Welcome to my blog, brought into existence because I believe in the power of stories. I hope you'll find a few things you like here. Let me know what you think and leave me any verdict, suggestion, challenge or request you want.
This is actually the novel I was working on when I joined Blogger, but my skills weren't/aren't enough to complete it. It is set in what I now believe is the Western Kingdom, counterpart of the Eastern Kingdom where my cycle about the three brothers was set (It's in the story list for those who don't know it and got curious ;)). Anyway, it was always my intention to make a short story version for children out of the first chapters and I did. I actually finished it hoping I could give it to Matthew Funk, who has an awesome fundraising project to help the survivors of the Japanese indescribable catastrophe;fairytales for Japan, but I haven't heard back from him and I'm not very patient with not publishing something finished. It's a vice, I know, can't help it.
The story is suitable for all ages, but targeted at children, so I'd appreciate any feedback on whether or not you'd tell this to your (future) children, so I can mend it where needed. I hope to post it on another blog - still in progress - for kids.
And sorry if I'm being terribly slow to respond lately, it's been awfully busy. I really need a break... (from life, so I can finally get my stuff finished and catch up on things that are important).
I'm just posting this video here as a sign of support. The person who made it, Shane Dawson, is a rising Youtube (and soon to be TV) star trying to make it big. I think all of us on Blogger can relate to that, especially the writers, ;). Anyway, I've been a loyal follower of Shane's Youtube channels for over a year now, he's one of the main reasons I joined Youtube which was a big step in preparing to join Blogger (another wink) and I think he's really talented with all things visual and I think he really deserves to finally get a proper reward for all his endeavours, so...
Oh, and I'd love (read: intend and will not take no for an answer) to do some projects with him sometime. He doesn't know that yet because I'm still working things out and haven't contacted him, but when I do, he better agree or I'm just going to stalk his ass. Really. (Shane, it's unlikely, but if you see this, be prepared, I'm not kidding.)
I'm putting this up because after three years of intensive Youtube acting and writing sketches and a bunch of other stuff, he's finally about to have his own TV-show. In order to convince a network to go along with it, he could use 'the power of the internet' for some convincing digits. Since he asked all of his followers to help and spread the word, I kinda just jumped on the bandwagon here;
I, for one, would love to see the show. So there.
Shane is someone I really admire - well, most of the time - and can sympathize with. Basically, we're going for the same things through different means and now he's about to achieve his goal, I'll be glad to do what I can to help.
I wish him all the best. And you guys too, of course. But once again, I wanted to do a brief introduction and started babbling on... Enjoy the spring, I think it went to my head already ;).
Author’s note:some of you may already know this story – I posted it quite some time ago on HubPages, so I’ll probably get sanctioned for double-publishing – but despite having posted a link in the list page, there wasn’t too much inter-traffic between this blog and my hubs account, so I’ll post the story here as well for all of you to read. Especially since it’s been so long since I’ve posted something non-poetic (though I did write a lot… Don’t ask, it’s complicated). This is a clear example of what I (and other people?) call ‘21st century romanticism’, which I really love and feel at home in. Anyways, I digress yet again; enjoy ;).
The Witch of Dreiden
She was never in a hurry, but always on the move. They’d see her darting across the streets of Dreiden. She does not linger and she never speaks. It made them wonder.
Dressed in an ankle-long moss green gown. Never was she seen in anything else, come rain or shine. As if she stepped out of a long forgotten fairytale and is not aware.
Her face hidden in the hood of a dim greyish cloak, held together with a pin in which those brave enough to go near her, mean to recognise the emblem of the Pagan Trinity.
From time to time, mostly at dusk, she was spotted bobbing through the village holding a bunch of white flowers, which later turned up somewhere in the graveyard, yet it was certain she had no ancestors among our dead.
No one had ever seen her eat, or drink, or sleep and not a soul knew where her house was. If she lived in one. A few believe she lives in a cave, like a dragon. All that could be said, was that she dwelled the woods. That was as far as they had managed to track her, before she disappeared.
Her name was unknown. Some said it was Mary, others called her Beth, at least one believed it to be Lilith. She would respond to either one with a complacent nod.
She was very beautiful, in a mystifying way, and of a disposition so dreamy, it was almost childlike. Chestnut brown hair she had, waist-long and thick as a carpet, and the deep, gleaming eyes of a wolf. She was rumoured able to see in the dark and reported running with packs. Several drifters went as far as to assert having seen her fly through the air.
Her smile was, to say the least, mysterious, her gaze hypnotic. It led young men of the village astray, luring them into the woods at night and into the swamps. Some say the witch had killed them. Their bodies were found occasionally, mutilated to such a degree that it was certain the witch had fed on them, our sons.
She is known to the oldest and wisest of the women, respectable and virtuous from the first to the last, as a bringer of catastrophes. Floods were her specialty.
Wanderers claim that at nights of the full moon, they can hear her voice resound through the forest, that she’d be singing. On such nights, she would bathe in the river, causing the water to rise. And surely, heavy rains would fall.
Whenever showers threatened to make the streams of the valley overflow, the old wives would bring baskets of bread, cake and honey to the edge of the forest, peace-making gifts for some offence on the part of the village.
No one was ever seen collecting them, but the next day, all would be emptied. Naturally, afterwards, the rain would stop.
It was a generally held notion among the elders that whomever spoke ill of her, would die in the course of a month – it was proven many times among their fellows – and so would those sacrilegers who dared hunt inside her woods. When scorned by an individual, a basket would no longer suffice to save the poor soul. She’d smite him with sickness and calamity.
Despite having never uttered a word, she was known to be fickle. She held the pass to the nearest city, the great Danbourg, and those who did not pay her toll, would return no more. Nor would some who did.
As to what she was exactly, opinions were divided. She was called a demon, a vampire, a succubus but the majority held her for a witch. It was often discussed at council meeting if they shouldn’t dispose of her – like had been done before in other towns –but in the end, they dared not. It was especially the question of her possible immortality that made the leaders afraid to push a decision that would incite her wrath against the village. All were anxious. Surely, she was one who lived untouched by time. If they failed to kill her, her vengeance would be eternal.
Never did her appearance alter. It was said, over pints in the cafe or muffled in church, that the fathers of grandfathers had claimed to have seen a strange young woman from the forest, even in their own time. The stories were passed on through the generations and were remembered clear as daylight. More culturally developed among us, swore to discern her silhouette in ancient paintings. She must nothave aged a day. It could not possibly be otherwise.
Whatever she was, the girl was devilish.
Something had to be done. It was decided. For their children. The annual bonfire of San Marc was coming up. This year, they would personally invite her – for the first time in village history – and keep all foreigners at bay. Poke the flames up higher.
It was decided. They would never talk of it again.
These are from my 18th year, when I just started college, which was one big disillusionment all-round, so that could be in there. There’s something easy about interpreting a former self: anything goes and no one questions youe authority, though you’re groping in the dark. I’m just guessing here, at the order I put the poems in, too. I found them in alphabetic order, grouped per year, so I don't exactly know when they were written within that year or which came before which.
This one is the first poem I wrote in English since I joined Blogger. It's from 5/11/10 and was on the poetry page for some time - so you may have already read it - but I took it down with the rest to rework the page. So here it is again. It's pretty short and simple but I like it.
This one is more or less the same style as 'The Gift's Curse' (my oldest poem in English from when I was 14), but I think it's the youngest of the two, but not by much difference. Can't be sure though, it's so long ago. My older work kind of makes me blush with embarassment, I wasn't sure I'd ever post these anywhere, but what the heck, they're part of process that led me to where I am and I vital one at that.
This one is a bit difficult for me to categorize. None of the labels given really fits completely with what I have in mind. It's all at once and neither at the same time. Name it after whichever layer you prefer (I'll gladly take suggestions, feel like I forgot a few labels, labelling is a loathed part of internet writing, isn't it?).
This one was written at the same time as 'Phoenix' and finished minutes before. Guess that makes them twins, lol. Anyway, it was just a day after (possibly the same day, memories go hazy that quickly) the elegiac set, when I was still pretty sick and pumped up on stuff to get through classes. So yeah, again, I blame the pain killers. I suppose it is a bit weird.
For insiders (aka residents of The Coffee Shop), I could've called this poem 'an ode on the Rise of the Cult of Mass'. That would make him 'The Beast'. He doesn't visit here, so there's a pretty good chance he's never going to find out and I'll get away with it ;-).
Without further ado... (btw, the song was one of the inspirations. So were my much adored Romantics. And a bunch of other stuff, but I won't keep boring you with endless lists.)
The Awakening of the Beast
A magical cry
splits the tiresome sky
yonder, it howls with thunder
puts the wildest seas asunder
setting mighty Heavens aflame,
the ground from which it came
shall shake and quake.
The beast will reign, shed
smouldering ash and dust from its mane
under its unearthing paws the ground will crack bring long-forgotten legend back from what had turned drought skeletons shall spring and sprout - eyes wild, flesh tender -
deny their surrender
and wolves in awe and fright
from all around call forth the night.
Suggestions, feedback, criticism (esp. on what doesn't seem to work) and pointers will be very much appreciated.
PS: yes, I'm aware I may have 'overdone' it with all the monsters, but in the horror genre, I just have too many illustrations to choose from. It's a deformity...
Parry me, bury me, in lines of old interred in fire, let from the pyre, my body evaporate my name expire that everything else might eventually, take flight on wings of gold.
Author's note: I wrote this poem last week, a day after the elegiac set and together with another, longer and pretty weird one that I'll post here soon. I'm not going to explain it, that would largely ruin everything. Hope you like it ;)
I have some things to settle. Alright, firstly, I was given the Versatile Blogger Award by Taylor, which I’m very grateful for, so thanks a bunch, girl! ;)
And in the mean time, I also just got the award from 7ladybugz, so thank you ladybug, as well :).
I think I’m making everyone happy in skipping the boring speeches... Once I’m on a role, I just can’t stop myself (for an illustration, see the ‘about me’ page, LOL).
Alright, this award comes with a few requirements, so let’s get to it then:
- Thank the person who gave you the award [check, :D]
- Share 7 things about yourself
- Pass the award to up to 10 other versatile bloggers
- Let those other bloggers know you gave them the award
I guess I’ll need to share things about me... Actually, I was glad I already had something scheduled for yesterday, so I had an extra day to think about this, but here goes (yes, I spnd two things considering this and only came up with that :S):
1)I have terrible difficulty sleeping at night. Mornings make me extremely drowsy, which is no good to me since my falling asleep moment practically coincides with my frigging alarm clock.
2)My star sign is Virgo.
3)I have a shark phobia – except to me it isn’t a phobia, but a fully rational fear – because of which I haven’t been more than knee-deep in the sea in many years. I also think twice about going near rivers and lakes, just in case...
4)Oh, I don’t like spiders very much either. I don’t want them anywhere near me and since I don’t want them dead for my sake either, will take desperate measures to avoid any collision with them whatsoever.
5)I dislike book covers where the author’s name is printed larger than the title.
6)I really hate the cold and am seriously considering running off someplace hot for the winters if I can afford it one day.
7)Though nobody knows about it and I don’t have them by the dozens in my room or anything, I have a thing for snow globes. I think they’re absolutely brilliant.
There. And yes I spent all night thinking about this...
And now, last but not least, my nominees (at least the ones still left that haven’t already gotten it from someone else after putting this off for so long) for the Versatile Blogger Award are... *drum roll, spot lights start roaming about the room and the ‘20th century fox’ theme starts playing*:
This is another in-thread competition entry that I hadn't posted yet. This one was for the 6th edition, which was finally won by Hannah, who gained her second in-thread victory smacking us all with her incredible skill. She's usually the first to enter too. Don't ask me how she does it, it is beyond me :D.
My entry was slightly inspired by watching the clips for Kanye West's 'Monster' and The Lonely Island featuring Nicki Minaj's 'The Creep' one too many times... That and a late fall-out of Robert Browning's macabre poem 'Porphyria's lover' (which was the google search that gave me the image below).
challenge
once again to write an entry of no more and no less than 150 words containing 5 target words (the ones in bold). For this edition the target words were:
"She looked lovely, no question, she did. She always had, as long as he remembered. He looked at his own reflection and shuddered, smoothing his greasy hair. It stuck to his skull, spiking up here and there. Beneath it a face chiselled by angels, but only with Parkinson’s.
She, however, a creature of marble and ocean shades. He carefully wrapped the form’s arm around him. It slid away listlessly. Even in death she would not have him. Her very beauty fled from him, no matter how he strived to preserve it. He brushed her cheeks with rouge, did her hair, clipped her nails, all to no avail. Her mouth turned more to a grimace every day, a taunt. Like the condemning gazes of the common people.
No one had but words of horror in their vocabulary for his relationship. Prejudice... So what if she was dead and he her brother?"
Since I hadn't put this up yet and I'm busy today, I scheduled this story. It was my entry to the 5th edition of the in-thread writing competition in the Blogger Help Forum (aka 'The Coffee Shop'). I suppose most of you who are active in the forum and participate in the contests have already read it, but for those of you who haven't, here it is.
challenge
write a story of exactly 150 words containing these 5 obligatory words (the ones put in bold): dictator, troop, riding, questionnaire, penguin.
"The new dictator promised his people that he would lead them to victory. The masses were jubilant.
He set off to pound at foreign gates still contemplating one thing: his Arms for the troops. He needed a predator that would inspire trembling in his enemies and still be original. Lions, wolves and tigers, they had become banal. He wanted something fresh to dress his soldiers up as. They would march upon capitals like the animals themselves, mimic its roars making a racket that would incline the boldest to surrender before even a drop of blood was spilled. Their fierceness would be food for legends.
Riding his horse, he thought long and hard, but could not make up his mind. In a fit of brief democracy, he gave out a questionnaire.
A servant handed him an envelope, which he eagerly opened and was taken aback.
