Writing Exercise 055

Today the old year ends, and the new one begins. How are you celebrating? With your family, with your friends? Anyhow, it's time for the last writing exercise in 2016. And of course, the topic of this drabble is New Year. So before the fireworks begin, let's stop to look back for a second:

2016/12/31 – New Year (Drabble)

Where has the time gone? Another year has passed by quickly, oh, so quickly. Out of all the things that had happened, what do you remember most vividly? What was memorable enough to make your personal 2016? Perhaps it was something you achieved. Or an emotional experience. Or the face of a person dear to you. Whatever it was, it will stay with you when the clock strikes twelve and the new year begins. You may want to start fresh, you may want to carry your thrive over to 2017. Whatever you decide, I wish you a happy New Year!

In Between

I hope you had a lovely Christmas holiday with your loved ones.
Did you get a lot of nice presents? Was the feast delicious and your company enjoyable?

As New Year's comes next, I ponder. A lot of things have happened this year ever since I started this blog. Good things, exciting things mostly; but also sad and crazy things that I wouldn't have thought ever to happen. In retrospective the good things almost always weigh out the bad things.
I made new friends and reconciled with old ones. I published two books and a translation of one and wrote another, which is now in beta stage -- both the English and the German edition. I made a promise to marry the one I love! I joined a literature project and found my enrepreneurial spirit.
So I'm taking all these positive things with me and look forward to 2017.
I'm not going to dewll on what might be or should be or could be next year; what's more important is to acknowledge the things I've accomplished and draw strength from that to accept whatever the future has in store for me. All I know is, that it's going to be another exciting year, and I'm looking forward to sharing this with you.

Writing Exercise 054

The Dead Pete Society decided to write Christmas stories about Santa and the reindeer. Except we joked about Rudolph being a crack-nosed pimp, Santa being the horny bodyguard and the other reindeer being hoes. You can imagine how absurd and funny the conversation was! XD
Anyway, every member of the Dead Pete Society picked two of them and committed to write a story. My choice were Santa and Dunder. So prepare for a very different Christmas five times drabble. :o

2015/12/22 – Christmas story about Dunder, the hoe, and Santa, the bodyguard, for the Dead Pete Society (5 x Drabble)

It was Christmas time and like every other year the show was about to start. Santa, the nitwitted bodyguard, readied the sleigh, with which pimp Rudolph paraded his eight hoes around the world. Dunder was one of them. He was the heaviest of the lot and wagged his meaty butt as he scurried after the others. Santa, being also on the heavier side, was ogling him again and as Dunder passed him he couldn't resist and slapped him on the back.

„Ho-ho-hoe,“ he stuttered and grinned like an idiot. He hardly said anything else, but with this intonation it meant he was horny as a unicorn.

„Not when I'm at work,“ he whispered back and shot a quick glance to the front, while Rudolph sniffed his red nose and handed out the straps. Dunder waddled into line and took his place beside Blitzen. Nervously he licked his lips and tried to fasten the XL garter belts he was supposed to wear to his costume bra and fancy panties.

Santa came to check on them and when he reached Dunder he took his time to squeeze his feisty butt again. „Ho-ho-hoe,“ he let out happily while Dunder only harrumphed and rolled his eyes. It was always the same with him.

He just couldn't keep his hands to himself when they were readying themselves for the show. That was the problem with a man only coming once a year; his bag was loaded to the brim and once the world tour was done and all the candy sticks were distributed Santa would sneak into the ladies' stables and hump every butt that stood erect. Especially Dunder's if he was not with a punter.

Because Dunder was like his name - dumb. And dumb people were good fucks, they say. At least Santa was of that opinion, and since he wasn't the brightest light himself they made quite a pair. Secretly of course, for the pimp would surely charge their bodyguard if he knew Santa was dicking around the stables.

So Dunder now shooed Santa away, who grunted and sat inside the sleigh. „Ho-ho-hoe,“ he counted and guarded the bag with the toys. Like every other year he then was allowed to crack the whip and the ladies stalked ahead, heads held high and flaunting their cleavages and butts to the clients all over the world.

As they were getting into the mood Santa grinned and waved dumbly at the people salivating after the eight hoes. „Ho-ho-hoe,“ he advertised and Rudolph approved of his work. Dunder in the meantime was doing his dance in sync with the others. Sometimes he imagined they were doing the samba at carnival in Rio when they paraded and so he shook his ass extra sexily; the crowds loved it. So from town to town they toured and beneath the cracking of Santa's whip Dunder jingled all the bells he had. It was as thrilling as it was arousing. But this was their way of saying „Merry Christmas!“

Stay focussed!

Hopefully you had a nice fourth Sunday in Advent.

As the days rush by, tension and pressure usually rise during this time of the year.
Have you bought and packed all the presents yet? Is the Christmas tree set up? Have you shopped and prepared everything for the feast? Are you ready to meet the whole family? Is the house decorated properly?
Constantly you are reminded of what needs to be done. Often the spirit of Christmas is lost in the stress of preparation... or in a traffic jam of equally stressed Christmas shoppers, who are forced to listen to the same old Christmas songs every few hours, again and again.

So why don't you grab a cup of your favourite tea or coffee or cocoa, sit down on your sofa or armchair and just revel in the moment. Take that time and take a breather, calm down and think about what's really important. The spirit of Christmas; a message of love and hope, a light in the darkness. Draw strength from that, refocus and find the same love and hope inside you.

The next time you stand in a long line at the register or wait in a traffic jam by the nearest super market you might find more patience in you -- and the forgiveness which comes with the knowledge that the others blocking your path are just as eager to be done preparing and go home to be with their loved ones.

And maybe in between gifts and baubles and fairy lights there will be a flash of inspiration even? :o
So don't miss the next writing exercise. ;)

Writing Exercise 053

This week my writing exercise is about something I didn't think I had, but which runs undeniably in my family -- the entrepreneurial spirit.
So I recently joined a literature project, which I will tell you about in another blogpost. And this project excites me to no end because I find this idea so fascinating, and I want to see it happen! It is still in its fledgling state, but it wants to be founded -- and I intend to be there when it's time. And of course I'll let you know how it goes.
For now I want to share my excitement with you. So here is my drabble:

2016/12/13 – entrepreneurial spirit (Drabble)

So far I have never thought I might decide to just start something from nothing, to follow an idea and found a company, to take the risks and plunge in at the deep end. But somewhere inside me I found a spark of excitement and enthusiasm which I can't deny. The idea of something new – of something revolutionary even – fills me, thrills me; and I want to follow and see where it leads me. The project might fail, the idea might soar. But I don't know that yet. I have never done this before. And yet I want to try.

A Morning in Advent

Today is the third Sunday in Advent. I hope you enjoy this day.

As the candles burned, I looked outside to find the sky was burning, too. Not literally of course. But the sun painted the clouds in the brightest of gold and red lights, and the vista left me stunned for as long as it lasted.

Isn't it beautiful? :o
If you have to get up early you get to see the most spectacular fleeting art which nature can produce as a reward for your discipline and endurance. Revel in the views, enjoy them and begin the day with a smile.

How grim it might look in the beginning...

...it won't stay that way. Only moments later the world might look different and show its true colours. You just have to look on the bright side. ;)
That said, I wish you all a pleasant third Sunday in Advent. See you next week!

Writing Exercise 052

Yesterday I missed the chance to write you a Santa story. :/
But instead today I have a drabble for you about a snow day. This is just as good, isn't it? Anyway, I hope you enjoy the pre-Christmas time and the cozy atmosphere of winter.

2016/12/07 – Snow Day (Drabble)

The air is cold and clear, the soil white and crispy with hoarfrost; a distinctive smell lingers and you know it's going to happen soon. As your gaze wanders towards the cloudy sky, a cold wetness hits your nose – the very first snow flake. And there they are! Silently they float towards the earth, soft and beautiful. You stop to admire the tiny flakes grow to the size of a coin. Within minutes the ground is powdered in white, but the snow keeps falling. Quietly it crunches beneath your step as you continue your path. What a splendid snow day!

Fairy lights

I hope you had a lovely second Sunday in Advent. :)

On Saturday my fiancé, two of our friends and I went to a Christmas market with a medieval theme. There were a lot of booths and people wearing garbs, and we were ones of them. The hot beverages and sweets were very welcome, we watched a fire show and awesome concerts. It was pretty cold, but also pretty amazing. There were campfires and tents all around, so you could warm up whenever.

The market was located around a lake, and on the surface of the frozen water there were hundreds of lights. It was so beautiful and the atmosphere seemed as if enchanted. You could very well imagine fairies dancing in the dark.

This picture is but an insufficienct glimpse at what it was like. But it is enough to give you an impression of this almost magical night...

Writing Exercise 051

This is my last writing exercise in November. It had been an eventful and exciting month full of writing, and thus my triple drabble is just about that. :)

2016/11/28 – NaNoWriMo 2016 (triple drabble)

Everything began with November 1^st; no, even before that ideas were forming, plotbunnies were jumping around and waiting to be released. This year was a year of beginnings, of progress and commitment. And NaNoWriMo was just the icing on the cake: fifty thousand words, thirty days, one goal – ready, set, go!

For a while the world passed me by and it was just me and my words. And a promise. Creativity blossomed, chapters sprang into creation, page by page, word by word, letter by letter. Characters came to life, inhabited my dear Neverbeen Universe and invited to come along on their wondrous adventures.

The write ins fuelled my motivation, propelled my wordcount forward. I made new acquaintances, found writing buddies to push through the hardest parts and cheer them on in turn. I truly enjoyed the excited and creative atmosphere and the notion of finding likened minds close to home.

The Dead Pete Society was crowded with bubbling creative heads; sprint after sprint we incited each other's enthusiasm. But I missed them. Separated by oceans, our hearts are reaching out to one another.

November 8^th, and I won, but I wasn't done yet. My novel wasn't finished, so I continued. Two days later the last word was written; 60,894 words crammed into 47 chapters, 60,894 words of ambition and accomplishment, 60,894 words… and I did it!

I celebrated that day.

But I didn't want NaNoWriMo to be over so soon. So I thought of what to do. Then I remembered my other works needed translation, too. Therefore I resumed writing, I continued the fun and the flow and the fantastic feelings. Days swept by, hours ticking beneath the clicking staccato of typing. Before I knew it the end of November is here.

Let's celebrate the finale of an awesome month!

Advent, Advent...

It's the first Sunday in Advent already.
Do you feel christmas-y yet? Have you bought and packed the presents for your loved ones yet? Have you set up an Advent calendar?
Yesterday my fiancé and I strolled through a Christmas market. There were lots of booths with sweets, glühwein, handmade toys, candles and spices. Christmas trees with fairy lights everywhere. It was beautiful and the atmosphere was nice.
But today is going to be a cosy day. The first candle of my Advent wreath is lit, and it remains for me to wish you a happy first Sunday in Advent. :)

The Long Way Home

Finally I had the time to do another speed painting of a view I had when driving home. It's very simplistic, but I hope the atmosphere comes across. This painting is called "The Long Way Home", and I used acrylic on a 30 x 30 cm² canvas.

Writing Exercise 050

This is my 50th writing exercise already. This means also there have been 50 weeks of writing straight. :o
If you've read all those you've come a long way, and I would like to thank you for your company along those weeks. Today's writing exercise is a drabble about the weather. Here it is:

2016/11/21 – Storm (Drabble)

It starts with a drizzle and a cold breeze. Then eventually the wind picks up, ripping leaves from the trees and hurling them along. It howls and moans ghastly around corners, rattles and tugs at windowpanes. As the heavy clouds darken the sky the rain drops become heavier; they fall like beads on a string and patter, patter ceaselessly. Strong gusts toss and tug treetops, shake them, break them. Then suddenly a blinding light illuminates the darkness, just for a second. One, two, three… Only moments later an earthshattering crack roars and rumbles from the hills. The storm rages on.

The things to do in November

Aside from NaNoWriMo there are still a lot of things to do. I've just looked at my calendar and I noticed next week is the first Sunday in Advent already!
Time sure runs by fast when you're absorbed by writing. :o

So have you prepared for Advent yet? Are your places decorated with fairy lights and baubles and candles and fir twigs yet? Have you tasted the first gingerbread and speculoos yet?

I'm just getting started. And while I cudgel my brains about Christmas presents for my loved ones I realize it's already this time of the year again...

Certainly you'll feel cozier and more comfortable when the room is dipped in the warmth of candle light, when the baubles gleam and the fir twigs spread their soothing fragrance. You may snuggle on your sofa or armchair with a cup of hot cocoa or tea and be pleased as punch that you don't have to be outside where the first snow of this winter thaws and cold rain patters against your windows.

So get yourselves in the mood for Advent; take your time and find some inspiration how to prepare your home for the coldest but coziest season. Because winter is coming! ;)

Writing Exercise 049

Welcome to another writing exercise of mine! :D
And don't forget to gaze at the full moon tonight, as he won't be as close to Earth for another 70 years or so. Yesterday it was already a sight to behold, but I expect tonight to be even more splendid. Obviously, this week's drabble is about the moon. So enjoy!

2016/11/14 – The Moon (Drabble)

On your way home the twilight fades into nothingness. Shadows arise, the path plunges in darkness. But fear not; you have a pale companion looking over your shoulder and smiling at you. He lights your way and outshines the stars in the sky. Reflected sunlight, but much gentler, soothing even. Not a cloud can hide him forever, not a veil of mist can reach him. Yet he will be there as a silent witness, a monument of calmness, of hope. For the night is less uninviting when he is there to gaze upon you and remind you: home is close.

I did it!

So far NaNoWriMo has been a blast to me. :D
I've been to two write ins and it was so much fun and motivated writing, that it propelled me forward.
I hit the 50k words on November 8th, and I finished translating my novel 'Ravenous Adventures' on November 10th with a wordcount of 60,894. Wow. That was fast, don't you think? :o
But I decided the story wasn't over until the fat lady sung, and so started translating my second short story collection 'More Untold Stories of Neverbeen Universe' and continued NaNo.
In the meantime I'll lay 'Ravenous Adventures' in the hands of my trusty betas and hope they'll like what they read. By the way, I'm looking for more betas, for both the English and the German edition. So if you're interested, tell me. :)

Writing Exercise 048

Despite the fact that I'm pretty busy with translating Ravenous Adventures for NaNoWriMo, I managed to write a little something this week. It's a drabble about... writing. :)
Enjoy!

2016/11/07 – about writing (Drabble)

First there is blankness, whiteness even. Fingers hover above the keyboard, itching to move and press the keys. Then from nowhere – or so it seems – there sparks a thought, or something less than a thought; nothing but a vague image which gradually becomes pin sharp. It morphs until it forms an idea. Suddenly a faint smile, eyes light up briefly – a soundlessly pulled trigger. For a long while nothing but a fast clicking fills the air, as letters destroy the blankness. Abruptly the frantic tapping stops. The creak of a chair, a sip of cooled coffee and a contented sigh.

NaNoWriMo is here!

NaNoWriMo has begun.
Three days in, I'm at over 33k words already. :o

On Tuesday I went to a kick off write in in Essen. There I met a bunch of other authors from the region. At some point we were about twenty people even! Everyone was so motivated, and with the exception of two breaks we wrote and wrote and wrote. It was awesome and amazing. I was totally in the zone, and the people I met were really fascinating and nice. Someone even brought muffins. :D

The location was great, too. You had to pay a low entrance fee, but all the drinks were free and there was a brunch buffet, which was tasty. We had a fireplace chamber all to ourselves and the atmosphere was really cozy and productive. There were even activities like yoga or art exhibitions in this building.

I'd like to go again and write together, but as the other write ins are scheduled for Saturday-Monday, I probably won't make it. Weekends are reserved for my beloved fiancé. <3

Anyway, the members of the Dead Pete Society are equally excited about NaNoWriMo. We're writing and cheering each other on, inciting and motivating. And it feels so good to be in the flow.
It's so much crazy fun, and November has just begun! :D

Writing Exercise 047

Do you believe in ghosts -- if only for just one day?
Today is Halloween, the night of the hauning ghosts, and living dead, and roaming monsters, and the supernatural.
Maybe you might want to keep your eyes open. You could witness something extraordinary. ;)

The last writing exercise of this month is also the last writing exercise before NaNoWriMo.
Of course, the topic is Halloween, but I hope you enjoy this drabble.
Have a nice holiday tomorrow!

2016/10/31 – Halloween (Drabble)

Tonight is the night. It is All Hallows' Eve. Big and round, yellow and orange, the pumpkins grin at you. Everywhere you go they sit on porches, railings, doorsteps, ogling you, laughing at you with sharp teeth and wicked eyes. At night their ghastly grimaces burn in the darkness like haunting creatures – lurking and waiting, ready to pounce. They look as if they might come alive any moment to haunt you, to taunt you. The wind howls and echoes their imaginative laughter from the trees. It feels as if they'd come for you, and maybe they do. Run, don't walk!

Trials and Tribulations

November is fast approaching, and I'm really excited about it. :D

I decided to try the trial version of Scrivener, but it took me all night to get it set up the way I need it (the tutorial was very long also). I'm not convinced yet.

As I tried to import the files I needed, nothing happened. I reread the tutorial, tried again... nothing. By the time I copy/pasted forty-seven chapters manually I was almost fed up and ready to bin it.

But I thought to give it a try, and I did. One chapter down, I think it's only half bad. The split screen option is useful for translating, and the NaNo daily target wordcount function is inciting. I have to change the font every chapter as it is preset, but that's minor trouble.
I decided to stick with Scrivener through NaNoWriMo, as I'm reluctant to try Papyrus, since I might be stuck with a shut down trial version before Novemer ends.

I just hope, the export function works better than the import function, so I can decide whether to keep it or not. If all goes well I might have found an early Christmas present...

Apropos of November, next month will be very busy, and as I'll be preoccupied with translating my novel I don't know how often I'll be able to blog. I'll try to at least continue my weekly writing exercises, but no promises.
I hope you're still with me when November is over!

Writing Exercise 046

Are you a morning person? I clearly am not. But I got used to getting up every day at the same time. And while I always need a while to become fully awake I learnt to appreciate the quiet of morning.
This week I wrote another drabble fitting to the season as I kept this sentiment in mind. Here it is:

2016/10/25 – a morning in late October (Drabble)

It is just past seven o'clock when my day begins. Outside it is dark; night struggles to keep its grasp on the world as it fights the break of day. Lonesome flashes of light pass by; cars drive through the darkness. So still, so quiet is this place… As I grab a cup of soothing hot tea I sit by the window and watch the blackness slowly fade into the morning blues. The lake is still hidden beneath a thick blanket of mist drifting to the sky. By the time I sip my second cup there is a silver lining.

Privacy and Paparazzi

There is an issue that concerns me recently.

Maybe you've heard about the Italian author Elena Ferrante, who was outed by the investigative journalist Claudio Gatti through criminological means. Usually Gatti exposes political affairs like corruption or money laundering; this time he chose to find out the person behind the pseudonym Elena Ferrante. Apparently he succeeded.

Elena Ferrante, who strictly refused to answer any private question in the few interviews she gave, wrote bestselling novels, which enrichen the literary world. She did talk about literature or women-political topics though.
Recently, in an interview she even said she would stop publishing instantly the moment it was revealed who she really was.

Knowing this, why would Gatti expose her? If Elena Ferrante is true to her word, the world has lost a great author thanks to one overachieving muckraker!

But what concerns me even more is that Gatti purposefully ignored Ferrante's wish to stay inkognito; that he trampled on her right to live a private life;
that he rendered the purpose of pseudonyms meaningless.

Why do people choose pseudonyms in the first place if not to keep their privacy private? There are a lot of authors, musicians, artists who assume pseudonyms -- and I am one of them.
I wish that the world is able to access my works, but I explicitly do not want them to access my life any more than I am willing to share here.
I think most of the people who choose pseudonyms feel the same.

The constitutional rights in my country protect the freedom of action, which includes also the informational self-determination. This means I can choose to keep information private; this means I can assume a pseudonym and live my life unimpaired; this means my doing so does not put me on the same level of public interest as for instance politicians or celebrities; this means I don't have to tolerate that people spy on me. My choice is protected by the constitution.

Now shall something that is especially protected and cherished by the law become meaningless in the face of prying individuals like Gatti?

I hope you answered no.

Writing Exercise 045

This week's exercise was a dare from a member of the Dead Pete Society.
For privacy reasons, let's just call him Pete. So Pete dared me to write a short character sketch of how he would appear in a novel. And so I did. Of course I ran this through Pete before I dare publish it on here.

2016/10/17 – Pete: “Write a short character sketch of how I would appear in a novel.”

Pete is stuck with a wife he doesn't love, a dog who bites back and thieves his sleep, a son in high school and a house devoid of happiness. While his broken marriage drags on for years, he finds himself still loving the woman he had had more than a decade ago – a woman he had let go before he got married to another. But instead of daring to pursue this love again he flirts and seeks fleeting adventure, choosing pleasure over passion. Ambitious and a perfectionist, Pete excels at his job, yet he struggles to attain the licences he needs to apply for what he'd rather do – leave the state and start anew. But despite all the frustration he finds the creativity to write fantastic stories and compose beautiful music. One day, as his world crumbles, he decides to forsake it all...

Writers Gotta Write

It's still early October but I'm already fired up for NaNoWriMo. :)

Ravenous Adventures is still in editing mode, but this November I'll translate it. In fact, I wanted to get a bit of a headstart and as my writing buddies from the Dead Pete Society already started their projects I couldn't wait either. It's so exciting when everyone is in writing mood and we cheer each other on. :D

This year is my first time participating in NaNoWriMo, so I'm a bit nervous. Still I'm awfully looking forward to November. Yesterday in preparation for NaNo I watched a webinar recommended on the NaNo page, and it was pretty interesting. I also plan to attend a kick off meeting in Essen on 1st of November, where I get to meet other Wrimos (authors participating in NaNoWriMo). I hope we'll have a great time writing together, and maybe we'll even forge a group that meets up regularly. As the Dead Pete Society members live all around the globe, I'm looking forward to meet local writers, too. :D

Anyhow, I've started writing the German translation of Ravenous Adventures and I'm pretty excited about it. But while I set out to write I ponder my tools.
Usually I use Libre Office, which is just a basic, open source writing program. It is sufficient for my needs, alright. But I wonder...

Some of my writing buddies use Scrivener. There is a trial version for Wrimos, and I'm oogling it.
But on the other hand, someone in the forums of my home region on the NaNo page recommended Papyrus. Which seems just as good to me. I'm not decided yet and I don't want to experiment during NaNo when I need to concentrate on writing.
I might just download both trial versions at the end of October an see what I like better, then get set for November. Or I end up sticking with Libre Office. I don't know yet.

Do you have experience with either of these programs?
Which one would you choose and why?

Please, let me know. :o
Until then I'll keep writing, writing... because writers gotta write. ;)

Writing Exercise 044

Here is another one of my weekly writing exercises. This time the topic is lullaby, and I wrote a drabble.

2016/10/11 – lullaby (drabble)

Ears attuned to the slightest change in breathing patterns, you instantly pick up the soft whimper. You wish you could just turn around, pull the blanket over your head and sleep. Instead the whimper evolves into an inarticulate cry. “Maybe it will go away if I wait long enough?” you think, but you know you have no such luck. The cry becomes louder. So you've finally had enough and get up. Bone tired you trudge over to check. You lift the tiny body, pace around the room and sing lullabies. Finally – hours later? – the crying stops. The joys of parenthood.

I would like to point out that I have no children, and that I don't intend to ever have any. So this is pure fiction.

Oktoberfest

It's already October.
NaNoWriMo is approaching, and I'm really looking forward to it. I updated my NaNo site, then set out to get a bit of a headstart... which means, I actually couldn't wait for November to arrive. By now I've translated 6 of 47 chapters. I feel like I'm on a roll, and that's just great. :D

In the meantime, October is a month full of events also. As you know 3rd of October was the national holiday in my country, but there are also All Saints and Halloween...and Oktoberfest. XD

While I'm not a huge fan of this event, my fiancé and I once had a funny conversation about misheard lyrics. I don't remember the song, but we both heard 'beer woman'. So we joked about how Beer Woman was a new superheroine of some sort, who saves the Oktoberfest when they'd run out of beer. Here is the quick sketch I drew with SAI:

Writing Exercise 043

I'm a day late for the topic of this week. I should've posted this yesterday, I'm sorry. :/
Yesterday was the national holiday over here; so this is what this week's drabble is about.

2016/10/04 – 3^rd of October (drabble)

Leaves are rustling in the wind; already turned black, red and gold. Summer's last sun rays fade into the mist as it rises from a lonely lake, gone forever. Autumn's hymn heralds a day to remember – a day of unison, a day of commitment, a day of a past overcome. Let us build a memorial in our name, to remind us of who we are, what lies behind us and what we can achieve as one people. Let's celebrate, let's mourn and honour this day. A flag is rustling in the wind; proudly dancing in black, red and gold.

Winter is always coming

As I realised the day after tomorrow is October 1st, I understood there is but a month until NaNoWriMo. I'm really looking forward to November. It'll be a month full of writing, and I hope I'll be able to reach my goal and finish my novel on time. :D
Anyhow, thinking about November made me think about winter in general. And therefore I have a picture for you, which I drew and colorated with Oc Canvas. It is part of another picture, and those who have read my first book "The Untold Stories of Neverbeen Universe - Short Story Collection" may know it. So either read my book to see the whole picture or enjoy what you get here. ;)

Writing Exercise 042

A new week, a new writing exercise! This time I wrote a triple drabble. The topic was 'the Walking Dead', which is a (in my opinion very good) horror series about...well, zombies, but mostly it focusses on the survivors of a zombie apocalypse, how they cope, how they survive, how they stay human in a world where there is no society anymore. What I did with this topic is -- ah, see for yourselves. ;)

2016/09/26 – The Walking Dead (triple drabble)

One day I woke up and felt something was different. I couldn't say what it was; I just knew my life had changed.

As I was still too tired, I didn't ponder and just stumbled out of bed then shuffled through the corridor. I was pretty hungry so I intended to raid the kitchen. On my way down I suddenly slipped and tumbled down the stairs with a dull thudding noise. I moaned. It hurt less than I thought it would, though. I got up and popped my joints back into the right place before I dragged my feet into the kitchen. But I found it just as empty as my stomach. I groaned, for I needed to stock up before I could have breakfast.

The bakery was just around the corner, so I didn't bother dress up further and left the house clad in my pyjamas. My neighbours wouldn't bother anyways. They didn't even greet when I looked their way. I didn't mind. The bakery was overrun with people. I peeked inside but didn't deem it worth the trouble. Instead I crossed the street, got almost run over by a speeding car, but stumbled safely towards the butchery. I had a craving for fresh meat, and as this place was self-service I happily helped myself. I had forgotten my wallet, but the butcher didn't mind; I often chalked up, so this was no problem at all.

As I returned home I noticed someone break into my house. Some people just had the audacity! Growling, I approached – intent on catching those thugs before they could steal my things. When I surprised them raiding my empty kitchen they were shocked to see me. They pointed a gun at me, but I pounced on them quickly.

What a feast for an undead!

Ah, the Horror!

So my dear friend and I started a Slenderman RPG based in the Marble Hornets universe. As I've never done a horror genre RPG before, I'm quite excited. It is sufficiently scary, but also fun to write. :D
Today I want to share some fanart I did for Marble Hornets. It shows Slenderman/The Operator, Hoody and Masky (left to right).

Writing Exercise 041

This week's exercise was to write a story about tribes. This seemed quite interesting to me -- something savage, something wild. So I worte and wrote and then realised: the plot ran away from me. Ooops. XD
Nevermind, though. This happens to any writer sometimes. Characters do what they have to do, right? So I decided to leave it as is. Prepare for a 4.3k words long story. Here it is:

2016/09/19 – write a story about tribes

On a remote corner of the Pacific Ocean there was an island which had not been discovered yet. This island had no name; its lush vegetation and white shores had not been touched by anyone but the tribes living there since the beginning of humankind.

One of these tribes were the Patariki, an isolated community of about forty people. They lived in stilt houses at the far eastern shore of the island. Their huts were connected by wooden suspension bridges. The Patariki were a community of fishermen, who never left their offshore village. For generations the tribe had thrived, as the sea provided them with everything they needed. With nets and spears they hunted fish and crabs, and they dove for mussels and seaweed.

For a couple of moons, however, the fish had been biting less and less. Nets stayed empty, as did the bellies of the Patariki. So the chieftain turned to their shaman, who in turn tried to appease the gods and prayed for the return of the fish. He did all sorts of rites and prayed hard. When all else failed the shaman decided to offer a sacrifice to the gods of the sea. The chieftain agreed begrudgingly, despite the sacrifice being his only daughter Paora.

And while Paora accepted her fate, Tamati – the shaman's son – did not. Tamati and Paora had been close friends for as long as they could swim. They shared their every day lives, went fishing and diving together, hung out and told each other stories. Tamati could not imagine his life without her.

When the decision to sacrifice Paora was made public Tamati exclaimed: “That's blowfish! Why don't we go ashore and see if we can find food there? So none has to die.”

For an entirely pescevorous people this was an outrageous thought and caused an uproar. The crowd became so angry with Tamati that the chieftain had to stand and pound the ground with his spear until everyone calmed down enough to listen to him. “We're going nowhere”, the chieftain pointedly said and glared at Tamati. “Let's wait until the new moon”, he followed the shaman's suggestion for the right time to do the deed, “You have time to find another solution until then. If you don't we'll follow through with the sacrifice.”

Tamati bit his lip while Paora averted her gaze. The tribes people murmured sullenly. “I will save you, Paora,” Tamati quietly swore and bolted from the assembly hut to pack his things. He did not know what he needed on land, but he opted for his spear and net, a food bag, some medicine and a water pouch.

When he left his hut his father was there, worry marring his wrinkled face. “Take care, my son,” the shaman mumbled, “the waters you tread are deep and dangerous. None has ever left the village to go on land, except for felling palm trees. And while I don't agree with your choice I will pray for your safe return.”

Tamati nodded. He looked everywhere but his father in the eye as he went past him towards the edge of the village which was closest to the shore. His heart pounded hard in his chest; he didn't know if this was the right choice but he had to try. For Paora's sake. Whatever danger lay there on the island it was worth the risk. Tamati took a deep breath, counted to three, then jumped into the sea and swam towards the shore. Soon the waters became shallow, he could stand and wade. Finally he emerged from the surge, felt its pull around his ankles and looked back. The village seemed so small from afar – small and small-minded. New moon was not far away; he had to hurry.

So he turned his back on his tribe and trudged through the sand, felt its hot grains between his toes for the first time. Walking on sand was so very different than treading the wooden planks of the village. Tamati stumbled and fell. He grunted and got back up. Then he noticed a mouth of a river, approached it and decided to wade through the river inland. He was more comfortable this way and progressed much easier despite going against the current.

The river led Tamati into the jungle. Huge mangroves grew to either side and the sunlight shining through the rich foliage tinted the world in a million shades of green. Tamati noticed the smell was very different here, as he had never really experienced anything other than the salty sea breeze. He took a deep breath and smelled the foreign scent of moist plants. Tamati also discovered that the land sounded very different than the sea. The sounds of waves and surf were missing, but the air was filled with all kinds of noise: chirping, clittering, calling. Tamati was overwhelmed and nervously palmed his spear. He expected an ambush of whatever lived out there anytime.

With eyes of wonder he waded on. As he watched strange birds flutter through the sky and little animals jump from branch to branch he noticed they ate some fruit which they found in the treetops. Tamati wondered if these fruit were edible for humans, too. But he could not reach them; the mangroves were too high. When one of the animals dropped a fruit and it fell into the river Tamati approached and reached out to grab it. He sniffed and examined it, found its flesh was soft around a hard core. Tamati hesitated. Should he try it?

He was pretty hungry; he had barely eaten in a few days. Finally his stomach decided for him and so he bit down on the fruit, tasted its foreign flavour and swallowed. The fruit was juicy and sweet. So he ate all of it. As he could not bite the core in two he spat it out. Now he was even more hungry. Tamati peered at the treetops and wondered how to get up there. He couldn't just wait for the fruit to fall down on their own lest he starved. So he grabbed his spear and tried to reach the branches with it. He stretched and stood on his toes, but still he was too short and the treetops too high. With a sigh he lost balance and flopped into the river. Then he tried to climb the tree. He struggled and fell back down three times before he realised this wouldn't work. He couldn't reach the fruit.

Disappointed Tamati hefted his spear and wanted to wade on. Yet suddenly the blade of a spear was pointed at his chest.

“Don't move,” he was ordered. Cautiously he looked the stranger in the eye. He didn't think he would meet other humans out here, but here they were. Tamati slowly rose his hands to show he meant no harm. But the stranger misunderstood, beat the spear out of Tamati's grip and pointed her weapon at his throat.

“I said, don't move,” the petite woman hissed, then gestured for him to turn around. So he did. She quickly approached and tied him up with some kind of rope then urged him onwards into the jungle. Tamati stumbled forward through the undergrowth as the tip of her spear nudged him then and there to guide him on a path he did not know. After a sheer endless time of stumbling through the thicket they reached a clearing. And there he saw them: huts in the trees, similar yet different to his own village.

“Holy shark!” Tamati exclaimed, stunned, as he admired the huts and the people inhabiting them. They watched him from their verandas and suspension bridges as the woman urged him on and up some kind of stairs. Their looks were wary, and he felt slightly uncomfortable beneath their stares. But his heart beat like a drum, excited. There were really other people out there! People who didn't live on water, people who still looked like his own tribe.

Tamati was brought to a big hut at the centre of the village. He perceived this was the assembly hut or something akin of that. “Who is this?” a tall man wanted to know as he stood and scrutinized Tamati.

“I found him roaming the jungle just by the river,” the woman said. “He could be a scout of the Manaia, though I didn't see any tribe markings on him.”

The man nodded. “You did well to bring him here,” he acknowledged then circled Tamati like a lurking shark. “Who are you? And why do you trespass our territory?” he demanded.

Tamati stood straight and swallowed hard, he tried not to move lest the predator attacked him. “I'm Tamati of the Patariki,” he proudly answered, yet his heart beat loudly in his chest. “I'm in search of food. I didn't know I was trespassing.”

He feared the man might hear his heartbeat, hence he stared at him so cruelly. “Patariki? Never heard of them,” the hulking man growled, “you could be lying. Maybe you're a spy of the Manaia.”

Tamati shook his head. “I'm not lying. I didn't even know there were other people on this island. Please, the fish are gone and my tribe is starving. They depend on me to return with food,” he blurted and bit his lip.

The man kept staring at him hard. “We'll look into that first. You might still be lying.” He turned to the woman who had brought Tamati here. “Nikora, put him into the cage,” he ordered.

She nodded. “Yes, father,” she answered and ushered Tamati out of the assembly hut. She brought him to an isolated hut on a lone tree, where she untied him and locked him in a wooden cage.

Tamati sighed and turned to her as she was about to leave. “I'm not a liar. My people are out there starving. They need help, I need help,” he tried to tell her.

But Nikora just shook her head. “You heard what our chieftain said. You're not going anywhere until we know the truth,” she said and climbed down the ladder, then removed it from the hut. Tamati sighed and hung his head. How was he supposed to save Paora when he was trapped in a cage on a tree? There were still a few days left until the new moon. Yet he couldn't do anything in his current situation.

As the sun set the ladder was leaned against the platform on which the hut sat. Tamati watched Nikora climb up and place a basket close to his confinement. Inside were strange smelling things, some of the fruit he had tried to reach, some roots and what looked like roasted fish but smelled different. “Eat,” she invited him, “don't worry. We gain nothing by poisoning you.”

Reluctantly he reached inside the basket and examined the food before he tried it. The flavours were foreign, but his stomach growled on cue; it wanted the food. Before long he was digging in hungrily.

“We sent some of our hunters to investigate. Soon we'll find out if what you're saying is true,” she told him as she sat by the cage and watched him eat.

Tamati nodded, his hands and cheeks full of fruit and meat. “We found some strange powders and liquids among your things. What are they? Poison?” Nikora inquired.

“Medicine,” Tamati answered after swallowing, then continued to stuff his face.

Nikora blinked and scooted closer to the cage. “So you're a shaman then?” she wanted to know, interested.

“Yes...no,” Tamati sighed. “My father is our tribe's shaman. I'm still learning,” he confessed and rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. He wished he was more proficient, so he could help his people more.

“Aha,” Nikora nodded. She seemed as if she was in deep thought. Then she stood and dusted off her skirt. “Well, I have to go. See you later.” She didn't explain herself any further, she just climbed down the ladder and was gone.

Tamati finished his dinner alone. As the sky turned darker in the shades of night he pondered. He had found out that there were edibles on this island, that his people didn't have to rely on fish only – if only they overcame their stubbornness. So there was hope. Hope that the Patariki wouldn't starve; hope that Paora wouldn't have to die. And there were other people on this island. They might become friends and help each other out, he mused. But right now these people were very wary of him and kept him imprisoned. If only he could persuade them to let him out!

Eventually, Tamati fell asleep.

The next morning he was awakened by a few tribes men who stood outside his cage making some noise. “Wake up!” they yelled. Tamati started and sat up. At first he didn't know where he was, but when he saw their grim faces – especially the one of the chieftain – he remembered. “Our hunters checked and found a village far off on the eastern shore. We didn't make contact, so we don't know for sure this is the tribe you spoke of. But this village surely doesn't belong to the Manaia,” the chieftain grunted. “So let's assume you spoke the truth...” He beckoned for Tamati to approach, and he did as far as the cage let him. “Let's make a deal, Tamati of the Patariki,” the chieftain stated gravely and looked Tamati in the eye, “as you claim to be a shaman you get to prove it. Our shaman just died. You might not have noticed it yet, but my daughter is very sick. If you can heal her – and only if – we'll agree to help your people. But if you fail, they'll die along with you; we'll kill every single one of them – men, women and children. Their fate lies on your shoulders.”

Tamati gulped audibly. “And what if I don't want this deal?”

The chieftain grinned evilly: “Then we'll kill them anyway.”

Tamati hung his head. There was a slim chance he could save his tribe, and he would take it. But if he failed they all would die – Paora, his family, his friends, his whole tribe would just die by these guys' hands. Tears burned in his eyes, but he didn't dare shed them. He was not a full-fledged shaman yet; he couldn't possibly achieve what his father could. And yet he had to succeed. He had no choice but to agree. “Alright,” he rasped, “let's make this deal.” He looked the chieftain in the eye.

The tall man nodded. “You have five days.” They shook hands, the deal was sealed. Tamati was released from the cage and brought to another hut. He didn't know what he could do in five days, but he had to try.

In that hut there Nikora lay on a cot of fur. She seemed asleep. But when Tamati approached her she opened her eyes and stared at him warily. “What are you doing here?” she whispered and sat, alerted.

Tamati made a calming gesture. “The chieftain said you were ill. He… asked me to heal you,” he explained and cautiously knelt by her side.

“I know how my father 'asks' people,” Nikora frowned, “he probably threatened you. Now, what can you possibly do?”

He sighed and lowered his gaze. “I don't know. But I will try, really try,” he told her and reached for her hand. “Tell me about your illness, please,” Tamati prompted her.

“How do I know? You're the shaman here,” she replied, confused.

“I mean, how do you know you're ill? Are you in pain? Do you feel hot or nauseous?” he asked.

Nikora sighed and reluctantly murmured: “I'm... weak. I often feel dizzy, and sometimes I faint. It has happened a few times during the cycle of the moon.”

Tamati nodded and pressed his thumb to her wrist, but couldn't feel a pulse. “May I?” he warned before he lay his hand on her chest. Finally he could feel her heartbeat, and it quickened beneath his touch. “When do you feel dizzy? Maybe in the morning or when you stand up really quickly? When you dive very deep and come back to the surface?” he asked.

“Yes...no. I don't know.” Nikora blinked, confused. “I've never dove before.”

“Really? Never?” Tamati couldn't believe it. Diving was like breathing to him. He had lived his whole life by the sea, he dove and swam everyday. “I have to take you swimming then. It can't be that you've never glimpsed the bottom of the sea. It's so beautiful under the sea. There are fish and anemones and corals and crabs and...you've really never been there?” he all but forgot about his dire situation.

Nikora shook her head. “We usually don't leave the jungle,” she explained. “But what does that have to do with my illness?”

“Oh, sorry,” Tamati scratched the back of his head. “What I was trying to find out is, if what you have is something my father calls 'slow blood'. Which isn't an illness, really. It is troublesome because of the dizziness and sluggishness, but it isn't dangerous at all.”

“But I faint sometimes. And I'm...weak,” Nikora pointed out and pulled a face. “How is that not an illness?”

Tamati nodded. “These things can happen when you have 'slow blood'. But don't worry. All you have to do is slow down: stand up more slowly, move more carefully, when you rest lay your feet higher than your head. And you can 'train' your blood to be faster. Go swim in the sea when it's still cool, do knee bends...something like that,” he advised her.

Nikora eyed him warily. “You're rattlesnaking me,” she deadpanned.

“What? No. I'm serious,” Tamati adjured. “Your condition is not serious at all. Besides, my father says, those with 'slow blood' live longer than those with 'fast blood'.” He smiled encouragingly at her. But he could see that she was still doubtful. “Trust me,” he therefore gently said, “You have nothing to worry about.”

Slowly she nodded. When Nikora abruptly stood, Tamati had to catch her. “Slowly...” he reminded her, “Don't act so fast. Wait for the darkness to fade away, then proceed.”

She lowered her gaze and pushed herself out of Tamati's arms as she felt more comfortable to stand on her own. “Alright. I'll try your suggestions,” she murmured then looked him in the eye. “But if it doesn't work you'll probably be in trouble.”

Tamati smiled. “I'm pretty sure I'm right,” he said more confidently that he felt. He wasn't unsure about his diagnosis. But the survival of the Patariki weighed on his shoulders, and he had only five days to show results.

Nikora left the hut and Tamati accompanied her to her father's hut, where he explained his findings anew. However the chieftain became angry; he didn't believe it was such a simple matter. “I should slay you this instant!” he exclaimed, outraged.

But Nikora came to Tamati's defence. “Father, please. Give him a few more days to show if he's right. He's a shaman, not a god. Don't expect miracles from him,” she pleaded. After a while the chieftain begrudgingly agreed. Tamati was sent back to the cage. In the evening he was given a meal similar to what he got yesterday. Tamati felt bad for receiving such a feast while his people hungered. As he ate the foreign food, he prayed for the fish's return so his tribe wouldn't have to famish anymore. With a full stomach and anxious thoughts he fell asleep that night.

The next morning he was brought to Nikora's hut again. “What do I do now?” she asked as she slowly sat on her cot. “I still feel so dizzy.”

Tamati thought for a moment, then he decided: “We're going swimming. The cold water will help speed up your blood.” He helped her up and buttressed her towards the river; two hunters accompanied them as the chieftain was too wary to let Tamati be alone with his daughter. Tamati waded into the water and gestured for Nikora to follow him. “Come on. This will do you good,” he smiled and waved at her as he dabbled. Reluctantly she dipped her feet into the cold water and yelped, but soon she was brave enough to wade deeper into the river. They swashed and swam, and for a while Tamati forgot all of his worries. In the waters he felt comfortable. Once he splashed Nikora and she retaliated with a splash of her own it actually was fun. Her laughter was contagious.

Finally, when they returned to the village wet and refreshed, Nikora admitted: “I do feel better now.”

Tamati nodded. “If we do this every day you'll feel dizzy less and less,” he was sure. They spent the day together. Tamati supervised Nikora's condition and helped her when she was vertiginous, and in turn he learnt about the food this jungle had to offer and about Nikora's tribe, the Rangi, and their way of life. They were a tribe of warriors and hunters, who had an ongoing rivalry with another tribe, the Manaia. Tamati was surprised to learn there were even more people on this island. The Rangi hunted birds and apes and snakes, that lived out there in the jungle, but they also harvested fruit, herbs and roots. From Nikora Tamati learnt which parts were edible and how to cook them.

All the while Tamati was still under surveillance. There were moments when he forgot he was a prisoner but the hunters' presence often reminded him of the dire situation. In the evening he was put under lock and key again.

“Three more days,” Tamati told himself, “three more days until it is decided whether my people live or die.” He hoped, really hoped the chieftain would acknowledge his efforts and the Rangi would help the Patariki instead of slaughtering them. He couldn't be sure, but he had to trust that Nikora's father stood true to his words. The moon waned.

He spent the next day tending to Nikora again. In the morning Nikora was still dizzy and sluggish, but after following Tamati's instructions she was lively and eager to be useful again. They went swimming and hunting. Tamati watched her progress and felt a bit more confident that he could save his people from certain death. He also thought he had grown closer to the chieftain's daughter; it even crossed his mind that they might become friends.

The day after that other tribe members started to approach him as they saw how natural he and Nikora interacted and how she seemed to recuperate. Tamati became sanguine. He could do it! In the evening Nikora sat with him as he ate, and he told her about his tribe, about his friends and family. She listened intently and told stories of her own. The cage didn't feel as confining when she was around. Nikora left way after sundown and Tamati went to sleep.

The next morning Tamati was eager to see Nikora. “One more day,” he thought as he approached her hut. They greeted each other with a smile and went swimming first thing in the morning. Then they searched the jungle for edible fruit and roots. Tamati recognised some of them already and remembered how to get them so he could show his tribe.

But on the next day when they were about to go hunting it happened: suddenly Nikora's knees went wobbly and before Tamati realised what was happening she lay in his arms unconscious. Instantly there was an uproar and Nikora was brought to her hut while Tamati was dragged before the chieftain. “You're nothing but a sham!” the tall man roared angrily. “My daughter is just as ill as she was before. You have done nothing but rattlesnaking us!” The man was raging.

Tamati understood he could say nothing to prove him otherwise. So he pushed one of the hunters, wrestled a spear from his hands, thrust it at the chieftain and bolted from the hut. The men were after him. But Tamati jumped from the platform, fell to the ground. He hit hard, his whole body hurt, but he was alive. He heard the Rangi's warcries as they grabbed their weapons and climbed down the trees. Tamati bobbed up and ran as fast as he could into the jungle. He heard the Rangi closing in; this was their territory. They were hunters and he was the prey. For a while he rounded trees left and right at random, but then he found the river, jumped right in and dove. The water was his turf, his only chance. He stayed under water and swam downstream. Tamati had to reach the shore, had to reach his village and warn everyone. He didn't know if the Rangi found him or guessed what he was doing; he just swam for his dear life. Only when his trained lungs were burning for air he dared surface and breathe, then dove again immediately.

He followed the river to the sea, dragged his body out of the water and ran towards the shore. The sun was on the horizon, setting the sea aflame or so it seemed. Then he saw the flames dance on the water. Tamati dove into the surge and swam towards his village as fast as he could. When after a while he looked back he could see the Rangi reach the shore and stop short before the waves. They didn't dare go into the sea yet. Tamati had a bit of a headway. But when he reached the village and climbed the stilt houses it was too late. The ritual fire was already burning, the stench of burnt flesh hung in the air.

“Paora, no!” Tamati exclaimed. Tears welled up in his eyes as he saw her burning corpse, his hopes – shattered. Instantly all eyes were on him, haunted and haggard with hunger, but Tamati only glared back hatefully and gritted his teeth. No, he would not warn them of the Rangi. Instead he jumped back into the sea and dove, away from his tribe. Before long fire arrows rained from the sky.

It was the evening of the new moon, heralding the last night of the Patariki.

Quoth the Raven

I must admit, I really like the works of E.A.Poe. Especially the poem "The Raven" is one of my favourites.
Then I discovered the band Omnia has turned this very poem into a song -- a really good one with all the darkness and grief which the poem holds.
Inspired by these two works I drew a picture of a raven and coloured it with SAI. Here are the two versions I did: