Monday, April 30, 2012

Aaaag! Young Justice Season Two

Dear Wal,

You know what happened today? I saw the first episode of the second season of Young Justice. What in the world...where do I start? Why did we skip ahead five years? Where's Aqualad, Kid Flash, Artemis, Red Arrow? Why is Megan throwing herself at every alien boy available? WHY? WHY? WHY?
I'm sure it will all be explained in the next couple episodes and I will be satiated, but right now I'm frankly ticked off. The first season ended at a really good point. Six leaguers had vanished for 16 hours, nefarious activities unknown. Auqalad, Robin, Superboy, Megan and the rest were all very well developed characters. Each got their moment to shine over the course of the show. One of my favorite moments was when Robin had to battle Batman and Superboy had to battle Superman. I never saw Red Arrow's secret coming.
Honestly, would the league have really left the question of those 16 hours unanswered for five years? Batman certainly wouldn't have, considering he was one of the ones that vanished. Of course, he might have just come up with nothing, no leads, for the past five years. It just seems all wrong, skipping ahead. The Team still hasn't figured out about the Light or Speedy or anything. I don't know, I'm holding out for the explanation. And me being me I will watch the entire show no matter how rough it gets. Ah, the trappings of obsession.
Things I like about the new season? Nightwing is cool, but I'm going to miss Dick as Robin. As with the other characters, his story feels like it's been chopped up and thrown onto the sidelines. Seeing Beastboy again is nice, and Blue Beetle is certainly going to be entertaining. I guess he's the new clown of the Team now that Kid Flash is mysteriously absent. I always like to see a broader range of DC heroes in the animated shows/movies because there are so many characters with so much potential that get overlooked, like Adam Strange for example, but I don't like that the dynamics of the Team got switched up in the middle of the story.
Anyway, thoughts on Young Justice season two. Is anyone else upset and confused? Am I alone in the vast ocean of the interwebs? Feel free to comment on your thoughts.

/endrant

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Midnight Mincraft Adventures Episode 1


Dear Wal,

Here is the summary of my first day and a half of minecraft on hard:

For a while I putter around building things, digging holes, gathering supplies. I'm super careful. I make sure to block off a place and make it secure for the night. (It was a four-block place at the bottom of a hole.) But I don't see or here any monsters anywhere.
Then I finally figure out why I don't see any.
I'm on peaceful.
Watson's reaction:
XDDDDD
ROFL
LOOOOOOOL
So I finally get myself on hard. And I'm feeling pretty good because I've already killed two monsters and I have an iron sword now. I decide it's time to go mining. I go deep, heading for a hugely massive amazing ravine, and all of a sudden there are three creepers.
I start to panic. I can take on one creeper and survive, but three?! I approach them anyway, knowing that it's the only way to get rid of them. Kill or be killed. Exploded. Whatever. They start coming after me. I start to back away like I always do so I can hit them or escape too much damage if they explode, but all of a sudden I've forgotten how to move. And I'm frantically jumping up and down in panic. I hit one sucessfully and then BLAM I'm dead. Thankfully I had already made myself a bed.
My reaction:
DDDDD8
TH-TH-TH
GG-KKK
AAAAAAAAAAAAH
Watson's reaction:
LOL
I take it out on a herd of cows and a school of squid. Technically it was an act of mercy for the squid. They spawned in a pool of water one block deep in the middle of a swamp. Night comes. I'm overwhelmed and shaking in terror:
AAAH D8
WHY DO THEY MAAKE SUCH TERRIFYING NOISES
Then my computer started spazzing. It would only let my mouse move in a small square of the screen and the screen randomly changed brightness. I logged out and logged back in and it was fine. My poor laptop couldn't handle it either. Once I got things working again I decided to make myself a bow, because I had a lot of trouble killing skeletons without taking a ton of damage. The idea was that I could hit them with the bow before they hit me. Only, after I made the bow I realized I didn't have any amo. Or materials for amo. FAIL.
All the monsters mysteriously vanished, giving me time to explore tunnels in peace. But then it happened. There was a creeper. And guess what! I killed it and lived to tell the tail. Me: 1 Creeper: 1
So then I start to quietly dig gravel so I can get flint for arrows and a skeleton pops out of nowhere:
Skeleton: >D MWAHAHAHA
YOU CAN'T DIG GRAVEL
NOO
YOU GOTTA DIE
DIIIE
Me: D8 *RUNS*
Then a bunch of zombies popped out of nowhere:
Zombies: :D I EAT YO FACE
Me: OH NO YA DON’T *kills*
HAHA SEE I CAN MURDER TOO
I was getting pretty confident, so I decided I’d try and take on the skellingtons. Then an enderman showed up.
Enderman: CUTE NOISES :D I’M NICE
Me: D8 *carefully does not look at*
Should I kill it? 
D8 I’M GOING TO DIE 
I decide to leave it alone. It has a happy dirt block now. I hear noises everywhere. Zombies groaning. Skeletons clacking. Endermen purring. Creepers creeping. 
Me: SO MISLEADING *twitch*
Then zombies start pounding on all my wooden doors. Me being a noob, I don't know that they can break through wooden doors:
*zombies pounding on doors*
Me: *shivering in terror*
*frantically making iron doors*
Aaaaaah iron doors *feels slightly safer*
I go to place an iron door:
Me: *happily placing door* :D
Skeleton: SNEEK ATTACK >:D
I nearly fell out of my chair:
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH DDDDDDDDDDDDDD8 *runs, slams doors shut*
At this point, I’m finding it impossible to decide what I need and what I don’t need and I have an excess of wooden doors. I think it’s probably time to go to bed, considering I’m twitching spastically and sweating.
The next day, I decide it’s high time I went exploring. I find a village and steal all the testificate’s food and spend the night in one of their houses. I blocked up the door with cobblestone so that zombies couldn’t break in while I was sleeping. There was this testificate at the door frantically trying to get in:
Testificate: HELP D8 PLEASE THE NIGHT IS COMING, LET ME IN!
I considered letting him die, and then changed my mind and let him in.
Testificate: :D THANK YOU FOR YOUR MERCY
Next day I found a jungle. And got lost. And had to spend the night in a tree. Fell into an awesome ravine.
Monsters: RAAAAARARARAGRRRRRUGGGGAAAAH >:D
Me: D8 RUNRUNRUNRUN
I find my way back to the village. No longer lost, I head back to base. Time to make a road. Marking for base insufficient. Lost again. Night approaching. No time to get back to base or villiage. All this compounds and multiplies into me acting like a giddy idiot.
Me: D8 *frantically builds four walls in desert*
I peak out and I see there aren’t hardly any monsters. Should I make a run for it?
Me: HELL YEAH, LET’S DO THIS
I spend almost the entire night running around like an idiot trying to escape, and then get cornered by a skellington and a spider.
Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH DDDD8 *RUN AWAY*
CAN’T
AAH
DYING
*dead*
I respawn at the villiage.
Me: *sleep* Saaaafety. Aaaah.
Go off to find base again.
FAIL
Return to villaige just in time before nightfall.
Me: *sleep* Saaafety :D
Look for base again.
Problem.
I’m starving, and I don’t have any weapons. I steal more food from the testificates. I still can’t find my base.
I give up and decide to build a new base where the testificates are. They shall become my subjects. My brethren. I shall protect them from the evil monsters of the night. I SHALL BECOME A BAT.

/endrant

P.S. After all, creepers are a superstitious, cowardly lot.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Minecraft Adventure

Dear Wal,

Yes. I play minecraft. Who doesn't? But I played it before it was a thing, so there. Guess what I just did out of sheer stupidity and well...stupidity. I decided: "Oh, hey you know I should play on hard!" Wrong. Not a good idea. Snakes don't scare me. Spiders don't scare me. The dark doesn't scare me. But right now I'm freaking terrified of my own shadow. This was a very bad idea. If you're wondering, yes I just got blown up by three creepers. I forgot how to flee backwards in my panic and thus died. A horrible, terrifying death, and now I'm completely paranoid. I can't even begin to describe.
My reaction:

Me: DDDDD8
TH-TH-TH
GG-KKK
AAAAAAAAAAAA
Watson: LOL
(I actually made that sound out loud.)

Alright. I need to stop panicking. They're just pixels. Just pixels. *twitch* Moving on. *twitch*

I had another crazy dream last night. I was chosen as a tribute for the Hunger Games, only it wasn't quite the real Games as dreams go. There were five people from my district, and we were all being trained together as a group by this carpenter. I don't know. Don't ask. Before we went in for training our parents were allowed to take us places and get us stuff to use in the Games. My real life parents didn't take me, some random people took me. But I knew they were my parents. Anyway, we went to this sports store. Everything was used and battered and decrepit, but I found this cool looking helmet like Wingman's helmet (cowl thing, whatever), except mine was black on red instead of red on black. I promptly got together a costume so I could be a superhero in the arena. We headed back to the Capitol. I don't remember if there were any heartfelt farewells, the dream just sort of skipped to the next part.
So the five tributes from my district headed into the training place, which happened to be the porch of the house I used to live in in Florida. It was a very wonderful porch. Anyway, we sat down and the carpenter just started teaching us how to craft. And that's when I realized. This was the minecraft hunger games.

And then my alarm clock rang and I woke up. It always rings when things are just getting exciting.





/endrant

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Story Time

Dear Wal,

I have a whole series of weird dreams to tell you about. I've been procrastinating. Sorry about the gaps in posts. It's been a rough two weeks back to school after spring break. My two favorite teachers are leaving. One is coming back though.
Anyway, strange dream time.

Marooned in an Ice Desert
So I and a few other people (I don't remember who they were) were standing in this physicist's study. It had bookshelves everywhere and an arched hallway that lead off to another room. There was light coming from the room. The room we were in was dark. The physicist was showing us this device, it looked like a motherbox from Young Justice, and explaining to us that he had invented artificial telepathy. I remember thinking that made Miss Martian totally obsolete. Anyway, he was explaining that it could be used for training exercises when he said: "Hey guys, look what it does when I do this!" (with a 8D look on his face) and threw it against the wall before promptly stomping it into the floor.
And then all of a sudden we were in the middle of an ice desert during a massive blizzard. This dude and this gal I was with in the study (I think they were part of this team of superheroes I made up-they all had names like Image, Improve etc.) were trying to close up this blue spacecraft I was in. It was this really cool crystalline shade of cobalt, and it had three-four different layers to it that you had to close. It was made to keep stuff out. There was something else out in the desert besides cold that we were hiding from. The dude and the gal got the ship closed up and were talking about what to do next, you know what bits of the ship they needed to close next, when the scene cut to Jason crawling through the ventilation system. He was yammering away, and a bigger dude who had a constant expression of "Duuuuuur :P' on his face was following him. I think they were stowaways. Jason heard something up ahead, something rustling in the vents. There were these spidery things, I don't know exactly what they looked like, and Jason said they were called cracker jackers. Like tracker jackers only not. I guess they jack people's crackers.
Anyway, the "Duuuur :P" dude came up in front while Jason was flipping out and took a whole flock of the cracker jackers out at once. Two seconds after, a bunch of shades of glass or ice or something, I don't know what, lodged themselves around the outside of the vent Jason and the "Duuuur :P" dude were in. The "Duuuuur :P" dude slapped a cover over the vent so no more could get in.
Jason was completely blown away by all this. Apparently his buddy didn't have too many awesome skills. The "Duuuuur :P" dude explained to Jason you had to kill them all at once before they attacked. Why all at once? I have no idea. Then my dream cut off because I rolled over to fix my alarm clock. Because I was pretty sure it wasn't going to go off at the right time. I don't remember if it did.

Zombie Apocalypse
Okay, so we've all had one of these. I still lived in Florida, and I was escaping from the zombies. Apparently they were everywhere except the Kennedy Space Center. There was a hub of safety and resistance gathering there, so that's where I was fleeing to. There was a huge wall around the whole complex, and there were these Star Wars style guns set into the wall. But something wasn't right. There were holes in the wall everywhere and a thick coat of dust covered everything. The guns didn't look like they were functioning.
I got inside and I was running around looking for anyone who was still alive (being chased by zombies, of course) and I found this huge old theater on the outskirts of the center. It was made of creeky old wood like an old, graying barn, and there were these walkways all across the ceiling for the equipment and stuff. I remember there being lots of windows. This dude was showing me around, I don't remember who he was, and I told him he needed to get some plywood and board up all the windows. Instead we put all the blinds down. Not sure how that was supposed to stop the zombies but we were all confident that we were safe after we did that. I think it had something to do with blocking out lights from the theater, like if the zombies saw our lights were on then they would attack us.
So then he took me into this long anti-chamber and we sat down with a bunch of other survivors for some lunch. There was this girl cooking fast food, and I had chicken strips and fries. Then I asked for tator tots and she pulled out this bag of frozen carrots to fry. We had a ridiculous huge long discussion about how many I wanted before she put them in to fry. Then Robin (Dick Greyson from Young Justice) sat down next to me and started talking to me. I don't remember what he said but we eventually got around to how his parents died because someone had sabotaged the trapeze. And then I figured out I was Batgirl from Batman:  Thrillkiller.
The last thing I remember was backing out to the full-page spread of a comic book showing me against the background of Batgirl's mother laying in that pool of blood, and Robin with his parents laying in a bloody pile in the circus ring before my alarm clock rang.

Horse Camp Fail
I go to this annual 4-H clinic every year, and it's a blast. You're supposed to get there the day before everyone starts riding, but for some reason in my dream we didn't end up getting there in time. So we were there the day of. In the morning at 8:00 there's a mandatory safety meeting you have to go to, and me and Katie (she's a friend who comes with me almost every year) were rushing around trying to get everything set up and the horses settled into there stalls and still make it to the safety meeting. I had Buzzy settled in, but she wasn't finished with Montana yet so I yelled at her to hurry up and glanced at the clock. It was 8:15.
Finally we got finished, but we missed the safety meeting, and we had to go with all the other people who ride gaited horses at the clinic to this classroom. We walked in a long procession, headed my math teacher and my English teacher. Both of those teachers are the ones that are leaving. Anyway, I have no idea why the rest of the gaited class was with us. I knew we were there because we missed the safety meeting. I had even less of an idea why my math teacher and my English teacher were there.
So Mr. Searcy (math teacher) put in a movie for us. It was a fairy tail about a prince going to save a princess, (no duh) and they were all covered in glitter. The prince had a purple glittery costume. There was a grand total of one horse in the entire movie. I remember hearing Mr. Searcy talking to Miss Wright (English teacher) and saying that they should show a horse movie, but they had no idea what to pick. They had no idea what to teach us. It was sad.

These are the weird dreams I've been having for the past three days. Yeah. I know. I should have posted all this separately but it didn't happen, because I've been insanely busy and this is the first time in a while I've been able to just sit down and type a huge elaborate post. This post will probably be updated with sketches of all the strange things I dreamed about.

/endrant

P.S. You know, I forgot the third dream halfway through this post and then conveniently remembered it when I was reaching the end of the second dream.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Notebooks

Dear Wal,

I'm developing a frighteningly large array of notebooks, all completely filled with random bursts of inspiration, roleplaying with Watson, stories finished and unfinished, bits of stories I scribbled because I didn't have a computer or internet available and any other random crap that comes to mine. I go everywhere with my notebook. And I mean everywhere. It comes with me in my backpack to school, with me to class and sometimes lunch, and then anywhere else I go I carry it or it stays in the car. I'm very attached to it. It gives me the means to write random things down and never lose them. There's also an element of comfort to toting around a notebook. There's nothing quite like the feel of a hefty chunk of pages that you've written by hand, all your own work. I think it's what writing on the computer lacks, even though typing is faster and easier, it doesn't have the same weight as far as finishing something goes.
I've only finished a few stories in notebooks, however. For me they're a means to work out a stubborn plot or a story that just won't flow right. If I need to then I switch to the computer or vice versa. It helps unstick the wheels sometimes. Here's a little guide to the notebooks above and the stories I've written in them:

1) My first official notebook that I ever seriously wrote anything in. It's a member of an extinct breed from Staples that I can't find anywhere. This notebook is where Jason's stories began. I was still a Batman noob at that point, so I had no clue what I was doing, and plus I was writing the stories three or four months after I came up with them. Because, in typical Sherlock fashion, I thought the idea was insane and stupid at the time and didn't write anything down. Boy was I wrong. The rest of the notebook is filled with one of me and Watson's failed roleplays. She made a side kick and inserted her into the Batman mythos-Cardinal-while Jason Todd was still Robin, and then she tried to save Jason and the two Jasons got switched-the Jason from my fanfic and the actual Jason Todd from the comics-right before the original was supposed to die. Yeah. It kinda failed.
2) BEST. NOTEBOOK. EVER. Watson gave this notebook to me as a birthday present. It was the most amazing birthday present ever. I continued Jason's adventures in this notebook, although most of them failed horribly because-once again-I didn't have a clue what I was doing or any semblance of a plan. I still didn't know my characters well enough. But this notebook-it has wonderful thick, creamy pages which suited the pencil (1.9 mm lead!!) she got for it perfectly. I also started a random sci-fi story in the middle of it for no reason. One that failed. The first of many attempted Elliot stories.
3) This started out as a notebook for taking notes at this science camp I went to, and then I realized I really wanted to write in it. So I crammed a week of notes into 4 pages and wrote in the rest. This one contained yet more Jason stories, along with an interesting one about him and Elliot in an alternate future I tried to write a story about in the leather notebook (it was awesome, but it failed). They had a reckoning. It was fascinating.
4) Another gift from Watson and an awesome notebook. She has the best taste in notebooks. This one was filled with Elliot stories, and some roleplay, and a bit of my western, and I think a bit of one Jason story. It was a very wonderful notebook, but it didn't last long. I was writing up a storm and my handwriting was huge and ridiculous at the time.

/endrant

P.S. If you look at all these notebooks in chronological order, you'll observe the slow degradation of my cursive. It's sad.

Friday, April 20, 2012

My Buzzy Utility Belt



Specialized skills:
Endless patience
Heal grinding/flapping
Muscles
Sitting back
Instant relaxing
No fear
Common sense
Feel on the reins

Teachers:
Awesome BFFs
Mom
Ninja master from Japan
Level 3 Parelli instructor

Thursday, April 19, 2012

How Writing is like a Jungle

Dear Wal,

You're deep in the heart of the thick of the jungle, prey to the plot that stalks you through the oversized, lush leaves and thick, roping vines. All you have is pen, paper and the fiery sword of your willpower against this creature that chases you. You make your way through the huge trees, swatting away the annoying sting of detail mosquitoes, infected with depression that could sweep down on you any moment. Editor spiders crawl onto your precious cargo of story, unknowing you keep going while they rearrange your brilliant (or not so brilliant) scenes and sentences and favorite quotes. You'll get to them too late, to find your story ensnared in there terrible web of false perfection and have to pull off the heavy cobwebs with your bare hands, braving the spider's bit for the sake of your characters.
Your characters? They follow you through the maze of trees, ghosting in and out of depth and personality. One comes up and slaps you in the face, shouting "Why am I here? What have you done? You idiot!" and stomps off. The fire of your will dampens a little, waning, as you cut through the tangled vines of subplots gone wrong. You here the growling of your plot behind you, and you start to sprint; afraid that the sunlight streaming through the thick canopy will desert you, taking with it your inspiration, and leaving you at the mercy of your plot. The plot draws closer, reminding you of completion, always threatening a life of being haunted by its ghost if you fail. You cannot fail. Your life, your sanity, depends on it.

And you wonder why most artists and writers are completely insane.
/endrant

Monday, April 16, 2012

Weird Writing Habits

Dear Wal,

I woke up Sunday morning thinking about my fanfiction. Jason promptly started nagging me to write him:
Jason: *pokesbrain* HEY! :D HEY! :D HEY! :D WRITE ME! :D
Me: Nooooo D< Paper to finish
Jason: Butbut D8 *poke*
Me: WE CAN DO IT TOGETHER JASON D: WE WILL SURVIVE
Jason: NOOOO D8 ME WANT STORY! *poke*
Me: Please?
Jason: *flounces through thoughts with Selina* :D No! *poke*
Me: Aaaaag. Distracting D<
Jason: *poke* PLEASE D: PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE
Me: ALRIGHT. FINE. SHUT UP.
Jason: YAY! :D
So I wrote twelve pages of script. I spent all day writing. I did nothing else but write, breath, eat and visit the restroom. I did have the chat bar to one side, but I was typing so fast it didn't make much of a difference.  Writing Jason-writing someone different-completely unlocked my clogged, squealing Elliot wheels and got me rolling on a story I hadn't been able to do more than pick at for the week before. That's the story that because fifteen pages in two days and then promptly hit a mid-life crisis and nearly died, nearly committed suicide. I saved it, but only barely. I have about six pages of plot wounds to heal, and I fought with it for a whole day before I got it right. That was last Sunday. It was terrible.
I wallowed in despair, and then jumped for joy when I found a solution to one problem, until I found another problem and then I tipped into the depths of despair again and then I fix that problem and proceed to the next-etc, etc. It went on like that for hours. I feel sorry for Watson. She had to witness all of this. But I fixed it. I conquered. And my story came out unscathed.

/endrant

P.S. I forgot to post about this on Sunday, so here you go. Two posts in one day?! What?! This can't be possible!

Idea Trains

Dear Wal,

Here's what happens in my brain when I get an idea:

I see something, maybe it's a tree or a person on a bike or a piece of trashy costume jewelry at the dollar store,  maybe it'll be a feeling of dejavu, like I've known that image somewhere from some vague dream or lost memory, and the idea starts as a feeling in my mind. I follow it deep down into the depths of my imagination and there I find an answer, a complete thought formed as a story or a detail of a larger puzzle. Minutes, hours, days pass and the puzzle gains more pieces, coherent shapes start to form among the madness of colors. I start putting the pieces together, finding the boundaries of this new idea and filling in the blanks. It dictates when I start writing. It may be when the puzzle is complete, it may be when I only have the face of the main character, or just a simple, tiny detail from which all else stems.

Here's what happens when Watson gets an idea:


I’m thinking... The ideas are forming... congealing and setting like rock hard concrete... music, my music is blasting through my brain, scrubbing away all excess fragments of thought... I can feel it, it’s there... just out of reach... perfect, but not yet solidified... rereading the previous post, trying to break my perfect post out of its mold without disfiguring it like a hastily tamped sand castle... I almost have it, just a little longer; but not too long; else it will crumble and I’ll have to remold it...all it will take it the right song; the right cords of the guitar, the perfect beat, the muse of another artist’s lyrics, the siren's call of that right voice... I got it. (Shadowhuntress 4-16-12)

Her's is much better than mine. 

/endrant

P.S. Yes, my plagiarizing nazi friends, that is credit you see there at the end of that paragraph!

April Reading List

Read:
Siddhartha
Batman: Thrillkiller
JLA: World War III

In progress:
The Hunger Games
The Weapon
1984

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Adventures of Buzzy

Dear Wal,

Today I rode over to my friend's house. She has a little arab/shetland cross (Ginger) and a saddlebred/quarter horse cross (Durago) that she rides, and another quarter horse (Doc) that her husband rides and a mule (Bell). I guess she lives maybe two-three miles away from my house. The ride over is always exciting, because Buzzy isn't dead tired and there is all kinds of potential for him to flip out over things. Plus, I was carrying a backpack because I absolutely refused to ride in my other saddle that I can put saddlebags on. All the backpack contained was my lunch, so it was really light. I put it on his back to make sure he wasn't too incrediably worried about it, and this is what happened:
Me: Backpack buzzy! Look! :D *wiggles it*
Buzzy: D8 OH GOD. OHGODOHGODOHGOD
Me: -_-'
We left anyway because I didn't have time to spend an hour desensitizing him, and so we both spent the ride over worrying over the backpack. Every time it bounced I was thinking: PLEASE don't freak out. D: and he was thinking: D8 aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. Well, not really thinking. Screaming internally. He was less afraid of it than the saddlebags we used last time, though. There were other scary things along the way:
A squirrel jumps off of something and morphs into A HORRIBLE MONSTER OF DEATH
Buzzy: AAAAAAAAAAH RUN AWAY!!
Me: Noo, just a squirrel D<
A little dog runs up to say hello and becomes A HORRIBLE MONSTER OF MORE DEATH
Buzzy: Small yapping dog! Can't! Handle! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH D8
After that, we were fine. We reached my friend's in one piece and I shed the backpack gratefully. We worked in the ring for a while, and then we went across the creek to this place with lots of grass and lots of bits of things in the process of construction. There was a foundation for a garage for a new house, and piles of materials, and a huge amazing garden and trucks and tires and stuff EVERYWHERE.
He's seen all of this once before, so he was mostly just obsessed with the grass. Then we went on this little trail. Which involved walking past lots of things.
We walk up to a stack of posts; A MONSTROUS STACK OF POSTS
Buzzy: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
Me: It's alright. You're not going to die. See! Look! Touch the posts! :D
Buzzy: *stretching neck as far as possible* Okay I touched it. NOW RUN AWAY DDDD:
Me: *sigh* FINE.
We come upon a row of grapes and a row of tomatoes that we have to walk between. Major squeeze. Only about three feet of room.
Buzzy: Oh God. You want me to walk through that? D8
Me: Yes Buzzy, we shall survive! :D
Buzzy: Okay. I can do this. :D
By the time we get to the other side:
Buzzy: OH GOD D8 THAT WAS TERRIFYING
Me: *sigh* We shall survive! Onward!
Then we came across chicken cages OF DEATH.
Buzzy: I'm going to die.
Me: Buzzy, you'll be FINE D:
Buzzy: No, you don't understand pitiful human. I. AM. GOING. TO. DIE.
We come upon an old run-down barn.
Buzzy: O: WOW WHAT'S THAT?
Me: Yes, that's a barn.
Then a pile of blue pipe prowled through the bushes and leaped at Buzzy out of NO WHERE.
Buzzy: AAAAAAAAAAH *SPAZZ*
Me: -_-'
Then came the boat. And Buzzy lost all remaining coherent thought processing, if he had any left to loose at that point.
Buzzy: Oh God. What is THAT D:
Boat: :D *sits there*
Buzzy: OH MY GOD.
Boat: ....<<
Buzzy: DDDD8 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE *runs*
Me: D8 noooooo spazzing not cool D<
So Buzzy starts freaking out, and then Ginger starts freaking out. She's almost blind, so having Buzzy freaking out and then all of the scary stuff overloaded her too. So, she's freaking out and my friend has her hand's full, and Buzzy is freaking out even more at this point.
Buzzy: *walks ten feet* AAAAAAAAH D8 *run*
Me: NOO D< *hindquarter yield*
Buzzy: *ten more feet* AAAAAH D8 *run*
Me: GRRR D< *hindquarter yield*
A dog shows up.
Dog: AAAH HORSES D8
Buzzy: OHMYGODIT'SAWOLF
Me: D<
We pass the chicken cages again.
Buzzy: I'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodieI'mgoingtodie AAAAH D8 *run*
Me: Nooo D< *hindquarter yield* Alright, we are going to deal with this.
We make a few passes by the chicken cages before Buzzy can go up and touch them.
Buzzy: *stretches* D8 CAN I GO NOW?
Me: Yes. -_-'
Buzzy: 8D *run*
Me: NO D<
Buzzy: AAAAH D8
We make it through the grapes and back to the pasture.
Buzzy: Grass! :D All better now!
Me: *sigh* THANK GOD.
My friend had it worse with Ginger. She had to get off and she spent a long time working with her on the ground in order to get her calmed down. My friend eventually got Ginger calmed down and got off and sat in the grass while she ate. I got off and sat in the grass too. Ginger was very attracted to Buzzy.
Ginger: Buzzy...:D Hey Buzzy!
Buzzy: Omnomnomnomnom o3o
Ginger: Buuuzzy...:DDD
Buzzy: Omnomnomnom :D
Buzzy was completely oblivious and didn't pay her a cent of attention. I was very proud of him. My friend started working with Ginger again and I went down to set on the bridge so I wouldn't be attacked by swarms of gnats. Now, there's one bridge that's nice and wide and only a few inches above this little trickle it crosses, and there's another bridge that's only a few feet wide and gets four-five feet about the big creek. I wasn't on Buzzy, and didn't feel like trying to get on without a mounting block. I can get on without a mounting block, but the way I have my saddle set up it slides easily when I get on from the ground. So we approach the big bridge, which is the only way over the big creek other than walking through it.
Buzzy: Bridge! :D
A few feet onto the bridge it starts getting really high.
Buzzy: O: WOAH
I back him off and then approach the bridge again and we cross without incident. I was completely bursting with pride at this point. My friend, however, had a very interesting way of crossing the creek. She walked her horse into the creek and then walked across the bridge while Ginger was in the creek. It was really very clever.
We ride around in the ring for a few more minutes before I leave. He was completely claustrophobic in the ring. It was strange. The way back, backpack and all, was uneventful. Except for when my boot caught on a stick:
Stick: *CRRRRACK* >:D
Buzzy: D8 AAAAH
Me: You're fine D< Just a stick.
Buzzy: Oh...okay! :D
Needless to say, we were both really really tired.

/endrant

Friday, April 13, 2012

Seven Worlds

Dear Wal,

I had another strange dream last night. And by strange, I mean really strange. My mother drove the whole school somewhere on the bus (Yes, we can fit the entire school on one bus. It has been done before.) I don't know where we went, but when we got there and we did whatever activity we were supposed to do she told us to bike home and left. Now, I could've gone with her but I thought: "Hey, Watson's house is near here, why not go pay a visit?" So I grabbed a bike and commenced an epic journey to Watson's house. (Watson is my nickname for my BFF, and my nickname respectively is Sherlock. My other BFF is called Fungus. Don't ask.)
It went alright at first, and then I got into this weird underground place that I recognized. I was sure I had been there before, maybe in a previous dream or something I don't know. Anyway, this place was all winding tunnels and cool incense shops and stuff (kind of like the Wonder City portion of Arkham City), and there was this grim-faced kid I met who I recognized, so I asked him: "Hey, you know where Watson's house is right?" (I didn't call her Watson in the dream, but w/e.) And he answered: "It's up."  and jabbed his thumb at the ceiling of the tunnel we were in. So I continued and then came up into this subdivision where Watson presumably lived, but I couldn't find her house for the life of me. Of course, none of the stuff in the tunnels or above ground in the subdivision looked anything like anything around Watson's actual house. There was this weird visitor's center thing in the center of the subdivision so I got up on the roof to get a better look at my surroundings and see if I could spot her house. No good. So I got down and ran into this blonde guy who said: "Hey there! What're you doing on the streets again? Here's a five...you know what, here's a ten!" I totally recognized this dude, and took his fifteen dollars. I was going to tell him that I wasn't a homeless kid anymore, but he walked off before I could finish. Now, when exactly I was a homeless kid I have no idea.
I walked into the visitor's center to find a payphone. Apparently it was some kind of train station, and that was all well and good because there was a phone boot. Well, more of a phone on a post with a sheet of plywood. So I put a quarter in the phone and it showed on this little screen that I had eleven minutes and some seconds on the phone. I picked up the phone, and was about to dial, when I noticed the Joker walking down the platform. Now, this completely freaked me out. But there were these five little guys, like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum (Batman villians, people) except plus three, and they told me to get down and stay hidden. The Penguin and Mr. Freeze were there too. They were transporting something on the train, I don't know what it was.
I got down as low as I could possibly get. I remember staring at the phone, which was laying on the floor, wondering if I could get to it in time to dial 911 or something. But Mr. Freeze spotted me. I got up and ran for my life, busting out of the visitor's center and running across a road in the subdivision. I moved around everything and ran really fast, just right so that he couldn't get me with his ice gun, just like you do in Arkham City. So apparently in this subdivision there was a little strip mall thing, so I ran into McDonald's and the blonde dude was there. Mr. Freeze had us both cornered at this point, but somehow we managed to talk him out of freezing us and then all three of us sat down at a table. Mr. Freeze ordered me a sandwich, which I didn't want to eat because I'd already eaten a sandwich, but decided to anyway because it was safer. Better to eat the sandwich than be a popsicle. We encouraged Mr. freeze to tell us about his life because it got him off the subject of killing us. I wish I could remember more of our conversation, it only lasted a few minutes and I only had one or two bites of my sandwich but I remember being completely fascinated by talking to this fictional character.
Then Batgirl and Robin off of The Batman swooped down and took out Mr. Freeze. They hauled him off to prison and all of a sudden I was the Sentinal. Not the old dude. I was the new Sentinal. The major difference in my costume was that I had a cowl, not a domino mask.
 I don't know, I guess I changed into my costume or something while Batgirl and Robin were hauling Mr. Freeze off. Anyway, I was with the Atom. (the blonde dude? I dunno. If so, then one of my dream buddies is totally a superhero!) We were flying around on a playing card, like an actual playing card. Batgirl was very skeptical of this until I explain something about aerodynamics and our small size keeping us aloft or something.
Then, all of a sudden were were all flying towards this precipice or sheet of glass or something, in any case it was the barrier between two worlds. Pre-crisis and post-crisis DCU, in fact. We were on the pre-crisis side, and there were a ton of other characters with us. In any case, when we flew through only a few heroes were left and the rest were trapped in the glass barrier, and it went spinning away like the Phantom Zone in the old Superman movies/Smallville. But our universe, post-crisis universe, shattered into a bunch of pieces.
All the pieces contained worlds, all of then naturalistic scenes. I was still on the playing card, only the Atom and the rest of the heroes were gone; back in their respective universes I guess. I got kicked out for some reason.
And there was this god I was with who was putting the pieces of the worlds together. I don't know if he was the God or what, but I'm thinking he's a member of the Quintessence. Maybe Highfather? I don't know. Anyway, he explained to me that their were seven and then showed me my world. The real world, not the DCU. He pulled two pieces apart and then put the two halves of the glass containing my world together to show this scene from somewhere in Tibet. It showed some castle that monks had built, all covered in snow, and there was a black Humvee parked in the quart-yard. That's how I knew it was my world. Then the dream ended. Freaky, right?

/endrant

P.S. As you can see, my most loved superhero moments are from the animated shows, even The Batman which was really weird to the point it was kinda terrible. Anyway, it took me forever to find a picture of the dynamic trio from that show.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

The Life Cycle of Fiction

Dear Wal,

I'm beginning to see patterns in my writing and the writing of my friends, and I have devised this cycle in order to describe what I keep seeing over and over again. Including symptoms and treatment.

Infancy
At this point your story is just a little idea in the back of your mind, nagging at your thoughts occasionally and demanding attention but in the form of more fleshing out and other ideas added to it, not writing stuff down on paper just yet. Life goes on as normal, the fever hasn't yet set in, and the idea will either grow or die depending on how you treat it and raise it into the next stage.

Annoying Toddler
Congratulations, your idea has officially survived into childhood. It's still not quite fully formed into something resembling a story, but it's ten times more naggy that before. You may find yourself wandering through the day thinking of nothing else but this idea of yours, or frantically keeping yourself so busy that you can drown out its screaming in the back of your head. Be warned, if you write your story at this stage it is guaranteed to fail, your plot my hold out for the first few pages but after that it'll go to all hell and you won't even recognize it as that little idea you raised from the depths of your imagination. Symptoms: Fatigue, spaced-out-ness Treatment: Brainstorm. Brainstorm on everything. Don't just let it swirl around in your head or avoid it for days on end, get it down somehow in some form that will satisfy that naggy toddler so you can go on living your life. Oh, and shouting LEAVE ME ALONE, DAMNIT! I HAVE THINGS TO DO! over and over in your head never works.

Cranky Teenager
This is the most dangerous and unpredictable stage. You may or may not start writing, and if you start writing your story may or may not be made of awesome. Your story could become a straight A student or a juvenile deliquescent depending on its mood and whimsy and how much attention you pay to it. Worry over it and rush it and it may turn against you and consume your soul, but neglect it and leave it there to rot at the back of your head instead of giving it an important place in your frontal lobe may send you spirally into despair for no apparent reason, until you remember that dusty old plot you never wrote and realize that it's slowly been eating away at you. At this point, it might still be saved; but leave it for too long and it may just run away to freedom in the emptiness of your memory. Then again, if you feel that you've been giving it just enough attention and treating it like an adult it may still do any one of these things. There's no way to tell. Symptoms: Mood swings; ranging from total despair to plucky and happy, tendency to be solitary, even higher degree of spaced-out-ness. Treatment: Roll with it, baby. There isn't anything you can do but follow your story down the dark paths it thinks it needs to walk and then rescue it when it starts to collapse in on itself in tangles of plot and random characters running amuk.

Stable Adult
This is the shortest, most blissful stage of your story's life. Everything's working itself out, your story is settling in, the writing is going smoothly and with only minor hickups along the way. Be warned. You can be lulled into a start of false security. You have no idea of what is yet to come. Symptoms: Bliss, awesome writing spazzes, happiness, satisfaction Treatment: Enjoy it while you can.

Mid-life Crisis
Your plot is kicking itself around in bloody circles and screaming in pain. You thought teenage-hood was bad, this is worse. There aren't even any good spats of writing to give you hope, all you can see in your future is a bleak sea of despair. Your characters have lost focus, they don't know who they are anymore. They wander aimlessly, trying to find somewhere they belong in your plot, but your plot is too busy mutilating itself to help them out of their conundrum. You may lay your story down for weeks in fear of screwing it up even more badly than it already is, or you may force yourself through it and end up with a load of crap that doesn't make any sense at all and that requires so much revision you may as well start over. Woe is you. Symptoms: Despair, fear, confusion, loss of confidence, helplessness Treatment: Don't ride it out. Don't roll with it. Your story has advanced to far for that, it now has a will of its own and it will take over and ruin everything you had going while it was young and fresh. Force it into shape. If you have a plan, force it to comply. If you don't, go over and over it again and again until you get it right. Don't abandon it. Don't give up. You shall survive!

Old Age
You've made it. You've taken all your story's abuse and self mutilation and turned it into awesome that you can barely even wrap you head around. Your characters have found their ending, and your plot has healed and straightened itself out. This may be because you're just so tired of each other your story finally just gives up and steps into line, or because it has found a satisfaction and greater purpose in life and fulfilled it. Alternately, if you didn't make it through the midlife crisis it will become a rotted shell in your mind; a place of death and despair. You'll never even want to look at it again, so you just leave it for the day when you might be able to pick it up and finish it. Symptoms: Occasional lows, nostalgia, strange attraction to rocking chairs on porches Treatment: Finish the story, give it the room it needs to work it's little problems out, and close with a smile. Oh, and avoid those rocking chairs.

Ancient Decay
Remember all those times when you could've just set your story aside and forgotten about it or left it to swirl in your head for ages and ages? This stage is what happens when you give in to those temptations. You have characters screaming to be let out, fantastic plot lines that are now only tatters pieced together from fragments of memory and maybe even a page or two somewhere, if only you could find it. Symptoms: Zombie-like behavior, extreme mood swings, OCD Treatment: Find a way to let it go, and if you can't (which is much more common than the former) then take as much time as you need to work out it's little tangles and huge blank spaces, but get the bits you have down or else they will drive you completely bonkers.

/endrant

Monday, April 9, 2012

Buzzy

Dear Wal,



It occurs to me that I have never introduced Buzzy to you all, even though I've mentioned him plenty of times before. He's my completely adorable Tennessee Walking Horse. He's jet black-I'm talking true black-without any markings or anything. He's tons of fun and he's terrified of everything, which gets annoying. It used to be terrifying, because he would bolt and flail everywhere and scare the crap out of me and I didn't know how to handle him when he did that, but now it's just annoying and occasionally hilarious.
So anyway, today was an interesting day because I rearranged the barn and so when I lead him in everything was DIFFERENT. Here was his thought process as he walked into the barn:






Lalalala, walking...:D
OH...MY...GOD
....
IT'S A TRUNK
....
IT'S....IT'S THERE
AaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
MASTER, HELP! IT'S GOING TO EAT ME! HEEEEEEELP! WHAT DO I DO???
Me: *patpat* You're fine. Chill out.
Oh. Okay then. I'm fine.
WAIT
NO
THIS CAN'T BE RIGHT
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
*touches the trunk*
Oooooh, niiiice trunk. :D
*sigh* I like it now.
And then he made this completely adorable noise, something like:
Pbbblltaaah
It was tiny, barely audible. I busted out laughing. This freaked him out more:
WHHAAAAT D: I don't understand these sounds....!
Then I tied him up and he just stood there with this traumatized look on his face:
I can't....I can't move D8
Then I started brushing him and he relaxed a little and started exploring:
Oooh, trunk! :D
Dirt! :D
Bucket! :D
Broom! :D
Trash can! :D
Nother bucket! :D
My hair! :D

Yeah. It was an interesting day.
We're perfect for each other, actually. He freaks out randomly over tiny things, so do I. I'm internalized, so is he. He likes to go fast, so do I. Here's a comparison of our thought process:


Buzzy:
Me:
FOOD O:
BATMAN O:
NOMNOMNOMNOM :D
Cooomic book :D *reads in 10 minutes*
No more food D:
All gone D:
WHAT D8 I HAVE TO GAIT LIKE A NORMAL WALKING HORSE? CAN’T
Aaaaaag writing FAILURE D< WHY IS THIS PLOT NOT WORKING? WHYYY? CAN’T
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH D8
AAAAAAAAAAAARG D<
Can’t…*sniffle*….FLAIL
*depressed* This is never going to work itself out! *cry*
*frozen in fear* I can’t move. ICAN’TMOVE D8
*dissolving in tears everywhere* Can’t…fix…it…
Oh.
Oh.
Jeese, this is easy, all I have to do is this? This is fun! Weeeeeeeeee!
Oh my gosh! I can’t believe this was so simple! Yaaaaaaaaaaay!
Happiness! :D
Joy! :D


/endrant


Saturday, April 7, 2012

Creativity

Dear Wal,

Creativity is a fickle thing. It can drive you to do great or terrible things and write or draw something awesome in the process, or it can drive you completely insane either because you have this amazing idea and you just can't quite seem to get it down or you just can't think of anything, like every imaginative bone in your body has been removed. Creativity can't be directed without sheer talent or years of practice honing one's imaginative muscles. I'm the years of practice type. I started writing when I was eight and there's no sign of an end in sight unless I have some crisis or real life wedges it's way between me and my creativity.
I've written countless pages, some of which are available here, and most I've kept close to my heart and no one has ever read them but me. That's another thing with my creativity, it's very selfish. It doesn't like to share.


Training
Nanowrimo is the ultimate challenge, the ultimate enterprise in writing as I see it, and it's what really got me hooked on writing. You see, I had this pesky character that wouldn't leave me alone. He just kept driving me crazy until I finally wrote him down, and even though it wasn't during nano when I finally put him to rest, nano was a huge part of that process. I learned to just beat it out, no matter what it took. I go to war during November, and I'm out for blood and I will win, no matter what it takes. Of course, I don't always reach 50,000, but I like to think I've won if I've just finished the story. Anyway, nano is a great way to just force yourself and get into the habit of writing. Once you start writing almost every day, it's not likely you're going to stop. Habits of any kind die hard.

Letting it Be
Sometimes you just have to let your creativity lead you where it will. Fighting it and flailing around in a completely different direction from where it wants to go usually doesn't get you anywhere. You may not even realize it, but the reason you might be failing utterly at that one story is that even though you want to write one story, your creativity wants you to write a completely different one. I've experienced this many times. There are places everywhere in my writing notebooks where I've just given up and started writing something else and completely rocked it, while leaving that unfinished story with a random intrusion in the middle of everything. It's easier on the computer, I can just leave off one file and start another if I need to spiral off on something.

I have a confession to make. I totally lost interest in script frenzy. It wasn't Jason's story or anything like that, because I have it planned down to every detail and it's really very amusing and good, it was just that it was too easy. It wasn't enough of a challenge, compared to nano anyway. So I had an Elliot relapse. I've been trying to write him in his own story for months, but nothing seemed to work, and then something just clicked and I wrote 15 pages in two days.
Yeah. I don't know, don't ask. It was insane and I think it's probably one of the best things I've ever written. Thing is, I've gotten bogged down in the plot again. It's always around 10,000 words. It's very sad. Anyway, moving on.

Taming the Inner Editor
I know it's good to revise. I know it's good to spell things right. But sometimes you just have to let it go and write for all your worth. I can't stand throwing spelling to the wind, but I'm perfectly happy to just ignore concentrating on grammar rules and let my gut and my instincts dictate how my sentences are structured. Obvious mistakes I'll fix as I go along, though. It's when I start being OCD about how my writing looks and feels and how well my plot flows that I know I need to stop and do something else for a while.

It's sad..we really have no control over our creativity at all. Other than just forcing yourself to write, there really isn't anything you can do to dictate when and what you write unless you're just plain genius, which most of us aren't.

/endrant

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Script Frenzy Update

Dear Wal,

You know what I did? Oh, I know what you're thinking, what ridiculously stupid thing could it be this time, but it's even worse than that. I forgot to write yesterday like a boss. I forgot like a boss, I didn't write like a boss, is what I mean. I had all this stuff I was going to write, including this very amusing scene where Jason is fiddling with his costume design. (He's a shapeshifter, so he can do that.) And and and and Crane went crazy and things were getting exciting but somehow I managed to completely forget to write all of this. You see, I still remember all the scenes, which is a good thing, but I just didn't remember to write. (I had to re-type that sentence three times, this is what German does to me.) Seriously, I laid down in my bed thinking "Aaah, the day is over, one last day until Spring Break." and then realizing "Oh crap, I forgot to write." At that point it was 11:00 at night and there was no way I was pulling another 2:00 in the morning like I did on Monday. I didn't tell you guys about that, did I?
Well, you see, I couldn't sleep. My guts were trying to rip their way out of my stomach with a rusty spoon and my mind was running in  panicked circles over some indiscernible reason. So I did an entire week of biology in about three hours. It was really easy. By the time I finished it was 2:00 and my brain was flopping around like a fish out of water in the back of my skull, so I slid into the soothing pool of sleep and then had to get up 4 hours later to go to school. Woop. I actually didn't do to badly at school. I'm usually fine with only a few hours of sleep one night, but if I don't get enough sleep several nights consecutively I turn into a zombie. I'm the kind of person that needs 10+ hours of sleep.
So anyway, I wasn't even legitimately taking a break from that story to flail off on another for no reason. I do that sometimes. Keeps the pressure gauge for my skull at a safe level. Anyway, it was very sad. I'm very sad. Yeah, yeah, I know. Shut up and go write already.

/endrant

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Pretty Poison

Dear Wal,

Here's my deconstruction of Beauty and the Beast, Jason style. Enjoy, boys and girls.

There once was a beautiful princess who lived in a castle deep in the heart of a deep wood. Her beauty was legendary, all the princes of the surrounding lands came to quart her, but she was vain and heartless and turned them away. Her father, the king, pleaded with her to accept the hand of a suitor, but she would have none of it. The king cherished her outspoken independence, but she was frustrating and exhausting at best.

One day a terrible storm struck the castle, the force of the wind was so great that the huge trees of the vast forest surrounding the castle swayed like twigs, their branches torn asunder by the ferocious storm, but the castle’s thick stone walls kept out the lashing rain and the hearth remained warm and burning through the night. A child knocked on the vast oaken door to the castle, seeking shelter from the wind and the rain. She offered a rose as a price for a place next to the castle’s warm fire, but the princess refused and turned her back out into the cold.

The child transformed into an enchantress before her eyes. “Touch naught a rose, until the day you find true love, else you will be cursed for eternity.” The enchantress said, and laid a curse on the princess and her castle for her cruelty. Roses grew up the castle walls, blooming as blood red crystal in the night, and the lush forest surrounding the castle became a forest of thorns. The princess was transformed into a terrible feline creature and the king imprisoned within a magic mirror. The princess fled from the castle in fear and despair, and a wide path opened before her through the thorns. She fled to a village on the edge of the castle, but to her horror she found that anything she touched withered and died. The villagers ran in fear, cursing her as a demon and an evil blight on the earth. She returned to the castle and shut herself away within its magnificent halls, careful not to touch the glorious roses that bloomed over every stone of the castle walls.

She remained there for years to come, and a legend spread throughout the kingdom of a hideous beast that lived in the center of the thorn wood in a castle adorned with roses that flashed like rubies in the sun, forever frozen in time.

A pair of brothers from a foreign land came to the kingdom that stormy night and settled on a plot of land. One, Jason, was a knight who had fought a never-ending war against a mysterious evil that the peaceful kingdom had never been touched by. He had spent too long dwelling and fighting in darkness, and could no longer step out into the daylight. His brother, Tommy, had followed his younger brother into the dark and rescued him when he most needed aid despite Jason’s protests for Tommy’s safety from the great evil. They had come to the peaceful kingdom to flee that evil, and they built a home and worked hard to raise a farm.

One day Tommy had to go get some supplies they needed for planting the new harvest, and a great storm had whipped itself into a froth along the road to the village. The river had swollen to a rushing tide and he was unable to cross. He turned back but became lost as night descended over the land. The wheel of his wagon broke and he was stranded in the forest, but he thought he saw something flash in the distance. Taking a chance that it might be the lights of the village, he continued on foot. He came to the forest of thorns, and knew he must be close to the village. He thought the stories of the beast were simply tall tales, but when he came on the castle draped in crystal roses he realized just what he had found.

He stepped up to the castle door, desperate to gain some respite from the whirling storm. No one answered the door, but it wasn’t locked. He pushed it open, peering tentatively in and calling out for anyone. The king’s face, withered and tired from age, appeared within a mirror near the door. “Go.” He warned, fearing for the stranger’s life. “Go before she finds you here.”

But it was too late. The beast’s keen ears had heard the tiny sound of the stranger’s soft tread upon the rug in the entry chamber to the castle. She descended from her chambers high in the castle and locked the brother away for his trespass.

Jason waited late into the night and soon became afraid for his older brother’s life as the storm grew even more ferocious. Over the clamor of rain on the roof and windows, he heard the thunder of hooves and relief came over him. It must be Tommy, punctual as usual. He thought and stepped outside into the rain to greet his brother. But it was only the horse Tommy had hitched to the wagon, missing wagon and driver and with its harness hanging in tatters. The terrified creature had fled home after tearing loose from the wagon. Jason calmed the horse as best he could before grabbing his sword and shield and swinging onto the horse’s back to ride out into the night and find his brother. The horse was a clever beast, Jason’s old warhorse from the war against the great evil of his homeland, and took him straight back to where the wagon had broken. There was no one there; the wagon lay abandoned in the mud.

Jason did not fear the night, he had spent many years in complete darkness, and the ferocious storm failed to deter him from his goal of finding his brother alive. His sharp eyes, honed by many years of peering in the dark, caught the flash of the crystal roses in a bolt of lightning, and he turned the horse toward their light, thinking that Tommy must have seen the light and thought to find refuge there.

Once Jason had fought his way through the forest of thorns and found the castle he dismounted, and, exercising prudence, crept round the castle to a side entrance. He found himself deep in the castle’s dungeons and heard the voice of his brother calling out in the dark. Jason made his way to Tommy’s cell and pulled out a knife to pick the lock. “Took you long enough.” Tommy joked as Jason worked. “You were the fool who got himself locked in the dungeon of the obviously evil enchanted castle.” Jason retorted as the lock clicked and fell open and he started to open the door. The old, rusty hinges screamed in the quiet dungeon and Tommy hissed through the bars: “Shhh! She’ll hear you!” “Who?” Jason asked, but it was too late. He could already hear the beast’s claws as she descended into the dungeon.

Jason quickly let Tommy out and seized a lamp from the wall of the dungeon. He lifted it high, for he knew all creatures of the night naturally feared its flickering flame, and called out: “Come and step into the light! I do not fear you. I have faced far worse than you.” The beast, impressed by his tenacity, stepped into the light and towered over him, her long sinuous tail weaving through the air behind and her crooked smile revealing crooked fangs. Tommy recoiled, but Jason stood firm and unafraid.

“Who is this man to you?” The beast growled. “He is my brother.” Jason replied, his gaze never faltering as he looked into the beast’s yellow eyes. Impressed, the beast reconsidered her original idea of simply killing them both on the spot. “Defeat me in battle,” She finally decided. “And you shall both be freed.” Jason accepted and drew his sword. “But we shall fight in the dark.” She added, an evil glint in her eye. Now, she believed she would have the advantage, and when the stranger’s back was turned she would touch him and watch him wither and die at her feet. But once again, Jason accepted her challenge without hesitation and extinguished the lamp.

They fought a whole day and night in the deep dark of the dungeons, and the battle slowly became a dance between the two combatants, until the beast broke the melody when she found her chance to touch the stranger. She dug her claws into his shoulder and waited, expecting to see him die instantly at her touch, but he only grimaced in pain and ripped away. The magic of his land was powerful and ancient, and he was protected from her curse by wards placed on him by the king of his land. She was amazed, and found herself frozen in place as her cold heart softened.

Jason seized his chance and pressed the tip of his sword to her throat. “I will spare you.” He said. “If you well release me and my brother.” The beast eyed him with one great yellow eye. “I will release your brother if you will stay with me in my castle.” She said. Jason hesitated, and his hesitation cost him, he did not see her tail as it swept up and knocked him off his feet. She pressed one clawed foot to his throat. “Do you accept?” She asked. “Uh, yes ma’m.” He replied hoarsely as he fought for breath under the pressure of her constricting claws.

The beast took Jason up into the main halls of the castle and told him: “Never touch the roses, if you value your life.” She returned to the dungeon to find Tommy sneaking out the side entrance by which Jason had answered. She locked him back up in his cell, and closed the heavy wooden door of the dungeon before he could call out her treachery to warn Jason.

Jason never lacked anything in the castle, and was waited on hand and foot by invisible servants. The beast came and supped with him every evening, and slowly they grew to know each other as the days progressed. Once Jason’s wound healed, they sparred in the courtyard of the castle and swapped stories around bonfires built in the deep of the night. Jason found himself content, and slowly came to love the beast for the woman she was inside. Her exterior never troubled him, though she lurked in the shadows and only stepped into the light when she had to while she was with him.

One night he found himself wandering the halls of the castle alone, and he found himself standing in the entrance watching the roses glitter and flash in the light of his candlestick. The king materialized on the mirror next to the great door, and whispered: “Here me, young knight, the beast was once a vain princess cursed for her cruelty. To break the spell she must find love. But be warned! If a rose is broken, then she will be cursed forever.” Jason heard him, but his curiosity overwhelmed him. He reached out to touch a rose, fascinated by how its many facets caught the light. Just as his fingers brushed its smooth surface, the beast stepped in and saw him. “Treachery!” She screamed and struck him with one clawed hand.

He staggered back into the wall, and a dozen roses shattered under his weight as he slid to the floor. “No, I’m so sorry.” The beast whispered as she realized what she had done. “Wait!” Jason called out, but she fled to the highest tower in the castle. Determined, he followed her and found her washed in sorrow and tears. “Calm yourself.” He whispered, tenderly whipping the tears from her thick fur. “All is not lost, for I love you for who you are and not what you are.”

The enchantress took pity on them and appeared before them, floating of her own volition in the air next to the tower window. “I cannot undo the curse. Such things are not possible. But perhaps I can remedy what has been done.” She eased the curse on the castle, and the crystal melted away to reveal real, living, flawed roses. The roses that had broken re-grew more beautiful than they had ever been frozen in crystal. The curse on the princess eased as well, and her long course fur became golden and smooth, her terrible black claws retracted and the spines along her back vanished. “What’s your name?” Jason asked, tenderly laying a hand on her cheek. “Selina.” She replied, smiling. By the end of the day they were married.

From deep in the dungeons of the castle, Jason thought he heard someone pounding on a wooden door. “What’s that?” He asked. “Uh…” She started, unable to find the right words to explain. She released Tommy, and he returned to the village and their farm, occasionally coming for a visit with his brother at the castle where Selina and Jason lived happily ever after.

/endrant

Writing & Characters (c) ~Estafina

P.S. Dang those copywrites....HEY
...HEY
DID ANYONE CATCH MY REFERENCE?