Truthing the Magical Way

Yesterday I promised that we’d get to see Kerry showing the parents what he could do witchy wise, and today that time has come.  We know Kerry is trying to convince his folks that, yes, he’s really one of those people who do real magic and just don’t pretend, and given that they’re being such hard sells–well, sometimes drastic measure require drastic actions …

 

(The following excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Three: C For Continuing, copyright 2016 by Cassidy Frazee)

Kerry sat back slowly while keeping eyes locked on his mother. Before leaving Berlin he’d told Ms. Rutherford that his mother would have the hardest time with his coming out, and expected at least one outburst from her. “Okay, Mom.”

Louise turned on Ms. Rutherford. “Why are you having us listen to this bullshit? Why are we really here?”

“We’re here because it is necessary for Kerry to reveal the true nature of his studies.” Ms. Rutherford remained icy calm as she faced a hostile parent—something with which she’d had personal experience in the past. “Everything Kerry’s told you is true—”

“You expect us to believe he can actually do magic?” Louise scoffed loudly. “You made it sound as if you had something important to tell us—”

“It is important, Mrs. Malibey—”

“And you throw this—this goddamn nonsense at us.” Louise looked as if she were about to stand. “This is—”

Kerry.” Ms. Rutherford put just enough volume and tone in her voice to shut down the conversation from the other side of the room. “Maybe now is the time to do what we discussed.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Louise immediately perked up. “Do what?”

Kerry’s eyes focused on nothing as he slipped into deep concentration. “Show a practical application.”

“Of what?”

He looked up and at his mother. “This.” Kerry held his hands up and flicked out his index fingers—

 

Do we expect you to believe your son can do magic?  No, Mrs. Malibey; we expect you to die!  Oh, wait:  wrong story.  Anyway, Kerry’s about the lay the mojo down, and–well ….

"I'm always amazed . . . that I actually wrote this crap."

“Yeah, Kerry:  show us what you got.”

Okay, then here goes:

 

All the window shades dropped simultaneously and what little outside light there was dimmed considerably. The door to the kitchen quickly closed and latched, and a black curtain seemed to fill the opening between the family and dining rooms. A moment later all the lights in the room went out, and the family room turned dark instantly.

A bright glowing sphere formed in front of Kerry and rose off his upwardly turned left hand until stopping a few centimeters short of the ceiling. It grew slightly brighter until the family room was filled with a soft white luminescence.

Kerry looked upward for a moment, then turned is gaze across the room to his parents. He crossed his arms. “That should do it.”

His parents sat looking about the room in surprised and confusion which Kerry had expected. Louise slowly turned to him. “Wha—what happened?”

“I used a variation of the levitation spell to drop the shades and shut the kitchen door.” Kerry sat back, looking somewhat pleased. “I threw a masking effect across the windows and did a kind of privacy curtain over the dining room entrance—” He looked to his left at his work. “It’s not that good, but I’ve only been working on something that big for about a month. And last I did a simple light spell and levitated it up towards the ceiling so we can see.” He shrugged. “Pretty simple.”

Davyn emerged from a semi-stupor brought about by Kerry’s crafting. “Simple?”

“Yeah, it really is, Dad—”

“What Kerry means is it’s simple for him.” Ms. Rutherford glanced over towards the boy on his left. “This is the reason he’s in all the advanced—”

“Stop it.”

Ms. Rutherford grew quiet and waited a few moment for Louise Malibey, who now seemed on the verge of being either confused or frightened, to gather herself together. “Is something the matter?”

Louise half-closed her eyes. “Stop this: just stop it.”

Ms. Rutherford nodded towards her left. “Kerry?”

“Sure.” He made the slightest of motions with his left hand: instantly the blinds rose to their proper open position, the door to the kitchen opened, the light ball near the ceiling vanished as the light came on once more, and the privacy effects on the windows and dining room entrance vanished. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands against his thighs. “There.”

Lousie stared hard at her son. “You did that.”

Kerry gave a slight nod. “Yeah, I did.”

“That wasn’t a trick.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He held back from chuckling. “No one from The Foundation came in while the house was empty and set this up so I could trick you.”

Dayvn seemed to relax though he appeared wary and apprehensive. “So you used—magic?”

This time Kerry nodded twice. “Yes: I used magic.”

 

Yeah, Mom, I used magic.  So this cat’s out of the bag and is never getting back in–then again, what cat ever does?  Boxes, however:  all bets are off about when they’ll get out.

I wanted Kerry to do something that would show he’s really skilled with crafting the Art, as they say back at the school, but not do something that would literally scare the shit out of his parents.  Fireballs and Cold Fire?  They wouldn’t have dug it.  Shadow Ribbons?  Too sinister.  Air hammer?  Yeah, blowing out the windows in the family room would have made a statement.

And, yes, he could have done a little transformation magic like change the color of his hair or darken his complexion, but he’s probably aware by now that his parents would probably have freaked out even more if they knew their had their own little Mystique living under their roof, and that their child is a person who can literally become you if they want.

This, however, does lead to a few questions and a revelation–

 

Louise turned to Ms. Rutherford. “So all the students at school are witches?”

Ms. Rutherford remained calm. “Yes.”

“And the instructors?”

“They’re witches as well: it’s necessary.” She sat back just a bit. “And before you ask, yes: the staff at school are witches as well.”

Louise looked downward as she swallowed once. “That must mean—” She looked at the woman sitting across from her. “—you’re a witch, too.”

“I am.” Ms. Rutherford crossed her arms and gently rubbed her chin with her right hand. “I went to Salem, just like Kerry.”

Dayvn nodded slowly. “When did you go?”

“I started in 2001: I was among the first A Levels to begin the new century.”

“When did you graduate?”

“2007.”

Both of Louise’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen.” Ms. Rutherford looked at Kerry with a certain pride. “The same age as Kerry will be when he graduates.”

“But—” Louise looked down and away as if she were having difficulty understanding something. “That was only six years ago.”

“Yes, it was.” Ms. Rutherford chuckled lightly. “In case you’re wondering, I’ll be twenty-three in about six weeks.”

“You don’t look anything like twenty-three.”

“I know. When we’re dealing with the parents of children from Normal backgrounds—non-witches, mind you—we try to make ourselves look more ‘age appropriate’. It allows the parents to feel more comfortable when dealing with us. But now that you know I’m a witch, there really isn’t any need to keep up the charade—”

Though she didn’t change in height or size, Ms. Rutherford’s features flowed from that of a woman who may have been in her mid-thirties to someone who appeared to be maybe three or four years older than Kerry. The transformation took place in less than three seconds, and when it was over she spoke to the visibly shocked adults. “This is how I really look. And how I’ll look from now on when I speak with Kerry and come for him.”

 

Now this little bit of writing required that I do something:  mainly, figure out all the stuff with Berniece’s life.  I knew a little about her, but it was only in this moment of writing that I locked her down to an age and attendance.

And that means having to get a time line ready.

And that means having to get a time line ready.

And it also shows that The Foundation is thinking ahead in that they like the people who have to deal with their student’s parents to look–let’s say “professional”.  Which is to mean age appropriate, as she says.

And that makes things a bit more interesting when we realize that those moments in which Ms. Rutherford comforted Kerry when his moments of need, she’s really only ten years older than him and Annie.  And that means she probably does relate to him better, because it wasn’t that long ago she may have went through the same things he’s going through now.

It’s also easy to see that here are at least three people at Salem that she may have known, though it’s doubtful she was ever friends with them.  Even her covenmate Wednesday would have been an E Level once Berniece was out of The Fishbowl, and that’s a pretty big gap to jump in terms of friendship.  Still, she would have likely known those three people, and she likely would have had Erywin, Jessica, Maddie, Ramona, and Mathias as instructors, and maybe even Helena, too; I’d have to check on that last.  She’s a good person to have as your case worker if you need something done, because she knows people, yeah?

So now that the Malibey’s have seen transformation magic up close and personal, they’re okay with it–

 

Louise’s face froze into a tight mask. “You look like a teenager.”

“Well—” She glanced over to Kerry, who was examining his case worker’s true appearance. “I do look like I’m eighteen, but that comes with being a witch.” She turned back to Louise with a smile. “It comes with being what I am.”

“I see.” Louise folded her hands across her lap and stared unfocused into space. “I need you leave.”

“I beg your pardon?” Ms. Rutherford cocked her head to one side. “Is there a—”

“I need you to leave.” Louise straightened as her eyes turned cold. “I want you out of this house, and I want you out now.”

 

–Okay, maybe not.  Then again, we knew Louise Malibey was going to be a hard sell, and we weren’t disappointed.

The question remains:  where happens next?

I guess you’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?

2001 A Blogging Odyssey

I show no shame in ripping off the title of one of my favorite movies and using it for my own.  But given this is post number 2001, what else am I gonna say?

How about “I finished scene two last night?”  Yeah, that’s a nice thing to say.  It saw me returning to form a little as I wrote eight hundred and sixty-eight words, and that’s close to nine hundred, and that’s almost a thousand, so maybe I’m starting to get back into the swing.  Maybe.  I have a TV recap to do tonight, so I’ll likely not get into the third scene until early Saturday morning.

Still, though, I finished this scene.

It only took four days, but I got it done.

It only took four days, but I got it done.

This scene is the flashback.  This is where we see what happens after those five words are spoken at the end of B For Bewitching, and some have waited–well, weeks, to discover what happened next.

And instead of talking about that, why not show it?

 

(The following excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Three: C For Continuing, copyright 2016 by Cassidy Frazee)

“Mom, Dad . . . I’m a witch.”

Kerry sat in silence for a few seconds waiting for the response he knew was coming. For the last month, since the night of the lighting of the Beltane bonfires, he’d played this scene out in mind, knowing what he was going to say and imagining what his parent would do and say. He’d expected them to appear shocked and find his comment ludicrous, to even wonder if he as suffering from a mental disorder.

He imagined the worst.

He did not expect for them to sit and stare at him in silence.

His eyes shifted from her father to his mother. “Guys?”

Louise Malibey was the first to break the silence. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m a witch.” He glanced at Ms. Rutherford on his right, who nodded for him to continue. “I can do magic.”

His father, Davyn Malibey, cleared his throat. “You mean like what Davie Blane does?”

“No, dad—” Kerry shook his head. “He’s an illusionist. I’m a real witch: I do real magic.”

“I just don’t understand—” Louise’s appearance had moved from confused to one that was bordering on annoyed. She turned her attention to Ms. Rutherford. “I though this was about something important?”

Ms. Rutherford raised a skeptical eyebrow. “This is important, Mrs. Malibey. This is your son’s life we’re discussing.”

“Are you—?”

Davyn held up a hand before his wife could say anything further. “If this was true, shouldn’t you be a wizard?”

“No, Dad.” Kerry sat back, now a bit relaxed. “That’s a word a bunch of dudes made up a few hundred years back because they didn’t want to share the same designation with women. As far as practitioners of The Art—that’s how you really refer to magic—as far as they’re concerned, you’re a witch whether your a girl or a boy. Same with sorceresses: it’s the same word for either gender.”

“Sorceresses?”

Ms. Rutherford picked up on the manifesting tone in Louise’s voice, and felt having Kerry give as much information as quickly as possible to be the best course of action. “Kerry, why don’t you tell your parents what you actually do at school.”

 

Yeah, Kerry, why don’t you rush over all the black magic shit and tell them about the school work your parents haven’t asked you about all the other times they could have asked you.  You have to figure that Kerry knew this was going to be a bit difficult to get his parents to understand, given they’ve shown zero interest in his school work up to this point, so it’s a a bit of an uphill battle for him.

Do his parents want to hear about classes?  Believe it or not–

 

“Yes—” Louise’s voice had suddenly become far move restrained. “I’d like to hear this.”

“I’m certain of this.” Ms. Rutherford turned to her charge. “Kerry?”

Davyn spoke up while Louise sat quietly. “Yes, what do you do, son?”

“Well—” He ran his hand over his thighs as he leaned forward. “I’ve taken history, math—um, algebra and geometry—basic and earth science as well as botany. I’ve had two years of astronomy where we’ve learned more math. And we’ve taken self defense classes, too: I’m actually taking the advanced class, and probably will until almost the end of school.

“But the real reason I’m there is to learn how to craft magic. I’ve taken classes in normal spells, in Formulistic Magic—that’s really chemistry with magic—in transformation magic, and in sorcery. And in those first three, those are a few of the advanced classes I’m in. I also get special tutoring in sorcery, and I tutor someone in transformation magic.”

Kerry moved on quickly so he didn’t have to explain the special tutoring situation. “I’ve also learned how to apply magic to what I learned in botany and in my self defense class, so it’s possible to change things there with a bit of crafting.

“Also, I fly. I’ve taken two years of flying, and I’ll start my third when I return—”

“Flying?” Louis seemed puzzled by her son’s comment.

“Yeah, Mom: flying.”

“With what?”

“With a broom.”

Both parents were surprised by this, though Louise was able to respond the quickest. “A broom? Like a witches broom.”

Kerry shrugged. “Well—”

Davyn found his voice. “Like a Harry Potter broom?”

“No, nothing like that. These are—” He moved his hands about like he was grabbing the words out of the air. “It’s like most of a bicycle frame without the wheels. It’s made out of carbon filament, and there’s a seat and a control HUD like you have—”

“Stop. Just stop it.”

 

Well, that certainly sounds like it’s gonna be good.

This part is gonna get farmed out over the next three days, because it can.  About a third of it is down today, and the last part of this get blogged out on Sunday, which gives me time to write more on Saturday and Sunday.  It’s my hope I can always stay a few days ahead of the post so that, when it’s time to put a post out, I have something to excerpt.

In the meantime I’m probably gonna Gish Gallop out a bunch of recaps that I’ve written in the last few weeks, just because I can, and it’ll get me caught up on the stuff I normally reblog anyway.  Look for that stuff to start blowing up in your email box today.

Needless to day, the next few days are gonna get interesting . . .

Bimillennium

You waited and waited, and here it is:  post Number 2000.  So of course it’ll be called what it’s called, because that’s what you get when you have two of a thousand, yeah?

But this the real deal:  two thousand posted, most of which were written with maybe a few dozen reblogged.  I’ll take that, because most of those reblogs were mine, and after tomorrow’s post–which is gonna be a play on another famous title–I’ll do a Gish Gallop on stuff that I’ve written but not reblogged, which are mostly my recaps over on The Snarking Dead.

But you didn’t come here to read about that, right?  No, there’s something else here–

"Oh, look:  Cassidy finally decided to treat us to her work.  About time."

“Oh, look: Cassidy finally decided to treat us to her new work. About time.”

 

That’s the real reason, for today C For Continuing starts excerpting, and at the rate I’m writing I’ll run out of things to excerpt in a few days, because I was only able to write another five hundred words last night.  Don’t worry:  I’ll get into gear.  I promise.  There’s a thousand word night in me somewhere.  Which I’m gonna need because right now my average is well below what I normally do.

But enough of that.  Since everyone waited I figured I’ll throw all of the first scene out for you to read and try to sate your appetites.  Here it, first draft as always, and right off the bat you get into what’s most important at this point in my kids’ story . . .

 

(The following excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Three: C For Continuing, copyright 2016 by Cassidy Frazee)

What bothered Annie Kirilova the most this morning was the weather. She had hoped for a bright sunshine, but what she received instead was light rain and low cloud cover. The rain also had the temperatures hovering in the low teens Celsius, which kept her out of shorts and forced her into leggings to wear with her long, flowing top and black ballet flats.

Given what was going to happen, she wondered if the weather reflected he mood.

Standing before the large windows of her lake house, she saw that her tree was certainly reading her feelings. The leaves were a bright yellow when she arrived thirty minutes earlier, and now they were a muddy gold. It feels my concern: it knows this. Her mother had seen it as well, when Annie entered the kitchen as she came down the spiral staircase from her bedroom. While Annie was an expert at hiding her emotions, the last few years saw her mother becoming more adapt at picking up on them. She knew the reason why: puberty was having an effect upon her, and while it remained possible to keep her feelings invisible, strong emotions had a way of leaking through the outer façade.

And Annie’s emotions were growing stronger every day.

She turned away from the window sighing and checked the clock in the kitchen: 08:59. Annie wondered if her guest would actually turn up in the next minute as she was told that this particular person had a habit for punctuality—

The LEDs switched over to 09:00. Annie held her breath as she moved towards the dining table.

A few seconds later a shadow passed across the windows followed by a knock at the main entrance. Annie turned and nearly smiled. The stories are true, it seem. She hurried over and opened the door for her guest. “Won’t you come in, please?”

“Thank you, Annie.” Berniece Rutherford entered and paused for a moment as she examined the large, open space. She wore a light jacket over her tee shirt this Sunday morning, and her jeans and sneakers indicated she was anticipating a relaxing day. “So this is the lake house.”

“Yes, it is. I hope you like it.” Annie wondered how much Ms. Rutherford knew about this place. She was aware that as Kerry’s case worker it was necessary for her to receive numerous concerning things that happened to Kerry at school, and it was likely she’d read at least one report on their shared wedding vision—a fact of which she was certain the moment she noticed the young woman’s eyes lock upon the sleep loft in the back. She has to know everything.

Annie stepped closer to her guests and held out her hand. “May I take your jacket and purse?”

“You can hang up my jacket; I’ll keep my purse with me.” She shrugged out of it and stepped a couple of meters away from the door. “Are we sitting at the table or by the fireplace?”

Annie finished hanging the jacket. “By the fireplace, please. Would you like tea? I put a kettle on in anticipation.”

Berniece chuckled. “I would love some. Do you have breakfast tea?”

“Yes. Loose leaf.”

“You are ready. That would be fine.”

Annie gave a cut nod then went to the kitchen area to retrieve the kettle and prepare the infuser. She set both on a tray along with a cup and saucer and carried them over to where Bernice sat. Annie waved her hand over the kettle, which began steaming almost immediately, then slowly poured the tea cup just over three quarters full. “I understand you like milk in yours—would you care for some?”

“Yes, please.”

Annie levitated a small pitcher all the way from the kitchen and gently retrieved it in mid-air. Only after pouring in a small amount of milk did she offer the tea to her guest. “Here you are.”

“Thank you, Annie.” Berniece looked up, smiling. “You are quite the host.”

“Mama impressed upon me that we should always make our guests comfortable when they visit.”

Bernice watched the steam rising from the liquid’s surface. “Must have been a little tricky timing this coming to a boil right before my arrival.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Annie sat in the leather easy chair across the coffee table from the case worker. “I brought it to a boil maybe fifteen minutes ago, then placed a small time spell around the kettle to put it in stasis. As far as the contents of the kettle were concerned, maybe five seconds had passed before I removed the spell.”

Berniece gave an approving grin. “Did you learn that on your own?”

“No, Kerry taught me.”

“So your Time Lord is teaching you those spells. I guess you’ll be a Time Lady soon.”

Annie managed a slight smile at the reference while inwardly she groaned. In the last few months of their B Levels Kerry had become quite adept at quickly crafting a selection of time spells of all sizes, and had begun using them to speed up reactions in Advanced Formulistic Magic. Because of this ability, however, Erywin—who was as much a pop culture geek as her soul mate—began calling him the “Salem Time Lord” and openly joked that it wouldn’t be long before Annie joined him as a Time Lady.

She must have included that bit in one of her reports. Annie wasn’t sure if she should feel honored that Erywin was observant enough to take time to acknowledge these abilities publicly, of annoyed that she allowed her private jokes into official documents.

Annie decided to move away from any discussion of her ability with time crafting. “Is it raining in London as well?”

Berniece shook her head. “No, but it’s about the same temperature-wise.”

“Did you have trouble getting here?”

“Not a all. I took you advice: jaunted London to Sofia, had them jaunt me to Pamporovo, then hired a car to your house. Your mother didn’t seem at all surprised when I pulled up.”

Annie shook her head. “No. I’d told her you were coming. Did you walk down from the main house?”

“You mother jaunted me to the deck stairs. I think she felt it necessary that she not be seen.” Berniece sipped her tea. “Umm—that’s perfect.”

Annie settled back in her chair and tried not to be obvious about taking a deep breath before continuing. She felt there had been enough small talk already, and she wanted to get into the reason why she’d asked Ms. Rutherford here two weeks earlier. “If you wouldn’t mind—”

Berniece sensed Annie’s eagerness to start. “No, not at all.”

Annie crossed her legs. “How did it go?”

Berniece held her cup and saucer of tea steady in her lap. “It went about as well as I expected—”

 

Those last remarks should be familiar—

 

FADE IN:

INT. LAKE HOUSE INTERIOR — DAY

The camera centers on ANNIE KIRILOVA sitting in a large chair. She’s dressed casually and for the summer. She addresses someone sitting off-screen across from her.

ANNIE (IN ENGLISH)
How did it go?

QUICK CUT:
Sitting in another large chair across from Annie BERNIECE RUTHERFORD steadies her cup and saucer in her lap. She dressed causally in jeans and a pullover top, ready for summer.

BERNIECE
About as well as I expected.

 

—with just a bit of editing on Bernice’s line, because you can’t always get everything you want in a trailer, can you?

With the first scene coming on their return from school for the summer, and with me saying the next scene is a flashback, that mean what comes next must have to do with the other have of the Lovey Dovey Couples, otherwise why is Ms. Rutherford there?

I guess this means you get to begin seeing what happened to Kerry tomorrow–

Workin’ Like It’s 1999

As I like to say, this is the penultimate post to the last–but wait:  tomorrow isn’t the last post I’ll write.  Far from that.  It’s just that tomorrow’s post is kind of a big deal, so to say I’m a little excited is an understatement.

"I never thought I'd get here. But I'm always thinking that."

“I never thought I’d get here. But I’m always thinking that.”

So I’m a little over two thousand words into the next novel, which doesn’t sound like a lot, but give it time, I’ll get there.  Not to mention that this weekend is supposed to be hotter that hell and I’ll likely be staying in a lot, so I’m going to set Sunday as a day to write and not a day to fool around watching Netflix.  Because there is stuff I need to get down in the Word Bank, and that’s as good a day as any.

So what to talk about today?  Um, how about bra fittings?

I know, strange subject, but then I get my readers going off in the direction, like yesterday.  Renxkyoko and I were discussing yesterday’s post, and we got off on the subject of “Kerry after the Change” because I made a comment about what sort of panties Girl Kerry will want to wear, and from there I made the comment that she’ll also need a bra fitting, and . . . yeah, there’s a lot of things about this transition that, in time, will likely need to be addressed.  I mean, we’ve seen Annie fly more than once, so the odds are good we’ll see Kerry transition more than once, too.

But will happen in this novel?  Um . . . probably not.  Or maybe it will.  Where would they go?  Forever 21?  Has Annie ever set foot inside a Forever 21?  Probably not.  Not when she’s getting her purses and wallets from the Louis Vuitton store in Paris, so you can imagine–as we already have–that Annie has some high standards when it comes to her threads.  Which means she’s likely to be just as picky about someone else’s threads as hers.  “It’s not a problem, Annie.  I can pick up some jeans at JC Penney’s and–”  And Annie lets out a shriek of horror at the idea ’cause she’s knows a Levi’s store on the Rue Saint-Lazare, and she tells Kerry that’s where we’re going . . .

And for a little reality, I have shopped at that Levi’s store on Rue Saint-Lazare, back in 2006.  I didn’t buy jeans, but my SO did, and she reminded me that European and Asian fits are so much better than American ones.  I’m sure Annie thinks the same, which is probably why she almost never buys clothes in the US.  Then again, she’s a princess–what did you expect?

But all that’s way off in the future, maybe a year, maybe two away.  As of right now I just have to worry about tomorrow, and the writing that comes tonight.  Honestly, it’s this part that makes it all worth while.  The stress, the pain, being tired, feeling like I’m not making anything worth while.  It all goes away once people start seeing the goods.

Let’s see if I still feel that way in a year.

The Production Push

You know the drill:  this is the point in the story where I come in and say “Last night I–” and then continue with a discussion of what I wrote.  But it’s also been a time of some complaining an excuse making as well, and that’s leaving me a bit discouraged even more than digging on the excitement of writing another novel.

When I returned from work I needed to decompress, so I sat and watched a movie.  Then I headed down the street to get something to eat because I was hungry and there isn’t a thing in the apartment.  Then when I came back I set up to write and found a few distractions to pull me in before I actually really truly got down to the business of writing.

And it was horrible.

It was something of a draining day at work, and I tried to bounce back from the experience as much as possible, but damn if I wasn’t so tired last night.  The energy simply wasn’t there, and I found myself not only lagging in writing, but having  trouble keeping what I wanted to say in my head long enough to get it out for saying.

The hardest part were my fingers, as in, “My fingers wouldn’t do what I wanted them to do.”  Between the new keyboard and the long nails I’ve had to figure out a whole new way of typing, and it hasn’t always been the best way.  I’m used to hitting the keys with the tops of my fingers, but due to having longer nails than I’ve ever had in my life, I now need to flatten my hands out and strike the keys with a combination of my finger pads and the nails, and I don’t always do a great job with that.  I’m also used to the old keyboards where the keys press right up against each other, and these new keyboards with the spaces between them drive me crazy after a while.

And crazy means I get frustrated.  I don’t type as fast as I once did, and haven’t to go back and fix things all the time wears you down.  I’m sue I’ll get used to this–I’m almost there now–but after three months I find myself not striking keys with enough force to get them do make a mark, and I don’t like it, not one bit.

But most of all I’m tired a lot at night, and that affects everything.

"I've written a little bit here, so . . . just a quick nap and I'm ready to go again.  I think.  Zzzzzzz."

“No, really:  I’m fine.  I just need to . . . zzzzzzzzzz.”

Someone last night said my post are like having a conversation, and I’ve always tried to do that when writing.  Only the five hundred and thirty words I wrote last night came out as one of the most stilted conversations I’ve ever held, and by the time I reached a point where I felt I needed to stop, much of the reason revolved around just feeling as if I couldn’t continue any more.

I was simply fed up.

I am in need of really getting my shit together on this book and get set up some proper times to write–

Or it’s gonna be a long novel.

Change as Change Be

Was there writing?  Yeah, a little.  Before I did that I had a long, relaxing lunch with a few glasses of wine:

Here I'm trying out for the part of the new queen of King's Landing.

Here I’m trying out for the part of the new queen of King’s Landing.

Then came home and watched some TV and took a nap.  Then I got up and started getting my images for tomorrow’s Sense8 recap, and it was only after all that was out of the way that I started writing.

The thing is, I didn’t get much written:  about three hundred and ten words and not much more.  After I started writing I began having this running conversation with myself about whether or not I was saying things right.  So I spent time walking about the apartment trying out lines, trying out feelings, trying to figure out if what I wanted to write was what I wanted to write.

I do this a lot:  I will “act out” what I want to write, taking on the parts of the characters who are going down in that part of the story and figure out if it feels good and sounds like it’s legitimate.  I’ve been doing this for years:  when I used to live in Indiana and I spent the weekends driving to and from Indianapolis, I’d use the time in the car to work out scenes by “being” my characters.  And one of those scenes I worked out?  The meeting of the Brain Trust when they were first going over the footage of Kerry’s gender switching lab work before they figured out there was more at work than just simply transformation magic.

I work on that back in the late summer of 2012, which should give you an idea about how much time I sometimes spend on these things.

But the second scene began, and it started out with five simple words:

 

“Mom, Dad . . . I’m a witch.”

 

If you read the metadata synopsis next to the scene title, probably figured out that this is the scene that picks up right after the uttering of those same words at the end of B For Bewitching.  That, of course, makes this scene a flashback, the first one in the series, and it means we’re back with The Malibeys and their child who’s never done anything special in their life.  Oh, Mom and Dad Malibey, are you about to eat those freakin’ words.

It was during the moments when I was working out things that I realized I’d forgotten a scene for Chapter One–I told you this would happen, didn’t I?  If Scene Two is a flashback, and Scene one is obviously the setup, then where’s the payoff?  Still in my head, right?  Duh.  If so, I needed to get it out, and with that–

I did.

I did.

Now after the little drama plays out in the Second Home By the Sea–hey, that would make a great song title, wouldn’t it?–we get to snap back to Pamporovo to find out if there is follow up to the flashback.  And it’s likely as I go along through the story I’ll need to do this here and there, because I’m only human:  I can’t get all my plotting right the first time around.

What really matters is that I get it right in the end.

Embarking Upon New Adventures in Storytelling

Yesterday was as big day in a many ways.  I put out the trailer, started the novel, and drove down to Maryland to spend time celebrating a friend’s birthday.  We had lunch and ice cream, she went shopping at Tiffany and picked up a bracelet–and the sales woman joke with me that I could always come to their new “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” meeting where couples can pick out engagement rings, which will probably never happen to be because I’ll likely never be engaged again–and finished it off with a visit to Build-a-Bear, where I picked up a new friend–

Who joins another friend that was made for me last year.

Who joins another friend that was made for me last year.

Since I was given a “Mother of Dragons” tee shirt to wear, it goes without saying that I needed a dragon–and Toothless is one of the best.

See?  Cuddly little dragon.

See? Cuddly little dragon.

It was a fairly full day that I finished off with watching a few Walking Dead episodes and writing a little more–

Wait?  Did I say writing?

Yes, I did.  Like I said I started the new novel yesterday, and I ended the evening by finishing up the first five hundred words.  And today, down here at the Little Amps coffee shop, I finished the scene of Chapter One with a six hundred and forty word effort.

Proof I'm down writing.

Proof I’m down writing.

 

And proof I did the writing.

And proof I did the writing.

If you’re scanning ahead you’re probably saying to yourself, “But where’s the excerpt, Cassie?  I don’t see anything.  Are you gaslighting us?”  Nope, no gaslighting at all, ’cause that’s a dick move–though if I try to convince you that you’re an android with implanted human memories, that’s considered a Philip K. Dick move and it’s totally okay.

No, the real reason is that this is post number 1,996, and I said earlier that I wouldn’t present the first excerpts until post number 2,000, which comes this Thursday, 21 July, also known as the day we first walked on the moon.  Sorry, then, but you’re going to have to wait–though if you’ve read the trailer script, you’ve seen something that happens in this first scene.

With this writing I’m past my first thousand words, which means I probably have 349,000 to go.  No problem, right?  This is why I’m considering doing NaNoWriMo again this year, for if it could help be add another fifty thousand words in the span of a month, that goes a long ways toward cutting a month and a half of writing off my time.  Doing this twice during the first novel helped a great deal, and if I’d done it last year, it’s likely I would have finished the second novel in early May.

It really comes down to exactly how much stress I’m willing to put upon myself to make that fifty thousand word goal.  Sure, I’ve heard of people claiming they’ve finished NaNoWriMo in as little as two days, but that’s not me–not to mention whatever those people got down on paper probably looks like the rantings of someone deep in an ether binge, and that’s not me either.  Usually.

We’ll see what I decide come October.  Meanwhile, it’s simply a matter of getting in five hundred words here, a thousand here–

And before you know it, I’m talking a real novel.