Movies and Memories

Last night, I went to the movies with a group of friends to watch the Avengers. I was never much of a comic book geek, but I loved the superhero movies and animated TV shows. 

Superman

Spiderman

Incredible Hulk

And my favourite; Batman. 

I watched them all. 

There's something to be said for 3D movies, though, and that's the amazing special effects they come up with now. It does, however, make the old memories of the animations seem well, old. And while I'm not doubting the skills of the computer designers and animators, it kind of makes me wonder if they're as skilled at drawing by hand as the original creators were. 

Either way, the movies are still awe-inspiring to watch, and I loved every minute of the Avengers last night. Lots of action and thrills, and some brilliant comedic scenes that had the entire theatre laughing out loud. 


Now, I'm going to go and see if I can find some old comics online because it seems there's one I missed: Hawkeye. 



And let's face it, any guy who can shoot Loki out of the sky with an exploding arrow has to be an awesome superhero.  

Boundaries

Fences, walls, hedges, a line in the dirt... Doesn't really matter how we define them, boundaries exist in just about everything in life. Most people learn about them from early childhood. Things you do and don't talk about, lines you don't cross, neighbours' dogs you don't tease in case they jump the fence and come after you. You get the point.


Except some people just don't. 


Some people decide it's okay to call up their ex's doctor to find out what's happening. Some people decide to then phone their ex's entire. freaking. family. to casually spread the news about said ex's ill health. Some people then decide to CC in a million other people in emails because it's not enough that said family knows all about their fights, EVERYONE now has to know every single little 'abusive' word that passed between said person and ex. 


Somehow, the lessons on boundaries slipped past this person. And apparently, so did the definition of abuse. Because this person has now become the abuser. Emotionally and mentally. In all senses of the word, she has crossed the boundary of what is and isn't acceptable and she has become the abuser. Of people's time, emotions and boundaries. 


I'm not sure if she reads my blog or not. Given her personality, I'm fairly sure she might. Either way, my message is this:


I feel sorry for you. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for. But I think your methods of madness are just plain mad.

Creating a Positive Reality

Life has a funny way of teaching lessons. One of the most recent I learnt was that as individuals, we have the ability to create our own realities. Often, we don't realise this, or are unable to understand the full potential of what this means. 

I still battle to understand it, but I learn a bit more every day. Tonight, I got some news that my life, and my family's, might be radically changed. Again. I won't deny that it scares me. I'm also not quite sure how I'm supposed to react now. I am, however, certain of three things:

•  I create my own reality. At all times, in all ways, it is mine to create. 
•  It will be a positive, healthy and wealthy reality. In all the ways that really matter. 
•  This is a chance for me to learn, grow and appreciate what I have. And who I have. 

I just need to breathe, and create. 

Chapter Four

The room the novice guided Arianna and her father to, was as richly furnished as the reception hall Sórun had met them in. The boy, who she now noticed was only a few years older than her, stuttered a nervous farewell and left.

Arianna watched as her father circled the room once; running a hand over the surface of the desk, sniffing the delicately scented pale yellow rose which rested in a simple wooden vase on the maple wood end table; twitching aside the lemon-yellow curtains to reveal the closed shutters before circling back to stand behind the chair that was the only seating in the room.

She did not move from the doorway, though her body longed to lower itself to the narrow bed in the corner; not as luxurious as her bed at home, but the many-hued yellow quilt covering it looked warm and comfortable and her exhaustion would have made a stone floor seem cozy.

Silaren cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the buttercup yellow rug on the floor. His daughter watched him as abruptly the pain of it swept through her, making her tremble. She fought the urge to scream at him, at the unfairness of it all, to scream that it wasn’t her fault and ask how he could send her away, and how Ili wasn’t even interested in being a princess but no one sent her away and she hated them all for doing this to her, but she especially hated Ili because she’d get to have their father with her and how could he just leave her! A sob caught in her throat and Silaren looked up meeting her gaze with a pain-filled one of his own.

Arianna crossed the room at a run, flinging herself into his arms, her tears soaking his shoulder as she cried herself dry, not even noticing when he moved to sit on the bed, cradling her on his lap. She sat still for a few minutes after her tears had dried, breathing in the scent of her father; how he always seemed to smell like he’d spent a day in the forest, the subtle aroma of rain-wet wood coating his skin, the security she felt wrapped in his strong arms. Remembering how he could make her giggle just by pulling a face and how his voice would fill with warmth when he told her stories of her mother. Remembering how much he loved her and gathering the strength she needed to say goodbye.

She pulled away slightly, cupping his face in her two small hands, feeling the stubble of his unshaved beard as she looked deep into his eyes, so like her own. When she spoke, her voice echoed with the maturity of a grown woman.

“Daddy, I want you to tell Ili not to be sad. That I won’t be gone forever and that she needs to practice her words so that she can write to me every day. Tell Raney that I’m going to miss her cooking and her mint tea and I’m sorry for when I tried to free the hens and they wouldn’t lay eggs for a week afterwards and you were so cross. And, Daddy…” her voice caught on more tears. “I don’t want you to be sad. It’s not your fault. I love you.”

Silaren gathered her up for a bear hug, and she felt his tears seeping through the material of her shirt as he whispered in her ear, “I am so very proud of you, ki-lán. I always have been. I love you.”

As he tore himself away and left the room, Arianna curled into a ball on the bed, closing her eyes against the terrible knowledge she carried within. The knowledge her Sense gave her. The knowledge that these last few days with her father had been the last she’d ever have with him.

Chapter Three

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, the group of ten; eight footmen, the king and his daughter were admitted to the palace through large stone doors that swung silently shut behind them. There were no windows on the exterior wall of the building, but as Arianna looked around the room they waited in, lit by torches and innumerable candles, she noticed that sheer silver curtains decorated the far wall, occasionally fluttering in a gentle breeze. The soft glow of firelight showed a richly furnished room. In the centre, a low table was laden with fresh fruits and warm breads, scattered cushions providing the seating. Tapestries hung from the walls, illuminated by the torches which sat in sconces that seemed to be made from the same granite as the walls themselves. She had expected the rooms to be cold, the stone trapping the heat without warming anything, but as the footmen made themselves comfortable around the table she realized that vents in the high ceiling were blowing gentle gusts of warm air, keeping the room at a comfortable temperature.

As they waited, the footmen ate, one of them offering a perfectly ripe plum to the princess which she refused with a shake of her head. Her stomach was tied in knots and she couldn’t bear the thought of eating anything, not even her favourite fruit.

A door along one of the side walls opened and a man entered, making his way to the king and introducing himself as Sórun, the high priest of the palace. He was a thin, tall man, who looked as silvery grey as the building he ran. His skin was like old grey parchment, always dry and full of wrinkles and he looked to be at least 300 years old. He had washed out grey eyes, and the little bit of hair he had was as silvery grey as the robes he wore. As Arianna stared at him, she fought the urge to run and hide. When he looked at her, she felt that he saw all her secrets and thought she was wicked and deserved to be punished. She did not speak to him at all, and he didn't try to speak to her.

Instead, he spoke to her father, while she sat quietly and listened as they discussed her future at the Palace, how often she’d be allowed to return home, and whether they could, in fact, help her at all. Sórun was certain they could, and so, after settling some more details, he gestured for a novice, dressed in the yellow robes of Smell, to show the princess to her room where she’d be left alone to say her farewells to her father.

Following the novice through the stone corridors with her father next to her, Arianna tried to pretend an interest in the stammered history of the building that their guide gave. Yet the tales of how the Palace had been built to represent the development of the seven senses, and the trials that each was put through in order to advance to having all in perfect harmony once reaching Spirit, could not compete with the thought that in a few short minutes, her father would be leaving her in this strange place. Tears filled her eyes and she swallowed hard, deliberately placing more distance between herself and the king. He made no comment as he watched his daughter move closer to the wall away from him, but King Silaren fought the pain in his chest as he realized that his actions were the cause of the distance between him and the daughter who most reminded him of his wife.

Though Iliana and Arianna were identical in every physical way, their personalities could not have been more different. Iliana was quiet and gentle, always ready with a kind word or a happy smile; whereas Arianna was watchful and alert, keenly intelligent and equally mischievous for it. The king often said that his graying hair was more because of her antics than any trouble the foreigners ever gave him.

Her strong will and independence reminded him every day of her mother, Queen Alanna. The queen had died shortly after their birth, a long labour and severe bleeding had overcome her, though she had lived just long enough to name them and whisper her love to her husband.

As the girls had grown, the king had made a concerted effort to stay at home, leaving only for short trips that were unavoidable. Though Iliana was the oldest and therefore heir to the throne, she showed little interest in being a princess and even less in the idea of becoming queen. It was Arianna who watched with interest as her father played host to a never-ending stream of dignitaries and traders, people who were interested in acquiring the skills and technologies that were unique to the peaceful kingdom.

It was also Arianna who sought out the king when the day was over, who climbed into his lap at the dinner table and made him tell her stories of her mother and the way they met; or what it was like to go to sea on one of the large merchant ships with their billowing sails. While Iliana could calm a room with her songs, Arianna could speak to the soul of any person she encountered.

This, the king reminded himself now as he readied himself to say goodbye, was why she was at the Crystal Palace. Because if his youngest did not soon learn to control the Sense she had been born with, it would soon control – and possibly destroy – not only her, but anyone she used it on. 4

Chapter Two

The two day trek to the Crystal Palace was neither arduous nor difficult, but for the young princess, who had never in her six years of life been beyond the royal gardens, it was the hardest journey she’d ever had to make. The narrow footpaths which traversed the island were made by people who travelled in single file on foot, only the roads in the capital and the harbour towns were designed for transportation by horse or cart. The people of Kirian had a strange relationship with animals, at least, strange to those outsiders who traded with the Island kingdom.


When Arianna was four, a merchant came to trade, riding a horse. She had been standing in a shaded archway, watching with fascination as merchants and diplomats made their way into the palace; some on business, others simply curious about the royal household. When they opened the gates to admit him, she stopped to get a look at the most recent visitor to her home and instead met the weary gaze of his mare. Horrified, she started screaming, running to the horse and beating the merchant's foot with a tiny fist, tears streaming down her face. As embarrassed servants raced to take her away and calm her, all that could be seen was the merchant's blood-red face as her shrill words echoed in the courtyard.


"He beats her!"


Hours later, after Iliana had given up trying to cheer her up and she lay exhausted on her bed, an occasional tear still slipping from closed eyes, her father entered the room, seating himself next to her, a gentle hand resting on her shoulder as he spoke.


"Arianna, I understand your need to protect the horse. I appreciate that need and admire it in my daughter. But there is another need, one that as a princess, you are required to learn early on in life. That is the need for diplomacy. As a future leader of this kingdom, it is up to you to think before you act, listen before you speak and look before you see. Do you understand?"


Opening her eyes, the princess nodded and the king smiled. "Good. I have issued an apology to the Lord Naro on your behalf. I trust that for the remainder of his stay you will behave with the decorum the people expect from a princess?” Lowering her gaze Arianna nodded again, tears threatening to spill from her eyes once more. Hiding a wider grin, her father spoke again.


“I thought that it would interest you to hear that I have bought the mare from the merchant and she will be released into the pasture with the other horses until she chooses her rider. Is that acceptable to you?"


As she looked up in surprise, all tears forgotten the king winked at her and with a delighted laugh Arianna leapt into her father's arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.


"Thank you Daddy!"


Now, as they walked the footpath to the northernmost point of Kirian, she wished desperately that a horse would choose her. Her feet ached more than she thought possible, and even though one of the footmen had offered to carry her on his back; she had politely refused, thinking back to the conversation she'd had with her father and that as a princess it was her duty to set the example.


Her father, walking behind her, was grim-faced and quiet though his heart burned with pride in his youngest daughter. She was; even at such a tender age, such a kind-hearted and responsible child, though she had moments where she dragged her sister into so much mischief that he was hard-pressed to remember that even as princesses they were still children.


On the second day, as dusk neared and the cloudless sky turned a soft pink, they crested a rise and before them stood their destination. The Crystal Palace had been named for the room which crowned the tower at the very centre of the seven half-circles which made up the rest of the building. Made from clear crystals which had been mined from the warrens of natural caverns beneath them, the room was the final training place for the students sent to the palace. The rest of the building appeared deceptively simple, made from solid granite which had been smoothed and polished until it shone silvery grey. The circles were cut in half by the edge of the cliff it was built on; the view from the rear of the palace looking out over endless blue oceans; waterfalls from hidden springs within the caves bursting from the rocks and misting the air before plunging hundreds of feet to join the waters below.


The Seven Senses of the palace were named such because within the halls of each half-circle, the seven senses of the students were trained, starting in the outermost circle with Smell and progressing inwards through Touch, Sight, Sound, Taste, Psyche and finally Spirit. For the student who reached Spirit and progressed to the Crystal Room, unimaginable power awaited.


For Arianna; as she followed the path across a wide stretch of yellow grass interspersed with large rocks towards the palace, the only thing her tired body registered was that within those walls would be a bath, a warm bed and hopefully food that didn’t include the dried cakes that were standard trail fare.

Friday the 13th

Happy Birthday.

Chapter Day

I'm a writer. I write. Poems, stories, a couple of novels that got fifteen pages in and were scrapped because the storyline was bleh and I lost interest. I've never been published. I've never tried to be. But I do write. I also share some of my writing online. I've made a wonderful online friend who shares my passion for the written word, and who spins the most incredible stories.

The website I use to publish some of my writing is www.booksie.com It's free to join and you can pretty much post anything you'd like to, though for obvious reasons, plagiarism is a bad idea. The Booksie community is alive, inspiring and makes for a wonderful group of people to share your works with.

http://www.booksie.com/underxyourxspell is where you'll find my above-mentioned friend. If you're interested in reading some amazing fantasy novels, short stories and poems, I highly recommend having a look at her site.

http://www.booksie.com/Rhapsody is my page. I've mostly got poems up and have removed the unfinished 'stuff' because the longer it sits without being updated, the more irritated I get with myself. I still have all of the stories and I do intend to finish them, but irritation is not something I'm looking to cultivate in my life at the moment, so I refuse to concern myself with them at this point in time. I have, however, started a challenge that is hosted by Spell.

The Music and Magic challenge (http://www.booksie.com/fantasy/miscellaneous/underxyourxspell/music-and-magic-challenge), and other challenges hosted by various authors on Booksie, are wonderful ways to inspire creativity and new ideas if - like me - you tend to run out of air a quarter of the way through a story. This challenge is two-fold for me. The first is, obviously, the challenge itself. The second, is a personal goal I've set.

I intend to post the story not only on Booksie, but also on this blog. Reason being: I want to finish it while putting my best work into it. The other two novels I managed to finish were reminiscent of the type of writing that is referred to as 'easy reading'. In other words; not so great but it killed time. They were rushed, sloppy and had plot holes bigger than the pages they were written on. They irk me. So, I need to prove to myself that I am capable of writing a well thought-out, and completed, and hopefully well-written novel.

The idea is to post every chapter here, as I complete and post them on Booksie; on a weekly basis. So without any further ado, may I present Chapter One of Finding the Spirit's Soul:

“Ili! Hurry!” A girl’s young voice echoed through the vaulting halls of the passage, bouncing off the cool marble and rebounding back towards its owner as an identical voice answered.

“You know I can’t run as fast as you, Ari. Wait for me!”

“Hurry!” A frantic hand gesture urged Iliana on as Arianna paused halfway down the corridor to wait, hopping impatiently from one foot to another. Panting as she reached her, Iliana rested a hand against a pillar, glaring at Arianna.

“What’s the big deal? Why are you in such a rush, Ari?” Twin sets of blue eyes met as Arianna leaned forward to whisper something that caused Iliana’s eyes to widen with surprise and then dawning delight.

“Well why didn’t you just say so? Come on!” Grabbing her sister’s hand, Iliana led the way down the passage, dragging her giggling twin after her.

***

A rising crescendo of drums began to build, the sound of marching feet creating a quick counterpoint to them as a yell came from a tower high above.

“The king approaches! Open the gates!” The call echoed from one tower to the next, making its way down to the gate-keepers who made haste to push the carved oak doors wide, allowing access to the main courtyard.

From within a shaded archway, two pairs of eager eyes scanned the gathering crowd of servants and nobles who waited to welcome their monarch home. As the first footmen of the retinue entered, the girls rose on tiptoe trying to see past the adults.

A large bearded man entered next, his bright blue eyes hidden by a frown, one hand resting on the hilt of the jewelled dagger at his side, the other gesticulating widely as he spoke to the smaller man accompanying him.

As voices swelled in welcome and the noise of the drums faded a high-pitched shriek echoed, heads turning in surprise as the girls emerged from their hiding place, racing to be the first to reach the man.

“Daddy!” Dodging between legs, Iliana threw herself into the arms of the laughing kind. Arianna held back her eyes fixed on the man next to him; blue irises darkening as her pupils dilated and she began to tremble. Her father; finished greeting his other daughter turned to her, concern creasing his brow, the question on his lips freezing as the younger twin went pale, her knees giving way beneath her as she crumpled to the ground.

***

The soft murmur of voices filled a room that was otherwise occupied by an expectant hush. Purple hangings were pulled back from a wide bed, the small, still form of a child just visible within its depths.

To one side, Iliana stood with her father, her tiny hand clasped gently in his as they anxiously watched the áswín –healer – bathing Arianna’s forehead with a soft cloth. Turning from the bed, the áswín nodded to his assistants, passing one the cloth and lightly touching the other on the shoulder before he walked around the bed towards the king and princess.

“My lord, it seems the princess Arianna has suffered no ill effects from her fainting episode; however, it is most important that she be sent to the Crystal Palace as soon as she is recovered. She has need of guidance and training that her current teachers are unable to provide.” The man spoke quietly, his gaze filled with a kindness that all of his kin possessed as he told another father that he would have to give up his child’s safety and care to strangers.

“No! You can’t! Daddy, you can’t let them take Ari! Please don’t let them take her!” Clutching her father’s hand in both of hers, Iliana stared up at the king, her crystalline eyes filled with tears as she pleaded with him.

Crouching, the king placed both hands gently on his eldest’s shoulders, meeting her drenched gaze with a solemn one of his own.

“Iliana, if there were another way to keep your sister safe, to keep her home with us, you know that I would take that path in a heartbeat. We have no choice ki-lán. Your sister needs to be taught to control herself and no one here can do that.” As Iliana began to sob, he gathered her into his arms, smoothing her bronze curls with a hand that trembled slightly before he released her, turning back to the áswín. Nodding once, he took Iliana’s hand as he led her from the room.

“It is done.”

Remember me, I remember you...

Life is a journey. Everyone travels on their paths, sometimes meeting others who travel the same path for a short time before hitting a crossroads where you go your separate ways, the wiser for having known them.

And sometimes, a not so huge rockslide falls, and forces you to take separate paths.

I can’t even remember what caused the fight. Once more it was just something stupid that escalated beyond reason. And this time, beyond reconciliation.

I’ve come to realise that while you don’t necessarily need to travel with people on the same path, sometimes you want to. Being forced to say goodbye, for a reason as silly as a rock on the road that no one wants to move around, is the hardest goodbye there is.

Recently, I’ve had to say that goodbye. It wasn’t something either of us specifically did. It wasn’t something that I can blame on only one of us, and I don’t believe that losing a friend, is something that should be reduced to the pettiness of who was right or wrong.

The fact remains, I no longer have this person in my life. While we may not always have got along, she was still my friend and losing her hurts.

I shared more with Grasshopper in a couple of years, than I’ve shared with people I’ve known my whole life. I’ve loved her with all of me, and I don’t think the pain of losing her friendship will ever truly fade.  

For whatever hurt I caused her; I am truly sorry. For all the lessons, laughter and love we shared, I remain forever grateful. I will never forget her.

Goodbye my friend. Be happy.

Long time, no write.

It's been a while since the last time I posted anything. There are numerous reasons for this, chief among them just not having anything hectically interesting to write about. Life has been peacefully quiet and while I'm mostly grateful, it makes for a rather boring blog. 


Still, some things have happened since the last time I posted. I've joined a roller derby league, Squishy has moved to East London to be with Squashy, and I have realised that what I value more than anything else is the freedom of my own space. 


For those of you who don't know, roller derby is a sport where women on roller skates try to knock each other senseless while skating at high speeds around a track. 
Well, maybe not senseless. But it is a contact sport and as someone who spent most of her life engrossed in books and avoiding team sports like most people avoid giant rain spiders that find their way into the bathroom in the middle of the night and scare the crap out of you on that 3am toilet trip... well, you get the point. I'm no athlete. And I REALLY dislike pain. For all the times I spent engrossed in a fantasy novel filled with heroes that would sacrifice everything rather than give up their secrets under torture; I'm the kind of person who would rather look like a walking rug than use hot wax. Think Cousin It from Addams Family. 

The Derby Squat - Don't ask.

Anyway, the point is, roller derby is a completely new idea for me. Not only is it a sport; it's also a contact sport performed by teams. And while I'm not yet at a competitive level - I'm still learning how to skate without face-planting - I will hopefully be there soon. Now that thought scares me. I don't like falling, I don't like pain, and I don't work well in teams. On the other hand, I love the skating, I love the thrill of mastering new skills, and I'm even starting to enjoy the exercise, though the warm-up running we now have to do before we get skates on has my inner child pitching a hissy fit and refusing to speed up to more than a fast walk. The only time I run fast is when something that has bigger teeth than me is chasing me. See why I'd make a lousy hero? Still, if that something with big teeth tries to make me give up skating now, I'd probably knock its teeth out with my skates. Simply put, I love skating and the fact that my body is adjusting to the exercise without dying on me is a feeling I'm not giving up for anything. 


As for Squishy, when Squashy went back home, she went into withdrawal. So, when her job contract wasn't renewed, they made the decision that she should move down there to be with him and find a job there. Although she lived here for less than a year, she has become a sister to me in every way except blood. I miss her terribly, but I'm also so happy that things are working out for her and Squashy and I'm hoping I'll be able to get to East London for a visit soon. 

Beast, Zeus and Tessa

Meanwhile, her old room has been claimed by the cats, who had claimed her bed before she'd even finished packing. If she ever comes for a visit, I'm staying out of the fight for who gets the rights to use the room. 










I also realised; through a series of events that are best left untold, that I enjoy having my space, to myself. And that I won't be inviting anyone else into it any time soon. Except perhaps this little one:

 As yet undecided as to whether I can afford to keep her or not, she's a stray that was found and left at my friend's place. As I'm looking after her other two kittens while she's away; when this little one was brought in, she asked me to look after her too. At just about six weeks, she was too young to be left alone at the house so I brought her home with me until my friend returns and we can decide what to do with her. Naturally, I've fallen in love with the baby, and now I don't really want to give her away. Unfortunately, with three other cats, I'm not sure I'll be able to keep her. Whatever happens, she'll go to a good home. If Zeus has his way; we'll end up keeping her. Watching them play is hilarious, because she's just barely the size of his thigh and Zeus doesn't really know how to play gently. Still, he's trying and she's got enough spunk to put him in his place when he gets carried away. 


Needless to say, I'm as much her willing slave as Zeus is. And I wouldn't have it any other way.