I don't want to miss a thing

I will always remember ARMAGEDDON as the stupidest movie ... that had me sobbing like a baby for the whole second half.  And seriously, who can get over this song:

Every once in a while I hear a phrase, a song lyric, a line in a book or a show, and I wonder, how did we make it this long before someone thought of that?  Like the sentiment of that song - I am so in love with you that I don't even want to sleep, because I can't bear to be away from you.

Also, the line in Katy Perry's song WIDE AWAKE, when she says, "Fallin' from cloud 9 ..."  Seriously?  So perfect!  There is SO much imagery, so much of a story, just in that simple phrase.  I love it.

Maybe that's why I'm a writer; little bits of language give me such a thrill.

Prompt: For this week, we'll stick with Armageddon.  Write a "good-bye" scene.

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My response:
(This is actually a piece of FanFiction.  It's loosely based on the ending of a book by Jennifer A. Nielson, THE SHADOW THRONE.  If you're planning on reading her Ascendance Trilogy, do not read this response - it's a spoiler.  Go read her books first, then come back.  :-)

I had tried so hard to die that, when it was time to fight, I struggled to find the will.

We'd been lured into a trap, which was unusual for Aarek.  Usually he saw tricks like that coming, as if he'd read about them in the paper over breakfast.  But not this time.  We'd made the trip to Redder and back before, and this time seemed no different ... no different until the mountainside next to the road exploded in a spray of dirt and stone.

When I next came to, I could hear Aarek's voice, haughty and arrogant, as always, insulting the traitors.  I felt a weight lift off me, and then a voice.  "I found her.  She's dead."

Aarek's voice cracked and caught in his throat.

Then I heard Harder.  I'd only met him once, but his voice was unmistakeable, filled with hatred.  I wasn't worried about Aarek.  He would find a way to escape.  He always did.  But I knew, trying to draw breath with a thousand nails in my chest, that he wouldn't leave me behind, and that would be the end of him.  So I prayed for death.

Harder must have been amused by the idea of letting Aarek believe I was gone.  I willed my lungs to stop moving air, begged my heart to stop beating, even though, with the pain I was in, it was inevitable.  But I didn't die.  I was in a tent made up for the wounded when I heard the commotion, followed by Harder's angry cursing.  Aarek still thought I was dead.  He'd escaped and left me behind.

And that meant I had to survive.  Aarek would live, as he always did, and so I would to.  Two weeks later they took me to Wingsbrook - Aarek's summer palace.  If Harder had taken Wingsbrook, things couldn't be going well for Aarek, but at least we weren't in Bardell.  That meant Aarek was still fighting.

When they brought Will in, my heart stopped.  Harder would have had to defeat Aarek's whole army to get to his little brother.  Will looked awful, the right half of his face dark and swollen and blood staining his uniform.  He stared at me with wide eyes.

"Annalise?  But you're dead ..."  Then he smiled and passed out.

Only two days later, they brought another prisoner.  Aarek was chained, and two of Harder's largest men had his elbows as he came walking past my cell.  He saw me.  Our eyes locked.  In spite of myself, I smiled.  He was here.  I was whole.

They threw him in the cell next to mine.  Will frowned, then asked what Aarek's plan was to get us all out.  Aarek didn't answer him.  He just held my gaze, a wistful curve gracing his lips.

Will demanded Aarek's attention, and Aarek turned to him.  "Our army has been beaten.  Harder's entire army is here at Wingsbrook.  Even if we got out of here, they'd have us back an hour after we leave."

He stepped to the bars between our cells, and I mirrored him, lifting my hand to meet his.  My fingers touched something cold and hard.  I slipped it into my palm, glancing at the guard, who leered at us.  Aarek leaned in close.

"When we are gone, they will not need you anymore.  You will be able to get away.  Tomorrow, when they come for me."

Will couldn't have heard Aarek's whisper, but he read his brother well enough he didn't need to.  "You really don't have a plan ..."

Aarek looked down into my eyes.  "You have a big day tomorrow, and you're still weak from the wreck.  You need your rest."

"I don't need anything as much as I need you ..."  I pressed my forehead against the bars.  They were too thick and too close together for what I wanted.  I could feel a few strands of Aarek's hair tickle my forehead. 

We sank to the floor, fingers entwined.  Aarek was thin and battered from the long war; he fell asleep first.  I sat in the dim light of the jail listening to the sound of his breath, studying his face, stroking his hand.  His shirt and pants were speckled with small tears and blood.  He had two new wounds on his face, one stitched, the other fresh.  His left arm and his ribs were bandaged.  Distracted by the business of war, he'd neglected his hair.  It hung almost into his eyes.  His beard had grown in.

I'd never kissed him with a beard.  Now I never would.

Situations

I've been reading ON WRITING by Steven King.  He talks a lot about his own creative method and how writing works for him.  Most of his stories come from "what if" scenarios.  For example:  Stopped at a gas station, he goes around the building to use the restroom at the back.  After using the restroom he notices a creek behind the station and moves to check it out.  He slips in the mud and only barely manages to stop himself from falling into the small, raging river, and as he staggers back to his car, he wonders what if ...

What if he hadn't stopped himself?  What if he wasn't actually a person, but an alien?  What if the car he'd parked out front wasn't actually a car?

Steven King starts off with a simple question and elaborates on it, weaving in characters and allowing them to react in the situation he created.

In NaNo terms, we call that pantsing: taking one short idea and letting the story take you from there.  I have done that before, and while I tend to be more of a plotter, pantsing something is simply exhilarating.  I get all swept up in the characters and their world, and since I haven't already planned for them what they're intended to do, I get to be surprised by it myself.

(Non-writers will probably read the above with apprehension, but you know what I'm talking about, don't you?  That mysterious creative space where the characters come alive and don't always follow the instructions the author gives them - that's where true brilliance comes out.)

This prompt is a little unusual.  Instead of writing a piece, come up with a scenario, something that would stir interest and create a story, regardless of what characters you choose to drop into it.

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My response:

Ok, so what if a group of teenagers went into a fortune teller's tent at a fair to make fun of their fortunes.  They expect something vague and predictable, but instead, the young kid (old woman is too typical, make it a small child, maybe even young enough she shouldn't be talking, yet) predicts each of their gruesome deaths.  They come out a little stunned, but laugh it off, until a few days later, the first one of them dies ... exactly how the fortune teller predicted.

(It must be the whole "Steven King" vibe - I don't usually go that dark in my writing.)

What she saw ...

Let's go for something short and sweet this week. 

Prompt:  "He handed it to her, but when she looked inside, she dropped it ..."

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My response:

It might not have been such a bad thing, except ... well, it was. 

The St. Louis Cardinals were his favorite team, and they were playing the Yankees on home ground in Busch Stadium.   He'd been looking forward to the game for weeks.  She'd bought him the tickets for his birthday, and that seemed to him a sign that she got him ... really got him ... and he'd be stupid if he let her go.

He hadn't planned on proposing that night.  He had bought the ring, figuring eventually the moment would feel right, and he would ask her to marry him, but he didn't feel like it had to be right now, either.  Their seats were in the nosebleeds, but that didn't bother them.  They both had good eyesight, and the night was warm.  They'd eaten hot dogs and downed a few beers while cheering his team on to win.  It was a long game, his stomach was full of meat, and his brain swimming in beer when he recognized his own face on the jumbo-tron.  She sat next to him, Cardinal's hat over her brown hair and a white tank top.  She was the image of perfection.

Suddenly, his moment was there.  He put down his beer, dropped to one knee, and handed her a blue velvet box.  She took it, glancing around nervously, and pried it open.  Then her eyes went wide.  One hand flew to her mouth, and the other, trembling, dropped it.

The oohs and ahhs from the stadium crowd turned into gasps as he launched himself forward onto the seats beneath them, arms flailing, and his face smashing against an armrest as he tried to catch the box.  She fainted dead away, and it was lucky he was already sprawled on the chairs to break her fall.  They lay there in a lump as the box continued, bouncing daintily along.

The cameras followed its course to the bottom of the stairs, where it rolled to a stop.  Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, the ring had become dislodged.  It was no where to be seen.

Up on top, the unlucky couple came to, struggling to regain their feet.  A few moments of agonizing awkwardness and they managed to stand.  She had pressed her elbow into his ribs to stand up, and he tested them gingerly to make sure they were still whole.

A boy, about ten years of age, wearing a Cardinals hat and jersey joined the search for the ring and was the lucky one to find it.  With a shout and a flourish, he held it high over his head and, to the thrill of the crowd, dashed up the stairs towards the couple.

Again, he took a knee.  Again, she looked like she might faint.  Then, with their faces displayed larger than life on the big screen ... she shook her head no.  And turned.  And ran up the stairs and out the gate.

Character Sketch - Girl in a Window

Believe it or not, I am actually capable of scheduling a post so it goes up when I want it to, even if I'm gone.  I was planning on doing that this week, while we were out of town on vacation ... but you can see just how that worked out.  Then, Monday was one of the busiest days of my life - five hours at the zoo, driving an hour to a cousin's party, driving back - and managing the kids without my husband, who was at a conference (my extreme sympathies to all single parents out there - it's hard work!).

The whole time we were gone, I was haunted by a character.  She came to me in a flash, and I can't get much more than a picture of her.  I have no idea if her storyline is a Cinderella story or that of a rebellion leader (i.e. Hunger Games) ... or maybe I just haven't hit on the right storyline for her, which would explain why I can't make anything stick.

I've found the easiest way for me to nail down my characters is to do a character sketch, so, because this is my blog and I can do what I want, that's our prompt for the week.  Choose a character and write a little sketch.  They can be from your work, someone you saw on the street or at the mall, or just choose a random image from the internet.  Choose a character, and have fun!

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My response:

Name: Skate
Age: Unknown - young teens
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Varied
Hair Color: Black
Skin Color: Walnut Brown
Eye Color: Brilliant Green

Our footsteps were soft in the ventilation shaft.  None of us had proper shoes, and we'd learned when we were young to walk softly.  Thumping meant calls to the local gumps, and if they caught us, it meant a week or two in the brig, where the food was rancid and the water worse.

I carried my small, linen sack in the crook of my elbow.  The strap hung loosely around my body, but the tiny space of the shaft made me lean over.  I didn't like the bag smacking my shins, so I clutched it tightly.  Benjy was in front of me, his loping gait - half walk, half skip - a remnant from a childhood bout of the Ezz.  Down in the town, he wouldn't have had to suffer through something like that.  He'd have seen a doctor, and one week later, he'd have recovered.  But he was born in the sky, and even if we knew which medicines to use, stealing them was a bigger job than we could take on.

The ventilation shaft led up, up, into the outer edge of the station.  Other shafts branched out in unmarked passages, but I'd grown up here.  I knew where the window was.  We passed it every day on the way home.  Derk never let me stop long, but sometimes I could get a real good look before I'd hear his sharp voice calling me back.

Just a few more steps.  Around another bend.  And there it was.  I sped up to get to the window, then stopped in front of it.  The line moved on, Benjy limping ahead.  Rag pulled up sharply behind me, calling ahead to Derk even before he'd come to a stop.  "Derk, Skate's at it again!"

I stared out the window, blocking out their voices.  I was in luck today.  In the darkness, a blue-green planet filled half the window.  White clouds swirled around in patches, as if they'd been frozen in time.  It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"Skate!"  Derk's voice snapped.  I knew I'd have trouble if I pushed too hard, but I couldn't help stopping.

"Coming ..." I called, keeping my eyes on the window as my body turned and moved away, further up the shaft.  Derk just didn't understand.  He had everything he ever wanted.  He was only twenty-two and already king of our end of the sky.  The guys like him, and the girls can't get enough of him.  Honestly, I have it pretty easy as his baby sister.  I've never had to go without food, and he'd always bring me something new to wear before I outgrew my last outfit.  He just couldn't understand that I wanted more.  I wanted to know what it was I saw through the window.  I wanted to walk through Town, just once, without worrying about someone stopping me and trying to scan my wrist, then finding I don't have an ID tag and throwing me in the brig for a week.  (Apparently it's a crime to have no identity, but the Town won't put out the money to give new tags to criminals.)  There's got to be more to life than just the sky ...

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UPDATED:

Ok, wait, let's try this from another angle:

I was born in the Sky.  It wasn't as mystical as it sounds.  When you live on a planet, the sky is a broad expanse of freedom and opportunity.  When you're born on a space station, the Sky is the outer layer of ventilation shafts and empty supply rooms packed with the uneducated, unwanted gutter trash of society.  I didn't realize then how unusual my life was.  My brother was the local "king".  That afforded me unique protections.  I thought I was happy, though I used to gaze out the one window in our part of the Sky and wonder at the blue-green orb that hung in the darkness outside.  When I got caught, I fought with every last ounce of strength I had.  If I had known then what I know now, I would have turned myself in.  Now I live in a palace full of windows, where the breeze flows in from the gardens, bringing the scent of fresh lilacs with it.  But it wasn't all a bed of roses.  This is my story.

 
Coming at it this way, a few things changed, but that always seems to happen, and seeing as her story is so fluid right now anyway, I'm not surprised at all.  Who knows, maybe she'll have her own novel one day? :-)