tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39091961331673821592024-03-05T11:28:11.493-05:00The Poison AppleA darker side of Twilight fan-fiction.Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-18254423312877382602013-05-10T13:22:00.000-04:002013-05-10T13:22:02.716-04:00House of the Horde Info • Ch.24 Teaser<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, we've achieved something with <i>House of the Horde</i>. I know a lot of people are frustrated with me, but a lot more are very supportive and I just want to express how thankful I am. Truly. I can't say that enough. Thank you for being so understanding, for supporting this hobby and being good-hearted human beings. For the first time in my life, I'm going through issues with my health. I'm working on getting better, but it's been a struggle. It's not fatal, but it's constant. It affects the quality in which I live my life, and we only have one, so I'd like to live well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Writing is my escape. So, when I'm not involved with family activities, that's how I enjoy spending my <i>me time</i>. So, I don't prolong the wait to be mean and say, "MUWAHAHAHAHAHA! WRITHE AND FESTERRRR!" I want to be done with this thing as much as you want me to be done with it, and the good news is it's almost complete! Most of the chapters were pre-written before I started writing again after my two year hiatus, but as I've gotten more into the story I learned <i>pre-written</i> doesn't mean anything if I have to edit before posting. Editing is important to me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My mom tells me I'm a perfectionist, and yeah... I am. Anyway, I'm not sure if I've told everybody, or only mentioned it to a handful of people who've asked, (I have a horrible freaking memory), but there's only going to be about 30 chapters unless I can break it down into less than that (as I did with chapter 23).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Answering all the questions that remain is what I'm focusing on with each update. There are new questions that may rise, but I assure you, they are important to the completion of this journey and I'm confident that everything we've learned from this world will be solved at the end. I've said it before when I wrote <i>Kingdom of Rust</i>, and I'll say it again now. I don't write filler. <b><i>Every single</i></b> <b><i>chapter</i></b> has a purpose. Sometimes it will be subtle, and will exist within a conversation or action, or it will be a glaring revelation, but either way there is point. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ1f-gVz7DfBTPlI499LRy4PmZnHrtXA1gRGkkRv_Yr0xBP2Pz3R1OVlFp5MnpiwN05BV2lAqsFNpN8sT7fVFmlTxuk3BQ7xUFWrzWWKFuhP9sTZOgyBORCqh85Oz4hcpgK31wKKzd8IUM/s1600/googly_eyed_ham1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ1f-gVz7DfBTPlI499LRy4PmZnHrtXA1gRGkkRv_Yr0xBP2Pz3R1OVlFp5MnpiwN05BV2lAqsFNpN8sT7fVFmlTxuk3BQ7xUFWrzWWKFuhP9sTZOgyBORCqh85Oz4hcpgK31wKKzd8IUM/s320/googly_eyed_ham1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unlike this googly-eyed ham, which serves no purpose.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd like to give you a teaser for Chapter 24. It's my favorite so far because it's all been leading up to this one moment. This big, big thing everyone has always asked me about, but I couldn't answer because it's huge! This is but a small part. Unedited of course.</span><br />
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<b><i>Chapter 24: Walls of Stone, Walls of Glass</i></b></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-47c413a3-8f53-4fb5-f18e-342d8365e601" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I screamed as the tears swelled over my lower lid. I filled with anger and hatred. </span></b></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-47c413a3-8f53-4fb5-f18e-342d8365e601" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Why are you doing this!?” I cried, clenching my fists and turning to stare at him. When he didn’t answer, I found the strength to stand from my crouched position on the floor. “Why?!” I swung my fist at him, hoping to connect with his jaw, but he caught it and pushed me away.</span></b><br />
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-47c413a3-8f55-1127-4cb8-5588fd672d76" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What did they mean to you?” he asked then stroked his palm down his mouth and chin. By then, some of the blood had already begun to dry except the thick, wet drops which smeared, further staining his skin. “Hm? What did those girls mean to you?"</span></b></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-43432440323863036542013-04-09T09:26:00.000-04:002013-04-09T09:26:57.705-04:00LEL Sequel • More of Ch. 1I finally got Photoshop back on my computer, so I've been playing around with some stuff. Visuals inspire me to write, which is why I create them.<br />
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Also, I'm posting more of chapter one below. Don't worry, there's still more to read even though these two snippets have been posted. The first chapter is probably my favorite so far.<br />
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Summary: </div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07721747667528689" style="font-weight: normal; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lured. Trapped. Hunted. Saved. Accused of murder. </span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07721747667528689" style="font-weight: normal; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bella Swan thought the nightmare ended when he died.</span></b></div>
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.07721747667528689" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She thought wrong. </span></b></div>
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<br /><br />“You keep saying 'thing'. What do you mean?”<br /><br />A monster was all she could say. She knew the type, knew which story he mimicked. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”<br /><br />“I'll believe you. I just want to understand. I want to see it how you saw it.”<br /><br />“No you won't. I know you've seen a lot of stuff, dad, but you've never seen this. You couldn't possibly imagine what's out there, and those who know are dead.”<br /><br />“Bella, what are you talking about?”<br /><br />She looked at her hands, still filthy with dirt and blood. The white dress woke her from the sleepy state, and she remember the look on his face when he'd presented the gown to her while they danced. She'd never forget the way his teeth became changed into knives, or the maddening black of his pupils as they dilated, nearly overwhelming the red, which she knew the reason for now. Of all the possible reasons for red eyes, her thoughts never permitted the supernatural explanation.<br /><br />“Ever read Dracula?” she asked her father, picking the dirt from her nails.<br /><br />“A million years ago when I was in high school. Why?”<br /><br />“Think of that times twenty, and you still won't understand what I saw. He's a monster, dad.” Her tears began to perk. “Not the 'he's so horrible, he's a monster'. No. He's a real monster with teeth and red eyes.”<br /><br />“Bella.”<br /><br /><div>
“He's always hungry. He's smart.”<br /><br />“Bella, this is nonsense,” Charlie said lightly, interrupting.<br /><br />“He ate Angela and Eric, killed Mike.”<br /><br />“Bella, stop.”<br /><br />“He hunted me, Chased me through the woods after giving me this dress!”<br /><br />“Bella! Stop!” Charlie said, voice raised.<br /><br />She heard him that time, registered his clipped tone and stopped talking.<br /><br />He expelled his frustration and horror with a sigh. “What are you saying? You met Dracula in the woods?”<br /><br />She shook her hanging head with a slight humor because she knew he wouldn't believe her. She even told him so! “He's real. I swear he is. I didn't imagine this.” She paused, wondering if the next words should be spoken. She said it to herself many times before, but speaking them was an entirely different story. “He's a vampire.”<br /><br />Chief Swan ran his hands through his hair to the back of his neck. “Bella," he began, his voice rough and stern, the way it always was when he tried to make a point. He found her nervous eyes again. Once they had been full of wonder and beauty. Their endless dark knew no depths and he saw her mother then, and wondered if perhaps she was telling the truth. Bella never lied to him before, but she had been traumatized. Her imagination ran wild with explanations, so he firmed his arm after placing his elbow back on his knee and shook it at her with each word. "Vampires don't exist."<div style="text-align: center;">
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-20438016438088102322013-03-12T20:49:00.001-04:002013-03-13T10:45:33.190-04:00Lions Eat Lambs Sequel<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I had a title, then I didn't like it, so it's a work-in-progress (as-is the fic), but I thought I would post half of the un-edited first chapter for anyone interested. For the most part, it picks up where <i>Lions Eat Lambs</i> left off, just in a different setting. I won't begin posting until I've completed the entire thing, or at least the majority so I may update quickly for your convenience. I expect this to be around fifteen chapters. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Lured. Trapped. Hunted. Saved. Accused of murder. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bella Swan thought the nightmare ended when he died.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She thought wrong.
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.17645850940607488" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was a moment of insecurity when she felt unsafe even though trapped within flesh-colored walls. She'd been separated from the world, regardless if she could reach her arm through the iron bars and twist her fingers in the air of freedom. Her father occupied a small space next to her cell. He'd been idle so long in the metal chair, he'd lost feeling in both legs no matter which way he sat. He'd allow a sigh and a shift every once in awhile, but his impatience could never be masked. Chief Swan had a face of truth, an honest man down to the very core of his workings and bones. He'd never been able to lie even though he'd tried before, which was why police work had done so well for him, why he excelled where others had failed because honesty was hard to come by in his line of work.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With her father's sigh, Bella allowed her head to rest on the flat pillow, lingering on the dark, clouded thoughts as they passed over. The strange scent of the sheets covering the thin mattress filled Bella’s lungs until it hurt. The sterile air seemed familiar, arousing fuzzy memories against the sharp and cold present. A hospital, yes. They smelled of clean sheets from a hospital, though “clean” was questionable. Sure, they'd been washed, but how thoroughly, and by whom? Did this person care for their job, or was it a chore? The simplest meaning changed the idea of clean.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It'd been so long since the questioning she could barely recall the details as though it weren't real. The images were unclear, and only pieces of them fit together, creating an odd dream-like puzzle. She was there. It had to be real. All of it.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The woods, the camp out, a long wall and the house.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And if those were real, so was he. Those soulless red eyes took the last drop of sanity clinging to her bones before she rolled on her side to face the wall then closed her eyes. If she didn't see the room, it didn't exist. If there was no room, there was no man. No man, no nightmare, no thoughts of what-if.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She kept her back to her father, masking the true nature of her position as tears streamed down her face at the sight of the wall. She understood she'd never see the true day again unless bound in shackles. No one would ever believe her story, and she thought perhaps she would tell it differently if given the chance. She wondered about Jessica's health, if she was okay at the hospital and what she told the men who'd interrogated her. Would they believe her, then, if she and Jessica told the same story or would they think it was made up before arriving in a Mercedes which didn't belong to them?</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What would they find at the house? Emmett, or the monster?</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The warm tear turned ice cold the further it slid along her skin. The air incredibly chilled and unforgivable in that tiny cell, she began to shake. She wished she had a blanket to cover up with.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Charlie rubbed his hands together. “They've been gone a long time," he said, then looked to his daughter, noticing the way her shoulders hunched and shivered. "Are you cold?” </span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She wiped the tears away with a few fingers then turned to see her father taking off his Kennesaw police jacket. It wasn't very heavy, but he carried it with him and wore it until he could no longer stand the hot, Georgia heat. That didn't keep him from keeping it in his car, though. Bella reckoned that jacket had seen just about everything from car accidents to homicides.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He slipped it through the cell bars. “Go on. Take it. I'm not cold.”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bella sat on the edge of the cot, the cold metal stinging the back of her legs. “What if you get cold?”</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You need it more than I do.” He shook it at her once more, a gentle push for her to take it from his hand. She obliged and wrapped herself in the familiar scent. It reminded her of her dad's cruiser; the cloth seats, and fast food fries that had stayed under the seat for too long, then there was his aftershave at the collar. It stood out against everything else. </span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Thanks,” she said, giving him a slight grin.</span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: 16px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He nodded. Before he sat down once more, he pulled his chair closer to the cell. He pushed his fingers together and leaned forward on his knees. He’d wanted to talk to her, more than he’d ever admit. He wanted to know she was okay, that she’d be okay, but more importantly... “Bells?” He didn't continue until he caught her eyes. “What really happened out there?”</span></span></b>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-22115179675399478902013-01-09T00:45:00.002-05:002013-01-09T00:45:38.463-05:00you.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This post has been brought on by a series of events these past few days starting with the development of a non-lethal virus taking over my home. I swear, kids are those things that scientist grow bacteria in. Don't judge me. I can't think of the name. PETRI DISH. God. It took me two days to figure that out, and now that I think about it, I don't know why I didn't search for it in Google.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">-.-</span></b> grr.<br />
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Anyway, I've been thinking about my past three years in Twifandom, and how many awesome people I've met, and seen around these parts of the interwebs. Often times--okay, all the time--I feel I'm not good enough to be in the presence of such generous and amazing people. I still remember reading Wide Awake in my living room for the first time, not being able to make dinner because I was reading and fascinated with Edward and Bella being human. I still credit Danieller123 for pulling me away from the Twilight YouTube community and into fanfic. I never thought I had the patience to write, but I started typing away at the keyboard one day, creating my first AU.<br />
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That fic led into House of the Horde, which led to Lions Eat Lambs and eventually Kingdom of Rust, inspired by Sharon's Hansel and Gretel plot bunny. Writing opened up so many doors. It's given me patience and perspective and a new-found respect for the authors I always overlooked while growing up. I've never been well-read (and I'm still not), so I always did as little as possible regarding assignments in school. To be honest, I didn't realize how books could take a person into another world until <i>Twilight</i>, which is why it takes a while for me to get fics out.<br />
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I become immersed in characters and their possibilities until they reveal their path, then, I have to find the time to write. Tangent. My apologies. Not only for the brief veer off course, but because I don't read as much fanfic as I should, even though countless authors and readers have given me a try. It's not you, it's me. No, really. I'm a douche nozzle when it comes to these things, but it doesn't mean I think you suck. That can't be farther from the truth. My time spent interacting with you has been the highlight of my adult life (aside from my children and husband), and I know most would think that's sad, but I don't. Most of my "real life" friends have their own lives and routines which don't include me. I've found astounding comfort in knowing where to go if I need someone to talk to, or see people interacting about fic or whatever.<br />
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Thankfully, two of my besties have been Twihards, one of them is Luna Starfire (aka: <a href="http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2079038/Dementia-is-Reality">Dementia</a>). She's the most underrated author in this entire goddamn fandom. I wish I had her style because she's full charge at a certain angle and doesn't let up a single bit (unless she's not writing). Her prose is so unique, I'm grateful I understand it. She's carries zero reservations about herself, while I carry one-hundred percent about my "talent".<br />
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I don't feel I have a talent or gift. It's a tool to keep insanity at bay, to thwart off negativity in my personal circle which I've lived with my entire life. I still struggle. I feel I'm getting entirely off subject because this is about you. How happy I am to know you, and even more thrilled you've spoken to me or helped me over a hump. You've made me smile with your silliness and cry with your life experiences. If you've ever read one of my stories and rec'd it to someone else. If you've ever read my story and hated it, thank you for at least giving it a try. If you've ever left me a review, and I didn't have time to respond back, but you didn't care, thank you for understanding. <b>You are awesome.</b><br />
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Most of all I want to thank you, not just for all these things, but for being, and not wanting to be, anyone else except yourself. :)<br />
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.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-6536997606864726462012-08-15T07:07:00.002-04:002012-09-12T11:45:57.339-04:00House of the Horde visualI thought, what better way to get back into this story than make a new visual for it?<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/l8Z8t3T8apk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-55231953066978348492012-07-03T23:35:00.002-04:002012-07-03T23:44:12.525-04:00It often begins with how it ends.Before I write a story, I know how it ends. I know the ending traits of all the characters, the status of the world. The scene plays out in my head like a movie would at its closing.<br />
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Kingdom of Rust was no different. However, when I published chapter thirteen, the original ending no longer worked for me. These characters changed, became more than I intended for them to be, I suppose. They've lived in my head for the six months, exuding the different possibilities of their fate. I had no choice but to exploit every, single one of them in search of happiness, not for them, but for myself. Could I write an ending true to the original, but still acceptable within our worlds, theirs and ours?<br />
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Yes. I finally can.<br />
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The end of the end is coming. It's about fucking time.<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px;"><i>We were so wrong for each other; the farm girl who never saw anything, and the soldier who witnessed more than he ever wanted to see. </i></span></blockquote>
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<br /></blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-53397676052683391502012-01-20T10:35:00.002-05:002012-01-20T10:35:59.922-05:00Copycats.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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All this talk of a fic that has swept a quarter of the Twi fan-fic community has me kinda down and confused.<br />
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Remember <i>House of the Horde</i>, that little fic I was writing but put on hold?<br />
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Well according to the talk, the fic in question (the popular one) has the same terrain that <i>HotH</i> has. I'm not talking about one or two elements, I'm talking about two or three sub-plots and a few character traits. I'm curious, now, if I should completely change the direction I was going with my fic because I don't want to the story to seem like a copy-cat of another.<br />
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While I generally want people to enjoy what I write, I write for myself first. I don't want to put out something that I'll be un-happy with later, but for the first time I'm questioning this. Do I change my original (but apparently not so original) plot/sub-plot to keep the "OMG SHE COPIED SO-AND-SO" at bay, or do I continue on like none of this ever happened?<br />
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I'm very unsure of what to do since I'm riding in unfamiliar territory.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-15769101534365254392011-12-13T08:26:00.000-05:002011-12-13T08:26:02.391-05:00Kingdom of Rust • Chapter 13 Teaser<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://oi55.tinypic.com/20utzx4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://oi55.tinypic.com/20utzx4.jpg" /></a></div>
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CHAPTER 13: The World Ends With You</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">“How long did you know about us? Were you watching, waiting for the right moment?”</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">She shook her head violently, panicked. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">“Then why did you come?!” The question echoed through the trees and across the water. My arm wavered, exhausted, but I righted it, keeping the barrel of the gun at her forehead. I couldn't remember the moment I became so incredibly angry at her. When she didn't answer me I asked once more, "Why did you come?" I spoke slower, harsher, deeper as though it would convince her to respond.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">She doubled over with a sob, dropping to her knees as though yielding. My weapon followed. Her gaze climbed the barrel of my pistol, eyes alive and glistening before tears plummeted from her lids. "I didn't know," she finally said. The words barely stood above a whisper against the morning life of the forest.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">Such a simple declaration should've meant nothing to me.<em> </em>She should've meant nothing, but that moment tore me in two. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to hold her. I wanted her to walk away and leave me alone forever. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">“Jasper was right about one thing," I said, disappointed in myself for not seeing it sooner. "You’re a great fisher, Bella. I’ll give you that.”</span></div>
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-9966550095704014742011-12-07T19:23:00.001-05:002011-12-13T08:32:28.464-05:00Lions Eat Lambs Outtake - Felix Moore<div style="text-align: center;">
A first-page-teaser of the <i>Lions Eat Lambs</i> Outtake: <i>Felix Moore</i>.</div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">This is un-edited, so please forgive the craziness.</span> </b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Is it always like this?” he asked the plump, older woman as she slid his coffee over the counter. Black. No cream. A spoonful of sugar. Just the way he liked it. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“June and July are our busiest months. You came at a good time.” She smiled, bearing her perfectly straight, but discolored, teeth. </span></div>
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Felix nodded and raised his cup in thanks. “See you tomorrow morning.” He turned to face the line of people pegged all the way out the door, and he, now, understood why Hofer’s Bakery wasn’t to be missed. Their delicious food kept him coming back every morning since his arrival.</div>
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After filing past the tourists lined up to order their pastry and coffee, he found a seat on the deck of the old house so he could settle in to read the newspaper, drink his coffee and eat the delicious danish. And even though he wished it were quieter, like his apartment in Atlanta with all it’s familiar ticks and creaks, he enjoyed the hum of the crowd through the door, the clank of forks hitting plates, the whoosh of passing cars on Main Street and the cool, morning breeze whipping through the obstacles around him. </div>
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It was much different from the city, just what he needed for a weekend. He laid his leg across his knee, unfolded the paper and sipped his coffee loudly, spreading the sharp liquid across his tongue. A shadow moved over the porch, and footsteps, followed by the planting of a cane echoed through the wood, but he paid no further attention to the approach. </div>
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Sitting further away from the couple in the corner and closer to Felix, the man decided he’d enjoy the company of a quiet man more than a conversation between two people; they were too loud.</div>
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“Beautiful morning,” the man said, resting his black and silver cane against the arm of the chair and folding his leg over his knee. <br />
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Felix allowed the paper to lax, and a man came into view over the edge. Very dark sunglasses shielded his eyes from the world under the brim of his black homburg hat, but his deviant mouth ━ pink lips pushing dimples into pale skin ━ escaped the shadow and seemed to glow in the morning sun. </div>
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He eyed the man’s black suit, curious why such a young man would dress so formally. “Yes it is,” Felix muttered with disinterest. He didn’t wish to start a conversation with someone at the moment. It would throw off the routine he set for himself.</div>
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“You’re from the city,” he declared with surety.</div>
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“Yes.” Still not interested, Felix straightened his paper. </div>
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“You’re here for pleasure.”</div>
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Felix nodded. “You?”</div>
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“Business and pleasure,” he said, holding the grin and his posture with great stillness.</div>
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Felix nodded once more and his eyes tripped over the front columns of the Sunday edition of the Atlanta Journal Constitution. He took another sip of his coffee then a bite of his danish. </div>
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“So.” The volume of his voice startled Felix. He muttered an obscenity then gave him a stern look over the paper, the jolted nerves still twitching under his skin. The man no longer sat a table away, he had silently moved next to Felix, inches away. “How long are you in town for?” </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">He released a sigh, realizing he wouldn't be rid of this persistent man easily. “I arrived Thursday and I leave tomorrow morning.” </span></span></div>
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“Back to the grid. What is your position in Atlanta?”</div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Position?</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> What did he mean? </span></div>
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And as if reading his mind, he clarified, “What do you do?”</div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Oh, why didn't I think of that? </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’m a psychiatrist specializing in addiction.”</span></div>
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The young man leaned forward and flicked the brim of his hat up with his index finger. The cane pushed into the boards below as it bore his weight. “You’d get a kick out of me, Doc.”</div>
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“Is that so? You’re an addict?”</div>
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“You could say that.” </div>
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“I <i>am</i> saying that. Are you saying that?”</div>
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The young man’s lips stretched, revealing his white teeth. It was an unnerving smile, causing Felix to squirm in his seat. </div>
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“I like you, Doctor.” He rose, inching around the tables and chairs to the exit. “You have a fire. Perhaps I’ll see you around.”</div>
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He disappeared down the stairs, happily planting the cane. His stride was perfectly balanced, showing no sign of actually needing it. Felix determined it was a mere accessory. He watched the young man stroll down the sidewalk for a moment then turned back to his paper and breakfast, not giving him another thought. </div>
</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-31534168429264473392011-09-12T15:22:00.000-04:002011-09-12T17:33:05.371-04:00Kingdom of Rust • Chapter 12 • Teaser<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i52.tinypic.com/rarxo7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="299" src="http://i52.tinypic.com/rarxo7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">CHAPTER 12 (un-edited)</span><br />
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I left Renee to her chore, not bothering to say I was heading to the river to help Alice and Bella bring in the water. I could tell she wasn’t interested in speaking with me anyway.<br />
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I closed the front door with care then cut across the front yard, crunching with each step. A breeze surrounded the leaves on the ground and coerced them into colorful circles around my boots while the pleasant air filled my lungs with hints of autumn.<br />
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I emerged from the shade and into the slight warmth of the early sun. The piercing dawn nearly blinded me upon first glance. I shut my eyes for only a second then strained to keep them open, trying to consume every ounce of light given to me, thankful to be alive so I could see the colors of another fall.<br />
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A single crow flew overhead, cawing, calling out to anyone who would listen. I stepped onto the dusty, dormant road which would lead me to the edge of the woods. I’d find the river just beyond, where she waited.<br />
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They waited.<br />
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My stomach tightened with the thought of seeing them together. Did Alice say anything to Bella, and if so, what?
I began to jog, knowing I couldn’t stand a slower pace. I passed the corner of the house and glanced back to see if anyone was watching. I stopped. <i>He</i> was at the waste piles, shoveling manure into a large bucket.<br />
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The sight stole away the once-pleasant air, and the tightness in my stomach turned into nausea. My knees felt they would give to the weight of realization as it moved through me one heart beat at a time. What I thought, what I believed, was a lie. Nothing existed in that moment except the pounding in my head and the cranking of adrenaline as I began to shake. I moved toward the house in full sprint, my arms pumping and my legs exerting more force than I could've ever imagined.<br />
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The harder I pushed, the more my body developed a painful bond with the cool air. But, it wasn't the air I felt sending chills across my skin. It was fear, and I had never been more scared in my life than when I tore through the front door of that house, ripping off its disguise.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-32559593692639482432011-09-09T00:55:00.000-04:002011-09-09T00:58:32.178-04:00Post of randomness<object width="250" height="40"><param name="movie" value="http://grooveshark.com/songWidget.swf" /><param name="wmode" value="window" /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /><param name="flashvars" value="hostname=cowbell.grooveshark.com&songIDs=31998256&style=metal&p=0" /><embed src="http://grooveshark.com/songWidget.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="250" height="40" flashvars="hostname=cowbell.grooveshark.com&songIDs=31998256&style=metal&p=0" allowScriptAccess="always" wmode="window" /></object>
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Took a trip to IKEA at Atlantic Station on Sept. 7th and couldn't help but snap a couple pics of some skyscrapers captured by the low-hanging clouds.<br />
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We've had some crazy weather the past four days. It didn't rain that much, but we rarely saw the sun or a hint of blue. I loved it. I wish it was like that more often. The clouds were so cool.<br />
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We bought this at IKEA. (new frame, duvet and down comforter). Our mattresses are entirely to big (height-wise) for the frame, so we have no headboard at all. We refused to spend $40 on wood for the slatted base, so we kept our box spring. However, I'm thinking about sending the spousal unit to Home Depot to buy wood, 'cause I'd like to have a headboard.<br />
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We also need new curtains, but the gold and green works for the moment.<br />
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On Sept. 8th, I traded in my son's 1/4 violin for a full size because he's decided he'd rather participate in Cub Scouts than play an instrument. Just as well. It was hard to teach him the music and motions because he can't sit still for five minutes. So, I'm going to take the lessons instead. I haven't had it for twenty-four hours and I already broke a string. I wish I had some cool story, but I was just trying to tune my D string cause it was a bit off.<br />
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This is my youngest, stuffing her face with waffle when we ate at Waffle House for breakfast.<br />
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....she's a beast.<br />
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I visited Borders.<br />
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All their stock was 70 - 90% off.<br />
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It was like heaven... only not.<br />
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I used to visit Borders on a weekly basis when I was in high school. I'm super sad their going out of business.<br />
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The loot. I didn't find a lot, but I saved nearly $70! </div>
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The best find was The Pretty Reckless CD and it was a little over $3.00!</div>
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The rest is stuff that looked interesting. I should've gotten moar horror. </div>
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I may go back tomorrow. </div>
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Or I could stay at home and do laundry.<br />
/grumblegrumblegrumble....<br />
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And my daughter just fell asleep, so excuse me while I go catch up on some reading.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: x-large;">-RoT</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-5746357531119023472011-08-17T00:23:00.002-04:002011-08-17T00:31:34.733-04:00House of the Horde Teaser<a class="twitter-share-button" data-count="horizontal" data-via="Raggdollyy" href="http://twitter.com/share">Tweet</a><script src="http://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" type="text/javascript">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i51.tinypic.com/14ln2c1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="http://i51.tinypic.com/14ln2c1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">His grip was tight, stealing the breath from my lungs. Time slowed, and I unwillingly concentrated on every sensation. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div></div><div style="text-align: center;">I felt the tip of his nose as it searched my throat; his breath cold and erratic, almost desperate. Then, lips and teeth dragged against my skin. And the world stood still. His breathing halted, his mouth parting further.</div><div style="text-align: center;"> ~ • ○ • ~</div><div style="text-align: center;">To be continued in Fall/Winter 2011</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">~vV~~Vv~</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;">~^~~^~</span></b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-89991482112150431132011-06-25T10:34:00.001-04:002011-06-25T10:36:40.378-04:00Lions Eat Lambs visual<a class="twitter-share-button" data-count="vertical" data-via="Raggdollyy" href="http://twitter.com/share">Tweet</a><script src="http://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" type="text/javascript">
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<div style="text-align: center;">I'd recommend watching in at least 720p for great quality. </div><br />
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<object height="390" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mILIkiX3KtY?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mILIkiX3KtY?version=3&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="640" height="390" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Last year, YouTube deleted my account, AngryChckProductions. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Every video I ever uploaded was lost, and I didn't have a back-up on my computer because I deleted them, thinking I'd never need them 'cause they were online. So, I'm slowly re-doing some videos.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lions Eat Lambs is one of the first because it was the easiest to do.</div><div style="text-align: center;">It may be a little ridiculous to have a visual for a fan-fic, but it was fun, and it's nice to get back into a story in a different way. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I still plan on posting outtakes to this, and possibly a prequel. We'll see how this year plays out.</div>Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-73565079167001816912011-05-09T21:15:00.001-04:002011-05-09T21:17:35.134-04:00Kingdom of Rust • New Banners for May 2011<a href="http://twitter.com/share" class="twitter-share-button" data-count="horizontal" data-via="Raggdollyy">Tweet</a><script type="text/javascript" src="http://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script><br />
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I dunno. I felt like putting these up somewhere permanent because I like writing this fic, and I like making banners for it. <i>/shrug </i><br />
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I saw a Call of Duty: Black Ops picture, and couldn't help myself. I had to make a banner that focused solely on Edward. Even though we don't see a face, I think the portrayal of what this fic is about comes through.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i51.tinypic.com/qq8zo3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="http://i51.tinypic.com/qq8zo3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Another new banner comes out of Russia, by IrKos! They are using it for the Russian translation of this story, and I can't stop looking at it. I don't know how she did it, but it's amazing!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i52.tinypic.com/v4mcco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://i52.tinypic.com/v4mcco.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-76264590953461239672011-04-04T02:15:00.003-04:002011-08-17T00:28:19.021-04:00Kingdom of Rust ○ Teasers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i52.tinypic.com/fn4u46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://i52.tinypic.com/fn4u46.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Summary: </b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Edward Cullen and Alice Brandon rely on each other to stay alive in a post-apocalyptic world. Scavenging for food, scouring for water and pushing back unwanted temptation, Edward fights their battles with steel, fists and guns. But when he meets a beautiful, brown-haired girl at the edge of a lake, covered in blood, he's not ready for what's to come.<br />
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Wanting to know that she's alright after she runs away from him, Edward convinces Alice to help him find her, but they are both unaware of what dangers wait for them on the trail they follow because there is no greater monster on Earth than mankind.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">AH / OOC / Rated M</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>Teasers from March below the cut.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a name='more'></a> <u>March 7th Teaser</u><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">The kingdom of rust yielded plenty of opportunity to inflict violence, and this time was no different.</div><div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">“We're not looking for trouble,” Alice said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">“Well, y'all've got trouble whether you want it or not,” Demetri said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Alice met me at my side. I felt her fingers slip underneath my forearm as she spoke again. “We're just trying to get home."</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">“You hear what I hear, Felix?”</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">“Fear.” He began to eye Alice in every way fathomable. He wouldn't be able to stare at her if he was missing his eyes. The idea was intriguing. “One of my favorite things.”</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">His words erupted in my head. I knew the tone and gestures. It was the same the others had used before him when they wanted her. “You<i> will not</i> touch her.” My arm was in front of Alice, a barrier between them and her. She clung to me and breathed deeply into the back of my arm. I could barely make out her warm breath under the layers of clothes I wore, but she wasn't silent – not when she was afraid.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">They chuckled, and began moving like two weak, stumbling predators. I wondered how I looked to them. Did I appear weak? I felt it, now. The pack on my back was heavier than usual. There must be some reason why they would even think to engage a heavily-armed man. I concluded that they were like everyone else; desperate. Even so, this wasn't a fair fight. Even with the lack of sleep, I would win, easily.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">“Boy, I say you're pretty outnumbered. Why don't you leave her here with us. Now, we'll take awful good </div><div style="text-align: left;">care of her,” Felix said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">“Hell, if you leave her here with us then we'll let you pass on by without a problem and forget this little incident ever occurred!” Demetri grinned for the first time since he slithered out from behind his tree. His teeth weren't any better looking than his friend's; black with rot.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">If any human could snarl, I did.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I pulled my Glocks from their holsters; a gun for each man aimed at that little spot right between their eyes. My fingers tightened on the triggers, and the sudden fear on their faces made me smile. “Now,” I said, “you're outnumbered.”</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">I wasn't the man I once was. I could feel it as I lied there holding her in my arms. I wasn't as strong as I used to be. I didn't feel as agile as I once felt when I was a man with direct purpose. Time had changed everything I knew about myself and brought out my weaknesses. Perhaps the lack of food played a part in my demise, or it was the injuries I had sustained during our travels.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div></div><div style="text-align: left;">Regardless of the apparent changes that consumed me in every manner, I persevered, however painful.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I tried to lose myself in the darkness. There were no movements between the trees, no distant sounds to distinguish or interpret, just the dying sizzle from the charred wood a few feet from us. And behind that was an awful silence that coated the thick forest. Had the world always been so silent? Was life always so still, or was it an aftermath of war; a result of what we had done to ourselves?</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">My memory didn't extend back to such a time. I had lost those thoughts in gunshots and blood – mine and others.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I was glad. I didn't want to remember. Not now, or ever again.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I tugged the hem of the blanket, framing it around my neck, then pulled Alice closer. Her warm steady breath collided with mine. She was all that mattered, now. I would die for her friendship and trust. Perhaps she was the only person left that would trust me, and if that was the case then I was a fortunate man. Others should be so lucky to have such a friend.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">A speck of hope, that old promise I had always held onto, lit up the dark, and caused me to smile. And when I finally closed my eyes on the world, for the slightest moment, if only for a moment, I felt at peace.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">○ ○ ○ ○ ○</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our eyes met as her voice trailed off into the distance. Her footsteps followed the echo, and before she could bring herself to cease her steps she was met with my pistol pointed at her face. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
She stopped then. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Seeing her hurt more than the fresh memory that played over and over in my head. Tears formed in my eyes, blurring the world around me. I blinked, and felt the tickle slide down the side of my cheek. My body was heavy, ready to dismiss what needed to be done. My extended arm faltered slightly, but I righted it, waiting for her to move towards me, waiting for her to push me over the limit. I was strong enough to stand. I couldn't show my weakness.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
“Give me one good reason not to kill you,” I said, teeth clenched. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
She shuffled at my words . Did she understand my intention? Did she see the violent thoughts slide across my face?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
I pushed her to answer me. “Hm?”</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
She said nothing! I closed the distance between us, introducing the barrel to the pale skin of her forehead. “Cat got your tongue?”</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
“Stop. Please." </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
Her heartbroken plea rattled me, stung my chest with a new pain. Why was she doing this? Why was she here after what she did? </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
“What do you want!?" I screamed at her, wanting to fall to the ground in agony. "What more could you possibly want from me!?” </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
New tears met my jaw as I doubled over, finding I didn't have the strength to endure after all. “HAVE I NOT GIVEN ENOUGH?!”<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">○ ○ ○ ○ ○</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">I was sick with anxiety. What would we find beyond this yard? Would we find her? I wanted to run across the grass and pull open the door, but Alice pulled me back before I could take that first step.</div><div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Her blank stare clearly expressed her disinterest, reinforcing her comment moments earlier, but I couldn't, for the life of me, overwhelm my desire to know who was in that house. Could it be the girl?</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">“It'll be fine. I won't let anything happen to you,” I said as I peeled her fingers off the arm of my uniform, and began to walk to the front porch. I readied myself for anything that might decide I'm a threat, putting a hand over my pistol at my side, and mentally tracing my hand to the M16 slung over my back.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The life that surrounded the property retracted as I stepped closer. Silence formed around us. I knew I was being watched. I could feel eyes hammering against my heart, and every movement that I made screamed at me to go back to where I came, that it was a bad idea to push on.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">“Stop where you are!” A male voice echoed from inside the house. It was hostel -- an intent to injure, or possibly kill.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I was right. We should have turned back. We should have continued on; passed by this place, ignored it completely. I should have listened to Alice.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-56182255100543323102010-06-03T14:19:00.007-04:002011-08-17T00:35:56.725-04:00Teaser Thursday<a class="twitter-share-button" data-count="horizontal" data-via="Raggdollyy" href="http://twitter.com/share">Tweet</a><script src="http://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" type="text/javascript">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://thepoisonappleblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/teaser-thursday.html#more" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="http://www.theyrecoming.com/extras/pumpkins03/apple-big.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I know that it has been a while since you have heard anything from me regarding updates. I'm a fail author, what can I say?<br />
<br />
I haven't been with it these past few months, and for that I apologize. I don't have a lot of readers, but those who do read, I am very grateful for it. I can't begin to tell you how much your comments and love, even recs, mean to me. <br />
<br />
While I'm writing these stories to please myself, and my personal taste, I hope that some of you find something that you love about them, too.<br />
<br />
Under the cut is a teaser to each of the things I'm working on, including the new stuff! Most of you already know about the all-human fic that I'm writing titled <i>Screaming Color</i>. There is also a bit of <i>The Red Hourglass</i>, the Darkella one-shot that I'm writing. And as always, Horde and LEL make an appearance. I hope you have a wonderful Thursday, and a great weekend! If you have any questions, let me know. I'll keep you posted on when I'll be updating on <a href="http://www.twitter.com/angrychck">Twitter</a>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">♥ - Raggdoll</div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i48.tinypic.com/2lwruo0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i48.tinypic.com/2lwruo0.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b> -- <span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Chapter 9: </span><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">A Curse Most Retched</i></b><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span>--</div><div style="text-align: center;">• • •</div><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5COwner%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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<div class="NoSpacing">It was a horrible thing, this place. I didn’t know whether to scream or babble like an insane idiot, but either option was mind-numbing. The past couple of days were considerably better than the first, if that is even possible. At least, no one has tried to eat me. </div><div class="NoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="NoSpacing">Jasper, as promised, was there whenever my roommates and I had to be moved. I don’t know what came over me, but I went along with the shuffled movements that the line I stood in made. I mostly kept to myself in and out of the room, except when I was spoken to, though I only wanted to be left alone. I ate my meals, brushed my teeth, and did what was asked of me, like a “good little human” (that’s what I overheard them saying). </div><div class="NoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="NoSpacing">It was pointless to fight. Edward had shown me that. I felt like a scolded child, a child whose mother was disappointed in them, rather than upset which is worse. But I knew I held an advantage. None of them seemed to be interested in me, except the one that I hated most of all. I never saw him the past couple of days, but it was as though I could feel his eyes on me. I felt the same spine-tingling chill ran through my body when I woke in his room a few mornings ago; that same eeriness.</div><div class="NoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="NoSpacing">I never wanted to admit it, but I favored Jasper over any of them. I preferred to have him around me, even though he was just as cruel. But he offered me a gift that I couldn’t refuse. His power wouldn’t take my thoughts away from me, just the intense feeling of that shook me when I refused to let go and simply exist with the rest of the women. I was happy to be rid of the stress for five minutes. </div><div class="NoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="NoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">• • • • •</div><div class="NoSpacing" style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i45.tinypic.com/2198cus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i45.tinypic.com/2198cus.jpg" /></a></div><div class="NoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">--<b> <span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Chapter 5: </span><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">A Human Counterpart</i></b> --</div><div class="NoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">• • •</div><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5COwner%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">“Something is missing,” Edward said as his fingers bounced along the book spines on the shelf. Without looking he pulled one out then took a peek at its interior. It didn’t amuse him. He tossed it over his shoulder and it landed with a loud, shuffled thump on the floor. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">He continued to walk down the parallel lines of the bookcases, his fingers always on the old columns. He pulled out another, took a peek, and then tossed it over his shoulder once again. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">They were always found.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Two books flew off the shelf by his hands. They soared across the library and hit the wall with an astounding thud. The scent of the old books – centuries old paper and the crisp, metallic ink – soared from the rustling pages. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">He un-characteristically allowed his eyes to close for a long moment while he paced. His fingertips dragged on one of the glass casings that contained one of his favorite specimens. He stopped and turned to the preserved head; its obsidian pigment his salvation against the dull ache of repetition. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">He stared for a long moment. “Perhaps a favorite?” He seemed to ask the article. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">“Yes,” he chanted to himself repeatedly as the thick heels of his shoes collided with the floor. He pulled the book from its rightful place among his collection and he held it up high above his head with a full smile. “A favorite, gentlemen!” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">The title on the spine was faded, its gold flecks a reminder of what once was. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i>Dracula.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><i></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><i><o:p>• • • • •</o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><i><o:p><br />
</o:p></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i41.tinypic.com/15n3khv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i41.tinypic.com/15n3khv.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><i><o:p><br />
</o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><i><o:p><b>-- <span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">A Darkella one-shot</span> -- </b></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><i><o:p><b> • • •</b></o:p></i></div><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5COwner%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hammers and nails. A breath of illustration. The moonlight against his skin. It paints a beautiful picture in her mind. Blood has tainted the blue, but it is her favorite color. She loves wearing red. She loves seeing it pinned against the iron will of her victims because it is not their choice, it is hers. She has the control – the power. She loves having power.<o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His pupils widen and his chest is stricken as she finds a pace in the small room, finding a way to cause his heart to race. A slow, steady rapping coerces his breath to quicken and for a moment it staggers, a brief interrupt from a moan of displeasure into the barrier at his mouth. <o:p><br />
</o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;">She doesn’t want him to speak yet.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i48.tinypic.com/xc53ds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i48.tinypic.com/xc53ds.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;">• • • • •</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;">-- <b style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Excerpt</b><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">from prologue</b> --</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;"><i>(If you want to know more about this fic, you can check it out a few posts down on my blog. This is my first all-human fic, and while it may seem angsty and heart wrenching it is considerably lighter than my previous. I'm very excited to write this one.)</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 12pt;">• • •</span></div><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5COwner%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Time has slowed yet life remains the same. In the turbulence of these past few days comes a new form of life, one that she has not known. She feels it now as she stands under the bare, blue sky. It is misery that has faltered her, and death that has given it. It is not something that she understands. She simply is. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">It is nearly <st1:time hour="12" minute="0">noon</st1:time> this day of July. The Phoenix air agrees. The black material of her blouse clings to her body where perspiration has formed. The dry air penetrates into her lungs, causing her thirst to flare against the strain of her tears. Not far away, under a tree a squirrel gathers a kernel, proof that life continues even after death has come and gone. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">• • • • •</div>Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-61542993281701583452010-05-19T00:11:00.003-04:002011-04-04T15:17:02.715-04:00Random Inspiration<div style="text-align: center;"><b>SO YOU WANT TO BE A WRITER</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>by Charles Bukowski</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">○ ○ ○</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">if it doesn't come bursting out of you<br />
in spite of everything,<br />
don't do it.<br />
unless it comes unasked out of your<br />
heart and your mind and your mouth<br />
and your gut,<br />
don't do it.<br />
if you have to sit for hours<br />
staring at your computer screen<br />
or hunched over your<br />
typewriter<br />
searching for words,<br />
don't do it.<br />
if you're doing it for money or<br />
fame,<br />
don't do it.<br />
if you're doing it because you want<br />
women in your bed,<br />
don't do it.<br />
if you have to sit there and<br />
rewrite it again and again,<br />
don't do it.<br />
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,<br />
don't do it.<br />
if you're trying to write like somebody<br />
else,<br />
forget about it.<br />
<br />
if you have to wait for it to roar out of<br />
you,<br />
then wait patiently.<br />
if it never does roar out of you,<br />
do something else.<br />
<br />
if you first have to read it to your wife<br />
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend<br />
or your parents or to anybody at all,<br />
you're not ready.<br />
<br />
don't be like so many writers,<br />
don't be like so many thousands of<br />
people who call themselves writers,<br />
don't be dull and boring and<br />
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-<br />
love.<br />
the libraries of the world have<br />
yawned themselves to<br />
sleep<br />
over your kind.<br />
don't add to that.<br />
don't do it.<br />
unless it comes out of<br />
your soul like a rocket,<br />
unless being still would<br />
drive you to madness or<br />
suicide or murder,<br />
don't do it.<br />
unless the sun inside you is<br />
burning your gut,<br />
don't do it.<br />
<br />
when it is truly time,<br />
and if you have been chosen,<br />
it will do it by<br />
itself and it will keep on doing it<br />
until you die or it dies in you.<br />
<br />
there is no other way.<br />
<br />
and there never was.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">○ ○ ○</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">I just wanted to share this with all the writers out there. This is what I live by as far as writing is concerned. </div><div style="text-align: center;">It is love.</div><div style="text-align: center;">♥</div>Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-39516407459259302382010-05-17T08:21:00.002-04:002011-04-04T15:17:28.102-04:00For Writers •The Character Chart<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ktcr50ymp01qzkawzo1_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ktcr50ymp01qzkawzo1_400.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>I was cruising around on the blogs that I follow and while looking on <a href="http://ladyalisstories.blogspot.com/">Lady Ali's</a> latest entry, I noticed she had a helpful little link for writers.<br />
<br />
Boy, she's not kidding! I've always wanted to do this but never really knew how to get it started. But now it's all laid out into a nice list. The only thing you have to do is answer them.<br />
<br />
Check out the <a href="http://www.epiguide.com/ep101/writing/charchart.html">Character Chart</a>! You won't be sorry!<br />
<br />
Here is another one that I just found (by accident, actually). It's pretty much the same thing, only it is more multiple choice. The first chart is five pages, and this one is eight pages. I would recommend looking at both to see which one is more suited to your tastes. <a href="http://www.writeedge.com/writing/character_worksheet.pdf">Second Character Chart</a>.Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-32143000917033341882010-04-28T19:52:00.003-04:002011-04-04T15:17:57.843-04:00Lions Eat Lambs ○ Chapter 5 Teaser<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-UjWPtXCU329bEkLuRUeNI-pFC_z8MEkm-2kINlFmptordFrpeHHOFprMlmgNgEr8p4gMLMmr8JnzpiNSoLtB5RjmPhorVHmyeIDwWK9iGL-Lf3JmiZjE79jmzkgWtxIvxDjxCGhDmU/s1600/LEL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM-UjWPtXCU329bEkLuRUeNI-pFC_z8MEkm-2kINlFmptordFrpeHHOFprMlmgNgEr8p4gMLMmr8JnzpiNSoLtB5RjmPhorVHmyeIDwWK9iGL-Lf3JmiZjE79jmzkgWtxIvxDjxCGhDmU/s400/LEL.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Chapter 5: A Human Counterpart</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>(un-edited)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">○ ○ ○<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">He watched her disappear into the tree line under the failing light of the sun. His heart was heavy with guilt at the sight. He had helped to do this. He had helped to kill the unsuspecting victims, and this girl, who gave him her unknowing trust, was no different. Her chances of making it out alive were slim, unless it was the hunter’s wish. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">He gripped the heavy drapes and pulled them together. Emmett quickly turned from the window to Edward who was stepping briskly into the room. He couldn’t hear it but he knew that Edward was whistling. His puckered lips and the bounce in his step were the only hints. He never knew the tune that he would sound to himself, but he knew it was present. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Their eyes met through the soundless space as Edward tilted his head to the side. His smile was fading. He raised his hands to speak to Emmett the only way he could. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b>You feel sorry for her.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Emmett responded quickly. His hands only fumbled slightly. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b>No.<o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b>I may not be able to hear your thoughts, but I can read your face. <o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b>Maybe you’re going blind. <o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Edward smiled at him, amused.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><b>Don’t worry, my friend. Your time is approaching. <o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><b><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m looking forward to it.</span></b><br />
<br />
Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-81074855684899923892010-04-24T19:36:00.004-04:002011-04-04T15:18:17.226-04:00House of the Horde Banners<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaPDiUUZIin8M6A9lR65lEcWLCfk8FRfFoiUUnzM_byppSBVsbGXJDta4X5Lxvc32INOzO4KZLmbTimqzbg_zh_1-pxkTzxgpfngNh9eQkfRIov-TFnb_txQQZQsLmZbin-ytaVoUUDY/s1600/HouseoftheHorde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyaPDiUUZIin8M6A9lR65lEcWLCfk8FRfFoiUUnzM_byppSBVsbGXJDta4X5Lxvc32INOzO4KZLmbTimqzbg_zh_1-pxkTzxgpfngNh9eQkfRIov-TFnb_txQQZQsLmZbin-ytaVoUUDY/s640/HouseoftheHorde.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Smaller banner</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i44.tinypic.com/2qjhpvs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="94" src="http://i44.tinypic.com/2qjhpvs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-45494362178717793572010-03-22T18:59:00.003-04:002011-04-04T15:18:40.202-04:00Lions Eat Lambs Trailer<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1Wv-5djRZDI&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1Wv-5djRZDI&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-37440169254657060632010-03-20T22:02:00.001-04:002011-04-04T15:19:23.362-04:00Lions Eat Lambs • Chapter 4 • Teaser<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0T04UzstXpi3DzraNnYeVXot9UT3p6dsHY3jaP-0cIRVtGaiP7axHVg3aj3-ouIgMqpcX1znbuCVe-3a1qVnf09WTAkjnON5mdGO6daIu1RkHRceBx5keBamX04-03VJQuZGyWoogEfc/s320/LELbanner.jpg" width="284" /></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Lions Eat Lambs</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>chapter 4 • raw teaser</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b> • • • • • • • •</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><br />
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">He was right. Her hair against the light material was painstakingly beautiful. It matched her porcelain skin. He wondered what it would be like if he were to run his finger across it. Would it be smooth? If it was, how long would it withstand the pressure of his bite before it gave into him and the blood flowed? </div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">He took a step; it was a whisper. He flinched. He couldn’t. He had decided to hunt her. The decision had come to him earlier when he was pacing in front of the empty fireplace in his chambers. He had rapped the notion of killing her while she slept, but it would be easy. Too easy. He had given it up long ago when the mere brush of human flesh no longer excited him. </div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">He took another step, convincing himself that he wanted to take a closer look at the human lying in his bed, in his borrowed clothes; the human that had smiled at him while looking in his eyes. </div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">He took another step. It had been too long since anyone had offered him anything but pure terror. Did the girl not know death when she saw it?</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Another step. Perhaps true terror wasn’t known to her. There could be explanations to why his eyes were red, and he recalled her going over excuses in her mind. None of them crossed anything supernatural. </div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">His thighs silently grazed the edge of the bed. He wanted to touch her again, to feel the expanse of her skin under his fingers. But to touch her would be to kill her. His thirst was immense, and set fire to every vein that existed within him. He wanted to taste her blood. But, alas, to taste would be to kill, and he wasn’t ready for her death, yet. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-79585137433187597092010-03-18T16:42:00.004-04:002011-04-04T15:19:48.228-04:00House of the Horde• Chapter 8•Teaser<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkiDCpRrbAywi_qQbtEDkO5nUMCTCL9Yi1rB18pA1Xw6cbZyAy_N7jx2Vwqvm0yRWS8MfQTuiJFt2OAT6M58D3aesigbestbTC4a0roZAO5tZyqt6voFuaKyxywQtqW4BJIDXMX0H0fPg/s1600-h/hoth1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkiDCpRrbAywi_qQbtEDkO5nUMCTCL9Yi1rB18pA1Xw6cbZyAy_N7jx2Vwqvm0yRWS8MfQTuiJFt2OAT6M58D3aesigbestbTC4a0roZAO5tZyqt6voFuaKyxywQtqW4BJIDXMX0H0fPg/s400/hoth1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>HOUSE OF THE HORDE</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>chapter 8:</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>the temperaments of wild animals</b><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I'm still trying to piece together this chapter because I wrote it out of order and broken up. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>But there is one part that makes complete sense to me, so I'll post it here and now.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I want to thank everyone for being so patient for me while I've worked out my kinks.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>This is short, but it's all I can offer as of right now.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The chapter will be posted soon, hopefully by this weekend.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>No comment is required. I just want you to know that this story is still alive. haha </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>--xoxo--</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>• • • • • • • • </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">It was unnatural, unreal, and I thought that maybe I was dreaming. That, perhaps, everything I had experienced was an illusion. Things like this just don't exist. They couldn't exist.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">Vampires were no more real than an abominable snowman, or the Loch Ness Monster. They were mere speculation by people who believed in fairies or magic. Those people were trying to convince other that there was more mystery in this world than we have yet to sort out.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">If they had asked me a few months ago, if they had asked me if I believed in the supernatural, that by chance vampires exist, I would have said no.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">But now, after seeing it, and feeling it - feeling the teeth of this creature penetrate my skin, and the burn in my arm from it's kiss - I can say that I believe in unseen worlds of unimaginative lore. I believe in vampires. <i></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
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</div>Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-52334973728919175332010-02-16T12:27:00.004-05:002011-04-04T15:20:32.064-04:00Lions Eat Lambs • Prologue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9nlIl2bwZnzUODuUVqtifgy5DuivbcPf-SCbe-XBjkTHjqwqGjZtOs-Y4Hm_TSOFro8l-2pVGmNDmmfq4UkRXQgBMMjXXLMCJM1voG_j862E0FoZMrLzi-MZm738pQup3uNPPOn7_nc/s1600-h/LionsEatLambs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt9nlIl2bwZnzUODuUVqtifgy5DuivbcPf-SCbe-XBjkTHjqwqGjZtOs-Y4Hm_TSOFro8l-2pVGmNDmmfq4UkRXQgBMMjXXLMCJM1voG_j862E0FoZMrLzi-MZm738pQup3uNPPOn7_nc/s320/LionsEatLambs.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Prologue to a new story I will be doing. </div><a name='more'></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Smoke filled the small room as the three bodies shifted continuously. Chief Jasper Hale sipped his hot, black coffee from his plain styrofoam cup, then puffed his cigarette in anticipation. He sat across from a young woman, who appeared to be in her mid-twenties. She wasn't beautiful but he figured that she would be on any other occassion. But now, she appeared as horrid as her ripped dress and soiled face. Her eyes were blood-shot with dark circles encompassing under her lids. She hair was stained and matted red with what he assumed to be blood. Specks and streaks splayed across the skin of her hands and neck, the blood mixing with the dark pigment of mud. Her bottom lip trembled with chills and fear, as if she had seen an apparition from the grave.</div><br />
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Behind her, Detective Demetri paced the confines of the room, filling two corners one at a time over and over again while holding a Marlboro between his index and middle finger. It had been several minutes since he had inhaled and the cigarette was in desperate need of tapping. Chief Hale motioned for him to begin. <br />
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Demetri stepped to the table and reach around from behind the young woman and pressed the record button on the small device in front of her. <br />
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"Let's begin," Hale said. He took a long drag of his addiction and exhaled the smoke after allowing the fix to linger momentarily. He had quit smoking years ago but started up as a release after many people had disappeared from the city, never to be heard of again.<br />
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The woman let out a ragged breath. "Where do you want me to begin?"<br />
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"Just start at the beginning. Your name and age would be good."<br />
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"My name is Bella Swan. I'm twenty-three years old."<br />
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Hale flicked the accumulated ashes into a glass tray that sat beside his notepad. "Why are you here tonight?"<br />
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"Because I know what happened to the thirty-eight people that have gone missing."<br />
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He leaned forward a bit in his chair, his bared forearms grazing the table. "Is this a confession, Miss Swan?"<br />
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"No."<br />
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"Then, how do you know what happened to them?"<br />
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A tear rolled down her cheek as her fingers fumbled together. "Because I was going to be number thirty-nine."Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3909196133167382159.post-91777764612902671142010-02-05T12:53:00.002-05:002011-04-04T15:21:09.419-04:00The Constitution of a Brilliant Work of Fiction<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://eaesthete.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/facebird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kt="true" src="http://eaesthete.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/facebird.jpg" width="222" /></a></div><b>What makes or breaks a story?</b><br />
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<i>(Please remember that this is personal opinion only and is not a warrant of professional advice.) </i><br />
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What contributions are responsible for making a piece of fiction exceptional? Does the artistry solely lie in the writing or does a story need more than fancy words and a plot?<br />
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Personally, as a reader I am looking to be captivated within the first few paragraphs of a story. The first paragraph of a work is the most important. It will determine if someone will continue reading what you have written. It should set the tone for what to expect throughout the entire story. Most people won't even read an entire paragraph. They'll only read the first couple of sentences because they know that they will get the information they need from it to decide whether or not to spend their time on countless chapters. You'll probably spend more time on the first sentence than you will on any other part of your story. I've re-written my first sentence to my original fiction more times than I care to count. Yes, it is <i>that</i> important, I assure you. The only more crucial part is the title because that is what intiates interest.<br />
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Having said that, how does that make you (as a writer) feel? Does the prospect of having so much rely on one or two sentences scare you or do you see it as an opportunity? If there is one thing I've learned, it's always leave room for growth. You should view this as a great thing! Why? Because it's challenging! I don't feel that writing should be an easy process. If it's easy, you're doing it wrong. My entire first piece of fiction was easy and trust me it sucked! But a great piece of work isn't solely based on the first sentence. (Duh!) That is only a tiny part. Once you suck in a reader, how do you keep them from "flouncing"? There are several things, actually.<br />
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1.) <b>Plot.</b> Believe it or not, plot is cruicial. Shocking, I know, but we can't just throw words together that have absolutely no meaning at all and then call it a fiction novel. No, my friends, because this is what is called an <i>autobiography </i>and we're not writing one of these. I'm quoting a weird reference here, but as the Mickey character said in the movie <i>Bedtime Stories</i>, "Where's the arc?" <br />
<ul><li>To me, a great story needs an arc, or something to keep the story moving forward or perhaps put a twist on it. Now, I'm not saying to load up the story with juicy drama, clap your hands together and say, "Done!" For the love of all things, BIG TIME unnecessary drama only hurts the initial purpose. So, just say<i> NO</i> to that one<i>. </i></li>
<li>More than anything, the story should keep moving forward at all times. There are so many pieces that I have read that have such potential and then for some reason or another, the plot comes to a stand still. This is usually when unnecessary drama takes place, that has absolutely nothing to do with the storyline what-so-ever and leaves the reader with their hands lifted to the side, their shoulders tight and their mouth gaped open after saying, <i>"WTF was that about?"</i> Stay on point and don't stray from the initial task of why you began to write in the first place. </li>
</ul>2.) <b>Characters.</b> Another shocker. I'm full of them this morning. Perhaps the most integral device to a wonderful story is it's rememerable characters. You are the Creator and they are your minions that carry messeges to the reader. If the character doesn't have a message to convey and is only mentioned once, then I don't want to know their name because it's unnecessary information (ie, <i>Breaking Dawn</i>). Things to keep in mind when developing and writing characters.<br />
<ul><li>Ask yourself, is he/she necessary?</li>
<li>Keep in mind that a character always wants something, even if it's just something to eat or drink. So what is it that he/she wants? </li>
<li>How will this character add to the plot?</li>
</ul>3.) <b>Realism.</b> This is probably the most difficult for me to explain. I'm not talking about <i>not</i> indulging in a fantasy situation with mythical creatures. By all means, please indulge! But the elements within the situations need to be carefully measured against the characters, surroundings, and plot. There is nothing more disturbing than reading something unrealistic to the story then rolling my eyes. Unfortunately, my faith in the author drops dramatically after this. <br />
<ul><li>Dialogue should be true to the character. Remember that each character has a different voice and not all of them should sound the same! Read and re-read outloud to see how it flows. If it doesn't sound right, then it probably isn't. Think about who he/she is (ie, their background - how they grew up, what has happened to them that would make them the way they are today, etc) and work it into the tone. Everything that surrounds them - past and present - will effect their voice. </li>
<li>What about the situations? I flounced one piece of fiction not too long back because something happened that made me *eyeroll* so hard that it nearly hurt. I won't say which one it was because that isn't very classy of me but let's just say this author embarrassed the main characters so much that I felt sorry for them, more so than necessary. It was just bad and when ever I think of realism, this fic always comes to mind and stands as the absolute no-no of the fan fiction world. </li>
<li>Actions. Make sure your character doesn't do something they wouldn't normally do, unless they are being redeemed. And let's not forget that not every character should be redeemable. </li>
</ul> Your readers are smart and a little bit of research goes a long way. I was on a fan fiction forum not too long ago and read a rage post about stories that add name brand shops and cafes into the city where they take place but aren't really there. For example, someone said that there is NO Starbucks near Dartmouth College, yet authors kept placing their characters there. The person that raged about it stopped reading the stories that this situation was contained in because it was trying to put an unrealistic stretch into a true place. Some people don't like name brands added into the stories if there isn't one in the town/city you are basing it in while others don't mind. That particular situation is really a judgement call, but research, if anything, is a useful tool that you can derive ideas from.<br />
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4.) <b>Grammar/Spelling.</b> Most of the time, you will have someone read your work before readers see it but some people (including me) don't have the patience for betas. I'm an instant results kind-of girl and will not wait around for a chapter to be beta'd while writing fan fiction. If I want something done, I want it done right then. It's amazing that I can actually read fan fiction at all because it usually consists of waiting for updates. Anyways, sorry for the small tangent. Always re-read your work and correct it to the best of your ability. Spell check is your BFF...sometimes. Other times you just wish it would stfu. When there is a spelling or grammical error it interrupts the flow and then the reader has to go back and re-read to pick back up. Even if you do work with a beta, re-check your stuff. But sometimes, there is going to be a mistake no matter what. And you know what? A small error every now and then is okay. <br />
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Even though I just said all this crap just remember one thing, be true to yourself and write what you know and love. Don't try to please people because it is impossible to please everyone. Don't change your characters because a few people don't like what you have written. You just do you because someone out there will think you are great! <3Raggdoll of Twilighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15072205937949298544noreply@blogger.com0