"Absolutely Elsewhere"

finis

2011-12-08T18:57:00.001-05:00

That ^

That right there.

That is what I wrote at the end of Green Glass Heart on Tuesday the 6th of December.

54,041 words.

164 pages.

It is a very weird feeling.

I printed it yesterday and have begun the first read-through for typos and general editing, things that are apparently impossible to catch on a computer. I don't think there is a full page of text so far that I haven't written on.

Fun times.

"Arizona's waiting on these eyes...."

2011-10-20T22:43:00.001-04:00

Well, it is off to the SouthWest tomorrow for me! I am excited...... and utterly petrified. However, I do get to see a friend's wedding (first of my friends to get married, not counting my sister, and somehow she doesn't count.) Weird.... good, but weird.

Am taking a notebook (no suprise there) but am leaving my laptop (gasp! choke! three days without it!!!!) at home. Hopfully I will get some progress done on GGH, and not just spend the entire time in the air doing Sudoku (Sudokui? One Sudoku, two Sudoku?).

Blessings be on Kendrick and Victoria as they start this new stage of life!

Oh, and I am going in a veritable mobile library. I will let you know if I stumble upon Voldemort on my way.

Background work

2011-09-17T11:09:00.004-04:00

So, the talk I had with my brother about the story he hasn't read (Green Glass Heart) I cam up with a partial list of the things I had to go back and think about. This is what currently resides in my notebook, cheerfully written in the only color pen that came to hand at the moments, apparently. Red. Yes, I realize it is probably illegal to write lists about a story called Green Glass Heart in red pen, but what can I say??? It's edited of course, to not give too much away.

- Earlier show K. and I. when first together.

- Show other Resistance members in the line of duty, and injured/killed doing it.

- Show Bolero's capture.

- There needs to be a previous fight between K. and P. where they both com off badly/wounded.

Suffice it to say I have a lot of work to do. The thing is, the whole plot is so complicated in my mind that it gives me a headache, and I never have quite figured out the tack I want to take.

And So It Begins

2011-08-29T23:13:00.000-04:00

School, that is.

I'm back at Temple as a Sophomore - and a crazy sophomore at that, with classes as far flung as History, Tae Kwon Do, IH, and Math....... And I thought I was supposed to be an English Major! With six classes (although I may drop one as too much bother for the merit) I am going to have even less time for writing this semester. I hope, hope, hope, that I will be able to continue working on both Green Glass Heart and Burning Sands and Burring Sun at a reduced rate throughout the semester. IT might even help to have the academic work, because that leaves more room for the subconscious to do its thing. Yay! >_<

Eureka................... drat!

2011-08-23T20:39:00.001-04:00

Ok, wow.... so I had this long talk (well, he talked and I answered) with my brother-in-law about Green Glass Heart and he made me realize by asking pertinent questions that I have a lot of background work to do before discovering how to do in my EO and make my resurrected protagonist's (as opposed to the troubled protagonist or the host of major minor characters) reappearance seem plausible..... ah well, so much for telling myself I'd be done with this wip's rough draft by the beginning of school.

Kalidurga

2011-08-18T17:18:00.000-04:00

Well, here I am, almost the end of the summer, and I am supposed have finished the first draft of Green Glass Heart. It's not happening though (yet, at least). I've still got to kill off my Evil Overlord (the "EO" for short among my friends), and I've no idea how to do it, as I don't wish to stray into the unoriginal "monologue" sort of ending nor do I want him to just be finished without a fight..... well, we will see what we will see....

Vi[r]gil

2011-07-11T20:26:00.001-04:00

How with a gentle hand I dashed

And broke apart your life.

My careful pen a source of pain

To you, who now is left

With only words like these. Now smashed

Upon a page: careless,

Jotted, smeared, black and bold on white.

My pen and ink your like

Shall never see, your care, your might.

Not sorry, I confess,

Poor boy, it had to be, you see

The Words and story called

You know. And could I say them wrong?

When right they were, all told?

And you paid the heavy price, I see,

But do not think, my friend,

I went scot-free. Oh, no, I shook

With half-wondering fright

And yet went forth, and knew you struck

Against the angry fiend.

Alphabetical (By Author)

2011-01-12T19:58:00.001-05:00

This is an experimental prose Poem that I wrote for my "Creative Acts" class last semester. Have fun! I certainly did!

__________________________________________________________

There is A Death in the Family and Things Fall Apart. Little Women, full of Pride and Prejudice, try Persuasion, Sense, and Sensibility to make something out of the Flatland.

A Clockwork Orange sits on the mantle and Through the Looking Glass a Heart of Darkness looks upon The Red Badge of Courage with envy.

The Stranger steps up to the Bleak House struggling through Hard Times but now with Great Expectations.

The Man in the Iron Mask waits in A Room with a View, waiting, looking, finally “Light in August shone As I Lay Dying.”

Thinking back over The Sound and the Fury the Lord of the Flies thinks of The Miracle Worker that stood before him.

“I Never Promised You a Rose Garden!” She stood, her blush – if not The Scarlet Letter on her breast – freshened by The Return of the Native.

Far from the Madding Crowd, For Whom the Bell Tolls, The Sun Also Rises out of the darkness where stands a lone soul offering A Farewell to Arms.

A Brave New World is sighted from The Wings of the Dove, but The Turn of the Screw dashes all hope of Flowers for Algernon or A Separate Peace.

Women in Love (with Sons and Lovers) join together To Kill a Mockingbird which he knew would happen: a Chronicle of a Death Foretold.

Together they ride: Pale Horse, Pale Rider, and call “Cry!” The Beloved Country of The Chosen falls into darkness but there is still The Light in the Forest.

Deep in The Jungle stands a Treasure Island, but someone has Kidnapped The Pearl and The Red Pony. Of Mice and Men there is some suspicion, and the wine of The Grapes of Wrath will flow here, East of Eden.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and The Killer Angels battle on in War and Peace.

Take a Journey to the Center of the Earth to The Country of the Blind, where walks The Invisible Man and where there stands a refuge – however fragile – from the War of the Worlds. Some say The Age of Innocence is there, in its Dawn.

First 250 (or rather 324) words blogfest

2010-10-16T10:52:00.001-04:00

Thanks to Elle Strauss over at http://ellestraussbooks.blogspot.com/ for setting up the blogfest. This is the start of my alternate WIP.

----------------------------------------

The woman knew she was dying. A man sat beside her bed in the dim room; the only light came through a large window, beyond which a crimson sun was slowly sinking below the horizon. He knew it too. Her dark hair lay across the white sheets, braided into a single silky rope, and her pale skin was flushed with an ugly red fever. He was slightly older, his black hair flecked prematurely with grey, especially around the temples, and his short beard had occasional strands of silver. He watched the woman, with eyes of the deepest blue and earnest sadness. He was dressed in a simple black shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and suit. The bright, silver sword that lay beside him was a strange instrument at the bedside of a dying woman.
“‘Zander,” she spoke his name – the one he went by here – and held out a delicate hand, again streaked with traces of the fever. He took it in his own, which felt cool in comparison, and held it; trying to comfort the dying woman simply by his presence, words could be no help now.
“‘Zander,” she said it again, her voice soft, but insistent, and strained with pain.
“What, ‘Randa?” His voice was like fresh parchment and clean, black ink. Still holding his hand, she reached out with her other towards the cradle that stood by the bed.
“Aslyn.” Miranda said quietly. “Aslyn.” Her voice was sad, but she smiled at the name on her tongue. The man called ‘Zander stood up and walked around the bed, the woman’s eyes never leaving his face. Coming to the crib, he stooped and gently picked up the sleeping infant. Swaddled in white, the little girl was mostly hidden, but her black hair already promised to be like her mother’s. She remained asleep while he picked her up, and as he laid her beside Miranda. Sitting down, himself, on the edge of the bed.

Fight Scene Blogfest...

2010-01-31T23:12:00.002-05:00

So, I'm new at this whole "blogfest" thing. But I figured I'd try it this once. Thanks to Laurel over at http://laurelgarver.blogspot.com that I am even trying it this time. The list is over at http://m-wolfe.blogspot.com/2010/01/fight-scene-blogfest.html

So... *deep breath* here goes: My very favorite fight scene from my (mostly complete) WIP.

---------------

As if his gaze and thoughts had touched her mind, she woke; not like a Ranger, trained to be on their feet in a flash, but as coming out of unconsciousness: slowly and with gathering sight. She saw him standing over her, and that situation brought back to her something that she had been trying to remember for a long time. She knew who he was now, she had seen him sometime very like now; he had once before looked down on her.

“Razvin?” Even though she asked in a questioning tone she knew he could be no other. The sound of a Naviean name seemed to stir Trystan’s consciousness and he awoke. He saw the scene: someone bending over his apprentice, and was up like a proper Ranger. Razvin turned sharply at the sound and in the rays of the moon he looked paler than in the daylight. This change was enough for Trystan to connect his slanting eyes and blonde hair to the land of his true origins.

“Naviean!” He said; his whisper low, but carrying and deadly. He had no tolerance for the invaders; he and his men had suffered too much at their hands, and now this man had surely sold James to his friends. “What mean you, by insinuating yourself into this company? So you can betray us from within?” He snarled at the apprentice, and started circling. “Are you leading us into a trap?” The apprentice backed away from him slowly, keeping Trystan in view, shaking his head, and he said pleadingly,

“I swear it’s not!” Aeron got up hurriedly.

Madelyn, who had not been woken by any gaze or the sound of any type of name, was waked now by Aeron tripping over her. As Madelyn scrambled out of the way, the two young men broke apart and circled the fire: the hunter and the healer, each as deadly as the other. Even Madelyn noticed Raiden’s likeness to one of the invaders. They started back at one another, but Aeron ran to Trystan, screaming at him:

“Trystan! Trystan, stop! He saved my life! He’s not one of them!” But the master of the Shadow-Stalkers had no mind for his apprentice; he knew what he was about. Aeron got in the way of Trystan’s hand and suffered a blow to the head that was meant for a traitor’s chest. She dropped to the ground, and the two men spiraled away. Trystan attacking; Razvin defending. The two were more or less evenly matched, and Trystan had reason to wish that his brother had not been so thorough a teacher.

“Aeron!” Madelyn scrambled across the campsite, careful to keep out of the way of the men, to the side of her fallen friend. “Now look what you’ve done!” She directed this last comment at Trystan, but he, as usual, paid no heed to Madelyn. The two men were locked together again, in a flawless, silent, dance of death. It seemed impossible that both of them would come out of it alive.

Madelyn, from experience with her father and her fair share of Navieans traders, knew better than to try and intervene between two angry men. Instead she turned to Aeron, but there seemed to be little chance of her awakening soon. Madelyn checked that she had a pulse and was breathing. Being the daughter of a slave trader had not taught Madelyn to be squeamish and she sat back on her heels to watch with relative interest the battle that was slowly desecrating camp. She had never witnessed two Shadow-Stalkers truly fight, only Trystan and Aeron’s spate earlier, but this was a full-blown battle fueled by anger, hatred, and desperation.

They circled the clearing, each dealing a number of dreadful knocks that would have to take a toll sooner or later. It went on for much longer than Madelyn would have expected.

She winced sympathetically, when the Naviean knocked the breath out of Trystan. Gasping, Trystan pushed his opponent fiercely into a thorn-covered tree, recognizable to Madelyn – who liked trees – as a Honeylocust. The Naviean shouted in pain, and when he turned, his hands and sleeves were torn and bloody where he had flung up his arms to protect his face.

Trystan caught up his curved sword from beside the fire and whirled back to the slightly-dazed Naviean, unsheathing it with the clear ringing of cold metal. Then, suddenly, so fast that Madelyn missed it entirely, the Naviean drew his own knife, and caught the sword strike. There was a ringing of metal on metal, a flash of silver, a splash of red, and Trystan staggered. He was bleeding heavily from a deep wound in his left shoulder.

The Captain of Shadow-Stalkers tried to finish the fight by advancing, but Razvin struck him a heavy blow and he collapsed. The apprentice stepped back, horrified at what he had done, his knife’s blade stained with his Captain’s blood. Madelyn scrambled up and ran to Trystan.

“You’ve killed him!” She screamed and knelt, rolling Trystan over. It was an ugly wound, for the knife had been twisted when he had staggered back, and she felt ill. She started to try and peel off the cloth covering it, for she knew she had to do something to stop him bleeding.

“Let me.” Razvin took a step nearer.

“No! You’ll kill him!” and she tried to shield Trystan.

“That blade was poisoned!” The Naviean sounded anguished. “I know how to counter it. He’ll die if you don’t let me to him!”

“You sold his brother!” Madelyn stood up.

Razvin’s short temper flared. “I tried to save my master!”

“You expect me to believe that?” Madelyn snapped, bristling.

“I meant as little harm to him as he ever did to Lady Aeron.”

Madelyn opened her mouth to protest, but then glanced over at Aeron. And how did this Naviean traitor know who Aeron was?

“The poison will be past my reach soon, and then he will die.” Razvin pleaded and took a step or two nearer. She nodded. Madelyn felt strange when she found Razvin kneeling at her side. She watched him work on the wound; his hands were quick and gentle, despite the lesions inflicted on them by the thorns; his blood mixing with Trystan’s as he worked. Once or twice he asked her to hold something, or to aid him, but in surprisingly short work he had Trystan’s shoulder free of poison and bound up.

“Will he live?” Madelyn asked.

“He’ll live.”

“Trystan!” Aeron had woken. Razvin caught her before she touched her master.

“He'll live.” He repeated, and then went to wash his hands in the nearby mere. He winced when the water touched where the thorns had punctured in skin; his fingers, so stedy when working on Trystan, now stumbled occasionally, as the blood was rinsed.