Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Writing Encouragement

Posting several times a week.....totally nailed that. *Facepalm*

Let us move on.

I thought today I would post a bit of encouragement for all you writers. One thing that I've struggled with is being afraid that my story is boring or predictable, or even both. Then I came across this on Pinterest and it helped me get a new perspective.




Sure, I still might have to clean things up and come up with better plot twists, but that's a part of writing. Don't be afraid to give that story a shot. You might be surprised at the feedback you get.


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Thursday, June 4, 2015

Life Update

I HAVE RETURNED!

Goodness, I've missed you all.

I graduate from high school this Saturday. Super excited for that! In the meantime, I have two summer classes that just started. In the fall I'll be going to a local community college full-time.

I also got my very first job working in the deli of a local grocery store. It's always busy. The more I learn, the more I'm enjoying it.

I completed the first draft of my novel Somnia! I'll be posting chapters on wattpad soon.

With the new blog look comes a new schedule. Unfortunately I won't be able to post daily as I did before. I'll be keeping the topics along the lines of what I used to do (story pieces, writing advice, etc...), but this time I'll only be posting when time allows. I plan on posting several times a week--we'll see how that goes.

God bless!
~Amy Rochelle

Thursday, May 14, 2015

A Work in Progress

Hey guys! Sadly, I haven't had the chance to post on my poor neglected blog over this past week. As a peace offering, I present to you:  chapter two of White Wings!

Read here.


God bless,
-Amy Rochelle

Monday, May 4, 2015

So I finally made one

Hey guys! I finally got around to creating a Wattpad account to post my complete stories. So far I've put up a short story and the first chapter of my novel White Wings. More to come!

See chapter here.


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Sunday, May 3, 2015

Monday, April 27, 2015

Which Do You Like Better?

Hey guys! I have decided to go back and work through my latest draft of White Wings and I need your opinion. 

Should I keep it in first person narration? Or should I change it to third person?

First person (original):

     I felt a presence behind me and turned.  Cole stood with a deep scowl on his face.  I could sense his quiet anger, and it frightened me. 
     “Why are you talking with a Kril?” he asked me in a tone lower than I had ever heard him speak.  I winced at his use of the harsh term.
     “Don’t call him that,” I said.
     “He has no wings.  There really isn’t a difference.”
     “Rilind is not a criminal, Cole,” I shot back.  Cole flashed me a wicked glare.
     “Why are you defending him? Hasn’t your family been disgraced enough? You should be grateful I’m still talking to you.”

      

Third person:

     Rae felt a presence behind her and turned. Cole stood with a deep scowl on his face, his anger evident and frightening.  
     “Why are you talking with a Kril?” he asked in a tone lower than he'd ever spoken.  Rae winced at his use of the harsh term.
     “Don’t call him that,” she said.
     “He has no wings.  There really isn’t a difference.”
     “Rilind is not a criminal, Cole,” Rae shot back.  Cole flashed a wicked glare.
     “Why are you defending him? Hasn’t your family been disgraced enough? You should be grateful I’m still talking to you.”

     

Thank you so much for your help!

God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Friday, April 24, 2015

Funny Fridays #14

A little humor can go a long way. 



God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Sunday, April 19, 2015

A Short Story

Hey guys! Sorry I haven't been able to post as regularly as I had hoped. With summer and high school graduation coming, it's both an exciting time and a stressful time as I work to get everything finished.

I am part of a homeschool Honor Society, and for the induction ceremony I will be presenting a 2,072 word short story based on a picture selected by my fellow members.

Here is the picture they chose:

(Pinterest)

The Thirteenth Hour

     So this was the secret place he’d heard whispers about. And it was full of….clocks. How fascinating. He’d hoped for something a little more…magical? Lucrative? Worthwhile? Not something that would remind him how late he was for everything.
     Liam walked along the catwalk, absently counting the difference clocks as he passed. Why would anyone talk about this place at all? It was gigantic and that was kinda cool…but so what?
     The constant ticking of the clocks, while rhythmic, were not in sync. It created a discombobulated atmosphere; chaotic, and alive. He changed his mind. The place wasn’t cool at all…it was eerie.
     That’s when the chimes of the hour started. Not all at once. The chorus began with a few, and then grew louder as every clock joined in. The bongs pounded in his head, the volume proportionate to the size of the clocks. Liam covered his ears in a feeble attempt to block out the chimes, but he could still feel them slamming against his skull. Sneaking in at midnight was probably not the best idea, for the bells continued on, and on, and on. At last, every clock fell silent. All but one. As if determined to have a solo, this clock had only just begun to count to twelve. Liam uncovered his ears and turned to watch the delayed clock. It was the biggest one; its face milky white. Despite its size, the chimes were friendly, almost delicate.
     One…two…three…four…
A strange clicking sound reverberated as the big hand and little hand aligned.
     Five…six…seven…eight…
     Another sound came from within. This one a low bang, something like a hammer falling on wood.
     Nine…ten…eleven…twelve…
     Liam finished counting the number of tolls and waited for another sound. He didn’t have to wait long, but the sound was not what he expected.
     The clock struck a thirteenth time and everything stilled.
     He frowned and walked up to the railing to study the clock in front of him. Peering up at the roman numerals, he noticed not two numerals after the X in twelve, but three. There was no mistake. The clock really had chimed a thirteenth hour. There was some something strange about that last numeral. It looked like there was….a handle?
     Liam jumped back at a sharp clicking sound. The third numeral after the X slowly swung inward. It was a door. A grin slowly spread across his face. Now THIS was something worth whispering about.
     He climbed the railing and was about to jump onto the clock when he realized that he didn’t have to. Hidden just to the side of the clock face was a staircase that went all the way to the door.
     Empowered with excitement, Liam flew up the stairs and reached the door, breathless. But his expectations were not rewarded. The door opened to nothing but a black void. No shiny treasure, no secret hideout. Nothing.
     He pushed his arm through the opening to see if anything was there. He was only met with cold air.
     “Hello?” His voice echoed deep. He glanced down. How far did it go? On a whim, Liam reached down and his hand touched something solid. Tentatively, he stepped through, the blackness accepting him. He shivered and hugged himself. An updraft blew in front of him and he came to a sudden stop. Just one step further and he would have fallen.
     Lights blinked on and he lifted his hand to shield his eyes. Sure enough, there was an immediate drop directly ahead. Still behind him was a giant clock. With great confusion and disappointment, he realized that he was standing on the same catwalk in front of the same hundreds of clocks as before. The third numeral in the thirteen was still open; a doorway to nothing. Had he turned in a circle?
     A voice made him freeze.
     “There’s someone there!” The voice said, female.
     “It worked?” Another voice, this one a boy, sounded surprised. More lights flickered on, revealing a mass of people gathered on a platform across from him. Liam stared. That hadn’t been there before.
     “What dimension are you from?” The girl called. She had on a strange jumpsuit. In fact, they all wore strange clothes.
     “I’m sorry?” Liam called back.
     “Oh, you know…dimension…universe…planet…” The boy returned. He sounded disinterested, maybe even a little annoyed.
     “Um…I’m from earth?” Liam relied.
     Silence. The people started whispering to each other. Liam leaned forward as far as he dared in an attempt to catch parts of the conversation.
     “…you miscalculated again.” One said.
     “We should put him with the others.”
     A little to the left was a bridge connecting the catwalk to the platform. Liam started down it, but no one seemed to notice him.
     “Excuse me!” He called out, alerting them. They all stopped whispering and looked at him. Liam hesitated, suddenly feeling quite exposed with everyone’s attention on him all at once.
     “Who are you?” Liam asked the people. They looked normal except for their clothes.
     “I think,” began an old man. “The real question is:  who are you?”
     “Me?” Liam gestured to himself. “I don’t understand. Where did you people come from?” The old man chuckled.
     “I think I see the problem. You don’t understand what’s going on.”
     Liam just blinked at him. Of course not! He was still very confused.
     The old man spread his arms out grandly. “Welcome to the future.”
     Liam didn’t think he was serious. The man noticed the suspicious look on Liam’s face and explained.
     “We’ve been trying to connect a portal to a new dimension, but so far we’ve only managed to reach the past. You went through the thirteenth numeral of a clock, am I correct?”
Liam nodded mutely. The man led the girl over.
     “Why don’t you take this boy to the room, yes?” he asked of her. She nodded and took Liam’s hand. He quickly pulled away. These people made him uncomfortable.
     “Why don’t I just go back?” He suggested. “I really don’t need to stay…” But Liam no longer had a choice. He was escorted to the room with a firm hand.
     The room was decorated only with a couch, a few beanbag chairs, and a TV. The people inside interested him, though they hardly looked up when he was pushed inside. A lock clicked into place behind him. He was a prisoner.
     Liam stood awkwardly near the door, not sure what to do or say.
     “What year are you from?” One of the boys sitting on the beanbags asked. It took Liam a moment to register what exactly the boy meant.
     “2015,” he replied. The boy looked pleasantly surprised.
     “Me too.” He jumped up to his feet and walked over. “Hey, you wanna help me get out of here?”
     Liam backed up a little, no longer feeling so underwhelmed. “How long have you been locked up here?”
     The boy gave a lazy shrug. “There’s no way of knowing. Hundreds of years if you look at it chronologically, but obviously I’m not hundreds of years old. I’ve been here—what—two years, give or take? Traveling through time is weird like that.”
     “Why won’t they let you leave?” Liam asked, dropping his voice to a whisper.
     “Not sure. Probably so they can remember what times in history they’ve gone to. They’re still dead set on reaching other dimensions.” He sighed dramatically. “It’s not gunna happen people.”
     “Why not just write it down?” Liam asked.
     “I don’t know. Maybe they’re saving us for a documentary.” The boy then pulled Liam aside. “You came in through a clock, right?”
     Liam nodded.
     “Good. We’ll have until the hour’s up before the portal closes. That’s our only chance to get back to our time. Who knows when they’ll open back to 2015 again?”
Liam glanced at the others. They were happily distracted by the program on the TV. “What about them?” he asked.
     “They’re all from difference decades, some centuries,” the boy explained. “Only you and I are from 2015. Come on, we don’t have much time.”
     The boy’s plan to get out was simple. Knock, and then run out when the door opened. And the plan would have worked flawlessly—if someone had actually come when they knocked.
     “Now what do we do?” Liam asked.
     “Uh….” The boy looked around the room. “Air vent.” He pointed up near the ceiling.
     “We won’t be able to fit in that,” Liam realized. The boy wrinkled his nose, shrugged, and started walking over to it.
     That’s when the door opened. 
     “Switching back to plan A!” The boy announced as he slammed into the person at the door. “Go, go, go!”
     Liam ran from the room and down the narrow hallway, pausing only to wait for the other boy to catch up. He ran past Liam, taking the lead. When they got to the platform, there was no one there. Liam turned his head back and forth, searching for the clocks. There was nothing. Only darkness.
     “How much time do we have?” The boy asked. Liam glanced down at the watch on his wrist. Assuming the thirteenth hour was the same as midnight on his watch, they had about…three minutes until 1 am.
     The boy found a switch and flipped it. The clocks became illuminated in a dim glow, the light also revealing the bridge from the platform to the catwalk.
     “Hurry!” he cried, already running across it. Liam didn’t have to be told twice, but he didn’t have a chance to get far. The old man from before emerged onto the platform and caught hold of Liam’s arm.
     “How did you get out?” he demanded. Liam wrenched his arm out of the man’s grip and stumbled onto the bridge.
     Two minutes until 1 am.
     Instead of chasing him, the old man turned and shut off the lights. Everywhere but the platform went dark.
     “Over here!” It sounded like the boy had made it to the clock. Liam turned towards the voice and inched forward, using the railing as a guide. It seemed as though the bridge went on forever. Step after step, it didn’t feel like he was getting closer.
     One minute until 1 am.
     Gears started turning. The clock was preparing to strike the hour; the door beginning to close.
     “You’re going to have to run!” The boy called out from somewhere up ahead. Liam did run. He bashed against the metalwork, even stumbled a few times, but he kept moving forward.
     Seconds until 1 am.
     Liam reached out with his hands, ran past the catwalk, and slammed into the stairs that would take him to the door in the third numeral.
     He climbed the stairs, completely blind by the darkness. 1 am had arrived. The thirteenth hour up.  He was halfway up the stairs when a chorus of bells chimed the hour.
Liam called out for the boy, never stopping. He couldn’t be too late, he couldn’t! There was no answer. Nothing but the constant ticking of the clocks around him. Mocking him. Liam was notoriously late for everything, why not this?
     Not willing to accept defeat, he pressed on and reached the top of the stairs. He couldn’t see it, but he knew the thirteenth numeral was there in front of him.
     He froze and held his breath. A draft blew in his face. He reached out blindly with his hand and found that the door was still open. No time to question it, Liam crawled through. He clung to the new set of stairs, stairs from 2015, and looked back in the brighter light at the clock face. There was the boy, straining with effort, holding the large hand back. Once he saw that Liam was through, he released the hand and it lurched forward, striking 1 am. A long, loud toll. A lonely bell, unaccompanied by others. The door swung tightly shut.
     The boy jumped down to the catwalk where Liam was still sitting. He grinned and reached down to help him up. “And they say time waits for no one.”
     Liam grinned back and shook his head.
     They went their separate ways after that. The boy returned home after having been missing for two years, and Liam went back to his usual routine, although now he was careful to never be late for anything.
     And from then on, every night at midnight, he would hold his breath, listening to hear if his clock ever struck thirteen. 


God bless, 
~Amy Rochelle

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Two-Fifty Tuesdays #14

Excerpts of my writing consisting of 250 words. No more. No less. 

The following passage was taken from Chapter Seven of my novel, Guinea Pig Maverick


(Pinterest) 
     I raise my hands above my head in surrender. Mr. Dunne reaches me first.  He grabs one of my arms and twists it around to my back, hiking it up so that I’m in pain. I wince at his roughness, unprepared for it. The guard stops a few paces in front of me, and aims the weapon at my face. After a pause, he puts it away and pulls out a pair of handcuffs instead. I don’t resist. There’s no point.
     I’m led over to the glass desk. The dog tags around my neck are removed and handed to the woman. She types my information into the computer. Her eyebrows skyrocket.
     “He’s supposed to be testing robotic surgery equipment with Dr. Lahey.”
     My stomach churns.
     “Lahey has him booked for all of next week as well.” Another look of surprise comes over her face. “Would you look at that. Mister Carter here is human.” She hands the tags back to the guard. “No wonder Lahey wants him. He won’t heal halfway through the incisions.”
     I think I might throw up.
     “Well cancel it,” Mr. Dunne says while tightening his grip on me. “I’m taking him. If Lahey has a problem with that, tell him he should learn to keep a better eye on his subjects.”
     Did I just become the object of a finders’-keepers’ argument?
     The woman doesn’t protest. She types something on the computer.
     “He’s all yours.”
     The guard slips the tags back over my head and we walk. ...



God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Story Starter Sundays #13

Featured writing prompts from Pinterest.


What if your imaginary friend was yourself from the future?
Or did you realize that you are the imaginary friend to someone real?

God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Friday, April 10, 2015

Funny Fridays #13

A little humor can go a long way. 

(Pinterest)

Stay awake my friends! 

God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Two-Fifty Tuesdays #13

Excerpts of my writing consisting of 250 words. No more. No less. 

The following passage was taken from Chapter Twelve of my work in progress, Somnia

(Pinterest)
     It’s about noon when the first wave of exhaustion hits me.  I suppose if I were healthy and not in a hospital, I’d be able to pull an all-nighter no problem.  But this is different.  My body is rejecting my plan.  And I think the nurse slipped my medicine into my lunch.  My eyelids droop, feeling heavy.
     “Wiles!” 
     I jump, my eyes flying open.  Destiny is peering over me.
     “What are you doing?” she asks.
     “Not sleeping,” I mutter.  She just gives me a look.  Okay, I have to admit, that one was awfully close.  I pick up a crayon again and try writing, but it just turns into indecipherable scribbles and designs.  Stay awake!  I look down at my paper and realize I’ve been writing those two words over and over.  I sigh and set the crayon down.  Not everything I write happens, unfortunately.
     I manage to go another day and a half without dreaming.  I would like to say I never fell asleep during that time, but I’m pretty sure I dozed off at least half a dozen times. Destiny was always faithful to wake me up before it was too late.
Jace returned my journal as promised.  I haven’t seen him since.  The people who claim to be my parents have stopped by several times.  They exhaust me like nothing else.  Both of them—especially the mother—are only interested in talking about Riley—the person I was.  I’m sorry, but I don’t care.  I don’t remember ...


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Thingy Thursdays #10

A fascinating object that begged at the chance for a story. 
(or in this case, a picture)


(Pinterest)
     Laura watches the hands of the clock as they move. A steady beat. A steady click. Because she's watching from inside the clock the hands move counterclockwise around the milky-colored face.
     Standing on the catwalk is a man all alone. Laura walks out to him, curious as to why someone else would be inside the clock.  Maybe he likes the peace and the comfort of the consistent sounds and movements. His face is drawn, tired, and his eyes are suspiciously puffy.
     “Why are you sad?” she asks. He simply lets out a deep sigh.
     “Because of the stories I carry,” he whispers, not looking at her. His expression shows an even greater sadness now that those words have been spoken. Laura stands next to him, watching the clock as it continues to tick backwards.
     “Can you tell me one of your stories?” she asks. The man hesitates, then lets out another long breath. “Very well.” And he beings.
     “There was a boy and girl. They were young and they were in love with both each other and the sea. They traveled the world together, sailing the ship anywhere they could. But on their last voyage the ship docked and the girl walked out alone. The boy stayed on the deck, watching.  She tried not to look back, but instead focused on the shoreline. The ship raised its sails, and when she finally dared look up again, he was gone. That was the last they ever saw of each other.”
     Laura listens quietly, but doesn't comment. “Please tell me another,” she says.
     The man is surprised to hear this, but he continues nonetheless. 
     “The author finally finished his first novel. It had taken a year to write. He was pleased and excited—a job well done. But as he began to read through it he realized he was wrong. The job was neither done, nor done well. He started erasing words and sentences, but soon was erasing entire paragraphs. Then chapters. Taking out material, putting it back, only to take it out again. Until finally he nothing but a blank page. All that hard work gone. The story no more.”
     Laura watches the clock sadly. She doesn’t ask to hear any more, but the man speaks again.   
     “I have one more story,” he whispers. She waits for him to tell it, but instead he points at the clock.
     “See how the hands turn backwards?” he says. “My time is running out.”
     Laura looks first at the clock, then back to the man. A new understanding comes into her eyes and she smiles. Taking his hand, she guides him out of the clock and onto the street below.  
     “Look,” she says, still smiling, and points at the clock face. The man watches as he sees the hands tick forward for the first time. His eyebrows skyrocket and he looks to Laura for an explanation.
     “Sometimes when you look at things from the wrong side, it can seem a little unfair and unsatisfying,” she says.
     “But if you look at it from the right perspective, you see that the boy didn’t leave the girl at the shore—that’s when they first met. The author didn’t erase his story, he wrote it.” She looks up to see his face. 
     “Your time isn’t running out. It’s just beginning.” 


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Story Starter Sundays #12

Featured writing prompts from Pinterest



God bless,
~Amy Rochelle 

Friday, March 27, 2015

Funny Fridays #12

A little humor can go a long way. 







God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Two-Fifty Tuesdays #12

Excerpts of my writing consisting of 250 words. No more. No less. 

The following passage was taken from Chapter Six of my novel, Guinea Pig Maverick


(Google.images)
     “9635?” I clarify.
     “53,” she corrects, hazel eyes still glued to those screens. I push the numbers in the correct sequence. The voice tells me I’m free to make a call.
     I realize something then. I don’t have either of my parent’s phone numbers memorized. Never had a reason to. My phone kept track of that for me. My shattered, broken, completely destroyed phone.
     The only number I have memorized at all is Bob’s Pizza.
     Feeling like the biggest idiot, I punch in that number.
     “This is Bob’s Pizza!” The enthusiastic employee greets on the first ring.
     “Hi. My name is Carter Davis,” I say stupidly. “I need you to contact my parents.”
     “Usually customers call if they want an order….”
     “No, no, they’re not ordering a pizza.”  This earns me an odd glance from the girl. “Look, I don’t have their numbers and it’s really important that they know I’m alive.” 
     Silence.
     “Maybe you could ask around? I don’t know where I am, but I think the people here want to hurt me.”
     Another long pause. “Have you tried calling the police?”
     It’s my turn to stay silent. I can’t bring myself to understand just why I chose Bob’s Pizza over the police. Whatever they used to knock me out before the plane ride must have caused some serious brain damage or something.
     I don’t know what else to do, so I just hang up. I choose my next numbers wisely:  9-1-1. The recorded voice tells me to enter ...



God bless,
~Amy Rochelle 

Monday, March 23, 2015

Mature Mondays #9

Something that is thought provoking and/or inspiring. 

(Pinterest)
I saw this on Pinterest and I thought it was interesting. It's something I've never really thought about before. It reminded me the importance for building other people up. Helping them become the best person they can be. That's what part of being a leader is all about.

It's not about the power. It's about what you can do with it.

Just some thoughts.


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Story Starter Sundays #10

Featured writing prompts from Pinterest



Where did this person come from? Another raft? The water itself? Somewhere above?

Are they here to hurt you or help you?

What if YOU are one of the three people? Are you having an out-of-body experience? 


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Survival Saturdays #10

Writing advice to help you survive that first draft.

A quick thing on prologues that I saw on Pinterest.

(Pinterest)

God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Two-Fifty Tuesdays #11

Excerpts of my writing consisting of 250 words. No more. No less. 

The following passage was taken from Chapter 5 of my novel, Guinea Pig Maverick


(Pinterest)
     
     A distinct growl comes from behind me.
     “HANDS UP! I want to see them now!” 
     I push myself to my knees and raise my shaking hands above my head.  I stare into the barrel of a rifle that’s just inches away from my face.  A single dog is watching me with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out of his mouth.  He cocks his head at me.  I just narrow my eyes at him.  Little snitch.
     One man, a guard, puts his gun away and pushes me back down to the dirt.  My hands are cuffed behind my back and I stiffen.  These are not ordinary cuffs.  More like shackles. Several inches of metal clamp tightly onto my forearms.  There is no wiggle room at all.  Two men pull me up in a dead lift back to my feet.  The barrel of the gun meets my face again.
     I’m too scared out of my mind to try to do or say anything. I don’t know what these people want, and I can’t stop staring at that gun.
     A man pats down my chest.
     “No tags,” he comments to his colleague.  My arms are lifted up slightly at my back, forcing me to bend forward.  The same guard pulls something out of his pocket and turns it on.  It looks like a small UV light.  He walks around to my back and I can only guess at what the light’s purpose is.
     “Negative,” the guard says.  He sounds surprised.  The ...


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Monday, March 16, 2015

Mature Mondays #8

Something that is thought provoking and/or inspiring. 

(Pinterest)
This is just a little something that I've been reminding myself a lot of lately.

Yesterday especially. I spent a total of 4 hours walking around the mall and driving to various stores. What was I looking for? A pair of shoes to wear to the party happening THAT night. (I do not recommend putting those kinds of things off until the last moment. I very nearly ran out of time).

It didn't matter where I went, either they didn't have what I was looking for, or they were out of my size.  (OR they were $100. Sadly, I'm not that committed to fashion). I must have gone to 15 different places by the end of the day.

But still, I was able to count my blessings.  I got in a couple miles of exercise just walking the mall alone, and I discovered a few new places I might want to shop at sometime in the future.

Every day I try to find something good, even if it feels like everything is going wrong. It's like a treasure hunt with an even richer payoff.


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Sunday, March 15, 2015

Story Starter Sundays #9

Featured writing prompts from Pinterest


What is the infection? Is it something physical or mental?
What does it do?

What if it isn't medical related. What if the infection is informational? Infected with a lie?

God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Friday, March 13, 2015

Funny Fridays #11

A little humor can go a long way. 

A couple random funny things for the day.















All pictures were taken from Pinterest.


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Thingy Thursdays #9

A fascinating object that begged at the chance for a story. 


(Pinterest)

     "Pick one."
     I stare at it. "Why?" 
     The leader of our rebel group, the one who spoke, glares down at me. I swallow and choose the blue one. He nods and brings the strange collection of choices down the line of the new recruits. 
     "What's it do?" One of the younger ones ask.
     "Is a poison?" Comes from another.
     The leader ignores each question just as he ignored mine. "Now drink it," he commands. 
     I can almost feel the expanse of the warehouse when the silence hits. No one moves. 
     "DRINK IT!" He shouts, his voice echoing even after he closes his mouth. As if deciding to listen to a small voice in our heads all at the same time, we put the liquid to our lips and tilt our heads back. 
     I grimace. The liquid is sweet but it burns, bringing tears to my eyes. I pull the end of my sleeve over my hand and wipe away at my cheeks.  A coughing fit seizes me and I nearly empty my stomach onto the floor. As soon as the feeling passes, I look over to see how my fellow recruits are handling theirs. I realize then with horror why it seemed so quiet. 
     Everyone is lying motionless on the floor. 
     My focus is broken when the leader moves towards me. 
     "You're immune," he says, as if it were obvious.  I look back at the others.  I suppose it is obvious....
     He follows my gaze.  "They're not dead."
     "Oh."  Relief floods my system.  I could have been one of those people.  "Does that mean I picked the right one?"
     "No, it means you're immune."  The leader doesn't seem impressed.
     "But they were all different...."  My question goes unanswered.
     "Come with me." A tough-looking brunette motions for me to follow her. I do.
     "Where are we going?"
     She doesn't look at me.  "I'm taking you home."
     I pull to a stop.  "What? No! I want to be a rebel."
     She keeps walking, encouraging me to do the same with a firm hold on my shoulder.  "Sorry, kid, but if you're immune then that means you're on the wrong side of the war."
     "J-just because I'm immune doesn't mean I don't agree with the cause!" I sputter.
     A moment later and the door is shut in my face.
     Rejected. Again.
     I don't know what to do, so I stand here, glaring at the door and feeling my life waste away.  Everywhere I go no one seems to want an Immune on their side.  They think I'll play double agent or something.
     "Hey, kid!"
     I turn at the voice.  A man in a trimmed suit approaches me.  I tense, readying myself to run if threatened.
     "Couldn't help but hear you want to help the rebels," he says after offering to shake my hand. I don't take it.
     "Yes...?" What's he after?
     "How would you like to work for us as a double agent?"
     I almost laugh.  I literally just went over this in my head.  "Thanks, but the answer's no."
     The man shifts his weight to his other foot.  "I don't think you understand," he says, tone still friendly.  "I'm with the rebels."  He gestures at the warehouse.  "Those independent groups don't seem to recognize your worth as an Immune, but I do."  He pulls out a small card and hands it to me.  "Think it over and give me a call."  He turns to leave.
     "Wait!"
     He stops and looks over his shoulder at me. I don't need time to think. I already know my answer. This is what I've wanted for the past three months.
     "I'll come with you," I say.  The man smiles.
     "Excellent," he says, and gestures for me to walk with him.  He looks down at me and smiles.  "Welcome to the rebellion."



God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Two-Fifty Tuesdays #10

Excerpts of my writing consisting of 250 words. No more. No less. 

The following passage is taken from a new story idea of mine called Strain.

(Pinterest)

This is the room where they keep the featured Mauler of the month.  The Keeper lines us up single file behind the waist-high fence separating the viewers from the cage.  Right now a curtain hides the Wolf.  I hold my breath, waiting for the curtain to be pulled back from the cage.  This is always the moment that makes my heart jump.  There’s no way to know just how the Mauler will act.  Sometimes they’re cowering in the corner.  Other times they just sit on the cot and avoid us as if we’re not even there.
Not this one.
This Wolf is standing right up at the bars.  He’s in his human form; eyes sharp, flecked with golden specks—the sign of the Strain in his blood.  His thick brow set low.  The Mauler walks down our line, his left shoulder bumping against the bars of his cage.  He looks at each of us as he passes. He stops and stares right at me.  I’m not smiling anymore, and for a moment I forget who’s observing who.
“This here is Bandit,” the Keeper announces and then proceeds to give out the standard information.  “Nineteen years old. Showed first signs of the Strain at fourteen, younger than most.”  He chuckles a little.  “Named him after my Chihuahua back home.” 
All the Maulers are given new identities when they come to the Slammer.  Personally, I would have named this one after a bigger dog.  He looks powerful.  And dangerous.
Bandit watches the ... 


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Story Starter Sundays #8

Featured writing prompts from Pinterest.



Can you hide this mark from sight?
If you never get the mark, does that make you immortal? Likewise, if no one manages to kill you when you get the mark, does that mean you won't ever die?


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Competition Day!

Hey guys! Unfortunately I don't have any Survival Saturday writing tips available for you today.  The reason being is that have I have been out of the house from 8am to 8pm.

12 hours.
It's been a long day.

Where was I? At the Odyssey of the Mind competition.  You can read more about it here.

Basically, OotM is an organization that encourages creative problem solving in the form of a competition.  This inspires learning and creative thinking through hands-on experiences.

Today, our team had both a Spontaneous Challenge (or short term problem) and a Skit (or long term problem).

The Spontaneous Challenge can be:  verbal, hands-on, or hands-on verbal.

Examples of each:

Verbal: "Come up with as many words or phrases with the word ball in it."
Hands-on: "Create a stack of cards that can support five marbles."
Hands-on Verbal: "When you tear a piece of paper, say something relating to either the sound of the paper ripping, or the reason you are ripping it."

For this challenge, you usually have about 1-2 minutes to think and prepare, and 3-5 minutes to complete the challenge.

For the Spontaneous Challenge at the actual competition, you don't know what type of challenge it will be until it's your turn to go.

My team and I have been sworn to the utmost secrecy not to reveal what today's challenge was. The reason being that there are still many teams across the country that still have yet to perform, and giving away the secret will give them an unfair advantage and also take away the "spontaneousness" of it all.

After that was done, we had to perform our 8 minute Skit.  The topic of our Skit was already predetermined, and it was up to our team to come up with the way the problem was interpreted and performed.  I'm proud to say it went smoothly and flawlessly.

It was so much fun--and quite exhausting--but all our hard work payed off.  Our team won second place!


Tomorrow I shall resume with my regular daily schedule.


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Friday, March 6, 2015

Funny Fridays #10

A little humor can go a long way. 

Psych edition. 


I....good point. 



Shawn asks the important questions in life.



....



........poor Shawn.


HAHA! I must remember this argument.


Shawn is perfection. 

All pictures were taken from Pinterst.

God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Whatnot Wednesdays #10

Info dumps on the life of an aspiring writer. 

Wow, it has been a long day.  A long week, really.  So much is happening at once! You'd think that'd make it go faster, but now I'm just hyper-aware of everything so time doesn't seem to move fast enough. 

I've made good progress in rewriting the final draft of Guinea Pig Maverick. I'm so excited with how it's coming together!  Hopefully it will be 100% done by the end of this year, and that means publishing!  Keeping my fingers crossed on that.

I'm very close to finishing my first draft of Somnia.  Just a chapter or two left to write out.  Well--as long as my characters don't throw me a curve ball.  These guys have already done it many times while I've been writing this book.

Hope you all had a great day!


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle