October 31, 2017

Ghosts and Ghouls, Spooks and Screams

Happy Halloween!
I don't really do the whole trick-or-treat thing anymore, but a good horror story can terrify you. To treat y'all with a little bit of a spooky tale. This is a short story that I wrote in a writer's group meeting from this prompt: "you are a serial killer. To get away with it, you only kill once a year on Halloween when everyone runs around covered in fake blood."
Hope you are spooked!

Killer of Hearts

Tonight is the night. Gore, blood and guts, are as familiar as friends. I sit at the top of my house and watch the trick-or-treaters hurry from house to house. I have left out candy on the porch per tradition, but the first greedy, little thief will probably take it all in one go, but I don’t really care. My mission tonight is to give the gift of death. A long butcher knife is held in the hand resting on my knee. I tap my other hand against my leg, counting, watching, waiting...who will be the victim tonight. Who will be the receiver of my gift?
It could be anybody, anybody at all that is strolling the streets tonight. Blood is an illusion of make-up, knives are just props, no one expects the real thing. No one expects a killer in a costume, but I will not be wearing a costume, just jeans and a black sweater to fight off the Autumn chill. The leaves are scuttling across the ground in the fear I hope to evoke in my victim. Their surprise, the look on their face as the life leaves their body. My hands tingle in anticipation. This will be my thirteenth kill, the thirteenth year and as we all know -- thirteen is the most fortunate number.
I sit up from the rocking chair I have strategically placed in front of this window and go downstairs. It is time, I am ready for this death. The children have taken all the candy from the bowl as I exit the front door. The little white paper saying “Please take one” is crumpled to one side. I shut the door and lock it, waving to my neighbors as they tote their little one along in a wagon. Little Rebecca is too young for this night, too little to understand, but she is dressed as a fluffy bunny and ready to be carried by her parents down the street.
The neighborhood kids run past me, trying to get to the next house faster than their friends, trying to get the best candy that can be found. The Rodger’s kid says, “Hey there, Mr. Shade,” as he passes. I wave and continue on. The knife lays coolly against my skin beneath the warmth of my sweater. It is tucked so that the handle is closer to my palm and if I’m not careful I’ll nick myself. Young high school aged girls strut around in too short skirts and showy blouses that expose a little bit too much skin to the night air. They are not the victims that I am looking for though. My victim of the night is special, a perfect specimen that I take the whole year to choose. This person is the heart of the community. I relish the tears and fear as the body is discovered and recognized. The heart of a community is the one that will break it. They will hold the death in their memories for years to come. Each year after I give my gift to the heart of the community, a new one comes to the forefront, it is a blessing that my work is never done, that it will never be done, because the community reforms and a new heart is grown until they are ready to be plucked from existence by me.
I know who my target is tonight, but finding her on this street will be difficult. She may be disguised though I doubt her face is covered. She is known for her charity work and came to my attention through the homeowner’s association. Her charity work often brings her through the neighborhood asking for donations and volunteers. She is loved and respected; she is the heart this year and I must find her before the night is over. I know that she was organizing a group trick-or-treat with the young kids so that they could all stay together, but there is also a party tonight. She and her boyfriend will be there, in a few minutes, so will I.
It’s ten o’clock and the younger children will be put to bed soon, herded away and scolded for eating too much sugar before they sleep. The party starts now. The house is lit up with ghoulish shadows created by positioned lights in the yard. Spiderwebs wind their way along the porch railings and through the windows. There is a pumpkin sitting on the porch and a candle flickers inside it. There is noise from inside that filters across the neatly cut lawn. The door is open and I can see people crowding the hallway from here. This will make my job harder, but I accept the challenge. It wouldn’t be fun if I had no trouble at all.
I pass through the door and sound becomes obsolete. The music is so loud that I wonder how anyone can hold a conversation. I nod and smile as I pass neighbors and search the crowd with narrowed eyes for my target. She is not in the sitting area or dining room. I stroll into the kitchen, which is full of appetizer foods that can be easily grabbed. Punch sits in a glass bowl that is probably spiked with something. There is no one here and so I stroll out into the back. The garden area is landscaped with hedges and small trees. The perfect place for me to commit a murder and my target is here. There are couples scattered throughout the yard and some of them have entered the maze of hedges. I slow my pace and linger in the shadows of the house. I need her to be alone. It is time to be patient and I relax, wishing that I had grabbed some punch.
She and her boyfriend are arguing and I slowly step around so that I’m positioned near enough to hear. Although my back is to them as I stare up at the stars.
“Evan, I’m trying to help,” she says to him.
“Well you’re not. I thought you wanted to be present in this relationship, but you’re always busy. You’re not even trying to be with me.”
“Evan,” she sounds hurt and I revel in that broken voice. “I can’t believe you think that.”
“Maybe I should have said it sooner,” his voice is rough.
I can imagine her reaching out for him as he says, “No. I need some space.”
Then he is walking away across the lawn and I hear her sniffle. She is mine. I turn around and walk closer. She is rubbing at her eyes. She is wearing a nurse’s costume, but not one that is overly exposing. Her top is a regular scrub shirt and although she is wearing leggings and boots, she is one of the more appropriately dressed people out here tonight. I get closer and she sees me.
“Oh, Mr. Shade.” She wipes at her eyes, trying to hide her tears.
“Hello, Olivia. Are you alright?”
She sniffles and gives me a wobbly smile. “Oh, I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr. Shade.”
“I find that a little walk can always help me take my mind off of things,” I tell her. “Would you like to walk with me?” I indicate the garden paths and she is so naive and willing to be led away. We walk in silence until the blaring music of the party is a whisper in the dark.
“You can see the stars when you’re farther out,” I tell her, but I am not looking at the stars. She stares up at them and a stray tear rolls down her cheek.
“They’re beautiful,” she says.
“I know.”
The knife cuts her throat and she drops to her knees, surprise on her face, fear as she realizes what has happened. So many emotions playing across her face and the blood is pouring out. Her neck is stained in a collar where I cut her and she cannot choke out a sound. I catch her as she falls and wipe at her hair.
“There, there, Olivia. This is my gift for you. This is the day of death.”

October 22, 2017

Imagine All The Groups And How They Live

Part of storytelling is knowing more than your reader. My professor emphasized that we need to know so much of the story that what a reader gets is an iceberg above water, and everything below is what the writer needs to know.

So when I really started to expand this world and get curious, I thought about what the different groups (angels, merpeople, vampires, and demons) did on normal days. What were their societies like? What kind of jobs did they have? What did they eat? What kind of illnesses could they get?

When you're a writer, you have to ask questions and you have to spend time answering them. It won't read well if what you write is poorly thought out. Editing can smooth out those bumps, but getting it right the first time means knowing what the rules are in the beginning.

So here is a taste of the world-building that I did.

"Illnesses, Diseases, and Other Maladies on the Island"

Demons
Fungal Cough
Chills
Petrification

Vampires
Biter Fever

Merpeople
Flounder Fin
Tail Twistivitis
Cavern Fever

Angels
Speckled Wing
Flew
Cirrus Brain
Windy Cough


Not all of these made an appearance in the book, but it was handy to know that these were things that characters could 'come down with' and that they would add more to the story. It's like looking at a menu and instead of saying "What am I going to have today", you're thinking (almost wickedly) "What can I give to these characters to make their lives harder and/or more interesting."

I don't like being wicked, but if every story stayed in a happy medium then we wouldn't read stories. Check out Kurt Vonnegut's video if you don't believe me. We live for stories that jump across the board.

October 15, 2017

What gets cut can make the story stronger

Developmental editing can be hard. It's about taking a swing at the big chunks and sometimes knocking them out of the game. I may have kept the skeleton of my story, but a lot of the "organs" were transplanted with newer, better functioning ones.
So two things:

  • Look to the side and find some newly added cut scene material from the story. I added a cut scene for each of the main characters.
  • Check out Ingram Elliott the lovely publishers of my novel.


I'm excited to inform y'all that I sent in an author bio and photo for the book. The picture was taken by my talented sister and hopefully they like it as well. Those are the updates for now. Keep reading!


October 11, 2017

Monica -

Name: Monica
Age: 15yrs old
 Height: 5ft 7in
 Eye Color: Black eyes.
Physical Appearance: Black hair, darker skin.
Favorite clothing style/outfit: Stalaca root shirt and pants.
Where does she live: Caves that wind beneath the island and inside Genera. For the most part the demons are below sea level or really under the earth. Monica lives in one of the deepest caves. There are lava pools, fishing holes, cultivation caverns, containment caves, mining caverns, living caverns, and training/teaching caverns.
Speaking style: Quickly, if its someone new then with suspicion or wariness. She speaks hard and plainly, she’s not one to beat around the bush, usually.
Pet peeves: Her emotions, she doesn’t understand them, it gets confusing.
Hobbies/Interests: She likes to explore and is really interested in the world outside the caves. She has done some mining, and enjoys working with rocks, but mainly going out.
Family: Her father, her mother, her brother (Walter), her Aunt Bellaphuse. Her grandmother.
Her father- strict and stern wants to protect his daughter. He does negotiate with her.
Her mother- supportive, wants Monica to have a healthy relationship with someone.                           Encouraging, but also authoritative when she needs to be.
Walter- Monica’s older brother. He is a powerful warrior. The most powerful of the 
demons meaning that he has to organize others for combat when they are
threatened as well as keep them safe. He goes out often to keep an eye on stuff.
Aunt Bellaphuse: Strong willed and fun. She gives Monica advice, as well as being a
caregiver. (She takes care of the disabled, not the sick).
Her grandmother: now dead. A spirit of the Haven. She comes back every now and then
to watch her granddaughter and keep an eye on her.

Three words: Stubborn, attached, combative.

October 3, 2017

Food! The Delicate Gastronomic and Sensorial Cuisine

Funny - I almost forgot to post this and then I remembered when I was eating lunch.

So, whenever you're reading something, there might be a detail that you overlook (except when you're reading The Hobbit) and that is food.
It can seem so simple, so unimportant, who cares what the character is eating - y'all want to see the next action scene, yet food is not only fun to describe, but can be a crucial point for getting your characters to talk and slow down.

When you create your own world, you can also create your own food. The angels are the ones who have the most delicate and refined meals which makes sense, vampires drink blood and merpeople are presumably vegetarians of a sort. Not all of the food listed makes an appearance in Island Whispers, but I'd certainly like to try some of them. Here are some of the things that I made:

Tailwind berry: Created by Divia. “It was a bit soft, a thin layer of skin to cover the flesh. He took a bite, the flavor of the meat of this fruit stole over his taste buds. It was succulent and sweet, he chewed it slowly savoring the strange taste, noticing that it was laced with strong desire.”

Leona berry- orange, with black seeds, tastes like vinegar.

Elder Tree: Light, lovely crunch, can soak up juices.

Cloudberry- ripe= golden yellow, soft, juicy, tart, fresh. over-ripe=creamy like yogurt and sweetened. Raspberry fruit, pale red to amber in autumn. (So this isn't actually a made up fruit, I just thought the name was so fitting for an angel to eat)

Nut Twister: Whole nuts, variations include a syrupy part or the nuts coated with something.

Cirrus Juice- Gives one lots of energy.

Whipped Shake with sunbeams: sweet and has its own light that makes it glow.

Raspberry water

Honey-leaf tea -

Blue drink-

Stalaca Roots- Look like carrots. Strong silky fibers that are used for clothes. (Demons).