9 years ago
Sunday Scribblings #173 - Nowhere
For the SC prompt— Where in the world?
Mars was on the run again.
He previously decided to hide in a room, but despite it's normal appearance, it wasn't.
It was a quaint room with a crackling fire and plush sofas set around a coffee table. It was oh so similar to home that he made himself comfortable accordingly... Then things spoke. Even the most ordinary objects suddenly drew sharp breaths, scolding the very sight of him. They even went as low to criticizing him for having a face when only the Matriarch—if he recalled correctly—and her Knights were the only ones allowed faces. It was then and there that he decided to run for his life and not look back—
He was in a hallway, wide and empty. To the side of him were three-story tall windows, triangular-shaped, like arrowheads lined up a few inches apart. Each shimmered as if made of crystal, enhancing the sight of the garden behind it. Mars followed this path, hoping it would lead him to that garden. He hoped that entering the garden would end this terrible dream because that was how the majority of his dreams ended in the past—
He always ran, it seemed, always ran from something. If he were to look back, whatever landscape was left was encased in ice and the ice didn't show any notion of stopping unless it engulfed everything in it's path. And always there was a light he ran to, and beyond that light was the warmth of a garden in summer. Staring up at the sun in the sky, the blinding sensation subsequent to that would wake him...
The hall was unusually quiet, it had been for the ten minutes or so the second he darted out of that room—if not ten then something close to it. There was no way of telling time in this infernal place. Adjacent the triangle windows were rows of doors. And with those rows of doors—all equally tall but more narrow—were patches of bare wall. On those patches were clocks, all different sizes and shapes and colors, and all with no face, just the numbers and the second hand ticking away. All those monotonous ticks and tocks, put together with the patter of his feet on the polished floors—it all couldn't have been anything else but a dream!
Mars was on the run again.
He previously decided to hide in a room, but despite it's normal appearance, it wasn't.
It was a quaint room with a crackling fire and plush sofas set around a coffee table. It was oh so similar to home that he made himself comfortable accordingly... Then things spoke. Even the most ordinary objects suddenly drew sharp breaths, scolding the very sight of him. They even went as low to criticizing him for having a face when only the Matriarch—if he recalled correctly—and her Knights were the only ones allowed faces. It was then and there that he decided to run for his life and not look back—
He was in a hallway, wide and empty. To the side of him were three-story tall windows, triangular-shaped, like arrowheads lined up a few inches apart. Each shimmered as if made of crystal, enhancing the sight of the garden behind it. Mars followed this path, hoping it would lead him to that garden. He hoped that entering the garden would end this terrible dream because that was how the majority of his dreams ended in the past—
He always ran, it seemed, always ran from something. If he were to look back, whatever landscape was left was encased in ice and the ice didn't show any notion of stopping unless it engulfed everything in it's path. And always there was a light he ran to, and beyond that light was the warmth of a garden in summer. Staring up at the sun in the sky, the blinding sensation subsequent to that would wake him...
The hall was unusually quiet, it had been for the ten minutes or so the second he darted out of that room—if not ten then something close to it. There was no way of telling time in this infernal place. Adjacent the triangle windows were rows of doors. And with those rows of doors—all equally tall but more narrow—were patches of bare wall. On those patches were clocks, all different sizes and shapes and colors, and all with no face, just the numbers and the second hand ticking away. All those monotonous ticks and tocks, put together with the patter of his feet on the polished floors—it all couldn't have been anything else but a dream!
A Riddle!
"I know not what is ahead of me.
I am capable of understanding and time-traveling.
I am also bound by a twisted array of what's imaginary and real -
What am I?"
In which the writer speaks to her other self
I must be crazy to start writing spontaneously from a list I made up yesterday. A total number of 32 titles - unless I add more of course. I call it the "Possible Title List" because I was thinking up of a good title for that vampire story (so far still unnamed). I said to myself, because I was getting possible titles for everything else BUT that story, "Why not write them out?" And I did.
One of those titles was -
The Castle of Cloud/Klaude/Klaude's Castle
So now you know why I had that piece up in the past post. Now for the angry part.
"Why did you start this now?!!?" *headdesk*
Now for the excuses part.
"Just to start writing so I can follow up with the unfinished chapters in the other stories."
Now for the "You idiot" part.
"Still, you should've left it as a one-shot, you idiot."
And then for the "Wait a minute" part.
"Wait a minute, it isn't like I knew it was going to blow out of proportion. Besides, it's for fun. It has no deadlines or anything of the sort."
"But so is everything else you started - except that one thing a year ago... Still. you should've waited maybe, or thought it over. Working on three stories while having to cough up drawings? What are you doing to yourself?"
"Doing what I love of course. Writing, drawing... I know it should matter because everyone else I know has their futures laid out for them while I don't. One's getting married, the others going to community college to study, another is moving out and another is probably going to go nowhere (no offense whoever I'm talking about, I'm pulling out examples from my currently dead brain). The uncertainty, of course it scares me, but I can't sit here and worry about things that don't exist!"
"Your point?"
"So... My way of coping - way of staving off the worrying - is to write what I've always wanted to write about, whatever comes to mind, whatever troubles I'm going through - every single thing that I see and hear goes into my writing somehow. It's the medium that I'm much more comfortable expressing myself freely."
"...you do know your setting yourself up for a great fall? Those worlds you've created, yes, those you hide yourself in, eventually it'll consume you whole and what will happen then?"
"That's why you're here. you can stop that from happening."
"But you don't listen!"
"Okay. Yes. I admit, I write sometimes on impulse -"
"Sometimes?"
"Hey, you've got to give me some credit now. I write because I want to and I can. Sometimes it's impulse, sometimes it's obligation or determination to see those chapters accumulate in your documents folder or get to a certain scene you particularly like."
"...okay."
"But talking about writing is so much more simpler than actually doing it. It's actually - everything, life, drawing, writing...not so much writing, just some specific stories are giving me trouble at the moment - starting to collapse, like the floor just...dissolved, or is dissolving slowly. I feel I need guidance, yet I don't want it."
"There's an easy solution."
"What?"
"Get out more. Walk the block - and not in your head or just down the stairs - actually go outside, wear pants and shoes and walk. The thing when writing, everything consumes you even if there is no specific rise in word count. The worlds, the characters - their voices, desires, loves and hopes and their fate - you hold them all in your mind and that wears you out. Before you know it everything mixes together, becoming a single monstrous entity that you carry like Atlas and the sky. So, mentally, you get crushed and maybe you can take the pressure but it eventually gets to you. You know your limits but even then you disregard that - thinking you're invincible - and push the envelope. And it's all for the characters."
"I love them all, shouldn't that matter?"
"Yes. but, love itself is like fiction. It isn't a physical like a person. It's an idea, an emotion - a character - and is malleable. It's definition is different for everyone and is used in different ways. Love is indirect. Adoration is a bit more closer to being clear with what you say. Think of it like this: Love is to Adoration; Beautiful is to Attractive; Movie characters to the Working man, you know, that guy working down the block at the construction site. You don't see them whistling."
"Now it's my turn to ask your point."
"Of course you love your characters. You made them. But you can't physically show them you care and vice versa. They don't exist so your love is, as it's multiple definitions, very empty. You're only saying it to give them more meaning."
"And...?"
"That'll kill you. You fear Death. I know you - I am you - and you don't want to die not doing anything."
"Sure. But the mad part of being a writer - the madness of being "brave" - is to face your fear."
"Oh. Right. Like being "brave" in writing is helping you in real life."
"Okay. I'll consider that -"
"It's true!"
"Alright. But I don't want to live in real life..."
"There's your problem."
"But it isn't like I know that. Since we're being honest, I envy everyone else who isn't missing out on...on whatever this time of our lives is supposed to be... BUT, I do not envy the things that some people do to themselves just to "live" among other teenagers. At least, what I'm doing, isn't so life-changing as, say, having a baby when you're seventeen."
"..."
"I don't want that kind of "real-life." My "real life" is different. Besides, this is summer. My last summer as a k-12 student. Next year it'll either be "college kid" or "freeloader." You'll just have to see - that's what everyone says."
"... Being uncertain is killing me."
"And I embrace being uncertain."
"This is giving me a headache."
"I know - I'm you remember?"
"Why the hell be a writer? There's the options of being an illustrator...or a psychologist. Ach, this ache is killing me..."
"Haven't I already covered that?"
"In a nutshell, please."
"I'm insane, duh."
Klaude's Castle
I said I was going to write today so here I am trying to start it off with a one-shot (or something of the sort). There will be an actual blog post soon (if I manage my time right). So here you go, a story written right on the spot out of a list I have of titles along with their possible stories.
. . .
Klaude's Castle
Act I, Scene I
Klaude's Castle
Act I, Scene I
Where the heroine dreams up a name.
There's a land far from our reach where magical entities reign. Where people are able to harness such energies as their craft and other such entities created by magic are the norm. Those people are called magicians and this world is called Acadia. Though each individual has these powerful elements under their control, they are given a set of rules to follow.
Some are plain ridiculous, such as:
And the list goes on and on... But, there are some rather serious rules too. For example:
And that list goes on as well.
But that list is nothing to the Mortal world, nor do they acknowledge the fact that such a list exists. They do know that there is a certain magician (for the magical world they are somewhat aware - awareness has been going down since the Resurgence) causing trouble in the land and that there might be the Mortal world's prince held captive there, stolen from the castle a year or so ago. And as the Queen bore two sons, the other prince is safely guarded while numerous armies sought the magician whenever he decided to appear.
This business however, is unseen by the Council (who are, ironically, supposed to be able to See everything) and goes unattended. Normally, this would be a cause for concern if only, say, their world was in the midst of a war... And they, coincidentally, were.
Magicians, in truth, had no interest/business with the Mortals but this magician made it his business for reasons unknown. Besides staving off the armies on a semi-regular basis (or anyone that was sent or willingly volunteered - the fools) the magician roamed the lands in his equally moving castle (or floating castle since it's enormous shadow could be mistaken for the clouds constantly present in the sky).
No one knew the magicians' name - not his real name - but he was definitely a man, and quite a looker by rumors and such. Others said he was ugly, grotesque, a despicable man who liked to drink as much as he liked the young women. Then there were those that said he was absent-minded, a dreamer, someone who rarely smiled but if they did then your heart would stop in an instant - it doesn't help when the women are the ones gossiping about this peculiar magician but rumors are rumors and should be considered...to an extent.
This, all of this, she knew. The list, the existence of the world beyond and of the magician. She also knew of the captive prince and of the war - she believed the theory that the clouds were there because of the war - and she knew something about this magician that the others didn't (though she herself did not know the importance of it).
This magicians' name was Klaude - pronounced as one would say "cloud" - and she found this out in a dream.
Some are plain ridiculous, such as:
1. No wooden houses, furniture, or other perishable (burnable) objects allowed in public or in the home. If one desires to have such objects in their possession, one must file for a permit (in which a fee is administered, for the permit and for how many objects of such perishable nature are under the owner's possession). If one were to be found with perishable objects, they shall be fined - 1,000 crowns worth for every single piece (that includes wooden chips).
2. Do not run with staves or any such magical object with a temper (translated: do not run with magical objects in public - if you're by yourself that is fine (but that too isn't recommended)).
3. No enchanted pointy objects (like scissors - unless you are a hairdresser).
And the list goes on and on... But, there are some rather serious rules too. For example:
1. Absolutely no descending to Mortal grounds without a specific reason filed to the Council. Everyone (of considerable status) is given one day (seven in Mortal time) for the entire year (once every 52 days). If and ever that time is not enough, you must have a permit (and reasonable answer/request as to why).
2. No consorting with the Mortals or bringing one along. You will be arrested and the Mortal will be executed.
3. Absolutely no displays of magical power when among the Mortals. You will be arrested and convicted for Treason (meaning, you will be executed no matter what).
And that list goes on as well.
But that list is nothing to the Mortal world, nor do they acknowledge the fact that such a list exists. They do know that there is a certain magician (for the magical world they are somewhat aware - awareness has been going down since the Resurgence) causing trouble in the land and that there might be the Mortal world's prince held captive there, stolen from the castle a year or so ago. And as the Queen bore two sons, the other prince is safely guarded while numerous armies sought the magician whenever he decided to appear.
This business however, is unseen by the Council (who are, ironically, supposed to be able to See everything) and goes unattended. Normally, this would be a cause for concern if only, say, their world was in the midst of a war... And they, coincidentally, were.
Magicians, in truth, had no interest/business with the Mortals but this magician made it his business for reasons unknown. Besides staving off the armies on a semi-regular basis (or anyone that was sent or willingly volunteered - the fools) the magician roamed the lands in his equally moving castle (or floating castle since it's enormous shadow could be mistaken for the clouds constantly present in the sky).
No one knew the magicians' name - not his real name - but he was definitely a man, and quite a looker by rumors and such. Others said he was ugly, grotesque, a despicable man who liked to drink as much as he liked the young women. Then there were those that said he was absent-minded, a dreamer, someone who rarely smiled but if they did then your heart would stop in an instant - it doesn't help when the women are the ones gossiping about this peculiar magician but rumors are rumors and should be considered...to an extent.
This, all of this, she knew. The list, the existence of the world beyond and of the magician. She also knew of the captive prince and of the war - she believed the theory that the clouds were there because of the war - and she knew something about this magician that the others didn't (though she herself did not know the importance of it).
This magicians' name was Klaude - pronounced as one would say "cloud" - and she found this out in a dream.
Remember when I said I wasn't going to post cat pictures...
...yeah.
So I spent the whole afternoon fixing the blog up and I needed a cat picture to cheer me up (that is my excuse).
Yes. I was going to write - I even planned on it and had all my notebooks and docs out - but I underestimated the power of the blogger template and I couldn't rest till I had just the right one (or close to it).
...Currently I'm tired :) and should've slept a long time ago.
That'll be all (I hope) for the blog re-vamp (for a considerable amount of time that is). >.>
There's no nav bar! I had to take it out or else the template wouldn't look right. Click on blogger instead.
In which I'm a bit overwhelmed...
...and am lazy enough to not think of a more imaginative title.
So I'm sitting here thinking of a rant I could type up. A few seconds later, I change my mind - "who would want to read a rant," I query, "I do doubt that I'll make much sense." So this won't be a rant (hopefully) - and it's not directed at anyone here either (many of my rants aren't anyway). :)
Sunday Scribblings #172 - The Plan
I'm caught between a crossroads and I'm not sure what to do. One side says write, the other says draw, going forward means I'm stalling till I get to another crossroads and, who knows? That might be the last time I get to stall my way through? *sighs*
Anywho, I found this site where a published writer gives advice (here). I thought it was pretty helpful. :) Oh. And here's something I'm reading at the moment.
One last thought - I was thinking of starting a sketch blog of some sort. you know, take pictures (or scan but mine isn't working) of things that were drawn and post it for everyone to see. I really do draw a lot but never upload them to sites like deviantArt if it isn't finished in some way. And I do not like uploading sketches either - it looks like crap since it's like an online gallery/portfolio.
Ah, there's my thoughts for tonight.
So I'm sitting here thinking of a rant I could type up. A few seconds later, I change my mind - "who would want to read a rant," I query, "I do doubt that I'll make much sense." So this won't be a rant (hopefully) - and it's not directed at anyone here either (many of my rants aren't anyway). :)
Sunday Scribblings #172 - The Plan
Why not write? Just write.I suppose I'm fairly upset because 1) I keep writing for ch.7 of YZ but it FAILS every single time and I have to start over 2) I'm caught between wanting to draw because I've got some people counting on me now (three or four - including myself since that was my first career choice) 3) It's super, super, super HOT and dry and we're trying to save electricity by not turning on the AC.
Technical terms literally cramp my style - my voice -
You're killing Art did you know?
Overly literal
Overly realist
Sometimes over-thinking situations can land you in the gutter - how very sad -
To you
From me
A present of everlasting scorn - Happy Birthday -
Here's my broken piece of Art
wrapped all nice and pretty and scented of the most pleasant smell -
It's just what you wanted isn't it?
Loosen up
Chill out
Make the best of your time instead of moping about -
Quit marching around -
only one of the many participating in Their Grand Plan -
Get the hell out of that gutter and move the way you want to
We all have a song, a beat, we move to
We may not agree but we walk a similar path -
Don't ask questions about Art
Just Do It.
I'm caught between a crossroads and I'm not sure what to do. One side says write, the other says draw, going forward means I'm stalling till I get to another crossroads and, who knows? That might be the last time I get to stall my way through? *sighs*
Anywho, I found this site where a published writer gives advice (here). I thought it was pretty helpful. :) Oh. And here's something I'm reading at the moment.
One last thought - I was thinking of starting a sketch blog of some sort. you know, take pictures (or scan but mine isn't working) of things that were drawn and post it for everyone to see. I really do draw a lot but never upload them to sites like deviantArt if it isn't finished in some way. And I do not like uploading sketches either - it looks like crap since it's like an online gallery/portfolio.
Ah, there's my thoughts for tonight.
In which I talk like a pompous dolt.
I keep springing these cat photos don't I? On the next post I'll try not to place a cat photo - note I said try.
Another break - again - since all I seem to do with my free time is watch Comedy Central (it's one of the few channels available for some reason) and write. Okay, so maybe I read here and there and do other human stuff - but, nevertheless, it is somewhat boring (when I put it this way).
Despite my mind wandering off into the various worlds on paper/monitor, there isn't a lot I can say/show before people freak out.
Act 1 -
In which I answer the question honestly.
"So what did you do this weekend?""Hmm, let's see. First I interviewed a psychopathic serial killer. Then I killed some people after breaking into their houses at, what, 3-4 am - can't remember - anyway, chopped the kid up, sewed'em back together... Ehh. Let's see, what else? Oh! I also managed to go to the airport, get seriously bored, troubled, then board the plane -""... What?""The plane thing? Oh I'm trying, honestly, but my handwriting's crap - can't read a thing..."They leave.
Act 2 -
In which I give myself less credit and answer in half-truths.
"So what did you do this weekend?""Ate, slept, drank and wrote like hell on my computer till it was five in the morning.""That's nice.""Indeed.""Anything else? Did you ever go outside maybe?""I think I did but I can't remember.""Ookay... I'll see you later."
There has to be something wrong when you fail to recall the last you went outside - or, fail to mention it (or forget to and remember it a second too late)... >.> So answering in half-truths has become a habit of mine, at least when I talk in person.
You consider things like what is being talked about and from that you can guess what not to talk about when you're around them or you just know instinctively (randomness is okay! ...in small doses esp. if the person is naturally serious). When asked a question you answer knowing what would be right and wrong and all that stuff. >.>
This over-thinking thing makes me feel awkward because then I have nothing to say that they want to hear. I'm just the strange brooding person sitting far far away laughing to herself because one of her characters said something funny... >.> Now isn't that nice? Lol.
But I'm probably doing that because wherever I go I have my stories in mind - even when I'm in the company of friends and family - people in general - I have my eye out for things like traits of their appearance and/or character or maybe things I might be able to use (like window shopping). When and if I ever get to say... some place I've never been to before, I'd probably take a good look around and take pictures of the places and avenues where such and such character might go - or if one of those places looks like a place in a story. In fact, that's the only reason why I bring a camera along. :) I think taking pictures of people is generally creepy (if you don't know them) and scary (because of my tendency to over-imagine scenarios like their faces changing to something else).
That's the writer talking. If I was...a photographer I wouldn't have a problem with pictures because I would have a different mindset. >.> But if I was still creeped out by faces I'd make it an art to take out their faces or take pictures of flowers instead.
I'd like to spend more time musing and going several directions with these thoughts but wandering isn't going to do me any good. I said that I'd try (again) with ch. 7 of YZ because it keeps coming out wrong (maybe if I change the layout of the text document) and also work on ch. 5 for LMM since there's a part where I'd like to get to.
That is all true (hopefully) because even when I'm blogging, I have to consider the readers and whether my rambling won't offend in some way.
Next time... I might have to define blog. It's been a year or so since I started this blog or started blogs in other sites (which is something I could address as well) and even now I'm still unsure on WTH a blog is.
I believe that was a warning, an implied one for that matter since I go overboard sometimes (sometimes). >.<
Back from the hospital!
So this past week, I've been lamenting over my sore arms.
On Monday was my physical exam - on which I was told I needed a total of five injections. On that day I got three - two on my left arm, one on the right - and for the whole day I was tired (not to mention it was unbearably hot). And today I got the last two and you know what? That HPV shot hurts like hell! What? Do they use a larger needle? D: Anywho, I'm done ranting about that.
On Monday was my physical exam - on which I was told I needed a total of five injections. On that day I got three - two on my left arm, one on the right - and for the whole day I was tired (not to mention it was unbearably hot). And today I got the last two and you know what? That HPV shot hurts like hell! What? Do they use a larger needle? D: Anywho, I'm done ranting about that.
Well that and I'm sleepy. Later I'll check out everbody's posts and reply to comments - all that stuff you know. :)
...That was a pretty useless post.
Creepy angel statues are my friends...
A very image heavy post...and the pictures are big (the ones I took so don't bother clicking if your computer's known to be slow).
Haserot statue somewhere in Ohio I think... Click for original source
I don't know about you but cemeteries and statues fascinate me. If ever I went into a cemetery (which I have) I would take my camera...but I'd rather not. People might think it disrespectful (and it probably is)...
The perspective...
So why do I have pictures up? Well I finally found the usb cord for my camera so here's some more pictures - like my desk >.>
Post-its!!! And miscellaneous junk in the back. And no, Waldo isn't there but that sounds like a good idea.
A close up of some sorts...and my awesome purple/mauve pencil. It's name is Callie. Say hi.
So there you have my desk...now for my desktop -
Haserot statue somewhere in Ohio I think... Click for original source
I don't know about you but cemeteries and statues fascinate me. If ever I went into a cemetery (which I have) I would take my camera...but I'd rather not. People might think it disrespectful (and it probably is)...
The perspective...I've always liked angels too. Just thinking of people who could fly...? Pretty neat stuff. Anyways, I'm taking a break again. Chapter 7 of YZ is really getting to me even if I had it all written out - yes, my writing is semi-terrible but readable (it sounds retarded so don't even bother reading it >.>)
I finally put a shot of my writing up! I've been meaning to do this for awhile.
So why do I have pictures up? Well I finally found the usb cord for my camera so here's some more pictures - like my desk >.>
Post-its!!! And miscellaneous junk in the back. And no, Waldo isn't there but that sounds like a good idea. 
A close up of some sorts...and my awesome purple/mauve pencil. It's name is Callie. Say hi.
I like cats... lol and the mouse has dirt on it...eew *cleans it*
So there you have my desk...now for my desktop -
It's fairly cluttered...lol and chapter 2 of LMM is finished already.
And now my desktop wallpaper (featuring a random doodle and excerpts from the Heaven's Night one-shot) -
I thought it was cool and I was bored. >.>
That...took awhile just posting all this up. >.>
I thought it was cool and I was bored. >.>Now for some LMM stuff because Luna's "Shameless self-advertising" section on her blog inspired me (which has nifty icons that link to her stories - as you can probably see on my sidebar). I took pictures and...you'll see. Again, when I should've been typing ch.7, I focused on LMM. >.> no worries, after this, I'm typing at least a page or two before I sleep...
Hey, it's Haserot again...and my writing. I write like that to scare people. >.>
That...took awhile just posting all this up. >.>