Moving house.

So I'll be away from the blog for a while.
Big decision. All happened very fast.
Excited though!
Well, I'll be back with you as soon as I can!
Sorry!

Art projects and Fires in Winter.

Happy weekend!

I haven't posted much art at all. For a long while. So here is my project :)

 ^That is what my project looked like a few weeks ago...

^And that is what it looks like now. I'm pretty happy with it :)

More for my 'promise' now, a little bit of Fires in Winter.

I woke up screaming. Either my dream was real or fake. I felt a sense of pure, concentrated fear melt through my body. I thought it must be true. Must be. Margo left with some other alliance members. The day before, news came through that she was missing, and then I had the dream.

“Ellen? What’s up? Bad dream?” Bonnie Smith turned over in the bunk below me to get a clearer view of my face and smiled enthusiastically. “Don’t worry. Smile. It was only a dream, okay?” I nodded, but turned away to stare at the ceiling.

It wasn’t a dream. It can’t have been. Margo’s dead.

Margo is dead.

The one woman I thought of as a Mum, or maybe a Gran, was dead. She’d been shot by who looked like a ten year old girl, but couldn’t be, because she said they had worked together, and Margo was fifty-something.

So many questions were flying through my head. Nothing made sense.

But it was a dream. It can’t have been real.

But it was.

I was at war with myself. I turned back onto my front and eventually fell back to sleep, a deep, dreamless, peaceful sleep. No murders.

This is my first draft. I don't usually look back on my writing until I've finished. I know that sounds weird and a bit stupid, but I have to wait at least a week so I have a fresh head before I look back on it, or I just glance over silly mistakes.

*Also, the 'man' in the bottom left of my project is actually my friend with her hair up. It was a bit of a fail ;)

Might review a book tomorrow :)

It's f-f-f-friday!

It's Friday! Yay! Not that I hate school - I love school! - But Fridays are always good :) Here's some more of my old novel, continuing from yesterday.

“How many children are there?” I asked, for I had noticed the plural.

“Ten.”

“Ten?” My voice was a little strained. How could a fourteen year old girl cope with ten children? It seemed impossible at the time.

“Yes. There’s John, he’s your age, he should be able to cope. Then there’s Mary and Laura, who are both ten. And there’s Laurie, Eleanor and Hattie, all nine. Grace and Ben, eight. Small at five and tiny Tara at two.” I was gaping at this time, and closed my mouth as soon as I remembered how to.

“Sorry, Small?” The name confused me.

“Yes. He does not know his name. Or his parents. We took him in. He goes by the name Small, and likes it well enough. You’re observant.” I blushed. “Come with me. One of the servants will look after this man and help fix his carriage.” She added, noticing me glance at the other man who had followed her up the hill, confused. I followed her, willing to see my new home.

I gasped as soon as we entered the hall. It was the first room after the huge, flowered garden and tremendous double doors stood at the entrance. Two servants, or workers of some sort, opened them. This hall I found myself stood in was huge, with a polished floor, paintings on the whitewashed walls and carpeted stairs that led up to a walkway which several children were stood on. I counted. Then again. Smiling to myself. There were definitely ten of them. I stood nervously, then noticed the plaque on the wall next to me, which read;

Farthingale Manor, an awarded home for the mental.

New plan. Ditch the 'Unseen' novel, or keep hold of it and leave it till later, and work on this one and Fires in Winter for now. Hows your Friday coming along? Been eating a banana, I seem to have an overwhelming addiction to them at the moment.

By the way, do any of you writers know of any blogfests coming up that I could join in with? Damn, I need to post some of my art, haven't in ages. Might do that later...

I ask the weirdest of questions.

As promised, something I wrote today:

The carriage jolted me awake, coming to a sudden stop. I jumped, clutching madly at my seat, not knowing what was happening.

“Sorry Miss! Bloody potholes in this bloody road. Came down ‘ere yesterday and the flippin’ carriage nearly tipped over! Sheesh!” These comments weren’t exactly helping my confidence levels as a flood of nausea rose suddenly through my stomach. “Don’t worry Miss! Nearly there! I’ll get these potholes one day, I’ll bloody get ‘em!” All I found with this carriage driver was that he liked the word ‘bloody’, he hated potholes and he didn’t really care for a young girl’s confidence in him at all. He hurtled down the road, the carriage swerving and shaking this way and that. “HA! Miss, you’re white as a sheet! Don’t panic, see, I’ve got it all under control. Nearly there, see? Just down this road now. There you have it Miss! The great Farthingale place. Never seen anyone come this way before Miss. Come on, come on, nearly there!” He was talking to the carriage at the end there. I was still scared as I peeped out of the window, at the ghostly, incredulous building before me, in the valley below. It was gothic enough, yet it had beautiful gardens and a lovely atmosphere. I didn’t really know what to think of it. I was just leaning out of the window to get a clearer view, then – BANG!

My eyes fluttered open, the sunlight streaming down, making patterns on the grass and warming my cheeks. I took a minute to take this in, then realized what had happened. I sat up, too fast, my head started spinning. I saw that the carriage was upturned, and the driver was fussing about it, trying to sort it out. Another man was there, and a woman as well, they were walking up the road. I sat up more slowly, and the gathered my wits and began to stand up, my legs shaking. Suddenly the woman I had seen walking up the road was behind me, supporting my back, “You are Cassandra Green.” It was a statement, not a question. I nodded. “Hm, you are very pretty. Straight nose, shiny hair. But ever so pale skin. You shall be good for the children, and the children will do good for you, it may seem. I am Mrs Hare, the cook.” I smiled and shook her hand, taking in the wide smile, the grey hair and the large woman, and thought she was nice enough on first sight. 

I started writing this last year. Yes, last year. I left it alone for a good six months but have recently found it in my computer. So I carried on writing, and this is what I have written so far today. Very Jane-Eyre-y, weirdly.

And now a question for you. Each day, you wake up (6:30.. urgh.) and get ready for school/work, then leave, then get back home. What do you most look forward to?

Yeah, this is a really odd question, I know. I can explain; when I was on the bus going home today, I was most looking forward to my shower. Weird. I have 40 degree showers, and my parents complain about the steam. They say it's unhealthy but I find it so relaxing. I was just wondering what you guys look forward to most when you come home from whatever you did in the day.

FRIDAY TOMORROW! Good feeling :)

The Chrysalis Experiment; Prompt #13

Yep, I joined the Chrysalis Experiment - a short story every single week of the year. Here we have it then. Fall into the ocean. Revel in it.

‘In loving memory of Cara Green. Died 13^th March 2011.’

What a lovely way to finish off my life. No flowers next to my grave then. I’m floating next to my little coffin, smiling mischievously, as always. Mind you, whenever I see that gravestone, my heart (my heart? Does that count anymore?) melts. In a bad way. It makes me think of how stupidly I died. For no apparently clever or important reason.

I just needed to. I couldn’t stand my life anymore. I’m sighing, and wanting to return home for once. See how my death’s affected my family. Like that’ll help the nightmares. I hover down the path, through the gap in the trees, across the road until I’m standing outside my house, like I did every day, the days I’d come home crying, running to hug my Mum. ‘Don’t think about that. It’ll hurt.’ I tell myself. I notice the strong smell of flowers coming from inside. It’s been a month since I died. It’ll be the gifts and sadness, probably. But I look through the window, and I can tell it’s not. The flowers are all orange blossoms. I remember that I used to wear them in my tangled, overly-curly hair when I was younger. Mum had decorated the house with them. That hurt. Why did everyone have to think of my death as a bad thing? Sure, it hurt me. It hurt my family, and even they know how bad I felt about school and everything that I hated. ‘Shataap.’ I whisper. I must forget it all. ‘Stop thinking you hurt everyone. There must be some little rainbow-y, butterfly-y place here somewhere!’

I’m standing in my bedroom. With my brother, who has now made it his second-home. He has dragged his drum kit in here, along with his computer and desk, so he gets his own little space. Even here, where my brother’s raving, is covered in orange blossoms. It’s hurting my ears, the stupid noise from his stupid drum kit is deafening. I leave, trundling to my little sister’s haven.

She’s dancing. Ballet, just as I guessed. She always is. I’m suddenly having déjà-vu to little Rosa taking my hand and dragging me into her room to show me how to pirouette. I laugh, but again, there’s an element of sadness here as well. Wilted orange blossoms in the corner, and ‘Adagio’ being the piece of music she’s attempting to dance to over the racket down the hall.

I leave. I keep an orange blossom to hold in my coffin, to keep the smile on my face, if I can. Hey, who says death has to be all mourning and sad? Moments pass. I’m stood on the cliff, the very one. My face scrunches up with pain and sadness. Why, stupid girl, why did you come back here? But then I have an idea. My body isn’t in my coffin. They didn’t find it. They just knew I didn’t return, then they found my bag on the shore. Hang on...

Now I’m at the bottom of the ocean. The place I fell. Well, jumped. And there I am, pale and cold, resting on the sand-bed. My hand is now on mine. A smile is on my death’s face, but it’s growing. This is one good feeling. But wait... No way.

I’m drenched, shivering and drained of energy, attempting to knock on my front door.

And there’s Mum, Lisa, Dad, my brother.

And we’re hugging.

And I’m not dead anymore.

Smiles can be found everywhere. Even at the bottom of the ocean. Even on the dead.

It is short, I know. It's no way good. I hate writing in present tense, I find it so much easier to write in past, but I had a go just this once. Didn't really work. I'm not the best at short stories, hence why I joined up, so I could improve.

Bad writing day. Bad day in general, in fact.

-Sigh- might review some books some time soon:)

R.E. coursework sucks.

Hellooo blogsphere. Hey, I'm getting into this now! Anyway, read the title and you can probably guess what I'm doing^^


The church bells chimed, signalling midnight. But I wasn’t ready to go home. Not yet. He smiled at me, making my heart pound mercilessly and grabbed my hand. He started to run, pulling me behind him, until I caught up pace and ran next to him. 

♥♥♥♥

The E stares at me from the page. I check the front, just to make sure I didn’t have someone else’s paper. No, it definitely says Taiven Winters. Well, I’m sure some of the other girls must have got E’s, or worse. Suddenly I’m not so sure, they all seem to be hugging and rejoicing. I sigh, and put my paper into my bag, where I don’t have to look at it. I have enough to deal with at the moment, without Aunty Liz giving me a lecture about effort, revision, and anything else she can pick a fault with. 

I wish I hadn’t had to move here. I came from a big city, where I had lived all my life. I had had the choice of about 50 schools there, but here, where there was just the one secondary school, I had to like it or lump it. Everybody had grown up together here, but I was an outsider, and nobody tried to hide it, apart from Aunty Liz.


Well, that is what I have written today. I'm not sure whether to somehow morph it into one of my current manuscripts or start another, but this is my promise to you:
I shall write something, and post it here everyday.
Well, every day I can. Maybe every two days. 
And I'll tag these posts with 'promise'.


OOH! Question for you writers out there. Are you doing Script Frenzy? I might. Not sure yet. Off to learn about Hindu worship now. Fun fun fun? Nope.

Did you know I'm in a band?

Yep, my friend and I, Rose, form a band called Liquid Speed. We're working on our first album and everything's  all good at the moment. Hopefully it will be done by the summer holidays.
I use the iPad and Mac product Garage Band to write our songs. They aren't the best, but it's coming long well at the moment.

<Yes, we have very weird album art. That probably won't be the final version. I drew it. Not the best.

If you are in a band/like music, where do you get your inspiration from?
Any 'band updates' will be tagged:)

I wasn't expecting THAT!

See that, right there! That's an award for being lovely. Thank you so very very much to Brooke from Paper Mountain, for being lovely and giving me this award. Well, here is what I have to do now:

1. Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his or her blog link.
2.  Pay it forward to fifteen other blogs you have newly discovered.
3.  Contact those blog owners and let them know they've been chosen.

Hm, I don't know if I'll manage 15 blogs, but I'll try..

1. Madeline @ Capricious Existence
2. Alexis @ Kore Averna

What a fail that was. As I am new to the blogsphere, I don't read many blogs at the moment. I shall add more when I discover them.

Thanks again Brooke!

Big question: my birthday is coming up in the next few months. I am considering asking for an ebook reader like the kindle, but I'm not sure, because I really love the feel of books in my hands. If I do get one, I won't stop reading paper books, as I have a huuuuuge collection. What do you think?

Just wrote this.

I just started writing. I didn't know what I was doing, I just wrote. And this is the result.

I walked to school with my friends.

It was a normal day. The usual walking, silence between us.

They didn’t really realise I was there. I couldn’t let go of them though. I was quiet, shy, small and unseen. Like they would notice.

They probably don’t know I exist.

I got to school, sat down. Teachers didn’t ask me questions. I didn’t listen. I didn’t write anything. I hovered gently on my seat, not wanting to sit down.

No-one saw me. I was an empty seat to them.

The day passed without incidents. I smiled at people, kept my head held high, hoping my old friends would notice me. It had been a year since my dreams began, the ones where they saw me again, smiled, raced at me and hugged me tight.

Yeah, right.

I still have those dreams. They hurt because I know that it’ll never happen. Ever.  I tried to get their attention. I waved, tried to hug people. But nothing.

Nothing.

If you haven't already guessed, she's dead. But not. I'm not really sure where this'll lead, but I'll just keep going. I have a very vague plot line. I'll just improvise. If that makes sense.

I haven't got my head screwed on right today. At all.

Any comments would be appreciated, anyhow! Thanks!

You getting married.

I read a poem in class called 'You being born' by Brian Jones, and we were set the task of writing one similar but in a different context. Here is the original poem:

I saw you born.

It was remarkable.

You shot out from between your mother’s legs

like a rugby ball from a scrum

and the stocky Geordie midwife caught you neatly

and cried ‘Whoops! She’s come!’

You had a wrinkled jammy head

and spasmy legs like a portly frog’s.

From your belly button a white root waved

that had fed you all the months you’d grown

and ripened in your mother’s womb.

And let me tell you – I’m ashamed –

I forgot your mother completely – she had been

those things to me that one day you’ll discover

in someone else, and think ‘God, this is it!’

– My sweetheart, my warm dear, my red hot lover –

But for those moments, as the doctor

shoved cotton wool up your flat nose

and swabbed your eyes and cleaned your bum

I forgot completely all my life and love

and watched you like a pool of growing light

and whispered to myself ‘She’s come! She’s come!’

And this is the poem I wrote:

I saw you married.

It was beautiful.

You glided down the aisle

like a swan on a lake

and the people were turning

and crying, ‘Look, she’s come!’

You had an angel’s face

and a smile that stunned the millions.

From your hands, a bouquet waved

waving, smiling at me

the least important in this ritual.

And let me tell you – I’m so proud

to see you there on that day,

taking the vows whilst your mother was bawling

next to me, my beautiful wife, the same

as you were about to become to someone else.

But for those moments, as you glanced at my face,

asking with your eyes if it was all ok, I forgot

all my life and love and watched you,

smiling, a small glint of happiness in this sad world,

and whispered to myself ‘Look, she’s come!’

Not the best thing I've ever written, and poetry doesn't like me very much, but... there you have it.

Music I listen to when I'm writing.

As you might have guessed, I am a bit of a folky girl. I like that sort of thing, but I also enjoy punk/rock. Yes, that's a weird combination but it all depends on my mood and what I'm writing.

Fires in Winter: Alright... need to write more!

Currently Unnamed (see post here) Still planning...

New novel ideas...

I have had quite a good idea for a new novel, and I think I might start working on it. I will still keep Fires in Winter my first priority, but I'd love to have something else to take a break with. So... here's the plan: People think there's heaven and hell and other things after death, but what if you had a second life? One girl gets this second life by being all holy and guacamole, but remembers her past life as well. After a while she realizes that there is no heaven or hell, instead a state called 'The Weighing Scales', where people judge if you are worthy enough to go into Eden or not. Then she realizes that The Weighing Scales are getting full up, and no-one is leaving, so she has to make the desicion of her life (lives?) - To live a long and peaceful second life, and then a place in Eden, but the Weighing Scales will overflow and Earth shall end OR to sacrifice herself to save her world, her loved ones, but to perish from life, The Weighing Scales and Eden forever...

Well, there you have it. It's very sketchy. I'm not that sure about it yet but I like the idea. Any comments? Suggestions? Thanks!

Character Development: Fires in Winter

So, I thought I'd just discuss the characters I am slowly creating in my mind for my novel, because I need to sort out all their personal plots and background. But here you have it anyway.

Ellen Henley (MC)
Ellen is a teenage girl who's lived with Margo all her life. She is eager to become part of the 'Alliance' but then discovers that Margo, her 'Mum' was dead. She then meets her 'Guardian', who tells her all about her powers and what side she must choose to fight in the coming Second Alliance War. She will play a part in this larger than she expects.

Bonnie Smith
Bonnie is Ellen's friend, who is very protective over her, but does not analyse her feelings well and often hurts her feelings without knowing it. Bonnie has a small family who have all been in the Alliance. Her Grandparents fought in the first Alliance War as she is planning to do for the Second. She has fighting spirit and, although she appears as a kind, sensible person, in battle she is a whirlwind of destruction.

Margo Headly
Ellen's 'Mum', who's life gets taken at the beginning of the novel, comes back later on. All shall be revealed...^-^

Milly Johnson
Is the girl at the beginning of the novel who kills Margo. She is very protective and secretive, and I'm not exactly sure of her background yet, but she has a cold character. Her youth comes in later as well.

Charles Pince
Ellen's Guardian. He is very protective over Ellen, more than Bonnie, and is strangely intimidating. He has a really mysterious past and is not necessarily human. Madness, yes.

That's all I have so far. It's going to be a lot more complex than that and more characters are forming in my brain right now, so...

Question: What's the best method for you of creating characters history, background and personality?

A little bit of 'Fires in Winter'

Here you have it then, a little bit of my novel.


BANG.

The bullet flew through the air, glinting wickedly in mid-flight. I was frozen behind the cardboard boxes strewn across the floor, peppered through the room. Margo grunted in pain as the piece of metal pierced her skin. I nearly ran forward to help her, but held back, in fear of the gun held out of the shadow in a tiny grip across the room. I held my breath, motionless. A small figure came out of the shadow, a little blonde girl with pale skin and big blue eyes, smiling mischievously, like she had just won a game.

“Why?” Was the one word Margo managed to splutter, her long, flowing mousey hair already tipped with her striking red blood.

“Just because we were both teamed in the alliance wars, doesn’t mean I’m the same person now. I’ve changed Margo. I’ve moved on. Seen sense in the ‘work’ I was doing, which was all for nothing. I met Him.”

“You’ve changed.” Margo’s last words echoed through the room, as she flickered out like a candle, became a limp rag doll.

It's definitely not the best thing I've ever written in my life. No, not at all. I have really good plans for it though, and I know the vague storyline, but, knowing me, I will change it randomly half way through. Never mind.

Any thoughts on what I've written? Also, I am getting a different blog layout sometime. I'm going to start looking for other writing and art blogs. If anyone does read this, do you have any suggestions on who's blogs are worth reading? Thanks!

Question: How many manuscripts are you currently working on? (Me, one, but that will soon become two...)

Urhm, hello?

So... I started this blog. I am a teenage girl who writes. A lot. And I love art. A lot. So, basically, I write then illustrate. I have a very weird way of both writing and illustrating, which I shall show you throughout this blog, I guess. I am currently working on a novel called 'Fires in Winter', which has two meanings. I'll blog about that later. Here is an example of my art.

Yep, it's a bit distorted and different but there you have it. I am hoping to use my drawing in other people's novels. I am currently illustrating for my friend's novel as a surprise (shhh!) I don't know whether she'll like it, but... There you go.

Me. I am very un-confident. Well, I can talk freely enough, but I have the complete inability to stand up to people and give my opinion. My favourite subjects in school are English, Art (obviously) Geography, History and Physics. I'm not an A grade student, well, definitely not in Maths. I work really hard every weekend and get alright reports. Well, enough rambling. I hope you enjoy my blog! I will probably write later...

Question: Do you have a writing or art blog? Tell me about it!