Tell Me A Story Of Loyalty

I've always loved stories of deep loyalty. Tonight I'm pondering a lot of threads and seeing how they cross each other.

As a child as young as six, I told stories to myself to help me fall asleep... The one I remember and have written in an old journal was about the adventures of Ophelia the cat. She led a group of orphan children who lived in the woods, fishing and having adventures... Even then it seems I had a fascination with the idea of leadership and family.

My most frequent type of dream involves running and leading. I'm usually unafraid as I lead groups of people through forests, down metal tunnels, across rooftops... Sometimes I am afraid. Sometimes I turn and fight.... They're exhausting dreams, but interesting none the less. They remind me every time that somewhere in my brain, I'm still wanting to protect people, even while I sleep.

The only story I've ever truly worked on is all built around this feeling of protecting those you love. Rider of Pure Motion is a present day story about a girl who finds dragon eggs and ends up leading a group of dragons and their riders. She doesn't want to. She's afraid to trust, but they stay by her. They fight and tease and grow into a loyal family... I don't know how to make the story all it is in my head, but the emotions that wrote it means I'll never be able to shake those characters from being dear to me. Most people who know me know I like the Ninja Turtles. I love how they are family. They bicker and tease - they protect each other and work as a team. Leo interests me in his desire to lead, but his deep fear that he's going to let them down. It's a kid show, granted - but there are still those themes that drew me in as a child and keep me still. The themes that runs through my dreams, and resurface in books I love the best, and in my own writing. Leadership. Protecting the weak. Friendship. And yes - Loyalty. As I'm considering stories tonight, I'm sorting out what draws me to certain ones so deeply. I'm wondering at my own dreams and writing....

Ender's Game

Red Rising

Sparrows in the Scullery

The Unwind series

--

Agents of SHIELD (Especially the earlier seasons.)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

What do these books and shows have in common besides being stories I love? I will protect you. Even at cost to me - I will protect you, become your family, give what I have, and stand by you. They don't circle around romantic attraction - though some of them have that in the story - it's about friendship.

What makes friendships turn into family-like bonds? What makes leaders worth following? What moments break or make loyalty? What are they willing to do to protect each other, even at risk to themselves? Even if your story drags in parts or has some confusing plot holes - if you can make me love the characters for their loyalty for one another, I will probably love your story... Because that? That is real.

There is so much more I could say, but for now I will stop because it's almost 2AM. Some blog posts are meant to be an outpouring of thoughts, not well-thought-out pieces. That's why I have this blog. ;)
I suppose I'll end up writing on this topic more in the future - there's so much to ponder.

----

What are your thoughts on loyalty and how it makes good stories?

And all that to say... Do you have any book recommendations?

~Ophelia - Marie

**Photo 1 - Pinterest Link

Photo 2 - Pinterest Link

Dragons, Books, And Giveaways

Well, finally today's the day! A giveaway day!  I have officially published my third poetry book, and have decided to celebrate!  ^_^

Writers' Colors and Dreams is a small collection of abstract and colorful poetry with themes of nature, dreaming, dragons, and writing. 

From today, until the  23rd, the book will be listed at whole-sale price for $2.75 at the CreateSpace E-store.  Afterwards, the book will go up on Amazon, and it will no longer be "on sale".

To celebrate, I am hosting two giveaways with two prizes.

The first prize is this little dragon, and a signed copy of Writers' Colors and Dreams.

The other prize is another dragon and book pair, over at ZA's Clay Critters on Facebook. Go check it out!

Feel free to enter both! The giveaways end March 23 at midnight, EST timezone.

Side note - My second book, Zeal Aspiring, is free on ebook from now until the 20th : Free ebook

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Thanks for stopping by!

You can find me on: Pinterest
Goodreads
Twitter
And Facebook: ZA's Clay Critters

~Ophelia - Marie

If The Words You Spoke Appeared On Your Skin...

All together, don't these just beg to be made into a story? 

If someone writes something along these lines, I wanna see it! ^_^

~Ophelia - Marie

Blog Tour: Meet My Main Character

          I've been tagged by Theodora Ashcraft to participate in this blog tour to share about a current Main Character. Theodora has published a book of short stories and poems entitled, Of Whispers and Wanderings, and has been published in the anthology, Heralds of Courage. Go check out those links!

         Now to answer questions about my main character... 

1) What is the name of your character? Is he/she fictional or a historic person? 

My main character is named Elmirzah Tay. She is a fictional character, for the most part.

2) When and where is the story set? 

Hmm, that is a hard question, haha... The story is set in a fictional world that is mostly like modern America, but has a sense of Fantasy to it. 

3) What should we know about him/her?

Elmirzah is a empath. When she is barefoot, she can feel others emotions if she touches them and they in turn can feel hers. Not many people know about her ability, since she has been taught to be very careful with it. Throughout the story, she tries to both keep the ability under check, so others emotions don't overwhelm her, and to use it to help those who are hurting. As she meets others who are like her, it becomes difficult to always distinguish what emotions are hers and which emotions belong to those around her. 

   She is afraid. She is afraid, once she has made deep connections with people, that they will leave. She is willing to do almost whatever it takes to keep those she loves around her. She is afraid that her caring help of others is never good enough, and struggles with doubting herself. She is loyal to a fault, even when that means she gets hurt.

She talks to herself. A lot. Jesseren is almost like an imaginary friend to her - someone who can argue her out of bad moods, and who can give practical sense advice when Elmirzah knows she is being unreasonable/frustrated. While she is careful not to talk to Jesseren out loud when people are around, Jesseren still sometimes "shows up" uninvited and argues with Elmirzah mentally... Jesseren can have as much of a 'mood' as Elmirzah but for the most part she is the calmer reflection of Elmirzah.

She is a writer - a lot of her story centers around that fact.

4) What is the main conflict? What messes up his/her life?

 Well... that's kinda complicated. (Haha.) I suppose I'd have to say that this story is one about journeys in friendship, and the lessons she learns about herself and others. How to deal with others pain, how to open up to others, how to deal with loss when friendships end. There isn't one 'main' conflict - it's more a stream of her learning to live with who she is, and accept that the world's weight isn't meant to rest on her shoulders.

5) What is the personal goal of the character?

To be a good friend. To make a difference in others lives. 

6) Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it?

Of Darker Dreams is the current title. The story that started this idea is: Dark Mirror Souls.

I have several story blips written on my Pinterest board :

           She brushes a hand against my arm, but pulls it away as I jerk back. "I... have a sense something isn't right." 

"I'm fine," I whisper, wrapping my arms around my chest. 

She reaches for me again and pulls me close. "No... you're not."

7) When can we expect the book to be published? 

Umm, never? ;) Sorry. I may share parts of it on my blog, but other than that, this is a story mostly for my own private enjoyment, and need to write it. If I finish it, I might make a few proof copies for a few select people,  but as I'm only two chapters in, that's a long way off. 

Now to tag some people... 

I'd like to tag Jacob Zozzaro. Jake writes music and fantasy and shares it over on this blog:

Fantasy Stories and Music by JAZ

One of my favorite songs he's written is entitled, Harmony's Fading Winter. 

The second person I'd like to tag is Trista Vaporblade. Trista has self published her first book, Quest for the Swords of Healing, and is hoping to publish her book, Ranger, within the next couple months.

You can find her blogging here: http://tristavaporblade.blogspot.com/ or follow her FB page :

https://www.facebook.com/TristaVaporblade

That's all for now. :)

~Ophelia - Marie 

Dreamer - Short Story

Original Picture from Flickr, Gary Simmons

Dreamer

4/26/12

    Sarlun woke up to the sound of her screaming. Before his half-awake mind could register what was happening, he flung himself out of bed, fists raised. Her high, terrified screams easily pierced through the thin walls that separated their rooms. An eerie pause of silence filled air for a few seconds, then the sound of sobs came from the other room.

     Moonlight shown dimly in from his small window, enough for him to take in everything at a glance. Sarlun's shoulders slumped as he came fully awake. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed as she screamed again. 

    It'd been two weeks since last time... he had hoped – No. He had known... Perhaps it was selfish that he had tried to make himself believe she had been fine this past week since she hadn't woken him...but when you can't do anything, sometimes your mind tries to tell you things are getting better.

     Another sob came, then faded into low whimpers that could barely be heard. Sarlun sighed. He should try to go back to sleep; tomorrow was going to long enough without him staying up half the night.

      He cared too much to do that.

      He stood and crossed the room. Quietly opening his door, he walked into the dark hallway. Her door was cracked, just barely, and he pushed it open.

     His chest clenched at the sight of her.

     Oh Kalla.

     The small girl lay on her bed, curled in a fetal position. The patchwork blanket was twisted around her body and her pale hair was wet with sweat. She whimpered again and the sound rose into a wail before abruptly cutting off. Tears tracked down her face and her hands grasped fistfuls of the blanket.

      Sarlun crept silently into the room and took the three legged stool from the far corner. Placing it in the center of the room, he sat on it and took a shaky breath. She cried out again, this time quieter, and he clenched the tip of his tongue between his teeth. A familiar ache welled up in his stomach as he watched her... He was helpless....

     "My dear little sister..." The whispered words hung in the air, and he took in another shuddering breath.  It hurt to watch her.

   She had been eight years old when he found her almost a year and a half ago - a thin, dirty, wide eyed orphan who had tried to steal his allowance from his pocket. He had been thirteen – a sidetracked boy in the market, trying to find his mother the perfect gift for her birthday. That day he brought his mother home a daughter, and gained himself a little sister.

     At first his parents had tried to convince Kalla to sleep in one of the nicer rooms in the large new addition, but when Kalla found out Sarlun's room was in the attic she wanted to sleep there. They set her up in the little room next to his, though they made it clear that if she wanted to be downstairs in the room next to theirs they would be glad to have her.

     That first night had been much like this one. Sarlun had woke up to the sound of her screaming, only that time he had run straight into her room and tried to shake her awake.

      She had sat up and looked at him with clear, tear filled eyes and smacked him hard across the face. As he gaped at her in stunned silence, she had hissed in a trembling voice, “Never wake me from my dreams.” Then she had started crying again, clinging to him and whispering, “I hate to sleep, but I must dream. I must! I must! I must!” He had awkwardly wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed into his shoulder. “They need me. I have to dream!”

       A Dreamer... not many would trust another with that kind of secret. Maybe it was because she was young, maybe it was because she was a girl, but for whatever reason Sarlun was not afraid.

    “I'll never tell,” he had whispered into her hair.

    Then, because he hadn't known what else to do, he sang to her the song his mother used to when he was small.

“Rest, little one,

Quiet your cries.

Listen to the sound

Of gentle lullabies.

Tomorrow is coming

So lay down your fears.

May the light of the dawning,

Dry all of your tears.”

    They never talked about that first night, and he never woke her again... Yet on the nights she woke him, he came into her room and sang until her cries softened.

     Even one as powerful and distrusted as a Dreamer deserved someone to comfort them.

~Ophelia - Marie

 (If you'd like to read the rest of the song, you can see it here: Lullaby Rest)

  

Copyright © 2013 Ophelia M. Flowers

Striving To Write Honestly

 

September 30, 2012

    "Honestly, writing can be scary. It's frightening that someone can know glimpses of my heartstrings- to casually touch the fears that I don't often speak aloud.

    So I drop what I have and let it go, the wonder of knowing, and not letting it show. " -Excerpt from my free-writing doc.

 

    Once upon a time I didn't share my poetry. I could capture my thoughts and feelings through writing but the idea of sharing it... Uh, no. Sharing part of me was scary. . . Did anyone really need to see that me? The me who was wondering about the future, fighting the jealousy of sharing friends, struggling with pride, and losing my temper? The me that questioned what God was doing, that broke for friends' pain, that felt lonely and afraid? What if people read them and... rejected what I had to say?

 

    It took me awhile to be willing to share my writing, and even longer for me to start signing my name to what I shared. Thankfully God placed people in my life who were able to encourage me. Slowly I  began to lose the fear of letting others read my poems, even the ones that clearly showed the real me.

 

    God has taught me that He can use what I write, no matter how small it is. My poetry may at times not have the correct meter and my free verse may be strangely broken up (Kind people use the word “unique” and at times “unusual” ;) ) and the whole thing can be over-all rough, but God can use it to bless others. If I pour out my heart and don't worry about who is going to see it, or how it will be taken, I can write honestly.

 

    Poetry is something I write from my heart... I draw upon what I know from God's Word, as well as my experiences, conversations with others, and lessons learned. Often times that results in highly personal poems that clearly lay out how I'm feeling... or, at least what I'm thinking about. That can be scary – scary because if you read it you can see me.... Yet, there are very few poems I won't share publicly. I can list less than ten that I've shown only to a select few, and out of the over 300 I've written, there are none (besides random bits in my free writing doc I ended up not turning into full poems) that I have kept totally to myself.

 

    Why? Why do I share my poetry with people, often in its roughest forms?

 

 Because they mean something to me... and I hope that they mean something to others. It's always surprising to me when the poems that have the most of /me/ in them, are the ones others relate to the best. In other ways, it's not surprising at all. I'm not the only one who has felt far from God. I'm not the only one who sometimes feels alone and out of place. I'm not the only one who has struggled in friendships. I'm not the only one who worries. I'm not the only one who at times lies awake at night thinking about the past and future. I'm not the only one who wonders about pain, death, legacies, our Christian walk, or what love means... and because I'm not the only one, sometimes the things I say strike the hearts of others.

 

 I want to write honestly to share the lessons I've learned.

 I want to write honestly to be an encouragement.

 I want to write honestly to remind others they are not alone.
And for that, and other reasons, I strive to write with honesty.


To God be the glory.

 

 

~Ophelia - Marie

 

 

Ceremony of Wings - Short Story

 

 

Original Picture Link

This is a short story I wrote a few months ago because the idea popped into my head. :)

Ceremony of Wings
4/20/2013
 

 

    I stood before my family in the gathering room of our home, trying to ignore the inflamed itching on my back. In just a few minutes I would get relief, but for right now all I could think about was wanting to tear into my wing pouches – to let my wings free and end the torment of my back. My new dress had gaps just big enough for my wings when they were released, but even the cool air did nothing to lessen the itch.

 

   Please Grandma, hurry! I silently pleaded. My plea came at the right time, for she intoned the last words a mere second after.

 

   “And thus, Zallafay was born.” Her eyes connected with mine and I tried to stand a little straighter. She stepped towards me and laid a worn hand against my cheek. “Now she is ready to stand among us, an adult.”

 

   My father dipped his head at me, a brief look of approval crossing his face, while my mother beamed with obvious joy. Kalla and Treav, the next oldest after me, had barely disguised looks of envy on their faces, though I knew they were happy for me. My littlest brother, not even old enough to show signs of his wing pouches, poked an inquisitive finger at a bug on the slated floor with the unconcern of a child.

 

   From a sheathe at her waist Grandmother withdrew the ceremonial knife and walked behind me, her black wings brushing my shoulders lightly. One hand touched the left-side sac, causing ripples of itchy agony to crawl across the surface. A slight pressure, then the blade slashed through the bulging wing sacs and I bit my tongue to keep from crying out. Liquid from within them slid down my back in slick warm trails. The itching was gone, replaced by a stinging sensation that even now faded.

 

   Grandmother came back around to face me. “Release your wings, Zallafay.”

 

   The muscles in my back flexed and I strained to extend my wings. There was a wet, slightly squelchy sound, and they came out all the way.

 

   My family's eyes widened, almost as one. My mother squeezed my father's hand and exchanged looks, their black wings brushing against each other. Grandmother inhaled sharply. I fought the urge to turn around and look at my wings, for tradition forbade it.

 

   Were they badly twisted? A boy I knew, Len, his wings had come out twisted on his wing day. He claimed it didn't bother him, since they would've been broken anyway, but I couldn't think like that. Everyone knew that deformed wings lessened your chances to be on Warrior's Way, for many still believed they were a sign of a curse from Elondi.

 

   Ha. When our whole race is cursed, what are a few twisted wings? I thought, bitterly.

 

   Grandmother swallowed and her face took on a look of calm, though I could still see her gaze flicking to my wings. She opened her mouth to begin the end of the ceremony.

 

   The place of our tribe – I knew it by by heart, and what she would say, for I had memorized it and whispered it to myself many nights... on the nights when I cried that Fate, (or Elondi, as Grandmother still believed) had chosen me to be of this tribe.

 

   I clenched my jaw and let the words play over in my mind:

 

   'Zallafay, you are a daughter of the darkness. The dark calls to you and blackness clings to your feathers. While you live, you are to atone for the evil of your ancestors for destroying a tribe and bringing darkness to the Hervn lands. Your wings shall be broken and torn, for none among the Yekwa shall fly when they still have blood guilt within their hearts.'

 

   This was the curse of our tribe. When those last words were spoken, they would break my wings and cut the main muscles, so I would never fly. For the past one-hundred and fifty years we had been paying for the evil of Gern, leader of the tribe in those years, who had lead our tribe into battle. In his conquest to rule, thousands had died... and the entire tribe of Nellestaz had been wiped out. The other tribes rose up in protest and he, and almost every Yekwa, was slaughtered and the land was plunged into darkness. Those left alive, repented, and swore before Elondi to pay atonement... All these years later and our land still hung in a state of twilight, and none of us had once flown... We used to be people with the strength and endurance of the mountains, but now struggled to pick out an existence in the impoverished land.

 

   Grandmother startled me out of my thoughts as she began to speak. “Zallafay,” she stopped abruptly, her voice cracking at the end of my name.

 

   I gave her an odd look. What was wrong?

 

   She cleared her throat and began again. “Zallafay... You are a daughter of the light.” Her voice wavered, but she took a deep breath and continued on, “The sun calls to you and the morning whispers in your feathers. While you live, you are to bring joy with your music, and shine the reflection of the songs of Elondi. Your strength shall lie in the glow of the sun and the warmth of the firelight.”

 

   For a moment I was frozen, but somehow the words I'd practiced so many times rolled off my tongue.

 

   “I shall stand among the people of my flock, and bring strength to their lands.” Then, I turned my head to look at my wings. Though still damp and bedraggled, the feathers glistened in bright golden hues.

 

   I was of the light.

 

   My wings were that of the Nellestaz tribe that had been dead for over one-hundred years.

 

~Ophelia - Marie

 

 

Copyright © 2013 Ophelia M. Flowers

 

 

Krioson And Saphieka - Dragons

 

 

 Rin, known as Lady Kitra Mimetes on Holy Worlds made these crocheted dragons for me!

(If you'd like to see the pattern, it is here: The Leaky Cauldron)

 

The tan one is named Krioson. (His name is pronounced: Kuh -rhye - Oh -Son).

The blue one is named Saphieka (Her name is pronounced: Saff - I - Kah).

 

They are from my work in progress, 'Rider Of Pure Motion'.

 

 

 

 

 

How did I choose their coloring? Hehe, it wasn't a complicated process. ;)

After I read Eragon when I was about 13, I went dragon crazy and started drawing dragons.

 *Points to first drawing* (Yeaaah... I've never been good at drawing. *Grins*)

I thought Kri was the cutest out of the dragons I had drawn, so he became my favorite. Later, when I actually  began trying to write a story, I went back and chose from the nineteen dragons I had drawn to be in my book. Eventually I ended up with five dragons that stayed in my story.



I made changes later on to how they looked. (Spines, horns, etc.)

These drawings were drawn a few months after the first set.

Saphieka's name used to be Safire, until I decided she needed a more original sounding name.

          I'm not totally satisfied with this back cover text (or whatever you'd call it) but here you go anyways:

        Anza, a girl with unusual powers, tries to hide from the world in the shadows of the North Carolina Mountains - hurt, angry, and intent on forgetting. After narrowly escaping the police, she is suddenly responsible for a run-away orphan who is in possession of five large gem stones, and left wondering what to do next. When two of the stones hatch as dragons a few days later, she has to face the reality that more people are coming to claim the remaining eggs and her quiet, hidden existence has ended. Now with three others to look after, and more on the way, how long before her secrets will come out?

       As people she thought she'd never see again arrive and the past resurfaces, she struggles to maintain control of something much bigger than her. By the time she lets go of her hate and mistrust will it be too late to find a new future?

And here's the (current) prologue (I've completely changed it several times) :

 

Prologue

I don't know when I decided to stop caring.

Maybe it was when my only friend began to use me.

Or maybe it was when she turned on me.

It could have been the night when Jared came to taunt me.

I just decided it wasn't worth it to care anymore. . .

But I think the real question is,

When did I start hating?

I think it was the night my parents died.

Or the day Denise screamed at me.

Even the night I slammed Jared against the wall; it's his fault she hates me now.

Hating is even easier than pretending not to care.

When I'm filled with anger I don't have to think about how empty I feel.

 

 

      And thus ends this random mishmash of: the wonderful dragons Rin made, an explanation of why they are those colors, pictures showing my complete lack of drawing skills, and a teeny bit about my book that I may never actually finish writing. ;)

 

 

 

 ~Ophelia - Marie

 

 

 

crocheted dragon pattern

APRIL FOOLS DAY!

Picture From Wiki
(Isn't this such a weird looking thing?)

     Hi'ya! So, it's April Fools. I didn't plan anything (and I don't put blog posts up on Mondays... normally) but with all the fun stuff going on around the internet, I wanted to post something. . .  So,  here is something random for you. This is a scene that popped in my head a bit before 1AM (on Christmas Eve of all days), after I was in bed under the covers. I got up and wrote it, despite being only half awake. *Grins*

~

    He was dead. Such a short life he had lived, and now it was ended. Now I would have to let him go, never to see -

    “Callie!” My sister's voice rang through the thin bathroom walls as she banged her fist on the door. I just stopped myself from spilling the small container, dead fish and all, over the bathroom rug. When I didn't immediately answer Laura pounded louder. “Hurry up in there! What are you doing?”
 

    “Just a minute,” I hollered at her. So much for my dramatic funeral. I dumped Bob into the toilet. His golden, limp body floated strangely in the water.

    My thoughts wandered back to my dramatic spiel. He'd been so vibrantly alive only hours before, almost unaware that his life was soon to end.

    “Callie, I mean it! I can't be late! John is picking me up in forty-five minutes for dinner!”

   
    Aww, that's plenty of time. How long can it take her to mess with her hair and makeup?

    For a moment I considered fishing him out – no pun intended – and starting over. She'd really ruined the whole moment. If my goldfish had to go, he might as well go out well. The snow had ruled out an outdoor funeral, and this was my next best solution.

    “If you don't get out here right now, I swear-”

    Nope. I wasn't going to get to start the funeral over.

    “Sheesh! Can't a girl have the bathroom for a few minutes?” I reached for the handle and flushed, watching Bob's limp body swirling down as he left this-

    Bam, bam, bam! The flimsy door shook as Laura pounded it again. “Okay, you're done! Now let me in!”

    I scrambled to my feet and flung open the door. Laura gave me a death glare and pushed past me into the bathroom. The next thing I knew I was in the hallway with the door shut behind me.

    She should've gotten ready sooner. It's not my fault she was yapping at her friend about her date.

    When I got back to my room, I glanced in on my other goldfish – Terrance,Wilford, Obadiah, and Richard. They hadn't seemed to notice that their long time buddy, Bob, wasn't there. 

    So callously they had moved on, forgetting all the times they had spent -

   I ended the thought there and let out a wry laugh.

   I'm one strange kid. Good thing people can't see my thoughts.

~

 

I hope your April Fools has been as goofily fun as mine has!

 

 

~Ophelia - Marie