S.E. Zell's Blog, page 4

Flash Fiction #2

In order to exercise my writing muscles with something other than the world of Jesimae, I’m going to start posting short bursts of fiction, called “Flash Fiction,” as often as possible.

Flash Fiction #2

My hands itched and tapped against my desk while I tried to focus on work. Only two hours to go. I could do this. At least, I hoped I could do this. Minutes ticked by and now my feet were tapping too. What was happening?

Just when I thought the sensation in my hands would become unbearable, something in my mind snapped. A trap door dropped open and they all came tumbling out–characters, back story, laws of magic and man, epic twists, deadly turns. My hands reached for the keyboard I had been avoiding for the last ten minutes and began to type of their own accord. 

The phantoms that had burst forth from my mind danced along my hands, pulling my fingers in every which way, trying to place them faster and faster on the desired keys. Pretty soon, my fingers grew weary and the phantoms themselves began to move slower and slower. They crawled up my arms and shoulders, locking themselves back into my head for the time being. They chittered and pushed and shoved one another until they were all hidden once more.

Only five minutes had passed, but I had somehow managed to empty my mind of everything that had been trying to get out. I placed my fingers back on the keyboard, this time fully in control. I opened up my to-do list and found that everything seemed almost manageable again, like nothing had ever happened. As I worked through my list, I would occasionally feel a little *tap, tap, tap* on that door, but I was not going to be the one to open it–at least, not here. Not yet.

Thank you Recent Jesimae Purchasers!

Flash Fiction #1

My eyes filled with tears as I wondered invisibly through the mountains and piles of unread books deep in the bowels of Amazon. I had always wondered where they were sent when no one chose to open up the wonders they contained inside. Luckily, the writers of these books weren’t writers just to gain a following or they would have given up long ago. I rounded a corner and was startled to see my own novel atop a pile labelled “somewhat read.” Picking up the book, I smiled. It had been a labor of pure love and wherever it ended up, I was glad I had done it. That’s not to say it wasn’t a little bitter sweet to find it here in this dark place, but it still gave me a confidence boost every time I looked at it.

Just as I set it back in the pile, a light began to shine around it and it disappeared. Seconds later, it appeared in a pile further down the row. I sprinted down the aisle after it and came to a stop, squinting at the label on this pile, “slightly more read.” My heart leapt and the book let off a final wink before going dark again. Someone must have read it! My heart leapt with joy and I wondered who they were. Was it making a difference in their day, having read the words I painstakingly thrust from my brain and heart so many months ago? 

It was time to leave this place. I picked up several books I’d thought looked interesting and shut my eyes. When I was back at home, curled on my couch, I cracked open one of my new books and wondered if it, too, would change piles. It was worth a shot.

Final Version of New Cover Artwork!

Here it is, folks! I’m nearly jumping with joy! I can’t believe it turned out so well!

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Another quote to celebrate:

“Aedrian cleared his throat. ‘If you don’t mind, Highness, we’re in a bit of a time sensitive situation. If you could just point us to the nearest exit…what are you doing?’ Emyr had begun pulling on his travel clothes when Aedrian started speaking and was finishing buckling his sword belt.

‘I’m coming with you, obviously. My father has gone insane for some unknown reason that I suspect has to do with Lorraen—’ They all winced at the mention of her name. ‘—And has been trying to keep me sedated in my rooms since I got back. Until I can figure out a way to help him recover, I have the feeling that it is safer to get as far away as possible.'”

-Chapter 3 (name TBD), In Ruins

Why Can’t Some Authors Leave a Series Alone?

I get it now. I now know why writers go back and write a million books in one universe. You know the type. After ten books in a series we’re all usually like, um, okay, we get it. It’s getting a little old now.

But not to the author.

I was trying to write a short story the other day and the whole time the only thing on my mind was the thought that I was abandoning the characters in my novel. I could practically hear Ashdan tapping her foot in impatience:

“Let’s go! Things to do, people to kill!”

My fingers were itching to write and I told myself. Look! Here’s a story you were really excited about writing. Do that! But, alas, it was not meant to be. The decrepit and twisted world of Jesimae would not let me go.

It’s not just that. When you spend so much time developing and creating the world and characters of a novel, you fall in love with them. You want to spend more time in that world. You want to know what happens to your characters. You want to hear their snide remarks and make sure they win that battle that they were dreading–or not (That’s a whole other post for the future–Mourning Your Characters.).

If that seems silly, I don’t know what to tell you. Try dedicating vast portions of your life to something and then just putting it down one day and never touching it again. You have poured every part of your hear, brain, imagination, and creativity into this thing and then, you leave it alone forever. You can’t, can you? You have to come back to keep perfecting and creating. Well, now you know what it’s like to create a fiction novel, specifically fantasy and science fiction. When writing about some kind of unknown element that doesn’t exist in this world, you can’t help but be curious and want to find out more about your own world.

It’s the reason that even though finishing that novel was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, I still want to keep writing. It’s the reason amazing and detailed series like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, A Series of Unfortunate Events, etc. exist.

So next time you’re reading a series that seems to go on forever, try to figure out what it was that kept the author coming back every time. It’s not always worth it–*cough* Twilight *cough*–but most of the time, you’ll fall just as much in love as the author did.

Dreams

Dreams are weird as f@#$. I don’t normally remember my dreams very vividly, but when I do, they end up being high stakes thrillers/adventures. Oh, and did I mention this only occurs when I’m cold?

I must have been freezing last night because this one was a doozy. What happened, you ask? Let me tell you:

We’re on a boat–by we I just mean a bunch of people and two of my three siblings. I think we’re on Lake Michigan because I seem to be aware that the nearby city is Chicago. But keep in mind that this is Dream Land and we could end up in Timbuktu at any moment. I’m not saying that’s what’s going to happen, I’m just saying keep it in mind.

So we’re on a pontoon boat–my parents were recently talking about buying one, go figure!–and all of a sudden the sky above and the water beneath us light up with the flames of flying projectiles. The missiles/torpedoes hit the bridges that suddenly appear on three sides of us–I’ve only been to Chicago once, guys!–but somehow we stay on the boat and pull in to a patch of rubble to hide.

Of course, right when I turn to everyone to say, “we need to get out of here! Follow me!” they’ve all disappeared and in the distance I can see the bad guys swarming over the remains of the bridge.

Somehow, I end up on the shore of this lake with one thought: Must. Find. Siblings. I see that one of the bad guys got caught in his own blast and take the blunt machete that’s lying next to his body for protection. It’s better than nothing.

I can see my siblings in the distance huddled together, but every time I try to get close, I’m attacked by a rabid little boy with way too many knives for his own good. He throws one at me and the handle–thankfully–hits me square in the chest. It hurts and I go down. He disappears. I am now beside my siblings, tugging on their arms to get them to follow me to safety. Why I think I know how to handle this situation is beyond me, but it’s my dream and I get to be the hero in this one!

They eventually follow me, but the little boy is still after us and we spend the time until I wake up trading exceedingly violent blows. I think I wake up more because I’m uncomfortable with him being a child than the fact that I’m scared out of my wits.

When I sit up in bed, the sense of urgency is still there, accompanied by a bruising pain in the center of my chest. I can’t help but think that my characters in Jesimae would handle this a lot better than I did. Who knows, maybe they will.