Pre-Birthday Post

In 45 hours after I post this (posted at 8:00 Saturday May 30th) I will be...

F o u r t e e n !

14

Isn't that awesome? I was born as 5:35am on June 1st 1995. A lot of people are born on June first, which I pretty cool too. But when I'm fourteen... the world will not seem any different. At all. But still, I'll be old enough to have a teensie more bit of respect and get into 14A movies (which I already do, but this time I'll do it shivering free - I shiver when I'm nervous).

Also, in about 9 hours I'm having my birthday party. Sorry I didn't invite you guys, but sometime tells me it'd be thousands and thousands of miles to travel for one 4-hour party.

Also, as a birthday gift to you... (even though I'm the one celebrating, not you) here's the last chapter of Empyrean. You might not get it, because I haven't really talked about Empyrean for a while, but if you go to the labels/catogories and click on Empyrean, you'll find some other bits and pieces about it.

P.S. The "saving the world" thing she's talking about - she actually did save the world by stopping this missile full of poison set to kill a sort of "race" (everyone has one magic power, but some people are less powerful - the poison was to kill off any unpowerful people, including her sister). She's really powerful though, so it didn't kill her.

Empyrean, Epilouge: It's The End Of The End, For Forever And Ever And Never Again

After a week in recovery from the poison that had seeped into my skin, I was able to leave the hospital. They had kept me there extra long, but I didn’t mind one bit. Even when I was in there, torrents of news agencies and reporters had snuck their way through the building security and found me, questioning me relentlessly, even one their way out the door. I had heard it was even worse for Erik and Alexa, because they were out in the public. I was glad they’d decided to keep me in longer to ensure the poison was entirely gone and I couldn’t infect anyone else with it.

The world had reacted strangely to what I had done. Our great country, Empyrean, was quickly split in two. At one side, the people who had been on Emerson Palenstine’s side all along were angry, shooting people on the streets from building up high and blowing up the rest. The other side had retreated into the side of Empyrean I was on now - the side with the peace-keeper countries’ forces ensuring all-around safety and wellbeing, and the side the was constantly being attacked by the other side’s planes and missiles. Empyrean was no longer safe.

People were dying.

It hurt so much to know that what I had done was killing people. Erik, who had visited earlier this morning, said that more people would have died had I not saved them.

I guess I believe him, but it still hurt.

One thing that made it better was that all around my bed, there were gifts of gratitude. I already had plowed through much of the chocolates and felt at least ten pounds heavier, but the cards from people who had known the truth all along meant the most.

Of course, Erik’s card was the most important. It was right beside me, and had been since last week.

“You’re free to go, Miss. Bradburn.” The nice doctor told me. I smiled, and stretched my right arm and legs.

My left arm would never recover. Too much of the poison had seeped into my bone, and even though I was powerful enough to stop it from killing me, I wasn’t powerful enough to stop it from killing my arm in such a large quantity. I was going to have to learn to do everything with my right hand - but that wasn’t the end of the world - literally. I was learning very, very slowly.

“Hey Aerynn!” It was Alexa, back to see me for the second time today - the fourteenth time over all. When she had first come, our reunion had been caught by a reporter, and was now broadcast all over the world.

Olyver, Raechel and everyone working for the Government were in a temporary makeshift jail; most of the big hotel chains of Empyrean had donated their rooms for the people waiting time with the judge. Josh had been one of the first people to get out, and I was glad he hadn’t been charged. I wasn’t so sure that Olyver and Raechel would fair the same good fortune.

As for Emerson Palenstine the Second, he had disappeared, following Erik and Liam out of the building. While Erik and Liam searched for me, a resident in a local town claimed that he had been seen riding off into the ocean on a small motorboat. Searches were out there, but something told me that Emerson Palenstine would never be found.

When I stepped out of the building, I was greeted by the roar of the biggest crowd I had ever seen. The army colours of Kanada, Wat and other countries were mixed in with the normal colours of normal Empyrean citizens. But the best colour was the black of Erik, who was standing on my right. He took my hand and led me through the crowd.

“You really do need to get a security guard, for now at least.” Erik said.

I laughed, “I do.”

I looked around, and I saw everything. Destruction, desolation, death; all the things I had caused. But I also saw love, kindness, thankfulness, and people helping each other get through one of the toughest times in Empyrean history. This was, no matter how you looked at it, all for the better.

We loaded into the limo that would take us to the home Erik and Alexa had been staying in. I couldn’t take my eyes of the country that I had saved, or destroyed.

This wasn’t over, but it wasn’t ever going to be as bad as it once was. This was the New Empyrean, the beginning of the never-ending.

I'm about to say Happy Birthday here, but er... Happy June and start of the last month of the school year!

Changement

I finished my project early!  Finally I got around to changing my blog - I found the perfect (well, I think so) background on Shabby Blogs - which is a really cool site.  I also got the little pictures I've added in from there as well.  It was a lot of fun :D  But I'm still looking for a header again.

On another note, I only have about 14 more days left of school!!  (Not including a week-long trip to Ottowa and Montreal on the second las week of school).  I also have grad coming up - totally nerve wracking, and I'm horrifiedly nervous. 

Speaking of nervous, this weekend I'm having a birthday party - first ever in 4 years - at my house.  And my friends (girls) are going to come over early to attempt to curl my hair.  I just hope I manage to hide all my little-kid pictures - last weekend furing filming at my house, some of my friends opened up the back of a picture frame to find the horrible pictures of me!  Ahhh!!!

Well, I hope all of you lovely readerly people are having an amazing, warm start of the summer/spring.  It was only 14 degrees today, but 30 earlier (damn Global warming.. it'll be up to 40 in July -- eww).

S a r a h

The Car Chase

# WARNING:  a swear word is spelled in this story... I felt like warning you #

This is a short story I wrote totally on urge... and I have no idea what to do with it.  It has backstory, and kinda a promise of a somewhat longer thing - but I'm just stuck.

Also, as of late (Christmas aproximately) I've tried to extend it - this is the longer version, but I have a 1200-word one too.

Oh, and also, I give up on the formatting.  Grr...

“SIR, WE HAVE A CONFIRMED SIGHTING OF THE RED CAR. TAILING SUPPOSED SUSPECT.”

“PERMISSION TO DESTROY.”


* * *


“Emma! Pass me the popcorn.”


I rolled my eyes at the immature and absolutely uncouth boy beside me. His one hand was inches from the bowl between us, yet he couldn’t even bother to grab popcorn himself.


"If you want it, you have to get it yourself.” I said tiredly, casually scratching the tomato sauce on my shirt, which had dried on after that same boy, Nick, had ‘accidentally’ knocked his pasta on me.


“That’s not the way a man works.” Nick told me, stubbornly tilting his chin higher up in the air. Apparently, his pale blue eyes and straw coloured hair was ‘cute’, but I never saw it. All I saw was a disrespectful, boy who liked spilling pasta on a girl’s favorite shirt.


Much to my disappointment, Nick was still on about his ‘way of life’. “The woman fetches the popcorn, clothes in the morning, food in the afternoon and takes care of everything while the man watches the latest football game.”


I rolled my eyes again. “And how would that family survive? Any way of income?” I liked to think about the practical side of things - especially around him. I had said the practical side earlier, about buying the latest skateboard and Nick had just stood there at loss of words for five blissful minutes.


Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen this time. “They don’t have to work. My parent’s own the Grensbey Amethyst mine, when I inherit that, I’ll sell it all and live off the millions I’ll be paid.” He sounded so proud, wow, his parents own a mine. Sure, whatever. I didn’t really care - all I cared about was getting home and away from him. Like that was going to happen anytime soon.



“I don’t think your parents would like that, Nick.” Our driver said. His hands were on the wheel, navigating through the slushy false spring that happened every February. I looked out my window, hoping that Nick would take that as I sign I didn’t want to talk to him ever again in my life, and for him to shut up for eternity. As if.


He wasn’t even supposed to be here. This was a special trip between me and my brother David, who had just returned from Iraq. It had never meant to include the annoying son of my overly generous parent’s friends.


My brother had joined the army a year after graduating from a high school. I could still remember my mother crying when he left, although it was slightly faded because my memory was horrible, and anything two years or more was almost gone. Either way, it felt like an eternity when he was gone.


In this shopping trip I’d ask him to take me on, I’d been hoping to get to know him again. But things never work the way you intend for them to work.


“Emma, are you there? I’m still waiting for that popcorn.” Nick waved his hand in front of my face. Yes, he was the unexpected thing that had ruined the trip. A last minute business crisis had caused the Wilson’s to run off to the other side of country, leaving behind their annoying son and five-year-old daughter in the hands of their kind and always-there-for-you neighbors, my family. Moreover, with my parents taking both their daughter (my younger sister) and the Wilson’s daughter to the zoo, Nick had been forced to come with us.


“You can’t leave him… who knows what that teenage boy could do. Emma, I know your mature and can handle him… even his sister would be more suited to be home alone than him!” I mimicked under my breath.


“What’d you say Em?” David raised his head and looked at me in the rearview mirror.


“She’s talking to herself. The first sign of insanity. How about we leave her at the closest mental hospital?” Nick asked, acting innocent. “We just passed a sign saying there was one five kilometers East on Kings Road.”


The car stopped at the intersection, and pulled away, driving straight ahead.


“Well, sorry Nick. We just passed the turnoff. Another day, eh?” David laughed. It felt to great to have him back at home and with me - only God knew how much he’d helped me growing up - but I cringed at the thought of him joking with Nick Wilson. Didn’t he know? Why wouldn’t he see the stupid, big headed, arrogant side of him and know to stay away?


Outside the car, the ‘Nashville’ sign passed by. A click of hail joined the clatter of rain that had been following us around all day. It wasn’t the best day to go shopping, and the amount of people and activity in the mall had reflected that. Either way, there was a nice amount of bags in the trunk - maybe a not so nice amount of money taken out of my bank account, but I had the money to loose after my summer job.


“…And that’s the start of the real storm.” David said, referring to the hail falling from the sky. I nodded, and my head fell back against the headrest. I closed my eyes and relaxed.


An electronic whirr came from my left, followed by a downpour of rain, sleet, and heavy rocks of hail.


“ARGHH!” I screamed. Nick was just doing up his seatbelt again as I undid mine and jumped on him, pummeling his face with my hands.


“Whoa! Watch it Emma, we almost got into a car accident!” David shouted. A truck roared by, inches from the side of our car, splattering the previously red, but now a dirty pink, splattered car with more slush.


I didn’t say sorry, and regretfully sat back down in my seat, promising myself to torturously kill Nick some other time when it didn’t endanger my life.


As the slush cleared off the windshield, I saw a pair of headlights cutting across the 4-lane road. A car’s horn blared as the silver SUV cut off two lanes of traffic and headed in a straight line towards us.


I felt my heartbeat quicken, and wondered what on Earth the SUV was doing.


David must have noticed the deranged car and driver heading towards us as well, and he swore colourfully. I think he must’ve picked up some words in Iraq, because before he left, ‘shoot’ was as far as his vocabulary went in the profanities direction.


I guess he’d learnt a new meaning for ‘shoot’ over their, and it didn’t mean the same thing as ‘damn’.


“Is there anyone behind us?” In these conditions, which were getting worse by the second, David couldn’t take his eyes off the road. I waited for Nick to look behind, noticing the line of traffic ahead of us.



“Someone!” David shouted at us. Nick hadn’t moved. I checked behind me.


“No one.” I said, casting the lump of wasted space beside me a look that I hope reinforced the ‘I’m going to kill you’ scheme of things.


David’s hands flew at my words, one hand on the gears and the other controlling the steering wheel. The emergency brake was pulled, gear-stick shifted from three to reverse. Our red car rolled backwards.


“What-” I started to ask.


“Shush.” David said sharply. I closed my mouth and looked at the SUV, which was charging towards us as we drove backwards down the road. I looked over at the speedometer, just visible under David’s arm. It read 70 kilometers an hour. I didn’t know that was possible while driving backwards.


The car slid to a stop, David’s hand switching from reverse to first and up as the car regained speed. Now we were speeding towards the SUV.


David spun the steering wheel and our car moved into the oncoming lane. The silver SUV tried to turn and hit us, but only clipped the back. The car fishtailed for a minute, and then David regained control. He sped off down the road, joining back into the right lane when the SUV was far behind us. Back in our lane, David still drove fast, cutting between cars and passing on the left and right.


“A, S, S, H, O, L, E.” Nick muttered beside me, digging through the pocket and cup holder beside him.

“What are you calling my brother?” I asked, giving Nick another death glare. He reflected it back at me.


“No you idiot, that was the license plate number.” Oh, I thought. I grabbed the notepad out of my cup holder and handed it to him.


“There’s a pen in the glove compartment. David, can you slow down and get it?” I asked.


“I have to make sure they’re gone and we are far away from them.” David told me, but slowed down and got the pen anyways.


We recorded the plate and David told us that he would take it to the police station the following morning. Right now, all he wanted to do was go home.



* * *


“WE LOST THEM, SIR.”


“WELL, DO BETTER NEXT TIME. YOUR LIFE IS ON THE LINE - IT’S THEM OR YOU, GESPARD.”



Part 2



That was the first time I realized something wasn’t right. There’s always a first, isn’t there? A first and a last, but here in this cell, surrounded by grey and a shade of green that can only come from one thing I’d rather not name, I’m beginning to think there’s no last coming, no solution, only an end.


* * *


“A FAILED MISSION! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? YOU LEAVE ME WITH NO CHOICE.”


“NO SIR. THERE ARE ALWAYS CHOICES. TAKE THE RIGHT ONE, I TRUST YOU.”


“YOU TRUST TOO EASILY GESPARD. IT WILL, ULTIMATELY, LEAD TO YOUR DEATH.”


* * *


The second instance that told me something was up happened just two days after the first.


David was heading out to talk to the police about the first incident, and picking up the car from the auto body shop.


“Bye Em! Don’t kill Nick.” He told me. Oh, how I wished I could. I’d actually already had a dream about it. Apparently I had said most of the stuff aloud as well, according to Annabelle, Nick’s little sister, who was sharing my room with me.


Ever since then Nick had gone quieter and quieter, bugging me less and less. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it - I loved the silence and peace, but the tender side of me kicked in and I couldn’t help but wonder if his ego had taken a massive dent after hearing me talk in my sleep about killing him. He’d gotten so used to everyone loving him, I guess it was hard to know at least one person didn’t.


But I can’t say I wasn’t the teensiest bit happy about the new silence. I curled up on the couch in my basement, ignoring skillfully the horrible gold and green paint job that it’d been given years before, and turned on the TV. I watched random funny shows for about an hour, content in the simple, pure bliss of being alone. It was hard to be alone and have time to yourself when your family of five had taken on two extra members, and especially when every person in your house had at least two extra-curricular activities to participate in. Between hockey games and dance recitals, I hardly got time to rest and be myself.


But now I had that time - or so I thought. Really, I had only a few moments of normality before my life was plunged into total darkness, and total chaos.


I spent those moments watching Who Wants To Be A Millionare and sipping my latest blender-creation. It was heaven while it lasted, but all too soon, the commercials came on and I was called away to get Nick out of whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into.



“Emmily!” His annoying voice called out. It was a lot deeper than most people I knew, but to my ears, it was an annoying as the high-pitched whine of a fly.

P.S. Awesomely great news! On my 3R (retell, relate, response) I got a 94% for writing! Other people (other geniuses) got the same as me, but that was still the highest mark in the class - and like, ever for writing :D

Post #41

Post #41... doesn't that just send of writing vibes?  I dunno, but for me, the sparks are flying.

They are not, however, flying for this pile of homework sitting.. behind me, at the moment.  It's in the form of my backpack, and looks like it'll eat me. 

I have a french magazine to assemble in 3 days, a major biggie math test to study for tomorrow, 3 pages of math to get through for tomorrow, a movie to film on Saturday - at my house, so that means cleaning for hours, a history project to get through in 5 days, and a science rough model and good model due june 5th - plus I'm helping out with the Spring Concert from 6:30-8:30 tonight - I can't even whistle, much less a tune, but I love helping out.  I know I probably shouldn't've, but I did anyways, so shush.

Sure, it's doable, but fun?  Think again!

S a r a h

P.S. As far as InVincible goes, that file - which I long to open, has remained closed for days. 

P.P.S. I have this short story, called The Car Chase (working title) that's about 2,000 words.  I would cut it down a little and submit it to my library for the contest in October, but they tend to go for the more "meaningful" stuff - even if the writing is crappy.  This one has the word asshole in it - somehow, I don't think the judges will like it.  Any ideas for another way of... doing something with it?

And here ends the great Post #41.

Fighting by Yellowcard = ME!

I absolutely LOVE this song! It describes a lot of me, and it had TONS of meaning, great beat, awesome vocals, amazingly superb VIOLINIST, and much, much more.

Please enjoy... (i finally figured out how to get songs from youtube! (It was right in front of my nose... ha - just like me :-) figures, lol)
S a r a h

P.S. There isn't any true music video for this song, so I got the lyrics. I had a tribute earlier, but it got deleted from youtube. The person who did this video is called "mongoworm" and all credit is to them.

A Quick Bit Of InVincible

Invincible:

I ran for it, quick and soundless across the grass.

One shot rang out, but it missed. A few more followed as they got out a machine gun. I leapt over the cliff, feeling one, then two bullets rip through my body. Fun.

I fell freefalling into the icy water, but I hardly felt the cold. My whole body was numb in pain. It took a lot of control to contain yourself and forget about the pain you were in nonstop, and it was moments like these - me, alone in a freezing lake - that brought the pain back with alarming strength. I almost couldn’t stand it.

But I did.

“I really shouldn’t have dumped that bike.” The horror of mistake swept through me and the harsh feeling of embarrassment lit up my cheeks. I was acting weak, showing emotion and feelings, but I couldn’t help it. As soon as I’d left the Bishop, I’d begun to relax. This, was my punishment.

I started a few slow, even strokes, trying to pinpoint the pain. My right shoulder felt like it was on fire, and my left calf wasn’t really responding to my brain.

Rising to the surface for a few moments longer than I should have, I took a few deep, gasping breaths. I felt better instantly, but before I was totally ok, I knew I had to go back under. A Trainee had spotted me, and as I sank underwater, a few bullets slowly found their way down to the bottom of the lake.

The Trainees, as “good” as they were supposed to be, were still using their machine gun, which was a much higher caliber gun - bigger bullets for bigger puncture holes, like the one on my arm. Blood seeped into the water around me, tinting it a deathly pink. As I swam away, I wrapped my sleeve around the wound a little tighter. I needed to get a real fix - not just some cloth, but the whole disinfectant and medical bandage deal. But it wasn’t as urgent as the shots just stopping centimeters from my head.

They’d switched to a lower caliber, I thought, as I pulled myself down a little further. I started to wish for them to use an even lower one - one that would be able to get down to my level - but stopped myself. I was on the ‘enemy side’. All my life, I’d cheered for the hunters, the Bishop’s side, and even though I’d been against him for almost all of that time, I was still used to being the shooter, not the shot-at.

This wasn’t my style. I decided that as soon as I fixed my injuries, I’d turn the tables and get the Trainees - maybe even as far as the Bishop.

I wasn’t hiding from him anymore. I wasn’t just waiting for the world to change, or even my year to end. I wasn’t waiting for anything but myself to pick up the pace and get on the real game.

This, had only just begun.


So, I'm tired of looking at my blog and seeing my last post - which I ruined with the rant at the bottom. So, I'm posting this. Yet another excert from InVincible.

Which I love. InVincible, I mean. It's an amazing story, just great. I'm trying not to be self-obsessed here (but hey, usually I'm the complete opposite, self-esteem-issues, so gimme a break) but I really like InVincible. Sure, the writing in places needs work - and same with the story line, seeing as I'm skipping back and forth like crazy, but the idea..

Now that's terrific.


S a r a h

P.S. In case you're inquiring, currently I'm overrun with cells (I'm making a 3D model of an Osteoclast) and still editing my poetry analysis. I'll have more free time.. hmm.. in the Summer? Yup, see you then :)

Holly Lisle: Book-Character-Awesomeness

(&& I have no idea why I've suddenly developed a : colon : obsession.. but I have, so shush).

Shoes and Handbags
Posted by hollylisle on May 12, 2009

You know how when you’re walking across a parking lot, you’re scoping out possible escape routes, watching everyone around you for signs of instability or danger, and figuring out how—if you were attacked by the shifty-eyed guy in the inappropriately large coat over there, or the other one who’s skulking along a line of cars not meeting anyone’s eye, like he’s trying to hide something—you’d kill him with the weapon he pulled on you, or your car keys, or your thumbs, teeth, and knees?

Or how, when you’re in a nice restaurant with your beloved husband and kid, you’re figuring out what you would do if a lunatic with multiple firearms charged in intending a massacre, and you had to take him out to save their lives?

No?

Just me, then?

Well, that’s awkward. So… aaaanyway… I’m going to discuss creating characters you can respect.

And it starts with shoes and handbags.

I own three pairs of shoes. Before I bought each pair, it had to meet two criteria. I had to be able to flee in the shoes. I had to be able to fight in them. That’s it. If I had to run from an attacker in a parking lot or kill a deranged maniac in a restaurant or wherever, my shoes could not in any way hamper what I needed to do.

Could I vault over table tops, or crouch-walk beneath them? Could I run across the tops of a line of parked cars, jumping from car roof to car roof? (Yes, I’m still a good runner, I still have a good long jump, and I can both vault and crouch-walk. I’m not talking Walter Mitty stuff here.)

I own no handbags. The problem with handbags is defined in the name itself. Hand bag. You have to have one hand on them at all times. Otherwise they will fall off the shoulder that they have made lower than your other shoulder because you’ve been dragging one around for so long it’s bent your body. If you have to back into a guy who has grabbed you from behind, lever him over your back and slam him to the ground, and then take out his eyes with your thumbs, you need to have both hands free.

Yes. That’s what I think about on bright sunny days walking across parking lots.

Years ago, my friend Michael, who was an officer in the Army at the time, decided once to demonstrate something about women needing to be protected (we’d had a vigorous discussion on this some days earlier).

So without warning, he lunged at me in my kitchen, doing some sort of attacker yell…and landed against a wall on the opposite side of the kitchen, with a bruised shoulder and a hurt expression on his face. “You weren’t supposed to attack,” he said.

Doing what you’re not supposed to do can save your life, I explained to him. And my instinct is not to scream and wait for rescue. Bad shit had already happened to me by that point. I’d learned when I was fourteen that you can’t trust strangers, and I learned when I was fifteen that you can’t trust the people you should be able to trust with your life. I was still a couple of years away from discovering that you can’t trust the person with whom you had two children…but I’d already learned to keep my survival plan active at all times. Flee if there’s a place to flee, attack if there isn’t. That’s me.

So I do not own a handbag, a clutch purse, a briefcase, or a hefty carryall. I have a backpack, and wear it over both shoulders so it does not impede either of my hands.

I’m never going to make it as a fashionista. Hell, I may not make it out of the parking lot. But if I don’t, I still want the cops to say, “Yeah. It’s a damn shame she didn’t make it. But they’ll still be digging pieces of the assailant out of the pavement next month.”

Back to characters.

I could not with a straight face write a novel where the heroine wears Prada and owns seventy pairs of kitten heels and spike heels and talks about how ani she is and waits for the man with the big bank account to come along and fall in love with her because she’s so…so…whatever the hell it is these characters are that men will fling themselves over cliffs to get.

If I were writing her, she’d be the woman found in pieces in the dumpster as the chapter two opener. I know me.

I could not write a novel where the hero is nothing but a vibrator strapped to an unlimited credit card. I wouldn’t want to hang out with that guy. I like to talk about hockey and writing and ideas and philosophy, and my guy pushes me to think harder, to ask better questions, and to evaluate every statement I make for flaws in logic and reasoning…which is what makes him the right man for me. But I have read a number of books where “vibrator+credit card” is the perfect definition of the hero. He rescues her from her helpless little self, he puts out, and then he stays out of the way so the heroine’s throng of yappy, shallow friends can ooh and ah over how big his… ah… bank account is.

Clearly somebody has to write those novels, because there are hordes of readers waiting to buy them. I ended up reading them because I was given copies and told, “You should write something like this. You’d make a lot of money.”

Writers and their characters don’t—or at least shouldn’t—work that way. Never write a character you can’t stand because you think it’ll make you rich. You’ll hate yourself in the morning, and for the exact same reason whores are not filled with pride and self-esteem from their line of work.

You have to write the people who resonate with YOU.

My heroines—like me—understand that bad shit can happen at any time, and they are determined from the first that if survival is possible, they will survive, and if survival is not possible, then they will not die cowering in a corner waiting for the rescue that never comes. And like me, they understand this because bad shit has already happened. And because they learned WHY you don’t wait for rescue—you save yourself. And because they have learned to value their own lives, not for what their lives mean to other people, but because of what their lives mean to them.

And so, my heroines do not consider shoes and handbags based on their stylishness, their designer labels, or their fashion cachet. If I have a need to discuss shoes, running shoes or walking shoes may get a mention. If I mention bags at all, look for backpacks.

My heroines will be self-supporting. And my heroes are not wealthy as a primary attribute. They may be successful, but if they are, their ambition and goals are what I admire about them. See, I spent a bunch of miserable years in a country club life, and I have discovered that I don’t like men who lead with their wealth, especially wealth they didn’t earn. My heroes are smart and honorable, and they can be pretty funny, but they’re earning their lives, too.

Your primary characters, your heroes and heroines, the people you write that you want your readers to care about, should not be carbon copies of you. Mine aren’t. But they are people I would be friends with, whom I want to spend time with. They are people who understand the importance of having your hands free. Of making sure your feet work the way they were designed to work at any given time. They’re people who understand that you have to actually like members of the opposite sex before you go to bed with them.

They’re people who can watch their own backs, but will watch yours because they care about you and value you.

Before you can ask your reader to spend replaceable money in order to then spend irreplaceable time with someone you’ve created, you have to make sure that you’d want to spend time with those characters first.

That they meet YOUR criteria for people worth knowing.

That they fit you like a good pair of shoes… however you might define good shoes.


I found this while trying to figure out what to do next in InVincible. It wasn't the most helpful, but I liked the article and writing style and meaning - seriously, Twilight was one of those bad books that most authors don't want to write because the characters and story just aren't right. I mean, someone eventually breaks down and writes it - only in order to get her second book, The Host, published with a popular name. But it ruins your reputation and etc..

Anyways, I'm not writing on of those books (if I ever even do try romance, it'll be on the sidelines of something I actually like, and I'd slowly go into it.. but really, not for me. I killed Wings, remember?)

S a r a h

P.S. oh, and on a you-may-skip-this side note, seriously, the high-heels and stupid ohhh la la la I'm beautiful make me embarassed to be a girl.  Seriously, my principal was explaining how your shorts have to be longer than your arm hanging down (ha, I would never wear those) and one of the girls in my class went "WHAT?  How are we supposed to look like GIRLS?"  I mean, HELLO.  First of all, how on earth have you gotten the impression that wearing the absolute littlest clothing makes you a girl?  If a guy starts wearing a speedo 24/7, does HE classify as a girl?  Or what about a girl who wears jeans and a jacket?  Does SHE become a boy?  (Really, I'm doing all I can not to make the letters go bigger too).  And secondly, the fact that that person would even complain about the shorts being that "long" --- erm, excuse me, but how much shorter can shorts GO?  And then.. WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE WORLD?  Every guy is turning into some pervy FREAK  (take this super-smart guy who suddenly says that ANNABETH from Percy Jackson is HOT.  The only good side of that that I can see is how Annabeth is a normal dresser (with pony-tail and baseball cap) which could be saying that for him, no TNA pants or WHITE Hollister top is needed.. but no, I think he was looking at the Manga version, which, if you know Manga, is not at all a happy statement for the trying-to-be-sane girls out there).  But really, what has happened?  I'm willing to bet anything that if I wore next to nothing to school for the next week and acted like some porcilen doll waiting for prince charming (complete with silly mistakes and cute giggles), straightened my hair 100% (which will later cause gray hair at 25), and then put on all the make-up and fountation possible.. well, I'd be popular and oh-so-special, right?  Luckily, I'm not doing that.  But what am I supposed to do?  The world is turning to ruins, and because of it I feel like the most horrible person on earth (pressure!).  Which sucks a lot.  Seriously.  I mean, when will people realize (not that I'm amazing -- far from that, I'm really not amazing) just realize that.. well.. you know.  People like that aren't real (NOTHING ABOUT THEM IS REAL!) And seriously, what is going on in those peoples heads?  ------------ sorry in advance for the horrible ranting.. I promise a better post for tomorrow/the day after that)

AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

*Big Sigh*  Everything is fine...  I fixed it and it's all ok.  Gosh, that was scary. 

:)
Sarah

P.S. Please read my post below(s)!  I hate when this stuff goes uncommented. 

Nerdy: Web Browsers Reviews

Web browsers are like glasses - they help you see the internet. Recently, I've been going crazy trying to find the perfect browers for me. I've looked at zilions of web sites and reviews, and searched all through the pages on each of the different browers web sites. I think I've got one - it's called Maxthon 2.5.1.

I believe Maxthon is the best for me - maybe not you. So, in case you've decided to waste a few days downloading files and beign wierded out by different internet browsers (plus confusing your family when they don't realize it's the internet they see out of this wierd box) feel free to read below - I've listed all the browsers I've tried and given you my thoughts. Maybe then you'll find your perfect match... gosh, I'm a nerd!

Anyways, below are all the different types I've tried, and the last one (Maxthon) is the one I like the best.

Internet Explorer - I like internet explorer because it's easy to use and almost everywhere - not switching to some alien thing when you go to the library, almost every computer has the same or an older version of this program. Also, the buttons are clear and big, and pretty easy to navigate (although some a few shortcuts wouldn't hurt). The bad things about this is that it isn't at all customizable. Sure, it's easy to use, but that's all. No pretty looks, just simple, plain, usability. I think IE has fallen behind on the customizable train. Also, Internet Explorer is a little unreliable. Sometimes, especially with dial-up, if you try to load a webpage for too long the program seems to just give up. After it does that you're whole internet connection is pretty much toast and you have to restart your computer for it to maybe work again. Because IE is so set-in-stone, there is really no way to fix it problems like that.

Firefox - This one is good because it's very customizable and made for quick computers. On my computer, which is weighed down by half a billion word documents and computer games, it was kind of slow - but the customation was pretty good. There plenty of beautiful "skins" to wear, and their light design made them perfect to change daily. The top bar, because of those skins, was a little big (so the pictures could be seen) but not so much bigger than IE. According to faster computers, Firefox loads pages amazingly fast and is really great - I think it's pretty great too, but just not for my computer.

Opera - Opera, according to my dad, works really well on company laptops. Also, it has nice coloured tabs at the top. But as for customizability.. it's ok, but not perfect. Definately a step-up from IE. Also, Opera loads at a good speed and has a nice design - if I had to place it somewhere, it'd be right between Firefox and IE - it's kinda a nice mix of both.

Safari - Safari, for Mac computers, is nice and just like all of Apple programs. Clean, sensible and professional. Safari on Windows is the same - but compared to Windows, Safari looks like some alien invador. It makes Windows seem like some old cluttered thing - no smooth Apple corners or simple bottons. But all the same, Safari is a pretty good program - just don't scream when you realize an alien has taken over your computer.

Google Chrome - I'm really going to try not to be rude, but Google Chrome is an aquired taste. It's nearing the Safari-Alien look, but has no other brand of computer it looks sane on. Small, short sidebars leave you a gigantic viewing space which you look at, then feel stranded. It's almost like pressing the F11 key, except there's this slim blue bar around the edges. Sure, it has the amazing Google name written all over it, but for Google, this program is a real insult to the company. I'm looking forward to more upgrades in the future, so maybe, maybe, one day I'll be able to use Google Chrome.. but right now it's just not for me - plus the buttons were a little small... I don't want to have to hunt for them, they should be right there for me to use. (Although it's a good first try for Google). Actually, I was kind of suprised as the lack of Google-ness. Maybe they're trying to branck into a new style, but the blue? I've never seen that blue, and will never associate it with Google. I suggest they go for a more Google-y feel, so even if the style is a little offsetting, the Google-ness of the program will keep the users. It didn't keep me, and I uninstalled it faster than I installed it.

Maxthon - When you first get Maxthon, it comes up as this gray browser with each button a different colour. It looks pretty good - easy to read buttons, a modest gray colour that doesn't draw attention to itself and allows you too look at the web pages without clutter, and three nice-sized borders - a top bar, just smaller than IE (with an extenable bar to make it almost IE size) a thin sidebar with a few links (like facebook, feeds and favourites - very useful) and a small even skinnier bar at the bottom to show the loading status, zoom and a few other small gagets. Also, to the left of that, they have where the link will take you (normal) and if that's not in use, they display a series of hints and corny jokes (a great personal touch). Also, for customizing this browser, they have a website with kinds (try iBlack, that's the one I use - it's a nice black that's lighter and darker in some areas with buttons/tabs/tools the turn blue when you're using them). I like Maxthon because it's speedy on my computer, and light on the eyes.. (eyes and visibility.. I feel like some old lady!)


Always, those are my thoughts about the most popular browers. Feel free to say your own opinion and which browser you use - suddenly I'm obsessed with them!

I'll have an excerpt later.. although, if you want to read some French just tell me.. it's been my main writing language for the past while.

S a r a h

P.S. Officially 8 countries have viewed my blog! This is so amazing.. welcome Italy! Joe would be proud...

What, Exactly?

What, exactly, do you say to the normal "oh, you're a writer? Can I read your story?"

I'm stuck.

Usually I say it isn't finished.. or avoid that topic overall. But sometimes I just want to talk about it - it's a great feeling to be "telling the story of thousands of people" - even if it's a completely made-up story. But what do you do when someone starts to talk about your.. "hobby(?)"?

I'm tired of those awkward conversations.. be done with thou! (We're reading the pervy Romeo and Juliet in class... which, by the way, is totally overrated - as is ALL shakesphereian texts, perfect people who are perfectly tragic. I'm searching for a writer from that era who writes better than him (if you've found one, tell me!) so I can complete my reasons why shakesphere sucks (with a comparison!)A

nyways, ttyl and goodnight
(well, where I am and at the time I'm writing this - but for all those other times, good afternoon, evening, morning, noon and goodnight.

:)

S a r a h

Inspiration Comes At Night

Whoa, major inspiration burst. I've been writing for the past half hour. I got this idea because it's one of my bestest (boyfriendest) friend's birthday tomorrow and I wanted to include him in my story. But obviously, the character this "boy" turned out to be is nothing like the amazing one I stole the name from. I can't even use the excuse that it's the "thought that counts" - I'll just have to try again.

Meanwhile, I may be renaming his character... you can read the excerpt below and give me an idea for a name - if you want, (or just read it, lol).

(Of course, I'm only changing the name if the person doesn't want to keep it, it's his suckish "present"), so get your thinking caps on for new name.. maybe (and I'm getting the naming after a person vibe.. - although Obama isn't really a good name for this guy... just read the excerpt to understand why).

Note: This is still in the mountain, with the chairlift and the Trainees trying to kill him. And Cameron is nothing like the real one.

Invincible page 19-22

Shivering, I crawled out of the water and lay on my back, watching the sun set over the picturesque hills. A few moments of rest in the dead silence of the forest was exactly what I needed.


Peacefully, I watched the orange and glowing sun flicker under the foggy horizon. Pinks and violets scattered across the sky and the forest seemed to be in awe of the beauty; dead, comfortably silent. My eyes flickered closed as the soft coo of a woodland bird said goodnight to the world.

“Ha! I got you know,” My eyes jolted open and I tried to spring up, but something, or someone sprung on me first.

It was the idiotic kid again. He was starting to get on my nerves.

“Get off me” I said, but added “before I hurt you” in case he didn’t get the point.

He just laughed. “You can run… but I know these mountains better than the birds.” The kid made some weird imitation of a bird and flapped his arms apishly. But he jumped off of me.

I stood up, turning around.

“You stole my bike and trashed it in the lake.” He said. “There are these guys with mega-big guns looking for you.” He paused, then stuck out his hand, as if having men with guns chasing me made me worthy of his friendship - or animosity. “I’m Cameron Dwellers, pleased to make your acquaintance…” Cameron trailed off, waiting for me to supply my name. When I didn’t, he added on “mysterious mobster of some kind and sort.”

I smiled. Now that, was a good name. MMOSKAS… Moskas. Maybe I’d use that in the future, but for now, I had some insane kid to deal with.

A hand waved in front of my face. “Okay, I get it that you’re mute, but deaf too? You’re one screwed kid.”

I turned to face him, giving him my best, steely, I-don’t-need-you-but-you’re-not-worth-killing look. “Look here, Cammie. I don’t need your help. You’re all-so-precious bike is in some weed pile in the lake. Go get it yourself.” I turned to leave.

“What if I get shot. Killed. Heartbroken, my parents and girlfriend will be. And I’ll be there, dead, lying in a pool of my own blood, a bullet lodged in my heart as it beats it’s final tick…” He hopped in front of me, “would you care that you caused some poor mountain boy to die?”

“I’ve killed before.” I said, trying to sound tough. The truth was, I wasn’t really that uncaring and cold. My heart seemed bigger than most people I’d met - even if almost all of those were training or being-trained professional killers.

“So I guess you’ll be in charge of Cameron Dwellers death. Care to add that to the list?”

“Sure, my pleasure.” I said snarkily. Let me get away, I prayed, please, let me get away. It was moments like these I wished I believed in God.

“Oh,” Cameron took a deep breath and I walked away, thinking this was over and ‘God’ had completed my request. It left a good feeling inside me.

“OH, GUN MEN! GORGEOUS BIG BOYS WITH EVEN BIGGER GUNS! THERE’S A TASTY, JUICY BOY JUST WA-”

What the?

I lunged at Cameron, dragging him under the cover of a low tree with my hand clamped over his mouth.

“What the hell are you doing?” I growled, pinning him against the trunk of the tree. “Do you want to die?”

He just smirked at me. “I’ve heard a bullet to the head it a good way to go. Pretty graphic, feeling the life slip away and your body slowly shut down..”

I shook my head. “Look, the graphic stuff doesn’t scare me any more than heights do.”

“I know something that does,” Cameron smirked, taking another deep breath and getting ready to yell. I shoved his own hand in his mouth instead of getting spit all over mine this time.

Cameron smirked again. Oh, crap, I thought, he knows. And I was right, Cameron had found my weakness.

* * *

“Can I have a piggy-back ride?” Cameron whined.

“No.” My voice sounded just as tired as those all those parents in candy stores, telling their kids one more time that they just couldn’t have the purple candy cane.

Cameron’s voice was just like the purple-candy-cane-loving kids’.

“But if I don’t, I might just get,” he took a breath and I stared at him daringly. He didn’t yell, luckily for him, just started to raise his voice. “Sooo tired I will have to scream!”

I stared at him disbelievingly. Me and him, we’d reached a sort of agreement. For the past half hour we’d been walking as far away from each other as possible but still seeming ‘together’. He knew that if he screamed, I’d beat him up. I knew that if I beat him up, he’d scream.

“My mom’s a doctor.” Cameron said, wordlessly saying how he may not die if I left him here, broken bones in countless different places.

“And I’m a trained professional.”

“Yeah.. what are you, exactly?” I remained silent, as if I hadn’t heard anything. “I might be inclined to yell…”

I turned around. “Look, are you going to follow me around everywhere, or do I have do to something first?” I asked angrily.

“You know that girl, the one you were with on the bus here?”

My eyes widened, “yes,”

“She called herself Wings, right?”

I nodded.

“I need her. I’m her boyfriend and she’s been on the run for two years.”

No wonder she had to much experience. Once again, I’d underestimated the people around me.

“I need you to go get her - kidnap her if you have to, she won’t come willingly - and bring her back to my house. It’s 55 Deerlove Crescent. If you do that, I won’t come after you as well.”

I snorted before I could stop myself. “What makes you think you could follow me?”

“Oh, I don’t know.. I’ve been following her around for over seven hundred days, in three different countries. I just might have experience.”

I dunno why I got this random inspiration, but the only other times I've had something like this is at night.

But since it's an hour after my "bedtime" I have to go to sleep soon. I'll just explain the rest of my idea here, and finish off in the morning - genius eh?

Ok, so Cameron isn't really Wing's boyfriend.. actually, he's a dude her father (the one who's a mad scientist and will eventually bring her back to life for the cost of slapping a pair of wings on her back) hired to bring her back. She's been on the run for five years, all starting because she didn't want the wings.

And, well.. this is already a long post, so toodeloos, and I'll write and post more tomorrow (well, usually if someone comments. I feel funny to have an uncommented post, so I try to leave it on until I know for sure at least one person has read it).

Writerly,
S a r a h