Don’t forget to save!

We’ve all experienced the tragedy of word loss. Typing along, as happy as can be when suddenly, a catastrophe of some sort happens—the writing program crashes, the cat spills tea on our journal, we drop our phone into the river—and those words are wiped from the face of the earth.

Backing your words up in multiple places (along with saving often) is a very important part of nanowrimo. I cannot count the number of times I’ve read about someone getting more than halfway into their novel, only to suddenly lose it to hardware failure, or dog teeth, or any of the myriads of unexpected ways you can lose a novel.

So this is a weekly reminder to all of you to:

1) Those of you that are working on something and haven’t saved in hours, do it now (I know you’re out there!)

2) Immediately back your novel up on google drive, a flash drive, or email it to yourself, photocopy it, print it out, or whatever else you can think of to save it, and

3) Don’t forget to take a moment and make a list of all the things you’re thankful for this week.

Thank you for being awesome Wrimos, and good luck as you race to the finish! (No really, SAVE NOW!)

Nanowrimo and self-care

Wrimos, we are halfway through the month. How are you feeling? If you are still chugging along, no matter how slowly, give yourself a hug, you’ve earned it! For those of you who are considering giving up, or have not written in a few days (or even since the first day), that’s ok! Even if you don’t make your final word goal, you still have half a month to write many more wonderful words than what you started with. You have all gone further than the person that never started Nano!
But, this wouldn’t be a pep talk if there wasn’t a deeper issue to address here.
Today’s topic is self-care during Nano, which is most important when it comes to our mental health, especially when we start getting further into this grueling month. Most of the time, Nano will go off without a hitch—you’ll write your novel, be challenged, meet some neat people, and learn some amazing things along the way. But sometimes, especially for veterans, expectations start to build and we can put too much pressure on ourselves to live our daily lives, with all its stressors, and excel at the ridiculous goals we set for ourselves during Nano.
Well, I know this may sound counterintuitive to the spirit of the month to say this, but if you are stressing out over your word count, having anxiety, panic attacks or any other sort of negative emotions rising from this event—step away. This is supposed to be a fun writing event; NaNoWriMo is about the spirit of the joy in the challenge of writing a novel in 30 days, not the pain in the hardship or driving yourself to agony.
So step away from your novel. You need to rest. Your novel will be there when you return, but your mental and physical health is important and damage done can sometimes be permanent.
If any of you are having issues, feeling irritable, tired, lashing out, panicky, anxious or a myriad of other symptoms, I have some homework for you.
When you get home, put your writing materials away—no, you can’t take notes or outline either—and make a cup of your favorite beverage. Now pick your favorite activity that is anything other than writing.
Draw.
Work out.
Play games.
Play with a pet.
Play with your kids.
Watch TV or a movie.
Get your mind off your novel and do something relaxing.
Those of you feeling guilty that you’re falling behind, or that you’re not keeping up with your word counts and can’t relax, ask yourself this: if you don’t enjoy it, or aren’t having fun, then why are you doing it in the first place?
Those word goals are just arbitrary numbers in the end. Yes, they normally represent something that is amazing, but no one at HQ, and none of your MLs would be happy in the knowledge that someone is unhappy and the cause is Nano.
So if you are feeling undue pressure because your word count hasn’t gone up in a few days, you’re starting to feel anxious because your novel only has a few thousand words, or you’re afraid of breaking your writing streak so you stay up three extra hours to get your words in and wake up sleepy, relax. No one will think any less of you for taking care of yourself. Slow down and remember what it’s like to get lost in the novel, not in the pressure.
For those of you on your merry way, carry on. The rest of us will catch up when we catch our breath.

Of Pinterest, Spotify, and a whole lot of coffee

Greetings Wrimos! Its that time of the year again. When it starts to get a little chilly in the northern hemisphere. The sky is hazy and the air a little drizzly. The halloween candy is taunting you from the other side of the room. The calendar ticks to that giant Nov. 1. Its Nanowrimo. Bring it on.

So, when I’m prepping for nano, I like to get sidetracked. Like, constantly. I’m always off in definitely-not-the-story-I-should-be-working-on or some other such place. So I find there area few different techniques or strategies or other sorts of trickery I’ve collected in my toolbox over the years to help reign in my overly exuberant attention span and get you prepped for nano.

1) Visual boards. Pinterest in particular. Yeah, you read me. Pinterest. I definitely have an addiction to pinning things. I had to make two accounts, one for my books and one for the other random things in my life so that my account didn’t have too much of an identity crisis after my thousandth pin. But each of my novels has a visual board, and you can tell immediately, each one has a theme, a look, a “feel”. You don’t have to use an app, you can print off images or cut them out of magazines, whatever catches your fancy and imagination. Try it if you haven’t, it’s fun *and* inspirational (just don’t procrastinate too long).

2) Music. I often write to music. I usually make a playlist for each new novel I start, and sometimes I make multiple ones for different moods. Royalty-free music is sorely underappreciated when it comes to lyricless music, and you can listen to music on a huge array of free platforms now, from spotify to pandora to youtube. If music doesn’t strike your fancy, ambient sound apps are an equally nice choice, and many now have customizable sounds and atmospheric noises that give you the ability to create your own perfect auditory writers retreat.

3) Work-space. Cleaning my workspace is another odd habit I find that either gets me back into writing in no time, or gets me a really clean desk, and serves as both a distraction and a deterrent to procrastination, depending on how dirty my desk is. This definitely won’t work for everyone, but more often than not, I would rather go back to writing after five minutes than keep cleaning.

4) Stay hydrated. And last but not least, keep your brain lubricated! Water, tea, coffee or what-have-you, keep a drink in hand (though your body will thank you if its the cold clear stuff). You’ll be better able to write up a storm with a clear, hydrated mind.

I hope these help you get a little more focused on your mad-dash to 50k. Good luck!

Lost Gods

Image Prompt. 30 Minutes

[ http://i.imgur.com/vCBqzKj.jpg ]

Isla could always see them, hovering on the outside of her vision, hungrily waiting to emerge from slumber. She didn’t understand how she knew, but she always had. The gods from long ago, waiting for the word to break, that they may tear free from their slumber.

“Time for dinner honey,” Islas mother called to her. She had been watching the sea again.

Shapes swayed just on the outside of her vision, always eluding her when she turned to look at them. Ever just out of view. Her mother smiled in the distance.

“Come on, you can come back after we eat.”

Isla scuffed her tiny feet and kicked pebbles as she headed for the simple house with its pointed roof. Sometimes the flicker was little more than a thin shadow, but today was not one of those days as the constant flickering caused her eyes to constantly dart around. Her mother’s warm smile greeted her at the door and a soft had caressed her blue black tresses.

To her dismay and alarm, the flickers suddenly faded.

“Go wash your han—“

A sudden, violent shaking rocked the earth threw them down. Isla sat back hard, glad she hadn’t been standing on the steps. Her mother tumbled off the stairs and landed in the rock-littered sand with a sickening thud.

“No, they can’t have you,” her mother groaned and the tiny girl looked over, searching her mother’s horrified expression and the hand that she held over the gash on her head. She was watching the sea. Isla looked behind her, at the world shredded and cracked sea. Isla smiled.

She heard her mother’s sharp intake of breath as she stood up, adjusting her bright red raincoat and walking towards the vast expanse of water.

“No, Isla, not yet. Don’t leave me yet. You can’t go back!”

She left her mother in the sand, clutching crimson stained skin. She felt a tug, an unbearably urgent need to move towards the writhing mass that had erupted from the water. The voice shouting her name faded and now she could only see the great gods, emerging from their slumber.

Forging ahead, skipping from rock to rock with uncanny balance, she neared the edge, as far as she could go without being swept into the water. She waited, watching the last of the sun dip itself behind earth and clouds and sending fire to bathe the last of what it touched. She reached the last rocky outcropping before the sea swallowed the remainder.

She waited, arms outstretched, for Gods that were no longer flickers in her vision to take her home. She waited, welcoming them with open arms and a smile.

Bow

“Given with affection.
Bestowed.
Held dear, near and afar.

Such tender captivation.
Received.
The moon, sea and stars.”

Thank everyone that wished me a happy birthday ❤ Its been a good day; coffee, rats and pot roast.

Clover and Gold

“At the rainbows edge,
In the somewhere between,
lay the fabulous treasures,
To make her a Queen.”

The Last

Writing Prompt – No Time Constraint.

[The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door… ]

The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door. He glanced furtively at the window. A smidgen of light still lingered in the sky among the myriad of stars now blooming. The last of the dusk. He ignored the door, hunched over a prize faintly illuminated by the dying embers of the fire in his hearth.

The knock came again and he clutched the blanket he wore tighter around him, trying to fight off the worst of the evenings chill, not entirely brought on by the cold winter air. The embers popped and sizzled, and the man’s anxious eyes were torn from the window to a faded painting above the fireplace, and the humming white crystal held beneath.

A woman sat straight in the portrait, her ebony hair and eyes burned with a heat not unlike the embers. Beside her, a thin, willowy girl stood the splitting image of her mother bar for her hazel eyes. Passion and indifference.

The knock came again and a crash echoed in the room, the wooden chair now overturned as the man turned to face the door.

“Leave me alone!”

His voice, harsh like sand paper, was heavy with emotions he could not contain.

“I don’t want to see you anymore.” He closed his eyes and stood panting from his outburst, tucking a cylindrical object into his pocket.

A small jingle of the handle brought him back to himself, a creak of the knob brought a moan from his lips, a crack of the door a sob from his chest.

He fell to his knees, sobbing the torrent of sadness no longer held back. A pair of small hands reached for his face, a pair of larger ones for his shoulders. Desolation and isolation.

The man launched to his feet, the last of his will defeated. He shrugged off the hands and grabbed the handle to the door, pulling and escaping his self-contained exile. Stride after stride he kept his destination in sight through the dim evening light; a cliff in the distance. The snow grew deeper, the air colder, but he kept going.

A door slammed in the distance. The door to his memories shutting forever. It did not matter. Not anymore. He stopped, and reached out a shivering hand, not quite touching the silvery barrier surrounding his small abode, the only safe place in the world.

Two pairs of hands reached back, frozen in time, perfect in their icy, crystalline shape.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he replied to the accusing cries in their unmoving features. He withdrew his hand and instead took the small tube from his pocket.

“I’ve been so lonely without you girls. We’ll make up the lost years, I promise.”

He pushed in the end of the tube and near a painting in the cabin, the last humming in the world stopped.

Somewhere deep on the mountains, a cabin sits frozen. No longer persistent are the nightmares of the last man on Earth.

Death of Freedom

Image Writing Prompt, no time constraint.

[A/N: I no longer have the images, my apologies.]

She sits alone in Her room, the one that overlooks a rotting world. Solitary on a stone and granite throne, Her once alabaster skin now worn and cracked by age and decay, She judges the tormented and the damned. Her blackened eyes see through the crumbling lives of the living while crimson butterflies hover and rest along her body and at Her feet; the festering souls of the judged, ready for the passage to redemption.

She is the Mother, the Keeper, and the Watcher. She judges those brought here from heartache and betrayal, and She shepherds them. They are her children; those who have scorned; those who have been scorned; those that long for peace. She will sit upon her throne, until the one that succeeds her comes to claim it for them self, just as she did before them.

We are her servants, the ferrymen of the dead; the heralds of sin, and debauchery. We are as many as the colors of the living, and it is our job to guide the lost souls to Her. A whisper in the wind, a feeling at the back of your neck, a nudge in the right direction, and soon your soul will be ours.

Sitting down, I bow my forehead down to rest on my hands, skeletal bones clicking against my forehead. I never understood the reasoning behind Her wishes to make the Heralds more human-like, to give them names and free thoughts and will. As a Herald, there is no possible reason for me to have to think, especially since there is nothing in my head to think with.

But the millennia’s have not been kind to Her, and perhaps She is merely lonely. I remember a time when I had no thoughts of my own, no free will. I did as I was told, mindlessly, and that was that. But… I will admit, it is nice to be able to talk with Her.

“Hey Inny, are you busy right now?” A cheerful feminine voice interrupts my thoughts, and if I had lips, I probably would have frowned.

“Yes Mavunay, what is it?” I reply. I wish she would stop calling me that… My name is Innistar, and as her equal in rank, I should at least be given a proper greeting.

“Are you on field duty?” I can see in my mind’s eye, her profile, as she sits in her favorite spot near the coast, her pink frilly dress draped over the jagged rocks, her mauve wings flexed behind her so they don’t catch the ocean wind. There’s a raging storm off in the distance and the waves crash violently against the cliff-face, even though her platinum hair is perfect and untouched.

“Mavunay, are you shirking your duties again?” I can hear her titter girlishly and I drive her image from my mind.

“As Commander of the Seraphs, isn’t it your duty to provide a good example to your subordinates?” I lecture. It’s not going to get through to her, but I try anyway. I hear her giggle some more.

“Oh, Inny, I’m not that bad. I’m actually getting ready to take someone back. The problem is that I need backup. There’s going to be a wedding, and I think that it’s going to be crashed pretty hard.” I could almost hear her smile. I do not know where she comes up with this language.

“I will be done soon, and head over as soon as my relief comes.”

I could hear her squeal of excitement.

“Yay! Thank you Inny!”

If I had a brain, I’m sure my head would be hurting right about now. She was much too energetic. My head was quiet now, and once again my own. Mind communication was convenient, but tended be disorienting at times. Looking out into the field, I watched the clouds in the distance, the surreal landscape never staying the same for more than a few minutes.

This was where the judged souls came after redemption, and awaited the chance to be born again. They wandered the landscape, and dotted the fields like small ants. I was Commander of the Bones, I felt obligated to have at least one shift of field duty per human month, and my subordinates didn’t mind. It was peaceful here, and allowed me to think, just like She wanted.

I could hear the clacking that signaled that my relief had come. Standing, I nodded affirmation and greeting, and walked away, hoping that Mavunay had not started without me.

 

 

“How dare youcome here? Uninvited, and unwanted! Both of you get out!” the bride screamed, her face contorting into something grotesque. The groom tried to put a hand on her shoulder and pull her away, but she refused.

I had been watching the scene for a few moments when Mavunay sensed me and came to rest beside me in the rafters.

“Oh, looks interesting so far, I wish I had something to eat while I watched,” she said, her voice and bright pink eyes alight with cheer. If I had eyes, I would have rolled them at her.

“Mavunay, you don’t even need to eat. Why do you bother?” I asked her. I was beginning to think she spent more time in the human world than in her own.

“Because it tastes so good!” she said enthusiastically. I shook my head and brought my attention back to the drama unfolding below.

“You cheated on me, Briar! You left me for that tart of a wench, and now you’ve come to give your blessings at my wedding? I think not! Go back to your tiny shack and have fat babies, since that is what you wanted so badly!” spat the bride. The woman behind Briar took a timid step out from behind him, and there were murmurs from the crowd behind the bride.

“Please Lot— Alotta. I just want to wish my brother the best for his wedding. I want to give my blessing to the both of you.” Her brown curly locks fell over her pale shoulders as she bowed in a symbol respect and apology. When she stood up, her chocolate brown eyes were filled to the brim with tears. “We never meant for any of this to happen. Are you not happy enough with my brother? Why can’t we just make peace?”

Before anyone could react, Alotta tore the sword, which was buckled to her fiancés waist, out of its scabbard, and charged. Brair pulled his sword out of its scabbard, and pushed his lady behind him to the ground. All movement ceased in the great hall, and the groom shook himself from his shock and came running over.

“Lottie! What have you done?” he screamed at her, but she merely smiled. The hall was so quiet, the sound of liquid hitting the floor could be heard; a gentle pitter-patter on the tiles of the floor. There was an earth shattering scream, and Briar fell to the floor. The hall erupted into chaos as yelling and shouting echoed through the high ceilings.

“It serves him right. Now it’s your turn Sera.” There was a look of madness in her eyes as she struggled with the groom, over control of the sword.

“Let it go Marcas, one strike, that’s all I need.” Her face was contorted into a smiling mask, and Marcas’ eyes went wide.

“You don’t seriously mean to kill my sister? Alotta, you are mad! Stop this nonsense now!” he yelled, and sobbing echoed throughout the hall.

“Briar? Please Briar, can you hear me?” Sera called, hugging her beloveds head in her lap as the blood seeped from a wound in the side of his chest. Alotta’s face lost its smile as she regarded Sera. She finally yanked hard on the sword, and Marcas could no longer hold it without slicing his hand.

“Lottie, don’t!”

The sword carved through flesh as though it were air, and the hall went silent. Alotta withdrew the sword and it clattered to the floor.

“Marcas. What have you done?” she asked, the color draining from her face.

“Lottie. She’s my sister. My family…” Both women stared in horror as the blood began to seep quickly out of his chest. Alotta let out a wail, and dropped to her knees sobbing. Marcas tried to kneel in front of her, but lost balance and ended up on his side.

“Lottie, please, don’t cry. You know I love you. Just, please don’t kill my sister. I love her dearly…” his voice trailed off, and Lottie cradled his head in her lap, staining her white dress a bright crimson. His breathing slowed, and eventually stopped altogether.

I watched the scene unfold with a familiar patience. A scene that I’ve witnessed so many, many times, and will continue to do so until I am destroyed.

“Well, I guess we should get started Mavunay,” I said, but as I look over, she has an intent expression on her face.

“Hold on, I don’t think it’s done yet.” She whispers, as if she’s afraid that any noise might distract them, even though they cannot see or hear us. My attention goes back to the floor.

“I won’t my love. Do not worry,” she whispered, and grabbed the sword that was still in arms reach. Sera’s eyes went wide, and her hand shot out.

“No, Lottie don’t!”

            “This is all your fault. All your fault!” Alotta’s eyes were glazed over, as the madness took her. Sera watched in horror as the already bloody steel carved through the heart of her would-be sister-in-law. Screaming and yelling exploded for a second time throughout the hall, overtaking the soft sobbing in the middle of the pandemonium.

“Well that was unexpected,” I comment.

“That was the best ending ever!” Mavunay shouts excitedly as she flies down ahead of me. The world blurs, and slows down. We can see the glimmering souls of the three that have died; two blue ones, and one red one. I make my way over to them, hopping down off the rafters, and take out the scythe I use to cut the souls from the body, and sever the strings that bind them to the mortal realm

Ever so carefully, I clip the red thread, holding the souls in place, and Mavunay places them one-by-one into the pouch that she carries for souls. People are walking by, their bodies a vague outline with a trail of color

“There, I think we are done now!” Mavunay exclaims. I glance over at the woman named Sera, sitting in the middle of the carnage. She is looking at me with wide eyes, her mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. I nudge Mavunay.

“I think we have a Seer.” I comment. If I had lips, I would have smiled at the lady, who was sensitive enough to see the spirits of the dead. “We are done here, let’s go.” I say, but pause for a moment.

Something is not right. Mavunay is already on her way to the other side, but I just can’t bring myself to move. I turn, and regard the woman, her brown locks and dainty face matted with blood and tears. Her expression is no longer one of surprise however. She is smiling, but it does not bring me comfort. Her mouth is wide, and she is laughing a silent laugh. My vision wavers for a moment and I have a vision of Her throne, empty. No, it can’t be.

I can feel a change in the world. It feels colder, and not the way it feels against your skin. I turn away from what I suspect will be a horrible new beginning, and wish my way through the curtains of time and reality.

I find myself at Her door. It feels different. More distant. Colder. The doors creak open, and I step inside. Her room is empty. Not even butterflies linger in this place. I feel dread, and even this emotion I savor. I see movement in a corner of the room.

“Hello —what was it She called you?—Innistar?” I can do nothing but gaze at this monstrosity, with its six giant, talon-tipped wings, and grey, porcelain face and hair. I’ve seen that face before… but last time, it had brown curly locks, and chocolate eyes. These milky white eyes stared blankly at me, seeing and unseeing at once. It moved towards me, sliding on a metallic, reptilian-like body. Its humanoid face wore a mask of neutrality, as did its voice.

“Do not worry. I will not hurt you. Everything that She built, and those before here shall remain. There is only one thing that I demand of you, of all the Heralds,” said the seraphic horror. If I had eyebrows, I would have raised them. The only thought that comes to mind as this great evil approaches me to revoke my free will, is why did She never give me a face for expression.

“Obedient Puppets.”

 

 

Parachutes

[Flash fiction] 100 Words or less – The Parachute Isn’t Opening Up.

I could see the plane pass by, a tiny speck in the sky. He should be free-falling by now, plummeting to the earth. He’s been waiting for months, for that rush of adrenaline. A present for his birthday I told him, a free skydiving lesson, for being such a wonderful husband.

I packed their parachute lovingly and told my co-worker Mindy to take good care of him up there. He still had lessons to learn.

They should have pulled the string by now. Terror should be setting in. This is a lesson on cheating. Don’t get caught.

Forbidden

Untimed Image Prompt. Constrained Writing.

[Show, do not tell, what is happening in this image. This prompt focuses on description and you must use of all five senses in your writing. Most importantly here, no dialogue. ]

Slipping through the small slivered opening in the cliff face and down the dark steps that lead into the grand cavern, he paused at its entrance to take a deep, calming breath. The air had a sharper scent than usual, the rich aroma of earth and water more poignant today than ever.

His calloused hands were slick with sweat and water from the faintly illuminated moss growing on the rock walls. As he straightened the simple grey dress-coat he wore, its rough material snagged on his fingers. Today was the day. He shoved his hand in his pocket, reaching for the small pouch that lay there and the delicate hoop within. The only question he ever cared about. It had cost him everything to acquire.

He stepped forward onto the small stone bridge that spanned the length of the cavern, over the surface of a bottomless, glistening lily pond. Its brightly twinkling flowers only bloomed in the moonlight, and they filled the cavern with a faintly sweet aroma underneath the earth and water. Twilight lilies were her favorite.

He fidgeted, every muscle tense with anticipation and ears straining to catch the sound of footsteps. The waterfall to his right gave off its musical tapestry of patters and blips, normally such a soothing sound, but today it made him anxious. He licked his lips, but his mouth was suddenly dry. Could he do this? He ran a hand through his coarse brown hair and then down his face, closing his eyes. He hoped he could. He hoped she would.

There. He smiled as the soft, rhythmic patter that was not the falls reached his ears. He looked up and his breath caught.

She didn’t look up at him as she stepped onto the bridge, ducking her head instead and looking at the cascade. He took in the sleeveless gossamer gown, the white of the fabric catching the small bits of moonlight that had started to flood the cavern from above and casting her in an ethereal glow. The white ribbons in her hair, fluttered in the small air currents made by falling water and strands of her ebony hair gleamed platinum in the light. An ethereal angel

He smiled and held out a hand. She gingerly took it with her right hand, glancing at his fingers. Her brow wrinkled and for a moment he felt a twinge of foreboding. She smiled crookedly, and when her lips made move to speak but he silenced her with a kiss. He made move to grab her other hand, but froze when she flinched away, hiding her hand behind her back. Her eyes, pale violet against the moonlight, were filled with tears.

He drew back, fully taking in her finery. Her cascading dress was white, its petticoats and ruffles, the white ribbons in her hair. The small tiara and glimmering ear drops that matched the necklace he had overlooked before. A knot seized hold in his stomach and pain gripped his chest. The tears in her eyes spilled over, a trail of silent apologies and broken promises, and he reached again for her hand.

The glimmering halo that rested on her finger matched the rest of her perfectly. Shimmering and unattainable to him, as delicate as the tears that spilled onto his calloused palm. His skin burned where she wept. It ached where she didn’t. He dropped her hand, his question lingering unsaid between them. His hand reached for the pouch in his coat, but she shook her head and turned, fleeing from the bridge

He stood alone in the cavern, the melodic sound of falling water echoing around the room, filling his heart with a thousand regrets. He closed his eyes and thought of the things that no longer waited for him.

The splash was small, the lilies only bobbing slightly with the disturbance, as the crimson flowers gained another fare for the pool that kept them alive.