*Taps Mic* Is This Thing On?

It's been a while. I'm rusty, at best and need to get back into the swing of things. SOOOO...here's a little bit of what I've been working on. I don't know if I've ever shared Mira before, [evidently, I have. There's a tag for her and everything. Lol] But here goes. [Mira is the MC's name. Not the name of the story. I keep the files under the Protagonist's name because book titles are the very last thing to come to me, if they ever do.]

PLEASE NOTE: The writing is unedited.

     As soon as the lights in the house flickered, Mira knew it wasn’t David at the door. Suddenly way too alert, her pupils dilated and blood rushed through her veins, thumping too hard in her ears. A chill of familiarity skittered down her spine, squaring her shoulders and settling in her stomach.          

     It started to burn where it lay, singeing though it wasn’t fear. She’d known this day would come for the last couple decades. Besides, fear was reserved for the ill prepared and the weak. Mira was neither and fear was a luxury she never could afford.          

     The lights flickered again, casting dark shadows in the house she’d called home for the past five years; making potted plants and light fixtures much more sinister than they’d ever been. A brief twist of pain struck her in the gut right before she was thrown off her feet; as if being pulled by an invisible force. Mira soared through the air until her back hit a wall, the force of her one hundred thirty pound frame buckling it. Air whooshed from her lungs, catching on her tonsils and choking her just in time to steal the words coming from her lips.    

     “No, no. Don’t get up on account of me. I’m just here to kill you.” The smile in that familiar voice was teasingly obvious. The door flew open and that petite figure she knew stood in the doorway, her voice taunting Mira with every syllable. “What? You don’t look too happy to see me, doll. You had to know that I’d find you sooner or later. Whatever could be the matter?”    

     “Oh, I don’t know, Chris.” Mira ground out; refusing to be anything but her normal bitingly sarcastic self. “Maybe the dwarf pinning me to my foyer wall and mucking up my freshly polished African Teak floors with dog shit on her last season Prada knock-offs?” Mira gave the woman a mocking smirk before fire flared on her left cheek.    

     “I see you still haven’t acquired any manners.” Chris murmured tiredly. “Doesn’t really surprise me.”    

     “Who needs manners when I can piss you off easier with a few well placed four-letter words?” the sting of a slap came back to Mira’s face, the residual effects of the hexwork leaving an acrid scent in the air. “Resorting to using hexes for little ole me, Chris? I’m flattered.”    

     “Just getting started.” The small woman smiled and pulled a palm-sized vial of something dark from her pocket and unscrewed the top; beginning to chant in Latin.     

     “What,” Mira bit out around the pain of her jaw locking up on her. “No circle?” She asked as three lone droplets of a dark, inky liquid hit the floor. Mira hoped that wasn’t what she thought it was.    

     “I would, but hubby is due shortly. Wouldn’t want him to interrupt.” The chanting in Latin resumed and Mira chuckled darkly, finding a morbid sort of amusement out of the entire situation.     

     She recognized the words, of course. The curse was written by her. 

Thank you for reading!

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--A.

Writer Ramblings + Caylee Snippet!

I've been feeling a little  a lot write-ish lately and upped the word count on Caylee from somewhere around 95k to 98k...ish. This may sound like I'm a bit full of myself, but I've sort of forged this new-found love for my characters. Wait. Before you get your knickers in a wad, please try and understand where I'm coming from.

I built these people. From the ground up and with everything I have in me, I let them go and do what they needed to do. They're still doing it, as I've not finished book two, but it takes a lot to open up and share this secret part of me. Ask any writer. Your characters are part of you. And I can only hope that one day soon I get to share them with you and you grow to love them as much as I do.

Well....maybe not as much as I do. But somewhere around the vicinity of that much. That'd be cool. In the meantime....get into a bit of Caylee and Nolan in the beginnings of a fight scene below! Leave me comments!

“If you say so CJ,” he laughed and shook his head. It started snowing then, so hard that we couldn’t see through the front window. Odd, I thought to myself. It wasn’t supposed to snow until next week. At least that was what the weatherman said. Beside me, Nolan took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring and his body taking on a stiff posture. “Damn it,” he muttered as he reached over to the glove compartment with one hand and fumbled around in it blindly.
    “What?” I asked, becoming alarmed. He pulled out a weird amethyst colored stone and held it in his hand for ten seconds before handing it to me.
    “Tell me when it gets too hot to hold.” He offered cryptically and stopped the car, pulling over to the side of the road.
    “What? Why?” I questioned, trying to hand him the stone back.
    “Do you trust me?” his blue eyes were intense as he looked at me, making me afraid about why he felt he needed to ask me that.
    “I trust you.” I answered without hesitation. He nodded and reached out to touch my face once.
    “Good, come with me.” He held his hand out and I took it, allowing him to lead me out the car from his side. My feet hit the ground and I slid in the several feet of snow that had impossibly started piling up in the few minutes it had been snowing. “Careful,” Nolan whispered as he righted me. “Only step where I step and stay close.”
    I gave him a nod and let him walk away without asking him anything even though I felt like I’d explode with questions. I said nothing in the hopes it would enforce what I’d said about trusting him. Which was true; I trusted him completely.
    Hopefully not to a fault.
    Stepping only in his boot prints like I was told, I followed him. Though not as fast, as his legs were a hell of a lot longer than mine.
    “Nolan, wait it’s – ahh!” I dropped the stone into the snow, the heat from it melting the snow around it immediately. Nolan turned as I dropped my head and tore the gloves off of my hands to examine them. “It burned my hands! Through my gloves!” The palms of my hands were turning red.
    “Caylee!” I heard Nolan shout and I looked up in time to see him lunge toward me. I opened my mouth to speak and out of nowhere, I was hit in the chest and knocked back into the car. The cracking sound of my skull against the door rang in my ears as I slid to the ground, landing on my side in the snow that just kept building. Nolan was a streak of dark movement as he leapt at – A high pitched cry of fear pierced the air and it took me a few moments to realize it was mine.

Leave me comments and happy things :D

And I'll toss in some rainbow gifs next post ;)

Third Person POV & Mira Teaser

I tend try to stay away from third POV for the simple fact that I kinda dislike how mine reads. It's a bit pretentious and a lot impersonal. But then again, I think a lot of the 3rd POV's out there by various authors sound impersonal. Yes, I get that I am, in a way, just an observer. But most of the time, I like to feel like I'm right there beside the MC, experiencing every nuance of their adventure with them; their fear is mine and their romance is, too.

That being said...I have a teaser/snippet from one of my WIPs and I'd like feedback on whether my 3rd POV is completely terrible tolerable. Lol


"“Okay,” Mira whispered to her reflection in the mirror. “Tonight is about us.” She started her personal pep talk. “Tonight will be amazing.” She could hear David’s key jingling in the door when her heart started kicking up speed. “Deep breaths, Mira.”
    As soon as the lights in the house went flickered, Mira knew it wasn’t David at the door. Her pupils dilated, blood rushed through her veins, thumping too hard in her ears. A chill of familiarity skittered down her spine, squaring her shoulders and settling in her stomach. 
    It started to burn where it lay, singeing though it wasn’t fear. She’d known this day would come for the last couple decades. Besides, fear was reserved for the ill prepared and the weak. Mira was neither and fear was a luxury she never could afford. 
    The lights flickered again, casting dark shadows in the house she’d called home for the past five years; making potted plants and light fixtures much more sinister than they’d ever been. A brief twist of pain struck her in the gut right before she was thrown off her feet; as if being pulled by an invisible force. Mira soared through the air until her back hit a wall, the force of her one hundred thirty pound frame buckling it. Air whooshed from her lungs, catching on her tonsils and choking her just in time to steal the words coming from her lips.
    “No, no. Don’t get up on account of me. I’m just here to kill you.” The smile in that familiar voice was obvious. “What? You don’t look too happy to see me, doll. You had to know that I’d find you sooner or later. Whatever could be the matter?” The door flew open and that petite figure she knew stood in the doorway, her voice taunting Mira with every syllable.
    “Oh, I don’t know, Chris.” Mira ground out; refusing to be anything but her normal bitingly sarcastic self. “Maybe the dwarf pinning me to my foyer wall and mucking up my freshly polished African Teak floors with dog shit on her last season Prada knock-offs?” Mira gave the woman a taunting smirk before fire flared on her left cheek.
    “I see you still haven’t acquired any manners.” Chris said tiredly. “Doesn’t really surprise me.”
    “Who needs manners when I can piss you off easier with a few simple well placed four-letter words?” the sting of a slap came back to Mira’s face, the residual effects of the hexwork leaving an acrid scent in the air. “Resorting to using hexes for little ole me, Chris? I’m flattered.”
    “Just getting started.” The small woman smiled and pulled a palm-sized vial of something dark from her pocket and unscrewed the top; beginning to chant in Latin. 
    “What,” Mira bit out around the pain of her jaw locking up on her. “No circle?” She asked as three lone droplets of a dark, inky liquid hit the floor. Mira hoped that wasn’t what she thought it was.
    “I would, but hubby is due shortly. Wouldn’t want him to interrupt.” The chanting in Latin resumed and Mira chuckled darkly, finding a morbid sort of amusement out of the entire situation. 
    She recognized the words, of course. The curse was written by her. "

Pg 4 of Untitled WIP

Sooooo....thoughts? Opinions? Rainbow gifs?

:D

Why I've Been So Quiet

My sincerest apologies for being silent for more than a month but the month of December is always monstrous for me and things tend to slip through the cracks. This past December was a bit more time consuming for me because my best friend in the entire world got married! *Claps* And I was actually her Maid of Honor. It was a beautiful day, she looked breathtaking and by the end of the month, I was pooped.

Anywho, I haven't really been writing much but lately, that has changed somewhat. I've added another couple thousand words to a bit of Caleb and even some to Caylee. A few of my other WIP's are coming along as well. Slowly, but coming along nonetheless. Usually, for me, writing is an escape from my daily monotonous life. Breaking up the tedium with pockets of creativity and new secret worlds no one knows about, can criticize, poke holes in or destroy because it is all in my head and generally, what I say goes. . And I love that I am able to step back from my life and live this other full and complete life without even having to leave the safety of my own home. But some time ago, writing became something of a chore. Not a bad chore per say, but I wasn't sitting down to write for pleasure so much as 'needing' to get it out. Other writers understand me when I say that. Alas, for the past couple of weeks, I've been feeling excited about getting home and sitting down at my laptop and spending time with these wonderful people inside my head. It would be sacrilege not to tell their stories.

So I've drawn the conclusion that I will just keep writing There is no 'until'. I write, therefore I am. And there is nothing more beautiful than that. -- A.

P.S. A little teaser/snippet of Caleb will be coming soon! Next blog post is alllll about Caylee!

Roadblocks =x

I find that once I'm in a writing rut, it's damn hard to dig myself out. With that said, I feel like I'm pulling my hair out trying to drag more than five to six hundred words out of myself. It is damn frustrating. And discouraging.

It sucks.

Also, I've stopped writing queries for a while now. For about two-three months, at least. I'm not exactly sure why, but I'm trying to focus on a couple different things right now. I will be attending the Winter/Spring 2013 Semester at my local college and I still have TONS of things to do for that so I apologize right now for my lack of blog posts/updates. I think I've been successfully pulled from my reading rut, too.

Currently, I'm reading Glory In Death by J.D Robb. For those of you who may not know, J.D Robb is a pseudonym for Nora Roberts. The first in this series, I have to admit, didn't really do much for me. I didn't hate it but I wasn't in love with it either. The first book was published in the late 90's and as of now, there are 40-plus books planned for this series with no end in sight. For me, that is a bit excessive. How many books do I want to read about a Cop finding murderers in the year 2058 with her rich, ex-badass man on her arm? Yeah. I don't really want to read more than ten, to be completely honest.

Anysnooch, I'll update as much as I can. No promises, but I will try.  --A.

Writer's Block & a Quick Update

Recently, I've been going through quite a loooong bout of writer's block.

*DUN DUN DUUUNNNN*  Yes, I know. Booo, hiss and all that jazz. That being said, I do believe I've gotten over it. Or I'm pushing through it, at the very least. And I have to say that I am very pleased with the writing I've gotten done. It isn't much but, what I have gotten done feels like it'll be key to the progress of Caleb's first book.

The title of this series hasn't come to me just yet. However, it will include Death or some variation of the word, as Caleb will die once, if not more, in each book. I plan to have six books, but as of now, I do not expect this series to exceed seven books. Alas, things change and I may want to add ten more.

And now, a quick snippet of some of the things I've just written for Caleb! 

“Are you sure you want me to come upstairs, Caleb? I mean, I am Jailbait and all that.” She pulled the left corner of her bottom lip into her mouth then, her teeth making an appearance for the briefest moment.
    “Let me see some identification.” I’d leaned into the desk by now, putting my face about a foot from hers. She grinned full on and pulled out her wallet, sliding her ID onto the counter between us. I picked it up, examining it unnecessarily. I’d already known she was legal. I also knew she liked that I was a cop. “I think I’ll hold onto this. You’ll get it back in the morning.”
    “That’s assuming I’ll be there until the morning.”
    “Oh, you will.” Giving her my best charming smile, I pushed away from the counter and swaggered  my way to the elevators, closing the doors and riding it up to my floor. I had every confidence that she’d be knocking at my door in less than twenty.
    As it turns out, I was wrong. She made it in less than ten.

Organized writing? What of it?!

Morning, morning. *Chugs coffee* OR good night/afternoon, whatever the case may be in your neck of the woods.

Book outlines? What are these things? And does everyone do them?

From my understanding, book outlines are the just that. The general...outline of what is going on in your book. Characters, setting, naming the big-bad, naming the protagonist, tossing in a few stumbling blocks here and there for good measure - things of that nature. I've even seen an author outlining major scenes that happen in her MS. Like dialogue and everything. Frankly, this scares me. I prefer something a bit more...spontaneous. Almost, "live" writing, if you will. Planning an emotional scene or an excited fight scene kind of takes the fun right out of it for me.

Do I do book outlines?

I don't. The whole idea of organized writing... *Shudders* No. I can hardly stomach the thought. Personally, I don't "outline" anything. I don't do "rough drafts". I don't plan out how many words I'd like to get done in a certain amount of time. I don't decide which WIP I want to work on, on that particular day. I sit and I write. And whatever may come to me about whichever WIP - and believe me, I have about six currently going at once - is what I will sit down and write on.

Why, you ask? I never ever ever ever want to set limitations for myself and I think writing an outline, setting a word-count goal, or even telling yourself which WIP you're going to start on are ALL limitations.

Not to get all science-lesson on you guys, but the human mind is an exceptionally amazing thing. You limit yourself every single day without even knowing what you're doing. Some commands get processed so fast, our conscious never even has a chance to analyze it before it gets done. Prime example: breathing and blinking. Your eyes get dry so your body tells it to blink. Your brain needs oxygen to to function so your lungs work. -- DONE SCIENCE LESSON.

I always want to do better. If I think my last book was amazeballs, then this next one has to be better. I want to excel past my own dreams. Now, what I think and do for myself may not necessarily work for anyone else on this planet. But it does for me and by golly gee, I refuse to limit myself. When you limit yourself you get comfortable. You start to slack off, think you're still at the top of your game. Tell me something readers and writers alike: Pick up your favorite author's first major-selling book; their first NYT's bestseller. Now, pick up their latest work. Even if it isn't part of the same series. I promise you that there is a difference in the way they write. Whether it is better or worse, they've became comfortable.

That first book, that first WIP, finding an agent and a publisher, that first manuscript you bust your ass to get out there I can almost guarantee that you may never work as hard for anything else as you have that. This may not be a bad thing because there are some people who have, like, goldmines at their fingertips and every word is like swiss chocolate on the palate and we just gobble every word, paragraph, comically infused metaphor like they're candy. Yes, 'tis true.

BUT as I've said before. Comfortable can be scary. Your writing absolutely has to, has to, HAS TO improve, evolve or grow over time or else you run the risk of all of your books sounding the same. In my opinion, anyway.

*Drum rolls* 

AND NOW, A MESSAGE FROM CAYLEE AND NOLAN!

From pages 69-71 of the MS, The Descendant.

    A loud boom of a knock sounded at the front door as soon as the dishwasher turned on; startling me so much I stubbed my toe on the dishwasher. Jeeze, I was a scaredy-cat. Imagining a knock on the door when some punk just crank called me saying he would do just that. Hopping on one slippered foot, I removed the fluffy yellow duck from my injured foot and examined my toe. It looked like it would be good and swollen in about ten minutes. I groaned, limping to the fridge and pushing the button for - The knock came again and this time I was sure I hadn’t imagined it.

    Stubbed toe forgotten, I stood slowly and slid my foot out of my other slipper, grabbing my phone off the counter as I went to the door. Who knocks like that when we have a painfully obvious doorbell all but glittering with a RING DOORBELL HERE sign? My hand was reaching for the doorknob when a voice rang out.

    “Caylee are you there?” Flinching, I released the breath I was holding in and yanked the door open, glaring at my guest.

    “How do you know where I live?” Nolan’s hair was wet from the drizzle that had started about twenty minutes ago and I noticed he wasn’t wearing a jacket. Still, he smiled unapologetically and ran his fingers through his hair, the wheat colored mane refusing to look anything less than perfect.

    “Nice pj’s,”

    “How do you know where I live?” I repeated trying to distract myself from being embarrassed that he’d seen me in my pajamas and messy bun.

    At least I didn’t still have my retainer in.

    “I do teacher’s aide work at school for extra credit. I have access to the records.” I arched my eyebrow at him and cast a fleeting glance at the umbrella stand just to my left, preparing to use it as a weapon if need be.

    “Are you stalking me?” I asked shifting closer to it. “Because I can tell you right now that I’m not an interesting person. What you see is what you get with me – well not literally.” I amended at his amused look.

    “No, I am not stalking you. I actually need a favor.”

    “You need a favor? The guy who lives in one of the biggest houses in this city – maybe even the state – needs a favor from me?” I shook my head and shifted closer to the umbrella stand again. “I don’t buy it. What is the real reason you’ve shown up on my doorstep dripping wet?”

    “Okay, you got me.” He admitted flashing those pearly whites again. “I wanted to see you and I figured when you didn’t call me you probably lost my note.” I barked out a laugh and folded my arms. “Oh that’s nice; you’re laughing in my face.” I gave him an apologetic brow wrinkle around my next laugh. “No, that’s great. Guys love that.”

    “Listen Nolan,” I started still unconvinced of his story. “Are you physically hurt?” he shook his head. “Has your car broken down?” he shook his head again. “Has your cell phone died and you need to make a call?” Another head shake. “Then I have to say goodnight and I hope you make it home okay before this storm hits.” I went to close the door when his next sentence sent a shot of ice down my back.

    “I’ve seen your eyes,” his voice was slightly muffled through the large door and I swung the door back open, folding my arms defensively now. To my surprise, there was no censure, no judgment and most of all no fear in those brilliant turquoise depths as he looked at me.

    “They’re gray. What about them?” I shrugged one shoulder, baiting him to see if he really saw them or was just messing with me. The arch in his light brown eyebrow said more than he could’ve vocalized.

    “They aren’t gray all the time.” He said plainly then an expectant look crossed his face. “Kind of like right now.” I ducked my head behind the door and glanced in the mirror in the foyer.

    Damn it, he was right. They were starting to glow right now. 

Copyright 2012 Amiya Liccian, All rights reserved.