it’s you by now.” Liam told her with a frown. Tira felt her heart hammer strangely in her chest. She knew he was right.
“But not mother.” She mumbled quickly. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“I don’t think so.” He shrugged. He handed her a set of reigns, giving her shoulder a playful shake. “Don’t worry.”
“I’ll be whipped for certain.” Tira glanced around at the empty yard as they led their horses towards the outside gate.
“Do you really think mother is mean enough to whip her own daughter?” Liam asked after a moment. He answered his own question when Tira didn’t speak. “She may be hard on you but she’s not cruel.”
“I’d rather not find out.” Tira retorted. With a grunt, she mounted her mare. She threw an envious sigh towards Liam, who effortlessly slid into his own saddle. He gave her a sanctimonious grin. Anything he might have said was lost as a loud yet distant bell sounded from the village below them. Tira groaned. “Oh, Adam will not be pleased that we’re late for lessons again.”
“I’d race you but we both know I’d win.” Liam teased, kicking his steed into a gallop.
“Is that a fact?” Tira felt a tiny smile stretching over her face. The things he said may have seemed arrogant or taunting from the outside but Tira knew there was only love behind it. She urged her own mount into a chase after Liam. “C’mon Pallo.” Tira whispered to her horse. Pallo whinnied as though she could read the young noble’s thoughts. Tira felt a laugh escape her. This was the feeling she lived for. The slight second where she was unstoppable. They caught up Liam within an instant and passed him a moment later. Pallo’s legs flew over the ground like quickfire. Within a blink, the village was creeping up on them. Inns, cookhouses, and small shops sprang up from the ground like flowers. She eased Pallo into a slower pace, following the well–known path toward a large fenced–in field. A girl hopped from her seat on the fencepost. Her smile faltered.
“Tira? Where is Liam?” She asked softly. Tira dismounted, handing her reigns over. She flicked a look around her.
“Hush Terjn! Someone might hear you.” She chided climbing quickly over the fence towards the ranks of children. Terjn grabbed Tira by the arm.
“Where is he?”
“He’s behind me a few yards.” Tira pulled the tight fingers away and stumbled into a run towards the stern faced fighting master.
“You’re late again.” Adam said tightlipped. “Well, hurry and join ranks.” He ordered. Tira eyes strayed around the field as she headed for the beginning of the line. Practice was almost over but, if she was good, she might still have time to beat her record. If she could get to the end of the line that was sectioned off, it’d be enough. She peeked at the weapons case with a rueful sigh. She would have to fight unarmed. She stumbled through a quick stretch before darting into the first row. She glanced at the older boy across from her. Tira sank into a fighter’s crouch. The boy locked his jaw and spun his staff in one hand. It stopped spinning with a sharp crack on the ground.
“That would be more impressive, if I wasn’t going to win.” Tira smiled.
“Not this time.” The boy lunged forward, throwing his weight behind a low hit. Tira jumped over the staff, kicking his wrist and thereby the staff to the ground. He ducked under her next jab but not her kick. He flew backwards, skidding on the bare dirt. He raised a fist. Tira bit her lip and helped him to his feet. He grinned at her slowly. “Fine, I’ll pass yea. But it’s only ‘cos yea look so nice today. I don’t particular feel like roughing yea up, Tira.” He confided guiltily. A swift blow caught him off–guard. He clutched at his new injury, glaring at the boy behind him.
“Watch your mouth Toby.” Vander growled. His voice was deeper than she remembered but it had been weeks since she’d seen him last. He merely nodded to her, his emerald eyes emotionless. Tira tore her eyes away as Vander began his next fight. Toby rubbed his new injury and nodded.
“Right, sorry Nathan.” He grumbled, using her boy’s name. He waved her past again. Tira blinked but stepped up to the next fight. Toby handed over his staff with a pointed look. His gaze was on the next fight in the line. Two of the boys were battling it out. The fight would have been close, even if they weren’t both armed.
“Thanks.” Tira took the staff with a grateful smile. She would need it when it became her turn. The match ended abruptly. The winner got passed on and the loser gave her a foul look. It was a boy she didn’t recognize but he seemed to know her. There was a smugness that Tira resented.
“Oh gods.” He groaned. His face was twisted up in scorn. “I’m not fighting you.”
“Then pass me.” She snapped.
“You can’t be serious. You’re a gi–” He lost his footing and fell to the ground hard. Vander peeked down at him curiously from behind. The boy got to his feet, his nose dripping blood down the front of his tunic.
“You should take care of that.” Vander murmured blandly. The boy cursed them both but left the line. Stepping into the boy’s place, Vander grinned at Tira wolfishly. She fell into his smiling green eyes, happy and annoyed all at once.
“You're back.” Tira grinned, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. Vander shrugged.
“Yeah, I am. Is that a problem?”
“Only when you try and take out all of my opponents. Don’t you have your own fights to win?” She teased. Vander glanced back over his shoulder before shrugging.
“You didn't want to fight him anyways. Fight me.” Vander drawled in a voice soft enough for her ears only. Tira twitched at his closeness but remained smiling. She sidled back preparing for a real fight. “You always surprise me, Nathan. We both know you aren't allowed off the grounds.”
“And I told you that I can keep my secrets on my own.” She changed the subject.
“Your gratitude is overwhelming.” Vander joked. He lowered himself into a fighter’s crouch. He grinned and it caught on her face like a wildfire. She smiled despite herself.
“Well, you can’t pummel everyone for the sake of a secret.” She pointed out. Vander’s grin became wicked in a heartbeat.
“I suppose it depends on the secret.”
“No.” Tira sighed. Without warning, she launched herself into an attack. She spun but he ducked the staff. He caught it one-handedly, ripping it away from her and tossing it off to the side. She kicked forward. Effortlessly, he caught her leg. He grinned at her like a fox about to devour dinner.
“You’ll have to do better than that.” Vander smirked. Tira felt her anger surge forward. He was one of the few boys that always held back on her and suddenly it made her furious. All she wanted was to prove that she was as good as him.
“Like this?” She whispered. She threw her weight into a fall and launched him a few feet away. He scrambled to his feet, stepping back to recover his stance. She lurched forward in attack. He grabbed her punch and swung her over his shoulder to the ground. He set his foot on the base of her neck, pressing on her throat lightly.
“That’s enough, little Nathan. Now I’ll pass you.” He told her playfully, raising his fist. Tira let her anger get the best of her.
“I don’t need your charity. I can win on my own.” She panted, blowing up clouds of dirt. She raised her fist as high as she could from her position on the ground. Vander pulled his staff away from her neck and helped haul her to her feet. Both picked up their respective weapons and waited for their next opponents.
“Next time it’ll be you in the dirt.” Tira told him with a scowl.
“Then I hope I don’t look as filthy as you.” Vander laughed, rubbing some of the grime off Tira’s nose. His laugh was loud and made Tira want to smile, even through the dirt. The sound of a cough caught them both off–guard.
“You might want to remember that you’re both men.” Liam said pointedly, uncertainty showing through his smile. Tira made a face but didn’t answer. She continued brushing herself off. Vander shrugged impassively and stepped away.
“Right. Thanks, Liam.” Vander cleared his throat, stepping forward as the other fight ended. Liam faced Tira.
“Ready?” She asked quickly. Liam crossed his arms. Something changed in his eyes and he smiled.
“Do you think I could raise my hand against you?” Liam asked.
“I was hoping you would.” Tira gave him a sheepish grin before lashing out. Liam blocked her every move. Tira locked her jaw, forcing herself to be swifter, faster. She tried to attack but Liam caught her motionless without even striking her once.
“I could never hurt my baby sister.” He whispered into her ear. Tira scowled.
“I’m not a baby. You used to fight with me.” She reminded him. Liam released her, shrugging his shoulders.
“Now I know better. So should you.” Liam told her simply. Tira felt her stomach drop. She raised a hand to her forehead.
“Don’t start that here. It’s not the place.” She murmured. Instead of answering, Liam raised his fist and waved her past. She didn’t get the chance to start a new fight because the loud clang of a bell stopped practice. Tira groaned. All the fights ended and everyone parted ways, some with smiles and promises, some with threats. The eyes meeting hers were mostly friendly, some less friendly than others. She glanced away in a hurry, heading for Adam.
“Adam!” She called and he turned with a slight frown. The field was mostly clear when she stepped over to him.
“I’ll tell you now as I tell you every week, girls aren’t meant to fight.” Adam murmured in a quiet breath. He dropped a protective arm around her. “You’re almost too old for this. You shouldn’t come anymore.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“I mean it. You’re almost a woman and a lady too. You have no business learning to fight. You should be learning to sew or something like that.” Adam reminded her with a frown. “You can come and watch but I won’t let you on this field again.”
“But Adam!” Tira looked at him, a wounded expression across her face. “I love fighting. You said I was good at it! You can’t just take it away from me.” Adam turned away from her. She grabbed his arm. “Please!”
“I already gave you an answer.” He told her flatly.
“That’s not fair!” Tira barked. “Liam, tell him–” She turned to find Liam but he was talking with Terjn. Their tones were hushed but even from where she stood, Tira could see the joy in Liam’s face. He seemed to be trying very hard not to scream with it. Finally he glanced up, noticing Tira’s eyes on him. With a few indecipherable words, he jogged across the practice grounds to her side.
“Go home with Vander. He’s said he’ll take you.” Liam told her, grinning as though he’d solved the Veld Iden maze. Tira blinked, wanting desperately to smile with him.
“What’s happened, what is it?” She asked.
“Tira, go home. I’ll be just behind you.” Liam said again. He gave her a small push to her already saddled mare before returning to Terjn’s side. He looked happy but Tira couldn’t suppress the feeling that something wasn’t right. She crossed the distance to Vander’s side as though in a trance.
“C’mon little girl. Let’s go.” He grinned, trying to take her mind off of her confusion. For once Tira didn’t argue but let herself be pulled uphill numbly. Her thoughts kept circling one thing. What was happening? And why couldn’t she know? They were nearly at the edge of the village before she found the courage to speak.
“It’s good, right? Something good happened?”
“For Liam, it is.” Vander murmured. Part of Liam’s smile seemed stuck in him. It made sense. He was, after all, Liam’s best friend. Tira peered at him carefully.
“You know what it is then?” She asked. And suddenly she was wondering how a boy so much older than Liam could be his best friend. Liam had only just turned thirteen and Vander had to be at least three years older. And she wondered, not for the first time, what exactly Vander got out of their friendship.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to say.” Vander murmured uncomfortably.
“Then tell him to explain it to me.” Tira sighed. The sound of hoof–beats made Tira glance up. She expected to see Liam riding up on her but what she saw instead scared her near to tears. Oh no…Tira’s mind screamed. Sure enough, the poised woman was sliding out of her saddle in the graceful way that only Liam seemed to have inherited. Her mother’s disapproving scowl looked down on the both of them. Vander bowed his head and backed away instantly.
“Boy’s clothes, Tirana? Commoners? Fighting?” Her mother said crisply, without a trace of amusement.
“It’s not– I can explain!” Tira stepped closer to her mother’s horse in desperation. Willa was unmoved. Her eyes flicked over Vander’s face with displeasure.
“You don’t seem shocked by this, boy. How long has she been coming here? How long have you known she was a girl?” Willa demanded. Vander glanced between the two of them hesitantly.
“My lady, I think there has been some mistake. I am deeply surprised to learn this.” He lied.
“You are either a liar or an imbecile.” Willa said scornfully and turned on Tira once more. “No, the only mistake here has been my trust in you, Tirana. Get on your horse, we’re going home.” Willa commanded. And that was the last of it. The two women got on their horses and continued back to the keep in silence.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Clash
I wanted to write something new. I have felt the urge lately, you know, that pressing, kneading urge in your gut to create something wonderful. But I couldn’t think of anything and the time slipped away. Now it’s Sunday and all I have the poetry that’s been sitting on my desk for 6 months. It’s my work and I keep thinking that I wish I liked it more. I wish I was more satisfied with it. But I’m not.
I want to write but the hollowed shell that used to house my ideas is suddenly full of all the different languages I’ve spent so much time trying to learn. My stories now start with この夢を見た。My poetry and all my songs begin with ずっと. And I don’t know where to go from here. How do I kick start all the ideas I have from Japanese horror stories, Korean drama, and Chinese love stories into Strunk and White’s no foreign languages rule?
I feel like there is so much that I should be doing. When I was 13 I had myself convinced that I would publish my first book before college, my second and third during, and continue like this for the rest of my life. That was before I discovered my passion for other languages.
Rachel was right when she said that translation was an art. So right that it made me wonder if I should be translating instead of mere writing. But a part of me dies at the thought. What serious writer would be content at profiting, if you can profit, from another writer’s creativity? I want to write my own story but I seem to be so much better suited for translation.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Late night musings amusing me
Hopefully, we are lucky enough to give the readers what they want in such a way that they can be moved or touched by our work.
And I found this picture about blogging which made me smile. It said that to have a great blog, one that people will come to read in the thousands, you must be passionate about what you're writing and inspire people to be passionate about what they're reading. Rant about the detested ice cream or rave about the darling carnivorous mammal, but just remember that it is not about you. It's the people reading that will ultimately doom or redeem your blog.
*This is just a note from your friendly Blogspot Trying-To-Keep-Rachel's-Head-Out-Of-An-Oven Committee.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Breaking up
Writer’s block,
I know we’ve had some fun. When you’re around I can’t seem to focus on anything, I can’t keep track of time, I can’t even speak for the knot tying up my vocal cords. I realize that at times we drift apart and, somehow, always come back together again. My desperation overcomes me and I draw you closer and closer. This is a mistake; I never meant to lead you on like this. I don’t need you, I don’t love you, and I want you to know that, truly, it is you and not me. We won’t be together again.
Me
Random 1
I have had the hardest time thinking about what to write for this blog. I wanted to be poignant, witty, make people eager to read my blog. But I can’t think of anything. I suppose that’s okay, I suppose that blogs are meant to introduce the person writing them in some way. Everyone wants to feel close to something and that’s why people read blogs at all. (Unless your teacher says you have to.)
I like to add my own clips to movies. If I think a movie or a television show didn’t add the correct emotion or that something in the delivery was lacking, sometimes for no reason at all, I add my movies scenes. I love doing it too. It makes me feel more for the people I’m watching and I think it’s good practice to enliven all types of characters, not just the ones I create. Sometimes I even like to take the point of view of the bad guy or the not-quite-so-bad-but-still-pretty-mean guy.
Entry 1: Random pieces I was inspired to write from Stranger than Fiction
Nothing had ever sounded so final as the slap of the manila folder on that desk. Harold looked forlornly back at the professor, wishing that somehow, in some way, he could tell Harold what to do next. Harold knew that his fear was on him then. If he left for one night as Professor Howard read that story, would he die before he knew how? In the morning would he wake up dead? Harold dismissed the idea and let his rational thoughts return to him. You can’t wake up dead, he told himself. With that he forced himself to turn and leave the office.
In this next part I changed the characters and tried to create a new scene stemming from the dialogue of the movie.
“Who in a choice between pancakes and living would choose pancakes?” He demanded. Lolita lowered her eyes. It was a moment before she spoke.
“Well, that depends on the quality of the life and the quality of the pancakes. Just how many pancakes are there? And how big are they?” She asked seriously. Harold looked at her as though her head had just spun round on her neck.
“Please, tell me you’re joking.” His voice was strained; finally, he sighed. “Never mind, I’m going to pretend you’re joking.”
“If it was only a couple of pancakes…” Lolita clicked her tongue before meeting his eyes once more. “And if I choose life, can I still eat pancakes sometimes?”
“Stop. Just stop.” Harold rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes. His point, at least the way he’d seen it, was gone. Somebody might choose pancakes over living, specifically, a certain blond, naïve waitress might. Lolita raised her hand to her lips with a small blush.
“I guess I wasn’t helping you that much, was I?” She mumbled.
I like to add my own clips to movies. If I think a movie or a television show didn’t add the correct emotion or that something in the delivery was lacking, sometimes for no reason at all, I add my movies scenes. I love doing it too. It makes me feel more for the people I’m watching and I think it’s good practice to enliven all types of characters, not just the ones I create. Sometimes I even like to take the point of view of the bad guy or the not-quite-so-bad-but-still-pretty-mean guy.
Entry 1: Random pieces I was inspired to write from Stranger than Fiction
Nothing had ever sounded so final as the slap of the manila folder on that desk. Harold looked forlornly back at the professor, wishing that somehow, in some way, he could tell Harold what to do next. Harold knew that his fear was on him then. If he left for one night as Professor Howard read that story, would he die before he knew how? In the morning would he wake up dead? Harold dismissed the idea and let his rational thoughts return to him. You can’t wake up dead, he told himself. With that he forced himself to turn and leave the office.
In this next part I changed the characters and tried to create a new scene stemming from the dialogue of the movie.
“Who in a choice between pancakes and living would choose pancakes?” He demanded. Lolita lowered her eyes. It was a moment before she spoke.
“Well, that depends on the quality of the life and the quality of the pancakes. Just how many pancakes are there? And how big are they?” She asked seriously. Harold looked at her as though her head had just spun round on her neck.
“Please, tell me you’re joking.” His voice was strained; finally, he sighed. “Never mind, I’m going to pretend you’re joking.”
“If it was only a couple of pancakes…” Lolita clicked her tongue before meeting his eyes once more. “And if I choose life, can I still eat pancakes sometimes?”
“Stop. Just stop.” Harold rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes. His point, at least the way he’d seen it, was gone. Somebody might choose pancakes over living, specifically, a certain blond, naïve waitress might. Lolita raised her hand to her lips with a small blush.
“I guess I wasn’t helping you that much, was I?” She mumbled.
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A New Low-High
About five minutes ago I emailed my professor and told her I was too sick to go in to class today. The real reason? I got so addicted to the Taiwanese drama I've been watching I don't want to stop it to go to class.
The story is that the main character's number one love interest has just gone into a coma. Her other love interest is going to Germany for a dream job and she has to decide if she should give up her life to be with the one she really loves or follow her dream and stay by the one that loves her the most.
Now, I'm hearing myself describe this and thinking what I thought when I was a little girl, "Who would really fall for this kind of story? What kind of idiot would get into a soap opera like this?" But there's also a part of my brain that reminds me that I'm into watching this in the same way I'm into reading books. I feel for the character, I think I know her and it makes me continuously go back to the story.
I guess it makes me wonder which is more important, characters or story? In a book, story moves everything forward but it might be just because we can't see the way the character in a book smiles. It doesn't matter how many crooked smiles you read about, if you can't see the way his eyes light up and his head tilts ever so much to the left so that he can hide the smile away, then character alone won't provoke your emotions for him. If you can't see the dead, not-there quality of his face as he's being put into the ground, you need more to make you cry over it.
I want to become a screenwriter. At least, I'd like to try. I think that my stories lack something in print but my dialogue and my characters might be good enough for a movie or a show. And then I'd be able to see my characters grow and develop before my eyes. I'd see the silly way my character laughs in small spurts with her chin up and out and her head tilted back like the laugh continues behind her head into the back of her brain.
This is just something I was thinking today.
Story Idea
I watched that jet lee movie about a guy that was trained like a dog to fight and live in a cage and wear a collar an everything. So I wrote a story inspired by that. Right now it doesn't have a title but it's just an idea that inspired me for roughly 10 pages. This is just the opening few pages (2, I think).
Tuesday.
“He will kill you if you let him.” Piren whispered into her ear. Annika glanced over her shoulder at the scrawny pup of a man behind her. His eyes were wild and his nose began to bleed. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Annika nodded.
“Yes, master.” She readied herself for the fight at hand. Piren grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her to meet his eyes. His other hand was tight on the handle of his cane. The merciless expression on his face did nothing to hide the fact that he was not long for the world.
“If you don’t kill him, I will kill you.” He warned her. Annika merely glanced back at the pit. From where she stood, she could see it all. The dirt floor of the pit was stained with sweat, blood, and fear. Over the years, the pit had seen more blood than it’d ever seen of water. And it left the ground with a sodden uneven feeling. It was a feeling that stuck, one she remembered. Piren released her but his bloody handprint remained. “I can’t have a repeat of last time. Someone has to die.”
“Yes, master.” Annika murmured before she was shoved off the platform. She fell hard to the grimy dirt. She scrambled to her feet. The bear-like man across from her, started to laugh. But whatever amused him, he didn’t find it funny enough to take his eyes off her.
“Hello little girl. You’re a bit small for this, ain’t you?” He grinned. Annika didn’t speak. Fear had made her mute. It muddled her thoughts until the only thought she had was that his wrist was bigger than both of her arms put together. He could snap her into two pieces, four, six... Her mind kept repeating it.
“Annika! Start fighting!” Piren commanded her. She lunged at the man across from her. She got one good hold on his neck. She let her power flare up and kept her hold. He screamed. Annika forced her hands to become even hotter. She burned him like an all-consuming fire. Every time he hit her, he just cried out in more pain. He got one opening and punched in the face. She flew across the pit and into the opposite wall.
“I know what you are!” The man shouted at her. His neck and the bigger half of his chest were burned down into the muscle and raw. She could barely breathe for the stink of his charred flesh. There was shock in his eyes. He didn’t want to die. Annika braced herself to continue fighting.
“I don’t want to die either.” She whispered, tears blurring her vision. He took the opportunity and punched her quick. He’d grabbed and released before she’d had time to heat up. He kept at her with a flurry of hits. He was too fast. She grabbed handful upon handful of the gritty ground. She pressed it into his wounds. He screamed and backed away. She heated up and made a dive for him. There was screaming and struggling and the smell of burned flesh and when she finally let go he was dead. She glanced up at Piren from the pit. His foul yellow teeth were bared in a smile.
“Good girl.” He said simply. She was pulled out of the pit and dropped back onto the platform, her legs collapsing under her from the drop. She knew better than to stand in a hurry. They might throw another fight at her if they thought she was ready. Piren peered down at her, leaning on his cane to do so. He glanced up. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring it again.” He informed someone that Annika couldn’t see. She had no doubts who the it was. The person made a throaty noise before tossing Piren a small bag of coins.
“If you come tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a fight ready. But I can’t have it using powers in the pit anymore. That smell will drive my audience away.” Someone said gruffly from just behind her. Piren’s face twisted with rage. Annika stayed on the ground. She knew it would be better to stay out of his sights when he was in such a mood.
“That’s all she’s got! Look at her, there’s not a scrap of muscle on her!” He snapped. Annika didn’t hear anything but for some reason Piren suddenly changed his tactics. “You know it’s always good for business to have a little slip of a thing beating someone like that.” Piren motioned to her dead opponent. All the muscles in the world hadn’t helped him. He was being hauled out of the pit carefully. No one could bear to even touch him.
“And you think I can’t get another little girl in here?” The voice demanded. She glanced up meekly. It was a well dressed man with a grey beard. Catching her eyes on him, Piren slammed his cane down just beside Annika’s head. She closed her eyes tightly.
“Can you find one that wins?” Piren’s voice was soft as silk.
“Then find a way for it to win without making a stink.” The voice snapped. “Or unload it and get a new one.” The voice suggested. There was a swish of cloth and the man left. Annika got to her feet. She tried not to think about the man’s suggestion. Piren grabbed her by the arm. Years of experience had taught her better than to cry out about being held too roughly. It would only earn her even worse treatment.
“You'd better be thinking of something.” He barked. He shoved her ahead of him out the door and towards the marketplace. Bright light broke over her face as she left the dark building. She blinked and made her way towards Piren's carriage while he limped on behind her. A slow smile filled her face as she thought about the reward awaiting her at home: one hour in the house gardens and one flower to take back to her cage with her. Her thoughts distracted her enough that she didn't notice the man step in front of her and crashed into him. they fell in a tangle of elbows and knees.
“Watch where you’re going!” The man yelled at her, getting to his feet. Piren came to her defense. The two began trading insults in loud voices. Annika darted away and huddled by herself by the carriage. The driver glanced over but knew better than to speak to her. Annika watched the two fighting, everyone turning to stare at them.Then a voice interrupted her thoughts.
“What’s your name?” A boy asked. His smile was kind as he looked her over. He noticed the scars on her arms but didn’t seem bothered. Yet, Annika felt panic rise in her throat. She watched the ground by her feet, ignoring him. “C’mon, what’s your name?”
“Please go away. I don’t want him to get angry.” She said in a voice so soft she wasn’t sure she’d even spoken. The boy grinned. His dark eyes seemed to dance in the light. Annika lowered her gaze.
“Him?” He nodded towards the growing dispute. “Is he your father?”
“Please go away.” She said again. The boy sidled closer to her. There was such kindness in his face, she was afraid to look at him.
“Don’t be afraid.” He murmured comfortingly. “How’s this? If I guess your name, will you tell me?” Annika almost felt like smiling. It was a weird sensation and, in the end, she just nodded meekly. “Is it Annika?” He guessed right on the first try.
“How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess, I guess. I’m Davon.” He reached a hand towards her but Piren caught it.
“That will cost you twenty camars, upfront.” Piren laughed. There was no amusement in his face.
“What?” Davon scrambled to get free. Annika watched his struggle with emotionless eyes. Davon gawked at her as though she should save him. She turned away, trying not to remember his face.
“Here’s a lesson, boy. Don’t touch things that don’t belong to you.” Piren snarled. His grip turned merciless on the Davon’s arm. Piren cracked him over the head with his cane before releasing him. The boy hurried away. Annika glanced up for orders and she saw Piren coughing. As though to make up for letting her see a weakness, her pushed her towards the carriage door. “Get in already!” He commanded and she hurried to obey him. Piren clambered wearily into the seat beside her. With the sound of clomping hooves, the carriage lurched forward. The pit, the market, the boy, and all thoughts of the man she killed fell far behind them.It was just another day.
CH1
Chapter 1
A young girl dashed across the open field, dark brown hair falling in her eyes. She flapped an impatient hand at the boy awaiting her. He held the reigns of two chestnut brown mares. She raced past him into the small stable. Its silence was, for once, a comfort. Thankfully, it was deserted as the stable–men ate their midday meal. Stepping into a relatively clean stall, she stroked her expensive dress. Her thoughts wound into dangerous patterns. If mother knew, she would be furious. She yanked the mass of silken fabric over her head. Underneath she wore a white billowing shirt and a tan pair of fitted breeches. She rolled up her dress and shoved it into a clean spot of the stall floor. The hostlers would take care of it when they returned. They always did. Stumbling out into the sunlight, she hurried over to the young boy. He yanked and prodded her, tying her hair back, making her into a fair resemblance of any other boy.
“Ready, Tirana?” Liam smiled, his hazel eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. His flaxen hair was cropped just above the ears. Tira narrowed her eyes anxiously.
“Why don’t you just shout that I’m a girl if you intend on revealing me?” She snapped in a soft voice. “If they find out that I’m not a boy then I’ll be whipped for certain.” She reminded him in a desperate whisper. Liam made a guilty face.
“You know, every week you look less like a boy. I think everyone in the village knows it’s you by now.” Liam told her with a frown. Tira felt her heart hammer strangely in her chest. She knew he was right.
“But not mother.” She mumbled quickly. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“I don’t think so.” He shrugged. He handed her a set of reigns, giving her shoulder a playful shake. “Don’t worry.”
“I’ll be whipped for certain.” Tira glanced around at the empty yard as they led their horses towards the outside gate.
“Do you really think mother is mean enough to whip her own daughter?” Liam asked after a moment. He answered his own question when Tira didn’t speak. “She may be hard on you but she’s not cruel.”
“I’d rather not find out.” Tira retorted. With a grunt, she mounted her mare. She threw an envious sigh towards Liam, who effortlessly slid into his own saddle. He gave her a sanctimonious grin. Anything he might have said was lost as a loud yet distant bell sounded from the village below them. Tira groaned. “Oh, Adam will not be pleased that we’re late for lessons again.”
“I’d race you but we both know I’d win.” Liam teased, kicking his steed into a gallop.
“Is that a fact?” Tira felt a tiny smile stretching over her face. The things he said may have seemed arrogant or taunting from the outside but Tira knew there was only love behind it. She urged her own mount into a chase after Liam. “C’mon Pallo.” Tira whispered to her horse. Pallo whinnied as though she could read the young noble’s thoughts. Tira felt a laugh escape her. This was the feeling she lived for. The slight second where she was unstoppable. They caught up Liam within an instant and passed him a moment later. Pallo’s legs flew over the ground like quickfire. Within a blink, the village was creeping up on them. Inns, cookhouses, and small shops sprang up from the ground like flowers. She eased Pallo into a slower pace, following the well–known path toward a large fenced–in field. A girl hopped from her seat on the fencepost. Her smile faltered.
“Tira? Where is Liam?” She asked softly. Tira dismounted, handing her reigns over. She flicked a look around her.
“Hush Terjn! Someone might hear you.” She chided climbing quickly over the fence towards the ranks of children. Terjn grabbed Tira by the arm.
“Where is he?”
“He’s behind me a few yards.” Tira pulled the tight fingers away and stumbled into a run towards the stern faced fighting master.
“You’re late again.” Adam said tightlipped. “Well, hurry and join ranks.” He ordered. Tira eyes strayed around the field as she headed for the beginning of the line. Practice was almost over but, if she was good, she might still have time to beat her record. If she could get to the end of the line that was sectioned off, it’d be enough. She peeked at the weapons case with a rueful sigh. She would have to fight unarmed. She stumbled through a quick stretch before darting into the first row. She glanced at the older boy across from her. Tira sank into a fighter’s crouch. The boy locked his jaw and spun his staff in one hand. It stopped spinning with a sharp crack on the ground.
“That would be more impressive, if I wasn’t going to win.” Tira smiled.
“Not this time.” The boy lunged forward, throwing his weight behind a low hit. Tira jumped over the staff, kicking his wrist and thereby the staff to the ground. He ducked under her next jab but not her kick. He flew backwards, skidding on the bare dirt. He raised a fist. Tira bit her lip and helped him to his feet. He grinned at her slowly. “Fine, I’ll pass yea. But it’s only ‘cos yea look so nice today. I don’t particular feel like roughing yea up, Tira.” He confided guiltily. A swift blow caught him off–guard. He clutched at his new injury, glaring at the boy behind him.
“Watch your mouth Toby.” Vander growled. His voice was deeper than she remembered but it had been weeks since she’d seen him last. He merely nodded to her, his emerald eyes emotionless. Tira tore her eyes away as Vander began his next fight. Toby rubbed his new injury and nodded.
“Right, sorry Nathan.” He grumbled, using her boy’s name. He waved her past again. Tira blinked but stepped up to the next fight. Toby handed over his staff with a pointed look. His gaze was on the next fight in the line. Two of the boys were battling it out. The fight would have been close, even if they weren’t both armed.
“Thanks.” Tira took the staff with a grateful smile. She would need it when it became her turn. The match ended abruptly. The winner got passed on and the loser gave her a foul look. It was a boy she didn’t recognize but he seemed to know her. There was a smugness that Tira resented.
“Oh gods.” He groaned. His face was twisted up in scorn. “I’m not fighting you.”
“Then pass me.” She snapped.
“You can’t be serious. You’re a gi–” He lost his footing and fell to the ground hard. Vander peeked down at him curiously from behind. The boy got to his feet, his nose dripping blood down the front of his tunic.
“You should take care of that.” Vander murmured blandly. The boy cursed them both but left the line. Stepping into the boy’s place, Vander grinned at Tira wolfishly. She fell into his smiling green eyes, happy and annoyed all at once.
“You're back.” Tira grinned, trying to keep the relief out of her voice. Vander shrugged.
“Yeah, I am. Is that a problem?”
“Only when you try and take out all of my opponents. Don’t you have your own fights to win?” She teased. Vander glanced back over his shoulder before shrugging.
“You didn't want to fight him anyways. Fight me.” Vander drawled in a voice soft enough for her ears only. Tira twitched at his closeness but remained smiling. She sidled back preparing for a real fight. “You always surprise me, Nathan. We both know you aren't allowed off the grounds.”
“And I told you that I can keep my secrets on my own.” She changed the subject.
“Your gratitude is overwhelming.” Vander joked. He lowered himself into a fighter’s crouch. He grinned and it caught on her face like a wildfire. She smiled despite herself.
“Well, you can’t pummel everyone for the sake of a secret.” She pointed out. Vander’s grin became wicked in a heartbeat.
“I suppose it depends on the secret.”
“No.” Tira sighed. Without warning, she launched herself into an attack. She spun but he ducked the staff. He caught it one-handedly, ripping it away from her and tossing it off to the side. She kicked forward. Effortlessly, he caught her leg. He grinned at her like a fox about to devour dinner.
“You’ll have to do better than that.” Vander smirked. Tira felt her anger surge forward. He was one of the few boys that always held back on her and suddenly it made her furious. All she wanted was to prove that she was as good as him.
“Like this?” She whispered. She threw her weight into a fall and launched him a few feet away. He scrambled to his feet, stepping back to recover his stance. She lurched forward in attack. He grabbed her punch and swung her over his shoulder to the ground. He set his foot on the base of her neck, pressing on her throat lightly.
“That’s enough, little Nathan. Now I’ll pass you.” He told her playfully, raising his fist. Tira let her anger get the best of her.
“I don’t need your charity. I can win on my own.” She panted, blowing up clouds of dirt. She raised her fist as high as she could from her position on the ground. Vander pulled his staff away from her neck and helped haul her to her feet. Both picked up their respective weapons and waited for their next opponents.
“Next time it’ll be you in the dirt.” Tira told him with a scowl.
“Then I hope I don’t look as filthy as you.” Vander laughed, rubbing some of the grime off Tira’s nose. His laugh was loud and made Tira want to smile, even through the dirt. The sound of a cough caught them both off–guard.
“You might want to remember that you’re both men.” Liam said pointedly, uncertainty showing through his smile. Tira made a face but didn’t answer. She continued brushing herself off. Vander shrugged impassively and stepped away.
“Right. Thanks, Liam.” Vander cleared his throat, stepping forward as the other fight ended. Liam faced Tira.
“Ready?” She asked quickly. Liam crossed his arms. Something changed in his eyes and he smiled.
“Do you think I could raise my hand against you?” Liam asked.
“I was hoping you would.” Tira gave him a sheepish grin before lashing out. Liam blocked her every move. Tira locked her jaw, forcing herself to be swifter, faster. She tried to attack but Liam caught her motionless without even striking her once.
“I could never hurt my baby sister.” He whispered into her ear. Tira scowled.
“I’m not a baby. You used to fight with me.” She reminded him. Liam released her, shrugging his shoulders.
“Now I know better. So should you.” Liam told her simply. Tira felt her stomach drop. She raised a hand to her forehead.
“Don’t start that here. It’s not the place.” She murmured. Instead of answering, Liam raised his fist and waved her past. She didn’t get the chance to start a new fight because the loud clang of a bell stopped practice. Tira groaned. All the fights ended and everyone parted ways, some with smiles and promises, some with threats. The eyes meeting hers were mostly friendly, some less friendly than others. She glanced away in a hurry, heading for Adam.
“Adam!” She called and he turned with a slight frown. The field was mostly clear when she stepped over to him.
“I’ll tell you now as I tell you every week, girls aren’t meant to fight.” Adam murmured in a quiet breath. He dropped a protective arm around her. “You’re almost too old for this. You shouldn’t come anymore.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“I mean it. You’re almost a woman and a lady too. You have no business learning to fight. You should be learning to sew or something like that.” Adam reminded her with a frown. “You can come and watch but I won’t let you on this field again.”
“But Adam!” Tira looked at him, a wounded expression across her face. “I love fighting. You said I was good at it! You can’t just take it away from me.” Adam turned away from her. She grabbed his arm. “Please!”
“I already gave you an answer.” He told her flatly.
“That’s not fair!” Tira barked. “Liam, tell him–” She turned to find Liam but he was talking with Terjn. Their tones were hushed but even from where she stood, Tira could see the joy in Liam’s face. He seemed to be trying very hard not to scream with it. Finally he glanced up, noticing Tira’s eyes on him. With a few indecipherable words, he jogged across the practice grounds to her side.
“Go home with Vander. He’s said he’ll take you.” Liam told her, grinning as though he’d solved the Veld Iden maze. Tira blinked, wanting desperately to smile with him.
“What’s happened, what is it?” She asked.
“Tira, go home. I’ll be just behind you.” Liam said again. He gave her a small push to her already saddled mare before returning to Terjn’s side. He looked happy but Tira couldn’t suppress the feeling that something wasn’t right. She crossed the distance to Vander’s side as though in a trance.
“C’mon little girl. Let’s go.” He grinned, trying to take her mind off of her confusion. For once Tira didn’t argue but let herself be pulled uphill numbly. Her thoughts kept circling one thing. What was happening? And why couldn’t she know? They were nearly at the edge of the village before she found the courage to speak.
“It’s good, right? Something good happened?”
“For Liam, it is.” Vander murmured. Part of Liam’s smile seemed stuck in him. It made sense. He was, after all, Liam’s best friend. Tira peered at him carefully.
“You know what it is then?” She asked. And suddenly she was wondering how a boy so much older than Liam could be his best friend. Liam had only just turned thirteen and Vander had to be at least three years older. And she wondered, not for the first time, what exactly Vander got out of their friendship.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to say.” Vander murmured uncomfortably.
“Then tell him to explain it to me.” Tira sighed. The sound of hoof–beats made Tira glance up. She expected to see Liam riding up on her but what she saw instead scared her near to tears. Oh no…Tira’s mind screamed. Sure enough, the poised woman was sliding out of her saddle in the graceful way that only Liam seemed to have inherited. Her mother’s disapproving scowl looked down on the both of them. Vander bowed his head and backed away instantly.
“Boy’s clothes, Tirana? Commoners? Fighting?” Her mother said crisply, without a trace of amusement.
“It’s not– I can explain!” Tira stepped closer to her mother’s horse in desperation. Willa was unmoved. Her eyes flicked over Vander’s face with displeasure.
“You don’t seem shocked by this, boy. How long has she been coming here? How long have you known she was a girl?” Willa demanded. Vander glanced between the two of them hesitantly.
“My lady, I think there has been some mistake. I am deeply surprised to learn this.” He lied.
“You are either a liar or an imbecile.” Willa said scornfully and turned on Tira once more. “No, the only mistake here has been my trust in you, Tirana. Get on your horse, we’re going home.” Willa commanded. And that was the last of it. The two women got on their horses and continued back to the keep in silence.
Clash
I wanted to write something new. I have felt the urge lately, you know, that pressing, kneading urge in your gut to create something wonderful. But I couldn’t think of anything and the time slipped away. Now it’s Sunday and all I have the poetry that’s been sitting on my desk for 6 months. It’s my work and I keep thinking that I wish I liked it more. I wish I was more satisfied with it. But I’m not.
I want to write but the hollowed shell that used to house my ideas is suddenly full of all the different languages I’ve spent so much time trying to learn. My stories now start with この夢を見た。My poetry and all my songs begin with ずっと. And I don’t know where to go from here. How do I kick start all the ideas I have from Japanese horror stories, Korean drama, and Chinese love stories into Strunk and White’s no foreign languages rule?
I feel like there is so much that I should be doing. When I was 13 I had myself convinced that I would publish my first book before college, my second and third during, and continue like this for the rest of my life. That was before I discovered my passion for other languages.
Rachel was right when she said that translation was an art. So right that it made me wonder if I should be translating instead of mere writing. But a part of me dies at the thought. What serious writer would be content at profiting, if you can profit, from another writer’s creativity? I want to write my own story but I seem to be so much better suited for translation.
Late night musings amusing me
Hopefully, we are lucky enough to give the readers what they want in such a way that they can be moved or touched by our work.
And I found this picture about blogging which made me smile. It said that to have a great blog, one that people will come to read in the thousands, you must be passionate about what you're writing and inspire people to be passionate about what they're reading. Rant about the detested ice cream or rave about the darling carnivorous mammal, but just remember that it is not about you. It's the people reading that will ultimately doom or redeem your blog.
*This is just a note from your friendly Blogspot Trying-To-Keep-Rachel's-Head-Out-Of-An-Oven Committee.
Breaking up
Writer’s block,
I know we’ve had some fun. When you’re around I can’t seem to focus on anything, I can’t keep track of time, I can’t even speak for the knot tying up my vocal cords. I realize that at times we drift apart and, somehow, always come back together again. My desperation overcomes me and I draw you closer and closer. This is a mistake; I never meant to lead you on like this. I don’t need you, I don’t love you, and I want you to know that, truly, it is you and not me. We won’t be together again.
Me
Random 1
I have had the hardest time thinking about what to write for this blog. I wanted to be poignant, witty, make people eager to read my blog. But I can’t think of anything. I suppose that’s okay, I suppose that blogs are meant to introduce the person writing them in some way. Everyone wants to feel close to something and that’s why people read blogs at all. (Unless your teacher says you have to.)
I like to add my own clips to movies. If I think a movie or a television show didn’t add the correct emotion or that something in the delivery was lacking, sometimes for no reason at all, I add my movies scenes. I love doing it too. It makes me feel more for the people I’m watching and I think it’s good practice to enliven all types of characters, not just the ones I create. Sometimes I even like to take the point of view of the bad guy or the not-quite-so-bad-but-still-pretty-mean guy.
Entry 1: Random pieces I was inspired to write from Stranger than Fiction
Nothing had ever sounded so final as the slap of the manila folder on that desk. Harold looked forlornly back at the professor, wishing that somehow, in some way, he could tell Harold what to do next. Harold knew that his fear was on him then. If he left for one night as Professor Howard read that story, would he die before he knew how? In the morning would he wake up dead? Harold dismissed the idea and let his rational thoughts return to him. You can’t wake up dead, he told himself. With that he forced himself to turn and leave the office.
In this next part I changed the characters and tried to create a new scene stemming from the dialogue of the movie.
“Who in a choice between pancakes and living would choose pancakes?” He demanded. Lolita lowered her eyes. It was a moment before she spoke.
“Well, that depends on the quality of the life and the quality of the pancakes. Just how many pancakes are there? And how big are they?” She asked seriously. Harold looked at her as though her head had just spun round on her neck.
“Please, tell me you’re joking.” His voice was strained; finally, he sighed. “Never mind, I’m going to pretend you’re joking.”
“If it was only a couple of pancakes…” Lolita clicked her tongue before meeting his eyes once more. “And if I choose life, can I still eat pancakes sometimes?”
“Stop. Just stop.” Harold rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes. His point, at least the way he’d seen it, was gone. Somebody might choose pancakes over living, specifically, a certain blond, naïve waitress might. Lolita raised her hand to her lips with a small blush.
“I guess I wasn’t helping you that much, was I?” She mumbled.
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