This is a short passage that takes place in The Book. You’ve probably seen posts about it. This is all my original work. Please do not copy or redistribute without (easily-attainable) permission. This is from Hazel’s point of view, pre-relationship, post-world-end.
If you like this and want more, please like and subscribe! 🙂 Comment for me, as well. What are you scared of?
She could almost see it, like fireworks behind closed eyelids, sitting cross-legged there in the training room across from the man himself. The cement floor was warm from the heat that radiated from his body, still gleaming with sweat; broad shoulders lifting and lowering with the sweet cool air. She’d peeked a few times to his chagrin, and had since lulled herself obediently into some semblance of meditation. And she could almost see it.
She could almost feel it again; the fire that leapt between them in the air, grasping tendrils reaching through atmospheric particles towards her as she skittered, breath heaving through aching lungs.
On Earth, they would have probably called it PTSD, the icy fingers that stroked her blood vessels as her legs churned calories–and suddenly she was fleeing her nightmares. The first few times, she screamed and ran painfully into the cargo crates built into an obstacle course through the long-former storage room, she woke up in cold sweats in the night. She whimpered and suffocated over and over, overwhelmed by fizzing spectres in the corners of her small cabin, particle hands reaching toward her and ghastly mouths open in fierce hunger. (more…)
So, took a look at The Book for the… well, maybe second time this summer outside of figuring out backstories and worldbuilding. (Check out some of that here.) And yknow what I figured?
Well… I’ve mentioned in previous posts that there were specific bridges I knew I’d struggle with crossing, but I’d handle those when I got there. In another post, I may have even mentioned that I’d met that bridge, and decided to edit around it for the time being.
I need to rewrite it. Entirely. From the ground up.
There’s no other way to thoughtfully progress the story past the bridge, because the bridge is literally blown to pieces before you even cross it.
But I’m starting from the beginning. I’m tearing down walls and rebuilding them. I realize that this is NOT the first time I’ve done this, and with just about 60,000 words (48k of the book currently and the rest in backstory which I can drag in), I have a LOT of material to work with. I guess that’s the head’s side of the coin. The tail’s side is that just about 60,000 words is a lot of stuff to rummage through and pull out the best of.
So, excuse me as I print out 30 double sided pages at a time and sit on my living room floor with scissors and glue sticks as I paste parts here and there into a notebook.
I get it, such a waste of paper, Poppy!! How could you!? I know, I know, it kills me a little too. But the loading times into some of these documents… is brutal. And sometimes I need to see things side to side and NOT on a screen. It makes my brain light up in prettier ways.
So, when I mentioned there might be more sneak peeks/back stories (like this.) from The Book, I’m afraid I’ll need to post-pone a lot of that posting (ahaha. Pun totally intended) until I have a more solid visualization of what is real and what is.. well.. fiction, as far as the end-product goes.
If I sat down and did this, and worked through it with a criminal, superpower level focus, I could probably rack together these strings and pull the book out in maybe a few days. That’s how much content is staying, as far as I know currently. And likely, it would be much longer than it sits. Dude, I have skills. And plans. Except I only wish I had that superhuman focus. Somebody get me some Adderall. And prayers. Lots of prayers. And patience. Oodles of patience.
Anyways, if you want to see more of what I’m up to, please check out our new facebook page! 🙂
As always, with love and smiley faces,
So, I’ve been meaning to talk to you guys for awhile now about inspiration and my muses. I’ve created and (accidentally) destroyed two or three different drafts of discussions and I’m deciding I should just combine them.
So… Let’s talk about my muse, shall we?
My Writing Muse
My writing muse is literally my OC. He’s a fiery (literally… and, of course, stereotypically…) and brooding individual that really (ahaha) fires up my world… Which makes me seem a little crazy but bear with me.
So I’ve been writing The Book since middle school. Long before Celldweller dyed his hair red and published his album, End of an Empire. But let’s be fair… he looks like Merrikh. sans hair flip. sans… well… actually… he’s pretty close to how I’ve always envisioned Merrikh. Merrikh just has more tanned skin… and fancy ears. Cuz… he’s an alien.
He’s the first-mate of the spaceship–but really in name only. He’s just best buddies with the captain and actually manages the “boiler” room of the ship. (more…)
The great NPH was lounging at a party. His party. Hundreds of people milled the fantastic lot, shoving themselves into corners and networking with all the greats. And yet, somehow, Harris had kept a bubble of space about his lounge chair. Perhaps it was because he was in his dark study with sunglasses and a tanning board on his lap that people were hesitant to approach him.
Everyone knows that if you throw all of his roles together–Barney and Dr. Horrible specifically–you get a mastermind of such magnitudes you aren’t certain he wouldn’t single-handedly annihilate the world.
Despite this, I sat down beside him and started fiddling with the books on his shelf. “You ought to do that on your yacht.” I told him, pulling down a toy figurine of said boat. He lifted his sunglasses and eyed the toy, and brought it into his lap.
He turned it over in his hands, and nodded thoughtfully, “I imagine so.”
“I imagine you should have thrown this party on your yacht.”
A beginning of a smile pulled his face. A flash of genius wiggling into his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes.” He shot his gaze at me excitedly. “Three beautiful, bikini clad women to surround Miss Poppy on the yacht–YES.”
I wasn’t entirely sure how to take what he had told me. I was a little bewildered on what to do with three large breasted, hipped, bikini clad women while on a celebrity yacht, when I looked up to find said celebrity had vanished. (more…)