Tip Tuesday

I always feel slightly hypocritical posting these tips. It's like I am putting myself up on a pedestal and saying I have everything figured out. Well...I don't.

One example is my most recent (and continuing) story, Two Symbols. Aside from many larger flaws I have not had a very consistent picture in my mind for some of my minor characters. Several of them in fact, have gotten their looks changed up to three times. That can make for confusion if in one paragraph I mention Kat's red hair and in the next say that her hair reminded Stefania of a raven... (by the way, if you are now looking back through the story for this particular mistake, let me save you a bit of time--it was purely fictional. Kat has always had red hair in my mind...though I'm not sure I ever mention it in the story!)

If you go have a firm mental image your story will be that much more interesting. I don't mean that you need to write like Horatio Alger and spend the first three pages of your book describing what your character looks like but think about it for a bit. Physical characteristics often point to personality characteristics. Does your character have crow's feet? (I'm assuming you know what these are?) They probably laugh and smile a lot. Do they have strong lines around their mouth? They have probably gone through a lot of pain (physical or mental) and come through stronger.

Anyway, I think you get the point.

Now that I am nearly finished with my story I decided to finally put down on paper what my characters look like. This is obviously not a necessity as some of us are not artists, but the point is you should have a very clear picture in your head. If you do not how can you ever expect to put a good image in your reader's?

For me it is easier to have a physical picture of a person to base my character's feature off of. First I collected pictures of epic looking people on Pintrest but when they didn't exactly match up with how I wanted them to look I decided to try something new--drawing human faces!

So, here is my first experiment in a facet of art I have never before touched:

Comparing this picture with my story I realize I misspelled her name...I haven't decided which place though. Probably in the story. ;)

Sorry some of the pictures aren't the best. I was taking them in blinding sunlight and couldn't see my camera screen!

Which one is your favorite? Cleon, is mine. I felt like I did the best job with him. Beppo on the other hand....was a not so successful portrait of my brother. He looks similar but his (the drawings) head is flatter and wider. Faith, you have seen my brother (the younger) more recently than the others. What do you think? Does it look like him?

You might notice the absence of Cleon and Kat's son...whose name I have forgotten, and also Zeppelin. I didn't intend to leave them out but simply didn't have time to get them drawn.

Ugh

Well, as you can see, I didn't get a Tip Tuesday done for yesterday and probably won't get a Word Wednesday done either. I've had a nasty little cold since last weekend, and I'm having troubles shaking it. Plus I've been trying to study for my big AP test that got moved to this Friday. So please forgive me if I don't get much posting done this week.

Hope just emailed me and her family computer is down so she may need someone to post for her next week. I'm not certain if I'll be able to, so I'm going to ask you all first if you could maybe come up with at least one thing to post next week. If not, no problems. We might just have a break week.

Anyway, if you are extra hungry for writing tips, just hop on over to Go Teen Writers.

My BFFN (Best Friend For Now)

Weekly Newsletter

Oh no, I guess it's my turn this week, I don't really have anything specific planned....

- Story (Grace)

- Tip Tuesday (Grace)

- Word Wednesday (Grace)

- What if... (Grace)







He said to them, “Because of your little faith. For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.” - Matthew 17:20 (ESV)

What If... Part 1B

“Uh, I guess I'll see you later?” He says as you shove the old door closed. You ignore his implied question and lock the door behind you. With a sigh, you slide to the floor. What a day.

A few short seconds later you dare to peek out the window. He's gone, and you finally feel secure. Then you remember you're in a strange dilapidated house that is probably haunted and dusty among other things. Oh well...you definitely are not driving back to Phoenix. A sudden creak and rattling of the windows sends you flying to your feet. You're not sure, but you think you might rather be outside freezing your toes off with your much too friendly neighbor. Taking a few deep breaths, you shrug off your fear. It's probably just the wind, anyway.

You wander through the living room to what appears to be the dining room. You hold your breath. The wood work is gorgeous. Little swirls fill the grain of the trim and doors. A huge window with stained glass at the top covers the south wall. Lights of yellow, red, and blue fall through the window and dance on the table top. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad staying here, but then you run your finger across the table. It's coated in at least a inch of dust. you cringe and wipe your finger on your jeans. Fortunately most the furniture is covered with sheets. You spot an old radiator in one corner of the room. It's dusty too, but you lean up against it, bathing in the warmth. The heat is on and running, just as Dad's friend promised. You can see the kitchen through another doorway, but three other doors block your view to anything else beyond the dining room. You try the first one on the north wall, only to walk into an empty room with more doors, so I back track and try the next door. It leads to a stair case that creaks as soon as you place a foot on it, and you promptly decide you're staying downstairs as long as you have too. The last door on the west opens into a huge bedroom with rusty-colored carpet and a ceiling too tall for even Goliath. Perfect. 

All the woodwork is darker in here, and the walls are cream colored. A fireplace with empty bookshelves above it fills the west wall. Your bed is on the north wall. You throw off the dust sheet only to find an empty mattress. Ugh. Why didn't you think to bring bedding? Maybe one of the bedrooms upstairs has bedding. Walking over to the windows, you fling open the curtains, allowing what little sunlight there is to stream in, but you immediately regret it. Dust flies everywhere, stinging your eyes and itching your throat. You sneeze, cough, and blink. By the time you have yourself under control again, you realize someone is banging on the door.

You scramble to the front door and peek out the window. Your lovely neighbor grins at you, holding a snow shovel to the glass. You crack the door a bit. “What do you want?”

“Mind if I shovel your driveway?”

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt.” You open the door an inch wider. 

He smiles. “Suppose?”

“Yes, I mean, that would be really nice. Thank you.” 

“No problem.” He just stands there, grinning sheepishly.

“Alrighty then...um I better go start cleaning this place up.” You try to shut the door, but he lodges his foot in the way.

“Wait,” he says. “Do you have a name?”

You sigh. “I'm not too fond of handing it out to strangers.”

 

He chuckles, his eyes twinkling. "Well, I'm Matt." He extends his hand.

You eye black-gloved fingers. If shaking his hand is what will get him to move his big foot, you decide you'll take the risk. You extend your scrawny pale fingers. He wraps them in a hearty squeeze and then waves goodbye, the wind whipping at his scarf. "I better get to work." He nods toward the driveway.

Yes, you better. You find yourself sighing again when the door clicks shut. 

Thump. Thump. Creaaak! You jump. So maybe that wasn't the wind earlier. Footsteps sound on the stairs. You grasp the door knob, ready to dart into a snowdrift if needed. The steps sound louder, and then a figure appears. "Miss Addie?"

You let your hand slide from the door knob. A stick-like man in a white dress shirt and tie walks toward you, a smile wrinkling his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Your father sent me over to turn on the heat and water, and I was just checking things upstairs. Didn't think you'd be here yet."

You place a hand over your chest as if to calm your pounding heart. Any friend of your Dad's was okay. "Carl, right?" You try to smile.

He nods, running his fingers through his gray hair. "If you need anything, my wife and I live two blocks down on the corner." 

You almost roll your eyes. People here are much too friendly. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

He smiles. "Well, have a good day." Carl disappears into the kitchen, but reappears within seconds. He drops a yellowed envelope into your palm. "Forgot to give you this." He winks, and disappears again. You hear the back door click shut and examine the gift. Flipping it over, you read the words scrawled neatly on the back: To Whomever Buys This Home: Beware.

Despite the shiver climbing up your spine, you rip open the envelope. The letter isn't special - It's just notebook paper. You unfold it with shaky fingers.

My name is Nadine. 

I live here. 

If you want to live here, 

You'll have to play with me. 

I like flowers.

What sort of prank is this? Not exactly the ghost note you expected, but goosebumps dot your arms. Something in your gut tells you prank or no prank, this might be dangerous. You decide to...

A. Look for Nadine. No worries, you'll keep your cell phone handy.

B. Laugh and toss the note into the waste basket. Dad really got you good this time.

C. Call your parents. They always know what to do.

Word Wednesday/Tip Tuesday - Creating Fantasy Creatures

Ever had troubles coming up with fantasy creatures? My brothers helped me find an entertaining way to fix the problem.

Step 1: Gather a small group of friends or siblings. (I think it works best with three or four people)

Step 2: Quietly, and without telling anyone, each person thinks of a totally random animal.

Step 3: When everyone has thought of one, take turns telling them out loud.

Step 4: Throw ideas around about how you could combine different aspects the animals all into one. It may be helpful to have a sketch book handy.

Step 5: Take the names of the animals and combine them in different ways too. Vote on the best name.

And there you have it! Your original and totally unique fantasy creature. But wait...

Step 6: Google your new creature just in case he might not be as original as you think (or if it has some meaning you didn't intend it to).

Here are a couple of our crazy ones: Dung Doggle (Turtle/Dog/Dung Beetle) and T-Floodle (T-rex/Flamingo/Poodle)

Well anyways, that probably wasn't of any value to you all, but I hope you at least found it entertaining....

Destination: Carnegie part 2

The weeks passed by with unbelievable swiftness, until only one week remained before the big night.  The 3 girls had just finished a practice session and were relaxing on the porch discussing the strategy for the last last week.

    “I wish Papa and Mama could be here.”  Klaire lamented.  

    “I know; we all do.”  Viola sighed.  “But God has them in Thailand for a reason; the Khmer people need to hear about Jesus, too.”

    The girls’ parents had been missionaries to the Khmer people of Thailand for 15 years now, but had sent the trio back to the U.S. 2 years ago to live with their uncle and aunt and finish up their schooling.  They all missed each other greatly, but looked forward to the day when they could all be together again.

    The reflective silence was broken when the screen door slapped open with a soft thud.  The girls all turned to see their aunt, silent tears streaming down her face.  Fear struck in Viola’s heart.

    “Girls…”  Aunt Leina began, then sagged against the porch railing for support and began again.  “Girls, news just came that your parents’ boat went down in the river on the way to Bangkok.  There--there were no survivors.”  

    Klaire closed her eyes and sank to the rough boards of the porch floor, prostrate in grief.  Araya let out a despairing wail and began to shudder with sobs.  Viola’s face turned pale, but she swallowed the panic rising in her throat and comforted her sisters, pulling them close to her in a trembling embrace.  The three sisters locked onto each other and wept.

--------

    The next morning as the girls stared at their uneaten breakfast, Uncle Jeremiah finally broke the silence.

    “Your parents’ will indicates their desire to be buried in Thailand.  The service is going to be at the end of this week; it’s too hot to keep the bodies any longer.”

    “We’ve arranged flights for the day after tomorrow, and return flights two weeks later.  To give us time to get everything settled and the new missionary couple out to a good start.”  Aunt Leina explained.

    An unwelcome thought reared its head in Klaire’s mind, but she quickly squelched it.  This was no time to think of Carnegie.  There were more important matters at hand.

    “I should go start packing.”  Viola pushed her chair back and started lifting her plate from the table.

    “I’ll get it; you girls go on and get your packing done.  I got a head start last night.”  Aunt Leina explained.  

    “Thank you, Auntie.”  Viola murmured, turning toward the stairs.  Klaire and Araya excused themselves and followed their older sister.

----------   

 Two days later, they all boarded the plane that took them to Thailand.  Landing several hours later, yawning and fighting off the jet-lag, they stumbled from the plane and into the tiny airport where the Khmer missionary organizer was waiting for them.  Several hours of backroads, mountain trails, and stream crossings later, they group reached the remote village of the Khmer people.  A crowd of friendly faces swarmed around them, relieving them of their luggage and covering them in embraces of warm welcome.

    “This is everything?”  One of them asked, pointing to the small stack of luggage piled by the main hut entrance.

    “The rest is coming in tomorrow.”  Uncle Jeremiah explained.

    “Of course.”

----------    

The next day, the rest of the luggage came.

    “Klaire!  Araya!”  Viola shouted as her eyes alighted on a tale-tall shape.  The sisters came scrambling out the door and stopped, eyes widening.  A slow smile crept across Araya’s face.  

    “Uncle Jeremiah and Aunt Leina didn’t forget anything, did they?”  She smiled her first genuine smile since the horrific news had come and rushed to the cello case, unclasping it and lifting out the wooden instrument.  They all looked at each other, an idea forming.

    “We may not get to play in Carnegie, but we can sure play here for the Khmers.”

    “What better thing to do in Papa and Mama’s memory?”

--------
A chorus of mountain cadences accompanied the trio the next night as they performed their piece.  The majestic strains of cello and piano drifted through the small village, sweeping the audience into rapt attention.

The End!

Weekly Newsletter - Late, Again...

- Story (Josie)

- Tip Tuesday (Hope)

- Word Wednesday (Grace)

- What if... Part1B (Grace)


By the way, congratulations to Faith on her graduation! Praying for you and your future.


"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." - Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

Who Am I?

I had trouble coming up with a Who Am I this week, so this might be pretty easy.

1)  I am a doctor.
2)  I used to share an apartment with a brilliant man.
3)  I have a British accent.

Who Am I?

Painting Reality

I mentioned I might post this, so here it is. It's a play I had to write for AP English Literature, and it turned out rather fun. Each person  represents a different literary movement. See if you can identify which person goes with what movement. Feel free to do a little research if you need to, but I think most of them are pretty obvious. Which movement/person do you identify most with?

Modernism

Aestheticism

Realism

Neo-Romanticism

Naturalism

Scene: An old theater in the 21^st century. The wall paper is peeling, the paint on the trim is chipping, the floorboards of the stage show extensive water damage. Alethea and Emma, girls of about age sixteen, appear from behind the dusty stage curtains. Both carry clipboards and pens.

Emma: Don't tell me you invited Jacob.

Alethea: I did.

Emma: Alethea, he'll crash the party! I don't understand why you like him so much. He's so … so …. [struggles to find the right word] … ordinary.

Alethea: [laughs] But that's exactly what I like about him. Jake is real. He doesn't hide behind some facade to get a girl's attention.

Emma: [paces the floor, exasperated] How is that going to help us with your sister's homecoming play? We need imagination!

Alethea: Just wait. You'll see. [turns to study curtains, taking notes on clipboard]

[The sound of a door groaning on its hinges resounds through the theater]

Emma: Great. Here he comes now.

Enter Jacob, followed closely by Beau and James.

Emma: [eyes brighten] Oh, look. He's brought some friends.

Alethea: What? [spins around, peeved by the announcement]

Emma: [trots down the stage to meet the boys] Hey. What's up?

Jacob: We are here and ready to work. [holds up a paintbrush and can]

Emma: [scowls] I was talking to Beau.

[Jacob ignores her and climbs the stage]

Beau: At your service, my lady. [bows, kissing her hand]

Emma: [giggles] Thank you. I think you are just the guy we need. Jacob and Alethea have no imagination. [peeks around Beau] Who's your friend?

Beau: Oh, that's James. He's just a tag-along. A very depressing fellow, really.

Emma: We don't need anymore of those.

Beau: [laughs] Well, then you'll be pleased to know he actually has an amazing imagination … if only you can make sense of it.

Emma: At least he has one. [extends her hand to James] Hi, I'm Emma. It's nice to meet you.

James: [ignores her hand] Nice? Why do people say 'nice to meet you' when they truly don't know if that person is nice yet or not?

Emma: [surprised] I suppose just to be polite. [extends hand out further]

James: [swats her hand away] Pah! Decorum! Another one of society's traps. One can't accurately express who they are when trapped in the rules of decorum.

Emma: Huh? [turns to Beau] You seem to have a knack for choosing interesting friends.

Beau: I told you. He's not my friend. Just a tag-along.

Emma: And Jacob?

Beau: I'm his tutor.

Emma: Tutor?

Beau: He needs help in art class.

Emma: Ah. That makes sense.

Alethea: [claps hands to get everybody's attention] Thank you all for coming today. I just found out this morning that my sister will be returning from Florida slightly ahead of schedule. Which means we now have less than two months to create and practice a play. On top of that, we've got to make this place look presentable. Now I did have a fairly simple plan of how we would proceed, but since I wasn't expecting such a crowd, [throws a scowl Jacob's direction] I will have to amend it. First and foremost, there is the matter of the topic of the play. As the community will be invited, I would like to address -

Emma: [raises hand and waves it] Oh, oh, I know! It should be set in France or perhaps England in the medieval age, and we could have knights and ogres and -

Alethea: We will stick with reality.

Emma: [pouts] But James would make a perfect troll.

Beau: [snorts]

Jacob: Realistically speaking, for that time period, we would need to portray the devastation of the Bubonic Plague, or the effects of the feudal system on the vassals and serfs.

Emma: [crinkles up nose] You have no imagination.

Alethea: No, no, no! You guys do not get the point. I want this play to portray some issue in our community in a way that will stir our audience into action. Perhaps some issue they've overlooked, like the discrimination of teens in the workplace.

Beau: Where's the fun in that? I think we should focus more on entertainment. You know, like a comedy or something.

Alethea: Comedies are pointless. We need something with lasting impact.

Beau: Theater is all about art. Comedy is all about art. Why, even life itself is an art! I say, if you are not going to make a play an art, what's the point of it at all?

Alethea: Well, I say art should be worth something far more than simple entertainment. It needs to have a lasting purpose for society.

Jacob: [thoughtful] What about a play about a kid, who wants to move up in society and go to college to be a doctor, but is trapped because the town looks at him in disgust because of his family name? He can't get a good job, or extra help from teachers at school, so he drops out of high school and follows the same criminal path as the rest of his family.

[Alethea nods, jotting something down on her clipboard]

Emma: [excited, mounts the stage] And then, one of the popular girls over hears him singing to himself one day, and she falls in love with his voice. She convinces her father of this kid's talent and to help him pursue a musical career. But -

Beau: [also jumps onto the stage] The poor guy can't actually sing. It was actually his twin brother whom she had overheard, but he doesn't tell her that. He can't miss this opportunity to earn a good chunk of money for college, so, he convinces his brother to pretend to be him. Then they split the profit.

Emma: In the meantime, this kid falls in love with the girl and feels bad about the charade and is determined to tell her the truth, even if it means sacrificing his future career.

Jacob: But the twin finds out about it and is worried this confession will ruin his music career, so he secretly murders his brother. Thus, our protagonist dies a helpless victim of the very life he was trying to escape!

[Emma and Beau stare at Jacob, mouths slightly agape]

Alethea: [exasperated, runs her fingers through her hair] But that doesn't sound very realistic.

Jacob: Yes, we should probably cut the singing part out. Make it simple.

Emma and Beau: No!

Beau: You'll cut out all the art out!

Emma: [folds arms across chest] And don't forget the romance.

Alethea: [stomps feet] Forget the art, forget the heroics! We need to show the audience reality.

Beau: Relax! People already live in reality. Let's give them something to help them enjoy it a little more. Life is only so long. Let them enjoy it while they can.

Alethea: But reality won't change for the better unless someone shows the people they need to change it.

Beau: Society would be changed for the better if they would sit back and enjoy the beauty there already is life.

Alethea: [rolls eyes] There are some people who can't sit back and enjoy life because they have to struggle to find work and food while the rest of society gorges itself on art and entertainment.

Jacob: It is a common pattern in society: The rich eat up the beauty of life, rarely leaving table scraps for the poor.

Emma: Guys, we are getting off topic!

Alethea: Yes, back to the point! Reality, remember?

Beau: Entertainment!

Jacob: [folds arms across chest in a challenging pose] You mean, the natural patterns of society.

Emma: You people, have no imagination! [stomps down the stage steps, tripping over the paint can. Red paint oozes out onto the floor. She slips] Oh! My new jeans!

Alethea: The carpet! Jacob, do tell me paint comes out of carpet.

Jacob: [scratches head] I don't know. It won't come out easily, that's for sure.

Beau: [whistles] And that's sure a lot of paint.

James: [steps out of the shadows, shaking his head] You guys really know nothing at all. This play will fail. I've got to go. [starts for the door]

Beau: James, wait! Why don't you share your opinion?

James: I just did. Good bye. [proceeds]

Beau: [grabs James' arms] Come on! Surely you have more to say than that.

James: [hesitates] Will you listen?

Beau, Alethea, Emma, Jacob: [desperate] Yes!

James: Society will never change. It's full of a bunch of stubborn elephants who can't recognize their own faults or each others' strengths. As I said, good bye. [exits, slamming the door]

Beau, Alethea, and Jacob stare after him.

Emma: A little help here? [tries to stand, slipping]

[Beau, Alethea, and Jacob scramble to the rescue. In the process, each slips in the paint and lands in a pile at the bottom of the steps]

Alethea: [groans] This is great. Just great.

Tip Tuesday

I have to admit that I don't have a tip today.  Oops.  However, I do have a question for you:  what person(s) have influenced your writing the most?  The answer could be authors, friends, family members, or whoever. 

Weekly Newsletter

Good morning Larkwriters! I know, I'm a bit late, but I did spend most of my free time yesterday writing.


This Week:

- Story (Faith)

- Tip Tuesday (Faith)

- Word Wednesday (Faith)

- Who Am I? (Faith)



Sorry I probably won't post the next What If part yet. I'm studying for an AP test on Thursday, so the chances of me getting it done are pretty slim. I may, however, share a play I wrote for school.

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

What If... Part1C

“Uh, I guess I'll see you later?” He says as you shove the old door closed. You ignore his implied question and lock the door behind you. With a sigh, you slide to the floor. What a day.

A few short seconds later you dare to peek out the window. He's gone, and you finally feel secure. Then you remember you're in a strange dilapidated house that is probably haunted and dusty among other things. Oh well...you definitely are not driving back to Phoenix. A sudden creak and rattling of the windows sends you flying to your feet. You're not sure, but you think you might rather be outside freezing your toes off with your much too friendly neighbor. Taking a few deep breaths, you decide to investigate the sound. It's probably nothing, but you like to know for sure.

Before you can convince your shaky limbs to move, the eerie sound sets that ball bouncing in your chest again. You're know that if you lay a hand across your heart right now, you would see it jump with every heartbeat. Forcing your worries to the side, however, you put one foot in front of the other. And then the other. You repeat this process, until you run smack-dab into a set of enormous double doors. Great. Where are the door knobs? You glare at the tiny swirls in the wood, wishing them to evaporate or sprout a handle. But they don't. You take a step back, bumping into a giant sheet-covered couch. Maybe the doors are automatic and malfunctioning? Is there a switch somewhere? 

Then it clicks. You let out a nervous laugh and place your hand in the grooves where it looks like a door knob should be. Pocket doors. You had heard Mom and Dad talk about these but you had never actually encountered them. Pulling to the right, you awaken your dormant muscles. The door groans, but slides into the wall a few inches. Natural lighting streams in from the other room as the door budges a bit more. Muscles aching, you squeeze through the opening.

Aaah! A stained-glass window! Impractical, but gorgeous. The colored light paints a pattern on the dining room table, adding a bit of cheer to the dusty surface. You turn to examine the rest of the room, and panic builds in your chest. What is up with all the doors? You know there were at least two sets of doors in the other room, but here there are four. At least they aren't pocket doors.

Creak! You jump again. That was definitely right above your head. One of these doors has to open up to a stairwell. You swing open the first door on the far wall. Yuck. It only leads to more doors. You try the next. Perfect. Taking another deep breath to calm your thumping heart, you mount the first couple steps. Creak! Creak! Creak! Well, you certainly won't be sneaking up on anyone.

By the time you reach the top of the second landing, you're legs are burning. That's what you get for sitting in front of a desk day after day. Maybe you will apply for a gym membership here. If this town even has a gym... 

"Good afternoon, Miss." 

The warmth rushes out of your limbs, and your body grows cold with fear. You stumble backward. Thwack! Your body smacks the stairs, but still you tumble. The scarred wood of the dining room floor rushes back at you. Your head slams the finish first, and searing pain paralyzes your body.

"Miss! Miss! No! Can you hear me? O please, God, no!" You hear footsteps pounding down the stairs. A white clad figure bends over you, his voice haunting your fears. His face is terrified, ghostly looking, staring over your broken body. You try to say something, reach for something, but the world fades black.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I felt bad doing this to you all the first time around, but I'd designated C as the "bad choice" ahead of time and told myself I couldn't change. Sorry!

Anyway, looks like we're back at the beginning already. Since you just read it last week, I'll just re-post the choices here (well, the two that are left). So which do you want?

A. Fly out the door and catch up with your neighbor. Maybe he'll check the house for you.

or

B. Ignore the sound. It's probably just the wind.