Fates UnbalancedIt is a great power that we wield, and a great loneliness beside. All the others fear us, and with good reason for between us, we call life, life, and death, death, and give meaning to the time between the two. We are the bookends and the pages of a book that we have written and that we alone know the end to. Meddle in our ways, and that which is written between the covers can change. Please or amuse us, and perhaps your story shall take a turn for the better before the end, for that is who we are. Clotho, the youngest of our triple existence spins the thread that man and not-man alike call Life on her wheel of flashing stories. I, Lachesis, measures out her work, deciding the length and the imperfections that each story should contain. Atropos, once the youngest, now the eldest of our trio wields the blades that put swiftly put an end to the art that together we have created, declaring the final product as complete in all ways.Fates Unbalanced by openmeadow
It is Atropos between us that has changed the most,
Our AnthemI sang the anthem of my peopleOur Anthem by openmeadow
Hoping that in doing, I’d find my crowd;
The ones who, like I,
Have a public face oh so very different
From the one which is real.
I sang the anthem of my people
As I walked the paths new to me,
and watched each face
to find some trace of recognition.
Day’s end has now come,
And I cannot help but wonder
Have I lost the tune? The melody?
Do they sing our anthem different here?
My door is open, the signs I thought clear
Displayed for all to see if they but look.
Yet I wonder, must I the anthem relearn;
Or are our numbers here so few
That we simply haven’t crossed paths yet?
Permanent LinesThe position was not a comfortable one, and while Madison didn't fully understand all that was going on, she understood it's necessity. The room was sterile, white and chilly as she lay on her stomach, supported by a chair that was highly reminiscent of one she might find at the local dentist's, though modified to support her entire body more securely.Permanent Lines by openmeadow
Any discomfort from the padded chair remained background noise as Madison tried not to focus on the scratching sensation from her back. The light chatter that the physcian beside her maintained was not enough, that was certain as she braced herself agains the sharp strokes, trying to prevent herself from shivering in pain. From what she could see from the corner of her eyes, Madison connected the sharp scratching that reached across her shoulders, along the top of her shoulder blades and now down her neck with the array of colored, unnaturelly stiff and sharp-ponted permanent makers that rested in a tray lined with sterile packagi
The Sound of DesperationIt had started as a counseling session, everyone meeting in a small group of age mates, but even after the first meeting, when they sat in silence, it was clear that something more was needed. For weeks they continued to meet twice a week, forced to sit in a circle in a room that was locked until the hour was up. After a month, they began to speak, finally giving voice to the depths of their souls, and the nightmares that lived within.The Sound of Desperation by openmeadow
"I could kid myself into thinking I'm fine," Becca said, her voice starting steady despite the fact that she was the first to break the silence, "but I'm not. I'm tired of living these lies, and I just want to be done with it all. Everyone knows that a broken heart is blind, but no one really knows what to do with a broken brain. If it's not a vegetable, they shrug it off, saying it's fine, and tell you to do the same. It doesn't work that way. It just doesn't work that way. They say our bodies will heal, and that it will take time for
We are all wizardsHello, my friend! Yes, I mean you -We are all wizards by MirachRavaia
you who hear these words in your mind,
you who make the words become true,
in infinite space that's behind
your eyes, your true objective sight,
where shapes form letters, words form sound,
and thoughts form pictures, clear and bright,
where wings of your mind are not bound.
We are both wizards - you and me:
from letters we shape complete worlds.
Is this not what a spell should be?
Such power have the written words.
We fly, we swim, we fight, we run
all without moving from the chair.
Under bright stars and younger sun
we walk free with wind in our hair.
PilotI woke in a nest of wires, my arms pulled off to either side, my head back and my eyes fixed at the ceiling. There was a man standing above me, straddling my form, perched precariously at the mouth of the recess I was tucked away in, one hand gripping the frame, the other feeling around the back of my neck. He moved by touch alone, certain in his movements, and his fingers closed over the knot of the wires that resided at the base of my skull and pulled, steadily, drawing it out of the socket and I inhaled sharply at the sensation. Like something had been taken from me, or that I'd lost sight of something important. A piece of me gone. It was a keen sense of loss and my eyes went wet with moisture even as he dropped his hand lower along my neck, almost to the shoulders, and pulled out another plug. The wires by my eyes were thinner, and when he pulled these out my vision went black for a moment and when it returned I felt the world was less clear, like a gray haze had been pulledPilot by fainting-goat
Camp Journal Entry: Final Remarks
There are so very many things that I could say here....
First off, oh my word what a month it's been! SCA Coronation the second weekend in, Week 3 kinda killed me, and lagging muse through Week Four. Despite that, I survived with only one all-nighter (my frist ever as crazy as that is, and without caffiene too)
Secondly, I really am crazy, aren't I? One-hundred thousand words in a month with minimal amounts of caffiene (without horribly aggravating my wrists at that!). I somehow managed to connect three novel length (plus one RPG campaign) pieces into one cohesive setting. That's terrifying, actually. Somebody should stop me before things get worse.
Thirdly, I forgot what I was going to put here, so I'll say this: To all of my so very dear characters.... thank you. You are some of the most well behaved characters I've worked with in a long time, and for such an extensive amount of story time. It's been an awesome adventure, and please do enjoy your vacation on the shelf. I don't know how long it's going to be, but you deserve it for being so fantastic.
Fourthly... what next?
I start editing. Not this story, because I need a break from it, but I'll likely start alternating between Passage of RIghts (80k doesn't seem so daunting now, oddly enough) and The Centre Pts 1-2 until I get my system cleaned out and refreshed. I do believe that PoR will be the next book I'll actually have a book-version of. (Aug 31 deadline for the hardcover proof copy).
I'd also like to write another campaign, but haven't entirely decided which setting to play in yet. Shapeshifting dragons? Questionable medicine? Blood Oaths? Any suggestions?
I can also pick up calligraphy and playing my violin again, as well as dismantle my blanket tent, now that I'm not attempting to murder my hands. Oh, and my spelling should improve. Thanks for putting up with that! (Or should I say, tahanks for ptutting up wtih taht!)
It's been an amazing month at Camp, and while I'm sad to leave, I'm also looking forward to sleeping in my own bed, and picking up so many of the other projects that I've left on hold. Farewell, Camp NaNo, I'll see you in 91 days!
Writer definition: A healthy mix of nerd and geek, with just enough normalcy to appear sane.|
Ten minutes a day will keep the Muse at bay
A writer at heart with not nearly enough time.
There's a story behind each piece of music that's just waiting to be voiced.
Favourite style of art: photography, pencil