What the title says. Use my painting and the words on it to create a fairytale.
Technically speaking there are still six minutes left before Saturday in Redmond. The fact that I’m typing from Porano in Umbria and it’s already 8:54 of the next morning it only proves the Earth isn’t flat after all. It’s not cheating.
Before it’s too late, here is the snippet from this week. TCOM, again.*
Marie had been taught that ending in a waste plant was a better fate than serving as a mother, but she wasn’t sure Carnia would be happy. “She’ll be fine, don’t worry.” She didn’t have a clue of what she was talking about, but she felt the need to reassure Verena once more. The wind shook the branches with more strength and the whole green umbrella swayed under the assault. Something swiftly moved at the corner of Marie’s eye and she automatically turned to her right only to see Grant stepping back into the shadows of the corner. He was listening. Her heart skipped a beat.
“What was it?” Verena tilted her head and Marie rearranged her body in a useless attempt at hiding Grant’s presence when he was probably already gone.
“A cat, probably.”
Marie wished she was alone. “Yes, a cat.” He wants to know about Carnia. She felt her stomach contract.
*For the sake of being honest, it’s now 12:01 in Redmond, which it means it’s a Saturday snippet after all. Oh well, I did try…
Yesterday it was a great day. Italy won against Germany and advanced to the final on Sunday. Pax got its first review on Amazon and Goodreads. I decided to celebrate with purple highlights. Photo manipulation came later at night, when I was too excited to go to sleep.
This is me, with less color than usual and sketched with Paint.Net.
And, esteemed ladies and jellyfishes*, we have lucky number seven today. I took the whole week as a mental vacation and stood by it. Not a single rational thought was produced in the last seven days. If you ask me, it was a difficult task to accomplish, but I am truly that good.
Another snippet from TCOM.
Four or five more bursts of applauses and another elder, a slightly less exalted copy of the first, took her spot to tell the first story of the night.
Marie liked to hear a good tale like anybody else and her eyes and focus zeroed in on the newcomer.
“Darlene is one of the best storytellers, you’ll see.” Cina elbowed Marie. “I’m sure you’ve never heard anybody so good.”
Cina wasn’t exaggerating; Darlene had a gift. The whole time the elder spoke, not a single breath was heard. Darlene’s voice was pleasant enough, but the quality of the narration was what kept everybody glued to the story she was slowly unraveling.
“What a complicated plot, and with so many characters—” Marie shook her head in awe, unable to shush her inner thoughts. “She sure has a great imagination.”
“It is said she’s friend with one of the guards…”
“Oh, do you mean…?” Marie lowered her voice to a whisper.
“I mean what you’re thinking. Darlene has special permission to watch TV with her pure breed friend.”
“I’d give anything to watch a TV show again.” Marie’d had a glimpse of a television show once at the Institute and sighed at the memory.
*loosely stolen from Eddie Izzard, one of the funniest men on earth.
Pax in the Land of Women is coming out this weekend. Just saying…
Just a subtle way to let you know I haven’t written a great deal, in case it wasn’t clear. But, I worked a bit on TCOM and this is a snippet from today’s effort.
“Oh, no. Marie, you’re going to be fine. You’re just fifteen.” The redhead smiled at her. “The Captain has never picked a girl who was younger than eighteen. I think there must be some kind of rule.”
“And you’re so slim. Donors are never thin. So maybe, you’ll never be chosen.” Cina took Marie’s hand in hers to give her some comfort. “Look at Verena, she’s the perfect donor.”
“And I’ve just turned eighteen. Lucky me.” Verena nervously laughed.
“Maybe you’re going to be lucky this time.” It was Marie’s turn to console the girl.
“Chances I can escape it forever are slim. I’ll be eligible for seven long years and with my physique it’s almost a given I’ll be a donor sooner or later.”
“But I heard it’s not as terrible as it was for our grandmothers. Now, you won’t come in contact with the sementals at all.” Marie blushed red as soon as she said the word semental.
In the last two or three days, I haven’t written a lot. Probably, I needed a break, but it doesn’t feel right. My e-social life on the other hand has thrived and I had time to read the remarkable words of some fellow authors. And that is all good and well.
Today snippet is from TCOM again. Verena has just showed Marie her new living quarters at Redfarm.
Marie shrugged at the recent memories. Idra had saved her from the ire of an elder more than once. “When I’ll be an elder, I’ll never be like them.” A promise she had worded every time Idra had rescued her. Idra. What are you doing now? Dinner time at the Institute had already come and gone. Are you singing by the fire with Joanna and Marcia? They had sung every time one of their friends had left the Institute to learn a profession somewhere else. Are you singing for me? Do you miss me already? Marie had been so excited to leave the Institute, she hadn’t realized she was indeed leaving it for good.
“I never thought bathrooms could get people so emotional.” Verena laughed.
Marie got a glimpse of herself in the mirror and saw her eyes were liquid and a tear was hanging to her eyelashes. “The separate stalls undid me.”
It’s Friday again. Time flies when you’re having fun writing two different projects and editing the last four chapters of the novel you want to publish shortly. On related news, thanks to my extraordinaire editor, Pax in the Land of Women is almost ready to see the proofreader. Oh, incommensurable joy.
This Friday snippet is from my fantasy wip, Notturno, again. Dalia is in big trouble. It’s sundown and Aragon being a diurnal has fallen into a comatose sleep. She’s just being kidnapped by a man and a woman. She can only hear their voices as she’s carried like a sack of potatoes on the man’s shoulders…
She hoped it was a bizarre dream and she would wake any moment now. The man carrying her walked at a brisk pace, climbing and stepping down at ease, as if she didn’t add any weight to his body. From what she could feel, the man wasn’t as large as Aragon, but, within the confined space of what it must have been a jute sack, she couldn’t be sure of anything.
“Who knows how much he would’ve fetched for this one?”
“She’s not much, is she? Diurnal women are normally bigger.”
“Did we get a child?”
Again with the child. I’m no child.
“No, she must be young, but she’s definitely adult enough…” The man seemed to be thinking of his next words carefully. “When I was picking her up, I—”
Yes, you what, idiot?
“I didn’t do it on purpose! What are you thinking that I’d check her out?” The man’s voice had that distinct quality associated with being worried and embarrassed at the same time.
“You better not.”
“Of course not! Who do you think I am? An uncivilized diurnal? Anyway, she’s a scrawny little thing. I don’t think the Venerables were going to pay much for her.”
Today I learned of something called Friday Snippets, thanks to Clare who tweeted about it. The idea is to post every Friday a sample of your work in progress to share your writing with the rest of the blogosphere and the twitterverse. Loved the idea and, although is already Friday night, it’s still Friday here in my neck of the woods. I also had quite the productive day. I wrote my daily quota of 2k and I finished and also sent a guest blog post, so I can be excused for my tardiness.
Without further ado, here is my Friday Snippet from my brand new project, a fantasy tale. Working title is Notturno. The two characters are Dalia and Aragon. She lives in the darkness and he thrives under the sun.
“Kirby is my dog’s name.”
“Well, he likes my food.” And, as on clue, Kirby left her lap to jump on Aragon’s.
“He likes me.” Aragon smiled at Kirby. “Isn’t it true that you like me very much, Kirby?”
“He likes you all right; you gave him food and shelter.”
A different kind of smile made his eyes shine. “Does it mean you like me as well?”
“I gave you shelter and I did offer you food.” His right eyebrow shot high, his lips curving up slightly.
“I don’t know you!” Dalia should have felt more shocked and added some of the lacking shock to the tone. “How dare you. I’m betrothed.” Funny how that detail came up, when she would constantly rebuke Martin for saying so.
“Don’t get too worked up, I’m married.”
“You are?” Her mouth hanged open.
She scooped away from him, treacherous disappointment creeping through her feelings. “I must go back.”
I, my name is Monica, but not always. During the day, I multiply myself. It’s the new schizophrenia. SMMPD. Social media multiple personality disorder. I’m not alone. We’re a growing community of people who juggle through the ether, struggling to connect. We change name as we change hats. Our strength is in the numbers. Our weakness is in the transient nature of our interactions. We must be present, always. Forever connected, is our credo. We forge friendships in 140 characters and when we’re sent to twitter jail, we travel in throngs to facebook where we finish the conversations started earlier. Then we move to our blogs. But sometimes, it isn’t enough. Thankfully, we can pm or dm as long as our heart desires. Of course, we all contribute to discussions on forums, sub-forums, facebook groups… Finally, at the end of our day, we start again, our peeps on the other side of the world waking up, eager to know what happened while they were sleeping. Meanwhile, if we could create an omnibus out of all the characters sacrificed to the altar of online communication, we would have published the new Divina Commedia, War and Peace, Ulysses all combined. Unfortunately, my wip is waiting for me to notice it’s stuck at 300 words. It could be worse, it could be raining… Wait, I live in Seattle!
I was tagged by John Rykken, author of Bloodwood to play a twitter game called “Lucky Number Seven.” The rules are simple, go to page seventy-seven of your latest work, published or in progress, count seven lines, then copy the next seven lines. The next step in the game is to tag four
My seven lines are from Pax in the Land of Women, second book in The Ginecean Chronicles.
She couldn’t bear that he had been treated like an object. “I couldn’t just let them kill you.” She touched his face, tracing the line of his nose and then his lips. On principle, she would have never excused the use of violence against any other human being. But she had really meant to say that she couldn’t imagine a scenario where he wasn’t alive. She just couldn’t contemplate the idea.
“I owe you my life.” Prince removed her hand and put it in his. His voice was very low, but the meaning was loud and clear.
As an aside note, I had to laugh when I saw where the lucky number seven lines were. The above passage belongs to a chapter that got the award for the most editing. Amy and I drew a line at revision number 12. Every time I think of the infamous chapter 4, I break out in hives.
Now, the nominations for the next four twitter
victims players are:
Have fun. Rinse and repeat!