Celia Bryce Virtual Writing Workshop - Plot and Narrivate

Ok, hands up who here tries to write stories? *raises mine* Ok, hands up if you guys want some advice on plotting and narrative? Well, you're in luck as, for this week, author of Anthem For Jackson Dawes, Celia Bryce is going to talk about plotting and narrative, and over the course of the week (on different blogs), she will give ideas, tips and talks about how she writes. My thanks goes to Celia for taking time to write these posts and to Ian at Bloomsbury for organizing this mini-blog tour.

Now, enough of me, let's hand it over to Celia!

*

PLOT/NARRATIVE

Plot and Narrative are used to show and tell how a story unfolds. The plot reveals the story bit by bit, using scenes where there’s speech, action and thought. They allow the reader to step inside the book, watch what’s going on, as it goes on, and experience it at the same time as the characters. Scenes can help the reader to get to know who they’re reading about.

The narrative reveals other parts of the story which can be told just as well and just as strongly, without having to involve the characters in a scene, but which are still important to the reader. These sections of narrative can help cover weeks, months or years, in just a few sentences, paragraphs or pages.

There’s no need to show everything in scenes and no need to tell everything in narrative. We need to try to balance the two and in some stories heaps of scenes can work and in others heaps of narrative can work, but generally a good mix of the two works best. How do we choose? Let’s see. If we get up in the morning, we go to work, perhaps, or school then we come back and have something to eat, maybe watch TV and go to bed. It would be pretty boring to write or read about each and every day in scenes if nothing changes. So we can just tell what happens very simply instead, in a few words or sentences of narrative. But if, one Thursday, for example, something interesting or terrible or wonderful occurs, that’s when to use a scene, to show and involve the reader in how it happened, what was said, how the main character/characters behaved and to make the reader wonder what’s going to happen next. It’s not always easy to get it right and at times you just have to write and write till the story’s finished then have a look and see if some of the narrative can be turned into a scene or a scene turned into narrative. Or if some bits really just need to be crossed out. That happens a lot!

I think of writing a novel as rather like putting together a necklace, say a string of beads. Without the string (that is, the narrative/storyline) there’s nowhere to hang the beads (plot/scenes). That’s how I look at it. You need bits of everything. Otherwise it’s not a string of beads.

In Anthem for Jackson Dawes, the storyline is this: Megan Bright has cancer, she is treated in hospital, she recovers and is changed by the experience. This story is revealed through a number of scenes with some narrative to join them together. But if Megan’s story really was a piece of string then it would be very short and perhaps with only one or two beads on it. It certainly wouldn’t make a necklace.

If you look at a piece of string, you’ll see that it is formed from a number of strands twisted together to make it strong, hard to snap. If I’d just kept to Megan’s cancer story that would be just one strand. It could be quite weak, easy to snap. I added Jackson’s experience and intertwined it with Megan’s giving another strand to the string, making it stronger. By adding even more experiences - Gemma’s, Kipper’s, Grandad’s, Mum and Dad’s -  the piece of string growths in strength. And of course with so many more people in the story there are more beads to hang, that is, more scenes to show how they all behave when they’re with Megan. Some will be bigger than others, making them varied and interesting and the narrative will keep the scenes connected. And the necklace completed.

This Has Blown My Mind A Little...

This time last week, my other half and I started the scary process of putting a collection of short stories self-published via Amazon (it took us till half six as Amazon wanted Page Breaks and no tabs, and we edited it and, at the very last minute, added two stories [as I felt it needed some humour] and changed the title of the whole collection from The Emancipation of the Pewter Wolf to The Perfect Day). I told you guys on Tuesday (but family knew on Saturday and my other half started tweeting the news when I wasn't looking!), and, within the space of a week, I was told to go to Amazon and type in The Perfect Day in the Amazon search bar.

Now, I haven't looked at how well it's been selling/reviews/anything so, against my better judgement, I did. And this is what I found:

MY THE PERFECT DAY IS THE FIRST RESULT WHEN YOU SEARCH THE PERFECT DAY! I have no idea how many of you guys have searched for my little eBook, let alone BUY it. So, you guys are... Oh, wait! I have another pic for you... And this BLEW my mind!

MY NAME IS IN THE SEARCH SUGGESTIONS!!! OMFG!!!

I can not tell you how weird and mind blowing and completely freaked out I am at the moment. But I want to thank you. THANK YOU! You guys have blown my mind! 

Anyway, I better get the boring stuff out of the way. If you want to buy The Perfect Day from Amazon.co.uk, please click here. If you shop on Amazon.com, click here for your copy. And the Friends pic is taken from FYeahFriendsGIF.tumblr.com. Again, thank you. Now enjoy the rest of your Saturday!

I Have To Tell You Guys Something...

Right, this has happened very quickly and I'm still very unsure whether to tell you this. But, here I am, telling you.

I self-published a few short stories on Amazon.

There. I said it. And yes, writing that sentence makes me actually want to run to the bathroom, lock the door and NEVER EVER COME OUT! But I have to hunt for jobs, read a ton of books and, you know, live. So, am writing this so tell you why I did this.

Self publishing never sat well with me. And with wonderful writers breaking through this way, I've always been a bit... wary of it. So after hearing "why don't you self-publish?" for goodness knows how long, I pretend to listen when, actually, I'm not.

So when my brother-in-law dared me to (so when he gets an iPad upgrade, I get his new one), I thought "I want that iPad. Plus, he and my family won't think I do it..." And going through the stories was fun. After writing long stories, I forgot how much fun writing short stories were.

Editing the little buggers, on the other hand. Oh, how I HATE editing! And with Amazon being picky on certain things (you can't use Tab and you MUST use page break at the end of every chapter/short story), I'm surprised it took SO LONG! My boyfriend and I started editing this on Saturday morning at around 11:30am. We didn't hit the upload button till 6:30pm-ish. And we took break because he had to calm me down as I was SERIOUSLY freaking out, and thinking of ways to back out. My fave excuse was "BUT NO ONE WILL READ MY WRITING! I'M NOT AWESOME LIKE JK ROWLING!"

So, what does this now mean? Well, honestly, nothing. I'm still going to write the blog and read books/eBooks. Am still going to write and look for literary agents and publishers. That hasn't changed. But I have uploaded some stories on Amazon for an iPad. No other reason.

If you feel brave, the collection of short stories is called The Perfect Day and it's on Amazon.co.uk for £1.59 (I know, a bit much. But it has something to do with royalties. I think.). I'm pretty sure this is on Amazon.com also, but am too scared to check. This is the same with the reviews. Haven't check what been written on Amazon or my Facebook wall as I'm not thick skinned.

But I thought you better know. With that done, it's over to you. If you want to buy and read it, great. If not, that's cool too. Anyway, better let you go and enjoy this fine Tuesday! Have fun!

The Silence - A Short Story

I was meant to put some writing on the blog last night, but I had a bit of a problem. Ok, I was a bit lazy. But I have been keeping my writing quiet the past few days because a short story I was writing had me in two minds due to recent events in the news. Plus, a tiny part of my feels a bit guilty that I haven't been doing much editing for my main story or writing the other main story (Confused?). So, I wanted to write something short and this is it.

This is something that popped into my head a few days ago and, after manically writing it down, I liked it quite a lot. I might use it in the future (with a few word changes), but I thought I would share with you. ENJOY!

*

“What do you know about The Silence?”
“The Silence?”
“It's a creature older than Time itself. It hides in the shadows. It hides in the darkness. It hides, only to be seen out of the corner of your eye. It is a creature more terrifying than any other creature alive. No human has seen it. And if they have, they suffer a fate worse than death.”
Pause. “There's no such thing.”
“Are you certain about that?”

Fearless Threads - A Short Story

Another short story blog. Well... you all have really surprised me. YOU REALLY LIKE MY WRITING! Am a tad shocked, but it so lovely to read your comments and go "They like my writing! They not faking it!". So thank you for liking the previous few stories and I hope you like this one. No real idea where this came from. I just felt I had to write it.

I hope you guys like!

*

The me in the mirror looked nothing like me.
The me in the mirror looked strong-jawed, stubborn, defiant, totally kick-ass.
He looked nothing like how I felt.
A walking lie.
I slowly took deep breaths, my insides twisting and writhing painfully as I stared at myself in the mirror, my knuckles white as I gripped the sink.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing as a spike of panic stabbed the back of my brain.
Deep breath in, hold, deep breath out.
Oh my God!
Deep breath in, hold -
This can't be happening! This shouldn't be happening to me!
- deep breath out. Deep breath -
They made a mistake!
But they didn't.
I opened my eyes and saw the me in the mirror. His skin looked pale.
I gripped the sink tighter as my knees nearly gave out. I gasped and forced myself to remain standing as my stomach knotted and my lunch threatened to come up.
There was a gentle knock on the bathroom door.
“Sweetie.” My mum's concerned voice. Of course. “Is everything okay in there?”
“Yeah. Everything's fine.” My voice answered as my brain screamed, No. No, everything's not okay. It's not fine. Everything's wrong!
When did it become so easy to lie?
I waited before I risked letting my hands release their vice-like grip of the wash basin. My knees didn't buckle.
Without thinking about it, I raised my hands and my fingers touched my hair. I liked my hair. I never realised that before. I quite liked my short yet messy black hair that I couldn't tame, no matter how hard I tried.
I felt my face twitch in a smile. But it never really met my lips.
I tried to take a mental photograph as I lowered my hands. I reached out and took hold of cool plastic.
I forced myself to take a breath. Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.
I stared at the mirror and a rush of doubt knotted at my windpipe.
Before I could think too much about it, I leaned my head over the sink, turned on the hair cutter and buzzed cut my hair off.
Don't cry, I mentally chanted. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
I felt a rush of emotions coursing through my veins and push down on my bones. Terror, fear, shame and yet... liberating. It felt odd feeling these mix of emotions and yet feel lighter somehow.
When no more hair fell into the sink, I turned off the hair cutter. Closing my eyes, I raised my head up to its natural height. Then opened my eyes.
And fought the urge of hysterical laugh.
I looked like a bald egg with painted-on lips and stuck-on googly-eyes.
And yet, the me in the mirror looked more like me. Or how I felt. Smaller somehow, deflated, terrified.
The doctors told me to name it. According to them, giving it a name that I hated would help me beat it.
Apparently, calling it Leukaemia isn't enough to beat it.
I thought of names but dismissed them, all the while never taking my eyes off the mirror.
The me in the mirror looked the same as before. Smaller, frailer. But there was something about his eyes. My eyes. It was small, but it was there. A glint of something.
Defiance.
“You listen to me, you son of a bitch,” I growled at the mirror. “I'm going to beat you. You can bet on it!”

6 Minute Story

So, you guys know I sometimes write short stories (or something like that) within 30 minutes (blame Michelle Zink). Well, I came across something on Twitter, where you ave to write a short story or Flash fiction within ... wait for it... 6 MINUTES!!!

Impossible, right?

Well, I had a go. It was hard, but I had a go. And this is what I came up with...

http://sixminutestory.com/read/paper-cranes

Yeah... I know it's my work and I had a stressful time writing, I'm not going to put it on the blog. I might change my mind. But until then... let's look at this BEAUTIFUL picture I found which was taken by Jenny Terasaki!

Body - a 30 Minute Write-Off! (Short Story)

So, every now and then, I make myself have a go at writing something out within 30 minutes. Or I try to, seeing as today, my keyboard was playing up. So, I wrote in 35 minutes (because I had to run and get batteries!). So, enjoy!

Warning - this short story deals with dead bodies. (Thanks Kathy Reichs and Tess Gerritsen).

*

I know death. I work with it. Hey, you can say we’re the best of buddies.

I am a forensic anthropologist, and let me tell you, my job isn’t exciting. Don’t believe that CSI crap. I deal with dead bodies. Whether they are burned, decomposed, mummified (don’t ask!), mutilated, dismembered or skeletal. So, they’re not exactly a chatty bunch.

I prefer working with skeletal remains. Nothing scary about skeletons. It feels safe working with them, knowing that there are 206 bones in the body. It’s like working on an old maths question you feel comfortable with.

I do not feel comfortable working with anything else. I have to pushed into the autopsy room, half the time. Mostly because I don’t have a Starbucks in my hand (other coffee brands are available). But the idea of doing a Y-incision into the dead’s chest – doing it to a female is more disturbing, but if you’re a man (or a lesbian), you’ll instinctively look at the breasts. And then you have get to the brain, which is worse because you have to cut through the scalp, collapse the face (!), and then saw through the bone.

Yeah. Dealing with skeletal remains is much better for me.

And it was dealing with a skeletal remains of a woman (black, mid to late thirties) is when I heard it.

I heard something. I wasn’t sure what, but I heard… movement?

Now that was impossible. I was the only person in the morgue. I was working late to make sure all my notes and findings made sense. I was getting dental records tomorrow and I was sure that we would have an ID for her. For her and for her family’s sake.

“He-hello?” I called out.

Nothing. As quiet as the grave.

I sighed, looked at the clock – 10:47pm – and decided that I should really go home. I was seriously behind on my Grey’s Anatomy – a secret vice no one knew about. Plus, I wanted a shower. I wanted to wash the smell of death that I knew had clung to my clothes, my hair, my skin.

I stretched, feeling my joints pop out of my sockets when I heard it about. A low, muffled sound. I stood perfectly still, arms still above my head, trying to pinpoint the sound.

There was nothing.

I should ignore it. It’s nothing. I mentally told myself. And yet… and yet, I knew I couldn’t.

So, guessing that weird the noise had come from, I walked across the morgue, pass the gurneys and pushed the doors open.

A chill ran over my skin. I felt goosebumps rise. The cold room has that effect on people. It never bothered me before. But it did now.

Eight stainless steel gurneys were taken. Each holding a black body bag. I felt my skin tightened as I walked to the first. I forced myself to work confidently. I had nothing to fear here. It wasn’t like the dead could rise again.

I checked the tag. White female. No date. No time.

Okay, that’s odd.

I unzipped the bag. Inside was a naked white female. Her skin was practically translucent. Her black hair looked wet and was pulled back, revealing a woman with a large forehead. Her eyes were closed, given the impression that she was sleeping.

“Oh, get a grip of yourself.” I told myself aloud, zipping the body bag shut. “You’re tired. You’re cranky. Go home.”

I turned to leave. I made two steps before I stopped. Okay, that time, I definitely heard something.

I turned. It had to be my imagination. Had to be. There was no way -!

Slowly, I edged back to the body bag I had just opened. Then stopped, hand frozen in mid air.

“Get a grip,” I told myself, as I took the zip and unzipped the bag.

Again, there she laid. Her eyes closed. Her hair still pulled back.

My fingers, acting of their own accord, moved towards her throat. If she was dead, there would be no pulse. If she was dead, she would be cold skinned. If she was dead –

The corpse’s eyes opened.

I gasped, recoiled, almost lost my footing and stared, opened mouth.

Her eyes were open!

“Oh – OH MY GOD!” I couldn’t stop myself from saying the words. I grabbed the gurney and kicked at the brake.

Get her out of the cold!

“Sweetie!” I said, kicking at the brake again and feeling my foot making contract. “It’s okay. I got you. You’re going to be okay.”

I hope.

I wheeled the gurney out of the cold room. I thought I heard someone.

“Call an ambulance!” I called out, hoping that I wasn’t alone.

Not Another Michelle Zink Writing Challenge

I'm afraid it is!

I know I should be sitting down and REALLY focused on my own writing, but I felt a tiny bit guilty for not doing more Writing Missions, so this morning I sneak onto Michelle Zink's website (when I was meant to be working! And I was... kinda...) and looked up this week's writing challenge. This week was one I HAD to do. In this week's task, Michelle revealed a tiny nugget from her upcoming novel "Guardian of the Gate" (a book I am going to get) and she wanted us to take the paragraph and turn it into something new within 30 Minutes. Yeah, I was at work. So, I gave myself till the end of the working day to write something and, wherever I ended, I would just upload it.

I'm not going to tell you what Michelle gave us to work with (you have to click on the following link to find out - http://michellezinkbooks.wordpress.com/2010/06/24/thursday-night-write-guardian-of-the-gate-clue/), but this is what I made of it. And I was surprised with myself because I found myself, near the end, not liking my main character. He seemed so arrogant that it bothered me. But, I like the story. Maybe, one day, I might go back to it...

Until then, enjoy!

*

For as long as I could remember, I have always been able to see them. The ghosts that are trapped here, wanting desprately to move on to “The Other Side” (I don’t believe in that “Go into the Light” crap). And ghosts that refuse. Point blank. Some out of stubbornness. Some out of fear. But most stay because they want to. It’s fun to stay and watch. They’re not ready to go. Not just yet.

And then there are those that aren’t ghosts at all. The Frighteners, as I call them. They’re made from bad energy, from what I can guess. Bad energy, evil energy. They want to be human, or as close to human as they can. Expenience human emotions. They’re the reason people get depression or have horrible thoughts. It’s frightening to walk down the road and see them close to someone, and knowing that I could help. Or try to. But I can’t. I can’t do anything.

Cos I’m a freak. A weirdo. An oddity. The curiousity. And those are the kind names people have called me. Hence why I rarely talk about my ability.

It was because I was standing in a field that I was a little afraid. The field’s openness was terrifying, though the sun shined brightly, turning gold the wild grass and swaying wheat that stretches in every direction. For all its beauty, the field left me no place to hide. If a Frightener came, I would have to run. And I tend to fall down when I run. I tend to fall down A LOT.

I sighed. The ghost had changed its mind. It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s not like I’ve met a ghost who hasn’t changed his or her mind, or worry if they are making the right decision.

It was too humid to wonder why the ghost had changed his or her mind. Plus, I had to get back and finish those English Literature assignments. I couldn’t fail with these assignments. If I didn’t get a decent mark, I basically flunked my class. I couldn’t flunk this class.

So, I turned to leave. And jumped as the ghost stood there, a little too close for comfort.

Ghosts blink. That’s why he was so close to me. Ghosts don’t walk or float up to you. Some do, but that’s a tiny percentage of the ghost populous. The attention seeking kind. The rest of them Blink. Well, I call it blinking. One moment, no one is there. The next, Bam! There they are. Most people think it’s a trick. They blink and they see the ghost without realising it. I know that they are ghosts. Ghosts don’t have auras like humans do.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” He took a step back, releasing he was in my personal space. “Are you alright?”

“I – I’m fine.” I lied. I rammed my hands into my pockets. When I lie, my fingers tend to twitch. “Just give me moment to catch my breath.”

“Okay,” the ghost smiled and fell silent. He seemed pleased that I came, as if he feared that I won’t. that I would change my mind.

He doesn’t know me very well.

“Okay,” I said after a moment, taking my hands out of my pockets and flexing my fingers. “So, I’m here.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He looked my age, wearing clothes that were about five, maybe six, years out of fashion. “I can only talk here.”

“Why here?” I questioned.

“Because I can’t leave the field. I’m stuck here.”

Well, that was new and unexpected.

From what I had been told by my Grandmother (who had the gift too – it “supposed” to have missed a generation with my mother. But I don’t believe my mum. As the song goes, “Deny, Deny, Deny”), ghosts don’t haunt one place. They can come and go as they please. Most haunt places that mean something to them – a house, a garden, a public garden. I saw one haunt one of the London Underground stations. Also, I have never come across a ghost that haunts a graveyard, much to everyone’s surprise. And I should know – I live oppisite a graveyard. It’s one of the few places I can go without hearing, seeing or sensing a ghost. It’s a place I can turn my brain off from the ghost frequency.

But to be stuck in one place…

“So, you can’t leave this field?” I said, slowly, trying to get my brain round the idea. “But you’ve been trying to contact me.” It came out as a question.

“I have.”

“How?”

“Little things. But mostly when you slept. That seems to be the easiest way.”

Ah, he’s one of those ghosts…

Some ghosts, not very many, have the horrible knack to send messages and ideas into dreams. It’s very rare. One or two of them can even enter your dreams, which is kinda freaky to say the least. It has only ever happened to me once, when I was sixteen and having a fairly steamy dream involving myself and two other people (one of them was the member of the oppisite sex) when a ghost appeared, stared over us and started screaming at me, telling how dirty and wrong it was. How preverted it was. Ever since then, if I have one of those dreams, I change it to something extremely dull incase a ghost walks in. Like tofu.

Numb Weight - A "I'm Not Sure What This Is" Work

There’s a numbness in my heart,
That’s weighing me down,
Making it almost impossible to carry me around,
So don’t throw me off a cliff, my darling,
Cos the freefall will feel strangely superb,
But the crashing into the ground will bring the numb back.

There’s a numbness in my heart,
And it spreading into my head,
Crushing the brain within my skull,
So, please, my darling, don’t take me to the river’s edge,
Because the drowning will feel so wonderful,
But the drowned won’t feel at all.

There’s a numbness in my heart,
In my head and now in my veins,
Chilling me in ways that warmth will never reclaim,
So don’t take me to the bonfire, my darling,
Because the burning will be exquisitely beautiful,
But the smell of burnt flesh might be too much.

There’s a numb weight within me,
I’m a dead weight in your fragile arms,
So leave me on the ground in a small tiny ball,
Go, my darling, and live your emotion-filled life,
For then I’ll live inside this strange empty void,
Till the tears of the stars wash this numbness away…

Something I Randomly Discovered

I discovered this in my drafts on Facebook and, remembering what this is for (it was a draft of a story that I never finished), I've decided to upload this you all to read. Enjoy!

It was the ghostly fingers made him aware that what he was seeing wasn't real. They felt real, but they felt as if they were made of plastic, not true human fingers. And he kept hearing voices, but they were always in the background, as if he was in one room and the voices were in another.

But they didn't matter.

He was stuck in, what he was sure was, a memory. The last memory he had before it happened. The last true memory. Something solid for his mind to hold onto.

She was there. Beautiful as always. Her blond hair tied back in an odd ponytail, her pale eyes watching him, her lips curve into a gentle smile.

“I love you,” she whispered.

And that was when the memory ended.

Sin - A Short Story

QUICK AUTHOR'S NOTE - This story isn't a story. Yes, I know I say it is in the title. But this idea came to me yesterday as I was driving. I have no idea what made me question the idea of sin, but what I found more interesting is the "voice" this story took. It seems so different from how I usually write, I decided to challenge myself with it. I hope you like...

*

Sin.
Every person knows of the seven deadly sins. And every person is capable of them.
There is no sight of a sin affecting a person. There is no aura, no sight, no sound, no warning sign.
We all have the capable to commit one of the sins, and we all trick ourselves. We believe that Biblical demons are tempting us. We believe that for every sin, there is a virtue to redeem ourselves.
Because we want redemption once we cause the sin. Because we don’t see the act of the sin itself. We see only the effect and only the aftermath. And we try to fix the damage we have caused.
But we must remember. We must remember that there is a difference between sin and evil.
An act of sin is redeemable. An act of evil isn’t.
Every human on this planet we call Earth is capable of an act of sin. Very few are capable of an act of evil.

Another Writing Task (Inspired by Michelle Zink)

So, last Thursday, Michelle Zink did another one of her writing missions (I try and do these. If not on the date then a few days after.) But this time, I was determine to do this task (write a short story in 300 words or less).

Why? Well, two reasons. I fancied a challenge and, second, she talked about in her blog (which I am very flattered with. [It was my birthday and I was called a "die-hard fan of my work, an online friend, and a supporter of my as-yet-unapproved tour of the UK." [come on, Atom Books. You know you want to...?]). http://michellezinkbooks.wordpress.com/2010/05/13/thursday-night-write-9/

So, the plan was to write a short story about birthdays. Seemed the right thing to write. But stuff happened - Florence and the Machine gig and a weekend of mad - so I got down to it today. Only, I didn't write a birthday short. I wrote this instead.

Oh, the quotes from Florence and the Machine - They don;t count towards my word count. I just thought they were cool lyrics! ENJOY!

*

My boy builds coffins for better or worse
Some say it’s a blessing, some say it’s a curse
He fits them together in sunshine or rain
Each one is unique, no two are the same

My boy builds coffins and I think it's a shame
That when each ones been made, he can't see it again
He crafts every one with love and with care
Then it's thrown in the ground, it just isn't fair
“My Boy Builds Coffins” by Florence and the Machine. (Taken from the album “Lungs”)

No more dreaming of the dead as if death itself was undone
“Blinding” by Florence and the Machine (Taken from the album “Lungs”)

I awoke into a world of total darkness.
I blinked, and the blackness I saw with my eyes shut was the same as when I opened my eyes.
I took a silent breath as I lifted my head, and was surprised when my head made contact with something. Something solid. Something that made a wooden echo.
I lowered my head onto the pillow and, gingerly, raised my left hand and touched the cold surface. I felt a strange knot in the surface and realised that the surface was made of polished wood.
I moved my hand to above my head. Polished wood.
I moved my hand to my left. Polished wood.
I moved my hand to my right. Polished wood.
I didn’t wriggle down and made my feet check if there was wood. I knew there would be.
I knew. I just knew.
I was in a coffin. A simple coffin, but a coffin nevertheless.
Then everything came rushing back, almost knocking the breath out of me. I remembered the car accident. I remembered the hospital. I remembered the smell. I remembered the beeping machines. I remembered asking for a simple funeral if I did die. I remembered –
Was I dead?
My hands flew to my throat as I checked for a pulse. Yes. Yes, it was there. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I breathed a sigh. Then hesitated.
Was… was it my imagination, or did the wood feel warm? Unnaturally warm?
I froze as a small wave of horror ran through my veins. I was being cremated. Being burned alive.
I relaxed.
Shouldn’t I be panicking? Shouldn’t I be screamed?
But I wasn’t. I laid there, quite calm. I almost smiled to myself.
I yawned, closed my eyes and fell into a final sleep.

"Replace" or "Because You" - A Random Poem (Of Sorts)

Replace my skin with battered leather,
Replace my hair with copper wires,
Replace my muscles with thick elastic,
Replace my eyes with CCTV cameras,
Replace my voice with a broken violin,
Replace my lungs with deflated balloons,
Replace my heart with AA batteries,
Replace my soul with a fragile mirror,
Because you stole
The best parts of me.

Untitled - A Short Story (Written When I Was In A Foul Mood!)

how do i come out?

even though most people know, they’re all waiting. all expecting me to just tell people. tell my family that I’m…

…sigh…

it’s just not easy. why does everyone think that it’s easy to do it? i mean, even i’m not a 100 per cent sure if i am or if this is a phase or if i’m bi or whatever? surely, it shouldn’t matter.

and yet, it does. so much so that people make a HUGE deal over it and then you feel guilty because you haven’t made a HUGE deal over it yourself and then you have to tell people which turns, again, into a HUGE deal.

basically, it’s all your fault. it’s your fault that you were born this way. your fault that it took you this long to realise it and then come to terms with it. your fault that when you have told people, you’ve been the one stressing out on it. and then when you do tell, it’s your fault for being true to yourself. basically, you’re the bad guy.

well, that’s how i feel at the moment. the bad guy. and, oh, how wonderful i feel. seriously, i feel like i’m walking on air with joy!

the horrible feeling i have in the pit of my stomach? nah, that’s happiness. the fact i slept so badly last night? excitement. and the fact I was considering making myself be sick, cutting myself or starting to smoke, just to hide the fact that there’s something wrong? overwhelming pleasure. i live for this kind of shit.

surely, i’m the one i should be pleasing. i’m the one who knows when it’s the right time to tell people. surely, I’m the one to know all this. i mean, this is me and surely i’m the best person to know…

so why do people think otherwise?

so why do i feel like the bad guy? like i’m the one in the wrong?

and why do i believe them when they say that?

Michelle Zink's 30 Minute Writing Mission

On Thursday, Michelle Zink (an author I follow on Twitter), set up a "Thursday Night Write" on her blog. Basically, it was a test to see what we can write within 30 Minutes, based on photo.

Now, I couldn't do it on Thursday but I just had a go. And writing something within 30 minutes is hard. Very very hard. That's all I'm saying on the matter.

So, here is my attempt. Yes, you can laugh at it. I know that I am a rubbish writer when I rush and don't go back and check myself... So, sorry in advance for bad spelling and grammar.



My hands smelt of vinegar as I poured the used water down the drain.
You don’t want your windows to be covered in smears, do you? My dad always said when I first washed my car.
Those were the days when I actually listened to the liar.
“Hey!”
I looked up and smiled, setting the empty bucket on the pavement. “Hey Jacob!”
“You’re washing it?” Jacob walked towards me, his eyes watched me carefully. “You’re washing the Rust Bucket?”
“It’s not rusty.” I said back. “It has character.”
“Mm-hm.” Jacob eyed my truck with suspicion. “I’m surprised you haven’t scrapped it. It’s probably worth more as scrap metal than to run the thing. I mean, what year is it?”
“You tell me. You’re the car expect.” I replied. “And anyway, this truck has been with me through some tough times. I think Chevy should stay around for a little while.”
“Chevy? You named your truck Chevy? How Bella Swann of you.”
“You relate me or Chevy to the Twilight Saga and I will not be held responsible for my actions.” I said back, but I was joking.
I looked fondly at my truck. Chevy, a battered blue truck with large ugly rust patches, looking like bruises. I got it from my brother, Dillon, when he finally fixed it up. He started the job when I was fourteen and he sixteen. I was twenty when he finally finished the job. I never believe his “I can’t get the parts” story. I always believed he was born-idle.
This was the only true link to him now, seeing as I never saw him one month to the next. Him being at medicinal school and all.
“I don’t think it’s a Chevy. But that’s neither here nor there.” Jacob waved a hand and sat on the pavement in front of my truck. “So, what’s wrong? So wrong that you had to talk to good old Jacob Black.”
Jacob and I have always been friends. I can’t remember a time when we weren’t. We were like brothers, twins even. We knew each other inside out. I was there for him when he was stressing about his GCSEs and then his A-Levels. And he was there for me when my parents got divorced.
I sighed as I sat next to him. “Well, Taylor,” I started calling him Taylor or Taylor Launter ever since the Twilight Saga films came out. I joked about him not having Taylor’s muscles, and he would always joke that if he was Taylor, than I was Robert Pattinson.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts together. “Dad’s – Dad’s getting remarried.”
Jacob’s jaw dropped. “Sorry? Say what?”
“Oh yes. Dad is getting remarried to the evil Harpy-Bitch from Hell.” I said, coolly. But inside, I was spitting venom. It was her fault! If she never went to work for Dad, then they wouldn’t have the affair and nearly torn the family apart. Dillon cut all ties with Dad, as did Mum. But I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. “And that’s not the worst of it. He wants Dillon and me to come to the wedding. Can you believe that? The nerve!”
Jacob sighed a big puff of air. “Whoa. That’s… that’s… whoa.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Have you told your Mum?”
I hesitated. “She’s out of the country.”
“She doesn’t know?”
“No. And I don’t want her to know. Dear God, can you imagine what would happen if Mum found out?”
“I don’t like this. You should tell her.”
“And then what? Wait for the fireworks? God, it’s like the divorce all over again!” With Dillon and me in the middle of Mum and Dad fighting. Forcing us to choose sides.
“What did you tell him?”
“I’ll think about it.” I answered honestly.
“You said -? Alec, that’s worse! You should never have said that!”
“What? Why?”
Jacob sighed, looking heavenwards. “It – it just is!”
I sighed. “So what do I do?”
“Pray your Dad sees sense and marry a Weeping Angel from Doctor Who.”
“I’m serious, Jacob.”
“So am I.”
I rolled my eyes. “That would make life easier.” Sigh. “Should I tell Dillon?”
“Yes. You have to talk to him.”
“Dillon’s not going to like it…” I muttered.
“He won’t like it if he hears it through someone else.”
“You’re right. You’re right!” I held my hands up, admitting defeat. “I’ll call him.”
“Good boy.”
“Shut up, mutt.”
“Have you heard this joke?” Jacob’s eyes grew mischievous. “How do you drown a blond?”
He always blond jokes with me. I usually laugh them, seeing as I have blond hair. “I don’t know. How?”
“Throw a mirror into the water.” His smile was wide.
“That was so lame, I’m not going to laugh to that.” I stood up, hearing my joints cracks.
“Okay, that was gross.” He got up silently next to me. “Want to hear something else funny?”
“Not a bad joke?”
“Nope. Even better.”
I braced myself. “Go on.”
“Guess whose going out with Henry?”
“Henry?” I questioned. I knew three Henrys.
“Henry Edwards.”
“Oh. I don’t know. Who?”
“Helena.”
“Helena? Helena Weatherworth?”
“Yep.” Jacob looked smug.
“But – but she hates him.”
“Not from what I heard. Or saw for that matter

NaNoWriMo - Update

BAD TIDINGS!!!

My laptop has died on me and the backup of my NaNoWriMo won't allow me to open it! (unless I want total googlegook! You know what I mean - ikewunmeafjnmnsdfkhg,msdfa/><>L?@~}&^&^^&%DYBV@~@:{}_+>?<><|

So, might not be able to finish this. Someone's going to check my laptop on Friday so.... FINGERS CROSSED!!!

NaNoWriMo - A Random Start

In case you guys don't know, I've decide to have a go at NaNoWriMo this year. First time ever! And I am having a blast. Am stupidly behind the word count but I don't care! I'm enjoying myself and writing random fantasy. And because everyone is giving me good views on my opening few paragraphs, am going to show it to you. I hope you enjoy!

*

I never saw the car coming. I didn't even have time to react when Xavier screamed out my name. No time at all.
My legs smacked into the grill. My chest crashed into the bonnet. My head cracked the windscreen.
The car never stopped as my rag-doll like body was thrown over the roof. For one small second, it felt surreal. As if I was flying.
Then my body hit the road with such force, I lost my breath.
I was lying on my ground, hearing the voices scream. They sounded so far away. So very far away. And I was wet. Why was my chest wet?
I was staring at the sky. It was clear, with all the stars blinking beautifully. But they seemed to be going dull. As if someone was turning a dimmer switch. The stars were going out.
Then a face, blurry at the edges appear. His green eyes brilliant, yet his face looked wrong. It looked...
“Alex! Alex, look at me! Keep your eyes open!” His voice was wrong. It was high, almost a whine.
But he was going to dim too. He was fading like the stars.
I don't understand. This is wrong. I don't understand.
Xavier snapped his head away. “Don;t just stand there! DON'T JUST STAND THERE! CALL AN AMBULANCE!”

I was standing on the pavement. There was a large crowd of people standing in the middle of the road. Something had happened. Something bad.
I rushed over. “What is it? What happened?”
No one heard me. Everyone was in shock. I heard someone crying. Crying and shouting.
“Don't just stand there! Don't just stand there! Call an ambulance!”
What? But, that can't be -?
I ran through a clear gap and -
My stepbrother Xavier was holding a body in his arms. A body that was covered in blood. A body whose leg was at an unnatural angle. This leg was missing a Converse trainer. And his face...
No! Nonononono!
It was me. He was holding me.
My hands shot up to my mouth. This can't happening! This is a dream. No, a nightmare! Alex, wake up!
I spun away. Alex, wake up! Wake up, Alex! Wake the fucking up!!!
Someone's mobile started to beep as they dialled 999. Wake up, I screamed. Wake up!
“Alex...” I spun round, hearing Xavier's voice. It was wrong. It sounded all wrong.
“Xavier!” I called out, but it was me who said that. The me lying in his arms did nothing.
“Alex...” Xavier was looking down at my body and he gave it a little shock. “Alex... Alex... Alex!” Every time he repeated my name, his shakes were getting harder. His head snapped up. “Help me! He's stopped breathing! HELP ME!!!”
What? No, this isn't right...
I stared, unable to move as Xavier began to scream at me. Someone rushed forward, shouting, “I got him! I got him!”
I took a step back. I'm... I'm dying... This... This can't be real... This can't be...
I took another step back. But my foot never made contract with the ground. It never made contract with anything.
I fell. I fell into black.

White Dusk - An Attempt to Write "Twilight" FanFic (Part 2)

Let's see if this works, shall we?

*

WHITE DUSK (A FanFic)

“Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood.”
Marie Curie

“To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure.”
Taken from 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' by JK Rowling

Preface
I screamed as the poison rushed through my blood stream.
I'm going to die! I'm dying! Why aren't you here stopping this?!
My body writhed on the floor, trying to extinguish the fire burning me from within.
I'm dying! Your life is meant to flash before your eyes when you die – and I see nothing! It's a lie! I'm dying, and I see nothing!
But I'm not dying. The me up to this point is dying. Once I'm gone, there will be something else in my place, a monster like the creature standing over me, their emotionless blood-red eyes glinting in the moonlight.

1: Forks
I woke up to the sound of rain and forgot where I was in the world.
Then I saw the green light thrown over the curtains and onto the ceiling and I remembered. Something inside me suddenly got crushed, like a canary being run over by a tractor.
Oh, great. I’m here…
I curled into a small ball under my duvet and closed my eyes. I didn’t know why I was reacting like this. I knew exactly what I was letting myself in for when I decided this. But never thought it would be this hard, this painful. And though I knew I shouldn’t blame my Mum for falling in love with my soon-to-be-stepdad, Dan, a tiny part of me did. I was happy that Mum was, but moving to another country, away from my family and friends, away from my school and job, away from my life to this unknowing was hard to swallow.
I sighed and forced myself to sit up and look at the time. As I landed in my new home that was America, I was expecting jet-lag. But I, surprisingly, was in sync with it. But today was going to be me finding my feet, getting use to my new house, my new town, and getting to know where everything was before I started the horror that was to come tomorrow.
Secondary school. Or, as the Amercians (was I one now?) called it, high school.
Shivering at this thought, I forced myself to get out of bed and get dressed, looking round my new bedroom. The walls looked so bare, I felt depressed just looking out them. There were a few empty shelves, which I immediate planned to use for favourite books and DVDs, had a small wardrobe and a small desk. On this desk was my laptop and, luckily, internet connection so I could stay in touch my friend back home…
No, this is home, I reminded myself. I live here now.
Sighing again, I got dressed quicker, went across the landing to the bathroom, cleaned my teeth and tried (yet failed) to make my black hair look neat. It looked like a haystack on top of my head.
Giving up, I went downstairs, almost tripping over a few cardboard boxes.
It seemed so stupid to me that, rather than Mum and me move in with Dan, that he sells his house and us to buy and live somewhere new. “It’ll be our home,” my Mum had said to me when we came to see Dan last time, before the move.
So, we had a new home. In a small town called Forks. Where there were hundreds of large, green trees, which must outnumber the humans that live here 100 trees to 1 human ratio. And Forks – my new “home” – was a town, not a city as it stated on its welcome sign – “The City of Forks Welcomes You”.
I’m trying to find faults with this place, I realised as I glanced out of the window in the hall and just saw green. Why is America shown on UK TV as sexy and fun? Not just plain green?
I walked into my new kitchen and saw my soon-to-be-stepbrother, sitting at the table, reading a newspaper.
“Morning,” I suddenly had to stifle a yawn.
Xavier looked up from his paper. “Morning,” he smiled, his white teeth catching my attention.
The one main pro about getting a new stepdad, is that fact that I was getting a new stepbrother. The older brother I always kinda wanted. What made him even cooler was the fact he was training to be a doctor and that he was here while Mum and Dan were still down south, trying to sell his house.
“Shouldn’t you be catching up on your z’s?” Xavier asked, closing the paper.
“I slept a lot on the plane,” I commented, sitting down opposite him.
“So, how’s Forks for you?”
“Green.” There was no other word to describe it.
“You’ll get use to it.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. But what if I didn’t? “So, what’s your plans for today?”
It was weird, but Xavier and me just clicked when we first met. It was, as if, we knew each other all our lives. We just talked about stuff. Important and not-so-important. So, even now, that I had just done possible the hugest thing in my whole life, it seemed only natural to talk to Xavier like this.
“I have to study.” He sighed. “And finish a paper.”
“An essay?” Already, the differences between our two worlds were evident.
“It’s dull.” He waved a hand. “What about you?”
“Make my room more… well… me, I guess.” I admitted, even though this truly meant that I was doing nothing.
“You should check this place out.”
“What? The house?”
“The town.” Xavier made a gesture with his hand. “I mean, you are going to live here.”
Thanks for reminding me. “I would, but I need a car to do so. I don’t have one.”
“You can drive, though.” Xavier pointed out. The last time I was here to meet Dan and Xavier, I took my driving test and, by some weird yet amazing miracle, I passed. “You could borrow mine.”
“But you’re going back to medicinal school in a few weeks. You need your car.”
“You could…” Xavier said slowly, his pale eyes going all mysterious, “you can always keep it.”
I barked a laugh. “Me? Keep Your car? How would you cope?”
“I got an upgrade.”
Suddenly, my brain catch the words. It defrag their meaning and I repeated the words. “You… got… upgrade?”
“Yes.” Xavier said. “My car is going to dust and I bought myself an upgrade. It didn’t cost me, so… as a ‘Welcome to your new home’ present, I’m giving you my old car.”
I stared at him. “You… car… huh?”
“I’m – giving – you – a – car.” He said, as if telling a toddler. “Be – happy.”
“I – I am happy.” I said, stunned. “Just – just wasn’t expecting it.”
Xavier rolled his eyes. “Here.” He handed me the keys to his car. “There. Now, let’s see it and see what will need.”
He got up. Automatically, I got up too. I was stunned. I followed him out of the house onto the front garden – no, front lawn – and saw his car. No, my car.
It was an old Ford Festia, with two doors and a boot (aka trunk). I was a passaenger in this car yesterday after my planes from the UK to Phoenix then from Phoenix to Port Angeles. I slept for a short while in the car, as well. It had a good CD/radio system.
“Do you like it?” Xavier asked, looking a little worried.
“I… I don’t know what to say.” I was still stunned. “Thank you.” Then I frowned. “Where’s your new car?”
Xavier smiled at me, mischievous. “Who said anything about a car?”
I blinked, then I saw the new, slick black motorbike that sat neatly next to Xavier’s – no, my – car. My mouth fell opened.
“I changed my mind,” I blurted out. “You have the car, I have the motorbike.”
“Tough. You have the keys to the car. Not changing now.” He looked at me.
“Mean.” I pulled a face. “You do realise that our parents are going to freak when they see that.”
“I know.” Xavier’s smile broadened. “But what kind of older brother would I be to you if I didn’t go off the rails once in a while.”
I stared at my car. My car. That was weird, thinking this car as mine. But, at least it would make life a little easier. Tomorrow was going to be a little less worse than I imagined. But first, I would need to find it.
Later, I decided. At the moment, I wanted to attack my bedroom, and spend some time with my awesome stepbrother. No… no, I didn’t like using that term. Stepbrother. That sounded wrong. Brother. No, Xavier was my brother. I prefer that.
“Can you help me put some posters on my walls,” I asked, “before you go off the rails, of course?”
He shrugged. “I could squeeze you in.”
It took us just over an hour to make my room feel more lived in. I had tons of film posters stuck to one of my walls and we filled several shelves with books and DVDs. We ever put up on magnetic whiteboard where half of it had photos, postcards, maps, old London Underground tickets – memories of my old life in England. The other half was there for notes or reminders that I had to do. Xavier wrote “Thank Xavier for awesome gift!”
“Don’t push it.” I commented, as if talking about the weather.
It was still raining, but dizzying. More like British weather, but still unnatural American at the same time. So, the weather wasn't as bad as I expect or feared when I made a break from the house to my car. I did some research on my new home and discovered that Forks was one of the – if not, the – place to get the most rainfall and near-constant cover of cloud in the United States. Not much weather difference to my homeland.
Once I was in the car, I quickly checked over everything: radio, CD player, heater and my digital camera several times over. My hobby was photographic was trying in a slight obsession. Once I done that, I drove my new town.
I found practically found everything within half an hour. I discovered the local supermarket (aka general store), the police station (aka the sheriff's office), several diners and shops (most of these were linked to hiking in someway shape or form) and the library. I got a card for it, but discovered that it didn't hold the books I like. Maybe I would use the library more for schoolwork.
I think I would have discovered everything quicker, if I didn't stop every few minutes to take photos. I hated to admit it, but the scenery was beautiful. The way the trees caught what little light there was, and the colours of the leaves. So different from back home. I took several photographs of an old sign, informing that there was a Native America reservation, La Push, further up the road. I had to fight the temptation to drive up there that instant, but decided that I would go at the weekend. Give me something to look forward too.
I only had one problem, and it was a big problem. It was, also, quite stupid. I couldn't my new school.
I drove round the town for an extra half an hour, trying to find Fork High School. But nothing. I got myself more lost and more confused. I had to stop several times to get my bearings.
But I couldn't find it. Was my sense of direction that bad?
I pulled over one last time, trying to mental backtrack. The school, like most things in this town, had to be off the highway. Had I missed it? But now, looking round, I realised that I was in the middle of nowhere. Just in a road in the middle of a forest. There were no houses, no people to ask for directions.
I drove over a bridge, I knew that, so I could drive back, then I would be back at square one.
That was when I saw the unpaved road.
It looked more like a dirt-track, but it looked recently used.
My first instinct was to turn the car around and floor it. What did it matter that I didn't know where my High School was. I would just follow everyone else.
But, I didn't listen to my first instinct. I put in gear and, slowly, drove up the road.
The road snaked through the trees for a long time. I was beginning to think that maybe this lead nowhere when the trees lessened and disappeared to reveal a shockingly stunning house.
I forced myself to stop the car and got out, feeling slightly awe-struck. It was three storeys tall and it painted faint white. All the windows caught the light perfectly while the trees perfectly protect it with their long branches. The house looked like something out of a fairy tale. The house looked timeless, effectless.
I was so caught up with it, I almost didn't see the two people walking towards me. But I looked quickly at them, before glancing back at the house.
There was a young man and a young woman. The man looked built like a tank, his muscles on full-display through his tight T-shirt, making my own body-confidence take an instant nosedive. He had short black hair, dark brown eyes and his skin was dark, making me instantly think of the La Push sign I saw.
The young woman that was walking beside him was total opposite. She was smaller than him, and her skin was chalk white. Her hair was light brown and a little wavy. Unlike her friend, she looked so gracefully in her movements.
Until she tripped herself up.
The man caught her in time, but she caught herself at exactly the same time. She smiled at him as she said, “I'm fine, Jake. You worry too much.”
Both of them looked at each other for a moment. I took a step back, feeling as if I was ruining the moment, and both their heads snapped round.
Oh, heck!
“Er... hi!” I tried to sound like I just got out of the car.
Both of the them took a step or two closer to me. I saw now that both of them were stupidly good-looking. My self-confidence took another nose-dive. So much so I lost my trail of speech and I forgot what I was going to say.
“Can we help you?” asked the girl. Oh God, even her voice sounded attractive.
“Er...” Why did I drive here? I'm going to leave with nothing of myself, am I? “Yes, hi. I'm lost. I'm new in town and trying to find Forks High School.”
I was suddenly aware of my British accent and what surprised me was neither of them seemed surprised of it. No one knew I was British, did they? But the look of their faces looked as if... as if they knew...
“Oh, yes.” The girl smiled. “I go there. We might be classmate.” Dare God, I hope not, seeing as my self-confidence is fading fast. “I'm Renesmee. Renesmee Cullen. But my friends call me Nessie. This is Jacob. Jacob Black.”
“Hi,” He smiled. His smile was nice. He meant the smile. I get a sense when someone's smile is real or not. “Welcome to Forks.”
He offered his hands, and I took it. His hand practically swallowed mine. His skin was boiling hot, but I wasn't sure if I was imagining that or not.
“Thanks,” I pulled my hand away. “I'm so stupid. I have no sense of direction. I almost drove into La Push by mistake.”
“I live there.”
“Oh.” By the way he said that, I had offended him. Great. I'm making so many friends! “I'm going to check out over the weekend. If I don't get any homework.”
Renesmee leaned in. Jacob saw this out of the corner of his eye and his face went a little hard.
“Anyway,” I pretended I hadn't noticed. “Directions?”
“Oh, yes.” Renesmee smiled again.
She gave me directions to the school and I realised where I had made my mistake. As she talked, I kept noticing that she was leaning closer to me. I kept taking a small side-step, not wanting to invade her space, but she kept leaning closer to me. Jacob was seeing this and his face was getting harder, his smile becoming more fixed. And what was with her? She kept sniffing me, as if I was wearing cologne or something.
Suddenly, an alarm bell began to ring inside my head. Get out of there! Get out of there! Leave now!
“Thank you so much!” I pushed a smile on my face.
“No probs.” Renesmee smiled, making herself go back to Jacob's side.
“Yeah, no problems.” Jacob said, his voice low. I looked at him and the look I got back had a message I completely understood. Stay away from my chick.
“I... I have to go.” Lame. Try again. “I have so much stuff to do before tomorrow. Unpack, email some friends.”
“Oh.” That wasn't what Renesmee wanted to hear. But then an expression flashed across her face. I was confused by her own reaction.
“Yeah, sorry. I... I see you tomorrow, though. Or at La Push.” I quickly added. “See you both later.”
I didn't wait for their goodbyes. I must have come across as rude, but that look Jacob gave me and the alarm bell inside my head had mentally freaked me out. I didn't understand why I was reacting like this. I've never felt like this around other people before. Maybe I was suffering from jet lag.
I walked quickly back to my car, got it and, slowly, turned my car around and drove down the drive to main road. Both Renesmee and Jacob watched me drive away.

White Dusk - An Attempt to Write "Twilight" FanFic

Okay, I've tried twice to upload my attempted chapter for a Twilight FanFic I wrote ("White Dusk"), but seeing as my laptop isn't happen with me, I'm changing this entry slightly.

So, the basic plot. Last year, I was dared to write a Twilight Saga Fanfic (sense a pattern forming within last few blogs) and I decided to have a go. I thought it would be fun to write something light after writing and editing my last writing project.

So, I thought of plot, new characters, lines characters could say, chapter titles, listen to podcasts for titbits or advice and I tried to write it. I had a title I loved - "White Dusk" and two new characters - Alex and his soon-to-be stepbrother, Xavier - that I couldn't stop writing about!

But, I couldn't do it. For two reasons. First, from what I heard on podcasts, they were like real novels, with long chapters and meaty plots and weird pairings! In one reading of a fanfic, I thought Harry Potter was going to pop up then go, "Ooops! Sorry! Wrong Fanfic!" And the second reason was I felt uncomfortable writing with Stephenie Meyer's characters and I never felt like I wrote with they help. The only character I enjoyed writing with was Jasper and he couldn;t carry the story on his own. So I stopped.

But, I found my old notes and chapter attempt. Can't upload chapter, but can upload other stuff. So... Ready?

*

EASTER EGGS (Covers)
Apple (Twilight) - Alex picks up and holds apple while chatting to Cullens in chapter 2: New
Flower (New Moon) - In vase right before She [had no name for female baddie] attacks the Cullens and Alex.
Ribbon (Eclipse) - Bella or Renesmee tied hair back (can't see Rosalie doing it)
Chess (Breaking Dawn) - Carlisle & Esme/Edward playing a game

EASTER EGGS (Lines Characters Say)
Rosalie: “Oh, great. We're having another Bella situation.”

Jasper: “Alex, will be please calm down?”
Alex: “No, I bloody will not!”

Alex: “Who – what – are you?”

Alex: “I’m sorry, I just got nearly attacked by a scarily huge wolf with huge dagger-like teeth and you want to know what colour fur it had?! Seriously, Jacob, were you dropped on your head when you were a baby or something?”

Xavier: “When life gets you down, you know what you got to do?”
Alex: “Just keep swimming?”
Xavier: “I was going to say put your iPod on full volume and listen to Muse, but let’s go with Finding Nemo. Disney is never usually wrong.”

Xavier: “There are some things we’re not proud of. For example, I can’t say the words penguin and comment.”

Emmett: “You know what they say? Life’s a –"
Esme: “Language!”
Emmett: “Sorry.”

Alice: “Bella, would you stop whining and help me with this?”

Alex: "It's not a lion and lamb situation."

Alex: “Oh my God! Have I entered a JK Rowling novel or something?!”

Alex: “When did vampires and werewolves become suddenly popular?”

Alex: “My life sucks.”
Emmett: “And we haven’t started drinking your blood yet.”

Emmett: “Look who it is. It’s our resident Big Bad Wolf.”
Jacob: “I can pwn you if you’re not careful, leech.”
Emmett: “Bring it on then, mutt.”

Alex: "Sorry, but you guys have been together how long? Geez, get your rears in gear and just get married already!" (seconds later) "Do you have to do that? Bitter singleton over here."

Alex: “What are you doing?”
Edward: “Reading.”
Alex: “I can see that. Dare I ask who it’s by? Anne Rice or Bram Stoker?”
Edward: “If I hadn’t seen that one coming and thought it was actually funny, I would be laughing right now.”

Xavier: “Do you ever wonder why Mary and Bert never got it on Mary Poppins?”
Alex: “Oh, I don’t know. Why would Julia Andrews not get together with Dick Van Dyke, a guy with a name that is the butt of many jokes, who does a mind-numbing mid-afternoon TV show and has the worse cockney accent known to man? Honestly, I can’t see why she didn’t jump on him there and then.”

(My Fave Now) - Alex: "The stars are going out.”

WANT - A Harry Potter FanFic (& A Bad One!)

I was dared into it, okay! Right, this is my first EVER attempt of writing FanFic in the world of Harry Potter (I felt dirty reading or writing previous FanFic - Felt like I was Betraying JK Rowling!) So, here it is...

*

Draco Malfoy wasn’t entirely certain on how he had found himself in the situation he was in.

Lying on the bed, he gasped as a rough hand gently drew lines along his throat, his jawline and his cheekbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The fingers traced over his lips and, despite himself, Draco licked them.

Part of him was repulsed by his actions. Yet another part of him felt… felt alive. It felt like every nerve-ending in his body was on fire. And with the hand touching Draco’s skin, it felt like an electric current was pulsing through him. All Draco could think about was of the hand and the person whose hand it belonged.

He wasn’t entirely sure when these feelings started, but he suspected that they were always there, buried deep within himself. But it was within his first few years at Hogwarts did he became suddenly aware of how outside he was compared to his peers. Even comparing himself to his fellow Slytherins, he felt unlike them, in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. As if, he was out of step with everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

He was first aware of it one morning in the Great Hall in his second year. The owls were in flight, swooping down with letters, Howlers, parcels, newspapers and magazines, dropping them to either their owners or the recipient. Draco had just collected a small, tiny letter from his eagle owl, when he looked up and they made eye contract. Something inside Draco’s chest fluttered, like a small bird was trapped inside Draco’s ribcage. But then, the eagle owl crowed and the eye contract was broken.

But the fluttering in his chest didn’t stop. It always flared up whenever eye contract was made throughout the year.

Draco didn’t understand and, when the school year ended, he was grateful to be gone. Expect that, when he was home, he felt a deep painfully ache in his chest, as if the bird inside his rib cage was peaking at his heart and lungs. There were days he would lay on his bed and wish for the end of summer to return to Hogwarts, while on other days, he would be thinking of ways to not go back. He was so consumed with these thoughts that he didn’t realise that his House Elf had been freed till the penultimate week of August.

September came far too fast and he was back at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, his friends and family there, continuing their lives as if nothing had happened. Draco felt a mix of emotions. Nerves, mostly. But he could sense the adrenalin rushing through his blood stream. And, for several long minutes, he thought that he had wasted his energies on the emotions till he saw, through the crowd, boarding the Hogwarts Express, those eyes looking at him. Across the distance, Draco felt them burning him and he felt the bird inside his chest get excited. And, for a fraction of a second, Draco enjoyed the attention and the excitement beginning inside him, till he realised that this was going to end badly.

He tried, throughout the school year, to keep out of the gaze of those eyes. In one Magical Creatures lesson, he got himself attacked by a Hippogriff on purpose. That gave him several days in the Hospital Wing, away from everyone. He was alone. Expect for the feeling inside his chest.

When he left the Hospital Wing, he made a plan. A plan he decided to stick to for the rest of the school year. He arrived to lessons either just on time or a few minutes late. He would sit as close to the door as he could without looking like a swat. He would stay in his House’s Common Room as much as possible. When going to Quidditch practice or matches, stay with a group of people. Never be alone. Pretend that nothing had happened.

But he couldn’t pretend. Not all the time.

Sometimes, in the Great Hall, during breakfast or dinner, Draco would catch himself looking in the general direction and would, quickly, look away. Everytime the doors of the Great Hall opened, he would find himself looking up to see who it was and, always, felt disappointed when he saw who had opened them.

As he left Hogwarts that third year, keeping his distance from the Demontors, Draco vowed to himself to get over this addiction. It was slowly becoming an obsession and it wasn’t healthy.

But when he returned for his fourth year, he found it almost impossible to keep himself in check. He would, without meaning to, taking routes that might give him a glance. In lesson, he would make sure he sat in the back of the room, expect for Potions, where he felt more comfortable to sit closer to Professor Snape.

But that was when the dreams started. Dreams Draco knew that he should be happening. Dreams Draco wanted to stop dreaming, and yet, longed for every time he went to bed.

So, with all that he had done, Draco wasn’t exactly sure how he got to be lying on the bed as the other was unbuttoning his shirt. The fingerprints almost burning imprints into Draco’s chest as he undid the buttons one by one. Draco’s hands turned to fists under the pillow as lips gently ran down his jawline and along his collarbone. Draco didn’t expect the lips to move and gasped as they kissed his nipple. It became erect as a tongue gently teased it. Draco closed his eyes, and thought he saw fireworks under his closed lids.

He felt the lips pull away from his chest and felt something very light brush his own. Because of some deep-rooted instinct and because of desire, Draco leaned forward and pushed his lips on the other’s. The lips that Draco was kissing were, surprisingly, quite soft but there was an undercurrent of hardness of them, as if revealing a deepness that Draco would never have thought of when looking at those eyes. They, also, tasted pleasantly of spearmint.

Their mouths moved together, as though they would never divide. Draco’s hands were on the other’s face, pulling it deeper into the kiss, as if the kiss was his anchor to life. As Draco’s hands held the face, other hands flexed and drew lines down his neck, his chest, his stomach, under his…

“Wait,” Draco pulled back half a centrimetre, panting for breath. His words came out as a whisper, his eyes still closed. “Are you sure you want to –?”

One single finger rested gently on his lips to silence him. Draco fought against the urge to suck it.

“I’m sure,” whispered a voice, close to Draco’s ear. His breath sent chills throughout Draco’s whole body in a strangely pleasant way.

Draco risked opening his eyes a slit and saw a pair of eyes smouldering down at him. The two pairs of lips touched again, but this time, the kiss was gentler. There was the urgency, anchor to life feeling to this kiss. It was a slower kiss. A slow building kiss that made the hairs on the back of Draco’s neck stand to attention.

As the lips parted and one set slowly went down his neck, Draco risked a moment of enjoyment. He couldn’t quite believe it. Here he was, lying on a bed with someone he would never thought possible.

Here he was, madly in love with -

(Oh, COME OFF IT! You think I was going to tell you?! [Okay, I have two endings, and one of them was a total twist! A joke twist but a twist, very the less. If you beg, or give me cookies, will consider revealing both endings... How's that for a deal?])