Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts

Sunday, December 7, 2014

I Stand Here

I stand here against the frozen trunk of a maple, and what you asked me stirs the dust of unwelcome memories from the attic of my mind.
“I wish you would come in to see your sister. She needs you. I’m sure if you came to visit, her health would improve. She’s not doing well, and we fear the worst. ”
“She needs you.”… Even if I came, what good would it do? I am not even her mother, only a distracted sister who was never there when it counted, and you think my presence will make her feel better? After all I have and haven’t done?
And when there is time to stop, to consider, to speak, what will I say? I will have nothing within myself to change the events or soften the blow or take away some of the pain. I will become engulfed with all I did or did not do with what should have been and what could not have been helped. I will be helpless.
She was a beautiful human being. She loved anything that lived, that moved, that breathed. She was light. She laughed and loved to make people laugh. She would run around the house as fast as her legs would carry her, singing on top of her lungs the song she had composed with silly lyrics to go with a foolish dance she dreamt up. She lived to feel—to feel joy, to feel sadness, to feel love.
I needed her. As a teenager going through difficult transitions, I needed all the joy and love I could get. I had only one friend—you—and even you did not understand my pain at that time, though you tried. She would wake me up in the morning, dragging me out of bed with just her shining words and contagious grin.
Why do I put that first? I do not even know if it matters, or if it explains anything.
The biting November breeze sweeps through the knitting of my sweater and I shiver as the wind’s icy fingers run through my tangled hair. You stand near me, supporting me with your presence and rare solemnity. There is no more questioning, only silence and patience, waiting for an answer.
She was perfect. As she grew older this didn’t change. Her features were like our parents: round, soft, blonde and pale. She was most beautiful in the mornings, when she looked like our mother, especially when she wore dad’s old, grey sweater. She seemed as a sleepy forest spirit. Misty and distant. These were some of the only moments she was calm and silent. Every other occasion she was loud, friendly to everyone and oh so exciting. By elementary school she had countless friends. They called at every opportunity, asking for play dates and movie nights and sleep overs. “Mimosa is a model student.” Her teachers used to brag. “She has perfect attendance, straight A’s and she participates exceptionally in class.”
I was a failure. I looked nothing like my parents, with dark hair and sharp features. When I got up in the mornings I was like a bear after a long cold winter of hibernation—angry and unapproachable. I had no friends besides you. We made an odd pair, and though they may never admit it, even my parents worried about me. “If only she was more like her little sister.” I heard people say, when they thought I couldn’t hear. “She just doesn’t try.” That was a lie. I tried. I tried very hard but I could never compare to Mimm.
My sister was everything I wasn’t. Smart and funny and friendly, and I could never compare. I was jealous—I see that now—but at the time too proud to admit it. Outdone by my own little sister.
The tree trunk feels like iron as it digs into my spine. I watch numbly as a leaf flutters helplessly to the ground. Our breath clouds, filling the silence. You wait for me. I'm not ready yet. I don't know if I ever will be. And when I am, will it be too late again?
Then suddenly her closest friends moved away or moved on or they argued and she was alone, just a year ago.
I had just turned sixteen when you introduced me to Marth and Violet and Zagum. We five became close friends and all of a sudden I had something she didn’t. I’ll never understand why she still looked up to me, why she followed me around, why she begged to come along. There wasn’t much to admire. I left her behind. When we began our trip up North she asked to come along, but I saw this only as her way of stealing the few friends I had. I told her to find her own friends.
"I don't have any."
"Then go do what you're good at: make more."
So she did. She found a group. A new group. An exciting group. A reckless group.
When we returned, I knew what she had done, and I knew the danger but I didn't stop her. The alternate option was out of the question. I was too selfish, unwilling to share what little I had.
I didn't tell my mum. I told myself she was too busy, too stressed with her new job, trying to support us when money was low and dad had no work, but really it was because I knew what she would have said. I couldn't stand to hear it. It was the same thing that the little voice inside my head was telling me, over and over and over. By the time our mum realized something was wrong, it was already too late. Mimm had taken the dare. That stupid, horrible dare. I know why she did it. In the way I admire you, she admired them. If we are similar in only one way than it is by this: the humanly desire to please.
Then all of a sudden the shining, bouncing girl was lying on her back in a shadowed room, where instead of music there was the monotonous beating of her heart. I feared it would slow. I feared it would stop.
I feared I would be the one to make it stop.
I will never come in to say: She was my favourite. She was light and love and air. I needed her and she was there. She was perfect. I was not. She had everything she wanted and I was jealous. Then her friends left her. She needed me but I wasn't there. When told to find her own way she did it in the only way she could. She joined daredevils and idiots because the rush of adrenaline made her feel. I stood and watched, unwilling to make sacrifices to save my own sister. We hid the facts from our mother, so she mustn't be blamed. There was a dare. A dreadfully stupid dare and she took it because she felt she had no other choice. There was a choice. There was a simple choice between black and white and I chose the wrong one. It's too late to turn back now.
The maple's branches sway back and forth, send leaves fluttering, tossed and turned by the wind, then resting in the grass to be covered in snow. She and I are like that leaf, waiting in the cold, wondering if spring will come before it's too late.

~*~

This is a narrative writing exercise I had to do for my English class, Modelling Tillie Olsen's "I Stand Here Ironing," as well as my 'Howl of the Silver Moon' characters. I must admit I'm rather proud of this piece, especially since I got a mark of 100%. I want to thank my friends for helping me while writing, with your critiques and suggestions. ;) Lemme know what you think!

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Ode to One Fine Dinner (Poem)

Okay so as you know I suck at poetry, but I love it so I try anyway. I also had to do a poetry unit for school and I had no idea what to write so I just took a bit from a poetry inspiration website and a bit from my own experiences and ended up writing probably the best poem I have ever written in my entire life. It's still horribly imperfect, I practically took a butcher knife to grammar, and there are structure holes everywhere, but here it is:


Ode to One Fine Dinner

Eskimos dwell in the frigid north
Said the lasagna, come steaming forth:
“Together we live in ice and storm
Let me keep you sheltered and warm.”

Asked the eskimo: “Are you quite sure?”
Nodding, the pasta did reassure:
“Snug and toasty, my dear eskimo,
Tucked tight between fine oregano.”

The eskimo then donned, like a coat,
The lasagna, which soothed his sore throat
But when he became hungry, he then
Couldn’t help it—he ate up his friend

Now the eskimo, cold and alone,
Stands in alaska: frozen like stone
While high above in meaty sauce cloud
Lasagna dances and sings aloud.

- Inspired by my father, who said the other night as we all burnt our tongues: "Eskimos should wear lasagna."

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Oblivion (Here We Are)

For English 11 I had to write an original short story, once again, much like the time not long ago when I wrote Starlighter. However, this story is much, much longer and it took much, much longer than just a few hours to write.
I had a mighty amount of trouble (first of all) deciding what I was going to write. I had zero (Nothing, nada, zilch.) ideas that were either worth writing or held some sort of plot. "I know!" I thought to myself. "I'll just continue one of the stories I've already started writing. That'll be easy!" So I set to it.
First I tried continuing Mint and Zoey, which ended with me simply changing a few words here and there and editing and more editing and really not furthering the story a single sentence.
The I tried Ivy and Thornfinger. How wonderful! I thought. Such a lovely pair will surely be easier to continue. I actually got much further than before, until I met with a plot hole the size of a bottomless chasm and was forced to an abrupt halt.
What now? I had wasted time doing useless work and creating book covers for said work. Hurrah.
Last one. Forgotten. I finally had a short story with a definite ending (though I can't promise you it's a cheerful one.) that I would actually be able to write with some accuracy. I spent many days continuing it, renamed it somewhere along the way, and finished it not long ago.
Here We Are.
Finally.
Now go read it and tell me what you think.

Monday, September 1, 2014

Post 265 - In Which I Tell You Of Yet Another Bridie's Domain Update

You get the idea. Part 12 - In Which Bridie Keeps Her Friends Close And Her Enemies Closer is up for the reading.

On a small tangent: If anyone has noticed my incorrect title capitalization, I do it entirely on purpose. I don't know why. I just like the way it looks. And I've started like that so I intend to continue like that.

Anyway. Go read.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

This is where I'd put my clever title if I had one.

Don't you love those little moments of inspiration, little moments of genius, that happen once every rare blue moon? And then they're nearly gone, and you're once again back to your old boring unclever self.

I had a bit of character inspiration while writing Part 12 of Bridie's domain - a perfect phrase, just for her, describing her relationship with Basil. It's a bit of a spoiler I guess, cause she hasn't said it quite yet, but I just had to whip out pixlr and make it something pinnable for my Bridie's Domain board, so I wouldn't forget it.


I don't even know, make what you like, I think it's perfect, and now I couldn't even think of a clever title so it just goes to show...

Monday, June 30, 2014

School's out! Let's scream and shout!

Sorry. Random High School Musical tangent there.
I'm done.
Moving on.

Um, so yeah school's over, so that means I have more time for writing. More time for writing means 'Part 11 - In Which Bridie Eats Ice Cream' of Bridie's Mansion is up for you to read here. Y'all enjoy. Part 12 should be up next soon.
I tend to find that my titles for each part are often moved ahead a couple posts because I find great things to squeeze in between and by the time I get to what i actually was going to use the title for, my word count is so high I think I should start another post. Ah well. More is less. ...wait.

Now, sadly school won't be over for long, but that doesn't mean less writing in this case no, it might even mean more because I'm taking English 11 online over the summer and I'm gonna see if I can't use One Year Adventure Novel as my course, which means I can finally finish the long awaited Howl of the Silver Moon. Ack yup dying at the thought of it.
This is the moment that I realized that my teacher would be reading my writing. Ack. That's awkward. This story is actually kind of a private thing that I love and wish too keep away from the prying eyes of adults who like to read into non-existent things. In other words I hate to be judged. I'd hate to be judged based on my writing, by adults, especially considering HotSM is supposed to be a very dark and depressing book. At least, in my mind. Perhaps not so on paper but I'm working on it.
No matter. I will hopefully never meet my teach in real life.
This I say, knowing that I'm doing my course with a school with which I will, very likely, one day, briefly, meet my teacher. I try not to think of this.

Ah. So. Yeah. Summer. Yay. Finally. About time. Yes. So. Ah.

I forgot to have breakfast this morning. To busy writing. It is currently 11:45. If I had breakfast now it would be an early lunch. Brunch I guess. And then where would lunch be? Lunner? Dinch? These are trying times indeed.

Friday, May 30, 2014

Starlighter


Just a little school project I had to do for a short story unit. Enjoy. Took me a couple hours. It was inspired by Bryan Davis's book of the same name.


Starlighter

“Stay alert, stay close, stay safe.”
Sorrel and her little brother ran through the crowded streets of Erif Drazil, fighting their way through the throng of people and dragons.
Erif Drazil was the capital of D’nal Nogard, a world where dragons ruled and humans were their slaves. There were very few free humans at this time, as most were kept under dragon houses, serving the family of dragons living there in return for food and shelter.
“Will they catch us, Sorrel?” The little boy asked, gripping his sister’s hand in his and a loaf of bread in the other.
“Not if I can help it.” Sorrel huffed, pulling her brother along as fast as their legs would carry them. “But if they do, Kale, stay alert, but stay quiet and leave the the talking to me.”
“Stop them! Thieves!” Came the cry again from behind them.
Glancing back, she saw that they had nearly lost the fat baker that gave pursuit. She laughed as his fuming face was swallowed up in the throng. Then she bumped into something hard and the two were thrown to the ground.
“Watch where you’re going, slaves.” A dragon’s gravely voice said from high above. His sharp face came down to meet hers. “If you don’t start paying mind to your lords.” He flashed white teeth.
“Sorry, sir!” She gasped, picking her and Kale up and rushing on, under the dragon’s scaly body. 
“Stop!” A humongous tail crashed to the road, blocking their path and sending them both to the ground again. “I don’t think you realize who you’re talking too.” A growl began rising in the dragon’s throat, sending hot air into Sorrel’s face and ruffling her thin dress.
“No sir. Sorry sir.” She tried once again to push past the dragon, but his growl rose and she had to stay rooted in place.
“I am Rimidalv Ironscale, captain of the guard and King Eilrach’s head advisor.” He ground out every word, fixing an angry eye on the two grubby children.
Sorrel opened her mouth to speak: “I--”
“Gotchya!” A heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder and she screamed in surprise. “Got ya, ya dingy beggar!” The baker’s round face leered over her, furiously red and gasping like a landed trout. “You wont be stealing my bread again, ya wont, not when me’s finished with ya.”
“Let me go!” Sorrel screamed, struggling under the man’s iron grip. “We didn’t steal a thing from you!”
“Sure ya did, yer little blighter pinched a loaf while ya accidentally knocked over a shelf a  fresh pasties.”
“We have no bread!” She insisted, trying to separate herself from the man. Kale peaked  big blue eyes from under an over sized hat, splaying out his empty arms.
“Enough.” Bellowed Rimidalv, who had been listening, the whole time breathing hot air down Sorrel’s neck.
The baker seemed to suddenly notice the dragon and dropped the girls arm hurriedly, fumbling to remove his hat and shrinking into his boots. Which, Sorrel noted, where so small that the man’s round ankles hung out of them. The baker bowed his bald head low, wringing his hat.
The dragon frowned. “You are a baker.” It was more of a statement than a question. “What did they take from you?”
“Two loaves of bread.”
Rimidalv swung his head around to the children, locking a deadly stare upon them. “Is this true?”
Dare she lie to a dragon, much less one so high a position as this?
“No sir.” Sorrel shook her head furiously, as did Kale, which sent his hat flying off his head, revealing the bread hidden there.
Sorrel could have screamed, or maybe cried.
The dragon only repeated the question more firmly, more angrily, less patience. “Is this true?”
She swallowed hard and nodded miserably. Her voice was barely audible. “Yes sir.”
Rimidalv turned to Leaf. I will notify their master and have them disposed of.”
Kale’s eyes grew wide and he clutched his sister’s hand. She looked down at him sadly then at the people around them. They avoided her gaze and hurried on, pretending they had heard and seen nothing. Tugging at her thin dress, her brother whispered: “Please, Sorrel, tell a story.”
“Let’s go, slaves.” The dragon ordered, claws sweeping towards them.
“No!” Sorrel pleaded. “Please, let me explain. You can’t take us away, you can’t.”
The dragon’s large head swooped down to her angrily. “And why not, pray?”
She had to look at her feet in order to regain some bravery. “Because… our mother you see. She needs us.”
Rimidalv’s frown only thinned impatiently so she hurried on.
“She needs us, you see.” Dropping Kale’s hand she stepped toward the great dragon hands outspread, empty.
“Kale does not remember, he was too young, but I do. We once had a father.” Sorrel raised he hands above her head. As she spoke, her tale became vivid and the scenes seemed to appear around her. “He was tall and handsome, working hard all day so mother could stay with us. He loved us, you see, and we loved him too.” 
Next to the girl could almost be seen a young man, kind eyes, weathered face, coming to his family with open arms. A wide smile was spread across his face. “But one day a man came home to us. It was not father. He had come to say that father had died in an accident.” Sorrel closed her eyes painfully. A darkness hung in the air, sad and empty. A single tear ran down her’s cheek as she continued. “Mother cried and cried. Father never came home to us. We didn’t know what to do.”
Like a misty vision, a young woman held a little boy, kissing the top of his red head as he cried, litter girl clinging to her skirts. Her blue eyes were filled with anxiety.
“Mother went to work in place of father. She would come home exhausted, and I would hear her crying at night as I lay in bed. She cried for father, for us.” The girl placed folded hands against her wet cheek. “Then one day mother became sick, and unable to work. She lays in bed, even now, so ill she can not sit up.” Sorrel took her place beside her brother, tearstained face smiling weakly down at him. “I took mothers place at work, striving hard so that we may survive. Without us, she will perish.” The trance faded, leaving a lingering feeling of sorrow.
Blubbering, the baker had tears running down his fat face.
The dragon only blinked, but Sorrel knew that he too had been moved. Then he shook his head, as though clearing a fog. “Go home. Take the bread.”
“Oh thank you sir, you have no idea how grateful-”
“Now. Before I change my mind.”
Sorrel closed her lips tightly. Kale picked up the fallen loaf and followed his sister, but they had not gotten far with Rimidalv called after them. “Girl!”
She glanced back warily. “Yes sir?”
His sharp eyes bore into her. “What is your name?”
Gulping down the urge to flee, she said: “Sorrel, sir. Sorrel Leaf.”
“And your master?”
“Salis Redwing.”
Rimidalv nodded, spread his wings and took to the cloudy dark sky.
Sorrel squeezed her brothers hand and they hurried off, back to their home.

Closing the door carefully so it didn’t creak, Sorrel and Kale tiptoed into the servant’s house. Their bare feet pattered quietly on the cold stone floor. Voices echoes off the tall ceilings, coming from the kitchen down the dark hall.
“Salis is in an uproar again… try not to bother… nearly killed him…”
The two children passed the open door way, stepping into the light that streamed into the hall and back into the shadows.
The chatter halted abruptly. “Was that you, Sorrel?”
Freezing in place, Sorrel answered: “Yes, Mrs. Stem?”
“Salis wanted to see you for something. He said to see him right away.”
Salis? Why would Salis want to see her? Had he found out about something she had done?
“Okay Mrs. Stem, I’ll go to him once I see mother.” She said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Mrs. Stem sighed. “Alright dear. And Sorrel?”
“Yes?”
“Good luck.”
Ushering Kale down the hall at a fast pace, Sorrel whispered to him harshly. “Don’t mention this to mother. She must not know what is going on. You stay here with her while I go see Salis. And take that bread out of your hat.”
They made there way to the servant quarters and up to their mother’s bed, close to the fire. Mrs. Leaf lay covered in as many extra sheets as could be found, but she still shivered, even next to the fire. Her tired eyes opened as soon as they entered the room.
Kale slipped a hand under her covers, searching for a hand to hold. Hers met his and gave it a weak squeeze. “Hallo, mum.” He said, giving a weak smile.
“Hallo darling.” Mrs. Leaf’s lips lifted at the corners. Her voice was loving, small, and frail. “How was your day?”
He sat down on the floor, still grasping her hand. “It was… interesting.”
“Was it? How so?”
Sorrel cleared her throat. “Kale, will you go grab a spoon from the kitchen? And whatever else you can find.”
He reluctantly got up, letting his mother’s had slip from his, and went out the door.
Next to the bed lay a cup of water for Mrs. Leaf. It was empty so Sorrel took and began to fill it with water from the kettle over the fire.
“Do you have something to tell me?”
Sorrel jumped. She had not expected Mrs. Leaf to speak. Somehow she always knew when her children had done something they maybe shouldn’t have.
Sorrel unhooked the kettle. “We got some bread for you.” She did not have to meet her mothers eyes to know she was troubled by this.
“Where did you get it?”
Sorrel tried not to pour boiling water all over her shaking hand. “A baker in the market square.”
Mrs. Leaf sighed. “Did you steal it, darling?”
Sorrel forced a laugh. “That’s what the baker said.” She sobered as she filled the cup. Her voice was barely a whisper. “A dragon heard him. He believed him and was going to… take us away.”
There was a small gasp, then a cough. “What did you do?”
Tracing the rim of the chipped cup, Sorrel sat on the floor, facing the bed, not looking up. “I told him a story.” Then she did look up. Her mother was smiling. Sorrel was not sure if it was filled with sadness, disappointment, hope?
“You have a great gift dear. The power of the Starlighter is a mighty one, treasured and coveted. There are legends and songs written about the ones before you. Some day you will be great,  Sorrel, Enna, Leaf. You must promise me you will use your gift wisely and to the good of others.” Mrs. Leafs head lifted slightly off the straw mattress. “Do you promise me this?”
Sorrel reached for her mother’s outstretched hand, entwining the weak fingers in her earth covered ones. “Yes mother. I promise.”
Then they were silent until Kale returned. Sorrel prepared a meager meal for her mother and left Kale with her, making her way to Salis’s main room.
He waited for her, tall and furious. As she entered the massive room his amber eyes locked on her tiny frame, boring into her and daring her to step out of line. She could hardly find the courage to make her eyes meat his. Instead her eyes traveled to another dragon standing by him. Rimidalv. There was no tell-tale on his face to tell why he might be here. Had he changed his mind about letting her go?
She stopped before the dragons, bowing respectively and waiting to be addressed.
“Sorrel Leaf.” The words echoed off the walls, deep and grating. Salis lifted his head and looked down his muzzle, studying her. “Rimidalv has some… interesting demands for you and I. His majesty the king wishes to be of possession of you. What possible use he could have for you I do not know.” Salis shot a look at Rimidalv and his guttural laugh sent shivers down Sorrel’s spine, despite the dragon fire heat of the room.
Rimidalv did not smile. Turning from the other dragon he motioned to Sorrel. “Come. I am a busy stallion and do not have time to trifle with mere humans.”
Sorrel opened her mouth to speak, but seeing Salis watching her with eyes like slits she clamped it shut again and followed Rimidalv out a vaulting archway and into the open air beyond.
She had to run as fast as she could to keep up with him until he finally slowed once Salis was out of sight. Then he turned to her, walking very slowly so that she may keep up with his long strides.
“You must know why I am here.” His voice was less gruff, not exactly kind, but careful.
Sorrel’s heart beat wildly. “I do not think I do, sir.” She stared hard at the dark shadow cast by the creature beside her. “Is it… is it because of what I did earlier.”
“Yes.” But there was no warning of death in his strong voice. “That is why I have come for you. Once I had left you I went to speak with some elders in the kings court.”
Elders? Simply for a criminal sentence? There was no way that -
“We agree that you must be taken to the castle and taken care of.”
She clenched and unclenched sweaty fists. “Oh.”
Rimidalv seemed to smile. “You will be a great Starlighter.”
Sorrel stopped. Her feet refused to move another step. “How did…?” Then her mouth froze too, a perplexed ‘o’. 
The dragon rounded on her, uncharacteristically excited. “Your story was astonishingly vivid. I could see everything as though it were right in front of me. I could feel what you felt. Once you had finished it took me a moment to realize what had happened. Then I realized. You are one of the legendary Starlighters.” This last sentence was whispered reverently. “I did not tell Salis in fear he would wish to keep you to himself. He does not know this, does he?”
Sorrel shook her head. “What will happen to me?”
Rimidalv continued on again, this time at a faster pace. “You will live in King Eilrahc’s fortress, and train.”
Unable to believe it she asked: “What will become of my family?”
“Family? They will come to live with you.”
They came to a large pad built for dragons to land a take flight. “Climb aboard, small one.”
Sorrel’s eyes grew wide. “I could not.” It was a great shame for a dragon and a great honor for a human to ride it’s back. Only the most powerful or esteemed would ride on the back of a mighty dragon.
“Hop on, Starlighter. There are great things in store for you.”
Sorrel smiled. This was how she would be able to use her gift. To help her family. To help others. And this was only the beginning.

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Strayed Soul Poem

I had to write a poem for school using couplets and these sets of words:

  • plea, me
  • thrown, stone
  • stood, wood

So here's what I got:

Long way down the road there stood
a dark and dangerous, forbidding wood.
Souls of many, there were thrown
and there they lay deep under stone.
From the forest could be heard the plea:
"Come, strayed soul, to rescue me."

I can't believe I wrote something so freaky.
I don't even know what it means.
But it rhymed, so.
Lemme know what you think.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Bridie's Domain Part 5!

Part 5: In Which Bridie Goes Shopping, is finally up! Check it out on Bridie's Domain: http://soulclanterritory.wordpress.com/

I'm already mostly finished Part 6: In Which Bridie Meets the Neighbors. I'm about to introduce a character that I'm super excited about! -_- And please dismiss the fact that his name starts with a 'b', yet again.
Read about him this Saturday!


Recently I've had a new fascination with japanese music. Here's one english translation of Happy Synthesizer by Lizz:


Enjoy! And don't forget to read Bridie's Domain! ^.^

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Howdy Y'all!

So, school's been crazy. You would not believe how much homework I have. But the whole thing's being sorted out, so I hope to start blogging and writing again in a couple weeks!

Bridie's Domain has been dead for what..? A couple months? Yeah, I'm gonna revive her soon and keep the story going. Bridie's not dead yet! (But her Grandpa is. And there's a murderer on the loose so who knows how long she's last.)

As for this years OYAN, I'm just DYING to get started. Seriously, I've never had a novel that lasted this long or in dire need of a deep plot. It's already the best plotting I've ever done. Which, to be honest, is kind of sad, but still. I'm super excited.

My friend the Samster has a super cool blog, so click the super-fancy-shmancy link on the left to go to Samster Style!

Monday, August 19, 2013

Bridie's Domain Update

Bridie's Domain is getting on pretty well. I've already started writing Part 4 and Part 3 is already up for y'all to read. So if you've got time to spare, it'd make my day if you read and commented!

Bridie's Domain

So yup, that'd be great.

Also, I have a cold. And it sucks. So, quick prayer maybe? :\

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Bridie's Domain: Web Serial

I'm writing another story, a web serial called Bridie's Domain. (I was thinking maybe I'd change it to Bridie's Mansion, but we'll see.) It's my first try at writing a mystery, so why don't you go over and give me a couple pointers?

Bridie's Domain


Also: DLWoW is in progress! Why don't you help it start sailing:

Da Lovely World of Writing


And just for fun:


Thursday, May 16, 2013

I Write Like...

I found this little fun thing: I Write Like

It's fun.

So, apparently I wrote Mint and Zoey much like Rudyard Kipling, (JUNGLE BOOK!)

Ivy and Thorn much like Neil Gaiman, (Whoever he is.)

Forgotten is written like Margaret Atwood, (Don't know her.)

And Red-haired Runaway Princess (OYAN) is much like Anne Rice. (Whoever she might be. *googles* Oh. She writes lots of vampire novels. That's awkward.)


Check it out, it's lots of fun!

I'm gonna post this here cause it's the one I'm most proud of:




I write like
Rudyard Kipling
I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

Btw, if you wanna read Red-haired Runaway Princess, just ask and I'll send you a link.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

I've never been good at writing poems

And this kind of bothers me because I absolutely adore poetry.
Not all poetry, mind you, but some of it is amazing.

(For instance:)
Recently, I've been reading A. A. Milne's 'When We Were Very Young' and I must say, if you haven't read his writing, you really should.
You have to.

Well, not really.

You're not going to die or anything if you don't.

But you should. 

Anywho.

I must say that mostly my favorite poems are the somewhat nonsensical ones.
For instance, I've memorized Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky poem.
My favorites of A. A. Milne's are 'Happiness', 'The Four Friends' and 'Halfway Down'. I think I like a lot of his because some of them don't quite flow perfectly. His poems somehow always inspire me that way.

So now,
I've wrote
two poems-
not one
but two.
They're not
amazing poems
but they
will have
to do.

Ooh. I came up with that on the spot.
Moving on:

Raining


Pitter, patter
all the clatter
on the window pane.

Ping, pong
all the song
going down the lane.

Pound, pound
all the sound
driving me insane!

Why can't
          I go
               outside?

I'm not quite purfickly happy with this one. But I s'pose I like it. If you have any ideas on how I could make it better, feel free to leave a comment.


Far Away


Down, down
at the edge of town
is a long,
            dirt
                road.

Down, down
at the end of the road
is a big,
          green
               toad.

Long is the road,
green is the toad,
down at the edge
                    of town.

This one I'm pretty happy with. It was fun to write, it it is kind of what I was going for. Once again, if you have any ideas for improvements, lemme know.

I got this stuff simply from reading Milne's poems and, well, trying to mimic them. I'm rather proud.
Rather.
I like that word.


Happiness


John had
Great Big
Waterproof
Boots on;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Hat;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Mackintosh --
And that
(Said John)
Is
That.

     ~ A. A. Milne

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Ivy and Thorn - Part 3


"Thorn-Finger," Ivy said suddenly as she popped the last piece of bacon in to her mouth. "I need to use the rest room."
"Go then." Thorn-Finger motioned to-ward the rest-room impatiently, unwilling to leave his delicious food for even a second.
The girl went off, unaffected by his brisk words, and Thorn-Finger was able to finished his buttery pancakes.
Ivy had still not come back by then, but something made him look up and out the window.
Bubba's eyes met his. The huge man was easy to spot, even in the crowded street. He looked tired and beaten. Bubba tossed his knife in the air and traced a line across his throat with his thumb.
Thorn-Finger nodded. He understood. He had to run.
Jumping up, he ran to the woman's bath room. He stopped at the door. "Ivy?" He knocked.
No answer.
A little louder: "Ivy?"
Please let Bubba not have found her, he thought.
"Yes?" Came the little girl's voice.
"We need to go."
"Be right there." The sound of shuffling hands and feet.
Thorn-Finger glanced through the window. Bubba was crossing the street. "Ivy-"
A woman pushed passed him out the door.
"Be right there!" The sound of rushing water.
"No, Ivy. Now!" Thorn-Finger knocked again.
The large man had made it to the sidewalk. He wasn't looking towards the rest-rooms.
"Coming!" Ivy emerged.
She had hardly taken one step out side the rest-room when Thorn-Finger grabbed her hand and ran for the back exit.
"But we have not paid!" Ivy insisted.
Pulling her down the back alley, he huffed. "No time!"
As soon as they made it out of town, they once again took to the trees. They ran until Ivy finally complained: "I am tired. I do not think I could walk another step." And with that she slipped her hand from his and sprawled out on the mossy ground.
It struck Thorn-Finger that the little girl had take all the excitement very well. Most girls would have started to cry. But Ivy was not like most girls. Instead of shying away from anything strange of dangerous, the odd and adventurous attracted this little girl. Instead of pink dresses, this girl wore leather jackets and combat boots.
No, this girl was anything but ordinary.
"Was there trouble, Thorn-Finger?"
It took him a moment to realize she had spoken.
"Yes."
But she was already asleep, even though the sun was still high in the sky.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Ivy and Thorn - Part 2

Thorn Finger hitch hiked his way out of London and soon found him self walking along side a quiet road from there on.
An occasional car passed and the sun would peek out from behind the grey clouds now and then, though it did not not rain.
Absentmindedly, Thorn Finger took a match from his pocket, lit it and popped it into his mouth.
A van rolled up beside him. The window rolled down.
"Need a lift, Fire Eater?" Asked a gruff, mocking voice.
Thorn Finger calmly spat out the match--unharmed--before turning to the driver. He had no doubt that this giant of a man could rip him limb from limb.
His hands were as large as melons, his shoulders broad and muscular.
"Hallo, Bubba." Thorn Finger said, though his heart beat faster and his legs screamed at him to run. It was not that he was especially afraid of the man, he just wasn't overly fond of what followed.
"The boss wants you to pay up." Bubba rubbed the back of his prickly shaved head and sneered.
Thorn Finger sighed. "I have told you many times before. I do not have it yet."
Bubba took out a knife and began to clean under his finger nails with it. "Well you had better get it soon or I may be tempted to carve a couple more designs in that pretty face of yours."
"Give me more time, Bubba." Thorn Finger pleaded. "I just need more time."
Lifting his knife, Bubba seemed to cut imaginary lines through the air, pondering.
"Fine." He said finally. "But the boss will not be happy. I do not know how much longer I can cut you so much slack, though. You are running out of time, Fire Eater."
With that, Bubba rolled up the window and the van roared away.
"You will not be sorry!" Thorn Finger called after it.
He is going to be so sorry, he thought to him self.

The sun was beginning to set when Thorn Finger ducked in to the wood that ran along side the road.
After starting a fire, he sat down to a dinner of canned soup.
Waif ran off into the night to find a meal of her own.
"Everything I eat is canned." Thorn Finger complained to him self. "Canned soup, canned beans, canned fish, canned fruit."
A twig snapped. He was not alone. Waif could not have made so much noise, and there was no way some on as large as Bubba could have snuck up on him like that.
"Who is there?" He called in to the darkness of the trees.
A shadow came in to view. A small shadow.
Thorn Finger sighed. He had almost managed to forget about her.
Almost.

Ivy stepped into the fire light.
The man with the scars looked at her with something like respective annoyance. "How did you managed to follow me?" He asked.
Ivy shrugged and dug at the ground with her leather boot. "It was not hard really, to get away from the ticket lady. Then I just took a taxi north." She held up a leather wallet. "Thorn Finger." She mused. "What kind of name is that?"
Thorn Finger patted his pockets in surprise.
Tossing him his wallet, Ivy sat down across the fire from the strange man.
Thorn Finger counted the money then slid it safely--or not--in to his pocket. "You owe me." He said, shooting her a meaningful glare.
Ivy simply shrugged. Her stomach complained loudly. She tried oh-so-hard not to stare a Thorn Finger's can of soup, but in the end she could not help her self and he handed her the can.
Then he sat ignoring her, hypnotized by the flames as she ate.
Once she had finished, she began to repeat something Thorn Finger had said only minutes earlier, only changed it a little and added a tune.
"Canned beans, canned soup;
Canned fish, canned fruit.
That's all he ever gets to eat;
Canned beans, canned fruit."
Thorn Finger smiled for the first time. She could not tell if it was amused, forced, or just awkward.
"You really must come with me?" He asked.
Ivy nodded. "Yes."
Thorn Finger sighed. "If you get hurt, do not blame me."
"I will not." Ivy said, though she wondered what kind of trouble the strange man could be in.

Ivy awoke the next morning to a leathery tongue on her face. "Hallo, Waif."
Placing the furry, white animal beside her, Ivy sat up, stretched her sore muscles and looked around.
Thorn Finger was not there.
But he could not have left her, she decided, because he had left his things and Waif.
Sure enough, Thorn Finger soon returned.
"You are awake."
"Yes."
"There's some breakfast for you by my pack."
It was canned fruit.
At this Ivy began to sing.
"Canned beans, canned soup;
canned fish, canned fruit;
That's all we ever get to eat;
Canned fish, canned fruit."
Thorn Finger did not say any thing, only threw some dirt over the remains of the fire.
"Are we leaving now?" Ivy asked, watching him.
"Yes."
"May I carry Waif?"
"If she does not mind."
"Do you think she will?"
"I do not know. Now shut up and eat your pears."
"I do not think she will." Ivy mumbled, finishing off the can. Handing Thorn Finger the tin, she picked up Waif and placed the ferret in her leather ruck sack. The little critter did not protest.
Thorn Finger watched her with shielded jealousy and respect.
Waif must not do this for him, Ivy thought.
Thorn Finger turned away and headed in to the trees.
"Wait!" Ivy hurried after him. "Where are you going? The road is that way." She pointed.
"Yes, but we are not using the road."
"Why ever not?"
"It is too dangerous."
"Oh?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
She did not say any thing after that for quite some time.
"Does that frighten you?" Thorn Finger asked, some what hopefully.
Ivy shook her head. "Not 'specially." She paused. "What kind of trouble are you in mister?"
Thorn Finger did not answer, only said after some time: "Do not call me that."

"Thorn Finger." Ivy said suddenly. "I need to use the toilet."
"What?" Thorn Finger asked, having not really been paying attention.
"I need to go PEE." Ivy said.
"Go then." He said. "In a bush some where." He could tell that she was reluctant, but she put on a brave face and went.
Thorn Finger waited.
"What do I use to um, wipe?" The little girl called.
"Use a leaf or some thing." Thorn Finger called back, some what red in the face.
So this is what if feels like to be a parent or guardian, he thought to him self.
Ivy finished up and the unlikely pair was off again.

It was not yet lunch time when they arrived at a little town. There seemed to be a market set up along the main strip and Ivy insisted on stopping at every thing he saw.
She smelled the flowers, she tasted the food samples and she played with the noise makers.
"Please stop." Thorn Finger begged finally. "It is so hard to do any thing when you are whizzing about."
"Can not we buy some food though?" Ivy pleaded.
"No."
"Why not?" She whined.
"It is much too expensive and it does not last long."
"But it looks so GOOD." The little girl pleaded and pouted, but Thorn Finger would not give in.
"All right." Ivy said finally, wiping away tears. They had only just moved on when Ivy went on. "But I would like know. Why DO you only eat canned beans, canned soup, canned--"
"I get it."
"--if you hate it so much?"
"I did not say I hated it."
"All right then, dislike it."
"Because it last long, and it is cheep. Why do you ask?" Thorn Finger asked impatiently.
"Because there is a pancake house over there advertising free kids meals." Ivy counted on her fingers. "That is nothing for me, and plus I owe you for the taxi and train."
Thorn Finger did not have to smell the syrup and bacon twice. "Come on now, we haven't got all day."
"Only lunch." Ivy agreed, skipping after him.
Only later did her realize she had gotten him to do exactly as she had wanted.

Total word count: 2,276
Goal: 40,000

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Ivy and Thorn - part 1


I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo. I've started a little early.

Thorn Finger placed his belongings at the bottom of his rucksack and swung the bag over is shoulder.
"That was a cool show." Said a voice.
Thorn Finger spun around, startled.
In front of him stood a little girl. She wore a brown leather jacket and combat boots, but despite her rugged appearance, she wore jean shorts and a blouse, her red hair tied up with a large cream bow.
She looks to be around nine he thought, but where are her parents?
He glanced around for any sign of  any over protective parents, but none showed to punch his scarred face in.
"I am Ivy." The girl thrust out a hand. "I am eleven years old."
Thorn Finger hesitantly took her small hand in his bigger one and shook it.
Her deep green eyes bore into him. Confident and searching, they seemed to examine every inch of him from his sandy hair down to his worn boots.
She is very wise and short for her age, he decided.
Adjusting the cloth pack slung over her tiny shoulders she looked him up and down again just for good measure. "What you did was pretty neat." She stated rather factually. "Do you think you could teach me how?"
"Breath fire?" Thorn Finger finally spoke. "It takes time and practice." He shook his head.
"I have time." Ivy said airily. "Where are you headed?"
"North." Shifting from foot to foot,  he glanced around anxiously for the girls parents. Surely they didn't want their little daughter talking to a stranger. Much less one that hadn't shaved for a month and breathed fire.
"North?" Ivy exclaimed. "Really?" That is where I'm going too! I will travel with you."
"What?" Thorn Finger shouted in dismay. "No, go home."
Frowning, she protested: "But I am going the same direction as you are--to visit my aunt." The last bit sounded like an after thought.
"I am going on foot. Why do not you use the train?" Thorn Finger asked. still unwilling to travel with a child and unable to comprehend any reason some one would want to travel with him.
"Why do not YOU use the train?" Ivy countered, stomping her foot on the road with impatience.
"Where are your parents?" Thorn Finger demanded.
At this Ivy scuffed at the road with her toe. "On vacation in France. They would only just be on the plane by now. I was on my way to the train station when I saw you and stopped to watch the show. Oh and by the by, where did your ferret run off to?"
"Too find some lunch," He explained. "But you are not under any circumstances coming with me."
"Yes I am and you can't stop me." She stomped her foot with stubborn determination.
Thorn Finger trie very hard in every way to convince her other wise, but the silly girl would not be swayed.
Fine, he thought irritably, I will just have to force her to stay.
He thought about running, but that did not seem very nice, and if she ran after him, she may get lost. London was huge and noisy and dangerous for a little girl. He considered taking her to the police station but the idea didn't appeal to him in any which way and it seemed rather harsh considering the girl had no nearby family to take her. Plus her aunt would be waiting for her.
Having made up his mind, Thorn Finger purposely walked off down the road.
"Wait!" Ivy bawled, chasing after him. "Where are you going? North is that way."
"I just need to drop something off first." He whistled to his ferret and the furry little thing emerged from the bushes. "Come on now, Waif." Climbing up the man's out stretched arm the ferret slipped into Thorn Fingers pack and poked it's head out to hiss at Ivy.
"May I pet her?" Ivy asked, almost in reply,
Thorn Finger shot her an irritated look. "What makes you think that it's a female?"
Ivy ignore him. "May I?"
"No." He almost snapped, "She bites."
"So it IS a she?"
"Don't talk to me."
The two wound their way through the busy streets of London.
"Why are we here?" Ivy asked when she had spotted the train station.
Thorn Finger glanced at her warily. "I told you, I Have some business here to take care of. Do you still want to follow me?"
He hoped she would go away, for she surely knew what he planned to do. She was no fool, that he could see.
But she looked at him determinedly and shook her head. She would not let him out of her sight, knowing he would run off as soon as he had the chance.
Instead, she followed him inside.
She marched behind him right up to the ticket counter. She did not bolt when he asked for a child's fare.
However, when he asked her where her aunt lived, she would not tell him.
"One ticket to Birmingham. He said to the lady clerk.
Ivy simply raised her eye brows.
Giving a shrug he thought to him self: Birmingham just seems like a likely place for an aunt to live.
As he took the ticket from the lady he added: "Oh and can you get someone to watch over the girl? I have to be on my way."
"Sure. I'll even do it." The young blonde batted her eye lashes at him and her some what self consciously traced the three scars that ran down his cheek.
Inviting Ivy behind the counter with her, the lady assured Thorn Finger in the most lengthy and un-assuring way that the "little darling" would be in safe hands until the train arrived.
Thorn Finger only nodded his thanks, thinking to him self, the way she carries on, Ivy will have gone before she could even finish one sentence. Ah well.
Ivy gave him a pitiful look as he left and a feeling of regret stabbed him in the heart.
I can not afford to take care of a little girl, he reprimanded him self. Besides, she would not be safe with me.
No she would not.

What do you think? My word goal is 40,000.
Estimate word count: 983

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

Mint and Zoey - Chapter 2 - Part 3

Zoey

"Are you sure you have everything?" Zoey asked Mint for the third time.
"Yup!" His adopted sister skipped in circles around him.
"You've got your clothes, blanket, water, snacks, your books, notepad, did you remember your special hair bow?"
Zoey went through the list and Mint replied to each one with a chipper "Check!"
Crystal came out of the house and walked towards them through the drifts of dead leaves. "Did you remember Thorvald?" She asked holding out the plush toy.
"Thorvy-bear!" Mint gasped.
The poor pony still wore the frilly pink dress.
Tucking the animal into her rucksack, Mint strung the pack over her shoulders and smiled at Zoey. "Now I'm ready. Were should we start?"
"Follow the lake." Crystal suggested.
"Why do you say that?" Zoey asked and immediately thought he may have sounded a little suspicious.
Crystal looked offended and he mentally winced. "Because it's the best place to situate anything. Plus, we'll have remotely clean drinking water.
"Sounds good to me." Mint offered.
Zoey only nodded and brushed past her. "Put on your jacket, Mint. Winter's on it's was and we can't afford for you to get sick."
Mint frowned and looked hurt, and Zoey immediately wished he could take it back. "Sorry." He muttered. "Want a horsey ride?"
Mint's face broke into a wide grin. "That's okay and yes please!"
Swinging the girl onto his shoulders they set off. Through the forest stained with fall colors they treked.
Their adventure had begun.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Mint and Zoey - Chapter 2 - Part 2

Since RHRP is finally finished and I promised my little sister I'd keep writing Mint and Zoey once I was done, here it is:



See what has happened up until now...




     Mint


Running through the hallways of the remote forest manor, shaggy hair and frilly skirts flying, Mint burst into Zoey's bedroom.
"Look what I made!" She screamed, sending Zoey toppling out of his bed in fright. "It's a kitty." She announced, thrusting a carved apple into his face.
"Don't DO that." Zoey exclaimed, clutching his chest.
"Sorry," Mint said hurriedly, examining her apple. "Crystal helped me make him. Do you think I should name him? I want to, but then I'm afraid I'll like him too much to eat him. I'm gonna ask Madona." 
Spinning on her bare heel, she dashed out of the room.
"You do that!" She heard Zoey call after her.
About to burst in Madona's room, Mint stopped abruptly and though better of it, remembering the look on Zoey's face when she crashed into his room and startled him awake. 
She gently pushed over the old woman's door.
"Madona?" Mint tiptoed to her bedside. "Are you awake?"
The little girl placed a hand on the woman's shoulder.
With a gasp, she jumped back as if stung. A bitter cold surrounded her. She had seen this before, and she knew it all to well. The whole scene was a horrible deja-vu.
She wanted to scream, but at first, no sound came.
"Zoey!"
Her memories had come back to haunt her.

     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After comforting the traumatized Mint, Zoey and Crystal buried the loving woman next to her husband.
Since they had no gravestone, they carved a note into some wood and placed it over the grave.
It read:


Madona
Loving Wife, kind friend, forever remembered.

A couple of days later, a crude but beautiful carving appeared on the headstone. I suspect Crystal had something to do with it, but when Zoey asked Mint what she thought, the little girl hadn't said a word about it.

     *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Zoey

"What now?" Mint's question had been whispered so quietly that Zoey had hardly caught it.
Placing his bowl of steaming soup on the kitchen table, he sat down on one of the four mismatched wooden chairs. "I don't know." With I sigh, he ran his finger's through his rust-colored hair.
It had been almost a week since Madona had died. The three had gone through the motions, and Zoey knew Mint had tried to hide her crying at night. Crystal had been unusually solemn and quite, and none of them ever felt like doing much of anything.
"We can't stay here forever." Mint's bright eyes met his. Once again she had stated the very thought he had been so hesitant to say.
"Why not?" Crystal sat across from Zoey, her two toned eyes met his. "We have food, we have shelter,"
"But the chickens and cow will die, and crops may fail," Mint pointed out miserably. "This house is very old and already falling apart. Someone's got to have known there was an old lady living out here, and if they come looking, they'll find us and a dead woman." Dropping her idle spoon, she rested her chin on balled fists. "And besides, we still have something to finish."
Zoey caught her meaningful look. 'She's way beyond her years,' he thought, stirring is soup, deep in thought. 'and she's right. We can't stay here forever. Mint and I, we have business to finish.' Finally he pushed back his chair and stood.
"Mint and I want to find the one that killed our parents'. We will leave as soon as we're ready." Pausing at the door, Zoey said over his shoulder: "Where ever you decide to go, Crystal, is up to you."
The girl was silent at first, then: "You haven't touched your soup."
"I'm not hungry."

Mint

"There." Putting on the last touches, Mint stepped back to admire her work. "You look absolutely stunning, Thorvald dear." She patted the small, raggedy plush horse on the head. The old brown thing wore a pastel pink doll dress.
"Isn't "Thorvald dear" a boy?" Tossing a shirt on to the pile of things he would pack, Zoey emerged from the closet, a quizzical look on his face.
Mint smiled wide. "Yes, but he was misbehaving earlier this morning and I thought this would be the best way to punish him."
Zoey laughed and ruffled her blue-green hair. "That is certainly the worst punishment I could imagine."
"Well, killing him would be much too--"
Crystal walked into the room and plopped a bag onto Zoey's bed. Her jaw was set; hand on hip.
"What's this?" The other two asked, Mint jumping up to see what was inside the bag.
"My things." The girl explained with finality. "I'm coming with you."
Mint looked to Zoey, wondering what the older boy would think. His face was unreadable.
"Okay. When can you be ready?" He asked evenly.
"Whenever you are." Crystal looked at Zoey, daring him to refuse her.
Mint glanced back and forth between the two. When neither said anything, she smiled. "Yay."

Lemme know what you think!

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Character Development


Okay, so I found this on Pinterest as well:


Character Name:

Age:

Appearance:

1. What do you know about this character now that s/he doesn't yet know?

2. What is this character's greatest flaw?

3. What do you know about this character that s/he would never admit?

4. What is this character's greatest asset?

5. If this Character could choose a different identity, who would s/he be?

6. What music doe this character sing to when no one else is around?

7. In what or whom does this character have the greatest faith?

8. What is this character's favorite movie?

9. Does this character have a favorite article of clothing? Favorite shoes?

10. Does this character have a vice? Name it.

11. Name this character's favorite person. (Living or dead)

12.What is this character's secret wish?

13. What is this character's proudest achievement? 

14. Describe this character's most embarrassing moment.

15. What is this character's deepest regret?

16. What is this character's greatest fear?

17.  Describe this character's most devastating moment.

18. What is this character's greatest achievement? 

19. What is this character's greatest hope?

20. Does this character have an obsession? Name it.

21. What is this character's greatest disappointment?

22. What is this character's  worst nightmare?

23. Whom does this character most wish to please? Why?

24. Describe this character's mother.

25. Describe this character's father.

26. If s/he had to choose, with whom would this character would this character prefer to live?

27. Where does this character fall in birth order? What effect does this have?

28. Describe this character's siblings or other close relatives.

29. Describe this character's bedroom. Include three cherished items.

30. What is this character's birth date? Hoes does this character manifest traits of his/her astrological sign?

31. If this character had to live in seclusion for six months, what six items would s/he bring?

32. WHy is this character angry?

33. What calm this character?

34. Describe a recurring dream of nightmare this character might have.

35. List the choices (not circumstances) that led this character to his/her current predicament.

36. List the circumstances over which this character has no control.

37. What wakes this character in the middle of the night?

38. How would a stranger describe this character?

39.  What does this character resolve to do differently every morning?

40. Who depends on this character? Why?

41. If this character knew s/he had exactly one month to live, what would s/he do?

42. How would a dear friend of relative describe this character?

43. What is this character's most noticeable physical attribute?

44. What is this character hiding from his/herself?

45. Write one additional thing about your character.