you know those people you get to know

There comes this point, when I'm writing, where I get to know characters so very well that they become a part of me. I can hear them speaking to me even when I'm not actively writing their story. I begin to think about how they'd react to the circumstances I'm in--how would they deal with this or that, what would they say, that sort of thing.

I don't know if this is particularly healthy. But there comes a point where I simply can't help it. But it begins to hurt just a bit more than it did before when I finish telling their story.

Take, for instance, Joanna and Loki from Caste, the novel I recently finished.  It's the classic story: boy meets girl, girl hates boy's guts, boy's people are keeping girl's kind enslaved...you know.

Joanna is a human girl, an erstwhile serf who hates her position. You see, in Djarkat--Jo and Loki's world--the humans are subservient to massive, fire-breathing Dragon shapeshifters. They choose to walk the earth in shapes like those of men...but only so they can take control, so they can beat the humans into the dust. At least, that's how Joanna sees it. And it makes her angry. It makes her very angry. 

Loki, in contrast, is one of the Shifters Joanna hates so much. He saves her life, snatching her from an execution they were both going to fall prey to. That doesn't mean she forgives his people their many sins, nor that she particularly cares for him...not for a long while, anyway.

 They're forced to work together, but they don't quite like it. Even when they decide to work together, you're forever getting the feeling that they're not quite happy about it.

But they got over it, at least in part, and they're still up in my head, clamoring for my attention. And I love it, because it means I can make my characters come alive.

And no, I am not crazy.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

By-the-by, if you wanted to read this particular story, I'd love to hear your thoughts. You can read it here.

- Kyla Denae

november and december snippets

There are quite a few long snippets this time around. My excuse is that most of them are from Copper Blood, and I just love this story beyond all reason. So yes.

“You’re from 001,” the ambassador said softly, his voice matter-of-fact. The sounds of fighting from across the room had cut out, and Nate wasn’t at all sure who had won. For all he knew, he was about to get grabbed just like Brittany had been. But he had to focus on this, on pulling the trigger, on fulfilling his mission. 

There were two bullets in the gun. His life didn’t matter, only this did, the mission, he must he must he must he must 

He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, to excuse himself, to apologize. The man’s face creased in a slow, sad smile, lines appearing by his eyes. “I’m sorry, son. I’m so, so sorry. How old are you, nineteen? Twenty? It takes ‘em young.” The man stepped closer to him, pressing the barrel of the gun into his chest. The smile was gone, and only the sadness remained. “It was a mistake, all of this. Your creation. That thing’s creation. And I know it doesn’t make sense. But I’m sorry. Do what you must.” 

 Nate dropped the gun. “I can’t,” he said. “Go home. Go home and love that daughter of yours, because by God I can’t shoot you.”

- Copper Blood, NaNo 2012

Nate wasn’t prepared for the pain when it came. This time around, it shut out all thought, every impulse that was not of itself. The bite of the cuffs paled, and disappeared completely, lost amid the roaring beast. It tore through his mind, poured itself into his veins, a thing of molten fire that set his blood to boiling, so violent that the atoms seemed to split, reforming into chunks of iron and copper, crystallized remains of what had once fed him life. Pain tore at him from the inside, his whole body jerking against it.

- Copper Blood, NaNo 2012

“I guess you’re not a travelling person?” Nate asked, raising an eyebrow.

 She gave him a withering look. “That is putting it mildly,” she said. “Particularly when you have a hyperactive tribble and Agent K to keep you company, not to mention the ignoramus hunk of muscle that keeps trying to get away. She’s already kicked out our taillight and Nathaniel whatever-your-last-name-is, I swear to you, I am going to make you pay if she gets me stopped by the cops.”

- Copper Blood, NaNo 2012

There was no one about when he coasted into a courtyard, nearly crashing into a statue he hadn’t remembered being there. This landing was even worse than his last; he fetched up against a pillar, Jo half-cradled against him. No outcry had been made, no alarm sounded. Stupid Frey, was his last thought before he Shifted, falling onto the stones with one bare arm still draped over Jo. Stupid, stupid Frey.

- Caste, novel in progress

 - Kyla Denae

day three

The first day of NaNoWriMo passed so fast, I feel like I hardly blinked (though that might have been a combination of fear of the statues that seem to be everywhere and those weird gaps in my memory...). I got about 5,000 words into my novel that day, dealing with near-amnesia, a head-jerking doctor, and a main character who insisted upon having a girlfriend.

Yesterday, day two, I didn't get much written due to an eleven-hour long shift at work. I still managed to get about a thousand words written though (and no, I totally didn't stay up until midnight to get there. Honest. Shh).

Today, I'm hoping to hit at least 10,000, and hopefully get a bit higher. In pursuit of that, the next few hours of my life will be filled with existentialist crises as I force Nate to figure out what's going on, a combination of music from Matt Kearney, Clint Mansell, and Murray Gold, and numb fingers as they work way too fast.

So while I'm doing that, I'm going to just paste this excerpt from my novel and run.

            His mom and dad were nowhere in evidence, though he could hear the sound of some TV commentator coming from the living room. Heading that way, he went into the kitchen to find himself a drink, only partly focusing on the tinny voice on the TV.

            Until, that is, it mentioned Doctor Kane. Rounding the corner, cup of soda in hand, he leaned against the wall leading into the living room and focused on the screen. A man, sitting behind a desk, was gazing seriously into the camera, the younger woman by his side nodding seriously as he spoke.

            ‘Doctor Herbert Kane, as we’ve said, has been one of the foremost experts in the new field of Neural Reprogramming, which is basically where the brain is taught, through some means both medical and psychological—we’re really not quite sure as to the exact process, too much mumbo-jumbo,’ the commentator gave a nervous laugh. ‘But the applications of this process, this operation, could be immeasurable. Apply it to, to criminal justice, to mental illnesses…’

            ‘You could literally transform the world,’ the woman chimed in.

            ‘Well, obviously,’ the man said. ‘Which is why Doctor Herbert Kane–’

            Nate turned away and headed for the stairs, unwilling to sit around and listen to them sing praises of a man he wasn’t sure about himself. Then again…whatever it was that Doctor Kane had done to him, it had ‘immeasurable’ applications.

- Copper Blood, WIP 2012 NaNoWriMo novel

- Kyla Denae

snippets of october

One of mine is quite long this month. But honey badger don't care. I love this scene from Dark Dawn, mostly because it sent one of those delightful little shivers, of mingled fear and wonder at what I've created, up my spine. You know it's good when you get one of those. Either that, or you're overwhelmingly, hopelessly lost in an idea of your own importance. Either way.

Without further ado, here are this month's Snippets, a blog challenge-thing put on by Katie, from Whisperings of the Pen!

It was Durion Keljên, or Durion Keljên-who-had-been. His long, dark hair was the same as she had seen before, his eyes the same queer mixture of black and white, but there was more madness there now, and more power. 

 It was from him that had come the voice. He had raised a great staff above his head, a curving thing of wood that was taller than she. At the top of it, a black spearhead crowned it, marked it as a weapon. Dark robes billowed around the man-that-was-not-a-man, his words booming from deep within, making him seem worse than any sorcerer in any tale she’d ever heard. 

"My children,” he called, voice fell and terrible. “Our time has come. In the time-before-time, before Darv’ii exiled me,” the creature spat the name of the Dwarvish god, saying it as a curse, “I was great, mightier than He, mightier than the Dawn he had forced upon me, forced me to love. And I would have taken the world, would have been in dominion over it. But the Creator resented me. Resented my power, and He cast me down, imprisoned me below the depths. I say no more!” A burst of lightning, a boom of thunder came from the creature’s staff as he brandished it once more above his head, and the Ladwalden hooted and shouted, a sound as of a mighty wind, the mouths of a thousand thousands all crying out. 

 The creature raised a hand for silence, and continued once the vale had ceased to ring. “We will take back what is mine, what is ours! We will take the world for the night beginning with the children of men. I will stand before the King, this Darv’ii who believes He is great, and I will raise my hand against Him. And we, my children, shall be great in His place.” 

 The roar began again, swelling above his words, and the creature suddenly turned, a satisfied smile on his face. He looked down at Anarisia, straight at her, and he leaned down to peer into her eyes. 

 He could see her. She knew he could, and the breath seized in her throat, the presence of darkness and evil crushing down on her again. 

“Go home, little human,” he whispered, voice eerily intimate. “Go home and carry your tales. And when you see her, tell my sweet sister that she shall not live long after our Father.” 

- Dark Dawn, novel in progress

The war consumes him, catching him up in its firm grasp. Adrenaline pours through him, filling every cavity and cell with intended purpose, flooding his body with the same manic desires as the ones around him. On and on and on, pushing, pulling humanity, for there is a purpose and it must be fulfilled, though he knows not what it is, nor what it is for. 

 Something beckons, Something beyond himself, Something that could perhaps save him. Perhaps here is the answer he has been searching for, in the fevered eyes of a madman and the raised hands of a million men, all pledging their bodies and lives and souls to the madman who claims to lead them. 

- Something, short story 

- Kyla Denae

nanowrimo 2012

Sometimes I get a really, really good feeling about a story before I start it. I can feel it, already yanking at my heartstrings, just waiting to be typed out in beautiful, exuberant, wonderful detail. Sometimes this heart-tugging comes later, when I'm halfway through and all at once realize just how beautiful the world I've created is. (Yes, I am in fact that egotistical.) All at once, I can hardly sleep for thinking of this-or-that twist, or an event I can't wait to write, or crying over my poor, poor characters and all that I, their loving creator, are forced to put them through. I felt this way about Royalty, my as-yet-unedited (but finished) novel about a young farmgirl who's pushed into a world of courtly intrigue.

And I think I just might end up feeling that way about this year's NaNo novel. Because it's pretty darn epic, if I do say so myself. This year's novel is currently named "Copper Blood", a title with absolutely no symbolic meaning as of yet. Except for the fact that copper wiring is sometimes used in some places, and wiring has a lot to do with this story. Sort of. Also because I like the sound of it. Just say it out loud. It sounds so polished and writerly.

Cover made by the wonderful Vincent from figment.com. He's got srs skillz

Anyway. Copper Blood follows a young man, Nathaniel, who is chosen by an unknown entity to undergo an operation that turns him into a superhuman. After a message is sent to his phone, he is led to the Nexus, a staging point for thousands of Commandants--the backbone of a new world police force, dedicated to eradicating warfare...for humanity's own good, of course.

This whole plan is overseen by a supercomputer, designed to create a contingency plan for a variety of disasters, both natural and man-made. It's ultimate solution was to simply take over the planet and administer everything from its own core processor...hence the invasion force of Commandants. Nathaniel finds himself thrown into this world of subterfuge and violence, and when the orders come through to subjugate the planet at all costs, he is forced to look hard at his own humanity and evaluate just what that humanity means.

Joining him are a cast of other characters who are at various stages of development. There's Brittany, my snarky, confident, but very broken, African-American heroine. There's Laren, a woman who once wanted to be a doctor but is now forced to deal with the fact that she's been turned into a ruthless killing machine. Mariah is probably my favorite; possibly the youngest Commandant in the world, she has been forced to live with a world inside her head, thoughts from everyone else threatening to overwhelm who she was. Slash, the computer expert, who is suffering under a secret that will mean his life, whether secret or no, and is out to prove what he's made of. And Rob, a man unable to trust himself because of the conscience-less monster he's been turned into--or at least, what they've tried to turn him into.

I'm just really, really excited about this year. Because this story is going to be amazing. I can feel it, just longing to burst out, to make itself known in the most beautiful way. And I can't wait.

- Kyla Denae

why yes i am ready for november

Ah, November. How to explain how much I love the exhilaration of fallen leaves, the first snows, a snappy chill in the air, the smell of wood burning in fireplaces, and the press of a warm mug filled with hot chocolate against my hands?

And then, of course, there's NaNoWriMo.

Forget everything else; NaNoWriMo is undoubtedly the most important part of the autumn season. It just sort of completes a year. After eleven months of having done nothing in particular, traveling and reading and writing a bit, trying to keep myself from getting too bored, all at once this wonderful thing comes again. And all at once I have a purpose! I must beat Mirriam! Nay, I must beat the whole world with my industrious word-crafting! My life becomes all about that purple bar at the end of the month, that simple purple bar that will tell the whole world (or, at least the bit that cares to check) that, hey, I'm accomplished.

I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days. 

What did you do this year?

Bet it wasn't as awesome as this.

So I am very ready for autumn. I've been planning for months, as always. Well, by planning I mean figuring out who my characters were and roughly what I was going to put them through. Still don't know how it's going to end. Guess we'll find out when we get there, eh?

- Kyla Denae

september's snippets

So in an attempt to actually make myself write more than I have been, I'm going to attempt the Snippets of Story project/thing/whatever that Katie over at Whisperings of the Pen puts on every month. There are only two this month, mainly because--well, I've not been writing as much, and what I have written doesn't really 'wow' me, but I did have a few good bits of description and times where I sat there and whispered, "I am so deep how do I do this I am so proud of myself yes."

And here they are. You're welcome.

Firelight played across the stone flags of the floor, washing over pages and leather bindings. A delicate pattern of light and shadow came right over her, sitting as close as she dared to the hearth, back against a cushion and book open across her lap. She had long since ceased reading, though, and Anarisia was staring into the flames, thinking and trying not to all at once. 

-Dark Dawn, novel in progress 

 either way, like or love or whatever is a funny thing. especially when you get to thinking about it. because what is love? seems to me it's sort of just this acknowledgement of the fact that both of you are alright, and the idea that maybe if two alrights come together they'll make an excellent. seems pretty absurd to me. still doesn't keep me from falling into it anyway.

-the eternal life of edgar alexander, stream-of-consciousness short story

 - Kyla Denae

and then i wrote this thing

Her robe billowed around her, the morning wind catching it just right. The black fabric, patterned with the delicate gold embroidery that she knew had taken had so much labor, was heavy enough to swallow her. It weighed at her shoulders, the huge sleeves fluttering around her carefully manicured hands. She focused on this, watching the pleated hem of the garment flowing away to her feet in lieu of concentrating on anything else.

If she thought of anything else, she'd surely go mad.

Barefoot, garbed in the light, gossamer pink of the Virgin, the two young women flitted around her. One finished pinning the matching pink streamers to her belt, letting them fall to the ground after the robe, to be detached in just a few moments. The other, her sleeves puffier than her long hair, arranged the robe's hood.

A crown on her head.

Slippers on her feet.

This was actually happening to her. Her hands were taken and she was slowly led forward, step by step, across the lawn and through the belt of trees that hid the Virgins from the world outside. She was led to her future.


- Kyla Denae

remind me why i'm reading this again?

I dislike not finishing books. In fact, I dislike it so much that I make a point of always finishing books--well, except this one book that had some... well, less-than-desirable content. And also Water Wars. Goodness gracious, that book was so dull.

Which, incidentally, leads me to what is possibly the only reason that I would ever not finish a book. I grew up with the classics. I have fond memories of learning to read curled up with Curious George and Beatrix Potter, then moving on to the original Winnie the Pooh books, The Boxcar Children, and the Swiss Family Robinson. The Little Princess, a hearty dose of Nancy Drew, and when I was ten, Moby Dick and many of Jules Verne's books; that's what I cut my literary teeth on.

So when I read a book, I expect to live up to those books in terms of their believability and characters. The Little Princess is a classic for a reason: it's well written and it also has some of the best characters. I still remember them, and periodically go back to the world of a dreaming Sara, a fascinated Rebecca, and the dastardly deeds of Miss Minchin. I've not picked up a Boxcar Children book in forever, but I lived those adventures, and those characters will always form part of what I think of when I hear the word "detective" (or train). Jules Verne will always be one of my favorite authors, mostly because he managed to create beautiful stories that were long enough for me to not just blow through them, but also because his characters and his fictional scenarios fit each other so well.

And then there are those...other books. The ones that have no character development and whose plot seems to be hanging on nothing but a thread of self-importance. The pacing is off, to the point where the reader alternately feels as if she is slogging through quicksand or being pushed through the pages by a bullet train. These are the books that we cringe through, hoping that somehow, it'll get better at the end (I also try to imagine myself writing something spectacularly wonderful and showing up the author. Or just banishing them for their crimes against literature, but that's another post entirely).

They are books that, rather than describing things, tell you in the most boring voice imaginable, exactly what happened and when and where and what the character's hair and nails and teeth looked like when it happened because we all care a lot about how our Elf princess looked when she killed that fellow. Within these books seem to be the most amazing things possible--a person jumping around a circle of men killing them with nothing but her knees as she jumps from shoulder-to-shoulder, or the established rules of vampire lore suddenly coming undone...even within the book's own universe, or there suddenly being a bomb wielded by terrorists who had never been heard of before, but it's okay, because the book is only fifty pages long so far.

(In case you're wondering, I'm totally going to point fingers and name names. I just talked about the Inheritance Cycle, Twilight, and Water Wars respectively. Though the second is kind of a stretch. Stephenie Meyer tries, at least.)

So, dear future authors and current authors and authors that have been, 

Just remember that listing things is not an acceptable replacement for actual description that brings your characters and your world to life. Making a long list about all the things that would logically mean your five-foot-tall herbalist would lose against your six-foot-tall trained warrior, is not the same as describing to us the things that make it so...especially not when you've just done that. In that vein, repetition doesn't mean I'll get your point better, or suddenly realize that your characters are, indeed, traveling across a desert where there is no water and hasn't been water for the past century. Pointless repetition just makes me want to put your book down. Nor will repetition of the same words make me see your political point. It's already been drummed into my head during the first 800 pages; I don't need 80 more that are nothing but a radio speech to make me realize that you're trying to make a point. 

Also, please kindly remember that gory wounds are not the time nor place to make up for your lack of description elsewhere. No matter what you may think, they will not make your battle scenes any more gripping, nor will they make your whiny characters any more lovable. Gory wounds that are described in stomach-turning detail just make me want to put your book up and go read something less nauseating. If I wanted to read about that, I would have picked up an anatomy text book. 

In closing, dear author,  I would greatly appreciate it if you would get to the point instead of leading me on a wild-goose-chase for some semblance of a plot. 

With much love,

- Kyla Denae

writing, editing, and reviewing

/begin rather long, random musing on a bunch of writerly things you probably don't care about/

I love to write. Absolutely, positively love to write. There's nothing better than curling up with a notebook and a pen--or my laptop--and pouring my ideas out onto a formerly empty page. So far, I've written three full-length novels, have another in the works, and am working on the rewrite of one of the three. I've written a novella, and have two more in the process of being written, though one might turn into a novel. That's not counting the plethora of projects I've begun and abandoned over the years, always with the mental resolution that I will return to them someday because I love the idea.

Most often, those ideas get relegated to my plot bunnies notepad. It's a long document, full of ideas from terror plots to romantic twists to full plots summed up in ten words or less. It's a place where I shove ideas that push their way into my head in the midst of NaNoWriMo, so I can focus on my novel without a bunch of little rabbits interfering with my actual plot. It's a place of occasionally twisted logic, where 11pm notations are made as my fingers fumble across the keyboard, finding their way somehow.

Sometimes, these ideas actually get written. And then I get to edit them. Yay, but actually not. I absolutely loathe editing. Hate it entirely. If I could somehow discover a way to never do it again, I would be so blissfully happy that I might just up and spend a week dancing around my bedroom singing the theme song to Sherlock. Oh wait--I do that anyway. Never mind. The point is that I don't like it. It's ridiculous and wasteful and...okay, not really. It is very necessary. I just wish it weren't, because it annoys me.

So I usually gloss over editing or let somebody else do it for me. And I edit other people's things and give them reviews on what I thought. Figment.com has a thriving reviewer community. There are some of us that go out of our way to give long, constructive reviews. I like to think I'm one of those people, and maybe I'm not, but we all think more highly of ourselves than we ought. Somehow, reviewing and proof-reading doesn't seem nearly as dull when it's someone else's book. I suppose it's the same basic principle as the feeling that makes cleaning someone else's house enjoyable while cleaning your own house is akin to getting your fingernails pulled out in a Gulag prison.

This has been a very short, random look into my life for no apparent reason. You're welcome.

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

Finished!

With the rewrite of Valiant.

Now I just have to edit.

Meh.

I ended up with nearly 67,000 words, over 10,000 words more than the original. 280 pages, formatted for CreateSpace.com, is how many it took to retell this story. I'm really happy about it.

And, if everything goes as planned, in July you should be able to buy it on Amazon!

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

NaNo '11 ("True") Excerpt

Another, more serious one this time. They're in a network of dungeons, trying to break out my main character's cousin.

They met their first prisoner a few dozen paces beyond the staircase. As the light of the lantern glanced along another set of bars, a scrap of shadow shifted, scrambling up. Knobby knees stuck out under the remains of what might have once been trousers, a dirty shirt hanging off the top of his body. A massive beard twisted on his cheeks, falling halfway down his tunic. A thin hand came up, shaking as it tried to ward the light from its owners eyes, but at the same time, the man tried to catch a glimpse of the light.

In the next cell, there was another unfortunate, and another in the next with a few more beyond, all crowded into one cell. A woman was in the next one, her face thin in the light of the lantern. She squinted against the light, just as her fellow prisoners had done. Jakov stopped dead, staring at her.

Her hair was dark and tangled, her face pointed and, perhaps pretty once, her skin perhaps once darker. She extended a hand through the bars, a hand that had known privation before the prison. She was Yahafin. Jakov took a step toward her, hand fumbling for the key, hoping to find it, hoping to let her free, but a heavy hand landed on the back of his coat and pulled him back around.

“Ya can’t go lettin’ ‘em all out, boy.” Till growled. “We’re on a mission, ain’t we?”

“Kojnebi,” the woman called out as loudly as she could. It came out as little more than a whisper between her cracked lips. Her hand trembled as it stretched towards him, begging, pleading with him. “Kojnebi.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he murmured back as Till put him back on the path and gave him a none-too-gentle shove forward. He glanced back once, just as the light fell away—she had sunk down to the ground, her dark eyes still looking after him, pleading.

Jakov’s body felt empty as he walked through the dungeon. People looked up at him from their cells. Some had torches burning on the walls opposite, evidence of the guards they’d not yet seen. Some seemed newer to the prison, not yet completely broken, with enough energy to scramble up and try to attract the newcomers’ attention. Most just lay on the floor, managing to lift their heads or open their eyes. Some could summon only a weary twitch of their fingers.

Some lay still and cold, the pallor of their skin and the unnatural stillness of their forms evidence that they would never rise again.

You can read more here, on Figment.com.

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

Official NaNo '11 Winner!

Yes, I am an official winner of NaNoWriMo 2011! See, see? It's been a very...interesting ride, as always. But it's well worth it, of course, and I have...1/3...of a new novel to celebrate over!

True will be going on hold in a few days so I can finish Valiant. I'm looking to claim my CreateSpace winner goodie and using it to get another proof copy of my first-ever novel, which I'm rewriting at the moment. Then I'll probably launch back into True, get it finished up...

And maybe edit last year's NaNovel. Hey, hope springs eternal.

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

Snow in October and NaNoWriMo

Last week, it snowed here. Last Thursday, to be precise.

It was rather miserable, actually.

Because I was sick. And my bedroom has no insulation to speak of. And our heater smells. And it was cold. But anyway.

The snow was pretty, all four inches of it. It lasted until Friday morning, when it all went away, because our weather is mental and can't decide what it wants to do. Right now, it's about 65 degrees outside, which is actually quite nice, because fall has officially arrived. It's nice. Maybe now our trees will actually have time to decide it's time to change.

In other news, tomorrow will be the first day of November! As a consequence, I will most likely be posting either quite often or not at all (depending on my procrastination level), since NaNoWriMo begins!! I'm going to be attempting to knock out my 50k by the 10th of the month. We'll see how it works. It's only about 5,000 words a day, and if I can get in a good starting spurt on the days between Tuesday and Thursday, I should be able to knock it out!

I also have incentives this year, in the form of kitkats, york peppermint patties, 5 gum, and oreos. So yes. We'll see how well I can do!

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty (紫涵)

Analyzing a Theme

سلام لكم في هذا اليوم

Occasionally, in the places of my mind where I process my story-stuff, I start musing over questions. Questions like- "What do I want my book to say at the heart of it?"

Needless to say, I don't ever necessarily have a point to what I write. My stories are just that - stories that are probably pointless and largely full of fluff and sometimes pointless drama that even I don't understand, and wish would stop (darn you, Tony and Enna!). But I suppose every book should have some core meaning, some theme that wraps it up.

So I was thinking about mine today.

Valiant's was pretty simple. Kind of. It's somewhere between love conquers all and your family isn't necessarily the people you were born to. There might also be something in there about how Centaurs are not always evil, or even people on the "wrong" side can be good, but we won't go into that.

Ravaged Time was a bit tougher. It doesn't end on a high note, where every conflict is perfectly resolved. I must admit that **spoiler** my main characters have to split up. Yes. They can't live together, because of a situation that is actually eerily like the end of His Dark Materials, now that I think about it. Oops. That was not intentional. But if I had to choose what the 'theme' was, I'd probably have to say that it was freedom is always worth fighting for. Throughout the whole book, freedom is found. Tony finds freedom from his own attitude. Enna finds freedom from the constraints of Alliance society. Terria and Dravin are fighting for political freedom. And yeah, they could have laid down and become good little Alliance citizens again, but they didn't.

I haven't yet discovered Dark Dawn's theme, or the theme for Stellae. I suppose you'll just have to wait for me to launch into editing to discover those.

What are the core themes of your stories?

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty

A Chat With Maerwen

سلام لكم في هذا اليوم

So...this was a thing on Facebook that several other writers were doing. You're supposed to write a short blurb with your favorite character from your stories, as if they were real. This was what I wrote. It isn't as good as Mirriam's, but I think it's pretty good.

I chose Maerwen because...I like Maerwen. She isn't my favorite character I've ever written, but she was the first one that came to mind, so...yeah. Enjoy. :D

I bite my lip and try to not to be completely frustrated that my characters aren't cooperating. Some people think that your characters don't have a mind of their own. I beg to differ. They're the most ridiculously independent things to ever be invented. I tap my pen against the paper, alternately glancing from it to the computer screen. Yes, I have them both open. It's how I roll.

"Just...write already." the voice of Maerwen comes from behind me. She's standing next to my bed, one hand gently laid on it, looking perfect and beautiful, and...yeah.

"Everything's written."

"Get editing then." she suggests with the cheery ease of somebody who doesn't have to do it - she just has to sit there and watch.

"You won't like it when I do."

Her smile freezes. "And why is that?"

I shrug. "Just because. You never know what I might do."

She comes closer, to lean over my chair and see what I have written. "Excellent. Throw Ionwe to Durion, I don't care."

"If Ionwe goes down, you're going with him." I say.

"No I won't." she insists. "He'll take Anarisia. He likes her better, anyway."

"Of course he does. They're falling in love."

"Pretty silly of them, if you ask me."

"Love isn't silly Maerwen."

"Sure it is. Just see if I ever fall in love."

A grin comes onto my face. She sees it. "What is that for? Stop it. I don't like it. What are you thinking?"

My hands go to my keyboard. "Watch and learn, Madame Pixie."

Haha. I don't think Maerwen is speaking to me anymore. Ah well.

爱於耶穌,
~Liberty