7/20/10

Have To

I crave something new - a dance, a security, a snark, a man - and know that no such thing as what I desire exists. But I crave it anyways. (After all, we all want to be understood.)

I know that neither one of us can be what the other one needs, but we're both just so sick of being lonely. I try to recreate a state of naiveté, where a mere name may make me blush, but reality has eaten all my romance. Even celebrities are far too tangible to be the stuff of my fantasies.

So, maybe there is no solution. Maybe the days where I got lost are long gone. (How ironically appropriate!)

But to never taste euphoria again.... I have to believe that a match is out there.

7/16/10

Plexiglass Possibilities

The phone is stubbornly silent and that hurts.

Not that I expected it to ring - I'm familiar enough with the human species in general and the male gender in particular not to entertain such foolishly romantic notions as the phone's low growl against my bedspread would imply.

I suppose I was just hoping to be surprised.

But I am more aware than ever of this plexiglass possibility cage I'm trapped in, bruising my fists where I would usually pace. As shocking a revelation as it may be, I'm furious. After all, I'm supposed to have options. In theory, I could have anyone I want - I know all the right moves to make, all the right phrases to say, just the right balance of accessibility and challenge to offer.

The problem lays in that I cannot think of one person it might be satisfying to have. (It is not enough to want and it is not enough to be wanted.)

I guess I've been around just long enough to be jaded.

So, I offered him a challenge. Because things can never be so easy as 'yes' or 'no' and 'happily-ever-after.' Or even 'happily-three-months-after.'

"Are you asking me out out of genuine emotion or out of a sense that you should?"

If nothing else, one should always be honest with one's self.

And now my cell goes silent and my anger (why must I be so much more than average?) kicks and screams and rages at these plexiglass possibility walls and I try not to cry over this all-too-anticipated non-answer.

Yet, there's still a stupid, silly spark of hope, wanting to be surprised. (Plexiglass is see-through.)

WON Contest!

I'm even more excited about this particular recognition. After all, "Introductions" is my baby. Most of my stories go through a mere three or four drafts. What won that contest was a tenth, possibly a twelfth. I find it rather fitting, actually, since I also consider this to be my first work of intentional literature rather than just storytelling. If you're super curious, compare what won the contest to the draft I posted here April 16, 2009. I think you'll be amazed at the difference.

6/26/10

Placed in Contest!

"Nobody - Nobody Special" was placed second in Steward House Publishing's weekly youth writing contest for the week of June 22, 2010.

I am very excited. :)

6/16/10

Waking Up

"Kissing is good for you."

"Uh-huh." I batted Elec's hand away from my face. "Only when both parties agree to it."

He reached for me again and I rolled my eyes.

"Touch me again and I will remove your lips," I threatened.

Elec chuckled, leaning back against the locker bank as he dropped his hand.

"That's definitely at odds with what you were saying last night."

I jammed my lock closed and flung my book-bag across my shoulders.

"Yes, well," I sniffed, "that was before you took it upon yourself to make out with my best friend directly in front of me."

He followed me as I attempted to storm off, his long legs making it easy for him to keep up with my stiletto-shortened stride.

"Hey, you were off somewhere with Cameron earlier," he said all too reasonably. "You and I both know that kisses don't mean much."

I rounded on him, his chest ramming into my index finger as I brandished it at him.

"At least Cameron is straight. Hallie is a lesbian. You were making out with my lesbian best friend!" My voice climbed in pitch.

Elec, with the blond curls and deep velvet-brown eyes, the strong jaw and slight stubble, had the nerve to look amused. The rat!

He captured my hand.

"As I said, Rena. Kisses mean nothing."

I jerked away, careful to keep my eyes on the linoleum as I put him behind me.

Only a few days before, I would have said he was right.

6/14/10

Frustration & Stories

I'm discontinuing Bloodstone. I went back, read it, discovered it sucked.

I'm discontinuing The Violet Round. It was originally intended to be Draco/Hermione fanfiction, but the Writers' Club convinced me to write an original draft, which I stupidly did, not thinking about how I wouldn't be able to make my points with an original.

What I'm working on now? It's a sort of hybrid based off the Arsenicia novel I was going to write, but lost most of my work on. (Stupid flashdrive!) It's the same sort of snark that Arsenicia brings, with a similar male/female character dynamic and the changeling premise. However, I feel that this will be stronger because it focuses more on this world than on Dretis, has plenty of room for allusion (Joss Whedon and his works figure heavily), and makes more of a point about identity. The main character? Carnelia Bellis, a girl who wants to grow up to be a female version of Joss Whedon but discovers that she's a succubus. Which, really, explains so much.

Check back for drafts. ;)

4/14/10

The Violet Round (Chapter One, Draft Four)

"Well, this is unprecedented."

Ametrine broke off the kiss with a groan, not bothering to open her eyes, only hoping the mood wasn't broken.

"Fuck off, Maerks!"

She tugged at the boy's hair again, but, unfortunately, he resisted. Balls. Of course her fun would be ruined.

Her eyes reluctantly flickered open to see Caleb edging back to across the circular couch while Devlin Maerks smirked in the doorway.

"Maybe I should go..." the younger witch muttered, tugging awkwardly at his clothes as he stood up.

"No need to rush off on my account," that despicable blond in the doorway drawled. "I was enjoying the show. I had no idea that our upright, perfect little war heroine could be so..." He shifted his smirk to Ametrine, who glared back.

"Naughty." He drew the word out like honey. "Honestly, using our living room as a rendezvous.... Tsk, Dracaena."

Caleb blushed crimson, his eyes glued to the carpet.

"Too much of a hurry to bother with the bedroom, I suppose. I can't say I entirely understand you, Brackner, but desperate times, and all...."

Ametrine finally accepted that her itch was not going to get scratched tonight and sat upright, curling against the side of the couch. All the better to glare with.

Three words: Hell hath no.

She smiled sweetly at her suite-mate.

"Just because I prefer an actual person to Maxim is no reason to be upset, Maerks," she all but purred. "No offense. I know how attached you are to your hand."

Silence reigned for a few long moments.

Caleb, the poor schmuck, took the opportunity to escape.

"Um... Excuse me?" he squeaked.

Maerks didn't even look at the other witch as he strode briskly into the room, moving towards his own dorm.

"Don't let me catch you in here again, Brackner. I will give you a detention."

The two doors clicked shut within moments of each other, a gunshot and its echo.

Ametrine tossed a glossy curl over her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest with a loud sigh.

There went that relationship.

***********************************************

Devlin stomped straight through his room to his shower, grateful, once again, that although he and Dracaena had to share a living room and a kitchenette, they had separate bedrooms with their own personal bathrooms. It would be very embarrassing indeed if she suspected that he was taking a cold shower on her behalf.

It was just that he hadn't expected to come across her like... that. With a guy. Brackner, of all guys, but still a guy; her moans just audible as he kissed her.

After all, Ametrine Dracaena wasn't like the rest of them; no one was supposed to think of her like that. She was the smart one, the heroine, the Witch Who Figured Out How to Save the World and then bothered to come back to school to finish her education. She was supposed to be above silly things like sex and hormones. She was not supposed to be the hot girl who made your mouth go alternately dry then too wet as you watched her shift to drape her arm across the side of the sofa.

Devlin shivered as the water ran over him, leaning against the cool cream marble while he thought.

He'd been delighted when he'd learned that the remaining seniors would get separate suites with their own rooms this year due to the large influx of transfer students. He had looked forward to having his own space to shelter in, away from everyone else.

Of course, his perspective had changed a little when he'd seen that the suite-mate he'd been assigned was Dracaena. He even almost wished that he'd had the ill fortune to draw one of the last stubborn few Speakers.

But they were now a few weeks into the semester, and aside from the initial snarls and a small incident where she'd come across one of his copies of Maxim, the cohabitation had been going surprisingly well. The war seemed to have matured her, and rather than sniping at each other at every opportunity, as they had in the past, the two merely glared. They said as little as possible to one another, ignoring the other each night as she curled up on her strange, round couch and he sat poised on the edge of his leather swivel chair, before silently stamping off to their respective rooms.

It had been far too good to last.

*********************************

"Ametrine!"

Hope made her turn and wait for him, let her grin as he panted a little when he caught up with her.

"Caleb! What's up?"

The tall brunet blushed and tucked his hands into the pockets of his khakis, folding his shoulders in on himself.

"I just wanted to apologize..." he mumbled, his gaze caressing the flagstones.

Her smile vanished.

"I just kind of freaked out, you know?" His brown eyes briefly brushed past hers. "I mean, I shouldn't have left like that, but, you know, he's a TA and a senior, and it's his suite, too, and c-could give me a detention if he wanted to, or worse, and he's kind of intimidating anyways, and I just don't want you to be mad at me, you know?"

"Oh...."

A pack of juniors made their way past them from the cafeteria, talking over each other about their post-breakfast plans. Only one boy among them followed along, listening quietly, and drew Ametrine's eyes.

He seemed to have a spine.

She brought her attentions back to the junior who had once approached her with an easy smile, and a fresh picked flower.

"So, what are you apologizing for again?" she asked.

His blush spread, turning what she could see of his throat a vibrant red. A corner of her mind ironically compared it to the plumage of a male robin's chest, proudly displayed during mating season.

"Nevermind." He ran the words together, turning away as he said them "I'llseeyouaround."

Ametrine didn't stop him from walking off.

Breakfast was more important.

However, when she sat down and bit into a piece of the French toast she had gathered onto her plate, she found that it tasted like ash.

She bit again.

Nope, still not as delicious as she knew it should be.

Her lack of appetite did not go unnoticed.

"It's not poisoned," Danielle reminded her, glancing up from one of her many romance novels. "You can eat it without grimacing after every bite and feeling around for tacks."

The young heroine set down her fork and sighed into her palms.

Danielle put the novel aside expectantly.

"Maerks walked in on me and Caleb last night."

"Ooh!" The blonde girl recoiled. "And he's going to Dr. Tomasi with it?"

"Psh!" The possibility hadn't occurred to Ametrine, but it didn't worry her now that her friend mentioned it. She had enough on the prat to retaliate in such an event. "No. But now Caleb has revealed that he is, in fact, a sniveling coward."

"Oh...." the younger girl put a sympathetic hand on her knee. "I'm sorry. I know you hoped he was..."

"Different?" the Student Minister finished with a wry half smile. "Yeah. But then, I always do, don't I?"

She pushed away from the table, leaving her dishes, and progressed from the hall with her hair a curtain between herself and the world.

******************************************

"Ametrine?" Aiden queried, reaching out a hand to touch her as she brushed past him on his way into the caf, but drawing back before he made actual contact. "What's wrong?"

Her silent back offered no response as she continued on as though she hadn't heard him.

Gary grasped his arm.

"Just let her go," he advised. "There probably isn't anything you can do, anyways."

Aiden glanced at Kelsey, who shrugged.

"Okay," he bit out, shaking off his best friend. "I'll be good."

He all but stalked into the hall, his glower deepening when he saw long golden-blonde hair.

"I'll bet you know something about that," he snapped as he took Ametrine's vacated seat.

Danielle glared coolly across the top of her book, lips pressed tightly together.

Gary and Kelsey exchanged wary looks as they sat across from the pair.

"Well?" Aiden demanded. He wasn't used to people disregarding him, especially those who were in his social circle. Even if the person in question was his best friend's friend whom he'd gladly see at the bottom of the lake.

She slowly turned her head to face him. A beat passed, then two, before an arsenic sweet smile split her face.

"Aiden, I will tell you what that was about once, and only once you grow a pair of balls."

She ignored the affront of the Golden Boy and returned her attentions to her romance novel.

Gary looked amused.

Kelsey studiously admired the fruit she'd heaped on her plate.

Aiden resembled a thundercloud, his grey eyes glowing with fury beneath his dusty brown hair.

"Why, you..." he growled, unable to think of something bad enough to call her.

"Or you could ask Ametrine, the one you're so concerned about," the infuriating woman suggested, condescension dripping, not bothering to glance up. "That would be innovative."

Gary smothered a suspicious sounding cough with his elbow.

Kelsey took the opportunity to turn and wave at someone at a table behind her.

Fine. They were just as bad as she was.

Aiden shoved away from the table and stalked from the room, muttering darkly.

That horrible, awful girl was making his life miserable.

Back at the table, a small smile played about Danielle's slight lips as she stared at the book, but did not read, as she had not throughout the entire exchange.

************************************************

"Varens."

She stopped cold on the spot, a tension that had previously been absent tightening the tendons in her neck as she slowly rotated to face him. The effect was not unpleasant.

Devlin thought, not for the first time, that it was a shame she had become so involved with Dracaena and the rest of the Armed Doves since her transfer from Glorbixon Academy; though they were currently powerful, that wouldn't last forever, and Varens was a member of one of the Founding Families, and pretty, too. She was tall, slender, with breasts just slightly too large for her frame, with long wheat-blonde hair and skin bronzed from the Southern sun.

It didn't hurt that she wore her shirts slightly tighter than was strictly necessary.

"Maerks," she greeted less than warmly, her southern accent doing nothing to belay the chill of her attitude. "What do you want?"

He made sure she saw his eyes rake up her body and smirked.

"Well...."

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes, tossing her head. "Yeah, you stopped me to tell me you think I'm jack-off material. Duh. Old news." Varens gave him a smirk nearly as good as is own, coupled with a disdainful scan of his own body. "What do you really want?"

Devlin found a new spark of respect for the girl. Enough for him to be earnest with her.

Coming to a decision, he turned slightly and offered his arm.

"Walk with me."

She eyed him with suspicion, but slipped into a comfortable escort position with him, her fingers cool against his bare skin.

"So..." she started.

His lips tugged up at the corners.

"So?" he couldn't resist taunting.

Varens gave him a bored look, fanning the spark of respect.

"Whatever it is you want, I don't have to help you, you know," she informed him flatly. "In fact, I probably won't."

He shrugged as though it didn't matter as they strolled through the large double doors out onto the lawn, the sunshine washing over them. It was a lovely Saturday, although hints of storm clouds could be seen at the edge of the lake.

"I know. But I won't be certain until I try, now will I?"

She nodded grudging acknowledgement and fell silent.

Devlin drank in the sunshine, the nature, and the students studying and playing ultimate as they promenaded past, but Varens's eyes remained locked on his face, her expression perturbed.

He was much more interesting than another beautiful day.

Only when they came to a rest on a dock on the lake, far from the other students, did Devlin finally speak again, his gaze somewhere across the waves.

"I need you to help me become friends with Dracaena."

2/28/10

Review on Katie MacAlister's Steamed

Katie MacAlister's books are a staple of any romance lover's collection. Her stories cover various sub-generes, contain actual plots in addition to the romance, and are told with characteristic situational and conversational humor. Even her young adult novels, written under the name Katie Maxwell, are guaranteed to make the reader garner strange looks when read in public places due to the near constant laughter they induce.

Steamed, her latest novel, does not disappoint, although she has tried multiple things that are not her standard; specifically the alternating first-person perspectives and the exploration of a different sub-genre.

The novel opens in a modern day quantum physics laboratory, with Jack Fletcher narrating as his sister thoughtlessly plays with a canister of liquid helium while informing him that she has set him up with a friend who shares an interest in steampunk (a genre of Victorian-ized sci-fi). Jack cares less about the prospective date than the probability of an explosion, which accordingly ensues, opening a new scene from the perspective of Captain Octavia Pye, who finds the pair passed out in the cargo hold of her airship in an alternate - you guessed it - steampunk dimension.

Octavia's characterization is perhaps the best part of the novel, at least in terms of Katie Mac's development as an author. With her formal speech and subtle phrasing, she is a strong, pragmatic heroine who provides the straight-man partner to many of the more zany characters and situations in the novel. Her voice is quite distinct from Jack's, especially towards the onset of the book, though the two start to blend towards the conclusion. For those readers who loathe the love-at-first-sight scenario, Octavia's cool reason as she analyzes her attraction to Jack is absolutely refreshing. However, when it is revealed that Octavia too is a traveler from our dimension, it screeches with hard friction against her initial response to the explanation for her discovery of Jack and his sister, Hallie, on board her ship.

Jack Fletcher, though not as consistently drawn a character as Octavia, is at least an interesting addition to the story. He initially appears dressed in a t-shirt marked "Airship Pirates," providing the first nod to Jack Sparrow of Pirates of the Caribbean; his whimsical nature and whole-hearted pursuit of half-baked plans gives the second and third nods. Though we are told that he is a Quaker, and that he is not necessarily a very devoted Quaker, his responses to conflict are unpredictable, often violent but sometimes pointedly pacifist. This was likely an attempt to provide ironic humor, but it ends up being simply contradictory, much like our initial impression of Jack as a modest man and his later portrayal as jealous and cocky, speaking in poetic/cliched exclamations in regards to Octavia.

The constant switching between their two perspectives is accomplished through the presence or absence of a Captain's log. The main problem with this method is that never once in the exceptionally detailed log book does it mention Octavia's keeping of said log book. But, at the end of the novel, when Jack and Octavia's voices become more difficult to differentiate, it is exceedingly useful to the reader, though the device should have been excludable entirely. However, at least the method is consistent with the aether-driven universe that MacAlister portrays.

The unique setting is one of the main reasons that Steamed is so enjoyable, as it provides a fun and adventurous plot to counteract the necessary "corniness" of the genre. The steampunk world is rife with wars, emperors, and revolutionaries, including the arbitrary and sometimes horrifying acts that accompany such things. Within a few chapters of Jack and Hallie's arrival, Hallie is arrested by the Emperor's agents as a spy, and it is up to Jack and Octavia to find some way to rescue her before she is hanged. This leads to run-ins with the radical revolutionary forces, battles and kidnappings by the agents of the encroaching Moghul Empire, and our hero and heroine having sex... in a secret passageway adjoining the Emperor's bedchamber (Oops!).

Though certainly not high literature, Steamed is well-worth the read in terms of laugh-out-loud entertainment.

2/23/10

Review on Erin McCarthy's Mouth to Mouth

Erin McCarthy's work is usually typified by her witty, quirky heroines and the absurd situations they find themselves in. She builds strong plots, sometimes out of everyday situations, and sometimes out of specific subcultures (vampiric politics and Nascar racing are two examples). When smut occurs in her novels, it serves a purpose and advances the plot in addition to being both plausible and entertaining.

Mouth to Mouth has none of these characteristics. The heroine is Laurel Wilkins, a moneyed deaf woman who is generally shy and cautious, but wishes to have a wild affair. Her main contribution to the story is either as a victim of white collar crime or a body cavity to be filled during the frequent and gratuitous sexual interludes she shares with the over-protective police officer investigating the crime. Interludes which, despite an occasional gem of imagery, are uninspiring, but somehow lead the pair to fall in love. It is clear throughout it all that McCarthy has little sympathy with either character, as both come off stilted and a tad caricatured throughout. Any natural flow or humor to be found comes from either Laurel's mother or the side pairing, which McCarthy transitions to and from with awkward jolts. The overall effect is the feeling that one is reading a cliched romance novel - something that no reader wants to experience.

However, the book is not without some merits. It is perhaps one of the best portrayals of obstacles to love that McCarthy has ever written - the emotions that lead the characters to resist falling in love are realistic to their situations, with Laurel struggling with her need for independence versus her desire for the over-protective and sometimes over-bearing hero, and the hero, Russ, dealing with a conflict of interest posed by his desires for his family and the blossoming relationship. It is the two being in love that the reader has difficulty swallowing.

The supporting characters are also bright spots in this novel. Sean, Russ's little brother, is a plausible representation of a teenaged boy who has just lost his parents, and although there is perhaps too much disparity between Laurel's perception of her mother and the way she comes across to the reader, Beverly Wilkins is also strong, with a distinct voice. The villain of the novel introduces some elements that are never fully explored, but is consistent and plausible as a character, and ultimately brings about the conclusion of the novel, ending the tortuous and smut-ridden courtship between the main characters, who, of course, live happily ever after.

But these things are not enough to carry the novel, especially if one is accustomed to the higher quality of romantic literature that Erin McCarthy normally produces. Quite frankly, if this was the first novel she had written, she would not be a published author. It lacks all the richness of plot, character development, message, and voice that the title 'literature' demands, failing to deliver more than the barest gleam of entertainment.

12/31/09

Free Write 12/31/09

And it all just collapses down to little moments, little glimpses, when you look and you KNOW. When you know his arms are open, but it's over and he isn't right for you and dammit, you never loved her and were barely even curious. And the contrast through the camera makes you giggle just a little as the music plays and you dream of a not-so-faceless lover at your back platonically. (There's something just a little scary about the irony of all these wounds "healing" so close together.)

Why did you ever bother with all these wastes of time? You always knew each and every one for what they were, but would delude yourself quite happily and while away for countless hours. (An eighteen month fling.)

I've tried my best, given things shots - how frustrating when I haven't so much as passed out. My kaleidoscope greetings are rushing about in my head, and I'm getting tired of being asked about the same damn things. But I guess that's part of living. So I'll deal with it, since I am very much a fan of my heartbeat's pitter-patter.

And after awhile, even gold will lose its shine if it's not looked after with shininess in mind. Happiness is a conscious decision, and it takes maintenance. And no, it's not always easy. Hell, it's downright difficult drudgery, but it can always be done and the gold can always be shiny.

I like the smell of leaves in summer, and the sound of water in a creek. I love whitewater most of all. Raw power - to break and to propel into flight. You'd just better hope you're in the boat as it crests the waves on the rocks you guide around.

Social situations are a lot like white water. To the untrained eye, the current moves too quickly for anything to be seen, but to the river guide, every rock is laid bare beforehand. Each bit can be used to make the ride as wild or as tame as the rider wants. What am I up for? How is my white water today?

I think a declaration of love is a class three rapid. It could give someone inexperienced a broken nose, but anyone worth their salt will weather it nicely. A rock here. Another there. A third at a sixty degree angle. Easy enough to see coming. I wouldn't want to play in that hole, personally. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, like chocolate swallowed only a few minutes past. Unrequited. The only recourse the dreaded LJBF speech that we all love and hate so much with its damning and saving qualities.

Honesty. I'll never go so far as to swear off lying (I recognize the value in it) but I detest liars. (How is that for a wee grain of hypocrisy?) As such, I've grown accustomed to an odd, bold form of speech. (I actually say what I mean!) I rather like it.

And now I'm drifting farther back into the land of headachy powerlessness. It's twelve weeks today, did you know? (Well, duh. Otherwise I wouldn't be telling/asking you.) These past few weeks have been so difficult; I can barely think. And my thoughts are so scattered when present, and useless! (Exhibit A.)

I only want all this to end, and my life to go back to normal.