MORTAL INSTRUMENTS WEEK!!!!!!!!!

When we last left the MI crew, Jace had betrayed us, Clary had, well Clary didn't do anything of great interest in the last few pages, Camille had whispered in Alec's ear a chance at immortality, aka, a forever with Mangus, something m
Mangus understandably doesn't want, Simon was going home to face his mother, Maya and Jordan were (more or less) back together, and Lilith had died. *phew* did i get everything? That was the story we learned roughly one year ago....

One week from today, our wait for more comes to an end.

Dramatic, isn't it?

If you want a preview, click here. My comments on it will be added tommorow.

Atticus the Zoorble

In a faraway place

Admist sparkling stars

in that vacuum of space

Is a planet called Zars

Zars is a land

Wherethe Zoorbles do roam

Bemeath bright colored planets

to them it is home

The zoorbles are special,

From their horns to their toes

they're covered with specles

From their feet to theor nose

And these Zoorbles ar proud

Oh yez, proud indeed

With their six legs and horns

And their dominance of speed

Now Atticus Zoorble,

He stood out a lot

He really was different,

he had not one spot.

His mane was quite wild,

It could not be tamed

His legs counted seven

Sohe walked as thoigh lamed

Every year on the eve

Of Zoorble-Hoorble Day,

The zoorbles traveled

Down the Woorble way

All except Atticus

Who was seen with disdain

Because he was different,

He was told to remain

So as they all left

He sat there and cried

He was more than appearance,

He was like them inside

Whe grazing alone

In his deep reverie

He heard a great shriek

It was not one of glee

He lifted his head

and pondered the noise

then went at a trot

Towards the forest of Zoise

Now the forest of Zoise

Had the mud hole of Gif

On the slippery path

To Ziffer van Dif

And the forest of Zoise

Sat on Woorble Way

And the mud he of Zif

Caught Zoorbles that day

Zoorbles who struggled

And wiggled and called

For the help of another

as their journey was stalled

Now Atticus saw them

And hurried with speed

Hoping he could give them

The help they did need

Those Zoorble saw him

And cried out in glee

For Atticus had come

To set them all free

Mattered not did his stripes

His mane, leg, nor horn

He got them all out

No more did they scorn

They thought him a hero

And said just as much

They gave him the trophy

Of Zimmer van Dutch

So that is the story

Of Atticus the Zoorble

Who saved his new friends

From something so horrible

Dreams

Troughout our lives, we dream lots of things. When we're kids, we want to be astronauts, princesses, as we grow up, we laugh at ever believing that such things were possible, and allow ourselves to believe in knew things. Sometimes these t,dreams are places we want to go, people we want to see. In others, they're what we want to achieve, who we want to be. For all of my life, I have been a dreamer. I have always believed that wherever I lack something, I make up for in imagination, for, as I have grown older, even though I may have grown out of drea,s of being a princess or of being a wizard that attends Hogwarts, I still dream impossibly big. You know what's nice? When those big dreams, the ones people you won't happen, come true. Recently I had the chance to see and go inside of the Saint Louis Arch. I suppose there aremany reasons that I wanted that, Percy Jackson, my love of architecture, but beyond getting to achieve this, I fohnd another love, a love for the City of Saint Louis that is somehow perfect and beautiful in it's own right. I suppose what I see could easily be written of for a traveler's love for a place beyond their own home, and tobe fair,that wouldn't be unlike me. I am proud,.for a reason that often evades even myself, for the fact that I canview this world not only with the eyes of someone who has grown and come to understand, but also through the curious lens of a child, a brilliant place of satrtling technicolor.

SPRING!!!!!

Ahhh, spring. All that is left to do is for Vivaldi's version to magically start playing, but alas, such things cannot be. Spring has always been my favorite season, warm afternoons spent in my yard on a blanket with a book, bird song filling the air. Really, it's not something you can easily beat. Throw in my preparations for May, and bingo, yoi have heaven on Earth, even when there isn't any Jelly Beans to enjoy. Anyways, in literature, spring can have a lot of different meanings. Renewal is probably one of the most obvious, but perhaps it can also hold a certain degree if irony as well. Ehere i live, spring usually has the temdancy to seem like a nasty trick from mother nature. I'm fairly certain that last year sleet followed 90 degree weather. This year things couldn't be more different. Man, if I coild move to a place where thjs was the weather 24/7, i would swear up and down that I had moved to the best place on Earth. Spring puts me in a good mood. It'sa giant color explosion, a writer's paradise. Pale greens, light greens, a rhousand differt shades of saphire blue. Pink, purple, magenta and a yellow brighter and happier than a child's grinning face. I'm in love, and every day struggle to place what i see on paper. Besides all this, spring has also always managed to be a sea of calm in the ever twisting turmoil that makes up my year. I don'tknow if it's the weather or the general shift in attitude as people realize tha we are safely out of the freeze zone of winter. Life is mild and mellow in the spring. Not a worry to worm it's way into life. Not a single worry at all.

I suppose i could now say that it doesn't get much better, then contradict myself, but it does get better, because as spring nreak begins, so also does my time until i finally get to visit one of the top three places I've always wanted to see. I must say, it has me more excited than city of lost souls, and that's saying something. I honesty cannot wait, as for you, enjoy your spring. Celebrate it, it has a rare and beautiful beauty that, knowing weather, may crumple at any given minute

The love of reading

Books and I have a very longstanding relationship. It started when I taught myself to read before I was four years old and since then there have been many a moment we have shared. (If you want to skip the ride on the crazy wagon, wait until next time, but I won't promise it will be any better.) There have been great books (Mortal instruments, Edward Tulane, Lightning Thief) and books that have made me surrender all belief something halfway decent is out there(I won't name any names here). All in all, there have been good times as well as bad, but you know the good is winning when you start cheering about book releases. Especially if those book releases aren't for Harry Potter (Let's face it....anyone who read those books cheered when the next one came out.). As of today, there are, wait for it, 7 weeks and 5 days until the release of City of Fallen Angels, and Endure. Bitterblue comes out in 6 weeks 5 days, and to top it all off, Spell Bound and came out yesterday. Not to be a book nerd or anything, but I literally squealed and started dancing when I realized all of this. Scratch that, I am a book nerd, no matter how much I try to deny it. 
Spring and fall seem to be the big book release times. I don't know why but it's true. As with Tuesdays. Hmmmm. Interesting. 
Now if you please excuse me, I'm dancing in my kitchen over all this. Will finish what needs finishing sometime this week, I promise.


A promise is a promise. Now i shall finish. Event though it's Thursday and technically I'm supposed to do a review. Have you ever noticed in your group of friends that there is a very definite leader that ties you all together? Have you ever noticed what happens when said person is missing? That's right. Dead silence. Ahh. The lives of society's outcasts. 


I need a book to read. Patterson is killing me, something that doesn't usually happen, and I'm all psyched about the new Cassie Clare book (Squeal). Nothing seems to be fitting the expectations right now. Any ideas? Bueller, Bueller? Really, I may die. 

Souls, Stars, Books, and 'Beans

First things first. This is about a 5 days late, so before i forget entirely, I'll get it to you.

Every Soul a Star

By Wendy Mass

Pages: 322

Characters: Jack, Ally, Bree

Stars:                 

Every Soul a Star is the story of how three kids are trying to learn t figure out who they are in the idst of a changing time in their lives. Jack has never had a father he can really count on, and takes the trip to Moon Shadow Campground with his science teacher to save his grade. Bree couldn't be more different. Surrounded every day as she is by her geeky family,Bree wants nothing more than to be a star model who everyone knows. What she doesn't want is to spend the next three years of her life at a campground in the middle of nowhere. A campground that is all Ally has ever known, and isn't something she's quite ready to give up.  However, as the momentous occasion of a solar eclipse approaches, these three coming of age teens realize what they really want and what they think they want can be totally opposites.

To be honest, I wasn't a complete fan of this book. Sure, i thought it was nice, and certainly better than some of the the options I had for this competition, but it was something you could definitely tell was for younger readers. It was a a nice story, and only that. 

So i didn't finish this yesterday because of several complications so you may have been wondering about the books and 'beans part of the title and possibly, (though highly unlikely) the Dark Dawn stuff.  Anyways, here it is.

Every now and then wen I get one of those great long weekends off from school, I go on what my family likes to call a "book banger" and i call "reading runs". "Book banger" just sounds like something illegal, and it may just be, but who knows?! Anyways, such weekends are not complete without a decent sized stack of books, preferably 10-12 inches tall, a big glass of root beer and Jelly beans. Girl scout cookies and 'nilla wafers are an added bonus, but that's not important right now. We all have that so called happy place where we like to curl up with a book and pretend that no one else exists, or that we don't have work to do, or that life in general isn't the big issue that it is. My placement is my old basement. It's perfect, never too cool, never too hot, no one can ever find me although I'm sitting right on the couch in the middle of the room. It's wonderful. Add a book and the foods I mentioned earlier and it becomes a heaven on earth. There is probably nothing I love more than these occasional reading runs, with my favorite foods and all that nonsense. 

That being said, the only thing that can put a wrench in all of that is...a complication. Say for example, your dog having a seizure. That's right, my adorable, four year old black lab had some problems the other night. I'm happy to say she'll probably be fine, but still, it had me worried.

The Nithagrian

I know this may be spastic and strange, but this is a bit from The Nithagrian, which comes waaaaaay before a dark dawn. I just really really needed to get it down and I had no other ideas for today, so here it is: the first time Mauria ever came to Montoria. 

Martally didn't have to open her yes to know that she was lying in a bed. The comfort was soft, much ofter than the one she had at home. The pillow was the same, and as was the mattress on which she lay. The blankets were warm. Not silky smooth, but woven and soft. Everything seemed to be soft, comfortable. Was there an accident? she wondered. Am I at the hospital? but no- if that was true, the nose-wrinkling stench of such a place would have long alerted to her of her position. And hospitals are filled with noise she reminded herself. This place was strangely quiet. there wasn't the stale air of that such dreaded place either. It was as if a soft breeze was coming in through an open window somewhere. Not a cold breeze, but a warm one. Strange, Martally thought to herself. Its winter right now, why would such a breeze feel more of a caress and of summer than the harsh ways of a snow draped world? well, Martally thought to herself firmly. Only one way to figure ll this nonsense out. slowly and carefully, she opened her eyes. the first thing she saw was a pale gray ceiling that rose above her head, the first ting she heard were the words of a woman coming from the left of her. The voice was old, weathered, as if it had faced many a century of learning the harsh reality of the world and was in despair of what it had see, but at the same time, it was kind as that of a loving other, as wise as a knowing teacher, and as gentle as that of a true friend. Martally immediately liked it and the speaker.

Pulling herself up into a sitting position of the bed, which Martally could now see was made entirely in white, she turned to look at the speaker. The woman looked much the same way that her voice sounded. Her hair was graying, and her face was wrinkled, but her eyes were a daring green that matched the beauty the aging waves of her face desperately tried to hide. Her hair was pule back into a severe bun, which as wrapped carefully in a thing cold chain. An odd hairstyle, but something that only seemed to add to the woman's grace. the chain ended at the base of the bun, and green gems hung from it. all in all, it was a queenly look that was well matched with the emerald and gold dress the woman wore. The dress itself, as Martally came to notice it, was as much of a curiosity as the woman's hairstyle. Old fashioned in style, it was a deep gray malachite and edged in a gold that matched the strange chain around the woman's hair.  As Martally finished scrutinizing the woman, she once more smoke, smiling as she did so.

"Finished with your observation child?"

Quietly, Martally nodded her head. Something about this strange, mysterious person demanded it of her, despite the kindness that Martally had been so easily been able to find in her.

"My name is Saura, and you'll find yourself to be in Escarade of Montoria. You shouldn't be alarmed, the people here wish you no harm unless you provoke it from them. You haven't been sick long, if that's what your wondering. You have come just as spring is beginning it's turn into summer, a delightful time if I do say so myself. As for the date, its the 28 of Jecari, the second month of our year. Sophie, the cook, will bring you up some lunch shortly, but until then, I advise that you stay in bed. Doing what you did is a very violent, wearing process on a body as young as yours and you will need your rest, not to mention a clear head for what we will be discussing tomorrow."

"I always have clear head. What is it you wish to discuss? it seems we both have time." Martally was stunned by the words that came so easily from her mouth, but she found them to be true. She raised her chin and leveled her eyes at Saura, who stared back with raised eyebrows.

Surprisingly, Saura smiled. "Something tells me I'll like you my dear. Now if you will excuse me, I have may a matter to attend to." She stood up gracefully, like a wave rising from the ocean. "We'll speak tomorrow, child, but before I leave, I believe that there is a small matter that we need to clear up. What is your name? I cannot simply refer to you as 'child' or 'my dear' all the time."

Martally turned this over in her head for a few moments before responding. "Martally," She finally said, "But somehow I don't think that that name will fit here." She looked up at Saura. "Any suggestions?"

 Saura stared thoughtfully at Martally for a moment before she replied. "What about Mauria? I think that name will suit you just fine. Do you like it?"

Martally nodded. "I do."

"Good"

"Mauria" She whispered to herself, and smiled. She liked the way it felt in her mouth. The way her lips shaped the world. Mauria was a name that sounded powerful and strong. A bit mysterious as well. Mauria seemed to be the name of a force to be reckoned with.

Saura smiled at her one last time, then left and Mauria leaned back in the pillows. Glancing about the room, she saw that it was a roomy place, a place that would need exploring. She grinned a wicked grin and slid out of the bed. 

As her feet touched the smooth floor, she noticed that she was wearing different clothes than those she had been wearing when she passed out. She was now dressed in a plain white shirt that was soft and comfortable as the sheets had been and a light-weight skirt of the same color. the bed was pushed against one wall, facing another with a fireplace situated between two tall bookshelves, which were already filled with stories.  Two armchairs and a table were placed in front of the white stone fireplace and a rug n it's hearth. The fireplace itself was quite large, but at the moment, without a blazing fire to warm the room. The space above the mantel was empty, yet it was large enough that Mauria could tell that something was supposed to be placed there and was now absent. A door to her left opened onto a large balcony that had several plants on it, many that appeared to be growing right out of the tiles.

The bed was simple, but large, and a nightstand sat patiently beside it, as if waiting to bear the weight of books the owner found intriguing. Beside the bed was the plain wooden chair that Saura had patiently sat in, holding vigil over the young girl. Behind the chair and a little to the left was a wooden door, that, upon inspection, opened to a small room that contained a bathtub and a mirror, another door inside this room opened to a large closet with many dresses already hanging in it.

After leaving the room, Mauria found another door, and hoping to find the hallways of the escarade, but instead found another room. This one had yet another fireplace and seemed to serve the purpose of a sitting room; an ornate rug was on the floor and couches and chairs were placed n something of a circle around a lo table. On the other side of the room was yet another door and as Mauria started to cross the room toward it, a plump lady that looked to be in her fifties emerged from it, smiling warmly as she saw Mauria.

"Ahhh, you must be the young Lady Queen Saura was telling me about. Glad to see your finally well." As she spoke the woman placed food and drink from the tray she carried on the low table. Mauria, however, Barely noticed this. Saura was a queen? Turning the thought over in her head, Mauria supposed the idea wasn't terribly far fetched, Saura had been well dressed after all, and certainly had that commanding air of authority about her, but the mere thought that she had taken Mauria in and placed her into such great care was an intriguing idea. Who did she think Mauria was?

Sophie continued on with her prattle as Mauria thought this new development over. The escarade, whatever that was supposed to be, must be something akin to a castle or palace then, and very grand. And so, following these trains of thought, Mauria barely noticed when Sophie spoke to her.

"Young Lady?" Sophie asked again.

"Hmm?'

"If you sit down now, Lady, so you can enjoy your lunch." Sophie said again, gesturing to a chair.

"Oh, why thank you." Feeling rather sheepish, Mauria sat carefully on one of the beaitifully embroidered chairs. 

Sophie smiled. "Take it you aren't used to the way of things quite yet. Don't you worry. My mother told me good Lady Virgo wasn't so good with things either when she first came here, and when I knew the girl, you would think she had been living with them royalty from the moment she was born. lovely person, Lad Virgo. Always so kind, and quick with a good story too. But she was sad, if I do say so. She liked to move and wasn't here often, always seemed to be in a dreamlike state when she was. Couldn't sit still easy either. Liked to act, to think, to be. Never a dull moment when she was in the room. Shame she left though. Left Lady Annebeth in quite a fix, a fix he Master Charlie followed soon after. He never has liked seeing that love of his unhappy. Well, if I do say so myself Lady- what's your name again?"

"Mauria." Mauria replied. "And what happened to Virgo? Why did she leave?"

Sophie face turned sad. "Figure it was her time I guess. You can never tell when a Journeyer will up and go, but when that fire's gone, so's there purpose. Without purpose, well, I guess a journeyers time is through. Don't you dwell on that though, Lady Mauria. Such things shouldn't plague a head as pretty as yours. We've been waiting for the likes of you for quite some time. Many a person will be glad to see you."

"Excuse me for asking," Mauria began, "But why do you keep calling me a lady, why have people been waiting for me, and, this may sound ridiculous, but, what's a journeyer?"

Sophie smiled. "I've gotten ahead of myself again, haven't I? I'll leave it all for Saura to answer tomorrow. In the meantime Lady Mauria, you best eat before the food goes cold.  A maid will come and collect the dishes later. Saura says you can wander about the escarade as you please, just not to go to far from your room else you may get lost. I'll bring you your dinner tonight so don't you fret over that. Is there anything else you'll be in need of?"

"Mauria shook her head. "No, I think not."

Sophie nodded. "Alright then lady Mauria, I'll be seeing you later then. Enjoy your meal." And with that, she left the room.

Mauria looked at the small feast that was laid out on the table and realized with a start that she was quite hungry. She smiled a wry smile. "Well then, may as well heed Sophie's advise" And swiftly set upon it, when she finished, not a plate still had a scrap of food on it.

in the name of reading

Ack. I hate posting from my nook, but i cant get in a real computer right now, it this will have to do.

This has been yet another crazy mixed up week for me. As always, things are going down in series if explosions, but more so than that, i reached a conclusion that there are a lot of books that are really, really bad. Not flat out awful, per say, just, yucky. They do not do the job that books are intended to do in those genres and really miss the mark by a whole lot.

So on Tuesday i renounced reading,but on Wednesday, i found a savior, a promise that while some may books may just be a bunch of omelets, there are books that are absolutely wonderfully written. West With the Night is probably a book written like none before it. Hemingway read it, and he said it put his writing to shame. It's an auto bio for Beryl Markham, and while auto bios may not be your first stop when you have to put together a timeline of a person's life, they are probably some of the best written books of all time. 

Whenever I find myself in need pf reading such a book, i usually go for one on pilots, why? Because I'd be hard pressed to find a life more adventurous, more incredible. For a pilot, the only thing that exist is them, the sky, and their plane. I cannot find a greater beauty than soaring with them in and the delight they take in all of these things, and the way they view life is through a great lens that we land-dwellers can't begin to try to find. West with the Night. Beryl Markham. Read it.

Furthermore, i have a stack of 9 booms sitting on my nightstand, and i am quite incapable of making a choice. Take a vote, here are my choices:

1. Saint Iggy by K.L.Going
2. Finnikin of the Rock by Melina Marchetta
3. Gentlemen by Michael Northrop
4. Northward to the Moon by Polly Horvath
5. A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin
6. East to the Dawn; The Life of Amelia Earhart by Susan butler
7. West with the Night by Beryl Markham
8. In the Space Left Behind by Joan Ackermann
9. Demons and Druids by James Patterson

Also, a book competition recently finished, and I promised myself that I would write a review for the winning book, so that will be coming Thursday, whether I like it or not. It was a grat book though, Every Soul a Star by Wendy Mass. A bit for younger readers, but still a nice book. Also was Knucklehead: Tall Tales and Mostly True Stories about Growing Up Sclizka, but as it is an auto bio and I am slightly biased against them, that won't be showing up on Thursday's post.

In a series of explosions

My favorite words of the week: glitter, panic situations, purple, after parties, paradise, fun dip. there may be more, but, I'll stop there.
You know how sometimes the week just   d r a g s   o n   and sometimes it moves quickerthanquick? this was one of those quickerthanquick weeks for me. 
On Valentines day, I forgot it was valentines day, so, my friends and I invented  a new holiday: V.D.A.P. (more on that later). And my brother/best friend/life saver gave me a package of fun dip in pity of me being all on my silly lonesome. Thing is, he called it something entirely different. Lord, that boy can come up with the weirdest jokes. 
I feel like I'm the one who stands by and watches as each part of my life goes up in a small series of explosions, like when my friend (a gingy, they are probably the coolest people on the Earth. Can't have a party without one) dumped glitter on her head, just to see what would happen. That was Tuesday. Her head still has glitter on it today. 
My lunch table also came up with a whole new religion. I get to eat lunch with god now, plus, I'm the patron saint of after parties. Why? Well, i came up with V. D. A. P.; Aka, Valentine's Day After Party. Really, it's quiet the celebration. You get more candy, and not just out of pity, a few cake pops. After parties are just down-right awesome. I'm thinking of doing some on the days after Easter, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas, possibly New year's, but something tells me that that wouldn't really work.
And as for purple, well that's just purple club. Happens every Friday. I dare you to join us. 
As you may or may not know at this point, I love my cello, who in one my nerdier moments  happened to name, about as much as I love my books. Panic situations describe my life in this incredible way. There is very rarely a moment when I don't have a panic attack. Yeah, my life is just going up in flames around me. Anyways, so my cello teacher (great lady, very forgiving of my fear of metronomes and my lack of practice) totally forgot that a competition I'm in in which she accompanying me in, was next week. So now she has no idea if she'll be able to do this with me. I be more insane than I already am to say that I'm not a tad bit nervous. 
Finally, I mentioned that writing competition earlier this week and I finally found something to writer about: The absolute horror fest called the future. Raise your hand if your afraid of this stuff.  Thank you Jack Russel, I knew you'd agree with me. So I wrote a sonnet, discovered that I have issues with meter, and finally created something that didn't sound half bad. Probably one of the best poems I've ever written, which is saying something because I prefer novels. If you want to read it, great, it's what follows, if not, then below is the usual does of A Dark Dawn

The sonnet

And Into The Night

We gaze at this great eternal unknown

where stars twinkle in a beckoning light

And where every man must stand on his own

as he is swallowed by the yawning night

Forward now, leads the path we must take

while the moon shines bright, our one lonesome guide

behind us it alights the marks we make

and watches as we travel this world wide

no longer cling we to the sunny day

we turn instead to the labyrinth that dares

How eager are we, to have our own way

Into the darkness that watches and stares

So stumbling blind, mere children on we go

and what comes next, we never truly know 

A Dark Dawn

Mauria leaned back and stretched. She felt alive here. The sun touched her face and she held the clouds in her hand. The small house Marod had given her stood in a meadow near the top of a mountain. The flat terrace on which it sat had a view unrivaled by any that Mauria had ever seen. It faced northeast, towards Montoria and the life she had known there but the promise of sunrise as well. A deep valley lay below the lip of the flattened land where the house was, and a steep road led down to it. Both were places Mauria rarely roamed, preferring to make use of the wings she had as a griffin*. 

Salamari was coming today. A visit that Mauria certainly had mixed feeling about. As much as she loved the kindly woman who had taught her so much, Mauria felt that here, in 

Neria Regalia, she had started over. The old shouldn't mix with the new, it defeated the purpose. Yet Salamari would be coming none the less, and Mauria may as well be prepared for her. 

In the old days, Mauria would have cherished such visits. they were few and far between, and often were an omen of great trouble in the land, if Mauria had ever need the council of her mentor, Mauria had to ask for it. It had built on her independent nature; you had to solve your problems n their own, and ask help on your own, nothing would ever be done for you.  

She could see Salamari's horse approaching on the steep road that led to the house. staying next to the distant river far below that snaked its way through the valley, Mauria could see the flare of the white traveling cloak, and the white hide of Salamari's horse, Halogyin*. What would Salamari say? Would she be disappointed that Mauria wasn't acting towards the troubles the world was facing? Would she be understanding? As loving and caring as the kindly elf had always been to her, Salamari had been as much of a teacher to keeping a poker face to Mauria as she had been in admitting true feelings. 

Mauria sighed, tuning to go back inside. Her old mentor would be here soon, and Mauria may as well have some sort of dinner to offer her before they talked.

*(Hal-OH-gee-IN) Salamari's horse, who never seems to grow old or wounded. Mauria has always assumed that this is because Salamari is a servant of Life

Mauria, and many others of the House Nithagria, had a special gift of being able to shape-shift into griffins. The gift is also present among those of other houses, for example, some members of  Hastilia's House can become wolves. This talent is not restricted to just the members of the blood though. Regulairus has been know to change into a strange animal with fur the color of obsidian and 14 foot wings that are like silk.

Life is also a member of the Gen

Difining Ourselves

How do we define ourselves? Are we the geniuses at math? The flexible gymnasts? The goofy bookworms? What experiences have we faced? Divorce? Spoiling? Death? Breakups? What do we ant to accomplish? Do we want to be writers? Travelers? Hermits?  All in all, what makes us who we are? What perfect sets of words describe who we are and everything we believe in? I really don't know what inspired me to write that, it was a few days ago, but it's a good question. What makes us who we are??? More importantly, is there some perfect poem or story or song that just seems to say you?

Remember that writing competition I told you about a loooong time ago? Yeah, well, entries are due in 2 stinking days and I'm coming up empty handed. Happy Valentines day by the way. I can do poetry, short story, anything, really, but I just, ack, can't think of something and it's. driving. me. insane.

Also: I came up with this really awesome service project with my friend and it's literally about service projects, but the problem is, well we're really not qualified to do anything for it. Sitting around today, we were able to maybe scrounge up two of the things we're going to need to get it started. The basic idea is to hook teens up with service and mission project opportunities that fit that teen's interests and, well, basically make America's next generation care that much more about what they can do to decrease the overall awful condition of the world. Problem is, we can't find service projects, or organizations. Man, starting non-for-profit-do-good-organizations is hard. 

Mauria could feel the pound of the world around her. the waves crashed against thee sand in an angry symphony of noise. A light rain drifted around her.  It was night. The dense grey clouds hid the sky, the stars, the moon, but Mauria knew. Just in the way the air felt. The way the rain tasted. She was alone. The white sand of the beach were pockmarked by the harsh silver tears that fell from the steely sky and pounded away the sand with an unyielding ferocity unbefore seen by Mauria's eyes. It was as if the world was trying to destroy itself.

Her heart beat in rhythm of the ocean and it's bloodthirstyh attack

weather, writing and fencing

Has anyone ever contemplated the overall problem weather is?  You can move someplace where it doesn't get cold in the winter, but then come summer, you're getting roasted alive, move somewhere cool for the summer, but then come winter, you're freezing to death. It's quite the enigma. Sure, you can blame it all on global warming, but what good is that? What we all need is a nice, climate regulated place. Cold, but not too cold, and hot, but not too hot. I suppose I'm silly, complaining bout the weather, but what good is the extremes? I guess if there were none, then moderate would equal extreme, but really, I would much rather experience moderate as extreme than extreme as extreme. Don't get me wrong, I love the snow, but is all the frozen wind and sub-zero temperatures necessary? Then come summer, oh, don't even let me get started.

This is going to sound beyond the farthest corners of the geekiest part of Dorksville and Nerdland, but I'm joining a fencing team. Fencing. As in fake swords. Yeah, I'm a dork/nerd/geek. Whatever you care to call it. Am I a bit afraid that I'll get beaten up by 8 year olds who know more about fencing than I do? Heck yeah. I enjoy fencing though, it's actually kinda fun. Midevil, mind you, but fun. Plus, it could never hurt to use it for research for my books. I can't write about people who constantly get into duels if a barely kno the basics as it is, and even if it is fiction, research is helpful. Make it seem more realistic and such. 


I'm not sure if I mentioned this earlier, but if you ever get confused about stuff going on in A Dark Dawn, don't worry. It's, like, the 5th book in a series I'm working on. It will though, be the 1st one I finish. I have never poured this much dedication on an almost daily basis into anything I write, as sad as that sounds. 
While on that note, here's today's batch.




Mauria stood in the arena, the floor was cover in sand, it as nobody but her and the practice warriors she had summoned. Her sword was perfectly balanced in the ball of her hand, already she could feel the thrill of a fight seeping int her bones. She bounced on the balls of her feet and swung as the first warrior approached. He exploded into a burst into of sand and she moved onto the next one.
Mauria loved fighting.  Fighting as she was now, barely focusing on her movements and the actual attack, had become something of a meditation for her. 
Thrum thump. thrum thump. As the noonday sun washed down on her, Mauria honed in on the troubles that had been plaguing her. The cchange in the wind she felt, Neria Regalia was without leader, true, the blood each ruled their own portion of the country, as they had before, and those leaders met in a council, but they lacked a common ruler, and Mauria felt deep in her bones that the people who did lead the 5 Houses of the Blood were not fit to rule them. They were not Journeyers, not Rangers. They didn't understand the full workings and culture of the people.
Then, these so called leaders never did actually do anything, sat around and argued. No action. Without action, you could be vulnerable. And the Mali, the natives to these mountains, the Council was trying to run them from their homes. What action the Council could decide on was the wrong action entirely. Neria Regalia needed a queen. A strict hierarchy. Leaders fit for the job. The council wasn't acting enough on its own and they couldn't always rely on the Mourning Stars to save them. Change. It always boiled down to that unwanted change. 
But getting change to happen where it was needed could be as hard as teling lightning where to strike. Mauria realized that she had stopped with her practice and with a grim face resumed it. Getting change to happen needed a decisive leader. A Journeyer. Not her, Mauria's Journeying days had long since ended, she knew her place though. She had to find someone. The right someone, that would get that change. Without it, nothing good could come of the future. 


From here out, I'll try to keep The Dark Dawn posts in order on their own page. If you want to read though it, you can find the page at the top.

Life=Omlets

Every now and then, life equals omlets. The universe dishes out to you the worst that it can dream up and hands it over on a shining platter with its only words of comfort being "figure it out". Sometimes, it happens a lot, sometimes, not so much. Either way, when life equals omlets, we just have to walk those 3 blocks, drive those 5 miles, grab that idiot dog that you love so much, locate a goodhumor bar and sit down and talk to your best friend in the world. Be it you best friend from kindergarten, or the neighbor you consider your brother. Any way you throw it, you just gotta handle the omlets life dishes out with grace and somehow, figure it out.

Mauria stared bleakly ahead. Rain was washing wet and wild over the green mountains, the earth was gray, the sky overcast and it felt more like midnight than noon. The stained glass wasn't the best way to watch it all, the colors tried to make the woeful look at least the smallest bit hopeful. Mauria, for the most part, wasn't buying it. She missed Montoria. How when it rained their, it came down in droplets, not sheets. She missed the flat green plains, the pound of the ocean against the shoreline.

She was still weighing which was better: being free in a land you had no love for, or hiden in a land you called home from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't believe in crying over what couldn't be changed, so there was no point in crying over everything that she had lossed. She felt like she had when she had first come to Montoria all those years ago. Lost, with no connections, no names or any potential. After all that though, starting over felt good. After you cut your losses and freed yourself from everything that held you down, you flew, flew higher than the stars.

She remebered her first flight with Juthrath. It had felt like she had run her fingers through the silky strands of night sky and touched the jewels that filled it. After that, she had never thought of going back. Never once. With that train of thought, Mauria relized something. It wasn't so much that she missed home as she missed everythingbit stood for; Saura's dances, Regulairus's hard training sessions and his firm belief that brusises built character. Juthrath's glimmering white wings and the rolling grasses if the plains. The thrum of the sea and the rush of what it meant to be a Journeyer, what it meant to truly feel alive. 

She traiced the path of a stream of rain on the window. In Montoria, she had the remains of old memories. The life she led there had been based on a lie that she could hold onto all that, keep it part of the present. Funny how every now and then all it took was a nice slap in the face by reality. She smiled for the first time that day. She knew which was better. So long as you had to hide, you could never really be happy. Here she was free, and she would cherish that to the end of her days.

Bad Ballads and Batman Marathons

So in school we have to write a ballad. Ballad. Sounds harmless enough, right? Wrong. Do you have any iea how hard it is to writ a ballad when you have a whole list of requirements? Very very hard. My ballad must include:

1. A Meter
2. A rhyme scheme
3. Alliteration
4. Consonance
5. Assonance
6. 7 stanzas (at minimum)
7. A storyline
8. Cacophony
9. Euphony
10. Imagery
11. Figurative language
12. Personification

Remember that English teacher that I said I really liked? He's the reason of this suffering. Honestly, I don't know how I'm going to do it. Usually, he's pretty awesome, let's me write stories about the fake fish-tank he has on the back board (I'll explain at a later date), but this. Oh lord. I have requirements 1, 2, 6, 7, and 10. I'm having trouble with the rest. This thing is due Friday. Wish me luck.

As for the Batman Marathon....I'm this big superhero nerd (Hey, best-looking people on TV, it's hard NOT to watch) My friends encountered this Dark Knight add the other day when we were watching Sherlock Holmes, we got curious and spent the entire weekend watching the movies. And I must admit, even I, who is probably the biggest Iron Man dork of all time, really enjoyed them. They are seriously worth watching.

Has anybody read The White Cat by Holly Black? People keep recommending it to me, but I'm not sure. I've been stalling for time rereading the Mortal Instruments, but I'm going to need something good to read when I'm done. Any suggestions?


Mauria leaned against the wall, watching the dancers that filled the hall. It was Marod's birthday; he always threw wonderful parties. She closed her eyes, it spread out before her. She was dancing, as she had so often done in her younger days. From the color of the hair that brushed over the head of her partner, she could tell that it was Finnly. Even though she knew it was only a memory, her heart gave a short stab of pain, regret, love at the sight of hm. How he had loved her, and she him, so long ago that had been. So very long ago. She opened her eyes and sighed. Funny how things so quickly changed. She shook her head. Parties, as Mauria believed, were something she constantly bought trouble too. If she wasn't the one causing it, it was always something else. Her mouth quirked up as she remembered the masquerade party they had had on Hastilia's Day back when she had still lived with Saura, when she had been freely able to call Montoria home. The castrophy that had happened then had been a thing to remeber. 
She meant to turn away, retreat to her rom or the library, but Marod saw her at last minute, and before she could escape, he was on her, pulling her out into the room.

"Mauria, my dear girl! Why aren't you dressed? It is my party, after all! This simply will not do, absolutly not!"

Mauria laughed. "Marod, I would have changed, except I do not plan on staying, I only stopped becuase this was on my way to the library."

Marod looked at her with horror. "You weren't planning on coming to my birthday party? When it is the same house that you are incidently staying in, none the less! What's your excuse! You can't seriously believe that I won't let you come just so you can stay in that library that you practically live in! Definetly not." He shook his head. "You are coming and that is final. Change out of," he gestured at her Journeyer garb with a hint of dismay, "that and into one of those dresses I know you have hiding somewhere. Off you go."

"Marod, really, I don't do parties. Something bad is bound to happen, and I don't ant ot ruin this for you."

Marod sighed. "Mauria, do you not know that I am quite hoping something like that will happen? This party is getting rather boring. I don't even know half these people! Where they came from..." he trailed off and looked at her pleadingly.

Mauria chucled. "if you really need an excuse forclearing them all out, I'll be happy to oblige, I be don soon I guess then."

Marod smiled. "Of course you will," He gave her a little push. "Go on now. We can't have them leaving on thir own."

Mauria flashed one of her rare smiles. "All right, all right, I'm gone."

Sherlock Story

Has anyone seen the new sherlock Holmes movie? Because, may I just say, I saw it today, and it was excellent.

My friends distinguish me with 2 qualities among all other friends, 

1. I am almost always late to everything, and if I'm not late, then I end up be incredibly early, there are only a few notable exceptions to this rule
2. I never have my own money, seriously, fr some reason, when I most need it, I end up being dead broke. 

So perhaps I'm not the first person you'd choose to invite to everything, but whenever we have a function that even barely brinks  being important, you can count on these people to invite me. Why?  Well, it's certainly not because of my oh so stellar social skills. To be honest, I think it's because I'm the one who always been there. I've known the "Leader" of our little group of weirdos since before kindergarten. Plus, I always crack the best jokes. But who knows! Itt could be because of something entirely different. 

"You're a brave soul, Mauria. You deserve better than this."

Mauria just shrugged. She didn't like recognition. She did what she did, and that was that. What was the point of saying that someone was braver than another because one person could and did do something that the other could not? As Mauria saw it, if she didn't act, then nobody else would, so she may as well act.


Marod sighed in response to this. He'd been trying to get her to understand hoow the general population viewed her feats for a very, very long time, and, as always, Mauria refused to even try to look at it at that point of view. How people could come to the conclusion that Mauria was cocky was beyond hm. She was probably the most sacrificing person he knew. 
They were riding back to Marod's house after settling a dispute that had gotten bloody a few miles away. Some men had begun fighting over some petty thing like land or livestock and had puled their thug friends int it. Mauria had broken it up quickly with a flash of her sword and a man suddenly placed at her feet. everyone had come into attack her, avenge the harm she had caused the man that lay on the ground, and every one of them Mauria had only hit with the flat of her blade, even as they each came at her without mercy. Her face had remained passive, she had shown no fear and Marod seriously doubted that at any given moment she had felt it; she had stood against far harsher, why should this be any threat to her?

They continued on in companionable silence until at long lat they came across the manor that Marod called home. It sat on an island in the middle of a lake nestled in the tall mountains that surrounded it. The lake reflected the million pinpricks of light that filled the black evening sky, making the house look like it floated in the clouds instead of on the ground. The full moon shone down on the mansion, illuminating it, and the windows lit with candles looked like small flecks of gold in the pale walls. A single bridge spanned the gap between the shore and the manor, connected the isolate to the world. Marod watched Mauria carefully, trying to gauge her reaction, but her face remained as impassive as always

FRIDAY!!!!

I love Fridays. I come home from school, sit around, watch How I Mat Your Mother (great show that), consider practicing my cello for the lesson I have the next day,  contemplate the overall general state of life at that moment, and wish that I had a root beer that I could drink in my basement, a big bowl of jelly beans and a very, very good book. The only problems with this Friday are as follows:

• Geneva has weather issues. Very serious weather issues. All December, it's like early fall, we get to January, and it's like we're sudden living at the north pole. Eight inches of snow on today alone, and more in the foreseeable future.  Yes, I love snow, I've put up with it every winter of my life, but when it comes in harsh amounts and we are expeiriencing what appears to be the 2nd blizzard in a row, it gets annoying.
• I have to find a biography n Joan of Arc. Biographies aren't interesting to begin with, but when you try to find one that's "reasonable to your age level" it get nigh on impossible, even when the subject is someone as cool as Joan of Arc.
• My best friend is grounded. The only person my age in the neighborhood full of 5th graders and old people, and he's grounded. I'm stranded in a nice, white winter wonderland. This is going to be one long basement book banger.

Quite thankfully, there is a light. Wings of the Wicked is coming out at the end of January, and I cannot wait. Plus, snow=incredible sledding adventures.  I'm getting out there on my flexible flyer (If you don't know what it is, look it up. Flexible flyers are the best sleds of all time, even if I've probably outgrown mine.) 

Anywho. Have you seen the new Mortal Instruments cover? Abosute sweetness, if I do say so myself. Do have any idea when the movie is coming out? Is there a movie coming out?

You know what I'm starting to find interesting? When I was younger, I'd pick up a book, any book, and it was a straight path to awesome. No matter hat the book, or the topic, or the annoying habits of the characters, I would love it. Now a days, I pick up a book and I think "That was good, could've been better, but still pretty good." There are very few honestly excellent books. It's a great difference from how I view books when I was younger and now. What changes? A book is always a book, but something you may have loved 2 years ago may come across as beyond awful now. When do our tastes begin to change? Why do they change?

Onto writing!

Mauria stood before Nyra, still as a stone and just as unyielding. Nyra had come to hate Mauria in the past few years, even away, Mauria had become a constant plague and worry on her mind. Nyra had known Mauria a long time. Together, they had fought back the armies that had threatened to destroy the culture and people they shared so much with. Mauria had become like a mother to Nyra with everything she had taught her. But Nyra had never forgotten who Mauria as, the real and true Mauria. 
Mauria was a great Journeyer of Old. The supposed last of her kind. The legends of her and others expeditions were great and far surpassed Nyra's and those of the Journeyers of Ne. Some vital spark had been lost when Montoria had ceased to call itself the land of the Journeyers, the Rangers. The Journeyers of old had fought with all they had, they were the fierce gaurdians of all, traveling the lands of the three realms. 
Times had indeed changed though. The Journeyers of new were of an entirely different breed, and in Nyra's eyes, Mauria was the one flaw, the one painful bump that stopped the Blood from continuing on into the future. 
Nyra feared Mauria as much as she loved her. For Mauria was the one threat to the society that held peace. Nyra knew the whispers of legends, Mauria the Great, Mauria the Changer. Where Mauria went, change was quick to follow, no land could live in true peace with her near, so Nyra had called Mauria, her Champion, here to do one thing, and one thing alone. Nyra had thought long and hard on a solution to this problem and had come up with only one answer, a verdict that she did not want to deliver, but truly believed that she must.


"Mauria," Nyra descended from her high throne, her silver skirts sweeping the floor. She let a broad smile light her face, as painful as it would be to do the task that she had set for herself, she still considered Mauria her friend, despite what she may or may not do.


Mauria, as always looked severe, but underneath all that, Nyra could see more. For the first time that she had ever noticed, Mauria looked...weary. As if she had suffered at the hands of all the worlds woes. It made her look almost ancient, despite the 19 years that her body showed. It was all Nyra could do not to gasp as she looked over her old mentor. 


Mauria's voice was as equally enervated as her face. "Nyra." Her words still withheld that quiet gentle timber that it had always been though. A slight smile touched her lips and suddenly, it was all gone, the old lines and heavy burdens that had moments before marked Mauria's face and eyes was gone, youth shined through that same impenetrable shield that Nyra had so often seen Mauria surround herself in. 


"It is good to see you, friend," Nyra touched her brow, her heart, and her lips in the customary gesture of honor the Journeyers shared. Although in this house, Nyra was far superior to the older woman, the hostess always paid homage first, a respect to the power and strength to the comrade, and it had been a habit that Nyra had never been able to break from her years of training under Mauria. Mauria sighed and for the first time, it occurred to Nyra that Mauria may already know what was coming.

City of Moi

Ok, this is going to sound ridiculous, but let me rant, I rant with reason. Why do we have to understand the inter-workings of grammar? I mean, yes, I do want to be a writer, but that does not mean that I will have to dissect a sentence and be able to tell my publisher what kind of verbs are in my sentences, or show them where the predicate and subjects are. Then put into consideration that a good half of us aren't even going into careers where we'll be writing anything more creative than bank accounts and scientific theories. WHO CARES????? A good percentage off the kinds in my English class, that's for sure.
Whatever happened to the grammar that we use in everyday life? Like spelling? Or how to punctuate  sentences? Up until sixth grade, that stuff mattered, then poof! Down the drain. Shame, if you ask me. That's the stuff that I seriously need to be working on, as I still use phonetic spelling every now and then. 

So today's Thursday....
I'm not afraid to admit that I've been avoiding Thursday's for the last several months. Honestly, there is nothing worth commenting on out there. Nothing worth ranting (I love that word, redundancies usually annoy me, but not today...weird) about. What is happening to the literary world???


But today is Thursday, so something has to happen concerning books and my general opinion of them. So although this is technically cheating because I've read these books like a million times, and well, we all know my general opinion of them, I thought it was worth stating in an official post.


THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS (1-3)


Stars: (times infinity)
Pages: 1,479 (For all published books)


Ahh. Mortal instruments. In summary, the books are mainly about Clary Fray, a teenage girl who lives in New York City and one day comes across a group of people who she was never meant to see: Shadowhunters. Clary quickly discover that she is numbered among her ranks and that her father, previously presumed dead,  has returned and plots to take down the Shadowhunters' world as they know it. Clary has to fight with Jace, the boy she loves but can never have, to save it all. 
So what's so great about thee books? While just abut everything. I like Clary. She is arguably a weaker character, the dead weight in her group of Shadowhunter friends, but she's easy to connected to, and hey, who's to say she doesn't have potential? 
Then there' Jace. The ever-hysterical, constant struggle with what it means to be who he is Jace. *sigh*. Don't get me wrong, I'd take Will over Jace any day of the week, but Jace is Jace, and we are talking about the Mortal Instruments right now. Jace is probably the funniest character in the book. When he's not taking down demons, which, let's all admit it, is pretty awesome, he's cracking some of the funniest jokes and sarcastic-comments of all time. Makes me pity him; coolest character, worst life. 
Jace doesn't win the only prize for be totally amazing though: Mangus does an absolutely wonderful job of that as well. Mangus may be an underdog, but you gotta admit, he's pretty cool. He not only has magic, but he can be just as witty as Jace at times, which is just a sweet. 
I also like what its about. I came across City of Bones in a Borders last year and proceeded to sit under a table and read the 1st chapter. Right away I was hooked. Cassy Clare has talent. She keeps it interesting. The plot moves fast enough that we don't get bored, but keeps it slow enough that its not too much to take in at once. She doesn't overplay the whole love-traingle thing, but at the same time reminds that yes, there are indeed characters in love AND IT IS KILLING THEM. Which jut makes it better. Adds to the tension and all whatnot.  There's the appropriate amount of battle and action scenes that don't make it one of those annoying adrenaline rushes (like the last 2 Hunger Games books) mixed in, but again, appropriate character recover. Twists, turns. This is a fairly decent YA series. Not a single series, nay, not a single book, has lived up to the heights that Mortal Instruments has set. I will be hard-pressed to find a something that even comes remotely close, not that I am trying to be biased here, but it's true. 


Anyways.

Onto Dark Dawn!

Mauria closed her eyes to the bright sunlight. In the mountains, the sun seemed so much closer. The stars weren't the distant pinpoints that they had been when she had lived on the flat plains of Montoria. Here, they were gem that felt so close, you were almost deceived into believing that sweeping your hand thought the night sky would bring you all the riches of the world. She had a small cottage tucked away in a little valley, Marod had seen to it that he was well equipped, he could tell that after all she had done, she was finally beginning to weary, a she always did, of the fight. She remembered when she as so much younger. When she had touched the stars, not just dreamed of doing such. When she had fought to her last breath, then come back for more. Then she had been a living deity, a force to be reckoned with. Now she was legend. No one had seen or heard from her in years, but stories were till told about the great Mauria Nithagria, defeater of a million evils, wielder of Belfaron, the First Nithagrian. True she was all of those things and many more again, but the hour was changing, the tide was raging, whispered on the wind was the hour of reckoning. 
Mauria sighed and turned back inside the hut. One last thing she had to do. One last little thing. Her packed bag sat on the bed, her sword beside it, lain neatly atop her grey-blue traveling cloak. Her amber rubbed against her neck as she bent to pick it all, sliding on her weapons belt, her trusted knives, Belfaron, her bow and a quiver of arrows. She went out again, her horse stood in the small clearing that marked the small yard that Mauria had. Below her, the valley continued to stretch to the winding river that rushed away toward the distant sea, unaware of the woes of the world. Above her the mountains pushed themselves up higher, like the heads of proud princesses. This was a beautiful land, a land full of the kinds of people Mauria had missed, she had seen what they needed and he would not fail them. She was Mauria Nithagria, savior of the broken, and as she mounted the gray horse that she had tentatively begun to call her own, she looked back on it all. She would miss it, but go she must, else there never may be an end to these empty times. The fires needed to be relit, the pillars rebuilt, the prayers resaid. Time called for Change, and Mauria knew where to find it. She sighed letting the noon mountain sun wash over her once again, and turned away, down to the bottom of the valley, towards the river and the road that would lead her away, away t the people who feared her existence more than the dying queens of Montoria. This as a quiet life, but Mauria didn't believe in the quiet, only the moments of great music that sang in the fields and set ablaze the world and land of reason. Such times begged for the horror of an army Mauria had faced off so long ago. She remembered the dying words f a man she had once know "And so they will come tenfold, and without those great children of the Blood there will be no redemption" Mauria squared off her shoulders. Redemption would come. No matter the cost.

Step Forward

My friends have often acknowledged that I am not a very brave person. I must admit, that's fairly true. My idea of a good time is sitting in my basement with a book, some root beer, and a big bowl of jellybeans while the summer rain pounds on the windows and my Ipod plays soft sweet songs. When I go shopping, I head for the book store, not the clothes department. I rather retreat into what is safe, comfortable, known, then act out and step forward, but that's the hing about life, sooner or later, w get to crunch time and we have to act out, fight or flight. The beauty behind books  is that I am never presented that option. I often tell my best friend when he reminds me that I am once again reading a book that I have read several times already that "the more you read a book, the better it gets. The joy can only grow with every time you greet old friends and return to the same, familiar adventures." I'm starting to think though that "Familiar" might not be all that it's cracked up to be.
I started writing because I wanted to give that to kids, show them the forever loyal friends that I have always had. Allow them to embrace what was known until they were ready to stand up and face it on their own.
All these years, my friends have all kinda looked at me funny hen I brought up that a book was beautiful, beautiful is what those kinds of books are. The once that wrap you up in a hug after the hard days are over. I have always wanted to write a book like that. 
words are easier down on paper. when they're like this, people have a simple choice, read them, or not. Not to mention, I can always hide them away myself. Whats written down is what's easier to take.
To sum all this up, this disconnected wisps of thought, what really makes us act when the time comes for us to do so is everything e know and hold dear because in the end we always know that we can't hold onto everything forever, only the recollections of everything e have, and the knowledge of everything we will do because of it. I suppose this is probably the biggest cliche of all time, but I ant to put down words that make people act. That make people want to act, the words that everyone holds dear. The good stuff in life.
Well, with that in mind, on to my daily writing dosage. This is where, by the way, I'll be writing A Dark Dawn. I'll add in some back round information every now and then to try to explain some stuff, but otherwise, I will try to write everyday, and more often than no, it will be without explanation. I'll generally start from where I left off the day before, but I'll switch it up every now and then. Don't be afraid to comment! I'd love to hear back from you! 

Marod looked at Mauria with a look of pure disbelief. "The mourning stars?" He asked her in a hoarse whisper, all smiles gone now. "Mauria are you insane?"

Mauria looked distant, disturbed. she frowned at nothing and none in particular. "Possibly," She looked back at Marod, as if just noticing him. "you make think that I have no idea what I'm talking about," The look on his face said that this was indeed the case, and Mauria continued on. "but I do. I know who they are. Renegades. Outcasts." She smiled a wry smile. "things that I know about." 

Marod looked at her with a shocked expression. "Mauria, you may are many things, a wanderer among them, but you are most certainly not an outcast, that I know. You are the Champion of the Virtue*, how can you be an outcast?"


Mauria's smile was a sad one. "So you haven't heard the news then. Nyra* fears that I conspire against her. She outcasted me." Mauria's voice turned bitter. "And they all believed her claims, Regulairis* as well."


Marod eyes filled with sorrow and pity toward his young friend. He could see that Mauria would grow to be ancient, older even than he, but to watch as yet another weight was placed upon her shoulders, to see lines that shouldn't have marked a man five times her apparent age, made him worry. So long had it been since Mauria had actually truly appeared to be the 19 years her face and height showed.


"Are you sure that this is something that you want Mauria? We are the discontent, the woeful. We are those that bear the true sorrows of the world"


Mauria's laugh was harsh."As if I do not already do these things." Her voice softened. "Please, Marod, I'm begging you. If I am not that which I thought I was, then what am I? And Nyra has removed me from all that has since defined me. Where shall I turn now if not to your door, is t not you who I have always come to hen my road turned weary and dark? If I cannot rely on you for this one small favor, then I cannot rely on you at all, for what friend would deny me the right to redefine my position in this sorry land? Written in my bones is my need to act and from acting I am exiled. Allow me to join Marod, I need this, without it, I fear I will jot survive."


Not for the first time that night, Marod carefully examined the girl who had so often come to his doorstep, pleading for his company. Mauria created around herself this shell if impenetrability, something that others often wrote ff as arrogance, but Marod knew, Marod knew the soft vulnerability that lay beneath that shell. Mauria spoke the truth to him, this he knew. She honestly believed the words she spoke, the question was though, was what she asking for what she really wanted?


"What of husband, your daughter?" Marod's voice was soft, but it carried, it carried on the wind and he knew that no matter how hard Mauria tried not t show the the way those words stung, they would sting, and she wold not be able to hide it. Indeed she flinched, as if he had poked her with a sharp spear over the heart.


"Gone. Kayla's child...*," Mauria's voice turned sad at the thought of the name. It brought back memories of a smiling brunette girl that had stood unswervingly by Mauria's side through all the hardships she had faced, until the moment Mauria had drawn the line between friendship and duty. "It was discovered and none survived." With a pang, Mauria thought of her daughter, who she had left on the island while she and her husband returned to the Gan to carry out their various duties."

Marod gasped in surprise. "But that only explains your daughter, what of your husband?"

"He remains with Death and the Gen. As far as I'm aware, he does not know of my exile. I imagine he will be very angry when he finds out."  


Marod looked at the dawn that had slowly started to bleed into the back sky. He knew what he had t do. "Alright then, come. we have far to go and I imagine that the guardsmen will quickly find out that we are on their land. It is not wise to anger the Montorians, even when we have barely crossed their border." He turned away, walking though the woods once more, unaware of the thankful glance that Mauria threw at his shoulder.

*Virtue is one of the four leaders of the Gen, which is the ruling council of Mauria's religion. Mauria is the champion, which means that she serves Virtue in battles and carries out punishment that Virtue inflicts.  
A Journeyer named Nyra took up the position of Virtue, marking her out as an immortal. The irony is, however,, that Mauria originally trained Nyra and that in their house, house Nithagria, Mauria is actually ranked higher than her.
Regulairis is Mauria's fighting partner. In Quiet fire, he is also the Champion of Death, yet another ruler on the council of the Gen.
Kayla was a good friend of Mauria's and later became the Queen of Montoria, the land of the Journeyers. When Kayla tried to expand the kingdom and create an empire ruled by the Blood, Mauria turned her down, saying she would have no part in such action. For this, Kayla began persecuting Journeyers, and anyone else of the Blood, striking them don without mercy. The remaining members of the Blood retreated to the towering mountains south of Montoria to escape such punishment and fought a brutal war to keep that land. Mauria stubbornly remained away from this new realm, preferring to keep to a hidden island she had found of the coast of Montoria, knowing that there she would be safe while remaining within the country she still considered home. Kayla had died during the war, but her daughter had carried out her mother's quest with the same ruthlessness, and her daughter after that.