Icy Sedgwick's Blog, page 72

NaNoReMo 2014

NaNoReMo is almost upon us again, with the aim being that throughout the month of February, you read a classic novel. Your definition of 'classic' may differ from mine, and people are choosing all sorts for their monthly read, but I think the spirit of the venture is such that as long as you're reading something, then that's the main point to be taken from it all.

Last year, I chose Horace Walpole's The Castle of Otranto , which I largely hated for one reason or another, and while the temptation to read another Gothic classic was indeed a strong one (indeed I have yet to start Ann Radcliffe's Mysteries of Udolpho), this year I shall be reading Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo. My only real familiarity with the novel is through its 2002 movie adaptation, starring Jim Cavieziel and Guy Pearce, and Stephen Fry's version, The Stars' Tennis Balls. My other half and I had been discussing it just after Christmas, and after discovering it free through Project Gutenberg, I decided it was high time I actually read the novel.

I'm aware that it's not the shortest book in Christendom, and that February has only 28 days, but I shall endeavour to read as much of it as I can. Wish me luck!

#FridayFlash - The Visitor

Soft white flakes float from the clear sky. They settle across cracked roofs, in blocked gutters, and between the cobblestones in the narrow lane. The door to the parish church stands ajar, and carols drift out into the cold night air. Only devoted worshippers venture abroad as most souls seek the refuge of the family hearth.
A solitary figure trudges down the lane, pulling the cloak of close-woven sadness tighter around her neck. Her feet drag along the slick cobbles. The gaslights flicker as she passes, and even the shadows weep, feeling a sudden wave of despair. She peers left and right at the lop-sided buildings that line the forgotten street. Frost glitters on naked beams and icicles hang from rotten eaves.
The figure stops at a cramped dwelling opposite the remains of a milliner’s shop. Light spills out of the window, painting the snow with a golden glow. The figure wipes the bottom pane of glass with her sleeve and peers inside. A family gather around a roaring fire, basking in the warmth of the crackling flames. The father sits in a rocking chair, a toddler on his knee. He leads the family in a raucous song that ends with the clinking of glasses and the exchange of well wishes. The figure sidles along the front of the house to the door, but the handle does not budge. She swears at the lock.
The figure turns away from the happy household. She flicks her cloak, sending ripples of melancholy down the lane. A scavenging alley cat howls in the shadows. The figure stops at the next house. As before, she wipes a sooty layer of frost from the window and peers inside. No fire blazes in the grate of this house. No carols are sung, and no bonhomie warms her face through the glass.
Instead, she spies a lonely figure, hunched over a writing desk. A single candle burns, casting flickering shadows across the cramped writing. The nib of the pen scratches across the paper. The writer looks up, gazing at the wall between herself and the happy family. Envy and misery chase each other across her pale face. The cloaked figure clasps her hands together, as something blossoms in the cavern where her heart should be. She feels a surge of kinship towards this writer.
The figure reaches for the handle, and finds the door unlocked. It opens easily at her touch. She casts off her cloak of sorrow and steps inside. The writer looks up, and smiles. She will welcome anyone on this lonely Christmas Day, even Melancholy herself.

* * *I'm not well so this is a repost!

#FridayFlash - Wake Me

I see the man on the subway every morning, always slumped in the same seat, his chin resting on his chest as he snores. A cardboard sign hangs around his neck, the string entangled with his faded tie, with the words 'Wake me at the end of the line' written in a childish but legible hand. It's confusing because the Red Line is circular - unless you count 8th Street West where trains go in or out of service, there is no end of the line. I sometimes wonder if that's why I see him every morning - maybe he never gets off the train. Maybe he lives here.

He's the only reason most of us talk to each other. We exchange theories as to who he is, or what could be at the end of the line that he needs to wake up for. Weirdly, none of us are brave enough to wake him early, though everyone claims to know someone who tried. One of my fellow commuters, a marketing rep named Dan, suspects he's trying to become an urban legend. We nickname him The Snooze.

Months pass and he keeps sleeping on the train, dozing through the rattles and clatter of the morning commute. We keep theorising about him, and the morning commute begins something to savour; for some of us, it's the only kind word we'll have all day. Every evening I hitch a lift with Sally from sales, but I sometimes consider catching the train. Maybe he'll still be there.

Today it all changes. The Snooze still sleeps on the train, dressed in black instead of his usual threadbare tweed. He wears a smart trilby instead of his battered fedora. The sign is still cardboard, but instead of scrawl, elegant calligraphy spells out the words 'Wake me at the end of it all'. I can't stop staring at the sign, and I notice it earns more attention from my fellow passengers. We're all still staring at it when the ominous rumbling starts. It's the last thing we see when darkness swallows our carriage.

I reach out a trembling hand to wake him.

Original image by Keeper182. Edits by me.

#BookReview - Cobweb Empire

Back in October I reviewed Vera Nazarian's Cobweb Bride , the first in a trilogy set in an imaginary pocket of Europe during the Renaissance. I absolutely loved book one, awarding it four blunt pencils, and managed to get my mitts on Cobweb Empire, its follow-up. I've had book two on my Kindle for some time, but I'll admit, the release of the final book, Cobweb Forest, gave me the kick up the bum that I needed to read it.

As with book one, Cobweb Empire tells the story of Percy Ayren, the ordinary village girl from northern Lethe, only now Percy isn't so ordinary. During book one, death stopped entirely while the Reaper searched for his Cobweb Bride, and the dead were forced to keep going in whatever state they were in at the point of 'death'. By book two, things are getting worse, and entire sections of the world are simply disappearing. After an audience with the Reaper, Percy's now been granted the ability to give the dead a final ending, reuniting their broken bodies with their souls. In a world where no one can die, such an ability is obviously highly prized, and many people see the value in having Percy in their custody. Trouble is, Percy needs to be elsewhere, still tasked with finding the Cobweb Bride, so off she goes, accompanied by handsome knight Sir Beltain Chidair, to find her.

While Percy's having adventures throughout both the Realm and the Domain, a host of other characters are also exploring the extensive world created by Nazarian, be they the terrifying Sovereign of the Domain, hell bent on conquering the Realm, or the dandyish duo, Lady Amaryllis and Lord Nathan, held captive in a northern dungeon. There is plenty going on to keep the narrative ticking along at a smart pace, and being book two, Cobweb Empire has the luxury of being able to hit the ground running. Having read the Kindle version, I think I read at least 20% of it in one go.

As ever, the characterisation is spot on (although I'm not sure that eyes need to be constantly described as being 'liquid'), and it's easy to root for Percy. Grial the witch makes more of an appearance in this book, and she's a wonderful character who reminds me a lot of Mrs Weasley from Harry Potter. I was pleased to get to know Lady Amaryllis more - she was a little stereotypical in book one but she shows real wit and ingenuity in book two, as does Nazarian herself. The world she has created is an extraordinary one, packed with inventive details. I thoroughly enjoyed it!

It won't make much sense if you haven't read book one, but I'd highly recommend that you buy both and read them back to back. It also baffles me why Hollywood keeps making remakes when it could be adapting something like this for the big screen. Hopefully HBO might take the hint!

Four blunt pencils!

You can buy Cobweb Empire from Amazon for both Kindle and paperback, or for other e-readers from Smashwords.

Post-Christmas Grind: Getting Back into Your Writing Routine

No matter how good your intentions, sticking to a well-honed writing routine over Christmas is virtually impossible. Putting aside all of the time commitments involved in buying and wrapping presents, visiting friends and family, and preparing all that food, even if you do manage to sneak in some writing time, you’ll no doubt be met with cries of “Oh you’re not writing, are you? But it’s Christmas.”

Writers are lucky in that their chosen line of work is not only fun, it also offers a high degree of escapism, but sadly, many non-writers still think we’re chained to our laptops. Of course, the problem you face after any interruption to a routine is finding a way back into it. Christmas offers a particularly large interruption due to the length of time it seems to last, and the fact that you’ll be trying to get back into other routines, not just those involving writing. Still, it must be done, so here are five suggestions of things you can do to get back into the swing of things!

Write ANYTHING for Ten Minutes

Yes, this one is fairly self-explanatory. Choose anything as a prompt, or just simply write about what you got for Christmas. It doesn’t matter what you’re writing, just make sure it’s constant for ten minutes. Don’t worry about what you’re writing, just write without pauses. Use a timer, or a website like Write or Die to keep you on track. It’s amazing how much simply writing to get the words out will get you back into the habit of writing.

Use a Current Project As a Prompt

If you’re in the middle of a longer project, try writing a flash or short story about a character other than the protagonist. If you don’t have something on the go, write about a character from a story you’ve already finished.

Use Movies to Inspire You

Chances are, you may have watched some great movies over the Christmas period. Write a missing scene, prologue or ending from a movie of your choice. Prose is fine, though if you want to write it in screenplay format that could keep you on your toes! It’s always beneficial to try writing in a different form to the one you’re used to.

Revisit Old Ideas

If you keep a notebook (and you should), flick through and browse those ideas you’ve jotted down in the past years. If none of them strike you as being good fodder for a flash, short story or even a novel, then choose a sentence at random and those that as a prompt for a story, poem or even a blog post.

Let the World Inspire You

Re-read something you’ve actually finished. Remember why you wrote it, and how much you enjoyed finishing it. Go for a walk and let your brain absorb everything around you – you might even do this just before you go out to check out the sales. Get back to your writing area feeling refreshed and ready to write!

Make sure you make a concerted effort to get back into your writing routine, but don’t push yourself too hard or your brain will rebel against you. Try one (or all, if you’re feeling brave) of these suggestions and see how it goes. We're two weeks into 2014 and it would be a good way to establish a routine for the coming year if you got back into one now!

#FridayFlash - Footsteps

Image by HBrinkmanI'm reading in bed when I hear footsteps on the stairs. I freeze, book in hand, listening hard. I hope it's just the house settling, floorboards getting used to the night time air, but no, I hear them again. Footsteps, but I'm the only one home. I wriggle further under the covers, as though a duvet will somehow protect me.

The footsteps stop on the landing, and head for the bathroom. Whoever it is hasn't made any effort to be quiet. I can hear the tap running, and what sounds like someone scrubbing their teeth. What? What intruder brushes their teeth?

I throw back the covers and get out of bed. I reach the door just as the tap stops in the bathroom. I look onto the landing in time to see the intruder open the door.

I watch myself leave the bathroom dressed in the clothes I was wearing before I got changed for bed. The other me crosses the landing and walks straight through me, as if I'm not standing here. I feel nothing but a breeze but the other me shivers. I remember shivering before I went to bed, making a mental note to turn up the heating.

The other me, the me that was, gets changed and slips into bed. I watch her start reading, engrossed in her book until she hears what I hear - footsteps on the stairs.

#Craftblogclub Icons

I've been a busy bee, creating blog buttons for the #craftblogclub community. I've got six options so far, and a poll underneath, but obviously if you want to make any suggestions, feel free to leave a comment!

Option One
Option Two
Option Three
Option Four
Option Five
Option Six
What do you think?
Which option do you prefer?OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixNone of them  pollcode.com free polls 

#FridayFlash - Allergy

By Jan van Grevenbroeck (1731-1807)The clock in the square struck one. Karea cursed under her breath; she hated being late. She stood on her toes to peer above the heads of the crowd. They jostled and shoved outside the cathedral. Some brandished placards, while others waved banners in a righteous frenzy. “The dead have rights too” and “We’re sick, not criminals” were two of the more popular slogans.

She edged along the edge of the crowd, caught between protestors and onlookers. Many of those watching the demonstration held handkerchiefs to their mouths, or buried their faces in nosegays. Karea wondered why they didn’t just stay away, if they were so scared of the Contagion.

The crowd petered out on the far side of the square, and Karea slipped into a narrow alley between a bakery and a milliner’s. Looking back, she could see mounted militia surrounding the protestors. They sat astride huge chestnut stallions, all wearing black government-issue masks. The long ibis-like nose would be filled with strongly scented flowers. Karea wondered how many people would succumb to hay fever before the Contagion itself.

Karea burst out of the alley as a tram pulled up to the stop across the street. She hurled herself across the cobbled stones, narrowly avoiding a pony and trap driven by a young boy. She climbed on board, and squeezed herself between two elderly women clad in black. She nodded at each in turn, acknowledging their loss. A purple hat band indicated that the woman on her right had lost someone a lot earlier than the woman on the left. Probably when the Contagion first started.

Two government officials flanked the trembling conductor. Blue eyes burned bright behind the ibis masks. Karea shuddered. She wondered if the masks were intended to protect the officials, or to intimidate the populace.

Several passengers alighted at the next stop. Karea dropped her gaze from the window; she didn’t need to see them file into the cemetery. She also didn’t need to see the gravediggers and their pits, shovelling quicklime onto anonymous corpses, dumped in ignoble piles.

A tickle in her nose made Karea look up. A woman settled into the seat opposite, heaving a wicker basket onto her knee. A cat the colour of marmalade sat in the basket. It looked at her with brazen interest. Karea felt her stomach drop as the first sneeze struggled to escape. She left off a volley of rapid sneezes, each more violent than the last. The passengers scattered, clawing at each other in their attempts to get away from her.

The government officials swooped. Each clamped a gloved hand on her arms, hauling her to her feet. The tram lurched to a halt, and they pulled her down the stairs into the street. Karea’s protests went unheard as a crowd gathered to investigate the commotion. A cart waited by the gutter; the livery was that of the House of the Stricken. One of the officials fought to tie a cloth mask over her lower face.

“I’m not sick!” shouted Karea, her words lost in the thick fabric. “I’m just allergic to cats!”

* * *
I first posted this way back in 2010 and am re-posting because the whirl of Christmas and New Year have gotten in the way of writing anything new...plus, I was always rather proud of this one.

2013: The Year That Was

Normally the end of the year would see an inevitable review of the preceding twelve months, full of lists and photos eagerly depicted fun or beautiful moments. 2013 has been a funny year for me, full of ups and downs, although understandably I don't exactly want to detail the downs here. Don't worry, it's nothing major, more just...total annoyances.

Academically, I completed the second chapter of my PhD and presented my first conference paper. The former was both a labour of love and a millstone around my neck, while the latter was equal parts of exciting and terrifying. Luckily my teaching experience made it easy to stand up in front of fellow academics to discuss The Frighteners and The Tattooist.

In terms of writing, The Guns of Retribution was re-published by Beat to a Pulp in May, while my short story, Protection, was published in Bloody Parchment's The Root Cellar and Other Stories . I finished writing The Necromancer's Apprentice, with help from my beta readers Tony Noland and Rob Diaz, while the ever-awesome Nerine Dorman edited it.

As well as knitting up a storm and learning to crochet, which was both harder and easier than I thought it might be, I took up jewellery making, and even opened my own shop on etsy. IcyHandmade has even had a few sales! I've been focussing on jewellery that is affordable but quirky, and I've tried a variety of techniques so far. I really need to start treating it like a proper business but at the moment I've just been collecting materials and charms to make items like this leaf and watchface charm bracelet. On top of that, I got involved with the #craftblogclub Twitter chat, run by Emma Berry. I've met some lovely crafters and bloggers through it, and it's been a real inspiration for doing and learning more crafts.

I visited Germany on holiday, visiting Cologne and Bonn among other places, and I took up archery and target shooting - I passed a beginner's course in archery, meaning I'm now a member of my local club, and I'm not exactly Oliver Queen yet but I'm working on that. I also worked on my photography skills through my Image A Day experiment on Instagram (see the results on Pinterest or Flickr) and I learned how to develop film myself at a pinhole camera workshop (which ended up being more about 35mm photography). The latter part has been a particular eye opener, and it's reignited my love for black and white photography.

But now we're on the cusp of 2014 and I feel it's best to look forwards, not back. So what do I plan for the coming year?

Academia
I'll be continuing to work on my PhD, with a minimum of one chapter and my introduction planned, and I'll be presenting another paper at a conference in June. I've also got other bits and pieces to work on, but I've thankfully been able to recover my focus for my thesis, so I've got my academic mojo back. With any luck, 2014 will see a definite boost to my word count.

Fiction
The Necromancer's Apprentice will be coming out in 2014 through Dark Continents Publishing's Tales of Darkness and Dismay line, but I've got the sequel to The Guns of Retribution to finish, as well as edits to complete on my long awaited Fowlis Westerby novel before I decide what to do with it. Expect more short stories and more flash fiction.

IcyHandmade
I'll be working on more jewellery creations for my etsy shop but I also want to focus on creating handmade knits to sell in my shop. I'm not taking commissions just yet but if you're desperate for something, drop me an email at icy (at) icysedgwick (dot) com and we can discuss it! However, I have also vowed not to buy any more yarn to knit things for myself until I've finished all my outstanding projects so I'll have to keep buying for projects for sale!

How about you? What plans have you got for 2014?

#FridayFlash - Stage Fright

A hand shoves the small of my back and I stumble forwards. The boards feel rough beneath my bare feet. I look down at the stage lights. Flames once blazed in those fittings; now it's just energy-efficient bulbs. A single spotlight snaps on, drowning out their weak glow. I shield my eyes against the glare, unable to forget what waits in the darkness beyond the stage.

I stand in the spotlight, legs shaking with fear. I know what they want, I know what they came for, and yet I am paralysed.

A low groan erupts from the audience. It starts a ripple of moaning that rolls around the darkened auditorium. Beneath the moans I hear snarls, and between them both I sense the hunger. The anticipation. Someone hisses something at me from stage left; I cannot make out the words but I get the gist. I am to dance.

Creaky calliope music blares into life from the shadows at stage left. The undulating melody sounds eerie as it echoes around the cavernous theatre, and it takes me a moment to find the rhythm. I start slowly, aware that my movements are jerky and awkward. I never used to be. The snarls die down, overtaken by groans. They like what they see. A fleeting spark of satisfaction flicks through my mind, until I realise that it is ultimately for nothing.

I speed up in time with the music. The knot of fear curled in my stomach relaxes with the certain knowledge that this will all soon be over. I close my eyes as I fall to the floor with the end of the song. I hear scrabbling from the stalls, rotting nails clawing at the wood as they clamber onto the stage. The groans become snarls, and I imagine I hear applause as they fall upon me.

This story was published by Twisted Dreams magazine back in June 2011! Image by Weatherbox, edits by me.