sharing is caring

Hey look, something I wrote!  And I'm sharing!

So, this is part of the first chapter of the novel I'm working on. I recently decided to add  to the end of it and I'll be working to finish that in time to post next week. I'm including a little into  with the hope of providing some helpful context  for the premise. I won't be posting all chapters in the future but I think I will post some excerpts for your enjoyment and to keep myself on track, haha. So yeah, I hope you enjoy it! [And please forgive any formatting issues as I'm  posting this from my phone.]

Intro

        People are born with their destiny in their skin, marks like black tattoos that aren't visible at birth. The marks reveal themselves after the onset of puberty but the exact timing, their position on the body, and their order are completely unpredictable. Each person has two marks, one that indicates a primary talent or skill and a second that divulges a person's defining character attribute.  Children grow up knowing about these marks that will define them, show them the path their lives will take and illuminate to them their own character. As they learn about the different marks, all recorded in the Mark Index, they scrutinize their arms and legs, lifting shirts to carefully examine smooth stomachs and wonder what marks will paint that canvas in time. They chatter about the marks they'd most like to have, dreaming about the potential sleeping in their skin that they may not fully understand until years after their marks have manifested and been recorded in the public record. Citizens are required to record all marks in the public record for census purposes but this procedure also functions as a means of  identifying and tracking those that manifest marks that indicate them to be a threat to others and the community at large. In a proactive effort to ensure the safety of the community, individuals with such marks, called Malmarks, are banished as soon as their threatening mark is known regardless of age or situation. Marks are part of each person and yet foreign because they foretell their future. How they will play out over the course of the person's life and how constant their influence will be is not always clear, but these uncertainties aren't ones the authorities care to gamble with.  Not all marks are good but all of them come true.

Chapter 1

The excitement that had flashed across her skin moments before was gone and Mona felt suddenly cold in its absence. She stared at the black figure, nestled next to the freckle on the inside of her left wrist. She had been waiting for a mark to manifest for seven months, since her New Growth started but she had never imagined that it would be one like this. Her breathing hitched and it felt like her throat was closing up. She had waited eagerly to see the first glimpse of her future, to join others her age in the thrill of knowing more about the person she would become. She had never considered that she might manifest a malmark.

        Mona could feel the mark, a small symbol like a black tattoo, being etched into her eyes but she had stopped seeing it.

        Don't panic.

        Breathe in.

        Where had all the air gone?

        Don't panic.

        "Mona. Mona, are you done yet?" Lauren called from the hallway, banging on the door and making Mona jump. She choked back a scream and instinctively clasped her right hand over her wrist. The door handle jiggled back and forth and she exhaled, relieved that she had locked it. She was so tightly wound that the breath came out in a strangled squeak .

        Don't panic.

        "Other people need to wash too, you know!"

        Mona could hear Lauren's foot tapping on the other side of the door, impatient as always. She scrambled to pull her shirt and tunic back over her head with hands made clumsy by shock. The cloth pulled at her wet hair and scraped against her neck. "I'm coming!" She cringed at the tremble in her voice and almost reached out a hand as if to catch it back but her older sister had sharp ears.

        "Are you okay?" Lauren's voice had taken on a concerned tone that sounded unusual coming from a mouth more accustomed to scorn and sarcasm. Mona wished she had kept yelling. She grabbed her damp towel off of the floor and tossed it in the wash basket before turning to the door. She didn't want to leave the bathroom, to risk anyone seeing the mark branded on her wrist, but it would be worse if Lauren burst in and saw the panic that painted her face. In her hurry to open the door and escape to her room she knocked into Lauren, standing as she was a breath away from the door.

        "Sorry," Mona said as she pushed past her, keeping her eyes on the floor so all she saw was the bottom edge of her sister's blue tunic and her bare feet. She tugged her sleeves down to her fingertips and willed her voice to be clear and unwavering. "I’m fine. Bathroom's all yours."

        She hurried down the hall before Lauren could respond. The slap of her own bare feet on the wood floor echoed back from the walls and water from her hair dripped down her back. She had forgotten to dry it in the bathroom and the towel was in the wash basket. She couldn't go back for it now.         

Mona forced herself to close the door to her room slowly. Lauren slammed doors routinely but Mona was the quiet one and she didn't want anyone else to suspect that today was not a normal day.

        Eyes squeezed shut, she tried to calm herself as she leaned against the wall. This couldn't be happening to her. It had to be a mistake. She wasn't a Malmark. She often didn't feel like she knew who she was, but she had been sure of that one thing. She wasn't a Malmark.

        A quick glance at her left wrist told her that conviction was now a lie. Her breath caught in her throat and she clapped her right hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. She scanned the room for a more permanent method of concealment than her loose sleeves. She couldn't risk anyone seeing the mark, not yet. She would check the Index of Marks later when no one else was home, there was a chance she was mistaken about the mark's meaning. Something told her she wasn't.

        Mona was grateful now more than ever that her parents did not inspect their children personally every day after the New Growth began like some of her friends' parents did. The moment of First Mark was supposed to be a happy one, she thought desperately as she rummaged through her drawers for a scarf, a strip of cloth, anything. First Mark was the moment everyone waited for as kids, the day when the first of your two Life Marks appeared and gave you a look into your future, your fate. It was an important moment that marked the real beginning of your life in the community, an event that was often celebrated with parties and gifts. Half of the kids her age had already manifested their first mark. Mona's parents had taken to asking her each morning, in various ways, if her first mark had come yet. They weren't trying to pry, they were just eager for the opportunity to show her off the way they had Lauren three years ago and Gareth two years before that. How disappointed they would be, Mona thought, as she seized a length of leather cord and began wrapping it around her wrist, if they knew their second daughter hadn't been Marked with something as nice as Teacher or as noble as Defender.

        Her vision blurred as she tightened the knot, adjusting the strips to make sure they completely covered the mark. Her thin mattress rustled as she sank onto it, taking shaky breaths and wiping the tears out of her eyes. Even when she closed them, Mona could still see the mark glowing against the inside of her eyelids. Rebel. No. She shook her head. She had to have it wrong. That wasn't her. It couldn't be. She had never done anything purposefully wrong or the least bit rebellious in her life.

        "Mona?" Her mother's tap on the door was much softer than Lauren's pounding had been but Mona jumped all the same. "Breakfast is ready. You best get some before Gareth eats it all."

        "Yes, mother." She held her breath as her mother's soft footsteps faded down the hallway. She stood and pulled her sleeves down again with violent yanks before opening the door to follow her to the kitchen. She glanced back into her room before closing the door behind her. It looked much like her siblings' bedrooms but there were her books for school piled neatly on the desk and small craft projects on top of her dresser, a ceramic bowl and a woven basket, that identified the room as hers. If she was right about the mark, how long could she keep it hidden? How long should she? If she was right, then wasn't she a danger? She should report herself instead of waiting for someone to see it. A lump rose in Mona's throat when she realized that this might be the last time she saw this room.

        Gareth and her father sat in the kitchen at the smooth wooden table having some sort of philosophical argument that her father seemed to be winning primarily because Gareth kept taking another mouthful of flour cakes between sentences. Anyone who saw her father and brother together could see that they were family with their shared prominent jawlines and tousled brown hair. Lauren and Mona had inherited their mother's darker coloring and sharp cheekbones. Mona sat across from her brother, making sure to keep her hands under the table.

        "Ah, Mona, here you are." her father smiled.

        "You haven't seen your sister, have you?" Her mother asked from the stove where she was flipping more cakes.

        "Good morning, papa." Mona hoped he wouldn't notice the weakness of her grin as she responded. "Lauren is in the bathroom, mother."

        "I am not." Lauren sailed into the room and dropped into the chair next to Gareth. Their father chuckled.

        "We were beginning to wonder if you'd drowned," Gareth somehow managed to say around another mouthful of breakfast.

        Lauren glared at him and opened her mouth to retort.

        "We're very glad you didn't." Mother interrupted the brewing battle, reaching between the two to place fresh plates of hot food on the table. Mona generally disliked Lauren and Gareth’s bickering as much as her parents did but for once she wished her mother hadn’t intervened. An argument between her older siblings would have kept any attention away from her.

Wisps of steam rose from the plates of flour cakes and eggs that sat next to the pitchers of milk and juice. The food smelled amazing, as always, but Mona didn't have the stomach for it this morning. A voice in her head told her to eat as much as she could because who knew if she'd ever eat her mother's cooking again, but the thought of food in her mouth made her nauseous.

        Mother sat at the end of the table on Mona’s right and her family took turns scooping breakfast onto their plates. Gareth's work required him to leave earlier in the morning than the rest of them so he had already finished eating, not that that stopped him from grabbing another flour cake as he stood to leave. He had just turned to take his dishes to the sink when Father noticed that Mona hadn't put any food on her plate.

        "What, not hungry, Mona?" He was looking at her over a fork full of eggs, his eyes narrowed in concern. Gareth paused in rinsing his plate. A member of the family feeling unwell was worrisome for any of them but Gareth had always been protective of her.

        Mona twisted in her seat before she could stop herself. She couldn’t tell her father that she didn't want to eat because then he'd ask why and she definitely didn't want to answer that question or those that would come from the rest of her family. So she smiled. And she lied. Was that how all Malmarks started out, she wondered. Little lies to the people they loved?

"Oh, I guess my mind was just elsewhere. Those flour cakes do smell good."

        He smiled and set his fork down. "Here, I'll put some on your plate for you."

        He picked up her plate and began filling it with flour cakes that she knew would sit like sand in her stomach, if she could swallow them at all. As she watched him she noticed the fine lines around his eyes and mouth that came from the frequent smiles and quiet laughter that her father was known for. Anxiety swelled in her chest, squeezing her heart until it hurt at the thought of being banished. The idea terrified her, but she was more afraid of how he would react to seeing what the malmark said she was, or would be. She couldn't imagine whether it would be fear, anger, hurt, or embarrassment in his eyes but she didn't want to find out.

        She blinked and forced herself to smile again to mask the distress she felt when he looked up and held the plate, now heavy with food, out for her to take. "Thank you." Mona automatically extended her left hand, the closest to him, to take the plate. Her sleeve pulled back just enough to reveal the wound leather at her wrist, the ends dangling in midair. The meal would probably have continued uninterrupted if Lauren had been absent but unlike the rest of her family, her attention to details was acute and she knew that Mona wasn't one for wearing bracelets.

        Before she could set the plate down and hide her wrist again under the table, Lauren's hand shot out and caught her arm just below the leather thong. The movement was so sudden that Mona almost dropped her plate.

        “What are you wearing?"

        "Lauren!" Mona’s mother said with an admonishing tone, but her sister didn’t release her grip.

Sweat broke out on Mona’s skin at Lauren’s touch and it felt like the mark was going to burn through the leather around her wrist. It was all she could do to not jerk her wrist out of Lauren's grasp but that would only make the situation more noteworthy.

“What?” Lauren asked, glancing at their mother. “Mona never wears anything she doesn’t have to. I just want to know why,” she reached out her other hand and tugged at one loose end of the cord and Mona flinched, “she’s wearing this today.”

“Lauren, let go of her.” Gareth said at the same time that Mona lied for the second time.

“I just felt like doing something different today.”

Lauren ignored their Gareth and grinned at Mona. “No, no. You were acting weird earlier. There’s something you don’t want us to know.” She tugged at the ends of the leather again and the knot Mona had tied in her panic began to loosen. Mona, eyes wide, gave a small shake of her head, silently trying to plead with her sister to, just this once, let it go. But Lauren had never known how to let something go. It was a mystery to everyone how she would ever turn out to be a teacher.

By now, both Mona’s parents and Gareth were reproaching Lauren for her rude behavior but she was ignoring them the way she ignored most criticism. Her eyes held Mona’s as she pulled the knot completely loose and quickly unwound the length of the leather cord before Gareth’s outstretched hand could pull hers away.

Mona felt like she had frozen solid in the eternal seconds it took Lauren to remove the binding, like she had been hollowed out. She couldn’t make herself move after the length of leather had settled onto the table, her left hand, still holding her plate, extended over the table, wrist up. A small part of her brain knew the malmark was in plain sight and registered the abrupt hush in the room. The quiet was more than surprise, it held the weight of law  and confirmed Mona's fear. Malmarks were  not to be spoken to.

Lauren’s eyes had dropped to see the mark, triumph plain on her face, but they met Mona’s again and she could see the recognition in her eyes. But now neither of them could look away. Mona watched, feeling like a stranger looking through her own eyes, as Lauren’s expression bled from victory, to confusion, to understanding, to horror, to fear, and then, to Mona’s surprise, to anguish.

“I’m sorry.” Lauren’s voice echoed in Mona’s mind as if she had actually spoken the words. The only sincere apology Mona had ever heard her sister give and it would never be said out loud.

a day late, a novel short

The second half of the title for this post has two meanings. The first interpretation, of course, is that I have been abysmal at writing this week and novels don't write themselves, unfortunately. The other if that I finally finished the volume I was on for WoT after not reading it for several weeks. But that was Tuesday and I haven't had an opportunity to get the next one until tonight. Suddenly reading something again only to then run out of reading material for several days makes me a little edgy.

Since Tim read the series [as much as was out] in high school, we end up discussing a lot of events and plot points as I get to them for the first time. He started rereading the series shortly after I began it but he has yet to make it through the first volume and I thought the reason was interesting.

He's struggling with some of the characters and how immature and annoying they can be. Now, the MCs of this series start out in their late teens so immaturity kind of comes with the territory. I definitely struggled with one character in particular until she finally grew up a little but for me it just felt like a realistic reflection of her age and experience. For Tim, it's a block that's completely deterring him from finishing the book. He told me that the first time he read the books he didn't even notice the extent to which some of the characters can get on your nerves. This brought up a few questions.

Obviously our own context and knowledge changes as we grow and affects the way we view things. I know there are several books that I read as a teenager that I'm not exactly proud of, looking back on them. On the other hand, there are books I read that I still love and can read over and over. So, what makes the difference between books that can transcend age and different periods of your life, and those that don't? Is it always a case of poor writing recognized as you become more knowledgeable with age? Are there some books that don't cross the barriers of time but are still well written for their audience?

For myself, I think it's probably a blend of everything. [But I'd love to hear other perspectives!] I've definitely read my fair share of poorly written books but I also think that there are those that were written for that age range and were well executed, touching and influencing me when I needed them to. Some themes must be reinterpreted for different age groups because the situations, images, and metaphors that we might connect with change, and that's alright.

That being said, how do books like The Giver and Bridge to Terabithia transcend? Is it their themes? The quality of their characterization? Or do the authors somehow manage to make a mysterious connection with their readers - an unbreakable bond that draws them in again and again? How can we write stories that will last the tests of time?

once upon a retelling

So, last week I promised I'd have something better to talk about this week. Of course, after  publishing that post I was wondering what that better thing would be. Low and behold, my need to fill a void in a different area has provided the answer.

I had been satiating my need for a good TV show with BBC's Call the Midwife series [which is awesome, by the way] but I finished the last episode a few weeks ago and last night I found myself itching for another binge-worthy undertaking and I found one: Once Upon a Time.

I know, I know, most of you are probably aghast at the idea that I haven't seen the show before. It's been out for ages, what, have I been living under a rock? Well, I suppose I have, of sorts, in relation to this show. When it first aired it became instantly popular with just about everyone at college and I have this somewhat juvenile reaction to things that garner cult followings in such a short period of time. I generally avoid them. How mature of me, I know. Anyway, I had heard enough about the show and I suppose I had become curious enough, and willing to give into that curiosity this time, to check the show out last night. The first season or two are instant-play on Netflix so why not?

I'm only eight episodes in right now [though that number will probably have increased by the time I publish this post] but I can say that I'm honestly surprised. In my experience, fairy tale retellings/spin-offs tend to get butchered more often than they are successful so I didn't have my hopes set to high for this series, but I'm impressed. Not only have they created an insanely convoluted and complex timeline that almost runs in two different directions at once but still somehow totally works [A feat worthy of praise from the Doctor, in my opinion. These people have a madman's grasp on that timey wimey business], but they've also managed to transform these fictional characters into real people who are still identifiable as the characters we know and love, but with more rounded out back stories and personalities. [Holy run-on sentence, Batman!]

But my favorite thing? Practically all of the central characters that you really get to know are women. I'm not the crazy feminist that thinks all TV shows should be completely overhauled so women always hold the limelight but guys, this is really kind of a unique thing here and I think it says something wonderful about the genre of fairy tales in general. A lot of people dismiss or deride fairy tales because they say they're sexist, casting women as the perpetually weaker sex and there is, therefor, no merit to them. What Once Upon a Time is proving here is that these princesses [and otherwise] that we know, aren't doomed to this fate. You don't even have to change that much about them to make them women that you'd be comfortable having your daughters look up to. Each character hits all the important plot points of their original stories, those tried and true mile markers aren't changed or removed. All this show is doing is filling in gaps that are already there, already teasing us with the well-rounded and humanly flawed reality of these ageless characters.

They don't have to radically change the story of Snow White - turn her into some sword-brandishing man-hater - in order to show her as a strong-willed, independent, selfless woman who falls in love, not because she isn't a complete person without a man, but because love is something everyone wants. It doesn't define her, it's just part of her story, like it is for all of us. The pasts of these characters are all just as complicated, if not more so, than those of their male counterparts and none of them are purely good.

That's probably the best twist overall, even over the timey wimey stuff, because to be flawed is to be human. To do some not-really-awesome stuff while on your quest to become the honorable person you want to be is something that happens to all of us so we can all relate and connect. It's an amazing thing to take a character that a lot of people love, just coming into it, give them some skeletons [we all have them] and then see those same people still loving that character, perhaps even more than they did before.

Now, letting our characters be flawed in their humanity means that they will make certain decisions you may not like [really, Mary-Margaret?] but mistakes are things we all have to be aloud to make. While I may not love some of the choices certain characters are making at the moment, as long as the reality of consequences plays out as well as the reality of the characters, I'll be okay.

I'm excited to see what happens. But I am on episode 12 now [having watched only mini series recently, this longer season is throwing me off] which has Belle's first appearance. Belle is my favorite fairy tale character. So who knows, I might feel differently after this episode ;P

what's in a name?

Giving characters names has always been a source of anxiety for me. I mean, a name almost says more about a fictional character than it does a real person. We can find ways to grow into our names, or find ways to make them suit us, but fictional characters already exist as a package deal, personality and behaviors and all. If their name doesn't feel like it fits them it can be a stumbling block for readers, not to mention you as the author if you're not satisfied with it.

As hard as naming a fictional person can be, there are numerous baby-naming sites that can be great resources for ideas. Naming places, though, can be a totally different animal.

Guys, naming places sucks. I am not good at this. There are name generators out there for places but most of them are super specific and the fantasy city namers I've found are a bit too fantasy for my needs. Sigh.

On the topic of character development, I had a moment yesterday where it occurred to me that one of my main characters has crossed the line into feeling like a real person. This is, of course, the goal with all the characters in this story and I'm always working on that but I've never had this solid of a realization before so it's kind of exciting to think I'm doing something right.  :]

I promise I'll have something more interesting to talk about next week, haha.

just a little blip

Guys, one of the best things you can do for your own writing is to learn how to give feedback on the work of others. Giving constructive feedback requires an understanding of literary basics. For me, a lot of that was learned by being part of various writing classes where we reviewed each others work. Listening to the feedback that more experienced writers give can help you key into the important aspects that need attention in initial and intermediate drafts of a story because the general question will usually go along the same lines no matter the story in review.

I have always loved writer's workshops because I love hearing the ideas that my fellow writers come up with and providing feedback is something that I genuinely enjoy doing. I've noticed that I often learn as much from these experiences as those I might be responding to. The author is worried that their characters lack real, deep characterization or they just feel flat when you read them - in brainstorming ways that issues like this, that every author struggles with at one time or another, the solutions are often ones that I can apply in my own work.

Workshops are amazing events that facilitate communal education and learning performed by each member in turn. I'm working with some friends now to try and set up our own now that we're no longer students with professors and classes to create that environment for us and I highly encourage anyone else to make their own as well. It can be any size you want [I'd probably recommend at least 3 people though] and the great thing about setting up your own is you don't have to include that one person who was always ragging on your stuff in class just because they were a jerk - we've all met that person.

On a side note, this game has stolen my life for the past few days. So while I recommend it, proceed with caution if you have anything that actually needs doing.

consider this

I read a wonderful post by EPBOT today about Rage-Quitting [which I highly recommend for reading, especially if you've been having a crappy week, like a lot of us] that made me more fully consider a thought I had last night while watching Restaurant Impossible. I know, deep thoughts from a Food Network makeover show? Who would have thought?

Okay, so, confession. I watch Restaurant Impossible a lot. The tension, the denial, the designing, Robert Irvine's surprisingly competent counseling skills, the cathartic and dynamic journey in just an hour. Wonderful.

Having watched the show extensively, I've picked up on the patterns that generally surface over the course of an episode. One of these, is the pit of guilt and depression that a lot of the owner/chefs fall into right after Robert tells them that the [poor] quality of their food is a big part of why their restaurant is failing. They get stuck in a rut of "I suck and I have always sucked and I am always going to suck." I frequently find myself getting frustrated along with Robert who's asking them to snap out of it, put the past in the past, and just move forward.

This happens a lot. Last night it happened again, but this time it occurred to me how hypocritical my attitude was because how many of us can honestly say we've never had the above thought about ourselves at some point? I know I can't. I have that thought a lot and I'm not any better about getting out of that pit than those chefs are.

We're so good  at striping ourselves of our innate  power to grow and attain amazing things. EPBOT talks about Rage-Quitting when things get too tough or complicated but sometimes we  get so good at quitting that we quit before we start. We never even try to tackle that stack of laundry or dishes, that chapter, or that project because  think we already know how that'll end, so why start?

I think  this is why songs like "Let it Go"  connect to so many people. So many of us what to be that fearless, self-accepting person who throws off the expectations others  have of us and that we then create for ourselves.

We need to stop getting in our own ways. We need to start learning  from the past and stop choosing to live in it,  especially the parts we don't like. I for one, want to work on moving forward with energy and excitement, seizing the power  that I already hold to make tomorrow  what I want it to be. And stop getting in my own way.

Thank you, Food Network :)

rainy day rambles

As much as I don't love rain, mostly on days when I have to go out in it, I'm really just glad it's not snow. Spring may finally be coming! [knock on wood] I've changed my work desktop wallpaper to reflect my optimism.

Winter doesn't seem to be quite done with me though. In the last month I've had what I'm pretty sure was the flu, a cold, and now I think I'm coming down with strep throat - my perennial winter illness. I'm hoping that I can kick this latest ailment quickly. I'm well versed in the progress of strep so I know what to expect, I just don't enjoy the alternatives for making the process less uncomfortable - either don't talk for a week, or use cough drops/gargle with salt water - both of which leave my mouth tasting like roadkill. So yeah, if spring could come soon and I could stop being sick for two weeks at a time, that'd be sweet.

Tim and I saw Monuments Men and The Lego Movie last week, both of which we really enjoyed. Subsequently, I've been thinking about various lessons I got from each film and no, I'm not going to moralize here, this is writing-relevant stuffs. Serious biz-nis.

- Caution, spoilers may lie ahead -

We were both really excited to see Monuments Men ever since we saw the first trailer. Tim's a nut for historical, especially war-related films and the story - based on true events - just really interested me. We tend to do a little research on a film before we go see it, to screen for content and such, and we had both come across less than favorable reviews of the film. Not that anyone was bashing it, just people saying that it was boring and a disappointment overall. This was a little concerning for us but we were determined to see it anyway and, having done that and enjoyed it immensely, I think I can understand why some people didn't. Monuments Men is based on historical events and people and, as such, the film is much more akin to a documentary than an action movie. My assumption is that a lot of people went into this movie expecting it to be an action-y war movie with a succinct plot and characters that were developed over the course of the film. That's not what Monuments Men is, or, I suspect, what it even set out to be. The time line jumps ahead several times which, for someone expecting a smooth plot, would seem disjointed and confusing, but when you know that they're doing their best with a 2-hour time restraint to capture the scope and essence of the mission these men embarked on, it's not hard to follow.

So what did I get from this? It's important to know what your story is, what you're trying to do/convey with it, and hold true to that. There were points in the film where you could feel the potential tangents that might have been taken if it was an action/thriller sort of show but were passed over because the message of the film was not about adultery or digging up past transgressions. Also, don't sell your story, or let others sell it [if you can help it] as something that it's not. When people get the wrong impression of what your book is about, they're much more likely to lose interest and dislike it than they would be if they hadn't heard anything about it before picking it up.

Monuments Men also reminded me how powerful a scene without dialogue can be. Nazi's burning art with complete disregard or a man holding his long-dead comrade in his arms as friendly forces come upon them, his haunted eyes staring back at them and saying "You weren't fast enough. Where were you?" without making a sound. These are powerful images and a good reminder of what a skillfully created description can provoke in an audience, no matter the medium. [My husband would say the best part was the weapon accuracy, which he can never say about movies, so there's also something to be taken from the value of doing your research even on "smaller" details.]

The Lego Movie was, of course, a much more upbeat movie with plenty of laughs - though meaning and feelings ambushed us in the last ten minutes of the movie [in the best way possible]. The thing that really made it more than it could have been for me, and what I'm pulling from it for the purposes of this post, was the continuity of style. I appreciated that the animators really committed to making everything in the film Lego. I imagine it would have been easy to make the logistics and physics of the world more akin to our own [ex: the Lego people getting into the construction vehicles via the doors instead of through the roof] but their dedication to keeping all those details accurate to the way the toys work really pulled it together for me. If they had made the world rigid but the characters were able to bend in ways Legos can't, it wouldn't have worked and it would have affected the whole feel of the movie.

Continuity of style in writing can be a daunting task, especially if you're just starting out on a new story. It's something we generally look for and refine once the book is further along but just because that process happens later doesn't mean we can forget about it or that it's unnecessary. Finding our voices as writers is the first task we take up, whether consciously or not, and it's ultimately the stamp on our work that will develop fans and followers. If the tone and style of your book is inconsistent it confuses the reader and pulls them out of the story - and it usually makes them less inclined to read anything else you may write. The stories we create deserve effort on our part to make them the best they can be and our readers, present or future, deserve that consistency from us as well. It can make the difference between an interesting premise and a story that fills its potential.

Good heavens, I'm a bit of a wind-bag today apparently! Well, I'll shut up but I'll leave you with this adorable little gem that I came across on HONY yesterday. She's reminding me to take pleasure in the simple things in life ;)

She was collecting rocks.