It is time for Word Ninja. I call this "Crushed," it is flamboyantly melodramatic and I like to imagine Helen Mirren reading it. That is all.

I was crushed. The membrane breaking to the outside world and exposing the things I was afraid of, a soul that was blood red and rich with the memories of a long lost sun. I'd been bathed in the mother light on the fence of here and there. I was glorious, voluptuous, full figured in all my blushing beauty, and I never thought once in my privileged life that this day would come. What am I to you now but an spell of sanguine desire? You pluck me up like nothing, fresh from the hands of another. You only take me to dinner to flaunt before your friends, a show of snobbery where there is no love affair... you don't languish over me with your senses. I had always hoped my life would be worth more than a compliment to a cheap meal and an even cheaper man. I should be ashamed, but I feel nothing, not since the moment I was crushed and blended with the masses of faceless others, blended into an elixir of salacious indulgence. I was born in fields of green, I spoke the language of butterflies, and now I glare back from my crystal basin, fearful of a bristled mouth and the after taste of hot pocket. Lord only knows the backwash I've seen.


End Scene.


*Notes about Word Ninja: A deliciously awesome writing exercise that requires you inject a personality into any inanimate object around you, and write a piece about it in 500 words or less.* 

I invite my readers to Word Ninja with me. What's around you and what kind of personality would you give your object? If you haven't guessed, today's specimen is an over-emotional glass of wine. Cheerio my good ninjas!

-Ama

Lately I've been working on a lot of edits... over a span of a great many things. One thing I've discovered about myself--if this isn't too completely revealing--I hate romance, the kind where you run off into the sunset, and hold hands, and embrace the futility that is a "happy ending." Not that I'm not a romantic--very far from it--but I'm a tragic romantic, I love me some love/hate. While I'd never want it for my own life, I gush over the twisted beauty of flawed characters and difficult feelings. One dimensional love affairs bore me, and if you cut to the chase in the first book or the first five minutes I'm annoyed. String me along, make me guess, make me hate you, but don't settle affairs before I can open my laptop to pummel you on Goodreads or Rotten Tomatoes. After this recent pondering, I thought I'd share all the reasons love/hate is great--to me. If you like fluffy clouds and unicorn romances, that's coo' I don't judge (at least not out loud).

Below is a fabulous musical accompaniment for the subject: 

Love/Hate Pairings that have inspired my fiction (Fan fiction readers, you know what I mean on this front):

Wuthering Heights (Heathcliff and Cathy): my all time favorite novel got me hooked on love/hate when I was about thirteen. I borrowed the book from the library and never returned it, covetously hiding it under my bed until I needed the gut wrenching prose of Bronte. I've never seen a movie rendition that rocks my world though... "Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you--haunt me then." Heathcliff, you have a thing for melodrama, but it works for you. 

Pride and Prejudice (Darcy and Lizzy): The ice cube and the stinging flame, Darcy and Lizzy meet each other with imagined detachment and Austen puts us through a journey of deception until, of course, this love/hate couple finally prevail. I quite like Darcy and Lizzy although they have been overdone in almost every sense possible. “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” Oh Darcy, your denial is wrenching.   

Star Wars (Han and Leia): "I love you" --"I know." Need I say more, it doesn't get any more boss than that.

Inuyasha (Inuyasha and Kagome): I'm a geek, I'm a geek, and hulu gave me such are terrible excuse to revisit all my favorite episodes. Inuyasha's faked indifference and Kagome's denial, it just works so well. I fangirl over this show and its on the pathetic side. "Osuwari!!" 

Ranma 1/2 (Ranma and Akane): Basically the same story-line as Inuyasha but less angsty and completely hilarious. The voice actor for Ranma and Inuyasha is actually the same. It's an adorable show. "Akane, you are so uncute!!" 

Beauty and the Beast: Robbie Beson essentially playing the same domineering role as in Ice Castles but furrier. And yes the beast does transform into a bit of a beefcake Prince Adam, but honestly, would you complain if you were Belle--er yeah, didn't think so. "Flower, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep," the usual. 

Any more love/hate shippers that rock your socks?? Share 'em!

Sometimes we just need to be ourselves... Ahem, let me correct that! ALL THE TIME WE NEED TO BE OURSELVES...within reason. If you're a baby eater you should probably keep that on the down low. The preservation of self extends into so many areas, but how do you preserve yourself in your writing? I was pondering this question earlier in the week. With commissioned writing projects, sometimes it can be hard to remember my own voice. To keep it real, I play a game I like to call Word Ninja. I pick the most immediate inanimate object in sight, inject it with a personality, and write a five hundred word story about it. Lets' see if you can pick up on the item of choice, enjoy!

In the spirit of sharing art, I thought I'd preview some of my own. I dabble with a little Photoshop myself, but I'm no pro. Presently I am working to create character profiles for the Beta Read coming up at the end of the month. I'm creating banners for each of the characters. and given some of the art for the character Deimos/Demon yesterday afternoon, I thought I'd share a vague snippet that I hope will merely fuel your own unique interpretations of the content. As I think I've said before, I'm a little eyes obsessed.

On a completely separate note: This morning I was writing a chase scene for one of my commissioned projects, and in turn flooded my ears with a little Beastie Boys, and went to Youtube for some creative inspiration. I was never a Star Trek fan, but the reboot is more palatable for an individual that loves the epic grandeur of sci-fi but not the nitty gritty tech focus (Star Trek < Star Wars), and I've enjoyed the recent sequel. Rolling with sci-fi, chase scenes, and millennial rock, I give you a little road action that inspires...

Stellar title, yes? No, oh well. I write half aware, here and on my actual work related projects (do not do this). So I have been neglecting my fan fiction readers and it is an atrocity, I also have been neglecting my editor, neither of which I am proud of. It is stupid to commit to too many projects at once. So, here's a shout out to all those who think I have forgotten them, I haven't and I'm getting to you, I promise, I promise... and don't hate me, and I'm punishing myself, I'm promise (no Arrested Development or Mojitos). I've decided to take five minutes and mind vomit on you. 

Now that we've covered me being neglectfully evil, I'd like to move onto something called Androgyny. I don't like it, man, I mean, honestly I don't really care if you're a he or a she or an it, but given current social protocols it helps to know. It would have helped to know especially when I was in the service industry and approached a guest with, "How are you doing today, ma--erm, sir--erm, friend?" You don't know how many times teenage boys foiled me with long hair, and I totally humiliated myself by calling them "sweetie" as they looked away from me... it had that condescending effect that made me look like a jerk and simultaneously made them aware of their confused sexual appeal--unpleasant for all parties involved. ANYWAY!! Sometimes I'm sent art, for fan fictions, for original fictions, by really wonderful people who read my work. I love seeing how what I've described comes to life visually, but at the same time I worry about the effect an image can have on readers. I was asked recently why I haven't shared most of the art.

I don't know about you, but I read all the Harry Potter books before I watched the movies, now if I'd watched the movies and then read the book, I would have envisioned the characters as they were in the film instead of what my own mind was able to concoct from Rowling's words. Point is, I enjoy letting the reader explore the world and characters for themselves, though at times I do gush over fan art. I bring up androgyny because it seems the feminine artistic default, and though I dearly love sharing what has been shared with me, when an individual sees an image, especially of a depicted character, it can often color the way they henceforth perceive the character when they read. And with all the kindness and love in my heart I have to say, ladies, boys don't look like girls--not usually. I am not the hottest artist, when I draw people they all look like women so I really can't say anything. 

With this in mind, I want to announce that I will be sharing original fan art, but for readers to note that each picture is an original depiction of the artist and not necessarily my perception. And that's fine, because I want you to see the world as vividly and uniquely as you see it. Please note, however, I'm never going to prance around with an "not-approved" stamp, because well, that's just uncool. 

Explanation over I can now share with you the art that so inspired the discussion. Original Art of the Day by M.Ira

**To be honest, I wish I could go in with a sharpie and draw angry eyebrows, because this character is not the least bit woeful or angsty, but everyone it totally at liberty to draw what they'd like. I love you M.Ira <3**

To highlight the androgyny discussion M.Ira has created the following. Her original drawing was done via stylis on a virtual interface and treated with various Photoshop filters. The first image below is roughly the original sketch with a texture filter, we note here that he still looks coarse:

I'm the first to admit sometimes my words are just about as stirring as an Ambien and a glass of red wine. At the same time there's the struggle between putting your reader to sleep with dry prose, and pummeling them with in-your-face infomercial speak, or coming off as so ridiculously left field that while you might have their attention, you haven't gained their respect... And maybe you don't always need that, but the point is, the balance between blah and bam is challenging.

In the days of my youth there was a show that captivated masses of sticky-fingered ankle-biters whose parents were stupid enough to buy them all the associated paraphernalia. The show I'm talking about was Pokemon. However you--or PETA--feel about locking powerful animals in red and white balls and forcing them to fight for you, Pokemon highlighted a character that made my inner chibi gush: Jigglypuff. He was fat, he was flawed, and he put every damn person in the room to sleep... and then enacted his wrath with a squeaky sharpie that made me cackle like a moron. If the thing had existed, I would have purchased a Jigglypuff brand of sharpie based on pure sympathy alone. Every writer has a little bit of Jigglypuff in them, inflating indignantly when our readers don't connect or quite literally, fall asleep on us. While we might want to rampage on the fumes of permanent marker, its important to note when we're selling a snooze fest. 

If I'm not wrong, Jigglypuff evolves into a more dazzling and equipped performer, Igglybuff (and then if you want to enter serious nerd territory it evolves into Wigglytuff). Point is, with time and a dedication to craft, understanding the plight of bored readers and giving them the pow, zam, bada-bing they need to stay awake, you too can evolve into something worthy of attention. Here's speaking to myself and to anyone else out there suffering from the Jigglypuff effect: admit when your writing stinks and don't be afraid to explore a world of unorthodox style.

Peace.

-Amalynne        

I love eyes. I'm kind of obsessed with them when I write. Eyes say everything and nothing at the same time, answers mingled with mystery. I drown in the luminous vibrancy of eyes, consider the different fractals like shards of stained glass, mistily veiling the truth on the other side. Today I wrote about evil, a visible, impending sort, and the kind you can tell by the eyes. Much editing underway, and another preview for The Company. Enjoy: 

A nice dramatic companion piece: Max Richter's Memory House... he gets me all goose-bumpy! <3

I've had my fair share of experiences with various gyms throughout Southern California, and every time I run into the same problem: weirdos. It seems the gyms I pick and the hours I go are filled with the disturbingly hormonal of all and any gender (even the ones I'm not exactly sure about). I understand that the first few times I used my gym pass I wore the wrong thing, too much flesh, resulting in an inadvertent-- albeit blatant--invitation to be bothered. The times after I thought my bases were covered given the fact that I was gussied up about as much as a potato sack, but the weirdos are still out there... smiling are you eerily and making Silence of the Lambs type comments about your "glowing skin" after you get off the treadmill. I currently live in the safest city in all of the United States of America. You can leave your door unlocked and your neighbor would lock it for you and leave cookies (this has happened), creepily nice people sometimes... so I live in this incredibly safe city and somehow the strangest people seem to congregate at the gym. Today's gym experience proved this very point: 

Blasting Led Zeppelin in my ears, I'm in a good groove on the elliptical when "Big Guns"--we'll call him--saunters in like a tank to the machine next to me, and just stares... It seems like five minutes but it's probably been more like thirty seconds, his mouth all gaping and eyes glassy-like.

"Is there a problem?" I finally ask.

"You stole my machine," he states, sounding just about as vapid as I expected.

I think seriously for a moment that perhaps this bulky, vein-popping man is a special case... you know, a "special" case, short-bus status... You just never know, and so I respond as politely as I can muster, "Well, I've been on this machine for quite a while now, are you sure?" This is in place of a "Well is your name on it, buster?" that I could have spout out, but chose not to indulge my inner fourteen-year-old.

"No, I use this machine every day," he responds.

Okay... what the heck? So, quirking a brow (and I have some amazing eyebrows, I'll tell you), I laugh, because he has to be joking. When his cold expression doesn't change, I clear my throat and mutter to myself, "I can see that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Oh, it only means your bursting muscle makes you look like you could be giving birth to alien babies out of your numerous bulging body parts at any moment. Oh, and that your head is too small for your Hulk-esque body. I've seen G.I. Joe dolls more proportioned than you. 

"I am sensing the oneness between you and the machine," I decide to answer, just to see what he'll say. 

He doesn't say anything, just glares like he's, you know, the Hulk. Considering how obnoxious a law suit would be, given my tendency to say snarky things to the wrong people, I figure I've built up enough of a sweat to consider this afternoon workout sufficient.

I don't expect to find especially "wit-licious" people at the gym, but I do expect them to possess some level of sanity. Perhaps the kind in which you don't hit my car in the parking lot, or break open my locker only to steal my Hello Kitty socks (THAT WERE USED!!!), or ask me to get off your "favorite" elliptical machine... Whew! All in all I think I need to get a home gym or take up hiking again... or join a women's gym... or not. 

Anyway, I was so riled up I treated myself to a Jamba Juice and wrote this blog to cool down instead of my usual sauna lounging routine. I suppose I feel better now.