In this episode we cover: 

• How to leverage folklore in your narrative
• Using folklore as the basis of a fictional story
• Translating folklore into modern story
• Incorporating folklore without appropriating cultures
• Famous works that draw from folklore and mythology

This week’s question is: what do you do for fun that isn’t reading, writing or work?

Recommendation of the week is: Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros

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David Mogo Godhunter by Suyi Davies Okungbowa

Rebel of the Week is: Emma

If you’d like to be a Rebel of the week please do send in your story, it can be any kind of rebellion. You can email your rebel story to rebelauthorpodcast@gmail.com

1 new patron this week, welcome and thank you to Cara Clare. A big thank you to my existing patrons as well. If you’d like to support the show, and get early access to all the episodes as well as bonus content you can from as little as $2 a month by visiting: www.patreon.com/sachablack

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The post 213 How to Write Folklore Inspired Fiction with Icy Sedgwick appeared first on Sacha Black.

In this episode we cover: 

• Why mindset is so important
• The most common mindset roadblocks
• Tools and techniques for helping you improve your mindset
• How to keep your starting energy going to help you finish your book
• Mindset myths

This week’s question is: What aspect of mindset do you struggle with most?

Recommendation of the week is: The World of LORE: Dreadful
Places by Aaron Mahnke

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Productivity for Writers

How to Write Believable Characters

Rebel of the Week is: Mira Monroe

If you’d like to be a Rebel of the week please do send in your story, it can be any kind of rebellion. You can email your rebel story to rebelauthorpodcast@gmail.com or instagram me @sachablackauthor

1 new patron this week, welcome and thank you to Shane Milar and thank you to Juneta for editing her pledge up. Of course, a big thank you to all my existing patrons. If you’d like to support the show, and get early access to all the episodes as well as bonus content you can from as little as $2 a month by visiting: www.patreon.com/sachablack

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The post 085 How Mindset Can Improve Your Craft with Kristina Adams appeared first on Sacha Black.

This year there will be 52 challenges over 52 weeks and your challenge is to write your story using the theme/prompt and write it in just 52 words…. EXACTLY, no more, no less.

The art of being concise is nothing if not a muscle flexing ‘write’ bicep curling device. But I wanted to add to that challenge which is why, you have to be exact too. Because there are 52 challenges over the year, THAT’s I want you to write your entries in EXACTLY 52 words.

Each week I will give you a prompt of some variety and then you submit your entries and I post them the following week with the new prompt. You’ll have until Sunday to enter each week.

This year, I am trying to cut back the time I spend blogging to make sure I give as much time as I can to writing books. So I wanted to let y’all know, that I will read every single entry, but I may not comment on each one.

So without further ado, the first writespiration of 2017, 52 words exactly and you need to include the phrase…

The timer started

Somewhere in your 52 words.

Good luck.

The post Writespiration #97 52 Weeks in 52 Words – Week 1 appeared first on Sacha Black.

This week, we’re playing another game.

In the post I’ve listed all the titles you gave me. Pick one (not your own) and write a story in less than 200 words, and tell me which title you picked.

If you want to join in, then post your story in the comments or in a post and link back here so I can find it.

Please note, I am pausing to write my novels and I read every entry which means I am a little slow at responding to comments. If your comment doesn’t appear straight away, it will, promise.

As a result of the blog pause, I am moving Writespirations to every other week, you have until Sunday 17th to get your entries in.

p.s all images from Amazon

Titles:

• Under Stone
• Venus on Earth
• The Case of the Prejudiced Ghost
• My Part in the EDSA Revolution 1986
• Drawn Towards The Sun
• All aboard!
• To Have and to Harm
• End of the Line
• The Haunted Tide
• Oath Breaker
• Buster and Moo
• The Life and Times of Scott Hughes
• Paulonious Punk and the Search for an Adventure
• The House That Wasn’t There
• Return to Echoing Waters
• Revelation
• The Years After Mojo’s
• Oathbreakers

I chose to use the title, End of the Line from Barb. In my novel Keepers, when you die, you are taken to ‘Lines End’ where your body is laid to rest and your soul can travel to the Other Side. This is a snippet from chapter 15, as Eden (the main character) prepares to send her parents to Lines End.

Even in the dim underground station below the Ancient forest, Trees still managed to grow. Although the underground walls were mostly coated with roots, trees still dipped and swooped over the platform lining the track like soldiers at attention.

I blinked rapidly, salty tears already streaking my cheeks. Titus stepped off the sleek Earth train carrying my parents bodies and walked towards us.

“I thought it was appropriate,” Nyx said, clutching my arm, “Lionel loved the humans, I thought it would be fitting if he went to Lines End in one of their trains.”

“It’s lovely, Nyx, really lovely.” I squeezed her hand, unsure of who I was really comforting.

“I still don’t know if I can go in there…” Fear was clamping my chest tight like a vice. “I don’t think I can see their bodies.”

“I’ll be right outside. But you have to send them off with essence memory. Be brave, honey. Don’t leave them unprotected.”

“I know. I know. It’s just…” I swallowed the lump pressing my throat closed, “Do they look normal? Do they look like they used to?”

Nyx nodded, her eyes bristling with tears, “just like they’re asleep, honey.”

Sacha Black © 2016 all rights reserved

First in this week, Helen, with a snippet from Title: Under Stone (Book 4 of The Ambeth Chronicles). Buy her first book over there in the photo HERE.

Title: Under Stone

‘So why are you dressed like that?’ said the girl next to him, sliding close, dark hair curling around her freckled face. She ran a hand across his leather breastplate. ‘Not that I don’t like it or anythin’.’ She giggled and he snapped his teeth at her, laughter rumbling in his chest.
‘It is what I wear when I hunt,’ he said, putting his arm around her as he took another swig from the bottle, enjoying the sweet taste.
‘And have you found what you were huntin’ for?’ she asked, reaching up to steal a kiss, mouth soft against his beard.
‘Easy, Carolyn, leave some for the rest of us,’ said the girl in the front seat, flashing her eyes at him as he lifted his head.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he said, meeting her glance with a scorching one of his own. ‘There’s plenty of me to go around.’

Ritu in next, with a snippet from either a collection of shorts or a stand alone short story

Title: Venus on Earth

All pretty usual for this place.

Then you get Venus House.

Intriguing name, isn’t it?

It’s one of the townhouses on my road, right opposite my own rented space. A beautifully kept house, and as far as I knew, it was owned by the lady who lived there. There had been no converting, but I think she rented rooms out to students.  Well, I had seen a number of young women who had stayed there for a while, before moving on, and a little time went by before another face became a familiar one.

Thing is, there were also quite a lot of visitors to this place.  They could be family or friends, I know, but it seemed strange that they only came most evenings…

Oh, I wondered plenty about this house. It was intriguing. And one day I got to find out a lot more about the tenants and owner…

Next up Juli Monroe with a snippet from a novella in her Warlock Case Files series. Title: The Case of the Prejudiced Ghost. Check out her first book in the series HERE.

Orange, green and a sickly purple dominated his aura, but that wasn’t what worried me. A surge of dark gray was forming in the center of his “body,” and I knew what that meant.

“Paul, incoming!”

That was all I had time to say, but I trusted it would be enough for my partner. I dropped to the floor and rolled for the nearest item of furniture, a low bench that looked like it belonged in a dining set. What was it doing in an entryway? I crawled under it as best I could, rolled myself into a ball and covered my head with my arms.

I was aware of Paul moving behind me, grabbing Gerome and crouching down to cover the man with his body.

Just in time.

Items started flying. Peeking out from behind my shielding arms, I saw a huge flat-screen TV–good to know Gerome’s priorities with his ill-gotten gains–followed by a… VCR? Really? So old school. A beat up couch was next, along with a new-looking recliner.

Next in Ladylee with Title: My Part in the EDSA Revolution 1986

Two nuns were kneeling down in front of a soldier. One nun was holding her rosary tightly, urging the soldier not to shoot them or just reciting her prayers loudly. The other nun was in a contemplative mood, one hand touching her chin, the other arm crossed under her chest. In front of them was a soldier brandishing a belt of bullets, his M-16 rifle held at slope arms. The contrasting image of the nuns and the cold, harsh rifle of the soldier was the focus of this photograph. A huge crowd was behind the nuns. They were ordinary street Filipinos, men and women, parents and children, students, employed or unemployed, rich, middle-class or poor. I was part of this crowd – more people coming and going, military tanks and cannons with their soldiers greeted with flowers and food, burning tyres, activist flags and streamers, vendors, vehicles, portable radios, foreign correspondents and religious altars everywhere.

Next up Bill, with Title: Drawn Towards The Sun You can find his first book HERE.

“On the day that his family got the devastating, yet not unexpected, news, Gordie Dumont’s grandfather, his father’s father, Clarence Elijah Dumont, took the boy hunting. The trip had been planned for some time and his grandfather would not be dissuaded, even with the arrival of the report that his mother had died in some ratty hotel in downtown Winnipeg. The city was always full of peril and the Dumont family had come to expect that the precarious habits of Estelle Dumont might someday take her away forever.

“We will be back in a week,” Clarence had quietly but authoritatively declared. “Maybe a week. It depends on the hunting. It will also depend on how well the boy walks in the forest. No matter what, the fishing will be good. The fishing is always good for me.”

Everyone knew that the fishing wasn’t always good for Clarence. They had occasionally heard him confess that the fish just weren’t biting this or that time. It was something he said to remind one and all that most of life was a game of chance. He knew that fish, like people, had a sense of humour. Sometimes, fish, wittingly or otherwise, simply needed to remind mankind that humans weren’t in charge and keeping out of sight of anglers hammered home the point.”

Bré in next, with her WIP Title: All Aboad! and intriguing it most certainly is.

It was time to go on board the train. Mother grabbed her cases and disappeared ahead of us. I shifted Saffron one more time and lifted Poppy up to my other hip.
“Ok Finnick, I need you to hold on tight to my coat pocket. Do not let go no matter what.”
We got on board and finally found Mother sitting in the last carraige. She was talking to a Steward, her hand lightly pressing aganst his arm. A couple of minutes later he came back with some juice boxes and sandwhiches. Mother didn’t give him money.
“Is daddy going to come visit?” Finnick pipes up. He’s trying to open his juice box. “Oh yes. We will write to him and tell him our new address.” I take Finnick’s juice and pierce the straw through. I hate when she says things like that. Finnick hasn’t seen his daddy in almost two years. Since he got tired of Mother’s dramas. I haven’t seen my own father in almost ten years, for the same reason.

Next in Judy, with her current WIP Title: To Have and to Harm. You can see her first poetry anthology HERE.

Am I married now?  We did not even exchange rings or say any vows; this certainly takes the biscuit for unromantic weddings!  No flowers, confetti, presents, or even a bit of wedding cake!  Well, this is what I wanted, but it does feel a bit strange.

“Congratulations, to you both, Mr. and Mrs. Terzi.”  Gail felt that she ought to mark the occasion.

“Thanks, Gail.  Mrs. Terzi, finally, I must go and ring my mum.  She wanted to know when we had got married.”

As they walked out of the room, Jackie and Aslan were putting their wedding rings on their fingers themselves.

Jane sounded a little sad although was trying to put on a brave voice to mirror her daughter’s happiness.  Jackie too felt a little frisson of sorrow; it would have been so lovely to have some of her family there at the wedding, especially her mum and sisters.

Barb up next with her WIP Title: End of the Line from her Null City series. You can buy the first book HERE.

I was just going over the day’s tour schedule when I heard Zack suck in a breath. “Holy fudge truckers!” He paused and added for emphasis. “Mother fudge-truckers!” For a man who never swears, Zach can put a lot of emotion into perfectly clean phrases.

Mara looked up, and her knitting needles went into blur mode.

Crap. I knew, without even looking. “She’s back, isn’t she? Leigh Ann.”

They both nodded. Leigh Ann Shay, part-time succubus, and full-time pain in the butt.

“And I don’t have time to put the CLOSED sign on the door?”

They shook their heads.

“She’s right behind me, isn’t she?”

A sweet voice, which my cousin Carey once described as the last purr a bird hears before the cat pounces, answered. “Hey, you guys—I’m back! And guess what? I’m interning at Null City Travel! Laissez les bons temps rouler!”

In the silence that followed, we all heard Zach’s muttered, “Son of a mother fudge-trucking bench.”

I had to agree.

Next in Kim with a snippet from her YA novel Title: The Haunted Tide

‘Then I heard it. A high, keening chorus drifting in from the sea. A haunting sound that clawed at my heart. There was more than one voice; they blended together in a chilling hymn with no words. As the volume increased, it was hard to tell if the voices were on the beach or in my head. That’s when I noticed it. At first a cloud in the distance, it shifted shape, a thick mist skimming the waves, rolling onto the beach. It sneaked across the sand and surrounded me, its damp fingers brushing my face. My mouth dried up and a frosty rawness crept over my scalp. I couldn’t see through the swirls of vapour but I could just make out Jasper’s familiar yap, faint and muffled.
I peered through the muggy mist, torn with terror, unable to work out how close the sea was or how far it was to the dunes. Shuffling in the shifting sand, I focused on the muffled yapping. Where was he?’

Next up Shelley with a snippet from Title: Oath Breaker. You can buy her first book HERE.

The blue flashing lights pulsed through the fractured front window, illuminating the blood splatter on the walls. The click-click of the forensic team’s camera ate into the sterile silence as the officers combed through the living room.

The house resembled a scene from a macabre horror show.

I briefly lifted my eyes to look at the police officer who knelt before me, his face a mask of professionalism even though he must be wishing he was anywhere but here.

‘Did you see who killed your dad? Who tried to kill you? Who broke in and attacked you miss?’

I couldn’t answer. The words were stuck in my throat. How could I tell him that my dad was the one who had tried to kill me and that a wolf had jumped through the window and ripped out his throat? Who would believe me?

Geoff up next with a snippet from Title: Buster and Moo. You can find Geoffle’s first book HERE.

“This will be good, won’t it? Like a fresh start.”
“Fresh start?” Mervin frowned.
Landen added hurriedly, “We need a new name. Buster is ridiculous, don’t you think?”
Mervin seemed lost how to respond.
Unspoken words sat between them. Why that phrase? He’d used it a lot after her second miscarriage, when she’d said she wanted to try for a partnership. Absently she touched her stomach. Had he made the connection? Briefly she was back in that hot sunny consulting room, a lifetime before.
She jumped as he said, “He’s just a dog, Lanny, not some existential thinker. Does it really matter?”
“Something that fits his character.”
Mervin tilted his head. “Those spots make him look like a pig. What about Oink?”
“You aren’t serious?” She paused. “He’s more like a cow anyway.”
Mervin shrugged. “Ermintrude? Flossy? Daisy? Are they too girlie?”
“What about Moo?”

Next in Hugh, with Title: The Life and Times of Scott Hughes.

“Yes, I’m fine” replied Scott, “Its just the excitement of being in London and, of course, meeting you.”

“Same here,” said Nick, “I’ve been constantly thinking about this day ever since we arranged it. Now it’s finally arrived and here we are.”

“I’m just a bit nervous I suppose,” blushed Scott.

“No need to be,” replied Nick, as he smiled at Scott again. “So, this is your first time in London?”

“Yes. Have you been before?”

“A few times, but never to meet somebody as cute as you.”

Scott blushed.

“I’m being honest,” laughed Nick.

Scott smiled but didn’t say anything.  It made him feel a little uncomfortable as compliments often did.

“Sorry if I’ve embarrassed you. Do you always blush when somebody pays you a compliment?” Scott still couldn’t say anything and felt his face blush even more. Nick started to laugh again and then realised that perhaps he shouldn’t as Scott may think he was making fun of him.

“So, what do you want to do with your time this weekend?” asked Nick.

Next with a snippet is Elizabeth S. Tyree with Title: Paulonious Punk and the Search for an Adventure

“Dude, we rode our bikes a block to get a drink from the gas station,” Pauly didn’t sound like he agreed with John’s idea of an adventure.

“A block and a half,” John corrected, “We had to a road AND ride in a busy parking lot to get big drinks and candy bars at a BRAND NEW GAS STATION.” John’s face had the wide eyes and raised eyebrows that say ‘AHA TAKE THAT.’

“With our mom’s in the car behind us.” Pauly obviously wasn’t in the right kind of mood for this talk.

“Whatever P-man,” John tossed the spare apple to his friend, took a juicy bite from his own, and plopped down on his favorite ‘captain’s’ chair.

Paulonious made a face but didn’t say anything about John’s use of the nick-name. He didn’t mind being called “Pauly”, “Pauly P,” or even “Punk” but he absolutely HATED it when the big boys at school called him The P. kid, P.P., or the worst P.P. the Whiz Kid.

Next in Colin with a snippet from Title: The House That Wasn’t There. You can buy his first book, The Hounds of Hellerby Hall HERE.

The wagon pulls over in front of a drayman’s cart and reins to a halt at the top of Raeburn Place. The wizened old driver jumps down with a flourish that belies his years. “On ye go,” he says, cheerfully waving a hand towards his passengers. The pair clamber off the back, shaking jackets and trousers in a bid to rid themselves of the black dust.

“Wouldnae bother, pal.” The driver pats one of the sacks of coal. “Stuff gets intae yer skin.” As if to demonstrate this, he spits in his hand and wipes it across his sooty face. “See? I’d hae less o’ this muck on me if I’d hae gone doon the mine.” He laughs good-naturedly.

The young man shakes the older man by the hand. “Thanks for the ride.” He glances down at the boy at his side. “We’ll let ye get off, then.”

Next in Jan, with a snippet from Title: Return to Echoing Waters. You can buy her other book HERE.

The stuff of my life had been dumped without any thought into cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling in one of those rent-by-the-month storage facilities on the south side of Vegas.  If I hadn’t come back from the dead who knows what would have happened to it.  Sold probably. The proceeds given to the state.

I turned to the manager and asked, “Are you sure all that crap is mine?”

“Your name is Dr. Fiona Butters, right?  And you lived at 3814 Juniper Drive?” he read from the rental agreement.  Poor sod was sweating profusely in the hot September sun.  His polyester SafeStorage shirt was a size too small, a couple of strategic buttons were missing but at least his fly was up.

Next Jane, with a snippet from Title: Revelation. You can buy her first book Abomination HERE.

Tully stopped humming and held his head on one side, listening. His eyes glittered with amazement.

“Can you hear?” he whispered.

Carla stood quite still and held her breath. The silence of the night sky was broken. Like ripples on a stream, faint music made by unearthly voices came to her over the waves of darkness. She looked at Tully, her eyes wide.

“It’s the stars,” he breathed, “the planets. They’re singing.”

“What does it mean?”

Tully beamed at her. “It means we’re in heaven.”

Carla grinned. “Seriously.”

“The possibilities here are endless. Nothing is beyond us if we try hard enough. You can see why Nisroc wants to protect his world.”

Carla frowned slightly as if a cloud had passed over the moon, and the music faded. “Yeah. I s’ppose.”

Tully took her hand and led her into a fiery nest of stardust. “You worry too much,” he said gently and pulled her down beside him. “Time for dreaming.”

Carla snuggled into his arms, loosening his shirt from his trousers, nuzzling into his neck, her senses filling with his unmistakeable Tully smell.

“I wonder if the Grigori dream too,” she murmured.

“Erelah said they all do.”

“Erelah?” Carla sat up sharply. “You mean we might bump into herup here?”

Tully pulled her back down to him. “What have you got against Erelah, anyway? She’s a good laugh, when you get to know her.”

“And you have?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

Carla fought to keep her ground in what felt like shifting sands. She held Tully tighter, finding the buckle on his belt. She bit his ear and whispered, “Like this?”

Tully kissed her hard on the mouth. “You ask the silliest questions.”

“Indulge me.”

Tully kissed her again. And again. “Of course not.”

His hands were on her skin beneath her shirt. His mouth was on hers. The stars were singing. Carla let the unpleasant thoughts slip into the gentle darkness between the planets and returned Tully’s kiss with the same passion as in the old days.

Last but by no means least, Diana, with a snippet from Title: Oathbreakers. You can find another of her books, the Bone Wall, HERE.

Darkest Night.

Contrary powers waged war in her skin. Her shield, the rose birthmark encircling her eye, the singular force that had mangled her youth, was the realm’s secret salvation. Or so her mentor dreamed. Catling’s reflection brushed fingertips along the petals’ imperfections, edges tattered, small holes where pink skin shone through.

Her shield severed the influence controlling a kingdom, broke the sway that moved the heart between love and fear, a body between pleasure and pain, life between healing and death. Vianne had sighed with relief to find the shield intact.

Catling turned in the mirror, her underdress unbuttoned and draped around her waist. A garden of luminescence carved her back, colors climbing her neck and capping her shaved head. Vines curled, wending through flowers, dragonflies, and a crimson bird, its wings flared.

Red feathers, the distilled hue of death.

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The post It's All In The Title – #Writespiration 86 appeared first on Sacha Black.

Oh and my math might be bad, but I haven’t spontaneously jumped into decimal numbers for no reason. I’m cheating. I’d already scheduled 83 this week and changed my mind because tomorrow is my birthday and I wanted to play a fun game instead.

So what is this riotous affair I speak of? I’ve done worst opening lines, and worst closing lines before. But this time, I want both.

Your challenge is to write the WORST opening line to a story you can, and then write the WORST closing line to the same story.

The badder it is, the better, if I see even a hint of  good quality writing I’ll disqualify you faster than I can eat a family sized bar of chocolate, and don’t be fooled, that’s fast. Post both lines in the comments, or on your own blog with a ping back here so I know you’ve entered.

First in Marina, who hasn’t participated before, with this beautiful tale, and if you click her name you can read the full story behind it, so heart wrenching,

When you are thirteen, your cousin’s best friend is the knight from fairy tales: tall, dark, handsome, blue-eyed. How could he walk, talk, breathe amongst us mere mortals? And yet he looked at you, kissed you,  so you wrote to each other for two years. You lived for your brief meetings. No cross word ever passed between you.

You parted as good friends, moved on to other lives, other people, marriage, children, divorce, remarriage. You studied and worked in different countries, met again on LinkedIn. Grey hair, little paunch, wrinkles – and that’s just the flattering pictures. Older yet not much wiser, you knew he had been The One, but you were both too young to understand or to need each other all those years ago. No going back, no proof of discontent with your present life, but you wanted to let him know how you felt about him back then.

You let him in through a gap in your armour. You held out the shivering pulp of raw heart. You try to be fair, not see disgust or hasty retreat where none was intended. But the silence was thunderous.

Next in Jane, with a piece of full of loss and bitter sweet memories it is sure to choke you up. Stunning piece that reminded me of my own impassable bend. Oh and by the way, (she didn’t ask me to do this, but I figured I would anyway) Jane has just published her new book through Finch Books. I am reading it now, and you really ought to check it out… here.

***

You have both gone now, both buried in a corner of a churchyard that had never been yours. Beneath a tree, because trees don’t mind if you were Catholic or Protestant. Or foreign. Or if your living heart had always ached for a place not so far away, but unattainable. Trees understand and bow and bend and whisper in sympathy. You had both put down roots here, children, a scattering of friends, too much to let you pack up and leave when you retired. Too much, too late. The furthest you moved was to a small house down in the town to be close to the shops and the buses, pretending it was only temporary. But you stayed and you sighed, and eventually you died, and the setting sun carried all your longings away into the west.

We dry our tears, we children left behind, and walk up the steep hill out of the town, the road that curves and uncoils as it rises up to the moor. The house of our childhood is beyond the bend after the bridge over the disused railway, that peaceful, tree-filled gulf that has been silent since before we were born. We walk, remembering the way we poked our fingers in the holes of the millstone grit walls, remembering long-dead dogs that ran barking behind garden fences. We cross the bridge and remark how tall and dense the birch and hazels have grown, obscuring the valley bottom and the stream that runs there instead of railway tracks.

We fall silent when the road curves again. Beyond the last sharp rise we will be able to see the tiny hamlet and the house where our childhood ghosts still play. I hear the foxes playing on the lawn, see the dewy morning rabbits, the banks of opium poppies and broom, roses and laburnum, stone flags and apple trees. I hear the songs of bees and swallows and see white clouds scudding overhead in the summer breeze.

Soon, in a moment, the gentle barrier of time will fall, and harsh, brash reality will jackboot its way across tender memories. I will see what the new owners have done to the house in the ten years since you both moved out. I know, without ever having seen it, that there will be a garage now and a fitted kitchen, and your Victorian scavengings from junk shops, Dad, will have been replaced by furniture from Ikea. There will be a sterile lawn and a trampoline and begonias instead of the savage mass of vegetation you loved so much, Mum. I will feel the imprint of these unconscious Philistines like a physical violation.

I stop, we all stop, we grown-up tiny children. I shake my head and my siblings too hang back. I turn back down the hill, the last bend in the road impassable, like the entrance to a lost domain, my precious dreams, your dreams, clutched tight against my heart, safe from the shredding claws of disillusion.

Next up Geoffle, with a post and pictures that speak a thousand words. I really think you ought to have a look, instead of cutting all the paragraphs and piecing them together, I have copy just one paragraph of the moving post:

“Parents lie; but however consummate their lying they can’t hide their own hurt. It might be in the timbre of their voice, in the shape of their shoulders, in the stiff way they stir something as mundane as porridge.”

Go. Read.

Next up Judy, with a really amazing, but emotionally charged poem, prepare to be choked up

I thought my life was over

The day I walked away

Ten years down the drain

Nothing left to say

I gave you everything I had

My heart, my love, my soul

But, you had never loved me

Just wanted to be in control

The day that we got married

You said that I was fat

Just two guests at our wedding

It was over in 10 minutes flat!

Then you became possessive

And wracked with jealousy

Stupidly I was pleased

Thought it meant you cared for me

I always wanted children

You said you wanted none

Yet an affair I found out later

Had produced your eldest son

I really tried to make it work

But I became so trodden down

The final straw was knowing

That your wife had come to town.

I left your life with nothing

But a few clothes that I packed

And the freedom to be me again

And to never, ever look back!

Next in Jade, with her first entry to writespiration, and what a beautifully emotional piece.

I know it’s only been three weeks, but I swear I can still feel you kicking inside me. The doctor said writing in a journal would help, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t help knowing that my own body rejected you. You were my precious baby girl, who was supposed to grow up with springy little curls, curious hazel eyes, and all the energy of a small tornado.

The doctor said it was a tragic accident, but there are no accidents. The doctor said time would make it easier, but that’s a lie too.

I miss you so much baby girl. Some nights, I swear I’m hugging you, only to wake up in the middle of the night and feel the emptiness flooding back. Some mornings, I swear I hear you running lightly behind me, giggling in that innocence that you would have, only to turn and hear the silence mocking me.

I wanted you so much, baby girl. So much. But I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t strong enough to take care of you and bring you into this world, and now…now I don’t know if I’m strong enough to keep missing you.

Next in Lori, with this emotional rollercoaster of a true story

I met my someone playing an internet vampire game called Vampires: A Dark Alleyway back in the mid-2000s. We met in a chat room set up on a proboard site for the game. For the longest time, probably a couple of years, we remained in character only. My character and her character became lovers in the game. After roll-playing them for those two years, our “humans” (a term used to described the creators behind the characters in the game) became good friends. A romance struck up between us. So you can imagine my excitement when she made plans to come down from Canada to visit me.

Shortly after our plans were made, but before she could come for her visit, she lost her residence. She was homeless and living out of her van. I talked it over with my then-husband and we agreed. She would still come down to visit and could stay as long as she wanted. The moment we met, I knew she was my perfect someone, the one I had longed for all of my life. She was beautiful, witty and uber intelligent.

She became my saving grace as things with the then-husband progressed to a horrid state. He became increasingly jealous of my friend, even though he knew I was bisexual from the get-go. He also knew that she was a lesbian and that there was no way she would have a relationship with him too, which ultimately was what all the fighting was over. He and I had talked it all over before she came down from Canada, but by the time she arrived, he got it all twisted up in his head (or his dick) and decided if we didn’t share with him, he would make our lives miserable and then proceeded to do just that. After one horrible physical altercation where he threw me into a heavy wooden bookcase and injured my back, my new friend and I moved out and into an apartment of our own.

I hadn’t had a real home since I left my childhood home at the age of 17. I’d always lived in shitty apartments with barely enough furniture and even the house I lived in with the then-husband was a wreck since he was such a pack-rat. This wonderful woman created such a space for me. Believe it or not, all of our nice furniture was a result of curb-side finds and dumpster dives except the bed and the kitchen table. She cooked for me and kept the house clean since I was the only one working at the time. We lived in bliss this way for six months. Then I had a mishap at my job, got fired and we lost it all.

We ended up living back with the then-husband, but things between she and I worsened. She didn’t like him and she didn’t like the way he treated me. She also knew that she couldn’t keep living on no income and couldn’t find a job in the US. On my birthday that year, she got on a bus and went back home to Canada. I was devastated and slipped into a deep depression, so deep that it would take the next three years to get me out of it.

We managed an internet and phone relationship for a couple more years. During that time, we both ended up with uterine cancer, both had surgery, and both underwent chemo. Near the end of the chemo treatments, she stopped contacting me. For seven months, I heard absolutely nothing from her. I kept emailing her, sending her messages on Facebook, and even tried calling a few times. No response. She’d made new friends in Canada, was living with her mother and working in her mother’s shop. She didn’t need me anymore. By the time she finally contacted me again on Christmas Eve in 2013, I had already worked her out of my system through therapy and writing. I was still in love with her, but done waiting. She claimed that she wasn’t over me though and wanted us to pick up where we left off, but I just couldn’t. I treasured my growing sanity too much. I broke off all contact with her. She was the one who got away and will always remain one of the truest loves of my life.

Ladylee has joined in for the first time with this heart wrenching poem that you can find here.

Her heart is hard enough as it is
Her voice softens and opens up
Threading a tremulous quaver
Through its tranquil melody
As she wanders through the city
With all its baroque architecture
Customs and traditions they adhere
She remembers the times in their lives
When they used to wander together
When they were happy and inseparable
But then that love didn’t hold them together
There was something missing she can’t identify
Perhaps forgotten reveries and visualisations
They were not destined to be together

If it’s goodbye
Then they should do it right
She has no regrets
Thanking him for being part of her life
He made her happy, he made her sad
He made her care, he made her cry
But let him listen, can he hear that?
It’s her heart, smashing into pieces
She knows it will take some time
For everything to be alright
But one day, it will be fine
For now, let them part as friends
And leave some beautiful memories
Perhaps one day they’ll meet again

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The post Writespiration #82.5 Opening and Closing Lines appeared first on Sacha Black.

Ok, so I promise that I won’t constantly talk about Myers Briggs, it is only because I wrote that first post, and then found this blog by Mandy Wallace, about traditional ‘evil’ characters and that they are often INTJ’s, but that writers often mistake what an INTJ is really like. I strongly advise you go read the whole blog – it is fascinating.

The blogger names a lot of typical evil INTJ characters such as: Professor Moriarty, Lex Luther, Emperor Palpatine and Khan, INTJs are the personality type that people love to hate. Which concerns me greatly, because as an ENTJ, I share a lot of similar characteristics! *worried*

The blog also goes into detail about why they are perfect as villains, from their arrogance, to their social awkwardness, and subsequent withdrawal. However, the blogger also notes the following points which are very poignant for any writer of villains:

• “INTJs are extremely unconventional by most other type’s standards.
• The INTJ doesn’t care about social rules or the standard way of doing things. He cares only if something works.
• INTJs abhor going along with inefficient or ineffective tasks just because they’ve always been done that way. And the social conventions that keep the outdated in place have zero effect on the INTJ.
• The INTJ will work tirelessly to change flawed methods, moving quickly and without “permission.”
• Since INTJs aren’t always great at explaining their methods, nor do they understand that other people can’t see the patterns and problems that seem obvious to them, their actions can sometimes appear unpredictable and lacking good cause to outsiders.“

Finally, I think the paragraphs that really sums up why INTJs are perfect super villains is:

“All of this analysis, coupled with an inability to explain these processes to others, plus their ultimate need to create systems that work means that the INTJ takes confident action while ignoring complainers, naysayers, and doubters. So what you have is a man who knows what he is doing and doesn’t care what other people think about it. “Smart” doesn’t really explain the INTJ’s thinking, though. Because they don’t just memorize data. They break it down to its principles to understand how it all works together and what it implies about every other fact. This makes them incredibly insightful by other people’s standards. Objectively, INTJs have the highest collective IQ of any other type.

This magic elixir: perceived arrogance + perceived lack of emotion + perceived unpredictability + intelligence = prime fictional villain. “

Here are several links to useful information about INTJs

INTJ Description

List of Famous INTJs

The post Writing Tips #3 The Evil INTJ – The Supervillain appeared first on Sacha Black.