Emily Kinney's Blog, page 5

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The Stars’ Envy

The Stars’ Envy

They almost didn’t make it. . . .

We aren’t really alone. We think we are. We secretly hope we are. Perhaps because it makes us feel special somehow. Humans. The lonely ones. Floating in circles of utter solidarity, our existence overlooked. Charming, but nonsense. We are visited, observed, intruded almost regularly, and though many may witness, only a select few See it.

That night the tide was out. It had retreated and was banging about in the great midst of the ocean, reminding its depths and waves on top of the nights when they would bash and dash ships to bits. The ocean is a proud thing, and proud things are always sensitive on the inside. Every other hour it had to congregate to soothe itself before spreading thin again. Its absence by the shore revealed barren rocks and crevasses, choked with assortments of barnacles and sea grapes, all of whom sighed as the warm night air briefly caressed their shoulders. All living organisms have shoulders, it is well known.

Within the field of scraggly rocks lay pockets of water left behind by the tide. They sat by the hundreds, hardly larger than a couch cushion, kept company by snails and hermit crabs scuttling about their bottoms. The tidal pools were used to getting stranded while their brothers the waves launched and roared like wild things. The pools were tamer, untroubled by life, and content to watch. For, there was always something to watch. Whether it be prowling gulls, or a mysterious splash followed by a flash of scales. Tidal pools are full of wisdom of the patient. Wait long enough and something will happen, always.

And something did.

It started as a spark, a glimmer, high in the night sky. The moon had been waning for several nights now, and tonight it had tucked itself away under a blanket of velvety black, letting the stars unleash their might without interruption. They shone brilliantly upon their dark canvas, and reflected pristinely on the surface of the pools, making the shore look like the many-eyed face of a love-struck alien. The first flash happened in the corner of maybe the fiftieth eye, a breach in the glassy calm. It’s shine streaked across eye after eye, disappearing and reappearing again and again until it fell with a resounding splash and sizzle into the eighty-seventh eye, startling an old mollusk, who honestly just wasn’t in the mood.

More followed this intrepid first explorer. Slowly at first, they fell in glorious swan dives, heads first, with tails streaming out behind them. And then more and more plucked up their courage and went careening into the abyss, towards that green speck in the galaxy they had been staring at for so long. Stars are social creatures, if at all possible. There are always going to be those rare loners that journey out on their own to stir up wishers and then break their hearts, but typically like doing things together. That night was no exception. Had there been a handkerchief large enough, it might have been offered up to the sky, which, to any bystander, looked as though it was weeping grievously. And its tears were hordes of stars, shrieking and streaking, one after another, their numbers unfathomable. Yet, these stars in particular, were far from ordinary.

They didn’t just fall. They flew. They galloped. They nodded to each other as they went sailing by, their bodies electric and aglow. Spreading tiny, zapping legs, they ran across the waters of the tidal pools, making faces at their reflections and scaring the fish, before fizzling away into vapor. As their compatriots vanished in clouds of joy, other stars stretched out their arms in yearning. How briefly they trundled on the earth, feeling its solid mass beneath their feet. The planet’s inhabitants didn’t know how good they had it, wandering to and fro however long they liked, with no repercussions. How did they do it? And, could they do it too?

Near the tidal pools, was a beach, and near this beach was a field of tough, wild dune grass. Amid this grass, a person had built a house many years ago. It was a solid, weather worn structure with graying shingles and chiffon curtains. Its current occupants were all asleep. However, someone had forgotten to latch a window on the second floor, and a warm breeze was drifting in and out of the room, lighting upon a head of tangled golden curls and a head of wavy chestnut tresses. Two little girls lay on one large bed in the center of the room. One might have been six and the other might have been ten. It is so hard to tell. Youth is youth, typically. Although, this also isn’t always true.

The littlest girl, the halo-haired child, lay adjacent to the window, which overlooked the beach. Her pale little forehead twitched as dreams invaded, and her jaw lolled slightly. Outside, light and life rocketed past the window, creating shadows on the floor of the bedroom. But the girl and her sister slept on, and might have continued except for a rebel.

Rebels are those who break away, and in doing so, sometimes forge new paths. One such revolutionary broke away from its fellows and alighted on their sun-bleached window sill, casting a fiery light inside the room. Instead of cavorting off in glee, it paused, considering the beings before it. Of course it had seen humans before. These girls even looked familiar. Its blue eyes glowed, its slender torso crackled and shimmered, and, quite suddenly, the little sister stirred. Stretching and yawning, she blinked the sleep out of her eyes and peered over at the visitor.

The very smallest of us have a unique sense of consciousness. Where those of us who are grown might glance and merely think “mass” and nothing more, children understand and recognize the life within. Little sister, without effort, knew she was looking at a tiny star person, and the star person knew that she knew. Their eyes met, and the place where a mouth might have been on the star’s face quirked. The girl’s heart thudded. Raising a sparking, whizzing arm, the creature beckoned to her, inviting her to follow, to join it outside where all the festivities were going on. Gulping, the girl gasped, propping herself up on an elbow. But, before she could move further, the star being skipped off her sill and away into the unknown, leaving behind a flurry of sparkles and shimmering dust. It had used its allotted time on earth to do both good and otherwise, and its residue was particularly elated.

The girl gasped at its sudden departure. She was about to rush to the window to see where it had gone, when her round eyes found the storm of light that was roiling outside. Squinting at all the star streaks that were zooming to the ground in droves that seemed never ending, she let loose a surprised laugh. Haltingly, for it was late, she touched her sleeping sister on the shoulder. When that proved ineffective, she grabbed the shoulder and shook it. After moaning and mumbling for a moment, big sister with the wavy brown hair sat up in bed and watched the shower too. Both girls sat transfixed, mesmerized by the beauty, the mystery, and the quiet promise of excitement. Little sister whispered breathlessly about the being that had stopped in and had motioned for them to go with it. Big sister, who, despite a strong aptitude for responsibility and sibling duty, also had a wonderful sense of adventure, agreed that they should go view the revelry up close.

Slipping out of bed, they tiptoed their way downstairs and out the back door, which had been freshly oiled not four days ago. Wearing nothing but their white nighties that immediately got caught up and buffeted by the wind, blossoming about them like parasols, they both broke into a run. They had been raised on the beach and didn’t fear its dangers like good, sensible adults did. The gulls were their friends, the tidal pools were their jungle gym, and the crashing of the waves was their lullaby. Therefore, it was only with a split second’s hesitation, rooted in an underdeveloped voice of good sense, before both raced into the fray. Their small feet kicked up sand as they ran towards the tidal pools, their respectively colored hairs whipping out behind them like tangled flags.

Arriving at the rocky ledges, big sister leapt up and then reached down to heave up the little one. Together, they wandered throughout the pools, their calloused toes clinging to the lumps and crannies as if they were flat ground. All around them, stars continued to fall, lighting up the night. The two girls stared up and down and to the side in amazement and delight. Laughing, they grasped hands and twirled as best they could without falling into the water. Their eyes frolicked in all directions, not wanting to miss a single sight. And as their laughter bubbled up into the air, a curious noise began to rain down along with the flashes and sparking. The girls weren’t sure what it was at first, and paused to look and listen. It almost sounded like a humming, with bursts of hiccupping. The star beings, skipping along the pool surfaces, almost dancing as they went, began to bounce even higher. And as they bounced, the noise grew louder.

Little sister, her curls and nightie wrestling with the breeze, bent down to look more closely at the beings, and perhaps even find the one from the window. But, they all seemed to look the same. Where was her friend? The beings seemed to be examining her just as closely. They hopped in circles around the girls, whose eyes were wide with wonder, their mouths little O’s. Entranced, big sister extended a hand, eager for contact, wanting to connect. One star being got within reach, but when the tender fingers touched it, their owner yelped in pain as the being’s body singed her skin. The older girl stumbled back in surprise and hurt, her sister echoing her yelp in sympathy. Nursing her hand, they both pouted, just as a chiming melody reverberated in the air, impossibly akin to laughter.

It sounded so light and innocent that the girls could hardly think it mocking. Their pouts died away, and they watched in awe as the shining, foreign souls began to skip and leap around them, circling them. Their slow, spritely progression was reflected in the water surrounding them. The two girls were cloned ten times, the faces in the pools just as keen and amazed as the originals. So intent were they observing those observing them that they failed to notice a phenomenon taking place above them. The star beings, who hadn’t stopped raining down from the bleak heavens, had apparently communicated and had made an unanimous decision.

As they continued to fall, they very, very slowly began to alter the course of their ascent. They started to twist and turn, swirling as one in the air and catching up their fellows in the tumult. Not fully sure what shape to make themselves, they settled for what might be described as a cyclone that alternated between an hourglass and vortex. The bottom lightly touched the water, stars being replaced just as fast as they died, the rest churning in goliath circles above.

Distracted as they were by their bouncing friends, the little girls did not notice the star tornado at first, but as it drew nearer, the sparking and fizzing of a million stars turning into a sort of roar, little sister glimpsed it out of the corner of her eye. She tugged at the elbow of her companion, and both let out a scream as they faced the towering monstrosity. As their wail of terror split the night, it was instantly drowned out by the chiming laughter. The star beings that had corralled them left to join the mischief of the cyclone, and the girls were left cowering together too frightened to think.

However, as the swirling, glowing mass loomed nearer and nearer, big sister’s instincts took over, and she broke into a run, yanking the littler girl along with her. Its quandary getting away, the cyclone roared in fury and took off after them. It chased them throughout the field of tidal pools, the girls running so hard they forgot care and ease. Their feet were cut on shells and crags, their knees giving out so that they went sprawling into the water, their nighties becoming drenched and torn. The golden curls became sodden, and the wavy hair flattened, blood trickling from cuts on their legs. But big sister hauled her sibling up each time, both whimpering from pain and fear. They had no time to pause. On and on they dodged the vortex, which chased them from left to right, cutting off their path again and again. When it thought it had them, it would rear up and come crashing down, trying to scoop them up with its upper half. But these girls had been raised with hearts of the raging sea, and refused to be captured. Tripping and scrambling, they managed to evade the stars each time the cyclone bent to grab them.

Seething with frustration, the cyclone sent out scouts. Glimmering bodies flew at the girls’ faces, burning their arms and setting their clothes on fire. However, there was too much water all around for any real damage to happen. The girls swatted at the scouts, their palms and fingers getting seared. Running, jumping, splashing, dodging and sprinting, their lungs heaving and seizing. Fear clogged their throats, their minds blurring, unable to comprehend the events unfolding. Why did the stars want them? What would happen if they were caught? Neither wished to find out.

Scraped, bruised, and bloodied, big sister began to despair. Each time they tried to run to the beach, the cyclone cut them off, its gaping, brilliant maw stretching wide to gulp them down. They had to get back to the house. They just had to. Surely they would be safe there. Thinking quickly, the older girl pulled her sister forward into an ankle deep pool, and the vortex charged after them, coiling up to strike. And big sister waited. Little hands tugged at her wet gown, but still she waited. And just as their hair was caught up in the wind of the vortex, its triumphant mouth about to devour them, she wrapped her arm around the smaller girl’s waist and launched them both backwards.

The stars crashed down with a chorus of frustrated squeals. But the girls were already running. Before the stars could right themselves, the girls scored feet hit the soft sands of the beach. Gasping for air, they made one final sprint up the dunes to their house.

Realizing that they had lost, the star cyclone unraveled, the beings falling with splutters to the pools, feeling too dejected to dance before dying. The night was fading, and they knew their time to shower the earth with their bodies was ending. Already the ocean was returning to kiss the shore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Story-Artisan’s Creed

Another video for The Story-Artisan’s Creed. It was written by author Emily Kinney, for all storytellers of every art.

People, any age, gender, nationality, or class, who tell stories through whatever their medium might be (dance, painting, drawing, music, writing, cupcakes) needed something to unite under. May this Creed to exactly that. Come together, not just the storytellers, but anyone who uses or revels in imagination, creativity, unconventionality, and daring.

http://www.emilykinneyauthor.com

A Whisp of Soul

“As the wind sent her essense whisking into the air in shimmering, golden threads, her delicate fingers lifted to touch the glowing object. It hovered before her eyes, a mishapen chunk that mirrored the piece of her soul that had been long ago snatched away. It was too much. She could allow herself to dare to hope that it had somehow found its way back to her. And yet . . . it felt so familiar. Like a whisper remembered from childhood.” – Emily Kinney

Presenting The Island of Lote

Let the rave begin! Emily Kinney has just unleashed the organized riot known as her debut novel. You’d be hard pressed to find a more funny, thoughtful, wild, gloriously well written book on today’s shelves. Though the author is young, her pen be mighty. The book can be found on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.com. And, if you ask very nicely and insistantly at the actual book store, or your library, they would certainly order it for you. Go forth and immerse yourself with delightful, literary chaos!!!!!!

The Jolly Castle

Emily Kinney – Traipsing, traipsing ‘cross the land, an entire gigantic castle, carried along by two behemoth, stout legs. While airships whizzed about the upper turrents, the staff in the central chambers all bounced in time with the bounds of the castle’s feet. Citizens were always enthralled to see their king approach, amazed at the sort of kingdom they dwelled in.

Covert Enchantment

Emily Kinney – “Around and round the dancing flame the fruit did spark and twirl. Spinning, spinning, dizzying the tablecloth and making the plates frolic and clatter. No one dared go near, for fear of upsetting the mysterious whirling. Though one small maiden, forgotten in the shadows of a corner, quirked one corner of her mouth in satisfaction.”

My Baby

Milo halted abruptly and turned to her. “Honey,” she said wearily, “I am a fourteen year old who has crashed on an island. I can’t leave, no one knows I’m here, my parents probably think I’m dead, the mayor wouldn’t mind if I were dead, and I have just been forced to marry a guy I can’t stand the sight of. I ain’t clinging to a whole lot.”

The Island of Lote book trailer number three

The spectacular third book trailer for YA lit novel The Island of Lote. Book available online at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books-a-million and at your local library. Ask for it at your favorite bookstore!

When fourteen year old Milo Hestler jets off to spend summer in Australia, the last thing she expects is for her plane to crash onto a tropical island. Rescued from the ocean by a tanned, gorgeous boy who can’t speak English, Milo can’t help by notice he’s a little too attentive. She’s grateful and all that, but, really, ever hear of personal space? Since she can’t understand him, when he asks her to marry him, she accidentally says yes. When she finds out, Milo is horrified and angry, and expresses it in such a way that half the island’s population is offended. She’s told, with no concealment of hostility, that she has no choice. The laws there are going to force her to get married, whether she likes it or not.

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emilykinneyauthor.com

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There’s only ever a first time.

At the tail end of March 2014, I had the honor, the privilege, and the joy of conducting my very first book signing at my local library in my home town of Limerick, Maine. A book signing is always a tremendous milestone for any author. It is the accumulation and culmination of everything they have been striving for over how many years. (Unless you’re one of those spoiled with too much luck first time authors who have breezed through the system from the moment they had a story idea. We hate you. That’s what envy does.)

But for the typical first time author, there are usually a number of years, be it many or few, endured before the fruits of their passion and labor are manifested. It took me seven to eight years (depending on how you do the math) of sweat, tears, sleepless nights, reclusive behavior, lots of money, friendship, various computers, refusal of other career options, prayer, more tears, lost friendships, loss of youth, wondering what I’m doing with my life, and burning desire to get to where I am now. To achieve the dream of people standing in line, clutching my book, waiting for me, the writer, creator, to sign it.

That night finally came. That big moment in a long line of big moments that would validate me being a stubborn idealist who isn’t interested in what reality has to say in the matter. Yes, there will be more afterwards, but only one first. I am proud of myself, which I haven’t too many opportunities to say. I’m not really allowed Moments, but this definitely was one.

Below are pictures from the event. I’m so excited that I wanted to share them. And I sincerely hope that next time I’ll be seeing you there. :D

Firstly, my book, The Island of Lote, looking just too pretty. It’s crazy to see more than just one copy. It gives me belly shivers.

This is the table-cloth I made for the book signing. I wanted it to look like waves crashing onto sand, since the story takes place on a tropical island.

This is the pen I hot glued together to sign the books with. It’s slightly hard to see, but there’s a lot of lovely, gleaming blue in the feathers.

Tiny palm tree!!!! So cute! It sat next to me on the table while I signed the books.

Entrance to the room my library let me use for the signing. They have been so good to me. I volunteered there for eleven years, from nine to twenty-one, every Tuesday.

This poster of me on the book throne met all visitors.

My books, set up on a table near the far wall.

I was also selling posters along side them.

That’s the table I sat at. Notice the huge TV?

They let me hook it up to my computer to show my book trailers. It was absolutely insane, seeing them up on a screen that big.

Outside, by the street.

I was so nervous people wouldn’t come, but slowly they began to show up.

The event began with me welcoming everyone, introducing myself and the book, a brief shout out to one of my best friends, and then a reading from chapter four.

We then moved on to the signing. It was incredible to meet people who were about to read, and some who had already read, my book. I just wanted to hug everyone and carry on in-depth discussion about literature. However, time and strict personal space laws didn’t allow for that much.

A great pic of me signing a book.

My mom and I.

A reporter was there, thanks to the saintly soul of my librarian, Cindy. She interviewed me, which was an amazing surprise, and covered the whole book signing in an article in the paper. Which was monstrously cool, because that was also a first for me. In the newspaper!

Thanks for letting me share with you. I’m in the process of trying to set up more. Wish me luck and come out and see me when you do! I would love to make your acquaintance. You can find The Island of Lote on Amazon, Goodreads, and Barnes and Noble .com. Also at my website, http://www.emilykinneyauthor.com.

See you soon!

- Emily