Voices in My Head

I’ve resolved to try to blog more regularly now that the school year has started up. We’ll see how that goes…

Right now there’s a circus full of voices in my head (character voices that is), carrying on conversations, trying to get attention. I just want to settle on one of them for a bit, so I can actually get some work done, but they have other plans for me.

In Ring One: Aidan Cavanaugh and Kate Burns - 1816. Right now Kate is infinitely frustrated with Aidan because the stupid man won’t open up and tell her about his past. He’s found out everything he possibly can about her, but he won’t share more than basic details about himself. As punishment for his stubbornness, I’m about to inflict him with nightmares of his life as a soldier. But I’m not quite sure where to begin…

In Ring Two: Jamie McKenzie and Charlie Baker - 2010. Jamie and Charlie met one night in London, a week before Charlie had to move back to Texas. Now they’re trying to conduct a long distance relationship via the Internet. Getting this relationship off to a good start is going a bit slower than I’d like.

And in Ring Three: Cal Michaels and Prue Harrison - 2010. Cal and Prue are the newest voices in my head. I haven’t written a word of their story yet, but they’re already getting louder and louder, demanding attention. I’m still planning their story out. Cal owns a matchmaking company, but doesn’t believe in love and Prue is a wedding planner who refuses to give up hope that true love exists. Oh yeah, and Cal might be an alias for Cupid…

Who will take center stage is anybody’s guess. Until one wins, I’ll keep bouncing back and forth and hope MS Word can't get whiplash.

Tomorrow or Thursday I’ll update about my semester. It’s shaping up to be berry interestin’.

Frost

In honor of the first snow of the year here in London, my last Writing in the City creative piece!

PS I go home in 10 days!!!! (Before that though, I go to Spain on Saturday until Tuesday)

Cold. Cold that seeps into your bones.

Night. Night that comes before you’re ready.

As I sit by the window, I hide from the frost outside.

Barren. Barren trees that hibernate for the winter.

Solitude. Solitude that protects us from the cold.

As the fire crackles, I hide from the frost outside.

Glitter. Glitter from the frost that coats every surface.

White. White that falls from the sky to join the frost.

As I shrug on my coat, I hide from the frost outside.

Steam. Steam from my breath that dances in the air.

Roses. Roses that color my cheeks as they greet the cold.

As I step outside, I embrace the frost.

Frost. Frost that comes with winter.

Winter. Winter that lets the world sleep.

As the earth sleeps, the Londoners embrace the frost. 

Soundtrack of the City- Josh Groban Remix

So, anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE Josh Groban. His new album, Illuminations, came out on Monday and I adore it. So, since my brain won't shut down and I still have two more creative pieces to get done for my Writing in the City class, I've done a remix of my Soundtrack of the City poem with lyrics from the new JG album since it's all I'm listening to right now (ok, except for occasional moments when I need a few Glee songs or Christmas music).

There's a pale winter moon in the sky

Coming through my window

Who puts the rainbow in the sky?

Who lights the stars at night?

Woosh woosh (Please Mind the Gap! Doors Closing.)

A lua que esclarece esse sol sem descansar jamais

Amar o quanto precisar que ame

Over mountains and sky blue seas

On great circles will you watch for me?

Lately all your sweet rhymes recreate me,

now comes the time when I'll need your truth to see.

sous un ciel bleu, ciel sans nuage

retournons la-bas

Shuffle, Click, Shuffle, Click

I drew my line across the sand

And set my flag in no mans land

You were the secret I loved keep

the name I would only sing in my sleep

Hoonk Hoonk! (Beep Beep Beep!)

Tu soffri come soffro

Quando è l’ora dell’addio

This is the time of our great undoing

This is the time that I'll come running

You see these hands?

They're millions strong

Life goes on, and on, and on

City of Ghosts

I know. I know. I'm terrible. It's been WAY too long since I updated. What can I say? Life here has been crazy, and, as is typical for this time of year, school has sucked away my desire to write anything. November sucks. BUT, having to do homework means I've written more for my Writing in the City class.

This poem is inspired by our trip to the Tower of London to see the Ceremony of the Keys. This 700 year old ceremony marks the closing of the ancient castle/fortress/prison each night. Most people don't know about it and it's a relatively short ceremony, but going to it allows you to see the Tower at night, which is seriously cool/mildly creepy when you think of how many poor souls were tortured/killed there. Hence, the poem.

CITY OF GHOSTS

London is a city of ghosts.

Night falls early and they come out to play.

Look to the ramparts and roofs.

That’s where they stay.

The mists roll in and the air grows crisp.

Among us move the witnesses of the past.

What have they seen?

These people whose lives were gone all too fast.

They’re not a frightening lot.

Lives lost can’t be anything but sad.

Perhaps they bring warning for those of us still here.

We live in a world that is mad, mad, mad.

Walk the city with them.

Listen to their tales.

They are the heart of the buildings.

They’re still here when all else fails. 

Eye of the Storm

A poem I wrote for my Writing in the City Class about Hyde Park

Peace. Comfort. Breath.

Verdant green. Soothing chocolate. Calming colors.

Walking along the path, the chaos of the city disappears.

People walk past, in twos or threes, alone.

A gentle noise. A peaceful hum. A silent purr.

Listening to the quiet, the chaos of the city disappears.

Children play, ducks swim, dogs run.

Across the congested road, around the crowded corner, below in the Tube, 

Buzzing activity is all around, but here, the chaos of the city disappears.

Cool grass. Gentle breeze. Nature’s perfume in the air.

Breathing in, breathing out, eyes closing 

With the rhythm of the park, the chaos of the city disappears.

Forget work. Forget worry. Forget whatever.

Being one, being there, being part of it,

Here in the Eye of the Storm, the chaos of the city disappears. 

A bench placed in a particular spot in Hyde Park
by the Serpentine because Rudolf loved it.

Memorials

It's midterms week here in London, so I haven't really been on many adventures. To show you that I haven't disappeared entirely, here is a poem I wrote for my Writing in the City class.

Memorials

Ghosts look on at the cold, cold stone

Leaders lauded for skills money honed

Faceless names, nameless faces, forgotten in the mist

Lonely graves scatter the world

Never to be thought of, honor never paid

Granite statues of the few, the overly proud

While blood-stained fields enfold

Those who gave their lives for others glory-sake

           

Frozen marble reminds those left

Allows them to forget the price of war

Behind the victorious valor prized by power

The Literary Hit List of Libby Brown: Entry 2

Target: Mr. William Collins

Location: Rectory at Rosings Park
Source of Origin: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Object: eliminate the target without alerting family

Stats: 5’5”, brown hair, brown eyes, slight build

Crime(s): brown-nosing, pompousness, disturbing the peace, pontificating, cruel and unusual punishment by way of Fordyce’s sermons, general annoyingness

Potential Hazards: Lady Catherine De Burgh, Mrs. Charlotte Lucas

Deadline: 20:00 Blooklandia Standard Time

            This message flashed across my computer screen one minute before I felt myself being pulled out of my world and into Booklandia. Merlin, in all his wisdom, insured that I was dressed to fit into the Austenite Province. The Pen shrunk so it could be tucked up my sleeve. I hiked out of the thick forest I had landed in.

           

How the hell was I supposed to kill this guy? I knew all about him from having read Pride and Prejudice a million times. He was an annoying, self-important prat who I wouldn’t mind seeing the end of. I couldn’t fathom living with him every day for 200 years. But how to get close enough to do it?

In a stroke of genius, I scooped up some mud and rubbed it on my cheeks and my dress. With my clean hand, I mussed my hair until it was thoroughly tumbled. There. I should look pitiful enough for the minister and his wife to take me in. Hiding behind a tree, I watched the house for a little while to make sure the coast was clear.

Once I had confirmed that Mr. and Mrs. Collins were in their respective parlors, I crept up to the door. Calling on my inner Scarlett O’Hara, I knocked on the door and promptly pretended to faint. I lay there for a few minutes before I heard voices on the other side of the door.

“Did you hear Lady Catherine’s carriage?” an anxious man’s voice asked that grated on my every nerve.

“No, husband,” a long-suffering woman’s voice replied. “We do have other visitors besides Her Ladyship.”

“But none so important, so influential. Especially since we are perpetually stuck here in this rectory. We must do our best to not anger her in any way. Oh dear, we’re already keeping her waiting!”

“Not every knock on the door is the right, high and honorable Lady Catherine,” Mrs. Collins groused.

The door swung open.

“Oh, you poor dear.” Mrs. Collins knelt down beside me, chaffing my wrist and patting my cheek. “Husband, go and fetch some water.”

A second before I planned to open my eyes, a wave of water splashed me. Spluttering, I jerked into a sitting position.

“What on earth made you do that, Mr. Collins?” His wife put her hands on her hips, looking thoroughly disgusted with her inept husband.

“Well, um, it seemed the most effective manner of reviving the young lady from her state of incapacitation. And you did ask me to bring you some water, my dear.”

“I don’t think she meant for you to try to drown me,” I muttered.

“I’m terribly sorry. I do think we should move inside. It would be most unseemly for Lady Catherine to come and see such a…lowly creature sprawled in our front yard. Really, my dear, you must take her into the house immediately.” Mr. Collins looked like a junky looking for his next fix, all jumpy and nervous and constantly glancing at the road from Rosings. You would think he was expecting the King to descend upon us and banish him for allowing a poor girl to faint on his doorstep.

“Can you stand up? I’ll take you into the parlor while I send the maid to summon the doctor.” Mrs. Collins gave me a kindly, apologetic smile, clearly embarrassed by her husband’s outright rudeness.

“Oh, yes indeed. Our physician also services the great Lady Catherine de Burgh, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of. This rectory abuts her estate and we are great favorites at Rosings.”

“Really, there’s no need to send for a doctor. I just need a place to rest and a bit of food. I’ve been walking so long.” I tried to play it up the best I could. I’ve never been completely brilliant at the whole acting thing, but I did pretty darn good at pretending to be the weak, fading female. I let Mrs. Collins help me up and lead me into the downstairs parlor.

“You rest here, dear, while I go and fix you a plate of food. I’ll only be a moment.”

“How do you stand him?” I burst out.

“Who? My husband? Oh, I don’t know. I suppose he’s just sort of a habit for me now. We’ve lived together for so long I don’t really remember how not to. I suppose he’s my cross to bear.”

 Once she was gone, I took the opportunity to scan the room for something that might help me get rid of that annoying man. One of the only indications that the room was lived in at all was the copy of Fordyce’s sermons that rested on the table beside the chaise I was sitting on. I immediately remembered Mr. Collins's fondness for the ridiculous sermons from P&P.

Suddenly, the Pen began to vibrate in my sleeve. When I pulled it out, it grew to its normal size. Taking the hint, I grabbed the book and pierced one of the pages with the Pen. It flashed a sickly green for a moment before returning to its original state. Shrugging, I sat the book down and quickly snuck out of the house.

Hiding underneath the parlor window, I glanced up over the sill. Just as I hoped, Mr. Collins was totally unconcerned with my disappearance. In his obliviousness, he sat down and instinctively picked up the book. Less than a minute after he opened it, he began to twitch. His eyes rolled around and around in his head and his skin turned an otherworldly green. Clutching at his throat, he tried to stand up, but ended up falling to his knees instead.

Within a few moments, he collapsed on the floor. Just as I started to formulate a plan for disposing of his corpse so poor Charlotte didn’t have to look at it, the body of Mr. Collins began to disintegrate in a cloud of green smoke.

When his wife came into the room barely a minute later, there was no sign that either of us had been there.

I know it’s wrong to be ok with killing a man. But he was a fictional man who had been tormenting that poor woman for 200 years. It felt right. I almost enjoyed watching him die.

But would I enjoy all of my hits this much? Time would tell. Was I a monster for enjoying this? Only my soul will tell.

In the Big Inning

When was baseball first mentioned in the Bible? Genesis 1:1 In the BIG-inning!

          I've read a lot lately about the strength or importance of first paragraphs. In the spirit of this and because I'm too lazy to do an extensive blog entry this week, I'm going to post the first few paragraphs of both of my novels and see what everybody thinks. Any feedback is heartily welcomed!

A Steady Wish (my first novel)

             It is a truth generally acknowledged that a young woman is going to have a romantic ideal from an early age. We’re bombarded with movies filled with images of Prince Charming rescuing the damsel-in-distress and carrying her off to the castle to live happily ever after- although we never really know what that means. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been fascinated with romances. Part of me has always thought that romance was in my blood; I am descended from at least four generations of high school sweethearts. Even when I was too young to form coherent sentences, I would sit for hours watching these movies where the beautiful girl fell in love with the beautiful boy and they went on to (supposedly) lead the perfect life together.

I just realized: I’ve done a lot of talking, but you don’t know who I am. Well, my name is Margaret McGregor, but I go by Maggie.

In college, I was an English major and I absolutely love reading and analyzing and examining stories. However, as much as I enjoyed my world of books, I decided something during the summer between my first and second year in college: I needed to get a social life. Well, technically, I had somewhat of a social life, so more to the point, a romantic life. That’s right. I was 19 years old and had never even been on a real date.                                                                                                                    


For The Rest Of Our Lives (my second novel)

A stack of books was attacking her the day he first walked into her store. As usual, she was trying to carry too many books over to the fiction section to shelve. Just as the bell jingled to alert her of a new arrival in the store, she lost her grip on the precariously balanced books and they went flying.

“Fudge monkey!” She immediately bent down gather up the scattered volumes.

“Are you alright?” He noticed that she didn’t look up at him as he knelt to help her. A becoming blush stained her cheeks as she reassembled the stack into a more sturdy structure. She was short, barely reaching his shoulder and of a moderately slender build. Her curly, red-brown hair fell into her Irish green eyes, obstructing his view of her face.

“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly. “Just clumsy, is all.”

“You’re not hurt?”

“Oh, I’ve taken worse tumbles than that. You’d think working in a book store would be safe, but it has its perils.” She took the last book from him and stood up, resuming her route to the fiction section. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Um, no, not really.” As her embarrassment died down, she began to notice him. His voice was lyrical, a mix of the Old South and a British accent. When she turned around, she was struck by how tall he was, at least in comparison to her petite stature. Standing at maybe 6’4”, he had close-cropped dark, honey blonde hair. His sea blue eyes were set in a strikingly well sculpted face with a firm looking mouth that had the smallest hint of dimples around the edges. “I’m new in town and I always like to familiarize myself with the local bookstores. I’m a great reader and I like to support the local economy.”

“Well, I am Charlie Anders, one of the proprietors of The Kentington Korner. Welcome to Kentington, Mr…”

“Just call me Jack.” He smiled down at her and her knees went a little weak. “Well, it looks like you have a lovely establishment here, Ms. Anders. I hope to see you again.”

Just as quickly as he entered the shop, he left it. Charlie couldn’t help but stare after him, puzzled.

The Literary Hit List of Libby Brown: Entry 1

As a writing exercise, I've decided to write a sub-blog as a girl who goes into the world where fictional characters live and work as an assassin that takes out the most annoying characters in literature. Any suggestions for future targets are welcome!

This blog will chronicle my adventures in Booklandia.

I made my first trip to Booklandia two weeks ago. I hadn’t meant to go there. It just happened. One minute I was curled up in my grandmother’s old chair and the next I was falling on my butt in the middle of a field. I t could have been a field anywhere, in any country. I didn’t begin to suspect I wasn’t still in my world until I saw what looked like a griffin fly overhead.

“Where the hell am I?” I said this aloud because sometimes talking to yourself is the only way to have an intelligent conversation.

“This is Booklandia.” The voice was that of an older man and it came from directly behind me. I turned around to see a wizened old man in flowing blue robes standing serenely behind me. “The land where the fictional characters of your world live on until we are forgotten.”

“You- You’re not Merlin, are you?” As I was asking this I was running over possible explanations for my presence here. Maybe I had too much to drink and blacked out. Yeah, that was it!

“Well, of course I am, girl. I created this world ages ago to give fictional characters a place to live.”

“Right, sure you did. Then what am I doing here? Last time I checked, I’m not a fictional character. Wait! Am I dead? Please tell me I’m not dead. That would really suck.”

Merlin huffed. “You’re not dead, you silly girl. I brought you here.”

“Why would you bring me here?”

“Well, technically speaking, you brought you here, but I chose you when you were a little girl to be the Cleanser.”

“The Cleanser? What am I, face wash?” Yes, I was being a smart-aleck, but I had an excuse.

Merlin rolled his eyes at me. “Would you mind letting me explain? Is that too difficult for you to manage?” I bit my lips to hold back any response I might have made.

“Thank you.” Merlin conjured up two armchairs and indicated for me to sit down. That’s right, I was sitting in fluffy pink armchairs in the middle of nowhere with freaking Merlin.

“Now, as I was explaining, you are the Cleanser. I have waited over 1,000 years to find the right person to carry the Pen of Balance.”

“The Pen of Balance?” I tried really hard not to laugh, but it sounded so ridiculous that I couldn’t help it. Merlin raised an eyebrow and I eventually got control of myself.

“The Pen of Balance is a pen that I have created with the power to…exterminate fictional characters.”

“Why would you want to kill fictional characters?”

“Well, there are some characters that are social menaces and they only get worse with age. They do nothing but disturb the peace of the other characters and put everyone in a decidedly unhappy frame of mind. I’ve spent the last ten centuries riding herd on them and trying to keep them in check, but I saw that I would have to find someone from your world to solve this problem once and for all. So I chose a voracious young reader and granted her the powers of the Cleanser.”

“Why can’t one of the heroes here take care of them for you?” I finally had a legitimate question!

“Because they are part of the fabric of Booklandia. For the most part, heroes and villains live in peace here and very few people die. Only someone from your world can ultimately kill a Booklandian. Believe me, if these people could have been killed, they would have been.”

I had to stop and consider this for a moment. “So you want me to kill fictional characters for you?”

“In a word, yes. Although, I should warn you that you really don’t have much choice in the matter. The powers I put in you when you were five years old will keep pulling you back here until you embrace your destiny.”

“Do I have to live here?”

“Oh, no, you couldn’t reside here permanently. That would negate your powers completely. You will only be called back here when I have sufficient evidence to justify a hit, for lack of a better term.”

“I don’t have to go through any sort of special training, do I? I mean, don’t most chosen warriors have to go through some training course to use their powers?”

“You’re powers will come more from instinct than anything else. Whatever ability you require Booklandia and the Pen of Balance will provide. But your knowledge of books will be of great use to you along the way.”

“Well, that’s convenient.” I sighed in resignation. Who was I to argue with Merlin? “So, where is this pen?”

“Right here.” A sleek, silver pen the size of a woman’s sword appeared in my lap. The tip looked like an old-fashioned pen-nib.

“So this is what they meant when they said the pen is mightier than the sword.”

“I will contact you through the pen when I have need of you, so it must be with you are all times. It will shrink to normal size in your world to avoid detection. You must tell no one of this.”

Then, he gave a flick of his wrist and I was back home in my chair.

I’ll just say it for all of you- WEIRD!!!!

To be Defiant or Not to be Definite about being Defiant

Definite: clearly defined or determined; not vague or general; fixed; precise; exact

Defiant: characterized by defiance; boldly resistant or challenging

As an avid fan fiction reader, I’ve noticed one of the most commonly misused adjectives is the word “defiantly.” Many people use it in place of the correct word: “definitely,” such as when they say, “Sure, I’ll defiantly do that.” What they mean to say is “Sure, I’ll definitely do that.”

My question is: why? I got a pretty standard, public school education and I know they taught us the difference between the two. If they were synonymous or even spelled almost identically, I could understand, but these are two words with two very different meanings.

Definite has a positive connotation. If something is definite, then it is going to happen. It is fixed in our minds as a fact of life or a natural course of events.

Defiant has a more negative connotation. James Dean looked at the world defiantly. If something is defiant, it goes against things that are definite; it disputes reality and challenges the wills of others.

Sorry, that is a rant that has been needing to come out for years. I am definitely defiantly against the misuse of the word defiantly.

P.S. FINALLY! A new John Mayer album comes out November 17th!!!!