Monday, 19 August 2013

Beautiful People.

Okay, I am going to do an old Beautiful People from Further Up and Further In, so here we go! And yes, you probably guessed it, I'm using Arthur. Oh, don't look at me like that, he's FUN! :P I promise I'll use someone that isn't even from TLW next time! :P

Do they have any habits, annoying or otherwise? 

Yes! Arthur pulls his eyebrows. Very annoying.

What is their backstory and how does it affect them now? 

Ooh, I never really thought about that thoroughly.......ummmm..... Arthur likes to be the best, oh, I'm getting something....... he always has wanted to impress an older brother, who never paid any attention to him. Maybe that is why Arthur is so competitive, he wants to show someone something! Maybe he feels hurt inside......... I need to remember that... oops, sorry. :P That's how I think when I write. :P

How do they show love? 

Uhhhh, how DO you show love, Arthur? He says he doesn't know, he guesses in the normal way, he loves his parents and God.

How competitive are they? 


What do they think about when nothing else is going on? 

Winning, the ocean, what he's having to eat at the next meal, what he'll do the next Saturday....

Do they have an accent? 


What is their station in life? 

Slightly rich.

What do others expect from them? 

Rita expects rudeness, tsk, tsk, tsk, Mr. Pitcher expects the impossible (but he does that for everyone--even me. After all, I am of the younger generation.)

Where were they born, and when? 

Pittsburg, PA, March 18th, 1996. He moved up to Lancaster when he was eight. Yes, they live in Lancaster, didn't ya'll know that? :P

How do they feel about people in general? 

It depends on how good they are at something. :P

Well, that was fun! You guys should try Beautiful People sometime, it really helps you get to know your characters. :)


Okay, here is some dialogue from The Lost World, that I thought everyone would enjoy. By the way, Mark, Arthur's friend in this, is based a little on one of my friends. And Arthur is based even less, just the tiniest little bit, on another one of my friends. I will not reveal who without permission from the people, but I just wanted to say a fun fact. :P Here we go!

When the class was over, Rita hurried over to join Jessie, but Arthur and his friend Mark were in the way, leaning on the desks and talking to each other about Legos.
Rita cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I need to get by you.”
Arthur turned to her, pulling at his eyebrow. “Hmm? Oh, okay.” He shifted slightly, so there was just enough room for Rita to slip by. Seeing this, he nudged Mark with his elbow.
“Yeeow! What was that for?!” Mark yelped, feeling his side for a dent.
“That wasn’t hard! Move over, she needs to get through.”
“Oops, sorry about that.” Mark moved aside, and Rita squeezed past them, trying not to touch their jeans.
As she moved off toward Jessie, Rita heard the two boys conversing in what could almost turn into an argument.
“Why’d you have to jab me so hard?”
“That was not a jab, it was more like a tap!”
“Nuh-uh, it was like this!”
“Ouch, that was a lot harder than what I did!”
Rita rolled her eyes at Jessie. “Boys!”
Jessie giggled.
But they found it hard to talk, or even look at Jessie’s notes, which she wanted Rita to take a look at, for the boys kept talking louder and louder. They were passed the disagreement on jabbing, and were now discussing whether Legos were better when the instructions were used, or when they were built helter-skelter. Arthur seemed to be in favor of helter-skelter, while Mark in favor of instructions.
“Okay, so you see, Jessie, in this part of the ocean--”
“But Mark! Without the directions, you can build all kinds of cool stuff! Why, once I even built a guillotine!”
“A guillotine? Really?” Fed up, Rita spun around and stared at Arthur.
The boys both stared at her back. Then Arthur said, “Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you were part of this conversation!” He tugged at his eyebrow again, this time harder.
“No, I wasn't but it was getting hard to even think with you guys talking so loud!”
“Oh, okay. Mark, we should quiet down, it’s getting harder than usual for Rita to think.”
“Does it hurt?” Mark enquired sympathetically.
“I--I, stop doing that!” Rita yelped, as Arthur pulled several pieces of hair from his eyebrow.
Arthur glanced at his hand. “Oh, you mean this?” He tugged again.
“Yes! No! I mean, yes, I mean..oh, never mind! You are impossible!”
“It’s too hard for her to understand what we’re like,” remarked Arthur solemnly to Mark, who nodded.
“Would you both just stop it!!??” Rita cried, throwing her hands in the air. He right hand hit something cold and thin. There was a masculine cleating of a throat. Rita froze, and then turned. There stood Mr. Pitcher.
Oops, Rita thought, biting her lip. She quickly reached out and straightened the teacher’s glasses, then wished she hadn’t for the scowl deepened on the man’s face.
“Would you mind explaining what is going on?” he asked frigidly.
Arthur and Rita cleared their throats at the same time as Jessie and Mark scuttled out of the room like frightened rabbits. “Um, well, I guess we had sort of a disagreement.” Rita said meekly.
Arthur snorted. “Disagreement? You blew up at me for no reason whatso--” he stopped short as Mr. Pitcher’s glare was turned on him. “Uhh, I mean, yes, I guess so. Maybe.”
“Hmmmmm,” Mr. Pitcher pulled his eyebrows together severely. “Come with me.”

As he stalked out of the room, Rita and Arthur glared at each other, each mouthing to the other, “Your fault.”

Friday, 16 August 2013


Just some bits of description for ya'll to enjoy. :P

Water; tumbling over rocks and making small waterfalls, water; turning and laughing with joy, water; flowing into little eddies at the edge of the banks, seeping through mud and grass to tickle their toes, water; slowing down and becoming calm at the sandbanks that stretched out into the middle of the creek. Water, water, it was everywhere! Luscious, cold, delicious water!
They leapt into the creek, shouting and laughing, startling a family of ducks. The water shouted and laughed with them, tugging at their ankles, urging them deeper.
And deeper they went. There was so much to explore, so much to do. Would it get any deeper? How far did the creek go? Was that rock stable enough to hold Richard?
No, it wasn’t, and suddenly Richard was splashing into the water, feet flying through the air. For a split second, he disappeared from view, then bobbed to the surface, laughing and choking and sputtering all at once. ~ The Lost World.

She stood and smiled, the wind was to her face, she felt free as a bird. Kolaki reached out her hands to the sun, and laughed aloud. The smell of fires, and wind-swept grass, bison and horse filled her nostrils, and she let the wind play with her loose hair.
Such openness, such calm. The plains had to be the most beautiful place on earth. Not a cloud in the sky at the moment, birds circling lazily, searching for prey, bison roamed the fields far away in the distance, placidly chewing their cud. ~ The Race of the Railroad.

The smell of garbage, mixed with other smells Miranda didn’t wish to name floated through the window, and she wrinkled her nose. She looked out at the dirty, white-washed house only about five feet away from their apartment. It was unbelievable how many tenant buildings New York builders could fit on one street.
She turned back to the stove, a rickety thing that creaked and spat hot sparks onto her when she bent to check the fire. She grimaced as a spark landed on her wrist, extinguishing before it had a chance to do any real damage. She shut the stove door, and her hands came away as always, covered with soot and grease. ~West by Train.

Wednesday, 14 August 2013

As Babies.

Okay, I was having fun with morphing pictures, and I wanted to know what Rita, Richard, and Arthur would have looked like a babies, so here they are. Aww!

Here is Rita.

Here is Richard.

And here is Arthur.

That's all!

Saturday, 10 August 2013

First Snippets.

Okay, time for Snippets from Whisperings of the Pen! Here we go!


A few moment later he was running free, across the quiet streets of Rome, keeping close to the alleyways. He had spooked one of the horse and then slipped out the back, while Aeneas was busy calming the frightened horse. The wind tickled his cheeks, ruffling through his hair. It murmured and giggled, as if happy he had escaped. If not for his back, and the fact that he would be caught, he would have jumped and shouted for joy. He was free!

But joy is a fickle thing. It comes and goes as quickly as a cool breeze does on a hot summer day. Paul soon grew tired, and his strength ebbed. He finally reached the outskirts of the city without being caught, and sank down in a hollow tree trunk to rest. ~Loving Your Enemies. 

(Yes, Paul Story has a name now! I'm that pleased with it, so does anyone have any suggestions as a better title?)

Soon she heard her father come clumping up the stairs, singing quietly to himself. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she stepped forward to help him to the cot.
He kicked her in the shin, shoving her hands away as he collapsed onto the cot, which creaked and groaned with his weight.
Rubbing her leg, and covered him with the blanket and curled up in her own blanket on the floor. “Goodnight, pa,” she whispered softly into the darkness. There was a pause. “Goodnight, Miranda, I love you,” she whispered to herself, pretending he was answering her. ~West by Train.

Mr. Pitcher slid his gaze over the students. He was very good at it, and did it often to see people squirm. The students did just that, wiggling and shifting in their seats, and casting their eyes to the floor. Mr Pitch almost inquired what was so interesting down there on the floor. Almost, but not quite. He stopped himself just in time. To say that would be to appear humorous, and Mr. Pitcher was not a humorous man, nor did he want to appear to be one.
His gaze slid over to the redheaded girl--Rachel, wasn’t it? He never could keep girl’s names straight. She might be a good student, but she seemed to have a tendency to stare off into space, and then jump up and wave her hand to answer a question at the last minute. It was most annoying. ~The Lost World.

“Pardon, monsieur, but would you mind telling me why people look so happy, and some look as if they’re celebrating? In these times....” she trailed off, as the man turned to her curiously.
“You mean you have not heard the news, mademoiselle?”
Jeanne shook her head, shifting her packages on her hip. “Non, I have not, what has happened?”
The man grinned. “Why, just yesterday, they beheaded that hog Louis!”
Jeanne blinked. “You mean the king?”
The man barked out a laugh. “He’s a king no more, mademoiselle! Unless he’s king of the headless!” He gave another course laugh, and walked off the down the street, repeating his joke to himself and chuckling. ~Francoise and Jeanne Story.

For the rest of the day, Paul lay there in his cell, deep in the bowels of the great colosseum. Above him, the stands rocked with cheers and boos as gladiators fought one another to the death, men were thrown to the lions, and wild beasts tore each other apart. The spectators did not feel sick, as one would imagine, at the sight of such killings, no indeed, they relished it, they yelled thirstily for more, more!
Down in his cell, Paul listened to the shouts and cries and shuddered. How long would it be before it was his turn to face the horrors of the stadium? Not long, he guessed. ~Loving Your Enemies

After feeding his cat, he had gotten halfway to the school, before he realized that he had neglected to feed himself, except for a piece of burnt toast. But it too late to go back, so he stopped at one of his worst enemies, the McDonalds, for an egg mcmuffin. And the treacherous thing had gotten grease on his pants. So, all in all, it had been a very bad morning for Mr. Pitcher, and now he faced the class with a scowl worse than the day before. He could see the class squirming under his gaze, and felt a little better. It was always nice to feel powerful. His scowl deepened when the redheaded girl--what did she say her name was? Randy?-- came dashing into class at the last minute. He saw her shrink in her seat, and smiled in his head. Mr. Pitcher almost never smiled with his mouth, only in his head, where no one could see. ~The Lost World.

Rita whirled around in her seat, fuming. That-that showoff! She took a deep breath, but this time it didn't help. Feeling her face get red with anger, she bit her lip and stared at a crack in the ceiling. Her neck prickled, she could sense him looking at her. She tried to ignore the feeling, but she was dying of curiosity to see if she was right or not.
She sneaked a look. She was right, he was looking at her, or rather smirking at her. She spun back around to face the front and didn’t look back again. ~The Lost World.

About fifteen minutes later, though, she was hurrying back up the street to her boarding house, with a job on the Titanic. Giddy with excitement, she slipped three times on the stairs, but finally made it to her room.
The ship was to set sail in three week’s time, but she would be expected on the ship a week before setting sail, to get to know it and her duties, and to know where she would sleep. Now, all she was to do was wait until it was time to board ship. ~ A Night of Terror.

Tuesday, 6 August 2013

Some Useful Tips For Writing.

Okay, so back when I was writing "The Goal at Hand" (page for that is on the side bar) my 
sister Anne copied writing tips for me from a writing blog called Go Teen Writers, and I would 
like to share them because they helped me quite a lot.

  • Get in the practice of writing down ideas that come to you. Find a place to gather them. The binder works for me because when I'm stuck, I like leafing through it for inspiration. But something else may work better for you.
  • Once I've picked an idea, the next thing I do is write what I call the blurby thing. The blurby thing is similar to back cover copy, only it's ... more experimental, I guess. Messier. It's me testing out my main character, her back story, and the journey she's about to embark on. It's usually 2 or 3 paragraphs and starts with something like this:
  • Then I try to list out some of hurdles my main character is going to experience. Try to find at least three:
  • And finally I write a sentence or two that sums up what it is my character learned, what she went on this journey for in the first place:
  • When you're done with that, here's a list of questions suggested in James Scott Bell's Revision and Self-Editing that might help:

  • What could make the situation worse for my Lead?
  • How can I take that beyond worse and make it worse than that?
  • What part of my concept is familiar? Has it been done before? How can I freshen it?
  • What if I tried a completely different setting?
  • What trait could my Lead possess that hurts her?
  • How can I make the characters in conflict hate each other?
  • How can I make the characters who love each other have to be on opposite sides?
  • Are there relationships I can create that up the ante for each character?

  • Good first paragraph
    • It's from the view of your main character
    • It raises questions in the reader's mind
    • It establishes an attitude
    • It makes them want to read the next paragraph
  • Good First Chapter
    • Make it active
    • Let your reader arrive fashionably late