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.
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.
number I have memorized at all is Bob’s Pizza.
like the biggest idiot, I punch in that number.
Bob’s Pizza!” The enthusiastic employee greets on the first ring.
name is Carter Davis,” I say stupidly. “I need you to contact my parents.”
customers call if they want an order….”
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.”
could ask around? I don’t know where I am, but I think the people here want to
long pause. “Have you tried calling the police?”
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.
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 ...
Something that is thought provoking and/or inspiring.
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.
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.
growl comes from behind me.
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.
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.
pats down my chest.
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.
the guard says. He sounds
surprised. The ... God bless, ~Amy Rochelle
Something that is thought provoking and/or inspiring.
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.
A fascinating object that begged at the chance for a story.
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Excerpts of my writing consisting of 250 words. No more. No less. The following passage was taken from Chapter Three of my novel, Guinea Pig Maverick.
I fall against a boulder the size of a small car to catch my
breath. A large red streak drips down
the front of my leg from when I tripped, but I ignore it for now.
Maverick is acting noticeably different. He stands hunched over with his hands on his
knees, his body shaking. His breath
comes in raspy gasps. Sweat pours off
his forehead, even more so than mine. He
lazily gestures with his hand for me to come over.
Together, we squeeze down into a
small cleft in the rocks. This hiding
place is both hard to spot from above and impossible to find from the
ground. Maverick drops to the dirt and
leans his head against the rock. He moans.
“You okay?” I ask
in a hushed voice, though I can’t imagine anyone can hear us. Instead of responding, Maverick reaches up
and yanks something from his shoulder.
He holds the object up in front of his face and blinks slowly. It is a tiny silver dart. He lets it fall from between his fingers to
“I was hit,” he
says. His words are slurred.
“Is it poison?” I
ask. Might as well know the worst right
off. I check my own body for a dart.
he says, his voice trailing off. I pause
from checking my back.
he says, just barely getting the word out.
His head rolls to the side and he’s out. I reach into my back pocket for ...
Hey guys! Today so happens to be my 19th birthday, and I thought it would be a perfect time to try a new look. I decided to pick something green because green is a color that inspires creativity. And as writers, any kind of inspiration is invaluable.
* * *
For my birthday, my dad took me out to see a movie. (If I were to say I was addicted to anything, movies would definitely be it).
Anyway, my dad and I saw Kingsman: The Secret Service.
Here's the trailer:
I'll start by saying that this movie was FANTASTIC. For a spy movie, it did a great job of avoiding cliches, and kept me at the EDGE OF MY SEAT (in a good way) for the entire thing.
The character development was very well done, the plot had good flow, and the ending was quite satisfying.
I laughed, I nearly cried, and...
This movie is rated R for a very good reason.
The violence is raw, and featured clearly throughout the film. Most of it is hand-to-hand combat that goes from something as small as a punch, to as big as slicing a man vertically in half with a sharp blade. And you see it all through an unabashed lens.
On that note, the blood is surprisingly minimal, but you don't have time to notice the lack of it before the camera cuts away to someone else who is hacking away at yet another person.
Some other bits of violence include in-your-face threats, some of which are followed through with throughout the course of the film.
In addition to the extreme violence, there is also a lot of language. I mean, a LOT. It got to the point where you don't even notice it anymore because the characters had already used it several dozen times in the first 15 minutes. In my opinion, I think the movie would have done just fine without an f-bomb every five seconds.
My closing thoughts on this movie are as follows.
Plot was impressive, character development was amazing, and overall storytelling was brilliant.
However, because of the gratuitous violence and the constant bombardment of harsh language, I can't recommend this movie as a must-see. That being said, I did enjoy it quite thoroughly, and would gladly watch a PG-13 rated version of it.