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