A New Perspective

Write on Edge Prompt: This week we’re going to play Victor/Victoria. If you typically write from the male perspective, switch it up to the female. And if you generally write female, go for the male.

We’re going to keep it short. As difficult as that can be for the more verbose of us, myself included, it makes it far easier to visit the more links and share our thoughts and opinions. So, let’s go for a nice, easy 300 words.


Here's my take on this week's prompt.  Now I know it isn't quite what the prompt said, but I wanted to do something a little different.  I frequently write from both male and female points of view - but I usually do so from an adult perspective.  So I decided that, rather than changing just the gender point of view, I shifted the age as well.

And yes, it will all fit into Shawn's story in the end.  I promise.

He looked up when shadows tumbled into the room.  The man standing in the front door was huge, like the soldiers on his Saturday morning vids.  Eyes wide, he dropped the toy fighters and ran into the back room.

“Mama!”

“What is it, Kier?” she looked up from the washing machine.

“Der’s a soldier man at the door,” he whispered.

The powder scoop slid from her hand, soap falling like snow.  Her face paled.  Kieran’s eyes widened even more, his lower lip trembling.  A single fat tear crept down his cheek.

“Oh!  I’m sorry, baby!  It’s ok.  Mama’s just surprised.  Let’s go see who he is,” she gave him a quick hug.

Kieran sniffled and nodded.  He was careful to hide behind Mama’s leg as he followed her back out.  He watched the soldier and Mama talk, thumb creeping to his mouth, a fierce grip on Mama’s leg.  He didn’t understand their words.  He saw the soldier was bleeding and Mama sounded angry.  Kieran tried to tuck himself even further behind Mama while watching the soldier.

His movement did the unthinkable - the soldier noticed him.  His piercing blue eyes struck Kieran.  Trembling, he buried his face in Mama’s leg, clutching her with both arms, hoping he couldn’t be seen.

Mama untangled him and gently pushed him forward.  Kieran tried to resist, but Mama was insistent.  He looked up, pleading with silent eyes.

 “It’s ok.  He isn’t going to hurt us.  His name is Shawn.  Can you say hi?”

Hi,” Kieran was almost inaudible.

Shawn crouched down meeting Kieran’s eyes, “Hi, Kieran.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Mama’s hand on his back kept Kieran from fleeing to safety behind her.  He tried to hide anyway.

“I’d like to be friends.  Will you be friends with me?” Shawn hadn’t moved.

Yep. I must be Crazy.

The title of this particular post says it all.  I am attempting to participate in at least the June edition of Camp NaNoWriMo.  I haven't decided on attempting August's yet.  Why is this so crazy?  Well, in case you missed a few of my earlier posts, my first child is due in August.  The dear hubby and I are in the process of tearing most of our house apart to get ready for the big event.  We're only about half done and August is no longer that far away.

But I have this character, Shawn, roaming around my head.  He's getting pretty demanding looking for a way out.  I'm either gonna have to give in and write his story or go even crazier - if that's possible.  So, here's to my attempt at clinging to the last vestiges of sanity and getting a draft of his story on paper so to speak.

And good luck to any of the rest of you tackling Camp NaNoWriMo this year!

Write On Edge: Location, Location, Location

Here's what Write On Edge had for us this week:

The prompt for this week is to use setting to deepen the development of your story. You can use it to give insight into a character or a conflict or simply to evoke an emotional mood from your reader.

You have 250 words, so make them count!

Once again, I went back to visit Shawn's world.  If I can get my act together enough I am going to write his story for Camp NaNoWriMo this year.  I'll let ya'll know how it goes.  But, in the mean time, here's another glimpse into Shawn and his life.

Shawn caressed the worn, tattered photograph.  That it was paper and not electronic was almost unheard of anymore.  But it was the image that captured his mind.  He closed his eyes and sighed.

He could hear the inexorable wooshing against the slate grey rocks.  He always believed it was her heartbeat – steady, soothing.  Small pebbles like drops of blood dotted the shore.  He loved the occasional discovery of those semi-precious gems, even though it’d been years since he’d been there.  Shawn could smell the dampness, feel the crisp air against his skin, even though he was currently on a different planet.  He remembered the icy bite against his skin when he waded in despite the heat in the air.  It was a beautiful greenish blue.  Not the turquoise of the tropics, but darker, more fitting with the woodlands of the north.

Staring at the photo, he remembered how deceptive that serene calm was.  She’d get angry in winter.  That gentle, steady heartbeat became ferocious, beating against the immovable shore.  The greenish blue transformed into a turbulent grey mimicking the storm clouds above.  She was lethal at those times.  Many an old sailing ship went down on her, all hands on deck, when her mood went that way.

Shawn tucked the old photo back into an inner pocket.  There was no use daydreaming about a place he’d never see again, a time he’d never get back.  He stood up, shouldered his pack, and slung his rifle.  It was time to go.

The Journey That is Writing

OK - so maybe I'm a little slow on the uptake or late to the party or whatever you want to call it.  But I've been realizing something interesting recently.  See, I went to school for psychology and work in behavioral health because people fascinate me.  Not large groups - individual people.  What drives a person to do what he or she does?  How does a person come to the conclusion he or she does?  Why do individuals do what they do? 

What does any of that have to do with my realization?  Quite a bit.  You see, it's dawned on me that we, as writers, all ask those kinds of questions.  Usually the people we are studying are characters, fictional or otherwise, in our works.

But, even more than that, I've realized that so much of our writing is really more about us than it is the people we write about.  Our writing, fiction or non fiction, is a reflection of our souls.  It's our likes, dislikes, motivations, questions and uncertainties that come through.  Our writing lets us explore ourselves in a way not possible in real life.  Even if we are doing it in the most out there science fiction way where characters aren't even human, I think we're still looking at some piece of ourselves.

For example, the Write On Edge prompt this week is about location.  We were challenged to write a piece where the location is the centerpiece.  As I contemplated how I could use this prompt, the answer came to me.  But, the answer was a location that I loved.  Even though the answer came in the form of a glimpse into the life of one of my characters, the place he's reminiscing about is essentially a place I've visited many times and love as well.

Maybe this is what other writers mean when they talk about writing what you know.  Maybe my pregnant brain hit the overload point hours ago and none of this makes sense to anyone but me.  It was just something interesting that hit me - that this journey we take as writers to explore a world, whether it's fictional or otherwise, is really a journey to explore some part of ourselves.

Choices

Here's this week's Write On Edge prompt:

For this week’s prompt, you were asked to write a story or memoir which relates to choices and/or consequences. Because of the 400 word limit, you may choose to focus just on the choice, or just on the consequence, if you like.

Once again, this brought me back to the same character, Shawn, and some of his back story.  I figure I'd better write his story pretty soon.  If anyone is interested other pieces to his back story are here and here and here.

Any feedback on Shawn's character would be great.  I'm not sure if any of these pieces will actually make it into the story but they do help define how he ends up the person you meet in his story.

Shawn looked up from studying the burn scars on his hands.  Her eyes, glistening with unshed tears, reflected the wild pounding of his heart.  She was screwed, and they knew it.  The only question left was whether or not they could do anything about it.

“I’m so sorry,” her voice broke.

“Rachel.  Enough.  I get it.  We need to figure out what the hell to do.  Command is gonna get wind of this.  You’ll be lucky to get the brig and not the firing squad.”

Any last vestige of color drained from Rachel’s already ghostly face, “You think they’ll shoot me?”

“They could consider this treason, Rachel.  What do you think?”

Shawn paced the length of the cockpit.  He knew they were two of the best drop pilots Command had which might buy her a slim chance.  Running with her wasn’t an option.  They’d send Black Ops specialists after them.  He’d never heard of anyone ever surviving a hunt order once it was issued.  He just couldn’t find another option.

“Can’t we explain to them what happened?  That it was a mistake and won’t happen again?” her quavering voice intruded.

“Command don’t work that way and you know it.  They’ll want someone’s ass.  This is too big to overlook.”

“I can’t face a court martial,” Rachel whispered into the leaden silence.

Each word pierced him like thorns.  Not only would Rachel’s screw up cause her a world of hurt, their relationship would come out in the process.  That would end up crucifying them both.  Fraternization was forbidden.  If all Command did was kick them out, which they would be insanely lucky to get off that easy, he had other options.  She had nothing, and he didn’t have the option to help her on the outside.

It was that last thought that forced his decision.  It wasn’t smart and he knew it, but it was the only option he could live with.

“Leave the cockpit.”

His terse words pummeled her, “What?  Why?  What are you doing?”

“I’m solving the problem.  Now go.”

“Shawn.  Are you sure about this?”

“It’s the only way to keep the fallout from spreading further than it needs to.”

She looked back as the hatch slid closed, “Thank you.”

“Let’s hope they don’t decide to shoot me,” he whispered to the emptiness.  He didn’t miss that all she showed was relief at his words as she left.

The Joys of Spring

Have you ever been chewed out by half ounce bird?  I was today.  It was rather funny.  I was out weeding and mulching my iris garden this morning.  It happens to be the garden where I have a bird house as well.  It also happens to be the bird house in which a pair of wrens chose to build a nest.  Now, I don't know if there are any eggs in there yet, but they have claimed that house and are not shy about letting anyone know when they feel you are invading their turf.  So, there I was, pregnant enough that it's rather obvious, attempting to bend enough to reach the weeds and spread the mulch.  Lo and behold one of the little wrens perches in the oak tree above my head and starts having hysterics over me being too close to its house.  They seem to forget I put that bird house up and I own the entire property.

Then again, the scolding is better than the multiple times I've been nearly run over by one or the other of those two wrens when I dare set foot outside my house.  I have had to start looking both ways before moving around outside at all.

But, I wouldn't trade it.  I love the spring.  I was greeted not only by a couple of mouthy little wrens but a number of other song birds, the first couple irises blossoming, a warm day with the sun shining and that wonderful damp earth smell that speaks of green growing things.

So, have a good chuckle at the image of me being scolded and borderline chased by a pair of little tiny birds and enjoy your spring!

There's an Alien in My Belly

OK.  Maybe not.  But, let me tell ya, it certainly feels like it on many levels sometimes.  I keep having to remind myself this is really happening.  I'm really having a baby.  Maybe it's just because it's my first child.  Maybe I'm just crazy.  You ask my husband and he'd tell you it's a given that I'm nuts.

Then, when my baby starts to squirm and kick, which feels cool but odd enough in it's own right, I'm reminded of that scene in Alien where the alien bursts out of the guy's stomach.  I actually saw my shirt twitch the other day from where my baby was kicking.  It struck me as both amusing and almost creepy.

Furthermore, my body is doing things I've never seen it do before.  I weigh more than I ever have in my life by a pretty significant margin.  I have a complete lack of anything resembling a waistline anymore.  Most of my clothes, right down to my bras don't fit anymore.  My hands have swollen enough I can't wear my wedding ring anymore.

And, theoretically, I have until August before this little one makes an appearance.  It really makes me wonder what else unusual, crazy or surreal will happen before then.

I don't even want to think about after that...

First Taste of Magic

I liked this week's Write On Edge prompt.  It took me back to Emma's story that started back with the Dusseldorf prompt.  I'm not sure if the way I wrote this scene works or not.  I tried to keep in mind the idea behind this prompt was to make sure everything that happened moved things along and that conflicts need to continue to happen in order to tell the story.  Let me know what you think of how this one worked out.

Either way, I hope you enjoy my take on this one.  If you missed the rest of Emma's story, the link below will catch you up.

http://thisisnothitchhikersguide.blogspot.com/p/one-night-in-dusseldorf.html


Here's the prompt and my take on it:
For this week, I’m offering you this opening line:
“Two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane.”
You have 500 words.

Two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane.  Each eyed the other, tension thicker than the fog that eddied around them.  The blond man looked away first; and missed the small smile from the black haired man.

“Where’s my information, Brayden?” the black haired man growled.

Brayden hesitated, his body hunched.  He refused to meet the other man’s dagger gaze.

“Well?  Either answer me or challenge me, boy.  I’m not going to wait all night.”

Brayden sighed, his body crumpling like a tin can, “Please, Stephan, don’t do this.  She’s no threat to you or your pack.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” venom and disdain dripped from every word of Stephan’s answer.

Brayden inched back from Stephan.  Quicker than a lightning flash, he turned to run.  It did him little good.  Stephan tackled him faster than the eye could follow, slugging him hard several times.  Blood oozed out of Brayden’s mouth to pool on the ground.

“Give me that information.”

One hand was still wrapped in Brayden’s hair, the other cocked back to strike again.  The lethal glint in Stephan’s dark eyes was as bright as a neon sign.

“I didn’t tell her anything.  I just sent her to James.  That’s all I said.  I swear,” Brayden choked through the blood.

For several seconds the men were frozen in time.  Stephan’s hand moved in slow motion to his foot.  He eased a long, serrated knife out of his boot.  Brayden’s eyes followed every minute movement Stephan made.

“What else?”

Those two words fell like bombs.

“He was taking her to Kris.”

“And?” the knife was now lying against the side of Brayden’s face, a razor thin line of blood welled up beneath it.

“I haven’t heard anything else.  Please, I don’t know anymore.”

“Not smart of you.”

A scream ripped through the still night.

Kris let go of my head just as abruptly as he grabbed me when he’d stormed back into the cave.

“Now do you see why we need to move, and fast.  That happened two days ago.  Stephan knows this place and I’d bet anything he’s on his way here this second.  I’m taking you somewhere we can talk safely.”

I couldn’t get the image of Brayden just laying there on that dirt road, blood streaming from the side of his face, out of my head.  I wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead.  Whispering a silent prayer for him, and for myself, I followed Kris out of the cave.  We made our way through the ancient German forest along trails so faint I wasn’t even sure the game that made them could find them again.  It didn’t seem to slow Kris down, though.

As we hiked, I continued to process what Kris had shown me.  How he could even do that was something I couldn’t begin to fathom.  Then, assuming what I saw was real, I started to wonder what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

Write On Edge Prompt: Body Language

Here's this week's prompt from Write On Edge:

This week, we asked you to focus on dialogue and body language to set a scene or move a story forward, limiting your use of narration.
We gave you an opening line: His crossed arms answered her question before he spoke.

I'm not sure if this scene will ever end up in the longer work, but the male character's story has been kicking around my mind for a while.  I'm at least attempting to set up some back story for him in this scene.  Let me know what you think of him.

   His crossed arms answered her question before he spoke, “What do you think?”

   Tears pooled in her dark eyes.  She clutched her stomach as if it were her only lifeline, “I’m sorry.  I had orders.”

   He arched one eyebrow.

   She sat down and stared at the floor.  He could see she struggled to even look at him.

   ‘As well she should,’ he thought to himself.

   He watched her start to fidget under the intensity of his unrelenting gaze.  She glanced up several times but looked away immediately.

   “My orders were to come get you at 0545.”

   “And the LZ?”

   She flinched.  Her knuckles were turning white.  He was sure she’d end up with bruises on her sides.  He couldn’t muster the energy to care.  He hurt too much for that.  He tucked his hands into his front pockets.

   Tears splashed onto the cement hanger floor.  She wouldn’t even look up anymore.  It was answer enough.

   “Why?” his voice was soft and too steady.

   “I-,” she glanced up to see the stark white bandages covering most of his muscled, tawny chest including his Black Ops tattoo.  He should have been getting his blue Command stripe added to it right now.  He could see the guilt over the fact that he wasn’t squashing her down like clay.

   “I wanted to help.  I overheard on the link your mission hadn’t gone as planned.  I thought moving the LZ a little closer might make your extraction easier,” he strained to catch her words.

   “Did it ever occur to you that the LZ was positioned at those specific coordinates for a reason?”

   “Yes,” she folded in on herself a little further.”

   “And yet you, a damn drop pilot, decided to change those coordinates without authorization and not bother to fucking inform me before you just drop in?  Were you looking to kill me?” the tone in his voice was scaring her, which pleased him a little.  He was getting through to her.

   She looked up at him, pleading for his understanding in every line of her body, “I swear.  I just wanted to help.  The intel I had said the area was clear.”

   “Yeah.  Real clear.”

   He walked away feeling her eyes follow him to the door.  He paused at the door, listening.  He heard nothing.  Palming the door open he left her behind.