Good News of the Day!

Yes, I have been gone for longer than anticipated again, but I return with three pieces of good news!

Firstly, if you've been reading this blog for a bit, you may recall my mentioning a sci-fi novel. At one point it went by the the title Quarantined, which was then shortened to Q and then I abandoned that title altogehter when neither of those fit what the story had become. For probably about a year now, it's simply been known as The Untitled YA Sci-Fi Novel. And as of yesterday, The Untitled YA Sci-Fi Novel was completed.

Of course, I use the word completed lightly; this draft is finished. But I'm really happy about this. I've been working on this novel on and off, and then consistently this year, for over two years. I made a mess of it in November and spent the last two months cleaning it up and finishing it.

I hope to get a NaNo reviewer go over it and get some feedback, then work on it some more!

Bit of News #2 is that my friend and critique partner Stuart have started our collab blog. It is a writing blog, including book reviews, and we've gotten great reception so far. Check it out here!

And Bit of New #3 is that my final semester of undergraduate (and possibly all, but never say never) education is upon me, which means that I will be completing my senior thesis. My thesis is a new draft of my play, Straight on 'Til Morning, culminating in a staged reading of it. My playwriting professor has offered to be my mentor and I'm really excited. I'm meeting with my thesis teacher tomorrow to discuss the details and I really can't wait to meet up with my mentor on Wednesday. I'll keep you posted on how it goes!

That Awkward Moment When You Realise Your Novel Has Already Been Done

I'm sure it's happened to most authors, but I had the terrible realisation that my story has already been written, even if it's in a different form. I was watching TV the other day when a movie trailer came on... and there was my novel.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned what my current novel is about, but it's a sci-fi YA about a fifteen year old girl who contracted a disease two years before the novel begins. Unless a cure is found, it will kill her within the year. If you watch the trailer, there are similarities.

Of course, a few days later, I've calmed down enough to see that there are more differences than similarities. Yes, the characters in the movie contract a mysterious disease that kills quickly. But it's more quickly than in mine. It also hits a lot more people- the disease in my novel is extremely rare. I also only tell the story from a patient's point of view- I never go into the minds of doctors or parents or friends. Still, it freaked me out a bit.

I guess there are no original ideas... and I wouldn't stop writing my novel either way.

Writing Together

Most readers of this blog know that I've done National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) since 2008. NaNoWriMo has a sister project, Script Frezy (or Screnzy), which takes place in April. I've always wanted to do it, and when I was living in London this past semester, I had the month of April off from university. What a perfect opportunity, I thought. I had an idea that I had scribbled down while on a train from New York City in May of 2010 but hadn't developed.

One of the great offerings of NaNo and Screnzy is that they have leaders for every location involved in the projects, and these leaders organize get-togethers so that participants can meet up and write together. I'd always wanted to attend one of these, but was unable to do so until I did Screnzy this past April. Transportation was a problem in previous years, but London is so easy to get around, even (or perhaps, especially) without a car, that I was able to attend most of the writing sessions.

While at these sessions, I discovered the joy of writing with others. Writing has always been a solitary thing for me- I don't write with anyone and I show very few people my writing. But meeting up and writing with the new acquaintences in the Costa at Piccadilly Circus made me extremely productive. There's something driving about sitting with other writers who are writing. You feel you need to keep up, and there's just this inspiring atmosphere.

I loved attending these meetings, but due to traveling around Europe in the same month, I didn't get to go to all of the meetings. However, I got so much done in that environment that I was determined to bring it home.

I've talked a lot about my critique partner and friend on this blog, and this summer, I suggested to him that we write together. He assumed I meant our collaboration novel. I told him that, while that would be nice, too, I thought he should try just writing his novel while I was writing mine. I found out just this week that he wasn't too sure about that; he'd never done it and wasn't sure it would work for him. We've gotten together a few times since then and he told me he loves it. It's even better to work with him because he knows me and he knows my writing, and vice-versa. It's a really awesome experience to be able to talk through hard places; last time we wrote together, I needed to have my character transition from homesickness to determination in what she was doing. On my own, I probably would have just moved on to a different section, but with my friend there, I was able to discuss the section, read him what I had, and he gave me this great idea that helped me finish not only the section, but the chapter. For his part, he asks me things like that, too, but mostly uses me for a dictionary/thesaurus :p

If you're wondering what I was working on during these sessions, it was not TOSOL. Though my friend has given me suggestions on how to fix that awful introduction, I'm waiting to get some edits back from other readers (my friend is currently finishing up edits on his own novel to turn in to me in a few weeks.) I was instead working on the novel that used to be called Q/Quarantined. It no longer bears that title, but I haven't yet found a replacement. I did, however, discover something interesting about said novel: it's officially science fiction. I never, ever though I'd be a writer of science fiction, but I'm definitely having fun with it!


In other news, the lovely Deirdra from A Storybook World has granted me the Powerful Woman Writer Award. I'm honored to be given it, and you should go and check out her blog!

Exploiting My Family For My Novelling Needs

Sometimes, you have to use what you've got! While I certainly have many entertaining stories of my family's escapades that I could turn into a book, I'm pretty sure no one would find them funny but us. No, the kind of exploitation I'm talking about is knowledge exploitation.

I've posted excerpts of the novel I call Q here, and so most of you know that it partially takes place in a hospital. When the novel begins, the main character has spent the last few years of her life living in one, and therefore I need to know some things. The nice thing is that I don't need to do any disease- specific research because I made up the disease from which Eliza is suffering, which therefore means that if I want her to suffer from some symptom (and boy, do I make her suffer), I can just do it without being afraid some med person is going to read my book and get annoyed.

But there are still many things I've kept the same or close to the same to today's medical world. The novel is slightly futuristic, but not too much so- I've set it in 2025. Therefore, though Eliza isn't anchored to an IV stand, for example, she does still need an IV, and I needed to figure out how they worked.

I had posted a question on the NaNo boards about IVs, asking if someone could pull one out of their hand. The (paraphrased) resulting conversation occured:

Me: blah blah blah, need info, help please.

Person 1: [insert helpful info about IV needles here.]

Person 2: Uh, highly implausible. Plus, what would keep someone in the hospital for years? And wouldn't she need an IV stand?

Me: Well, I made up the disease, so some of the symptoms require her to stay at the hospital round the clock. The novel also takes place in the future, so I've "invented" a device that allows her to have an IV but not the stand.

Person 2: Wouldn't she need a port of some sort? And you didn't invent it, we have something like this. (Links to picture that doesn't actually relate to what I'm talking about, so I'm not sure why they bothered.)

Me: Person 2, perhaps she might need something like that today, but like I said, I've set it a little bit into the future, and in this future, we're more medically advanced.

It went on, and in the end, I got some helpful information from other people and I've figured out that part of my story. But after the frustration of Person 2's "yeah, but"s, I decided to ask a person who knew and could answer me in real time- my sister!

My sister's a freshman in college, studying to be a veterinary technician. I was telling her about my earlier conversation and she gave me some helpful advice. Then I started talking to her about TOSOL, partcularly the end where Lyddie is killed with an injection. I told her how the villain went about doing it and she gave me some tips to make the process a little more medically sound.

A conversation I had with my mother (who is a respiratory therapist) about the very same scene in November:

Me: Hey, Mom, what's the thing called on a syringe that you push down?

Mom: What, you mean a plunger?

Me: Ugh, is that what it's called? That's a really ugly word. Are there any different ones, because that just won't work at all...

In the end I had to use "plunger," even though I hate it. Of course, I don't need to be incredibly medically correct- this is a novel, not a medical textbook. But I couldn't very well write "he depressed the pushy-downy part of the syringe." However, there are parts of med procedure, like the preparation of a syringe, that I'm leaving out, simply because a) it will slow down the scene and b) the character doesn't know or care to know that he took off that piece because it was a protective covering. She's about to die, she has other concerns.

Either way, though, I'm grateful to have some medical knowledge in my family to exploit when I need it ;)

WIP Wednesday

I know I've kinda been sucking at these lately, but I have a WIP excerpt today! This is a bit of a novel that I wrote this evening, partly on the tube and partly sitting on a bench outside the tube. It hasn't been edited at all, so keep that in mind. Also, some background: Eliza is fifteen and has been living in the hospital since she was twelve, being treated for a disease that kills the infected within three years, as there is no cure.

"How have you been feeling lately?" Dr. Trescott asked.

Eliza thought back over the last week, the sudden, constant nausea that had been lurking since the Saturday before. "Not as well as usual. Kind of sick," she reported.

The doctor nodded as he jotted a note in her file. "Yes, we expected as much."

"What do you mean?"

"Last week, we took you off the C23, which is one of your usual medications. Its absence most likely the cause of any nausea you're feeling."

"Why did you take me off of it?" Eliza inquired.

"We wanted to see how your body would react."

"Why?"

"Because at this point, it's... well, we just need to experiment at this point in the game."

Eliza felt the burn of annoyance flar inside her. "Experiment? What does that mean?" Eliza had never spoken so sharply to Dr. Trescott, and he looked surprised.

"It means that- that we don't have-" he faltered, and Eliza didn't want to acknowledge the fear that threatened to overtake her.

"You don't know, do you? You don't know how to cure me. None of you- you don't have a clue." She got up from her chair and strode to the other side of the room, away from the window. She couldn't look at the doctor because his eyes would confirm it. Eliza hadn't realised until this moment that she had always had a little bit of hope, a bright thought that people went into a hospital to be cured. Somehow, she'd always managed to ignore the other reality, that the were people who went into these places and stayed there for a long time, people who never got well and who died there. People like her.

She was pacing now, pacing in tight circles as far as she could get from the window and the doctor and the reality of the situation.

"Eliza?" Dr. Trescott said softly through the intercom. Eliza stopped pacing, but she didn't answer him. "Eliza, please look at me."

"No." She was shaking, though with anger or fear, she didn't know. "What has all of this been for, then?" she demanded. "If none of this works, if it was never going to work, why couldn't you let me live my life outside of here?"

"You know why," Dr. Trescott said with irritating patience. "You're highly contagious. We can't take the risk."

"But even in my own house!" Eliza cried. "A place that's not a hospital. A place that's not so... blank. There's no life here!"

"Your parents would have had to live with you wearing protective suits." Dr.Trescott's voice was still calm. "They may have had to quit their jobs. Is that what you would have wanted?"

"I don't know!" Eliza shouted. "I don't know what I would have wanted then or what would have happened by now, but I- I want to get out of here. If I'm going to die, what's the point? What's the point of this?" She gestured with the arm bearing the IV bracelet.

"We're using it to help you-"

"But you're not! It's not helping me. It's worthless!" She tugged at it in frustration, and to her surprise, the IV came out, slid right out of her arm and dangled there by the tubes that wrapped up her forearm and bicep. The sight of this made Eliza cry harder, though she hadn't realised she'd been crying in the first place.

"Eliza, listen to me." Dr. Trescott's voice was kind. "We're trying as hard as we can. You've known from the beginning that a cure was a goal, not a guarantee. Giving you medication is the best we can do today, but we don't know what miracle might present itself tomorrow. Don't give up on us yet, because we haven't given up on you."

"How Did I Get Here?"

Tonight I had that writing workshop that I signed up for, dropped out of, and then signed up for again. It was most definitely a learning process.

First of all, we were all given all of the pieces to read over beforehand. Not all of us got all of the pieces- I only got seven out of the ten. But I noticed a certain trend in the pieces I did recieve: they were all either short stories or prose poetry and they were all thoughtful and deep and dramatic. Lord knows what everyone thought when they opened up my dialogue-driven, snarky YA piece.

I'm not saying this in a self-deprecating way. I was confident in what I had submitted. But it was so radically different from anyone else's that it stuck out glaringly, and I still don't know if that was a good or bad thing; no one seemed to know how to react. Throughout the workshop, I was listening to other pieces being read and thinking, "How did I get here?"

The workshop itself was pretty awesome. We were put in this conference room in the castle (which used to be the owner's smoking room back in the late 1800s) and the thick wooden doors blocked out every sound. We could whisper and hear each other. It was a very cool and relaxing environment.

The host of the workshop is an academic librarian here at my school and is also a published writer (of short stories, I believe.) I've seen her around, but we've never really met, and I expected her to be either really mean or too shy to even really speak. But instead she was this quietly lively, fun person who gave everyone great feedback.

I had expected to see some people I knew, but there was only one person I had met there; most of the participants were graduate students, which was a little intimidating. But they all turned out to be very nice, too.

I was the last to go- I think she went in the order in which she had recieved our pieces, and due to the rehearsal debacle, I submitted mine six days late. Again, it was very weird because, after all of the flowy, deep prose poetry, my excerpt was like having a bucket of cold water dumped over you. It was more marked than one night in Play & Screenwriting when we present our monologues; the girl before me had jut finished weeping as a dying soldier and then I jumped in with a piece of fast-paced, ridiculous excuses.

Overall, though, the piece was well-recieved. People were pretty complimentary of it and they also gave me some fantastic suggestions- some of which I've already taken. I'm really glad I participated; it was awesome to be sitting in a room of people who are just as dedicated to this as I am. I hope I can do something like that again :)


(Also, I'm now officially a creative writing minor at school!)

Success/Failure

Today was a huge day, writing-wise, because it was my first day of having my writing workshopped in my two major composition classes.

For Poetry & Fiction, we're required to submit our pieces the class day before our work is to be critiqued, and when I submitted mine on Thursday evening, I was pretty confident about what I was sending in. After all, it was just a continuation of what my classmates already liked. We weren't really encouraged to submit "past" work (though it's still a WIP), but we were allowed to if we so wished. I decided to turn in something I had already worked on because I don't write well on demand. I like to fine-tune things until I don't think they can be fine-tuned anymore.
So anyway, I turned this piece in and I was feeling good about it. I felt good about up until last night. Then I woke up this morning with butterflies. 'Why did I send that?' 'What if they hate it after they liked the other part?'
Of course, there was nothing I could do to stop the inevitable. They'd already read it anyway, so my worries were moot. I walked into class very nervous, sat through the first person's presentation very nervously. Then it was my turn.

And... they liked it. They liked the dialogue and the pace and a good number of other things. Of course, it wasn't all rainbows and flowers- there was critisism. My teacher's pretty good at asking probing questions that get the class and the writer thinking. So after this, the class asked me a lot of good questions and gave me suggestions. And while it was technically "critical"... it was incredibly HELPFUL. Like, there was some stuff that really got me thinking and will cause some big tweaks to be put into not only the scene I gave, but the larger story. It was great.


So because of this success, I was excited to go to my Play & Screenwriting class. My first scene, a five minute piece, would be read and critiqued. I put in a ton of work into the piece- it took me about a week and a half to get the structure that I wanted and I was pretty proud of how it went. So I skipped off to class this evening and had my scene read second.
Almost as soon as it started to be read, I knew something was wrong. When did the pace get so slow? Why were there so many run-on sentences for the older character? And why was there so little conflict in the beginning of the scene?
But these were only the minor problems. The further we got into the reading, the more the tension grew in the air. Part of our workshopping is that we start off with something we liked and you could just feel people going, 'What on earth am I going to say about this?!'
It wasn't that it was terrible written. It wasn't. But I guess I was so focused on making that certain structure work that I forgot about other important stuff, namely characterization, and it was a glaring problem.
When we finally, blessedly reached the end, there was a long silence as people desperately tried to think of things to say that were complimentary. Thankfully, they actually tried and didn't resort to things like, "Well, the paper you used is certainly... white..." But there wasn't much to be said.
My piece was (nicely) torn to shreds. But it wasn't even the critiques they made- it was that the things they felt were going on- that the older character was this evil, evil woman and the younger character was this poor overworked girl and the main theme was that the latter felt overworked... that wasn't what I was going for at all. When I wrote it, I saw the older woman as a person who was covering up nerves through bossiness and I actually worried that the younger woman would come off as ridiculously shallow.

I read a quote recently that if there is any confusion as to what's going on in a book, play, or any piece of writing, it's always the writer's fault that the problem is present- the reader's just doing the best they can with what they're given. So I wasn't upset with my class for not understanding what I was going for, because I'll be the first to admit that it wasn't there.
But to be honest, I was still shocked at how badly the whole thing went. I had set mysef up for success, so excited from the afternoon that I honestly hadn't even considered failure. So when it came, it was ten times worse. I almost cried in the middle of class.

Now I'm a little overwhelmed. Not only do I have to have the rewrites for this awful scene, which is going to be painful and due in two weeks, but I have a ten-page scene due next week, a new fiction piece in two weeks, and other stuff to memorize for, like, yesterday.

Sometimes, the things you love can be the things that stress you out the most.

Taking the Plunge

Today was a day I've been dreading since my first day of Poetry & Fiction- the day that I had to compare a piece of my writing to an author that had influenced me. Though Libba Bray is my #1 favorite writer, I just couldn't compare my writing to hers, so I went to another of my favorite authors- Maureen Johnson.

Actually, MJ and I do have sort of similar styles, or at least the way we implement our comparable senses of humor into our work is similar. So even though I can only wish I was as good as her, I decided to do my project on that comparison.

When I got up in front of the class, I was shaking, I was so nervous. I always speed-talk, but when I get nervous, it's gets worse by about a thousand percent. So I sped through her history and why she ifluenced me and then read a short excerpt from Devilish, one of my favorites of her novels. And then I read my excerpt.

The snippet I read was one I showed you guys a long time ago, from Q when Eliza and Jonah first meet. But something you guys probably already know is that sharing your work over the internet, to live yet invisible people, is completly different from standing in front of a bunch of people and reading your own words to them. I was terrified and shook a lot and kept my eyes on the paper only like you're not supposed to do. Finally, I reached the end of the page, looked up at the class and was astonished.

Because guess what? They all looked interested, some even impressed. And during the question and answer session, one girl asked me if I was still working on the novel and how far I'd gotten, and the girl after her said she really wanted to read it when I was finished.

Now I know. This praise from my fellow college kids is not the road to publication, necessarily. But I was on such a high afterwards that it almost felt like it. People liked what I'd written. They liked my little WIP baby!

This makes me a little (though not completely) less scared for next week, when I have to turn in ten pages of my fiction for a class-wide critique.

Tonight, another writing class! I've been working on the assignment (a five-page script) and am stuck on page three due to my determination to choose a really hard style of writing for my first piece. Someone save me from myself :P

WIP Wednesday

A continuation of last week's (also, "the group" has no name yet, which is why I use that phrase so much :p):


“So let me get this straight,” Eliza said, pacing between her bed and her desk. “You’re here to break me out of St. Claire’s?”

“Well, we prefer the term ‘liberate’, but yes,” Jonah replied

“Okay…” Eliza said slowly. “But why?”

“Well, to make a long story short,” Jonah started, “My group and I think that it’s unfair that you’ve been afflicted with a disease that will take your life at – how old are you? Fourteen?”

“Fifteen,” Eliza answered. “As of -“ she glanced at her watch. “Three minutes ago.”

“At fifteen. We’ve created a cure that will rid your system of all traces of the Attenuate Virus. If you come with me, I’ll bring you to our doctor, Abigail Markham, and she can give you the Cure. Then the plan is that you return here and convince the doctors that you’ve had a miraculous recovery.”

“But what’s in it for you?” Eliza asked. “Why wouldn’t you want credit for healing me?”

“It’s all right,” Jonah said. “We’re not working for praise. We want to make you and those like you better. None of you did anything to deserve this affliction. So come on! Pack a bag and we’re out of here!” He noticed Eliza hesitating. “What?”

“This whole thing is just… weird. I really want to believe that you and your… group can heal me, but I don’t know why I should trust you. Why would you choose me to save? There are twenty – six other people in the world that have AV. Why me?”

Jonah smiled. “Well, to be perfectly honest, you were chosen solely for your location, although your age doesn’t hurt, either?”

“I don’t understand.”

“As you know, AV has spread to people all over the world. You are the only one of the afflicted on the East Coast.”

“Lucky me,” said Eliza wryly. “And what do you mean about the age thing?”
“Well, it’s not required, but it always helps to have a subject that is younger. Usually, that means they’ll have less health problems and also respond to treatments more quickly. Abigail also has her own reasons for preferring younger candidates, but you can ask her to explain them when you meet her.”

“You’re talking like you go to medical school. How old are you?”

“I’m sixteen, almost seventeen,” Jonah responded. “And I didn’t even graduate high school, let alone go to medical school.”

“Then how do I know you know what you’re talking about?”

“Listen.” Jonah sounded suddenly impatient. “I’m offering you the chance of lifetime, literally, just like the group offered me last year.”

“You had AV?”

“No, but they inoculated me so I can never get it. I’m telling you, Eliza, this Cure works. The group has been working on this for a long time, much longer than I’ve been involved with them. Last year, they heard about my experiments in chemistry and asked me to help them. It was an honor to be asked, and far more lucrative than staying in school.”

“Exactly what kind of experiments were you doing?”

“God, you ask a lot of questions.”

Eliza raised her eyebrows. “Well, you’re asking me to come with you so you can inject me with something I can never be sure is what you say it is.”

“I was allowed to stay after school to try my experiments, but there were… limitations.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I couldn’t test my results, because that would require human or animal subjects. Besides being illegal, I could never morally do that, in case something went wrong. I would never be able to forgive myself.”

“But what about this Cure? You’re willing to test it on me?”

“Oh, I didn’t create it. I just helped. By studying under Abigail, I’m learning how to craft different vaccines and treatments without worrying that I’m messing something up. You know the influenza pill?”

“Of course,” said Eliza. In 2019, a pill had been created that all but eradicated the threat of the flu. Eliza had never met anyone who had had it since then. It was an unbelievable breakthrough.

“Well, the group created that. Now they’re working to cure more terminal illnesses, like the Attenuate Virus, HIV, AIDS, cancer, muscular dystrophy, stuff like that. Believe me, we’re the people you want on your side. So, will you come?”

Eliza chewed on her lower lip, weighing the situation.

“Okay,” she decided. “I’ll come.”

WIP Wednesday

I literally just ended a meeting with my best friend/writing partner Katie. We edited our screenplay that's been in the works since 2005. It was also a good-bye breakfast, as she leaves for another year in Texas in less than twenty-four hours. Sad :( But it all went very well and we have big plans for it.

As for WIP Wednesday, here's something I'm not sure if I shared before, but even if I have, I'm going to again :p Here's a clip from Q/Quarantined.

Eliza’s parents left around six o’clock that night. She tried to distract herself with a book, but soon closed it. At 7:02, she would have her final birthday. The idea didn’t astonish her as much as it did when she was first admitted. However, she couldn’t help thinking that spending her last three years stuck in a single room was not exactly living life to the fullest.

Impulsively, she crossed to the refrigerator and took out the box containing the second cupcake her parents had left for her. Placing it on her desk, she opened the package. Inside, she found not only the cake, but another candle and match. Was it cheating if she made another wish?

No, she decided. It was her birthday. Her last birthday. And if she wanted to make two wishes, who was going to stop her?

Placing the candle in the middle of the cupcake, she lit the wick and blew out the match. She watched the unmoving flame as it glowed. What did she want this time? She really only wanted one thing. Could you wish for the same thing twice?

Well, she was already cheating by making two wishes, so she might as well go for broke. She kept her eyes open this time as she thought, ‘I want my life back.’ Eliza blew out the candle. And as the flame went out, so did everything else. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

In her nearly three years at St. Claire’s, she had never experienced a power outage. What might happen to her - to everyone here - if they didn’t get everything up and working again?

“Sorry, my bad.”

When the voice spoke from the darkness, Eliza screamed and flattened herself against the wall.

“Wh-who’s in here?” she stammered.

“Hang on… crap, I can’t find the switch.” The voice was young and male and anomalously casual, given the situation.

“What are you doing here?” Eliza asked, wishing the fear would leave her voice. How did someone get in here?

“Wait - okay, found it.” The lights suddenly came back on, leaving Eliza squinting.

Across the room stood a tall, skinny, dark-haired boy of about sixteen. He leaned casually against the doorframe as though he broke into terminally ill girls’ rooms all the time.

“Who are you?” Eliza asked. “And how did you get in here? Where’s Darren? You should leave - you could get sick.”

After a moment, the boy spoke. “I guess I’ll take those one at a time. My name is Jonah Teagan. I came through the door. Darren is busy trying to figure out a way out of the storeroom he’s locked in. And calm down - I can’t catch AV from you. Or from anyone, for that matter. Which means you don’t have to stick yourself to that wall if you don’t want to.”

Eliza stepped away from the wall, but didn’t approach him. “I don’t understand- what do you mean you can’t catch AV? No one but me has been in this room for almost three years because they said I’m highly contagious.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you are. Just not to me.”

“What does that mean?” Eliza inquired disbelievingly. In her opinion, this Jonah guy was at this very moment taking his final uninfected breath, especially if he kept coming closer.

Jonah took a few more steps toward her so that he was almost an arm’s length away. “It means,” he said, looking her directly in the eye. “That I have an offer to make you. Care to listen?”

WIP Wednesday

An excerpt from somethinig I haven't shared anything from yet: Q/Quarantined.

To give you a little bit of an overview, my MC is a fifteen year old girl named Eliza who has been quarantined due to contracting a rare and serious illness when she was twelve. The doctors have been searching for a cure, but have yet to find one. Untreated, the disease kills anyone infected within three years. And that's where I'll leave the synopsis for now, though there's much more!


Eliza’s parents left around six o’clock that night. She tried to distract herself with a book, but soon closed it. At 7:02, she would have her final birthday. The idea didn’t astonish her as much as it did when she was first admitted. However, she couldn’t help thinking that spending her last three years stuck in a single room was not exactly living life to the fullest.

Impulsively, she crossed to the refrigerator and took out the box containing the second cupcake her parents had left for her. Placing it on her desk, she opened the package. Inside, she found not only the cake, but another candle and match. Was it cheating if she made another wish?

No, she decided. It was her birthday. Her last birthday. And if she wanted to make two wishes, who was going to stop her?

Placing the candle in the middle of the cupcake, she lit the wick and blew out the match. She watched the unmoving flame as it glowed. What did she want this time? She really only wanted one thing. Could you wish for the same thing twice?

Well, she was already cheating by making two wishes, so she might as well go for broke. She kept her eyes open this time as she thought, ‘I want my life back.’ Eliza blew out the candle.And as the flame went out, so did everything else. The room was suddenly plunged into darkness.

In her nearly three years at St. Claire’s, she had never experienced a power outage. What might happen to her - to everyone here - if they didn’t get everything up and working again?

“Sorry, my bad.”

When the voice spoke from the darkness, Eliza screamed and flattened herself against the wall.

“Wh-who’s in here?” she stammered.

“Hang on… crap, I can’t find the switch.” The voice was young and male and anomalously casual, given the situation.

“What are you doing here?” Eliza asked, wishing the fear would leave her voice. How did someone even get into her room?

“Wait - okay, found it.” The lights suddenly came back on, leaving Eliza squinting.

Across the room stood a tall, skinny, dark-haired boy of about sixteen. He leaned casually against the doorframe as though he broke into terminally ill girls’ rooms all the time.

“Who are you?” Eliza asked. “And how did you get in here? Where’s Darren? You should leave - you could get sick.”

After a moment, the boy spoke. “I guess I’ll take those one at a time. My name is Jonah Teagan. I came through the door. Darren is busy trying to figure out of the storeroom he’s locked in. And chill - I can’t catch AV from you. Or from anyone, for that matter. Which means you don’t have to stick yourself to that wall if you don’t want to.”

Eliza stepped away from the wall, but didn’t approach him. “I don’t understand- what do you mean you can’t catch AV? No one but me has been in this room for almost three years because they said I’m highly contagious.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you are. Just not to me.”

“What does that mean?” Eliza inquired disbelievingly. In her opinion, this Jonah guy was at this very moment taking his final uninfected breath, especially if he kept coming closer.

Jonah took a few more steps toward her so that he was almost an arm’s length away. “It means,” he said, looking her directly in the eye. “That I have an offer to make you. Care to listen?”


As always, comments/constructive critisism is welcome :)

Writing Meme

I've been seeing this meme on other writers' blogs and wanted to try it out myself. It was actually quite hard because while I think about my writing all the time, I guess I never looked at it from these angles.


1.) What's the last thing you wrote?

A few pages of a story idea I got from the Adopt a Plot section on the NaNo boards. While I really like the idea, another girl saw that I had remarked that I liked it and was worried that I'd write the story, as she had "claimed" it first, so I was forced to abandon it. I might return to it here and there, though, just because it's been fun to write.


2)What's the first thing you wrote that you still have?

I have a "story" from first grade about how much I "lyke ladebugs". You can't deny my writing talent from the start :p


3) Write poetry?

No, never. I've never really enjoyed poetry- writing or reading it.


4)Angsty poetry?

Nope.


5)Favorite genre of writing?

Young adult, historical, mystery... or all three combined!


6)Most annoying character you've ever created?

Ooh, wow... probably Angelina from an untitled story about summer camp. She was based on someone I had actually gone to camp with previously, and it didn't take much embellishment to up her annoying factor.


7) Best plot you've ever created?

Probably Remembrance. It still needs some work, but I really do love it.


8) Coolest plot twist you've ever created?

Hm... I quite like Gloria's double-crossing in Remembrance.


9) How often do you get writer's block?

Quite, but I try to work through it, especially since I think it's caused by lack of confidence as opposed to lack of ideas.


10) Write fan fiction?

I guess I have, in a sense. I used to do written role-playing online, which I suppose is a form of fan fiction. However, I've never sat down with the goal to write about characters already in existence; even my RPs involved characters that rarely met the people from the original story.


11) Do you type or write by hand?

Both. Ultimately I type, but when I'm without a computer, which is about 50% of my writing time, I get it all down by hand, and then transfer it onto the computer.



12) Do you save everything you write?

Yes, including different drafts. I like to see the evolution.

13) Do you ever go back to an idea after you've abandoned it?

I don't think I ever really abandon ideas, but I do return to writings I've left for a long time. I enjoy the changes I'm able to make as I change as a person and a writer.


14)What's your favorite thing you've ever written?

Ooh, tough. Probably the comedy screenplay I've been co-writing with my friend Katie since the tenth grade.



15) What's everyone else's favorite story you've written?

Well, I don't write strictly stories, and I don't show my stories to anyone... But out of the rest of my writing, people seem to really enjoy the aforementioned screenplay, Crosse's Time.


16)Ever written romance or angsty teen drama?

I'm not very good at writing romance, but I've tried to integrate it here and there. I hope to God I've never written angsty teen drama, as I don't enjoy reading it.


17) What's your favorite setting for your characters?

I seem to write them outside a lot. There's a lot of freedom outside.

18) How many writing projects are you working on right now?

About 5. I'm editing Remembrance and Crosse's Time, still writing Caroline's Story and Q/Quarantined, and a screenplay of mine (Requited) is being produced by my friends and I, so I'm sure I'll have tweaks for that too.


19)Have you ever won an award for your writing?

Yeah, I got an award in eleventh grade for a screenplay I wrote... the work is embarassingly bad, though. I can't even look at it now.


20) What are your five favorite words?

Quintessential, deplorable, serious, melodious, deign.



21) What character have you created that is most like yourself?

Lexa Harris from my NaNo attempt last year, For the Stage. Basically the Victorian me.



22) Where do you get your ideas for your characters?

People I know, other characters I like, names, songs... everywhere, I suppose.


23)Do you ever write based on your dreams?

Yeah! There is one in particular, an untitled comtemporary YA that was my first and only venture into the supernatural, that I had dreamed the ending to. However, because those were my days of writing linearly, I never got the the end.


24) Do you favor happy endings?

No, not exactly. If it fits, I won't fight it, but both as a reader and a writer, I like endings that make you think, which usually aren't the happy ones.



25) Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?

Yes, definitely. I don't know how you can't be.



26) Does music help you write?

Yes, most definitely. I do need it to be the proper mood/time period, though, and preferably just intrumental or I tend to write the lyrics.

27) Quote something you've written. Whatever pops in your head.

To choose something randomly from Q/uarantined:

Eliza stopped and looked behind her. She couldn’t see the headlights yet, but she was certain a car was coming. Sure enough, a few seconds later, twin lights crested the hill. When the car got nearer, Eliza waved her arms, hoping to catch the driver’s attention. It worked, and the car slowed.
“You need help, honey?” The bearded man behind the steering wheel leaned over to talk to her through the passenger seat window.
“Could you give me a ride to St. Claire’s Hospital?” Eliza asked, widening her eyes and hoping she looked innocent.
“Of course. Are you sick? Should I call an ambulance?”
“No, it’s not me,” Eliza lied. “My mom was just rushed there and my aunt and uncle are out of town. There’s no one to take me to see her. I’ll pay you for gas, if that’s what you want.”
“No, no, don’t worry about it. Hop in. I’ll get you there as fast as I can,” the man said, reaching across to unlatch the door.
“Thank you so much.” The gratitude in Eliza’s voice was real as she climbed into the car. She closed the door and put on her seatbelt. As she secured the buckle with a snap, she heard a second click behind her. She turned her head and froze at the sight of a gun aimed straight at her head.
“Don’t move,” Abigail commanded, placing her finger on the trigger.



And now I must go figure out how my brown hair dye turned my hair black...

Returning to Past Projects

Hello, everyone! I am back!



First of all, I wanted to apologise to those who left comments and didn't get any responses. I'm not quite sure how to make this blog notify me when someone comments, and I was quite surprised to see that I had a few comments for a couple of the days. So apologies and thank yous to those who commented! It's nice to know that people are reading.


I've decided to keep this blog going, however irregularly it might be updated. I began to look over the two projects I mentioned in my last entry and I was both pleased and disappointed by what I found.


The first thing was the period screenplay, which I tend to refer to in my mind as "the Caroline Project". I began to write this my senior year of high school and stopped around early 2008. I have a good memory, so this was a good amount of time to help me forget what I had written and return to it with fresh eyes.
One of my writing strengths is character development, and I think I've done a fair job in this one, as well. I really like all of the characters and enjoy hearing what they have to say.
I've edited a bunch of the lines because they sounded unnatural- repeated words, etc. I like to read things I write out loud, whether it be a screenplay or a story, to hear how it sounds when spoken. With this screenplay, lines will obviously sound a little different because it takes place in the early 1900s, but they still need to sound like they could be spoken.


Something that is irking me about this screenplay is the way I begin it. I started it originally by having a college student, a journalism major named Audrey, visiting the title character in a nursing home and asking her some questions about her childhood and what it was like to grow up in that time period. There are a few problems with my beginning that can only have come from my not ever having been in a college at that point: Audrey is nineteen and working on her thesis. Um... no. I'm nineteen right now and nowhere near that stage! Also, it would probably be more accurate if she were a sociology/psychology major; if I want to keep her as a journalism major, I need to figure out what on earth she's writing about that would constitute these interviews.
I'm also not so sure I want to begin it in more modern times (the '80s, in this case, because that was the most recent I could begin it without having Caroline be, like, 105 years old). While I like the dialogue I have between Audrey and Caroline, I just don't think Audrey has enough significance in the story. The only way I can think of making her part worthy enough to keep in the story is to draw some sort of parallel between her and Caroline's story. Caroline's story is all about lost love quiet young, so perhaps Audrey could be choosing some sort of relationship frivolously or carelessly? I don't know... I can write the story without Audrey, but I'm not sure how to begin it without her.


As for Q/Quarantined, I've only gotten a few chapters into my re-read; hopefully I can finish tonight or tomorrow. So far, though, I'm still very excited to continue the story. It's a really cool idea (which I got from the NaNo boards' "Adopt a Plot" section) and I am ready to work on it again. I would be working on it right now, while I'm backstage at my Dance Recital Night #1, but I want to hav completely read the first draft before I add anything on to it.



Storyboarding is definitely not for me. I went through my NaNo prep stuff while I was cleaning up my dorm last night and found my storyboard from both Q and Remembrance... sure, it's great to have it, but I never added anything to it because I knew what I wanted... and then it allchanged so rapidly that I didn't want to stop in the middle of an exciting scene to write what was happening on a Post-It. I wish I could storyboard, but I don't think it will ever happen.


I suppose I should stop writing and focus on what I need to do right now- tap dance to Kelly Clarkson and Michael Jackson mixes... I hate tap dancing, and I'm not sure why I continue to force myself to do it. But whether I hate it or not, I'm here, and the show must go on!