Thursday, February 17, 2011

These bruises you've given us...they will fade
These cuts on our cheeks...they will close
These bones that you've broken...they will mend
These physical scars...they will heal

But this...this part of us that you have stolen...

we want to be strong. We want to roar! We want to heal!

But this...this place...

You have taken something from us that we can't get back.

We don't know if this will heal.

We cry out in rage and then break down in desperation.

We would prefer death.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

My ancestors before me
My parents
My brother
My cousins
My children
My friends
Me
Deep breath
Me

Deep breath


Me...
I must travel with Charon.
No fear.

How can there be fear? They will be there to greet me.
And I will be there...to embrace them :-)

Friday, November 19, 2010

How do you get to know your characters?

I just noticed that I'm writing 5-10 page snippets from different parts of my character's existence. Almost like snapshots from her life. I know there are major continuity errors that will have to be fixed when all the pieces of the puzzle are put together, but I'm enjoying getting to know her this way. How she reacts in certain situations, how she treats different people, how she speaks....her personaltiy is solidifying before my eyes :-) Or, in my words :-)
I wonder how other authors get to know their characters.
Just got really into a part of a story I'm working on and I realized I have to go back and change everything!!! Okay that's an exaggeration.
The time period is three thousand years ago and I'm writing about a cell she's in and the guard drags her in and out. And I'm trying to decide how she's being kept in there..what action will he take to keep her in there? Did they have iron bars and keys and locks? Doubtful. So I say screw it and keep writing.
Only to realize later that the reason it's been bothering me, is probably because cells back then would have been holes in the ground. Grrr....
Rewriting: the best part of writing :-)

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Musings

It's not the noise.

The incessant noise.

The screams.

It's not the shrieks that keep me awake at night. Those are the sounds of life- of the fight. A tortured fight, true, but a fight. I can hear their gasps, their cries, their moans of pain. But I know when they return to their cells at night, they are thankful to be alive.

It's the silence that scares me. It's the silence that wakes me. It's the silence that pounds in my ears.

The fight is over.

The silence means death has won.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

You can only run for so long before the road runs out...and there, at the end of all things, you must decide