She Is Fierce (For the Females in Fiction)

Hello all!
For some time now I've wanted to write a post about female protagonists in books and movies that have been very important to me. Now is the time!

What is it About the Ladies?

Do I connect to male protagonists? Absolutely. I understand Biblo's longing for both home and adventure. I sympathize with Jack Kelly and his dreams of a better life. I applaud John Watson as he uphold his friend, even if his friend sometimes forget to show his gratitude. These are all wonderful characters. They are all special to me.

However, there's something about said treasured protagonist being a girl. Something inside me wakes up.

Maybe I could be like that.

Maybe I could talk like that.

Maybe I could be as brave and as beautiful as she is.

Wouldn't that be wonderful?

It is a magical thing, to see long hair flying as our hero runs to the rescue. To see lips red with lipstick conducting negotiations to secure the future of an entire race. To see high heels striding down the street, just in time to save a life. 

This connects with me. This touches me. This chills me to the bone.

So, without further ado, here are a few of the fictional ladies that have shaped and inspired me throughout my life.

Belle (Beauty and the Beast)

Oh, Belle.

Smart and sweet and brave and kind, all while rocking the color yellow (not as easy as it seems).

Belle has always been one of my favorite Disney characters, ever since I was just a child. She was good and strong and she looked like me. She had the courage in her heart not only to face the Beast, but to love him. That takes strength. She was unafraid to be herself, even if people thought she was strange for it. This inspired me. I still hope to one day be as kind as the princess I admired so much.

Matilda (Matilda)

Matilda was a girl I admired even when I was only five years old. Every time I went over to my grandmother's house, that was the movie I wanted to watch. I could very nearly quote it word-for-word.

Matilda was important to me because she was like me.

She was a smart little girl who felt rather alone in the world, which encouraged me.

I began to dream that I might be like her. Smart like her. Brave like her. Good like her.

Matilda was the first character I ever truly connected with. Even at a young age, I recognized the feeling of meeting a character who would understand me.

I knew Matilda would.

Lucy Pevensie (Chronicles of Narnia)

When I read the Chronicles of Narnia series, Lucy was without a doubt my very favorite character.

Again, she made me believe that I could be more.

She helped me see what it meant to be entirely in love with Jesus. She showed me what it meant to follow Him, even when everyone else doubted. She showed me bravery and kindness.

She made me want to be like her.

I started looking in every closet and every cabinet for Narnia. I wanted to find that land. I wanted to become a queen and have adventures in the wood with the fauns and the dryads.

As I grew, I understood and appreciated Lucy more and more.

As many issues as I have with the Voyage of the Dawn Treader movie, I did appreciate the scene where she only wanted to be Susan.

I remember being shocked. I only ever wanted to be Lucy, and here all she cares to be is Susan? In the end, it's Lucy who sees the end and new beginning of Narnia. It's Lucy who is called 'The Valiant'. It's Lucy who stays true. 

So much of my life I spend away, wishing I were someone else. Wishing I were my sister, or my friends, or even fictional characters. Lucy helped me realize that it's not all about me being someone else. It's about me being the most beautiful version of myself that I can be.

Princess Leia Organa Skywalker (Star Wars)

Now we move to my science fiction phase.

Leia astounded me.

From the moment she stepped on screen, I was enraptured.

She was beautiful and she didn't take any junk from anyone. She commanded attention and respect from all, and she got it. Still, somehow, she was gentle.

She had a plan, and she led fearlessly. People took her seriously.

No one took her as a fool; she never gave them the option.

There for several years, Princess Leia was my hero. She was everything I wanted to be. Her leadership inspired my own, and her genuine care for her friends showed me that in order to lead, one does not have to be insensitive. People are not simply moving parts; the best leadership comes when one leads by example and genuinely cares for the people one leads.

Donna Noble (Doctor Who)

Donna was a huge inspiration for me.

Yes, she was a little too loud and rather grating. Yes, she was overbearing and over-dramatic and I loved every moment of it. She was a different sort of companion, and she was amazing.

She didn't take any junk from the Doctor. She wasn't in love with him. She was strong and independent, and her bravado hid a hurting, unheard heart. She was brave, but she was also afraid.

She was different, and she was beautiful.

She taught me that I can be a hero of my own sort. I don't have to be a size-zero blonde with a penchant for wandering off on my own. I don't have to be soft spoken, or quiet and mysterious. I am important and valued just the way I am, and I am a marvel all my own. She showed me that different is good, and that there is always room to grow and learn.

Christine Daae (Phantom of the Opera)

This is a bit of a newer one. A few months ago, I watched the 25th Anniversary performance of the musical Phantom of the Opera.

The moment the camera panned over to Christine (Sierra Boggess in this production), my heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful. Not only that, but there was just something about her that I could not describe.

As I watched the show, I only grew to love her and respect her more.

Her hesitancy. Her excitement towards Raoul. Her friendship with Meg. Her kindness to the Phantom. Her bravery, even when she was terrified. Her childlike goodness.

Christine Daae is all I aim to be. 

Is she fearless? No.

Is she flawless? No, thank God.

She is human, and she is afraid. Her heart hurts for all she has lost.

But somehow, in the end, she chooses kindness. She shows the Phantom light in his dark world. All that she has gone through, it has only made her good. It has only taught her that love is the only way. Her courage inspires me. Even with all the dark she has seen, she retains her innocence. In the end, her goodness saves her love. I hope one day to be like Miss Christine Daae.

So, there we have it! A short list of some of the fabulous fictional women that have helped me become who I am today. I look forward to meeting more of them as I go on, but these I will always treasure for the things their stories have taught me. They have showed me that it's okay to be afraid, so long as I stand up anyway.

What are some of your favorite fictional ladies?

Sincerest Apologies

Hello all! I'm sorry for how long it's been since I have posted on this blog; life has been a little crazy and English 102 is rather harder than I anticipated. However, I hope to get back to blogging and keeping this blog better updated as I continue to write.

I have been doing very little editing on my current WIP, something I hope to amend very soon. I also plan on doing Camp NaNoWriMo in April of this year, and I hope to chronicle that journey as I outline my next book.

Sorry again for how long it has been; I hope to do better in the near future.

Before and After (And A Sneak Peek)

Hello all!
As most of you know, I have been editing the book I wrote for NaNo2014. Today I want to give you a general outline of my process so far, and the first ever look at the book I've been blogging about for months!

My first step came immediately after finished the book in November. With a heavy sigh, I prepared myself to reread my manuscript.

If there is anything that is the definition of "discouraging", it's re-reading an unedited manuscript. 

It wasn't pretty.

As I re-read, I was entering the chapters into a magical program called Scriptito. (You will be hearing me sing its praises much more often). It's pretty much Scrivener for free. Which is awesome.

As I put in my manuscript, I read my chapters and I used the Note tool on Scriptito (which is a gift from Heaven above) and made a note of what I thought needed changing in the first round of edits.

What I am focusing on this go-round is mostly continuity. My story got all jumbled up near the end because I decided this was going to be a series, and I had put too large of an obstacle in the first half of my book to have a proper build in all the rest of the books in the series. This put me moving that to the back of the book and everything that came after got positively scrambled. So far I'm only about ten chapters into editing, so in the chapters that are in their proper order I'm doing some basic edits. I'm trying to enrich the scenes and fix character arcs to fit the plot. It's actually a lot more work than I expected.

Honestly, it's really discouraging. You go back and look at the things you spent so much time on, and they're just bad. You see everything you did wrong and it starts to look like it's a better idea just to forget it. It is a brutal process, because you feel like you're undoing everything you've built. It is humbling, to say the least, but in the end I know my book will be better for it. Thus, I struggle on.

How do you do it?

Good question. There's a lot of pulling my hair, hiding my face in pillows, and desiring to throw my computer across the room.

In seriousness, I take the chapter I'm working on, refer to my notes, and rework.

This is Chapter Four/Five of my story (I deleted the scene before it, so I'm really not sure what number it is). It's been my go-to chapter when people want to see what my story is about, because it is really where the story kicks into action. Remember, this is the unedited version.

~~~
Kate knocked briskly on Timothy's door. There was no reply, so she stood on the stoop and waited. The house was small, but nicer than some she had seen in the poorer sections of Haddon. The paint on the door was chipped and peeling. The walls were brick, and looked to be in decent shape.
She knocked again, and this time the door opened.
Timothy stood there, looking even worse than he had the previous day.
"Hi." Kate smiled, despite the worry she felt for her friend.
He attempted to return the gesture. "Hullo, love."
"I gotcha somethin'." She pulled out the gloves from behind her back and presented them to him.
He looked at them, almost alarmed, before he looked back up at her. "How on earth did you afford these?"
"I'm friends with a shopkeeper."
"Kate, I can't accept this gift. It was kind of you, and I really do appreciate it, but I just... can't."
"Timothy, I want you to. You need gloves an' you know it, so stop fightin' about it and just keep 'em."
He paused, before relenting. "Alright. Can't win an argument with you, anyways."
She laughed and crossed her arms. "Well, aren't you gonna invite me in?"
"Oh! Yes, sorry. Please, come in, if you want." He stepped to the side and she entered his house.
She looked around and smiled. "Boy, you really should think about hiring a 'ousekeeper."
He blushed slightly. "Sorry, I know it's a mess..." He walked across the room and began attempting to clear off some of the pieces of machinery on the couch.
Kate joined him.
"Sorry, I'm just... too busy to clean, most of the time."
"I understand." She picked up something that looked to be from a bicycle.
He took an armload of junk. "Be right back, gonna put this upstairs."
"A'right." She watched him disappear up the stairs before continuing to browse the items in his parlor.
A small sphere lying on the hardwood floor caught Kate's eye. It was made of some sort of clear, smooth material, like glass. She could see gears and cogs on the inside. The thing clicked steadily.
"Well, what's this?"
She gently picked it up and turned it around in her hands. It was heavy.
A hatch on the glass opened and a set of binocular-like eyes emerged. The thing whirred and clicked rapidly. The eyes blinked at her.
Kate yelped in surprise, nearly dropping the ball.
Timothy came bounding down the stairs. "Kate! Is everything alright?" He stopped when he saw the ball she was holding. "Ah."
"Ah? What even is this thing? It won't stop looking at me!"
The ball blinked curiously.
Timothy took it from her, caressing it. "This is Blinker."
"It's... it's an automaton."
"Of sorts, yeah."
"Weren't those outlawed...?"
"He's safe if no one says anything about him being here."
"I won't tell if you won't."
Timothy smiled at her and put the little ball down. It was still blinking.
"Why does it do that?"
"What?"
"The..."
"Oh, the blinking?"
"Yeah."
"Let's show 'er, then."
The little ball retracted its 'eyes' and  rolled back and forth in every direction, gaining speed with each turn.
Kate opened her mouth to ask what it was doing, but Timothy silenced her.
As suddenly as it began, the machine stopped. Its' eyes came back out, and just behind them a piece of paper stuck out.
Timothy bent down and removed the paper, offering it to Kate.
She laughed when she saw the picture. Apparently it had been taken the first moment she picked up Blinker. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open in shock.
"He certainly does 'ave an odd sense of 'umor." Timothy nudged the bot with his foot. "'e's a good companion, anyways. Been working on 'im for years."
"Is he why you keep all the old parts?"
"Part of the reason, yeah. It's hard to find little pieces like I need, and I sure can't buy them."
"You know what would happen if you got caught with 'im, don't you?"
He looked down. "Yeah. But it's worth it, honestly."
"I think so too."
Kate sat down on the part of the couch they had cleared off.
"So, Timothy, what is it you wanted to talk about?"
Timothy's face immediately fell.
"Look, I don't mean to upset you or anythin'. I just need to know what's goin' on. Honestly, you're scarin' me, an I really don't like it."
"I am...?"
"You look awful. 'ow much sleep have you 'ad lately, anyways?"
He ran his hand through his unruly hair. "Not enough."
"Well then." Kate motioned to the empty seat next to her on the dirty, faded couch. "Just tell me what's happened to you."
He sat down, somewhat cautiously, as if unsure about sitting so close to her.
She subtly leaned closer to him. "Timothy, if you don't tell me I can't help."
"It's not somethin' you can help, love." There was pain in his cloudy green eyes. "I'm afraid... I'm afraid we're gonna die."
"What?" Kate pulled back in surprise.
"I'm sorry, Kate. I'm so sorry."
"How on earth do you know this?"
"I don't... I'm not sure."
"You're not making any sense, mate."
"I know, I'm sorry. But you've gotta believe me."
"Gotta?"
He put his hands on her shoulders and stared her in the eyes. "I can promise you on everythin' I own, everythin' I am, that soon we're going to die."
She gently pushed his hands away, worried. "Ah... Timothy, I'm really not sure if you're quite well."
"I'm fine, Kate."
She looked down and pushed her short hair back from her face. "Listen, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Tell me exactly what you're trying to say."
"I have."
"Just, one more time. I'm pretty clever when it comes to picking out a liar."
He took a deep breath, and she looked up.
"Okay."
"We are going to die. I don't know how, I just know that it will be soon. I know that we have to die. I've known for a few days now, but I was too scared to tell you; I didn't want you to think I was crazy. Every day it's only gotten worse, only gotten stronger." He was wide open, honest and pure. All his emotions were written on his face.
There was no way he was lying.
Still, Kate doubted. Perhaps he had been working too hard, not getting enough sleep. Regardless, he truly believed the things he said.
Maybe he was right.
The thought settled in the pit of her stomach, sending a thrill of fear through her entire body. She tried to keep her expression from changing.
"Well. You know we're going to die, right?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll just have to stop that from 'appening, now won't we?"
"What?"
"We'll just have to find a way around it."
"Kate, no!" He stood up and began to pace, like he always did when he was under stress. "We can't."
For some reason, his statement angered her. "Well why not? You said you knew what was gonna happen, why shouldn't we avoid it?"
"Because it has to 'appen. That's the way it's meant to be, love."
"Meant to be?"
He sighed, still pacing. "We're dying for a reason, so something greater can 'appen. So that things will get better for a whole lot of people. We've got to die so others can live."
Kate laughed cynically. "Well, that explains everything. We die as martyrs for a cause we don't even know about."
"Please believe me, love..."
"Timothy, look. I'm givin' you the benefit of the doubt about this whole 'premonition' thing, but if someone tells me that I'm gonna be dead in a few days, I'm gonna do every stinkin' thing I can to make sure that doesn't 'appen. For the better of others or no, I'm not ready to go just yet."
"Kate, you don't understand."
"I'm pretty sure I do."
Timothy honestly looked distraught. "Kate, please. Try and see this my way."
"You want to lay down and die? You do that. I refuse to." She stood up, a mix of panic and anger flooding her mind.
"Kate, love, please don't go."
"We can talk about this later." The words came out much sharper than she intended, and in her friend's eyes she could see that he had felt the cut.
She stalked towards the door and flung it open. To her shock, there was a man standing there. He wore the blue and silver uniform of the royal guard.
Her heart cried out in fear. They've found me. She attempted to keep her composure and waited for him to speak.
"Kate Thompson?"
"Yes." Her voice quivered slightly.
He reached out and roughly grabbed her arm, pinning it behind her.
"Timothy!" she screamed. "Timothy, get out!"
A moment later, he came running from the parlor.
She gritted her teeth in frustration. Fool boy.
The head guard shoved her forward and to the side, kicking the back of her knees, forcing her to kneel on the floor.
Three men rushed forward to apprehend Timothy; he was no match for them.
After a few moments of struggle, he also was kneeling on the floor.
"What's all this about?" His voice was surprisingly hard, harder than Kate had ever heard from him. "You've no right to arrest this woman."
Something in her heart pulled at the realization that he would never plead for himself, only for her.
The head guard, or so Kate guessed he was, cleared his throat. He had red hair and a short, copper beard.
"I think you'll find we have every right."
"We've done nothing!" Kate struggled against the man holding her hands behind her, but he was strong.
"You have been arrested for crimes against the Crown."
"What crimes?"
"Undisclosed."
Timothy's eyes lit up with rage. "You can't do this. Arrest us and then don't tell us why?"
"Orders from the captain."
"You can say that all you want, it's not right for you to do this."
The smart remark earned Kate a slap from one of the troops nearby.
"Leave her alone!" Timothy never yelled.
The leader seemed uncomfortable. "I am... sorry. I wish I could tell your crime, but I cannot."
"Sure," Kate muttered, her face still stinging from the blow.
"We are to take them back to the prison now. You..." He paused, almost regretfully. "You are to be executed at the setting of the sun."
Kate couldn't keep the fear from choking out all rational thought in her mind. Timothy's voice echoed in her mind. We're gonna die.
Next to her, he hung his head. "I'm so sorry." His voice broke, too heavy with emotion to stay strong. "I didn't know it would be today. I'm so sorry."
They were both roughly shoved to their feet and made to walk forward, out into the sunlit street. Kate was silent, and kept her eyes down. Timothy walked next to her, still muttering apologies.
I can't believe he was right.

~~~

It's not a total disaster, right? I mean, it's rough in some places, but it's not the worst work I've ever done. However, I aim to make it the best.

Here's the notes I made on it.

Yes, my first character cut. As much as I dearly love Blinker, the little fella added nothing to the story. After the first 10,000 words, he pretty much disappears. I take that as a sign the story doesn't need him right now, but I'm keeping him in mind for the other books in the series.

Cutting all mention of him dropped 500 words from this chapter. I didn't realize how hard it would be seeing the word count I worked so hard for go down. Honestly, that's been the hardest part. As I previously mentioned, I deleted another scene (nearly 700 words) that added to my disappointment.

Sadly, to build anything up it seems one must first tear things down.

This is the second draft of the scene, with Blinker removed. The biggest thing I did was check Kate's emotion, as she is a much harder person than I originally expected. 

~~~

Kate knocked briskly on Timothy's door. There was no reply, so she stood on the stoop and waited. The house was small, but nicer than some she had seen in the poorer sections of Haddon. The paint on the door was chipped and peeling, but the brick walls looked to be in decent shape.

She knocked again, and this time the door opened.

Timothy stood there, the circles under his eyes even darker and his shoulders drooping even more, is if he were carrying the entire world on them.

"Hi." Kate smiled, despite the worry that so suddenly descended upon her heart.

He turned the corners of his mouth upward, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Hullo, love."

"I gotcha somethin'." She pulled out the gloves from behind her back and presented them to him.

He looked at them, almost alarmed, before he looked back up at her. There was confusion in his emerald eyes. "How on earth did you afford these?"

"I'm friends with a shopkeeper."

"Kate, I can't accept this gift. It was kind of you, and I really do appreciate it, but I just... can't."

"Timothy, I want you to. You need gloves an' you know it, so stop fightin' about it and just keep 'em."

He paused, before relenting. "Alright. Can't win an argument with you, anyways." He took the gloves and held them carefully, as if he feared he might damage them.

She laughed and crossed her arms. "Well, aren't you gonna invite me in?"

"Oh! Yes, sorry. Please, come in, if you want." He stepped to the side and she entered his house, his cheeks tinged with pink.

She looked around and shook her head. "Boy, you really should think about hiring a 'ousekeeper."

He blushed even harder. "Sorry, I know it's a mess..." He walked across the room and began attempting to clear off some of the pieces of machinery on the faded couch.

Kate joined him.

"Sorry, I'm just... too busy to clean, most of the time."

She playfully bumped his shoulder as she picked up something that looked to be from an old bicycle. "You know I understand."

He took an armload of junk. "Be right back, gonna put this upstairs."

"A'right." She watched him disappear up the stairs before continuing to browse the items in his parlor. He had collected all sorts of things, some that would go for good money if he were to sell them. Timothy loved to build. His hands were large, but gentle, used to handling delicate machines that could easily shatter if one was not careful. As Kate picked up some of pieces herself, she could imagine the way he would run his fingers across them, gently discovering their secrets and fixing what was broken. Something inside of her flared up, a feeling that alarmed and disturbed her. She couldn't place feeling it before. Was it tenderness? Affection? If it was affection, it was a strange breed that she had not known before.

She wasn't sure if she was very fond of it.

Timothy came down the stars, still holding the gloves. "Sorry it took a while, 'ad to find someplace to put the stuff." He looked around and sighed. "One of these days I'll clear this place out."

"Don't worry 'bout it." Kate sat down on the part of the couch they had cleared off. "So, Timothy, what is it you wanted to talk about?"

Timothy's face immediately fell.

"Look, I don't mean to upset you or anythin'. I just need to know what's goin' on. Honestly, you're scarin' me, an I really don't like it."

"I am...?"

"You look awful. 'ow much sleep have you 'ad lately, anyways?"

He ran his hand through his unruly hair. "Not enough."

"Well then." Kate motioned to the empty seat next to her on the dirty, faded couch. "Just tell me what's happened to you."

He sat down, somewhat cautiously, as if unsure about sitting so close to her.

She leaned towards him, searching his face with her eyes. "Timothy, if you don't tell me I can't help."

"It's not somethin' you can help, love." When he looked up, there was a storm in his eyes. Fear and concern and confusion all mixed together. "I'm afraid... I'm afraid we're gonna die."

"What?" Kate pulled back in surprise, her mind reeling with the new information.

"I'm sorry, Kate. I'm so sorry." His voice cracked.

"How on earth do you know this?"

"I don't... I'm not sure."

"You're not making any sense, mate." Kate's heart was beating faster than normal. There is no way he's serious. We're going to die? How on earth does he know?

"I know, I'm sorry. But you've gotta believe me."

"Gotta?"

He put his hands on her shoulders and stared her in the eyes, more forward than she could ever remember him being. The serious expression on his face scared her. "I can promise you on everythin' I own, everythin' I am, that soon we're going to die."

She gently pushed his hands away. "Ah... Timothy, I'm really not sure if you're quite well."

"I'm fine, Kate."

She looked down and pushed her short hair back from her face. "Listen, I want you to look me in the eye and tell me the truth. Tell me exactly what you're trying to say."

"I have."

"Just, one more time. I'm pretty clever when it comes to picking out a liar."

He took a deep breath, and she looked up, studying his face again. "Go."

"We are going to die. I don't know how, I just know that it will be soon. I know that we have to die. I've known for a few days now, but I was too scared to tell you; I didn't want you to think I was crazy. Every day it's only gotten worse, only gotten stronger." He was wide open, honest and pure. All his emotions were written on his face.

There was no way he was lying, but it was equally impossible that he was telling the truth. He had been working too hard, not getting enough sleep. Just because he believes it, doesn't mean it's true.

"I'm not crazy."

"No, no. I don't think you're crazy." She chose her words carefully, not wanting to offend Timothy.

"I don't... I don't know why all this 'appening." He looked truly broken, his face downcast and his voice heavy.

"Well. You know we're going to die, right?"

"Yes."

"Then we'll just have to stop that from 'appening, now won't we?"

"What?"

"We'll just have to find a way around it."

"Kate, no!" He stood up and began to pace, like he always did when he was under stress. "We can't."

For some reason, his statement angered her. Fire rose in her heart. "Well why not? You said you knew what was gonna happen, why shouldn't we avoid it?"

"Because it has to 'appen. That's the way it's meant to be, love."

"Meant to be?"

He sighed, still pacing. "We're dying for a reason, so something greater can 'appen. So that things will get better for a whole lot of people. We've got to die so others can live."

Kate laughed cynically. "Well, that explains everything. We die as martyrs for a cause we don't even know about."

"Please believe me, love..."

"Timothy, look. I'm givin' you the benefit of the doubt about this whole 'premonition' thing, but if someone tells me that I'm gonna be dead in a few days, I'm gonna do every stinkin' thing I can to make sure that doesn't 'appen. For the better of others or no, I'm not ready to go just yet."

"Kate, you don't understand."

"I'm pretty sure I do," she snapped.

Timothy honestly looked distraught. "Kate, please. Try and see this my way."

"You want to lay down and die? You do that. I refuse." She stood up from the couch and stepped back.

"Kate, love, please don't go."

"We can talk about this later." The words came out much sharper than she intended, and in her friend's eyes she could see that he had felt the cut. In that moment, she didn't care. She was angry and she was afraid, and no one could give her any straight answers.

She stalked towards the door and flung it open. To her shock, there was a man standing there. He wore the blue and silver uniform of the royal guard.

Her heart cried out in fear. They've found me. She attempted to keep her composure and waited for him to speak.

"Kate Thompson?"

"Yes." Her voice quivered slightly.

He reached out and roughly grabbed her arm, pinning it behind her.

"Timothy!" she screamed. "Timothy, get out!"

A moment later, he came running from the parlor, his green eyes wide.

She gritted her teeth in frustration. Fool boy.

The guard shoved her forward and to the side, kicking the back of her knees, forcing her to kneel on the floor.

Three men rushed forward to apprehend Timothy; he was no match for them.

After a few moments of struggle, he also was kneeling on the floor.

"What's all this about?" His voice was surprisingly hard, harder than Kate had ever heard from him. "You've no right to arrest this woman."

Something in her heart pulled at the realization that he would never plead for himself, only for her.

The head guard, or so Kate guessed he was, cleared his throat. He had red hair and a short, copper beard.

"I think you'll find we have every right."

"We've done nothing!" Kate struggled against the man holding her hands behind her, but he was strong.

"You have been arrested for crimes against the Crown."

"What crimes?"

"Undisclosed."

Timothy's eyes lit up with rage. "You can't do this. Arrest us and then don't tell us why?"

"Orders from the captain."

"You can say that all you like, it's not right for you to do this," Kate insisted.

The smart remark earned Kate a slap from one of the troops nearby.

"Leave her alone!"

Timothy never yelled.

The leader seemed uncomfortable. "I am... sorry. I wish I could tell your crime, but I cannot."

"Sure," Kate muttered, her face still stinging from the blow.

"We are to take them back to the prison now. You..." He paused, almost regretfully. "You are to be executed at the setting of the sun."

Kate couldn't keep the fear from choking out all rational thought in her mind. Timothy's voice echoed in her mind. We're gonna die.

Next to her, he hung his head. "I'm so sorry." His voice broke, too heavy with emotion to stay strong. "I didn't know it would be today. I'm so sorry."

They were both roughly shoved to their feet and made to walk forward, out into the sunlit street. Kate was silent, and kept her eyes down. Timothy walked next to her, still muttering apologies.

He was right.

I can't believe he was actually right.

~~~~
In my opinion, this version is much better than the first one. I still think it has a ways to go before it's where it should be, but this isn't really a bad start.

Sorry for the long post everyone! I hope the insight I've been able to give from my limited experience editing has somehow helped you, and I hope you like the sneak peek of the book. I'd love to hear from you; just comment below!

At the End of the Year

Hello all! It's been quite a while since I blogged, thanks largely to the fact that I took the month of December off from serious writing and just kind of chilled out for a month. It was good and I enjoyed it; now I'm ready to get back to blogging, editing, and the general craziness that is the life I'm still trying to figure out.

Today is December 31, 2014. We are on the very last page of the year, and tomorrow we start a new book that is 2015. Today I've been taking time to look back on this past year and several things stuck out to me about what I have done and what I have learned.

• I learned what it means to be "in one's element".

A dear friend of mine had a party back in October for her birthday. It was a murder mystery party, where everyone played a character and we all tried to figure out who the murderer was and why they had committed the crime. The character I played was a woman named Finn Burgundy, the obnoxious, insufferable manager of the Moonshadow Playhouse. I enjoyed playing Finn immensely, and found myself losing some of the inhibitions I so often carry. I was loud and I was prideful and I was having a wonderful time. We broke character to eat and I just enjoyed myself. The people around me seemed to enjoy me, too. I met so many amazing people that night, and everything just seemed to come easy. I felt like I was home, making people smile and laughing until my stomach hurt. I have a hard time remembering another night where I felt so complete. Whatever it was, something made that party, that night, feel like home to me. I want to find that feeling again. I wasn't worried about what anyone thought or if I was too loud, or anything. I was just being myself and I felt like that was enough. I want to trap that feeling and hold it forever.

• I learned about my tendency toward jealousy.

I went to a camp in the summer where God really worked in my heart. However, during that time I had to battle jealousy that threatened one of my dearest friendships. It's a long story, but let's just say there was a boy who was very kind to both my friend and I, which we later realized was simply because he liked my friend. I was hurt, honestly, and I was very jealous. God also had me deal with that, and I apologized to my friend for my actions and attitudes, which she was amazing about because she's a wonderful, understanding person. Earlier on in the year, I struggled with jealousy which set a prejudice against an acquaintance of mine to the point of making me slightly hostile towards her, which she did not deserve at all. This year has proven that I am an extremely jealous person.

• I learned the reason behind my jealousy.

In all honesty, the two situations mentioned above were strikingly similar. Both involved boys. At first, I thought that I was simply desperate for love, but only today have I seen the underlying reason. It's my self-esteem. I automatically jump to the conclusion, if I feel rejected, that it is because I am not good enough and that someone else is better than me. I used to think it was harmless, but this past year it has caused hostility toward an innocent acquaintance, and me to harbor bad feelings against a friend. It was certainly not victimless. My self-esteem problems drove a rift between me and others, which I will not allow. I hope to learn to love myself better in the future, and thus prevent anyone else from being hurt.

• I did things this year I did not believe possible.

This was the year of impossible things for me. I stretched myself beyond what I thought was possible for me and with good results. Some were little things. I had my first dance. Some were big things. I finished not one, but two novel drafts.

• I faced my fears this year.

I faced heights, crowds, strangers, rivers, angry friends, and most of all myself. Thanks to God, I overcame, just like He promised.

At the end of the year, I like to look back and draw a bottom line. I look at what I've done and what I've learned and I wait for a sentence to come to mind. One little, perfect sentence to sum up the past year of my life, something I can think of and remember.

This year, as I thought, only one sentence came to mind.

This year, I was very, very brave.

As I look back and think about those words, I am almost proud of myself. Brave is never a word I would use to describe myself, but when I think of this year it's the only word that fits. I was brave. I am brave. I faced the unknown and I fought well.

I'm very nearly proud. Of course I failed this year. Of course there are things I should have done that I didn't, or things I did that I shouldn't have. There are always those things, and I aim to do better in 2015.

As far as 2014 goes, I was brave.

Dark and Light (Balance Beam)

When one looks into the greatest stories of our time, there is always a balance between the darkness and the light. There's good and there's evil, there's serious and funny, there's death and life. It's always a delicate balance that's surprisingly difficult to achieve.

As some of you know, I've taken the month off from my main story (The Fate Machine) and been dabbling in fanfiction. Fanfiction, if you don't know, is great for stretching writing techniques and trying new things. There's less pressure to write perfectly and you get to play around in someone else's world, and use their characters. It's a low pressure thing I use to relieve stress and explore new ideas.

Currently I'm writing Les Miserables fanfiction. If you're curious, you can follow my Tumblr blog. Currently I've been planning to start on January 1st of this new year, so I have been drowning in paper for the past few weeks as I try and get some of these fics written ahead of time. I've also been plotting out some of the things that are going to happen, and it got me thinking.

Empty chairs at empty tables

If you've ever read Les Mis, seen the movie, or watched the musical, you know it is a very, very, very dark story. The ending is downright depressing. Spoiler alert: everyone dies.
In the words of Flynn Rider, it's "a bit of a downer". In fact, the whole story is just rather downbeat. It's sad. First you have to deal with the oppression of the poor and convicted, then just when things start looking up the people that were supposed to change everything are abandoned to die in the street (which they most certainly do). Then, to cap it all off, there is no happy ending. Yes, two characters get married, but then another one dies and that's where we end (in the Brick, at least. In the musical, we get a happy epilogue that makes everyone cry).

Anyway, it's a sad story. But still, there is some humor. Now, in the Brick, there's not as much, but in the move musical we get some characters that we like to call "comic relief".

Enter the Thenardiers.

This husband-and-wife duo are innkeepers when we first meet them, taking care of one of the leads when she was a child. They actually play a vital role in the story, inbetween all their sleight of hand tricks and mispronunciations of "Cosette". They're meant to be the lightness, even though they're villains. From all the other characters, we only get a little bit of comic relief (Grantaire's poking fun at Marius, some sassy dialogue from Valjean, Javert's hat). The Thenardiers are well placed as a bit of lightness in all of the darkness of the storyline.

Consequentially, they survive and deliver the heavy line that is, "Clear away the barricades, and we're still there!" (Expect a separate blog post on that soon.)

Anyway, I struggle with comic relief. I am a rather humorous person, thanks to my constant melodrama and occasional witty remark, but I struggle to get that across in my writing. I am a serious, flowery writer of prose, and struggle with clever dialogue. In short, I rather fail when I write humor. I'm slowly finding my niche as far as making my writing more fun to read is concerned (blogging has helped a decent bit).

Now, one of the things I forgot when I set out to write Les Miserables fanfiction was that the story is very, very dark and very, very emotional. It is easy to get carried away.

As a writer, I like writing gut wrenching, emotional scenes. I enjoy that. It's how I pass the time when I'm bored.

As a reader, I enjoy reading those scenes, but I also want something lighter. I get tired of reading when it's just bad thing after bad thing after bad thing. It gets predictable. 

Now, one can add fluff to their story, which is fun to write and fun to read, but it gets to be too much.

My preferred method of adding humor is to drop in a subplot that's just really ridiculous. I mean, inside the plot it should make sense, but give said subplot to some really funny characters and watch how they take care of it.

Incidentally, I have been gifted with the perfect character (thanks Victor Hugo!)

Ultra awkward? Check.

Daydreamer? Check.

In love? Triple check.

I've been writing out a subplot dealing with Marius's search for the beautiful girl he happened to see, and it's really been coming along nicely. It's still an important part of the story, but it's also really humorous, largely thanks to some of the other Les Amis's reactions to the various stunts he pulls trying to find the girl again/get her attention. I'm hoping this experience with fanfiction will help me bring some more humor to my other books/endeavors.

It's a really hard balance to reach, where your novel is both serious and entertaining, but in time I hope I'll be able to get there.

Conquérir (Surviving NaNoWriMo #5)

I won NaNoWriMo.
Not only did I win, but I finished my novel about two days after I actually hit 50k.
The first draft of The Fate Machine clocks in at nearly 57k, which is small for a novel but really good given my track record.
I shall document my experience in .gifs.

When I first heard about NaNoWriMo, my initial reaction was along the lines of, "no stinking way."

"50k words in a month? You're crazy."

However, this period in my life didn't last. As I looked at the breakdown and figured logically, suddenly this task sounded doable. I began to think "There is a chance I can do this!"

So I, brave soul I am, clicked the fateful "sign up" button.

Thus began the madness.

I had to finish my current first draft, along with outlining a brand new one.

The good thing was that I did have a story. I had characters and some semblance of a plot and a goal and main idea. I had all the basic ingredients. I just needed to put them in order.

I am not an organized person. One look at my room will tell you that.

I don't like outlining because it forces me to slow down and put things in order; it constrains my creativity. But it must be done, and so I did it.

I never did complete that outline, but I did come to a point where I felt it was 'good enough'.

I still had a few days until NaNoWriMo, which were spent reading, blogging, and worrying.

When November first rolled around, I was ready.

I was prepared to write and I understood that 1,667 words were a lot, but I really enjoyed myself.

I would get up at 6:15, take a fifteen minute shower, and then write until 8:00. Normally I would also eat breakfast at that time or talk to my daddy, whom I don't see much, so I could get anywhere from 500 to 1000 words at a session like that. I also wrote throughout the day; normally at college or just in my bedroom.

Honestly, NaNoWriMo wasn't that hard.

Yes; I know. It really should have been difficult. I mean, 50k in a month?

But, for me, it wasn't. I never really struggled. I just wrote, I exceeded my goal every single day and hit the goal over a week early. I suppose it's just because I have a lot of free time, but NaNoWriMo never gained an impossible feel to it. I wrote and I wrote everyday. I wrote a lot everyday.

So I beat it. So I won.

A few days later, I finished my entire rough draft. It stopped at an odd point, thanks to the fact that the beginning of my book needs to happen at the end, so the end was really somewhere in the middle... anyway.

The book is, as a rough draft, completed.

Because I was so pumped from NaNo, because I felt like I could do anything, I decided I would straightaway begin editing.

To sum up:

I finished my second rough draft of a book

I won NaNoWriMo

I now embark on the wonderful journey of editing this book and making it worth reading. Expect more posts on my editing process in the days to come.

This officially concludes the "Surviving NaNoWriMo" series, as I am not adding any new words to my book at this point. Look for the "Aftermath" series on book editing to come next!

How has your NaNoWriMo experience been/are you planning on participating next year? Tell me in the comments!

Optimism (Survivng NaNoWriMo #4)

Hello all! You might have noticed that I have hit the 50k goal for NaNoWriMo, which makes me very happy. Expect a celebratory post at the end of the month/whenever I actually finish this rough draft. 50k and going strong for maybe 5k more!

Anyway, tonight I'm feeling a bit down and I find the best thing to do when I'm a little sad is to encourage other people. There's nothing better. :)

Some Much Needed Positivity

I am an optimist. Truly. I believe in hoping for the best, and I am something of an idealist. However, sometimes I get burnt out. For instance, a few days ago I sat across the table from my mom at a local Pizza Hut and proposed that instead of going to college I would like to buy an airstream and move out into the middle of the woods with nothing but a cat, a laptop, some clothes, and some food. My optimism failed a little there, overwhelmed by the options and obstacles that seem so insurmountable.

I do the same with my writing. I am a person who easily will give up on things, less so now than I used to be, but still prone to lapse back into the "I'm done" mindset. Some days, this .gif sums up my life.

As I have said before, at heart, I am Bilbo Baggins.

I digress. A few days ago I stumbled upon some lovely Pinterest posts tagged "Writer Positivity". These little gems are what they advertise themselves as: little pieces of sunshine for struggling writers. They truly brightened my day, and inspired me. I want to pass a little bit of that inspiration on to you.

One day you're going to be someone's favorite author.

When they're listing off people who have made a difference in their life, you'll be one of the first names to come up.

Someone out there will list you as their inspiration.

Someone out there will clutch your book as close to their heart as they can. Someone will hold it tight and never let it go because you know what?

They know now that someone understands them.

They open those pages and they realize that they are not alone. They lose themselves in your story because that's the one place they feel they are found. 

Some of them will rave to others about your book, saying "You simply have to read this book!"

Some of them will say nothing at all, but your book will always sit on their nightstand, waiting for them if they ever can't sleep at night because they feel unloved.

People will shed tears over your book. People will go on Tumblr and type angry rants because they love your book so much.

Someone will squeal just thinking about the next book you're going to write.

One day someone is going to email you, telling you just what that book you wrote means to them.

"You changed my life."

"You inspired me to write."

"You gave me hope."

You'll email back, unable to believe that your story, the story you nearly gave up on, could touch someone's heart so deeply.

When they see your name in the email inbox, their hands will begin to shake with excitement.

Because you will mean so much to that person.

One day you'll be signing books. 

You'll be tired and your hand will hurt from gripping a pen. Maybe you'll be on your phone checking the weather. Maybe you'll be about to go for lunch.

Someone will walk up to your table, holding your book and smiling at the ground.

"Hello."

They'll nod in reply, trying to speak but unable. They may stammer something about how much they love your book.

"Who's your favorite character?" you'll ask.

They'll answer, still barely able to speak because you have become such a legend to them.

You'll shake your head, remembering the manuscript that no publisher would accept.

Someone will always carry your story in their heart.

Maybe it's just one line.

It will stick with them and they will keep it. They will hold it. They will carry it always.

They will share it with others.

Your story will change lives.

Your story matters.

Your story will shake someone's world.

However, this will only happen if you write it.

And you can.

You can write it. You can finish it. You can revise it and you can make it something to be proud of.

You can change someone's life with your story.

So tell it.

Don't worry, it's a happy tear.