Blog About a Quote

I'm doing this blogging exercise as a practice for Bryan Hutchinson's guest post on The Write Practice. For the exercise we need to pick a quote and blog about it. Here's the quote I picked:

"Only in the darkness can you see the stars." -- Martin Luther King Jr.



The reason I picked that one is because, well, there are a lot of reasons. First off, I just love the quote. I think Martin Luther King Jr. had a lot of great things to say. Secondly, in my current WIP, Cosmo, I always have a quote at the beginning of a chapter. The quote always has something to do with what happens in that chapter, which is difficult a lot of the time. There's a chapter where something truly awful happens--I won't give away what--and this quote is at the beginning of the chapter.

So what does it mean?

Well, one could take it literally and say, "It has to be dark outside for you to go stargazing." And while that's all good and true, I don't think that was what Dr. King was going for when he said this.

To me, this quote means that in your darkest and most awful times, you can find something good. It might not pop up right in front of you, singing a TV jingle, and dancing in a sparkly dress, but you'll find it eventually, and when you do it'll be great.

Here's a chapter excerpt from that particular chapter (don't worry, there aren't any spoilers):

     Celeste hugged me even tighter.
    "I'm so sorry."
    Celeste didn't ask me any questions. She just sat there next to me on my bed for hours while I cried, holding my hand. I got up to blow my nose in the bathroom and when I came back, there was something written on Celeste's hand.

     Only in the darkness can you see the stars.

    "I can't see any stars at the moment," I said quietly. Celeste gave me another hug.
    "Maybe the city lights are blocking them out."
    "I wish they wouldn't."
    "Give it time. Maybe by then you'll see the moon."

The Blank Page

It's taunting me. With its white-as-snow perfect color. It's laughing at me.

"Ha ha!" It's saying. "Nothing is smudging my perfect color! There are no pencil marks, no letters, nothing that prevents the white from showing!"

I'm grinding my teeth at it, but that only makes the blank page laugh louder. I crumple it up and stuff it in the trash can. It's not as satisfying as I thought it would be.

My mind is empty. Just like the blank page. Words aren't coming as easily as they should be. I have ideas, but I can't find a way to use them. How infuriating.

I get distracted and walk away. When I come back, the page is still blank. Of course it is. It would be too easy, too unrealistic to expect the words to blossom without any water to make them grow. I haven't even planted the seeds yet. Why should I expect tomatoes when all I have is dirt?

Now I'm thinking about gardens, which is making me hungry.

Focus, focus, focus.

"You can't write. I'm a blank page. I'm supposed to just sit here and look pretty."

"Shut up!"

"I can't shut up. I'm a blank page. I'm supposed to taunt you."

"I said shut up!"

"La, la, la. I'm a blank page. You can't write on me, you can't write on me, you can't--"

"ROAR!"

I rip the page, but the taunts are still ringing in my ears.

Focusfocusfocus.

Who am I kidding?

I'm having one of those days. Inspiration, anyone? ;)

Can You Keep A Secret?

Yes, I know this is the second post of the day (and be sure to read the one below this) but I just had to tell you all something!

I'm writing another book! :D But not just any old book. I'm writing this one with my best friend Kirsten and her sister Avery. This will be one of the first books I've written with other people. It's called Can You Keep A Secret? What's it about? Read on.

Our Lovely Book Cover

Indie Snow, Amber Jones, and Kaitlyn Wate are the best of friends. They're all fourteen, they all go to Willow High, and they all have a secret of their own. One that they haven't told anyone.

In Willow High, secrets are treasure. Secrets get passed around the high school faster than wildfire. Sometimes the secrets even trickle down into the middle school. Indie, Amber, and Kaitlyn have heard the most dangerous and the most wild of secrets, but none of them will ever have the same effect that their secrets will have.

Can you keep a secret?

Kirsten, Avery, and I all created a character for the story. There are three different points of view, so we switch off every chapter. My character is Indie Snow. I got to start off the story and I am sooooo excited to see the finished project!

Want to see the first chapter?

Indie

          "Can you keep a secret?"

          The five most feared and highly anticipated words in Willow High, where secrets are treasure.

          If you say no, it either means you're a freak, you're too popular for such petty nonsense, or you're too scared of what you'll hear.

          If you say yes, it means you're either so desperate to be in with the popular group you'll do or say anything, or you'll listen and try your best not to blab, though everyone does at some point.

          It also means that you're ready to brave the unknown.

          I have a secret. No one knows what it is. Not even my best friends, Amber and Kaitlyn. Not even my family, though I think they suspect that something's up. I've told them I don't have a secret. They said they believed me, though I don't think they do. I'm sure they have secrets of their own, too. They just haven't told them yet.

          It's not a deadly secret. Just a crazy one. No one would believe me if I told everyone what it was, anyway. I wouldn't be any worse than Holly Barrow, who said she had kissed Liam Michaels, who is the cutest, most athletic, buff, and most popular boy in junior high. He's in tenth grade at fifteen-years-old, and totally out of Holly's league. Liam is on the football team and dates ditzy cheerleaders that have big hair and no brains. Holly is a Mathlete and wears Harry Potter glasses.

          I've heard deadly secrets before. One secret got passed around so many times, no one knew who it was about anymore. All anyone knows now is that someone's brother had murdered somebody. Rumor has it he had killed his girlfriend for cheating on him. For months after the secret was told, everyone jumped if someone tapped them on the shoulder. Girls shot suspicious looks at their boyfriends. No one walked home alone. (Enter names here) and I slept over at my house nearly every night, including weekends. My dog Sprout--a large, German shepherd who barked at every noise he heard--made us all feel safe. Nobody calmed down until everyone heard another secret, one about the murderer getting caught and going to jail.

          No, my secret's just crazy. Sometimes I don't believe it myself. It's like a recurring dream that haunts me with each passing day. I try not to think about it, and most of the time I'm able to shake it off for a few hours. But after the lights are out and moonlight comes streaming in through my windows, I remember everything all over again.

          "What up, Indie Snow?" It's Kaitlyn Wate, the spaz of our trio. Kaitlyn is a tiny thing, at 4'9" and 98 pounds. I often feel like a giant when I'm next to her. Her head looks too big for her body, but her large hazel eyes take care of that, along with her long, straight, strawberry blonde hair. She gets more attention than Amber and I do, but that might be because she's so much louder than us. She's wearing a tank top today, yellow, as usual. If it's not yellow, it's white. If it's not white, it's yellow. Kaitlyn's predictable that way. She has a cute pair of bright purple shorts on with pink polka dots. She's wearing black leggings underneath. Complete that image with a pair of boots, her hair in a long ponytail that bobs up and down, and a little bit of makeup and you have Kaitlyn Wate, age fourteen.

          As for me, I'm a bit calmer in the stuff I wear. Actually, I'm a bit calmer, period. Today I had on my square glasses (of course), jeans, a pair of gray, Converse knock-offs, and a T-shirt that said, "Misuse of the word literally makes me figuratively insane."

          Now you might think I'm a nerd, but I'm really not. I'm just a grammar nerd. I read, I write poetry, and I get straight A's in English. Other than that and the D's and C's I get in math--no matter how hard I study--I'm the middle of the middle. I'm not too smart, not too dumb, not too skinny at 123 pounds, not too fat, not too short at 5'4", not too tall, not too athletic, not a couch potato, not too popular, not a freak. I'm recognized by most everyone in the ninth grade, but not because I'm loud like Kaitlyn or a geek like Holly, but because I'm just Indie. I'm not trying to be someone I'm not.

          "Hey, Kaitlyn," I say. I fiddle with the combination lock on my locker. "Amber around?"

          "Haven't seen her." Kaitlyn twirls a loose piece of hair around her finger. "Saw Holly, though."

          Kaitlyn rolls her eyes.

          "Another one?" I groan. "You'd think she'd quit by now."

          "Nope." Kaitlyn gives a loud sigh. "This time its Taylor Matthews."

          I laugh and shake my head a little. Taylor Matthews was Liam Michaels's best friend.

          "Taylor Matthews wouldn't let her come within ten feet him, much less let her kiss him."

          Kaitlyn shrugs.

          "Hey, it's more believable than saying his brother kissed her first."

          "We're way too young to be kissing boys," I say. "We should wait at least another two years."

          Kaitlyn smiles and tucks the strand of loose hair behind her ear.

          "I've kissed a boy," she says in a sing-song voice.

          This time I roll my eyes.

          "I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it again, kissing a poster of Adam Levine does not count as kissing a boy."

          "Oh, you spoil all of my fun." Kaitlyn shoves my shoulder playfully. "At least I'm not kissing my poster of Demi Lovato."

          "Eww!" I say. Kaitlyn just laughs and bursts into song, singing "Skyscraper" so loud that people turn to stare.

          "Move it." I push Kaitlyn down the hallway. "We're going to be late for English."

          "And we know what you'll do if we make you late."

          Amber catches up to us and walks by my side.

          "Yeah," I say. "I'll pound you both to a pulp."

          Amber Jones looks as different from Kaitlyn as I do, if not even more so. She has long brown hair with curly ends, eyes the color of dark chocolate, and is wearing black Converse, skinny jeans, a plain, blue T-shirt, and the locket from her mom with a picture of the two of them inside. She wears if every day, all the time, and only takes it off when she's going to get wet or super dirty. She's super close to her mom, Maria Jones. Amber's 5' exactly, and 105 lbs.

          "We wouldn't want to miss the 'announcing of the winners.'" Amber says these last words with the air of a king making a grand speech.

          "Yeah, but we both know that Indie's gonna get first." Kaitlyn winks at me.

          "No," I mumble, my cheeks heating. "We don't know that. Emily Grace told me that Olivia Carmen's poem was about her cat's death. Emily said it made her cry."

          "Hoooo boy." Kaitlyn sucks in a big breath of air. Our English teacher, Mrs. Meyers, told us every class that if we were to impress her with our writing, we need to make her feel something powerful, whether you were making her feel inspired, elated, or depressed. She said a writer's hardest job is to fill their readers with tears of either sadness or joy.

          "But your poem about Sprout was really sweet, too," Amber said, placing her hand on my shoulder. "I loved how you used the word 'frolicking.' That's such a fun word!"

          Kaitlyn immediately began to chant, "Frolicking, frolicking, frolicking."

          I hit her on her arm. Kaitlyn says, "Ow!" and laughs.

          We dart into the English classroom just as Mrs. Meyers takes out a piece of paper.

          "You're just in time girls," she says, beaming at us. "Sit down. We're about to announce the winners of the poetry contest."

          I sit in the middle of Amber and Kaitlyn, holding my breath. The first place winner of the poetry contest not only received admiration from the rest of their peers, but also got an automatic A that counted for twenty percent of their overall English grade.

          "You're so going to win!" Kaitlyn whispers from my left.

          "There's zero competition," Amber says from my right. "Our poems sucked!"

          The whole classroom sounds like a beehive. The buzz and whispers of the classmates wishing each other good luck surrounds me with such ferocity, my stomach feels like its closing in on itself. My heart is pounding two times faster and harder than usual. Amber and Kaitlyn squeeze my arms.

          Mrs. Meyers clears her throat. It's loud, but not loud enough. She does it again, but everyone ignores her. My hands are shaking.

          "Class dismissed!" she finally shouts. Everyone stops talking and looks up, confused.

          "I know how hard it is for you all to refrain from chit-chatting," she says. "But we need to get on with this."

          An eerie silence falls over the classroom. Someone drops a pencil. No one laughs, like everyone usually does.

          Mrs. Meyers clears her throat one more time and looks down at the list of winners.

          "Third place goes to Payton Hayes."

          The class applauds as Payton gets up from his desk to receive his printed and framed poem. He tries hard to hide his smile as he hangs his poem up on the wall. It's titled "Homeless Man" and is about a man he saw on the streets of New York, which is only two or three hours away from Willow High in Pennsylvania. Payton's buddies slap him on the back and congratulate him as he sits back down.

          "Second place goes to Olivia Carmen."

          Emily's squeal is so high-pitched, we can hear it over the smattering of applause. Olivia leaps up from her desk as if she sat on a pin. Her face is paper white but she grinning from ear to ear. Mrs. Meyers whispers a congratulation and hands Olivia her poem. Olivia hangs it up next to Payton's. Her poem is called "Tiger." Emily had been right, it was about Olivia's cat's death. I see a tear trickle down Olivia's cheek. She wipes it away hurriedly. I'm not sure if anyone else noticed.

          "Told you!" Kaitlyn hisses. I shush her.

          "We don't know I won yet!"

          "First place goes to . . ." Mrs. Meyers pauses with a smile for dramatic affect. Kaitlyn and Amber grab my hands as if they're watching a scary movie and need someone to hold on to.

          "Indie Snow!"

          "Now we know!" Amber says as I get up slowly from my desk. The applause makes my ears ring. Mrs. Meyers hands me my poem and says, "Congratulations. Your poem was spectacular!" My hands are still shaking and for a minute I'm scared I'm going to drop the frame. I hang the poem up next to Olivia's and stare at it. The title is "The Meadow" and is about Sprout running through a meadow filled with flowers.

The  Meadow

by Indie Snow

Floppy brown ears,

Eyes filled with joy.

There's nothing more he'd rather do

Than play with his toy.

Sunflowers,

Tulips,

And dandelions yellow.

My big scary guard dog is happy and mellow.

Frolicking through the meadow so green,

Makes me forget about people so mean.

I grab his favorite ball and it's hurled.

Sprout runs through the grass without a care in the world.

We roll around under the midday sun.

We are happy and content.

My work here is done.

          I beam with pride and spend the rest of the day walking on cloud nine.

Thoughts? Leave a comment! :D

Literary Dinner Party (What Might Have Happened)

Let the Harry Potter Dinner Party begin! :D (If you were wondering, I brought multiple characters back from the dead to enjoy this fantastic dinner party. Behold my mighty powers).

(The guests enter the great hall. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, Snape, and Hagrid are already sitting at the staff table. Mrs. Weasley exits the kitchen and sits down at the Gryffindor table).

Hermione: Well, I'm glad that you decided to help the house elves cook the meal, Mrs. Weasley. If they can't be paid, I'm glad they didn't do all of the work by themselves.

Ron: Will you give it a rest, Hermione? They. Like. To. Work.

Hermione: Working is one thing, being a slave is another! If only more people were interested in S.P.E.W. . . .

Dumbledore: May I have your attention, please? I only have a few words for you: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

McGonagall: Professor, you've already used those words.

Dumbledore: I have? Dear me, my memory must be failing me again. I should go to my pensieve and put that memory back in my head. Right after--

McGonagall: Professor.

Dumbledore: Oh, sorry, Minerva. Tuck in!

(The food magically appears on the golden plates).

Dobby: Harry Potter, sir!

Harry: Dobby! I didn't know you were coming.

Dobby: Dobby just wanted to thank you, sir, for the socks you gave Dobby for his birthday, sir. You are most kind.

Malfoy: Did you seriously give a house elf a birthday present, Potter? First mudbloods, now house elves? You really should live with pigs. At least they're cleaner.

Dobby: You must not insult Harry Potter!

Peeves: Oooh, Peevesy smells trouble! Peeves should add to the fight, don't you think?

(Peeves drops a water balloon on Ron's head).

Ron: You little--

(Ron calls Peeves a rude name).

Mrs. Weasley: Ron!

(Ron's ears turn pink).

Fred: You know, that's a good color on you.

Ron: Shut up.

Sirius: Peeves was a lot tamer in our years.

Lupin: Yes, but that might've been because he was our partner in crime.

Sirius: Not your partner in crime, being a prefect and all.

Lupin: I'm surprised I didn't lose my badge after I helped you pull off all of those clever schemes.

Sirius: Like the time we managed to get Peeves to drop that bucket of dung bombs on old Snivellus's head?

Lupin: His hair never looked so good.

(Harry and Ron laugh).

Hermione: You two were really awful in your years.

Sirius: Nah. We were just stupid.

Moaning Myrtle: I notice you didn't mention the time you flushed me down the toilet.

Harry: Myrtle! What are you doing out of your bathroom?

Moaning Myrtle: Oh, so now I'm a prisoner as well as a ghost? I can leave my bathroom if I want to.

Harry (remembering his fourth year when Myrtle came into the prefect's bathroom): Yeah, I know.

Sirius: Ah, Myrtle, that was an accident! I didn't see you when that happened!

Moaning: That's me. Poor, pathetic, invisible Myrtle.

Peeves: You forgot friendless!

(Moaning Myrtle glides away, crying).

Luna: Ooh, Peeves, you were rather rude.

(Peeves sticks his tongue out at Luna).

Luna: Are we going to have any more D.A. meetings, Harry?

Harry: Er--I dunno.

Luna: Oh, I hope we do. None of my friends visit me anymore. It would be nice to see them again.

Ron: Er, Luna, nobody visits you anymore because no one knows where you live.

Luna: I don't live anywhere, really. I just sort of wander the country. I'm looking for a rare breed of nargles. Daddy's working on a nargle repellent to advertise in The Quibbler and we need some testers.

Hermione (with a considerable amount of sarcasm in her voice): I'm sure it'll be a big hit.

Luna: Yes, it should be. We've been getting tons of letters asking how to get rid of nargles. It's a rather difficult process, seeing as you have to get your hands on powdered unicorn horns, a feather of a gray owl, and the eye of a Crumple-Horned Snorkak, but Daddy's repellent should make it easier.

(Ron snorts into his pudding).

Luna: You can laugh, Ron, but when nargles start to infest your living room, Daddy won't give you a discount.

Neville: Have you actually seen a nargle?

Luna: Oh, no, they're invisible. You can hear them, though, if you listen hard enough.

(Dumbledore claps his hands together).

Dumbledore: It's getting late, and your rooms are all ready for you. I hope you will all join us for breakfast tomorrow. Good night!

Read All About It!

I found this very cool blog meme/blogging thingy where you answer questions about the book you are currently writing. Technically you're supposed to get tagged for this but it looked like so much fun that I couldn't resist.

Please feel free to steal this idea and put it on your blog.

1: What is the working title of your book?

As I'm writing several books, I'll just choose the one that I am the most excited about at the moment. The working title (and probably the permanent title) is The Sorceress.

2: Where did the idea come from for the book?

I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that finishing The Song of the Lioness series by Tamora Pierce had something to do with it, along with reading The Hunger Games.

3: What genre does your book come under?

YA (or middle grade, but I'm not sure which) medieval fantasy.

4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Ooh, that's a tough one. I still don't know a ton of actors and actresses, but I guess for my main character (Anya Perriwinkle) I'd choose Jennifer Lawrence. Anya looks a lot like Katniss (minus the braid) in my opinion.

Anya Perriwinkle (Sorry for the slight blurriness. This was the best picture I could find that looked like Anya).

I couldn't find anyone for my secondary character (Ronald Smith), but Josh Hutcherson is the closest person I could find that looked like him, and even then he isn't what I pictured. Ronald is tall, has sandy brown hair, and brown eyes.

I couldn't find any other good actors or actresses for my other characters. I can picture a lot of my characters as people from The Hunger Games for some reason (for instance, my villain--Lional--looks a bit like Cato), but I didn't think oh my gosh, this person looks exactly like this character! with anyone except for Jennifer Lawrence.

5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

16-year-old Anya Perriwinkle tries to find a way to join the king's army, despite being a girl, while also trying to save the kingdom of Stormcastle from a power-hungry group of goblins and thieves.

That synopsis is something I just cooked up. I'm not very good at being brief.

6: Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency?

Ha ha. It's not even finished yet, but I hope it can get represented by an agency!

7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I haven't finished it yet, but it's taken me at least six months of me writing on and off to work out the first 40,000 words (or 114 pages).

8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

The Song of the Lioness series by Tamora Pierce and I guess sort of The Lord of the Rings series by J. R. R. Tolkien. It's definitely more like Tamora Pierce's books, though.

9: Who or what inspired you to write this book?



I think this is a lot like the second question, but Tamora Pierce inspired me. I love her novels, which are all medieval fantasy. She--like J. K. Rowling and so many others--has created her own world so easily and with so much detail.

10: What are some of the big differences between this book and other books you've written?

This book is one of the few books I've written that's in the third person. It was actually very enjoyable. I liked it more than I thought I would.

11: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

This book has a strong, female protagonist, unique characters, magic, and battles meant to keep you on the edge of your seat.

Now for the first chapter. Sorry for the weird formatting. Blogger doesn't like me today. Tell me what you think in the comments! :D

Chapter 1
Anya ran through the woods, fear beating against her heart in a
rhythm worthy of a drum.
She wiped sweat off her forehead, breathing hard. She was sure the
goblins had seen her. How could they not have noticed the unmistakable
glint of green as she stole the emerald?
Anya quickly climbed a tree and removed her pack. She pulled out the
precious emerald and clutched it tightly, hardly daring to believe that it was
real. Was this the actual emerald she had been attempting to steal for months
now? Anya pressed her ear to the emerald. Sure enough the familiar buzz of
energy was there. The emerald was real.
Anya replaced the gem carefully, wrapping it in the cloth she had with
her. She closed her pack and slid down the tree, scratching her elbow as she
went.
Anya heard a branch snap and leapt behind a bush, landing lightly on
her feet. She moved a few branches out of the way so she could peer
through.
Ten naked green creatures were running through the woods on all
fours. They were extremely skinny and their arms and legs were long and
fragile looking. Their ears were long and pointed like an elf’s. Their eyes
were small and black. Their voices were either very high-pitched or very
low. It was never in between. They were obviously angry.
Anya squinted her eyes and strained to hear what the goblins were
talking about. They were speaking in loud whispers. One goblin was
pushing another to the ground angrily and seemed to be accusing him of
something. The other eight were huddled in a circle, talking a little more
calmly. They seemed to be plotting something.
“I told you to stay by the emerald!” a goblin said to another lying in
the dirt. “You were supposed to be on guard!”
“I—I—was guarding the C-Captain,” the goblin in the dirt
stammered. “H-he needed p-protection.”
“No he didn’t, you brainless git. We can get another Captain. What
we can’t do is get another emerald!”
“Please! Please!” A goblin armed with a smaller version of the sword
Anya held pulled the goblin off of the terrified creature cowering on the
ground.
“Stop wasting time, Snorc,” the deep-voiced goblin growled. He
grabbed Snorc’s arm. “We need to find the human.”
Snorc pulled his arm away from the other goblin and bared his teeth.
“I want to make sure I don’t get punished for this,” Snorc said. “When
we inform the Captain of what happened, I want it to be made clear that I
didn’t do anything.”
Goblins, Anya thought. Always looking out for others.
“We might not have to tell him anything if we find that girl fast and
get the emerald back.”
“You don’t understand,” Snorc protested, fear visible in his eyes.
“You don’t have to be scared of anything. The Captain won’t punish his
second in command. You don’t know the means of torture he punishes us
with.”
“I know full well what the Captain does for punishment,” the goblin
retorted. Anya saw his ugly green face change from green to yellow. He
gulped and continued. “And I agree with his methods completely. Now let’s get a move on.”
Anya waited with baited breath for the goblins to gallop off into the
woods. They were headed toward the king's castle, the same way Anya
needed to go. Anya gritted her teeth and hoped they wouldn’t actually go to
the castle.
Anya peeked around the bush for any remaining goblins and spotting
no danger, set off down the woods, landing lightly on the balls of her feet.
Anya stuck to the shadows, hoping if she ran into trouble that the goblins
wouldn’t notice her in the darkness.
Any noise that Anya heard made her jump: a squirrel scurrying across
the leaves, a bird singing loudly, or an occasional deer that snapped a branch
in half.
The woods were darkening faster and faster as the sun set. The trees
rich with leaves blocked out most of the sunlight, making it harder to
navigate through the large woods.
Anya had no trouble though. She could walk through the woods with
her eyes shut and her feet would take her right where she needed to go.
Anya couldn’t keep track of how many times she had walked this path. She
had come to these woods many times to hunt for food with a poorly made
bow and arrow before the king had sought her help. Those days were the
worst. Anya remembered the times where she had to beg for scraps from the
garbage can and people felt bad for her and tossed her change for food. She
remembered when her ribs were poking through her skin and half a loaf of
stale bread was a feast. She remembered a soldier coming through the
woods on horseback and watched her fight off two goblins with swords. She
remembered his stunned face as she finished them off with a flourish. The
soldier didn’t explain anything but told her to climb on behind him. She was
taken to the castle and was given a bath, some proper clothing, and more
food than she could ever imagine she’d be able to eat. Then she was brought
to the king and the soldier was right next to him. She listened to the soldier
explain to the king what he had seen her do. The king had listened
thoughtfully and then told her all about the emerald and the goblins want to
take over the kingdom. He had told her that the emerald gives the holder
magical powers and that the king needed it back so the goblins wouldn’t
over throw him and leave the kingdom in ruins.
Anya reached the entrance of the forest and saw no goblins. Hoping
they wouldn’t see her and follow her, she hurried down the lane and into
town where most of the shops were closing up for the day. The sun hadn’t
quite set and she ran to the castle, gave her name, and the guards let her in,
closing the door behind her.


More about Cosmo coming soon! :D 

Winner!!!!! :D

(PSST! Be sure to read the last gratitude post below).

Today is the last day of NaNoWriMo and this morning I tried to get up before anybody else so I could come downstairs and finish my word count goal. And it worked.

I now officially am a winner of NaNoWriMo 2012! :D I reached my word count goal of 40,000 words and next year I'll be shooting for 50,000.

Of course, my novel isn't done yet, but I'm still working on it.

Here is the Prologue of my novel. Please tell me truthfully what you think! :D

Prologue

    For years, Glaewyn and Yojar lived peacefully as the best of friends. They were known as the best wizards in the entire kingdom of Zundra, and perhaps even the world.
    Yojar lived in his tower just beyond the Forest of Zundra. King Robert had it specially built for him. It was fifty feet tall, made of stone, and had a large wooden door with his name on it, written in silver. There were many windows with a perfect view of the castle and the Forest of Zundra. Yojar painted stripes on the stone in purple, for that was his favorite color.
    Glaewyn preferred life in the Forest of Zundra. King Robert made him a small, but cozy cottage in the exact middle of the Forest on request. He painted it gold and wrote his name on the wooden doors in bronze. There were a few windows where he could look out into the Forest at all of the magical creatures that lived there. All of the creatures lived in harmony, none wanting to upset the others. Unicorns, fairies, pixies, sprites, druids, centaurs, dwarves, elves, merpeople, and many other magical beings lived there.
    Yojar and Glaewyn each created magical spells that would be used for hundreds of years to come. They cheered each other on and complimented each other’s skills.
    But after a while, their friendship slowly began to fall apart. Glaewyn remained as gracious as ever, but Yojar grew more and more arrogant and bitter. Glaewyn kept on creating successful spells. Yojar tried and failed to best him. Glaewyn’s popularity began to shadow Yojar. Yojar would crumple pieces of parchment after failed spells. The stack of papers in Glaewyn’s cottage towered over him. His desk was covered in spells.
    One day, after another spell of Glaewyn’s took off, Yojar stormed out of his tower and headed for the woods. He muttered a spell and the wind picked up.
    The sky became dark and stormy. The trees bent lower and leaves flew everywhere.
    Lightning struck the ground, and with every strike a magical creature would appear. But not creatures that were like the ones that already lived there. No, these creatures were evil. Demons, banshees, devil dogs, gargoyles, ghosts, ghouls, goblins, ogres, orcs, werewolves, vampires, salamanders, mud monsters, and many other evil beings appeared. Yojar laughed and took off for his tower. He watched from his window. The evil creatures ran straight for Glaewyn’s cottage. The salamanders set the house on fire, and minutes later it was no more. His house was ash, and Glaewyn was dead.
    Very soon after Glaewyn was killed, King Robert’s best knights rode into the Forest and killed off as many evil creatures as they could. About half of the evil beings perished, but the other half ran and hid. It was obvious at once who had caused that great tragedy. Yojar had made the mistake of dropping his wand as he fled. No one else in the entire world had a wand like his. His wand was a deep purple and had decorative silver vines wrapped around it. Glaewyn’s had one almost exactly like it, but it was gold and had bronze vines.
    The door of Yojar’s tower burst open and twelve knights ran in and captured Yojar almost immediately.
    Yojar just laughed and did not fight them. He was taken away to the dungeons.
    The kingdom was in uproar. They pounded on the castle gates and screamed for Yojar’s blood. Glaewyn’s name was shrieked all throughout the day and late into the night. They wanted Yojar to be dead. They wanted him to suffer. One man yelled that he wanted Yojar’s head on a pole so he could put it in front of his house.
    Two days later, Yojar had a short trial. In the trial he said that his act was an act he would always be proud of. He was publicly executed minutes later by Glaewyn’s own brother, Fubeth. The axe that cut off Yojar’s head now hangs in King Robert’s great-great-grandaughter’s castle, Queen Talia Snowflower. She often says that the axe gives her nightmares and she wishes that she could remove it. But it has hung there for years, and it wouldn’t be very wise of her to get rid of it. The peasants that live in the Kingdom of Zundra are glad that it is there. It reminds them that they will never live in danger because the Queen and her knights will protect them.
    After Yojar was executed, people began to call the Forest of Zundra the Forest of Yojar. The name stuck and now very few dare to enter the Forest, for they fear that they will perish as Glaewyn had. If the most powerful wizard since Merlin couldn’t stand up against the creatures, they thought they most certainly could not fight them.
    But the kingdom of Zundra had not seen such utter evil since Yojar’s time, and now they live in peace, knowing that their kind queen will protect them if anything like that would ever happen again.

The Sorceress Chapter 2

If you haven't read Chapter 1 click here. I'm open to all comments! :D

 Chapter 2

          “Your majesty!” Anya called breathlessly as she ran to the throne room in a buzz of excitement. She opened the doors with such force that they slammed into the wall. The king sat up with a jolt, eyes wide with hope and fear.

          “Your majesty!” Anya said again. “I got it! I got the emerald.”

          The king stood up from his throne and walked over to her as she pulled out the glowing, green stone. The king took it from her and held it up to the light as if he was trying to make sure it wasn’t a fake. He pressed his ear against it, listening for the magical hum that Anya had heard in the woods.

          “So you did,” he said quietly. A wide grin broke out onto his face. “Well done, Anya. Well done!” He patted her back and handed her a heavy sack of coins.

          “This should provide enough food for a month. An elderly woman has generously offered me a small house if I should ever need it. I would like it if you took the house. It would be your very own home, and you could do whatever you would like with it.”

          “Thank you,” Anya said gratefully.

          “The house is in town next to the grocer.” The king gave a sad smile. “But you should hurry. I don’t think the goblins are very happy with you or me. I wouldn’t be surprised if the goblins started attacking the kingdom. They’ll want the emerald back.” He gave a sigh.

          Anya nodded and started to walk out of the room when the king stopped her.

          “Would you be willing to do me a favor?” He asked. Anya nodded. He had already given her so much, it was the least she could do to thank him.

          The king sighed again.

          “I know for a fact that the goblins are going to attack again. We need to keep the emerald safe. We can’t let it fall into their hands again. Would you be willing to act as a guard? I already know about your fighting skills,” Anya blushed at this. “And you don’t have to guard all the time, only some of the time. Is that okay?”

          “Of course,” Anya answered. “It’s the least I can do for all you’ve done for me.”

          The king smiled.

          “Thank you. You’ll start tomorrow from noon to two. Everyday from that point on, except on weekends, you will guard from noon to two. I can promise you three gold coins for payment. I’ll have some of my guards guard the emerald in the meantime. We are hiding it in the castle because the goblins will think that we'll hide it somewhere else since the castle is so obvious a place to put it. You may pack your things.”

          Anya walked out of the room with a feeling of nervous excitement. The king had chosen her, a sixteen-year-old girl, to help guard the emerald. He had hundreds and hundreds of soldiers and servants that could’ve helped, but he chose her. Girls were often discriminated against. Their only purpose was to cook, clean, sew, and do more cleaning and sewing. Anya didn’t mind the cooking, but she hated cleaning and she was horrible at sewing even a button onto a shirt. She preferred the rougher life where she could climb trees and get dirty and wear pants. She loved archery but most of all, she loved sword fighting. She wanted to be the first woman soldier in the king’s army, but she knew it was going to be very difficult. She had been training by herself in the woods. She could now shoot almost any moving target in the exact place she wanted to hit it in and her ability to fight with a sword was even better than her archery. Guarding the emerald would be good practice as well.

          She reached her room in the castle.

          It was a small, but cozy room. It was comfortable enough. There was wooden bed in the corner with a mattress and a fluffy white blanket for when it got chilly and there was a poufy pillow that your head sank into as soon as you touched it. There was a window that had a nice view of the royal gardens and a small bookshelf that held a dictionary, a history book, and a couple other fantasy books that Anya enjoyed very much. They were all gifts from the king. There was a pink throw rug that was no longer soft and clean. It had a nastier, brownish-pink color that reminded Anya of vomit. The brown factor of the color was because of the mud and dirt that Anya tracked in when she walked through her room with her boots on. There was a gas lamp sitting on a nightstand next to a short, mahogany wardrobe that held Anya’s clothes from the king. Above the wardrobe was a mirror.

          Anya looked into the mirror. She was surprised to see how much she had grown since she had taken the time to look at her reflection. Her wavy, light brown hair was longer and windblown. It covered some of her oval shaped face. Her black eyes sparkled and she was taller. She had filled out some since she was no longer starving, but she was still thin.

          Anya dropped her drawstring bag and began to pull out her clothes. She added it to her already bulging bag. Inside the bag she had some bread, a couple of apples, and a chunk of cheese. There were also a few rags inside from an old coat Anya had owned. The rags now helped to conceal valuable objects that Anya occasionally found from pick-pocketers or goblins.

          Anya moved her rug to the side and pried a loose floorboard from the ground. She wasn’t wary of anybody in the castle, but you could never be too careful here in the kingdom. Inside the floor was her quiver of arrows and a bow. There was also a large sack of coins she had earned from the king over the years. She added the gold she had just earned to the larger sack. She wrapped the sack of gold in the rags and put it in her drawstring bag before slinging the quiver on her shoulder and picking up her bow. She scribbled a note to the king and nailed it to her door, letting him know that she had left.

          She set off down the road in the chilly night air. The sun had set completely and she had to find her way by following the lights of lanterns that were bobbing up and down from the people holding them.

          Anya saw the house the king had talked about. It was a small cottage about the size of a log cabin. In fact, it was made of logs. And it was right next to the grocer, a great convenience to Anya.

          Anya stepped inside the cottage and bolted the door behind her. She did not want to be interrupted by un-invited visitors.

          The house was dusty, but was otherwise very clean. Nothing had been left behind and Anya took no time in unpacking. She dug a floorboard out of the ground and placed her bow and arrows, her sword, and her gold inside. Anya set her bag in the corner and was about to settle down for bed when she realized she hadn’t brought any blankets or a pillow with her. She kicked the ground and tried to figure something out. All of the shops were closed so she couldn’t purchase a quilt or a pillow. Maybe she could go back to the castle and get a blanket and a pillow from her bed.

          She pulled the floorboard back up and grabbed her sword. Attaching it to her belt, she ran off back towards the castle. It was a good thing it was just down the road.

          Anya didn’t stop running until she reached the guard at the entrance of the castle.

          “Anya . . . Perriwinkle,” she gasped. In order to get into the castle, she needed to give her name. She thought it was a rather stupid security rule since any goblin or thief could give a false name, but the guards only paid attention to their appearance. The only reason she knew her last name was because when she was taken in after her parents died, there was a photo of her with her name on it.

          Anya made towards the door, but she was surprised when the guard blocked her path.

          “Excuse me,” she said hotly. “But I am trying to get in.”

          “None shall pass,” he said in a gruff voice.

          “But you know me!” she yelled shrilly. “And I know you, Bert."

          “Rules are rules, Anya,” he said. “You know that. My orders are to let no one in after dusk.”

          “But that’s absurd!” Anya argued. “You know who I am, I’m not a thief or a gobl-!” She broke off. Of course. The king didn’t want to take any chances with a thief or goblin getting into the castle at night now that they had the emerald. Thieves and goblins usually attacked at night when it was darker and harder to see. Of course, goblins could see pretty well in the dark.

          “Fine,” she said with a harrumph! “I’ll just go then.” And she set off back down the path towards the tiny house that was now hers.

          Anya slammed the door behind her as she walked into the house, sending a cloud of dust all around the room. She heard a faint achoo! Anya drew her sword faster than lightning and looked around.

          “Show yourself!” she demanded.

          “It’s just me!” a quiet voice said. A shadowy figure stepped out from the darkness.

          Anya lowered her sword.

          “Hello, Ronald,” she said. “What’re you doing here?”

          Ronald stepped into the faint light from a window. Anya noticed his sandy hair was shaggier and covered parts of his eyes. He was even taller since the last time they met. Anya always joked that he shot up straighter and faster than a bean sprout.

          Ronald gave Anya one of his goofy smiles.

          “I heard you were living here now,” he explained.

          “Word travels fast,” she said with a snort. Ronald laughed. Gossip spread wider and faster than wildfire in Stormcastle. The kingdom was given that name back five hundred years ago when the castle was struck by lightning.

          “Mrs. Melly saw you going into this house after she closed up the shop,” Ronald said, jerking his thumb at the quilt shop across from Anya’s house.

          Anya sheathed her sword and kicked the floorboard. The floorboard flipped up and slid across the room. She set the sword down and replaced it.

          “So what’ve you been up to?” Ronald asked.

          “Nothing much,” she said with a shrug. She smiled and poked him playfully. “I got the emerald, though.”

          Ronald raised his eyebrows.

          “Really. This isn’t a joke, right?”

          Anya shook her head.

          “No joke. I got it just an hour ago. The king gave me a sack of gold and offered me this house as reward. Oh yeah, and I’m on guard duty to protect the emerald.”

          Ronald smiled.

          “Good for you.”

          “It’s more than good. It’s great! This is a wonderful start to my soldier career.”

          Ronald gave an exasperated sigh that told her he was tired of this subject.

          “Anya, we’ve talked about this-.”

          “I know we’ve talked about this,” she said impatiently. “You’ve said many times that girls can’t be soldiers, but who knows? I may be the first. I see no point in why a girl can’t be a soldier. What’s the difference between a girl and a boy, anyways?”

          “Well,” he started. “Boys are naturally stronger.”

          Silence fell.

          “See, that’s all you can think of. I’ve trained, I’m strong, and I can fight! Who cares if a boy is stronger than me, I’m still strong and I can handle a sword and a bow and arrow just as well as any boy can. If I challenged you right now to a sword fight-!”

          “You would chop me to pieces,” Ronald interrupted calmly, trying to cool down her hot temper. “But I’m not good at fighting. You know I need training. It’s just not right for a lady to be a soldier.”

          Anya bared her teeth angrily.

          “I’m not a lady,” she said. “I’m nothing like a lady! If I were to chop my hair off right now, I would look and act like a boy. No one would know the difference except for you, the king, your mom, Jane, and Bert.”

          Ronald pursed his lips.

          “I know that. But the king would never allow-.”

          “How do you know what the king would and wouldn’t allow? I’ve worked for him for almost a year now. He knows what I’m capable of. If I have the proper training, I could become a great soldier. I could fight off goblins, armies, and so many other things! It’s just not fair.”

          She broke off and bit her lip, trying to think of another argument. Ronald placed his hand on her shoulder.

          “I know, Anya. It’s not my fault that girls don’t get treated fairly.”

          “It’s not that they don’t get treated fairly,” she replied. “It’s that they’re expected to do normal girl stuff like cooking and sewing and housekeeping. They don’t even get asked if they want to do something different. I never keep things neat and I prick my thumb every time I stick a needle through a piece of cloth. I’m different, Ronald. I’m not like Jane, I’m not like Mrs. Melly, I don’t want to get married. Why can’t I do what I want to do?”

          “I don’t know, Anya. Maybe you’re right and the king will let you become a soldier once you’ve worked for him for a while, but I just don’t think people will like this idea. No lady has ever been a soldier before.”

          “I’m not a lady,” Anya said through her gritted teeth.

          “Fine, no girl has ever been a soldier before.”

          “Because no girl has ever had any interest! At least I’ve never known any girl that has wanted to be a soldier. And no one has ever given a girl a chance. I might be the first girl soldier in history.”

          Ronald shook his head slightly and looked out the window. He knew better than to argue.

          “It’s getting late, you’d better get some sleep if you’re going to guard tomorrow.”

          “What? That’s it?”

          “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”

          “I mean, you’re not going to talk to me more about this?”

          Ronald looked completely bewildered.

          “What else is there to talk about?” he asked.

          “I don’t know. I just thought we were going to talk more.”

          “We’ve already talked about it. There’s nothing else to discuss.”

          Anya clutched her hands behind her back.

          “I have one more question.”

          “Okay, shoot.”

          “If I’m going to be a soldier, I need some way to convince the king I’m worthy and able enough to be a soldier. Can you think of any way to show him that I’m ready?”

          Ronald sighed.

          “I’m not sure. Just work for him and train in private like you’ve been doing and after a while when you ask him, maybe he’ll let you.”

          Anya nodded, taking this into account. Work for the king, train in private, ask after a while. She was positive that she already had his trust and he knew of her abilities, but she just wasn’t sure if it was enough to let her be a soldier. There was never a girl soldier in an army in history. Would the king break this long and foolish tradition? Or would he keep it, seeing what Anya was capable of?

          “Now I really need to go, otherwise my mother’s going to be worried sick. Bye, Anya.”       
“Bye, Ronald.”

       

The Sorceress

I am writing a new book called "The Sorceress." Here's the first chapter. Tell me what you think! :D As you already know, I am open to all honest criticism.


Chapter 1

Anya ran through the woods, fear beating against her heart in a rhythym worthy of a drum.
    She wiped sweat off her forehead, breathing hard. She was sure the goblins had seen her. How could they not have noticed the immistakable glint of green as she stole the emerald?
    Anya quickly climbed a tree and removed her pack. She pulled out the precious emerald and clutched it tightly, hardly daring to believe that it was real. Was this the actual emerald she had been attempting to steal for months now? Anya pressed her ear to the emerald. Sure enough the familiar buzz of energy that meant the emerald was real was there.
    Anya replaced the gem carefully, wrapping it in the cloth she had with her. She closed her pack and slid down the tree, scratching her elbow as she went.
    Anya heard a branch snap and leapt behind a bush, landing lightly on her feet. She moved a few branches out of the way so she could peer through at what had just followed her.
    Ten naked green creatures were running through the woods on all fours. They were extremely skinny and their arms and legs were long and fragile looking. Their ears were long and pointed like an elf’s. Their eyes were small and always black. Their voices were either very high-pitched or very low. It was never in between. They were obviously angry.
    Anya squinted her eyes and strained to hear what the goblins were talking about. They were speaking in loud whispers. One goblin was pushing another goblin to the ground agrily and seemed to be accusing him of something. The other eight were huddled in a circle and were talking a little more calmly. They seemed to be plotting something.
    “I told you to stay by the emerald!” a goblin said to another goblin lying in the dirt. “Where were you when you were on guard?”
    “I-I- was guarding the C-Captain,” the goblin in the dirt stammered. “H-he needed p-protection.”
    “No he didn’t, you brainless git. We can get another Captain. What we can’t do is get another emerald!”
    “Please! Please!” A goblin armed with a smaller version of the sword Anya held pulled the goblin off of the terrified creature cowering on the ground.
    “Stop wasting time, Snorc,” the deep-voiced goblin growled. He grabbed Snorc’s arm. “We need to find the human.”
    Snorc pulled his arm away from the other goblin and bared his teeth.
    “I want to make sure I don’t get punished for this,” Snorc said. “When we inform the Captain of what happened, I want it to be made clear that I didn’t do anything.”
    Goblins, Anya thought. Always looking out for others.
    “We might not have to tell him anything if we find that girl fast and get the emerald back.”
    “You don’t understand,” Snorc protested, fear visible in his eyes. “You don’t have to be scared of anything. The Captain won’t punish his second in command. You don’t know the means of torture he punishes us with.”
    “I know full well what the Captain does for punishment,” the goblin retorted. Anya saw his ugly green face draing of color slightly. “And I agree full-heartedly. Now let’s get a move on.”
    Anya waited with baited breath for the goblins to gallop off into the woods. Unfortunately, they were going the same way Anya needed to go to get to the King’s castle.
    Anya peeked around the bush for any remaining goblins and, spotting no danger, set off down the woods, landing lightly on the balls of her feet. Anya sticked to the shadows, hoping if she ran into trouble that the goblins wouldn’t notice her in the darkness.
    Any noise that Anya heard made her jump: a squirrel scurrying across the leaves, a bird singing loudly, an occaisonal deer that snapped a branch in half.
    The woods were darkening faster and faster as the sun set. The trees rich with leaves blocked out most of the sunlight, making it harder to navigate the large woods.
    Anya had no trouble though. She could walk through the woods with her eyes shut and her feet would take her right where she needed to go. Anya couldn’t keep track of how many times she had walked this path. She had come to these woods many times to hunt for food with a poorly made bow an arrow before the king had sought her help. Those days were the worst. Anya remembered the times where she had to beg for scraps from the garbage can and people felt bad for her and tossed her change for food. She remembered when her ribs were poking through her skin and half a loaf of stale bread was a feast. She remembered a soldier coming through the woods on horseback and watched her fight off two goblins that had swords. She remembered his stunned face as she finished them off with a flourish. The soldier didn’t explain anything but told her to climb on behind him. She was taken to the castle and was given a bath, some proper clothing, and more food than she could ever imagine she’d be able to eat. Then she was brought to the king and the soldier was right next to him. She listened to the soldier explain to the king was he had seen her do and how she seemed to glow when she was fighting. The king had listened thoughtfully and then told her all about the emerald and the goblins want to take over the kingdom. He had told her that the emerald gives the holder magical powers and that the king needed it back so the goblins wouldn’t over throw him and leave the kingdom in ruins.
    Anya made it out the entrance of the forest and saw no goblins. She hurried down the lane and into town where most of the shops were closing up for the day. She ran to the castle and the guards let her in, closing the gate behind her.

Writing Prompt: Ant at a Picnic

I found a fun writing prompt. You have to write for at least ten minutes about an ant at a picnic. Here's my story! :D

There were two humans; a boy and a girl. The girl was tall with blonde hair so yellow, it was bound to be dyed. The boy was short and had light brown hair that covered his eyes. He was constantly flipping it around in a very annoying way. They were laughing hysterically at the corniest jokes and feeding each other grapes. It was disgusting.
I darted through the grass, my antennas flying around in the wind. As I got closer to the picnic blanket I crept quietly. The checkered blanket was covered in fruits and sandwiches. This was every ant’s dream. A feast fit for a colony.
I hid behind the picnic basket and watched the humans eat and laugh eat and laugh. It was very boring and I was hungry. When they were making soppy faces at each other I took a chance and dashed for a crumb. They didn’t notice and I ate it right away. I hid behind the basket again and looked for another tasty morsel. I saw a squished grape and sucked the juice to wash down the crumb. And, once again, I hid behind the basket. I probably didn’t need to, though, since these humans were obviously oblivious of their surroundings.
I decided to have a little fun with the human girl. I started to walk as fast as my little legs could carry me towards the girl’s pants leg. I tried to climb up her leg, but she was wearing jeggings, and I knew there was no way I would fit through those tight bottoms. So I went for the boy instead.
I had to keep myself from gagging as I crawled up the boy’s pants. He needed a shower with lots of soap and some tomato juice to get rid of the stink. It was worse as I crawled up his shirt near his armpits. Did he even know what the word “deodorant” meant?
The boy hadn’t noticed me the entire time, but when I got to his neck he faltered in the middle of his sentence and scratched his shoulder a little. I climbed up to his face and he started to scratch his nose. After a little while he started scratching like a giant, stupid, baboon. The girl laughed nervously and stared at him with a strange expression.
“Ant!” she suddenly screamed. “There’s an ant on your face!”
The boy looked down and saw me. I smiled and waved. They both started yelling like crazy as I ran away with a satisfied smirk on my face.

Now I challenge all of you to write your own "Ant at a Picnic" story. Write it, post it on your blog, and challenge all of YOUR friends. Have fun! :D

The Maze of Doom (Chapter 1)

I'm writing a book called "The Maze of Doom." It was partly inspired by The Hunger Games and partly inspired by a dream I had while I was at the beach. It's a post-apocalyptic book about a country that discriminates against women. The leader is evil and every year he randomly selects ten girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen to be put into the Maze of Doom wielding only one weapon and gifts given to them by the weight, agility, climbing, and weapon trainers. Girls are allowed to make temporary alliances, and killing is not against the rules. The girl who reaches the middle of the Maze is granted one wish. But no one has survived yet.

Here is the first chapter. I'll take any feedback. Thanks! :D

Chapter 1

I live in a sexist country.
It is a place where girls do all the working, men do whatever they please, and girls get sent to jail for the rest of their life for the tiniest thing.
But that’s not the worst of it.
Each year, President Hunter has a competition called The Maze of Doom. It’s been going on for twenty years. Let me tell you about it.
The Maze of Doom is a huge maze filled with dangers. Ten different girls ranging from the age of twelve to eighteen race to the end of the maze. Their prize is a single wish. But no girl has survived yet. Girls are allowed one weapon each, provided by President Hunter. Girls can make temporary alliances, but they can also kill each other. It’s a gruesome maze.
Some, if they are in the maze, plan to wish for riches or fame. Others plan to wish for their sisters to get out of jail for not polishing their boss’s shoes exactly right.
I have a different wish.
I have been randomly chosen by the country’s leader to be entered in The Maze of Doom.
Our country’s leader is revolting. He made The Maze of Doom for entertainment. He likes the idea of girls killing each other. For him, it’s just one less worker to pay.
But I have to survive the maze to make my wish. As I said, no girl has survived yet. I plan to change that, too.

Today is the day I say goodbye to my family and leave for “Maze Training”. Really, it’s to see how good each girl is so the country can place their bets to see who will survive the longest.
My mom starts to cry as I pull on my boots. My dad puts his arm around her. He tries to comfort her, but the tears keep on coming.
“Don’t cry, Mom,” I say. “I’ll be fine.” But even I can’t promise that.
My mom hugs me and bawls. Dots appear on my shirt’s sleeve.
“Carrie, she’ll be fine,” My dad straightens his glasses and tries to hide his watering eyes. “You know our Clelia. She’s one tough cookie.”
My mom attempts to talk as my dad hugs her again.
“My daughter!” she cries. “My only daughter! In The Maze! She’s only fourteen.”
“I know,” He says. “I know.”
I hug each of them again.
“I love you guys,” I say in a faltering voice. “But when I come back, everything will be better.”
I hear a knock on the door. My dad goes to answer it.
“Hello,” I hear him say. “Won’t you come in?”
“Actually, I’m here for Clelia,” A female voice answers. No surprise there. All of President Hunter’s employees are female.
I hug my mom one last time and walk into the kitchen. It only took a few steps to get from the living room to the kitchen.
“Ah,” The young woman standing in the doorway gestures for me to come outside with her. “There she is. Come.”
I hug my dad, look around our single floor house (or hut, as I like to call it) one last time, and walk outside. My mom won’t stop crying.
“Mom,” I say. “Please don’t worry about me. Besides, you won’t have to keep wondering what’s going on. You can read the whole thing in The Mazeazines.”
The Mazeazines are magazines all about The Maze. Once The Maze of Doom starts, the entire thing will be watched and typed for the whole country to read. They don’t help much though, since the reporters make everything more dramatic. Even though we can never see what’s going on, I can tell that that’s not what’s actually happening.
“Clelia!” The woman stands by her car, tapping her foot impatiently.
“I love you,” I say before walking to the menacing, black, car.
The woman opens the car door. I get inside and wave at my parents until they disappear from view completely.
I remain silent the entire trip to President Hunter’s main building.
An hour later, the black car pulls up to a towering skyscraper.
“Here we are,” The woman says in a bored voice. “Follow me.”
The tone of her voice makes it obvious that she has done this same routine for quite some time.
I followed her down the hall and into the elevator. I gasped. There were 70 different buttons. The woman had to go onto her toes to reach the 30 button.
The elevator went up and made a ding noise.
The woman entered the big, circular, room. I followed her and saw five different people. I recognized four of them from previous Mazes. They were the trainers. The strength, agility, climbing, and weaponry trainers. The other I knew just from living in this country. President Hunter. The evil leader that started this maze.
“Good,” He said. “You finally arrived. As you know, the contestants aren’t allowed to see each other until the maze begins, so you will be privately trained in this room. The reporter should be here any second now.”
As if on cue, the elevator dinged again, and two women appeared. One carried a camera to take pictures, the other, a notebook and pen.
“If everyone is ready, the training shall begin!” President Hunter stepped back. The camerawoman started snapping pictures and the reporter started scribbling furiously.
There were four sections of the room I could go to. Each section had its own equipment. I decided to start with the worst and work my way up. I’m terrible at physical activities, like climbing, and lifting weights, but I’m good at running and using small weapons like daggers for hunting or building things.
I started at the strength training.
“Hi,” The female strength trainer said. “My name’s Candace. Nice to meet you.” Her leg and arm muscles were very visible. You could tell she stayed in shape. And besides looking strong, she seemed like she could be decently nice, even friendly, unlike most workers here. I don’t blame most of them for being un-friendly, the way they get paid.
I took her hand and shook it.
“So,” Candace said. “Would you like to start with the weights, the sit-ups and push-ups, or bag carrying?”
I selected the bag carrying.
“Come on, Clelia!” Candace encouraged me. “You can do it!”
I had carried six bags of bricks across the room on my shoulders already. Four more to go.
“Almost done,” Candace kept yelling. “Two more! Just two more!”
It was nice that Candace was helping me, but it was a little annoying.
“That’s it! One last one! And, you’re done!”
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and walked back over to Candace.
“That was really good,” She said handing me a towel for my sweat. “Do you need some water?”
I nodded my head gratefully, still gasping for breath. I took the bottled water from Candace and gulped down almost half.
“Let’s move on to the weights.”
Candace handed me two weights. They must’ve both weighed at least twenty pounds.
“I want you to lift one at a time. So raise the right one first with your arm locked, then do the same thing with your left arm. Then lift them both at the same time. Got that?”
I nodded my head again. I’m a girl of many words.
I continued with my strength training. I thanked Candace and moved on to climbing. The trainer wasn’t nearly as nice as Candace was. But it didn’t matter since all she had me do was climb a rock wall about fifty times over. I did horribly. I kept slipping on rocks and I took forever to get up once. Strength and climbing? Not very good at all.
I moved on to agility. I ran a treadmill for ten minutes at a good, steady pace, and then jumped rope for a while. All in all, not bad.
It was time for weaponry.
I had to use each weapon they had and try them out. At the end of the training, I would get to select a weapon for the maze. I had to choose carefully, because once I chose, I couldn’t change my mind.
“Welcome to weaponry,” The female trainer said in a bored voice. “I’m Teresa and I’ll be you’re trainer. Remember never to use your weapon for anything except what you’re told to do, blah, blah, blah. Let’s get started. Choose your weapon.”
There were many different choices; A bow and arrow, a sword, a spear, a mace, a whip, and a dagger.
I chose the bow and arrow.
“Do you know how to use a bow and arrow?” Teresa asked. I nodded. I had used one before, but I was rusty.
“Then try to shoot this target.” Teresa walked over to the wall and pointed at the target. I pulled back the arrow and shot, but I shot way off course. Teresa had to duck her head to avoid getting hit. It struck the wall and stuck there.
“Guess you’re not going to be using that in the maze,” She said. “Try something else.”
I took the spear. Again, she had me throw it at the target. I threw, but not hard enough. I tried again and again, but it would drop on the ground three feet away from me. Again, I am not very strong at all.
I tried the sword, the mace, and the whip, but every single one was a failure.
I took the last weapon. A dagger complete with a small sheath.
“Ah ha ha!” Teresa started laughing. “That is the wimpiest weapon I have ever-!”
I threw the dagger hard at the target. It flew and hit the bull’s eye.
Teresa’s mouth hung open.
“W-would you like to choose the dagger f-for your w-weapon?” She stuttered.
I turned away from Teresa and walked to the target. I pulled my dagger out, and sheathed it around my pants.
I knew everyone was going to hear about my “rage and fury at the weapon trainer”. I knew they would read about me throwing the dagger. But they wouldn’t know anything. They wouldn’t know that I imagined President Hunter’s face on that bull’s eye as I threw the dagger.

I'm not finished with the story yet (I've written nine and a half chapters so far), but if you would like an e-mailed copy when I'm done, let me know in a comment. :D

Writing Prompt

I took a writing prompt from my book Writing Magic and wrote a short story. The prompt was to write a short story by starting it with the sentence, "Ms. Fleming's wig had gone missing."

Ms. Fleming’s wig had gone missing. And whoever stole her wig was going to get an earful of her shouting and a noseful of her bad breath.

Ms. Fleming is an old pain in the neck. She has eyes like an eagle and a nose in the shape of a hawk’s beak. Her head looks too big for her body and her accessories look like costume jewelry. She’s too skinny and when she puts her high heels on, she’s almost painfully tall. Her makeup is cheap and she uses too much of it and when she’s not wearing a blindingly vibrant dress, she’s wearing a floral shirt and plaid pants or polka dots and stripes.

She’ll come into class each day with the day’s newspaper and a cup of coffee. She’ll sit down at her desk and tell us to read chapter five and complete the worksheet. Then she puts her high heeled feet up on the desk and open up the newspaper.

After recess, all the kids in my class went inside and waited for Ms. Fleming. She must’ve gone to the teachers’ lounge. I was the last kid inside and I immediately noticed that her prized, snow-white wig wasn’t sitting on her desk as it usually was after recess.

Ms. Fleming entered the room. Her hair was short and very gray; where as her wig was white and elegant. She gasped and pointed a stubby finger at the desk. Her huge, black eyes widened, making her look like one of those stuffed animals with eyes the size of ping-pong balls.

“Who-what-I!” she stuttered.

Her nostrils flared and she looked at each and every student, her eyes sweeping the room. I suddenly felt very hot and nervous.

“I demand to know who did this!” She screeched.

The class was silent. I sat very still and tried not to blink.

Her stomach rose and fell very fast.

She started to march back in forth in front of the class, as if doing this would make her look bigger, scarier.

“Well? Anyone?”

It was so quiet, you would be able to hear a pin drop to the floor.

Ms. Fleming’s mouth curved slowly into a smile; no, a sneer.

“Well, then. Your parents won’t be very happy to hear that you’ve all earned detention!”

“What?” Alexis Sparks burst out from the front of the classroom.

“But that’s not fair!” Added Jordan Jones, who was busy loading a spitball into a straw.

“Oh, it’s fair!” Ms. Fleming’s eyes were widened in joy and her smile was evil. She looked like she had gone mad. “And from now on, for the rest of the month, you will have detention!”

“But-!” Samantha Smith started.

“Two months of detention!” Ms. Fleming raised a shaking finger. “Want to make it three?”

The entire class started yelling protests and Ms. Fleming started yelling back. I tried to block out the noise by humming to myself when I noticed something white on the ceiling. It was Ms. Fleming’s wig! Someone had glued it there. The wig fell onto Ms. Fleming’s head. But she was too busy yelling to notice. The class, though, stopped and stared at her head.

“Ms. Fleming,” I said cautiously, raising my hand. “Your wig is on your head.”

Ms. Fleming stopped and cocked her head slightly, causing the wig to look very lopsided.

“How’s that?” She looked confused.

“Your wig is on your head.”

She patted her head and the wig fell into place. She kept feeling the wig and a look of utter bewilderment fell upon her face.

“I must be going senile,” she muttered.

Randomness . . . AGAIN! :D

-I'm doing NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) for the THIRD year in a row! :D My word goal is 35,000 words. Last year was 20,000 (but I wrote a 40,000 word sequel) and the year before that was 10,000. Right now I am at 16,262 words! :D
-My BFF just had a birthday on Friday. She turned twelve. If you want to check out what she did and wish her a happy birthday, go to her blog, Tacos, Dolphins, and Friends.
-My first thought when I woke up a couple days ago: It's 9:00 in the morning and I haven't even gotten up yet. Most kids would be in their first or second class by now in public school. Ah, I love homeschooling! :D
-Speaking of homeschooling, I'm sitting here in my pajamas at 9:50 in the morning. I haven't even had breakfast yet! :D But I have spent the past hour and a half writing my NaNoWriMo novel! :D I'll post an excerpt on here later.
-Ok, I lied. I'll put an excerpt on here now! :D My book is called "A Cherry Pie, an Iguana, a Silver Dollar, and a Spitball Fight". Here's the first chapter.


Who knew that a cherry pie, an iguana, a silver dollar, and a spitball fight could change the fate of the world?
My name is Stephanie Finkle, and yes, I am the reason that the world is now doomed. Well, unless my best friend, Ivy, and I do something about it.
Ivy and I were walking home from school (we’re neighbors and the school is only a couple blocks from home).
“Hey,” Ivy said. “Want to come to my house? My mom just baked a cherry pie. We could each have a slice and watch a movie or something.”
“Didn’t you buy Tangled on DVD?” I asked. Tangled was one of my favorite movies, but my mom said we couldn’t afford ‘extras’ right now.
“Yes!” Ivy said excitedly. She bounced up and down slightly, showing her enthusiasm. “We just got it, like, two days ago. It’s still in the plastic, we’d be the first to watch it!”
“Ok,” I said. “My mom doesn’t get home till nine. But I should get back home around five so I could eat dinner.” My mom works as a real estate agent, and she’s been needing to stay later than usual recently.
“You could stay for dinner,” Ivy said, waving a hand. “My mom always makes more than she needs to whenever she cooks, and she loves you. You’re like a second daughter to her.”
She’s like a second mom to me. I thought. But I didn’t say it out loud. I didn’t want to embarrass Ivy.
“Thanks!” I said. “What are your brothers up to?”
“Max and Charlie? Who knows what they’re up to. Max is probably playing some RPG computer game and Charlie is probably playing with his Star Wars doll collection.”
They were really Star Wars action figures, but Ivy loved to make fun of his collection. She was just jealous because he collected something and she didn’t.
We came to the big farmhouse that Ivy lived in. Ivy turned the doorknob and walked in. The Smith’s always leave their door unlocked. I don’t know why.
“I’m home, Mom!” Ivy called. I followed her into the living room.
“Hi, Sweetie!” I heard Mrs. Smith’s voice coming from the kitchen. “I’m making enchilada soup.”
I did a silent cheer inside my head. Enchilada soup was one of my favorite foods.
We walked into the kitchen.
“Awesome!” Ivy said. “That’s Stephanie’s favorite.”
Mrs. Smith was dumping multiple chicken pieces into a pot of boiling hot water. She turned her head at the mention of my name.
“Oh, Stephanie!” She said excitedly. “How are you?”
She came over and gave me a hug. We were very comfortable with each other. Ivy’s family was practically part of my family.
“Good. Thanks.”
“Did Ivy tell you we just got Tangled on DVD?” She asked.
I smiled.
“Yeah, she did. I can’t wait to see it again.”
“I can’t believe you’re not sick of it yet!” Ivy said. “You’ve been to it in the movies about five times.”
That was partly true. I had seen it three maybe four times. But I did keep spending my allowance to see it over and over.
“I made a cherry pie last night,” She said. “Feel free to have a slice.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Ivy was already getting out two plates and two forks.
“You can go ahead to my room,” Ivy said. “You know it’s down the hall, right?” She joked. I had been going to her house since I was in preschool.
I started down the hall. Each kid had their own room right next to each other. Charlie’s room was across from Max’s room and Ivy’s room was next to Charlie’s.
I couldn’t resist peeking into Max’s room. The door was slightly opened. I peered into the crack.
Max was talking into a walkie-talkie. There was a straw lying next to him on the hardwood flooring.
“So, a spitball fight in an hour?” Max said. Charlie’s voice came out a second later.
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “That’ll give us time to train and find paper to use.”
“Roger that.”
Max stood up and walked towards the door. I walked quickly into Ivy’s room and leaned the door shut.
“Hey, Iggy,” I said in a baby voice. Iggy was Ivy’s pet iguana. He was currently in his tank, but I lifted the lid to pet him. Iggy didn’t do much, but Ivy loved him just the same.
The door banged open. I turned around, thinking it was Max trying to make as much noise as possible, but it was Ivy. She had kicked the door open with her foot since she wasn’t able to, with her hands full.
“Pie’s ready!"
I replaced Iggy’s tank lid and Ivy handed me my slice of warm cherry pie with whipped cream. I took a bit and sighed. Ivy’s mom was such a good cook. I wished my mom had that sort of time. Instead, I was stuck eating TV dinners. That’s why I loved dinner at Ivy’s house so much.
Ivy popped in the disc and the movie started. We watched for about an hour, and then we heard nails scratching on wood flooring and the fork on my plate being moved.
I turned around and gave a squeal.
“How-tank-Iggy?”
Iggy was on the ground, eating the remains of my cherry pie. Ivy had noticed too. We were both too stunned to do anything. Iggy had never gotten out of his tank before. He must’ve smelled the pie and wanted to eat it. But how he got out was a mystery.
“How did he get out?” Ivy’s voice was high pitched and nervous. “We need to figure this out. Because if he can get out, that’s not good. He could hurt himself!”
I could imagine someone switching a light bulb on in my brain.
“I was petting Iggy earlier,” I said. “Before you got the pie. Maybe I didn’t put the lid back on right.”
Ivy let out a sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness. That’s probably how he got out.”
“Um, we should probably chase him now,” I suggested as Iggy took off down the hallway.
“Right.”
Ivy jumped up and I followed her. Iggy was already in the kitchen. Man, could that iguana move! Ivy slipped on one of Max’s socks on the kitchen floor (he was such a slob) but got right back up. Iggy was out of sight.
“Iggy,” I called. “Iggy, where are you?”
Max and Charlie ran out of their rooms, each armed with a straw and a handful of small paper balls. They started sucking them and loading them into the straw, shooting them at each other. The spitball fight had begun.
“There’s Iggy!” Ivy said. Iggy had tried to hide under the table in the living room, where Max and Charlie were mercilessly shooting spitballs at each other.
Ivy ran and dived for Iggy, but tripped over a book that Max left out. (Max!) The whole scene slowed down to slow motion right before my very eyes. Ivy fell sideways, toppling into Charlie. Charlie fell backwards into the bookshelf behind him and their mom’s special silver dollar resting on the top shelf rocked back and forth on the edge of the shelf procariously. There was a sharp intake of breath. It stopped rocking and we let out a breath. Then it fell.
The silver dollar fell and hit the ground, at the exact moment Mrs. Smith walked in the room, and broke in two.
Four heads (including mine) swiveled to face Mrs. Smith. Her face was frozen in a look of shock, her mouth hanging open.
“I’m so sorry, Mom!” Ivy said. “It was my fault. I know that silver dollar was special to you.” Ivy’s great-grandmother had given the silver dollar to Mrs. Smith when she was a little girl.
“I’m sure you didn’t do it on purpose, Honey,” Mrs. Smith said. “But it’s not just a special token I got from my grandmother.”
Ivy looked puzzled. I was definitely confused. It was just an ordinary silver dollar.
“What do you mean?” Ivy asked.
Mrs. Smith walked over and sat down on the couch.
“Everyone sit down,” She said. “This is going to take a while.”
I sat down on the chair next to the couch. Ivy sat next to her mom while Charlie and Max sat down on the couch opposite of Mrs. Smith.
“There’s really no other way to explain this,” She said. “So I’ll just come right out with it.” She took a deep breath and said. “I’m a wizard.”
“What?” Ivy, Charlie, Max, and I said at the same time.
“I am a wizard,” She repeated.
“Why didn’t you ever tell us?” Ivy asked.
“Well, kids aren’t normally supposed to know if their parents are wizards, because it’s easier to let the secret slip to someone else when you’re younger. And you can’t let a secret like this slip to anyone outside the family.”
I blushed and shrank back in my seat.
“Oh no!” She said hurriedly. “It’s ok for you to know, I trust you.”
I didn’t say anything but I smiled.
“Anyway,” She said. “That silver dollar was entrusted to me by my grandmother. My grandmother was also a wizard. I got the magic from her. A long time ago, back when my grandmother was a little girl, there was an evil wizard named Wizatar. His plan was to take over the world. But one day, he was defeated by another wizard by the name of Merlin.”
“What?” Charlie exclaimed. “He exists?”
“Existed,” Mrs. Smith corrected him. “He was very old when he defeated Wizatar. 612 to be exact. Wizards can live to be very old since they are magical, but look not a day older than 40. I myself am a 150.”
“No wonder you look so good,” I blurted out. I immediately wished I hadn’t. That was a little embarrassing.
Mrs. Smith smiled.
“You flatter me,” She said honestly. “But we are getting off the subject. Anyway, Merlin defeated Wizatar. Wizatar didn’t die, but his powers were sealed away in this silver dollar. It has been passed down for generations, and I was the most recent one to get it.”
“So, you’re related to Merlin?” Max asked.
“Yes,” She said.
“Sweet!” Charlie pumped his fist in the air. “I’m related to Merlin!”
“Does this mean we’re wizards?” Ivy asked excitedly.
“I don’t know for sure,” Mrs. Smith said. “But it is always possible for the children of a wizard to have magical powers, too.”
“I still don’t understand everything,” I said. “Why is it such a big deal that the silver dollar broke?”
“Well, since Wizatar’s powers were being stored in there, and it broke, the powers have been returned back to him.”
Ivy gasped.
“So that means-?”
Mrs. Smith nodded.
“Wizatar is going to try to take over the world again.”
“Is there any way we can stop it?” I asked hopefully.
“There is one way,” She said. “The only way it can be fixed is to get the magic glue. But that is nearly impossible. Even though Merlin put a spell on it so Wizatar wouldn’t be able to destroy it, it’s going to be very hard for anyone to get it.”
“Where is it?” Max asked.
“On the top of the empire state building.”
“In New York?” Max asked with a strained look on his face as though he was thinking hard.
“No, Max,” Ivy said. “It’s in Minnesota. Of course it’s in New York!”
“Why is it going to be so hard to get?” I wondered.
“Because Wizatar has hundreds of wizard servants working for him. They will know immediately that some wizard is going to try and get it.”
“Couldn’t we get it?” I asked. “Ivy and I could try and get it. If Ivy is possibly a wizard, it would be really easy. She’d have magical powers and everything!”
Mrs. Smith laughed.
“You underestimate our abilities,” She said. “Learning spells and using magic takes years of training and practice. Ivy has had no experience whatsoever in magic. Even if she was a wizard, she wouldn’t know how to cast any spells.”
I hung my head in disappointment.
“But,” Mrs. Smith second-guessed herself. “Wizatar would never guess that two thirteen-year-old girls would go and try to get the magic glue. And I have to alert the wizard world anyway. I could have different wizards meet you along the way.”
She looked back and forth between Ivy and me.
“Ok,” She said. “You two can go and get the glue.”
“Yes!” I cheered.
“What about us?” Charlie demanded, standing up. Max copied him and stood up, his arms crossed.
“Yeah. What about us?”
“You’re too young,” Mrs. Smith said. “Even if you are possibly wizards.”
“How am I going to figure out if I’m a wizard or not?” Ivy asked.
“At some point in your life if you are a wizard, magic will show itself,” Mrs. Smith said.
“You said you would get different wizards to meet us along the way,” I said to Mrs. Smith.
“Yes?”
“How are you going to do that, how are the wizards going to know what we look like, and how will we know if different people we see are wizards or not?”
“Very good questions,” She said. “There’s a website online that only wizards can access by typing in a password in on the computer. I’ll put a post there explaining the situation and I’ll put pictures of both of you on there so wizards will know what you look like. Then, if a wizard sees you, they’ll do the special wizard sign for ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye’.”
“What’s the wizard sign?” Ivy asked.
Mrs. Smith held up three fingers.
“That’s it?” Max said. “I was expecting something more exciting.”
“Well if it were very exciting, it would be very obvious, and wizards need to be subtle so the secret doesn’t spread. That could be a disaster. You can’t have too many non-magical folk meddling in magic. Anyway, if a wizard sees you, they’ll do the wizard sign. Then they can give you some advice, or help you along your journey.”
“How are we going to get to New York?” I asked.
“I’ll give you two my credit card. You can use it to get cab rides, hotel rooms, and food. Nothing more,” She said with finality in her voice, eyeing Ivy’s malicious grin.
The microwave timer beeped.
“Oh!” Mrs. Smith jumped up from the couch. “The soup is ready. Ivy, go get your father. He’s taking a nap in our room.”


··········

After eating dinner with the Smith’s, Ivy and I talked in her room and made matching necklaces. We finished our movie, and before we knew it, it was time for me to go home.
“Thanks for dinner, Mrs. Smith,” I said as I walked out the door, lifting my backpack higher.
“My pleasure,” She assured us. “By the way, let your mom know that you’re going to go on vacation with us in New York for about a week.”
She winked at me. I winked back.
“See you tomorrow, Ivy,” I called.
I waved an Ivy waved back. I walked five steps down the sidewalk and up the front walk of my house. My mom wasn’t home yet, so I used my spare key.
Exhausted, I trudged down the hall into my room, flopped down onto my bed fully clothed, and fell asleep.

-I'm taking a six week horse class! :D I know how to ride a horse all by myself. I can steer it, walk it, trot it, stop it, groom it, and tack it! :D Kirsten (my BFF) is my horse partner. We both ride a brown and white horse called Rain. She's a trouble maker, but she's SUPER sweet! :D Next week is the last week. :( But we get to go on a trail ride! :D
-I'm trying to turn my NaNoWriMo book from last year, "Fantasya: A Giant Problem", into a play. SUPER tricky! I'm used to dialogue and detail, not shortening a book. Plus, I have a LOT of characters.
-I dressed up as Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter for Halloween. Hermione's my favorite character, but I already dressed up as her. I had spectra specs, a wig, radish earrings, robes, a wand, a tote bag, a Quibbler magazine (I made it! :D ), a butterbeer cork necklace, and I even had new sneakers that looked sort of like the Converse they wear in the movies! :D
-Our home school group has an art class we take every two weeks. A month ago I painted a scene with trees in it that can go in and out of a plastic mug. Yesterday, I painted a leaf on a coaster to go with it! :D
-I've been working on drawing Anime. None of them have turned out half as well as the ones my friend, Emily, has drawn.
-Oh yeah, my brother Maxim has been trying too. :)
-We have 20 Things Club tonight. It's research club my mom set up for our home school group. We pick a topic (sometimes it's a certain topic, like an animal or an author), then we look up 20 facts about that topic. Sometimes we share five or ten facts with the group, sometimes all of the facts! :D The topic for this month is a place we'd like to visit. (My friend Jake was going to do 20 things about a street we drive on to get to the park, but he's not sure if he'll be able to pull it off). I have to do a report on Italy for a Cultural Studies project I'm doing with my BFF, Kirsten, and her sister, Avery, so I'm doing 20 things on Italy! :D I do want to go there. All that yummy food . . . *drools*. I'm also making Pesto Pasta for the food to share and Kirsten and Avery are making Ziti.