Its the day after Christmas, and all through the House....

Holidays can have long histories.


Today I've been thinking about Christmas. The legend began many thousands of years ago, with the birth of Christ. Or so we've been told. Delve further and you'll find the Christians decided to move Christ's birthday to the 25th of December to coincide with a pagan holiday. 


This is quite interesting. Because today, in some countries, Christmas is all about shopping. The slow transformation of the holiday has moved towards commercialism, whereby the wreaths of holly go up, along with the Holiday tree. Don't forget that the presents and gift giving is the most important part, never mind the message behind it. Instead, movies portray Christmas as a time to be with family and friends, a time to share gifts, unwrap wrapping paper, and remind each other about how lucky we are. Sometimes, its even about providing miracles, even small ones.


It made me think: what could Christmas be like in fifty, or a hundred years? Would its original meaning be lost? What kind of world would it be like, where the holidays are commercialized and the original meanings are lost? Like Easter, the day that Jesus was resurrected from the dead. Or All Hallows Eve, now turned into a night where kids go door to door, dressed as scary monsters and begging for candy. At no other time would this be politically correct.


And then there's this: http://www.stuff.co.nz/oddstuff/4452192/Rude-Santa-fired-then-hired


Years ago I remember sitting on Santa's knee and maybe being told the same thing about him: he knows whether the children are naughty or nice, and where they live.


A bit of overkill perhaps? Are we becoming too politically correct to celebrate the holidays as they should be celebrated?


 I don't pretend to know all the answers. I'm just putting my views across. I know that there are many more examples out there, but for the sake of this post I'm only sticking to a small few.


Let's think about it for a while, and consider what you want the holidays to be in a few years time.


Maybe it'd make a good basis for a novel, don't you think? 

SF Fiction

My fruitless hunt for something that isn't classics to read in SF has begun.

For two days now I have been searching for something to read. Preferably as an ebook, preferably through a site that lets us New Zealanders buy them.

Now I have one of two problems with this: territorial rights. They're the nasty things where our copyright laws are different from other countries, and because our government has to be different from most of the commonwealth we miss out on all the new releases, if there are any.

And of course, our websites have an interesting classification system. Don't ask me why, but everything that is paranormal fantasy is in english lit. Or something similar.

So maybe some SF has come out and it isn't in the right genre. So what would you put SF under? Dystopian? Mystery? Crime?

Some paranormal fantasy is under crime, which puzzles me. I guess it depends on what makes it marketable.

But that drags up more questions than it answers. Someone help me out here!

Cheers, Nyxix

The Not-So-New-Genre

Well writing science fiction is proving harder than I originally thought.


I have mostly kept the same, first person kick arse female protagonist that I use for my fantasy works. Though the voice and the details about the characters are always different, it does help a little towards my goal of actually finishing the trilogy. 


 A small extract: I am not going to surrender. "Prepare for the Jump Gate in three ... two ..." There would be a time when we would lose a race, but it would not be today. Bex's voice blazed through my earpiece.

"Are you insane? The Gate is going to tear us apart!" The imbecile. I thought he wanted to win just as badly as I did. Wasn't it all about going to the SPL (The Slipstream Premier League)? Hadn't that been our dream right from the beginning? We were very nearly there. Bex would soon learn what it meant not to give up. Raising the white flag wouldn't be practical to our goals. My goals. He had to see that. Our craft just happened to be made of stronger stuff than he thought.

"We're going to be fine," I slammed the throttle into position. "One!"

I think its quite good so far for a first draft, but its like pulling teeth at the moment. Try swimming underwater and you'll get the general gist of what it feels like when a fantasy writer tries soft science fiction for the first time in ages -- with actual spaceships, instead of virtual reality a few years into the future. 

I managed to look up current hovercrafts, too. http://www.google.co.nz/patents?hl=en&lr=&vid=USPAT5125470&id=nyUfAAAAEBAJ&oi=fnd&dq=hovercrafts&printsec=abstract#v=onepage&q=hovercrafts&f=false

Now, I don't know how to reference the article but what I can say is that this design isn't going to work in space, but it gives me a vague idea of what they're like. Basically, I'm going to have to double and triple check my information, to make sure I've got it right. Along with designing my hovercrafts similar to the pod-races of which Anakin flew in, I'm not going to comment any further on it.

I am going to say that I'm looking forward to the finish line with these characters. They're interesting and I can't wait to write the actual romance between Cameron and Elliot. 

Cheers,

Nyxix 

Soft SF: The Slipstream Premier League

Hi, I'm back again. I have a few summaries of my three book trilogy. These are the early planning stages of my summaries, so be warned: these are subject to change. This idea has been fermenting for a number of years, so having a solid place to put them down is quite helpful. 


Here they are: 

Book One:

Elliot Moss limps into the Sectionals when one of the top Racers bows out of the competition. Her dream of making it to the Slipstream Premier League is about to be realised: she just has a few more competitions to go before she succeeds. Only this time around, she can't lose. So when she's approached with an offer that is too good to be true: knock off a few of her competitors and she has a nice and easy ride to the finish line.

When Elliot refuses, she thinks she has come out of it with a clear conscience. But events take a sinister turn when she discovers that the rumours about the other sponsors are true. He's been murdered. Now Elliot doesn't know where to turn. She even begins to doubt the loyalty of her friends. It is made even worse when she finds a dead crew member by her hovercraft, with crime scene tape cordoning off the area. The CFB have made it personal. Elliot gets into a row with one of the GFB agents named Cameron Gage, attracting a lot of attention. That's her hovercraft they've cordoned off and how is she supposed to race without it?

There are a few objections, but finally Elliot is allowed to Race. Elliot doesn't know it yet, but someone has pulled some pretty high strings for her to be able to step foot onto the track, triggering the GFB's interest in her.

Going into the final race sets off the nerves. This time it isn't just about winning, it's about surviving long enough to get through to the end. Nobody is supposed to die during the Races. Halfway into the race, Elliot discovers her hovercraft has been sabotaged. If someone hits her car, it wouldn't just mean losing the race. It would mean losing her life.

If there is one thing that is scarier than being accused of match-fixing, it's death.

Book Two:

Elliot Moss has been looking forward to the Slipstream Premier League since the moment she began racing. What she's realised is that it is more cutthroat than ever. Rumours are circulating about how she's fixing the matches. Her competitors are dropping off like flies.

It doesn't take long to discover that just getting to the Races in the Slipstream Premier League is difficult enough. Many new Racers have been promoted from the Sectionals in order to compete, allowing for a level playing field. When Elliot discovers one of her teammates have died from the Hunter division, things begin to get serious. As the number one suspect for the Galactic Federal Bureau, Elliot begins to wonder if she'll ever make it onto the racetrack.

Elliot's no longer sure if she wants to compete. Nobody wants to face a league of assassins and she's sick and tired of not being able to trust even her closest friends. Elliot's fears are soon realised when her best friend turns on her, cornering her before the final race is about to begin. Cameron scares him off before he can do too much damage. Elliot knows it's only a matter of time before it all comes to an end, one way or the other. She has to fly with him in the final race and come out relatively unscathed.

Winning doesn't seem like such a grand prize when she comes out of the race. All Elliot knows is that she's survived. She's exhausted, but happy. It's all over.

Unfortunately, the whispers of match-fixing have grown louder. The GFB have been called in, and Elliot's thrown into an interview room.

Book Three

Accused of match-fixing and an elaborate murder plot, Elliot is about to go to the gallows for something she didn't do.

There's enough evidence for her to be locked away for a very long time. But the fact is, Cameron Gage just doesn't think one person is capable of committing all those murders, across the board.

Then there's the assassination attempts he has to figure out. Why would Elliot send someone else to off herself? As the list of suspects widens, one thing becomes clear: whoever tried to hunt down Elliot, has now switched their focus to the GFB detectives.

As Cameron's suspect list widens, it becomes clear that Elliot is no longer a threat. Holding her behind bars would be counterproductive for what he's trying to achieve. Of course, the information Elliot gives him is even more priceless.

A narrower suspect pool and the name of the very bookie who approached her with a deal. Cameron approaches the bookie with this information, who then challenges him with a wager: he'll come quietly if Cameron can beat him in a race. After all, he didn't win the Slipstream Premier League five times in a row for nothing. But there is a catch: the hovercrafts cannot be raced by one driver alone. So Cameron does the only logical thing he can think of: he releases Elliot from jail and promises her her freedom if she races with him.

The race turns ugly, fast. It turns out that the bookie wasn't as stupid as he appeared. He's got other members of his team ready and willing to shoot him down, far be it for them to take a step up and take an easy win. But Elliot knows it isn't just staying alive long enough to win that's the main affair, its getting through the track without being tracked by the other racers. If they can stay out of sight long enough to get to the finish line unscathed, they'll have an easy race.

No such luck. They're ousted five minutes into the race, and Cameron's tiring fast. He's never driven a hovercraft for this long in his life, let alone played second fiddle to a championship racer. Elliot and Cameron are taken out of the race right before the finish line, after gaining speed on the bookie.

Though Cameron and Elliot didn't win, it becomes obvious that the bookie didn't win either. Cameron convinces the bookie to tell as he wagered, since the race between them ended in a draw. It was his fault for involving the other racers.

Within minutes the whole story comes flooding out. Elliot learns all about her rise to fame, why the money had been put on her to win. Several bookies figured she wouldn't win, but the old champion came up with a way for that to happen. Knock out a few of her competition, so she could get into the Sectionals. Then help her rise slowly throughout the ranks, without her knowledge. It was all to win a substantial bet, a few hundred thousand credits on the bookie's end.

At last, Elliot's name is finally cleared. She's off scott-free and its clear she hasn't been fixing the matches. Best of all, she gets to keep both her trophy and her remaining friends. Along with that, she gains a fiancée in none other than Cameron Gage. 

Weirdness

Okay the thing I have discovered about eReaders is that they are pretty cool.

Not only do I get to have a Sony (the best New Zealand has to offer) but it is touch-screen, comes with a stylus,  (which are just extra gadgets really) but best of all, its like walking around with a mini-library in your pocket. Its lightweight, portable, and excellent if you need to escape from somebody. I'll be taking it on holiday with me too, remembering that I have to download at least two or three books before I go (because I'm going to be spending some time hiding from people after I get exhausted from socializing) and maybe take my chargers.

Which is a good thing. My charger charges the battery for goodness knows how long and if you're not a fast reader like me, it lasts a really long time. Even if you leave it on all night. *whistles*

Now I've finished ranting about how good my eReader is, I'm going to rant about something else.

---

Apparently blogging is the way to go for new writers. I haven't updated mine in a while and I thought I'd just randomly blabber on about it to see what people thought -- if they get this far down after I gushed about my eReader.

And jeez, there are so many rules when it comes to blogging -- or so-called rules that I think I might be breaking every single one of them. Like updating my blog everyday, having a 50 word bio or more (I don't even think it is that long!) Actually, I blog twice a month when I remember it exists, even though it sits in my toolbar in Safari (my favourite web-browser), so there.

And then you have to remember that people are actually going to see this blog, so you have to be careful about what you post. Not that I'm not already careful, but again -- jeez. So I'm not going to think about it.

Of course, then there's the thing where I'm going to eventually figure out that everything I've just stated is wrong and probably irrelevant anyway, because I'm pretty sure there are a great number of established writers and new writers who don't have a blog to speak of, and completely ignore what's going on in cyberspace.

Rant two done.

---

Um, I don't have a Rant Three yet. But that'll probably make for a new post, don't you think?

Cheers, Nyxix

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1

Well, it wasn't a complete waste of time.

And surprisingly, I wasn't as furious with the directors as I was with the last six.

They didn't leave out crucial plot points. Although Harry only met Bill for the first time in Part One, everything was included to the best of the Directors ability, because of what had happened in the last six.

In fact I am prepared to go as far as to say that Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 is the best of all of them.

That's right. I'm going to announce that it is well worth seeing the film, if nothing else, for your own enjoyment at the cinema.

It does not end abruptly, although there were a good few places I thought they should have cut it off. Most viewers love a happy ending, although I'm not going to give away the cutaway point except to state the obvious: it doesn't end happily at the halfway point. Not yet.

Can't wait for Part 2 next year, and drag along whoever happens to be with me at the time.

Unfortunately, I don't think it is something you should take children to -- especially your under fives, because five and up tend to be more resilient. I think (not one hundred per cent sure) I actually heard someone sobbing in the theatres. But there was a good dose of tongue in cheek, lines copied directly from the book, and an interesting amount of accuracy.

Cheers, Amanda AKA Nyx

Sorrows

Sorrows can be anything. From the twenty nine miners trapped, then wiped out, from the Pike River Coal Mine, whose footsteps even now must be gracing heavens doorstep.

Sorrow is grief for a loved one who has passed on, or a tragedy that has happened in a faraway country.

Mourning is something inexplicable, something that only happens when someone you love is taken away from you.

Everything feels a bit odd; its that grief that sometimes powers you through. 

I would not want to suffer such a tragedy, so this is my memorial to those who have died, because they were doing their job.

As for writing -- try to take a little of your own sorrow and put it into words. Nothing can hurt so greatly as the loss of someone you love, someone you hold dear, with something left unsaid or undone. What could've happened had they not taken their last breath?

Its all down to you, now.

Cheers,

Amanda 

Character Chats

Hey Guys


So I decided that this new post gets to be a character chat. I'm basically getting to know a character in one of my new works in progress, so you can kinda guess what is going on here. 

Mac

Usually characters are quite demanding. Take my previous stories. They've all had characters who simply insist who they are, crawl into my work in progress and demand that they be the centre of attention for the duration. Not Mac. Mac sat waiting patiently for attention. He shifts his glasses firmly up his nose and pours over my collection of books, perfectly aware that he's not going to find anything but fantasy there. The brilliant part? He doesn't seem to care! The others were all too self-centred to worry about my collections. It was all about them. Then I realise the truth of the matter. I might just have run head first into my first, truly heroic character.

"Artemis Fowl?" Mac comments, picking the book from the shelf. "You really read this stuff?"

"Yes," I say, attempting to match Mac's level of patience. "I've read nearly all of those books."

"Who is this? Harry Potter? A wizard? I remember reading these when they first came out," Mac mused, moving along my reading list. He's interrogating me, rather than the other way around. I can't let this happen. I want to get to know him, not let him ascertain exactly who I am simply by looking at my reading materials.

"Tell me about yourself," I said as he settled down with the Northern Lights. The Northern Lights is about a girl named Lyra, who sets about going North to rescue her best friend, Rodger. Its  quite a tale, and famous, known by many – I paused. He'd not answered my question. "Mac!" I exploded.

"What?" Again he pushed his glasses further up his nose. Already I could tell that this would be a nervous habit of his, perhaps his way of showing his intelligence. Or lack of it. I couldn't tell, because he wouldn't say anything.

"Tell me about yourself."

"I really don't like monologue," Mac said. "That's what got all the great antagonists killed in the end. Take Voldemort, for example. Rambled on about his past too much and then his past destroyed him."

"Do you have family?" I asked. I poised my fingers over the keyboard, desperately hoping to at least get something out of the man.

"Yes. I have a little girl," Mac glanced at me. "She's five. She enjoys reading too. I got her Peter Rabbit just the other day, and introduced her to Dr Seuss.  Emma's really bright; she's already doing well at school."

It was easy to get him talking about his daughter, but what about a wife and kids? I had a feeling that if I let him carry on about the subject, he'd keep going and going. By the end of the day, all I'd have is a wealth of information about his little girl. Then I had a nagging suspicion about the child. If she was quite bright at age five, then what did that say about Mac, or the woman he'd had the child with?

"Are you an antagonist, protagonist, villain or hero?" I looked at his character chart. There were quite a lot of blank spaces that needed filling.

"A little bit of each," Mac said. "I've done some things I'm not really proud of. Hells, that's part of the reason I wound up with Emma. Her mother's dead, and I've been trying to track down her killer for a long time. But that doesn't make me a hero."

I nodded. I could see this information could be valuable; perhaps the little girl would come in handy in a future part of the work in progress. Characters needed motivation and if the mother really had died – I hesitated. What if she hadn't died? What if she'd simply abandoned them, because she had no choice? It made perfect sense.

"Is the mother a Sweeper?" I asked, determined to get my way.

"I don't know," Mac said. "What's a Sweeper?"

What's a Sweeper. Mortals don't know about the magical folk that exist. So he doesn't know that she's still alive, working on the side of good, fulfilling tasks set down upon her from on high. The role of Sweeper was a promotion for mortals, just as Angels and Reapers could have similar promotion systems.

"What do you know about magic?" That was a loaded question. Mac looked at me quizzically.

"A bit of this and that," Mac replied. "I know it exists. I've been tracking a kind of wild magic. It possesses people and makes them appear insane. The power eventually turns against them and destroys them from the inside out. I have a team working on a cure. I'm worried that Emma possesses wild magic. It would explain a lot about her behaviour. She isn't insane, not that I can tell. But the magic comes out of her, in the most inappropriate moments. Put a keg on it, and it'll explode."

There – I just obtained another motivation for my main character. He was chasing wild magic and would eventually run into Abigail again, only to be faced with the possibility of all his memories being erased. Abigail would attempt to take Emma away from him, but Mac would always remember having a child. Perfect! That is what makes him act against the Sweepers, instead of with them. It turns him slowly into an antagonist.

I opened my mouth to ask something to Mac once again, but he'd already gone. Perhaps this was what I needed to work with today, assuming that there was no other information left still to discover. All I knew was that this was going to be a very exciting story. 

Words

I've been contemplating a lot lately about the English language. I find it funny that wherever in the world we go, while the language remains the same the terms we use and the slang we think common can be totally misinterpreted by someone from a completely different country.

Say English is your second language. You're learning it by the book, unprepared for the nuances that come with it. Such as 'you're' and 'your' which have two different meanings, can be used in two very different ways and should never be mixed. You're is a shortened version of you are, while your is yours, belonging to you.

With slang terms, I'm going to call a man a bloke, or a family a whanau, or a beach house a bach. Some of that is culture -- whanau means family in maori, blended with pakeha -- (white folk) -- english terms, which are used on an everyday basis by most New Zealanders. But if I were to go on the other side of the world and use the words I was familiar with, someone else might not know the meaning of them.

That relates to fantasy worlds as well. Too many  times writers assume that what is common brogue in one country might not be common in another. I think that if it applies to the real world, it should apply to fantasy also -- especially when it comes to new worlds. It might not be in line with inventing a whole new language and it is certainly a whole lot easier, but it does add some nice variety for a change. That's what I'd like to see in fantasy works, variety, accuracy, and yes -- realistic use of language.

Cheers

Rant

So I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Mostly about random stuff, up to and including what my stomach wants for lunch today -- though that has nothing to do with this blog-post.

Its about the internet. See the internet is this big world-wide network that brings people from all over the world together. We can talk on online chatrooms, social networking sites and generally we get along really well.

Then some idiot goes and posts something stupid on the internet. They get in trouble, because these rants are about their friends, their families, their true thoughts and feelings. None of it really matters -- it may be what they think at the time, but its published on the internet forever. If someone they know sees it -- well, too bad. Right?

That's why with any blog you have to be careful what you say and do. Its always going to be there, unless the post is deleted. Its the same with sharing political views to a wide group of friends. Suddenly they are not looking so friendly anymore and that's just not right. Nor friendly, so why exert them on other people?

Normally issues like these are shared online because we can retain some sort of invisibility. The smart people do. I like everyone else have a facebook page. I rant and rave on there just like everyone else, but I don't share what I'm doing every day. What if my boss, my employees or my friends saw that? Then I'd be in real trouble. At least in the good old days when you wrote in a journal in pen and paper the only danger was your little brother or sister finding what you've written. Now a whole range of creepy people can.

I guess my message is in a roundabout way is to be careful. You never know what's just around the corner.

Nyxix

Hangman

Hey


So I thought about what might happen if I threw a group of people into the arena for a game of hangman. You know the game. Someone puts a series of spaces for the words they're thinking of. The competitors have to guess which letters belong in the spaces, until they have a word.


I decided to adapt that for my competition, except with real life people fighting for survival. This is a small sample of what I came up with: 

The audience wanted blood. I'll narrow it down a bit. They didn't want just anyone's blood. Don't be so daft. The blood they wanted? Mine, splattered across a kill-zone the size of a small village. The thing was if they sent me back in time to change what I did, I'd not make the mistake of trying to change the past. In White's arena, I was the main attraction, the loose cannon, the one with nothing left to lose. These people had no idea what they were up against.

                "It's a damn shame," Clucky said. I called him Clucky for several different reasons. The first was that he looked like a bird. Not a bird of prey or anything elegant like that. Don't be silly. Imagine an ostrich with an elongated neck, pale skin and beady little eyes that did nothing for his figure. "A girl as pretty as you stuck here, wasted. I can think of much more fun things to do with such a prize."

I rolled my eyes. I ducked the first blow – right hook, not too shabby – and went under in a vain attempt to knock his legs out from underneath him. Needless to say while he was built like a bird, his strength rivalled that of a black bear, giving me no time to recover. He swung me around like a ragdoll at a speed I didn't think a human being capable of withstanding. I flew across the arena as a rocket ship to space. I fought the whole time to regain something of an upright position but instead found myself in a tangled mess of limbs. When I regained my senses I discovered I wasn't in such a nice place. By the seven hells, why couldn't Clucky have picked something more female friendly? I would have preferred to land on concrete, rather than a pile of old wood. I pulled myself into a sitting position and heard something snap. One deep, shuddering breath later and I was on my feet again. Pain shot through me at bullet pace, a blinding sensation that forced me to my knees.

                "Shall we try the other shoulder?" Great. Clucky had a partner. Let's call him Fat Tony, for his size and general mafia-like demeanour. So if Clucky and Fat Tony were partners ... where were my allies?

I wasn't a naturally competitive person. In hind-sight I should have turn tail and run the moment I set eyes on this place. Turn back the clock and I'm in the market. The aroma of fresh bread fills my nostrils, fresh and inviting. My stomach rolls, nudging me closer. With every step I take I'm away from my target. My mouth waters, the saliva close to overflowing. I change coins with the shopkeeper, her eyes as bright as the Goddess in the morning.

                "I'm sorry," the shopkeeper says. Her hands shake and her eyes dilate. It is like she isn't there anymore; she's simply a shell of who she's been. I'm not one to judge, but the words that were full of meaning suddenly had none. "Take it and go, senorita."

I side-step her stall and run straight into his arms. He's at least six foot and built like an ox. If I didn't know better I would call him out as a Spartan, but I know my history and keep my mouth shut. Spartans are vicious and they're not to be trifled with. His hands attach to my waist. I swing at him, claw him, scratching and biting like a wild thing. But it is no use. It's like trying to fight a wall. And to the best of my knowledge, walls are not broken unless they are attacked with a siege machine. I suddenly wish I had a trebuchet at my command.

I won't post the whole lot here. That's just asking for trouble if I want to sell it later. But I do like the idea of the flashback being in first person present tense. I've decided to do quite a few of those, as my MC slowly loses a battle she's not meant to win.

Cheers, Nyxix 

Ellelette de Holt: Heartless

So I decided to talk about Elle. It isn't because she's anyone in particular in real life. She exists solely in the world of fantasy and I'm basically talking to myself, gathering together a bunch of ideas that could help propel her into a direction that would have her as a half-mad serial killer. Not that she's actually going to be one. The blame's simply going to be heaped on her, for a variety of reasons that I'm going to need to expand on in the first of my trilogy, Heartless. 

When a murder takes place at the Musicians Guild there is an outcry. People are scared. As the Watch sift through the evidence, it leads them to only one person: Ellelette de Holt, who is in possession of the murder weapon. It is a kind of poison that exists throughout Archembald, used mainly to treat diseased hearts. Elle is immediately suspected of the crime of the century. 

With only her brother's word to exonerate her from the crime, Elle must prove her innocence before the killer strikes again. Can she prove that she's innocent before its too late, or will she face the hangman's noose as the death toll rises?

The Creative Empire

The Creativity Drive

In the past few weeks I've really been considering what to do with myself. I know that sounds strange, but think about it. I'm currently in the middle of learning how to be a Librarian. It isn't as easy as it sounds. There is a lot more to it than people might think. There's even a whole course subject devoted to it at the Open Polytechnic, and that's just the beginning!

I'm also learning how to be an entry-level Auditor. Now you're really rolling around laughing, aren't you? What does a creative person want with such a process orientated role? Its simple, really. In order to get to where I want to be, I have to start somewhere. I love this process orientated job, where I check that the contracts are actually correct. We're not as pedantic about it as some major banks, but we're good at spotting faults in our operators. Though I'm not telling you the name of the company, I can still give you a general idea where I work, which isn't confidential. I'm not going to put everything online! Sorry to disappoint, folks. 

As I was saying. An Auditor is a very process orientated role, whereby I'm looking for faults. it kinda applies to my writing too. Writers look for faults in completed works (I'm not going to claim I've completed anything more than a short story). The faults writers look for are quite different. Is this spelt correctly, does the grammar work, does this story make sense? Where did this giant plot-hole induced trauma come from? Oh look, there's another plot bunny I have to go and catch before I run out of places to put it in my story! 

Hmph. I'm still learning. I'm not perfect. But I'm learning a lot and I hope you'll enjoy learning with me, whether you like it or not. 

Read and enjoy, 

Nyxix