What's your character?

So something that I also think is fun is to be in a character's mindset when taking one of those personality quizzes online. There are so many to do and if you really know your character then you can choose with certainty. It's a lot of fun because it tests a writer and also can make them think more about who their character is.

So, for Island Whispers, I took this "Froyo Personality Quiz" for Angelica.

This is the result:

Froyo Personality: You got: Sweet and refined

It looks like your taste in froyo is just as sweet as your personality! Not only are you kind and generous, but your words and actions are much more deliberate and well-thought-out than others. People admire you for your classy personality and warm nature.

Also, here is a snippet that I believe was cut from the manuscript. It's a little moment about Angelica and a summarized moment with her father.

When she finally gained mastery of a simple trick, she ran to her father’s room. So exhilarated with her newfound power that she singed the feathers on her father’s griffin. That led to a lesson on light and heat. 

“Light is not something you feel,” her father told her. “It is something that you see. Heat on the other hand is something you feel.”

The Natural Distraction

Here is a little piece that I churned out while in a writer's group meeting:

It was a window seat with a perfect view of the lawn outside. The sky was overcast and gray, but it could not lower my mood when there were brightly colored glass squares dangling over my head and enough lighting for me to see the book in front of me. There was time, certainly. I didn’t have to rush, but who would waste a day indoors, even if it was a darkening sky ushering in a storm.

It was raining, sure, but what was a little water. Wind and rain were a refreshing treat after the heat that had baked my skin for weeks. I could just feel the wind as I watched the rain lash against the windowpanes. There was just enough going on outside that I was distracted. I put down the book and just had to stare at the elements. I would be going out there in a little while. Would it be as wild as it was now? Would I be drenched by the time I returned to my room? 

Focus and get the work done, I mentally berated myself for getting distracted. There wasn’t time to stare out the window. There was time, but not enough for that. So I picked up my book again, but I couldn’t help being drawn to the window again. I could see people passing by. Some with brightly colored umbrellas or flashy rain jackets that made the water splash like a fountain. They were all serious, walking purposefully across the bricks and waterlogged ground. They sidestepped little rivers of water and kept walking. Their heads bent down, bent away from the water falling down. I wanted to just leap through the window. I wanted to feel that water on my face and just forget about the papers and work that was dragging me under. The glass was so clear, it was like I could step through it into another world. Another world so close—No. I needed to sit here and focus. 
Sit here and focus. Focus…

Island Whispers Update

Right now the poll is showing that y'all want Island Whispers content, so here is some news that I am excited to share.

So months of editing, and buckets of sweat and tears, have led to the creation of my book.
There are three types of editing that a book can go through.

First there are the large edits, Developmental Editing, this is a full edit to essential elements like the plot and characters, along with cutting scenes or adding them. This takes the longest because of how much can be taken out or rearranged.
Next, Copy-Editing, which is the line by line edits, where grammar, repetition, and some smaller revisions are suggested.
Finally there is Proofreading, the editing done before a book is finalized, before it is printed.

It is my pleasure to announce that all of these edits have been made and the book will be making its way to layout soon!


So as a treat, here was a part that got cut in the developmental edits. The reasons were that it was too descriptive and kind of threw the reader out of the story for a moment.
          

 The ocean was calling to him. He could hear the hissing of vents in the floor and the calls of dolphins echoing through the waves. He watched spiny catfish swim by, while shrimp scuttled around the floor. There was algae that grew in groves, so thick that if he swam into them he could be trapped by its snagging tentacle like vines. It was a legend that a merperson, who could live harmoniously with all of the ocean's creatures, who could understand and help them, could hear the voice of the ocean.  It was the voice part Adam clung to, could it possibly mean his siren singing. Was there a place for him after all?

From memory, he thought of colorful coral and anemones with their schools of fish. Seahorses that drifted with the water and were surprisingly resilient with their little fin. The seahorses had bony little bodies, their tails clung to coral when the tides got rough. Eels hid in the rocks along the sandy floor, their snaky heads and luminous eyes making them seem otherworldly. However, he really loved the turtles. There were only a few that he had ever seen, large adult turtles with hard shells. The shells patterned in varying greens and streaked with yellow, but what he loved the most about them was that they could withdraw into their shells. He felt like a turtle sometimes, poking his head out to test the waters, but pulling back in when danger was near. The slow drifting of all the ocean life, and when Flippers went by, the sharp, quick movements as they all went for cover. It was something he was familiar with, slow sluggish life punctured by quick bursts of movement. He knew all these things about the ocean; he even felt like some of its creatures. Why could he not be revered like the voice of the ocean?

Once, a long time ago, he  discovered the hideout for hundreds of roe, fish eggs, that gleamed like hidden treasures, in the recesses of a small cave. Each one contained life and Adam was entranced by the little spheres. He hadn’t left the roe until the mother of the fish returned and chased him away. The fish had been protective of all its children, even though there was a chance that many of them wouldn’t survive. Adam retreated respectfully, honoring the distrust of the parent fish. He didn’t want to cause stress to the mother besides he was glad there were mothers like that. Ones that were protective and present, he missed his mother. 

Sometimes people break your heart

It is a little early for me to post. It is not yet Tuesday, but so far the votes have wanted more Island Whispers content. This is a snippet from Island Adventures.
You might be wondering what Island Adventures is, and all I'll say right now is that it is a prequel to Island Whispers.

Sometimes we are confronted with a situation that we can't handle. We don't know what to do and we feel frozen. It might come unexpectedly, like this...

“Keith,” it was Solana. She was standing a few feet away. Hesitantly brushing her hair with her fingers. The brown and white dress she wore swayed with the breeze and a small brown satchel was at her side. She fidgeted with the strap and her violet eyes wouldn’t meet his.

“Yes, Solana,” Keith said with a smile. He wanted to put her at ease. Solana always seemed nervous and scared around him. “Is there something you need?”

He saw her swallow, her cheeks glowing pink and transitioning to a burning red. “Well, not really, but...I just wanted...” She hid her face in her hands and turned away. “Never mind, I’ll just go.” She turned and started to hurry away. 

“Wait, Solana,” Keith got up and ran after her. “Hey,” he said, sliding in front of her to stop her. “You can tell me if you need something.”

“But I don’t need something,” she said gazing at her feet in embarrassment. She took a deep breath before she met her violet eyes with his red one’s. “Keith, I li-like you.” She held her breath and her fidgeting became more pronounced. 

He paused stunned and didn’t know how to react. She blushed furiously, even her throat stained red. “I don’t know why I told you. I’m so sorry; I’m being ridiculous. I’ll just go.” She clamped her fingers around her bag’s strap and hurried around him.

“Solana,” he called overcoming his surprise. “Solana, you don’t have to be ashamed. You’re an amazing person.” He saw her stop, although her heels lifted as if she was about to run. “It’s just that I don’t feel like that about you. I love you like a sister, Solana. You need someone who loves you as much and will care for you.”

“I see,” she said. She didn’t turn around, but he saw her shoulders shake and her voice wobbled while her knees knocked together. “I’ll just go. Thanks, Keith.” She ran off with Keith staring hopelessly after her. 

He hadn’t realized that she had liked him. All of these years he had always assumed that he made her nervous because of his power. He was used to some of the others acting nervous around him. He had thought she felt no different than him. He felt ashamed that he hadn’t looked further and really seen her. It was strange to think that all this time he had been wrong. He thought that he knew Solana, but now he was seeing his interactions with her differently. Every time that she worked with him or complimented him, she blushed or spoke softer. He had attributed this to personality. It just seemed natural that Solana was always quieter and she was, but he now realized that she had a different quiet nature around him. She fidgeted more and always seemed to be on the verge of saying something. While other times that he had observed her without her knowledge, she seemed calm and at peace with her surroundings. How could he have been so foolish?
He hesitated. He wanted to go after her, but he wasn’t sure what to say. All of his previous notions of who Solana was were false. He wasn’t as observant as he thought he was. It was true that she had never said anything before now, but he wasn’t sure he had handled it right. His feet moved a few steps in the direction she’d gone. He swallowed hard. His heart was beating faster in his chest. It had been a while since he had felt nervous. Still, he recognized the feeling. It made his stomach flutter and his skin cold. 

“Solana, I-I….I don’t know.” He clenched his fist into his stomach. This was unfamiliar territory. He didn’t know how to respond. It was hopeless for him to do this without hurting her. He hated that he might have already, but perhaps if he spoke carefully this time. Keith groaned. This wasn’t something you could learn in a lesson.

The Long and Short of It

So, another activity that my fiction writing class gave us was to write about an event. However, not just in any way, but in a way that mimicked Hemingway and a way that mimicked Faulkner.

These two authors are well known for their sentence structures and, of course, books.

Hemingway wrote:

"The Old Man and the Sea"
"For Whom the Bells Toll"

Faulkner wrote:

"The Sound and the Fury"
"A Rose for Emily"

Hemingway's style can be described as short and very to the point. His sentences are simple in structure, but he still managed to convey a lot with his common vernacular.

Faulkner's style is usually longer sentences that have fancy words in them. He has more complex structures and sentences that could go on for a paragraph.

So when you take these two styles, you have to write carefully and thoughtfully.
I am no Hemingway and I am certainly no Faulkner. Their styles are not mine, but it is fun to just try and see what is possible.

I wrote about a hug. Hemingway and Faulkner were walking along and then they saw two people hugging.

Here is how Hemingway might describe it (in my voice):

They were oblivious to the world. He was tall. She was short. Her head came to his shoulder. His hands wrapped around her back. She held him tightly. Her head leaned into his chest. His chin rested on her head. There was no space between them. They stood in the middle of the sidewalk. They stood there for an age. People passed by. They looked for a second. They moved on. The couple did not. They did not seem to move. The wind did not stir his hair. It did not stir hers.
They were an odd picture. They did not belong. Were they friends? Lovers? How long would they hold each other? He sighed deeply. She shifted in his arms. They broke apart. They became two people. Two people standing on a sidewalk. Two people drawn apart. He walked away. She stood there. No words were spoken. It was gone.

Here is how Faulkner might describe it (in my voice):

They stood in a world apart from others, apart from time, on that piece of sidewalk with the light shining down on their heads, so magical in their stillness, so silent, trapped in time, together, was there reason for their embrace or just a simple yearning need for this touch that made them seem like paramours locked tight before they parted with sweet sorrow, unless it was a reunion after many long years apart that their hearts burst and they could not contain nor keep away from each other because of the sheer longing to be in an untouchable, sacred moment, beyond the rest of the world, without a worry or fear that this was unusual or strange - different, not something that the passersby would witness on a commonplace sidewalk where anyone could walk by and see them, not that it seemed that they would care, it was not an icy indifference to being seen, but rather a blissful ignorance or innocence that made it seem not as a vulgar display of affection, but as a warm and meaningful way to never let a person go into the cold of the world alone, to never let them be without the heat of another, nor to let them drop into loneliness or despair, because true love or friendship as it seemed went beyond such things so that the whole person could be encompassed and cherished without any ridicule or scandalous looks from a crowd that could not help but gawk at such a display without knowing the true emotion and beauty of what they were seeing.