It's Been A Few

It's been a few days since I updatede here. I  did write for one of those days, but not for the others; I've been coming home from work, sorting out dinner, getting Jacen to bed and falling asleep with him. Talk about a failwrite if ever there was one. Haha.

Today I'm home sick from work - pretty sure it's a sinus infection 'cause my head is about to explode. In a huge way. Hopefully I perk up a bit later today so that I can write properly and get myself caught up. Khalid has been writing little monologues to get a better feel for characters he's interested in developing; I may do the same for Sylla -- not that I'm sure I want to call her Sylla. It was the first thing that came to mind when I was initially writing for Stormwalker, but it feels a little awkward. I'll let it be for the moment until I find something better. I've been doing something similar, writing little snippets of dialogue that express who she is as a person, but I haven't delved very deep. I want to know how she would react to things and how she feels about the world, etc.

This could be fun. =]

Hatchlings

"Two children born of love

on a single day will fall..."

The ideas and concepts behind a larger piece of work are expanding. As I said to Khalid, they're barely hatchlings of an idea at this point, but I'd like to follow it through to its ending. If I can write myself a novel, what an achievement! I don't expect publication or recognition. I simply want to know I can.

The amount of character development and world building that goes into the construction of a novel is simply astounding and that's not even mentioning things like plot construction. On the whole, I understand why many novels are the culmination of more mature experience or exceedingly brilliant minds. I remember for years as I grew up, Justin worked on ideas and characters for a novel he is now more inclined to complete. He used to discuss ideas and characters with me, reading pages from the start of his very first draft. I suppose now I won't read it until it's completed and published, should it even reach such a stage.

I don't know how I originally fell in love with writing; it's simply been there, always been there as a key part of me. Even when I lose myself, this is one of the few things I know to be true. I am a girl who first skipped school (claiming to be ill) so that she could read the works of Raymond E. Feist at around eleven or twelve years old. I hope to never lose this part of myself; it dreams and it hopes and it loves in ways more intense than my usually Fe-constrained self does. Not to say I live filtered, but we can only respond to the opportunities afforded to us. In so many ways, I live vicariously through the characters and stories in novels.

Despite being an extrovert, I feel more at ease with my nose in a book than I do at a social gathering. I gain as much energy from the characters, written so beautifully into the pages of forever, as I do from my few friends. I am a broken extrovert living a life of introverted tendencies.

My hatchling ideas are taking some kind of shape, though I won't share their lack of physical finesse here. I'm unafraid of theft (after all, who is really reading this and who really cares for my words?) but the ideas and characters are so undeveloped that anything could bring them to a crashing halt. I hope to prevent this --  to earn the time necessary to nurse my hatchlings into their toddler years and beyond, into the angst of being a teenager and the eventual maturity of adulthood. I live in hope, as ever.

Simple Requests

In those moments where all I yearn for is to make an impact, to better the life of somebody – anybody – my insignificance is both beautiful and haunting. After all, if I mattered in the grand scheme of things, would I wish to? Even with that thought I find myself striving towards something more, reaching my hands out like the future is tangible. It almost is.

What is it they say? I can almost taste it.

When I envision my future, I see children. Of course I see my own children, but I see more than that. I see the children broken by neglect or malice, hungry for the purest of things: love. I want to help and ease that pain in some way – make broken whole. I'd like to undertake a BPsych and pursue it into honours and masters and let it be my wings; the tools I need to ease the burdens of those children.

May 4th, 2014 - Simple Requests

A child cries
knowing nothing of love
but its absence

and the over-
flow of its longing reaches
into my soul.

Affection:
the simplest request, too
easy to neglect.

©2014 Chloe Bianca

Uh-Oh, It's A Double Episode

On May 2nd I fell asleep getting Jacen to bed, so I never wrote. I did, however, attempt two pieces yesterday (the 3rd) to make up for it. Since I didn't just squander my time and avoid writing, I'm still feeling positive about writing daily. The first piece I started writing was in response to a prompt about change - addressing and detailing the way people react to change without explicitly stating what the change is. I never finished this piece, as you'll be able to tell, because the idea for my second piece took hold. I feel like the latter has potential, the end couplet just needs tidying up. I'm playing with the idea of changing that stanza to a set of three lines or even breaking it into a couplet and a single line. We'll see.




May '2nd', 2014 - Change

Change never was my forte despite being the most reliable part of my life – more so, even, than the sun rising and setting each day. This time is different, though, worse somehow. People always talk about how sadness and stress are etched into the lines of our faces, but here it’s evident everywhere: the half-smiles and undone hair, the wrinkled clothing and odd socks, the emptiness in the air when our eyes meet.

Youth has never seemed so old.

May 3rd, 2014 - Youth (working title)

Youth has never seemed so old
as it does settled in your eyes –

dull baggage of a jet set life
stowed in an under-seat position.

I suppose they never had as much
to think about, You say, As many

hardships and stresses. Forgive
me if I roll my eyes at your first

class ticket, perspective cradled
like a baby in the safety of a mother’s womb.





©2014 Chloe Bianca

One More Breath

This was written thanks to a writing prompt: [WP] A man gets in a near death situation and his life flashes before his eyes, only he sees parts that haven't happened yet.

May 1st, 2014 - One More Breath (Atheist in the White House)

Dying hurts more
than I thought it would –

Particularly when I’m teased
with a life of have-nots,
promises of a future that leave
my chest rattling as it digs
with a rib-stick.

[Curls fall
flat to humidity but
her eyes are
a fresh river running.]

I was told
my life would flash
before my eyes; I had
no great moments

only grand designs.

[Beer, a wife,
a child, a child, a
dog, a mil’ in the lotto.]

The world
stopped spinning minutes
ago, taken by the dark, sound
swallowed in its muffling glove.

[An atheist
in the white house.]

Damn,
now I really need to live.

I know I have to hold on
just one
               more
                          breath.





©2014 Chloe Bianca