2016

Tomorrow is New Years Eve.

This by far is my favorite holiday. As cheesy as it sounds I love the idea of starting over on a clean slate. The way I see it is 2016 is a brand new set of time that I haven't wasted yet. I don't have any regrets for 2016 yet. To me the New Year is the potential for good.

Obviously I know that it's not going to be perfect. There will be days I won't feel like I've accomplished anything. I will inevitably make choices I will later regret. And even if my routine is going well and my goals are on track life is unpredictable. You never know what challenges you will have to face or what circumstances are going to be thrown your way.

Still I can't help but feel optimistic. Starting a new year, a new planner, new goals, new journals...it all makes me feel hopeful for positive change. I feel like 2016 will be a good year.

Yes I have goals. I don't think I want to list them out here though. Some are obvious. Some are silly. Some are private. I know that given the sheer volume of goals I have I probably won't meet all of them. But I'm hoping I meet at least a few of them.

Looking back at my goals I made for 2015 I did meet a couple simple ones. Hopefully I'll do even better this year.

Happy New Year everyone! Here's hoping it's a great one!

Chapter One

So as I've said before I really like the show Once Upon a Time. But as much as I like the show there are lot's of things I would do differently about it. But I've always loved the concept of taking a well known classic fairy tale and giving it a twist. Just doing something different with it. So that's what I'm doing here.

Now I know there will be a lot of grammatical mistakes. Just proof reading it once I found a lot and I know I missed more. But that's not what I'm worried about right now. Right now I just want to write a story. So I would really appreciate some feedback no matter what it is. I really just want to give this writing thing a shot.

So here we go...

Chapter One

“Ella!”

What could she possibly want now?

Ella had barely laid herself down when the shrieking cry of her stepmother reached her ears like an unpleasant alarm clock. Ella had already been up since dawn tending to her stepmother and stepsisters every possible need. Cooking them breakfast, making their beds, laying out their freshly laundered clothes, the list just went on and on. Ella had finally washed and put away the last few dishes from the breakfast table when she thought she would sneak up to her attic bedroom and see if she couldn’t get just a few minutes of rest.

“Ella! Get down here. Don’t doddle when I call for you.”

Her stepmother sounded impatient. And angry. Emotions that her stepmother always seemed to be feeling whenever she addressed Ella. No matter how hard Ella worked no matter how much she wished to please her, Ella’s stepmother had grown harsher and harsher towards her since that awful day Ella’s father died.

Seeing no point in aggravating her stepmother any more than she already seemed to be Ella crawled out of the nest of ragged pillows and blankets she had arranged near the furnace. The attic was freezing throughout the year and the space just beneath the furnace was the only space in the whole room that was even slightly warm. She grabbed a pair of well worn carpet slippers and headed down the stairs.

She found her stepmother in the drawing room on the first floor. She was sitting in a straight backed red cushioned chair. Next to the chair was a side table and on the side table was an open letter with the royal crest as the seal. Ella’s stepmothers disposition was startling. Although she had sounded angry she looked positively ecstatic. But it was more than just being excited. She had an almost mad gleam in her eyes. Her very air was pulsating with intense nervous energy.

“Finally girl,” she spat at Ella as she approached. “ What on Earth took you so long?”

“I came as soon as you called Stepmother. I’m sorry that I-”

“Oh never mind your sputtering apologies. There is much work to be done.”

“But I finished the breakfast dishes Stepmother. The kitchen is spotless.”

“I’m not talking about dishes you daft girl. I’m talking about this, “ she said while snatching up the letter from the side table.

“What is it?” Ella asked.

“This my girl is this family’s ticket to eternal luxury. This here is an official royal invitation. An invitation for the Clairemont family to attend his royal highness’ birthday celebration!”

“Oh how exciting!” Ella said.

“It is going to be a grand ball. Perhaps the finest the kingdom has seen in many years. It is only two weeks away. Which is why we don’t have a moment to lose.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean girl is the prince is turning 25. No royal has ever gone so long without being wed. The king must be getting anxious. This is no mere intimate birthday celebration. By the sounds of it every respectable family in the kingdom has been invited. The king will be looking for a bride for his son.”

“A bride!”

“Yes. Which means we must not waste any time. I want Edith and Abigail to be absolutely breath-taking the night of the ball. Their hair, their gowns, their skin absolutely everything must be perfect. We have very little time and I want to leave nothing to chance.”

“You wish me to prepare Edith and Abigail for the ball?”

“Of course I want to ready them for the ball girl. Do I really need to spell it out for you? Are you completely dense?”

“You said the invitation invited the Clairemont family didn’t you?”

“I believe I did.”

“Well, I’m a part of the Clairemont family.”

“You?!”

“Yes. My name is Ella Clairemont. I’m a member of this family. Which means I’m invited to the ball as well.”

“Cinderella go to a royal ball. What kind of joke is that?”

Ella whirled around. Her step sister Edith was approaching closely followed by her other step sister Abigail. Edith had a wicked mirth in her eyes and Abigail was giggling at Edith’s last statement.

“It’s no joke,” Ella responded to Edith. “Why shouldn’t I be allowed to go?”

“Come on Cinderella. Look at you. You have dirt sealed underneath your fingernails. Your skin looks as though it has never seen the light of day. Your hair looks as though someone burnt it. You go to the ball?”

“Besides you’ve never been taught how to dance, “ chimed in Abigail. “You’d look such a fool on the dance floor.”

“I have as much right as either of you to go to the ball, “ said Ella.

“You have no right!” shouted Edith.

“None whatsoever,” added Abigail.

“Now ladies, “ said Ella’s stepmother. “ Ella is right.”

All three young girls turned to her in shock.

“I am?” asked Ella.

“She is?” exclaimed both sisters in unison.

“Yes. She is. Ella is a part of this family. She is a Clairemont after all. If Ella wishes to go to the ball then I see no reason why she should not attend.”

“But mother!” shouted Edith.

“Of course Ella you know you must be ready in two weeks as well. You must be presentable. And I don’t want there to be any slacking on your chores. This house must be spotless before you may leave for the ball. Is that understood?”

“Yes stepmother. Oh thank you stepmother!”

“Yes, well. That is all Ella. You may go prepare our lunch.”

“Right away stepmother,” Ella says as she hurries towards the kitchen.

“Mother you can’t be serious,” said Edith.  “Little Cinderella going to a royal ball. I’ve never heard such a ridiculous thing. Why she’s-”

“Calm yourself Edith. Did you not hear me? Not only must Ella help prepare both of you for the ball but she must keep this house spotless. And when during all that will she find time to prepare a gown for herself? Or for that matter wash her face of all the soot that gathers on it?”

“So, you don’t intend to let Ella go to the ball mother?” asked Abigail.

“Ella may certainly go to the ball. If she does what I ask of her.” she said.

“And what makes you think little Cinderella won’t get it all done? What if she does?” asked Edith.

“Well then I guess we'll just have to make sure she fails,” she said.

******

Ella could not believe how fast two weeks could go.

Ella had barely slept a wink. Not only had she been completing all of her normal chores but she had been sewing around the clock on not only Edith and Abigail’s dresses but once everyone had gone to bed she would spend two or three hours a night working on her own gown. Edith and Abigail were calling for her back and forth all day long needing this mended or that taken care of . Ella was just about at her wit’s end.

But she had done it. Not only were Edith and Abigail already dressed and ready to go but the house gleamed with perfection. And now Ella was up in her tiny attic room standing in her very own gown. Admittedly she had made it out of old curtains that used to hang in her childhood bedroom. But she thought she had done a good job with them. They were a simple soft baby blue color. She had washed her face and pinned back her hair. She was ready for the ball.

As she made her way downstairs Ella heard a lot of commotion coming from the small room just off to the side of the kitchen. Growing up it had been her bedroom as a young child. But now it served as the sewing room. Ella had spent much of the last two weeks inside it preparing everyone’s gowns. Today alone she had spent an entire three hours after the dresses were complete just cleaning the room up.

When Ella opened the bedroom door what she saw made her heart stop. Pieces of fabric were scattered everywhere. Spools of thread had been unraveled and thrown every which way. Boxes of buttons that Ella had so carefully organized were opened and spilled all over the floor. The room which just half an hour ago had been impeccable was now an utter and complete disaster.

Edith and Abigail stood in the middle of the room unapologetically smirking as Ella took the messy room in. Both of them seemed to be fighting the impulse to break out in laughter.

“Oh dear dear,” said Ella’s stepmother who had come into the room behind her. “Now this certainly won’t do.”

“Oh but stepmother. The room was clean not half an hour ago. They did this on purpose! “ exclaimed Ella.

“Now Ella why on earth would they do that?” asked her stepmother.

“Because they don’t want me to go to the ball,” she said.

“How ridiculous you are Cinderella,” said Edith. “Why should we care if you go to the ball or not.”

“Yes it’s not as if you would be any real threat to the prince's’ attention,” said Abigail.

“Yes you see Cinderella royalty doesn’t much care for girls who think draperies are fashionable,” said Edith as she and Abigail burst into laughter.

“Stepmother, I promise I’ll clean this room first thing in the morning. Just please let me go to the ball,” implored Ella.

“Cinderella you must see how ridiculous it is for you to go. I mean look here. You have a thread coming loose, “ said Edith.

Edith crossed to Ella and grabbed hold of the right sleeve of her gown. Edith gave a great tug and Ella’s sleeve ripped. Much of the fabric now hung in Edith’s hand.

“Oh no Edith, “ said Abigail. “Now look what you’ve done. Here, let me try and help fix it.”

Abigail crossed over to Ella. Ella began to back away but Edith stepped on the hem of Ella’s gown. The skirt ripped. Many of the small beads Ella had sewn on herself came spilling onto the floor. Ella stumbled and slipped beneath the beads. A pair of scissors that had been left on the floor sliced Ella’s hand. She began bleeding profusely and the blood stained her gown and white gloves.

Ella sat in the middle of the floor desperately fighting back tears. But it was no use. The corners of her eyes burned until she could fight them no longer.

“Well I suppose that settles that then,” her stepmother said. “Ella you can not possibly accompany us to the ball now. It’s just as well. While we are gone you can catch up on some cleaning.”

“Now come along girls,” she said to her two daughters. “We mustn’t leave his royal highness waiting.”

And with that Edith and Abigail followed their mother still giggling as they left the room. And Ella was left alone in her childhood bedroom, bleeding freely on her the gown she had worked so hard to make and letting the tears she had fought so hard against fall.

*****

Ella’s hand stung. After she was satisfied that there were simply no more tears to shed Ella clumsily got herself up. She made her way to the wash room and ran some water over the cut in her hand. After the bleeding seemed to have slowed down Ella wrapped a clean bandage around it. The cloth stained red almost at once. She didn’t care.

Ella was heart broken. For the past fourteen years, ever since her father had passed, she had known nothing but loneliness and misery. Her stepmother treated her like a servant. Her step sisters treated her like something less than human. All of her time was spent cleaning after three people who not once had ever shown Ella even a glimmer of kindness or respect. All Ella had wanted was one night where she could enjoy herself. One night where she could feel liked and be herself without feeling belittled or insulted.

But even that was too much to ask for. They had taken away even the hope of happiness. Ella could barely remember the last time she felt truly happy. She remembered her father and what a loving and kind man he was. She supposed when he had been here she had been happy. But so much time had passed and she had endured so many miserable years since then that it was very hard to recall those genuinely happy times.

How much more of this could Ella take? How many more years would she have to contend with this life? Ella was a twenty one year old woman. She was an adult free to come and go as she pleased. But this had been her father’s house. Her father had married her stepmother. They were family. How could she just abandon the family her father had put together? How could she leave the house of her good childhood memories behind?

A clock struck. Ella stepped outside. The great clock tower of the royal palace was visible from just about any spot in the kingdom. Ella stared at it as the clock struck twelve. She could hear the boisterous laughter of hundreds of happy people coming from the palace even from here. The ball seemed to be in full swing. She doubted it would end until the early hours of the morning.

No one would be home for hours…

It was as though something ignited in her mind. As though the chiming of the clock was a trigger that had awakened Ella from being in a trance. She felt excited and dizzy. She felt exhilarated and petrified. But one thought was clear in her mind.

She had to leave. Now!

It took Ella next to no time to pack a bag of her most precious belongings. Aside from a few essentials Ella had packed a small antique silver mirror that had once belonged to her mother and she put on a handsome traveler’s cloak that had once been her father’s. Though the cloak was somewhat large on Ella she welcomed the nostalgic feeling of warmth and safety the smell of the cloak brought to her.

With her small bag in hand and her father’s cloak wrapped around her Ella walked out the front door of her father’s house. At the end of the drive she turned to look at it one last time. She hoped her father would understand why she had to leave. She hoped to never set foot in that house again.

The road out of town was quiet. Not only was it quite late but Ella supposed everyone must still be at the ball. She hoped to reach the neighboring kingdom by morning and see if could find a place to rest for a few hours. She had no idea what she was looking for or what she was going to do once she found it. But whatever came next had to be better than the life of servitude she was leaving behind.

After Ella had been on the road for a couple of hours she came across what looked like a good resting place. It was what looked like an abandoned camp ground. There was even a small well. Ella stopped to get herself a drink. Then just as she was filling a small canteen she had brought with her she heard a rustle from the bushes.

“Hello?” Ella said. “Is someone there?”

All was quiet. Ella supposed it had been a small animal or just a small breeze. She continued to fill her canteen until she heard the rustling again.

“Who’s there?” Ella asked. “Show yourself. I’m warning you. I have a knife!”

“No please!” said a voice from the bushes just beyond Ella’s sight. “I don’t mean any harm. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Then stop hiding and show yourself,” said Ella.

And out from the bushes came a young man who Ella was guessing was barely older than herself. He wore a traveler’s cloak over what appeared to be a very lavish suit. The juxtaposition of the black of his traveler’s cloak and the bright white shine of his suit underneath seemed to give his skin a very ghostly quality. He was shaking and his breath came out in hot puffs against the cold night air. He was clearly terrified.

“Who are you?” asked Ella.

“Me? My name is Christopher,” replied the stranger.

“And what are you doing way out here by yourself?” Ella asked.

“Please, “ he responded. “Please don’t tell anyone you saw me out here. I’ll be in such trouble if they catch me.”

“If who catches you?”

“My father’s men. They are bound to notice my absence now. My father will kill me if he catches me.”

“Your father? Wait,” Ella said as she took in the young man’s elegant suit. “Are you...are you the prince? Are you running from your father the king?”

“Oh please, please don’t report me! I can’t go back, I just can’t!”

“Calm down. What do you mean you can’t go back?”

“I ran away tonight. From the ball. From my ridiculous birthday celebration. And they are bound to have noticed by now. I barely was able to sneak off on my own for longer than minute at a time. But while my father was giving one of his lengthy ‘look what a wonderful king I am’ speeches I was able to slip away without anyone noticing.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you want to run away? You’re a prince!”

“Believe me it is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Oh sure. Servants and fancy parties and all the money you could ever want. It was must be such a burden.”

“It’s not as wonderful as you may think. And believe me all those riches and luxuries comes with a price. A steep price.”

“And what price would that be?”

“Freedom. The freedom to ever truly be myself.”

The conversation came to an abrupt halt. They both turn their heads the way they had come. They both hear it. Horses. Many of them by the sounds of it. And the voices of men. It’s hard to make out what they are saying. But as the horses approach the glint from the armor all the men are wearing shines in their eyes.

“It’s my father’s men. They’ve come for me.”

Ella looks into the prince’s eyes. He looks as if he’s lost all hope. As though any happiness he had once possessed was now lost to him forever. Ella knew that look and that feeling of helplessness only too well. Whatever the prince was running from her instincts told her she needed to help him.

“Get back in the bushes,” Ella told him.

“What?” the prince said.

“It’s not too late they may not have seen you yet. Quick hide!” Ella whispered.

The prince headed straight for the bushes. The King’s men rode up and stopped abruptly as they spotted Ella.

“What are you doing out here all alone this time of night girl?” asked what appeared to be the lead guard.

“I’m heading towards the neighboring kingdom, “ answered Ella. “ My aunt lives out there and she is not well. Someone needs to tend to her.”

“I see,” said the guard. “Have you seen anyone else out on the road. Perhaps a young man?”

“No,” responded Ella. “As a matter of fact you gentlemen are the first people I’ve seen on the road all night. I suspect everyone is still attending the royal ball.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said the guard. “What’s that then?”

“What’s what?” asked Ella.

“That bag there?” asked the guard.

“Just my traveling bag,” replied Ella.

“Let’s have a look then, “ said the guard.

“What for?” asked Ella.

“We are his majesty’s royal guard,” said the guard. “We have the right to search any and all citizens in his majesty’s kingdom.”

“Caleb,” said the Captain to one of his men. “Search the girl’s bag.”

One of the younger looking members of the guard dismounted his horse and reached for Ella’s bag.

“No you can’t. You have no right!” Ella exclaimed.

“We have every right girl,” said the guard captain. “This is his majesties King Henry’s royal kingdom. We may search anyone we believe is hiding something of his.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” said Ella as the guard called Caleb emptied the entire contents of her traveling bag out onto the ground.

Caleb swept the contents of Ella’s bag on the ground with his foot. He very nearly broke Ella’s mother's mirror as he did so.

“That’s enough!” cried Ella.

“Yes, that will do Caleb,” said the captain.

As Caleb mounted his horse again the captain spoke to Ella one last time.

“Be careful out here on your own girl. There are far less respectable men than us traveling this road. We wouldn’t want anything unfortunate to happen to you.”

The captain and the rest of the guard charged forward down the road. After a moment the prince emerged from his hiding place.

“I’m so sorry,” the prince said. “Did they damage anything?”

“No,” Ella said as she started to gather her things back into the bag. “So those men work for your father?”

“Yes. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for the way they treated you. And thank you. Thank you for your discretion.”

“You’re welcome, “ replied Ella. “ I still don’t understand why a prince would need to run away. But then again I am hardly one to judge another runaway.”

“So you’re not visiting a sick aunt?” asked the prince.

“No,” said Ella simply.

“Well, I’m still very grateful.”

“Not at all. Where will you go now?”

“I have an idea,” said a voice from the ground.

Both Ella and the prince jumped. The voice had spoken as though someone was standing right next to them. But there wasn’t another living soul in sight.

“Who said that?” said Ella.

“Who’s there?” asked the prince.

“Down here, “ said the voice.

Both Ella and the prince looked down. Between them lay the small antique silver mirror that had once been Ella’s mother. And in the glass was a reflection that belonged to neither Ella or the prince. It was a reflection of a beautiful young woman around their own age. She was very beautiful. She had dark hair, ruby lips and the fairest skin either of them had ever seen.

“Who-who are you? asked in Ella in a rather shaky voice.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m your fairy godmother?” asked the young women.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the prince. “There’s no such thing.”

“Very well,” said the woman. “To be more accurate Ella I would it is you who is my fairy godmother actually.”

“How do you know my name?” asked Ella.

“Oh I know all sorts of things about you,” she responded. “ It’s only natural that I would know all about you since I have been trapped in your mirror for fourteen years.”

“What?! How is that even possible?” asked Ella.

“Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything. It’s quite the story.” she replied.

“I don’t understand,” said Ella. “Who are you?”

“You’re right, “ she said. “ I suppose I should introduce myself first. My name is Snow White.”

*****

Writing is hard

Earlier tonight I wrote most of a blog entry and it all got deleted. So I’m finding it especially hard to commit to writing tonight.

I’m finding it hard to commit to writing in general.

I really wish I had a regular work schedule. Having a routine would make it so much easier to find a regular time to commit to writing everyday. I’m amazed by people who find that self discipline.

I need to treat writing like going to work or school. I never call off work or skip school. I really want to get myself in gear.

TV is very distracting. So are pets. And snacks. And my own habit of procrastinating.

I want to write a story involving magic. But if you are going to write a story with magic you need to have a complete understanding of the rules of magic in your world. I have been watching a lot of Once Upon a Time. And while I do love that show there is so much inconsistency in how magic works on the show. Even J.K. Rowling made a couple mistakes in her writing.

That in itself makes me nervous. If J.K. Rowling can make mistakes then how I can I even start to construct my own rules for a world with magic? And what kind of world should it be? An alternate universe? Or a real world situation where magic is added to it?

And putting aside the complications of writing about a world with magic I don’t even have a concept yet. I feel completely uninspired. I think that’s another problem that I’m letting hold me back. That even if I make time to sit down and write I will come up with nothing. That I’ll just be wasting time.

I keep wondering about what I should do as far as pursuing a higher education or career. I majored in theatre and ended up regretting it. I’m thinking about going to school for library science. I like working at the library I’m at now but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to find a job in this field I’ll be happy in. Then I think what if I pursue grad school for creative writing? But the same thing could happen with that. And in that case a job at the end of grad school seems much less likely.

I’m feeling uncertain about a lot of things.

Writing still helps though.

Hug

There is a lot I would like to talk about on here. Things that have happened or things that are just on my mind. Not a lot that I really can talk about.

I'll say this - Family and friends are important.

School is going okay. I'm still not entirely sure if grad school is something I want to pursue. But I know I need to be doing more than working part time at minimum wage. It's just not enough on any sort of level.

I feel like it has been so long since I wrote in here and so much has happened since I wrote in here. And because of that I should have so much to say. I should have profound thoughts and beautiful prose. But really, I've got nothing.

Go hug someone.

Vegas or bust.

I've started school. It's been awhile since I was in a classroom. But I'm kind of excited. I don't know exactly how long it will be until I'm ready to apply for grad school but I definitely think that's where I'm headed. 

I am worried now that I'm in school I will be writing less. And reading for fun less. I hope not. I want to keep practicing. 

I'm going to Vegas this weekend. It will be the first time I've been to Vegas since I turned 21. Last chance to blow off some steam before school really takes over. 

Another small update but a small bit of writing is better than nothing. 

Vegas here I come!!!

Motivation

I am having a really hard time staying motivated. I will go through a couple of days where I have all this energy and want to get everything done at once and then I just seem to crash. Today I literally did nothing productive. I stayed in pajamas all day and watched TV. That's it.

And the thing is I know I'm wasting time. It would be one thing if I was being super productive five or six days out of the week and then gave myself a lazy day. But even on days that I have work I feel like that's all I do. As soon as work is over I just shut down. Which is ridiculous cause I only work five hour shifts four days a week.

It's not always like this. Like I said when I get myself in gear I can get a lot done. I can be focused and productive. I can get chores done, writing, reading I can get my butt to the gym. What I lack is consistency. That self discipline to keep at it. To not let myself get in a slump.

I suppose today was just an off day. Tomorrow hopefully will be a different story.

P.S. I spend an embarrassing amount of time googling ways to stay motivated. Any suggestions out there?

The Distance Between Lost and Found

I recently just finished a book entitled The Distance Between Lost and Found. It was a decent book. It's about three teenagers who are on a youth retreat but they get separated from the group and end up stuck out in the woods for almost a week. While they are out in the woods they discover a lot about themselves and each other. The main girl Hallie is struggling to accept the realities of what happened between her and a boy at school and the rumors going around about her. They talk a lot about God and faith while they are out there and though it was a bit much for me it was still written well.

When I think about what I want to write I'm constantly torn. I love Harry Potter which is a series in genre fiction. However, most publishers are much more interested in stand alone realistic novels these days like The Fault in Our Stars. So then I think should I go that way?

But then there are times when I'm really against forming my writing for what is publishable right now. I should right what I want to write. Because let's face it even if I do manage to complete a manuscript and send it off in the hopes of an agent or publisher being interested I need to prepare myself for a lot of No's. And that's okay. The point is to write. And be happy with it.

I'm thinking I may try and stick with the lost princess idea I have going. That kind of story for me is fun to write. I may not always do it in an order that makes sense. I may even write the conclusion before a lot of the middle part. That may be a little frustrating to read but I know right now I just need to make sure I'm constantly writing. I'm starting school soon and I know that's going to effect how much time I can devote to everything else.

Oh I also read a graphic novel called The Undertaking of Lily Chen. It was only the second graphic novel I've ever read. It was really pretty. I'm not quite sure if that genre is really for me. I think I still prefer to find the details in the words rather than the pictures. But I'm glad I read it.

The lost princess

The story of how the lost princess came to be lost was one that was told in a variety of different ways. Some swore that a rogue Knight to the queen who had suddenly sworn allegiance to a neighboring kingdom kidnapped the child so the kingdom would fall to ruin without their true heir. Some say that it was a conspiracy within the royal family. That it was merely a publicity stunt and the Queen knew all along where her daughter was. Some denied that there ever was a princess and that the kingdom was searching for no one. What the true story was varied based on who you asked.

Quinn was whole-heartedly convinced that there was a princess. He believed the Queen's story that her daughter had been taken from her and she had no idea where she had been taken. He believed this because his father believed it. His father had served in Her Majesty's guard from the time he was old enough to join until his dying day some twenty years ago. Quinn's father believed in the crown. He had instilled in Quinn the importance of serving something much greater than himself. He taught Quinn that there was nothing so important as protecting the royal family.

The day the young princess was taken was a dark day not only for the Royal family but the entire kingdom. Quinn did not see his father for weeks following the kidnapping. Every member of the royal guard had been called upon to search the entire kingdom and beyond it. They searched day and night barely sleeping. The search went on for days, weeks and months. Eventually the Royal family had to agree that the kingdom had to continue on. And that the kingdom needed the Royal family to get back to their royal duties. So the continual searching had to come to an end.

There were however, a few select members of the royal guard whose sole duty was to continue the search for the missing princess. However feeble a lead they found, however pointless their search may have appeared to some it was their sworn duty to find the lost princess and return her to her mother the Queen. So she would be able to take her place on the throne and one day be the kingdom's true leader. Quinn's father was one of those men who spent day after day looking for the princess. He died never knowing if she would one day be found.

Though Quinn had been only seven when his father had passed away he had spent the twenty years that followed in the company of the Queen's guard. He and his mother were cared for and looked after by the Royal family for that was the promise they made to the family of a guard member. They lived on the West end of the palace where many of the guard and their families were housed. And when Quinn came of age he immediately followed in his father's footsteps and became a member of the guard himself.

Now after all he had been through. After all his father had been through. Here she was. The princess. The lost princess lost no more.

My initial idea

A queen?! Her?!

This had to be a joke. She was no queen. Queens wore clean, pretty dresses. They walked upright and spoke softly. Their hair was always perfect, they danced at fancy balls and always had just the right amount of make-up on. Queens were elegant. They had poise and respectability. They always had some handsome prince or duke or king on their arm. Or at least some high ranking diplomat.

She, Riley was no queen. She had dirt under her fingernails. Her clothes were worn and faded. She couldn't walk more than five feet without tripping over something. She was loud and outspoken. Her hair was always flying loose or up in a messy bun. She was not elegant. She had no poise. No respectability.  And definitely no fancy looking man on her arm.

And yet here was this man, some uptight member of the royal guard, telling her that she Riley "Tomboy" Morgan was a queen.

This guy was clearly high on something.

****

This was her? This was the long lost queen he had dedicated his whole life to find, serve and protect? He had trained his whole life to serve in the Queen's royal guard. Just like his father had and his father before him.

Their kingdom had been searching for their long lost princess for nearly twenty years. Searching for her had been his life's purpose. Find her and protect her. Protect the heir to the royal throne. That was the mission of the royal guard. That was his mission.

He had always imagined his queen to be delicate and upstanding. She would be smart and soft spoken. Beautiful, clean and elegant. She would be wise beyond her years. Powerful. The voice of the kingdom. He had expected a woman worthy of the crown.

Not this child.

A Little Progress

 Writing is scary. It just feels like such a gargantuan task. How do you start? Where do you start? If you are writing a book do you do an outline first? Or do you just write and hope that at some point it all comes together?

And how much writing a day should you actually be doing if you are serious about it? Should you focus on just one story and stick with? Or should you have three or four stories going and write for the one you feel inspired by that day?

Some days I feel focused and on task. I feel as if no matter how slow my progress is the fact that any progress is being made is good enough. Then other days I feel like I'm wasting my time. That I'm doing a lot of writing about writing and not actually writing anything.

If I do write a book I want my main character to be a girl. A girl who is a strong female character. One that if young female readers are reading about her they feel inspired to be strong and independent. And if there is a love story it will NOT be the main focus. She can have a love interest sure. But I want her to be the driving force of a much bigger story. I don't want young girls to only have books that highlight love triangles and abusive relationships.

That being said I have read Twilight and Fifty Shades. And I enjoyed reading both. I don't think it's bad that those books were written. Those just aren't the books I want to write.

I definitely lean more towards genre fiction rather than realistic fiction.

Okay, so female lead in a genre fiction young adult novel. That's more progress than I had made this morning.

New Years in August

I just read through several old journals. And in doing so I have come to some conclusions. 1) I buy way too many journals and never fill them. 2) My New Years resolutions are remarkably similar year after year. 3) And most importantly I think, in general I have become much happier with who I am as a person than I have been in a very long time. 

Sure I have issues with myself. Who doesn't? But just looking at my past entries and seeing what my priorities were then and what they are now I feel good about where I'm headed. Or hopefully headed. 

That being said I think it's time some of those New Years resolutions got checked off the list. New Years is actually my favorite holiday. I love the feeling of starting over with a clean slate. I always feel like anything is possible. 

So why should I wait another 5 months to feel like I can set some new goals for myself? Why can't August 1st be my own personal New Years? Yeah why not?! I answer myself. Why not indeed!

And so my August 1st 2015 resolutions are :

1) Finish a story

I think this is the best way to put it. Promising to write everyday is frankly setting myself up for disappointment. And saying I will finish writing a book seems like putting the cart before the horse. So by the end of the year I will have finished a story. How long or short it's going to be I'm not going to say. Longer than a typical journal entry let's put it that way. 

2) 6 new books. 

That's how many new books I want to read by the end of the year. I usually hate giving myself a goal with a number. What if I don't reach it? But I think this is pretty realistic. 

3) Weigh less than I do now. 

Okay I know losing weight is the most cliche of all New Years goals. But I guess there is a reason for it. And I have given myself a relatively easy goal. I don't think giving myself a goal weight is a good idea. I just want to get smaller. 

4) Do something or go somewhere I have never been before.

I think this goal explains itself in the title. 

I think that's enough for now. Four goals to focus on for the next five months. Happy New Years everyone!

Outside the Window

I found a list of 365 creative writing prompts. Now I probably won't do one of these everyday. But if I ever can't think of something to write about these will be a good fall back.

Here is the prompt:

Outside the window: What's the weather outside your window doing right now? If that's not inspiring, what's the weather like somewhere you wish you could be?

It wasn't just hot. Hot she could handle. A blistering dry heat would be a welcome relief. But when she stepped outside on her way to work she felt like she had just entered a sauna. Her skin was instantly sticky. The moisture in the air was thick. And the air itself was stiflingly hot. It had been raining in short intense bursts on and off all day. Like someone was turning a faucet on and off just because they felt like it.

It was one o'clock in the afternoon. Not that she could tell what time it was being outside. Judging by the sky it looked closer to five or six. There was an eerie red glow. It looked as if half a dozen wild fires were blazing from all sides. The air even smelled kind of smoky.  

This kind of weather made her feel powerless. You can't just put on a coat and feel comfortable like in the cold. And she shouldn't wear shorts and tank top to work. She was stuck. Stuck in slacks and a nice blouse that were already rubbing uncomfortably against her sweaty skin.

What wouldn't she give for a cold rain storm? One in which she could wear a scarf, hat, coat and gloves? Instead of this miserable summer thunderstorm. That was making the air so humid that her shower from ten minutes before felt pretty pointless.

I might play around with this some more later. But it's a little something.

Is there an original story?

I want to be a novelist. A young adult novelist to be specific. Anyone who knows me knows my love for Harry Potter. I love the Hunger Games as well. I'm trying to read more. I go through phases. For a couple of weeks I'll have a stack of books by my bed. And maybe I'll get through one or two of them. Then I'll find myself watching Gilmore Girls and playing games on my iPhone.

If I find myself in a slump with reading then I turn to Harry Potter. And honestly some reading is better than no reading. Though I have read the series more times than I can count. And I know to get better at writing I need to constantly be reading new things. And when I do finally get myself set up with a new book I enjoy it. It just usually takes me a chapter or two before I'm hooked. And it's so easy for me to become distracted by pretty much anything. Even by doing nothing.

That's when I get really frustrated with myself. When I sit around and do literally nothing. I'll sit and stare at my planner and journal just waiting and hoping for inspiration to strike. Or I'll be telling myself to get to that to do list and...I do nothing.

That's what I'm really hoping to break myself from. Maybe I won't end up writing anything in here but gibberish. But even gibberish to me is progress. It's much better than just sitting around and wishing I was doing something with my time.

So I want to be a young adult novelist. And I want to write something good. That is me stating the obvious yes. Of course I want to write something good. I guess I feel the need to say it because Twilight is a very successful young adult book. And yes I've read it. And I even enjoyed it. But that doesn't mean it was good.

The problem is many young adult books are very similar to each other. Many have the same elements and very similar characters. I sat down about a year or so ago to brain storm ideas for a book. I had settled on an idea and was pretty excited about it. But then I heard about this book at work (I work at a library) and the book just sounded so similar to what I had wanted to write. So I lost my excitement for that story. And it just got me thinking about how so many books share so many similarities. How is someone supposed to write an original story?

I want there to be magic. I want there to be a love story. I love stories that have a royal family. I love it when the female characters are there to actually be a part of the story and not just a love interest. I want there to be mystery.

Mystery for me is what kept me coming back for Harry Potter. From book one J.K. Rowling set mysteries that would continue for the whole of the series. And she knew exactly how to handle such long running stories. She would give just enough hints that the reader would be satisfied for the moment but still yearning for more. That's what I want to do. I want to write that story that has the reader happily anticipating the next one.

And so until next time... :)

My first entry

Hi everyone,

I have decided to give this another try. You know, writing. I have always enjoyed writing and I've always thought that if I could just sit down and commit to it then maybe I could make something of it. But the problem is actually sitting down and doing it. They say that most writer's just starting out have tons and tons of crap just waiting to get out. And that you have to write for days and days and weeks and weeks and months and months before you even get anywhere near anything remotely worth reading. So here I am at Day 1...

The problem is I know I am my own worst enemy when it comes to committing to anything. I have tried starting countless writing projects. I've tried losing weight several times. I've tried sticking to good, smart healthy habits but they never stick. A lot of the time I give myself ridiculously unrealistic expectations that of course I don't reach. And because I don't get it exactly right then I give up. Just like that.

So in starting this blog I am not going to promise that I will write in it everyday. I'm not even going to promise that this time will be different than any other time I've tried to commit to writing. All I am saying is that I am trying. I'm going to come back to this blog as often as possible. Sometimes I'll write about what happened to me that day. Sometimes I'll write random crap.

The main reason I've decided to start a blog rather than write in my own private journal is accountability. Like I said I am my own worst enemy when it comes to committing to writing. So I'm starting this blog in the hopes of getting some feedback. Whether it's actually about my writing or just someone saying Hi I read it. I'm hoping that if someone other than me is reading what I'm writing then maybe I'll be encouraged to stick with it. Maybe.

To be honest I'm really nervous about starting this blog. I'm nervous that this will be my one and only entry and like many times before I will just give up and forget all about it. I'm nervous that people won't read it. I'm nervous that people will read it and think that it's crap. Or be taking bets on how long this lasts. I have so many assumptions of what people think of me and I'm sure it's mostly me just getting in my own head.

I never share my writing. I always feel like I need to make sure it's perfect before I let anyone see it. And I've realized that that is just stupid. If I'm ever going to get better at this then I need feedback. I need to let people see my writing even if it's crap. So here it is. One blog entry at a time.

Thanks for reading :)
-Jen