Monday 8 July 2013

Recovering Well

When you're sick, you're supposed to sleep and drinks lots of liquids. Pretty much just sleep, soup, ice cream and movies until you're feeling better. It's only logical to give your body time to heal itself and recover from the exhaustion of fighting whatever it was you were sick with. 

In my case with MS, my body attacks itself (basically the cells that are supposed to keep out viruses, and keep me healthy and strong get confused and attack healthy cells instead of viruses and cause a lot of damage to the nerves in my brain) and cause a "Relapse" of symptoms. To fight off the confused helper cells that are attacking healthy nerves, the doctors load me up with Steroids. The idea is to shut down my system, and give it time to reboot, and hopefully when it reboots the helper cells won't be confused anymore, and won't attack healthy nerves. 

When I am recovering my body isn't just recuperating from the relapse, it's also trying to recuperate from having all of the added drugs and steroids in my system. Like I said, steroids shut down my system. They make me very susceptible to colds, flues, bug bites, sun burns and anything else you can think of, which is one of the reasons my skin breaks out so badly every time. So I'm fighting everything I come in contact with. 

Fortunately, this time I've stayed out of the sun, and away from anyone who's sick, so with the exception of the pressure headache I'm suffering from today, I've been very healthy (all things considered). 

The only unfortunate thing is that I don't "do" recovery very well. I have a very hard time sitting still. Even when I'm writing I have a hard time staying in one place. So my remedy has been to take short jaunts. Small breaks out of the house to keep my spirits up. Getting out is tiring, but the mental stimulation and sense of achievement I feel when I go out and push my limits is amazing. It may not be right, but it seems to be working for me. 

My recovery is going very well. I've finished the steroids and my skin is already starting to heal. My face is pretty much back to normal, the paralyses was temporary, and my dizziness is all but gone. I still have some lasting effects that are preventing me from feeling 100%, but if you looked at me, you'd have no idea I've just had a relapse, or that I have MS at all. 

I'm doing very well, thank you to everyone who's been thinking of me, sending me gift baskets, cards, texts and hugs. I adore you all. 

-Brandy

Wednesday 26 June 2013

Surviving

I recently got diagnosed with another major MS relapse (or attack) depending on your vision of the disease.

This one started very different for me; no pins and needles, no numbness and absolutely no pain.I still had all my strength so it was AMAZING! But then how did I know there was something wrong? Great question.

It all started in my head; and when I say that I chuckle out loud because it's a neurological disease, of course it's in my head. This time though it was headaches, dizziness, blurred vision and knowing my body like I do, I knew it just wasn't right. Then the right side of my face started to show signs of Paralyses. (Not as extreme as my case of Bells Palsy from a few years ago) I could still feel my right side, but it wasn't moving as much as I wanted it too. My speech was impaired, like I had localized freezing in my mouth, and I stumbled over simple words like my name.

When I noticed my writing start to decline and slow that's when I really got worried. My writing turned sloppy, like it hasn't been since early elementary school.

I eventually got myself to the Hospital after some prodding from loved ones and help from my sister.

The Hospital was unprepared for me and my situation. They took me in thinking I had a stroke, then learning my health history relaxed a little. They didn't have a neurologist on staff to look at me, so sent me on my way several hours later after making sure I would visit my own neurologist. (I just so happened to have an appointment the next day)

My neurologist was NOT impressed. He was obviously worried about me. He got me in for an Emergency MRI, and immediately started me on Steroid treatments. He was unimpressed with my mental faculties (apparently I couldn't name parts of a watch, which I think was silly cause my fiance couldn't name them either) but then I noticed other things such as calling a mirror a magnet, or consistently calling one friend the wrong name etc... Oh, and my balance is completely off. I fall over very easily.

The MRI showed 2 new lesions (scars on my brain). So it was very important that we start treatment ASAP.

They started me on liquid steroids at the hospital, then signed me up for home care for 4 more days on an IV drip. Followed by 2 weeks of oral Steroids. I've been staying on my parents' couch while I'm healing up, and the fam's helping me with the pooch. For now I'm not allowed in the Sun so that's awful for the lovely weather we have right now.

The first few days on the drip were fine. Still no pain or numbness, but no increase in mental status. So I was in good spirits, because I wasn't sore. Everything was funnier than it should have been, and I felt good, but by the end of day 3 on the steroid drip the body aches started. Full body, everything seizing, from my fingers and toes, to my back and the inside of my legs and arms, not to mention I'm bloated and so my stomach walls are aching too. I can't sleep or lie down comfortably and by the end of the IV I've already started breaking out.

It's day 2 on the oral steroids and I look like I've been attacked by little tiny bugs. Red marks are all over my body, kinda like mini itchy chicken pox. The aches are worse than ever, but I know the worst part of the recovery process is still to come.
Eventually my skin is going to burn so red hot that anything that touches it is going to feel like a knife blade. (I can't wait for that *eye roll*) But if this helps me get better then it's all worth it!

Powering through with more love and support than I could have ever dreamt of! But not looking forward to the next few days. Hopefully I see some more improvements soon. Today's been the first days that I've been able to write (hopefully I'm writing this well, and haven't imagined that I'm coherent). My speech is a little better today, no idea how my face looks but I don't really care about that. I'd just like to know that my brain is functioning properly. I can relearn how to walk, talk and write, but it's my creativity that I prize!

Thanks for reading! I will update you as my recovery continues.

Lots of Love,
Brandy & Washburn

Sunday 24 March 2013

Challenge Me! Story-Part 1

True to my challenge, I wrote this story as Improv. Writing. 

I used the amazing limitations that you guys gave me and without any prior thought (except to look up the definition of the Furies) I wrote this. It is a first draft, as it came to my head. No plot diagram used, no character sketches, nothing, just a list of restrictions that had to be included and my imagination that threw the rest together. 

Here it is, as it came to mind. No major rewrites, only a preliminary spell check and minor grammar adjustments!



Waiting for the light, a Challenge Me! story by Brandolyn

Part 1


Darkness and silence. Damn. Not again. Sigh. Archibald extends one hand out in front of his face experimentally. As anticipated, he can feel it move, but cannot see it through the blackness. The total dark around him would be eerie if he hadn't experienced it several times before. 

He snaps his fingers. Again, he can feel his body going through the motion but can't see or hear anything to confirm that it actually happened. In the dark he lay back; or at least he imagined he did, closed his eyes; out of habit not necessity and waited for the return of the light. 

He didn't wait long before directionless whispers snuck through the silence calling to him. "Archie". Here we go. He thought. He imagined himself getting to his feet and bracing himself for the approaching full force of sound and light to hit him; a tricky feat to accomplish when you're not sure you can actually feel the floor. He felt it like great wave crashing into him, dragging him under thunderous waves drowning him in bright lights and loud noises. 

Waking up was always disorienting, like trying to stand after a blow to the head. Eyes unfocused  head pounding, ears ringing and a churning knot in his gut that put him off balanced and threatened to be spat up. 

"Archie! Wake up already. We have to get out of h.. Ahhhh!"

Archibald shook his head and looked in the direction of the shriek as a bright light illuminated the room. The room glowed colourfully as a lightning strike shone through the stained glass of the windows. He looked around and found Marie nearby crouched low behind a pew muttering to herself. He looked around and assessed the situation; Marie was here, that was good. They were in the Chapel; the stained glass windows, pews, vaulted ceiling, and murals confirmed it. Wait. What are we doing here?

"Marie!" Archibald pulled his arms under himself and tried to get up. Marie's head whipped around at his call and she dove on top of him, pinning him to the floor. 
"Thank the Gods you're awake! Now, shut up." 
"What are we doing in the Chapel?"

Marie twitched for a moment, spun around and whispered angrily at the air behind her right shoulder, 
"Shut up Charles! I'm getting there!" She turned back to Archibald like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened and continued, "You collapsed at dinner as the attack started so I dragged you here." She rolled her eyes and added sarcastically to the empty space above her shoulder, "You didn't do anything but tell me to drag him faster, so no, you don't get any credit," before turning her attention back to him. 

"Who's attacking us?" He searched his memory, but it was still foggy. Outside echoed a shriek like that of an angry woman and a bird of prey mixed together, sent a chill down his spine as he recognized the call. "Furies? You dragged me from the Kitchens underground to the Chapel with huge windows while we're being attacked by the Furies?" He growled angrily. He'd known the young Page since she came to the castle, obviously from the circular symbol hanging around her neck that she felt safer here; close to her God. His eyes rolled just thinking of it. Why do other people have to let their emotions rule them? Why couldn't she have been rational? Archibals grunted and looked around the room again. 

They were alone; except for Marie's constant "companion". Any other time Archibald would have teased her about Charles and listened to her try to prove that her companion that no one else can see is real, but not now. The storm outside was getting worse. The wind howled and bowed the trees. Their branches scratched the tall arched windows of the Chapel, raking them like nails on a board. Avian shrieks grew louder as the creatures circled nearby. 

"I have to help with the evacuation." 
"You're not fit to fight!" Marie complained. 
"I took an oath to protect the Kingdom!" He got to his feet and reached for the hilt of the ruby encrusted sword that hung at his waist. His hand gripped nothing but air. "Marie..." He asked angrily, searching under the nearest pew. "Where is my sword?" 

The young woman was already pale in her linen robes and went even whiter as she froze. 

"That's why you felt lighter than before." 

Her invisible companion must have spoken because she looked insulted as the colour returned to her face. 

"I have too been working out!"
"Hush." Archibald whispered. "Both of you." He added for good measure. Marie opened her mouth to protest as a great winging shadow flew passed the nearest window.
She nodded. 
The pair crouched awkwardly in silence, waiting for the shadow to return. 

"He said to shut up Chuck!" Marie cried exasperated. Archibald spun around angrily. 
No one else can hear him! He thought, but before he could scold her, the shadow returned circling the chapel silently. Archibald stood tall, motioning for Marie to stay put. 

The shadow circled the Chapel. Her body was obscured by the stained glass, but her wings were distinctive. They were being circled by one of the Furies, but which sister, he could not tell. He heard her taloned feet scrape against the roof as she landed on the glass of the domed ceiling. 

Archibald turned his attention from his stalker, back to Marie as the sounds of the storm outside became muffled again. 

"Run." He mouthed. He watched, unable to react as Marie's eyes grew round and terrified. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, heavy and limp. Eyes still open he watched as a tall, palmed tree crashed through a nearby window, showering him and Marie in tiny  shards of multi-coloured glass. 

His vision started to blur as one of the sisters landed in the Chapel in front of him. The blood that dripped from her eyes had dried and was cracking on her face. Her long dark hair was matted into thick strands, like snakes growing from her scalp and her wings; made up of flesh-like feathers, stretched out beside her reaching out across the Chapel. 

Alecto, he recognized her wings from the tapestries around the King's quarters. Of all of the sisters, she was the last one he had wanted it to be. He willed his body to move, and when it didn't his mind screamed for Marie to flee. But she couldn't hear him. He couldn't hear himself. He couldn't see her. The last thing he heard before his world was returned to silent darkness was Marie's wail as she screamed for him. Then his world was black once more. 

And he waited. 



*** 


I loved this experience and am looking forward to doing it again. Please let me know what you think. How did you like my use of your suggestions? Are you intrigued and want to read the next part of the story? Do you want to add more suggestions for part 2? 

My restrictions were:

LN- Night. A tree falls, someone hears it. 
MB- Antagonist Charles- condescending. Protagonist Archibald- rigid Atheist, logical to the point of wishing he were dummer to make his life less stressful. (Charles was used as an antagonyzing character, not the story's main antagonist)
DF- girl followed by talkative sprite who can summon circular objects to him
JF- a palm tree
BD- must feature Furies as the Foe. 
JD- Protagonist has a disability: physical or mental, 1 or many. 
       JB- Narcolepsy





Wednesday 20 March 2013

Challenge Me!

When I used to do a lot of babysitting one of the things I would do to entertain the kids was to tell them a story.

I would tell short stories, or weave long tales, depending on what my audience was looking for but to keep it interesting for the kids I would ask them to give me certain details to start off the story.

They would give me a race for the Hero, and sometimes a name.
I would get a villain or some mythological beast that must be overcome.
I would be given direction for whether there is someone to be saved.
I would ask for details along the way of the story, for example; names of towns or pubs, spells, outcomes of fights and weapons.

I would be given a few details and have to weave the story together without any premeditation.

Now, I would like to challenge myself, and get back into "Improv. Story Telling"; as I have just named it. But I would like to ask for your help.

In order for this challenge to work, I would like you to give me some details;

Plot details
World details
A Character; name, job, age, sex (ANYTHING)
Does the character have a pet? A mount? A familiar? A best friend?
Give me a foe, or a challenge that the main character(s) must overcome
Give me a weakness or ridiculous strength.

Anything you want to throw at me (except a rhyming scheme! I'm just getting back on the horse, don;t make me Gallop the first day please.)

I'm looking for feedback from multiple readers, and will take details from everyone who posts before Friday March 22nd 2013 at 9:00 PM. Then, that night I will look at the details I've been given and weave a story for you. I will post it here on Saturday (providing nothing *glares at sleeping puppy* prevents me from writing); the first story that comes to mind. I will post it just as it comes to mind, and give you an idea of how much fun and how creative the mind can be when you haven't had time to over think your art.

Please leave a comment below. The story will be too easy to write if I don't get any limitations.

This should be fun! Looking forward to writing with you.

-Brandolyn

Tuesday 12 March 2013

Appreciation of Hand Written Work

A week ago I was on the Subway commuting home late at night. I think I caught the last train of the evening. I was tired, but instead of taking a nap, I took out my sketchbook; which doubles as my journal, and started writing.

Sitting down and writing is not a challenge for me. The challenge comes when I try to force myself to write something specific like a short story or a poem, but if I just put a pencil to paper and write without any premeditation I'm always able to scribble some amount of work onto a page. And that's exactly what I was doing, sitting on the uncomfortable red seats of the subway car, my knees pulled up to my chest for warmth, jostling from side to side as the train sped along the tracks.

I was in my own little world, oblivious to the other passengers on the train, until I heard a soft voice interrupt the wandering of my pencil. A middle aged woman had stood, and made her way over to me. She stood over me and said,
"Excuse me for interrupting, but I love that you are writing." She smiled brightly. "I don't even care what you are writing, I just love that you are writing it. It is so refreshing to see someone actually writing. We are so technologically dependent these days that I rarely see anyone actually write. I love it."
I politely smiled back, a little surprised by her enthusiasm, and I thanked her for stopping and saying hi.

I was really touched by her remark and I'm not entirely sure why. She hadn't complimented my work, or my creativity, but I guess it was enough that she had enough courage to approach me. Obviously we share the same appreciation for traditional writing. I love writing in a journal, note pad, whatever. Same thing with reading, I like to feel the paper and smell the printer ink. It's a silly thing but it makes me feel cosy and relaxed.

People rarely acknowledge strangers, so for this woman to come up to me late at night and say how much she loved seeing me writing really meant a lot. It makes me happy to know there are still people out there who appreciate handwriting.

-Brandolyn

Tuesday 29 January 2013

Buttons and Ice cream


Another "short" story by yours truly.
I hope you enjoy. Comments, and critiques are encouraged and appreciated.

-Brandolyn

Buttons and Ice cream

I hate buttons.

I haven’t always hated buttons, but recently they seem to be out to get me. On a good day they are tricky to slip through a button hole, and they always make removing clothing an arduous task; instead of simply pulling a shirt over my head, I must first undo the buttons at the neck and wrist, or otherwise turn the shirt inside out and pull with all my strength until eventually the sleeves pop over my wrists. What a pain. And when I’m having a bad day, they seem to know it and decide to avoid the ever elusive button hole.

I hate buttons. However, I think as I look across the room at Chris as he dresses for work, I do love how buttons pull the shirt tight across his chest. I smirk, and add that small detail to the sketch I’m working on.

“What?” He asks me looking up after tucking in his deep navy shirt. He sounds bored, but he looks slightly intrigued.

“Nothing.” I smile my cutest, most innocent smile and focus my attention back to the sketch pad on my lap. He ignores me and goes back to getting ready. My sketch is nearly finished. It’s Chris, in his uniform, looking every bit as handsome as the day I first met him. Back then he was a junior Officer; he didn’t have the stripes that adorn his sleeves today.

“Wow.” Chris had crossed the room and is looking over my shoulder at the charcoal sketch I made of him. I laughed.

“Well, it may not look quite right but imagine it with some colour and a little less shaky.” I may hate buttons, but I love charcoal, it’s one of the only remaining mediums I use: chalk, conté and charcoal. Charcoal moves and blends easily, so it’s easy to hide any mistakes, and lately I’ve been making a lot. It wasn’t perfect, but I liked it well enough.

“It looks amazing.” He smiles at me. “You are as talented as ever.” He says beaming.

“Don’t make fun.” I shut my sketch book as a shudder runs down my spine, down my leg and through my left foot. I wince uncontrollably. Chris reaches down and very gently puts one finger under my chin to raise it up. He brings his mouth down to mine and caresses me softly.

Most couples kiss, but Chris and I, we caress. It sounds cheesy, and maybe it is, but we do and I love it.

When I was growing up I went on a few dates and had a few stolen kisses, but nothing ever made me want more, so I never got time to practice kissing. Chris has told me on several occasions, I am the first girl he ever truly kissed, so he didn’t know what he was doing either. I’ve never known if we just got lucky, or if we’re doing it wrong because we didn’t know what to expect when our lips first touched, but either way, we never simply kiss.

Our first caress was long awaited by both of us, it just sort of happened, like a reflex and ever since, when we kiss it’s sweet, tender, prolonged and deliberate. That’s not to say that it’s unseemly, but it is so true that we keep them to ourselves; the rest of the world can have their kisses, and we will keep our caresses to each other.

This caress makes me weak in the knees and I am glad that I’m still sitting down.  He holds me close as we break apart, whispering softly,

“Sorry I won’t be here tonight, but I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait,” I call and pull him close again. He had missed one of his shirt buttons and I fix it for him. Fortunately, today it doesn’t take me too long. He thanks me and leaves.

Whenever Chris’ gone, either for work or out with the guys, I usually become extremely productive. I work from home, so a nice quiet house is perfect. Tonight however, my work was going to wait. Every time I look at it I feel a needle sharp pain right behind my right eye. Work can wait till morning. I should just go to bed, but I have a book that I am dying to finish.

I recline in my favourite chair for a while reading, but that numbing pain I’ve been trying to avoid all day creeps up on me in the silence. Before I can fixate too long on my pain, I get a text.

If you’re sleeping, sleep well. If you can’t sleep, take a bath.
-C
Maybe a bath will help.


Chris designed the bathroom specifically for me. He built it right next to my office and he painted it a relaxing pale blue, with white trim, lights that dim and a Jacuzzi tub for really hard days. The bath helps a lot; the pain in my head and behind my eyes was nearly gone, and the prickling in my spine disappeared, but the heat has made my feet and hands sluggish. I nearly fall out of the bath as my feet drag clumsily out of the tub. 

Immediately my tension returns.

Relax.

It isn’t just my work, the pain or nearly falling out of the tub that was making me tense. That was annoying, but I deal with this every day; it just gets worse whenever Chris works nights, adding worries about him to the jungle of stuff I have to deal with.

I had always dreamed of becoming a Police Officer. I have the fitness, the focus, the drive, but as my Doctor has pointed out several times; I cannot pass the physical. Multiple Sclerosis hasn’t stopped me from doing anything before, but when my symptoms get worse in stressful situations, it’s hard to keep a high stress job. I came to terms with Chris' job a long time ago. I'm really proud of him, but it doesn't keep me from worrying.

I open Chris’ closet and pull out a deep blue, long sleeved sweatshirt from his time at the Police Academy and put it on; it smells like him, like pine and peppermint. I picked the one shirt he owns that doesn’t have buttons and slip the shirt on easily. I look in the mirror out of habit and sigh. 

Fitness-wise my health has never been better,  I’m lean and muscular; not that I can see any definition under Chris’ sweater, but I can see it in my bare legs; strong calves from my hours on the tread mill. Fitness is important; Chris has to stay fit for his job and I stay fit to challenge him, besides, my Doctors are always telling me that fitness staves off illness

“Liar.” I accuse the mirror. I don’t know if fitness keeps illness away, but if you’re fit, at least you still look great when you get sick.

I close my eyes and shake out my limbs trying to relax my body starting with my neck and shoulders, then my back and hips. I wiggle my toes, at least, I think I do. I open my eyes and check the mirror. Yep, they’re moving. I sigh relieved.  I haven’t been able to feel them in years; nothing more than a constant numbness.

I tip toe down the hall, careful not to trip over myself, to the kitchen and make myself a pot of tea; Cinnamon Apple Spice is my favourite. Chris prefers Earl Grey, but I like my warm cup of tea to smell of Christmas.

My favourite mug is sitting on the counter; a green mug with the drawing of an owl wearing a bow tie with the caption “Dr. Whooo”, that Chris got me for my birthday. It’s my favourite, so we’ve agreed to keep it on the counter so that I don’t risk dropping it from the cupboard- I broke a mug and two plates last week. 

The problem with my situation is that I can be perfectly fine one moment, then the next moment a jolt of pain; like a really bad internal shock will make me twitch uncontrollably. Sometimes I’m glad we don’t have kids, what if I suddenly twitched and dropped the baby?  Or held on too tight trying not to drop it? I sigh again and focus on my tea. It’s steeped a bit too much for my liking, but it’ll be fine. 

Habitually I open the freezer. We’ve already eaten, Chris made us Fillet Mignon with potatoes and asparagus, but I wanted something sweet to go with my tea. I had made homemade popsicles out of lemon water and popsicle sticks. Inside the freezer, on the middle row was a half pint of my favourite ice cream, with a note attached.
Some days it’s O.K to cheat.
XOXO

If I wasn’t so excited to be having ice cream when I’m supposed to be on a dairy-free diet, I would have burst into tears. 

I grab the half pint of Cappuccino ice cream, one spoon, my tea and hurry into Chris’ study. I quickly make a small fire and pull on the big quilt we made out of his old sports jerseys and snuggle up on the big couch. Chris' study is the only room in the house with a fire place, it’s also one of the few rooms that doesn’t have a television; making it our favourite room. 

When he’s working, or sorting bills I like to come in here and read, just to be in the same room. I used to come in and read before Chris put in any extra furniture; a desk, a desk chair and a lamp, that was it; I would sit on the floor. He brought in bookshelves for me, but the big couch was mostly for him, so he could lay down with me while I read aloud to him. 

The fire’s comforting, but the later it gets into the night, the less I can fight how much everything hurts, no amount of tea or ice cream, or sappy movies can distract me anymore. I close my eyes, curl up on the couch and cry as my body twitches painfully out of my control. I pray that everything still works the same when I wake up; because I never know what to expect when I open my eyes in the morning. 


When I wake up Chris is holding me tight. We’re still on the couch in his office, covered by the jersey quilt. There’s golden early morning sunlight peeking through the shades. It's morning, and he's home.

I realize he’s somehow under me. He must have picked me up while I was sleeping. He has one hand wrapped around my middle, while the other strokes my hair gently. I bury my face into his shoulder, before I realize he’s talking to me. His voice is soothing. 

“Relax.” “I’m home.” “Relax.” He repeats softly over and over. Every time my body twitches I feel his hands hold me tighter, like if he can hold me still, it won’t hurt so much.

“How was work?” I ask sleepily. I hear a rumble in his throat that signals indifference.

“It was nothing compared to your night.” His hand is still drifting slowly from the top of my head down my spine. For the first time since I came into his office during the night my body lay perfectly still. The skin on my neck prickles happily at his touch and I conform to his body comfortably. We lay still for a while. 

“I’m sorry I left you to go through tonight alone.” Chris whispers to the back of my head. I turn around and prop myself up on his chest. I look at him thoughtfully remembering all the ways Chris was with me last night; he designed my relaxing bathroom, he sent the text message, I wore his sweater, he left me ice cream with the note, I snuggled in his quilt on the couch in his office … the list went on and on.

“You didn’t.” I say proudly, before I lean down and caress him. He holds me tight again and we settle into the couch for a long over-due nap. 

I fall asleep happily knowing that when I wake up, if nothing else works properly, but I can still kiss Chris like that, and be kissed by him the same, then I will be happy.

Friday 25 January 2013

Writing something different

On January 20th I got inspired during a walk with my dog to write a story based in the world of the BBC Television series Sherlock. (If you haven't seen it, then I highly recommend it. It is cleverly written and puts a great twist on a classic story by bringing Sherlock and John Watson to 21st century London.)

It started as silly babbling in my head of the characters in a scenario I would love to see on the TV show, but that is so far into the future it would be highly unlikely to ever be created. While I walked I wrote the dialogue, and the drama, picturing the story like an episode of the show, with moments that fade to black, commercial breaks and flashbacks. It was a compelling story. So, when I got home and the dog fell asleep, I started to write it all down.

This is a new form of writing for me, and one I am very willing to keep practising. I classified this as a "Fan Fiction." If you've ever heard the word, you will probably associate it with works like "50 Shades of Grey", which started off as a Fan Fiction. The term usually refers to written works surrounding characters, and places in Popular Culture, whether it is about Super Hero's, TV shows, Archie's love triangle with Betty and Veronica. In the world of Fan Fiction, anything is possible.

There are websites and "Fandoms" dedicated to these Alternate Story lines or Alternate Universes. It's amazing. Much of the work that is out there I would deem, Teen Dreams: fluff stories, with not a lot of substance, but occasionally you can stumble onto a beautifully crafted and compelling story that makes you wish that this piece of fiction was the original.

My piece is entry level. It's not a typical novel, style, so I feel out of my element, but the story came to me so fluidly, that I just wanted to get the whole thing written down. I wrote off and on for 3 days. 3 days, 20 pages and 8,517 words later I had published something online.

I subscribed to a website dedicated to Fan Fictions and submitted my work. There's no screening process, it's just published online for anyone to see and review it. I posted the first chapter of the story on the evening of the 23rd. On the first night I had 1 stranger "Favourite" my work and ask me for more. I also had my #1 fan, my sister, beg me for more on the website.

*I have a fear of posting my work online- I know it's an odd thing for a blogger to say- and have forced myself to put my work out there through my blogs, I thought this might be another challenge. However, since there is no way this story would ever get published: it's based off of someone else's brain child that is copy written, I had ZERO issues publishing it online. I am nervous about the reviews, but I'm also very excited to see how strangers (with no emotional investment to me or my work) feel about my work.

In the morning I posted chapter 2, then 3, 4, 5 and finally 6 throughout the day as I finished editing them.

On the first night I had 82 Views, spread over 41 Viewers and 1 Favourite.

On the second day I had 367 Views, spread between 82 Viewers and 3 Favourites.

I have no idea how many of those visitors like what I wrote, but it's still an amazing feeling to get so many people exposed to something I wrote in much a short period of time.

I wonder what day 3 will bring?

If you are interested in reading my piece, please find it here:
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8938240/1/The-Pieces-of-Sherlock-s-Heart

***PLEASE BE ADVISED*** This style of writing is not for everyone. It reads differently than most writing. THIS IS NOT A STAND ALONE STORY. The characters have a lot of history that is alluded to, but is not explained in this.

That being said, I hope you enjoy.

-Brandolyn


Wednesday 23 January 2013

Back Jacket Challenge #3

The 3rd, in my Back Jacket Challenge. 

The Daughter of the Raven Queen

Blayze; a young archer and aerial merchant, was confident in her beliefs that life ends at death. Raised not to fear death and taught that to reanimate a dead body is heresy, she resolves to purge the world of the un-dead during her travels. So when her lover is killed and brought back to life as a blood craving Vampire Blayze is torn between the urge to destroy him and her desire to be with him.

-Brandolyn

Tuesday 15 January 2013

Back Jacket Challenge #2

The 2nd of my Back Jacket Blurb Challenge. 

The 2nd of the Roaglenian
The Tower of Arista

Anna wakes up every morning, looks around the tiny room she shares with her younger sister, pushes her father's wolf off the end of her bed and waits for a torrent of visions to flow before her eyes.
Anna can see the future.
She sees glimpses throughout the day, but mornings are when the visions are the most succinct, and when visions of her her own death, and the deaths of her loved ones start to plague her in her sleep Anna becomes determined to avoid her fate.
When she wakes up in a huge velvet covered room, surrounded by servants and wait staff, with no recollection of who she is, what she can do, or how she is going to die, Anna unknowingly starts to walk straight down fate's path toward the end of her vision. 
How will Anna remember who she is if she doesn't know the life around her is a lie? How can she avoid her death if she can't remember it is coming? 

-Brandolyn

Saturday 12 January 2013

Back Jacket Challenge #1

Every time I come up with a story and start writing I inevitably write the blurb that I envision would be on the back jacket of the book. I think the cover of a book and the back jacket say a lot about whether a reader will enjoy a book or not. You get a quick taste of the main drama of the story. I love back jackets, but am always sad when they spoil a little bit of the intrigue, so I am shamed to admit I don't read many. I get my books through recommendations and intrigue from the title and cover, but I know a lot of people who say that the blurb at the back of a book is the deciding factor when they are looking for a book.

I talk about writing a lot but I have a hard time sharing it. I blog and share that, but when it comes to my novels I hold them so close that not even my family has read them. Recently, and off and on for the past several years I have been asked to share my work. Every time I sigh, think about it, agree and then never share. This winter however, I have been officially challenged to share some of my writing.

I am still very worried about sharing unfinished works, but my challenge was just to share a blurb. Just enough to get someone interested and wanting more. So I decided that my book jacket blurbs would be a wonderful compromise.

Over the course of the next few weeks I will be posting Back Jacket Blurbs, and would love any constructive and creative criticism my readers can offer. These are works in progress to get me more willing and comfortable sharing my work with the public. Enjoy.

-Brandolyn



The 1st of the Roaglenian. 
Gems


          The people of Everly have lived in peace for the last 25 years, after the devastation of the Ogre Wars. The country has flourished and swelled with riches, but when an old foe; long thought to be dead, threatens to take her revenge and steal the country's most prized possessions, the people of Everly hurriedly hide away their money, jewellery and precious metals. 


         When her town is ransacked, Trissiana Jeffreys; a young woman, beloved by all but known by none, embraces the opportunity to rid herself of a life long secret when she and her companions realize what their country should have been protecting; the children. 


Wednesday 9 January 2013

Where I find Inspiration

I had the most amazing experience while at work today.

In the past I've been struck by inspiration while out for a walk in the park. The trees, the flowers and all the colours and smells of nature, but today, instead of being inspired by nature I was moved while working on a demolition and remodel of a bathroom in a very old A-frame house. It wasn't the beauty of the architecture that I was fascinated with, but rather the decay and history I saw as I ripped down the walls and exposed the framework of the house. 

Looking at the insides of the walls and the layers (literally layers of history in the wallpaper) on the walls as I tore them down was amazing. Even someone with the smallest imagination would have been amazed when they realised there were 4 different layers of wall paper exposed on one wall. 

I also created stories about the water damage and the dust and grime. I also practised how to describe it so that a reader could see the creeping black mould as it snaked up the cracked wall, through the pealing pastel wall paper and onto the rotten, exposed wood behind, up to the buckling ceiling like a tide of destruction lapping at the walls, poisoning and breaking every surface it touches. 

Look at these pictures. Find something that speaks to you and describe it.
Or think of when you would use some of these pictures to inspire descriptions in your writing. 

For example: 
Look at this Lath and Plaster wall. Used up until the 1950s. 
Lath and Plaster, with the rough wooden slats, plaster pouring through the gaps, giant wad of hair and discarded cloth poking through holes in the wall. 
All these details could be used in a horror story set in an old house.

Or:   

You could describe all 4 types of wall paper in this room during a chapter where a family is renovating the late grandparent's house to resell and reminiscing about all the generations that the house had housed. 

I like to fixate on little details, but you have to know when to describe and when to let the reader's imagination do most of the work. 

For example: 

I could choose to describe every inch of this picture, or I could simply tell you it was an old bathroom, stripped of walls, leaving the old, worn skeleton of the walls exposed. From that sentence the reader understands that there are no walls, and they don;t know Lath and Plaster, but they know the old, worn wall is exposed. 

On the contrary I would describe the layers of peeling wallpaper; the bold geometric patterns, the pastel coloured florals and the faded red apple visible through a tear in the top layers of paper. The red apple, bright and warm in a sea of pale, dirty and cold dried out old paper. I would describe the faded white chefs that had faded from exposure to the Sun except from a patch behind the toilet where water damage had discoloured one with mould. 


Textures, colours, smells, emotions, memories, everything can be a descriptor to describe the room. The decay of this room makes me feel sick. BAM! The reader knows the room is unappealing in its current state. 
"My hand unintentionally moved to the collar of my shirt and held it over my nose as I entered." 
"My mind danced in wonder at the families that had shared this room. A bathroom covered in little chefs. What would it be like to brush your teeth every night, look around and have an undeniable urge to eat an apple or bake a pie?"

Inspiration comes in all shapes and sizes. Today it came to me in the form of age, wear and decay. Beautiful in its own way and exceptionally descriptive, if you know how translate the story. 

Happy Writing!

-Brandolyn

Anything stand out to you? Any amazing descriptors that you can't wait to use? I hope so. 
Leave me a comment and give me an example. Thanks!