In Australia, summer is Dec-Feb, so my 16th birthday was right before the end of the school year. I remember it clearly because as a 10th grade Elective PE student I had the opportunity to be part of the 7th grade swimming lessons program which lasted a week. Being one of the top swimmers I was assigned with the advanced class which had my sister in it. Bad idea, we get along WAY too well. All week we goofed off during the lessons.
The last day of the lessons was a pool party and my birthday. One of my best friends at the time gave me a stuffed toy sheep with a bib which read: Best Friends. It was possibly the coolest gift ever because I have a weird sheep fetish.
The whole day was a blast, and I ended up sun burnt. So my sixteenth birthday party that night I was as red as a lobster. But a few weeks later I had a nice bronze tan and my hair was sun-bleached.
Like most summers, I spent it at the pool or beach, but that year we had really bad fires around and after Christmas. We lived in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney and that area is a tinderbox. When fire season kicks in, the smell of smoke lingers for weeks. But that year was really bad. Before Christmas almost an entire neighborhood was lost, leaving them stranded for Christmas.
By mid-January, a 30km front was heading straight for the line of towns in which we lived. So a burn off was set into place in the bush which our home fronted. I remember we had to take the dogs inside and lock them up because they freaked out, and wildlife slithered and scampered up into the streets as we watch the firefighters set our bush on fire.
It did the trick though. The fire had nothing to burn, so when it met with the burn off, it went out or changed course away from all the homes. I remember at night going to a lookout and seeing the orange glow crawling down the mountainside like a slow lava flow. It felt so eerie.
A few days later, Dad decided he wanted to go take a look at "our" bush. So we hiked down to a small creek with the dogs. On the way back, I slipped on some ash, and underneath embers still smoldered. It stung like crazy, and I obviously cried and the dogs rushed over to lick my face in their dog-sympathy kind of way.
We rushed home to hose my leg off and found a nice burn from my knee down my shin. To this day I still have a small amount of ash trapped under my skin on my knee.
So, that was my summer when I was sixteen.
~Ozz
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Monday, August 5, 2013
The Summers We Were Sixteen: Page
Thanks to Christi for asking us to do this. I'm actually going to do two summers, because they relate to each other. The summers that I was fifteen and sixteen. This might be a little long...
My birthday is in November, so I had a whole two-thirds of the school year to be fifteen before I went from junior high (9th grade in AZ at the time) to high school. I'd made the top choir and the JV Cheer squad, and I was so excited to finally be moving up in the world.
Unfortunately, I had a difficult choice to make that year as well. My church had scheduled Girl's Camp the same week as Cheer Camp. Long story short: I chose Cheer Camp.
Wrong choice.
I won't say I didn't have fun, because I did. I learned a lot, and thought I'd made some good friends. The girls on my squad were nice to me, and I was good at everything we did. But the challenge came when I realized that my new "friends'" bad language was rubbing off on me.
I'd never made a habit of swear words. I'd said them in the past, but only once, and only behind the staircase at my elementary school to prove that I *could* but I didn't ever *want* to. The more I hung out with these girls on my squad, the more these words drove themselves into my brain.
Eventually, school started and I was basically swearing. Not constantly, and definitely not at home or in writing or to anyone I knew it would offend, but the words came out of their own accord. The devil on my shoulder was proud of me, and the angel on the other hung her head in shame.
By the time the cheer squad did the first football game and pep rally, I'd come to the conclusion than none of the girls on my squad even really liked me. Not only that, but cheering had a negative effect on my singing voice, and choir was definitely my top priority at the time. So I quit the squad. Soon after that, I realized that I'd dug myself into a bad hole, and that hole was full of swear words.
I remember standing on the steps of my high school waiting for my mom to come pick me up, and something happened that made me utter a curse under my breath. I was completely alone, and (to be a little religious for a second) the Spirit hit me hard, telling me that swearing wasn't the way for me, and I needed to stop. So, I made a conscious effort to stop. A habit like that is hard to break and it took a long time, but I did it.
Then, the summer I was sixteen I was able to go to Girl's Camp with my church. I was also able to attend a program called EFY (Especially For Youth) that members of my church put on each year. It was a whole week of spiritual talks, songs, games, study, and celebration. I met cute boys, made new friends, and had one of the most spiritual moments of my life that I still treasure to this day.
I learned from both summers, about myself and my life. And lessons like those stick with you.
-Page/Darci
My birthday is in November, so I had a whole two-thirds of the school year to be fifteen before I went from junior high (9th grade in AZ at the time) to high school. I'd made the top choir and the JV Cheer squad, and I was so excited to finally be moving up in the world.
Unfortunately, I had a difficult choice to make that year as well. My church had scheduled Girl's Camp the same week as Cheer Camp. Long story short: I chose Cheer Camp.
Wrong choice.
I won't say I didn't have fun, because I did. I learned a lot, and thought I'd made some good friends. The girls on my squad were nice to me, and I was good at everything we did. But the challenge came when I realized that my new "friends'" bad language was rubbing off on me.
I'd never made a habit of swear words. I'd said them in the past, but only once, and only behind the staircase at my elementary school to prove that I *could* but I didn't ever *want* to. The more I hung out with these girls on my squad, the more these words drove themselves into my brain.
Eventually, school started and I was basically swearing. Not constantly, and definitely not at home or in writing or to anyone I knew it would offend, but the words came out of their own accord. The devil on my shoulder was proud of me, and the angel on the other hung her head in shame.
By the time the cheer squad did the first football game and pep rally, I'd come to the conclusion than none of the girls on my squad even really liked me. Not only that, but cheering had a negative effect on my singing voice, and choir was definitely my top priority at the time. So I quit the squad. Soon after that, I realized that I'd dug myself into a bad hole, and that hole was full of swear words.
I remember standing on the steps of my high school waiting for my mom to come pick me up, and something happened that made me utter a curse under my breath. I was completely alone, and (to be a little religious for a second) the Spirit hit me hard, telling me that swearing wasn't the way for me, and I needed to stop. So, I made a conscious effort to stop. A habit like that is hard to break and it took a long time, but I did it.
Then, the summer I was sixteen I was able to go to Girl's Camp with my church. I was also able to attend a program called EFY (Especially For Youth) that members of my church put on each year. It was a whole week of spiritual talks, songs, games, study, and celebration. I met cute boys, made new friends, and had one of the most spiritual moments of my life that I still treasure to this day.
I learned from both summers, about myself and my life. And lessons like those stick with you.
-Page/Darci
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
The Summers We Were Sixteen: Part II
Didn't you just love Rogue's post about her 16th summer? The fact that she used the word temerity alone, really impressed me. So much so, that I had to look it up. For your enjoyment, here is an account of Lady Jane's summer she turned 16, exactly 14 years ago today!
Lady
Sunday! My 16th birthday fell on a Sunday. And I thought the universe couldn't be crueler. I couldn't date until I turned sixteen anyway and it was just the shard of glass on top of the cake that it fell on a Sunday, a day my family went to church and not much else.
The only glorious gift given to me by the universe was that it rained. A good, long rain. I grew up in the desert and the simple act of condensation falling to the ground lifted my spirits.
I didn't even have the fortune of looking forward to getting my driver's license either. There's no one to blame but myself (or maybe the girl that caused a car accident I was in just before my 15th birthday). I wasn't in the mood to be behind the wheel when there were crazies out there who could run red lights because they felt like it. Not exactly the boost of confidence I needed or faith in my fellow driver.
I had a few close friends that I made from being in choir at high school for the last couple of years that I wanted to invite over for my sweet sixteen. I might have been a little over-zealous at my definition of "a few close friends" because when I invited 20 or so kids, only four showed up. I was too depressed to even be happy that those four cared enough to be there for me.
When I did finally have my first date, I had a blast! I went with a boy I was friends with (no romantic inklings whatsoever, the best kind of date when you're starting out) and we grabbed some pizza with two other couples and went back to my date's house to play relay ping pong. I think that's what it's called, where you race around the table and you can only hit the ball once. Then we finished the night off with a showing of "The Princess Bride". In all, not a shabby first date if I do say so.
Stay tuned for our next installment of The Summers We Were Sixteen!
Lady
Sunday! My 16th birthday fell on a Sunday. And I thought the universe couldn't be crueler. I couldn't date until I turned sixteen anyway and it was just the shard of glass on top of the cake that it fell on a Sunday, a day my family went to church and not much else.
The only glorious gift given to me by the universe was that it rained. A good, long rain. I grew up in the desert and the simple act of condensation falling to the ground lifted my spirits.
I didn't even have the fortune of looking forward to getting my driver's license either. There's no one to blame but myself (or maybe the girl that caused a car accident I was in just before my 15th birthday). I wasn't in the mood to be behind the wheel when there were crazies out there who could run red lights because they felt like it. Not exactly the boost of confidence I needed or faith in my fellow driver.
I had a few close friends that I made from being in choir at high school for the last couple of years that I wanted to invite over for my sweet sixteen. I might have been a little over-zealous at my definition of "a few close friends" because when I invited 20 or so kids, only four showed up. I was too depressed to even be happy that those four cared enough to be there for me.
When I did finally have my first date, I had a blast! I went with a boy I was friends with (no romantic inklings whatsoever, the best kind of date when you're starting out) and we grabbed some pizza with two other couples and went back to my date's house to play relay ping pong. I think that's what it's called, where you race around the table and you can only hit the ball once. Then we finished the night off with a showing of "The Princess Bride". In all, not a shabby first date if I do say so.
Stay tuned for our next installment of The Summers We Were Sixteen!
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
The Summers We Were Sixteen
The word itself almost seems magical. The days are longer, the nights pleasant (depending on where you grew up). But the most magical summers would have to be at the age of sixteen. Licenses are distributed, dating more often (again, depending on how you grew up), your friends are the most important people on the planet, I could go on but I won't. It's Rogue's turn to divulge details on the summer she turned sixteen. For many of the Typelings, it has been over a decade since those treasured years. So come along with us as we scrounge through our attics of teenagerdom and find some buried gems.
Rogue
The summer I turned 16 was a momentous one for me. I remember late-night cruises down empty highways, hanging out of a sunroof and screaming for the joy of the wind in my hair. I remember sneaking in and out of windows, evading curfews and parental interference, stargazing on rooftops, climbing trees and fences alike, and crushing hard core on a different cute boy every week.
I remember my first kiss, crouching in a nest of shrubbery at the edge of a park in the dead of night, the temerity of the moment, the pounding of my hear and the flushing of my face, the feel of gravel pressing into my ankles. I remember hours of hand holding, his palm calloused and sweaty against mine, and how every second seemed both desperate and eternal.
That summer was the first time I ever heard the words "I love you", and the first time I returned the sentiment-the first time I really thought I meant it.
It was a summer of blistering heat, of reckless bliss, of raucous friendship, teenage rebellion, and budding romance. It was the high point of my youth, a time I will always treasure.
Rogue
The summer I turned 16 was a momentous one for me. I remember late-night cruises down empty highways, hanging out of a sunroof and screaming for the joy of the wind in my hair. I remember sneaking in and out of windows, evading curfews and parental interference, stargazing on rooftops, climbing trees and fences alike, and crushing hard core on a different cute boy every week.
I remember my first kiss, crouching in a nest of shrubbery at the edge of a park in the dead of night, the temerity of the moment, the pounding of my hear and the flushing of my face, the feel of gravel pressing into my ankles. I remember hours of hand holding, his palm calloused and sweaty against mine, and how every second seemed both desperate and eternal.
That summer was the first time I ever heard the words "I love you", and the first time I returned the sentiment-the first time I really thought I meant it.
It was a summer of blistering heat, of reckless bliss, of raucous friendship, teenage rebellion, and budding romance. It was the high point of my youth, a time I will always treasure.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Book Lovers Identified
Oscar Hammerstein said to give credit where credit is due, so it was not by my own mind that I came up with this idea of talking about the books that changed the Typelings lives, it was an article out of the Real Simple June 2013 issue. But I thought, "what the heck!" I am friends with a bunch of writers and we read too, a lot, probably some more than others. But I digress.
It was in that issue that John Green a YA author said, "Books are just meaningless scratches on a page until the reader translates them into a story."
So what books changed our lives? What stories did we bring to life?
It was in that issue that John Green a YA author said, "Books are just meaningless scratches on a page until the reader translates them into a story."
So what books changed our lives? What stories did we bring to life?
Those books captured my imagination from the tender age of 10. Because of them I would dream up my own fantasy world for hours on end and left me thinking, "man, I'd love to write."
~ Pinocchio aka Todd Chapman
This is a Young Adult book which I first read when I was twelve. It's about an Italian girl, Josephine, born and raised in Sydney, during her 12th grade year. She starts off not knowing exactly who she is or where she stands within her community, her mother gave birth to her when she was sixteen and she has no father, she's a poor girl in a prestigious Catholic school on a scholarship, and just generally feels isolated and outcast. But throughout the book she goes through a series of learning experiences with her grandmother, boys, friends and also her long lost father who didn't even know she existed. There's a lot of humanity, emotion and self discovery, and over the years it's remained as a top pick for me and I've read it several times. I want to be able to create stories overflowing with emotion and the human experience like Alibrandi does.
Ozz aka Katie Hamstead Teller
"She reads books as one who would breathe air, to fill up and live." - Annie Dillard
"She reads books as one who would breathe air, to fill up and live." - Annie Dillard
I was always a reader. I still am. Even while writing novels and blog posts and tweets galore, I always have something, either on my kindle or in paper, to read. The books that really defined my life as a reader -- the ones that every other book was compared to -- were written by David Eddings. If you look him up, you'll see he has many titles to his name, but the most popular are two series of five books each (ten total) called THE BELGARIAD and THE MALLOREAN.
These stories follow the traditional Fantasy tropes to a 'T', and they do it with wit, flair, and a dash of sarcasm. Eddings says he basically set out to make fun of the Fantasy genre, and he ended up with a brilliantly funny take on every trope in the genre. The main character, Garion, starts out very naive, and throughout the story he becomes wise beyond his years. Even so much that by the end of THE MALLOREAN he's giving very sage advice to other characters -- and yet still being caught off guard by his whip of a wife, Ce'Nedra.
Overall, I can't praise these books enough. And, now that I've told you all about them, I think I'll go read them again.
Page aka Darci Cole
When asked to choose a book that has changed my life, my automatic reaction is to simply reply, "There are too many" and leave it at that. My second reaction is to go for the obvious choices, such as Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. My third reaction was to really sit and give this question some serious thought, and this is what I came up with.
Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
While books have always been important to me, I did, in my early 20's, experience my own personal Dark Age, in which I allowed my love of reading to diminish in lieu of less worthy interests in television shows and films. I picked up this book on a whim one day, and found my passion for the written word not only reawakened, but exponentially increased. This book is ABOUT loving books, worded with excellence, and enlivened with characters that became as dear to me as members of my own family. And may I just say...Dustfinger, you rocked my world. You and your pet ferret. I love you, man.
Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz
This book completely changed not only the way I feel about writing, but the way in which I experience life. Dean Koontz is the ONLY author who has ever made me step back and re-evaluate my understanding of love, loss, and hardship. He is the only author who has ever made me truly aware of the profound depth to the world in which I live. He has instilled in me such awesome gratitude for the mysteries of the earth and of my fellow man. And he did this all through a character name Odd Thomas. Odd is, in my opinion, the most fully-realized character ever to take form from the tip of a pen. He faces terrible adversity with a sense of optimism that never wavers. He is someone I truly admire, and a character I will revisit over and over for the rest of my life. PS, the sixth book in the Odd Thomas series comes out on the 28th of this month!
Rogue aka Marie Aguirre
When asked to choose a book that has changed my life, my automatic reaction is to simply reply, "There are too many" and leave it at that. My second reaction is to go for the obvious choices, such as Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. My third reaction was to really sit and give this question some serious thought, and this is what I came up with.
Inkheart by Cornelia Funke
While books have always been important to me, I did, in my early 20's, experience my own personal Dark Age, in which I allowed my love of reading to diminish in lieu of less worthy interests in television shows and films. I picked up this book on a whim one day, and found my passion for the written word not only reawakened, but exponentially increased. This book is ABOUT loving books, worded with excellence, and enlivened with characters that became as dear to me as members of my own family. And may I just say...Dustfinger, you rocked my world. You and your pet ferret. I love you, man.
Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz
This book completely changed not only the way I feel about writing, but the way in which I experience life. Dean Koontz is the ONLY author who has ever made me step back and re-evaluate my understanding of love, loss, and hardship. He is the only author who has ever made me truly aware of the profound depth to the world in which I live. He has instilled in me such awesome gratitude for the mysteries of the earth and of my fellow man. And he did this all through a character name Odd Thomas. Odd is, in my opinion, the most fully-realized character ever to take form from the tip of a pen. He faces terrible adversity with a sense of optimism that never wavers. He is someone I truly admire, and a character I will revisit over and over for the rest of my life. PS, the sixth book in the Odd Thomas series comes out on the 28th of this month!
Rogue aka Marie Aguirre
"There is no such thing as a child who hates to read ; there are only children who have not found the right book." - Frank Serafini
I like to think that quote was written with me in mind. I wasn't a voracious reader (I'm still not) but when it comes to a book that truly speaks to me I can't put it down for days. This was the first chapter book I ever read in elementary school. When I first read it I couldn't put it down, I was engrossed with Minikin Snickasnee (Minx for short). She was a sweet, kind, big-hearted girl who learned to love in spite of her care-taker, a dreadful aunt who defined witch. It was because of Little Witch that I enjoyed reading as a young kid.
I think I'll go out and order a copy to cherish forever.
I think I'll go out and order a copy to cherish forever.
~ Lady aka Christi Gray
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Kiya Release Blog Hop
Hey guys!
Check out the book Trailer before you go anywhere! It's so epic.
To celebrate the release of my book I'm holding a blog hop! So jump in and win some great prizes. Details can be found on my blog.
So something about Egypt. Everything is backward! I mean this in the nicest way. When talking about travel on the Nile, traveling down means Northward, so traveling up means South! Then, Upper Egypt is cities like Luxor/Thebes in the southern region, while Alexandria and Memphis on the Delta are considered Lower Egypt. Confused me in High School!
So There you go! Keep looking and learning from the other blogs.
Check out the book Trailer before you go anywhere! It's so epic.
To celebrate the release of my book I'm holding a blog hop! So jump in and win some great prizes. Details can be found on my blog.
So something about Egypt. Everything is backward! I mean this in the nicest way. When talking about travel on the Nile, traveling down means Northward, so traveling up means South! Then, Upper Egypt is cities like Luxor/Thebes in the southern region, while Alexandria and Memphis on the Delta are considered Lower Egypt. Confused me in High School!
So There you go! Keep looking and learning from the other blogs.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Winner of Historical Figure Blog Hop!
Just because there was only one entrant, doesn't mean her entry wasn't great! I loved it actually, so I feel she is worth rewarding. So Gloria, send me an email at - katiejteller (@) gmail dot com and I'll get you that ebook!
Ozz
Ozz
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Historical Figures Blog Hop
So, because I'm probably a little too busy I forgot to post this earlier! So We'll just start now. Sorry everyone!
To celebrate the upcoming release of my novel Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh I am holding this blog hop here with the Typelings gang! So here's what you need to do:
Post about a historical figure you would like to meet and why.
There are so many interesting people throughout history, Kiya being just one of them. Kiya really was one of the wives of Akhenaten, the only wife, other than Neferiti and his three oldest daughters with Nefertiti, ever mentioned.
So, the Typelings gang will buzz around to the blogs and vote on their favorite, then, the one with the most votes I will give a free e-book copy once the book is released (30th April.) Just post the link in the comments below. Entries will close on the 30th.
Thanks for your patience!
~*Ozz
Find more about Kiya at my blog and join in the blog hop for the release there.
To celebrate the upcoming release of my novel Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh I am holding this blog hop here with the Typelings gang! So here's what you need to do:
Post about a historical figure you would like to meet and why.
There are so many interesting people throughout history, Kiya being just one of them. Kiya really was one of the wives of Akhenaten, the only wife, other than Neferiti and his three oldest daughters with Nefertiti, ever mentioned.
So, the Typelings gang will buzz around to the blogs and vote on their favorite, then, the one with the most votes I will give a free e-book copy once the book is released (30th April.) Just post the link in the comments below. Entries will close on the 30th.
Thanks for your patience!
~*Ozz
Find more about Kiya at my blog and join in the blog hop for the release there.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Cover Reveal Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh by Ozz!
Today I am so excited to share my cover with you! This is my debut so I'm getting a multitude of feels about this. Anyway, I just love this cover, and hope you like it too. So, here it is!
Find more about Kiya at my blog and join in the blog hop for the release there.
To celebrate the upcoming release of my novel Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh I am holding this blog hop here with the Typelings gang! Yay! So what do you need to do? Well it's simple:
On the 23rd, post about a historical figure you would like to meet and why.
There are so many interesting people throughout history, Kiya being just one of them. Kiya really was one of the wives of Akhenaten, the only wife, other than Neferiti and his three oldest daughters with Nefertiti, ever mentioned.
So, the Typelings gang will buzz around to the blogs and vote on their favorite, then, the one with the most votes I will give a free e-book copy once the book is released (30th April.) Easy right? Just post the link in the comments on the post for the hop that will go up on the 23rd. Entries will close on the 30th.
~*Ozz
To save her younger sisters from being taken to the cruel life of the palace, Naomi intervenes and gives herself to be a wife of the erratic Pharaoh Akhenaten.
In the palace, Naomi finds herself thrust into the intrigues of the royal family, and has her name changed to Kiya. She becomes beloved by the Pharaoh, who declares that she will bear him his heir. But the Great Queen Nefertiti, furious with jealousy, schemes to destroy Naomi and even brings her fidelity into question, which could cost Naomi her very life.
Naomi must play the deadly game carefully. She is in a silent battle of wills, and a struggle for who will one day inherit the crown. And if she does bear an heir, she will have to fight to protect him as well as herself from Nefertiti who is out for blood.
Find more about Kiya at my blog and join in the blog hop for the release there.
To celebrate the upcoming release of my novel Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh I am holding this blog hop here with the Typelings gang! Yay! So what do you need to do? Well it's simple:
On the 23rd, post about a historical figure you would like to meet and why.
There are so many interesting people throughout history, Kiya being just one of them. Kiya really was one of the wives of Akhenaten, the only wife, other than Neferiti and his three oldest daughters with Nefertiti, ever mentioned.
So, the Typelings gang will buzz around to the blogs and vote on their favorite, then, the one with the most votes I will give a free e-book copy once the book is released (30th April.) Easy right? Just post the link in the comments on the post for the hop that will go up on the 23rd. Entries will close on the 30th.
~*Ozz
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Typelings at luncheon
~I just like the word luncheon.
Because hobbits use it.
Anyway, here are the Typelings at our victuals.
I also like the word victuals.
Highlights:
~Discussions over the release of Ozz's new book Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh. (You GUYS, we're so freaking ready for this book to come out!) April 30th.
Write. It. Down.
~Hero had the mango chicken and it was yummy. Also brought along the Little Bub who made a perfectly lovely mess of his baby food.
~Page was a good sport about us eating her honey-chipotle chicken spicy delicious perfection. She and Lady were also good sports about entertaining Little Bub.
~Batman had us all rolling about a new idea for a novel. I won't share. That's up to him. Currently waiting on some replies to MS requests! Go Batman (read that in the Christian Bale guttural).
~and Lady, always the fantastic leader of discussion, is great at bringing the subject back around to writing and our WiP's (or is it W'siP?). We are easily distracted by discussions of Dr. Who, current movies, and other criticisms for vampire novels-slash-movies that shall remain unnamed.
And her necklace is way cute.
What? It is!
Because hobbits use it.
Anyway, here are the Typelings at our victuals.
I also like the word victuals.
Highlights:
~Discussions over the release of Ozz's new book Kiya: Hope of the Pharaoh. (You GUYS, we're so freaking ready for this book to come out!) April 30th.
Write. It. Down.
~Hero had the mango chicken and it was yummy. Also brought along the Little Bub who made a perfectly lovely mess of his baby food.
~Page was a good sport about us eating her honey-chipotle chicken spicy delicious perfection. She and Lady were also good sports about entertaining Little Bub.
~Batman had us all rolling about a new idea for a novel. I won't share. That's up to him. Currently waiting on some replies to MS requests! Go Batman (read that in the Christian Bale guttural).
~and Lady, always the fantastic leader of discussion, is great at bringing the subject back around to writing and our WiP's (or is it W'siP?). We are easily distracted by discussions of Dr. Who, current movies, and other criticisms for vampire novels-slash-movies that shall remain unnamed.
And her necklace is way cute.
What? It is!
Clockwise from left: Ozz, Batman, (Hero's Little Bub in a carseat behind Page), Page, and Lady.
And the Bub. Holy crap is he cute or what? Yes, that is an ASU onesie. Go Sun Devils!
Hero is not pictured because I didn't have the foresight to turn the camera on myself.
We missed our other Typelings and hope that they'll be able to join us next time!
Cheers,
Hero
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Rogue; Faramir and Eowyn
I chose this segment because Tolkien is the master. Obviously. In the Lord of the Rings, he didn't devote a lot of time to romance. We just catch brief snatches between Aragorn and Arwen, Faramir and Eowyn, (Legolas and Gimli, heh heh) and those few passages are enough to melt my cynical, sarcastic exterior and bring out the wretched romantic in me. The chapter he devotes to Faramir and Eowyn, in which they meet, comfort one another, fall in love, and get engaged, is one of the most beautiful examples of romance in all of fiction. I could go on and on, I could write an essay about this, but I will shut myself up here and just say: Fly, my people. Fly away and have yourselves a love like Faramir and Eowyn.
~Rogue
***
Faramir looked at her, and it seemed to him that her loveliness amid her grief would pierce his heart. And she looked at him and saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and yet knew that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.
'What do you wish?' he said again. 'If it lies in my power, I will do it.'
'I do not desire healing,' she said. 'I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.'
'It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength,' said Faramir. 'But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting.'
She did not answer, but as he looked at her it seemed to him that something in her softened. A tear sprang in her eye and fell down her cheek, like a glistening rain-drop. Her proud head drooped a little.
Faramir smiled, though his heart was filled with pity. 'If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east, whither all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me.'
Then she raised her head and looked him in the eyes again; and a colour came in her pale face. 'How should I ease your care, my lord?' she said.
'Would you have my plain answer?' he said.
'I would.'
'Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful. It would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back.'
'Alas, not me, lord!' she said. 'Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing! I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle. But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber.' And she did him a courtesy and walked back to the house. But Faramir for a long while walked alone in the garden, and his glance now strayed rather to the house than to the eastward walls.
In the morning, as Faramir came from the Houses, he saw her, as she stood upon the walls; and she was clad all in white, and gleamed in the sun. And he called to her, and she came down, and they walked on the grass or sat under a green tree together, now in silence, now in speech. And each day after they did likewise.
And they said no more; and as they stood so, their hands met and clasped, though they did not know it.
And so they stood on the walls of the City of Gondor, and a great wind rose and blew, and their hair, raven and golden, streamed out mingling in the air. And the Shadow departed, and the Sun was unveiled, and light leaped forth; and the waters of Anduin shone like silver, and in all the houses of the City men sang for the joy that welled up in their hearts from what source they could not tell.
~Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King, by J.R.R. Tolkien
~Rogue
***
Faramir looked at her, and it seemed to him that her loveliness amid her grief would pierce his heart. And she looked at him and saw the grave tenderness in his eyes, and yet knew that here was one whom no Rider of the Mark would outmatch in battle.
'I do not desire healing,' she said. 'I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.'
'It is too late, lady, to follow the Captains, even if you had the strength,' said Faramir. 'But death in battle may come to us all yet, willing or unwilling. You and I, we must endure with patience the hours of waiting.'
She did not answer, but as he looked at her it seemed to him that something in her softened. A tear sprang in her eye and fell down her cheek, like a glistening rain-drop. Her proud head drooped a little.
Faramir smiled, though his heart was filled with pity. 'If you will stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest, then you shall walk in this garden in the sun, as you will; and you shall look east, whither all our hopes have gone. And here you will find me, walking and waiting, and also looking east. It would ease my care, if you would speak to me, or walk at whiles with me.'
Then she raised her head and looked him in the eyes again; and a colour came in her pale face. 'How should I ease your care, my lord?' she said.
'Would you have my plain answer?' he said.
'I would.'
'Then, Éowyn of Rohan, I say to you that you are beautiful. In the valleys of our hills there are flowers fair and bright, and maidens fairer still; but neither flower nor lady have I seen till now in Gondor so lovely, and so sorrowful. It would ease my heart, if while the Sun yet shines, I could see you still. For you and I have both passed under the wings of the Shadow, and the same hand drew us back.'
'Alas, not me, lord!' she said. 'Shadow lies on me still. Look not to me for healing! I am a shieldmaiden and my hand is ungentle. But I thank you for this at least, that I need not keep to my chamber.' And she did him a courtesy and walked back to the house. But Faramir for a long while walked alone in the garden, and his glance now strayed rather to the house than to the eastward walls.
In the morning, as Faramir came from the Houses, he saw her, as she stood upon the walls; and she was clad all in white, and gleamed in the sun. And he called to her, and she came down, and they walked on the grass or sat under a green tree together, now in silence, now in speech. And each day after they did likewise.
And they said no more; and as they stood so, their hands met and clasped, though they did not know it.
And so they stood on the walls of the City of Gondor, and a great wind rose and blew, and their hair, raven and golden, streamed out mingling in the air. And the Shadow departed, and the Sun was unveiled, and light leaped forth; and the waters of Anduin shone like silver, and in all the houses of the City men sang for the joy that welled up in their hearts from what source they could not tell.
~Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King, by J.R.R. Tolkien
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Ozz; Deceptive Cadence
This is an excerpt from my new MS Deceptive Cadence. Cadence, the MC is reliving her high school years to try to do them better. But, while she no longer dates her original boyfriends, one of the bad boys from her school begins to pursue her. In this scene, she unintentionally went on a double date with a boy, and the bad boy, James, shows up to try to win her over, but he doesn't count on her overprotective father showing up.
*****
I found Geri and dragged her out as fast as I could. We hurried to pull off our skates, and on our way to return them James intercepted us. “Cadence, you’re going to talk to me.”
“Are you insane?” Geri hissed as we shoved past.
“I don’t have sex with those girls!” he yelled.
All eyes turned our direction and Geri and I lifted our skates to cover our faces.
“I’m serious Cadence! That’s Robbie’s thing.” he continued to yell after us.
I spun on him. “Would you shut up?”
“No. Not until you hear me out.”
I smirked as I dumped my skates on the counter. “Then you’ll be yelling for the rest of your life.”
Geri and I hurried out.
“When’s your Dad coming to get us?’ she whispered.
“Not for another half hour.”
“See? This is why we need phones.”
I chuckled, knowing that in about five years every kid our age would have a phone. We sat against the side of the building to wait. She shuffled and pulled my money out of the pocket of her jeans. “Here, I don’t need it. You’ve had a rough day. I guess it’s not that great having guys into you.”
I smiled and pushed her hand back. “No really, keep it. I don’t wanna feel like I owe Brian any favors.”
“I saw what he did,” she muttered. “I was trying to get over to you but Sean kept me back. You were lucky James came along when he did. I can’t believe he would do that.”
“Who? Brian or James?”
She paused and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Both actually.”
“Cadence!” James burst out and fell to his knees in front of me. I pulled back in shock as he scrambled closer. “Just thank me.”
“You’re crazy!” I answered in a voice that was much too high.
“Fine then let me kiss you.”
“How is that any more likely than me thanking you?” His breath smelled rank, like he’d just smoked a box of cigarettes.
“I keep saving you and you never thank me!”
“Get away from me!”
“But you’re so beautiful.”
My heart skipped and I paused. Not hot? Not cute? I met his eye. “What?”
“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
I held his gaze, completely stunned. Then Geri smacked him across the face. “Get lost and leave my friend alone!”
My daze was broken and I snapped back to reality. “Coming from a guy who’s probably high on something, that’s not very flattering.”
His eyebrows lowered in frustration. “I’m not high–”
“Hey!” We all jumped at my dad’s booming voice. He leaped out of the car, his eyes fixed on James. “You stay away from my daughter!”
James backed away as my dad towered over him.
“Cadence, Geri, get in the car.”
Geri and I scurried to the car as Dad backed toward it, his eyes never leaving James.
~ Deceptive Cadence, WIP by Katie Teller
*****
I found Geri and dragged her out as fast as I could. We hurried to pull off our skates, and on our way to return them James intercepted us. “Cadence, you’re going to talk to me.”
“Are you insane?” Geri hissed as we shoved past.
“I don’t have sex with those girls!” he yelled.
All eyes turned our direction and Geri and I lifted our skates to cover our faces.
“I’m serious Cadence! That’s Robbie’s thing.” he continued to yell after us.
I spun on him. “Would you shut up?”
“No. Not until you hear me out.”
I smirked as I dumped my skates on the counter. “Then you’ll be yelling for the rest of your life.”
Geri and I hurried out.
“When’s your Dad coming to get us?’ she whispered.
“Not for another half hour.”
“See? This is why we need phones.”
I chuckled, knowing that in about five years every kid our age would have a phone. We sat against the side of the building to wait. She shuffled and pulled my money out of the pocket of her jeans. “Here, I don’t need it. You’ve had a rough day. I guess it’s not that great having guys into you.”
I smiled and pushed her hand back. “No really, keep it. I don’t wanna feel like I owe Brian any favors.”
“I saw what he did,” she muttered. “I was trying to get over to you but Sean kept me back. You were lucky James came along when he did. I can’t believe he would do that.”
“Who? Brian or James?”
She paused and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Both actually.”
“Cadence!” James burst out and fell to his knees in front of me. I pulled back in shock as he scrambled closer. “Just thank me.”
“You’re crazy!” I answered in a voice that was much too high.
“Fine then let me kiss you.”
“How is that any more likely than me thanking you?” His breath smelled rank, like he’d just smoked a box of cigarettes.
“I keep saving you and you never thank me!”
“Get away from me!”
“But you’re so beautiful.”
My heart skipped and I paused. Not hot? Not cute? I met his eye. “What?”
“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
I held his gaze, completely stunned. Then Geri smacked him across the face. “Get lost and leave my friend alone!”
My daze was broken and I snapped back to reality. “Coming from a guy who’s probably high on something, that’s not very flattering.”
His eyebrows lowered in frustration. “I’m not high–”
“Hey!” We all jumped at my dad’s booming voice. He leaped out of the car, his eyes fixed on James. “You stay away from my daughter!”
James backed away as my dad towered over him.
“Cadence, Geri, get in the car.”
Geri and I scurried to the car as Dad backed toward it, his eyes never leaving James.
~ Deceptive Cadence, WIP by Katie Teller
Monday, February 11, 2013
Hero; Three Years
This is an original work, but is based on true events. Let's see how many of you can tell us who these two lovers are.
~Hero
*****
The train’s whistle caused him to look up from where he sat in the rattling compartment. He took a deep breath and straightened his coat. Dull and sooty clouds of acrid steam billowed from the engine, blurring his view out the window.
“Next stop, Cheltenham station,” said the conductor from the front of the train’s compartment. Harmless words, yet they sent a thrill through his pounding heart. Cheltenham station. His stop. Either she was there or she wasn’t. His pulse raged faster.
Please be here, he thought. Please come. He folded his arms and heard the crinkle of a letter in his breast pocket, penned by her elegant hand only days ago. He recalled the words:
Ronald,
I received your letter. Happy twenty-first birthday, dear friend. It
has been a very long time. I do hope this note finds you well. I must
confess I was surprised to hear from you. I thought you’d all but forgotten
about me.
As for your request, I should be quite glad to meet at the Cheltenham Station Wednesday next at two o’clock. Three years is far too long a time among friends. I have much to tell you. I was recently engaged to be married to my school friend Molly’s brother, George Field.
Ronald clenched his fists. Engaged. She was engaged. Of course, he couldn’t blame her. After three years of absence and silence, forbidden to see or even contact one another, Ronald felt that he shouldn’t be surprised Edith would move on. She was far too pretty to remain unattached.
But he hadn’t moved on. He hadn’t forgotten…
Their first conversation, even the first glance. Her eyes were so beautiful: grey and merry and hiding a soul that so poignantly mirrored his. Many hours he and Edith spent, talking of anything. They were like the two trees that grew outside the boardinghouse where they met—growing up on separate soil, but intertwined at the boughs until naught but a storm could part them.
Well, thought Ronald in ardent irritation, apparently this George Field has become the storm.
The train jerked and slowed. Ronald looked out the window again, but could see nothing of the platform. Edith, he hoped, was standing out there, waiting to receive him. He wiped his palms on his trousers. The train stopped with a high-pitched screech and one last jolt.
He jumped to his feet, hurried down the compartment isle, and down the steps to the platform.
He saw her at once. She wore a blue dress and matching coat. Beneath her hat, which she held on her head, her raven hair shone in soft curls around her face. She stood on tip-toe, searching the doors of the train carriages. For a moment, he couldn’t move.
Three years. Finally, there she was. As he watched her, trapped in his simultaneous heartbreak and elation, he decided: he was going to change her mind. She couldn’t marry George Field.
At last, she spotted him, met his eyes… and smiled.
~ Beren and Luthien, WIP by Hero London
*****
The train’s whistle caused him to look up from where he sat in the rattling compartment. He took a deep breath and straightened his coat. Dull and sooty clouds of acrid steam billowed from the engine, blurring his view out the window.
“Next stop, Cheltenham station,” said the conductor from the front of the train’s compartment. Harmless words, yet they sent a thrill through his pounding heart. Cheltenham station. His stop. Either she was there or she wasn’t. His pulse raged faster.
Please be here, he thought. Please come. He folded his arms and heard the crinkle of a letter in his breast pocket, penned by her elegant hand only days ago. He recalled the words:
Ronald,
I received your letter. Happy twenty-first birthday, dear friend. It
has been a very long time. I do hope this note finds you well. I must
confess I was surprised to hear from you. I thought you’d all but forgotten
about me.
As for your request, I should be quite glad to meet at the Cheltenham Station Wednesday next at two o’clock. Three years is far too long a time among friends. I have much to tell you. I was recently engaged to be married to my school friend Molly’s brother, George Field.
Ronald clenched his fists. Engaged. She was engaged. Of course, he couldn’t blame her. After three years of absence and silence, forbidden to see or even contact one another, Ronald felt that he shouldn’t be surprised Edith would move on. She was far too pretty to remain unattached.
But he hadn’t moved on. He hadn’t forgotten…
Their first conversation, even the first glance. Her eyes were so beautiful: grey and merry and hiding a soul that so poignantly mirrored his. Many hours he and Edith spent, talking of anything. They were like the two trees that grew outside the boardinghouse where they met—growing up on separate soil, but intertwined at the boughs until naught but a storm could part them.
Well, thought Ronald in ardent irritation, apparently this George Field has become the storm.
The train jerked and slowed. Ronald looked out the window again, but could see nothing of the platform. Edith, he hoped, was standing out there, waiting to receive him. He wiped his palms on his trousers. The train stopped with a high-pitched screech and one last jolt.
He jumped to his feet, hurried down the compartment isle, and down the steps to the platform.
He saw her at once. She wore a blue dress and matching coat. Beneath her hat, which she held on her head, her raven hair shone in soft curls around her face. She stood on tip-toe, searching the doors of the train carriages. For a moment, he couldn’t move.
Three years. Finally, there she was. As he watched her, trapped in his simultaneous heartbreak and elation, he decided: he was going to change her mind. She couldn’t marry George Field.
At last, she spotted him, met his eyes… and smiled.
~ Beren and Luthien, WIP by Hero London
Friday, February 8, 2013
Page; Target
So, this is a scene I wrote a while back that was going to be toward the end of TARGET. However, in getting to know them more, I found that it wasn't in character for Robyn or Lex. So, this scene has been cut, and will be rewritten. BUT I still have it, and it's cute, so here you go. Hope you like it!
-Page
*****
Robyn’s first recollection was of stiffness. Her body was sore all over, and tired, though she felt she’d slept for days. When she opened her eyes, she saw deep purple hangings above her, and bars of a four-poster bed on each side. She must be in the palace. Looking around further, her thought was confirmed.
Lex sat in a chair at the foot of her bed. He looked as though he’d placed himself as close as possible, without actually touching her. She smiled, half-wishing he would.
Jeffrey stood near a large fireplace across the elegantly decorated room. He rocked back and forth on his feet, looking more nervous than she’d ever seen him.
“Lex?”
His head shot up at her voice, and Jeffrey turned.
“You’re awake! Oh thank God.” He rose from his chair and came to kneel at her side. He took her hand in his and kissed it passionately. She was shocked, but found it pleasant. A blush crept into her cheeks.
“How are you feeling, lady?” Jeffrey asked.
She shifted under the thick blankets. “Sore, and my ribs ache.” As she twisted, a cry escaped her lips, and she remembered the arrow that pierced her. She sighed, letting the soft bed envelop her again. “How long was I unconscious?”
“Not long, it’s noon of the day after,” Lex said. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
She looked into his unsure eyes. “You’re welcome.”
He took a breath and stood. His body was tense, as though he were steeling himself for something.
“In the morning,” he said, “I will publicly renounce my engagement to Carina.”
Robyn blinked and narrowed her eyes, surprised. “You were engaged?”
Lex’s cheeks turned red. “Well, yes. Legally I was.”
She watched him, not letting her emotion show. Lex swallowed as he knelt. He cleared his throat. “Tradition dictates that I ask your guardian for permission before I ask you for your hand in marriage.”
Robyn’s eyes widened.
Lex’s mouth curved slightly. “I… I took the liberty of asking Jeffrey, since he seemed to be the one of all your men who watched over you and knew you best.”
She looked to Jeffrey who was grinning openly, then back to Lex, and nodded.
“And I said yes.” Jeffrey nodded.
Lex’s mouth broke into a bright smile. “And so, I would love to announce tomorrow that I have found a bride. Will you grant me your hand in marriage?”
Robyn allowed her mouth to form a timid smile, then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. She grasped his hair and pulled him close to her so he sat on the bed. His hands were warm and gentle on her waist. He nuzzled his face into her neck, allowing his lips to brush lightly on her collarbone.
“Oi, I’m still here,” came Jeffrey’s voice. Robyn opened her eyes and smiled at him past Lex’s shoulder.
Lex leaned away without letting go of her waist. “You don’t have to be, you know...”
*****
Robyn’s first recollection was of stiffness. Her body was sore all over, and tired, though she felt she’d slept for days. When she opened her eyes, she saw deep purple hangings above her, and bars of a four-poster bed on each side. She must be in the palace. Looking around further, her thought was confirmed.
Lex sat in a chair at the foot of her bed. He looked as though he’d placed himself as close as possible, without actually touching her. She smiled, half-wishing he would.
Jeffrey stood near a large fireplace across the elegantly decorated room. He rocked back and forth on his feet, looking more nervous than she’d ever seen him.
“Lex?”
His head shot up at her voice, and Jeffrey turned.
“You’re awake! Oh thank God.” He rose from his chair and came to kneel at her side. He took her hand in his and kissed it passionately. She was shocked, but found it pleasant. A blush crept into her cheeks.
“How are you feeling, lady?” Jeffrey asked.
She shifted under the thick blankets. “Sore, and my ribs ache.” As she twisted, a cry escaped her lips, and she remembered the arrow that pierced her. She sighed, letting the soft bed envelop her again. “How long was I unconscious?”
“Not long, it’s noon of the day after,” Lex said. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
She looked into his unsure eyes. “You’re welcome.”
He took a breath and stood. His body was tense, as though he were steeling himself for something.
“In the morning,” he said, “I will publicly renounce my engagement to Carina.”
Robyn blinked and narrowed her eyes, surprised. “You were engaged?”
Lex’s cheeks turned red. “Well, yes. Legally I was.”
She watched him, not letting her emotion show. Lex swallowed as he knelt. He cleared his throat. “Tradition dictates that I ask your guardian for permission before I ask you for your hand in marriage.”
Robyn’s eyes widened.
Lex’s mouth curved slightly. “I… I took the liberty of asking Jeffrey, since he seemed to be the one of all your men who watched over you and knew you best.”
She looked to Jeffrey who was grinning openly, then back to Lex, and nodded.
“And I said yes.” Jeffrey nodded.
Lex’s mouth broke into a bright smile. “And so, I would love to announce tomorrow that I have found a bride. Will you grant me your hand in marriage?”
Robyn allowed her mouth to form a timid smile, then she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. She grasped his hair and pulled him close to her so he sat on the bed. His hands were warm and gentle on her waist. He nuzzled his face into her neck, allowing his lips to brush lightly on her collarbone.
“Oi, I’m still here,” came Jeffrey’s voice. Robyn opened her eyes and smiled at him past Lex’s shoulder.
Lex leaned away without letting go of her waist. “You don’t have to be, you know...”
~ Cut scene, TARGET, WIP by Darci Cole
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Lady; Premarital Existence
Hello lovely readers!
A few of us got together and tossed in some lovey-dovey scenes in celebration of Valentines Day next week. Starting today, and each weekday until the BIG DAY, we'll share one with you. Some we've written, some we've read, some are just plain cute. Presented in no particular order: our love scenes. We hope you enjoy!
- TYPELINGS
*****
This is how my main characters meet and first exchange words. It's my version of a 1940's movie-meet-cute. Now, from my brain, the MS I've been toiling over for years: Premarital Existence.
~Lady
*****
Embarrassed, she turned to see the handyman staring at her, arms folded as he leaned against the door frame, smiling. Quickly she turned back toward the door to avoid his smile. With a better look compared to the last time that she had been nearly knocked over by him walking past, this time she was knocked over for sure, by his impish smile.
“Lock yourself out?” he asked, struggling to keep a laugh from rising to the surface.
“As a matter of fact…yes.” Gwen smiled sheepishly.
Handyman was already fumbling with his fistful of keys when she answered him. As he moved toward the door, she could barely move her feet. When he was just inches away from her body she stumbled to her right, nearly toppling over. Handyman grabbed for her arm and steadied her. He glanced down at his rough hand still on her arm and then back to her eyes. She couldn’t help but notice the deep color of green in his eyes; they looked almost brown they were so saturated.
“You all right?” he asked quietly, swallowing a lump in his throat.
“Fine. Good. Yeah, good. Yep. Fine. Uh huh. Yeah.”
Gwen wished that she could turn off the faucet of babbling words spilling from her mouth. Handyman looked seriously into Gwen’s eyes, steadied her, made sure she was completely firm on her own two feet, reached for his jambalaya of keys hanging off his belt and began to put the right key into the door. Just before key met keyhole, Handyman turned back to look at Gwen’s feet then up to her eyes, as though searching for evidence that she was indeed stable.
“Are you all right?” Handyman asked again. He was teasing her and Gwen was realizing it. Rouge filled the apples of cheeks as she smiled and stared down at her shoes. She was secretly elated and hoped it didn’t read across her face that she liked Handyman flirting with her.
Peeking from the side of her eye, she noticed that Handyman had a wide smile on his face. She took consideration of the creases carefully carved out of his cheeks, the way his windswept chocolatey hair fell over his ears and forehead. She had been so engrossed with studying his face that she didn’t even realize he had opened the door. He just stood there. She wasn’t sure what to do next. Should I invite him in? she wondered, as she sidestepped past him and into her apartment.
“Thank you so much…” Gwen’s voice trailed off.
“Scott. I’m Scott Graham.” He smiled.
~Premarital Existence, WIP by Christi Gray
A few of us got together and tossed in some lovey-dovey scenes in celebration of Valentines Day next week. Starting today, and each weekday until the BIG DAY, we'll share one with you. Some we've written, some we've read, some are just plain cute. Presented in no particular order: our love scenes. We hope you enjoy!
- TYPELINGS
*****
This is how my main characters meet and first exchange words. It's my version of a 1940's movie-meet-cute. Now, from my brain, the MS I've been toiling over for years: Premarital Existence.
~Lady
*****
Embarrassed, she turned to see the handyman staring at her, arms folded as he leaned against the door frame, smiling. Quickly she turned back toward the door to avoid his smile. With a better look compared to the last time that she had been nearly knocked over by him walking past, this time she was knocked over for sure, by his impish smile.
“Lock yourself out?” he asked, struggling to keep a laugh from rising to the surface.
“As a matter of fact…yes.” Gwen smiled sheepishly.
Handyman was already fumbling with his fistful of keys when she answered him. As he moved toward the door, she could barely move her feet. When he was just inches away from her body she stumbled to her right, nearly toppling over. Handyman grabbed for her arm and steadied her. He glanced down at his rough hand still on her arm and then back to her eyes. She couldn’t help but notice the deep color of green in his eyes; they looked almost brown they were so saturated.
“You all right?” he asked quietly, swallowing a lump in his throat.
“Fine. Good. Yeah, good. Yep. Fine. Uh huh. Yeah.”
Gwen wished that she could turn off the faucet of babbling words spilling from her mouth. Handyman looked seriously into Gwen’s eyes, steadied her, made sure she was completely firm on her own two feet, reached for his jambalaya of keys hanging off his belt and began to put the right key into the door. Just before key met keyhole, Handyman turned back to look at Gwen’s feet then up to her eyes, as though searching for evidence that she was indeed stable.
“Are you all right?” Handyman asked again. He was teasing her and Gwen was realizing it. Rouge filled the apples of cheeks as she smiled and stared down at her shoes. She was secretly elated and hoped it didn’t read across her face that she liked Handyman flirting with her.
Peeking from the side of her eye, she noticed that Handyman had a wide smile on his face. She took consideration of the creases carefully carved out of his cheeks, the way his windswept chocolatey hair fell over his ears and forehead. She had been so engrossed with studying his face that she didn’t even realize he had opened the door. He just stood there. She wasn’t sure what to do next. Should I invite him in? she wondered, as she sidestepped past him and into her apartment.
“Thank you so much…” Gwen’s voice trailed off.
“Scott. I’m Scott Graham.” He smiled.
~Premarital Existence, WIP by Christi Gray
Monday, January 14, 2013
Winner
First of all, congratulations to all who entered the Flash Fiction contest. Every one of you did an excellent job. There were entries that made me think, entries that tugged at my heart, and entries that were truly unique and inspiring. Every single one had a different take on what their "door" was. Sometimes it was metaphorical (with some breathtaking metaphors, let me tell you), sometimes it brought on memories. Sometimes it was a setting or even a portal.
Fantastic. Truly. It's killing me because I wish I could pick more than one. (There might just be more than one winner too. Some of the other Typelings have asked to read through the entries.) So if you didn't win this one, don't count yourself out yet.
In fact, don't count yourself out at all. Because you're fabulous!
Without further ado, the winner:
P.M. Kester!
As she hugged some of the volunteers and prepared to go home, she saw something gleaming in the moonlight. Gingerly, she made her way to the spot trying to ensure she was not seen. Using her jacket, she hastily picked up the object and wrapped it in the black fabric.
Fantastic. Truly. It's killing me because I wish I could pick more than one. (There might just be more than one winner too. Some of the other Typelings have asked to read through the entries.) So if you didn't win this one, don't count yourself out yet.
In fact, don't count yourself out at all. Because you're fabulous!
Without further ado, the winner:
P.M. Kester!
"Burning Blue"
She stood outside of the blue door contemplating her next move.
Answers were on the other side of the door. She would finally know who she was and where she had come from. On the other hand, it could result in her death. She was raised not to ask questions and to keep her expectations low. But she kept hearing that voice. The voice kept nagging her and making her recall things she probably shouldn’t.
She placed her hand on the handle of the blue door and then immediately snatched it back. It felt hot! Why was the handle hot!
Dressed in a black zip front hoodie and matching all black attire, she took her jacket off and used it to slowly turn the knob. Upon pushing the door open, there was an explosion. Dazed and on her butt in the middle of the street, she made of the sound of footsteps coming from several directions.
“The clinic is on fire, get help!” someone shouted.
“Someone has been hurt,” another voice said. Laying flat on her back, she could hear footsteps moving toward her as she struggled to open her eyes.
"Are you okay," she felt someone whisper near her ear. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes slowly recognizing the voice.
"What happened to the building," she whispered.
"The building is on fire," the strong male voice whispered. "The volunteers are putting it out now. Were you able to get in and pull your file?"
"No, the building exploded right as I opened the door," she said as tears began to stream down her face. "Now I will never know who I am or why I have this face."
He kissed her forehead and gingerly lifted her into a sitting position. They sat in the middle of the street watching the volunteers put out the fire and listening to snatches of conversation.
"Who would want to hurt Dr. Eagle," one lady said.
"Maybe he wasn't in the building" a man replied.
"He was always in the building" an older woman replied. "I guarantee he will be among the things recovered when we're done."
They got to their feet and wandered over to the smoldering ruins of the building. She helped the ladies fill buckets of water and he helped the men extinguish the flames. Keeping busy helped her not concentrate on her failure. Every 28 days she woke up with a new face but unbeknownst to the world she still maintained her old memories. She wanted to know why but the answers were now in the ashes.
As she hugged some of the volunteers and prepared to go home, she saw something gleaming in the moonlight. Gingerly, she made her way to the spot trying to ensure she was not seen. Using her jacket, she hastily picked up the object and wrapped it in the black fabric.
Maybe she would find answers after all.
Well done, Phalia!
The reason I chose this one was because I wanted to know why. Why did she have a different face? What was her history? What was her future?
Wait for my email and send me a first chapter for your critique. You've earned it!
Cheers,
Hero
P.S. I'm sure you're all wondering...
The photo of the blue door was taken at Gloucester, Gloucestershire, England. Near the Gloucester Cathedral where several scenes from the Harry Potter movies were filmed.
Ah, England.
P.S. I'm sure you're all wondering...
The photo of the blue door was taken at Gloucester, Gloucestershire, England. Near the Gloucester Cathedral where several scenes from the Harry Potter movies were filmed.
Ah, England.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Behind the door Flash Fiction Contest
When I was in England I obsessed over doors. They were so cool lookin'. Small doors, gigantic doors, blue doors, red doors, doors that led to nowhere, doors that led to hallways, cloisters, and courtyards...
Doors.
So here's what I want you to do:
Create a short story or story excerpt from this picture. Where is this? Where does it lead? What's on the other side? What's on this side?
It can be any genre except dystopian. I'm so over dystopian.
Okay, I'm just kidding, it can be whatever you want it to be. In all seriousness though, I don't like reading stories with a whole lot of muck in it. i.e. totally unnecessary swear words or graphic sexuality. Call me old fashioned if you want but I'm in charge. So there.
Max is 500 words.
Submit your entry to chapterhouselane@mail.com by Friday, January 11th at midnight MST. Make sure to give me your name and email address so we can contact you if you win.
Winners will be announced on Monday, January 14th.
Prize for the winner? Your story will be featured on the Typelings blog, along with our praise and adoration for your talent. You'll also get a first-chapter critique for your current WiP. Maybe even the first five chapters if I REALLY like your entry.
...and I'll tell you where this photo was taken. What more could any of you possibly wish for?
There may be more than one winner if my fellow Typelings are so inclined to pick their favorite and offer a critique as well.
Best of luck.
Cheers,
Hero
Doors.
So here's what I want you to do:
Create a short story or story excerpt from this picture. Where is this? Where does it lead? What's on the other side? What's on this side?
It can be any genre except dystopian. I'm so over dystopian.
Okay, I'm just kidding, it can be whatever you want it to be. In all seriousness though, I don't like reading stories with a whole lot of muck in it. i.e. totally unnecessary swear words or graphic sexuality. Call me old fashioned if you want but I'm in charge. So there.
Max is 500 words.
Submit your entry to chapterhouselane@mail.com by Friday, January 11th at midnight MST. Make sure to give me your name and email address so we can contact you if you win.
Winners will be announced on Monday, January 14th.
Prize for the winner? Your story will be featured on the Typelings blog, along with our praise and adoration for your talent. You'll also get a first-chapter critique for your current WiP. Maybe even the first five chapters if I REALLY like your entry.
...and I'll tell you where this photo was taken. What more could any of you possibly wish for?
There may be more than one winner if my fellow Typelings are so inclined to pick their favorite and offer a critique as well.
Best of luck.
Cheers,
Hero
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Scenes and chapters = not same.
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| Photo © 2010 Annaliese Moyer. |
I am not genius enough to have learned this on my own. Instead, I learned this from author Mary Robinette Kowal who appears on Writing Excuses, a weekly podcast about the craft of fiction writing.
Here's the difference between the two: a scene is an element of story structure and is a complete arc of some kind (whether milieu idea, character or event); a chapter is an element of pacing structure. Ignorance of this difference leads to inadvertent mapping of the pacing structure (chapters) onto the story structure (scenes).
Translation? Readers get bored, so break up long scenes.
It may seem like a gimmick to end a chapter when a character pulls out a gun, conjures a monster, or is nabbed by a human-eating robot, but it keeps the reader turning pages.
Well-thought out chapter breaks have the same effect as adrenaline on the body: heart rate increases, and the reader decides to fight through the suspense, or throw the book at their nearest sibling/friend/cat before picking it up again.
Ok, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point.
Let me say here that chapter breaks are not, or should not be, arbitrary. They are calculated to propel the reader through the content of the book. Scenes, however, serve an entirely different function: they make promises and fulfill them; what those promises are, and what fulfillment looks like depends entirely on what kind of a scene it is.
Orson Scott Card suggests in his book, Characters and Viewpoint, that there are four different kinds of stories (or scenes): milieu (i.e. setting), idea, character or event. Each kind of story will have a particular beginning and ending (or promise and fulfillment).
Idea stories start with a mystery, or question, and end when the mystery is solved, or the answer is obtained. Detective novels are the archetypal idea stories. Someone's dead and who's done it? The story is complete when we learn the perpetrator's identity.
Character stories are my personal favorite. They focus on (surprise) a character whose lot in life causes them to seek change. The story ends when they either find a new lot in life, or are reconciled to their original lot. The movie A Knight's Tale (cheesy, yes) is one of my favorites because of the message that you can change your stars. That thought still inspires me.
Finally, event stories are your prototypical action/adventure stories. The end of the world is about to happen/is happening and the story ends with everyone dead or the world saved from destruction. Or universe. Or school. Whatever--the scope of threat isn't as important as the engagement with it. Or really, resolving the EVENT, whether its alien invasion or Voldemort returning. So yes, Harry Potter is, among other things, a great event story.
Now, these aren't the only kind of stories. Notice, there's no love story listed. No _____ (you fill in the blank). I think Card was attempting to be as generally specific as possible (yea, that doesn't make sense to me either). Love stories could be a character story, or they could be an event story. If you focus more on all the details of the wedding itself, and the conflict comes because, oh no, the flowers don't show up on time, you're dealing with an event story. But if, instead, the focus is on the psychological impact of your pending marriage to a guy who is ten years older, divorced, and already has three kids, then you're probably dealing with a character story. You could even make it an idea/milieu story if the main character is getting an arranged marriage and spends the whole novel trying to figure out the identity of their betrothed while hating on their restrictive, alien-to-us society.
I digress.My point in all the explanation is this: the fundamentals of broader story structure apply to more narrow scene structure. Most (if not all) novels are not uniquely character or idea novels. You can have a character/milieu-driven idea novel like Raymond Chandler's The Big Sleep. It's a hardboiled detective novel that ends when the crime is solved, but is made interesting because of the evocation of 1940's ish Southern California and the iconic private eye Philip Marlowe (if you haven't read Chandler, do yourself the favor--you'll swear it sounds familiar because Chandler was so widely imitated). You get the combination of story types by having character scenes, or milieu scenes, etc. along the journey of solving the crime. In fact, novels differ from short stories primarily because a short story accomplishes one thing (idea, event, etc.) while a novel tackles more than one.
More digression.
Just remember this: scenes advance the story towards it's conclusion; chapters propel the reader from scene to scene.
And that's my latest tip.
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