28th February

Guilty guilty guilty. Again. XD Apologies, as usual. I've been very busy.

But I have good news! I'm writing again! Medina's novel is coming along - with a fair amount of difficulty, but that's only to be expected - and I'm set to hit my goal of finishing the novel sometime in May. I hope I can get it done before then because I'd quite like to have all of April to revise for my exams, but if worst comes to worst the latest I'll probably finish it is sometime in June. It feels good to be working again. I don't feel anywhere near so lazy as I have done recently.

Since starting writing again I've written something like 12.7k, which I'm extremely proud of for saying I didn't write a thing on this novel for four months. Hell, I didn't write ANYTHING for three months... So, this progress is fantastic progress. I'm hoping I can speed up again eventually, but I think getting back into things slowly is probably the best way for me to deal with things when I'm having so much trouble. On the other hand, writing slowly ensures that I can take into account a lot of the feedback I've had recently (not a LOT of feedback, but it's stuff that has been pretty hard-hitting, and made my question my ability to write quite severely and made me incredibly shy about putting pen to paper, or words on a screen), and I actually like a lot of what I've written in the past few days. I like my description, though I'll admit that my scene transitions are not perhaps the smoothest scene transitions ever written. XD

Whatever. Writing is writing, right? :D

And here's a lovely big extract to celebrate my final blog-return-ness. :)
Spoiler alert!

“Shit,” Miaan swore, even more loudly this time. Medina felt her heart drop to her stomach, so fast and hard she thought she might faint from impact. “I found her.”

“Neon?” she asked faintly. Ellette rubbed the small of her back absently, the water running in rivulets under her clothing, and craned her neck.

“You found Neon?”

“I found her. It’s - shit - it’s not good.” His voice became muffled as there was an explosive clatter coming from inside the room. Ellette winced and Medina felt the younger girl’s whole body grow tense with the movement.

“Is she - is she okay?” Ellette asked, her voice echoing out through the rain.

“No.” Miaan said nothing else, only came out from the bedroom, his face looking suddenly drawn and much older than it should. Through the heavy dashing lines of water from the sky Medina could just make out the faint marks of tears on his cheeks, and his voice seemed closed with emotion.

All Medina could think was that she could have stopped it. Whatever had happened, she had been there and she could have prevented it. Instead she had run away. How many more times was she just going to run away when things got difficult? How long would it take her to learn the damage that she could cause?

Her legs grew weaker, her vision blurring. It was her fault.

“She’s not okay?” Ellette’s voice was shaky, but definitely stronger than Medina felt.

“No,” Miaan answered. “She’s not okay. She’s dead. They broke her neck; killed her.”

“I told you,” Medina murmured. They moved out of the rain, away from Neon and back towards the kitchen where the lights were brighter and everything seemed much more surreal. “I was sure that something was wrong, and I did nothing. I didn’t do anything.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ellette started, but Medina wasn’t listening.

“I could have stopped it but I didn’t. I could have done anything, but I didn’t...”

“Medina, listen to me, you’ve not done anything wrong.” Ellette stopped in the centre of the hallway, careless of the broken glass she was now standing on. “Look at me Dee. Look at me.” Medina avoided her gaze, but Ellette drew her face back with the steady guidance of a hand under her chin. “You did nothing-”

“I did nothing. But I know who did. I know who did this.” Her eyes became glazed, her face unfocused. Then, she narrowed her eyes and frowned, her spiky features shifting menacingly.

“You do?”

“Yes, and I’m damn well going to make sure that they pay for what they did to her.”

Mrs. Whitbeck's Daughter - a prompt exercise

A writing prompt. Something new. I think I like it.

Mrs. Whitbeck’s Daughter

They had been her sister’s shoes - the little white sandals with the sunflower buckles, and fresh, un-pulled velcro fastenings - but they are Germaine’s now. She can recall how jealous she had been when her mother had brought them home, in a gift-wrapped box with a pink ribbon. The ribbon was the colour of the lining of the shoes, and immediately Germaine had wished that she could have them, even if just to touch. Sally had worn them everywhere, even to bed on that first night, and for weeks would only take them off for the special things. A walk on the beach, for example, was a special thing. But Sally was a sister too nice to be jealous of for long, and she had let Germaine wear the shoes too - just to try them on. They were too big, the straps dwarfing her four-year-old feet, and she had felt silly. Germaine remembers this now, the feeling of her feet sliding against the soft interior of the shoes, her toes barely even poking from the end.

Now the shoes sit beside her, dirty and worn on the soft, yellow sand. Sunlight plays across them, highlighting the little sunflowers - now no bigger than Germaine’s right thumb nail. She watches as a breeze stirs in the air above, and the sand jumps as if in protest. She watches in the distance as waves roll onto the shore, repeating the same motion of calmness, time after time. She does feel calm now that she is out here. Her mother is at home, cooking, or cleaning, or making herself busy and flustered. Germaine does not like the atmosphere of the house any more, not without Sally. It seems too warm in there, sometimes, stuffy and like she can’t breathe. The beach is the only place where she can come to breathe.

The air is cool and nice on her face, which she turns skyward, letting the sunlight wash over her like a warm hand, a touch of gold and angel-light. Sally used to love the beach, used to take the shoes off - as Germaine has done now - and paddle in the ocean, holding her dress with one hand and waving frantically with the other. Germaine had always watched, always followed the motions, said the words and looked after the shoes. That was how things worked.

Now there is nobody to watch, and Germaine is lonely. There are only the shoes, and the empty beach, and the rolling surf. There is the breeze, but that is not a person, not somebody she can talk to, and the sunlight. There is sand she can touch, feels cool beneath her fingers, but even this reminds her of her sister.

Everything reminds her of Sally. Especially the shoes. She thought that by bringing them here, putting them back on the beach and waiting, she might be able to think without the sadness. There is always sadness. When her mother laughs at home, at something trivial that Germaine has done, there is a beautiful explosion of glitter, and light and noise, and then she covers her mouth suddenly, as if remembering that Sally is dead, and that she should be sad. Germaine thinks that this is contagious, because now nothing is funny.

The shoes aren’t as pretty as she remembers. They’re not as clean, or as cute, and they are too small for her now. Even too small for her. She pulls her knees to her chest and stares out into the distance, the blue and gold view blurring into a hazy line of white dots of light through her eyelashes. She can hear a bird, somewhere, and some children playing on the other side of the bank, but here the beach is empty.

No, not empty. There is Germaine, and there are the shoes.

And there is Sally.

Germaine does not need the beach to see Sally; she does not even need the shoes. Sally is there, she has been told, in spirit, and now she can feel her. With each gentle brush of the wind against her face there is Sally’s hand, and Sally’s laughter, and with the soft sand beneath her feet there is the comfort that her sister had to offer. Even in the sea, way out in the blue, Sally is swimming, smiling. Germaine does not need the shoes, and perhaps this is the realisation that she was looking for when she came to the beach.

She will leave them here, for somebody else to find and to love, and then she will go home to Mother. Because six-year-old girls do not run off to the beach by themselves without good reason. She had a reason, and now she will leave. Mother will be angry, no doubt, but Germaine doesn’t care. This is what Sally would have wanted: she is sure. There is still the sadness, but Germaine thinks that this is okay. It won’t last forever.

Climbing to her feet, brushing the sand from her white summer frock, she looks out to the ocean again, smiling, and waving to an imaginary sister swimming in the water. And, bare feet padding on the cool earth underfoot, she begins to make her way home. Breathing.

3rd February

:DDDDDDD

...

Kitty has the flu. *emo*
And is still at school. Goodness knows why.

1st February

I feel guilty. :(

I haven't updated in daaaaaaaaays. Weeeeks. Almost a month. (Well, not quite, but you know...)

I suppose it's because I see that there's very little to write about when all I do every day is the same pattern over and over again. It's sad, really, because I'd like to get some variation in there, but I generally don't have the time. The most exciting stuff that has occurred recently is the hair cut I got on Thursday, and the 18th birthday parties I've been to on the last couple of Saturdays. I also got my eyes tested again on Friday, and they've told me that my eyes aren't as good as they were a year and a half ago and that I need new glasses - and in truth, I already knew all of that anyway.

I spend all of my time working for school, or thinking how I should be working for school (like now), or sleeping. I spent about a third of my time sleeping. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I'm always tired. Perhaps I just need to stress less. - Actually, I'm trying that, and it's working to a certain extent. It's difficult not to stress though, because there's just so much to stress about.

Like exams. I had my psychology exam on January 21st, which actually went pretty well, but there was so much to learn for the exam itself that I found myself just eating, sleeping and breathing psychology for a few weeks. Now it's over, I'm really really glad, but now we're back into the full-time balance of three subjects again.

I got accepted into East Anglia University for English Literature (they didn't want me on the creative writing course, but they offered me a place on the straight Lit course, with creative writing modules, so I don't mind too much) and so I'm just going to sit around until March, when I get my exam results for General Studies and Psychology, and then I'm going to reply to the universities and let them know about my choices. It'll most likely be East Anglia as both first and second choice - English Lit being my first choice, followed by American Literature with creative writing as my backup. The other universities are nice, I'm sure, but they don't appeal to me as much as UEA does. I really want to end up there.

Speaking of English Literature, I got the first draft of my coursework back this week, which was a comparison of the presentation of the protagonists' conflict with society in The Bell Jar (Sylvia Plath), and The Bluest Eye (Tony Morrison). Mrs Archer had previously look at the essay and told me that at least a couple of paragraphs were written at undergraduate level (a great complement), and then when I got back the full marked version I was told that she was lost for words (which NEVER happens). Even without any changes she marked me at having full marks on the assignment, which like... rarely ever happens. I was absolutely ecstatic. It made me really look forward to next year, especially if university is going to be as enjoyable as that coursework was. :)

I'm going to miss home though. D:

Anyway, dinner time now. And then I have English homework to complete, unfortunately.

Toodles.

xoxoxox