Are People Drawn to Violence? *A Rant*

Are people drawn to violence?
I don't mean the age-old wives tale that video games cause violence. I mean... after examining much of the entertainment available to us, there is a trend of violent behavior that lurks beneath every story.
This is something I've been contemplating for a while. One of my family member's favorite TV shows are The Walking Dead and Game of Thrones. On the basis of those alone, my question still stands. Are people drawn to violence? Specifically, are people more likely to watch a movie or TV show, or read a book if they know someone is going to die? Both of these examples had built-in fanbases before they got their start on TV, and from what I understand, The Walking Dead had an incredibly intricate story in which death was not the main focus, but more of an occupational hazard of living in that world. Whenever it made it's transition into TV, however, the material strayed far from the graphic novels and is basically now violence porn. Yet people still tune in religiously. The same goes for Game of Thrones, although after reading the first two books in comparison to the first two seasons alone, the amount of violence is pretty similar. Yet people have been reading the books for years.
The unofficial motto for Game of Thrones fans is don't get too attached. Author George R.R. Martin is famous for killing off beloved characters, and the show's directors/producers seem just as bloodthirsty. The difference is, The Walking Dead (TV show) amplified the amount of gore each season so as to outdo themselves from the season before. Game of Thrones has always been saturated in violence, both on the page and on the screen, yet it's television fanbase keeps growing. It's so natural and expected that we're desensitized to the horror of it.
I'm not exempt from this either. One of my favorite shows is Supernatural. As of I think it was season twelves, with twenty-three to twenty-four episodes per season, there are something like five episodes in which someone does not die. Meaning it is more unusual for no one to die in an episode than it is for someone, even an unimportant side character, to wind up dead. For me, I know I'll probably continue watching because I've learned to love these characters and admire their development. Is it the same for the other shows? There's, like, a dozen people from the first season that are still alive in the current season. *Spoiler* That's including ones who have died and been brought back to life. Yeah. Wrap your head around that for a second.
I know this has turned into a rant, but at times it disturbs me the levels of dehumanization we are willing to endure in order to be entertained.

-Grace

Nerdforge

You guys...
YOU GUYS!
You have got to check out this woman on YouTube. Her channel name is Nerdforge and I just watched her make a freaking SPELLBOOK with real freaking leather! The nerd in me is going absolutely crazy right now. I love her setup, I love the way she just goes at it with a few tools and some tutorials by her side. And she's just like, "Yeah, I didn't have the proper book binding tools to do this part, but I YouTubed it and just followed that instead." Badass.
Just go watch her. :)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8MrqRHu2Es

-Grace

30 Day Writing Challenge: Capricorn

(Photo courtesy of http://klairedelys.deviantart.com)

For today's challenge, I had to do a little research on my zodiac sign and whether I thought it fit me or not. My sign is Capricorn, and while reading up on this, I was pleasantly surprised by what I found. According to some sources, a Capricorn's strengths include ambition, loyalty, responsible, patient, and resourceful. I can tell you right now that I am fiercely loyal. But some of their weaknesses include being dictatorial, "inhibited," conceited, distrusting, and unimaginative. There's another word for that. It's on the tip of my tongue... Oh yeah! Military! Aside from those things, though, Capricorns are strong friends with a mind for leadership. They often seem melancholy and stern, but it's not because they're angry; their minds are always turning over something. That I can relate with. But I've also read that Capricorns see things as either black or white, "one way or the highway" type mindset, which I know is inaccurate for me. What I've basically gathered from my browsing Capricorn topics is that they are very cautious and can be control freaks, they like structure and come off as introverted. But ambitious? Unimaginative? Hello, have you read my blog? I write fantasy! Why don't you tell me to my face how "unimaginative" I am.
I guess with these horoscope things you have to take what you want and leave the rest, like a buffet. I wonder what the history behind the zodiacs originates from. I know they're based off constellations, but after looking at the constellations, I have to ask myself, "How does that look like a goat? Or a half-breed fish-mammal thing?" I do not understand the zodiac signs, but it was interesting researching mine. Also, if you want a somewhat different perspective, the YouTube artist Klaire De Lys did an entire makeup series on the zodiacs, and they are awesome! Check out her YouTube channels below:
https://www.youtube.com/user/KlairedelysArt
https://www.youtube.com/user/KlairedeLysdotcom
https://www.youtube.com/user/MalumiOfficial

-Grace

30 Day Writing Challenge: Something You Miss

Hi guys. You guessed it: today's writing challenge is about something that you miss. Now, when I hear this, it makes me reflect on certain memories with sadness, and because I feel like a lot of my posts have been melodramatic lately, I want this one to be something happy and uplifting. So I am altering the challenge to "Something you miss and how you plan to fix it."
Number 1. I knew in high school that I wanted to be a writer, and so during those four years, I wrote my butt off, spending hours in front of the computer, not watching YouTube but actually writing. I remember the joy I got from that. While my activity hasn't really increased or decreased since high school, I would love to get back to writing with the intensity I had just a few years ago. At one point I had a notebook which I literally took with me everywhere and was writing in all the time. Maybe a new notebook is something I should invest in. Thus far I've been using old composition notebooks or mini notepads, but it's not the same. So I guess I need to get myself a notebook and also work on getting the story info in my head down on paper.
Number 2. I've been dancing since I was five-years-old, and when I decided to take a break from my studio, I was at first relieved. It had gotten to the point where I wasn't that thrilled to go to dance; it felt like a chore. Getting out of my studio was nice at first, but the love I still had for dance, despite taking a break, was still there. When going to the gym, I would spend the majority of my time doing ballet stretches or claiming one of the racquet ball courts to practice turns and going down the floor. This past semester has been awesome because I was finally able to take a dance class at my college, and I loved it! I know now that dancing isn't something I can really go without. It's a part of me, and even if it's in an informal location, like the gym, I need to make time for it.
Number 3. A clean room. How can my room go from Pine-Sol clean to where's my carpet in less than two days? I used to be so good at keeping my room clean. Now I seriously considering rearranging my entire room just so I'll have the chance to put everything away eventually. Right now I've shoved all of the clutter to the center of my room so I can sort it out and deal with it tomorrow. But there are a disturbing amount of spider webs on my walls, and as cool as I find spiders, my room is not an Arachnid halfway house. Sorry, Charlotte.
Number 4. You know what I really miss? Picking up a good book because I know I will be engrossed in it. There are books I would reread in a heartbeat; I've reread some of the Harry Potter books multiple times, and there was a phase in my life where I was devoted to all things Twilight. I'm over that now. I would willingly go back and read something like Wizard's First Rule or The Screwtape Letters again, but I kind of want something different. Don't you just hate it when you read a book you thought was going to be good, and then it's just... just? I hate that. I stopped reading the Lorien Legacies series because it got pretty meh. I'm considering starting the Outlander books, or maybe Inkheart. Are there any good standalone books? It doesn't have to be a series.

-Grace

30 Day Writing Challenge: Movies

Oh, here's a fun one. On the agenda today is a list of movies I would never get tired of watching.

1.) Coming in at number one is Nosferatu. My dad and I were fortunate enough to catch this movie playing at an old theater where they had brought in a musicians from an ensemble from New York to play live music during the movie. Needless to say, best date ever! Not only is this an incredible taste of the silent movie era, but it is also a shining example of a proper horror film. You can laugh at the funny face on the cover, but this movie is legitimately scary, and with live music, it easily takes the place as one of my favorite movies.

2.) Forgive me for being a '90s child, but I didn't think the 1998 Godzilla movie was that bad. My dad is a fan of the old films starring the King of the Monsters. However, I think the most recent release of Godzilla may be my favorite. I liked the approach they did with the guy in the military being the min eyes and ears of the film. To me, it made it more relatable than a geeky scientist who studies worms and had his heart broken by his college love interest. Plus, the movie was interspersed with nods to the classic films, like Doctor Serizawa and the kid with the red ball cap.

3.) Dial M for Murder was the first Hitchcock film I ever saw, and I was hooked right away! I love his style, the slow building, the intelligent dialogue, and he has this way of holding the camera that makes it appear as if someone is watching you. Very cool. Although it would be cool to see remakes of some classic Hitchcock, like The Lodger (another silent film), I suppose no one can really copy or imitate the Hitchcock style.

4.) This one is not a movie, but I love the BBC show Sherlock. I watch the episodes over and over again, mostly because I'm a huge fan of the books and I always see something new whenever I watch them.

5.) Narnia is in a category all on its own. You can only approach such ambitious, beautiful work such as C.S. Lewis with the greatest care and the highest respect. This movie is one of the most beautiful sources of fantasy you will ever see.

6.) Finally I have a TV show that I used to watch faithfully: Leverage. A show about a bunch of stand-alone criminals who band together to fight for people who can't fight for themselves, this show had a nice balance of comedy, intelligence, and intrigue. And drama. It was on TNT for a while, and you know... they know drama. I like rewatching these episodes a lot, whenever I have a day off, no school, no guests... just me and the TV. All day. Marathon, baby!

There you have it! My list of movies (and some TV shows) that I would never get tired of watching.

Journal Entry #13

Hey! Sorry I didn't post anything last week. It was a bit hectic with work and getting everything ready for school, but I'm back. Just an update, actually, is I've submitted my last little excerpt, The Lewis and Tolkien Library, in a contest on Inkitt. I fully expect no one will read my story, but why not? If you feel so inclined, I would really appreciate if you could drop by and read my story and vote for it. Or, if you don't want to do that, the story is also here on my blog. Scroll in the archive until you find The Lewis and Tolkien Library.
Here's the link to the contest: http://www.inkitt.com/wanderlust
And I definitely encourage you to read some of the other stories on this website. They are simply wonderful!

-Grace

The Lewis and Tolkien Library

Jason ran a hand along the shelf, touching each book binding fondly. He liked this world, this... Del Terra. And though Lord Ivan and Lady Larissa were not especially welcoming, Isha had shown him the beauty of her world, the one which to him literally been one page-turn away.
But now it was time to go home. Jason had seen to the end of Isha's story, or at least her family's story. The kingdom out of harm's way, the elves pacified, the insurrectionists imprisoned, and the villagers working together the best they could to mend their broken and tattered city.
"I thought you'd be here."
Jason turned, unsurprised to see Isha in the doorway. For a moment he thought she looked sick, but then realized she did not give off the golden hue he'd become so accustomed to. Isha, gentle, glittering Isha, could bend light to her will and quite unconsciously her body was usually surrounded by a halo that glowed against her cocoa-colored skin.
She swayed in, seeming to float across the floor. "Are you leaving?" she whispered.
Jason nodded.
"Back to your world?"
"I'm not allowed to stay. It could disrupt the... continuum," he offered, though that last part didn't sound right. He really couldn't stay in this world, not even to continue the story. Jason sighed. His hand itched to grasp hers, but at the last moment drew it up to his chest, as if wanting to rip the words from his chest and lay them bare before her. "If I don't go back," he said, "I'll never be able to know what's supposed to happen. I can't come back until I know that, or just my presence could alter everything."
"Will you return?" Isha asked suddenly. "After you... oh, how did you say it? When you know what happens? Will you come back then?"
Before he could stop himself, he said, "I can try."
Isha's lips spread into a breathtaking smile. She looked like she wanted to embrace him, but such were not the customs in Del Terra. To Jason this world was medieval in many forms, with bits of Greek mythology thrown in to keep it interesting. Whoever had written it into existence obviously had a thing for griffins, dragons, that three-headed dog that guarded the Underworld, and really... big... castles.
"I hope you can find me in the next..." Isha hesitated.
"Story," Jason finished for her. For someone living in a medieval world with its medieval thought-process, she took the news of being a fictional character surprisingly well.
"Well then... how do you go back?"
"Somewhere in this room is a door for me. Your book, er, uh, this place's book, it should be open on the other side. That's how I get out. The book will literally open a door for me, and I'll just... disappear."
Jason.
The voice came from everywhere, like wisps of smoke billowing from the shelves.
It's time.
"It's time," he said aloud. He took a step but Isha grabbed his arm. He tried to smile, to reassure her if he could. "Don't worry. I'll be back soon. I promise." Quickly he swooped in and kissed her forehead, then turned to where a doorless entryway had materialized upon the stone walls. Jason followed it's path, somehow lit although he wondered if Isha had anything to do with that.
His hands grazed either wall and he marveled at the texture. They were rough this time, unsanded like the materials that made up the castle. Much like when he'd first arrived, this tunnel changed with every new book. He'd walked through doors of wood and steel and water and dust, but this one... this stone... yes, he was sure he would return to this hall again.
The end of the tunnel appeared just as if it had been there the whole time. He could see the room on the other side. His grandparent's library, where all his books had eventually lead him again.
But then something happened. The doorway began to melt away, becoming smaller, though it wasn't warped like with wax. It was severe, like a burnt page. And then he smelled it. Something was burning. Jason hurried toward the other room, and then he saw it. The book, the one he was in, just outside the doorway. It was on fire. And as the pages were burning away, so was the doorway. So was the story.
The story was being destroyed.

(PS: The picture is called 7b by 25kartinok on DeviantArt http://25kartinok.deviantart.com/art/7b-426570544 )

Journal Entry #7

I'll bet you thought I wasn't going to post this week. Hah! Negatory. I said I would post two to three times a week, and it is still within the week.
I appreciate Sandy and Mark for commenting on my posts. Thank you guys! I love reading people's comments.
This post is actually a reminder to myself to post something else later today. I saw a picture on Pinterest yesterday that I absolutely loved, so I think I'm gonna post it and then write a little paragraph about what I think is happening in the story. This post holds me to it. Also, I'm reading a book called Medieval Mars: The Anthology, a sci-fi/fantasy e-book which I will post a review about as soon as I finish. It was co-written by Mark Venturini and Travis Perry, both of whom I collaborated with on Colony Zero. Since then, though, Mark has been publishing the sequel to his mid-grade novel Whispers from Forbidden Earth, called Blood Tithe. I've read the first few chapters and of course it's phenomenal. I would expect nothing less. Travis, as I understand it, put together the idea for Medieval Mars and then asked a bunch of other authors to contribute. They were each given the basic idea of the planet and culture and then wrote their own stories taking place on different parts of the planet. Cool, huh? Once I finish the book, I think I'm gonna ask some of the authors for interviews. If they say yes, I will probably post one of those weekly.
So that's what's happening today. Lunch, work, home, Pinterest Picture Story, Medieval Mars, bed.

While I'm gone, you should check out these other authors, also contributors to the Medieval Mars project:

• Adam David Collings
• Jill Domschot
• Kat Heckenbach
• Cindy Koepp
• Donna Gielow McFarland
• Allison Rohan
• Kristen Stieffel

-Grace

Jounral Entry #3

(Safe Haven by Nicholas Sparks)

 
How many Nicholas Sparks books have been adapted into movies? And of that number, how many have at least one person who dies in it?
I rewatched the trailer for The Longest Ride yesterday, and apart from a serious flashback to The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly, the movie actually looks really good. But I couldn't help asking myself, "Who's gonna die in this one?"
If you don't see my point, let's take a moment to look at Nicholas Sparks's novels-turned-movies:

• The Notebook -They both die in the end.
• The Lucky One -The husband dies.
• Safe Haven -The ex-husband dies.
• The Last Song -The dad dies.

Suffice to say that while I still do want to see The Longest Ride, I'm hesitant because I know someone's going to be offed by the end of it.
But as I was thinking about all of this, I couldn't help comparing it to other books-turned movies, or either entertainment medium in general.
Let's have another look, shall we?


(The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling)

• The Fault in Our Stars -Gus dies.
• Jurassic Park (the novel) -John Hammond dies.
• The Little Mermaid (the book) -She dies.
• The Hunger Games -EVERYONE dies.
• The Lunar Chronicles -Garrett, Grandmere, and Dr. Erland die.
• Dracula -Dead-ish.
• The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe -Jadis dies.
• Pretty Little Liars (the first book) -Toby dies.
• Little Women -Beth dies.
• The Jungle Book -the one wolf dies.
• 80% of Grimm's Fairy Tales -People be dead. Very, very dead.
• 90% of Disney films -Someone (usually one or both parents) dies.

I guess this is a long-standing a tradition in storytelling: someone has to die. From oral cautionary tales to Big Hero 6. Even I'm guilty of offing people in my stories. I wonder if it's supposed to be more of an art-imitating-life kind of thing. It may be that the character or characters represented a symbol or a specific person to the writer, like Hedwig from Harry Potter representing Harry's innocence. It could very well be that the death of each character tries to show how the protagonist deals with death, and how they try and recover from it.
What do you think? When you read about a death, or see it in a movie, how does it effect you/the character/the story/the environment?

-Grace

Journal Entry #2

I've had this idea floating around in my head for a while, an idea for a Halloweeny ghost-type story. Although the only thing categorizing it as "Halloweeny" would be the ghosts, I don't think I would want to shoot for the horror genre. Ghosts would just be a significant presence in the story. What I'm thinking is that the ghost of a person will reflect what they were actually like on the inside, not what they physically looked like. For instance, an abusive husband or boyfriend would have these exaggerated sunken eyes and gnarled joints to reflect his true nature: someone evil, someone repulsive and scary and dangerous. In real life he would have looked nothing like that. Or, say, a man or woman in a hit-and-run whose ghost form reflects a sort of tattered appearance, but with soft hands and gentle features, because that person always went out of their way to help people, even at his or her own expense.
I don't know what the actual story could be. I don't think people are often hit with the entire story at once. It's more like stringing together bits of ideas that come like ribbons on the wind, until they create a whole chain of ideas that become a story.
What do you think of the concept? Ghosts that reflect a person's true nature. Would someone finally see them? Why? Have they always been there and are now fading away? What if the ghosts are for those who need to seek repentance, and the fact that there are less and less of them perhaps means either more people are finding salvation before they die or that salvation is becoming harder to attain.
Discuss.

-Grace

"De Vil May Care"

(Photo of actress Anna Popplewell)

“Where’re my cigarettes?” barked the Staff Sargent. The two Sargents outside his tent straightened automatically, but he caught their weary glances. “Boys, what is wrong with this picture?” Staff Sargent Lenore held up his empty hand. “Well?”

Sargent Phillips did not hesitate. “No cigarette, sir.”

“No cigarette!” he yelled. “Do you know why?”

“No sir.”

Staff Sargent Lenore turned to Sargent McCall. “You know why?”

“No sir,” responded McCall.

“Because it takes six guys twelve weeks to approve my orders to go to New York, meanwhile I’m stuck camping out in the middle of…” He looked around at the trees surrounding the campsite, the white-grey rocks and mossy ground. “Phillips, where are we again?”

“Lithuania, sir. About ten miles east of the Russian border.”

“Eh, figures. We’re probably camped over some holy relics, is that right, Sargent?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“Well while I’m here disturbing the mojo or whatever you want to call it, Base still ain’t processing my orders for home.”

Phillips frowned, confused. “And that’s why you don’t have a cigarette?”

“Sure don’t. McCall, you’re not doing anything. Go find me a cigarette. It’s about time we moved out of here anyway.”

“Yes, sir.” The Sargent walked away, clearly happy to be relieved of standing outside Lenore’s tent all day.

Lenore took a swig from his canteen and then offered some to Phillips. “You heard from Andrews?” he asked.

Phillips took a quick gulp and handed the canteen back. “No sir. Not since yesterday.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Should we send someone to make contact?”

Lenore paused. “If we don’t hear by the end of the day, we’re moving out.”

Just then Corporal Dean waved from his look-out point at the cleft of a rock.

Lenore rushed to the base of it. “Dean?”

“Movement ahead, sir. One person, looks like a kid.”

“How far?”

“Six meters, maybe less.”

“Bomber?” Lenore wondered.

Dean peered through his binoculars. “I don’t think so, but won’t know for sure till they get closer.”

“Yeah, or we do.” Lenore grabbed Phillips, who had followed him. “I want you and Thumper on that. If it’s a friendly, bring him back here.”

Phillips nodded. He didn’t need to be told what to do if the trespasser wasn’t a friendly.

Lenore waited at the base of the rock, watching Phillips and Thumper’s retreating backs. He even saw the rabbit’s foot Thumper carried –hence the nickname- swinging from his pocket. Eight men had been stationed at this campsite, including Staff Sargent Lenore. Phillips and McCall had graduated BOOT Camp together, and had somehow managed to stay buddies through their careers. McCall had been working at a desk, though he was good at what he did. Dean was a small arms expert. Trayl –or Thumper, as they called him- a typical soldier. Clovis, Bunnerman, Lipinski, all of them had worked well together. All of them had been deployed before. Only Lenore had seen action. And of the six soldiers who stayed behind while their brothers ventured into Lithuanian territory, none of them spoke. Silence rose from the moss like vapor, seeping into their skin and chilling their bones. Lenore swept his gaze through the wooded area that was visible, searching for any signs of movement. His ears strained for any signs of… anything.

Dean, focused through his binoculars, waved his hand down at Lenore. “Three approaching,” he said. “Phillips’s in front. The kid’s behind him. There’s Thumper, too.”

A sigh of relief rushed from Staff Sargent Lenore. No matter how long he was in the field, no matter how trite the orders, he didn’t think he would ever accept that they were truly safe, that they were good enough to be safe. All it took was one moment to not be safe. One hour or moment could always be your last. Lenore was just glad he had survived this one. “Good work, Dean.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Lenore stepped around the rock just as Phillips that the others came into view. “You bring me back my cigarettes?” he called.

Phillips laughed. “I thought that was McCall’s job.”

“Hey!” called McCall with a mocking glare.

Phillips pushed the newcomer into their camp perimeter. “Lackey for Andrews,” he said. He was grinning, and in a moment, Lenore understood why.

The lackey was a girl.

Lenore coughed down his laughter before it could erupt from his chest. He cleared his throat. “Staff Sargent Lenore,” he said, extending his hand.

“De Vil,” she answered, but then blushed, as if she’d spoken too soon.

“Miss De Vil. Why is Andrews making his secretary send messages to active soldiers in the field?”

“I’m not his secretary!” she exclaimed. Huh. British. A long way from home, he thought. Then again, so were the rest of them.

“Oh, sorry,” said Lenore. “Are you his, um… personal assistant?”

McCall and Bunnerman erupted in laughter this time, but Miss De Vil only glared as if she’d heard it all before.

“I’m not Andrews’s personal anything, but I will gladly report back to him and let him know that you and your band of idiots are wasting his resources. Do you think those orders for New York would go through then, Staff Sargent?”

Lenore went silent for a few moments. De Vil indeed. “Step inside my office.” He gestured to the tent and Miss De Vil entered first.

“I don’t suppose these will help lick your wounds?” From her pocket she produced a box of cigarettes and tossed them to Lenore.

He caught them reflexively, glanced at her, and then popped one out of the box. He offered it to her.

“No thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“Your loss. So what does Andrews say?”

“The Master Sargent said to prepare your men to move in tomorrow morning at first light. That means you should leave well before daybreak and use the tree line as your camouflage. It’s going to be cloudy tomorrow, an added bonus. His men will be waiting for you just outside the gate. He can take over from there.”

Lenore surveyed De Vil with a mixture of trepidation and… well, no, mostly trepidation. “Is that all he said?”

“And also to bring back his cigarettes.”

Lenore laughed around the item in question. “Sorry, sweetheart, but these babies aren’t going anywhere.” He slid them into his breast pocket and gave a hearty puff.

De Vil barely flinched. “Shall I tell Master Sargent Andrews that you will meet his men tomorrow at dawn?”

“Sure. Why not?”

The girl nodded and then froze. She listened. “Get down!” Diving for Lenore, they hit the ground just as shots rang through the air and through the tent. Lenore heard McCall and Bunnerman outside, as well as the clean shots Dean was taking. One –two –three –fourfive –sixeseveneight…

De Vil rolled off Lenore and grabbed his sidearm. Crawling to the front of the tent, Lenore watched as the girl took careful aim –five whole seconds- and fired eight rounds. Three, two, then four. Foreign voices sounded outside the camp, but Lenore recognized Dean’s sharp bullets as they were practically magnetized to their targets.

The whole thing had lasted less than two minutes.

When all was quiet again, Lenore carefully turned onto his stomach and crawled next to the girl, peered out at the camp.

He saw no bodies, and none of his men appeared injured. Looking up, he caught sight of Dean, still on his perch. The man pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the woods.

Silence.

Cautiously, Staff Sargent Lenore emerged from his tent. His men gathered around, their eyes alert and guns poised.

“Dean,” he said. “What happened?”

“Sorry, sir. They were behind me. Didn’t see ‘em comin’.”

Lenore turned to the girl, who was carefully picking herself up. She gazed out at the woods as if seeing them for the first time. She looked like a child in a grown man’s uniform, dropped into the woods with only stories of snakes and mountain lions as her guide.

“Miss De Vil,” he said.

Her sharp grey eyes focused on him, and it seemed to take that action for her to find her bearings again. “Staff Sargent,” she said, her voice possessing a slight tremor. “Are you all right?”

“Thanks to you.” He extended a hand out. “What did you say your name was?”

The girl smiled. “Cruella. At your service.”

 

 

-And there you have it. Another short story via picture prompt.

"Stones of Peace"

(Sandrivishtai by http://dashinvaine.deviantart.com)

Her best friend lay on the warm stone ground, her blood seeping between the cracks. They had both been Guardians, keepers of the Stones of Peace. Now she was dead, her stone passed on. Tasha gazed at her through bleary eyes.... People had said they looked like sisters.

The brush of wind against her cheek, cold on this spring night, carried the scent of mint and pine. In a moment Jadeyn appeared from around the corner, out of breath, his white hair and leather cloak streaked with fresh mud. His eyes widened when he saw Reyna splayed upon the ground. Kneeling on her other side, his hand came to rest over Reyna’s forehead while the other pressed against her wound.

Tasha watched him numbly, knowing he felt no breath rise under his hand. Jadeyn looked up at her, but Tasha could only feel the hum of Reyna’s Stone in her hand.

Jadeyn closed his eyes and whispered something over Reyna’s body. A prayer, Tasha suspected. He opened his eyes again. “We must leave,” he said, helping Tasha to her feet.

She slipped the Stone into her bag. “I’m sorry,” she said, as if Reyna could still hear her. They knew they could not carry her body all the way back home; the weight would slow them down too much.

“Come on, Tash.” He pulled her by the arm and she fell into step behind him. But they had only just reached the end of the street when a Tarot Warrior stepped into the lamplight.

In one hand he held a serrated sabre that glistened like ink in the garish light. In the other he held Reyna’s robe. The robe each Guardian wore like a uniform, the one which symbolized brotherhood, unity, and honor. A Guardian stripped of their robe was stripped of their dignity.

Tasha could see the rips in the robe. The Tarot Warrior had torn it from Reyna’s body.

The Tarot Warrior made a face like a grin, but with features distorted by piercings and spikes, the expression looked perverted.

Before the warrior had time to blink Tasha pulled her whip-chain from her belt, still holding tightly to her bag with Reyna’s Stone. Jadeyn’s sai daggers were already drawn, as if some force had bonded them to his hands.

The Tarot Warrior let the robe fall to the ground.

Tasha attacked.

Her whip lashed out like a tongue of golden lightning, the snap ringing through the air. She gave her wrist an angry flick, setting the whip off again. Snap! Snap! Snap! With every lash she moved forward a step, but the Tarot Warrior did not. Tasha snapped her whip again and it curled around the warrior’s neck. But then the Tarot Warrior wrapped an arm around the whip and yanked it with a ferocity that brought Tasha on her hands and knees.

“Tash!” Jadeyn’s voice sounded far away.

Tasha gasped at having the wind knocked out of her. She tried to swallow, but her stomach would not contract. Distantly she felt her whip slip from her fingers and the Tarot Warrior stood over her, his distorted face blocking the light of the moon. His serrated sabre pressed against her cheek.

Something barreled into him and suddenly all Tasha saw was the starry sky. Managing to turn, she saw Jadeyn and the warrior fighting a short distance away. His sai clashed against the serrated sabre, but Jadeyn was a hair faster.

Tasha then felt the ground rumble. Finally catching her breath, she turned herself onto her hands and knees and saw, not far away, the horde of Tarot Warriors massing on the city. Tasha pushed herself to her feet. Jadeyn was forcing the Tarot Warrior into an alley, but Tasha pulled him back.

“They’re coming!” she shouted, pointing to the army.

Jadeyn growled and spat at the Tarot Warrior before following Tasha. They gathered the contents of Tasha’s bag, which had scattered when she’d fallen. Jadeyn yanked her to her feet again just as she swiped the last vial from the cobblestone. Running without pause, the Guardians fled to the chapel where lie in wait the remnants of their dying race.

(Well, I hope you enjoyed that, dark as it was. I decided to challenge myself today by using a picture as a writing prompt. This one stood out to me. It's not part of another story I'm writing [found it on Pinterest]. It just sort of... happened. Anyway, I hope you liked it.)

2015 Reading List

(Photo courtesy of http://thegospelcoalition.org )

Is it too late to make a New Year's Resolution? I feel like last year (and the year before that... and probably the year before that) I spent WAY too much time in front of the screen. Therefore I am determined to read at least three books a month this year. And, taking it a step further, I want to start writing more books reviews, too. Yeah, we'll see how well those go. But in the meantime, here's a list of books I want to read this year:

• Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
• Captivating by John and Stasi Elderidge
• The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas
• The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien
• This is Spain by Ignacio Olague and Walter Starkie
• Princess Napraxine by Ouida
• The Crystal Portal by Travis Perry
• Life in a Medieval City by Joseph and Frances Gies
• Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
• Dubliners by James Joyce
• Outsider by Klaire De Lys
• Cress by Melissa Meyer
• Winter by Melissa Meyer
• Castles of the World by Gianni Guadalupi and Gabriele Reina
• Ivanhoe by Sir Walter Scott

This is by no means a finished list. I am open to suggestions.

-Grace

"The Call" -A Cool new Blog

As preluded above, I've discovered another wonderful blog that I've added to my list of blogs to share. This one is called "The Call" and it is kept up by sisters/writers Willow Silver and Darrion Marine, and Ammelia Gabriella and Billie Catherine. There they post chapters of the books they are working on and devote pages to the characters introduced, among other things. Definitely take some time to peruse their site. It's intriguing to say the least.

http://willow-the-call.blogspot.com


-Grace

PS: You may have noticed the slight difference in font size. I did this because I've been noticing that it was even hard for me to read the "Normal" lettering on my homepage, and I wondered if it was hard for anyone else. Honestly, though, if I couldn't read the font size on a blog, I probably wouldn't visit it again. Hence the change. Hope it's a bit easier for people.

"Ursula's Tale" Parts 1 & 2

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RUMPLESTILTSKIN!!!!!!!!! After tonight's mid-season finale of Once Upon a Time, I have decided to finally post a little piece of fan-fiction known merely as, "Ursula's Tale." It's respective parts, ("Part 1," "Part 2" etc.) are separated by the asterisks (*). As we wait for March 9th to roll around, I hope you can enjoy the story as we discover new characters and the bonds they share with characters we already know. Please keep in mind that this is the first draft, so typos and whatnot should be expected.
All rights go to their respective owners. There is no infringement intended. Please don't sue me!

Ursula churned the sandpit with a tentacle, watching in morbid fascination as it curled and bubbled like a swamp. She imagined living creatures in the concoction, reaching up and gurgling, choking on the mush. The thought was oddly entertaining, like observing a first-time bass and swordfish encounter.
Just then, a loud crack echoed through the Black Castle, and Ursula looked up from the sandpit, eyes narrowing. CRACK, Crack, crack it went, off the walls, the ceiling, even the black waters trembled a whisper.
Suddenly Ursula's tentacle, of its' own accord, sloshed out of the sandpit, spattering her with wet sand as it slapped the ground. Ursula hissed and would have kicked the tentacle if it would have done any good.
CRACK, Crack, crack. Ursula's indigo eyes scanned the darkness that was not dark to her. A shadow stretched across the wall of another room alight with the afternoon hour, visible through a gaping doorway connecting the corridors. Ursula froze. His shadow? She wondered. Just his shadow? The thought made her blood run cold.
Voices, like string, wove in and out of the darkness, and more shadows crowded the wall, looming closer. "Don't be frightened," said one. His voice was deep and gentle, reassuring. "Here, step on the rocks like this. That's it. Come on, follow the leader." The figures belonging to the voices emerged, but they did not see her. Glaring, Ursula crept silently up the wall behind her, into a corner so dark that even the white of her hair would be camouflaged. She watched from on high as several boys explored the cave, peeking behind rocks and pretending to overthrow a certain hook-handed pirate. She noticed they avoided disturbing the water, as if doing so would awaken a dreadful sea monster. A smile slid across her lips at the coincidence; she continued to watch them closely. The tallest one appeared the most curious, or perhaps determined was the right word. No nook or cranny went unexplored, no corner escaped investigation. If Ursula didn't know any better, she would have sworn he was looking for something. And not with just the mild excitement of a child thrown into a treasure cove, but some inner fire drove this boy.
"Avast, ye scurvy dog!" shouted a small boy to another, both of them holding sticks as if they were swords.
"En guard," the other challenged.
"Take that! Arrg! And that!" They parried for a moment until one of them stretched too far, the other lithely stepping aside, and the former lost his balance, his momentum throwing him forward.
"Bae, watch out!" cried the lithe one.
But too late! The unbalanced boy tumbled into the tall, fire-driven one, sending them both splashing into an inky pool.
"Bae! Charlie!" A fourth tike with curly ginger hair stood just under Ursula, crouched by the pool, his hand extended in service. The small boy clambered out of the water first.
"Thanks," said the boy called Bae. But as he reached up to take the other lad's hand, he caught sight of Ursula plastered to the corner like a bat. His face paled along with the others' as they, too, realized the company they kept.
Slowly, eerily, Ursula crept down the wall with just her tentacles, surveying the boys with a cold stare as effective as any weapon. Finally her eyes rested on Bae, who had hoisted himself out of the water, and lingered there. Whatever trace of fear had been present a moment ago was masked by a level gaze, as if he were daring her to do them harm. She was impressed by his blunt courage, matching her stare every bit as brazenly as if she were a child and he the overbearing guardian.
"Greetings," said Ursula with a twist of a smile. She moved farther into the light, her actions slow and slithering. "Come now, it's rude to stare."
The company dropped their gazes, all but Bae. With practiced speed Ursula curled one tentacle around his shoulders and drew him nearer. If he thought his feeble boy-strength was anything in comparison with Ursula's lean muscle, he was quickly put to right. "I don't suppose you're here for the view," she said softly.
Bae glared defiantly. "Not quite." And suddenly he plunged a knife into her abdomen.
Ursula gasped and her tentacle flailed. She collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sharp breaths seizing her. Vaguely she heard those boys escaping, their shouts muddling into one great noise, reminiscent of an echo: loud at first but fading fast.

*****

Awakening at the bottom of the ocean, beneath the Black Castle, only the prawns accompanied her, wriggling into her skin and cleaning the damaged tissue where the knife still remained. Groaning, Ursula wrapped her hand around the hilt, sucked in a sharp breath, and then pulled.
The knife's crude edge bothered torn tissue, forcing Ursula to stop long enough to gather her courage again.
Once more, she willed herself. No more than that. Come now, grab the bloody hilt. Grab it! Now pull. Pull! Her cries were barely stifled by the water which went in and out of her body like a filter, bypassing her lungs. Every creature of the water for miles would have felt that cry. Even the prawns scurried out of view.
It was done. She unclenched the knife as her arm fell beside her, and just lay staring at the port hole leading to the Black Castle.
"Little buggers," she cursed. The words sent bubbles ascending. At that moment something dropped into the pool and landed near her head. Her first thought was that those boys had lingered after she had rolled into the water. Nevertheless, Ursula reached up and examined the curio, turning it this way and that.
It as a coin. Gold. A rare commodity here in Neverland. Most of the islands didn't have them, for they were not of this realm. But this was a calling card, as in he was calling.
Ursula considered leaving the pirate to his own devices, but she could never really refuse him. Not him. Summoning all her strength, Ursula flipped onto her hands and used the rock foundation to climb up, up, up towards the surface. When at last she reached the top, there he stood in all his unholy pillaging glory.
"Ursula," he greeted with a half-smile. One eyebrow arched suggestively. "You know, from this angle, you could even put a siren to shame."
"Killian." She rested her elbows on the floor's edge, too sore and --curse those boys-- weak to move any farther. Ursula flicked the gold coin up to Killian and he caught it reflexively with his good hand, slipping it into his pocket.
"What do you want?"
"I need a favor."
A favor for a pilfering charmer. "Of what kind?" she asked carefully.
"The magical kind."
"Killian, darling, if you wanted my heart, you had only ask."
That provoked a laugh from him. "Alas, my lady, yours is not the treasure I seek. Is there a way to communicate with someone over great distances, without actually having to meet face to face or send a letter?"
Ursula's eyebrows furrowed and she rested her chin atop her hands, thinking. "Mirrors can often be enchanted for such things. As long as each participant has one, it would be like talking to them through a window. Mermaids can carry messages, if you ask nicely. They're better than carrier pigeons."
"I'd rather not entrust a mermaid with this kind of information. And besides, if we can't discuss this like gentlemen, it will never be resolved."
"So meet him in person. Isn't it a bit juvenile to go through all these channels?"
Killian shrugged indifferently. "He trusts me about as much as I trust him. It'd best if we can converse without the... temptation of outright betrayal."
"Wouldn't want to tempt a pirate."
"Not when my ship hangs in the balance," he laughed.
But Ursula's mouth popped open. "You gambled your ship..." she said in disbelief.
Killian made a gesture of pause. "It's not so much a gamble as a... sign of good faith."
"Bloody hell," muttered Ursula.
"You needn't worry, love. Once I have what I need, the Jolly Roger will be as safe in my hands as the day I named her."
Ursula shook her head. There was a time when Captain Hook would have given anything to find the man who killed his love, Mila. From long conversations, she knew how hot that murderous desire burned in Killian's heart. Neverland had granted him little other than misery. That time had been put to rest, though it slumbered with the wariness of a cat, poised to awaken at the first sign of danger. There was also a time when Ursula would have made a similar sacrifice to have her revenge on the man who cursed her. Gambling the Jolly Roger was a risk too great to fathom, especially for the pirate, whose resolve to leave Neverland and kill Rumplestiltskin was so fixed and sure.
"Who in this world could possibly persuade you to put up your own ship?"
"Someone with the ability to cripple it with a single thought."
At first she could only stare, and then intuition shocked her brain into reaction. "No," she breathed. "Tell me you didn't. Tell me you're not putting your faith in that man."
Hook sighed, withdrawing near the wall Ursula had climbed earlier. "I haven't got much of a choice, love. We find ourselves in the unfortunate circumstance of needing one another."
"Whatever you need, I can get it for you."
"Not from where I stand. The mermaids are free to come and go through realms as they please, but they take their lead from him. I need something from another world, and the mermaids can get it for me."
"And in return, what have you promised him?" Ursula demanded, though she was almost afraid of the answer. As far as trinkets went, the pirate harbored many. Fallen victims, pillaged towns, and rich nobles had surrendered many an item to the rapscallion, but Ursula could not think of any thing that would be of much value.
Hook hesitated. "Nothing you need concern yourself with." When she didn't respond, he drew closer and knelt so they were eye to eye. "Please, Ursula," he said quietly.
Ursula locked her jaw and refused to betray emotion. She knew any attempt to dissuade Killian would be pointless, and in actuality, she ought not to be so concerned with the actions of the pirate. But it was the pirate's interaction with the one person in the entire mass of Neverland that she trusted less than Pan himself that caused her to fret.
The man who had cursed her.
Her father.
King Triton.
Still, despite how much she wanted to keep the two men apart, Hook was not hers to protect. "Come back tomorrow," she said at last. "I will have something ready by then."
Hook's smile was genuine, and he stood and bowed his head to her. Without another word, he left the Black Castle, his footsteps echoing softly into oblivion.

In Preparation

So I'm a little upset right now. After watching Once Upon a Time last night, I saw that next week they are airing an episode featuring Ariel. Consequently, they go into her background, it looks like, and it will feature Ursula. The reason I'm so upset is because I was writing fan fiction for Ursula for the Once Upon a Time world. I even posted the first part on here a while back. I meant to follow it up -because it was just too fun not to- but just never got around to it. Well, this is me getting to it. Even if Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis wrote their version of Ursula, I haven't written mine, and that is just not jive. Either tonight or tomorrow, then, I am going to post the next part of Ursula's Tale, beginning with part one and transitioning into part two in case people have forgotten or missed the first part or don't know what the heck I'm talking about. All are valid possibilities. Anywho, just wanted to get that out in the open. To the writers of Once Upon a Time, I am a huge fan and I respect you more than you know, but I am writing this because this is what I do. I hope everyone enjoys them.
Later!

-Grace

First Look

Here's the first look at the cover for my series, The Woman in Scarlet. The flower is a red oleander, which means "Caution" or "Beware." Intrigued yet?

To Deepen the Heart and Commit A Crime

So I'm writing a scene between one of my favorite characters and another guy. Thus far, the guy asked to look at a wound on the girl's ankle while she held a hunting knife firmly in her hand. She had stolen the knife and had been keeping it tied around her ankle, but she didn't have the sheath, so when she would sleep or walk, the knife would cut into her skin. Anyway, so this guy says the wounds are too "scabbed-over" to treat effectively with any kind of homeopathic medicine, so they're just kind of sitting there, enduring the silence. Then he complements her on her hunting skills, and she relates how she learned most of it on her own, but her father taught her certain things, like archery. It's a very touching/revealing scene because the character (the girl) is extremely reclusive, so the fact that she is talking to this person so freely without feeling conflicted or saddened is a huge step for her.
So that's that scene. But now I want to write this other one for the same story, just between three different characters, all of whom are crucial to the story itself. The first two, twin sister and brother, live with an innkeeper and his wife (very Les Miserables, don't you agree?). The brother is trying not to anger the innkeeper as the latter has a short temper. The former is sent to wait on a customer, who upon seeing him finds him very mysterious indeed. (Think of the scene in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring where Frodo glances over to the corner and sees Aragorn, cloaked with his face hidden in darkness, the embers in his pipe illuminating his eyes briefly as he waits.) What I'm getting at is the sister is blamed for a crime she didn't commit and she and her brother flee with this Aragorn-like traveler. What I'm stumped on is the crime. What should it be? The story is set practically in the Dark Ages, so stealing is too hum-drum. Murder?... Eh, maybe. Heresy! Ooh, possibly. Maybe witchcraft, but probably not. Ooh, ooh, ooh! She should be blamed for causing a plague or blight in the village and the brother and traveler rescue her at the last minute, making them immediate fugitives!
Ah! I must go. I must write!

-Grace

The Movies. The Books.

Don't you just love watching those movies you grew up with? I just watched the 1953 version of Disney's Peter Pan with my niece, and it was funny how I recalled sitting in front of the TV in my nightgown, totally and completely engrossed in the movie. I'm glad my girl got to watch it. I thought it would maybe stimulate the imagination in her that hopefully never goes away. Because really, who didn't wish they could fly when they were a kid? I hope movies like these, the ones that shaped my childhood and made me dream in color, never go out of style.
Last night I watched The Phantom of the Opera with my mom and dad. Yeah, there's a reason it's one of the most fantastic musicals ever! When he hits that last note in Music of the Night, doesn't it just make you hold your breath? But I think if I had the chance to play any of the characters, it would be Carlotta. She's just hilarious and dramatic. Those always seem like the funniest characters to play.
Have you ever had someone ask if you've read the book of a recent movie adaption? Which do you prefer, reading the book before seeing the movie, or, well, the other way around? I know some parents want their kids to read the books first, books like The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It's a kind of strategy, I suppose, to get them off the computer, but it also seems like an opportunity to dive into a completely different world.... Like Kansas! Paradise, Ohio. Tucson, Smicksburg, Rosewood, San Diego. Middle-Earth, Palancar Valley, Persephone, Sharon (the latter is a place of my own creation ;-) ). Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Ireland, France.
That's one thing I want to do with my stories. I don't just want to take the reader on an adventure; I want to take them on a journey.

-Grace

Miniseries

I'm having a thought here.... Just to pass these tedious days of summer, I'm thinking of starting an online fiction/fantasy miniseries. What would it be about? I have no idea. As I said, it was just a thought. One thing I am worried about, though, is someone stealing it, and I really don't wanna have to go through all those "copyright" formalities. Hmmm. This I will have to ponder, and if all goes well... I guess some formalities are necessary. Thoughts? What would make a good miniseries? Just give me a few names, words, or plotlines and I'll see what I can do.

-Grace