A to Z Challenge: K is for Keelhaul

You dragged me under the ship. For once, that's not just a figure of speech. I should have seen it coming. I should have realized where that trip was headed. But I didn't. Not until the barnacles scrapped my back, tearing flesh. Not until I trailed blood like a comet's tail in the clear water of the Caribbean. 

"We're fine," you said. "I forgive you."

And, like an idiot, I believed you. Like an idiot, I stepped onto that boat. Excuse me. Ship.

Maybe you couldn't recognize your own fury, simmering under the surface, but I should have. I know you. I know the way your eyebrow twitches when you lie. I know the way your hands curl into fists when you're beyond frustrated. And I should have known.

The three minutes or so under the water feels inevitable. Painful. Terrifying. Inevitable. I'd envisioned storms. Getting stranded. Making the self-sacrificing decision to die so you could live. Not this. Not being hauled ass over teakettle into the water and dragged under like a sailor from the 1500s. 

Not you desperately dragging me back onto the boat. Not the burning, choking sensation of re-learning to breathe.

"It was an accident," you said. "Forgive me."

"We're fine," I said. 

Writing Prompt: My Mother Broke Every Plate

From page 260 in "642 Things to Write About:"

Prompt: Start a story with the line "My mother broke every plate in the house that day."

My mother broke every plate in the house that day. Shards of blue and white porcelain sparkled across the kitchen tile like fragments of her life. She'd collected each piece meticulously. A saucer here, a plate, a teacup.

I held the only survivor behind my back. A sugar bowl. I wanted to place it gently in a basket and send it down a river to keep it safe from my mother's wrath. From her grief.

The violence of her act shocked even her. She stood quivering, surrounded by the shattered remnants of her collection. For the first time, the willow print made me feel like weeping. 

I sat silently for my own protection, and for that of the refugee that I clutched. The small bowl felt cold against my skin.

She'd been washing the dishes when the phone rang. I was supposed to be drying them.

The first plate dropped from her hands by accident. The second she let go, releasing her grip slowly. Intentionally. The third she threw.

Then the next. And the next. Harder and harder, building herself up like a tsunami. A ceramic wave crashed through her. The result of some far off earthquake. 

The last plate slipped through her fingers like sand. It landed atop its ruined family, a single chip in its oriental edge.

The wave collapsed, leaving my mother alone in the rubble.

Check out Claudia Bookwright's response to the same prompt here.

Haiku Challenge: History, Politics, and Life in 17 Syllables

This last week or so has been filled with a number of historical and political events. The 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King, Jr's "I have a dream" speech. Marches across the nation that served as a memory of the suffragists who fought for women's rights to vote and a reminder of how far we still have to go. New kitten drama continues. And Twitter is continuing to serve as a surprising outlet for all of these things.

Here are the haiku's from this last week.

08/20

Haiku - like new thought -

Breathe softly and disappear

without impression.

08/22

Would the solid clank

of a press imprint my words

more firmly than keys?

08/22

One hell of a night.

Pain wracks my head like lightening.

Fucking allergies.

08/24

Alone among friends,

The writer in me panics.

Paper is kinder.

08/26

Nineteenth amendment

Gave women the right to vote.

We should use it now.

08/27

Exhausted, throat-sore

I make my way through darkness

To the ones who wait.

08/27

Mad Men: Where women

are not allowed to play and

nice guys finish last.

08/28

M.L.K. Jr

once had a dream that spoke

to all. Still we dream.

08/30

Life falls short of dreams.

Everything sounds much better

when it's on paper. 

Haiku Challenge: Twitter's Take on Poetry

Recently one of my fellow writers and denizens of Twitter, Alexis Lantgen, inspired me to do something I'd never truly considered before. Use Twitter for more than just 155 character snippets of though. Use it for poetry. And what poetry form could be more appropriate than haiku?

Haiku is a form of Japanese poetry that uses 17 kanji for one poem, which English speaking poets translated to 17 syllables of 5 then 7 then five again. Traditionally, Haiku were about nature, but that is becoming less common, and let's face it, writing about falling leaves and cherry blossoms is really not my style. Another aspect of haiku is the use of juxtaposition or the "cutting word." Most haiku use imagery or symbols to strike a discordant note in the poem.

Anywho... here are my Twitter haiku from last week.

8/12

You say I'm grown-up,
But sometimes I am a child
who's just pretending.

8/13

Once Ulysses-proud,
Our world fell to the sea gods.
Oceans consume us.

8/14

Four years of laughter,
We celebrate more to come
with a new kitten.

8/16

Late in the evening,
I forget all I've not done
and fall swift asleep.

8/16

Yesterday's haiku
proved itself a lie, false hope.
A night without rest.

8/17

Paralyzing fear
distracts me from my duty.
I submit my work.

8/18

New Sunday morning
Cat chases the new kitten
I wish I still slept


I'm still working on the use of juxtaposition, but it's a nice way to start the morning. Who would have though Twitter could be a tool for poetic expression?

If you're interested in following my forays into the Twitter #haikuchallenge, follow me here, on GraceW_Writer

The Next Big Thing

Thanks to Alexis Lantgen for tagging me in the Next Big Thing Blog Hop!

1: What is the working title of your book(s)?
My finished book is called "Free." That's a definitely a working title and I am open to any suggestions, especially if they come from an agent or editor.

2: Where did the idea come from for the book?
I've always love dystopias and I've always been fairly politically active. The idea for my book all started with the Supreme Court's ruling on the Citizens United case. The entire concept of a corporation as a "person" fascinated me. Could they vote? Could they adopt? What would the world be like if corporations had all the same rights as an individual and, in some cases, more? These questions spurred me to created the world of Opal and Hands (my two main characters).

3: What genre does your book come under?
Free is a near-future, young adult, speculative fiction novel.

4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
Opal - Lily Cole or Zena Gray. They might be bit old though.... Maybe Emma Watson with red hair?
Hands - no idea. Someone tall, dark, and broad shouldered.
Janus - Definitely Andrew Garfield since he's the one I modeled the character after.

5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Opal, a genetically engineered, super-intelligent sixteen year old girl, is imprisoned for crimes against the company and must find a way to escape torture and prevent her parent company from unleashing a deadly famine on the world. 

6: Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency?
My book is not yet published. I am currently seeking an agent for representation.

7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
It took about a year to get the book to the point it is at now, which I consider the third draft or so.

8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
The Hunger Games, The Maze Runner, Uglies

9: Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My favorite dystopia of all time is The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. After reading it, I aspired to that level of writing. I'm not there yet, but Free is a good step in the right direction.

10: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

While the world of Free is a made up of vast sprawling metropolises and secure corporate compounds, the story is actually very personal and follows two young people from different social castes as they try to make sense of their world and stand up for what is right. I think the intimacy is what really drives this story forward.


Tagging more Writers:

I hate to tag people without their permission, but feel free to do this blog hop with me! Let me know and I'll add your name (and link)!

Writing Prompt: Only Two Hands

Prompt: Begin a story describing only two hands. Use the physical characteristics of the hands, as well as any relevant activity or movement, gesture, fidgeting, and so on, to reveal who the hands belong to.

                                                                                     photo by  MogieG123

Response:

He played the piano. Or at least I assume he did.

Slender fingers held his wine glass lightly and without thought. I watched those hands, hypnotized by their choreographed dance as they sauntered from knife to fork and back again.

Bach.

Those hands held the end of my noose. And he didn't even know it. Fingers flickering like the moon on a disturbed pond. Pale. I couldn't hear his words.

Chopin.

How could he not play piano? With hands like those... They lingered on the rest.

Schubert.

He signed the words. Fun. A dismissive wave. While it lasted. Que sara. A mimicry of cursive and fatalism. His face faded like dull scenery painted on flat canvas.

Mozart.

His hands played my death. Shakespearean in that they refused to let me die. Illustrating the poison. The dagger.

Rachmaninoff.

Then the curtain fell. Check please. He slipped those hands into pockets.

The End.





So this one was a bit more poetic than my previous prose. Any thoughts?

Don't forget to check out ClaudiaBookwright's very different response to this prompt here.

Copyright to Grace Wagner 2013

Writing Prompt: Favorite Song Title

by Artist

Prompt: Write a story based on the title of your favorite song.

Response: "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie

The room smelled of age and paper and stories. You led me between rows of leather-bound spines. The library had been abandoned for years. The grand old building lay tucked between skyscrapers and busy lives. In the eyes of the government it was "historic" and thus immune to demolition. In the eyes of entrepreneurs it was a waste of space.

I closed my eyes, feeling my way behind you. No one read physical books anymore. No one but you.

The cadence of your voice lilting over small, enigmatic type was a stark contrast to the drone of pre-recorded, pre-approved novels. Poetry lingered in your pauses, your breath drifting away from the small LED light into the blackness around us. My thoughts followed it.

Now I stand between empty rows. The books were packed and shipped away to some museum back east. That happened almost a year ago. I see your face like an afterimage. Burned into my retina as you grin over your shoulder.

What should we read tonight?

I shrug. Whatever you want.

I sit down, folding my legs beneath me. The emptiness presses down on me like a coffin lid. I lean back, closing my eyes. In the dark, I find your words. They become you.

"Adieu, adieu! my native shore / Fades o'er the waters blue; / The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, / and shrieks the wild sea-mew."

I follow you into the dark.

Copyrighted to Grace Wagner. Do not replicate without out written permission. 2013

UPDATE: Claudia Bookwright has also uploaded her answer to the prompt. Check it out here.

A New Light

Well, I'm nearing a sort of end with my first book. It still needs a bit of work, but it should be ready to send out to agents and beta readers any day now. So what's next?

Photo by xdante-stock

It turns out I have an opportunity to do something pretty exciting. I can't give too many details (top secret!), but it's going to be awesome. A best-selling writer friend of my has created what he calls an "open world." He's writing a novel set in this world, but he is also inviting fellow writers to create connected novellas. That's were I come in. I'm one of the lucky ones he's approached.

So while I didn't design the world, I will be writing a story of my own creation in my own style. And let me tell you, it's exciting. I love creating within a framework. It's a challenge. In many ways it's more difficult than creating everything from scratch. Conforming to set rules while maintaining my unique voice has always been something I enjoy. That's why I write sonnets or pontoums. It's hard and it's fun.

I'll give more details as I can and I hope all of my readers will support this project. I love the idea of having many authors involved in one world. Even with novellas, that will allow an in depth exploration of human experiences that can be hard to achieve with a single novel or a single writer.

Also, it's refreshing to work on something new. I love my novel, but I've been with it for over a year. I'm ready for a new challenge!