This idea originated a few years ago when I was working on animal characters for an assignment that I had due for a Bravewriter course. I was supposed choose an animal and then write a scene about him or her. I decided on a meerkat. As I developed the scene, I discovered that the meerkat was clumsy. Thus, the name Ambisinister came to mind (I had just learned that the name meant clumsy). Burrow seemed a fitting last name since that's what meerkats do; they burrow. Now, I have the first draft of the book done. It's for toddlers aroudn Brielle's age, so if the writing seems way too young for all of you, it was intended to be that way. So, here it is- Ambisinister Burrow and the Occupations He Tried (Please note that this is only a first draft and might need some work. Feel free to critique it. Those of you with little ones may also copy it if you'd like)!
Ambisinister was a little meerkat. He lived in a burrow with the rest of his family. But, other than that, he wasn’t like the rest of the meerkats at all, because he was clumsy. He always seemed to be tripping over his own two feet.
His friends were always teasing him. “Hey, stumbler! Come and try to catch me!” “Bet I can dive into the hole faster than you can, pokey!”
All of these taunts hurt Ambisinister. He wanted to cry. And now, the teasing had just gotten worse; for it was time to pursue a job.
Ambisinister did his best, but his clumsy habits always seemed to get in his way. While trying to dig tunnels, he would accidentally stand on the wrong pile of dirt, and it would all fall into the hole- covering the entrance. He tried to hunt, but he would trip over a rock and cry out, “Ow!” scaring all of the prey away. He tried to carefully watch his friends, but they got annoyed.
“Oh, just leave us alone, useless one! You’ll never become anything!”
Ambisinister told himself that what they said was not true. “I will become something someday. I will!”
One day, he had an idea. Just as soon as everyone was awake, he dashed out of the tunnel and took up his post upon a rock. Scanning the horizon, he sniffed the air. The sun shone brightly in his eyes.
After a while, he began to dream. He dreamt of being a guard-all of the dangers he would warn his community of, all of the meerkats he would save.
Suddenly, a deep growl snapped him out of his dream. He stood frozen- directly over him stood a great lion.
He opened his mouth to warn the rest of the meerkats, but all that came out was a high pitched screech. “Eeeeeeeee!”
Ambisinister leapt in the air, diving for the hole. Bump! That would leave a mark!
He stood up, rubbing his injured head. He looked behind him- the lion was getting closer. He dove for the hole again; this time making it.
That night, the elders of the meerkat community talked to him. “You should not have tried to guard us. You put everyone in danger.”
Ambisinister dropped his head in shame. Walking back to his home, he slumped down on the floor to sleep.
A few weeks later, the community was beginning to run out of food. The elders held a meeting.
“We need to go hunting,” they agreed.
When everyone heard of the decision, they were very excited. Everyone decided to take a day off of work to get ready to go. Only the babies and their babysitters knew they must stay behind.
Ambisinister tried to get ready, too, but the meerkats were telling him, “You can’t come. You’ll scare everything away.”
Ambisinister was very sad. The other meerkats would get to participate in the hunt, but he would have to stay behind. As he and the babies and their babysitters watched the other meerkats leave, one little baby tugged on his paw.
“Yes?” he said.
“Why aren’t you going with them?” she asked.
A smile suddenly pulled on his lips. He began to tell her a story about a very clumsy meerkat who couldn’t find a job. Gradually, more and more babies abandoned their babysitters to listen to his story. When he was done, they asked for another. And another. He kept telling stories until the parents came home. Everyone was happy with how the were kept occupied. They gave him the job of babysitter. As he grew older, they began to say that he was the best one they ever had. And there was never again another meerkat as clumsy as he.
The End
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Darkness Cloaked the Moon....A Christian Writers Guild Assignment
I wrote this poem as part of a Christian Writers Guild assignment that I had to send to my mentor. It needed to include two similes, two metaphors, one use of personification, one use of an apostrophe, an oxymoron, a paradox, three different forms of exaggeration, and it needed to be in free verse (don't make me explain all of that!). It also had to be divided up into stanzas, be at least 48 lines long, and be a story. Anyway, the following is what I ended up with:
Stanza 1
Darkness cloaked the moon,
As the bells tolled out my ruin.
Stanza 2
The stone about my throat,
As I struggled to stay afloat.
Stanza 3
Alas, if only I had followed his advice,
For my situation is not nice.
Stanza 4
For I met him,
And all on a whim,
Stanza 5
My heart was stolen from me,
And then all was too late to foresee.
Stanza 6
For his father liked me not,
And he tried to foil our plots.
Stanza 7
We would steal away in the night.
Meet each other in moonlight bright.
Stanza 8
Then on one night he said to me,
“Come. Let us steal away and be free.”
Stanza 9
Follow this plan we did,
And from his father’s face we hid.
Stanza 10
Throughout the land we wandered,
And with each step we pondered,
Stanza 11
What we had done ill,
For our supplies were nearly nil.
Stanza 12
And when he lay dying,
I grasped his hand and began crying.
Stanza 13
“Oh, my Romeo! Oh, my dove!
“What can I do to help you, my love?”
Stanza 14
He took my hand and looked at me long.
“Oh, my Esther, my Queen! I have done you wrong!
Stanza 15
“For I have led you from your home,
And into a fruitless adventure tome.
Stanza 16
“Here me now, it’s my last cry,
“Here me now and do apply.
Stanza 17
“Do not go back from whence you came!
“Take another and bear his name!
Stanza 18
“For I shall not live to see you again,
Beware my father’s trap, his den!”
Stanza 19
And with that came a sigh.
In my arms he did die.
Stanza 20
Follow his advice I tried to do,
But I found my affections hard to renew.
Stanza 21
So I made my way back,
Through a world doused in black.
Stanza 22
Black hovered before my eyes,
Deepening my grief and filling the skies.
Stanza 23
And every night,
In the middle of my plight,
Stanza 24
Like a warning noise,
Came the wind’s howling voice.
Stanza 25
Then one day, as the sun arose,
I saw the little house rows.
Stanza 26
And for the first time in a while,
My heart rejoiced like a child.
Stanza 27
But when his father saw me, he found a way,
To get me back, to make me pay.
Stanza 28
He cackled his malice,
His heart like a callous.
Stanza 29
He accused me of witchcraft,
But I just laughed,
Stanza 30
Until he took me away,
And made me pay.
Stanza 31
So here I am; what’s left of me,
And listen now to my last plea.
Stanza 32
The guilty do not take the blame,
Nay, guilt is the innocent’s shame.
Stanza 33
For the guilty never take the penance,
The innocent serve the sentence.
Stanza 34
Be careful where you go,
For in places a savory cruel life can grow.
Stanza 35
Be gone, O darkness! Be gone with thee!
Leave me now and let me be!
Stanza 36
Let me sink in love’s sweet despairing sea.
Be gone, now, and let me be!
Stanza 1
Darkness cloaked the moon,
As the bells tolled out my ruin.
Stanza 2
The stone about my throat,
As I struggled to stay afloat.
Stanza 3
Alas, if only I had followed his advice,
For my situation is not nice.
Stanza 4
For I met him,
And all on a whim,
Stanza 5
My heart was stolen from me,
And then all was too late to foresee.
Stanza 6
For his father liked me not,
And he tried to foil our plots.
Stanza 7
We would steal away in the night.
Meet each other in moonlight bright.
Stanza 8
Then on one night he said to me,
“Come. Let us steal away and be free.”
Stanza 9
Follow this plan we did,
And from his father’s face we hid.
Stanza 10
Throughout the land we wandered,
And with each step we pondered,
Stanza 11
What we had done ill,
For our supplies were nearly nil.
Stanza 12
And when he lay dying,
I grasped his hand and began crying.
Stanza 13
“Oh, my Romeo! Oh, my dove!
“What can I do to help you, my love?”
Stanza 14
He took my hand and looked at me long.
“Oh, my Esther, my Queen! I have done you wrong!
Stanza 15
“For I have led you from your home,
And into a fruitless adventure tome.
Stanza 16
“Here me now, it’s my last cry,
“Here me now and do apply.
Stanza 17
“Do not go back from whence you came!
“Take another and bear his name!
Stanza 18
“For I shall not live to see you again,
Beware my father’s trap, his den!”
Stanza 19
And with that came a sigh.
In my arms he did die.
Stanza 20
Follow his advice I tried to do,
But I found my affections hard to renew.
Stanza 21
So I made my way back,
Through a world doused in black.
Stanza 22
Black hovered before my eyes,
Deepening my grief and filling the skies.
Stanza 23
And every night,
In the middle of my plight,
Stanza 24
Like a warning noise,
Came the wind’s howling voice.
Stanza 25
Then one day, as the sun arose,
I saw the little house rows.
Stanza 26
And for the first time in a while,
My heart rejoiced like a child.
Stanza 27
But when his father saw me, he found a way,
To get me back, to make me pay.
Stanza 28
He cackled his malice,
His heart like a callous.
Stanza 29
He accused me of witchcraft,
But I just laughed,
Stanza 30
Until he took me away,
And made me pay.
Stanza 31
So here I am; what’s left of me,
And listen now to my last plea.
Stanza 32
The guilty do not take the blame,
Nay, guilt is the innocent’s shame.
Stanza 33
For the guilty never take the penance,
The innocent serve the sentence.
Stanza 34
Be careful where you go,
For in places a savory cruel life can grow.
Stanza 35
Be gone, O darkness! Be gone with thee!
Leave me now and let me be!
Stanza 36
Let me sink in love’s sweet despairing sea.
Be gone, now, and let me be!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Lecture Two- Creating Great Plot Lines
So you’ve been wondering, “What makes a good story a great story?” Answer? Plot. Yes, characters, setting, and theme have a lot to do with it, too. But can you imagine what a story would be without plot? It wouldn’t even be a story, just a list of events. And, no matter how unique your style is (we’ll cover that topic later), or how lushly described a scene is, you will have a much better chance of making it if your book has thread that your readers can pick up on or follow. So, how do get this awesome plot line?
There are infinite answers to this question. There is no method, no particular rules or structure of rules that you have to follow to create a plot.
Plots come from everywhere. They come from moments when your brother is annoying you to death or your dog is barking. A mere combination of spoken words that are meant for you to understand might hurtle your mind into a whole other world. Your sister snowboards off a ramp and falls off of the snowboard. You suddenly get an idea about a girl who injures herself just before a major high school competition. Will she ever reach her dreams of becoming an Olympian?
I got one of my plots from a dream that I once had. A young boy was serenading his sweetheart, who was on a platform about to be…..well, I don’t know. Hanged, maybe? That little dream, which was actually a sign that I was totally obsessed about the book Voyage of Slaves by Brian Jacques, became just what I needed to start a tale which took place in 1814 Baltimore. That short dream is now nearly novel-length Sweet Chariot.
If you already have your plot, you know that it didn’t come to you planned from A-Z. And that’s okay. Most of my plot lines begin as a vague, unfinished summary with a few images of certain characters doing something (which, half the time, I have no clue why they are doing it, it’s just there).
I don’t want to give too much about creating plots; just the basics for now. The rest will be covered in the lecture So You’ve Got a Great Idea. Okay, What Now?
There are infinite answers to this question. There is no method, no particular rules or structure of rules that you have to follow to create a plot.
Plots come from everywhere. They come from moments when your brother is annoying you to death or your dog is barking. A mere combination of spoken words that are meant for you to understand might hurtle your mind into a whole other world. Your sister snowboards off a ramp and falls off of the snowboard. You suddenly get an idea about a girl who injures herself just before a major high school competition. Will she ever reach her dreams of becoming an Olympian?
I got one of my plots from a dream that I once had. A young boy was serenading his sweetheart, who was on a platform about to be…..well, I don’t know. Hanged, maybe? That little dream, which was actually a sign that I was totally obsessed about the book Voyage of Slaves by Brian Jacques, became just what I needed to start a tale which took place in 1814 Baltimore. That short dream is now nearly novel-length Sweet Chariot.
If you already have your plot, you know that it didn’t come to you planned from A-Z. And that’s okay. Most of my plot lines begin as a vague, unfinished summary with a few images of certain characters doing something (which, half the time, I have no clue why they are doing it, it’s just there).
I don’t want to give too much about creating plots; just the basics for now. The rest will be covered in the lecture So You’ve Got a Great Idea. Okay, What Now?
Quest of Peace
Okay, so I won't go into too much detail about how I got this one. Let's just say I had a really stupid dream about dog kings (you read right, dog kings), elves, an Aragorn looking-dude, and Zac Efron (no joke!). Well, I finally (after a very large amount of clawing at it) made it into what I perceive as a good story. I'm calling it Quest of Peace.
Quest of Peace portrays a time when war ravages between the elven and human lands. However, no one seems to know why they are fighting.
Then, one night young Aspen and her friends are hurtled from their peaceful lives and into a world full of obscure riddles, legends of an evil sorceror's whereabouts, and a legacy strewn with legends. The following is how the story begins:
Aspen’s feet sped down the path, mud splashing at her ankles. Rain spilled gently from the clouds above, cutting puddles into the earth below. Her hair clung to her face in wet clusters. Her fair hand clenched a bow. A quiver dangled from her shoulder.
She glanced nervously behind her. Swiftly firing two arrows at her enemies, she hurled herself at the trunk of a tree. Thrusting down her bow, she clutched the slippery bark with her slim fingers.
As she observed the soaked land about her, her heart sank. This was her home. And to think she was leaving it; to think she’d never return.
She suddenly went rigid. Hoofbeats. Quickly, she turned around, crouching behind the shrubbery.
Three magnificent steeds rounded the bend, their riders bearing the standard of the royal elven family. Their leader, a tall man with extensive white hair and deep hazel eyes, glanced about himself. Aspen felt a pond in her eyes, which were not unlike the man’s, that was about to flood.
“That’s it, Sire. Your daughter is gone,” said one of his companions.
The man pursed his lips. He nodded slowly. “Let it be so. Due to her disloyalty, Aspen is henceforth banished from this land. She will come back only to find death waiting for her.”
With a saddened countenance, she witnessed the riders turn back. Rivers streamed down her face as she sobbed silently. “I’m not disloyal. I’m not disloyal.”
Why had she been banished, anyway? She hadn’t meant to shoot her fellow soldier; it was the wind!
As the drizzle escalated into a pour, she wept on. Oh, if only she could run to her father, if only she could see her mother!
“But the king’s word is spoken,” she whispered, “and according to the law it can not be undone.”
Several minutes passed before she picked herself up from the muddy soil. Grasping her bow, she looked at the path in front of her through tear-obstructed eyes. Sighing, she made for the road.
I’d better go before someone finds me and has me executed.
She began to run once more. Suddenly, she stopped. Flicking out her dagger, she went off of the trail and knelt beside a little green plant. The stem coated itself in fuzz, and the petite white flower peeked out its head.
Sawing away ruthlessly, she severed the attachment between roots and stalk until the plant lay in her hand. She proceeded to perform the operation on several more before tucking them into the pouch that dangled from her waist.
A tree from above allowed a single droplet to cascade downwards, landing in Aspen’s hand. Struggling to fight the tears, she forced herself to run down the path, blundering into her uncertain future.
Quest of Peace portrays a time when war ravages between the elven and human lands. However, no one seems to know why they are fighting.
Then, one night young Aspen and her friends are hurtled from their peaceful lives and into a world full of obscure riddles, legends of an evil sorceror's whereabouts, and a legacy strewn with legends. The following is how the story begins:
Aspen’s feet sped down the path, mud splashing at her ankles. Rain spilled gently from the clouds above, cutting puddles into the earth below. Her hair clung to her face in wet clusters. Her fair hand clenched a bow. A quiver dangled from her shoulder.
She glanced nervously behind her. Swiftly firing two arrows at her enemies, she hurled herself at the trunk of a tree. Thrusting down her bow, she clutched the slippery bark with her slim fingers.
As she observed the soaked land about her, her heart sank. This was her home. And to think she was leaving it; to think she’d never return.
She suddenly went rigid. Hoofbeats. Quickly, she turned around, crouching behind the shrubbery.
Three magnificent steeds rounded the bend, their riders bearing the standard of the royal elven family. Their leader, a tall man with extensive white hair and deep hazel eyes, glanced about himself. Aspen felt a pond in her eyes, which were not unlike the man’s, that was about to flood.
“That’s it, Sire. Your daughter is gone,” said one of his companions.
The man pursed his lips. He nodded slowly. “Let it be so. Due to her disloyalty, Aspen is henceforth banished from this land. She will come back only to find death waiting for her.”
With a saddened countenance, she witnessed the riders turn back. Rivers streamed down her face as she sobbed silently. “I’m not disloyal. I’m not disloyal.”
Why had she been banished, anyway? She hadn’t meant to shoot her fellow soldier; it was the wind!
As the drizzle escalated into a pour, she wept on. Oh, if only she could run to her father, if only she could see her mother!
“But the king’s word is spoken,” she whispered, “and according to the law it can not be undone.”
Several minutes passed before she picked herself up from the muddy soil. Grasping her bow, she looked at the path in front of her through tear-obstructed eyes. Sighing, she made for the road.
I’d better go before someone finds me and has me executed.
She began to run once more. Suddenly, she stopped. Flicking out her dagger, she went off of the trail and knelt beside a little green plant. The stem coated itself in fuzz, and the petite white flower peeked out its head.
Sawing away ruthlessly, she severed the attachment between roots and stalk until the plant lay in her hand. She proceeded to perform the operation on several more before tucking them into the pouch that dangled from her waist.
A tree from above allowed a single droplet to cascade downwards, landing in Aspen’s hand. Struggling to fight the tears, she forced herself to run down the path, blundering into her uncertain future.
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