Tuesday, February 09, 2016

Bones, Crystals and Writing

California was excellent. We had an extra passenger this time so when we drove out, we had an extra body encouraging exploration. We stopped for gas, looked across the street at all these people who are probably just traveling through as well, selling their wares, so we crossed this busy street in search of something truly outstanding to our personal interests.

I found little bones from animals being sold. I was iffy buying it only because I don't know how I feel about owning dead things, due to my feelings about eating animals. I have this really strong notion that we shouldn't kill things. However, my niece loves the science behind bones so I bought a few raccoon pieces for her. I bought a foot bone, 2 claws, a reverberate and a penis bone. She's 6 years old, so I'm not going to explain to her what bones I bought. They're just for her collection of bones she's bringing home from all her science classes.

I also bought this gorgeous aqua crystal for my best friend and an extra one for me. Being pagan, I felt this overwhelming beauty for them and possibly a very natural energy so I got one for both of us. The woman who sold them to me said there was a chemical makeup in them that when certain elements hit other certain elements, it causes different colors in the crystals.

We got back on the road and stopped about an hour later to play again. We got lunch and finally headed on to our destination. We had to go to one home first to hide out until the person we were surprising was in position. It was a great night.

Writing Update:

Currently reading a book on Showing vs. Telling. I'm not highlighting anything in the book this time.

Working on 2 chapters of a project that is just open. Told Emory I'd like to start work on the graphic novel I've been wanting to write. I might start outlining it soon.

Saturday, February 06, 2016

Taking Chances and Writing

I went to a critique group this week and listened in on their comments to each other. There was strong feedback for the stories, so I feel confident in giving this a chance. I just wish there was time to rotate all the projects I'm working on. I have so many I'm flipping through and though I tried to give that lifestyle a rest, years later, I'm right back in the middle of handling three to four stories at a time. I'm so grateful for my editor who can keep my work straight.

I'm working on a few chapters to give out to beta readers. I know these people have been waiting over a month. I'm just stuck on this group of chapters because fight scenes and sex scenes take a lot of energy for me to write, and both come up one after the other. I need to find the right placement. I might be rushing the sex scene too soon. I'm having a hard time flipping the switch between violence and then love. My brain lingers on emotion for days at a time before I can go into a new emotion.

I'm a passive aggressive person. I avoid issues like I avoid doctors, social outings and rooting in one location.

I'm debating if I can find a way to get to the RT Book Lover's party this year. It's in Vegas, my hometown! Actually, Vegas isn't my hometown, but it might as well be. I feel like I've lived out there long enough to say it is. Funny stories... Or not so funny depending on who tells it. I'm a drifter, so I consider it home, even if people say home can't actually be in the middle of a casino floor with slots dinging and cigarette smoke filling your baby lungs. My dad loved the scene. His parents loved the scene. It's in the blood.

I have a friend going to RT, and by friend, I mean someone I met the last time I went to RT which was back in 2011 I believe. It would be nice to see her again. She was so outgoing and fun the last time. I would absolutely love to see her again.

So as you read this, I'll be on the road. I will give everyone the details when I find a computer again, which will be shortly, I'm sure. The internet is everywhere and my caravan has sources. The caravan is so different from the communes. Most of the caravan has their own private homes, but these people are so freaking fun to party with when everyone comes over to crash at a residence.

Writing Update:

EP: novella: 39/46 pages edited. Did this morning and night, but Sunday was my day off. Not sure when I will post this to Amazon, but the story is almost done and ready to go.

WF: Book 2 is almost finished. I had a few chapters that required fight scenes which was exhausting and sad. I need a breather.

Wednesday, February 03, 2016

Chasing Shadow Segment 2

Chasing Shadow: Shadow Puppeteer Book  Second Segment: CLICK HERE for more sample chapters

Read First Segment: Click Here


The next song was upbeat, but the lyrics woven into the trance beat were gloomy. The sound waves were so solid in my mind that it pulled me off course to the dance floor. I didn’t have to push anyone to find my place among my peers. The pink and blue lights rolled over our heads. I stretched my hands upward wanting to feel them against my fingertips and down my arms.

My metaphysical shields kept me separated from this growing union. Metaphysical shields can be in any form. Mine were in the form of light energy. I focused on those woven lines of color until they lifted from me, dispersing into the weaving lights overhead. An immediate coldness followed the release, allowing me to surrender to the music.

The liberation didn’t last long. Something very angry and very hunger hurled through me. It was like a nest of ants erupting under my skin, itching and aching at the same time. It knocked me right out of the trance.

Bodies crushed me in their wild frenzy. They arched their backs and jumped with their hands over their heads, reaching towards the ceiling where something large rested in the shadowed cross beams. Their mixed emotions left them in fumes that made my chest constrict and eyes sting.

I was an open bottle letting these emotions in and my head started buzzing like I swam too deep and chlorine water was burning the inside of my nose. It took a great deal of effort to tilt my head and look up at the ceiling again. Something was there. Despite what the psychiatrists said, I wasn’t imagining this.

It was difficult concentrating on my shields. It was like pulling wet clothes on. It felt nearly impossible to draw the comforting lines of light back over my aura with so much energy pounding at me.

Empathy never hurt so badly. These mixed emotions were a raw, skinned beast and the surface was so sensitive that every tiny movement drew acutely over nerves. I stopped trying to breath. It was impossible with the onslaught of power. It clogged my airways so thoroughly.

The pressure lent desperation and I closed my eyes, letting the dancers bump me side to side as I focused on every individual light string that usually protected me. The colors grew brighter in my head and with each new strand, the stress in my chest started to ease. The constriction on my lungs let go and I took one shaky breath after another.

I wasn’t out of the clear. My emotions were a mess. The empathy residue was too strong even for me. Anger and suffering made it impossible to think. These thoughts weren’t mine, not mine at all; but they howled at me. They filled every bit of my emptiness with uncontrollable desire for pain, for rage, for death.

I was a bottle at sea. I was the only one here filled with so many rivaling emotions that I couldn’t find my individuality. I needed something sharp. One deep cut and my voice would be louder than theirs. It was the only quick solution.

Plastic wings, strange dangling antennae and other odd costume pieces whacked my face as I fought with the crowd to get off the dance floor. The music shifted beat and the crowd did too. An elbow flew up smacking me in the nose.

The music swallowed my scream. The immediate pressure made my eyes water. My nose throbbed and I couldn’t stop the flow of blood dripping between my fingers.

But the voices quieted, if just a little.

“Hey, you okay?” a male voiced against my ear.

Monday, February 01, 2016

Horror Movies, the Continuum and Ghost Hunting

Went to the movies with my best friends, which is always fun. My girl friend loves horror movies as much as me, which is crazy because I seem to make close friends with people who love horror. Just to make one thing clear, she has a stronger stomach than I do, so she does psychological horror too. I stick with monster and ghost horror that still has the psychological twist, but I don't do serial killer things like Saw. I watched one Saw movie centuries ago and I still get sick to my stomach if I catch a preview for any of them. It's getting easier to creep me out. My hard inner shell is all mushy.

We recently saw "The Boy." I wasn't sure what to expect, but I was hoping for a twist and got one. I was talking to my mom about this and she said, "Oh! The supernatural." My mom is a ghost hunter. She's been trying to convince Emory and me to hit up some of the spots she spent the night in. I'm all for it, if the funds are there to do it. She obsessively reads books based off true life ghost sightings. She's majorly into some of the ghost towns here in Arizona. It's funny because I went to a ghost town with my aunt and cousins, and my aunt and one of my cousins stayed awake the whole night due to every settling wood board in this old hotel. My other cousin and I roomed together, and we fell asleep immediately.

My oldest friend is (or rather was) a ghost hunter too. She was also a storm chaser and ex-lost boy.  We did a little exploring, but I think I should say I was the bravest field mouse ever... which isn't saying much about my dueling nature between adventurer and cozy, play it safe, usually housebound behavior.

I was talking to my best friend over midnight breakfast about a romantic get-away I was planning for Emory and me. She inquired, so I gladly offered up my vacation for two: a very exclusive, possibly trespassing experience at an abandoned insane asylum. In which she openly expressed her undying love for me. I will always take such endearments from friends and even strangers. In fact, I live for such devotional comments.

I invited both her husband and her to join us. She laughed again not committing. Her husband warned against messing with the dead. I can see where he's going with this. I deeply agree with him, yet the part of me that wants to try my hand at skydiving without a parachute says, "why the hell not?" In other words, I'm looking for a high level of danger with no safety net. I might also be slightly suicidal in some of my particular behaviors.

What would become of a person caught in a horror story? Would I rather be a ghost waking up to my reality or a living entity stuck in a continuum? What would you chose?

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

The Extraordinary Dream and Aliens

I've been watching a great deal of videos related to space, aliens and mars. Did Earth life come from Mars? That's such an interesting topic to me, second only by government conspiracies. I was wondering why this was so interesting, but remembered all too quickly that I was brought up this way.

I was in a food line with my mom and I mentioned government conspiracies and cover-ups and aliens came up. My mom promptly claimed, "Ask your aunt, we both saw it. You will never forget it either if you see a space ship. It's so silent and by the time you realize what you're seeing, it's gone just as quietly." I mentioned how I watched a video that stated aliens were really part of our dimension and we didn't have a better term for the things we saw so we tried to reason it by describing what we saw as space ships. Emory, the logical one, believes there is an explanation. I asked him if he believes and he said he believes, but not at the same level as my family.

So did my mom see something flying? Should I ask my aunt? The aunt in question is easily offended and she believes everything can be fixed with prayer and religion. She still believes in black and white with no variations of gray. I love this aunt greatly, but I think if she saw something, she's forced herself to forget.

As for me, my adopted grandma told me once about her alien encounter. I will never forget her very detailed explanation of it. The rendition of her experience bothers me the most when I walk into an arcade and hear the video games making their strange sounds. So why do this? Why watch such weird things that make me even more paranoid to leave the house?

Because I am starting to think that the biggest part of life is extremely basic. I think it's about us accepting events. I sound like a pacifistic. I feel like so much of my time is spent sitting around trying to understand my childhood, why I've always been obsessed with death, the supernatural, human fragility, sickness, hatred and existence. The thing that drives me wild is MY existence. Why am I here? Why am I keeping a blog? Do I want to prove I exist? Do I think anyone is really reading this? Do I believe I exist because other people believe I exist?

Would I leave if I knew the ship I got on would never return to earth?

If my mother was dead, yes. But only if Emory was with me. If he said this was something he couldn't do, then I would give up that extraordinary dream in order to be with him. In this strange existence of mine, he is the only thing that truly makes sense.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Human Nature and Writing

I have a hard time meeting with people and becoming friends. I'm sure there are certain social protocols and mine are very strange for sure. I start to consider people friends if I am genuinely happy to see them. If they give me some inner peace, I'll call the person a buddy. Inner peace for me is hard to find. One day, I fear I'll try to avoid people all together, and become a shut-in.

So, I hate to say it, but my world was rocked when I got news on one of the kindest people I've met. This friend had the softest voice. When she laughed, it was light and sweet. She never spoke ill of others. She didn't gossip. I really enjoyed talking with her and she was always sympathetic when we talked. I told her about issues I had with anxiety.

I found out today that my said friend, the one I wanted to eventually find the same divine pathway as, was arrested for stabbing her partner. The story on the news felt unreal, mostly because Emory and I watch a lot of those true crime television shows. I felt like this was just another show we had on while eating breakfast. It still doesn't feel real.

Emory has never met this friend, but he knew about her because I would tell him updates about the teachers I worked with. He knows every petty little issue the teachers have with each other, or the management, and of course, who I get along with. I'm empathetic and I can feel the atmosphere I've entered. I think it's a survival trait I picked up during junior high.

As shocked and ill as I felt hearing this, I believe the case is going to be difficult for the jury. Either way, I want to remain friends. I'm undecided. Human nature is so complicated. When I was younger, everything was black and white, until one day I realized that gray existed too. Her situation is part of the gray. I am going to reserve my opinion because one day, I think the world will make sense, but not until I'm off to Summerland.

 Writing Update:

Started off great with editing last week, then dropped the ball even on the writing. Will need to get back on that this weekend.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

Chasing Shadow YA Dark Fantasy

Chasing Shadow: Shadow Puppeteer Book 1 First Segment: CLICK HERE for more sample chapters


Shadows writhed an unnatural dance in my peripheral vision. When I turned to look at them head on, they disappeared, replaced by the solid images of the Ravers on the dance floor. The music and the laser lights only added to my paranoia.

I squeezed my fingers into my thighs to keep them from shaking. No matter how big the crowd or how loud the situation, fears and unwanted memories found me. I sank further into the beanbag, determined to ward off the oncoming depression as I waited for the two tiny pills I swallowed to take effect.

The only high I felt, so far, was a contact high from the many people crammed into the tin walls of the junkyard warehouse, enjoying the rave. The dancers shimmered through glitter and glow sticks. I wanted to be more like them, not just the way they dressed, but their attitudes. They looked so liberated with their bright makeup and dyed hair. I bet they didn’t fear World Congress or maybe it was the island that encouraged them.

Xyla was run by convicts and anarchists. The island was ungoverned. Unlike the rest of the world, they were free to drink, smoke, do drugs and party. I craved this freedom, but I didn’t see future happiness on an island surrounded by electric fences built to keep people trapped.

Starr bounced onto the side of the beanbag, jolting me. “Belen, why are you pouting in the corner? I’ll buy you a drink.”

“It’s getting late.” I wanted to add that we were taking a huge risk staying this long on the island, but the words barely formed on my numb lips.

“Are you training to be an agent for World Congress? Until I see a badge, Miss McKnight, I’m not going anywhere with you just yet!” she said. 

I yelled after her. “I’m serious.”

She was already mingling within the crowd. I had to go after her. It took a great deal of energy to lift myself from the beanbag. My hands sank, giving me no solid surface to balance my unsteady body. Once up, I started through the crowd, stepping on toes and fending off elbow jabs.

One group stood so close, it was impossible to weasel in, but time was slipping away. The longer we stayed on the island, the greater our chance the boat running illegally between the islands would stop for the night. I didn’t want to touch anyone, but I didn’t have a choice.

I tapped the shoulder of the young man ahead of me and he turned disarming any qualms I had about the group. His eyes were stunning; flame yellow with a black slit down the middle. He took me in with a promising smile.

He was taller than me and a few years older, which I liked. His hair was as black as mine; cut short and spiked. Unlike most inhabitants of either island, his skin had a bronze tint, but it was his eyes that had my heart fluttering.

One touch and I could push my influence onto him. I knew my wants were selfish and the power of persuasion I possessed often blew up in my face, but my desire was strong. It worked both ways. I could sense people’s feelings and knew when to avoid a potentially violent moment, but sometimes their ambiance lingered on me like smoke clinging to clothes. Strong emotions were the hardest to get rid of. I could carry someone’s anger or remorse for days.

A hand on his shoulder drew his attention to an elegant woman with feathery wings. She had a great costume. I couldn’t tell where the wings were connected, but with both their attention diverted, I felt awkward standing around like a third wheel, so I pushed on through and headed towards the bar. The sooner we got back to our home island, the better. The penalty for getting caught crossing between the islands without a permit was steep. I couldn’t afford reform school with only two years left under the watchful eye of World Congress in their foster program. I saved my lunch money for years so I could afford the permit off Ardent to the mainland.