Love: Expressed Through Open Palms, Closed Fist, and Tight Lips

Am I worse?
Do I hit harder, if not literally, figuratively?
Do the imprints last longer?
Do I say sorry?
Am I like him?
Am I worse

I don't want to be like that.
I can't be like that.
I am nice.
I am kind,
But my hand hit her skin.
Am I worse?

What kind of mark did I leave?
I see your face frozen in shock,
In pain,
In front of me.
Can I be becoming this monster?
Can I feel this rage boiling inside of me for no reason?
Can I feel this hatred boiling inside of me,
Exactly where love should be?
Will I be an empty chasm, like him?
Will I be worse?
Am I worse?

I don't want to be like that.
I love you.
Open palmed,
I know it didn't sting your flesh,
But I can't see your heart.
I can't see the heart that I already know is bruised, broken, and cut.
Did I make it worse?
Please tell me that you didn't see him when you looked at me,
Tight lipped,
Angry Eyes,
Open palm.

I know what it looked like,
The monster inside.
I've seen it for too long.
Tight lipped,
Angry Eyes,
Closed Fist.
Another gash sliced through your heart.
Please tell me this one wasn't deeper.
Please tell me this one wasn't worse.
Please tell me this one wasn't the worst you've ever felt.
Please tell me you'll forgive me.

I promise I'll never do it again.

Tight lipped,
Angry Eyes,
Open palmed,
Closed fist.
We are the same,
Aren't we?

Truth in Lies post #1

I just wanted to give you your daily dose of encouragement by giving you a little story about me. Me, myself, and I. I am a very weird, strange person and I don’t deny that, but I am also very insecure, and I can’t deny that. For me, the hardest thing in the world is accepting myself and my flaws. I want everything to be perfect, so I guess that makes me a perfectionist. I have many things I do not like about myself, and that makes me feel inferior and uncomfortable and extremely jealous of those who have (or seem to have) absolutely no problems with themselves, and I find it utterly incredible that while I’m sitting here dwelling on everything I want to be and sitting on that latest idea that pops into my head and not wanting to share it because I’m afraid, and I feel, for some reason, writing makes me less afraid of what I am and what I will become if I fail. I know that if I fail on this particular blog there will be no particular embarrassment, or really any consequence at all, but in real life I am afraid to even shout out something that I know is right. Why is that? I have absolutely no idea other than the several ideas that I have that I am too afraid to share. Now, I wish that things were different and I wish I could say that I didn’t want to put everyone else’s feelings in front of mine, but that is not true. I want everyone to be happy, but somewhere in there I lost the happiness that was intended for myself and maybe it was the way I was raised, but that is me, and when I’m not putting my happiness last and everyone else’s first, I happen to be making them miserable by hitting them where it hurts, and I do it on purpose when I’m hurt and I hate that about me, but I’m not saying I’m all negative, and I know, right know this doesn’t sound very encouraging, but trust me it is because I know one day I will break that shell and (hopefully) I will get a step closer by writing this and basically exposing myself as I have before on this blog whether or not you realize it, but this writing is me, and when I say the crimson stains are leaking from her heart to the ground, I’m secretly talking about me, and I’m slowly telling my story, and breaking open that fear to SPEAK. Now, that may all be swell and dandy, but what does it mean for you. Well, I by all accounts am completely crazy, BUT I say to all of you, right now that is better to be completely crazy and comfortable than shy and hidden away, especially in your writing. That purple-red dawn that creeps into the sky I’ve seen and I want you to see it and feel it as your reading my story, and as I SPEAK because it is beautiful if you give it a little bit of time, and I will finally be heard.

I am not a killer.

I am a person.

I am not a sociopath.

I am like you.

Please don’t judge me based on my story.

This is me.

'Shipping Characters

I think you know what I'm talking about when I say "Shipping Characters", but if you don't, 'shipping characters is when you put two characters that have that "spark" together be it in your mind or fan-fic. Anyhow, I wanted to know what you guys think when those two characters you love finally get together. For me, I sometimes feel like it ruins what they had going. It's almost as if I liked them better without the relationship. Ok, I'll just come out and say it, some of the characters we 'ship really can't be together for the sake of the story. Now, that sounds a little weird when you're thinking, "B-but, I really love them, and they would be so cute together!"

And I say to you, "NO!"

You need to love them as friends because once everything gets are "romanciful" there is no turning back. Ever. Their relationship will never be the same and it will always have the awkward tension it unless there is a magical device that wipes both of their memories of each other and they have to find each other again not just as lovers but as friends. Then, you might have a good story, if done well, but my heart has been broken by too many 'ships to even trust that method.

So, that's my rant... again. I promise I will get back to writing stories soon, but unfortunately, I have school work I also need to do, so I'll keep you updated on Life Tales, and this winter vacation, I'll start Writing Tales again. Anyways,  you guys should tell me what you think about 'shipping characters below! (It may be very far down...)

 Also, if you guys haven't checked out IISuperwomanII on Youtube, I love her, so you guys should check her out because she's only one of the most awesomely hilarious people you'll ever see.

Thanks for reading!

Help! My Story is More Revolved Around Setting than Character

The title still looks weird.

Anyhow, so I've been looking at other writers work, and I'm noticing a pattern that a lot of writers seem to hate: they can't seem to control their writing. I did address this (kind of) a few post back (I even linked you guys to Go Teen Writers!) Anyhow, my big thing is that you really shouldn't try to control your writing too much. You can do that in revisions, but when you start your first draft, you should never tell your characters no. Why? Your characters have a way of knowing what to do better than you do, and when you deny them, you typically end up with a mess.

I started to do that with G.R.A.Y. This summer as I was writing it, I decided that I didn't like the direction it was going, and without giving too much away, let me say, I think that me trying to reign G.R.A.Y into what I imagined really assisted me in NOT completing it. I'm not saying that it's going to remain incomplete forever, but I am saying that choking your characters help nothing. (In fact, I had to rewrite the entire thing from the prologue at one point.)

Books tend to move in their own special ways, and I'm not saying you have absolutely no control over your book. You are the author. Remember that, but don't think your characters don't have a say in it too. The balance as a writer is really figuring out where to control your writing and how to continue your writing. In reality, to non-writers that sounds insane, but I'm not talking to non-writers. I'm talking to you. For me, the first step to my writing is figuring out an idea, then a character and going from there. I've learned the hard way that for me, if I try to plot it out more than that it doesn't really work. Another thing, although I don't plot out exactly what I want to do for my book does NOT mean that I don't have goals that my characters have to achieve. For example, my first book, Truth in Lies (That book is by baby. I will not show it to you guys until it is beautifully published and amazing. If it gets that far), my protagonist Jessica was originally supposed to go to this "evil" school for the majority of the book, and I was going to tell her life story for only a little part in the beginning of the book. Well, guess what happened? My idea kind of changed a little bit, and most of the book is about what happened BEFORE she got sent to the "evil" school. I still reached my goal in getting her to the evil school, but I allowed the book to "write itself" for a little while, per say, and that was only through me being flexible about my goals.

So, basically the point I'm trying to get across is: don't be mad at your book because it doesn't do exactly what you want or be exactly as you planned, just go with the flow, and let your book lead you by being flexible.

That is the longest moral I've ever heard of and it really sounds like I'm more of a hippie writer than anything, but that's my rant.
Thanks for reading!

My Rant About Books you Should Read

Warning: this isn't actually so as much about the books you should read as my opinions of modern day society and what they do to books.

I am very versatile in what I read. When I was a bit younger, I tended to be more inclined toward mystery, and I don't mean like Nancy Drew, (I actually for some reason always hated Nancy Drew, although I did like Encyclopedia Brown. ) I mean James Patterson. Actually, I believe he was my childhood. (Scary, huh?) That is kind of what drove me to get involved in writing darker stories, and I love it. (Side note: I've actually never read his Maximum Ride series, but I've read most of James Patterson's adult books. Fun fact: my favorite book of his is entitled: Now you see her, Now you don't.) Anyhow, as I have gone through my reading career, I've found many interesting books in various genres, so I thought I'd share some of those with you, and perhaps offer my reviews to them.

1. Divergent by Veronica Roth. You've probably already heard plenty about this book if you haven't read it, and if you haven't read it, you've also probably head that it's very similar to the hunger games. Let me clarify something, just because it is in the YA Dystopian Genre does not mean that it's like the hunger games, seriously people? Every single time I look at a somewhat recently published YA novel that happens to be Dystopian it says, and I quote, "on par with Suzanne Collin's The Hunger Games" and "A natural for Hunger Games fans." Ahem, critic. Yea, excuse me, does this book have anything to do with The Hunger Games? No? Why is Hunger Games written on the back of it? Oh, because it's the Dystopian book. One more question, did Suzanne Collins invent the genre of Dystopian novels? No? It was around before Suzanne Collins? NO! It can't be! Are you saying she's just the most recognized author for that Genre so you slap her name on the back of every single Dystopian novel? You are! Well, my faith in society just went through the earth.

Ok, getting back on topic... Divergent is not like The Hunger Games other than it shares the same Genre, like many other books. It revolves around Beatrice Prior who is one of 4 factions of society, Abnegation as she discovers that she is something called Divergent, and the book basically goes from there. (I stopped there in an attempt to not spoil too much for you.) Anyways, it is a great book that you should go and read right now!

2. Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. Now, I know what you all are thinking (other than you Phans) wasn't that a play written by Andrew Llyod Webber? No. Yes. I mean, technically by what he did to the book it was a play written by him. (I actually love the musical, and yes I know I sound like I'm hating on him, but it's basically like that movie that takes out the characters from the book, adds a new plot, slaps the book's title on it and says it's the same. It's not regardless of whether or not they touch on some of the book's points.) Anyways, (I seem to go off track a lot, this is really more of a rant than a recommended book list.) the story revolves around Eric (The phantom), Christine, The Persian (Eric's friend) and other characters including Raoul de Changy (who is actually incredibly more wimpy than the play/movie makes him out to be.) So, check those out!

G.R.A.Y. Part 4

I felt the need to put an introduction here because well, I didn't want to just  throw you back into the story, and I did give an introduction for the other three, so...

Here you go:

            “Do you hear that?” They travelled as a pact, sensing the movement together.

            “One of the ten are out?”        

            “That’s why they sent us up." 

            They communicated through facial expressions. They could not run the risk of the ten hearing more than needed. They had learned long ago that only one sound should be heard: their feet as they pounded the ground. They always started in a walk and kept pace with their prey's footsteps.

                                                             -        -        -       -

I made sure to convey nothing on my face. It was my first night serving with them, I would be feared as I always desired. I had trained for this, and I would continue to train to become as near as the elders as possible. The older ones in the pact always travelled near the front. I was in the back, no one really acknowledged our presence. We were there to observe. I had seen them act on the camera, but never in person before. I knew the others would be watching, envious of class 14’s presence among the rest of their footsteps.

I was proud. If we passed this week’s training, we could become official members, but only five would be chosen this year, less than the past. They are more efficient with less. If I did not join them, I would forever be only spare change, used only when they were in need of others to join. I proudly wore my gray coating over my skin and the black pieces of plastic I had placed into my eyes. I am one of them.

They had given us the coating and plastic to look like them. It was only temporary, but they, the true members, had the features installed into them. Their skin was naturally a much darker grey then the rest of us, and it was permanent. They would always be a Gray. Their eyes were almost complete black, piercing, awe-inspiring.

I had been trained to admire them, perhaps I was ignorant, but it didn’t matter because I was on the chase. I could be a hero.

G.R.A.Y Part 3

I'm actually trying to edit this a little bit as I post this because as I read I am finding certain parts that I don't like along with many an error, but I figured since I wasn't doing anything else, I should put up the next portion.

Chapter 1

I don’t know how bad it has gotten with the attacks. I can't really help, but I can tell you the truth. I can tell you my story.

-Love

G.R.A.Y Part 2

So, basically I'm just going to continue from where I left off. Thank you Carol Balawyder for taking the time to look at my blog!
Sidenote: I will try to stop where I originally put page breaks into the story.

G.R.A.Y Part 1

So, this summer, I worked on a new novel that is very unfinished, but something special happened with the characters that I wrote into this story: I fell in love with them. IT WAS (and still is) THE FIRST TIME THAT'S EVER HAPPENED TO ME! While I was editing my first completed novel, I discovered my hidden truth: I loved the content of that book (and still do), but I could care less about the characters. That's what made this book so special for me. So, I really hope that you, random readers, enjoy this as much as I did!

                                                                      Prologue

What is love? In my world, it all started at birth. The earth was taken from the state with luxurious flashing screens in every household and schools for learning, welcoming to every age, to a place where everything was corrupt to bring us to where we are today. The ones I dwell with are manipulators of all that is just. Our world is grey, but this is not how it always was; it was once in beautiful color, but now, we live in broken cities of broken worlds.

 When I was born, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a man, he was strong, tall, lean, and brave with shoulder-length dark grey hair flapping in the breeze onto his olive skin; he was my father. He looked ragged. He had brown streaks across his face, and his hair had grown unruly as he had waited for me to emerge.

The first sound I heard as a minute-old infant was my mother’s scream behind us; my father winced, but he kept running. They had let him go free into the dirt stained world away from the cottage my parents had intended for me to call home.

I was supposed to be their beautiful baby girl, born into a carefree world. Nine months before that they had been living in a perfect little house with a white fence and a golden retriever named Earth in a city not far from where I had been born. But when news spread of what the world had become, they had put giant walls around their city, and all the pregnant women were forced to move to camps. My parents had wanted to care for me, but they had no choice, except to give me up.

 At dark fall, my father slowed at our city’s giant magnificent mahogany doors, and the doors opened for him, well aware of what they were letting in. Inside the gates, it was a brand new world, an almost medieval world, the people, they were selling their goods on the sides of the street, smiling, carefree. The path we walked was separated from the dirt that everything else resided on; it was a carved gravel path; it was in preparation for them to come, my father had known. The buildings beside us were magnificently made as our ancestors had left them.

 When my father walked in, every one of the street people turned, and they rang the streets with applause. He lifted me up for all to see before laying me on the gravel and turning back to the door. The men controlling the doors smiled with tears in their eyes. The doors remained open.

My father hadn’t even walked to the heart of the opening to the world of misery, before I heard those loud bangs, unforgettable, even as a babe. I could swear that my father was smiling when the crimson bolts spread out of him. He fell to the ground, his eyes staring blankly into the light blue sky.