Summer Shorts

I've begun my weekly short stories for the summer. I'm a little behind as I did not post the word on Monday, or the story itself yet. I ended up being oddly busy this week and spent little time at home. I'll have the latest story up this evening. For now I have to go, but more when the story is up!
-Ta

The Soundboard

My new blog is up!

Now all that will be here is my short stories and any excerpts that I choose to put up. I'm trying to simplify things a bit.

Short stories with commence next week, I wanted one week on not doing anything, and now I'm antsy to write again. Expect one by next Friday!

The new blog is called The Soundboard - http://thesoundboard-mandamae.blogspot.com/. Check it out for my conversations. :) That is all this morning. Sherlock for the rest of the day. Ta.

The Summer is Almost Here

Once summer arrives, I will be able partake in an activity that has eluded me these past few weeks - freetime. I've been very swamped with school, with long essays due and finals starting. I had my first one this morning. Phew. I'll be graduating next Sunday, which also falls on my 23rd birthday. That makes me feel old.

This summer I'll still be busy with two jobs, but I'll be scheduling in bouldering at the gym, climbing trips out to Devil's Lake, WI, and writing times. My friend and fellow writer Sora will be joining me in picking up the weekly short story exercises we had started earlier this year. We'll also finally be able to work on our novels. Both the one we are writing together and the two each that we are writing separately.

Updates on those and the short stories will be uploaded on here. I'm thinking of moving my reviews and thoughts onto a different blog. I don't want to clutter this too much. It's some food for thought over the next week.

Now it's time for me to actually pay attention to my Shakespeare class. Last day of class and I don't know where we are in Hamlet. Oops.

Coffee is super delicious...

AND I HAVE A PLOT!

It's quite good if I do say so myself. And with this new plot comes the rewriting of Chapter 1 and (hopefully) the rest of the novel. I still have a few kinks to work out with the plot, but its all minor stuff that I don't have to worry about just yet. The important things are mostly figured out.

I'm working with one of my friends to create sketches, drawings, and maps of this world. I'll post them on here when we start making them. I'm waiting until I get a bit further into writing it and until midterms are over.

Don't expect too many productive posts over then next two months. My cousin is getting married next month, and I'm her maid of honor. Lots of work to do there. I am also in my final semester at this college, and in order to graduate, I need to pass all my classes. Which have quite a bit of work in them. So, don't expect much until the end of May.

I saw In Time on Wednesday with my friend and editor Sora. It was a decent movie. It was a fairly fast driven plot, with quite a lot of action. There were a few problems that I had with it overall. Mostly the emotions that the characters could give you. One example was Justin Timberlake's character Will Salis, was not good at expressing emotions. When his mom timed-out, and he was crying over her body, I started laughing. Really really hard. Even his face didn't look sad. That was some really bad acting. The time cops (they weren't called that, but it's all that comes to mind) were another source of frustration. It was like they wanted them to be like the agents in The Matrix, but they were no where close to that level. They were just like mall cops, all the bluster, none of the skills. It was irritating. Especially when Cillian Murphy was the leader. He can do so much better. One of his lesser performances.

It was almost obnoxious how easily they got away with everything. They did the same thing over and over and over, stealing time from "banks", and yet no one stopped them. It would have been pretty easy to place a few extra guards at the locations, they had cameras, so it wouldn't be difficult.

The overall idea of the film was really cool, but I would only watch it if you want something that you don't have to think about much. Some high speed chase scenes, or just chase scenes in general really (the car chases were not that impressive) make it fun to watch.

Next up: Martin Scorsese's Hugo

A teaser of sorts

I've been spending much time working on this novel and I've decided that I will fulfill my promises of excerpts. Below is the start of chapter 1 of The Night is Darkest.

Do not be afraid of telling me what you think. Be honest, be blunt. Please be constructive though. And if you have thoughts or ideas on where this is going, or where you think this should go, don't hesitate to say it! I love hearing what my readers think.

Enjoy reading!

The Night is Darkest by Manda Mae

I

The window was covered in frost. The faint light of dawn glimmered pale yellows and oranges in the ice crystals. Snow had not yet fallen this half year, but the days were getting colder. The nights colder still. I watched silently as the sun’s first warmth began to melt the frost. The melting crystals gave the window the appearance of crying. I imagined that the window was mourning the end of the half light. The end of the vivid colors that could no longer be seen through its visage.

           From down the hall chimed the grandfather clock.

   Six chimes.

                                                                                                                       The days were getting shorter. Darkness ruled this half year and maybe the window mourned the fading of the sun most of all. This half year was always dreaded. The interim’s dull greys only fed the dread inside oneself. Always the streets would empty of human life.

 
________________________________________________________________

The bacon sizzled as it landed in the pan. Evany added another slice and turned to grab an egg. Her father stood in the doorway.

“Morning.”
“I smelled the bacon. The sun has risen?” His voice was deep and still scratchy from sleep.
“Of course father,” Evany retorted, her tone thick with exasperation. “I wouldn’t have started breakfast had it not.” Evany cracked another egg into the skillet.
Wilhelm sighed, shaking his head at her tone. “The darkness is getting longer.” Her father moved into the kitchen, sitting down at the table. The table was oak, made by Wilhelm, Evany’s father. It had been a knotted tree, and there were many knots amongst the grain. Her father began picking at a knot, a habit he had when he was agitated. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Evany caught the look of sadness that passed across Wilhem’s face. She knew her mother was on his mind. He was always thinking of her, though only the most painful memories would show on his face. Her mother Evelyn was a gentle, dark haired woman, who always had a smile on her face. She had pale, olive toned skin and dark brown eyes, a rare sight in Arcem. Most all that lived in their sector, 43, were extremely pale with blond or red hair and light colored eyes. Outsiders were few and far between. Her parents met by chance at a mutual friend’s place. They were married shortly afterwards and Evany was born a year later. Her mother was always telling stories and making everything ordinary seem special. She saw the light in the darkest corners. Seven years ago, almost to the day, Evelyn didn’t make it home before sundown.

She had been visiting with her sister Martha. Evelyn took the risk of leaving just as the sun was touching the horizon. Martha had begged her to stay. It took nearly a half hour to reach home on foot, in which the sun might not hold out long enough for Evelyn to reach home. One hour before dark there was no longer any way but by foot to reach home. Or a horse if you had money, which they did not. Her daughter’s birthday was the next day and the whole day was to be special.

Very few celebrations were held during the dark half. The dark half was completely dark with no sun or light to be seen outside, the complete opposite of the light half, and the darkness left little room for cheer. Birthdays were less than insignificant and largely ignored or unmentioned. Most born during the dark half the year did not survive, and those that did lied about their birth. No one wanted to be called a dark child. Evany’s parents wanted to make sure her birthday was special. That it wasn’t ignored. Her birth fell on the last day of light, but was in the dark half year, part of the shadowy interim, where there was less daylight every day until it was totally dark, that fell between the times of light and dark.

When the sun had risen on Evany’s fourteenth birthday, Evelyn was nowhere to be found. Evany knew she had vanished with the darkness, never to be seen again. The darkness had claimed a ray of light from their lives. Wilhelm searched for her as long as there was light. Never giving up hope that his beloved was still there. When darkness fell on the eve of her birthday, the eve of the light half, Evany watched as the light faded and saw the light leave her father as well. He was nothing without his beloved.

RANDOM FACT: I hate socks.

They really just irritate me. And I don't ever want to touch them when they are used/dirty.

Anyway, on to more important things. 

I have not written my latest short story yet. It just been sitting in my googleDocs, gathering cyber dust. I don't know, if/when I will every be completed. 

School has really been eating up all of my time. And when I'm not at school I'm at work (I have eight classes to teach this session). And when I am not at work or school, I am doing anything but my homework, i.e. watching Psych (I am insanely addicted and waaay too much like Shawn. It's scary.) and writing my novel. Occasionally I'm doing homework. 

I've basically decided to devote much of my time on my novel, The Night is Darkest. The basic plot is coming together and I've begun creating the world, and written the first chapter and parts of the second and third chapters. 

So for now, no short stories. Unless I randomly write one, and then it'll be up as soon as it's finished. 

In the meantime, I will try to update more often and possibly post some excerpts or notes from my novel. Not today though. 

As soon as I have the plot figured out, I'll be sure to post a summary.

I am also open to any suggestions or plot ideas for "epic quests for truth with no magic,  no romance, and no coming of age."

Back to scribbling away.

Short Story #2

This week, since we kinda missed getting the word on Monday, me and my friend Sora decided to start today with Monday's word. This gives us all weekend to write and hopefully homework will not be getting in the way this time. :)

Little sister's birthday party tomorrow!! Whoo. :D I am so looking forward to celebrating her 21st. Such an exciting time.

That's about it for me today. I'll have a much longer post on Monday with details on my life and The Night Is Darkest, my novel in the works. No spoilers (there are a lot!) but I might be posting snippets from time to time.

If I remember to, I'll be sure to post movie reviews and my thoughts on the new Sherlock episodes, which will reach the US this coming May, but are already out on DVD in the UK (the last episode aired almost two weeks ago!). It's really quite fantastic. For now though I need more coffee and some breakfast.

This week's work is:

Otrance [oo-tRahNs] -noun French. 1. the utmost extremity.

By-week

No short story this week. Homework is kicking my butt and my dad failed to give me a word on Monday and I forgot to follow up on that. Oops.

Little sister's 21st birthday yesterday, going out this weekend to celebrate. Sure to be fun.

I found a new way to do my English homework - tipsy. Now, while this is not something new, I have a personal rule not to drink until after homework. But last night I decided to watch the second episode of season 2 of Sherlock and, well, I like to drink when watching them for the first time. I've done that with every episode, the first time through. Next time I'll be sure to finish my homework first, then watch Sherlock.

Quarter

A day later than I promised, but I'm mostly proud I finished it. I just had to start this project on the first week of classes. Anyway, without further ado, here is my unedited short story of the week.


_________________________________________________________

Quarter

Ketting looked over her shoulder again. This time she could have sworn there was a noise. After a few seconds of silence, she looked back at the book in front of her, satisfied she was alone. 

_________________________________________________________

Ketting had begun the task no one else in her family seemed inclined to do.
The apartment was empty that evening. Her roommates were out for the evening, Louise at work and Jenna out for dinner. An almost eerie silence had slowly descended throughout the rooms, blocking out even the sound of the traffic passing below.
Ketting had been slowly going through each of her grandmother’s possessions that had been left to her, deciding what to keep and what to sell. She had never been very close with her grandmother, and had only seen her three times. Both her mother and her only uncle hadn’t spoken to their mother in nearly thirty years, longer than Ketting had been alive at least. Her grandmother had left almost all her possessions to her only grandchild. Her great wealth, all her furniture, material possessions. Everything except for the sprawling manor house in upstate New York and all the paintings that lined its walls. That went to her uncle, Harrod, who, wanting nothing to do with anything of his mother’s, immediately placed the house on the market and donated all the paintings to museums and galleries throughout the world. What had been left to Ketting was placed in a storage facility for three months. In that time she had to figure out what to do with it all or it would be auctioned off.
Her mother said to leave it all to rot, and good riddance. Ketting of course, immediately began sifting though everything, selling off furniture and other house decor that she didn’t want or need and incorporating the rest into the apartment. All of her grandmother’s clothes she donated, though she kept the antique jewelery. The books she kept, and most were piled about the apartment, the bookshelves overfull.
There were four boxes that held papers and photographs, all personal odds and ends. These Ketting was reluctant to open. Her roommates chided her for her nervousness, but Ketting couldn’t shake the feeling that within those boxes was the answers to all the questions she had about her mother’s childhood, and the key to knowing who her grandmother was.
And Ketting had a strong feeling it wouldn’t be what she expected.

_________________________________________________________

When Ketting had the apartment to herself for a night she had a ritual that she would follow. First was a bath. Candle light, with bath oils and aromatherapy. She would then dress in one of her silk nightgowns and cook herself a gourmet dinner. A bottle of wine, a fire and a book followed.
Tonight she couldn’t get back into her book. The boxes that were in the corner of their living room were calling her name. They had a story to tell her. One she was desperate to hear. Her mother’s warning to stay away was playing through her mind, enticing her as much as spurning her away. With a sigh, Ketting set down her book. She knew that it was time to finally open the boxes.
Ketting pulled the boxes into the center of the room. Fingers tapping nervously on her legs, Ketting nervously paced in front of the boxes. She turned away, opting to pour herself another glass of wine. She sipped greedily from the glass, draining it, and filling up another before she finally sat down on the hardwood floor.
Prying open the boxes was a bit more difficult than the young woman anticipated. After a few glasses of wine, pulling tape off was not a simple task. It required some grunting, yelling and the eventual breaking down and getting scissors, which let to bringing the rest of the bottle of wine over. Once the tape was all more or less off the boxes, Ketting got to work. The struggle with the boxes took away all of the trepidation she had about their contents.
Financial files and records filled the first two boxes and made their way to the garbage shoot down the hall. The third box held an extensive coin collection. All of the coins were in books. There were coins dating back to the beginning of the country and quite a few from other countries as well. A coin collector was not who she thought her grandmother was, but obviously she had to have one of the most complete collections in the world. Carefully pulling out each book, Ketting gently looked through them. Every single coin slot was full. Except for one. A single quarter from 1965, Philadelphia mint. An odd coin to be missing. Shrugging it off, Ketting began putting the books back.

A strange echo seemed to follow the sound of the book being placed in the box. Ketting glanced over her shoulder. Nothing was moving. The windows weren’t open and there wasn’t even noise from the neighboring apartments.

Ketting laughed softly. Her imagination was starting to kick in. She was definitely tipsy at this point. Still, Ketting quickly finished putting the books away. All but the one with the missing quarter. That she was going to remedy. Banks had to have stashed of coins and maybe she could check out a few other places, antique stores and the like. Her mom’s dresser was a definite place to hunt through.

Tap.

Ketting looked over her shoulder again. This time she could have sworn there was a noise. After a few seconds of silence, she looked back at the book in front of her, satisfied she was alone. She gently brushed the place where the coin should have been. It looked as though there had at one time been filled, but was no longer. Closing the book, she set it on the floor next to her.

Finally, Ketting turned to the last box. This one held journals and photo albums. There was water damage on most of it. And a few unidentifiable stains.

Something hit the ground behind her, with the distinct tapping clatter a coin makes as it strikes wood. Ketting turned her gaze to the floor behind her. There lay the quarter that was missing from the book. It was no longer shinny, but dirtied. A grimy film covering its surface. Ketting slowly reached out and picked up the coin.

A floorboard creaked.

Ketting froze, eyes wide, the quarter now clasped in her outstretched hand.

Unexpected. Without a doubt.

The New Year

I've begun writing a book. And while I'm not constantly writing, I am making decent progress.

One of my two new years resolutions was to write more. This is an achievable goal. The other is to graduate from a college, which I will do in May. Yes! Though I have my application for Columbia to worry about now and graduation to deal with on top of my busy schedule, its got my excitement at a new chapter of my life fueling these processes. End tangent.

On to my writing goal. Each Monday my father is giving me and my friend Sora a word. We both are writing a short story that must be finished by Friday. I'll be posting the short stories I write on here then. On Mondays I post what the word is and other nonsense that is on my mind that week.

I'm looking forward to developing my writing skills and building my creativity. Hopefully I won't put this off due to school work, and vise versa. Hahaa.

That's all for today, writing is taking over my single free hour left until after bouldering tonight.

This week's word is QUARTER.