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OwlCrate and Dragons

owlcrate

OwlCrate is a monthly box subscription service with a YA box and an OwlCrate Jr. box for the younger readers.

For Rachel’s birthday, I got her a couple of months subscription of the YA box. It was something that she always seemed to want, and I was more than happy to splurge for her birthday.

Even if her birthday was at the beginning of the month and the boxes ship out between the fifteenth and twentieth of every month, but it gave her something more to look forward to!

The box came today, and September’s theme was Mythical Creatures. It involves a lot of dragons! There was a pin, a gorgeous bookmark, a cozy book sleeve, bath salts and, of course, a book. Before She Ignites is the first of Jodi Meadows’ Fallen Isles trilogy and was published, like, a couple of days ago. It definitely sounds interesting, so check it out if it wasn’t on your radar!

Have you ever subscribed to OwlCrate? Know anyone else who has?

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Posted by on September 15, 2017 in Home

 

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Sonder

Sonder. Noun. The realization that each random passerby is living a life as rich and complex — vivid with ambition, friends, worries, love, and craziness — as your own.

Sonder has quite a few meanings depending the language you look up. In French, it’s to probe. German, literally set apart. German also has the word sonderling, which means somebody set apart with a mind of their own. There seems to be tons of history in this one word that is evolving to mean that every single stranger you pass by has as complex as a life as you.

Of course, we all know every passerby is living their own life. It’s just one of those subconscious thoughts you always have. Sonder, though, is having that sharp realization that, hey, that person might also have a dog that she’s thinking about snuggling when she gets home. That man may be on his way to pick up his child from a friend’s house. That woman probably worries about her credit card bills like I do. Perhaps that man, instead of wondering about the lives of strangers, is inwardly freaking out about proposing to his boyfriend later tonight.

Rachel and I spent a couple of hours at the emergency vet for our cat yesterday. Chase the kitty is fine, thank goodness, but there were other families there for all sorts of reasons.

There was a young girl crying in her teary-eyed mother’s arms, and we know that she’ll be going back to school this year without having her furry friend greet her when she comes home at the end of the day. There was an older couple with a cat singing in his carrier while his leg was bound in a cast. A gentleman brought in his fluffy dog who wiggled her entire body in greeting to everyone else who passed by.

The vet tech who took our cat for his initial check-up got pee on her shoe — judging by how harried the staff seemed yesterday, I wonder if she remembered about it when she got off shift. There was another vet tech who had the displeasure of handing a couple a box and saying, “I’m sorry.” Her voice was monotone — she’s either said the same too often or her mind was on the possibility of preventing the need to say it to another family later.

Rachel and I were waiting for about an hour after we saw the actual vet, for Chase to be done with his tests and for his medications, and I just couldn’t help but wonder about the different people we saw. The word sonder popped up into my head again, a word that I’ve seen around on my Pinterest due to my interests in books and writing and words in general. Writing-wise, it’s something that I always tried to keep in mind for every character — no matter how minor — I add to my stories.

We writers take our inspiration from life, right?

 
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Posted by on August 28, 2017 in Home

 

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Snow White Retelling

 
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Posted by on August 22, 2017 in Home

 

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“Have a Prompt!” Saturday #109

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Posted by on August 19, 2017 in Prompts

 

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World Building Questions

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Posted by on August 18, 2017 in Home

 

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Dreams

3e386d7fe4a1be66264c9c7b604e11ceThe protagonist in your book is there to be the hero (presumably). The protagonist will go through the plot, being sure to grow along the way, and save the world. That is the protagonist’s purpose and the character will probably come to terms with that along the way.

What about the protagonist’s dreams, though? Sure, perhaps they dream of the world being safe or of the Bad Guy reforming, but what did they dream about before being thrust into the hero role?

What your protagonist has always dreamed for themselves will shape the way they carry themselves — body, mind, and soul — throughout the story. Will the dream change along with them as the plot goes further along? Will the dream steadfastly stay in their heart for when everything is all over, to keep that simple hint of normalcy in their lives, even if the plot has made everything change forever?

Which is the better ending, for a protagonist’s dreams to grow with them or to stay the same as they were before the protagonist’s journey, no matter how bittersweet it may have become?

I’ll admit, I personally haven’t given much thought to some of my protagonist’s dreams outside of the plot of their story. It’s something that I want to work on, something that I want to explore about their psyches. What dreams will be put on hold for the plot? Will those dreams be waiting when the plot is done?

More importantly, will the protagonists recognize their old dreams when the plot is over?

 
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Posted by on August 16, 2017 in Home

 

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Sunday Scribble – “Blight Part Two”

Blight – Part Two
Previous Part

The Blight was not a friendly part of the castle city, not even to someone in a respectable uniform of one of the noble houses. The alleys stank of piss and sex, the natural musk of those who cared only enough to live in order to survive.

Emery did his best to move out of there as quickly as his dignity could manage.

“There you are.” Ridge let Emery back in through the servants’ entrance of the Harding estate. “You’re in one piece, to boot. How did it go?”

Emery shook his head. “Not too well. Thieves apparently are only interested in their own pockets. They want to be certain they get rewarded no matter what they do.”

“Well, it was a long-shot,” Ridge said, helping Emery shuck off the soldier’s uniform and change into his fitted tunic and breeches. “After all, what could a common foot soldier offer to the scourges of the Blight? They have no idea who you are, right?”

“I used the name Dax Cabot whenever I had been asked,” Emery said. Ridge gave him a quick glance over to ensure Emery hadn’t been looking as if he crawled through the dirtiest part of the city, then led him out of the servants’ area.

“Wasn’t that the name of your old tutor?” Ridge asked.

Emery shushed him, but nodded. Talk of Emery’s trip to the Blight ceased between the two friends as they made their way through the manor. Gods knew Emery didn’t want any gossipy maids overhearing that their prince had tried to make deals with thieves.

Ridge changed the topic to a teasing, “My parents are seating you next to Leandra again at dinner tonight.”

Emery gave Ridge a sidelong glance. “You know nothing is going to come of this.”

“Of course,” Ridge said. “You would never be able to handle my sister. It’s why it’s such fun to tease you about my parents trying to set you up. You can’t blame them for wanting the match, though. I heard they had to petition hard to have the crown prince himself go through his squire years at their estate.”

Emery gave his head a soft shake, finding no words. He had no doubt that once he did return to court there would be women lined up as potential brides, both from his parents and from the other noble houses alike.

“There are times when I wish Leandra and I cared enough about each other to go through that,” Emery admitted quietly. “She would never want to be queen, though, and I wouldn’t want to force her to play the part.”

“As her brother, I suppose I’m thankful you care enough about her to think of her feelings like that,” Ridge said. “That and, let’s be real, she’s not delicate enough to be a queen.”

“I’ve no idea where you’ve come up with that thought,” Emery said. “Queens are anything but delicate.”

“Well, yes, I’m sure,” Ridge said, waving off Emery’s words, “but they need to play that part, don’t they? Your mother is the gentle hand compared to your father’s iron fist. Leandra would end up insulting most of the court. Under her, a rebellion would have happened long ago—”

Emery gave Ridge a hard jab in the ribs with an elbow. Ridge glared at Emery but said nothing, grudgingly accepting the admonishment.

“Come on,” Emery said, quickening their pace through the estate’s hallways. “We’ll be late for sparring practice.”

 
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Posted by on August 13, 2017 in Scribbles

 

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