Thingy Thursdays #3

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

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Angela carefully positioned her necklace so that it hung perfectly over the middle of her shirt.  It was a simple thing, small and circular.  On it was the recognizable "on-off" light as she liked to call it.  It was always on. 

Her mother told her never to take it off.  The risk of losing it was far too great and unforgivable. 

Why was it unforgivable?  Angela had no idea. 

But most important of all, was that Angela was instructed to never EVER hold the button down for more than three seconds. 

Every night, Angela dreamed about what it might do.  Would she die if the little light went out?  Would someone else die?  Would she lose something precious?  But no matter how much she was tempted to see what it did, she obeyed, and never pressed the button. 

But her conviction changed when her mother died in a car accident. 
Now there was no one to remind her.  No one to stop her. 

Worst of all, now she was plagued with thoughts that maybe the necklace did something good.  That maybe her mother would have been spared. 

The ache in her heart--the grief--it was too great.  So one day, Angela closed her eyes, pressed the button between her fingers and counted to three. 

It happened simultaneously all around the world.  Not one was spared.  For when that light died out, gravity turned off.


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Whatnot Wednesdays #3

Info dumps on the life of an aspiring writer. 

Do you ever have a character who's destiny was to die, but then you find a way to save him?  It is one of the greatest feelings in the world. 

Such is what happened today. 

It will still look as though my character died--LOOK being the important word here.  

Now, when killing off a character, it is important that you only do so if:

1. it furthers the plot. 
2. it builds character. 

The rules are even more picky when bringing a character "back to life".  The reason being is that it is not only CLICHE, but can also be the EASY WAY OUT.  (aka: a big no-no in good writing). 

So if you do choose to bring a character back, make sure it has a purpose and that it furthers the plot, not just so your favorite character can magically come out alive. 


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Two-Fifty Tuesdays #2

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

The following passage is taken from Chapter One of my current work in progress, Somnia.

(Google.images)

     Something shiny on a wall caught my eye.  Dust covered the object hanging on the faded, flowery wallpaper.  The wallpaper itself had started peeling, as if the flowers in the pattern were dropping their petals.  I pulled my sleeve over my hand and rubbed the smooth surface down.  It was a mirror.  I had never found one fully intact before.  There was a small chip at the corner, but it didn’t take away from its purpose.  I stared at the face looking back at me—my face.  I didn’t know anyone could look as empty as they felt.  I made a few movements, testing the ability of the mirror’s reflectiveness.  Then I spoke, and the realization of my solitude hit me.  My reflection moved faithfully with me, but the voice coming from the boy in the mirror was still my own. I touched the mirror, my reflection doing the same.  The surface was hard and cold, much like the look in my dark eyes.  I didn’t always look that way.  Gruff and tired.  I suppose the years of being trapped here in this lifeless town has stolen something from me.

     I know that I’m completely alone in the town; it doesn’t take a brilliant mind to understand that from the abandoned homes and the utter silence in the streets.  But on that day when I had spoken to my reflection in the mirror, it was the first time I had felt it.  I wasn’t just alone anymore.  I was lonely.

God bless,

~Amy Rochelle 

Story Starter Sundays #1

Featured writing prompts from Pinterest. 

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Do you keep this mistake a secret, or do you confide in someone?

Do you choose to stay in the wrong place, or do you try and find a way to your correct territory? 

What if you are both?

God bless,

~Amy Rochelle

Survival Saturdays #2

Writing advice to help you survive that first draft. 

Things to try if your character refuses to work with you.

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I have here three different methods of how to fix such a problem.

Write the scene from a different point of view.
Write in a different tense.
Write in opposite of first or third person.

For my examples I will use the following scenario:

In a dungeon, your Hero has just released the Love Interest out of the cell when the Villain casually walks in and interrupts them. 

But now your Hero freezes up and refuses to say his lines.

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1) Write from a different POV.

How does the scene look from the Love Interest's eyes?  Does your Hero's voice shake when he addresses the Villain?  Does he back up?  Does he put a protective hand on you, his girl?

2) Write in a different tense.

Instead of (past tense):

     The Hero lifted the sword and held it toward the villain.

Try (present tense):

     The Hero lifts the sword and holds it out towards the villain.

Or vice versa.

3) Write in opposite of first or third person.

Meaning, if your scene is written in first person, trying writing in third person to get a new perspective.

Instead of (first person):

     I eyed Villain as he circled around and shut the cell door, making it slam.  I wince at the sound, remembering how many times a door had been shut in my face.  Love Interest wrapped her arms around me, and I could tell by her silence that she was holding her breath.

Try (third person):

     Hero eyed Villain as he circled around and shut the cell door, making it slam.  Hero winced at the familiar sound from his childhood.  Love Interest wrapped her arms around Hero and held her breath.

Or vice versa.


Hopefully trying one of these three methods will help bring a new angle to your scene, and help you get your Hero back into his role.


God bless,
~Amy Rochelle

Funny Fridays #3

A little humor can go a long way.

Today I present to you some mind-blowing images of hilarity. 

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Alrighty then.  I think I might save this guy for a Thingy Thursday.

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...........I have no words.

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I feel like this question is up to something. 

And finally:

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I don't know about you, but I think my brain hurts. 

God bless,

~Amy Rochelle

Thingy Thursdays #2

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

(Pinterest)

The following story is entirely fictional. 

     Aaron ran his fingertips along the shelves, mindlessly browsing its contents.  Most of the items were empty glass jars.  A few of them were less empty, half filled with colored liquids and things.  He let his hand fall away from the cold shelves and kept on walking in that slow, bored pace.  Nothing here interested him.  Nothing he hadn't already seen before.

     But he wasn't here for the contents of the jars.  He was here because he missed her.  This had been her favorite place, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he would feel better after visiting.

     So far he had only succeeded in making himself feel numb.  What he wouldn't give for just five more minutes.  Enough time to say goodbye.

     But he pushed that thought from his mind.  It was too late.  She was gone.  He understood that and knew he must accept it.

     On the next shelf one jar stood out from the rest.  There wasn't anything particularly special about it at first glance.  It was made of glass.  It was tightly sealed.  And it had a carefully written label.  The exact same as all the other jars.

     But this was the only black jar midst a rainbow collection.

     He lifted it off the shelf and turned the label over.  One word was printed in lacy, flowing letters.  NIGHTMARES, it read.  Such a pretty script for such an evil thing.  Aaron rubbed the glass with his fingers thoughtfully, then placed it back on the shelf.  As he did so, a mouse darted past his hand, hopping from shelf to shelf.  Aaron pulled back, surprised.  The glass jar of nightmares toppled over and shattered on the concrete floor.  Aaron brought up his hands to protect his face.  Black jell oozed out of the jar and into the cracks on the floor.  Aaron, realizing what he had done, backed away from the shattered jar and its contents.

     A stench reached his nose.  It smelled of something sweet used only to mask a vile horror that was the real smell.

     A girl's voice spoke from behind him.  "Aaron?"
He turned so quickly he nearly lost his balance.  He backed into a shelf, his face white as a sheet.  No.  This couldn't be real.

     "Melia?" he whispered.  It was her.  The girl he never got to say goodbye to.  He glanced back at the shattered jar of nightmares.  The black goo had disappeared.

     "You're not real," he reminded himself, staring at Melia.  "You're just a dream."  He couldn't bring himself to call her a nightmare.  She walked over and put a hand on his cheek.  It felt real.

     "It's okay, Aaron. I'm here now," she said, speaking in gentle tones.  Aaron pulled back, unnerved by her touch.

     Five more minutes just to say goodbye.

     Now he had it, but he didn't want it.  He thought he would feel better.  He thought his heart would ache less.

     He was wrong.

     He turned his back to her and closed his eyes.  She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his back.  "Aaron?"

     NO! This wasn't right.  He was going to fall apart.  "You're just a dream," he whispered again.

     "Aaron, why are you not happy to see me? Why are you not talking to me?" She asked, sounding sad.  Aaron shoved her away.  He ran from that place.  He ran as far as he could.

     Aaron might not ever be able to tell her goodbye face to face, but he knew he needed to say goodbye in his heart.  He needed to let her go.

     Aaron learned that day that a nightmare isn't always something evil. Sometimes hopes and desires can be nightmares too.



HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

God bless,
~Amy Rochelle