Day 8 -- Finding the Sun

"She set him down on a park bench.  'I'll be back in 20 minutes, dad.  Stay put.'  He laughed.  'I'm not going anywhere,' he replied and adjusted the thick glasses that shielded his unseeing eyes."

Oddly enough being legally blind isn't the same thing as being blind.  I fall into the first category, but I can still see well enough to do things here and there.  That said, you'll always see shows on TV that want to make super-humans out of blind people--as though their other four senses were somehow ten times better than everyone else's.  But the truth is, blind peoples' senses are the same as ours, they've just been training how to use them differently than we do for ...generally longer than we have, unless they've only just gone blind.  In which case, they're in the same boat as you and me.

That said, learning how to "see" without being able to see is definitely possible.  Maybe you can't see the colors of something, but your idea of color might be attuned to sensations instead--especially if you have someone in your life that can tell you what color the things around you are.

I want to say one last thing about the Netflix show Daredevil.  What the protagonist does on that show is beyond what a normal blind person (or any person) can do.  That's why he's part of the Marvel comic book universe.  He's a superhero who just happens to have been blinded by chemicals when he was young.  And I like to think something in those chemicals changed him, but I guess I'll just have to wait and see as I've never read the comic.

For now, though...let's try and explore the world together from a park bench.

Day 7 -- Where I'd Rather Be

"He lay in the tall summer grass, gazing up at the sky.  He saw worlds there, in the sky.  Worlds of dragon fire, castles, and knights in shining armor...."

So as you may have noticed, I haven't written anything in the past few days.  That's because John and I were down visiting some of our friends who are about to move rather far away.  They wrote a book, by the by, and if you haven't had a chance to read it, I highly suggest checking it out.  You can find it here.

That said, today's challenge has actually given me a bit of trouble.  I've been thinking about it off and on for the past several days, and it hasn't gotten any easier thinking about it.  Part of the reason for that is that children's voices, when written by adults, tend to be a great deal more intelligent or insightful than they should be.  I have a harder time considering children's ideas and motives because, while I was once a child myself, there are a lot of things I have forgotten since then; also, I don't have any children in my life right now.  So, writing a child's voice is...more difficult than it may at first appear.

That is one of the few criticisms that John and I tend to consider when we're looking at children in other peoples' novels, namely because it's terribly obvious when children aren't quite as they should be.  Of course, writing about all of this makes me think I need a good dose of Roald Dahl, or perhaps some Dr. Seuss.

Today's prompt, however, leads me to believe that this young boy isn't five, six, or even seven, but somewhere in that awkward preteen stage--somewhere between 9 and 12 by my estimation.  It's that time in life that I sort of recall being more or less awkward.  You don't really know who you are; you're trying new things--a lot of which don't work.  There's a lot of jealousy, a lot of unkindness from other kids, and a lot of unconscious fear (which accounts for some of that meanness).  But there's also this self-centeredness that some people never really outgrow.  When you become a teen, there is a greater realization of the world around you--which causes its own host of problems; but 9-12 is that magical time when you can kind of--if you were like me--shut out the rest of the world and make it all about you.

I think, honestly, this is where a lot of writers get into trouble.  While children do have a sense of consequence for their actions, they don't really have a self-awareness that's related to the rest of the world around them.  They've only just started defining themselves by the other people and things around them, and that process becomes a nightmare right about the same time that hormones kick in--which is where I see our young dreamer from today's prompt.  Luckily, he's a boy; so, his hormonal changes aren't as drastic as it would be for a girl.  Still, this is definitely that point in life where girls are talking about bras (and making fun of other girls for not having them; oh, Ramona Quimby!--how you helped me survive my preteen years with your wisdom--though I did sort of read you before you were actually relevant to me;) boys and girls start relating to one another romantically (again, something I started really early;) and a child's sense of self begins to be explored in the sense of other kids' senses of themselves (sexuality, intellectual prowess (or lack thereof,) coordination (and lack thereof,) etc.)

So, ...now that I've gotten a basis for where to begin, do I write about a boy who is just realizing that he's gay?  Do I write a poem torn from a notebook page of youth?  Or do I poke at the bear of normalcy and see if it comes up dancing?  I'll admit, I'm excited about all three possibilities, but the first two are things I haven't seen much of at all in books--the first, obviously, because I grew up in a mostly heterosexual world.  It's only recently that fear and bigotry have started to give way to something resembling acceptance around the world, sadly.  BUT,...I don't think I can aptly portray that kind of childhood.  I have a lot of ideas and theories, but not having lived through that, or gone through that, I don't think I would do the mental psychology of that child justice.  I do hope, however, that gay, lesbian, transgender, (and all the other alternative ways of loving someone or being a human being) kids have their own Ramona Quimby one day--because, honestly, it's bad enough being different as a kid without having an imagined (if not real) hero to relate to.

So that leaves me with a poem--an interesting thought exercise, one I'm not sure I'm up to the task of doing well.  But let's see if we can find the poetic voice of our childhood boy....

Day 6 -- Good Enough

"The last time she had seen her only child, he had been a squalling, red-faced babe.  Perhaps the time to discover who had adopted him had finally arrived."

We say that life is about choices, but sometimes I think life is more about chance than choice.  This week's prompt is probably a lot closer to me than I'd like.  I've run the gamut from wanting to write a piece from my grandmother's perspective (though she's dead,) to wanting to write from the perspective of someone who's all ready dead--like, say, my grandmother.

You see, a little before my dad passed away, I found out that he had been adopted.  Unfortunately, his real mom passed away when she was forty from a heart attack (yay family medical history!)  I only ever got to meet my grandmother's family at my dad's funeral, and it was strange the way they kept looking at me--as though seeing a ghost or something of the sort (though I wouldn't blame them seeing as how they'd probably never seen an albino before, either.)

My grandmother's name--I can't even remember what her cousin, Ruth, told me it was, now.  I'd have to go looking through old letters, and who knows what kind of truths were buried with her death.  I never did contact their family again or stay in touch with them like I probably should have....

Anyway, my grandmother had married a man named Sam Adevi.  Her family seemed happy, though riddled with various tragedies--like most families.  Looking at the pictures that Ruth sent to me, I always felt as though my grandmother was never quite happy having her picture taken or that there was something in her expression that said she wasn't quite happy.  Was it a longing to know about what had happened to my dad?  Did that linger with her?  Did she ever talk about it with anyone besides Ruth?

There are a hundred things my real grandmother could have been, and the worst part is, I'll never know what those things were.  My dad's adopted mom passed away a few years ago now from lung cancer.  She and I were never very close--except...I remember nights when I'd get to crawl into bed with her, eating raisin bran and watching the Lawrence Welk show.  She used to enjoy that show, I think.  And every time we visited, there was always new clothes or something of the sort.

She knew I loved strawberries, and she always had a bowl out; she'd have sugared them, too.  My grandad liked caramels, and ...we used to sing the Burger King song to one another--though I've no idea why.  *laughs*  I don't even know if he liked to eat there or not.

She knew I loved strawberries, and she always had a bowl out; she'd have sugared them, too.  And in the mornings, if there were doughnuts, there was always a glazed twist; I loved those things.  My grandad liked caramels, and ...we used to sing the Burger King song to one another--though I've no idea why.  (Grandad: Who has the best darned burger in the whole wide world?  Me: Burger King and I!)  *laughs*  I don't even know if he liked to eat there or not.

So I didn't want to have to delve into those dark places inside of me when writing today's prompt--even though I had a hundred ideas of things I could have written about.  I mean, imagine finding a book that your mom or your grandmother wrote; now imagine how much more those words would mean if they were the only things you had left of them--not even memories to treasure.

BUT...rather than write something that I wasn't even sure I could do any real justice--just a silly wish-fulfillment of words from someone I never really knew--I decided that it might be interesting to consider a different kind of scenario--where it wasn't the mother's choice to give away her child, but society's laws that demanded it.  I don't want to go so far as Brave New World, or even something as creepily fantastic as Never Let Me Go, but what happens when you're classified as clinically psychotic while you're pregnant?

Day 5 -- Relics of the Past

"He dug into his books.  There had to be an answer.  He may not be able to fight them off, but he could certainly outwit them."

Men--my nemesis.  Today I have to write from a man's perspective, and I find myself dreading having to do so.  It's not that I can't write a male character; it's more that there are a lot of things going on with male anatomy that are simply different from women.  That means that the way they move is going to be a little different.  Also, men are generally raised in a different way than most women are, which I will admit that I find incredibly interesting.  Why do we do that?  Is it necessary?  But more importantly, what does it change?

For example, most male children are expected to do things like play sports and own fast cars and ...*waves a hand*  You get the stereotypes there, and I have to wonder why that's so.  It seems to me that we've created an ideal for our society of "what men should be," and anything outside of that is called "problematic" or "unnatural".  And I have to admit that I'm not a fan.

That said, ...I have no idea what having testosterone is like.  Chemically speaking, men and women are hard-wired differently, and that's important to remember.  I watched a TED Talk a while back about a woman who had had some brain trauma, and she and her doctors were having to synthesize a concoction of chemicals to simulate what should naturally be there.  As it turned out, even small changes in the amounts of various chemicals could have extreme effects on how she felt, what she did, and what she thought about and wanted.

So when I say that I dread writing male characters, I mean more that I dread not portraying them in a realistic manner.  And we, as writers, should really want to strive for realism.  So, ...if I get this wrong, guys, I apologize.  But perhaps you can offer some thoughts and insights on how I can make things better in the future.
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All right!  So I took a day off to tackle my male issues, and today, I think I'm ready to get to work again.  Let's see how this goes....

I took a page  from the prompt (haha,) though Reliq's looking into his books and defeating his enemies is going to take a little longer than the scope of this story.  We return again to John's and my book idea in today's story, and I hope you all enjoy it!

Day 4 -- Threading the Needle

"Her knees trembled as she stood up before the council.  She thought about running out and leaving it all behind, but the thought of that poor boy urged her to speak."

I have to admit that I love writing female characters.  In fact, I find it ridiculously hard to write male characters at all; so, ...if we ever get to that lesson, you all can laugh at my abysmal attempts to create a believable male.

Today's prompt is not an easy one, especially since I really want to write more about my World of Warcraft characters.  I've been trying to get them into a good place for a while, and for the moment, most of their stories have stalled.  You got a chance to meet Rose in our last WoW story, but today, I think I want to introduce you all to Ren--her sister.

This character is actually where I came up with the name Syrenity (it has the word siren in it, which I absolutely loved the idea of--especially since Ren likes to sing).  But the diminutive of her name is Ren--or wren, if you want to give her name the bird spelling.  Wrens are tiny birds--but they have an inordinate amount of strength for being so tiny.  Also, wren's eggs are just the most beautiful shades of blue ever.

While Rose is a rogue, our Ren is a priestess--trained in the ways of the Light.  And today's prompt gives me a chance to explore where she is as a character now, as well as driving home some memories from her past.

I hope you enjoy reading about her as much as I have enjoyed writing about, and playing, her.

The Road Less Traveled

"Sarah and Dan threw open the car doors and surveyed the wreckage in front of them.  From inside the mangled car, they could hear victims crying out for help."




Because this prompt is -so- focused, I am going to go ahead and write following the prompt rather than try to fit in something else.  While I have a lot of ideas for third-person omniscient, the idea of taking someone else's idea and writing something from scratch intrigues me.  What images are important to me?  Why are they important?  What sets this scene, and where do I want it to end?

Day 2 -- Shattering Pieces

Day two was not as easy as I'd hoped it would be.  Most of my characters in World of Warcraft have gone beyond the beginner's stage of whether or not to kill or be killed.  And those few that haven't aren't at a place in their stories right now where I'd feel it was appropriate to write something new about them.  So, ...with that in mind, I decided to get started on those book ideas I've been having for a while.

And that meant starting with the world at peace--and then shattering it.

I hope you all enjoy a first look at an ever-expanding idea, and I look forward to the day when this might actually turn itself into a real book (I felt like Pinocchio writing that.  *laughs*  "One day I'll be a real boy!")

"Should he flee while he had the chance, or was now the time to stand and fight?  Head and heart warred within."

Shadows in the Rain

"And that was the moment I decided some lessons were better taught with fists rather than words."

That was today's prompt along with the assignment to write a first-person narrative.  While I won't say this is the most in-depth, first-person narrative I could do, the prompt made me consider some different ideas than the ones I wanted to start off with.  So, this became a Rose story.

Rose is one of my characters in the World of Warcraft.  She's a rogue, and like many rogues, she has her talents.  John and I had been speaking of a way to get Kazio and Rose to meet up with one another (Kazio being one of John's rogue characters), and we'd decided they were probably both in Darkshire.  But that was as far as we'd gotten with it.

At least, that is, until today.

I realize now that I'm done that I forgot to mention some details that, if I were going to edit this further, I'd probably edit in--like how Kazio should be rain-soaked, for instance, or the sound the rain made on the roof, walls, and windows of the inn.  But those are little things that only add to the narrative.  Still, I think they could have added some nuance to the story, and they're something I'll keep in mind for my future writing--and editing.

That said, I hope you enjoy day one of my writing challenge and "Shadows in the Rain".

To Unicorns, with Love....

The Author Up Challenge by @ShesNovel

I'm going to be taking a 30-day challenge for writing--one, to see if I can do it, and two, because I feel like I need to be doing something more with my time and talent besides just doing some RP here and there and writing here and there for my World of Warcraft characters.