The night of January 24.
That was the night I finally collapsed before God.
The night I finally gave up my silent resistance.
The night I finally opened my wary eyes to the blinding Light of the Lord.
I remember hearing a Voice — a Voice so acutely terrifying and so mollifyingly beautiful.
It was terrifying because It wanted me to completely reform myself.
But it was beautiful because It wanted to show me how.
What would happen if my characters all gathered in a bar? 😏
TIMBERWOLF CHARACTERS:
Dale — the guy at a table quietly sipping his drink, conversing with one or two people.
Elsa — comes to the bar to watch the news, but doesn’t buy anything alcoholic because she claims she’s “not one to lose control of herself.”
Sage — “Drinks are on me, everyone!”
Finneas — already on his fifth cup of mead but showing no sign of drunkenness.
Rae — says she’s coming but doesn’t show.
Lydia — stays in the corner the entire time, then is the first to leave.
UPON THE THRONE OF EMBERS CHARACTERS
Rúan — makes merry with his friends for about five minutes, then takes his drink to the one-seat table at the back and is aloof for the rest of the night.
Thane — the fun, social, party animal who chats, plays games, and gambles with his buddies.
Grey — the bartender.
Gregor — delirious on Baron’s Brew, ten minutes into a drinking contest.
Duff — pestering Grey to let him have a shot of alcohol, despite being underage.
Yulenna — who is that person with the hood in the corner?
Fernya — “Whomever created drinks with this much potency needs a good, hard smack in the face.” *grumbles as she looks at the bottle Rúan was drinking*
SONGWING: LUMEN’S MUSIC CHARACTERS
Mavis — the guy lying face-down on a table, completely incoherent.
Carmen — denies the invitation in the first place, claiming to have something going on on the same time.
Oriana — “Oh, no thank you, I don’t drink.”
Firenze — Winning the drinking contest with Gregor.
What makes a man great is not solely his strengths and talents, but also his ability to acknowledge and learn from his weaknesses and mistakes.
None of us are perfect. None of us ever will be.
We need to learn and accept our weakness and learn from our mistakes.
Only then will we have a chance at being great.
Dear innocence,
I’ve fallen to grief
I have lost all common sense
Oh innocence
As young and green as a leaf.
Dear innocence,
I’m running blind
The world is not making sense
Oh innocence,
I’m out of my mind.
Dear wanderlust,
I’m trapped inside
Feeling everything turn to dust
Oh wanderlust,
I can’t choose or decide.
Dear wanderlust,
All my islands are sunk
I cannot leave, but I must
Oh wanderlust,
Get me out of me funk.
Where have I gone?
Wandering down memory lane
Writing vapidity
Painting variety
Singing vehemently
Oh, oh
I’m drowning, but I can’t drop the pen
It seems it cannot end
Bringing it back to light
Everything is letterlike.
Dear lullaby,
I am sorry for you
It seems I’m waving goodbye
Oh lullaby,
A lovely day anew.
Dear lullaby,
Why can’t they see
The warmth that runs on by?
Oh lullaby,
Don’t come haunting me.
Where have I gone?
Wandering down memory lane
Writing vapidity
Painting variety
Singing vehemently
Oh, oh
I’m drowning, but I can’t drop the pen
It seems it cannot end
Bringing it back to light
Everything is letterlike.
Where have I gone?
Wandering down memory lane
Writing vapidity
Painting variety
Singing vehemently
Oh, oh
I’m drowning, but I can’t drop the pen
It seems it cannot end
Bringing it back to light
Everything is letterlike.
That’s right — you read the heading correctly! I am writing a new story for an online fiction writing class, called Songwing: Lumen’s Music.
In a world ravaged by dark forces and living under an evil god’s thumb, Mavis Darkwright has to live with the burden of a traitorous ancestor and bear all the insults the village of Ethu casts upon his family name. But when he saves a woman from a dangerous beast, he is gifted with the power of Lumen’s Music — a power that can challenge the evil god Timor. He must face Timor and confront It, but with no army at his back, how will he do it?
You can find an excerpt of it by clicking “Books,” choosing the “Standalone Books and Short Stories” page, and scrolling to the bottom of the page. Or just click the link at the bottom of this post. Either works. 🙂
Hope you enjoy!
When you make a good friend — and I mean a really good friend — your life takes a turn for the better. Good friends that build you up, comfort you when you’re down, and stay by your side in times of trouble, are priceless.
Ever since the pandemic hit, we have not been able to see our friends as much as we used to. Sure, you can video call them, talk to them on the phone, message them, email them — the list is endless. But it is not quite the same. We humans need this face-to-face interaction. It is a natural desire to be around people, especially the people we love and call friends.
Good friends will stay by your side even during this trial period. Good friends will stay in contact with you, lift your spirits, and love you. You could return the favour, also, and help them. Friendship goes both ways, and it is a beautiful thing that God has given us. Let’s put it to good use.
Hello everyone! I just wanted feedback on this poem I wrote for Timberwolf. Tell me what you think, and what could be made better!
From the ashes of quiet mayhem
A foretold change was born
A hero with eyes like the sky
And the voice of a battle horn.
Restless evil from ages past
Will stir at the hero’s first cries
The hunt thus begins with a widow’s tears
And will cease when prejudice dies.
A sword of myth will hence be forged
And will lay in the depths of the earth
Unburied by fate and fortitude
And brandished with the spirit’s birth.
The hero will ride upon destiny
At the right hand spirit will stand
An entity so strong and so mighty
So remembered through all the land.
Sleep does not come easily
To those that the prophet has spoken
Thus words of coming and pending change
The weak man will only have broken.
When the moon reflects off the waters
Only then will the azurewolf rise.
Only then will the azurewolf rise.
Hello everyone! Thank you so much for all the suggestions for the last post. I am working hard on making a decision. I also apologize for the silent time span between this post and the last. My computer has been a bit laggy, therefore making it hard to do anything without a five-second delay.
I’ve included a piece of Throne of Embers here for you all to enjoy. I’m past the halfway point of finishing the first draft, so I’d like to celebrate by giving you all a super special sneak-peek!
(Of course, if you see any mistakes, do not hesitate to let me know in the comments below.)
All around was darkness, and I could not see anything beyond my nose. Anticipation broiled and grew rapidly in my veins and took the form of fire. But—embarrassingly—the tiny flames were crackling and sparking on my eyelashes, and they weren’t spreading to the tips of ginger hair that hung partially over my eyes. They stayed on my lashes and didn’t wink out until I blinked rapidly and repeatedly.
“You’re so young.”
The sudden voice made me jump, and my entire head of hair caught on fire to show that I’d been properly startled, my heartbeat ringing in my ears.
With a whoosh of a loud wind, torches lit up one by one, bordering the walls of the grey room and flooding it with warm, golden light. The space was much smaller than I realized, and a small, middle-aged woman sat on a stool in the corner, fiddling nervously with her silver streaked, chin-length, curly raven hair. A small table sat in front of her, with a single, scented candle placed upon the fine wood. The wick of the candle was blackened and withered, curled in on itself from the many times it was put to use.
“Who are you?” I asked the woman. She looked weathered with age, but her youthful eyes seemed to give a sense of extreme alertness. I was assuming she was in her late forties.
“I would’ve asked you the same question, if I didn’t already know your name, Prince Rúan,” she responded in a little voice that sounded very much older than her eyes made her seem.
Eyes created illusions, if I’d learned anything new from my stay at Starlight Glen.
But getting to the vital part of what she said, I asked warily, “How do you know my name? Why did you call me a prince?”
“I called you a prince because you are a prince,” she answered, her gaze trailing off from me and fixating on a point in space.
Out of the blue, Corey swiftly pulled me to his side and whispered in my ear, “The Seraphina is more than a little out of it, so ask detailed questions that can’t be answered with a ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ or can’t be answered with statements similar to the one she just gave you. And don’t ask about her past whatever you do.”
I gulped and nodded, and Corey retreated back out the room and to the place he’d been watching from before.
I took a deep breath and asked slowly and carefully, “If I am a prince, then what clan do I belong to?”
The Seraphina’s eyes flashed with fear, as if she were experiencing a painful memory. Then her lower lip trembled as she choked out, “You are from the clan of Blazing.”
Corey’s words echoed in my head:
She told us to expect a struggle. After all, he is Blazing.
It’s in his blood as Blazing.
Blazing.
I did have a clan.
I belonged.
Hello friends! I need some help. If I were to create a fictional race of people in Remember, what real-world people should I model it after? Usually, I like to shape the races in my stories after foreign people and cultures. For example, in Throne of Embers, the clan of Zephyrine is modelled after the Chinese, Terrae is modelled after the Irish, and so on.
If you have any preference for the race in Remember, please say so in the comments below. I’d love to hear what you recommend. In the meantime, please enjoy this quote from Remember. 🙂
Thanks!
“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and laughs at the days to come.”
Proverbs 31 v 25
An image came to me while I was gazing out the window and watching the snow fall. An image of spring at her height of bloom. Now I love snow, and I love winter and her warm, stay-at-home cozy feeling. I honestly do not like early spring and her damp, half-rain-half-sun weather, but I am unbiased. The image that came to me wanted to bring forth the beauty that spring likes to hide under soggy, half-melted slush.
I have also tied that image to a Bible verse that spotlights the inner beauty in people (I know that it says “she” up above, but it can mean anyone). People are criticized for many reasons, but they’re picked on because — to the bullies — there is no outward value in them. Or rather, there’s a fake value. Some choose to think and act differently when around certain people, unlike who they actually are.
This lady in the garden at the top is a symbolic view of what happens when we choose to show our true colours. We blossom when we release our true personality. We bloom if we choose to shovel away the soggy, half-melted slush of our fake persona.
So what will it be?
Will you hide underneath a soggy, half-melted personality? Or will you blossom with the beauty of your true colours?
Laura K. Abeid 