"I know, right?"

There are all kinds of new words and phrases that get "invented" each generation.  Only a few years ago, I heard the term "babydaddy" for the first time.  My mom used the phrase "true that" a few weeks ago.  I nearly died laughing, but she used it correctly. 

The one that I've fallen in love with lately is "hide your crazy".  I love that it doesn't question if you are crazy or not - it just tells you to hide it.  Love it!

So, the prompt for the week:
Use any "modern" phrase or word as your prompt.

If you're having trouble coming up with one, here's a small list:
I know, right?
True that.
Hide your crazy.
Babydaddy/mommy
Hang out

I think you get the picture.

***  If you want to use a phrase from an older generation, go for it!  Have fun!  Just let us know what phrase you're going off of in your comment.  ***

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My response:

"Hide your crazy"

I stirred the browning hamburger in the pan, the rich smell of boiling past and tomato sauce drifting up from the stove.  The kitchen was small, and I was tucked back into a corner.  Between the table and the guy towering over me, I wouldn't be able to reach the door in a hurry.  I was a little clostrophobic ... well, maybe more than a little.  How many girls in my position would be anxious about their path to the door?

Dean stood next to me, measuring oregano, garlic, and basil into the sauce while watching the pasta.  I ought to be grateful for him.  The rest of the apartment teemed with his five roommates and their dates - none of whom I knew - and I was glad I didn't have to make small talk and hurt my cheeks with smiling.  Dean was telling me about his graduate physics class and the optics project he'd been working on with his professor. 

He was also blocking my escape route. 

What if the stove caught on fire?  What if there was an earthquake? What if Dean had a heart attack and fell down in my way?

I smiled up at him, asking another question.  I could follow his explanation well enough as long as I could at least see the door.  He launched into his answer enthusiastically.

One of his roommates drifted over to the kitchen area.  With a friendly slap on Dean's shoulder, he whispered, "Dude, hide your crazy.  She doesn't care."

Dean's jaw dropped and he objected, "She's in physics, too!  She likes it!"

His roommate blocked my view of the door.  My heart began to pound in my chest. 

Hide your crazy.  Good advice.

I took a deep breath and turned back to the hamburger.

A Novel in Letters

So, I just finished the Screwtape Letters, and I find the idea of the whole novel in letters facinating!  I mean, who didn't love "The Gurnsey Literary and Potatoe Peel Pie Society"?  What I'd really find interesting would be a modern take - maybe a novel written completely in text messages.  (Of course, then I wouldn't be able read it.  I'm so bad at text speech, I'd be lost at the first line!

The prompt this week:
Write a Letter

Have fun!

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My response:

Dear Adele,

I honestly don't know why you feel compelled to stay for spring term at the Academy.  You know how much we have to do in preparations for your upcoming nuptuals, and I need you here with me to help put things together.  What does finishing your minor in interplanetary species diversity even matter when you'll be married to a man who rules three planets?!

Don't be silly, of course we'll cover the cost of your classes, we are your parents.  Not to mention how undignified it is to wait on local tourists.  You can just inform your boss that you're not in need of the money afterall.  I've transfered funds to your account, enough for your expenses, and also enough for a dress.  If you must stay on Altar until just before the wedding, you'll have to make due with whatever you can find for a dress there.  For my sake, please stick with a traditional color, gold or silver.  If you come home with a black dress, I will tear it to pieces with my own hands, and then you'll be forced to wear your Grandmother's old rag of a dress that she keeps trying to push on me.

Your Loving,
Mother

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Ok, so I don't know how well letter writing fits in a sci-fi, but this is all about trying things out, right?

My life will never be the same ...

My company for Memorial Day left this afternoon.  As soon as we had the house back in order, I jumped into the car to head for the grocery store ... the fridge needed replenishing.  At the first main intersection, I met a cop.  His car blocked the road, and he stood, looking bored, to the side of it.  He motioned me to a stop, allowed a car to pass from the other way, and then signaled for me to go.

As I turned, a large vehicle caught the corner of my eye.  It was an ambulance.  Checking my rear-view, I saw a mass of strobing red and blue lights clustered about a half mile down the main road.  Behind me came the ambulance, no flashing lights, no hurry. 

The thought came to me - someone's life has changed today.  Someone woke up this morning, went about their usual business, and in a few split seconds, without warning, their life changed. 

I know that feeling.  I think we've all had moments like that, even if it hasn't been due to an accident.  When your boyfriend breaks up with you, when you lose your job, when you find out you're expecting ... any number of things can change your life.  So let's hear about it.

Prompt:
A life changing experience
(Remember, it can be completely fictional, it doesn't have to be autobiographical.)

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My response:

"When will Mommy be home?" Janie asked plaintively.

Cami sighed, scooping the tiny child into her arms.  "She's just out to lunch with some friends, then she'll be back."  The wind scattered the stray hairs that had fallen out of Janie's ponytail, and they flew chaotically around her pale face.

"Let's go back inside!" Danielle whined.  "I want to play Monopoly!"

Cami pressed her lips together, studing the clouds.  It looked as if a massive locomotive had driven back and forth, spewing tall, dark clouds into the spring sky.  Janie and Danielle lived in an old neighborhood, and it was hard to see much over the towering ash trees.

Then the tornado siern split the air.

Cami swallowed hard.  Janie started crying, burying her head into cami's chest, small tears dripping down onto Cami's tank top.  "Alright, Danielle, we're going inside."

Cami resisted the urge to check her cell phone as she ushered Danielle into the house.  She pulled the heavy door closed behind her and locked it.  For an instant, she considered calling her own mom, but the responsible part of her knew she could still do that when she'd gotten the girls downstairs.

The basement stairs were narrow and steep, and now Danielle was crying, too.  "I don't want to play downstairs.  There's spiders down there!"  Janie sobbed harder, and Cami shifted her weight to her other arm. 

Cami scanned the basement, her eyes locking on the bathroom.  She'd babysat often enough over here to know that the downstairs basement sat dead in the middle of the house, with no windows.  She dumped Janie into the tub, then shoved Danielle in.  A pile of pillows and blankets lay next to the downstairs entertainment center, so Cami grabbed as much as her arms would carry and pulled a handful of pillows into the bathroom behind her.

Then she shut and locked the bathroom door and sank down on the floor.  Janie crawled out of the bathroom and latched herself to Cami's side.  Danielle pouted miserably on the floor.  Cami pulled out her cell phone.  No bars.  Only the muffled sound of the siern from above gave her any idea what to do.  Stay put.

The first few minutes passed slowly, with nothing for Cami to do but listen to the cries of the two little girls.  Then the roar of the wind grew louder, thundering above them so even the concrete slab beneath them vibrated and trembled.  Danielle gave up her pouting and burried her face in Cami's lap.

Cami prayed.

Slowly, the roar of the wind died, and Cami could again hear the soft cries of the girls.  Cami watched the time on her phone.  When an hour had passed, she carefully opened the bathroom door and peered out.  The basemet was still in one piece, but it looked as if a whole preschool full of kids had spent the afternoon tearing the place apart, and sunlight streamed in from above the staircase.

Cami took each of the girls by the hand and led them upwards.

It's my party

Whoops!  Sorry I missed the prompt yesterday!  I'd taken my kids down to visit my mom this weekend, and it seems like I haven't stopped moving since I got back.  I remember a moment yesterday when I stopped and thought, "Oh, and I need to remember to write a post tonight ..."

Well, you can see how well I remembered that. 

I do try not to think about prompts beforehand, because I want to, like you, participate in a spontaneous prompt.  It wouldn't be very fair of me to think about next week's prompt for seven days and then tell you guys to write a response in 15 min ...

SO ... for today, because this song just happened to pop into my head, the prompt is:
"It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to."

Have fun!

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My response:

(Amber, I hope you're reading these still ... I'm writing a dragon, just for you!)

The sunlight gleamed on her saphire scales as she slipped through the pine trees.  Kelsea's legs moved with a lithe ease over the pine beds, her claws delicately avoiding tree roots and pine cones, which hurt if you stepped on them.

First Dayflight.

Kelsea's muscles shivered in anticipation.  After today, she wouldn't be a mere hatchling anymore, even if she was still smaller than most of the older dragons.  She wouldn't have to stay in the caves, hidden in the rocky crags above the forest, while the glistening orb crossed the sky.  She wouldn't have to remember to watch the stars and return to the cave before light grew strong on the horizon. 

Soft rustling alerted her to the presence of the elder dragons in the clearing as she approached.  Kelsea paused to see who was there before emerging from the cover of the trees.  Balrog was there, great and black, by far the largest of the clan, with his hide scarred and ugly.  He'd knocked Kelsea over once, with a swipe of his tail in his sleep.  She'd learned quickly to keep clear of him, but as leader, he would naturally attend her First Dayflight.

Benia, a smaller, brownish dragon sat on her haunches, rubbing a shoulder against the trunk of a pine tree.  As the clan matriarch, she would also join them.  Two amber dragons, Liz and Lang, lay stretched on a bed of pine needles.  They were mid-sized clan members who liked to play with the hatchlings.  Kelsea was glad to see them there.

Just as Kelsea lifted her paw to move forward, something in the sky above caught her eye.  A flash of blue, at first, then a falling raindrop which grew as it came closer to the ground.  A pair of blue wings flashed out just before it hit the ground, slowing the fall.  Safin landed neatly in the small clearning, and Kelsea's heart leaped in her chest.  Kelsea had only seen the beautiful creature who had made her own egg once in her life, shortly after her hatching.  Safin had come from the outer range of their clan's holdings to make sure her egg had hatched successfully.  Satisfied that it had, she'd disappeared again.  But Kelsea recognized her.

"Well, now, where is the hatchling?" she asked holding her head aloft.

"I am here."  Kelsea stepped out from the shade.  She lifted her wings behind her and turned her head, so Safin could see her.

Safin nodded.  "So then, shall we be off?"

Led by Balrog, they took to the sky.  Benia motioned to Kelsea, and Kelsea took position behind her in the formation.  She watched Safin, up ahead by Balrog, and wished for just a moment to talk to her.  Benia noticed how Kelsea craned her head.

"She's had three hatchlings survive to First Dayflight, you know.  But none of them have lived beyond.  It breaks her heart.  Don't worry, now, she does care for you ... she's just afraid of caring too much."

Kelsea nodded.  She knew she owed her loyalty to her clan, and not just to her egg parents, but how was she supposed to deny the desire to have her egg mother be proud of her?

"I will survive this day," Kelsea said, thrusting her wings down, and propelling her body forward.

Balrog led them high over the rock settlements where the mean creatures lived.  Kelsea had only flown over them before under the cover of darkness.  Maybe she should have felt exposed in the light, but she didn't.  She watched as the small animals left the cover of their clever little caves and stared up at them as they passed, pointing and calling out to each other.  Kelsea spread her wings, reveling in the joy of flight.  Let them stare.  Let them point.  I am a dragon, and this land is ours!

Over the green hills, they followed flying two hours into the area where the mean ones lived.  The settlements at the edges were more used to the dragon's presence.  For Kelsea's First Dayflight, Balrog wanted creatures who might not know as well how to fend them off.

Finally, he descended.  Kelsea immediately picked out his target.  A herd of grazing beasts gathered on the side of a hill.  They never ate the mean creatures.  They were too small and bony.  These beasts, however, were round and fat.  Kelsea didn't wait to be told what to do.  She dove down, her skills honed by years of hunting at night, and snatched a beast from the ground.  Her wings snapped out, filling with air and forcing it downward, her body lunging up from the grass.

After two hours of flying, the hunt was over in two minutes.  Kelsea saw that each of the dragons held at least one beast in their claws, both Balrog and Lang had two.  The mean ones called and yelled.  The boom of the killing thing echoed in the valley, but the dragons had already turned to go.

Then Safin cried out.

Her left wing clawed at the air, but she slipped closer and closer to the ground.  Her right wing hung limp at her side.  The killing thing had hit the bone, and black blood watered the fields below.

Kelsea dropped her beast from her claws and darted forward.  She let the wake of Safin's fall guide her as she reached out with her claws.  She knew the pain it would cause Safin, but Kelsea couldn't leave her behind.  Tenderly, Kelsea grasped Safin's wing joints, feeling her own claws sink into her Safin's skin.

As Kelsea rose into the sky, Liz and Lang appeared underneath Safin.  They knew their place in the clan, and they stood between the killing thing and Safin. 

Kelsea kept her eyes ahead.  Safin was twice her size, but Kelsea was a credit to the dragons who had ruled these lands for eons.  She was strong, and she was swift.  Balrog and Benia flew ahead, Liz and Lang flew behind.  In less than two hours, they reached the safety of the mountains.

Kelsea eased Safin's broken body down to the ground beneath her, then landed gently beside her.  During the long flight back, Safin had kept quiet, beating her good wing as best as she could and not complaining at all when Kelsea had to adjust her grip.  Now she lifted her head and looked at Kelsea.  Blood still seeped from the wound where she'd been struck by the killing thing, but it seemed to have slowed. 

Safin laid her head back down.  A last, labored breath wracked her body.  Then she was still.

Kelsea's eyes flew open wide.  She looked to the other dragons, who had landed with them in the clearning.  The way Benia's wings drooped confirmed her fears.  The flight back to the forest had been for naught.  Though her body was there, Safin was gone.

Kelsea threw back her head and unleashed a furious cry.

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Okay, so first I appologize for this one being so long.  I figured I ought to at least get to the part where she cried.  Second, I realize there are all kinds of holes in this idea ... if I ever decide to flesh the story out, I'll have to address them.  But for a writing prompt response, I had a lot of fun with this one. :-)

A note about characters ...

So, after posting yesterday's prompt, I came across this blog post by Veronica Roth, author of Divergent.  It's all about knowing a character vs. knowing about a character.  She shared a quote from Marilynne Robinson, who said:

"There is a great difference in fiction and in life between knowing someone and knowing about someone. When a writer knows about his character he is writing for plot. When he knows his character he is writing to explore, to feel reality on a set of nerves somehow not quite his own."

I think that explained for me why I can understand my characters more when I got back and write a scene from earlier in their lives (earlier than when they enter my story, I mean).  I can list their physical attributes, their birthplace, their jobs, etc ... but it's not until I put myself in their place and experience their reality that I start to understand who they are and how they'll behave in the context of my book.

There's no new prompt to go along with this one ... just an interesting thought. 

Now go read "Divergent" and let me know what you think of it.  :-)

Character Sketch

So, I've been writing the beginning of a new novel.  I love the excitement at the beginning of a project.  There's a new world, new people, new ideas ... and it's just fantastic!

Then, I sometimes get stuck on how my characters are going to interact with each other.  When I've been with my characters for a while, I know who they are and what they're likely to do in any situation, but the new characters ... I just don't know them!  I sometimes have to stop in the middle of a scene and ask myself, "Who is this guy?  Where does he fit in this?  What is his MOTIVATION?!"

Hence, the character sketch.  When I get to know them a little better, I can go back to my writing.  Even if the character sketch never appears in the actual body of my novel, it is SO IMPORTANT to my own understanding.

This week's prompt:  Choose a minor character from something you've written and do a character sketch. 

Remember, there are as many different ways to do a character sketch as there are writers.  At the SCBWI conference, Anne Osterlund suggested choosing the animal that the character is most like and using adjectives that describe the animal to describe the character.  If that's what you want to do, great!  Do you want to write a pivotal scene from their childhood?  What they did when they woke up this morning?  Maybe a list of their features?  Whatever you do to get to know your characters better, I'd like to see it.

Cheers!

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My response:

Okay, this is fair warning, this might be rough.  I'm actually sketching this guy out as I go.  Right now, he's just a little vague and nebulous to me. 

Maral Kenon woke from a dream so deep he couldn't remember it, even in the first moments after opening his eyes.  Of course, that might have something to do with the piercing alarm and flashing red light.  He rolled over, careful on the thin bunk not to roll off, and checked the clock.  He'd barely had time to dream since lying down.  His whole body ached.  Without even turning the light on, he reached into a pouch in his pants pocket, lying on the floor near the bunk.  He drew out a pill and swallowed it down dry.  He shut his eyes again, grateful for the painkiller as the searing agony in his head eased.  He took a deep breath, preparing himself.

The door slammed open, and his assistant, Tend Astar, stood silhouetted in the doorway.  Maral could hear the terror in his voice.

"Starwal Base is gone, sir, we have to evacuate."

"Gone?!"  Maral threw off his thin blanket and picked up his pants, shoving his legs into them.

"Yes, sir," Tend flipped on the light.  "We had a leak.  They came under attack a half hour ago.  Ten thousand Fleet officers landed on their doorstep."

"Commander Brighton."  Tend didn't have to tell Maral what Commander Brighton did when he looked out at ten thousand troops attacking the Rebel main base.  Maral had been in the meeting when the orders had been decided.  Some called Brighton extreme, but he was also insistent.  They owed their allies that much, at least.  "When?"

Tend sighed.  "Self-distruct had already been initiated when I came to get you ...  If it hasn't happened yet, Sir, it'll be soon."

Maral thrust his feet into his shoes and reached out for his shirt.  His hand reached down and patted the pouch of pain pills in his pants pocket without Maral even thinking about it.  "Have we contacted Ambassador Worl?  We'll need to evacuate immediately.  What about the tech staff?  Are they wiping the memory?"

"They ought to have Ambassador Worl ready for you by time we get to the control room.  We're already doing a clean sweep of the computers."

"Any sign of attack on Rightshelm?"  Maral had only been commander of Rightshelm for three weeks.

"No, sir, it's all quiet outside.  We're monitoring radio communications, and we've roused officer Pent to keep an eye on any telepathic messages.  So far, we're in the clear."

Maral nodded.  "If Ambassador Worl is ready, it should only take us an hour for a full evacuation, and we'll all be on our way to Kris."

Maral and Tend slipped out the door into the hallway, jogging down the corridor in complete sync with each other. 

"I wish I hadn't lived to see this day, Sir," Tend admitted.

Maral didn't so much as glance in his direction.  "We're the lucky ones, Tend.  At least we have somewhere we can retreat to.  Leaving Denar isn't the end.  We still have a few small pockets left, and we'll return with the people of Kris.  Right now we have to concentrate on honoring Commander Brighton, and every life lost to keep that information from the Empress.  If we do our job right, they won't be expecting us when we come back."

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Marla Kenon is the Commander of the rebels/revolutionaries who, although they've relocated to the planet Kris, are still waging war against the Renault Empire.  The rebels did succeed in deleting any reference to their alliance with the people of Kris, and as the Renault Empire hasn't discovered Kris on its own, they're unknown to the Empire.  But they're getting stronger, and with Emmaleen and a few other Tremanats on their side, they're ready to take a stand and bring down Empress Vidriana Renault.  (Those who have read my "Emmaleen" will know where I'm going with this.)

Something Dramatic

Hello, hello, hello!

So, I was working on a writing project this last week with my husband peeking over my shoulder, and I turned to him and said, "It's just ... SO DRAMATIC!!!"  To which he replied, "It's supposed to be dramatic!!! Seriously, sometimes you're a little too technical with your writing."

He's got a good point.  I am a scientist.  I've been known to be a little ... harsh ... when the science in a story is off. 

BUT ... that's one of my favorite parts about writing.  It's okay to be Dramatic (Capital intended!). It's great to be poetic!  We are storytellers, after all!

So, for this week's prompt, choose the first animal you see (be it a stuffed animal near your computer, a deer out your window, your cat snoozing on your keyboard, or if all else fails, open an encyclopedia) and write something Dramatic about that animal.

Enjoy!

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She crouched in the hay, stray pieces sticking uncomfortably into her bare legs and arms.  The moon, wide as the sky itself, shone in through the lone window above the loft, illuminating a path to the door.  If she could get to the light, she would survive.

A rustling in the rafters reminded her that she was not alone.  Though the animals had been herded out into pastures and corrals to feed on the sweet, spring grass, one animal would not be herded.  One remained.  And that one wanted blood.

She moved.  The river of light was only a few body-lengths away.  She thirsted for the light like a drowning man for air, but her legs, driven though they were by terror, failed to propel her body swiftly enough. 

The creature moved soundlessly, but she could feel it, as if it were connected to her own soul, some terrible demon sent to torment her alone.  It came quickly, and no one could stop it's flight.

A cry split the night.  Savage claws pierced the flesh of her scalp, her straw-mussed hair providing no protection.  Blood rose and spilled down her face.

A figure stood in the moonlight ahead, her savior, and she ran towards him, praying aloud to him to spare her life.

A laugh sounded in the night, one so jolly and carefree as to break the spell, and she found herself slowing even before reaching the safe shelter of her father's arms.

"Did you fall asleep in the hay again, Sunshine?  Is that mean old owl after you again?"