kalon

Well, my winter break is over on Wednesday, which means all my free time is about to die in a mangling car crash. Whatever free time I have is usually spent writing. Or trying to write. Or staring at a blank screen and thinking, "I'm about to start writing, really I am." I get major writer's block over little things, so I usually need time to just sit and think about nothing, so I can go back and write. Lately, I've put a good deal of time into Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin (which keeps freezing when I do magic, which has made me lose a few hours of playing time, which makes me very sad). Video games are pretty important to me. I go through spells where I'll either not be playing at all or playing twenty-four seven, but I'm always paying attention to game news. My copies of Nintendo Power are well worn. Reading has always been one of my favorite things. Right now, I'm rereading [i]Fahrenheit 451[/i], reading Neil Gaiman's collection of short stories (and a few excellent poems) called [i]Fragile Things[/i], and somewhat reading a classic children's book that doesn't feel like a children's book called [i]The Little Prince[/i]. (I love all of these books.) And, of course, I'm putting in good hours for mock trial. I'm a lawyer on one of the school's teams. It's hard work, but by the time the competition comes in February, I'll be glad for it.

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This will be short, because I have to get back to reading. Neil Gaiman is an absolutely amazing writer (note the incredible understatement). [i]Fragile Things[/i], a short story compilation, possesses my brain. I haven't read them all, but "Harlequin Valentine" steals my heart due to my obsession with the zanni character, and "Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Secret House of the Night of Dread" makes me laugh loudly enough to make people look at me funny. Must... get back... to reading now. (Call me a zombie coffee girl.)

Just a short poem I wrote spur of the moment last night. I'll be [i]extremely[/i] impressed if you know why I specifically chose the adjective "Zany" for this poem. This is partly a poem about two characters in my novel, and partly just a bit of silliness. Any comments/criticism will be appreciated. The Fate of Zany Lovers At one young Columbina Sighted her jester love. At two the Harlequin Found his little dove. At three she approached him, Her heart pounding strong. At four he grasped her hand And together they walked along. At five she saw him as the Only color in a world so bleak. At six he brushed a hand Gently across her cheek. At seven she spoke so sweetly Of future hopes and dreams. At eight he laughed and said ?We?ll be together, it seems.? At nine her soul was flying, For love had given it wings. At ten he offered to her His heart, attached by no strings. At eleven her lips were sealed With a kiss that stole all breath. At twelve he murmured, ?I love you,? Then pulled her to her death.

Editing before gushing, so... Like [b]SunfallE[/b], I didn't think the major/lieutenant switch was on purpose. If it's a mistake, it's not too big of a deal. I personally switch up names all the time without meaning to, especially if a character does not have a "finalized" name. If, however, the major and the lieutenant are [i]meant[/i] to be separate characters, it would be better to give each more distinct personality. Still going off SunfallE's remarks, for the morphine sulfate, you could just add in some little apositive telling what it is. (I don't know too much medically, either, so it just helps to know if it's for pain or calming the person down or whatever it is.) And towards the end, I think there's an italicization mistake, starting here: [quote name='Allamorph] He wondered who could possibly remain unaffected after the loss of such an industrial crux. [i]The Massacre of Kestrel Prime[I'], the media was already calling it. //snip[/i][/quote] Finally, at the beginning where you explain the setting and events a bit, why not make it into a prologue? That's what it felt like while reading, but's it's all a matter of personal taste. For the story itself, I'm intrigued. Sci-fi is not usually a genre I'm interested in, but this one just catches my eye. I like how Jason seems almost naive. Like when he's holding the plasma blade, and his reaction to everything is just, "Huh. I've been strapped down, it seems. What an interesting weapon." He seems pretty laid back. And at the end, with the unnamed voices speaking, my guess is that the "them" they are referring to might be Jason and Michalson. I can't wait for the next part of this. If you have enough for several novels, I'm hoping to see a lot more of it.

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[quote name='Allamorph][FONT=Arial']The only thing that bothered me was your ellipses. (By the way, I cannot determine what the devil the plural of that word is.)[/FONT][/quote] One (...) is called an ellipsis, or occasionally an ellipse. (I prefer the former, because the latter is also a geometry term which can be confusing.) The plural is ellipses. ;) Oh, but was it just the ellipsis you quoted which bothered you? Or were the second and third bothersome as well? [quote][font=Arial]Up to you, but the way you wrote it feels less like Asher is reflecting on his sin and more like he has a short bout of Alzheimer's all of a sudden.[/quote][/font] That comparison makes me giggle uncontrollably (in a very good way, obviously). It's a good suggestion, too. I'm glad you liked the story. I think my style changes depending upon whi I write for, which is why this is dark. No matter what I do, though, I can never fully remove humor from my writing, hence the incredibly pun-ny secondary title. I read in a novel once where a character said (and I'm paraphrasing), "Evil people never think of themselves as evil." That irked me so very much. I like to think that some people know they are committing evil acts, but continue to do them anyway because in the end they believe it will achieve something. They don't believe they are good, but they believe the will bring some good into the world at the price of their own sins. That's who Asher is in this story. You'll see Harlequin in Ever Unmistakable in another post or so. He's probably my favorite character, second only to Dominick. You already know the character Harlequin calls "little dove," by the way. I'll probably write her a short story, too, and post it here.

This was written for a short story challenge for my school literary magazine. I had to pick things from an idea sheet another member had filled out, which included characters, time/place, situation, and mysterious element. I chose a defrocked priest, four o'clock in the morning, shopping for the perfect birdcage, and a clown jumps into the street and tweets. This is what arose, this pure weirdness with a vague connection to my Ever Unmistakable story. It was written in a sort of stream of consciousness way, and has had no revisions made to it whatsoever. Any comments would be unbelievably apreciated. [center]Ever Sinful or A Harlequin Romance[/center] In the distance, the clock tower in the city square rang out four times. The sky glowed brilliant blue in the predawn light, and the morning air was cool on Asher?s skin. It was slightly insane, his errand, but since three years ago, everything in his life was insane. At present, he tried to ignore the crimes of the past, and focused on his expedition. He was out to buy a birdcage. Admittedly, it was not normal to be out before dawn in search of a bird cage, especially when one did not even own a bird. This errand had been a request from Asher?s creation, his devil false-child, his sin. Asher had committed crimes against God, the God he loved, the God he hoped might spare him some small mercy on Judgment Day. Asher?s sin was?. He supposed it started with the man called Alistair, the snake who tempted Eve in the Garden, the wolf that shall destroy the people of Jerusalem. With his silver tongue, Alistair had spun lies as shining as diamond about his experiments. He promised that they would lead to the eradication of disease, and they would create creatures in the likeness of the healing angel Raphael, and plagues would be a thing of the past. Asher knew that Lucifer himself was a creature of brilliance, and that devils wore false faces. He had only himself to blame for walking the path of sin. He had only himself to blame for losing his status in the priesthood. In truth, he deserved far worse, because his hands were now stained with the blood of the innocent lambs and peaceful doves of God. Even now, he was on an errand for a devil. His devil. The one he had helped Alistair create through dark magic and twisted alchemy and wicked science. This devil, however, had not chosen to act against Heaven. He had been ?born? soulless, as far as Asher knew. If one lacked a soul, there could be no redemption. This lost beast had no way to end his suffering except by taking his ?life? and ending his existence. Even if no bauble could make up for making a child into sin, if the creature wanted a birdcage, then Asher would find him the perfect one. Over blocks and streets and back alleyways Asher walked, his steps hollow in the mostly empty city. He finally arrived at his destination: an antiques shop partly hidden between a bakery and a wig store. The small, out-of-the-way shop kept hours as odd as its items. The light inside signified it was open. Asher stood there a moment, staring at the item on display in the window. Its open hours were not the only reason he chose the shop. For some logic-defying reason, it always had whatever item he needed to buy. There in the window was a wrought silver birdcage, its ornamentation crafted with a light and masterful hand, is gilt designs glinting in the low light. It was perfect. A minute later, the cage was bought, and Asher was carrying it in hand back the way he came. As he entered a shortcut between two close rows of brick houses, he was met with something donned in a tight, colorful costume of red, blue, and green lozenges. The person landed on his haunches and tilted his head to one side. The upper half of the jester?s face was covered by a black leather mask, but his mouth was clearly seen. This newcomer gave a leering smile. He whistled. He trilled like a mocking bird. He hooted like an owl. He cawed like a crow. He backflipped to Asher?s side and peered at him from over the birdcage. ?Why are you out, Harlequin?? Asher asked. ?Well, Father,? drawled the clown, showing his white teeth in a vicious smile, ?I wanted to check on how you were doing. You found me the birdcage, I see. That is so good of you. I so dearly wanted to give it to my little dove.? Asher steadied his hands as he looked down at the colorfully costumed? man? clown? devil? He never fully knew what Harlequin was in the first place, and he certainly did not know now. The clown was certainly not human, but not fully monster. He was, simply put, an experiment. To Asher, he was also an abomination and sin. He did not understand everything about Harlequin?s creation even if he had helped. ?Father, do you know what you are going to do tomorrow?? asked Harlequin. It sounded like a child?s question, but there lay an old malevolence behind it. ?I? you know what I?m going to,? breathed Asher. ?I?m going to keep sinning, and killing, and using people as experiments to make a creature better than you. One that can use the powers of healing for other people and not just himself. One that will be a lamb of God. We shall always try to create a true Raphael, an angel of healing, even if we have to stain our hands in blood to do it.? Tears clawed from behind Asher?s eyes. He would perform more sacrifices tomorrow, kill more people, all in hopes that he could create something useful, something healing, something more than sin. He continued, ?My false child, you are a mistake I cannot fix, but I can make others better.? The clown laughed at the former priest?s words. Harlequin took the birdcage from his shaking hands. From a belt at his side, Harlequin grabbed his short metal club. The sickening sound of a skull cracking echoed throughout the city. The former clergyman crumpled to the ground like a broken mannequin. Harlequin rubbed a bit of blood off his cheek with his thumb. The clown whistled a cheery, birdlike tune as he walked away into the shadows. Asher had not really bothered him. In fact, if it weren?t for the scheduling, Harlequin would very well have killed someone else. Asher was supposed to perform a sacrifice that morning. The next victim to the dark arts was a simple maiden captured from a local village. The problem was, she had also captured Harlequin?s heart. Harlequin laughed to the shadows as he went to give the lovely birdcage to his captured little dove. If Asher was dead, Harlequin?s beloved little dove gained another day to live. Even abominations desire to keep their precious things alive.

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My antagonist is writer's block, which usually takes the form of an adorable kitten. It claws into me, spilling my creative blood. Then, when it has finished cleaning its paws with its rough pink tongue, it curls up and sleeps on the fluffy pillow that is the remaining lump of my brain. My climax will come when I go crazy from having to go through the industry known as publishing. My resolution will be after I have died in a fiery, Hollywood blockbuster style car crash, with the pages of my novel flutering in the background. The next day my obituary will be in the paper, and my novel will be #1 on The New York Times best seller list.

"Fifty percent discounts..." Sunny repeated to herself. She had no idea what kind of animal a ?dis? was, and could barely count to five, much less fifty, but if Mr. Beaver talked about it, it had to be important. She looked fearfully at Eve for a moment, remembering the fear of being eaten. Then she looked at how pretty Eve?s tail was, and how fluffy, and thought how it would be better for her own tail to be that fluffy, and? what was she thinking about again? Something about lunch? Acorns sounded good. ?Hey Bumble, do we get to use acorns in any way?? asked Sunny. ?For lunch, maybe,? said Bumble, glancing at Eve. ?But first let?s?? ?I hate acorns,? said Hodgepodge. ?But you?re a squirrel, and squirrels eat nuts,? said Sunny. ?I am not a squirrel, I am a hare!? yelled Hodgepodge. ?You?re a squir-r-r-el,? sang Sunny. ?Rabbit.? ?Squirrel!? ?Rabbit!? ?Fine, you win,? relented Sunny. ?You?re a rabbit.? ?Exactly,? replied the reddish brown squirrel-who-thought-she-was-a-rabbit. ?Wait, I win what?? ?A hug!? Sunny leaped upon Hodgepodge, who began to scream and flail. Sapphire watched them from the side. Sunny interpreted her look as being sad, so she pounced upon the kitten, as well. ?I must be cursed if a dormouse can catch a rabbit-slash-squirrel [i]and[/i] a kitten, while I can't catch anything," sighed Jinx the lynx. Mr. Beaver patted her consolingly on the shoulder.

[B]Name:[/B] Sunny [B]Species:[/B] Dormouse [B]Colouring:[/B] Gray--Lighter under the belly and darker on the tail. [B]Disposition:[/B] Sunny is friendly, probably overly so. When not in one of her sleepy or forgetful moments, she enjoys tackling the other animals in a hug. Exuberant and well-meaning, if a bit ditzy. [B]Anything else:[/B] Sunny tends to fall asleep where she stands if she hasn't eaten in a few hours. She prefers night to day most of the time, and has a fondness for oak trees.

Right now, I'm reading [i]The Gates of Rome[/i] by Conn Iggulden. It's the first of the [i]Emperor[/i] series which follows the life of Julius Caesar, as well as those around him. I'm reading the novel for world history, but I like it enough that I want to pick up the others in the series. It's not something you'd read to get an accurate history, but for a basic overview of Caesar's life, it's pretty good. I count comics as reading, so I have to mention [i]Fables: 1001 Nights of Snowfall[/i]. It's a prequel to the Fables series. I picked it up on a whim, and I fell in love with it. It's done by different artists, so each story has a fresh feel to it. It's fractured fairy tales, but if you don't mind mature themes, it's a great book. Snow White takes on the role of Scheherazade, and relates some of her own stories and those of other fables to the Sultan of the Arabian Fables. I want the rest of the series now. I've gotten into the very beginning of Vertigo's [i]Sandman[/i] series because, lucky me, I got [i]The Absolute Sandman[/i] Volume One as an early birthday present. I can say nothing more intelligent except that I am in love. I don't usually go for American comics, but from the first page it clicked with me. I adore it. Also, I have [i]Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World[/i] and [i]The Little Prince[/i]. I haven't gotten a chance to read them, but I've heard good things about the first, and my mom loves the second. I'll probably have enough time read them come winter break, and I'm looking forward to both.

I'd lose weight until I suck in a portion of the universe. If I'm going down, people are going with me. Would you rather... Lose everything ever stored on your computer (programs, music, bookmarks, everything)? Or Have it stolen and later recovered, but whoever stole had posted all of your personal information (including embarrassing pictures) on every site imaginable? I feel like that did not make sense grammatically, but my brain is sleepy.

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[quote name='The13thMan][COLOR=DarkOrange][FONT=Century Gothic]Also, who doesn't like sex? That's right, a-sexual organisms....those bastards.[/FONT'][/COLOR][/quote] I resent that! We can like sex! Just not so much with other people. On a more serious note, there's no question that it has an impact on our culture, but I think people make too big a deal out of it in many situations. You encounter sex, as has been stated, spread all over magazines, television, the music we listen to, John's billboard, and any other form of media. We buy, we let it consume us, we let it affect a pretty good deal of our decisions. We see sex scandals on a tabloid, we buy the tabloid. We see hot dancers in a music video, we download it. We see steamy scenes on television, we watch. As long as we place value in it, it will keep cropping up. If sex makes us spend money, then things are going to be marketed using sex. Society places value on it, corporations put more of it out, people buy it up, and the corporations distribute more and more and more sex-related items. As to the morality of it, I think that's a personal choice. Having sex does not make you a "bad" person. I don't even think it makes you immoral. What you do with your body is up to you. The only time I see sex as a problem is when it involves someone who cannot give proper consent. Of course, just because I don't see sex as immoral does not mean it should still be posted everywhere like it is. There are children, impressionable children, who usually end up seeing sex infiltrating a great deal of our culture. I think it's better for children to grow up without being overexposed to sex, so they can eventually make their own personal decisions about it. The media is powerful, and right now little kids are being encouraged to flaunt themselves, which is not the ideal for a child to grow up in.

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Ideally, I'd love a Wii and something from Barnes & Noble. There a collection of t[i]The Sandman[/i] coming out that looks most awesome. That's the first American comic I've ever been really interested in, although I don't know too much about the series. Any opinions? I could go on for a long time in all my Nintendo fangirling about the awesomeness of the Wii and how I have gamer's lust for it. Really, anything Nintendo would be lovely. Art books would be really nice, especially something by Kaori Yuki or Yoshitaka Amano. I can stare for hours at the pictures and go "Guhh... pretty..." for hours. Unfortunately, it's been years since I've gotten anything on Christmas. I'll have to wait until income tax time, because that's the only time my mom can afford to get me anything. Christmas in February is still good, just a bit delayed.

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We were writing triolets at the writers' meeting for our school literary magazine, The Stylus, and ths is what I came up with. Comments/critcism would be appreciated. A triolet, by the way, is a type of poem where the first, fourth, and seventh lines are identical, and the second and eighth lines are identical. Also, lines three and five rhyme with the starting line, and line six rhymes with line two. Photographs A picture trapped within my mind Fades until it?s white and black. A gossamer memory left behind, A picture trapped within my mind. Of sun-broken storms and something kind, A place to which I cannot go back. A picture trapped within my mind Fades until it?s white and black.

I do believe I will try, but I haven't made up my mind. I'd better figure it out quickly. My main problem is that I'm already working on my own novel, and I'm horribly pressed for free time already, so the projects conflict. If I do participate, it will most likely be a slightly plotless side-story to my current novel, something more in terms of character development than deep and intricate plots.

[COLOR=Indigo][FONT=Book Antiqua]Alex arrived a bit ahead of the other people, it seemed. When he exited the limo, he saw no one else around, but did see similar cars coming up the long driveway in the distance. Dante Lui'ci's... men, servants, whatever they were, had left him alone without any specific instructions. [i]I guess it would be okay to look around a little[/i] Alex thought. He strolled around casually, not wanting to stray too far on the grounds. It reminded him of a palace from a fairy tale, some place of reward the hero receives for his troubles. [i]Unless it's the kind of place that deceives the protagonist, and they get caught by a witch or dragon or evil king or--shut up, Alex.[/i] He laughed anxiously to himself. This Lui'ci was just eccentric; rich people celebrities did crazy things all the time, right? Alex walked up to the front door of the mansion. Curtains blocked any view of the inside. He reached tentatively for the ornate, twisting metal door knob and twisted it. Unsurprisingly, he found it locked. It seemed rude to him to lock out people that traveled even all the way across the world to see you, but then again, any billionaire who did not keep their doors secured had to be pretty stupid. A few more people had arrived. Alex moved towards a line of trees, unsure whether he should join in or not. He counted three other males and three females. Not that gender mattered, really. All people made him equally nervous. A girl maybe a year or two older than him with blue-black walked towards the house's entrance. Alex swallowed thickly and decided now was as good a time as any to get to know his new housemates. "Don't bother. It's locked; I already tried it," Alex said as she reached for the door knob. He smiled faintly, berating himself in his head, thinking he sounded a little rude. He offered her his hand. "My name is Alex Abendroth. Did you get an e-mail, too?" "Yes. You can call me Kiki. Kiki Gregorson," she replied, shaking his hand. She seemed almost as nervous as Alex, which, oddly enough, made him relax. "This whole thing is pretty wild, isn't it?" "Y-yeah, it is. Umm, if you don't mind my asking too much, why did you decide to come here? I mean, the money is my only real reason, well, a free trip to Australia isn't bad either, but..." He blushed as he realized he was rambling, and tugged up the too-large sleeves of his hoody to free his hands. "It's nice to meet you, anyway, Kiki."[/COLOR][/FONT]

[COLOR=Indigo][FONT=Book Antiqua][i]Dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into,[/i] thought Alex as he lay back on the couch. Across his chest lay a worn copy of [i]Fahrenheit 451[/i], his favorite book. Reading it had been his best outlet for stress since the ninth grade. He wondered what mad sickness had caused him to say yes to going to the mansion of an obviously eccentric--and who knew what else?--billionaire. Wait. Billionaire. [i]That's right[/i], Alex remebered, [i]I'm doing it for a few billion dollars. And all the books I could want, maybe a nice quiet house somewhere in the country, maybe never have to see anyone ever again, never...[/i] It would only be six months, and his credits would still be there when he got back. His professors were such nice, understanding people, and they assured him people could be successful in college even with a few months' interruption. His roommate, Ryan, had taken Alex's excuse for having to visit a sick relative, and they had already made arrangements for someone else to stay there to help with the rent until Alex returned. Ryan and a few other friends had even taken him out for a farewell dinner the night before. It had actually made Alex extremely uncomortable, but he realized it was a sweet gesture. It would be okay, Alex assured himself, just breath in, breath out, read a sentence, turn the page. With a sigh he checked and rechecked his duffel bag and backpack. The e-mail had said all his needs would be provided, but Alex wanted to take a few things, some practical, some for comfort. Mainly books. He was leaving his laptop and cell phone behind, because this Dante Lui'ci did not want anyone to be told, no interruptions from the outside world. Maybe he wasn't such a bad guy after all. He certainly seemed to go with Alex's style. It was the second day, and Alex continually looked out the window. He assumed a billionaire would send something fancy, like a limo, maybe even have intimidating men in black suits just to be dramatic, maybe even... Alex checked the window. Dear Lord, he was right, a limo was pulling up, and there were men in black suits and everything.He pulled up the overly large sleeves of his hoody, grabbed his bags, and said a quick good-bye to his roommate. He met the men halfway down the hall, and nervously introduced himself. "Excuse me, sirs, but my name is Alex Abendroth, and I think that you might be looking for me," Alex said. [i]I only hope I don't regret this[/i], thought Alex as he followed the two men to the street.[/COLOR][/FONT]