Thursday, July 18, 2013

More Random Blurbs

The majority of the writing I've been doing recently is just in my 642 Things book, so here's some more of what I've done lately.


It was the first time he had ever gotten into a fight, and it was in ___________ of all places:

It was the first time he had ever gotten into a fight, and it was in front of the recruiting office, of all places. Two officers pulled them apart. The other guy had a split lip and a bloody nose. Eyrik had not fared so well. He was dragged into the supervising recruiter's office, where he stood in front of the desk silently. 

"You picked a fight with one of my men." The supervisor stated.

"That's a lie." Eyrik didn't offer any further explanation.

The supervisor raised an eyebrow. "Are you aware that Private Gavin is twenty-three years old, 
and weighs 254 pounds?"

Eyrik swiped at the corner of his mouth and looked at the blood on his hand. "Just his fist, or does that include the rest of him?"

The supervisor leaned back and studied him. "How old are you, boy?"

Eyrik looked him in the eye. "Eighteen."

The supervisor laughed. "With a little training, you could make a talented liar. Now, truthfully, how old are you? Thirteen?"

"Fifteen!" Eyrik snapped, insulted.

With a grin of satisfaction, he asked, "Do you know how many men have taken on Gavin and lived to tell the tale?"

"None of the dead ones."

The humor drained from the room almost instantly. 

The supervisor leaned toward him and barked, "Quit playing with me, boy! From now on, you work for me and you'll answer my questions straight!"

Note: This actually includes one of my characters from my story Aouthentica, Eyrik Duell. I've always wanted to explore his backstory a little more deeply, so I made him fifteen (he's twenty-one in the book) and put him in a fight, because I have no doubt he started fighting early. I may actually expand this one at some point.

You wake up by the side of the road lying next to a bicycle, with no memory, and no wallet. What happens in the next hour?:

*Where am I?* I surveyed my surroundings, prompted by some unknown instinct. Empty highway. On my side is grass, trees, and the sound of water. On the opposite side is barren desert as far as I can see. There also seems to be vicious windstorm, which I can't hear, but what else could be kicking up so much dust and sand? The bicycle is next to me. It looks wrong laying sideways in the notably lush grass. I picked it up and felt a strange urge to sit on it, so I swung a leg over and did. 
     A few seconds later found me traveling down the highway slowly, watching the strange environment for any kind of change. The only difference I found was when the highway inexplicably disappeared. I stopped pedaling, tottered, then fell over, smacking my forehead against the asphalt quite soundly.

*Run, Anthea, run!* 

      A voice, shouting. A memory. A single memory, and that just a voice. I still wasn't even sure if Anthea was my name, or someone else's name. Maybe... maybe that was my voice. It gave me a headache just to think about it. 
     Though it may have been the rapidly developing knot on the front of my head. I decided the bicyclewas too risky to continue using, so I walked to the end of the road on bare feet, which I only now realized. The biomes were still divided, but met in a blurred line.
     I cautiously stepped off the road with one foot. Sandy grass. Odd, yet not unpleasant. I stepped off entirely. 
     Sights, smells, sounds and sensations hit me, overloading my sense. I stumbled backwards onto the pavement and they stopped. My brain was working overtime, sorting everything out like a puzzle. Tentatively, I stepped off again. The visions hit harder this time, driving me to my knees and embedding themselves in my mind. 
     By the time I got back to the pavement, I was sure of two things: They were memories, and they weren't mine.


Something I've noticed as I write blurbs and creative writings is that I tend to start out writing in first person, but when I start writing longer stories, like my novels, I usually write in third person. Odd, huh?

Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass!

Friday, July 5, 2013

Random Blurb

My mom bought this really neat book for my siblings, called 642 Things To Draw. On each page it has one or two ideas for things to sketch out. It's pretty neat, but I'm not the artsy type.

Then she got 642 Things To Write About. It's awesome. 

Some of the ideas included are:
1. Find a short story you haven't read yet. Read the first two-thirds. Then pick up the story where it leaves off, and write it's end.
2. Write about two characters who have known each other for a long time, and give one of them a secret.
3. Start a story with the line "My mother broke every plate in the house that day."
4. Write ten sayings for fortune cookies.
5. You can only keep one memory from your entire life. What will it be?

So every once in a while I pick it up and write a little blurb, some of which may make it up here, and some may not.
Anyhooo... Here's one I wrote 7/3/13 (which I know because I date each one when I finish them). Actually, it's kind of two prompts, but they relate back to each other, which makes it one blurb. If that makes any sense. Oh, and one last thing. Please keep in mind that I wrote this at about 11:00 pm.

Start a story with: "This is what she wants most in the world."

"This is what she wants most in the world." The hawk-nosed warden slapped a flash drive down on the rickety table. "I asked her."

I snorted. "What's on it?"

"The missile plans. Our own, of course." He smiled as if he had just discovered cheese single-handedly. "She'll sing like a bird if we offer her these."

"Really." I wasn't even close to being convinced. "The girl who hacked your prison server in thirty seconds will spill her guts for a few missile plans she could sell on the black market in five minutes if you gave her a computer? You forget I worked undercover with her.

After the above prompt, try this: "She is lying. This is what she wants most in the world."

I shook my head and leaned forward. "She is lying. This is what she wants most in the world: Out."

"Out?" The warden repeated. "Out of prison? Ain't happening."

"No, you dolt." I growled. "Out of this life. A fresh start; a new identity. Offer to wipe her record, set her up with a new name and never bother her again. If she goes for anything, she'll go for that. If not, you can always take her to the basement."

He frowned. "I ain't entirely comfortable with the facilities down there."

"I didn't ask if you were comfortable!" I shouted. "This is a prison, not a resort! I need that information. I don't care if you bribe her or take her to the basement and peel her like a grape. Make her talk!"

Welp. That's it. I'll probably put some more up before too long.

Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass!

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

~ Fifteen Minute Story ~ Number One ~

Alrighty, here's my take on picture number 11 from the Fifteen Minute Story Pinterest board. Now, as a warning, it doesn't come to a definite conclusion. I may add more someday, but realistically, it isn't likely.

“Amé! Amé!” Kalissa came running into her mother's room, chasing one of the tiny palace dragons. Every room was infested with them.

Princess Atina finished wrapping her long hair with a gold cord and tied it off. “Kalissa, do not run, heartling. You will fall.”

The child scooped up her dragon of choice and brought it to her mother, holding it up excitedly. “It's blue and purple and purple and blue, Amé!”

Her tiny striped tail whipped back and forth. Atina's gaze softened and she wondered for the millionth time if her newest child would have Kalissa's slightly rounder ears and protruding nose. They got it from their father, she was sure. All of her own kind had flat faces and sharply pointed ears.

One of her ears, as if cued by her thoughts, flicked backwards and caught the sound of footsteps. One of Kalissa's small ears also twitched, but didn't seem to be capable of the full range of motion that Atina had. She snatched a plainer feathered headband and used it to push Kalissa's hair out of her face just as the door to her chambers opened.

The queen mother stepped in. As always, she was the epitome of grace and elegance.

“Atina, heartling-” She began, then stopped to sneer at Kalissa. “What is she doing in here?”

“She has as much right to see her mother as I have.” Atina said smoothly, moving between grandmother and granddaughter.

“A disgrace.” The queen muttered. “Atina, it would do your father good to see you for a few minutes today. He lets his duties consume him. He fears if he does nothing than the clans will consume him.”

Atina's lavender skin paled to pink. “Surely it cannot be as bad as he thinks?”

The queen drew herself up, her deep purple tail arched regally. “It is worse. And of course, you know you are the cause of it.”

“My choices were not made to-!” Atina stopped mid-sentence when she realized Kalissa was staring up at her with wide eyes. “Heartling, do go play.”

Kalissa hesitated, then ran off, still clutching her dragon.

“She even plays with the vermin of the castle.”

“Amé!” Atina looked shocked. “She is your flesh and blood!”

“Only half my blood.” The queen retorted. “A true child of my flesh and blood would have a healthy amethyst glow about her, not that sickly pale orange.”

Atina quivered in anger, her earrings jingling. “As I had intended to say, my choices were not made to throw the clans into a frenzy. Aupé and I agreed that a diplomatic marriage was the best chance to soothe relations.”

“Your father was wrong.”

Felling tears sting her eyes, Atina lifted her chin and said proudly. “Our relations with Humanity are better than they have ever been in our entire history. They all love my husband. And me as well. President MacFinley would never attack us if I merely asked him not to. The problem is the clans. I cannot understand why they find it so difficult to accept a human as their prince. He has never done anything to harm them, and he never will!”

“Atina, your mind has turned like old fruit!” The queen looked horrified, shocked and angry all at once. “Think, heartling! Ethan MacFinley is not only prince, but crown prince! When your father passes away, heavens forbid, he will be king of the clans! They fear that was the plan the entire time. To infiltrate our country and usurp the throne. Can you not understand those fears? We have no desire to go to war with them, but neither do we wish to merge ourselves with them and lose our identity and culture!”


There you are! I know it isn't a LOT, but I went over fifteen minutes, and it was extraordinarily difficult to squeeze that much out of my brain. Probably because I haven't been writing very much recently. So. Pick another one, and maybe Hannah will take a turn to write. Or should Hannah and I both write about the same picture, so you get 2 stories per picture?

Sé onr sverdar sitja hvass!