A Poem Scene

Prompt: Find a 1st-person poem, and write it in the 3rd person POV. Perhaps even rewrite it as a scene, or a story.

This is a writing prompt from Writing Excuses episode 13.2. The episode was about writing active characters and it was really good, so naturally what I wrote was about a very passive character. To be fair, I asked a friend for her favourite first person poem to use as inspiration, and it's a bit depressing. I will let you decide. Here is the poem she gave me, followed by my writing.

The life that I have

Is all that I have

And the life that I have

Is yours.

The love that I have

Of the life that I have

Is yours and yours and yours.

A sleep I shall have

A rest I shall have

Yet death will be but a pause.

For the peace of my years

In the long green grass

Will be yours and yours and yours.

Favourite writing from this week:

She stood by the grave every Thursday. For two hours, she spoke of what she did the previous week, a record in a verbal diary. She gave her life to the bones below her feet. And each time she lay a single yellow rose on the long green grass.

One week she did not come. Then again not the next. The following Wednesday, the diggers came. A trench was made where she used to stand, and on Thursday she was lain to rest.

She lay in her grave every Thursday. In their souls, they danced every day. 

Writing Goals for 2018

Oh wow. Have I really not written since middle of November? Oops. Well I won NaNo, but naturally the story isn't finished. I'm also revising last year's NaNo because a good friend of mine gave me the right kind of beta reading and now I am rewriting the beginning and rethinking characters. It's a glorious disaster. Onto the actual point of this post.

I can't tell if Kristina will continue doing the weekly prompts, but a goals prompt sounds like a good plan. So here we go.

1. Complete at least 15 of the Writing Excuses homework assignments.
For those of you who don't know, this is a weekly, 15 min podcast with great writing advice. This year they are focusing on character and I really need that. So I want to do the homework assignments and be more active in my learning.

2. Finish Twin Tales.
This is my monstrosity of a Merlin fic. It's over 100k right now. I want to wrap it up by the end of this year so I can start posting it and giggling at the feedback people will give me.

3. Revise Restoring Faith
This will be slightly dependent on my beta reader, but I do really want to eventually publish this one so getting a proper second draft by the end of the year seems like a good goal.

4. Write something non-fandom
This does not include Restoring Faith. This will probably happen with goal number one, but I want to make it it's own goal so I can keep it a focus.

How well will I do? I don't know. Real life is gearing up to kick my butt this year, especially in the summer which is usually good writing time for me. But I will find a way.

Favourite writing from this week:

But now the glimmer of hope seemed absent. Left alone with her thoughts, prospects were bleak. Not even the chocolate croissant she had saved was cheering her up. It only reminded her how far she had traveled since the tube station. She set it back on the wrapper. It was meant to be a ten minute ride home.

Yet now she was stranded in a foreign city, surrounded by aliens and in a time far removed from her own. Even if she was able to travel to Earth somehow, it wouldn’t be the same planet she left.

No family, no friends, no series finale of Bakeoff and wow she hadn’t realised how much that one hurt. She didn’t even like cooking. So why were her eyes filling with tears?

But now that they started, she couldn’t make them stop. Her family were dead. Had been for who knows how long. How long did it take them to start looking for her? How long until they gave up?

And what would she do? Try to go to uni? Applications were hard enough the first time around. Now she had no paperwork and only her previous student ID as any form of identification. Even if she somehow was accepted, she would have gaps in her education. She wouldn’t have money to pay tuition. Hells she hardly had food for the next day.

Hannah grabbed tissues from the bedside table and noisily blew her nose.

“Destinies are troublesome things,” an accented voice said. It sounded oddly Irish. The first recognisable accent she had heard this entire trip. “You don’t often understand why things happen until many years later.”

Hannah looked around, but couldn’t see anyone who could have spoken to her.

“To your right, above the table,” the voice said. She looked up but all she could see was a drawing of large stone gateway similar to the one she had fallen through. “There we go.”

Hannah blinked, rubbed away the tears that were blurring her vision. Maybe she had fallen asleep because she thought the artwork was speaking.

“You aren’t going crazy.” The drawing changed, shifted. A gargoyle that had been perched on top of the arch flew down into the foreground of the image, all the detail of the pointed teeth and large ears become clearer.

“How? You’re in a drawing,” she protested. “Drawings don’t move. Or talk.” She pinched her arm again, but just as before it hurt. No waking up from a weird dream.

“Magic, Mistress Osta,” the gargoyle replied. “You had best get used to it.”

“Right, magic.” She nodded, then shook her head. “No. This is crazy. Pictures that move, I’ll accept. Crazy arches that kidnap you from tube stations, fine.” She crossed her arms. “But no way is it normal for art to hold a conversation with someone. There was other artwork in the hotel lobby and none of those paintings moved. Something tells me this isn’t normal.”

“Now you are catching on.” It seemed proud of her. “We will make a proper adventurer of you yet.”

“Adventure? No, this has been an adventure enough. I just want to go home.”

“That’s not possible at the moment.”

Hannah felt her breath catch. “No. Saraahm said she knows someone who might know how to get me home. There has to be a way.”

“There is a way. You have to create your own path home.”

“What?”

“Talk to Father Carame, he will guide you to the right path. But there are things you need to learn before you can return home.”

Hannah was still having trouble processing the fact that she was talking to a gargoyle in a drawing on on wall, but something in it’s tone made her believe it. “What, do I have to take a class?” That didn’t mean any of this made sense.

“Father Carame will tell you more about your destiny. Think of it as your letter to Hogwarts.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you just made a “Harry Potter” reference and focus on the rest of that. How do you know my destiny?”

“Magic.”

“Of course.” Hannah shut her eyes and rubbed a hand over her face. Magic, destiny, and kidnapping. Just your average Friday. But apparently this was the reality she had to live with right now. “What does my destiny have to do with finding a way home?” She adjusted her glasses and looked back up at the drawing, but the gargoyle had retreated to the perch atop the portal.

“I have faith that you will stumble upon the connection,” its voice said into the stillness before some intuition Hannah never knew she had, told her that the creature wouldn’t be saying anything else.

“Okay. I am officially in an adventure story. Magical creature who gives advice then disappears with a riddle. Got it.” She looked down at her croissant. She needed chocolate and then she needed sleep.

NaNoWriMo Update

Just a a short update today. NaNo has been going well. I was able to write a lot of words while I was remote observing. Turns out the spectrometer involves a lot of hitting a button then waiting half an hour. So there was plenty of free time. And I was leading up to a battle which turned out really well. Or at least I humbly think so.
I have also confirmed who will be the ten individuals at the Round Table in my story and it is very exciting. Only one of them has not yet been introduced. I also made a new planning document since the previous one is mostly crossed off and it was getting hard to find the things I had not yet written. So a clear sign of progress. As if the 40k words written just this month didn't indicate that already.
And as soon as I finish this chapter I will have 52 chapters. That means that I can post once a week for a year and readers will still have not finished the story. I still intend to finish writing before I start posting, but it is nice to know that if I get impatient for feedback I have a large buffer.
This week I am sharing with you a section of my story leading up to the sword being pulled out of the stone. I loved writing it and I am pleased with how it turned out.


Favourite writing from this week:

“Is this another story you found in a book in the library that should’ve stayed buried? Because the last one you told was not nearly as interesting as you claimed.”

Merlin gaped at him. “I’ll have you know when I told Gwen the tale of the hydra she loved it.” He continued marching ahead, knowing Arthur was following even if his steps through the brush were quieter. “And no. This book was not buried. I think you will be familiar with some of it. It is about Brutus, the first king of Camelot.” He pushed a low hanging branch out of his way. “He conquered the land of Camelot from local nomadic groups and united them under one banner and securing the roads of trade. He had the citadel built up to present a show of force against invaders and prove that he and his descendants were here to stay.”

“Yes, Merlin I know the story. Everyone in Camelot knows the story.” Arthur shoved at a bush in his path. “I don’t see why this is important. And where are we going anyway?”

Merlin looked over his shoulder. “For once, just be patient and listen.” He faced forward just in time to duck under a thick branch. “Since you say you know the story, I will skip to the part you may not have heard. Laying on his deathbed, there were many who were praising the king, telling him that no king of Camelot would ever do as much for the land as he had done. Even his own son spoke of how he could never live up to his father.

“But the king spoke and he told them that he had been gifted with a vision of the future before he died and he wanted to share it with them. He said that someday in the future, a descendant of his would rule Camelot and this King would make Camelot a shining kingdom to be remembered throughout the ages. He told them to take him out to his favourite lake and there, with the last reserves of his legendary strength, he drove his sword into a rock. He said that one day a man would come to claim this sword, and that man would be the rightful king of Camelot. The one to be remembered.”

Merlin stopped speaking, letting the magic of the linger in the forest air. It felt like the world was waiting, holding its breath.

“That’s rubbish.” And the world was just punched in the gut. “Who would believe that?”

“Plenty of people,” Merlin retorted. “Are you calling the people of Camelot stupid?”

“A sword stuck in a rock? That’s impossible.”

Merlin smiled internally. He couldn’t have planned it any better. “Then what is that?”

Arthur stepped up beside where Merlin had stopped and looked into the small clearing. The land sloped gently downward to a sunlit circle of grass, within which laid a large stone. And in that stone, a sword.

90 min stories

There haven't been prompts for the past couple weeks, but I haven't been shirking the writing. I have been grabbing some Halloween prompts and using those. Mostly in an effort to work on my short story skills, I have been writing stories nearly entirely in the one class I help out with.

It's been a fun exercise in trying to have snippets of life rather than big plots. I wrote one on supernatural beings hiding in plain sight on Halloween. (And then realized I maybe want to revisit that universe later.) Another on the Greek Fates in modern day. And then today I finally planned out a scene I have been stressing about in my Merlin story. Oh and I wrote one about a ghost in the tunnels. That was last week. This week's snippet is from that story.

Favourite writing from this week:

Karen jotted down the part number and walked to the storage tunnel entrance. She grabbed a torch from the shelf and entered her ID. The keypad lit up green, she pushed open the door, and entered the tunnel.

Now she was sure that she could hear the Thames. She didn’t like it. It was too close. Part K332. She had a ways to go in the tunnel. The further she walked, the less she liked it.

Every step echoed. A...B... Her torch beam was the only light available. C...D... The walls felt like they were getting closer. E...F... She tried humming a song, but the bounced noises were worse. G...H...

Something furry brushed her leg and she lept away with a gasp, dropping her light in surprise. It went out.

“Who is responsible for designing that?” she asked of the darkness.

She didn’t expect the darkness to reply.

Fix it and long fics

Prompt: A character rips something they are wearing.

I used this as an excuse to write the fix-it fic for Kingsman 2. I won't spoil it yet, but if you wish to avoid, don't read the writing section.

I also decided for sure that my nano will be just continuing my Merlin fic, Twin Tales. I have no ideas for another story at the moment. I haven't done enough editing on last year's fic to write the sequel yet. And I really want to get TT finished before 2019. It's a long one and I would prefer to finish it before I start posting it. Granted, my library books are also due in 7 days and I have not finished them. So maybe I should read a bit more than write next week.

Favourite writing from this week:

A snippet:

She looked out the window. The fireball was coming for her. Fuck. Instinctually she dove across her room and leapt into the tub. She barely had time to activate her distress signal before the bomb hit.


She felt the floor drop out from under her. She fell. And kept falling. Hands over her head, she couldn't say for sure, but she assumed the entire mansion was plummeting into the earth.


She slammed into the hard porcelain. Then the ceiling slammed into her. Bits of tile and dirt rained down around her. She felt a rumble and then something else fell, knocking her unconscious.


When Roxy next woke, it was to a growling stomach. She rolled over, habitually reaching for her phone, but immediately realised she couldn't move. Opening her eyes, she could barely see in front of her. She remembered the explosion.


Twisting, she positioned herself to try to shove the rubble on top of her with her back. It wasn't easy, but soon she moved it enough to crouch and push the rest off. Looking around, she recognised the grey walls of the underground tunnels. She really had fallen far. And the mansion was clearly in no liveable condition anymore.


She carefully walked to the remains of her room that had fallen into the underground tunnels. The old oak furniture had proved remarkably resilient, protecting the contents of her wardrobe. She changed out of her ripped pyjamas and into proper clothes with thick soled shoes. Her computer was a wreck, as was her phone. Her lock box was in the vaults in the tunnels. It would be intact, but she didn't know if it would be accessible.


A rumble from her stomach reminded her that there were other things to look for in the tunnels first.


It was a testament of money and post-WWII paranoia that the tunnel system was nearly undamaged. Only the section directly hit by the bomb had collapsed. Once she climbed through the rubble it was almost like the explosion never happened.


Until she tried to contact Merlin. The network was dead. The bunker had switched into dark mode when the bomb was detected and she would need Merlin to reboot securely.


She hoped he and Eggsy were okay. She didn’t know if this was a multi-pronged attack. She wiped her plate into the trash and set it beside the sink. However, for now, her body was telling her she needed sleep. Tomorrow she could try some backup methods of communication.

Subconscious prompts

Prompt: Write a scene where a character lets go of something, literally or figuratively.

I've been falling behind on wordbound prompts, but mainly because the return of classes means I am on fire with my writing and therefore am not relying on the prompts to move forward. (Seriously, sitting in on the class you TA for is amazing concentrated writing time.) But apparently my brain has been paying more attention than I because I looked back at this prompt and realized it influenced my writing this week. Merlin is struggling to let go of being responsible for everything. Good thing he has Gwen.

In other news, I was bored and started looking up writing contests. I found a couple I might consider for next year, some ones with weekly prizes, and one or two that I might consider submitting my one good short story to. Maybe my nano from last year will eventually get submitted to one of them. But my goal for that story is publishing, so we will see. It needs more work before I send it off to someone professional.

Favourite writing from this week:

A week and a half later and routines had been settles into. Merlin woke up Arthur in the morning while Chet brought breakfast. Merlin sorted documents while Chet helped Arthur dress. Most other chores alternated between the two servants and Nerlin learned that he had more time to himself.

He spent his time writing letter to friends outside of Camelot and actually studying books of magic. He particularly enjoyed a book intended for teachers of magic covering the basics.

What he was enjoying most, however, was the chance to sit with Gwen at the joust celebrating the coronation.

He arrived late on purpose, lingering in the library before leisurely strolling out to the tournament ring. He waited for a break in the action before sliding onto the bench next to Gwen.

“Merlin!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m watching the joust.” He smiled widely at her.

She swatted his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“The people needed to see that Chet is officially Arthur’s servant now.” Merlin waved in the direction of the Royal stands. Arthur was sitting on a plain chair, not the overly ornate one Uther had preferred. Behind him, Chet was the image of a perfect servant. He saw when Chet saw his wave and the other man scowled slightly. “Arthur can’t stand not being about the compete,” Merlin explained. “He’s been complaining all week. I had to blackmail him in order to convince him that competing in disguise was not an option.”

“Who would host if he competed?” Gwen added. “I can’t see Leon doing it.

Merlin shook his head. “I can’t see anyone else being loud enough.” Merlin turned his attention to the match. “Besides, you and I both know he couldn’t stand being anonymous during this whole tournament. Who are you supporting?”

Gwen lifted the scrap of blue fabric in her lap. “Blue. Specifically the blue diamond.”

“Are you sure that’s who you want to support?”

“Why? Do you know who it is?” She shoved Merlin when he said nothing. “You do. Tell me!”

“Nope, that would spoil all the fun.” Merlin smiled wide, hiding the niggling feeling. When he looked at the roster, there was no blue diamond. Someone had entered late. And with a tournament like this, it could be anyone. He could hide his face. Perhaps he was sent to kill Arthur. He wasn’t competing, sure, but he was a stationary target, perfect for a long range attack.

“Merlin? Is something wrong?”

But maybe it was only a knight who signed up late and therefore nothing to worry about. “It’s been quiet and calm for too long,” Merlin muttered, putting his elbows on his legs and resting his chin in his hands. “This is Camelot; there is always trouble. What am I missing?”

Gwen put her arm around Merlin and pulled him into a hug. “This is just leftover stress from the transition. The coronation went smoothly, Arthur’s chambers are properly set up and decorated, invitations and announcements for the celebration were sent out, and you are settling into your new role as the head of the household.

“Don’t remind me about that one.”

“You know Arthur asked me to make you nicer clothes.”

Merlin raised his head to look at her in surprise. “Really? We’re talking about the same Arthur here? Or is the Steward’s name Arthur too?”

“No, silly. His name is Kay. How did you not know that? Yes Arthur asked me to get you nice clothes. He tried to say it was because he was king now and didn’t want you to give a bad impression, but you know he really cares. He even knew what colours you prefer.”

Merlin put his head on Gwen’s shoulder. The crowd cheered as the green circle knight unhorsed the knight in black circles. “Still worried though.”

“Hey, come on now. Enjoy your time off. You always take on too much responsibility. You aren’t the only one who cares about Camelot and the king. There are knights, guards, and everyone who works in the castle. You aren’t alone, so stop acting like you are.” Gwen glanced up at the angle of the sun. “Up you get, you and I are going to have an early lunch at the Chalice. This moping is nothing food can’t fix.”

Instead of

Prompt: What are the things you choose writing over? What things tempt you away from writing?

This of course depends on the day, depends on the story, depends on the sunspot count on the sun.

Over writing I choose tumblr, talking about what I'm going to write, and baking.

I choose writing over homework, falling asleep in a boring class, and going to bed.

This week's writing is from my Merlin story. Quick background, Merlin is trying out disguise necklaces he made to allow someone else to perceive the wearer as someone different. So he is wandering around Camelot swapping disguises.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Merlin hung the necklaces around his neck and put the garlands back into the basket he had brought the supplies down in. First step first. If anyone noticed all of the necklaces he was wearing, he knew it hadn’t worked. Then it was just a matter of swapping disguises when no one was looking.

***

Gwen was hurrying to her workshop when she bumped into a young woman. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t mind me.”

“Are you new here? I don’t think I have seen you around?” Gwen asked.

“I am helping out with coronation preparations, nothing more.” She brushed a hair back from her face.

“Do you need directions anywhere?”

“No thank you. I’m alright.” She hurried away and around a corner.

Gwen watched her go. Something about her manner of speech seemed familiar. But perhaps she was just reminded of someone in the market or someone who had helped in the past. Many people had helped at large feats in the past. Or maybe it was a girl who had been looking for a job in her workshop before Gwen told her to come back when she had learned more. It wasn’t terribly uncommon.

“Excuse me?” Gwen shook her head to clear her thoughts and met the eyes of an older man standing in front of her.

“Sorry, got lost in my thoughts,” she apologised. “Do you need something?”

“Do you happen to know where I can find Lord Merkel?” he asked. “I have a message for him.”

“His chambers are up two floors and on the right. If you need help ask one of the guards in that wing.”

“Thank you very much, my lady.” He bowed slightly.

“Oh I’m not,” she started to protest but drifted off when she caught his wink. Then she only rolled her eyes and continued to her workshop. She had to prepare for a fitting.

***

Arthur answered the knock at the door himself, seeing as his servant was mysteriously still missing. He didn’t think the decorations would take this long. A older woman he didn’t recognise was standing at the door, hands clasped behind her back. She gave a deep bow.

“Your highness. I have been sent to tell you that it is time for your fitting.”

“My fitting? Whatever for?” Arthur protested. This was not discussed with him. “I plan on wearing my chainmail like I have done at every other ceremony.”

“I’m afraid that is not the protocol, sire.” Her eyes didn’t leave the floor as she countered her king. “If you wish to argue, I suggest you take it up with Mistress Gwen.”

“I think I will. Tell her I shall be along in a minute.”

The woman bowed again and hurried off.

Arthur grabbed his jacket and marched off to the workshop. He was not going to stand for this. He was also not going to stand for Merlin not being there to back him up.

“You there,” he pointed at a man who looked like he might be a servant. “Do you know where my manservant is?”

“No, sire. Shall I look for him?”

“Yes. And tell him he can find me in,” but Arthur stopped, the man had already turned his back and left. Most unusual for a servant. Unless that servant was Merlin. However that man had short cropped red hair and was a more portly man than his servant could ever be, even if he ate an entire boar in one sitting.

Arthur marched on.