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The Upstairs Archives

~ A random repository of how-to-write and geekery, with an occasional snippet of accidental wisdom.

The Upstairs Archives

Monthly Archives: September 2015

#BlogBattle: Attacked

29 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

completed stories, doctor who, fantasy, fiction, original work, short stories

Wow, two posts in one day. It must be Tuesday! Because, well, it is. Or, weeeelll, it’s the mean time when I said I’d post this. I’m really in the Time Vortex at the moment, so I could have published it in the 5th Century BC if I wanted. Though they didn’t have internet or computers back then so it would have been rather useless but I could if I wanted to!

My entry to Rachael Ritchey’s #BlogBattle. Genre is fantasy/adventure, and prompt word was “Ride.”

Enjoy!


Attacked

                Gigantic golden wings bore down on them from above, and the boy crouched over the galloping horse’s neck, pressing his face into the pale gray mane. His only hope now was to ride, to trust the horse.

He wasn’t even sure if he was doing the right thing any more. He hoped he was, of course, but he was almost past caring.

He closed his eyes tight and heard a squawk as the hippogriff that was following them had its vision suddenly cut off. It was only a temporary fix, and he and the hippogriff both knew it, even as the massive beast crashed to earth behind them, sending up shock waves that reverberated through the horse’s hooves and up its legs. The trusty animal, however, did not falter. The hippogriff stumbled blindly after them, screaming in a horrible, almost-human voice. He could feel the wind sting his cheeks as it flapped enormous wings in a failed attempt to get back into the air, blind as it was.

By feel alone, he reached down to the knife by his side and drew it out, cutting his palm by accident as he did so. He licked away the excess blood without thinking and then cursed inwardly. It would be twice as difficult to complete the process now. Feeling the razor edge scraping across his skin, he lifted blood from the cut on the knife blade, flicking it downward to join with the earth. The knife shears through a lock of thick gold hair and the hair, sticky at the ends, flies at the sky. Then, praying it would work, he opened his eyes for a millisecond and grabbed the halter from the horse’s head. The knife severed it and the pieces flew from his hands. The hippogriff screeched in rage before vanishing in a burst of hot white light that blazed against the boy’s closed eyelids. With a sigh of relief, the boy finally opened his eyes, the world crashing into him in a blaze of color and light so bright and painful all he could do was blink.

Now all he had to do was bypass the Cadon’s armies, slip through the sentries, and avoid the Furies, and get the vital information he carried to the King before nightfall.

Easier said than done.

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The Music Writing Challenge, Verse Two

29 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard, The Music Writing Challenge

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

fun stuff, music, story dynamics, the music writing challenge, writing, writing music

See what I did there?

Anyway, thanks to everyone who entered the first Music Writing Challenge, and welcome to the second!

The rules are as follows:

  1. If you’re not familiar with the piece of music, you may actively–no distractions–listen to it once through.
  2. Open a Word document and press play. Begin to write when the music starts, and when the music stops, if you must write on, please insert a line or page break for indication that the bit below it was written after the music was over.
  3. Have fun!

This week’s music is “Winterspell” by Thomas Bergersen.

Enjoy!

Interdimensional Physics For Dummies

28 Monday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 46 Comments

Tags

completed stories, fun stuff, original fiction, science, short stories

wormhole

Writefury started it! X-D

Go check out her reply to the prompt. Right now. I command thee. 😛

Also, in this story, there’s a cameo. Anyone who can correctly identify the cameo may make a demand of me. However, I can’t promise deadlines at the moment, so let’s just say I’ll do it when I can. 😉


Interdimensional Physics for Dummies

                Gerald walked into interdimensional physics class to find his idiot friend doodling on the chalkboard with RoseArts, his bag forgotten by his usual seat. He smacked Michael in the back of the head—rather gently, if he did say so himself. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. A few snickers came from the early-comers. They saw this drama enacted every day.

In fact, maybe that’s why they came to class so early…

“That doesn’t look like cursive to me,” Gerald informed Michael kindly. Michael ignored him, standing on tiptoes and stretching his skinny back to reach the top of the chalkboard. “So what is it?” Gerald asked, curiosity getting the better of him. He immediately regretted his indiscretion.

So Michael might be partly deaf, but that didn’t justify him ignoring people.

Michael finished part of his curve and stared at Gerald. “Oh, hi!” he said, sounding surprised. His nerdy glasses were slipping down over the bridge of his nose, making him look even more stupid than usual. Gerald kindly pushed them back up, and they immediately began to slide back down again.

He didn’t know why Michael wore them all the time. After all, he only needed them to read. He was farsighted, not blind!

“So what is it?” Gerald asked, gesturing at the board.

“It’s a probability machine diagram,” Michael explained. “And it looks good.”

Why was Gerald friends with this idiot again?

The door opened and the professor marched in, several minutes before the rest of the class would come straggling in. “Good morning, boys,” he said in a voice that was far too bright for this horrible hour. He squinted at the chalkboard.

“Is that the Carson-Leither probability engine you were talking about earlier, Michael?” he asked, pulling his nerdy glasses out of his suit pocket and sliding them up the bridge of his nose. As far as Gerald was concerned, while Michael might need glasses for things close to his face, the professor didn’t need them at all.

“Yes, sir,” Michael said, continuing to draw.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to erase part of it later,” the professor said apologetically, sounding bipolar.

“I can take a photo with my cell phone, sir,” Gerald said, making a squid face at Michael’s back.

“No need. It’s the principle of the thing, you see,” the Professor explained. Gerald didn’t see, but of course he was not going to say that.

The professor’s watch alarm went off, Gerald and Michael sat down, and class began.

Seven and a half minutes later, the rest of the class rushed breathlessly in, madly waving coffee cups, books, papers, pencils, pens, highlighters, and in one memorable case, a lizard.

The professor asked them what the blackboard drawing was. None of them had any idea.

After all, they were all very late.

Schrodinger’s Cat

24 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

completed stories, doctor who, fanfiction, science, short stories, thought experiments

Good morning, everyone!

Now this didn’t get much of a response on FanFiction, where I posted it on Iris‘s account… I’m hoping to get some solid feedback on it here. It’s a bit dark, I should warn you: It deals with the Doctor’s imagination running away with him and the series of events that leads to his regeneration in “The End of Time.” But I’d really like to get some feedback on it.

Enjoy! I hope…


Schrodinger’s Cat

                “You set up a sealed box with a radioactive source and a flask of Zyklon B crystals that will spill out and form deadly hydrogen cyanide gas as soon as radiation is released. You then put a cat into the box and seal it. Is the cat dead or alive?”

                Is it dead or alive? Is it dead or alive?

The Doctor couldn’t control the muscle spasms that bent him backwards, agony sparking through his nervous system. Just like a cat in a locked box, being poisoned by Time’s irregularities, its unpredictable nature.

Dead or alive?

Wilfred was alive. He knew that. And he himself had been. Sweat beaded on his brow. He was going to start screaming now—he would scream and scream until the voice changed and another man walked away and he was dead.

Dead or alive? Dead or alive?

Were you mad to hear voices in your head, or did you keep them under a tight seal, Doctor, silencing them to pretend that you still had your sanity when you were really just the same as me? But instead of war drums you heard their screams—the screams you couldn’t stop—

His hearts were pounding. He could feel the radiation seeping into his bones, killing every cell one at a time. It would have been a painless death, but for the warning pain brought. Coming. Coming. Coming. It’s already begun. The change is coming.

He gasped for breath, sucking in poisoned air.

“The cat is both dead and alive,” Koschei announced proudly, his voice a death knell to the man who had thought he was his friend.

                The cat is both dead and alive.

Just In Case

23 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

completed stories, fanfiction, letters, old work, short stories, star wars

This is actually an older piece that I wrote but never posted. It might never have been posted if not for Rosalie looking for it on my blog (I probably sent it to her for review before forgetting all about it) for hours and never finding it. I am so sorry about all those hours you spent looking for something that wasn’t even here, Rosalie. 😦

It’s a bit introspective and my style has changed quite a bit since I wrote it–I can tell quite clearly. I hope you all enjoy this journey deep into the Archives! ;-D


Just In Case

            Obi-Wan gripped the pen between his fingers. It had been a hard fight with himself to decide to do this, but duty won out over personal feelings.

As it always had.

Obi-Wan reached for the ink, checked it. Per traditions, he was using a quill and an ink bottle. He had tempered this quill himself for letter writing, years ago, when he still had enough time for that sort of thing. This quill had never been used. He had a bunch of them set aside. When he ran out, he would have to resort to a metal-nib calligraphy set. But for now, he preferred the feel of the quill. He had always preferred the feel of wood to that of plastic, keratin to that of metal.

He had had to force himself to the desk. It was going to be a struggle against his emotions to write this letter, especially knowing the circumstances in which Anakin would be reading it. Obi-Wan swallowed hard. His duties to Anakin outweighed any concern for himself. He would write the letter. Obi-Wan swallowed again and began.

To Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, from Obi-Wan Kenobi, member of the Jedi Council, greeting.

          My Dearest Friend,

Obi-Wan stared at these first words, as if mesmerized by the beauty of his own neat, elegant handwriting. As far as dress, bearing, and taste went, he was all for simplicity. However, when it came to his hand, to calligraphy, that was a different matter. When writing letters, he could be extravagant. After all, it wasn’t for him. Obi-Wan looked at the salutation. It was well merited. He began again.

   By the time you are reading this, I will be walking with Qui-Gon in those beautiful glades I told you of, in my dream. I will have gone to become one with the Force. I am not going to give you some sugary, supercilious nonsense about not crying. I’m not going to tell you not to cry. It wouldn’t make any difference, and besides, I want you to cry.

Obi-Wan went back and underscored the word “want” to add emphasis. He continued on.

I want you to cry. Tears aren’t all bad. They can heal as well.

Obi-Wan paused, thinking. What was he going to say next? How could he tell?

Anakin, Anakin, Force knows it’s been far too long since we’ve had a heart-to-heart. I miss you, I feel as if you’re drifting away from me. You’re keeping secrets from me, I can tell, but I’m not going to ask about it. Maybe I’m making a mistake by not asking, but I can’t ask. I respect you too much.

Obi-Wan looked up at the wall. “What do I say now?” he asked aloud. This duty was a heavy one, but it was a reality that time had only underscored, not alleviated.

One of these missions, he was not going to come back. This truth had been brutally ground into him, burned mercilessly into his awareness, ten years ago with Qui-Gon’s death. Would it have made it easier for him if Qui-Gon had left a last letter? Perhaps, perhaps not. Obi-Wan quickly wiped away a tear that had escaped from one eye. He had come to accept it. The question was, would Anakin?

Obi-Wan dipped the pen again. He sighed.

I know how much you’ll miss me, but in the end, you’ll understand. I’ll be with Qui-Gon while you’re reading this. Please, don’t be any sadder than you need to be.

A tear rolled down Obi-Wan’s cheek and splattered on the page. Hastily, he wiped it off before the paper could wrinkle. He couldn’t stop the memory that rose to the top. A Padawan, trapped away from his master. That same master, run through by an evil creature that was the return of the Sith. A scream of anguish. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Was that me? Obi-Wan wondered. He brushed the thought away and continued to write.

Please, don’t be angry with me for failing to take care of myself. I am not a child, Anakin, not anymore. I know what it is like to loose the mentor you all but worshipped. I have a request to make, Anakin.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes against the burn in them. A red glow suffused against his eyelids. Hold back the dark. the voice of his childhood whispered. Be the light you were born to be. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, but did not see the familiarity of his own room. Instead, he saw the cell in which Ventress had held him. Anakin is dead. That voice, all over again. Pain. His pain. He barely felt it. It was nothing beside the gnawing agony. Obi-Wan fought off the memory, back into his own room in the Temple. His blue-gray eyes clouded over. Ventress. The woman who had hated him, wounded him, scarred him for life…

And then saved that same life.

Obi-Wan knew what confusion was like. Ventress had been really hating herself, more than him. He had been like that, when his own master was murdered. Days later, he wondered if it really had been him to kill the Sith. The duel had been fought as if he himself was hiding elsewhere, his fingers in his ears and eyes squeezed shut. He had wanted to die.

So it had come as a surprise when the enraged onslaught had resulted in the Sith’s death instead. The one clear thing about that moment was his own feeling of vindicated satisfaction as the Sith fell backwards into that pit in two pieces.

Maul. The man who had murdered Obi-Wan’s master, ripped away whatever fragments of Obi-Wan’s childhood the Jedi had left to cling to, and then cheated death and returned to make Obi-Wan suffer. What Maul did not understand was that Obi-Wan had forgiven him. Obi-Wan could never suffer like Maul had. Obi-Wan’s suffering was not that of hatred, but that of choice. Hatred was eternal pain. He knew that from what he had learned at the Temple, not from personal experience, thank the Force.

Anakin, too, had saved Obi-Wan’s life, but not in that same ostensible manner. He had given Obi-Wan purpose beyond Qui-Gon’s death. He had stopped Obi-Wan from being a lost child, still trapped in childhood and always with the past, never the present.

Or the future.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, willing to relax them against the painful glare of black on white. Thousands of hours staring at viewscreens and data readouts had not done much for his eyesight. He might eventually need contact lenses. Live in the moment, Qui-Gon’s voice floated into his awareness. He took a deep breath. Right. Ever since Mortis, he had known that Qui-Gon was at least not completely gone. He did not know how or why, but he did know that he had carried Qui-Gon with him, in a sense. It should not have surprised him, seeing the close and strong nature of their bond. It stood to reason that, should Qui-Gon be still existent on a plain where he could speak to Obi-Wan at times, he would be innately linked to Obi-Wan still. Obi-Wan smiled at the memory of Qui-Gon. The pain had not gone away, but at least it did not dim the memory of the happy times any more.

Obi-Wan looked back at the page and frowned. It was a farewell letter. It was only the second farewell letter he had written in his life. All Padawans wrote a farewell letter to their families on their thirteenth birthday. It was supposed to be the last contact they had with their families. Of course, there was no rule against writing further letters, but the farewell letter was really the beginning of the end. It was meant to be a comfort to the family, should they hear of their son or daughter’s death in action, and a last farewell, a last admission of love. Dutifully, Obi-Wan had written his, though almost two weeks after his birthday; missions had gotten in the way.

But this was different. It was a farewell letter to Anakin, should Obi-Wan be killed in the Clone Wars. Obi-Wan had never felt the need before to write one. However, all that had changed with Raydonia, and Mandalore.

Get on with it! Obi-Wan told himself forcefully, roughly pushing himself back to the present. He stared at the last line for a moment, then continued.

Please, for my sake, if Dooku or Grievous or Maul or someone like that is the one who kills me, do not take revenge! It would destroy you.

  Other than that, mourn me, and then move on, and be glad for me, because I will be with Qui-Gon and Adi, and all the others who’ve gone on before us. I was born to be a Jedi, I lived a Jedi, and I will die a Jedi. Death is merely part of living. Like other parts of life, it has a potential to be painful, though it doesn’t have to be.

  Do not worry about my sister, brother, and so forth. They came to terms with who I was and that I was in constant danger years ago. Do not feel obligated to write them, unless you want to.

          I have no regrets, Anakin. I have tried my best in thousands of missions, and if I made mistakes I at least did my best to put them right. Take care of Padme for me—she may not understand. Be a good master to Ahsoka, and say something kind to Bant.

          Farewell, Anakin. Until we meet again.

          Your faithful servant,

          Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan carefully sealed the letter, and with it the ghosts of his past. He addressed it to Anakin with a few neat strokes. Still thinking quietly, he dripped the wax onto the flap, then stamped the seal ring down on it. It was a standard enough seal, the Order symbol. Obi-Wan had given up on the five-petaled rose insignia that was his birthright upon ascending to the Council, though he still had the seal. It was a mere memento, nothing more. Placing the letter in the desk, he carefully locked it and placed the key on the mantel. Should he be killed, he had no doubt that, in looking through his things, Anakin would find it or receive it. The past dealt with, Obi-Wan left the room.

Doctor Who: What Your Favorite Doctor Says About You

22 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

and procrastinating, can't you tell?, doctor who, fun stuff, half the fun of posting about the tenth doctor is looking for the dorkiest possible pictures of him, i'm bored

Inspired by this.

Who is your favorite Doctor? Well, I can’t speak to much of the old series, but I’m going through Eight to Twelve, even though I technically don’t know Twelve much…

If You Like the Eighth Doctor Best…

8th-doctor-4

You’re adorable and sweet, but with a fiery undercurrent. Classy in a nouveau way. You probably like steampunk in secret, at least a little bit. And you’re just a tad spacey.

If the Ninth Doctor Is Your Favorite…

Film Title: Doctor Who - Christopher Eccelston.

You’re a little bit cynical, but still capable of seeing the wonder in the universe. You’re really sassy and funny and could be the life of the party, if you wanted.

You’re a little bit of a philosopher, in a gritty, real-to-life way.

If The Tenth Doctor Is Your Favorite…

tenth doctor

Part of the fun of posting about Ten is the fun of looking for the dorkiest possible pictures of him… X-D

You are sweet, adorable, dorky even, but can be intimidating, even terrifying. You can be a bit mischievous and irreverent, and it is your nature to laugh at the dark. You are a bit melodramatic. You tend to leave others far behind when you get moving intellectually and sometimes struggle for words (you miss your first language and wish English was a bit more concise and erudite).

You’re even a bit old-fashioned and nostalgic.

You’d also better be cautious of your nails, because people stare at your hands a lot of the time.

(If you like the Tenth Doctor just because he’s good-looking and hate the Ninth Doctor, or, God forbid, skipped the Ninth Doctor, shame on you. You’re shallow.)

If The Eleventh Doctor Is Your Favorite…

eleventh doctor

You’re idiosyncratic and tend to make trends out of what you wear. You also tend to leave people behind and confuse them when you’re talking. You’re probably a bit younger (this is just demographics. Seriously.) Or you’re young at heart (does that sound better?) Your sense of drama oftentimes runs out while you’re still in the middle of things. You appreciate life.

If You Like The Twelfth Doctor Best…

twelfth doctor

You are VERY good at spelling and never have to type “Twelfth” twice.

Just kidding. 😛 (I actually had to re-type “Eighth” and “Twelfth” several times in this post alone.)

You’re sarcastic. You don’t know how to deal with emotions or cute fuzzy things, but that’s mostly because you’re preoccupied with saving the world. You will never get anywhere in politics because you don’t do the kissing-babies thing.

But you are very, very good at saving the world.

Though this might seem a bit out-of-place, given that you’re not very good with emotions or people in tears (some might even say you have no social skills, but that is simply not true), you’re also intuitive.


So, who’s your favorite Doctor and how accurate is this? ;-P

This was just for fun and I hope I didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings. I don’t mind offending people, but I hate to hurt their feelings.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Oh, and by the way…twirl twirl WHOOPS

“Hero”: My Entry to the Music Writing Challenge

21 Monday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard, The Music Writing Challenge

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

bound to the flame, characters, fun stuff, novels, short stories, story dynamics, the flame within, the music writing challenge

I think I’ll post a new Music Writing Challenge next week on Tuesday… Everyone who wants to write one of these Challenge pieces, please post them by then. Or you can post them later, if you want. Also, if you have any music you’d like to suggest for the Challenge, please tell me! 🙂

At a nice, even one hundred and fifteen words, this one was a bit short. But I was just writing what I felt like and then realized, hey this sounds like Isaac, so I made it his thoughts.

Enjoy!


Inhale.

Then leap forward with a vengeance. Find your way through the battle. Take your stand.

Some just try to keep their sanity.

Others embrace the madness.

And a few set their feet on the ground and defy the dark.

Isaac had been fighting for hours. It wasn’t just his freedom at stake. It was the fate of the world.

He had to find another way.

Abandoning his powers, he leaped forward, seeking the heart of the battle. He closed his eyes, focusing.

There!

The cracks in the moment spread out from that center, like a spider’s web.

Isaac ran for the center, eyes still shut but aware of the war around him.

He struck.


For those of you who may not be familiar with my pan-whatsit-theon of characters, Isaac is the hero of The Flame Within, sort of a sequel to Bound to the Flame and set far in its future. By this time, magic is widely accepted across the world, but the practice of magic has become corrupted. Isaac is a student at a school of magic and has been for as long as he can remember, but with banned books and his apparent nonexistence in the school’s records, he has to face the possibility that nothing is quite as it seems.

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

Archivist of Selay’uu’s Journal: Intermezzo

19 Saturday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Tales from Selay'uu, Tales of a Wandering Bard

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

college, doctor who, finals, fun stuff, humor, selay'uu

I was nearly yawning with boredom. Paperwork and school. Drudgery was more like it. I didn’t even have the heart to go out and work on fun things, like the audio drama I had started with a few friends…

“Erin!” the Doctor’s voice cut into my real-life-induced haze. “Erin, Erin, Erin!” He rushed into the study, cravat askew and his next-incarnation-but-two’s glasses perched precariously on his nose. I blinked at him twice, then took off my glasses, wiped them, and blinked at him again.

“Wazzup?” I groaned, closing my eyes against the incipient headache. The Doctor went off into a long, complicated rant that to me sounded like babbling. I just plonked my head right back down on my desk, wondering vaguely if I’d ever get back to my dreams of exciting plot which seemingly featured a new protagonist covertly bringing down a slaving ring and a film noir detective developing a bizarre crush on him, and another incoherent plot which seemed still more fascinating–at least while I was asleep. Ventress and high adventure? Or was it steampunk? I couldn’t remember. It was frustrating, like the time I dreamed the perfect poem only for it to collapse when I woke up and tried to write it down.

Suddenly, the Doctor stopped mid-rant, mid-sentence, mid-word… even mid-syllable. He eyed me with suspicion and mild irritation. “You’re not listening to me.”

“Sure I am,” I yawned.

“No, you aren’t,” he said firmly, then brightened up. “You need a holiday.”

Much as I would love for him to whisk me off in the TARDIS right then and there, I couldn’t. I said as much.

“It’s a time machine, Erin,” he pointed out.

“Summer,” I grumbled. “Just let me get through finals week first.”

“Oh, all right.” He gave me a mischievous grin. “Pinky promise?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do Time Lords even refer to that finger as a ‘pinky’?” I groused. The Doctor cocked his head to one side.

“Of course they don’t!” he exclaimed.

“Summer,” I promised. “Until then… I just want to sleep and not bother with any more of this nonsense.”


Sorry, again, about the lack of coherent updates. I know it has been a while. I promise I will have PLENTY of material for the blog when I’m done with the semester. Not just short stories, but some comparisons and reviews for other classes as well.

Until then, stay alive, survive the finals, thanks for reading and God Bless!

The Music Writing Challenge

16 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Living Life with Passion, Story Dynamics, Tales of a Wandering Bard, The Music Writing Challenge

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

fun stuff, story dynamics, the music writing challenge, writing

I was reading through some old challenge pieces, and I had an idea for a new type of word war!

Also, people create impressive things on YouTube. (Like the infamous “Why Is The Rum Gone,” heretofore to be called The-Remix-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named.)

I bring you: the Music Writing Challenge!

Basically, the idea is to write a short story in the space of one song. If you’re unfamiliar with the song, you can listen to it once–listening actively–I mean no multitasking! No Facebooking, no looking at stuff on Amazon, just listening to the music–not necessarily even watching the music video. Just listening. And then, when you’re done, you open a blank Word document, start up the music, and write to it. When the music is done, stop writing. If you absolutely MUST continue your story, make sure to put a line or a note or a page break or SOMETHING there to denote that this part was not written as a part of the challenge.

Be sure to post your completed story (or story fragment) on your blog and link me back to it! I’d love to read them all 😀

Our first challenge will be written around the Skillet song “Hero.”

I plan on posting my own addition to the Challenge shortly.

Good luck!

The Freestyle Writing Challenge

16 Wednesday Sep 2015

Posted by erinkenobi2893 in Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

So I got tagged by WriteFury. And this was the one that popped out at me.

This piece features an appearance by Arden (aka Ethan Lise–there should be an umlaut in there somewhere, it’s German), the deuterotagonist of my latest novel idea, Immortal.


Arden growled angrily to himself as he walked the streets of P_______, scuffing the toes of his too-long, beaten Oxfords on the curbs as often as not as he went. People almost seemed to part out of his way, almost by magic, as he moved, but then, he wasn’t walking with his head down and hands in his pockets like everyone else. He was standing upright, his shoulders thrown back, his leather jacket actually zipped up all the way, despite the fact that the day was not that cold.

He should never have let the Dreamer see him as he effected his rescue, much less even given him a chance to speak to him on the street.

But then, he couldn’t just have let the Wraithkind kill his fellow warrior.

It had been a mistake to come as close as he had.

Arden let out an exasperated huff as he headed for the old emporium on Dayling Street. He pulled his cap down slightly as he passed one man, moving as quickly as he could.

All he wanted to do was find Sciel and get out of there. War was coming, and he could not be a part of it. He was an abomination. They didn’t want him.

But he was a part of the Dreamworld, and their war was his. He couldn’t just let the Unaware walk through the dark alone. The Wraithkind were growing too bold.

Maybe he’d run with them on one last quest.

And then he’d go back to being on his own again.

War was coming.


Please tell me what you think!

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

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