Chimney

Piece of the Week:
It was a fine old tree. The oak was not very striking in its foliage it had been bare of any leaves for five years yet the appearance of the thick, dark wood twisting and gnarling like a claw cradling the sun always captured Millie, and she had gotten behind in her chores many times by stopping to gaze at it.
It was haunted. It had to be haunted, she reasoned. How else could such an old tree last so long without any greenery? But Millie had never found any actual proof for her conclusion. Each week, during her one hour of leisure time, she would walk directly out to the tree and spend hours sitting beneath it, hoping to get a hint of the ghost that possessed it.
Lady Allenforth obviously did not believe in the ghost. She ordered the hall boy to chop it down, and the remains were split into logs for the hearths all over the house. No matter how the higher ranking servants would command her, Millie could not be forced to take the logs up to the master’s room, as was her duty. A fellow housemaid offered to do so in her stead, leaving Millie to do any extra chores missed during the endeavor. But she did not mind, so long as she was not the one brining the logs to the fire.
But she could no avoid it forever, she soon learned. As she scaled the stairs in the night, she did not even think what she was walking into. It was routine: after the master fell asleep, she would stoke the fire in his chambers to keep it burning through the cold winter night. Creeping into his dark, silent room, she was soon facing the one flickering light, the flame dying atop logs from the haunted tree. Kneeling down with bated breath, she took hold of the fire poker, but could not convince herself to use it. Wincing, she crept the poker closer and closer to the ashen wood, but flinched, knocking the metal frame of the fireplace and dropping the poker.
She ducked and covered in fear. The master stirred, but did not wake. And now the floor was covered in ash. Taking her dustpan and brush, she collected the ash as silently as she could, then left the master’s chambers for the long stairway down.
I hate this… she moaned to herself. Now the room will go cold, and I’ll be in trouble.
She wiped the fire-sweat from her forehead, leaving a trail of ash from her dirtied hands.
I wish I could just fly out of here somehow, so I couldn’t get in trouble.
Her steps froze as she crossed a beam of moonlight coasting through the hallway window. The ash on her hand was gliding into the air, swirling like smoke, then congregated near her back, where it collected and solidified in the shape of a black wing on her right shoulder. She bit her lip to keep silent as she tried to see her reflection in the window pane. Then, her hand shaking, curiosity drove her to scoop more ash from the dustpan, then cast it into the air. It swirled and soared through the air until it formed another wing on her left shoulder.
I knew it…the tree was haunted. And now… She smiled with an awkward glee. The ashes are magic.

Prompt:
Chimney. Also inspired by the reality/documentary Manor House previously mentioned in this blog.

Work in Progress:
I’ve been working on my Shinto-inspired story lately:

The morning sunlight entered the shrine, just as any patron would, since the whole establishment was facing the east. The first thing to catch the light was the front gate, made of two tall wooden posts arched with a thick rope, large tassels subtly catching the first breath of the day. Gliding to the top of the stone steps and to the cracked stone path, the golden gleam coated the gabled wood canopy of the purification font. The stone trough was filled nearly to the rim with clear, cool water sparkling in the morning light, the bamboo shoot trickling a stream into the basin. The cups of the long-handled bamboo ladles resting on the basin edge bobbed gently with the soft ripples of water—the most action to be seen on a typical still morning in the forest grove.

Distractions Used:
Big Bang Theory on DVD.

Currently Reading:
I’m reading a few right now for the library book clubs I’m hosting.

Waiting

Piece of the Week:
I’m waiting.

One planet out of alignment,
And if I knew which one,
...I’d move it--
And if I could,
I’d find you behind it.

After all,
Where else could you be?
I’ve searched in my life,
My prayers,
My dreams,
Without a sign.

How long has it really been?
Most phenomena–
The most spectacular–
Occur every hundred
Or thousand
Years.
Have I known you before,
When the last star struck?
When the last eclipse
Renewed the sun?
When we were different people
In a different place
In a different time?

However long it has been
Or will be,
I will not be deterred
By another pair of eyes.
I will not be distracted
By another crescent smile.
I will not be taken in
By another soft whisper.

I will wait
Just for you.

Prompt:
Waiting. I actually wrote this one without prompt--just sat and wrote--but there's the prompt for if you need it.

Work in Progress:
Nothing lately.

Distractions Used:
The rain outside.

Currently Reading:
Nothing lately.

Parrot

Piece of the Week:
I can do it. I know I can. So easily.
The bows, the fragments of their language--I even know the dance by heart.
I've tried to show him--to show all of them. While Jack took center stage on Mister's arm, the crowd applauding and fixated on his every twitch, I sat in the background, following along, but with greater precision, grace, and timing.
No one ever saw me.
But now they will. Now that Jack is "gone".
There's Mister, coming into the room. So I'll squawk and gesture with my head, and he'll come, and then I'll show him that I'm the real star--and have been all along.

Prompt:
Parrot. Yesterday at the library, the entertainer brought exotic animals to talk about and share with everyone. After the program was over, he was telling the stragglers about how his one parrot Abbey had killed another bird, Jack, who had always been the star of the show. Then the following day, she gestured for him to come see something, and showed him the entire show's routine.

Work in Progress:
I've been stuck between work, rehearsal, and catching up on my voice acting, so I haven't been doing much writing.

Distractions Used:
Rehearsal.

Currently Reading:
Nothing right now. It's quite hideous and shameful how bare this section has been.

Sailor

Piece of the Week:
There once was a sailor named Jake
Whose life was always at stake
Ev'ry sneeze that he blew
Rocked the ship and the crew
And caused the whole ocean to quake

Prompt:
Sailor. Wednesday, a sailor came to the library to sing shanties and play the concertina--'twas fun. Sorry for the belated post--I wasn't feeling well.

Work in Progress:
I've actually just been working on the notes for one story, inspired by Mesoamerican culture and mythology.

Distractions Used:
Two and a Half Men on TV.

Currently Reading:
None right now, but I have a four-day weekend...

Apple

Piece of the Week:
It was surprisingly succulent, through the moist, crisp surface of the fruit. She chewed it slowly, marveling at the mysteriously bittersweet taste that washed over her palate. With each turn of the fruit in her mouth, a new sensation swept over her, and a new spark of wisdom opened her mind. A tang of bitterness taught her about pain and suffering, then a twinge of sweetness taught her about happiness and laughter.
With a swallow, all knowledge and sensations culminated into one sudden burst in her core, spreading a searing warmth through to her toes and fingers. When it all cleared, she opened her eyes.
And she could and would never again close them.

Prompt:
Apple. Suggested by Dev Kimiko. It made me think of Adam and Eve--specifically Eve.

Work in Progress:
Haven’t worked on this one in awhile. It’s a story that takes place in a world somewhat loosely based off ancient Rome/Greece, where athletes are the most highly regarded members of society.

She could feel a subtle leak of adrenaline tingling her fingertips as she stood at the archway, just out of sight. Waving her arms and stretching her legs, she loosened every inch of muscle in her slight body five times over. Before, she could only hear her own breathing. Now, she could hear the wave of cheers from the crowds seated around the city arena--it was five times larger than the one in her hometown. And excited and nervous chuckle escaped her as she hopped in place to keep her blood in motion, watching as the host of ceremonies took his place at the center of the track field. As he held the bullhorn to his mouth and began to speak, anticipation shot along her spine.

Distractions Used:
Two and a Half Men on TV.

Currently Reading:
None right now.

Bound

Piece of the Week:
Those arrogant, selfish, irresponsible spawn of a witless savage!
What do gods need with fire, anyway? We only need it to keep warm and help us stay alive. They, what, need it to stare at when they’re too bored to torture us? And it’s not like I stole it all; they still have more than enough to last them an eternity.
Gods. They create us, then ignore us. The only times we’re ever granted their attention is when we’ve done something they think is wrong, or when they wanna knock us around.
What right have they to any superiority, anyway? Because they live longer than we do? Hasn’t made them any wiser. Because they’re perfect? Ha! Give me about five minutes to get that poor joke out of my system. If the gods are perfection, then so are war criminals and rabid vermin.
Ah, yes. The gods. I just took some fire to help us survive, and they see fit to bind me to these rocks. Zeus also said he would have a bird eat out my liver every day. Knowing their sick sense of humor, I’m sure he was serious.
Well, I hope their stupid bird chokes on it.

Prompt:
Bound. Suggested by raimeisan. It made me think of Prometheus, who is the narrator of the above monologue.

Work in Progress:
Haven’t been working on any lately.

Distractions Used:
Simpsons on TV.

Currently Reading:
Still working on Beastly. Haven’t had much time to read in one sitting.

Rust

Piece of the Week:
It was her worst fear.
Alarmingly, it didn’t even cross her mind at the time, the possibility of taking a life. She was only concentrating on defending Hiko and herself. The night shadows flickered with the light from the fires. She could hardly even see a city anymore, just columns of fire congesting the sky above with thick smoke. And the enemy: there were five surrounding her. No…six. Ten. Hundreds. And she somehow knew that if they brought her down, she would never see Hiko again.
She fought her way through in a whirl of kicks and punches, every resource of tribal combat flowing out of her naturally like breath through her lungs. It was exciting, more so than she ever imagined it would be. She liked it.
But someone’s hand halted her kick. Another stopped her punch. She couldn’t move, and they were all encroaching on her. Heat waved over her face, as though her opponents emitted the very fires they had caused. With no other course, she drew her sword and thrust it forward into the enemy standing before her.
All other opponents vanished. She yanked out her sword, and as the red blood met her eyes,
she realized what she had done. The blood darkened to rust, and spread across her entire blade like moss, until her weapon was dissolved completely away in her hand. Her heart throbbed at the base of her throat as she stared into the dying face of her enemy. It was her father! No…not hers, but she somehow realized that he was someone’s father. The pained face before her had a wife and children, people who cared about him.
In his final agony, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Where he touched her, she turned to rust. It crept up her arm, shedding her flesh to the ground as it went.
Indra bolted up in her bed, her chest thumping. It had only been a nightmare.
Yet, sadly, it wasn’t far from what had really happened.

Prompt:
Rust. This prompt was suggested by lynx_child. It made me think of metal, then of sword, then of my fantasy novel character Indra. I don’t have this piece anywhere in the novel, but it does describe an instance that happens. This novel is currently posted on Authonomy.com.

Work in Progress:
I’m working on Part Five of The Great Drift, the piece I have going on RunesOfGallidon.com. It tells of an annual event which transpires in the swamp region known as the Stretch of Shadow, where multitudes of people--generally around the age of eighteen--move away from home, traveling across the Stretch in boats and sightseeing along the away.

The Totem Tide Pool is the most mysterious region of the Stretch. No one knows who carved and placed the thirty totems here, nor why. Legend speculates that the totems were carved in the likeness of the Spirits which reside here. The Spirits, being offended by the caricature representations, cause the unsteady rise and fall of the pool’s tide.
The totems were truly miraculous--they were stone. She had always imagined wooden totems, naturally, but all thirty totems, standing six feet out of the high-rise water, were hewn from white, moss-covered stone. And each face, some resembling a creature more than a person, was so distinctively unique, that it was like witnessing an assembly of foreign ambassadors, set throughout the area in a classroom fashion.
“How tall do you think they are?” Ilya asked, trying to peer into the water.
“From the bottom under water, to the top out here…” Esfir speculated. “Probably at least twenty meters.”
Yakim took out his compass. “They’re all facing dead west.”
“Not that one,” Kuzma pointed out.
There was one totem, set at the outermost border of the area, facing east. It was a more definitively human likeness, with a square jaw and seemingly random scrawls—like scars. For a moment, Luka turned to Enzo to compare, but she shook her head to clear the absurd connection from her head.

Distractions Used:
Becker on TV.

Currently Reading:
Still working on Beastly.

Steampunk

Piece of the Week:
I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, leaving a smudge of grease trailing across. "If I force the bolt any tighter," I warned my employer, "then the joint won't be able to move at all."
"It will," he said. "Just do it."
I rolled my eyes. I had promised myself I would never work with know-nothing engineers ever again, and yet here I was in the back of some hermit's den with a wrench in my hand. Hauling a deep breath, I latched my wrench onto the bolt and pushed as hard as I could before my hands slipped off the tool. "There. The wrath of God couldn't budge it now--happy?"
He smiled. I hated that creepy-ass smile. "Yes."
Standing back, we both looked at the completed work. I followed his design directly, despite how many errors there were in it. I mean, it looked exactly like a heap of scrap metal, yet he was determined that it would actually be capable of doing something.
"Okay," I said, finding a rag to wash up with, "I finished it. Now you gonna tell me what this thing is?"
He handed me the other half of my pay and said, "It's going to destroy the sorceress Adliha."
I scoffed through my nose as I chugged a jug of water. "Of course, yes. As I may have mentioned, with no viable fuel source and joints tighter than a tax collector's purse, the only thing it's capable of destroying is a mouse--if it tips over."
"The fuel source it takes is strong enough to move mountains."
"And what is this miracle fuel?"
His smile grew slowly to a grin, baring jagged teeth. "Adliha will fuel it with her own magic...then it will destroy her."
His tone froze me completely in place. He was crazy, clearly, but a madness struck the tone of his voice which rang with sincerity and an underlying knowledge I couldn't pinpoint. Could it be possible that I signed on with some criminal mastermind?

Prompt:
Steampunk. It was suggested to me by poecilia_wing, and I thought I'd give it a go.

Work in Progress:
However much I've tried, my writing mojo hasn't been flowing for any of my current works. I have made some progress on my next Great Drift chapter for runesofgallidon.com, though.

Distractions Used:
None, while writing today's entry. Spooky, eh?

Currently Reading:
Beastly by Alex Flinn, a modern-day Beauty and the Beast told from the beast's point of view.

Unremarkable

Piece of the Week:
Unremarkable Me

The pearl is set in gold,
And the oyster tossed aside.
In passing by the window,
No one looks inside.
Everyone respects the rain
And overlooks the dew.
You only like the frame
When the picture mirrors you.

I’m here, you care;
I’m not, you don’t.
I think of you;
Of me, you won’t.
I’m real as life when I’m around,
Then fade from memory.
I’m likable,
But forgettable—
Unremarkable me.

While looking at the moon,
The stars lose their shine.
Grapes are withered in the sun
Unless they can be wine.
Everyone enjoys the movie,
But the credits are ignored.
However sweet each separate note,
You only hear the chord.

I’m here, you care;
I’m not, you don’t.
I think of you;
Of me, you won’t.
The first impression’s all you want,
Don’t need my whole story.
I’m likable,
But invisible—
Unremarkable me.

The oyster can be sustenance.
The window invites you in.
The dew can grow a flower.
The frame is more than trim.
The stars can lead you home.
The grapes nourish your health.
The credits can build a masterpiece.
The notes are soulful wealth.

You’re here, I care;
You’re not, I won’t.
Still feel alive;
Need you, I don’t.
The light can blaze within myself
Without anybody.
I’m incredible,
Not destructible—
I’m remarkable me.

Prompt:
Unremarkable. I actually didn’t have a prompt for this one; I just sat down and wrote. But for anyone who likes to borrow prompts from this blog, unremarkable would be this week’s.
One major reason this blog has been dormant for over a month is because I’ve never been able to consistently keep any kind of daily journal. Instead, I’ve decided to try making this a weekly blog. I’m thinking Wednesday is a good day, being in the middle of the week.

Work in Progress:
The other major reason I’ve been off this blog so long, is I’ve been finishing up my latest submission for Agora International eBooks. It’s called Loki: Why I Began the End. It’s told in first-person POV by Loki, who is telling his wife Sigyn all about how he came to be banished from the gods of Asgard, and why/how he started the chain of events that would ultimately unleash Ragnarok. Here’s a section from the beginning:

I’ll never forget the first time I met Odin. I’d heard of him from all over—-mostly from my fellow Jotun. He was always called our greatest enemy, as he was the god who slaughtered our earliest ancestor, the first to exist, the giant called Ymir, and so started the archrivalship of Jotun against Aesir, giant against god. And though I held willing kinship with—-albeit a scarce few of—-the Jotun, I did also greatly admire Odin’s deed. After all, in slaying Ymir, he assembled the world as we know it with the giant’s corpulent leftovers. Far be it from me to deny a man like that his due respect.

Distractions Used:
The Big Bang Theory, Seasons 1-2. I’ve still got to watch the Season 3 finale—-my sis has it on her DVR. It would figure that the only two new shows I watch—-Chuck and The Big Bang Theory—-would overlap their finales.

Currently Reading:
I’d just been reading over my Loki story, really, for revisions. I guess you could also count my main Norse mythology reference book: Myths of the Norsemen by Helene A Guerber. One of the tricky parts in writing the Loki story, was choosing which spelling to use for each character’s name (Freyja or Freya, Baldur or Balder, Idunn, Idunne, or Iduna, etc). I tried for “easy to read” yet “classic”.

Invisibility

Piece of the Day:
Somehow, it was the first scheme that came to mind as soon as I discovered my ability. You really wouldn’t believe what a free world suddenly opens up to when you find out you can become completely invisible.
It was pretty daring, considering I hadn’t had ample time to test drive my capabilities. If something went awry, I could be in serious trouble. But if my invisibility turned out to be only a temporary fluke, I wanted to take advantage of it while I possessed it.
As soon as I stepped out of the cab, I vanished to all eyes but my own. It was a crowded day for travel, but then the crowds only helped my escapade. Mingling in the midst of the bustle, I entered the airport. Getting past security was a breeze. The only con to all these pros was not being able to bring luggage with. I had only the clothes on my back and the cash in my pocket—and it was a miracle that those could disappear with me.
I boarded the plane with little difficulty, took whatever seat was vacant, and tried to suppress my laughter as the plane took off for Italy.

Prompt:
Invisibility. If I could choose any superpower to have, I would probably choose invisibility—and if possible, flight along with it. Anyway, my piece is based off what I would do if I had invisibility.

Work in Progress:
I’ve been working on more Zealandia, and on the sequel to my fantasy novel. But I’m at the library, and don’t have access to these in order to put up a tidbit of what I’ve written.

Distractions Used:
Being accosted by sinus and allergy issues has been a distraction, really; that’s why I haven’t posted in awhile.

Currently Reading:
Copyediting.

Creation

Piece of the Day:
“Nisho, I’m bored. Nisho?” She turned her head and walked. “Nisho? NISHO!”
“I’m right here; take it easy.” He touched her outstretched hand.
“You have to tell me before you take off like that! You know I hate not knowing when I’m alone.”
“You’re bored again.”
“We can talk about...” Nothing.
“There’s nothing left to talk about, Rakara. I’m going again.”
“Going where? Where is there to go?”
“This way, that way, forward, backward, up, down...”
“But where does that take you?”
“Away.”
“I want to go with.”
“Why don’t you go away yourself?”
“Where?”
“Away!”
“But how will I find you again?”
“I’ll find you.”
No farewell. All was silent. He was gone again. Distraught with this familiar situation, Rakara sat with arms crossed in a sulk.
A creative turn of mind found her not long after. Fading into herself, she felt her face tug into a smile as she snapped her fingers. Suddenly, all that was around her changed. Looking down, she could see herself for the first time, and grinned in wonderment at her own beauty.
“Rakara! Where are you?”
And she could see him, Nisho, for the very first time. She ran to him, taking his hand.
“I’m here! Nisho, you’re so beautiful!”
“You can see me?”
“Yes! I can see you! I can even see myself! Isn’t this fantastic?”
“But now I can’t see anything! What happened? What did you do?”
“I was tired of not being able to see anything, so I created something to help me see! It’s wonderful!”
“No, it’s not! Get rid of it!”
“No! You’ve always been able to see, and now it’s my turn!”
“But this is ridiculous!”
“Ugh! You’re so selfish!” Getting an idea, she snapped again, summoning everything into her hand. “How about this: we’ll take turns. I’ll set this to expand after some time so that I can see, then to contract after that same amount of time so that you can see.”
“Fine.”
“And...it’s my turn now!”
She cast out all she contained in her hand. “I want to give it a special name. Maybe...Rakara’s Sight.”
“Maybe Nisho’s Blindness,” he scowled.
“Or maybe...hm...sight...bight...pight...vight...light...Dwight! I could call it...no, I think I like light better. Yes, light.” She said the word at least six hundred times, relishing it more and more.

Prompt:
Creation. I’m in the musical “Children of Eden” now, which begins with the creation of the world. I actually wrote the above some time ago, but thought I could post it here, with a good prompt. There’s more of it posted at fictionwritersgroup.com under my username MystrisFiction.

Work in Progress:
Didn’t get much done today, except for a little bit of my sci-fi story:

The window turned to a monitor, displaying a flickering, colorless picture. The quality was so poor, that it was difficult to determine what life form was there.
“TYG Kestrŏl akőwkika! Pesim galŭjsaf rosti!” After taking a short moment for the translation to activate, the message played again: “TYG Falconwing has been hit! Send relief vessels now!”
Ken rose from his chair—TYG stood for Tāt Yakō Galŭj, an enemy vessel. “Helm…” He was about to give the command to resume their normal course, but was alarmed at the inkling to change his mind and help the ship anyway.
“Your orders, sir?” the helm asked again.
“Helm: Set a course for six degrees north-northwest, sixteen leagues, four-pulse speed. When you reach the destination, slow to halt.”
Even at a slower approach, it took only one minute to reach the destination point specified. Ken determined that the distress signal had been sent out some hours ago, which explained why it had faded to such poor quality--there was no ship, only pieces of floating debris. Yet the amount of debris spread far and wide, proving that it had been far larger than the space station he salvaged weeks ago.
“Helm: Approach at drift speed. Halt and scan for vital signs.”
As the ship obeyed, he wondered what he would do if anything was found. Bringing the enemy aboard his ship and treating their injuries would be treasonous. However, harboring the enemy as a prisoner and transporting him to the proper authorities could mean a commendation. The deciding factor came from no practical reasoning, but rather from something completely irrational: After such a boring lull, he wanted to be useful again; he wanted someone else but himself on the ship again.
“One life form detected.”

Distractions Used:
Flintstones (Season Five).

Currently Reading:
Copyediting.

Spring

Piece of the Day:
The rising sun sheds colored hues
Upon the green of morning
Up the hills and down the meadows
Rainbow rivers pouring

Spirits sound in bright array
With fragrant essence blowing
In the winds a humble beauty
New life boldly growing

Sing out for nature’s glory
Sing out for this new birth
Sing out the oldest story
Sing out, all the Earth

Prompt:
Spring. It’s so gorgeous outside now, I had to write a dedication to spring. And this song could actually be useful in one of my stories, too…

Work in Progress:
Worked on a bit more Zealandia today; not much. But enough to post a tidbit here:

“Do you know how I can get back home?”
“No one in Zealandia knows. It’s never been done.”
She sat up in determination. “But there’s got to be some way. If there’s a way in, there must be a way out.”
“Addie would know better than anyone else.”
“No, I don’t!” she shouted. “Addie doesn’t know anything about this place, okay? The people here know Addie better than she knows them; how can she…?” She clamped her mouth shut to stop herself from talking in third-person. Then, with great hesitation, she asked one question she had been greatly fearing: “Have I been here before…and forgotten about it?”

Distractions Used:
Manor House. Good stuff.

Currently Reading:
My reading now consists of a copyediting project I’m doing. No details on what I’m reading, of course--it’s not my info to share--but it is good reading.

Carriage

Piece of the Day:
I don’t think I could ever fully express the magnificence of that carriage. It was glossy black with soft red velvet drapes and wheel spokes that glistened like icicles with gold trim. It was pulled by four horses that dazzled white even in the cloudiness of the day, standing with more graceful and proud a stance than even the master had ever borne.
The carriage also seemed enveloped in an ethereal glow. Perhaps it was merely the sheer joy of that day, or perhaps it was surfacing from the boggy darkness of the servants’ narrow corridors below stairs, and rising up above stairs and out the door into the natural light.
I felt so humbled by the image of that carriage, as was proper for my status, but when he stepped out…his face, his smile at me…I knew I belonged. I knew that I was truly his daughter, though I had never seen him before--and I knew that the divine carriage before me was taking me away from my life of subservience and to a genuine home.

Prompt:
Carriage. While watching Manor House, I watched a carriage drive up to the house, and that was somehow enough. This blurb is about a servant girl who discovers she is the illegitimate child of a nobleman who once visited the house as a guest. I wondered about the language, but decided that she wrote this after having lived with her father awhile, and after having received education appropriate for her new status.

Work in Progress:
I didn’t work on anything new today--not yet. I was putting up what I’ve already written of my fantasy novel Indra of Fantasma and of my Alice in Wonderland story Zealandia up on authomony.com, hosted by HarperCollins. I greatly hope and would greatly appreciate if anyone reading this could go there and back my books. If my books get a high enough rating, they will be considered for publication by HarperCollins, which would be my only chance, seeing as I don’t have an agent. I would especially appreciate the support for my fantasy novel. In order to support my book/s, you do need to register with the site (just use an e-mail that you don’t often check, though really the site won’t send junk mail to you). Then find my profile here (http://www.authonomy.com/Profile.aspx?userid=4bfaa6f9-ec52-4c13-b994-a3f0af1f1ab8), scroll down to my books, click on them, read them, and if you like them, select “back this book” on the book’s page. I would also appreciate any helpful comments/critiques you could post there.

Distractions Used:
Manor House. This is a great English reality show sort of documentary, done in 2001. They have present-day people live in a manor house as people lived in Edwardian times in England--some participants are the servants, and some are the masters. It’s very interesting, and as long as it is, it’s a good background distraction.

Currently Reading:
Nothing yet today, but I plan to put in at least a chapter or two before bed tonight.

Atlas

Piece of the Day:
It's not a boring as you might think, really. From my position, I can see just about everything that goes on in the known universe. I see comets racing across the sky, blackholes devouring stars, I can even see every event of every planet before my sight--the people, the creatures. So I really shouldn't complain.
I suppose it was heavy at first. I don't really remember, honestly. I've gotten used to it by now. I think it made me sore when I first began, but it's molded itself a comfortable place in my back and shoulders. If I shift, it feels awkward, but I really shouldn't complain.
I just wish...well, I've never been able to witness the world I've dedicated myself to. I know nothing of the struggle between humans and gods. I have no idea of the fate my titan brothers and sisters have been subjected to. If I could only glimpse, or even hear what is happening in this world on my shoulders...
But...I guess I really shouldn't complain.

Prompt:
Atlas. This came about, because I'm involved with a musical theatre production, and this one motion we make reminds me of Atlas holding up the world, which brought this piece about.

Work in Progress:
None today. Not much time this Monday.

Distractions Used:
That 70's Show--not on DVD, but on TV. Didn't even have much time for TV today.

Currently Reading:
Nothing today, either.

Pet Cat

Piece of the Day:
There once was a cat named Kit
Who had quite a peculiar wit.
Being round as a ball
And as wide as she’s tall,
Into her square bed she won’t fit.

Prompt:
Cat. As you may have guessed, I have a pet cat named Kit. And seeing as today was extraordinarily busy for a Sunday, this limerick was the only thing I could come up with for today’s prompt.

Work in Progress:
Didn’t work on any writing today, aside from this.

Distractions Used:
Cheers. It’s the only thing on TV while writing this.

Currently Reading:
Nothing today.

Hanging Flowers

Piece of the Day:
“Peonies, gardener,” she said. “White peonies.”
Penelope had ordered the same flowers for every household’s child for the past thirty years of her life, never even thinking on what peculiar good luck it was that every household she served in that duration had a garden containing white peonies. At any rate, white peonies were never the defining feature of any house--for her, it was always the child.
Boy or girl, born or found, child or ward, she loved them all for the first five years of their lives and forever. She loved children always, and they had been more precious to her since her fateful eighteenth year of life, when a woeful miscarriage decided she would be unable to have any children of her own. So she dedicated her life to the happy task most high-society married couples denied themselves: She would raise children as a nanny--at least until age five, when she would be replaced by a tutor or governess. And with her husband’s passing overseas, she could imagine no happier way of spending her life.
Penelope accepted the basket of white peonies from the gardener, inhaling their sweet scent as she re-entered the house. With each new ache ailing her as she climbed the stairs, she loathed to come to terms with the fact that her retirement would soon be necessary, and that little Amelia Waltham, the dearest of all children, would be her last child.
The maid finished cleaning the nursery just as Penelope entered.
“Thank you for watching little Mia while I fetched her flowers,” Penelope said, giving the maid a peony.
“It is no trouble, ma’am,” the maid replied as she bobbed a curtsey and left the room.
Penelope approached the crib where baby Amelia slept, and wrapped the stems of the white peonies around the railing to adorn the small bed with beauty and fragrance. As she gazed down upon her small charge, her delicate first curled in dreaming, Penelope began to weep into her handkerchief. This child’s sweet face would be the last of her lifetime. And of all the children who made their impression on her heart, none of their hearts would remember her. She could not bear it--she could not think of retiring to live alone in quiet the rest of her days.
The master and mistress were out of town.
Penelope hastened to pack up a bag of garments and supplies, and with a gentle hand, took up the baby in her arms, and made their escape.
“You are my own, little Mia--now and always.”

Prompt:
Hanging flowers. I was working at the library while contemplating this prompt, and there are paper flowers hung for spring decoration. It made me think of hanging flowers, which made me think of the movie The Mask of Zorro, where they’re always talking about the flowers hung at Elena’s crib by her nanny.

Work in Progress:
I think this is where I can make my excuses for having no blog posts for two days. On the eleventh, I worked all day and into early morning the next, reading through and revising my fantasy novel. I don’t know what draft it is now; beyond the tenth, I’m positive. It’s something I do--and will go on doing, probably--every couple months or so until I manage to get it published. Yesterday, I was spending the day with my sister. Anyway, that means that this section will again contain an excerpt from my fantasy novel:

During the whole ride back to the Palace, the visit to Heocles’s smithy continued to run through Indra’s head, wondering what all that tracing and questioning was leading to for her new, custom-made sword. It all seemed pretty eccentric, but if everyone in the Palace used Heocles for their weapon needs, then he must have been good at his job. For the first time, she actually felt excited at the prospect of getting a new sword.
And once arriving at the Palace, she realized how much she would actually need it.
Jiten noticed Raydan and Indra approaching on their horses, and rushed up to meet them,
looking very grim. “Where have you been?” he demanded from Raydan, his voice severe. “One of those village raiders broke in, and the Prince is missing!”
Raydan immediately dismounted from the horse and took off to find Hiko. Indra did not wait for her orders; she beat Raydan to the Palace doors by riding her horse at a gallop to the front stairs, then jumped off and burst inside.

Distractions Used:
Will & Grace. And while I didn’t watch it while I was writing, the movie Penelope served to name the main character of today’s prompt.

Currently Reading:
Ranma 1/2 by Rumiko Takahashi. I read through volume 15 while working at the library, and 16 through 24 weren’t there, so I decided to quit in favor of picking up one of my novels in queue. If not tomorrow, I’ll likely start reading more on Monday.

River Rocks

Piece of the Day:
The river rocks with gentle sway
A drowsy lull, a peaceful grey
With softly chilled spray
To sweep away
The baleful fray
Of everyday

The river runs with steady pace
Along the bank, a thrilling chase
Its carefree race
Lights up my face
Leaves not a trace
Of worry’s place

Prompt:
River rocks. I was just watching the birds in the aviary we have in the living room, and some of the backdrop is decorated with river rocks bought from the craft store. Staring at them, the first line of the poem came to mind, so I thought I might as well use it for my daily prompt. I stopped after the second stanza, because I was beginning to dislike it--I think mostly because of the short lines with the same rhyme scheme repeating.

Work in Progress:
I did a little work on my fantasy novel today. I’ve been waiting for the time to read it through completely for revisions again, but didn’t have the time today, so I just tweaked some things. Here’s part of the prologue that I tweaked:

The Warrior in the distant tree could not believe her eyes. Astonishing enough was the presence of an Immortal, but even more shocking was how he watched as his army was cut down by its own members, like a reaper at harvest--that he did so with an increasingly contented smile. As she watched in fearful confusion, she imagined what she would report back to her superiors: “My intervention seemed pointless, as they defeated themselves.”

Distractions Used:
Will & Grace. I have the first and third season on DVD, and like any TV show on DVD, it makes for a good background distraction.

Currently Reading:
Ranma 1/2 by Rumiko Takahashi. Volumes 8 through 11. Admittedly, some of the plots were kinda lame/cheesy (like a bizarrely tyrannical principal trying to give everyone buzz cuts), but just as it was getting to a really interesting plot, it ended off at a cliffhanger, and I don’t have volume 12. I’ll have to get it next time I’m at the library.

Fog and Friends

Piece of the Day:
It had been foggy all day, but it fell even thicker at night. The drive through town was nothing to fear, but when the city street became a country road, it was like driving into a void.
Mykol didn’t dare drive the usual speed limit of 55 mph, and not even the vehicle following directly behind—-only visible by its frosted moon-yellow headlights—-could persuade her to go faster. The dark road diminished not fifty feet in front of her into a nondescript cloud of grey. She wasn’t worried about other drivers coming toward her—-she could see them, and they could see her well enough. But wandering animals would have no escape, and Mykol would have little chance to prepare for a sudden turn in the road.
And yet, it was thrilling--and almost amusing. As she drove through what seemed like a long tunnel, the fog billowed and swept over the car like soft, crashing sea waves. With the beautiful spectacle and the almost-blind uncertainty, it could have been a portal to another time and place.
In spite of the uneasiness she felt driving in such fog, she laughed. “This is insane! I’ve never seen it this foggy since…”
She could almost see the memory, like a projection on the canvas of fog. It was the first week of summer vacation, and she was calling her best friend to make plans for the months ahead.
“Hello! How’re you?” She was taking a walk during her work break, the dense fog hiding the willows by the pond.
“Good, good. You?”
“Good, good. What’re you up to?”
“Packing.”
“…For what?”
Wait… Mykol stopped her recollection. It wasn’t foggy that day. I was thinking of something else.
“Hey! How’s it going?” Mykol was sitting at home, staring out the window with the phone to her ear. The birdhouses of the backyard were barely visible in the fog.
“Hey! I’m fine. You?”
“Good. My grad party is next month.”
“Oh, I can’t come. I’ll be gone for a few months.”
“…Oh. Where to?”
No…It wasn’t foggy then, either. Just nighttime. Mykol took a deep breath, exhaling as the lights of the upcoming city permeated the deep fog. “Just shut up,” she told herself as she turned in to the city streets, the light posts nullifying the need for her floodlights.
For a moment, as she sat waiting at a stoplight, her mind turned back to its previous thoughts. She jammed a CD into the player and turned up the volume, singing along with the tune. As the light turned green, she took off, determined to leave the fog behind her.

Prompt:
Fog and friends. I made the mistake of looking up old friends on Facebook, reminding me of two of my best friends who moved across the country without telling me (until I happened to call them the day of). I’ve never really gotten to vent about it, but I didn’t want to just write a rant, so I tied in my experience driving through the nasty fog on my way out from work last night.

Work in Progress:
I’ve been working more on Zealandia lately, which is my story inspired by Alice in Wonderland. No, I haven’t seen the movie yet, and yes I want to. Anyway, here’s a clip from the work I did on Chapter Seven today:

The Mad Clothier selected an outfit and slung it over the top of the screen, which Adelaide forced herself into. With prolonged hesitation, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror. First of all, it was a dress, which she did not like, and which only went down to her knees in front, but down to her ankles in back. The dress had mid-length flared sleeves, and was a paisley pattern in varying hues of blue. Over the dress was a full white apron with silver embroidery and lace on the shoulder straps. He also supplied her with blue paisley slippers with silver soles. “I look a cartoon from the seventies,” she muttered. But at the very least, she felt dry and clean.

As she stepped out from behind the changing screen, the Mad Clothier squealed with joy. “You look absolutely fabulous! It brings out the red in your cheeks and the glare of murder in your eyes!”

Adelaide clenched her fists as she walked to the door. “Yes, well, thanks. Bye.”

Distractions Used:
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, and Clueless. I got them both from the library last night.

Currently Reading:
Ranma 1/2 by Rumiko Takahashi. I do have actual novels in queue, but I found a whole bunch of these at the library, and couldn’t resist. They’re quick reads, anyway. I just finished volume seven.

Global Nomad

Piece of the Day:
It was first seen in the beams of the Eiffel Tower. What few tourists had seen it could have easily disregarded it as an illusion--possibly brought on by vertigo--but it left its mark in an undeniable way--just as any ordinary bird "leaves it mark", but this was more peculiar.
The next witness report came from India, where it very contentedly made the emperor's outdoor pool its own personal bath. Perhaps it didn't leave a mark, but no one would deny what regal eyes had witnessed.
The third appearance--and the last for some years--was Tokyo Tower. Perhaps it felt the comfortable familiary, or maybe it just liked high places. By then, it had grown larger, and bent the beam it perched on. But the mark it left was enough to repay its actions.
I saw it. Just now. Just before documenting this report. Like everyone else in the States, I laughed at the tabloid stories, all with accompanying pictures (artists' renditions, not actual photos). But it's a different matter altogether when it's out on the deck, wrecking the patio furniture. I went immediately for my camera, but none of the pictures turned out. All the megapixels in the world couldn't capture it--but I was going to, if even with my bare hands.

Prompt:
Global Nomad. It's the name of a company that makes beads and beading supplies (I was shopping for beadery today). I don't much like what I ended up writing, really; I could have done a lot better with a prompt like that. But I thought that for the nature of this blog, it shouldn't be anything refined/revised. It should all be the first thing I come up with. Not every strike of inspiration lands a bulls-eye, after all. Btw: the "mark" was supposed to refer to something like a goose that lays a golden egg. That was the idea I was--for some reason--going with. Hopefully my mojo will be of a better grade tomorrow.

Work in Progress:
Didn't work on any today. Monday is "get all my errands done today" day.

Distractions Used:
None. Maybe that's why it turned out so ugh. I'm working at the library, so I'm not allowed distractions here.

Currently Reading:
Not yet.

Introduction

I’m Maia Jacomus, age 25, author. Well, I’ve had only one book published so far, but I’d like to try to write for a living. My one published book is an ebook, a fantasy novella called Laodamia. You can find it at internationalagora.com (only $3!). Other than writing, I love theatre, voice acting, video games, and painting. I could go through some other random factoids, like favorite color, favorite song, food, etc., but I’ll just get to the point of this blog.

You see, sometimes, my writing mojo fails me. I’ll want to write—I’ll sit down, open my laptop, pick out a story, read over some of what I last wrote…and nothing. Seeing as I’d like to write for a living, this is something I need to remedy. So I thought a blog of writing prompts would be a good idea—get my mojo flowing…or whatever it is mojo does. Also, I thought making it an internet blog would be a good idea, because then other people can use my prompts, or suggest prompts to me. Now, notice how I said use my “prompts”—no one’s allowed to use the pieces I write, or what I may post of my current works.

So here’s how my blog is going to look, starting tomorrow:

Piece of the Day:
This section of my blog will contain my writing piece for the day. I will find a word or object associated with what I did that day, and will write something based on it—a poem, short story, or just a blurb.

Prompt:
What prompted the “piece of the day”. If it was suggested to me by someone else, I’ll credit his/her name here. You are free to—of course, read—and also to post comments containing your own piece you wrote based on the prompt. Also feel free to post comments containing prompts you would like to share with me/see me write.

Work in Progress:
Admittedly, I have loads of these—stories that I’ve started, and that I’m working on to make into novellas/novels/etc. for publication. I’ll post the title, and my favorite bit of what I wrote for it that day.

Distractions Used:
I seldom like to write without distraction of some kind—either music playing, or a TV show or movie playing. I like some kind of background noise to keep me alert. Otherwise, I could be stuck staring at my monitor, trying to think of an idea, and fall asleep on the keyboard. Okay, that’s never happened, but it could make me bored enough to stop writing altogether, which isn’t good.

Currently Reading:
Now that I have the time, I’d really like to catch up on my reading—I have at least ten books in queue. Hopefully, this section will be in as constant use as the others.


First post to come tomorrow!