The Girl Who Dreams

It is 2015 and I still have the same dream that I've always had. That is to write, well I do write almost daily. To be an author of books, mainly middle-grade fantasy. Of course most people will scoff at my dream. Or they'll say I don't know what I want to do. But that is not true. Writing is my passion. I have a creative mind and soul. My imagination is in overdrive. In my school days when the teacher would ask me a question my mind was in some other universe. And to this day my mind drifts to another place. Sometimes a character will walk through my cerebral corridor. Or I'll think  way to wax poetic about a ruby sunset.

There was a time when I was trying to have a regular, non-creative job. I use to apply to banks, and office type jobs but then I realize I am a creative person, I love to write. My heart isn't in to being crammed into a cubicle or being an account representative reciting a script over and over on the phone. I don't want to sell insurance. I don't want to be a manager. I don't want to try and compete with others for a job where no passion lies.

I've spent all of my twenties trying to get a  regular job, all the while my creativity was wilting. Not to reflect in the rear view  but I wish I would have nourish my creativity back then. Wrote more. Polish my manuscript and then maybe I would be further in  my literary career. Because honestly that is the only career I want. Right now I'm planted in the retail industry and I can feel the creativity ebbing like a tide. But I've been trying to keep the blooms of the my creativity. I'm working on completing my fourth manuscript. Sure my venture into self-publishing didn't yield any success but I won't give up on my literary dream. I am after all the girl who dreams.

Literary or bust.

Quest Seekers

　

　

　

　

　

Chapter 1

Quest Seekers

Five Years Ago

It was a moonlit night in the country of Ishmar. In the eastern kingdom of Lindor, Queen Rena took a midnight stroll through her garden. She was admiring the angels’ trumpets when a hunched over figure caught her eye.
“Are you okay? Can I help you?”
“Youth.” The hunched figure lunged forward. Queen Rena’s scrams pierced the night.

Five years later

There were four kingdoms in the country of Ishmar: Lindor in the east, Salnon in the north, Taneer in the south and the heavily taxed kingdom of Dilroc in the west. People fell into one of two categories: the crumbs or the upper crusts. The crumbs were the working class folks such as blacksmiths, tailors, shoemakers, woodcutters, etc. Mostly people who had just enough for a hot meal and a roof over their heads. The upper crusts were mostly those born into royalty or anyone lucky enough to work within the royal courts.
The Lindor kingdom was populated with several villages scattered throughout the land. One of those villages was called Pleasant Hills. In that village, a farm girl rationed out chicken feed to several hens. “Don’t be greedy,” she scolded a plump brown and white hen. She sat on the rickety fence and wiped her brow with a dusty hand. She watched the hens peck away at the ground. The farm girl was named Xanith Tinsdale. She lived with her adoptive parents, Alma and Winston; they found her abandoned in the woods seventeen summers ago. A merry whistle diverted her attention from the hens. Coming down the dirt pathway was Chartreuse, Xanith”s best friend since the time they learned how to talk.
Chartreuse was as different from Xanith as the sea was from the sky. She was the daughter of a whitesmith (her father was the only one who polished metal weapons in all the villagers in the east). This paid handsomely so Chartreuse often wore clothes that made her appear to be a member of the middle crust (a disappearing class). Today was no exception as she floated down the pathway in a pea green ankle length brocaded dress, complete with a cinched waistline. Loose raven curls framed her ebony cheeks and fell around her shoulders. She was no doubt one of the most resplendent maidens in the village. Xanith on the other side was mostly plain. Often her butterscotch face was powdered with dirt, her hair often plaited and pinned into a bun. She was dressed in an oversized brown tunic, cowhide belt and tan leggings.
“Xan, they found another one.” Chartreuse thrust the Eastern Gazette at Xanith’s chest.
Xanith read the bold face headline: servant girl found outside the palace grounds.“She was nothing but skin and bones and aged like a hundred times over.” Chartreuse’s eyes were wide as any sea.
Xanith shuddered. “That’s terrible. That’s like the tenth one or so,” she said dusting off her leggings. “They need to catch that mad man.”
“I’m terribly frightened.” Chartreuse ran her fingers through her hair.
“Have no fear, Wilhelm the brave is here.”
The girls spun around to see their friend, Wilhelm, the baker’s son bounding toward them. He was easy to spot in a crowd with sun bright skin and a tuft of sandy brown hair. A lopsided grin decorated his face. “I know what we’re going to do today,” he said merrily.
Xanith traded sidelong glances with Chartreuse. “What do you have in mind?” they asked in unison.
“Going on a quest,” he said, his grin growing wider.
Chartreuse groaned.
“We have mini-quest all over this village.” Xanith made a sweeping motion with her hand toward the expanse of the farm. “There’s nothing interesting around Pleasant Hills.”
“That’s because we need to go on a maxi-quest. Somewhere beyond this village, he said.
“Maxi-quest. Is that even a real phrase.” Chartreuse pondered aloud.
“Where?” Xanith tapped her fingers against her hips.
“To find the onyx sword.”
Xanith traded glances with Chartreuse again. “Never heard of it.”
“Rumor has it that nobody has ever been able to hold onto the sword for very long.” he said his voice layered in a whisper.
“Why?” Chartreuse inquired.
“I don‘t know.” Wilhelm shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps the right person hasn’t claimed it, like me.
“You can buy a sword,” Xanith said.
Wilhelm scoffed. “I’m so broke I can’t even pay attention.”
“Did you know they found another girl, aged and dead,” Chartreuse said in a quiet voice.
“So, that’s an upper crust problem,” Wilhelm said.
“The victims are usually servant girls,” Chartreuse retorted.
Wilhelm softened a bit. “Well when I get my sword I’ll slay the killer,” he said feigning a sword fight.
Xanith shook her head. “Just yesterday you wanted to get a glimpse of the mysterious Porcelain woman.”
“I still do. We have to travel through the Hillshire forest on our way to finding the sword. We can hit two birds with one stone.”
“I hear she shuns the sun,” Chartreuse added. “And she’s misanthropic too.”
Wilhelm scrunched up his face.
“She hates people,” Xanith explained.
“We should head to the town square and try to win some funds for our quest,” he said.
The girls rolled their eyes.
The town square was located in the center of Pleasant Hills. All forms of commerce and entertainment happened in the square. Everywhere someone was selling something. “Get your alligator on a stick. Taste like chicken,” a robust man yelled through the throng of people.
“Funny, how everything tastes like chicken,” Xanith said as she made her way pass the alligator seller.
“Would you like a satin shawl?” a hump back woman asked the girls.
“They are very pretty.” Chartreuse reached out a hand to touch the fabric.
“No, thanks,’ Xanith said.
“These shawls come from India,” she said, holding them toward their faces.
“Sorry honey, we’re here to make some money not spend it,” Wilhelm said to the woman.
“I’ll be back.” Chartreuse mouthed to the woman before walking away.
While the girls lagged behind, Wilhelm searched for a way to make some money.
“What are you looking for?” Xanith asked as she finally caught up to him.
“I haven’t found it yet,” he replied.
“Your stride is too long,” Chartreuse said breathlessly.
“Your legs are just too short.” Wilhelm scanned the various contest booths.
“Arm wrestled a troll. Beat him, win five torkets.” A man dressed in striped overalls shouted to a crowd of on-lookers. Wilhelm stopped for a moment. The girls followed suit. “He’s not a real troll ya’ know, just a hairy little man.” Wilhelm walked on.
“Knock the giant into the pool, win ten torkets, announced a man with a polka dot hat.
Wilhelm rubbed his hands together. Now we are talking. He walked up to the booth attendant. “I’m here to topple the giant,” he said with a supercilious air.
“Good luck.” The man handed him a rock. Before Wilhelm could say anything else, the Earth beneath his feet began to rumble. The crowd cleared a path for the giant.
“Who’s next?” a gravel voice asked.
Wilhelm swallowed hard and took a reluctant step forward. “Of mice and men, I’m the latter,” he said aloud.
The giant peered down at him, her ruby lips curled into a menacing leer.
“Oh, you’re a girl,” he said, just above a whisper.
The giantess folded her arms across her mountain of a chest. She stood in front of a makeshift pool. Wilhelm’s eyes became transfixed on the translucent water. It wasn’t until the audience began chanting. “Throw the rock. Throw the rock”, that he turned his focus back to the giantess. The rock was jagged and rough in his hand. In the crowd, he sought out the faces of his best friends, Chartreuse (who was rooting for him) and Xanith (whose forehead wrinkled with worry). “I can do this,’ he said. He closed his eyes; an image of Chartreuse flitted across his mind. He smiled and threw the rock.
A thunderous roar silenced the chanting crowd. “You…broke…my…nail.”
Wilhelm opened his eyes. The giantess was glowering at him. “I’m going to stomp you like a bug,” she said wit ha feral look in her eyes.
“Would it help if I say I’m sorry?” He backed up.
Chartreuse hid her head in her hands. “Goodbye Wilhelm.”
Xanith scanned the crowd of retreating spectators. She saw a woman wearing a purple wide brim hat with a feather sticking out of it. “Bingo.’ She ran toward the woman and grabbed the feather. “Wilhelm.”
Wilhelm stood like a statue beneath the giantess’ raised foot.
“Move.” Xanith urged him. She pushed him aside. She grabbed onto the giantess’ ankles (which happen to be thicker than a tree trunk).
“Get off me you vermin,” she spat. The giantess shook her mighty leg. This created a strong breeze, which cause an old lady to lose her wig.
Xanith took the feather and started tickling her toes. The giantess roared with laughter, her deep bellows echoed throughout the town square. The giantess began to sway. Xanith grabbed Wilhelm’s hand as the giantess toppled backwards into the pool.
The returning crowd cheered as Xanith collected her ten torkets. She smiled but only briefly, as she saw Wilhelm stalked off. “Wilhelm.”
He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and kept walking.
“Wilhelm, come back.”
“Let him cool off.” Chartreuse took a hold of Xanith’s arm.
Xanith looked down at the bag of coins and then again at Wilhelm, who became lost in the crowd
“I guess this means the quest is off?” Xanith asked Chartreuse as they strolled through the town square.
“He can never stay mad at us,” Chartreuse said in between bites of her apple. “Besides if it weren’t for you, he’d be one with the ground.”

**************************************

“It’s happening again.” King Aquarius slammed the Eastern Gazette onto the table.
“What?” Queen Thessily was busy scrutinizing her reflection in the soupspoon. Fainted creases formed around her mouth. She frowned.
“They found another girl,” he said. “Shriveled and lifeless.”
The queen made no reply. She continued to gaze at her reflection.
“This is a grave matter.” The king’s voice shook with thunder. “People are talking.”
“What are they saying, dear?”
“That someone in this kingdom is committing these gruesome killings.”
Queen Thessily sighed. “It’s probably just crumb on crumb crime. They’re poor. They’re bored. They kill each other.”
King Aquarius furrowed his peppered brow. “My dear Rena was the first to die that way.” A solitary tear trickled down the bridge of his nose as his thoughts drifted toward his late wife, Queen Rena. She was the mother of Prince Emmon and Princess Trulie and one night as the moon waned over the kingdom, she was in the garden, shriveled and lifeless. “My love,” King Aquarius muttered.
Queen Thessily looked up from her spoon. Before she could speak, a scream split through the castle. “Aaaaaaaaaugh.”
Prince Emmon was padding down the portrait-lined corridor when his sister’s shrill voice punctuated his quietude. “Might as well see what all the fuss is about,” he said turning on his heel.
Princess Trulie pointed her finger in the woman’s face. “I want a lilac silk dress for my birthday ball. “Not a lavender dress that’s satin” The seamstress cowered before the pint-size preteen.
“Um, what’s the diff?” Prince Emmon said but soon wished he hadn’t. His sister whirled around with fire blazing in her eyes.
“There…is…a…difference.”
“Move child.” Queen Thessily rushed into the room.
Prince Emmon shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked away. He briefly exchanged glances with his father as they passed each other in the corridor. “I’m going for a ride,” Prince Emmon said.

****************************************************

Wilhelm strode through the town square; right pass Winnie Peg’s orchard and the Buns in the Oven bakery, where he helped his mother create the best cheesy pinwheels. He ignored the husky voice shouting his name.
Thwack! Something knotty and hard hit him on the back of the head. He stopped and turned around. Xanith and Chartreuse were a few feet away. He marched over to them.
“Chartreuse, tell her to not throw apples at people.” Wilhelm clenched his fist as he spoke.
Chartreuse turned to Xanith. “He said don’t throw apples at him.”
“So we’re not speaking.” Xanith placed her hands on her narrow hips.
“Tell her no.”
“He said no.”
“This is ridiculous. Here take the money.” She held the bag out.
Wilhelm rolled his eyes. “It’s ill-gotten.”
“I’ll take it. I can buy pretty trinkets.” Chartreuse reached for the bag.
“I think not.” Wilhelm snatched the bag, hooking it onto his belt loop.
An old man crossed their path. He looked at them with his right eye, which was slightly larger than his left. “Don’t go into the forest,” he warned.
“Why not, old timer?” Wilhelm asked.
“The way is shot,” he said.
“The way is shot?” Chartreuse was perplexed.
“What does that mean?” Xanith asked.
“The way is shot.” The old man repeated once more before dissolving into the crowd.
“Weirdo.” Wilhelm shook his head.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go through the forest,” Chartreuse said with a tremble.
Wilhelm ignored her. He unfurled a ragged map. “According to this we have to travel on the Old Road,” he said pointing to a crude stain in the middle of the map.
Nobody travels on the Old Road,” Xanith said.
“Well I am” Wilhelm put the map under his shirt. “You two chickens can stay behind if you like.” Wilhelm briskly walked away.
Xanith exchanged sidelong glances with Chartreuse. “We better make sure he stays out of trouble,” she said.
Chartreuse nodded in agreement.

*******************************************************

Time had escaped Prince Emmon as he rode his blonde mare, Cera down a craggy road with grass burgeoning from the cracks. The sky grew pinkish-orange as the sun slid between the clouds. Prince Emmon looked to his left; there was a green mass of trees. Looking at them, he felt a shiver run the length of his spine. “I think we should be heading back old girl.” He started to turn around when three figures appeared in the distance. “Maybe we should see who they are?”
The three strangers came into view; a resplendent young woman accompanied by two ragamuffins. Prince Emmon dismounted his horse. “Good evening, my lady.” He bowed before Chartreuse.
She giggled. “Evening.” She giggled again.
Xanith rolled her eyes.
“She’s no lady.” Wilhelm stepped in front of her, his hands balled into a fist.
Prince Emmon stepped back. “My dear lady, where I come from our servants aren’t so free with their tongues,” he said making eye contact with Chartreuse.
“Servants? What the hell…?” Wilhelm gritted his teeth and his freckles seem to turn a deep carnelian.
Xanith grabbed him by the elbow. “We aren’t servants. We’re from the village of Pleasant Hills,” she said.
“My apologies. I am Prince Emmon of the Lindor Kingdom.”
“Chartreuse,” she said making a clumsy attempt at a curtsey. “These are my friends Xanith and Wil…”
“Laertes.” Wilhelm cut her off.
“Wilhelm.” Xanith shot him a dirty look. “Don’t be rude.”
“Hey, I don’t give my real name out all willy-nilly,” he said.
“We’re going on a quest. Would you like to come?” Chartreuse asked.
Prince Emmon regarded the three villagers for a moment. The boy didn’t seem too friendly but the girls seem ok. He could finally have some friends. “I would love that,” he replied with a dimpled smile.
Chartreuse’s heart fluttered.
Wilhelm’s jaw clenched.
“We’re ’bout to trek through the forest,” Xanith said.
Prince Emmon glanced once more at the forest. “Oh.”
“Scared.” Wilhelm smirked.
“No, come one Cera.” He pulled on the mare’s reigns. She whinnied and kept her hooves planted firmly on the ground. “Come on. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Cera.” He stroked her mane.
“Let’s leave princey with his chicken horse.” Wilhelm laughed.
Xanith nudged him in the ribs.
“Ouch.”
After much coaxing, Cera only entered the fringe of the forest. “I’ll be back.” Prince Emmon patted her forehead before the forest swallowed him up.

Midwestern Dreams

Stars
too scattered
to wish upon
bluer than ocean and sky
she longed for dreams
to dance into reality
her ink clotted
creativity hit concrete
the scribe
subscribe to "someday"
but found herself wondering "when"
glazing out the window
she saw herself reflected in the moon
a loner
a dreamer
dreams where a veil of fog
before her eyes
the brightest flame
the scribe
subscribe to "someday"
wondering "when"
midwestern dreams
would fill her sky

The First Pages

Here's a sample of my middle-grade fantasy novel, Quercus.



Quercus is doomed. An evil queen wants to swallow the kingdom in darkness and harness the elemental powers. Enter twin sisters, Tia and Tamela.

When Tia and Tamela find a troll poking around in their backyard, they decide to confront him. Only to find themselves falling inside an oak tree and into the kingdom of Quercus, where Queen Cassiopeia will stop at nothing for absolute power.

Soon the sisters are separated. Tia among the trolls and Tamela keeping company with a butter-sprite. Will the sisters find each other and can they keep Queen Cassiopeia from plunging the kingdom into darkness and harnessing the elemental powers?

Part One

The Kingdom of Light and Dark

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Chapter 1

Prelude to Darkness/Twin Dilemma

A copious oak tree with bark resembling a worn old man’s face stood in the Naylor’s backyard. Deep inside this oak tree was other world. A kingdom called Quercus. For eons, light and dark were equally balanced. Now darkness has tipped the scales in its favor.

A Fortnight ago

The darkness walked through the woods, stretching its long obsidian fingers toward the old castle, where light still remained. A golden-skinned princess shrank from the window, goose bumps populating her bare arms. She hugged herself. “The darkness has crested,” she said to her father, the king. However, her words didn’t touch his ears. King Quasar laid on a bed swimming with various sized pillows. His wife, Queen Cassiopeia, put him in a magic induced coma.
Princess Soleil knelt by her father’s bedside, the tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. She gingerly flicked lint from his thick beard. “Father, I wish I knew how to wake you. The kingdom is unraveling. Mother’s going to make darkness overtake what light remains. And my sister is trying to kill me.” The princess sighed heavily. The tears started to roll. Time was siphoning through the hourglass. “There has to be somebody out there that can help.” Princess Soleil went to the window again. She stared at the impending darkness.
*****************************************************************
Tamela slid into the window seat. She placed her messenger bag in the other seat. Tia cleared her throat. “Can you move your bag, please?”
“No.” Tamela didn’t make eye contact with her twin sister. She folded her arms and stared out the window. “No more sitting together,” she said.
Tia flopped down next to her, anyway. “Is this about me making an Aslan sculpture out of the instant potatoes at lunch? You know that stuff isn’t fit for human consumption.” She unzipped her bag, rummaged around for a minute until she found a tattered stick of gum. Quickly she shoved it in her mouth and began to masticate.
Tamela took her eyes from the window. “Tia, could you do me a favor? Could you pretend to be normal when we’re at school?”
Tia stopped chewing her gum as her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose. The girls across from them started to giggle and whisper. Tia stared down her straight laced, starched collar, hair in place; the world is black and white, normal sister.
“What constitutes normal anyways,” she replied loud enough for everyone to hear. She shot a minatory glare at the giggling girls.
Just then, Grayson Miller, the object of Tamela’s aspiration boarded the bus. He looked in their direction before taking the seat behind the bus driver. Tamela relieved herself with a sigh.
“Oh, Tia, most people try their hardest not to be weird. But you on the other hand.”
Tia regarded Tamela for a moment. “Well with any luck maybe I’ll fall down a rabbit hole like Alice and you won’t have to worry about my weirdness.”

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Chapter 2

Sapphire Night

Outside the sky was the bluest hue, like sapphires, and in that gem of night were swirls of pink and tiny stars. Tia could see them from the top bed bunk in the room that she shared with her twin sister. The air wafting in from the open window was crisp and cool, and an owl stood perched on the branch of a large oak tree beside the window, calling into the night. Its eyes were glowing like two mini-moons. Tia listened to the cacophony of her sister’s soft snores, the owl hooting, and the crickets’ chirps. She turned on her side…her sister could sleep through a parade, but Tia was a light sleeper.
Tia sprung upright in her bed, the sprightly burgundy dyed curls bounced atop her head. “If that darn owl don’t shut it. I’ll give it a piece of my mind.” Tia usually spent time in detention for giving someone a piece of her mind. Tia’s slipper clad footfalls made a soft thump as she jumped from the top bunk.
Outside in the shadows, a figure hunched over the moonflowers she helped her mother plant.
Tia raised her window. “Hey,” she yelled.
The creature looked up at her, its face unrecognizable in the dark.
“Tamela, wake up. There’s someone in the backyard.”

So I've decided to create writing and publishing goals. This isn't a New Years resolution it's just something I decided to do in back in October. First my writing goal is to finish the Elemental Queen then merge it with In the Kingdom of Light and Dark to create Quercus (which is Latin for oak tree and that is the sisters pathway into this other world is an oak tree). This way I'll get the book length I need. I realize I'm not very good at trying to make a series. I'm more of a stand alone novelist. Most mg/ya novels seem to be series, which brings me to my next goal.

I decided to self-publish the Strange World of Neve Rimbel. Even though it's been rejected by every agent there is, I feel it's a really good story albeit on the short side (barely a hundred pages). Sometimes I feel you have to take destiny into your own hands. I been swimming in this sea of no for too long. The shore of yes is nowhere in sight. So I'm creating my own raft and swimming to the archipelago of do it yourself. My second manuscript also was getting the same treatment of no and never hearing anything (which is also a no). I just want to do what I love for a living and stop zombie walking through retail.

The Write Stuff

Well it's the third day in November which happens to be National Novel Writing Month. But I won't be participating. I have to write at my own pace. Anyways, I'm currently working on a writing project. I'm really excited about the direction it's going. So many ideas are tumbling down my cerebral corridor. My goal for my project which is entitled The Elemental Queen is to have over a hundred pages. I'm really happy with this story. I'm just letting the ink flow and blocking the inner critic. I'll worrry about the revising and polishing later. Right now I'm just trying to turned my works-in-progress to complete manuscripts. To stop doubting my skills. And to believe in myself and innate talent. Happy writing.

O, Muse, Where Art Thou?

Staring at blank pages, words slowly seep out. But wait they're all jumbled. Can't seem to capture what's in my mind's eye. All the books I read seem better than any idea I can conjure. Inspiration strikes! No that was only a chill that ran through my body. Something is missing. Hmmm, where is that muse of mine? Did my muse runaway? Or did some other scribe five finger discount my muse. I think I like to report a missing person because I won't be able to finish my novel until my muse comes back.

Synopsis

Today's post will be a synopsis of my manuscript. I got the idea from my friend Sherrie. It's just a rough summary of the main points in the story. It's entitled QuestSeekers. Here's the rundown:

The day begins in Pleasant Hills as three villagers Xanith, Chartreuse and Wilhelm enter the Town Square where they anger a giantess. Meanwhile in the Lindor kingdom preparations are underway for Princess Trulie’s birthday ball. When she throws a tantrum her brother, Prince Emmon flees the castle grounds. He soon meets the three villagers on their way to the Hillshire Forest. Prince Emmon joins them in the forest where they meet the porcelain skin woman, Dia, who drugs them and leaves them as food for her wolves. The wolves scatter when the village elder, Wessley and his staff enter the fray. The old man takes one look at Prince Emmon and tells him someone near him will die. The night ends with the murder of King Aquarius.
Prince Emmon witnesses his step-mother murder his father. But it is he that is accused as Queen Thessily screams regicide. Prince Emmon flees the castle grounds. He seeks help from the three villagers he met earlier. Wilhelm is reluctant to help the prince until the Lindor knights burn parts of the Town Square. Now it’s personal. They evade the knights by heading to the outskirts of the village.
On the outskirts of the village they come across the home of the village elder, Wessley. Prince Emmon tells him how the queen murdered his father. And how he’s the one taking the blame. The village elder tells them about the truth stone that lies in the fountain of truth. “It can reveal any truth asked of it,“ the old man says. But it’s well guarded. He tells them they will find their clue from Lady Kelendria in the land of Misnor, home of the giants. The dangerous quest for truth begins.
Wilhelm, Xanith and Chartreuse find out Lady Kelendria is the giantess from the Town Square. And she’s mad as hell. Pursued by Lindor knights and stomp happy giants they barely escape with their lives on a boat named the Quinta. Unbeknownst to them Queen Thessily is watching them from her third eye.
After escaping the clutches of a boy crazy mermaid Prince Emmon and company land on the island of pygmies but before they can proceed with their quest for the truth stone they have to rescue Wilhelm from the volcano worshipping pygmies. Once away from the pygmies Prince Emmon and company head to the city of Valdaron.
Inside the city of Valdaron Queen Thessily, the court council and the knights await them. Xanith and Chartreuse create a diversion allowing them to flee toward the green mountains of Illera, where the fountain of truth lies.
Prince Emmon and company make it to the fountain of truth. Queen Thessily close at their heels. The guardian of the truth stone allows Prince Emmon to fetch the stone. Queen Thessily kills the guardian with a fireball. The three villagers wrestle with the queen while just as the court council enters the mountain. Queen Thessily tries to lie but Prince Emmon with truth stone in hand asks for the truth to be reveal.
The queen is revealed to be an old hag with years of stolen youth

Writing in Color

The other night sleep prove evasive, so I had the TV on and I serendipitously came across a discussion panel on diversity in children's & young adult books. It was part of the 12th annual Harlem book fair. Listening to the discussion it seems there isn't much diversity in children literature. Around 5,000 books for children are published a year. Out of that number only 83 are written by African-Americans. That's quite a small number. At least two of the authors on the panel (Jerry Craft and Zetta Elliot) had to self-publish their books to break into publishing. Most of the authors talked about the publishing industry having this misconception that books with African-American kids are only for those kids. And there's the presumption that white writers write for everyone.
I believe books just like music have an universal appeal. The Harry Potter series was read by people of all races and ages. It really shouldn't matter rather the protagonist is white or black because books contain themes like sibling rivalry, friendship, growing up that all kids can relate to. Once upon a time every child believed in the
tooth fairy. If there was a story where a black girl wanted to prove the existence of the tooth fairy, couldn't that appeal to every child? As I listen to the discussion it made me think about my 20x rejected manuscript. Often they would say sorry we can't market your story at this time. I wonder if
it is because the protagonist isn't ivory skinned. I would like to hope that isn't the case in 2010. I write in the fantasy genre. I have read several fantasy books and most that contain charactors of color they're usually in secondary roles. I think it's time for a change.

The Saffron Moon Project

Well, it's been a long while since I blogged. It's not like I have a bunch of readers waiting to read my words. I'm currently working on a middle-grade manuscript. Well I've only written the first chapter. I'm not quite sure what direction I'm going with it. It's called the Fantasy Life of Saffron Moon it's a coming of age story with hints of magical realism. At first it was going to be about a lonely girl with a crowded imagination, but then...I decided to make it a bit more fantastical. So Saffron Moon is a lonely girl with two different colored eyes. And she can see hidden truths with her right eye.
So the first hidden truth she sees with her eye is a fellow classmate's home life isn't so sweet. So Saffron is faced with keeping quiet or trying to find a way to help. Along the way she'll deal with dodging gym class, a rival student, unrequited crush and a bully of a big sister. I suppose it sounds ok. The Fantasy Life of Saffron Moon, her eyes sees your truth. I might change the title. Maybe to Saffron Moon.

Lost in Emotion

Sometimes I'm filled with dual emotions when it comes to my publishing pursuits. On one hand I'm enliven and on the other hand I'm dubious. I feel the excitement coursing through my veins when I see that my short story isn't doing too bad on webook. But then the seeds of doubt start budding every time I open an e-mail politely declining my manuscript or how my story ranks in the triple digits on autonomy. But that's life no matter what vocation you're pursuing. Sometimes you will have doubts and question whether your energy is best suited elsewhere. I have.
But I must keep the faith and continue to believe in this dream I've been dreaming for so long. This eternal flame in my heart eclipses an shadow of doubt.

Three

Well I now have three completed manuscripts. Two are middle-grade fiction and the other is young-adult. All three are fantasy adventures. They're a little under twenty thousand words each. I'm quite proud of what I've been able to muster. As far as sending them out to agents, I dunno. The Strange World of Neve Rimbel hasn't been doing too well.

Of course the first manuscript you write might not led to publication. It might be the third, fourth, tenth. I don't want to give up on this, it's my passion. I know the bar is set pretty high. And the Potter books are the precipice of children's literature. And since so many MG/YA fiction are thick volumes it might be quite hard to sell something that's a little scant.

Writer's Quest

Well, since April is poetry month, here's something I jotted down. Like to hear it here it goes.

Blank page

pen in hand

words spill like blood

across the white canvas

Empire State of Mind

I really love music. And there are some songs that really speak to me, especially when they are about following your dreams or unrequited love. Lately Alicia Keys' Empire State of Mind pt2 is in my head. I know what does that have to do with my literary blogging. Quite a bit. The chorus part really strikes a chord with me. I'ma make it by any means/I've got a pocketful of dreams/baby I'm from New York/concrete jungle where dreams are made of.
I'm not from a big city like New York but my dreams are just as big. Big enough to believe there's space on the bookshelf for my book alongside the Stephine Meyers and J.K. Rowlings of the literary world. I gonna make it by any means despite how daunting and difficult it is to navigate the publishing terrain. The arrows of rejections won't pierce my pride b/c I'm gonna keep writing and polishing my manuscripts. I've got a pocketful of dreams, baby.

Tenacity

I just finished reading an interview with this seasoned author named Mitali Perkins (I actually follow her on Twitter) I found her writing journey inspiring. She let the rejections she received shape her vision as an author and improve her craft. Despite numberous rejections she refused to give up on her novel, letting it sit at the bottom of a desk drawer. She was unwilling to abandon her vocation. That's how I feel about writing, despite rejections I keep writing. Keep honing my craft. I believe in my stories and that there's a better place for them beside my notebook.

In the interview Perkins also stress discipline being vital to a writer if they want to be successful. And that writers should treat their craft as a serious profession not a hobby. Besides that I took to heart when she said, "good books take time to write, edit, get published, and reach the hands and hearts of readers."

Sea of No

I started sending out queries for my middle-grade novel, The Strange World of Neve Rimbel the first week of this month. By the second week, two of the three agents respectfully declined. I've been swimming in the sea of no for so long, I wonder where the shore of yes is. I know rejection is part of the literary game and it's a subjective business. I've worked really hard on my novel. I think it's a very good story. A twelve-year-old girl and her family moves to a cursed town. The girl sees beware, bewarned, be afraid eteched on her window. Thus begans her encounters with strange things from a woman bursting into crows to alien baby imposters.

A lot of the middle-grade/young adult novels I read the protagonist are white. My protagonist Neve Rimbel is black, but of course I like to think that wouldn't be the cause of a no. I would like to believe a fantasy novel with a black protagonist could have a decent number of readers and buyers. Character race shouldn't matter if the story is well-written and compelling and you believe in the story you're telling.

Often when I look at the book sections in Target and Wal-Mart (where I work) I get a wistful look in my eyes. Given a chance I would love to see my story ideas in book form.

The Mirror World

In the year 2004 I made my first attempts at breaking into publishing with my children's novel entitled The Mirror World. Well, actually at 53 pages it was more of a long short story. Anyways, I felt it was publishable. So off it went. And back it came. The story was a fantaasy about a lonely 12 year-old girl, named Taryn Hayes, who gets sucked into another world via an antique mirror. (What is it about mirrors being portals). From there she ends up in the land of Arnasor. (My name spelled backwards. Clever. Clever). Where a rabbit sporting a tweed jacket sees her fall from the sky. Mr. Timbleweed (the rabbit) belives she was sent to help the oppressed creatures defeat an evil giantess, Desmara.

Most agencies gratfully declined but one although they said it wasn't strong enough to market, they suggested a critique service. This lead me to DeeDee Hughes. She critiqued The Mirror World (along with all my subsequent manuscripts). She thought I had the makings of a very fun and exciting adventure story. After revising and following her suggestions, I sent it back to that agency, exactly a year later. This time they said they didn't feel they could market at this time.

The Mirror World probably won't ever be on any shelves but it was a good learning curve. There are loads I like about the story and descriptions. Mr. Timbleweed broke into a loping gait, with Taryn in tow. She struggled to break free, but the homicidal rabbit had a stronghold on her. Another butterfly fluttered by.

Ambrosia looked at Taryn. A clod of dirt landed on the fairy, knocking her to the ground. Hoof beats could be heard from above. The wooden door started to splinter and bulge. Shamus let out a squeal. “We’re being infiltrated.” Taryn saw his foot narrowly miss the fairy that still lay on the ground. “Watch it you idiot,” she snapped. She ran and gingerly picked up the lavender fairy. She held Ambrosia in her hands; she was no bigger than a dragonfly. The fairy’s wings brush against her palms, her tiny crystal eyes looked into Taryn’s. This can’t be real she thought.

In 2006 The Mirror World did get published online with Sweetgum Notes. My former creative writing professor had accepted my submission. She said her staff thought it was delightful. (Why weren't they agents). Well there are some characters I'll use in other stories. I really like Cyan and Rue, my goth-like rainbow sprite. The Mirror World started it all.

Often rejected....but not dejected

Well my middle-grade manuscript, The Strange World of Neve Rimbel has received a slew of rejections. More than 30. Most just are curt (sorry not for us). Or its not right for our list. My most recent rejection had an explanation attached to it. She liked my concept, and opening pages. But she wasn't in love with the writing itself. She found my middle-grade voice uneven and my length a bit short. My novel is 19,037 words. But the Literary Marketplace states that MG fiction lengths can be from 20,000 plus. So I'm not that far off.

I know most books on the market are as thick as the Bible but I've seen a few slimmer ones, like the Spiderwick Chronicles, and the Chronicles of Narnia. I haven't been told before that my MG voice was uneven (but then again all the others just say they'll pass). I have been told by another agent that my concept was original with interesting characters. But of course she passed on it. Maybe it's the character's voice. GREAT. Now I'm questioning Neve Rimbel's voice.

I hear a song or two

If I had a theme song(s) that summed up my literary aspirations and frustrations it, would be a mashup of Natasha Bedingfield's unwritten and these words.

Unwritten/These Words

I am unwritten/the pen's in my hand/

staring at the blank page/trying to find the magic/

trying to write a classic/Don't you know/Don't you know/waste bin full of paper/nothing I write is ever good enough.

Literary Dreams

I've been honing my writing skills since 2004. Prior to that I deferred my literary dream to pursue a white-collar office job, I never even had an interview for. My post-secondary education was spent failing and retaking computer and accounting classes. All the while writing was in the background. I took two creative writing classes while in college. I had a professor, Dr. Kinder say my writing reminded her of C.S. Lewis (I hadn't read anything of his at the time). If I could time travel I would go back and take English and writng classes intead of business and computer classes were mediocrity was evident.

Writing for me didn't truly began in 2004 but in 1988 when I was nine. I use to write and illustrate my own stories, along with my cousin. Most of my characters were talking animals with a few misanthopic aliens thrown in. Writing is what I love to do.

My literary dreams began in 1988 and although I deferred them in my early twenties, the dream is still alive.