teaser tuesday

soundtrack: (If You're Wondering if I Want You to) I Want You To by Weezer

I stayed home sick from school today because I've been sleeping really badly and was so tired yesterday that I almost just called it quits while walking home from school yesterday. I kid you not, I was prepared to make camp on the side of the road. Now I have piles of homework awaiting me when I get back tomorrow, and massive bags under my eyes.

Despite all of this, I've decided to go ahead with "Teaser Tuesday". I know it's not exactly original, but hey, it's gotta be used so much for a reason!

Below are the first two pages of a project that I've basically abandoned these days due to unruly characters and no idea what should happen next! Did I mention that my current WIP is up to 8200 words? I'm trying out the whole freakishly fast first draft method. Obviously I'll have to delete most of it come editing, but it's a great way to keep things fresh.

Growing up, Daniel and I were big into crossing our hearts and hoping to die. With us no secret could be told without a pinkie promise to back it up, and we definitely had some secrets to tell.

From the moment I was born, Daniel has always been there for me. We were born in the same year, on the same day, even at the same hour. The thing is, Daniel was born five minutes before me. He always seemed to be five minutes ahead and always had at least a five minute head start. If you listened to him, he would say he’s five minutes wiser, but that’s a load of bullshit unless you think it’s wise to run off in the middle of the night and not tell your best friend any more than, “I’ll be back soon, I swear.”

I didn’t want Daniel to be back soon. I wanted him to be safe and happy and crazy and mischievous and I wanted him to be all of those things right here in Baybridge Cove with me. It was two months ago today that he tapped our secret knock against my bedroom window. Daniel’s face was red from the cold and his hands felt like ice when I helped him in.

“Hey Brig,” he said. He sounded tired but there was something in his eye—something dangerous. I should have known right then and there that something was wrong with him, and I should’ve... I don’t know. If I could go back and talk him out of leaving, I don’t know what I would say. From the look in his eyes, as if staying in the city for even a second more would burn him alive, I doubt any rational argument would’ve worked. Maybe I could’ve locked him in my closet or told him I loved him, or something crazy like that.

“Hi,” I said. I was wearing a silky nightgown that my sister Claire gave me for Christmas. I was freezing my ass off but, to tell the truth, I wasn’t expecting Danny to come that night. I was expecting someone else.

The nightgown barely reached my thighs. Even though Daniel and I were friends literally since we were born (and had seen each other naked dozens of times, or so my mom has told me multiple times. Birthdays, Christmases, parent-teacher meetings, she never manages to miss an opportunity to completely embarrass me), the past few years a few things changed with us, or at least with me. For instance, I fully understand Danny has a penis and thanks to Claire’s need for ‘sisterly bonding,’ I know exactly what it's supposed to do, thanks to anatomy lessons using sadly inaccurate Barbie and Ken dolls.

I started to turn red and was looking for my bathrobe when Danny said, “You look...” I was practically holding my breath at this point.

“Thanks.”

I sat down on my bed and offered him a seat, but he shook his head and closed the window behind him. Danny was wearing full on winter gear, from the thick waterproof boots to the bright green scarf his mom knitted him every year, without fail.

“Where are you going?” I asked, noticing for the first time the bulging backpack draped over his shoulders.

He shrugged it off and said, “Nowhere, really. Just making the rounds to all my lovely ladies around town.”

“Funny, funny,” I rolled my eyes. “But honestly, Danny, what brings you here? I’m sure you have better things to do on a Friday night than sneak into my room.”

A few years ago, that wouldn’t have been true, but by then I could tell than he and I were drifting apart; five minutes can be a long time, when you think about it. There was something about Danny that drew people to him—just like there was something about me that scared them away.

He smiled a little but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re wrong, Brig. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Daniel was standing in front of my by then, still with the same look in his eye. I couldn’t quite place it but it definitely wasn’t the usual, easy-going Danny I grew up with. And then Danny leaned down until our faces were level I could count the gold flecks in his hazel eyes if I wanted to, but I didn’t. It was so hard to meet his gaze when he looked like that; so determined and full of the will to do anything, whether it was dangerous or stupid or scary.

The air was so stiflingly hot that I could hardly breathe. Staring at Daniel like I had all my life was like looking in a mirror. It was hard to believe that we were so different now. His dark hair was still damp from the snow.

“Brig...” Daniel said slowly. Whatever he might have said was cut off when he put a hand behind my head and pressed his lips against mine.

Daniel felt so cold. I wanted to throw my hands around his neck and kiss him until his temperature boiled over, and we could be feverish and silly together. At that moment I felt for this boy like I never had my whole life. All I wanted was Daniel.

I’m not going to lie to you, so I’m not going to stop there even though I wish I could. But if I don’t tell the truth then I might never see Danny again. Just please promise not to hate me by the time I’m done.

I pulled away, because it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. “What the hell, Danny?” I sounded breathless and hated myself for it. The look on Danny’s face made me feel doubly guilty.

“I... I thought that maybe...”

“You thought what?” Remembering this makes me feel horrible; Daniel was pouring his heart out to me and I was acting like a petulant little kid. Just like when we were four years old and I pushed him off his bike because I wanted a turn. Our history was full of moments like that. But that night I was acting the way I was because I knew something Danny didn’t: I knew that Nick Beechman, my sometimes boyfriend, would be arriving any moment for the same reason that I was wearing that stupid nightgown. To have sex for the first time.

“You thought that after that past year when you’ve done nothing but ignore me you could just show up at my window like we’re in fifth grade and—”

“When have I ever ignored you?” Daniel asked and his green-brown eyes looked so honest I had to look away.

I opened my mouth to respond but another knock at the window interrupted me. The window was unlocked and Nick let himself in. He’s the opposite of Danny in so many ways. Nick’s blond, tall and has a lightness around him that’s almost angelic. Danny is dark and mischievous with a solid feel to him that has nothing to do with his looks.

I expected Nick to be angry that Daniel was there, but he just pushed past him. Nick put his arm around my waist and planted a quick kiss on the side of my lips. His kiss was hurried and forceful and it felt like he was claiming his territory.

“Hey Danny,” he nodded. “How’s it going?”

“Alright, thanks,” Danny said calmly enough but I could tell that he was furious. “Just hanging out in Brig’s bedroom—nothing weird about that.”

“Well, my girlfriend can be very hospitable,” Nick pulled me closer to him.

So, what did you think? Let me know in the comments--I want to know if Teaser Tuesday is worth doing? If blogging is worth doing? If life is worth doing. Now that's deep.

Love,
Erika

new month, new life

It's June! Where have I been all this time?

I've started a new story. Oh yes, it wouldn't be a new month without a new novel idea stewing around in my head. This one's about a girl who sees two boys jump off of a pier--and one of them is shot in mid air. When they get out of the water, though, they're both perfectly fine. Basically she can see the future and... No idea where it's heading, which drives me crazy! I need to know the ending--I refuse to simply cast off yet another project after I lose interest.

I have a goal.

Not so much a goal as it is a set-in-stone obligation. I have just under seven months to finish a manuscript because I am determined (DETERMINED!) to have a book finished by my sixteenth birthday.

Bear in mind, there are several loopholes to this. 1) It doesn't have to be finished well. I just want a first draft, something that I can edit the crap out of and make into something, well, mildly presentable? 2) It doesn't have to be long. I've been reading Hannah Moskowitz's (author of YA novel Break) blog and guess what? Her first drafts are only around 30k words and generally written in about a week's time. And I have seven months!

To me, that was a complete and utter shock. Books can be under 90k and still be books?! Who knew! Everyone always says, writing is rewriting. But so far I haven't finished a manuscript to the point where I can begin rewriting it. Very sad.In other news, I think this t-shirt is fucking awesome (link). Buuuuut, I have no money to even think about online shopping right now! I really need a job. Oh, woe is me to finally have to join the workforce. I was always more of the mentality that if money can't buy you love, why would you want to work in the first place. It may not be wise to get all of your wisdom from the Beatles, however. I still think I'm a walrus.

One last thing before I go! I was looking through a photography book (my other great love, next to writing and my imaginary blogoverse, of course) and I saw a picture of what may be the coolest animal alive. The three toed sloth.

Obviously I'm jealous of sloths, simply for their ability (and it is an ability--it's actually an evolutionary adaptation, though... I'm not sure why) to be so lazy. Did you know, though, that the 3 toed sloth only ways 10 to 15 pounds? And they look so cute!

PS: A lot of blogs I've been reading have specific weekly sections like 'Teaser Tuesday', 'WIP Wednesday', stuff like that. I think I might just have to try it out! Keep you eyes open for some very cheesy, week day themed posts. Then again, that means I might actually have to post more than once a week.

Love,
Erika

Soundtrack: Nighttiming by Coconut Records

hello my world

The sun is just about to set and I'm watching Glee, good evening.

Lately I've been reading a lot about writing/writers, and when I'm not I've been reading sucky YA books that make me think, I could write that--couldn't I? All of my research has led me to the conclusion that I desperately need an outline!

So, boring stuff aside and even more boring stuff to come, I've started an outline. My first ever. So far my book sounds an awful lot like a load of other books that I've read or heard about. It's currently about a girl, Sam, whose family moves back to her home town of Deception Bay--a sweet little fishing village and favorite among ghost hunters and horror fanatics due to the tragic story of a young woman who threw herself into the ocean after she was deceived (hence Deception) into thinking that her beloved fiance had died at sea. The woman threw herself off, legend goes, of the cliffs right outside Sam's house, and every year, despite government attempts to quash the freaky ritual, hundreds of people come to Deception Bay for a final hurrah before killing themselves.

Talk about a weird neighborhood.

Growing up with so much death, Sam is a quiet but surprisingly normal teenager. Her mother, on the other hand, suffered many psychotic episodes while they lived in Deception Bay after seeing a man throw himself off of the cliffs through her kitchen window. Every time she saw something that reminded her of that morbid time, the whole family had to pick up and move--sometimes to to a new city or even province--lest Sam's mother totally break down. To be honest, Sam isn't totally surprised when her mom takes off in the middle of the night. Strange reports of her mothers death, however, take her totally by surprise--she was always so full of life.

Sam's father, always the level headed half of the pair, decided to do the unthinkable and move everyone back to where he grew up--Deception Bay. Sam makes friends with Lola, a hopeless romantic who caught her fiance cheating and came to Deception Bay to kill herself, just like they say in all the really twisted guidebooks. Their unlikely friendship, not to mention Sam's new friend friend, a boy who has no name and no background, as of yet, will bring a new life to Deception Bay and reveal the truth about the legend and the location of Sam's mom.

OOOOH, CHEESE!

Yup, it sounds kind of lame. And guess what--I've only just started on my outline so, while I have a good idea of the story (or at least what I've written in my sucky synopsis above), in my outline, Sam hasn't even arrived in DB. I'm so painfully behind. That, and I've got another story bubbling around in my head about a camp for kids allergic to sunlight and Marianne who has to accompany her allergic brother to the camp town, virtually abandoned in the 'D ("Short for Daylight but you'd never know it from how all the kids here talk about it with such disgust--no, not disgust. Fear.") Yeah, poorly worded sentence, but it's pretty rough and hey, I'm full of those.

That's what I've got for tonight! Enjoy and, if you wouldn't mind, please don't steal my ideas. I know they're not very original or very worthy or theft, but they make me happy and I want to write them. Not saying I won't end up quitting half way through (half way through the OUTLINE, that is!), just saying I might enjoy it just a tiny bit.

Luck and love with all your various projects, including life.

Erika

a canadian in cuba I

Day One: May 1, 2010

on my way;
This is morning, that's when I spend the most time thinking 'bout what I've given up. That’s a Jack’s Mannequin quote, I think. We’re leaving soon, first to buy medicine for all my various maladies and then to plop me on a bus, headed south of everything I know. Way to be melodramatic, yeah, I know. It’s my mom’s birthday and I feel bad for leaving her. We’re going to Cuba! But I’m scared.There’s that gnawing feeling in my gut, like, I want to do this, but also like, do you want to do this? I’m having trouble living in the moment, but I’m ready (that’s another Jack’s Mannequin song, by the way. I was listening to them this morning and clearly it stuck).
Hugged mom and dad goodbye. I’m sitting with Shenise at the very back, hope no one has to use the bathroom >.< style="font-weight: bold;">

In Smithers;
Checked the time at 11:11 am so now the day is looking up. We stopped at Timmy’s and the line up for the girls’ washroom was so long. I felt like some kind of low-IQ livestock being herded along.
The scenery of Terrace (and yes, looking back on this paragraph, at the time I was totally like, Science! Do it now! Conspicuous? Not at all), mountains whose white peaks scrape the sky, trees that stretch on in a haze of bright, young, spring green, and the river. Mighty rapids, murky water. It’s all here and we all take it for granted.
We pass fields with cows grazing. The back of Angie’s chair is scraping my knees. There are a few gasps as we lurch around a corner at full speed in our oversized Terrace Junior Hockey bus.
“I hate this town,” Time says, two rows up, munching on some hurriedly ordered Tim Horton’s food. My brother was born in Smithers, and I feel like it holds some significance for me—but it doesn’t, not really. My history does not lie here. But today, everyday, going to Cuba and beyond I am forging my own history.
I love this town.

In Prince George—dans l’hôtel;
So, the bus ride pretty much went on and I occasionally got up to talk to Laura and Mariah about abortion, the war in Iraq, you know, all the controversial stuff. And bras, just to bug Dillon, until he threatened to “burn our hair”.
We finally got to PG and had dinner at Moxie’s where a not-so-polite (okay, to be frank, he was a jerk) Bryce kicked me out of my seat. I ended up sitting with Veronika, Linnéa and Jenny. It was actually really fun, though—we tucked our napkins into our shirts and looked like complete losers. I had Mediterranean Calamari Salad—deep fried baby squid. Okay, so for my science observations on fauna for the day, let’s just say baby squids are pretty much EVERYWHERE here, man. Science, check.
We went to the PG symphony orchestra. Honestly, it was fantastic. Even the tuning, all the cellos and violins playing their different strings... it was all dissonant and strange but also ridiculously melodic. =LOVE!
We waltzed for two songs—Shenise and I for one, where I lost one of my shoes and was partially bare foot; Alex and I for another, where he kicked my camera and the whole time we waltzed I was afraid it was dead. They played Beethoven’s Concerto in C#—all about struggle, apparently, but aso about the light at the end. The conductor sat at the piano in the very middle, conducting the orchestra with short, jerky movements, barely visible above the voluptuous body of the grand. He reminded me of Beethoven, who was already deaf by the time the Concerto was first performed.
So, we waltzed. Mrs. Brouwer cried, Janica and I compared photos and her camera is AMAZING. Honestly, traveling on my own (ish—give or take 50 other band kids?) isn’t so bad. We got up at intermission and talked to one of the cellists, just to tell him that they were really, really great. He told us a bit about Cuba, and made the whole thing seem that much more real.
“How many teenagers can waltz to a live orchestra?”
Cross that off my to do before I die list, I suppose.

Love,
Erika

PS: I would attach photos for you guys but my computer is being a complete idiot, sorry! More to come soon.

I wish I was the moon

Oh dear god, I haven't posted in so long. But I do have a few reasons why. You may call them "excuses", but they can go by several names.

1) Blogging scares the shit out of me. I'm never sure what to write about or what people will respond to. The idea of having followers is pretty awesome, but it's also pretty intimidating. That is, if you read what I write. I never know if I can swear, or any of that shit.

On that note, I've been reading some blogs lately and I'd like to thank Hannah Moskowitz (hannahmosk.blogspot.com) for everything she does and writes. When I first heard of her over on Absolute Write, I just thought she was a young writer, and quite frankly that was cool enough. After reading her blog, though, I've come to understand that she's not only a published author but also a fearless writer who speaks her mind and isn't afraid to be real and raw.

2) I've been in Cuba. Oh, hellllllll yes. It was a band trip. I'm going to be avidly copy-and-pasting the journal I wrote over the week or so on here so you can read it and enjoy... or something like that. It was a total experience, and Northern BC has never felt so cold... in May.

Okay, so I really only have two reasons, but I've been trying my best to sort things out and regain my sanity. Success? Debatable. But it's all up from here :)

Love,
Erika

never too young

Hello, Internet!

So, today was a pretty good Friday. In French class my friend K and I started planning our epic, French fantasy graphic novel. We flipped through a French-English dictionary, picked out random words, then based our characters off of them! It was so much fun--we have a complete plot, six very flawed, very exciting characters, and tons of enthusiasm to get started.

If only all writing worked like that.

I've heard countless times, and always kind of knew myself, that working in collaboration can be both rewarding and fun. Too bad I'm such a control freak and couldn't stand to give up that much of the process. Still, cool idea, I need to try it one of these days.

After school today I walked down town, talked to my favorite grumpy (but nice) nurse, and got shot up with a nice dose of dead Hepatitis A virus ;) In other words, I got my vaccine today, and that's one more thing I can cross of my list of things to do before Cuba. We're leaving in 16 short days--I think. I'm horrible at counting. How many days are in April, again?

It was warm today, and fairly sunny. Now it's a bit overcast. I'm afraid it'll rain, although that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. Everything is a pretty, young shade of spring green and the tulips are blooming heart-beat red weeks before due.

Peace and love,
Erika

scintillating saturday

Yesterday was my name day. All 365 days of the Czech (as in Czech Republic, where my mother is from) calendar have names attached to them (or, rarely, it's a holiday--like Christmas--and therefore has no name attached). April 2 is Erika.

That was all well and good--my mum bought me some very pretty flowers that are on my desk as I write this--and it got me thinking slightly on the highly complex idea of the name.

You have a kid (or a cat, or a dog, or a fish, or a particularly well-loved inanimate object) and you slap a name on it. A calling card, really, that can be as simple as, "Hey, You!" or as confusing as Ahkmarethnian.

So maybe the idea of it isn't so hard. But naming my characters has always been a bit of an obsession for me. I hoard names. I write them down in spiral notebooks that I return to years later and guffaw at. I collect them and wait until just the right character comes along so that I can give them a name that's been burning a whole in my imagination.

I visited the Nanowrimo forums (yes, they do exist outside of November, and believe me, they're just as addictive) and clicked on the "Adopt a Name" thread. Half an hour later, I had a page full of my cramped, half hand-writing half printing of everything from dreamy first names, to ironic pet names.

I was most certainly not disappointed.

I always tried to go for a certain kind of distinction in my character names. Heaven forbid I decide, in a moment of creative weakness, no doubt, to call someone "John" or "Kelly". From real life experience with certain people and their names, I had a mental list of all sorts of associations. For instance, Meryl on its own reminds me of a terribly thin pre-puberty girl with dark eyes and a perpetually runny nose. Paired with just the right last name, however, and, like Meryl Streep, you have the picture of class and elegance.

Just recently, however, I've found myself using simpler names. My pages are now littered with Claires, Erins and Sams. They make the reading easier, are certainly quick to spell, and let the reader focus on the character.

What do you think? When you read or write a book, how much focus do you put towards the names of characters? Or, conversely, when you come across a name in a book that has 4+ syllables and dozens of complex letter combinations, do you get scarred off, or, like a friend of mine, just replace it in your head with a simple name and move on?

When you read a book and the MC has a name that you positively can't stand, does it affect your attitude towards the work?

That's all for me today. My room is filled with the toxic tang of freshly applied nail polish, and strewn with the rewards of a busy shopping day (including a fabulous cook book I can't wait to try--whoop, whoop!).

Have a great Easter,
Erika