For centuries, it's
been acknowledged that humanity is its own worst enemy.
Within each human mind is
a constant struggle between voices of good and evil. Some people consider
themselves to have split personalities. What if, in a certain dimension,
this became more than just a mental battle? What if the voices had physical
bodies just like us? What if your split personality had a body and its own
free will?
In 17-year-old Lotus' world, not everyone has the ability to recognize that the
greatest adversary lies within their own skins. Only a small remnant of
the human race have obtained the power to see their alter-egos in action as
they go about causing all sort of pandemonium. To those who haven't been
burdened with this ability, this skill is seen as a curse, a mental disease.
But to those who are able to see the Speculum Carnis (Latin for "mirror
self"), or Specks, it's no joke. Specks are dark, dangerous creatures
which possess no mercy or justice. As the complete opposite of good, they are
responsible for everything evil in the world. Lotus is one of the few who can
see the Specks, and it haunts her daily. According to the tradition of the
Speck viewers, when she encounters her own mirror-self she must destroy it, or
it will destroy her. The only problem is, Lotus kind of likes her Speck.
Sometimes she hears her Speck's voice echoing in her mind. It's weird, but the
two share a bond which Lotus can't figure out. It isn't normal to bond with
one's hated mirror-image. But how can Lotus kill a part of herself?
***
This, my dears, is the beginnings of a fabulously random novel idea which came to me around 2AM (don't ask why 2AM) the other morning whilst I was listening to thissssss. *points below*
Chase The Light | Two Steps from Hell
I demand that you listen to it. You absolutely must. Seriously, just listen okay? And ideally, you listen while reading that synopsis up there, just so's you get a small picture of what my inspiration was while writing it.
This stuff is just freaking. uber. amazing.
Of course, whenever is TSFH not??!?!
Anywaysss yeah.
So my imagination was soaring, searching for a way to manifest something epic to correspond with this music. I don't know about y'all but when I listen to epic orchestral music it makes me want to go do big, epic things. Like, transport myself into one of my book worlds, fly one of my griffins, and overthrow all the other-dimension evil dictators. That, or run a marathon. Or save somebody's life. Or something.
After listening to it on repeat several dozen times, Self Destruct popped into my head out of thin air. (The title itself actually came the next day.) Like, literally, my mind was a messy soup of discombobulating thought processes one moment, and the next minute, voila, look what we have here....
Music is so powerful. Who needs drugs and junk like that when you have brilliant music to listen to?
"My death is inevitable. At the end of the day, there's just one thing I can count on.
I will die, sooner or later. In some way, part of me will be gone. The question is not if I survive - but which side of me will remain? What if that creature out there - my mirror self who I've shared so many memories with - overtakes me? What if she wins? What would the world be like without the good version of me?"
// random snippet I threw together for a GTW Facebook post //
"Dare I admit she's as evil as they say? Dare I admit that this horrific monster is actually a part of me?"
***
Like a lot of other poor writerly souls, I have a, shall we say, 'slight' Pinterest addiction and a thing for making boards for all my current books/story ideas.
Therefore, I instantly whipped up a nifty little board for Self Destruct. More pins to come. (That's a fact Jack!)
What do you peeps think? Is this a weird idea or does it actually have potential to be something epic? I'm not sure myself at this time, but I must admit I'm pretty darn excited to see what happens with it. There are soooo many different Biblical analogies I'm eager to employ. Oh yes, and did I mention crazy plot twists and surprise endings? Hehe. Of course. I thrive on those.
Before I depart, I wanted to share another song I found that is also super chill. It reminds me of the whole dreams-based premise of If Dante Had Wings. (another book-in-the-making of mine, in case you didn't know) Anything that reminds me of one of my novel projects instantly makes me happy. ^_^ So, give it a listen. You're welcome, in advance.
Days Turn Into Nights | Delerium (Seven Lions Remix)
***
Hope y'all are having a very blessed week! Take time to enjoy the little things in every day, and always bloom where you're planted! ♪
| suggested music track of the day: "Vows" by Jeff Johnson & Brian Dunning |
Well folks, I know I skipped last week's WriterlyWednesday post, which you'll have to forgive me for; but during this time of year I'm sure y'all will be able to empathize with me when I say these three words. MY, TIME FLIES!
Also, the schedule keeps getting crazier and crazier. I think this is just natural for December.
Anyhoo! Time for another character interview. Today we have one from Amanda Wikoff.
Handing it over to Amanda now, so give her and her charrie a warm welcome!
__
I’m interviewing Zenon, my MMC from my NaNoNovel. He really has no idea what’s going on as he’s not the detail oriented one. Lyssia listened to the instructions; Zenon not so much. ;)
What’s one cool thing about the world you come from?
Well, I’ve not really had anything to compare it to. It’s not special to anyone here anymore but I’m not really sure what it’s like where you’re from so I’ll just say it. Some people have powers; some would call it magic, though that term is frowned upon. Our people fear these powers and our history shows a good reason to; though I’m positive it could be used for good were it not outlawed. It seems as if only Lyssia still has the ability to do magic but we have been told there is another.
What does your bedroom look like?
My ceiling is the stars and my walls the air around me. I could have a home with brick walls and a stifling ceiling but I prefer to sleep under the canopy of the sky. It’s much more romantic that way, don’t you think?
Describe your personality.
My personality? I guess the best way to say it is that I like to be independent, though it gets me in trouble more often than not.
Describe your physical appearance.
Blonde hair, blue eyes. Not too different from the little Avanreili boys I’ve met. Most of the time our hair turns dark when we come of age but mine’s still the same old blonde it’s always been. I’ve got a pointy nose and my hair is unruly in the kindest of terms.
Are you an introvert or extrovert?
I’ve never heard those words before but I’ve just been informed of their meanings. I’d suppose that I’m an ext—no! It’s the other one. Definitely the other one, though I can’t remember what the word is. Where do you get those words anyway?
Do you approve of how your author treats you?
I suppose it’s alright though I do wish she wouldn’t harm my loved ones so much. I’d rather have all her wrath focused on me. That’d be far less painful than seeing everyone else hurt.
Do you have any physical or mental abnormalities/illnesses?
I’m sure Eliza wouldn’t hesitate to tell you that I do but nothing has been medically proven or anything.
What do you think about right before falling asleep at night?
That’s a good question and the honest answer is I don’t remember. You know when you get an idea before falling asleep and when you wake up you can’t remember what it was? It’s quite like that I suppose. Though if I had to guess I would probably say I think about what the next day will hold.
You’re bored, and all you have is a blank piece of paper and pencil. What happens?
I’d sketch some inanimate object. It’d be the very first thing I saw and absolutely no thought would go into it. It would come out entirely better than anything I’ve ever put effort into and I would be left wondering how that happens.
Most prized possession?
My friends? I’d give anything to keep them safe, so I suppose they’re what I value above all else.
Hobbies?
Hunting is the hobby that’s been forced upon me. I don’t ever want to do it but when I get out there it’s actually quite relaxing.
One little known fact about yourself?
Let’s see… Something not many people know, correct? Oh! How about the fact that I belong to a race of people who despise me? I’m not actually Avanreili, though that’s where my father is from. My mother is Penthmessain, a race we didn’t know existed till not too long ago, and we just happen to be at war with them. But that’s a long story that we shouldn’t get into.
What’s something you really like about yourself?
That’s an odd question. I don’t generally think about my virtues. I guess my favorite thing about myself is that I can be independent, though it’s also one of my largest faults.
Do you have any special skills, talents or abilities?
Actually I’m quite inadequate. So inadequate in fact that I’m not sure how I’ve survived on my own this long. It must be the good Lord’s doing ‘cause it certainly isn’t my own.”
Would you go skydiving if you could?
I assume you mean cliff jumping. That’s like diving into the sky. I think I would, if I could work up the courage. Lyssia went once and she said it was terrifying but I think it’d be exhilarating.
Non-writers won't have any idea about that which I speak of - and I'm confident even some writerly folks won't understand. Honestly, it is a bit mysterious and daunting to me myself.
Writing-induced depression. Is that already an official term? If not, I'm coining it. WID.
My friends, WID is real.
I experienced it at its full potential this last Monday.
See, I've been working in earnest on The Rebels lately due to the fact that my self-set deadline is fast approaching with the end of the year.
And, I happen to be in the midst of the most depressing part of the book.
Have you ever attempted writing a full-fledged Civil War battle scene?
If you haven't, don't bother trying to sympathize wit me. The only way for you to understand this sentiment would be to go through the experience yourself.
The trauma. The feels. The pain.
This chapter has torn my inner workings to pieces. I put myself in a literal depression all because of it.
"A cave of depression", to quote an awesome writing friend of mine.
The numbness was stifling.
As I poured my soul into the gore and sadness on the document before me, tears forced their way from my eyes.
My eyes sting even as I think of it. My poor characters. Damascus Hayden, the red-headed Rebel man who's distanced himself so far from his Creator.
All I wanted to do when writing that scene was climb into bed and sleep.
Wake up to a fresh start, the painful emotions wiped clean away.
Getting away from the book did a world of good.
I accompanied Mom to Micanopy to drop off and collect library books, (always fun, since it's the library of course!) and then we took a serendipitous stop at Mosswood, a delightfully charming little locally run shop across the street from the library. It's one of my favorites, and has been for ages.
The sound of vintage 30's music drifts the place, organic, handmade and locally grown products fill the store's shelves. Books on how to do things yourself - how to bake bread, how to bee keep, you name it.
The building itself is an old house, renovated into a cozy store. Wood is everywhere - wood floors, beautiful wood counters, walls, ahhh it's lovely. I love wood furnishings.
The best thing is that this place supplies heirloom seeds - something we value greatly for our gardens.
Upon purchasing a good quantity for this year's winter crops, we made the spontaneous decision to also buy mochas. Mmmm! So warm and deliciously rich and yummy.
We sat out on the porch for a good solid hour, just Mom and I. *happy sigh* I will treasure that afternoon. It was a special mother-daughter bonding time. So terribly thankful for my parents!
So that helped with the dark moment of WID I was having. It helped greatly. Mom is such a good listener, I wish I was more like her.
I'm melodramatic. Insane, obsessive, completely random and sporadic.
Entirely too emotional. But you know what? Somehow, my family puts up with all that.
Somehow my friends do. Somehow, God does. And that is most comforting of all.
His grace has never left me dry and wanting. I may act like an idiot, fall down and botch things up, but I can always run back to Him. He is my Rock, my Sword, my Shield.
He never leaves me.
Anyhoo. WID is real, bottom line. It's rough and it leaves scars. In short? Watch out, fellow writerly peoples. If you find yourself sitting at your computer, staring in angst at your novel with tears threatening to spill from your eyes, be careful. If you heart feels numb and emotionless, yet heavy and sore, tread with caution. If, even hours after you stopped writing, your entire demeanor hasn't changed one lick - yipes.
You might find yourself carried away - lost in a severe case of writing induced depression.
Tread carefully for it's a hazard zone not to be taken lightly.
Welcome, welcome... to a long-neglected WriterlyWednesday post. I have some fun and exciting things to share with you today...er, this evening, so stay tuned.
One of them namely, is music related.
A fellow writer from GTW, Sam Graber, transposed my arrangement of Enya's Boadicea!
Sooo, you can now grab your own PDF sheet, right here! Isn't that exciting? I'm really thrilled about it- it's the first of my covers which has been officially made into sheet music. *does happy dance*
A big shout-out to Sam for taking the time to do this!
Let me tell y'all - for you people that are already playing piano, this song should be a breeze for you. And yet, even though it's so simple and easy to play, it still has that awesome Enya ambience to it. So it's a win-win situation! (Go check it out!)
Now. Just the other day, I was asked to expound a little on Arden and the Rehoboam medieval-fantasy novel which my song "Marred Legacy" was inspired from.
I wasn't originally planning to post anything directly from the manuscript, not for a while anyways, but after a bit of work on it today, I figured - heck, why not. I'm pretty pleased with it so far.
So, here you go, guys. I hope you enjoy it! Please don't be shy about giving honest feedback!
PROLOGUE
Things
have not always existed as they do today.
History
repeats itself, but change comes in a
variety of different forms.
Just
as castles crumble to dust within the passing of time, so the purity and
perfection of mankind has dissolved since the day that we allowed ourselves to
be deceived by a Serpent.
Change
can be an evil thing, and all too often it is thus.
But
in years long past among the souls of the great country Apriori, it was not
so.A change of a good tide had rolled
over the nation’s great borders.
Swords
were exchanged for plows and tilling tools and fields of corn stretched for
miles underneath the giant golden sun.
The
great land of Apriori had just awoken from a dark age of war against one of the
most fearsome enmities in its world. Apriori was free once more, and no longer
did its people lay to disintegrate in great seas of crimson blood.
Rosyar
was a peaceable man, in those times.In
that age, he was a man content on going about his own business, and he didn’t
care to mingle in the affairs of others. His heart retained good and mercy, even though
he was a man of few words and generally approved of keeping to himself.
Now
it happened that one day; this solitary fellow was going through town making
his routinely errands, when he spotted a thing that normally would have not
have caused him to take notice. His eyes beheld the weekly auction taking place.
5 young children stood, fettered, in the center of the meeting place courtyard
- a small crowd gathered around, talking amongst themselves.
For
a moment Rosyar didn’t take much thought of this, and silently he kept walking
onward.
But
for whatever curious reason, he found himself stopping; looking at the small
younglings huddled together with pieces of iron bound on their wrists and
ankles.
A
chill entered Rosyar’s being, and the man stood motionless, haunted by the scared-looking
little faces in the courtyard. What a
peculiar thing this was, indeed – many a day had he quickly observed the
events at the public auction, and many a time had slaves been sold before his
eyes. Why was this moment any different than the others?
But
somehow, it was. He decided to venture over to the crowd of onlookers, and observe
quietly the outcome of the children.
He
watched keenly, captivated. Maybe it was the protective arms of the older girl,
clinging to the baby against her chest. Or perhaps the middle-sized boy,
holding the hands of his younger twin sisters.
Rosyar
had never been very acquainted with youngsters. He could only remember one
relative, a niece, when she was a baby. It was nothing phenomenal and hardly
even remained a point in his memory.
So
thus he did not recognize any of the children to be from any state of
importance, let alone very different than the usual street urchins. Still he
was drawn to them, for a reason unidentifiable.
He
tarried, absorbed in studying the five, and was about to leave when he heard
someone call out a bid.
“80
shekels for the two elder ones together” A voice penetrated the low hum of
voices. The older girl’s free hand instinctively reached down, encircling her
other siblings protectively.
Rosyar’s
heart was pained suddenly at the sight and realization the children would be
split up if this person were to obtain them.
“What
of the other infants? I want them all to go together so I may be rid of them
entirely.” A thick, masculine-in-appearance woman said firmly. Rosyar studied
the female quickly. She must have been the owner of the five.
The
person who had previously inquired shrugged, but raised his hand higher to
confirm his bid. “I still want them. I can always turn the littles out in the
forest if need be.”
“Fine.”
The woman replied, emotionlessly. “Anyone higher than 80 shekels? Do I hear
90?”
Rosyar‘s
hand rose up, almost involuntarily, in fact. All eyes turned to him. He
swallowed, realizing what he had just done. What
in the world had gotten to him? He looked at the big-eyed children,
standing there in the midst of a sea of strangers.
Suddenly he felt a resurgence of compassion
for them, even though he had no clue what in the world he might do with the
little family. “90.” He announced, clearing his throat.
The
woman appeared pleased. “Anyone higher than 90? Do I hear 95?”
A
hand rose.
The
woman inquired again, “Do I hear 100?”
Rosyar
released a long sigh. What was he doing? 100 shekels wasn’t a small amount of
money, and it would take him a good while to earn it back.
“Going
once…”
Besides,
what would he do with these little peasant children anyway? He had never raised
a child in his lifetime, let alone five.
“Going
twice…”
But
that didn’t really matter. Besides, he could always use them to help with farm
labor and such.
He
raised his hand.
“100.”
So
there the fellow was, going up and asking that the children be unfettered.
He
had bought them, now they were his responsibility. But whatever would he do
with them? Especially the 3 littlest, a baby and two toddlers? For the love of Zenith.
Examining
each member of the clan, he quickly escorted the children from the bustle of
the auction.
“What’s your name?” He asked the oldest girl,
a dark haired child with searing ice-grey eyes.
“Kelita.”
She answered quietly, still gripping the infant as tightly as before.
“Kelita?”
Rosyar repeated. That sounded awfully familiar.
His
heart sunk, as the girl nodded distrustfully.A sick sensation plagued his stomach. O, it couldn’t be!Suddenly
he realized the connection. Was it possible this scrawny girl standing in front
of him now was the baby niece he had held in his arms years ago? The daughter
of his brother Rudekk?
No,
it couldn’t be.
Why would she be here, now? Whatever did happen to Rudekk and Virgata, anyway? And
who were these other children?
“Are
these your kin?” He inquired of Kelita.
“Aye,
my brothers and sisters.” The girl replied, undaunted.
Rosyar
stood back and looked at the group again. Sighing, he pondering to himself the
possibility. It was true, yes quite true that the last time he’d seen Kelita
was when she was a baby. Thus he didn’t know what she would have looked like in
the present day, if he were to see her again. There was no way to know since he
had not gone to visit Rudekk and Virgata since the war’s beginning.
There was a slight chance….maybe….
“Do
you have any parents?” He led the group away from the town’s commotion, to his
own abode in the woods.
“We
did…”
“Where
are they now?”
“I
don’t know.”
“Are
they alive?”
“I
don’t know.”
“Where
did you come from?”
“Sabatia.”
“Isn’t
that a rather dangerous place for such young children?”
“We
had to escape the soldiers.”
Rosyar’s
eyebrows furrowed. Was this child telling the truth or was she simply
attempting to give her new master the hardest time she could muster?
He
didn’t recall Rudekk’s family residing within the realm of Sabatia. Maybe this
was indeed a wild, insane notion after all.
“What
were your parents’ names?” Still, he must at least know a bit more exposition
on these children, if he was to keep them under his own roof.
Kelita
was silent, her eyes shifty and doubting as they stared up at Rosyar. The girl
was clearly distraught.
“Please
tell me child, I may know of their whereabouts.” He lied, hoping to gain her
trust.
The
man thought he saw Kelita’s eyes almost light up in hope. “Honest?”
He
smiled, persuasively. “Honest.”
“Rudekk
and Virgata.” She replied slowly, as if the words were knives cutting her
tongue as they slipped across.
Rosyar
caught his breath, and his gaze shot away from the children, absentmindedly.
Was
he hearing things? How in the world….
Was it just some incredible coincidence that this girl happened to have the same
name and parents’ names as did his kin? It didn’t seem possible…but what else
could it be? Could it truly be his little niece?
“Do
you have any relatives?” His heart rate increased in dread.
“Such as cousins?”
“No…aunts,
uncles, that sort.”
“Well,
mother said once I had an uncle still alive somewhere,” The girl’s tone was as
indifferent as her facial expression.
“Did
she tell you his name?” Rosyar found himself swallowing, none too happy with
the way things were looking so far.
“Rosyar.”
The
words fell as if they were a rock, a great heaving boulder. Rosyar almost choked stifling a cough, feeling
like a tremendous force had slammed through his body.This
was simply impossible.
Arriving
at the front door of his homely bungalow, the fellow turned around quickly, his
long black tresses swinging over his shoulders.
He
hadn’t intended for any of this to happen. None
of it, none at all. This event was the last thing the introverted man had needed
to enter his life.
“Did
you ever live in Bloodwort?” His voice
snapped, agitated.
Kelita
nodded subtly, staring up at him with fearful eyes.
“What
happened to your father?” Rosyar whisked out his house key from a side pouch on
his left hip, and inserted it into the front door’s keyhole.
“He…
was called away to fight.” Kelita wrapped her petite arms more protectively
around the miniscule baby, as it started to whimper.
Rosyar
swallowed, pausing a moment. Rudekk…his brother…could easily be dead this very moment.
For all he knew, he’d been dead for years.
Rattling
the iron key roughly in the keyhole until it finally caused the door to open,
he growled
“What
of your mother?”The man swung open the
door with such force it slammed against the wall, startling the infant, who let
out an ear-piercing wail.
“She
stayed behind to distract Varchess’ soldiers...” Kelita began rocking up and
down on her small heels, in an attempt to comfort the child. “…So we could run
into the forest.” She continued to stare
at the ebony haired man, in a mixture of contempt and distrust.
Rosyar
closed his eyes, taking in the news. He didn’t know quite rightly what to say.
It was very likely both Rudekk and Virgata were now dead –leaving Kelita, and
apparently his other nieces and nephews, permanently orphaned. What a
fine fix.
In
those days, Rosyar was a man who would risk his life to save another’s, but
only if it proved the utter last resort. The fellow wasn’t fond of heroic
efforts or patriotism, nor did he stick his neck out for just any person that
cried for help. Why in the name of all the heavens had he done such a rash
thing, on this day? What insanity had
stirred within his indifferent heart, that such a choice would be made?
The
man let out a long sigh, resting his arm against the pine door frame and
letting his head sink against it.
