Writing History

So anyways, if anyone still reads this blog...

I got this post idea from Holy Worlds. Someone asked how we started writing and what the history of our story-making was.

I've always been making stories, but very few of them ever made it to paper. When I was younger, I was something of a stereotypical introvert. I would lie on my bed for possibly hours or stare out my window. Or sometimes even try to count the grass in any certain area. And all the while attempting to keep completely to myself.

I'd tune people out while they were talking as I vanished into my own imaginary world where anything could happen. I crossed my favorite main characters from a number of stories into my own imagination, my favorite being the mix of Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles and Star Wars. That combination was glorious. That was where my love for not only reading stories but writing them as well began.

I wrote a one page typed story during a church service when I was around eight (I was bored, okay?). It was handwritten on ten pages of those little yellow memo pads. I titled it Black Thunder.

Next, I read M.I. McAllister's Mistmantle Chronicles, and I wanted to write something like that. I wrote a twenty-something page handwritten story in a world where squirrels, otters, moles, and the like starred as MCs.

That led to the next story which didn't go so well. It was nearly a complete spin-off from Mistmantle, and I gave up on it after page sixty.

Then was the Berinfell Prophecies by Batson and Hopper. That story copied the premise from their series with a few changes. It made seventy something pages, and that was eighth grade, I think.

Last year, I started a story, probably my first completely original full length novel, for NaNoWriMo. It followed the adventures with four kids who had superpowers. I almost made it to the end, but it fell apart due to lack of planning. That story gave me the realization that I actually could write and come up with my own ideas.

So last summer I embarked on my first ever sci-fi adventure. I worked on it over the summer, little bits at a time. I didn't do half of the amount of work as I would have liked, but I did and still do like the story and ideas. It was put on hold due to another challenge at NaNoWriMo.

And that is the story I'm working on now. The one I started in November, finished December, and am currently revising. It's also the one anyone who heard my rants knows about, and the one from which I pull the majority of my characters for Role Plays.

Sooooo yeah. That's it. Feel free to leave comments.

The end.

A Quick Note

An addition to that How to Write protags thing (found here):

While perfection can be rather annoying, I believe we still need that type of character. In the midst of the messages we receive from the world (I believe you know what I mean), they're characters we can look up to they're role models, and they have a place in writing. Just as long as they're not overdone or too plentiful.

And there. *slinks back into oblivion*

Forever

I decided to share this short story with you because it's my birthday (or will be by the time you're reading this). It's more personal than Redemption, and it's not just for girls, just as Redemption isn't for guys. I just decided to use a female point of view for this one. I wrote this one with many sighs and a few tears. It's as much for myself as it is for those who inspired the story.
Yes, you may share it if you so desire, but in the occasion that you do, please link back to my blog. Thanks. I'd like to hear your feedback as always, so please, comment away.

....................................................

I'm huddled against a tree, hardly shelter from the pelting rain. He is coming, and I don't want to be in his presence.
He gave me my dress a long time ago, trusting that I would keep care of it. I can't face him now. It's stained with every kind of dross imaginable.
I know that He knows exactly where I am, but desperately I hope against hope that just this once He doesn't. It's no use.
His footsteps draw nearer, and I cry out in fear. "No," I gasp. "Stay away! You don't want me!"
He comes closer. "Dearest daughter," He says, "do you know what I did because I wanted you?" He asks gently.
"No, no! That wasn't for me!"
He smiles, grief emanating from His gaze, yet pure love shining from His eyes. "Yes, it was."
I shake my head, trembling. He doesn't know what I've done. All the shame. All the scars. If he did, he wouldn't be wanting me.
"You don't know who I am, what I've done. If you did, you would never want me. I'm wretched, worthless. I've spoiled all you've given me." I know he does know all that, but that doesn't register until after the words have left me.
His smile only grows brighter. "Yes, you've done and are all that you say, but I still love you. I know who you are, and I know everything you've done. I knew everything you would do before you were alive, and I smiled and said, 'I want that one!' I knew you would hurt me, yet I died for you. I was beaten, shamed, and murdered for your sake.
How could you love me after all I've done to you?" I sob. "After all the pain I inflicted upon you? After all I've done to what you gave to me to protect? Why don't you reject me like I deserve?"He reaches towards me, and I flinch, expecting Him to punish me. Instead, His hands are gentle, and the smile on His face hasn't faded an inch.
"My dear child, you were forgiven long before you stained you gown you were to protect. I saw all that, yet I still wanted you. I died so your sins could be washed away."
Walls break down, and I begin to sob uncontrollably. I'm vaguely aware of Him drawing me into a warm embrace. The stains on my garments fade away, and I'm left with a dress of brilliant white. A broken whisper escapes my lips. "If you knew all I'd do you, how could you love me?"
He smiles sadly at me. "You still don't understand," He murmurs. "Little one, I did all that because I already loved you. It's been forgiven. Paid for."
Light dawns as the sun lifts over the horizon, and I blink in the light of morning. I hadn't even noticed the rain stop.
His voice is calm and quiet as He strokes my hair. "I know you will stumble. I know you will doubt me. You're still being made; you're still growing. No matter how you fall, no matter what you do, I will always love you. I've cleansed you with My blood and you are new. You are my child, I will never let you go."

....................................................

So whatever you've done,

Whatever you'll do,

God knew it all yet he said,

"I want you!"

Now on this day, my birthday day,

I give a light to mark the way.

To my wonderful siblings in Christ,

A simple tool in a vic'try sure fight.

If you ever want a list'ning ear,

You've already found one: this soul right here.

This silly girl would love to help,

And she's totally not perfect herself!

I'll do my best and hear you out,

Together we can scout the route.

So shoot me an email, and we'll chatter away.

We'll fight together, come what may.

(kyalightwing@gmail.com)

Thanks for reading!

~Kya/Anala'ya/Hannah~

Redemption

This is a short story I wrote for a challenge. It's quite personal, but I decided to share it here anyway. :) Comments welcome and encouraged.

...........

I wander down the streets. The rain beats upon my back, and the cold seeps into my bones. I'm alone. There's nothing else to it. People crowd about me, but I'm invisible in their eyes. I'm alone.
Miserably I allow myself to be pushed about by the milling crowd. What's the point in resisting? It wouldn't do any good to try and resist. I'm not strong enough for that, and when you've gone along with the crowd all you life, it becomes an instinct.
Wait. Have I actually been on these streets for fifteen long years? Where has all the time gone? I shrug. Why care about the time anyway if nothing is ever going to change?
It's always dark here on these streets of...I'm not sure where. I was never taught where I lived, and I never cared to learn. But wherever this might be, the sun never shines. I'm not sure where I even learned the word "sun." It definitely shouldn't be in the vocabulary of a boy who's never seen it. Or maybe I have. Things get messed up with me. Just one day leading into the next until years are melded together into a seamless block of time.
As I trek down the asphalt, I notice a keyhole, a soft beam of light filtering out of it. Whenever I pass by this keyhole, something leaps withing me. I think some would call what I feel "hope." I just call it strange.
Today, something is different. The keyhole seemed to draw me to it. An odd feeling rushes over me. It's like I belong somewhere. I've never belonged anywhere, and I don't think I ever will.
Unable to resist it's draw, I approach the hole. I've seen it so many times before, but never have I seen it up close.
The light emanating from the keyhole is soft and warm. Although it's not much, it seems to wrap me in welcoming arms. I don't want to leave. If I step away, I fear the comforting sensation will dissipate, and I never want it to leave. Never in my young life have I felt such peace.
Suddenly, the light flickers. A voice is murmuring, and the door around the keyhole begins to move. More of the warm light floods out, now rushing through the opening between door and frame. But this time I'm scared. Terrified is more like it. I can't run. Can't move. My knees lock, and I stare in fear as a face appears in the crack.
Then the door is flung wide open and arms reach out for me. I give a strangled cry, choked by the crippling fright that overwhelms me.
A voice breaks through the haze of fear. It's gentle and calm. It tells me I have nothing to fear and that I'm safe. Can I trust it?
I choose to trust. I've never trusted someone before. Actually, maybe I have. I trusted that one person long ago. So long ago that I hardly remember it anymore. That was before all this happened. Everything before then is pretty much erased from memory. I’d trusted, and look where that got me.
Slowly, I reach my hand toward the one stretching toward me. It's strong and pulls me in with ease. The smile on my rescuer is broad and welcoming. He says something to me, but I don't comprehend it. I'm too enraptured by the sensation of human touch without the intent of just brushing me aside.
Now I notice the rest of the room, bathed in that wonderful light. There are boys and girls much like myself. Looking at them, I realize how dirty I am, and blush. The touch of warmth in my cheeks feels good, even if it's out of shame and embarrassment.
The man smiles at me, intense joy evident in his face. He leads me to a side room where a wooden basin stands, filled with bubbly water.
A shadow falls across the room, and a voice booms out. He's speaking to my rescuer, and I think he's asking why I'm so dirty. In shame, I shrink back, wishing desperately that I could disappear. I feel so dirty, so defiled. I could never live in the home of one whose very presence oozes purity.
My rescuer steps forward and stands over me. I can’t believe my ears as I hear him tell that beautiful figure that he wants me. That he’s going to take away my dross. How would someone want me? I’m nothing but a dirty child, left on his own to die. People aren’t supposed to care about me.
The words of my savior seem to work magic. The figure, once so terrifying in it’s purity now bends down to me. He - I’m pretty sure it’s a he - extends his hand and touches.
He doesn’t flinch as his skin comes in contact with me, but I do. He asks me why, and I reply, my voice quivering, that I’m filthy. That I’m going to stain his hands.
He shakes his head, a warm smile spreading across his features. Unbelieving, I listen to him say that I’m perfectly clean. Afraid that I’ll be disappointed, I let my gaze ease down to my clothes. I gasp. They’re perfectly white.
Then I realize that my rescuer is crouching beside me, and I’m surprised once again. He’s dirty. All the dust and soot from my clothing has somehow been transferred to him.
As he reaches out and hugs me, he whispers, "Welcome to the family." He goes on to tell me that he'd been drawing me to that keyhole for so long, and hoping I'd respond.
The holy man I learn now is the king, draws me into the next room. A table sits in the center, and around it are chairs, both empty and filled. He leads me to a chair with a name engraved on it. Is that my name carved in that wood? I think it was a long time ago, but I haven't ever been called by a name since...well that's longer than I can remember.
Awkwardly, I settle myself into my seat, head down. I'm too shy to look up. Eventually, however, curiosity gets the better of me, and I look up. All of the others seated at the table appear just as insecure as me, and some of my apprehension filters away.
Then we all stand as the door opens, blinding light flooding into the room. In the doorway stands a brilliant figure. I feel compelled to bow, and I bend low, even falling to my knees. I know instinctively that it's the King, and that he and my rescuer are one. His presence commands authority, and I think all of us in the room feel it.
As he lifts his hands, I realize he is my savior, only more beautiful. He's perfectly clean now, unlike the last time I saw him. Even though he's so bright, I mostly notice just one thing: the scars on his palms, and I know they're for me.

Developing Effective Protagonists

First off, I'm working on a blogging schedule, and it's very likely that Wednesdays will turn out as days I blog on writing, but I still have a few things to figure out, so bear with me please.

Okay, onto the the subject. A LOT of people blog about this subject, I know, but I decided a give it a try as well. So, first I'm going to go through a few things that irritate me about many Christian Fiction protags.

Virtuous

These characters have every virtue we could ever imagine or want. They make us feel like we can never live up to their example. As much as I love Bryan Davis, his females seem to have this problem. Well, Kelly not so mucht, but Bonnie, Sapphira, Lauren, and Elyssa certainly do.

Attractive

They are often extremely attractive, especially if they're single, and they don't even know it. That makes them even more appealing to the other gender. Not to say you shouldn't give your characters good looks. Just try not to lay it on too thick. Abigail from The Seven Sleepers has this problem.

Knowledge of the Bible

This group knows the Bible cover to cover...and that's a good thing! It's when they start preaching it constantly that it becomes a problem. You see, it's not that they know the Bible well at all. If they're a Christian character, they probably should. However, we, as Christians, should not just go around talking about the Bible, they should be doing what the Bible tells us to do (James 1:22-23).

You might be saying, "Oh Kya (or whatever your preferred name for me is), I don't make any of my characters like that!" I'm not saying you do. I'm just giving a heads up on some of the problems fiction writers have with their characters.

Now I can start talking about what to include in their characters once I've got the don'ts out of the way.

Flaws

They. Need. Flaws. It's as simple as that. It could be any type of hindrance: a physical problem, a scar from the past that impedes spiritual growth, a character trait that causes them to stumble.

Inspirational

Another trait that makes a good protagonist is making them inspirational, unforgettable. By nature, we want heroes. We want a character in the story to go out and fight evil, both outside and inside. We want a character that will persevere and, in the end, conquer the evil. Our characters can be like this while having flaws. What makes a truly memorable character is them being inspirational, and at the same time have problems that will allow the reader to relate to them.

Some books I've read in which the characters seem real are the Echoes From the Edge Trilogy by Bryan Davis, The Dark Wolf by JM Christian*, and The Berinfell Prophecies by Wayne Thomas Batson and Christopher Hopper.

Okay, I'm done ranting now, and as always I'd love to get comments from ya'll. If you take the time to read this, thanks so much.

*A review can be found here.

Character Tag

Lylyss from the Underground tagged my characters with a few questions, and I decided to answer them here instead of on my Underground writing thread.
Hank and Rachel are brother and sister, but they answered these questions without knowing each others answers.

First, some background for you:

What's your age?
Hank: Ten.
Rachel: Eleven

What's your favorite animal?
Hank: Horses.
Rachel: Can I just say all of them?

Favorite color?
Hank: Red-brown.
Rachel: Green

Favorite food?
Hank: Macaroni and Cheese.
Rachel: Lasagna.

Now, we get on to the interview:

1. What's your family like? How d'you feel about them?

Hank: I really don't know my dad, and my mom doesn't like me very much. I do love my sister. She's the only thing that keeps me from running away or...or worse.

Rachel: I haven't seen my dad for four years. I'm a little mad at him for not trying harder to win us in court. My mom is an alcoholic, and she's never around. I have to spend all my time with her around just trying to keep her calm.

2. What are your pet peeves?

Hank: One thing that really annoys me is small talk. I can't stand that, and another is when people try to engage me in conversation.

Rachel: Um, I guess people not telling me what's going on is a pet peeve. Especially when it's because they're trying to protect me. I mean, sure, I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself.

3. How would you like to be thought of by others?

Hank: I guess, just as a person. Most people think I'm a freak.

Rachel: Compassionate and caring mostly.

4. Any dreams or fears?

Hank: Dreams? Becoming a champion in horse showing. Fears: Uh, Never being loved by someone.

Rachel: Hopes. Well, I'd say having my parents get back together, and Mom and Hank could get along. Fears...hmm, I can't think of any right now.

5. What do other people immediately notice about you?

Hank: I'd say my eyes. Rachel's told me that when you look straight into my eyes, that it seems I can see rght through you.

Rachel: Um, I welcome new people.

6. What's your worst trait?

Hank: I guess I could be more social.

Rachel: I can be a little bossy at some times, and I don't take things seriously enough.

7. What's your best trait?

Hank: Discernment.

Rachel: Compassion.

8. What disturbs you?

Hank: Disturbs me? When people fall for a trap and to me it's obvious.

Rachel: When someone is left out.

9. What trait do you admire most?

Hank: Definitely courage.

Rachel: Loyalty.

10. What trait do you despise most?

Hank: Partiality.

Rachel: Backing out when you should stand alone.

Wow, Ly. Some of those questions really made me dive into their personalites. Good job :)

Finished!

So, hey evr'one! I finished my NaNoWriMo novel. It was pretty tough and time consuming, but in the end, it was worth it. I believe I might have finally completed a publish worthy book, and I'm revising it right now. I hope it'll be on the shelves, so to speak, by the end of 2014. It was fun to write, although it was a hard subject to write about. I'll alert you all when I at last get my first work out there, and I do hope it to be soon.

NaNo Novel

  Okay, now I know I said I wouldn't post until December, but I just have to tell you what my NaNoWriMo novel is about.  It's about some horses.  Horses?  Boring, I know, but it is about wild horses.  Two young wild colts and one filly who is domestic.  Their individual lives and journeys to maturity.  All three of them face their own difficulties, and must work through them.  Here are some pictures I have drawn/painted of them too.

               


              

NaNoWriMo

  Hey everyone!  I am taking the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) writing challenge this year!  For those of you who don't know what this is, it is where you write a 50,000 word novel during the month of November.  Obviously, I won't have a lot of time to blog this month, but I'll be back in December.

Quick Update

I am completely revising the prologue right now, and will be redoing Project E in its entirety due to poor character development.  (I have always had problems with that.)  It will be a year or more before I will even consider searching for an editor.  My apologies for the long wait.