Characters

As November approaches, NaNoWriMo occupies more and more of my thoughts.  I keep reading advice about how I ought to write something I would want to read.  I think about the stories I enjoy.  What makes me come back to a story, time after time?  What is special about the book I stay up late reading because I just can't put them down?

My favorite tales span a wide variety of genres, though usually in the lighter range of any given genre.  They frequently have a fast paced plot, but not always.  The main thing that moves a book from my library list to my shelf seems to be the characters.  I read and reread books who get me invested in the characters.  These are the books my family gives me looks when I read them the first time because I gasp and giggle at what seems to outside observers to be a random time.  But there is nothing random about it.  The author purposely included bits to help you connect with the characters.  What makes them laugh?  What makes them cry?  Why do they decide to do what they do?

I've worked out some of this for the main characters in the yarn I hope to spin through November, at least the motivation part.  It still needs to be fleshed out a bit, maybe more than just a bit.  I'll work on it this weekend.  I hope I will have defined my characters enough by the time November gets here that the little nuggets of personality and purpose will just flow through the story.

Who are your favorite characters?

Nightmare Fuel, Day 28

Hull Old Town Creepy Alley 1 by Two Boxes

She hides in the shadows, waiting.  Occasionally, people pass her hiding place.  Still she waits.  Then she hears it, the perfect step.  A man’s tread approaching the alley in the slow heavy foot fall of a man who is confidant in his security, even on a deserted street not long after the bells have rung the midnight hour.  She lets a moan escape her lips.  He must have caught the slight sound because he pauses.  A whimper, quieter now that she knows she has his attention.

He takes the last few steps into the mouth of the alley, calling as his eyes sweep inside, “Anyone there?  Are you okay?”

She smiles; he is caught.  In a pitifully weak voice, she lures him, “Please, help me.”  He steps into the alley, not far enough, not yet.

“Where are you?”

“Please,” she hates women who sound so pitiful, and the men who encourage them, “please, I’m back here.”  A few more steps as he continues to search for her.  She won’t make him wait much longer, one…more…step…  She sidles out of her corner.  Always courteous, she says “Thank you.”  He manages to register her gorgeous figure, pale complexion, and pitiless eyes before she sinks elongated fangs into his exposed neck.

Prompt here.

Nightmare Fuel, Day 24

Photo prompt courtesy of Tommy-Ironic

The first time she saw them, she thought they were ghosts.  A second glance showed them to be statues.  The white sandstone made the carved robes look like they flowed in the wind.  The noticeable vacancy underneath the sheets where people ought to have been was slightly disturbing.  How odd, to have statues out here in the middle of no where.  The nearest gas station was back at the interstate turn off.  The only thing out this road was her widowed aunt’s old ranch house.  She would have to ask her aunt about it.

Sitting in the kitchen with a pitcher of sweet tea, Jemma decided to broach the subject with her aunt.  “Aunt May, when did those statues go up?”

“What statues dear?” asked Aunt May, checking the cookies in the oven.

“The set of statues about a half mile off your property on the way from town.  The creepy, no-one-under-the-sheet ghost statues.” 

Aunt May froze at the description.  Straining for a natural voice, she responded, “How many statues were there?”  Managing to remove the cookie tray from the oven without burning herself, she thought furiously.  She didn’t think they would be able to find her here.  She thought she had lost them when she married and changed her name.  Also living in the back end of no where with the cows the only ones who got a good look at her on a regular basis should have helped.

Jemma thought this was a strange question.  “I don’t know, around eight I think.  Haven’t you seen them on your way into town?  Are they new?”

“They are new and you know I don’t go in unless I absolutely have to.  Most of what I need I can grow out here, even without your uncle, may he find peace.”  Aunt May never referenced God, even in wishing her husband’s soul well.  Jemma wondered why that was, but today had enough mysteries, that one would have to wait.  Right now, Jemma wanted to know how statues had upset her aunt so badly her normally peaches and cream coloring had faded to a pale grey.

Aunt May could not for the life of her figure out how to get out of this.  If they found her here, they would be able to find her anywhere she might run.  Looking at Jemma, she decided she would not bring them down on her family.  The only way to stop them was to let them find what they were looking for.  With one more trick up her sleeve, she may be able to stop them permanently.

“Jemma, be a dear and fetch my big book from the living room, would you?”  Now Jemma was really worried.  She remembered that book, a leather-bound monstrosity that she could barely lift when she spent the summer with her aunt and uncle at 8 years old.  That summer made her think her family wasn’t as typical as she had thought.  No one else’s aunt drew shapes on the counter in salt or burned perfectly good herbs.  No one else’s uncle saved blood when they slaughtered animals on the farm.  Never had she seen anyone use such an old, thick, leather-bound book on a regular basis.  Her aunt hadn’t used the book in front of Jemma since she had shouted that she didn’t want to be part of a witch’s family in a fit of teen rage.  Jemma thought Aunt May had given it up for good after her husband died.

Jemma set the book on the counter next to ingredients her aunt had been pulling from the cabinets in her absence.

“Jemma, I need you to do one last favor for me.”  The sadness in Aunt May’s voice implied it would be the last favor Jemma ever did for her aunt.  “After I copy the page I need, I want you to take the book to the diner in town.  I’m going to call a friend and have them pick the book up from you.  Will you do that for me?”

Jemma didn’t want to leave her aunt alone in this condition, but just as clearly she wanted space for whatever she was going to do.  She agreed.  Aunt May handed her the book and added an envelope she said held money for supper.  When Jemma protested, Aunt May simply said, “You are running into town as a favor to me, the least I can do is pay for food.”

Jemma turned her car around and headed back the way she came, passing the statues that seemed creepier now.  Their shadows elongated as the sun started its decent to the west.  The jacket her aunt had pressed on her as she was leaving lay on top of the book in the passenger seat.  Jemma didn’t think it would get cool enough to worry about a jacket tonight, even if she stayed out late, but as with many other things, it was just easier to agree than to argue such a small point.

Upon reaching the diner, Jemma decided the book would be safe in the car as long as she locked it.  Grabbing the jacket, just in case, she headed into the diner.

***

May only had one chance.  They wouldn’t suspect they had been seen, after all, the only one in the car was a mere human.  May knew better.  Her niece the witch, even untrained and resisting, had been able to spot them clear as day.  May was so proud of that girl.  She hoped what she did here would keep her safe.  At least if she failed, her niece had the book.  She could protect herself with it while keeping it out of their hands.

Heading out to the edge of her property, she called up the years of protection spells she and her husband and poured into the land since the first night they spent in their new home.  Hoping to finish before sunset released them, she hurried in her preparations.  She finished with minutes to spare.  Nothing left to do but wait.

The sun slipped behind the mountain.  No longer needing the protection, eight black skeletal creatures cast off their daytime coverings.  Sand flew as the covers dissolved in the wake of the creatures sprinting into the night, seeking their prey.

A series of screams split the night, warning May of the monsters’ approach.  With a silence that made her hair stand on end, May saw her preparations come into play in a rush of blue light, creating a half sphere around her and the 8 demons.  One of them, probably the leader, paused, sensing a trap, but it was too late.  May stood and with an effort to steady a voice shaking in fear she spoke her final words, “So mote it be.”

***

A bright blue white light flashed across the valley.  Jemma thought she might have been imagining things when she saw a golden light respond from every seam in the jacket she had donned when entering the chilly diner.  No one else seemed to notice anything.  Everyone ate and drank and carried on as if the valley hadn’t just been lit up like a Christmas tree.

Deciding an hour was more than reasonable time to wait for a friend to come get the book, Jemma reached for the envelope to pay for supper.  Opening it surprised her.  Inside she found a letter an a stack of hundred dollar bills.  Leaving the bills in the envelope, she pulled the letter open and read:

Darling Jemma,

    I want to apologize for sending you on a false errand.  I needed you to be safely gone with the book before they came.

    You did not see statues, but demons’ day forms when you came to visit me today.  I fought them when I was young, and made enemies among them, before I ever met your uncle.  I loved him enough to hide from the demons rather than fight them.  I suppose I got that, a quiet life filled with love and laughter by your uncle’s side.  And I got to know you.

    I would explain everything to you, but time runs short.  I must get you away before they come.  You need to know, you have a gift.  You can see what other cannot and protect them from evils they do not know.  The book will help you.

    If I succeed tonight, you will see a flash of light as the demons are destroyed, taking me with them.  Regardless of my success or failure, you are no longer safe here.  Take the book, the coat, and the money and run.  This is all I can do for you now.  I love you forever.

Blessed be,

Aunt May

Jemma folded the letter up and tucked it into an inside pocket of the coat her aunt had made sure to give her as a final parting gift.  Leaving some money on the table for the meal, she headed back to the car.  She wondered how long it would take to get to the airport.

Prompt here

It's Official

Today, I finally got around to actually signing up for NaNoWriMo.  Clicking on the NaNoWriMo badge on the right will take you to my profile page.  I know, procrastination is my middle name.  I just didn't really see the point in signing up early.  Now I do and, if I participate again next year, I will definitely sign up earlier.  One perk to signing up early is getting to know the local NaNoWriMo community.  Turns out that there are groups across the globe that get together to support each other.  I'm in the Northern Virginia group.  Northern Virginia is generally considered the Virginia section of the Washington, D.C. infrastructure.  I did not sign up early enough to participate in most of the outline parties available, however I am looking forward to the Kick-Off party this weekend!

Just because I haven't participated in an outline party doesn't mean I haven't done any thinking about my novel, though I would be hard pressed to call what I've done outlining.  My instructors from school would have laughed themselves sick if I had tried to turn this in as an outline.  Yep, that scribble with bubbles, arrows, and squiggles is what is passing for my outline.  In case the big circled "Spacestation" on the outline didn't give it away, my story is going to be science fiction.  I have no clue how much of what is on that page is actually going to go into my story, but that's the fun part!  I may spend some more of the waiting period fleshing out my mental image of some of the characters.  I'm so excited I can hardly wait for November to get here.

Nightmare Fuel, Day 21

“It isn’t right!” a female voice screeched.

“We need to feed the world.  After everyone is fed, you can dither about right and wrong,” a much calmer, quieter voice replied.  “These changes have the potential to increase crops ten fold.  All it takes is a little tweak, increasing yield per plant and decreasing disease susceptibility.  There is nothing wrong.  It’s all the same stuff, just boosted a little.”

“It isn’t right.”  The woman’s voice pleaded.  “There’s a reason you can’t find it in nature.  Adding DNA from bats to fruit trees is sure to have unforeseen consequences.”

“I’ll take my chances.”  The calm voice brooked no further conversation.

The door to the greenhouse opened to admit a tall man in a pristine white lab coat.  He took a moment, as the door closed, to survey the rows of trees filling the facility before pulling up his clipboard and walking to the head of the first row.

Calmly, he walked down the rows, taking notes on tree growth, fruit size and color, and fruit quantity.  Thinking back on his conversation with the strange guest geneticist, he shook his head.  She was seeing problems that were not there.  This facility alone had been testing genetic varieties for decades at this point and nothing terrible had happened.  They had found the pear that became poisonous when cooked before putting it out for sale, though that had been close.  They only found it because they were cooking one up for the marketing pictures.  The model had spent a week in the hospital.  That had only happened once though.  And they had learned from it, which is what this lab was all about.

Realizing he had finished this greenhouse, he tried to shake off the conversation as he entered the next greenhouse.  This one was designed to test the disease resistance of apple varieties to a new virus that was destroying crops across the west coast.  The control varieties were looking very sick.  Some of them may be dead.  The test varieties seemed to be much more resistant.  Walking up and down the rows, he found one variety that didn’t seem to have caught the virus at all.  They looked perfect.  They even had beautiful, ripe red fruit.  He ran a finger over one of the apples.  It was smooth and firm.  Making a note, he turned to leave.

As the door closed behind him, he did not see the fruit he had touched open a mouth full of sharp teeth.  He did not see the pink tongue lick the place he had touched.  He did not see it grin before closing into a perfect apple once again.

Prompt here

Nightmare Fuel, Day 17

A quiet night in a small Italian town.  One of the things she loved about Europe was the attention to detail, the art in everything they made.  Gargoyle rain spouts and fine scroll work on every corner cried to all who would listen how much work, how much care, went into every block laid here.  Even simple fountains were works of art.  She stopped to admire a beautiful stylized dolphin letting water into an enormous shell.

She didn’t hear anything before sudden pain blossomed on the back of her skull.  Falling to her knees, she caught herself on the fountain base.  Someone kicked her, completing her fall and grabbed her purse.  She could hear him now.  He seemed to think she was completely out of it, nothing else could explain why he was rifling through her bag right there.  Well, she would just have to show him that she wasn’t your average tourist.

Mumbling quietly under her breath she looked around for the right tool.  Ah, just there.  He finally noticed she was awake as she shouted the last line of the spell pointing first at him then at the fountain in the wall.

Nothing happened.

He stared at her for a minute then dropped her bag next to her, pocketing the cash and credit cards.  He was halfway across the street when he felt a tug on his foot.  Looking down there was nothing there.  He tried to keep walking but the tug stopped his foot from going forward.  Then, another pull on his other foot.  He couldn’t see anything but there was definitely something keeping his feet from moving forward.  He tried to move forward.  He tried to kick off whatever had his feet.  Slow enough that at first he dismissed it, the thief started moving backwards.  He was pulled faster until he lost his balance and was dragged by his ankles back toward the woman he had just robbed.  She remained sitting next to the fountain.  She was looking at him and pointing at the dolphin.

He screamed.  He kicked.  He fought.  Nothing seemed to do any good.

“Give it back.”  Her voice came out like an arctic blast on such a mild evening.  He had stopped moving just inches away from the fountain.  He quickly pulled everything out of his back pocket and threw it at her.  She smiled.  It was not a nice smile.

“Very good.”

He screamed when his bones started to pop.  He begged as they cracked.  He sobbed when they crumbled.  All his bones except his skull which shrunk.  Suddenly he was moving again, this time lifted.  It felt like his body had been turned into gelatin.  He couldn’t move anything.  All he felt was the pain ripping through his body telling him something was terribly wrong.  Then he was being squished, blended.  How could you blend into something as solid as stone?  But he saw his body begin to disappear into the very fountain which had distracted his mark long enough for him to get the drop on her.

Finally the whimpering ended.  She sat up to admire her handy work.  It didn’t stand out as much as one might think human remains ought.  Still, she was glad she’d had the opportunity to contribute to the art.  Standing up, she gathered her things and continued her walk, leaving the screaming face embedded in stone behind her.

from Carabou of Flickr under a Creative Commons license

Prompt here

Nightmare Fuel, Day 10

Liscroft was a wicked witch, no one contested that.  Whether she had the capacity to love as well was a matter of great debate among those who heard of the most recent addition to her household.

Liscroft had doubted her ability to love.  Now she knew better.  If love was sacrificing so that someone else could have the very best, then she certainly loved.  Setting traps at the edges of perfect meadows and pinning the specimens in the perfect position as the dried were easy if time consuming tasks.  But coming up with the perfect preservation spell had almost exceeded her abilities.  One trial completely destroyed an entire batch of specimens.  But she kept working; only the best would do.  Finally she got it right, a spell that used the power of the sun to preserve the specimens in their full lifelike glory.  However, the twist in the devil’s tail was the second half of the spell, using the light of the moon and stars to reveal the truth of the specimens as they had been preserved.

Yes, she thought as she watched the new mobile hang over her daughter’s cradle, I know love.  She watched the skeletons of the pixies slowly turn as a hint of a breeze caught the perfectly preserved gossamer wings.

Prompt 

Nightmare Fuel, Day 6

Creeping through the darkness, looking for a meal.  Sneaking through the woods looking for prey.  Two predators stalk the night.  Noting and dismissing the local wildlife.  Slipping past without a sound.  Pause, catching the scent from the east.  Change direction.  Hasten.  Faster.  Faster.  Running.  Closing with the prey.

The first hut comes into view.  A small snarl breaks the predawn quiet.  A bright torch-like flare suddenly lights the clearing before the hut.  Predators finally face each other.  The flames licking up the slim, deadly blade almost pulse with the nearness of prey.  The light glistens off bared teeth grown longer than nature ever intended.

The predators charge.  Clashing and snarling.  Slashing and swiping.  Falling drops of blood glow with ruby freshness in the ever moving light of the fire.  A half swallowed scream shows the hut’s occupants are awake, witnessing the clash of two deadly forces.  The eastern sky lightens to grey.  The fighters are tiring.  Soon.  Soon one will fall.  Individual drops of blood increase to flows.  Then a final spray, arcing gracefully away from the gruesome sight of its origin.  One falls, head almost severed from shoulders.  The other takes a few steps before following suite.

But this warrior does not fall alone.  Hands are suddenly there.  Helping her rise.  Checking wounds.  Bringing her into the shelter and healing heart of the small village.  None are brave enough to try to touch the sword that is now quiet in the defender’s hand.  Dawn breaks.  The touch of sunlight reveals the painfully beautiful monster for a heartbeat before engulfing it in flame.

Prompt

Nightmare Fuel, Day 5

It has clearly been years since anyone has lived here.  Yet, the cabin still stands witness to a gruesome tale.

What is left of the door lays crooked off the hinges, clearly broken down from the outside.  The majority of a skeleton sprawls among the rough wooden furniture.  It has enough clothing scraps left to identify it as a man.  He appears to have been trying to get to the brass bed at the side of the room.  Several broken vertebrae explain why he didn’t get that far.  The bedding and mattress have fallen prey to the local rodent population, but dark sections in the remains and a large, dried brown pool below show how much blood there had been.

No second skeleton, but some unusual candles, crystals and chalk occupy an upper cabinet.  Secrets within secrets.  The amount of blood loss means there had been a second person, a second victim that could not have survived long.

A quick skittering outside, nothing is there.  A dead raccoon thunks against the wall.  Suddenly, the door is filled with a screaming figure.  Blurred around the edges, not entirely corporeal, still the figure of a woman is discernable.  Dark tattoos scrawl across her body, occasionally obscured by the long black hair.  Her eyes glow.  No sanity in that gaze, no compassion, no hope.  Only anger remains.  Anger and pain.  From now until eternity, anger and pain.

Prompt

Nightmare Fuel, Day 3

I know.  I'm not writing for every prompt.  I apologize.  But some days it is easier than others to find the time to write something.  So, I'll tell you which day's prompt inspired each blurb and probably set up a link back to the original prompt.  Without further ado, my first Nightmare.


Distant rumbling is the first sign that today is not like any other. I do not want to wake. Until Mother comes in, I do not have to. Finally, a sharp jolt pulls me from dreams into wakefulness. My bed at home never jolted. Why am I in a wooden box? It is lined with bedding and curtains on one side that swayed with movement of the box. It is moving, slowly. Crawling toward the curtain, my hand stops on a cool stem. I look down to see a lovely red flower. I have never seen one like it before, but it is beautiful. I suppose I should keep it. Just as I reach the curtains, the box stops moving. I open the curtains to find the forest. So sad, I let out a little whimper. The forest is a long way from home. I want Mother. Where is she? The horse snorts. I should find the driver and ask him to take me home. I climb down from the box, still in my night gown. Looking up at my box, I notice there is no driver. I am alone. I sit down to begin crying in earnest until I hear a faint noise from further along the road. Is that someone coming? They will help me. I barely notice the horse trying to back away; I just want not to be alone. I walk further up the road until I hear the sound again, this time from the left. I get out a scream as the teeth descend, ending it all.


Prompt here

Introductions

Introductions are very important.  They set the stage.  An introduction determines the direction of the project, to a certain extent.  The direction is further refined by the contributions to it. Not merely the contributions of the author, but those of the audience as well.  To that end, I ask you all to join me on my journey into writing.

These first several posts will come in rapid succession as I publish the short essays I have written to the prompts of Bliss Morgan's Nightmare Fuel project on Google+.  I publish them here to archive them, open them to a wider audience, and initiate my writing blog.  I hope to continue publishing in November my impressions, the joys and trials, of trying to complete NaNoWriMo.

Welcome to Sonnet's Pen.