Slow on the Uptake

Well hello there!!

It's the easter long weekend now and I've SO been looking forward to it, but I just realised that I have no idea why because I will be doing absolutely nothing.

I've been feeling really slow and lazy these past weeks and thought this would be my 'big break'. I would find an AMAZING book and really lay into it, and my writing would skyrocket because I have no assignments and can stay up all night if necessary. I don't have a 'family weekend' and I'm not going away, so what's to stop me, right? Well i don't know, but it's definitely stopping me...

My dad keeps telling me recently that the problem with 'my generation' is that we have no self discipline, and sadly I think that's true. I mean, right now I could be doing so many things - starting next weeks assignemtn, reading, writing, practicing, helping my little brothers - but what am I doing? Hiding in my room writing this post.

Sometimes, I think that we just need a break. We just need to stop everything and do nothing. You get stuck, we all do, and theres nothing wrong with taking a break. Unless you have pressing issues, then you need to get your ass in gear and do the work. Feeling icky is no excuse to take a month off. Maybe a day, but not a month, and I think that 'my generation' thinks that the world revolves around them, and maybe that is to do with the world we've been brought up in. I really don't know.

So, now that I've rambled enough for one blog post and gone nowhere with it, i'll leave my philosophy to my mind and I'll try write, or read...or maybe just social network!

Jenna, Queen of Reading
Keep on reading, forget the dreaming :)

My Psycho Thriller

Hey, so do you remember when I had to write a psycho thriller for school? No? Well, here it is! Enjoy!!

******

I enter the open hall, taking in the white ceiling and I spin, slowly letting my eyes trail down the walls until I find the spot.  That’s it! It’s over there! I think as I see the rusty coloured spot on the wall. The blood shines in the moonlight as if my eyes have been injected with Luminol. I can tell it’s this spot as opposed to the other rusty spots because this one still has flecks of red in it. A royal red. Some might even call it blood red.

I grin at that thought as I proceed to the spot on the wall, getting on my hands and knees, inhaling the metallic scent of blood. I let the scent penetrate my nostrils, feeling it sink straight to my stomach and bring up the bile that excites me so much. I close my eyes and revel in that scent, as my hands nimbly find the dagger hidden behind the wallpaper.

I stand up, clutching the dagger to my chest, calming myself as I feel it’s comforting weight against my heart. You need to be more careful this time! Last time it took too long to heal, and soon enough there might not be another ‘next time’ I silently berate myself.

I survey the room, deciding on a disgustingly white patch of wall opposite to where I’m standing. I slowly prowl to the corner of the room, enjoying hearing the clicking of my shoes against the polished wood floor. I sit down on the first plush chair I see, the one in the middle of the room. The one he sits on. I laugh evilly as I imagine his reaction if he found out what I do in his special room.

I drop my hands to my side, still clasping the dagger in my right. I join them under the chair, carefully marring the underside of his special chair. The one I was never allowed near. I imagine his surprise when he finds the tally I’ve been keeping on the bottom of his special chair. I make this dent extra hard, just so he knows. Because I know he does. I know he’s aware of every single move he makes, every single night I’ve cried. Every. One.

I move from the first plush chair to the next, once again revelling in the rebelliousness of it. This time, I switch the dagger to my left hand before once again joining my hands under the chair. I clumsily draw a shape under the chair, unaware of what shape it is. I think of the image that he will find when he lifts up this chair. It may look like a crude drawing of some kind, but what it will really be is my heart. That’s what my heart looks like, and it’s entirely his fault.

I glance at the other plush chairs, and decide to leave them for tonight; there are bigger things for me to do. I walk to the wall I had chosen, letting my shoes scrape the newly varnished floor. Let him wonder where that came from. I think as I stomp a spider into the varnish, leaving a mess on his perfect floor. Always perfect! He always has to be so bloody perfect! I snarl at the spider and stomp it once more, just for good measure.

I slowly look at my shoes, seeing a piece of paper stuck to them. My eyes widen in surprise and I remove my shoe, bringing it to my face. I hold the shoe up to the light, surprised to see writing. I grin as I think how he would react if he knew that I, his dishonourable son, were to be in possession of a letter meant for him. I carefully peel the note from my shoe and unfold it, reading it slowly, savouring every special word.

            My dearest son,

I know what you do in here, and I want to help you. I do not know why you do what you do, but I trust that you have your reasons. If I am the cause, I beg of you to stop. You are worth more than you think. Contrary to your belief, I do not care about my chair, or my whitewashed walls or varnished floor. All I care about is you and Cain. Cain cares about you too. If only you were more like Cain…

Love always,

Your Father

I stare at the note in disgust, knowing all but one line is a lie. All of it has always been a lie, except for that. If only you were more like Cain… That had been the motto of my life since my twin and I were born. Cain and Me. Why can’t you be more like Cain? Cain did amazingly well in his test, how about you? You should learn from your brother, Cain.

Cain, Cain, Cain, Cain. Even just thinking my brother’s name sends me into a fit of rage. I take the dagger and drag it through the middle of the paper, tearing it in half just like my father has done to my heart. I then tare it into tiny pieces, letting them float to the floor and settle in a disgusting heap. That’s what Cain did to my heart.

I take the dagger and add a line to my wrist, watching the blood pool in my palm. I let it fall through my fingers, grinning as it splatters on the wall. Cain. I snarl at my blood. It’s not enough! I need more! I look at my other wrist, the canvas blissfully blank. I equal up my wrists, adding 10 lines to my other wrist. I let each drop of blood land on the white wall, grinning as I look around and see the other spots where I have done the same thing.

The weight on my heart lifts and I laugh uncontrollably, holding my sides with my bloodied wrists, letting the elation fill up my heart. I drop the dagger, smiling as I hear the boom as it hits the floor and the splash that each little drop of blood makes as they detach themselves from the dagger and splatter on the floor.

I spread my arms out wide beside my body and spin in a circle, feeling the wind rush beneath my arms and lash at my bloodied wrists. I keep spinning and spinning, gaining speed until all thought is focused on the tunnel that I’m making. The pieces of paper that I had previously discarded are picked up by the gale that I’ve created and they float towards me, landing on my arms. I feel each piece individually latch onto my skin and I stop in annoyance to remove them.

I peel one piece of paper off my arm and glare at it, trying to locate which word decided to attach itself to me in my time of joy. I bet it says Cain I snarl cynically. I turn the paper over slowly, savouring the suspense. When I have finally turned the paper over it is disappointingly blank, and I glare at it in anger. I discard it quickly, not noticing where it falls. I peel a second piece of paper off my arm and find that one blank too. Panic quickly takes over and I tear each piece of paper off me, checking it methodically to find the writing I know was there.

I kneel on the floor, joining each piece of paper together like some kind of torturous puzzle only to find nothing. No writing. Nothing. Just a plank piece of paper. I stand up and grip my hair, attempting to pull it out of my scalp, as I yell in confusion and anger. I walk to the wall and slam my fists into it with each screech that tears itself from my throat.

I stumble back to the paper and collapse in front of it, looking down at my bloody knuckles and wrists. My hands tremble above the paper, twitching and shaking, showing weakness. I quickly hide my hands behind me, vowing silently to never show weakness. Weakness gets you sympathy, and sympathy doesn’t get you respect. Never respect, only pity.

I glance up at the walls, hoping to find solace in the rusty stains, but all I see is blank, white wall. As pristine as they were they day I was born. I rub my eyes, hoping to wipe away the sheen that has covered my vision, but all that does is send shooting pain up my arms.

I look around with this new vision. It’s as if I previously had rose-tinted glasses. The room was lit by a soft glow, as if by firelight, and there were rust-coloured spots on the wall where I had meticulously coated the wall with my blood. Now, the room was blue, only lit by the harsh moonlight streaming in through the glass windows. The walls were a harsh white, the way that my father had always liked them.

I back up, tripping over my feet in fear as I take in this new room. I fall on the floor, and crawl on my hands and knees, never taking my eyes from the white walls. The walls that mock me. I hit the wall and freeze in fear. I close my eyes, hearing a mocking laugh reverberate around in my skull. The laughing voice is a combination of that of my father and that of Cain. The laughter of these two men who have plagued my life with pain, bounces from one end of my skull and travels to the other.

“Stop! Stop it!” I yell, grabbing my ears in an attempt to stop the voices from continuing their path through my head. My hands shake as they grip my ears, and the blockage only makes the voices louder. I drop to my knees, scrunching my eyes closed.

I open them, and startle at what I see; blood everywhere. Blood is leaking from every crevice in the room, from the ceiling to the tiniest crack in the wall. I look down at my knees, and see blood pouring out from them, too. I cringe, waiting for a physical pain that will take away the manic laughter still reverberating in my head, but the pain never comes.

I close my eyes for a moment, resting my pounding head against the blessedly cool floor. I stay there, my forehead on the cool ground and my knees folded under me, until I start to float. I groan at the disappearance of the cool floor until I feel the air under my body, and I collapse in release, surprised to find myself still floating. Suddenly, orange assaults my eyelids, letting the light filter through to my eyes. I try to turn over, and feel a hand next to my cheek. No, the hand is on my cheek, trying to wake me up.

My eyes flicker open and I see an unfamiliar face. “Hey there, do you know your name?” The face asks. It’s not a face or a voice that I know, so I remain silent. “Alright, do you know where you are?” I continue staring at that face, waiting for my sick body to make it disappear. “I’m from the hospital. Someone called and said that someone was in there bleeding.” I wait for it to sink in. Someone sees what I’ve done. Someone has found my dagger.

I look down at my bleeding arms.  The unfamiliar face is busily wrapping bandages around my arms.  They are making clicking noises in their mouth like they are talking to a cat.  “What have you done to yourself, you poor thing!” They coo.  “You must be in so much pain”

“My – my name is Abel.” I croak out. “Can I have something to drink?” I watch as that unfamiliar face nods and turns around. While their back is turned, I let the smirk twist my face into an expression of joy. No Cain here. This is my time to shine. Mine.

Thoughts on writing

Heyya everyone and no one who reads this blog ;)

I've got a big party coming up for my little brother so writing's kinda been put on the back-burner for the moment, sadly. I've spent tons of time going through old family movies from when we were 2 and 3 and we were so adorable, I want to eat us up. Sadly, we grew...

Well, writings going well, I guess. In the spare hour I had I wrote 2 pages, which is quite a lot, i guess. I have an average of 475 words a page at the moment, so that's like 900 words in an hour, which is pretty impressive if I do say so myself.

The hardest thing for me is editing. Idea's come to me really easy so but once I have an idea I don't want to change or edit what i've done. and THEN i hit a block and get so frustrated that I stop writing until I get another idea and start the process again. 2 full chapters and a prologue so far -- the most i've ever done, and i'm proud.

You know, I think I'll throw a party when I hit 50 pages... or maybe 20,000 words, whichever comes first. I'm currently on 8,408 words and i'm about half way down my 18th page so feel free to guess which will come first ;)

Well, since I have free time and I am obviously stalling by writing this kinda pointless blog since no one will read it and I don't want anyone that I know to read it but it's fun anyway.  I'm also planning to be like some of my favourite authors: Shelly Crane and Nicole MacDonald to name a few, and write a blog so if I ever become famous people can read my blog!

I really don't know how often you're supposed to blog, but we'll see how i go!

********


Writing is like climbing mount everest, but in many ways harder. It's not something physical that you can push yourself and practice on. Climbing mount everest doesn't feel like you are revealing part of your soul to every single person who watches or hears about your climb. Writing is, and you also have to balance the line between not copying something else that someone else did and feeling confident in your own idea's enough that you feel confident to show someone. Writing means that you have to keep going, even when it's so easy to give up. There is no end in sight, no-one who can accompany you on your work, and no amount of training can prepare you. You have to balance your time, make sure it's not too long or too short. You have to make sure you have a story line and you also have to accommodate to your audience.

Climbing mount everest is a test of physical endurance, but writing is part of my soul, my genetic makeup. It's hard to let that out and share something so personal with people I don't even know. There is no end in sight, and only the strong will make it. It is survival of the fittest, and our doubts place the weight of the world and anybody around us' problems on our backs. It stresses us out more and makes us overreact to things we normally wouldn't. It can mean that we are in a constant dreamland, can make it hard to have relationships with others, and can make you really sensitive. This is the price of writing, and I have accepted it and I want to do it. But it can in no way compare to climbing mount everest (although I am much happier sitting at my keyboard wrapped up in a blanket than I am on a freezing cold, steep mountain.)

Has anyone died by writing??

Well, that's my philosophical thought for the day :P
g'night and have a nice day :D


Queen of Reading
Keep on reading, forget the dreaming :)

Just a post...

Just a summary, I have another blog, so I'm copying the important posts over here for those (invisible) people who read this :P

How's everyone's lives? All ok? That's amazing, i love it when all is right with the world. Well, mostly. Ok, ok! The world's not that good. In fact, my world sometimes feel's like it's falling apart. But that's just adolescence. Right?!

Anyway, so i'm counting how many pieces I'm working on currently, coz it's getting a tad out of hand :)

1. Maylie and Me

2. Sophie and Me (I'm not sure what's happening with these 2, one is sort of a prequel to the other, but i'll see where it goes)

3. End of the World (NEED'S a better name)

4. By The Eye (This name will probably also change)

5. Summer / Just This Once. (Haven't decided on the title yet)

6. Fierra (again, not sure on the title)

So, anyone wanna read what i've written? If so, just give me an email at homeofwriting@gmail.com :) i can always use advice :D

Not much is going on here. Procrastinating as always, but my procrastination is my writing, so i guess that's good for me. Kinda. But school is important, don't get me wrong :D

Have a nice night / day / morning / afternoon / WHATEVER :)

Queen of Reading

Keep on reading, forget the dreaming :)

Psycho Thriller based on Macbeth

So, we've been given a task this week at school that goes something like this:

Write a psycho-thriller with approximately 2000 words.

That was it.

Legit.

So, of course I was like: 'pshh! no problem!'
But then I was like: 'oh wait, what's a psycho thriller?'

So, I wrote this whole thing, and it was AMAZEBALLS, if I do say so myself. So then my friends come along and read it. Here are their impressions:

First Impression: WHAT THE WHAT?!
Second Impression: Oh my god, Jenna. TOO MUCH BLOOD, TOO MUCH BLOOD!
Third Impression: Wait, what did you mean by....? I can't stop thinking about it.

It was pretty hilarious, honestly, but I didn't really have the heart to laugh.

So now I showed it to my mum and she's like: 'oh, that's cool. but take out.... and ......'
So of course I was like: 'okay Mum, don't even bat an eyelid, that's cool!'

So anyway, that's what's goin on!
I'll post my psycho thriller when it's done, ya'll!

Queen Of Reading

Wait For You by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Jennifer, you haven't disappointed me yet!

I read wait for you with nothing in mind except a hot, sexy boy, and you didn't disappoint on that front, but you brought to mind a whole different line of thinking, and tears to my eyes.

Here's the blurb


Some things are worth waiting for…
Traveling thousands of miles from home to enter college is the only way nineteen-year-old Avery Morgansten can escape what happened at the Halloween party five years ago—an event that forever changed her life. All she needs to do is make it to her classes on time, make sure the bracelet on her left wrist stays in place, not draw any attention to herself, and maybe—please God—make a few friends, because surely that would be a nice change of pace. The one thing she didn’t need and never planned on was capturing the attention of the one guy who could shatter the precarious future she’s building for herself.
 Some things are worth experiencing…
Cameron Hamilton is six feet and three inches of swoon-worthy hotness, complete with a pair of striking blue eyes and a remarkable ability to make her want things she believed were irrevocably stolen from her. She knows she needs to stay away from him, but Cam is freaking everywhere, with his charm, his witty banter, and that damn dimple that’s just so… so lickable. Getting involved with him is dangerous, but when ignoring the simmering tension that sparks whenever they are around each other becomes impossible, he brings out a side of her she never knew existed.
 Some things should never be kept quiet…
But when Avery starts receiving threatening emails and phone calls forcing her to face a past she wants silenced, she’s has no other choice but to acknowledge that someone is refusing to allow her to let go of that night when everything changed. When the devastating truth comes out, will she resurface this time with one less scar? And can Cam be there to help her or will he be dragged down with her?
And some things are worth fighting for…
Available now in all digital formats.

So, sounds good, right? Right.

And it was.

Honestly, the way you didn't know about what was going to happened before, and the fact that they whole time you could understand her thought process but wanted to yell at her and comfort her at the same time was excruciating!

This book is a bit adult, so I wouldn't recommend it for readers under 15 or maybe even older. Personally, being 15, I understood it all, but chose to skip some parts. It wasn't too in detail or whatever, I just found it slightly uncomfortable.

I think that the issue at hand (can't reveal more... =( ) is a very important one. Jennifer has obviously dug deep to get this out there, and as always her writing style had me addicted from the beginning! There were a couple spelling errors and grammatical things...but other than that it was great!

Definitley recommend reading this, but bring out the tissues and the punching bag, coz your gonna need them both!!

Queen Of Reading