Okay, so it's only a first draft completed. But as someone who usually struggles with just those, I'm pretty happy. I started drafting this in October/November, sitting next to my sister. She was playing the Les Miserables soundtrack and I'm pretty sure we were both supposed to be job-hunting. I played around with the opening sentence; I knew I wanted it to open with my younger sister character, Aritha. She was the part of the story that was the servant to the Empire so I wanted her to be central, already in the palace, to kick off the story. Immediately, I wanted to draw attention to the tattoo on her wrist and start of saying, "Hey, yeah, so this is an important thing she has." So, beside my sister, I wrote two lines of something about the steam of the pot making her face itch because she had to stir some sort of soup for the palace dinner that night. That turned out to be altered from hot to the feel of the cold of the stone floors making her flinch. Sensory, you see? I'm doing something right.
I called this story Imperial Infiltration. In the back of a taxi in Spain, driving back to the airport to come home, in mid-September last year, I began to have the tendrils of an idea about two sisters; one would be inside the palace and the other would pose as some princess or nobility figure for some reason. I didn't know what it was but I jotted it down on my phone and my mum asked what I was doing, and I just shrugged and said, "Another idea I probably won't use." Yet here I am this morning, writing about it and typing THE END to it. This all sounds very self-important for somebody who hasn't even got an agent or started editing this but I want to get my writing out there. I'd love for people to read this and gain interest, follow my news and updates. I don't know, but here's to trying! And here's to my sister for telling me to post and blog about my writing again properly to get it circulating, thank you! If anyone remembers, my earlier blog posts used to actually be about the last book I wrote so I may start that up again depending on how this one goes.
So Imperial Infiltration tortured my mind for a while. At the time, I was writing a story about two best friends in a gang of thieves, working for a man called Red. That story sucked quite spectacularly. It was fueled by pure anger and grudges and sadness and I'd never tried writing about thefts before but I persevered. But then I really, really couldn't help thinking that this new idea would be better; it would be the thing to break the spotting of creativity and I'd actually make good progress with it. So I began to write properly--each day, starting officially on this rule in January. And it's massively paid off for me. I've gotten a first draft completed in five months where my last full book took me a year and a bit. Yes, editing is to come next and I have my notes and my plans and the positivity still there in a waves, and this will be a lengthy process but I'm just enjoying my success here. My last post was dismal, angry, and I wanted a different tone.
This is the story of two sisters, only two years apart. When they lose both their parents, they're forced to duel out ownership of their house as they want to go their separate ways. Here, it doesn't matter who was born first; it just matters who wins. The eldest, Reya, wants to travel, train herself to become more like her father who served as the Emperor's general (this story is set in a big Empire called Zaari) and use the house as a constant base for when she returns. Aritha is the youngest and more logical. She just wants to live in the house, sell different furniture to buy her own things. But at the same time, she wants out completely. But their duel goes a little haywire and Reya gets injured, making her do that last step towards leaving. She travels to a place outside of the Empire called the Stones, a transformed battle safehouse, where she then trains with a different army general. Alone and surrounded by the house she originally wanted, Aritha can't bear the loneliness and memories so she leaves. But she leaves to go to the imperial palace. Her theory is that there, she'll have work without worrying that she'll have to return to an empty home, she'll be surrounded by people and she'll have a constant in her life again. So she becomes a servant. After a few choice events, Reya also makes her appearance in the palace, but posing as someone called Lady Revina and she's been sent there for some ulterior motive that even she didn't know.
Romance doesn't really take a high seat in this story. There is very much elements of it. For example, Aritha finds herself feeling for a lord's son within the palace and their journey assists in her own in her confidence. She's out of practice with feeling loved and second-guesses the reciprocated feelings quite a bit but she comes to realise Jackson, the son, does care about her. In the Stones, Reya and Eli, the general's nephew, come to have a certain arrangement of "hey, I'll kiss you and try to acknowledge that I like you but in reality and more sober, I'm too scared to admit it." But there's only make-believe feelings there. None of them really pursue it but they argue about it enough. It's more focused on the depth of the siblingship and the break in the past and how each of them deal with the loss of their parents and each other and what the memories and unfinished business does to them. Reya is a character who can get stroppy quite easily, someone easily scared. Aritha suffers from panic attacks and is timid, afraid in her own way, and is picked on within the palace. But she builds herself up each time because she only has herself. She falls the hardest out of everyone in the kitchen where she works but she's the first to get herself back up.
So this was originally planned to be a 420-page standalone. That was my goal when the idea began to take shape in my head. With each month, I counted up my daily wordcount and my monthly one and got better and better. Two days ago, I wrote a chapter ending and realised: oh, this is actually a pretty good, concluded ending. Followed by, wait! you have so much more to write. And I literally had an internal monologue/argument with myself over if I should leave it there and write a second book to couple with it because of how much further I wanted to go with this story, or if I should carry on writing, shorten my ideas and make it the standalone originally planned. So I took out my phone and talked and explained to my friend; she agreed that good fantasy usually comes as more than one book and it should be a duology. I asked others and they also agreed. So, after much deliberation, I'm now closing THE END on the first book standing at 340 pages (pre-edit) and beginning the editing process whilst planning out brief notes for the continuation. Me being me, I scrambled at the books on my shelves, somewhat disappointed as I don't feel like this is long enough but I've said all I want to in a now first book and tried to find others that had a 300-400 page count. And I did so I'm somewhat reassured this may be okay.
I have no idea what either one will be called now so I'll also be thinking up ideas for that and perhaps looking for critique partners again which never work out but heyho, timing is awful. In the second book, I plan for most things to come to light. The reason why Reya was sent to the palace, what the infiltration means, introducing characters into the off-limits part of the Empire called the Barian Desert rather than just have past legends being told. A lot more can go on with this story, especially given where I've ended it. I never thought I'd end a story with a kiss but that seemed right and nice for one of the character's partial conclusion.
I usually post updates on my personal Instagram account: reidandwriting, or I have a Twitter account @ShaneDReid where I post about my writing, if anyone's interested! Follow me or come chat to meeeee :D
Friday, 31 March 2017
Sunday, 12 March 2017
TRAITOR TO THE THRONE Review
This review includes spoilers for both REBEL OF THE SANDS and TRAITOR TO THE THRONE.
Here's the thing: one day, you finally pick up that pretty blue and gold book that's been waving at you for ages. You look away, leave it be for a while, think over buying it. But then you buy the book and it's called Rebel of the Sands written by an author with one of the coolest names going, Alwyn Hamilton. So this book turns out to be not just one of the best fantasy books set in a desert (which is so uncommon in YA fantasy) with legends galore but it has everything in it. And truly everything. Everything, enough to coax this booknerd to write their first fantasy book review.
(So if this is bad and messy and just godawful, please do excuse. I'm filled with a lot of emotions right now about this story and don't really know what anything is anymore.)
It turns out that this story of a rebellious, mouthy desert girl called Amani who learnt to shoot a gun at a very young age gripped me tightly enough to tumble headfirst into the equally pretty sequel. AND LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS THE SEQUEL.
It starts off with Amani being captured in Saramotai, soaking a shirt through with blood. She gets herself captured in order to free two rebels who'd already gotten themselves into trouble. There, in prison, she finds two sisters, one Demdji. From the prison, the rebels free many women who choose to follow them to their camp. One of them happens to be Amani's aunt who was meant to be making a life for herself in Izman, a more prospering city that was originally Amani's destination. This aunt also happens to be a bad woman and captures Amani one night when they run from their camp, selling her to the Sultan due to her Demdji powers. From there, Amani spends 70% of the book in the palace, under the command of the Sultan thanks to the iron and bronze embedded in her skin; the bronze to follow the orders and the iron the strip her of her powers. In the palace, she meets previous characters from Rebel, literal ghosts from her past, and also she meets Sam. A wall-walking, amusing boy who takes her nickname, Blue-Eyed Bandit, and turns it into a very notorious legend that includes seducing many women. Inside the palace, she's trapped in the harem and meets her Djinni father and makes unexpected allies and Leyla. Sweet, sweet Leyla. Traitor is Amani's time in the palace, enduring the Sultan's command in the face of his foreign guests and alliances and witnessing terrible things from inside, and finding her own true loyalty and doubts and helping the Rebellion from where she is, even when she can't quite reach them.
There's this wonderful transition from Rebel to Traitor where Amani isn't just a desert-girl from Dustwalk, her hometown. Now, she's fully recognised as the legendary Blue-Eyed Bandit, which originates from the very first chapter of Rebel. At first, her blue eyes are just another trait from her real father, who Amani doesn't know. But then she meets Jin, and through him, she gets the adventure and escape from her hometown she's always wanted. It's a little (a lot) bloody and dangerous that she may have anticipated but it gets her away. It gets her to an entirely different world. It gets her to the Rebellion. Through Jin, (wonderful, swoony, heart-breaking Jin) Amani meets the Rebel Prince, Ahmed. More importantly (I think), she meets Shazad, the ultimate female fighter in the whole thing. I adore Amani's skills and her constant need for guns and how the iron of guns made her securely human and safe for her entire life, but Shazad is truly something else.
The rebellion is not just some magic circle who think they can fix every problem with a flick of a hand or will and have elements at their fingertips. It's not just about having otherworldly elements at their disposal there. The Rebellion is everything. It's a human prince who wants a better world for his country, who wants to be a better ruler than his murderous father, the Sultan. It's a general's daughter who's constantly underestimated due to being both female and beautiful. Nobody looks past Shazad's status or beauty to see the cunning brains she has. It's Demdji's working alongside non-Demdji's and having a fully mutual respect. Hala, Imin, Izz and Maz, Delila. All of them having their own powers that set them aside from each other but make them fit easily with the Rebellion. They're not selfish magic-users; they want to use their Demdji gifts to better the world, to help their friends and families and their prince.
In Traitor, there are so many elements of the world addressed. Something I found incredibly important was Imin's character and the swaps. As a shape-shifter, Imin switches between female and male appearances and with that Alwyn Hamilton tailors to the gender swap, giving light to an issue that has such an influence within the story. Navid, Imin's husband (as he becomes in the sequel), is mentioned to never discriminate Imin for whatever form she chooses. Whether Imin is a burly guard hiding in plain sight in the palace, or a slight young woman sitting in Navid's lap, as his wife, he loves Imin whole-heartedly and never loses an ounce of that dedication and love no matter the form he sees. And for me, that was an amazing thing to have included in this story. It's an equality within a relationship, friendship, and a world-changing group to all see Imin as anything she chose or had to be seen as. It's diversity for Imin's character; to show her (or his) value to the Rebellion as anything. She dedicates her entire being and appearance to any role she needs to fill and is never ashamed or let anyone put her down for any shape she chooses to take.
Also in the umbrella of gender, there's Shazad, as mentioned earlier. An incredible woman I was happy to read about on International Women's Day because if there was ever an admirably strong woman from the very start of her introduction, it's Shazad. As a general's daughter, it seems as though there could be a lot of pressure for her to be the leader of battles and strategies and she slips into that role so, so easily, and clearly has her passion for it. She's calculating, often formidable when she uses her appearance to her advantage to fight her enemies. Nobody expects her to be this girl who steps out of a stand storm wielding swords against soldiers but she does. And she does it wonderfully. Shazad faces an awful thing in Rebel: losing her best friend, Bahi. But she doesn't let that defeat her--she grieves for her friend but she comes back fighting, always. Even when she is met with hurdles and hitches in her carefully thought-out plans, she alters if she needs to and so quickly. Her mind is constantly moving with logic and thought and strategy. Know this about this story: Shazad is incredible. She is an inspiration with unwavering dedication to her cause, her prince, her friends. She's the character who, one minute, will be laughing with her head thrown back, pulling off a gorgeous khalat; the next, she'll whipping out a weapon from somewhere nobody quite knows and getting anyone to safety and fighting her way out.
Another notable woman in the series so far is the Demdji Hala. (Honestly, Alwyn, you write so many admirable females, I'll want to write for DAYS about them and had to narrow my individual talks.) At first, her and Amani don't seem to get along. The gold-skinned Demdji meets the Demdji-forced-human who literally grew up in golden sand. They're both golden-covered girls but for different reasons. It's Hala who ends up being Amani's most relatable friend in the Rebellion, learning to harness and know her power, helping her out when she loses it again, understanding what it would be like to lose the thing that makes her different. So when Amani returns to her aunt's place to get the iron removed from inside her, it's Hala she chooses to come with her. Not Shazad, not Jin. Hala. Because she knows Hala understands. And that was a massive bonding thing. I was deeply touched by how much Hala helped Amani out in that part. She alters the aunt's mind and when she sees Amani in the overwhelming amount of pain she is when the iron is being cut out of her, Hala takes her away to an illusion, taking the pain away. Something in Hala cares deeply for Amani and helps her through that pain and gives her something beautiful to focus on instead. I actually wanted to cry at that part, it felt so vital to develop that rocky friendship.
Traitor to the Throne is a story of immense sacrifice and reflection and betrayal, even more so than the first book. It's a story showing the power of the Sultan and his many sons, but also of the women in the palace, particularly Mirajin women in the harem. Whilst the palace is one big political spiderweb, the harem is full of dangerous, battling women, too. Except their fights are quite different to the royal overthrowing of the men. Ayet, the Sultim's wife is a jealous bitch to Amani, cutting off her hair, getting her two Mirajin friends to humiliate Amani over and over, purely because she is Mirajin and that's the Sultim's favourite type of woman and they're scared of being replaced as there is only a place for three girls. In the harem, a surprising turn happens. Shira, Amani's cousin from Dustwalk, is reintroduced. Along with Tamid, Amani's best friend who she left for dead and forever carries that guilty burden on her shoulders of. Shira, the Blessed Sultima, becomes one of the biggest strength stories of the whole book, I think. She changes her views towards her cousin and they learn to become somewhat allies. Amani changes her views too and starts respecting her cousin for the lengths she went through to survive and make a name for herself in the harem, as an important person to not be easily discarded.
Set in a sprawling, vast landscape of desert and cities and palaces and beautiful exteriors, Alwyn Hamilton gives a very visual story, a book full of mesmerizing world-building. She doesn't just focus on where the Sultan lives just because Amani spends a great portion of the story there. She explores and uses her stunning world. I found myself loving the desert described and loving how it raised and taught Amani and how it became her hidden strength. I love how it witnessed magic and legends and love. It sees a new dawn full of clever plots, genius strategies throughout the Rebellion that literally left me wanting to screech at how wonderfully it was planned out. It sees death and execution and liars and deserters and pain. Here, the desert doesn't just represent a hometown. It represents a guardian, something that watched over the Rebel Prince taking his rightful lands and leading a growing group of rebels who saw a better world; who watched over a girl desperate to leave her hometown and make something of herself; it saw her learning her own skill at the age of ten, all the while never letting her see half of her true self. But then it spoke to her, rose up to help her and made her realise she was more than just a desert-girl who knew how to fire a gun with lethal accuracy.
A tale of magic and legends of Djinni, princesses and truths, of unknown creatures, of sacrifice and loyalty and betrayal, Alwyn Hamilton has written two fantastic books so far and left me itching for the third installment.
Here's the thing: one day, you finally pick up that pretty blue and gold book that's been waving at you for ages. You look away, leave it be for a while, think over buying it. But then you buy the book and it's called Rebel of the Sands written by an author with one of the coolest names going, Alwyn Hamilton. So this book turns out to be not just one of the best fantasy books set in a desert (which is so uncommon in YA fantasy) with legends galore but it has everything in it. And truly everything. Everything, enough to coax this booknerd to write their first fantasy book review.
(So if this is bad and messy and just godawful, please do excuse. I'm filled with a lot of emotions right now about this story and don't really know what anything is anymore.)
It turns out that this story of a rebellious, mouthy desert girl called Amani who learnt to shoot a gun at a very young age gripped me tightly enough to tumble headfirst into the equally pretty sequel. AND LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THIS THE SEQUEL.
It starts off with Amani being captured in Saramotai, soaking a shirt through with blood. She gets herself captured in order to free two rebels who'd already gotten themselves into trouble. There, in prison, she finds two sisters, one Demdji. From the prison, the rebels free many women who choose to follow them to their camp. One of them happens to be Amani's aunt who was meant to be making a life for herself in Izman, a more prospering city that was originally Amani's destination. This aunt also happens to be a bad woman and captures Amani one night when they run from their camp, selling her to the Sultan due to her Demdji powers. From there, Amani spends 70% of the book in the palace, under the command of the Sultan thanks to the iron and bronze embedded in her skin; the bronze to follow the orders and the iron the strip her of her powers. In the palace, she meets previous characters from Rebel, literal ghosts from her past, and also she meets Sam. A wall-walking, amusing boy who takes her nickname, Blue-Eyed Bandit, and turns it into a very notorious legend that includes seducing many women. Inside the palace, she's trapped in the harem and meets her Djinni father and makes unexpected allies and Leyla. Sweet, sweet Leyla. Traitor is Amani's time in the palace, enduring the Sultan's command in the face of his foreign guests and alliances and witnessing terrible things from inside, and finding her own true loyalty and doubts and helping the Rebellion from where she is, even when she can't quite reach them.
There's this wonderful transition from Rebel to Traitor where Amani isn't just a desert-girl from Dustwalk, her hometown. Now, she's fully recognised as the legendary Blue-Eyed Bandit, which originates from the very first chapter of Rebel. At first, her blue eyes are just another trait from her real father, who Amani doesn't know. But then she meets Jin, and through him, she gets the adventure and escape from her hometown she's always wanted. It's a little (a lot) bloody and dangerous that she may have anticipated but it gets her away. It gets her to an entirely different world. It gets her to the Rebellion. Through Jin, (wonderful, swoony, heart-breaking Jin) Amani meets the Rebel Prince, Ahmed. More importantly (I think), she meets Shazad, the ultimate female fighter in the whole thing. I adore Amani's skills and her constant need for guns and how the iron of guns made her securely human and safe for her entire life, but Shazad is truly something else.
The rebellion is not just some magic circle who think they can fix every problem with a flick of a hand or will and have elements at their fingertips. It's not just about having otherworldly elements at their disposal there. The Rebellion is everything. It's a human prince who wants a better world for his country, who wants to be a better ruler than his murderous father, the Sultan. It's a general's daughter who's constantly underestimated due to being both female and beautiful. Nobody looks past Shazad's status or beauty to see the cunning brains she has. It's Demdji's working alongside non-Demdji's and having a fully mutual respect. Hala, Imin, Izz and Maz, Delila. All of them having their own powers that set them aside from each other but make them fit easily with the Rebellion. They're not selfish magic-users; they want to use their Demdji gifts to better the world, to help their friends and families and their prince.
In Traitor, there are so many elements of the world addressed. Something I found incredibly important was Imin's character and the swaps. As a shape-shifter, Imin switches between female and male appearances and with that Alwyn Hamilton tailors to the gender swap, giving light to an issue that has such an influence within the story. Navid, Imin's husband (as he becomes in the sequel), is mentioned to never discriminate Imin for whatever form she chooses. Whether Imin is a burly guard hiding in plain sight in the palace, or a slight young woman sitting in Navid's lap, as his wife, he loves Imin whole-heartedly and never loses an ounce of that dedication and love no matter the form he sees. And for me, that was an amazing thing to have included in this story. It's an equality within a relationship, friendship, and a world-changing group to all see Imin as anything she chose or had to be seen as. It's diversity for Imin's character; to show her (or his) value to the Rebellion as anything. She dedicates her entire being and appearance to any role she needs to fill and is never ashamed or let anyone put her down for any shape she chooses to take.
Also in the umbrella of gender, there's Shazad, as mentioned earlier. An incredible woman I was happy to read about on International Women's Day because if there was ever an admirably strong woman from the very start of her introduction, it's Shazad. As a general's daughter, it seems as though there could be a lot of pressure for her to be the leader of battles and strategies and she slips into that role so, so easily, and clearly has her passion for it. She's calculating, often formidable when she uses her appearance to her advantage to fight her enemies. Nobody expects her to be this girl who steps out of a stand storm wielding swords against soldiers but she does. And she does it wonderfully. Shazad faces an awful thing in Rebel: losing her best friend, Bahi. But she doesn't let that defeat her--she grieves for her friend but she comes back fighting, always. Even when she is met with hurdles and hitches in her carefully thought-out plans, she alters if she needs to and so quickly. Her mind is constantly moving with logic and thought and strategy. Know this about this story: Shazad is incredible. She is an inspiration with unwavering dedication to her cause, her prince, her friends. She's the character who, one minute, will be laughing with her head thrown back, pulling off a gorgeous khalat; the next, she'll whipping out a weapon from somewhere nobody quite knows and getting anyone to safety and fighting her way out.
Another notable woman in the series so far is the Demdji Hala. (Honestly, Alwyn, you write so many admirable females, I'll want to write for DAYS about them and had to narrow my individual talks.) At first, her and Amani don't seem to get along. The gold-skinned Demdji meets the Demdji-forced-human who literally grew up in golden sand. They're both golden-covered girls but for different reasons. It's Hala who ends up being Amani's most relatable friend in the Rebellion, learning to harness and know her power, helping her out when she loses it again, understanding what it would be like to lose the thing that makes her different. So when Amani returns to her aunt's place to get the iron removed from inside her, it's Hala she chooses to come with her. Not Shazad, not Jin. Hala. Because she knows Hala understands. And that was a massive bonding thing. I was deeply touched by how much Hala helped Amani out in that part. She alters the aunt's mind and when she sees Amani in the overwhelming amount of pain she is when the iron is being cut out of her, Hala takes her away to an illusion, taking the pain away. Something in Hala cares deeply for Amani and helps her through that pain and gives her something beautiful to focus on instead. I actually wanted to cry at that part, it felt so vital to develop that rocky friendship.
Traitor to the Throne is a story of immense sacrifice and reflection and betrayal, even more so than the first book. It's a story showing the power of the Sultan and his many sons, but also of the women in the palace, particularly Mirajin women in the harem. Whilst the palace is one big political spiderweb, the harem is full of dangerous, battling women, too. Except their fights are quite different to the royal overthrowing of the men. Ayet, the Sultim's wife is a jealous bitch to Amani, cutting off her hair, getting her two Mirajin friends to humiliate Amani over and over, purely because she is Mirajin and that's the Sultim's favourite type of woman and they're scared of being replaced as there is only a place for three girls. In the harem, a surprising turn happens. Shira, Amani's cousin from Dustwalk, is reintroduced. Along with Tamid, Amani's best friend who she left for dead and forever carries that guilty burden on her shoulders of. Shira, the Blessed Sultima, becomes one of the biggest strength stories of the whole book, I think. She changes her views towards her cousin and they learn to become somewhat allies. Amani changes her views too and starts respecting her cousin for the lengths she went through to survive and make a name for herself in the harem, as an important person to not be easily discarded.
Set in a sprawling, vast landscape of desert and cities and palaces and beautiful exteriors, Alwyn Hamilton gives a very visual story, a book full of mesmerizing world-building. She doesn't just focus on where the Sultan lives just because Amani spends a great portion of the story there. She explores and uses her stunning world. I found myself loving the desert described and loving how it raised and taught Amani and how it became her hidden strength. I love how it witnessed magic and legends and love. It sees a new dawn full of clever plots, genius strategies throughout the Rebellion that literally left me wanting to screech at how wonderfully it was planned out. It sees death and execution and liars and deserters and pain. Here, the desert doesn't just represent a hometown. It represents a guardian, something that watched over the Rebel Prince taking his rightful lands and leading a growing group of rebels who saw a better world; who watched over a girl desperate to leave her hometown and make something of herself; it saw her learning her own skill at the age of ten, all the while never letting her see half of her true self. But then it spoke to her, rose up to help her and made her realise she was more than just a desert-girl who knew how to fire a gun with lethal accuracy.
A tale of magic and legends of Djinni, princesses and truths, of unknown creatures, of sacrifice and loyalty and betrayal, Alwyn Hamilton has written two fantastic books so far and left me itching for the third installment.
Sunday, 19 February 2017
Wing Jones (You Were Made to Fly)
This review includes spoilers of WING JONES.
Initially, I was looking at this book and wondering what it was about. The blurb intrigued me, as I think it has with many people, due to mention of Wing's grandmothers, one being from Ghana, the other from China. Just reading that alone sets the curiosity of What sort of girl will Wing be with those sort of backgrounds? What kind of household does she live in? As a person who loved and lost her grandma at age 11, I picked it up and wanted to know Wing's relationship with them, immediately, purely because they were mentioned on the back. It had to be important. I had to know why they got the first line for the hook of this story. I bought WING JONES the night Katherine Webber came to my city of Liverpool to do a book talk on strong, female characters in Waterstones and have not regretted anything, even bringing it beyond my other books to read which have been waiting for months for me to pick them up. I couldn't ignore the curiosity to read it.
Now, I got told it was like a less pretentious version of The Perks of Being A Wallflower and again, my attention was caught. That was a very special book to me too. But during the time I've been reading WING JONES, I've found that to be less true. I can certainly see why a lot of people think that but to me, both books are now important and give me a very different feel.
WING JONES is a book that makes you want to laugh hysterically and cry without care and hug your mum and fly. It makes you want to dig inside the deepest parts of yourself and find out what further things there may be in your mind and body that you can do. It makes me want to find my flight. As the younger sibling, I grew up looking up to my talented sister and I can certainly relate to Wing in that sense with her brother. Due to that, the accident that lands Marcus in hospital and his family in a very difficult and life-altering situation, pulls at my feelings. I keep wondering how I'd feel if that was my sister, the girl I'd idolized and loved and admired for her talents and everything she stood for, all shattered and doubtful. What if there was this whole other side to her that I didn't know or see, as Wing doesn't with her brother? It plays on her mind; it drags her down into a terrible negative place. And then Wing finds her wings. And she finds them at night, with nobody watching her but the moon and her dragon and lioness, and she runs. Something unlocks in Wing at her brother's accident and then it's an amazing amount of wonder pouring out of her as each foot hits the ground, speeding her up, her worries and life falling away and there's only the track and her own heartbeat and her freedom.
Even before these first chapters of seeing and experiencing Wing running and freeing her own potential by herself (which I find incredibly crucial), I was moved. Not in the awe-filled, breathless way that I am now, but by the terrible parts of the book. And by terrible I mean the bullying coming from every racist character in it, not that the writing is terrible. Because it's not. This book is a wonder-filled story and the only awful parts are realistic context. As a girl with a mixed-race background, Wing endures daily bullying at school for her hair, her eyes, her skin colour and especially by a nasty bitch called Heather Parker. The classic bully character that makes you want to claw at the pages to shut her up. Even down to Marcus's girlfriend's dad, there is racism towards the Jones' family and his disapproval of the relationship. There's a part where Marcus's own family is denied entry into his hospital room by a receptionist who eyes them with judgement, wondering how this Chinese mother could possibly be Marcus's family. But then Wing narrates, "The woman behind the desk purses her lips, stares at Granny Dee, stares at my mother. I step forward, the missing link. The thing that connects them," and every time Wing is in that situation, everything clicks with the people judging the family. WING JONES sees an incredible, unique family that have to work together to pull through and stay strong throughout the accident. With Granny Dee from Ghana and the no-nonsense grandmother and LaoLao from China and the softer grandmother, Wing has two different and helpful role models that all try to find their ways to help what's happened. There was a part where Granny Dee gets upset and obsessive and makes a batch of apple pies for the family that was also affected in the accident and that whole chapter made me cry my eyes out in coffee shop and clutch the book tightly because of how much it hurt to see them hurting. LaoLao, too-old-to-work LaoLao, goes to help out Wing's mother in a restaurant to bring in more funding for the family that barely has anything due to hospital bills and trying to live. They all do their part in surviving the mess they're in.
Wing makes herself small in school, just seeing herself as everyone else sees her: the little sister of Marcus Jones, the football team's loved quarterback. And when Marcus kills a woman in a car accident whilst driving under alcohol influence, her school life gets worse. She's shunned, she's yelled at, hurt, and every blame that people can't throw at Marcus, Wing gets. Even for going to school each day and enduring that, Wing is an incredibly strong female protagonist, an inspirational lead for this story. But then she finds her inner strength and running becomes the thing that makes everything better, that makes the comments and the hate and the nastiness of bullies fall right off her. She finds her power and importance. Wing finds herself on the track, in old Converse shoes, and her brother's oversized jersey.
But not only does running do wonders for her self-confidence and pride in herself, she then starts getting attention from the track team in her school, with the help and encouragement of her friend (and love-interest) Aaron, Marcus's best friend. Wing befriends Eliza, the school's most adored runner, and she starts getting invited to parties and to be around the entire team that belong there. Where I'm currently up to, Wing has just won her first race and smashed the school record and it's on her birthday. There's no father to watch her proudly, no big brother to see just how good she is at running and has found her own place in the world, but she has her mother and grandmothers to watch her, cheer for her. She has friends on the team, and Aaron. Through running, her and Aaron become closer and she stops seeing herself as he'd see her (again, as just the little sister) but starts believing she could be worthy of also being Aaron's crush as he is hers.
WING JONES is a book that's become so very important to me. Earlier this week, I sat in a park that held memories for me and contemplated the chapter I'd just read and then walked around the path that circled a play area for three hours, wondering if I could capture even a hint of the freedom Wing feels when she runs. I'm far from athletic; I enjoy dancing and think I could be better at it, but this book makes me want to run and fly and see if I can find what Wing does: my own importance and place.
I think that Katherine Webber is a very important woman to write such a novel that's touched me so deeply and so full of every kind of emotion and I've not even come to the end yet. Her words and creation of her story makes the world beyond it slip away for me and I love that I've found this feeling within her book. With her imagination and talent, Katherine has made me want to think better of myself and of my achievements and that even a small amount of progress stands for something. That there's always an unlocking in order to feel free and wonderful and like you can take on the world. It's always there, whether it's on the surface and easy to know and detect, or whether you have to experience one of the hardest things in the world, to fall into a pit of darkness and feeling so small that you delve into the lowest, hardest layers of yourself to find what it is you truly are.
Wing Jones--both the book and the character--is an inspiration. It's a book I want to read a million times over and know I'll still feel breathless and inspired.
Initially, I was looking at this book and wondering what it was about. The blurb intrigued me, as I think it has with many people, due to mention of Wing's grandmothers, one being from Ghana, the other from China. Just reading that alone sets the curiosity of What sort of girl will Wing be with those sort of backgrounds? What kind of household does she live in? As a person who loved and lost her grandma at age 11, I picked it up and wanted to know Wing's relationship with them, immediately, purely because they were mentioned on the back. It had to be important. I had to know why they got the first line for the hook of this story. I bought WING JONES the night Katherine Webber came to my city of Liverpool to do a book talk on strong, female characters in Waterstones and have not regretted anything, even bringing it beyond my other books to read which have been waiting for months for me to pick them up. I couldn't ignore the curiosity to read it.
Now, I got told it was like a less pretentious version of The Perks of Being A Wallflower and again, my attention was caught. That was a very special book to me too. But during the time I've been reading WING JONES, I've found that to be less true. I can certainly see why a lot of people think that but to me, both books are now important and give me a very different feel.
WING JONES is a book that makes you want to laugh hysterically and cry without care and hug your mum and fly. It makes you want to dig inside the deepest parts of yourself and find out what further things there may be in your mind and body that you can do. It makes me want to find my flight. As the younger sibling, I grew up looking up to my talented sister and I can certainly relate to Wing in that sense with her brother. Due to that, the accident that lands Marcus in hospital and his family in a very difficult and life-altering situation, pulls at my feelings. I keep wondering how I'd feel if that was my sister, the girl I'd idolized and loved and admired for her talents and everything she stood for, all shattered and doubtful. What if there was this whole other side to her that I didn't know or see, as Wing doesn't with her brother? It plays on her mind; it drags her down into a terrible negative place. And then Wing finds her wings. And she finds them at night, with nobody watching her but the moon and her dragon and lioness, and she runs. Something unlocks in Wing at her brother's accident and then it's an amazing amount of wonder pouring out of her as each foot hits the ground, speeding her up, her worries and life falling away and there's only the track and her own heartbeat and her freedom.
Even before these first chapters of seeing and experiencing Wing running and freeing her own potential by herself (which I find incredibly crucial), I was moved. Not in the awe-filled, breathless way that I am now, but by the terrible parts of the book. And by terrible I mean the bullying coming from every racist character in it, not that the writing is terrible. Because it's not. This book is a wonder-filled story and the only awful parts are realistic context. As a girl with a mixed-race background, Wing endures daily bullying at school for her hair, her eyes, her skin colour and especially by a nasty bitch called Heather Parker. The classic bully character that makes you want to claw at the pages to shut her up. Even down to Marcus's girlfriend's dad, there is racism towards the Jones' family and his disapproval of the relationship. There's a part where Marcus's own family is denied entry into his hospital room by a receptionist who eyes them with judgement, wondering how this Chinese mother could possibly be Marcus's family. But then Wing narrates, "The woman behind the desk purses her lips, stares at Granny Dee, stares at my mother. I step forward, the missing link. The thing that connects them," and every time Wing is in that situation, everything clicks with the people judging the family. WING JONES sees an incredible, unique family that have to work together to pull through and stay strong throughout the accident. With Granny Dee from Ghana and the no-nonsense grandmother and LaoLao from China and the softer grandmother, Wing has two different and helpful role models that all try to find their ways to help what's happened. There was a part where Granny Dee gets upset and obsessive and makes a batch of apple pies for the family that was also affected in the accident and that whole chapter made me cry my eyes out in coffee shop and clutch the book tightly because of how much it hurt to see them hurting. LaoLao, too-old-to-work LaoLao, goes to help out Wing's mother in a restaurant to bring in more funding for the family that barely has anything due to hospital bills and trying to live. They all do their part in surviving the mess they're in.
Wing makes herself small in school, just seeing herself as everyone else sees her: the little sister of Marcus Jones, the football team's loved quarterback. And when Marcus kills a woman in a car accident whilst driving under alcohol influence, her school life gets worse. She's shunned, she's yelled at, hurt, and every blame that people can't throw at Marcus, Wing gets. Even for going to school each day and enduring that, Wing is an incredibly strong female protagonist, an inspirational lead for this story. But then she finds her inner strength and running becomes the thing that makes everything better, that makes the comments and the hate and the nastiness of bullies fall right off her. She finds her power and importance. Wing finds herself on the track, in old Converse shoes, and her brother's oversized jersey.
But not only does running do wonders for her self-confidence and pride in herself, she then starts getting attention from the track team in her school, with the help and encouragement of her friend (and love-interest) Aaron, Marcus's best friend. Wing befriends Eliza, the school's most adored runner, and she starts getting invited to parties and to be around the entire team that belong there. Where I'm currently up to, Wing has just won her first race and smashed the school record and it's on her birthday. There's no father to watch her proudly, no big brother to see just how good she is at running and has found her own place in the world, but she has her mother and grandmothers to watch her, cheer for her. She has friends on the team, and Aaron. Through running, her and Aaron become closer and she stops seeing herself as he'd see her (again, as just the little sister) but starts believing she could be worthy of also being Aaron's crush as he is hers.
WING JONES is a book that's become so very important to me. Earlier this week, I sat in a park that held memories for me and contemplated the chapter I'd just read and then walked around the path that circled a play area for three hours, wondering if I could capture even a hint of the freedom Wing feels when she runs. I'm far from athletic; I enjoy dancing and think I could be better at it, but this book makes me want to run and fly and see if I can find what Wing does: my own importance and place.
I think that Katherine Webber is a very important woman to write such a novel that's touched me so deeply and so full of every kind of emotion and I've not even come to the end yet. Her words and creation of her story makes the world beyond it slip away for me and I love that I've found this feeling within her book. With her imagination and talent, Katherine has made me want to think better of myself and of my achievements and that even a small amount of progress stands for something. That there's always an unlocking in order to feel free and wonderful and like you can take on the world. It's always there, whether it's on the surface and easy to know and detect, or whether you have to experience one of the hardest things in the world, to fall into a pit of darkness and feeling so small that you delve into the lowest, hardest layers of yourself to find what it is you truly are.
Wing Jones--both the book and the character--is an inspiration. It's a book I want to read a million times over and know I'll still feel breathless and inspired.
Saturday, 11 February 2017
SO MANY CHECKPOINTS!
Here's the thing: I don't think I get all that much self-positivity in my life so when I finally find it, I do not shut up about it. On the one hand, I think "Well, yes! Rightly so! Shout your achievements from the rooftops!" but then there's this niggling voice saying, "God, do you just NOT shut up? No one cares!" But that's PRECISELY why I have a blog. I like to rant here and congratulate myself. It happens so rarely that I like to fully appreciate it when it does happen.
And as a writer, I make myself mental checkpoints so I can find these good points in my journey of writing a manuscript. I make goals so I know that when I hit them, I'll be able to be happy with myself even in this portion of my life. I'll congratulate myself and move on to my next checkpoint. So whilst there's no champagne for my current achievements, there are words, words, and MORE WORDS.
Initially, I wanted to write this post about hitting 100 pages (it may not sound like a lot but to me, that was a milestone to get to) but that was two weeks ago and I got distracted. BUT THEN, today, I hit the next best thing. 50 pages beyond my initial idea to post about 100 pages, I hit 50,000 words. If you ever meet any writer, they'll probably say that's a major thing to get. Roughly, it could be half of their full-length novel. I'm personally aiming for a wordcount quite beyond 100K for this manuscript so I'm just under halfway, but 50K is still a massive, massive thing for me to reach. Considering I only started drafting in November (and properly focusing on this in January), I'm pretty ecstatic. I refrained from posting on my Instagram (AGAIN) because I'm 99.9% sure my followers are sick of my extensive posting on their and don't read half the things I post. I did, however, post on Facebook, just a short status because I couldn't keep this achievement inside myself as I usually do. Okay, I was looking for someone to say "This is amazing! I'm so proud of you!" But I've had a lot of that lately from my very supportive sister so I'll not be fussy. After that, I went straight onto Twitter and thanked Katherine Webber for giving me amazing advice on being an aspiring writer struggling with self-positivity whilst writing and she congratulated me very nicely.
So then I found myself writing this because I've done a little past my 50K words now and my fingers hurt both from the constant iciness in them and cramping from all the writing I've done today. Also, my shoulder kind of hurt from tensing in excitement at what I'm writing so I may go do something else, stretch out my limbs.
But this is my major checkpoint. I've written one full-length book before and got to something like 145,000 words with it but that was nearly two years ago and I haven't quite been able to do that since. This novel has the drive for me to stick with it, as nothing has for those two years. I can't shut up about it; even my friend is drawing some characters from it for me WHICH I AM ALSO ECSTATIC ABOUT. I really am not shutting up about ANY of this but that's okay because it's totally fine to be writing this! My ultimate dream is for someone, any friend, to be so invested in my story that they want to discuss the characters in it, never mind DRAW them. Finally, I'm getting both, and with someone genuinely interested and I actually kind of want to cry at that.
If anything, 2017 has made me realise something: the difference between genuine support and "show support" as I'm calling it, and that it's a very sad place to be in not knowing the difference. Now, I feel like I know who actually supports this ambition of mine and those who just support it to look good. Which makes no sense but when there's nobody around to see and no self-gain for them, they don't really care or want to know. The people are supporting me properly are the people who I'm keeping close and special in my life right now because I need these people. I have such utterly low self-confidence and modesty with my abilities in life and my writing is a sensitive subject for me most times. To learn this difference was like a slap in the face and to know the people making them different to each other. So, to those with the genuine support from the beginning of my writing or recently, thank you. Aaaaand, this is starting to get so deep so I really am shutting up.
As a writer who can honestly see their future being totally in books and as one who's had a lot of setbacks and comments made at them and discouragement, this checkpoint I've just reached has lifted me up so high and for the first time in a long time, I'm truly proud of myself for committing this long and fully intending to stick to THE END.
I'm keeping this short now because there's books I want to talk about in my next blog post and I don't want to be too bombarding on social media as I do actually get told off for that! Off from a very proud and happy writer who's looking forward to my next writing time with courage.
(P.S, I'm ignoring any typos due to the excited speed I typed this at so please extend the same courtesy and don't call me out on it because I'm far too high in the clouds on happiness to feel bad.)
And as a writer, I make myself mental checkpoints so I can find these good points in my journey of writing a manuscript. I make goals so I know that when I hit them, I'll be able to be happy with myself even in this portion of my life. I'll congratulate myself and move on to my next checkpoint. So whilst there's no champagne for my current achievements, there are words, words, and MORE WORDS.
Initially, I wanted to write this post about hitting 100 pages (it may not sound like a lot but to me, that was a milestone to get to) but that was two weeks ago and I got distracted. BUT THEN, today, I hit the next best thing. 50 pages beyond my initial idea to post about 100 pages, I hit 50,000 words. If you ever meet any writer, they'll probably say that's a major thing to get. Roughly, it could be half of their full-length novel. I'm personally aiming for a wordcount quite beyond 100K for this manuscript so I'm just under halfway, but 50K is still a massive, massive thing for me to reach. Considering I only started drafting in November (and properly focusing on this in January), I'm pretty ecstatic. I refrained from posting on my Instagram (AGAIN) because I'm 99.9% sure my followers are sick of my extensive posting on their and don't read half the things I post. I did, however, post on Facebook, just a short status because I couldn't keep this achievement inside myself as I usually do. Okay, I was looking for someone to say "This is amazing! I'm so proud of you!" But I've had a lot of that lately from my very supportive sister so I'll not be fussy. After that, I went straight onto Twitter and thanked Katherine Webber for giving me amazing advice on being an aspiring writer struggling with self-positivity whilst writing and she congratulated me very nicely.
So then I found myself writing this because I've done a little past my 50K words now and my fingers hurt both from the constant iciness in them and cramping from all the writing I've done today. Also, my shoulder kind of hurt from tensing in excitement at what I'm writing so I may go do something else, stretch out my limbs.
But this is my major checkpoint. I've written one full-length book before and got to something like 145,000 words with it but that was nearly two years ago and I haven't quite been able to do that since. This novel has the drive for me to stick with it, as nothing has for those two years. I can't shut up about it; even my friend is drawing some characters from it for me WHICH I AM ALSO ECSTATIC ABOUT. I really am not shutting up about ANY of this but that's okay because it's totally fine to be writing this! My ultimate dream is for someone, any friend, to be so invested in my story that they want to discuss the characters in it, never mind DRAW them. Finally, I'm getting both, and with someone genuinely interested and I actually kind of want to cry at that.
If anything, 2017 has made me realise something: the difference between genuine support and "show support" as I'm calling it, and that it's a very sad place to be in not knowing the difference. Now, I feel like I know who actually supports this ambition of mine and those who just support it to look good. Which makes no sense but when there's nobody around to see and no self-gain for them, they don't really care or want to know. The people are supporting me properly are the people who I'm keeping close and special in my life right now because I need these people. I have such utterly low self-confidence and modesty with my abilities in life and my writing is a sensitive subject for me most times. To learn this difference was like a slap in the face and to know the people making them different to each other. So, to those with the genuine support from the beginning of my writing or recently, thank you. Aaaaand, this is starting to get so deep so I really am shutting up.
As a writer who can honestly see their future being totally in books and as one who's had a lot of setbacks and comments made at them and discouragement, this checkpoint I've just reached has lifted me up so high and for the first time in a long time, I'm truly proud of myself for committing this long and fully intending to stick to THE END.
I'm keeping this short now because there's books I want to talk about in my next blog post and I don't want to be too bombarding on social media as I do actually get told off for that! Off from a very proud and happy writer who's looking forward to my next writing time with courage.
(P.S, I'm ignoring any typos due to the excited speed I typed this at so please extend the same courtesy and don't call me out on it because I'm far too high in the clouds on happiness to feel bad.)
Monday, 5 December 2016
How Inej Ghafa Inspired Me.
Over the past year, I've experienced a life-altering lack of energy, motivation and good health. This was concerning--I was never much of a complainer Before, but throughout the past year, I felt as though I needed to outwardly express the pain I was in. It seemed everything constantly hurt: my head, my stomach, my ribs, my limbs. There were days where it was hard to get up because I had the feeling of a rock taking up residence on my entire body. My legs would feel like lead, or, other days, feel like jelly and I'd simply fall. As a very active child but one that lost their activeness as they grew to be a teenager, many people passed my leg aches off as that.
However, very early January last year changed everything for me, medically. My entire wellbeing seemed to go downhill. I had to cancel plans, leave half-eaten meals and waste so much due to my stomach aches, or as I put it, a full feeling after only a few bites. As well as the claims of me losing my activity as a child, I endured the brush-offs of "it's all in your head, of course you're hungry." But I wasn't. Eventually, this became a concern. Previously, all I'd done was eat. My weight had gone up to an uncomfortable place and I had a massive discontent with my body image, even more so than usual. Many times, I'd been called a "bottomless pit" when it came to food. So throughout those early months of 2016 when my problems began, even for me, feeling full so quickly was strange.
Fast-forward a few agonizing months of being told it was all in my head, of being called lazy or being told I was losing interest in my education on the days I physically couldn't move from my pains to go to college. After many, many blood tests (that were coming back clear after a few fainting episodes) one finally displayed something. I was diagnosed with a Vitamin D deficiency, the thing causing my leg pains and constant tiredness and lack of energy. Thankfully, (actually, very unfortunately, for her) , my cousin also had the same condition and could relate and sort-of vouch for me with my seemingly still unconvinced mum. It felt nice to be able to confide in someone just how bad I was feeling, how much I cried at night and early mornings, when I was exhausted and couldn't get a peaceful sleep because of the pain, when my sleeping pattern was falling apart. It felt nice to receive understanding off her, instead of pity off my mum, who didn't know what to do, I don't think, apart from do everything the doctors were recommending. As a pale-skinned person naturally, it was no surprise, really. I'd never really been the biggest fan of foods containing that, either. But still, I hadn't realised just how much a problem it would cause me until everything slowly clicked into place.
Except one thing. The diagnosis didn't have anything to do with the hell going on in my stomach and entire abdomen area. I was--and still am--constantly in pain, sometimes not even able to stand straight. Still, I made an effort and tried my best to carry on, get to that June point where I could finish my college course and have a summer trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, and how I could fix it myself when no doctor seemed to have an answer.
Now on vitamins for my deficiency, I was still in considerable pain, but it was manageable. During the summer months, I endured many--and horrific, sometimes--tests and scans and so many medical appointments to get to the bottom of my mysterious eating issue, my complaints and symptoms. I got very stressed about it, very nervous. I was enduring so much and keeping myself awake at night worrying because eventually, my doctor decided he would stop looking into the physical side.
Early September, I came home from a holiday where I'd been on a vitamin withdrawal and had suffered a few faint feelings and uncertainty within my wellbeing. Also, as a person who was quite partial to a few coffees a day, being in a hot country without coffee had quite the effect on my body. So, I came home and found a letter that had disappointment flooding me. A referral to an eating disorder clinic was written clearly. Angry, because I was very convinced that was not the issue, I slipped it between some other letters for other medical appointments, but not without angrily muttering about it to my mum. I think deep down she, and my other family members, thought the same. But I knew it wasn't that. I'd read up on those and I didn't feel that sort of way. My mum let me cancel the appointment, something I was admittedly surprised at because of how convinced I was that she thought that was the problem. Instead, I attended another appointment because finally, something, something had shown up.
A couple of weeks ago, I visited a specialist who was able to give me a diagnosis, after almost a year of my pain and "drastic" weight loss. I'm now on another journey to fully treat that, but that doesn't mean I'm constantly paranoid of what I'm eating, how I'm feeling. I go to work, in pain, and try to walk it off as I can in my workplace. I don't go out to eat with my family as much as I used to and I still don't eat as much as I probably should, but there's some progression.
Some days, I wake up and feel faint. On these days, I get crippled with pains, over and over, and for 90% of the day, I feel disgustingly full despite not eating anything. It's very disconcerting to feel like this, as someone who has lived their life with a very good appetite.
On these days, I feel like I want to not exist, because if that happened, I wouldn't have to feel like I'm not in control of my own body and feelings. But I read a book last year: Six of Crows, by Leigh Bardugo. I was immediately attracted to Inej's character, The Wraith. Her story enticed me, as I know it's enticed many. But apart from just being a character I was flawlessly taken captive by, I found inspiration in Inej.
I found such, such inspiration in the chapter where Inej suffers a wound to her side just before the crew board the boat to get to the Ice Court. Even as she endures such pain, she keeps on going, keeps on dragging herself up each crate, still forces each breath, in and out. Inej keeps on trying, even when she feels like hell, like literally dying. She knows how easily it would be to close her eyes and let darkness close in, but she doesn't. The Wraith keeps going, not just because she's indentured and is needed for this mission, but she keeps going for herself.
Throughout the book, and it's predecessor, Crooked Kingdom, Inej overcomes every little and big thing thrown at her. When she was captured in Van Eck's clutches and didn't eat a great deal, she felt faint. But she didn't succumb to that, or let it hinder her. She still found a way to crawl through a grate and tried to find freedom. She still stayed so strong. It's those times that Inej shines from these pages and I remember how much willpower and the need to be stronger than those feelings drives her. It's those times I take inspiration from to go on. Each day at work, when my legs feel so aching I want to collapse, I remember Inej's strength and determination and push myself to keep going. It's because of this wonderful, overcoming character that I can get a bus to work each morning, in pain, and chant to myself that I control my body, not let it control me. Inej's strength after her capture gets me up in the morning--she barely rested properly before she was out doing her thing again. It's her that makes me want to be a more determined person to beat both my medical setbacks. Whether I can or can't, I still try.
I try because of people like Inej Ghafa, who may be a fictional character, but stands for real people who do overcome those things daily. She represents people who have suffered terrible things but still wake up and be a better person for themselves each day. Inej always thought of the crew whenever she had to pep-talk herself to go on, thought of her family, but in the end, she was still doing it for herself, to prove to herself that she was strong.
Inej has her ways to go on and I always try to search for my tether, each day at work, when I look at the clock and realise my shift ended ten minutes ago but I want to stay on. I know what the voice in my head is when I think I'm about to fail, or I do. I know what drives me when I can't have the mentality to bring up Inej's strength. In work, I push myself on, surge forward on waves of determination to not be weak or fail. There, I need to do my best, prove I can work despite my pain. Even when I'm feeling less-than-strong, I still brace myself before running upstairs to get another item in the warehouse because I feel that I always have to be ever-quick; I still summon every inch of strength before picking up a heavier item because there's a constant reminder that I can be better inside my head. I think reading Inej's story helped me to realise that: she always found ways to go on, and so I want to take inspiration from her strength.
When I thanked Leigh Bardugo for writing such a duology and creating these characters that I adore, I didn't just mean my thanks for letting me enjoy Ketterdam and the Dregs. I was thanking her for the inspiration that fills me whenever I think about Inej Ghafa. I was thanking her for making me realise that I can work past this, mentally, and still try. I was thanking her for letting her characters stand up and change people's lives, like mine.
Something in that story touched me deeply and has made me realise that everyone has a driving force; it's just a case of catching that voice and what it's saying at the time.
However, very early January last year changed everything for me, medically. My entire wellbeing seemed to go downhill. I had to cancel plans, leave half-eaten meals and waste so much due to my stomach aches, or as I put it, a full feeling after only a few bites. As well as the claims of me losing my activity as a child, I endured the brush-offs of "it's all in your head, of course you're hungry." But I wasn't. Eventually, this became a concern. Previously, all I'd done was eat. My weight had gone up to an uncomfortable place and I had a massive discontent with my body image, even more so than usual. Many times, I'd been called a "bottomless pit" when it came to food. So throughout those early months of 2016 when my problems began, even for me, feeling full so quickly was strange.
Fast-forward a few agonizing months of being told it was all in my head, of being called lazy or being told I was losing interest in my education on the days I physically couldn't move from my pains to go to college. After many, many blood tests (that were coming back clear after a few fainting episodes) one finally displayed something. I was diagnosed with a Vitamin D deficiency, the thing causing my leg pains and constant tiredness and lack of energy. Thankfully, (actually, very unfortunately, for her) , my cousin also had the same condition and could relate and sort-of vouch for me with my seemingly still unconvinced mum. It felt nice to be able to confide in someone just how bad I was feeling, how much I cried at night and early mornings, when I was exhausted and couldn't get a peaceful sleep because of the pain, when my sleeping pattern was falling apart. It felt nice to receive understanding off her, instead of pity off my mum, who didn't know what to do, I don't think, apart from do everything the doctors were recommending. As a pale-skinned person naturally, it was no surprise, really. I'd never really been the biggest fan of foods containing that, either. But still, I hadn't realised just how much a problem it would cause me until everything slowly clicked into place.
Except one thing. The diagnosis didn't have anything to do with the hell going on in my stomach and entire abdomen area. I was--and still am--constantly in pain, sometimes not even able to stand straight. Still, I made an effort and tried my best to carry on, get to that June point where I could finish my college course and have a summer trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, and how I could fix it myself when no doctor seemed to have an answer.
Now on vitamins for my deficiency, I was still in considerable pain, but it was manageable. During the summer months, I endured many--and horrific, sometimes--tests and scans and so many medical appointments to get to the bottom of my mysterious eating issue, my complaints and symptoms. I got very stressed about it, very nervous. I was enduring so much and keeping myself awake at night worrying because eventually, my doctor decided he would stop looking into the physical side.
Early September, I came home from a holiday where I'd been on a vitamin withdrawal and had suffered a few faint feelings and uncertainty within my wellbeing. Also, as a person who was quite partial to a few coffees a day, being in a hot country without coffee had quite the effect on my body. So, I came home and found a letter that had disappointment flooding me. A referral to an eating disorder clinic was written clearly. Angry, because I was very convinced that was not the issue, I slipped it between some other letters for other medical appointments, but not without angrily muttering about it to my mum. I think deep down she, and my other family members, thought the same. But I knew it wasn't that. I'd read up on those and I didn't feel that sort of way. My mum let me cancel the appointment, something I was admittedly surprised at because of how convinced I was that she thought that was the problem. Instead, I attended another appointment because finally, something, something had shown up.
A couple of weeks ago, I visited a specialist who was able to give me a diagnosis, after almost a year of my pain and "drastic" weight loss. I'm now on another journey to fully treat that, but that doesn't mean I'm constantly paranoid of what I'm eating, how I'm feeling. I go to work, in pain, and try to walk it off as I can in my workplace. I don't go out to eat with my family as much as I used to and I still don't eat as much as I probably should, but there's some progression.
Some days, I wake up and feel faint. On these days, I get crippled with pains, over and over, and for 90% of the day, I feel disgustingly full despite not eating anything. It's very disconcerting to feel like this, as someone who has lived their life with a very good appetite.
On these days, I feel like I want to not exist, because if that happened, I wouldn't have to feel like I'm not in control of my own body and feelings. But I read a book last year: Six of Crows, by Leigh Bardugo. I was immediately attracted to Inej's character, The Wraith. Her story enticed me, as I know it's enticed many. But apart from just being a character I was flawlessly taken captive by, I found inspiration in Inej.
I found such, such inspiration in the chapter where Inej suffers a wound to her side just before the crew board the boat to get to the Ice Court. Even as she endures such pain, she keeps on going, keeps on dragging herself up each crate, still forces each breath, in and out. Inej keeps on trying, even when she feels like hell, like literally dying. She knows how easily it would be to close her eyes and let darkness close in, but she doesn't. The Wraith keeps going, not just because she's indentured and is needed for this mission, but she keeps going for herself.
Throughout the book, and it's predecessor, Crooked Kingdom, Inej overcomes every little and big thing thrown at her. When she was captured in Van Eck's clutches and didn't eat a great deal, she felt faint. But she didn't succumb to that, or let it hinder her. She still found a way to crawl through a grate and tried to find freedom. She still stayed so strong. It's those times that Inej shines from these pages and I remember how much willpower and the need to be stronger than those feelings drives her. It's those times I take inspiration from to go on. Each day at work, when my legs feel so aching I want to collapse, I remember Inej's strength and determination and push myself to keep going. It's because of this wonderful, overcoming character that I can get a bus to work each morning, in pain, and chant to myself that I control my body, not let it control me. Inej's strength after her capture gets me up in the morning--she barely rested properly before she was out doing her thing again. It's her that makes me want to be a more determined person to beat both my medical setbacks. Whether I can or can't, I still try.
I try because of people like Inej Ghafa, who may be a fictional character, but stands for real people who do overcome those things daily. She represents people who have suffered terrible things but still wake up and be a better person for themselves each day. Inej always thought of the crew whenever she had to pep-talk herself to go on, thought of her family, but in the end, she was still doing it for herself, to prove to herself that she was strong.
Inej has her ways to go on and I always try to search for my tether, each day at work, when I look at the clock and realise my shift ended ten minutes ago but I want to stay on. I know what the voice in my head is when I think I'm about to fail, or I do. I know what drives me when I can't have the mentality to bring up Inej's strength. In work, I push myself on, surge forward on waves of determination to not be weak or fail. There, I need to do my best, prove I can work despite my pain. Even when I'm feeling less-than-strong, I still brace myself before running upstairs to get another item in the warehouse because I feel that I always have to be ever-quick; I still summon every inch of strength before picking up a heavier item because there's a constant reminder that I can be better inside my head. I think reading Inej's story helped me to realise that: she always found ways to go on, and so I want to take inspiration from her strength.
When I thanked Leigh Bardugo for writing such a duology and creating these characters that I adore, I didn't just mean my thanks for letting me enjoy Ketterdam and the Dregs. I was thanking her for the inspiration that fills me whenever I think about Inej Ghafa. I was thanking her for making me realise that I can work past this, mentally, and still try. I was thanking her for letting her characters stand up and change people's lives, like mine.
Something in that story touched me deeply and has made me realise that everyone has a driving force; it's just a case of catching that voice and what it's saying at the time.
Saturday, 29 October 2016
Night Owls (A Love Sprayed in Gold)
Somewhere along the lines of my personality, it was decided that if I was going to be a good writer (the good is debatable, I suppose, depending who you speak to), I couldn't be a good visual artist. My drawing skills are none, un-honed, unpracticed. I never had the patience to build on it, selfishly hoping that the skill I'd always wondered at would magically bless me.
It never, obviously.
But through my frustration at not practicing art early, at not being able to have that talent (because who can ever have everything?), I kept a mad admiration for art. If any of my friends showed me their own artwork, I'd love it immediately. I have a great appreciation for art and galleries and even the quickest of sketches. So when I saw, "A Love Sprayed in Gold," on the back cover of Night Owls, I was instantly curious. Despite the line intriguing me, I was a little hesitant. I was still only getting into contemporary properly.
Two days later, I closed the book, completely finished and slightly breathless at the story I'd just read. My mind was so full of the emotions and situations I'd just read. Whilst I'd had no previous interest in Beatrix's chosen subject of study, the concept of that creating part of her character made me feel piqued. Such a gruesome and beautiful study of bodies was depicted through her story. Again, through art.
Night Owls is the story of a "rebel" spray-painter expressing himself, expressing his heart-wrenching devotion to his sister, meeting a girl who examines and sketches dead bodies on a late-night bus. But art isn't the only side to this story.
So many intricate and raw parts make up this story. Both Beatrix and Jack have less-than-perfect families and, especially by Beatrix's story, I was touched deeply. At the time I read this book, I was still filled with guilt over a decision I'd made months earlier and caused a lot of pain for somebody I loved through that. It was exactly the same choice Beatrix made. In my situation, I never felt as though I could truly be forgiven for what I had done in my own life, regarding my own feelings and decisions. I related to Beatrix and a lot of her narration within that broken family part of her life. Safe to say, I went through a lot of tissues. At times, seeing Beatrix's mother's reaction (quite similar to what I went through) I felt indescribably guilty, wondering if this was an insight on the depth of my own mother's. I was half-tempted to ask my mum to read the book... but thought better of it, knowing she couldn't truly appreciate the story and get past certain parts. But then I realized what Beatrix and I had in common: we were both merely curious to find a part of our lives we'd felt missing and wanted to fill it with our own views. We wanted to stop being fed the information from others and find out ourselves. I feel as though in the end, Beatrix got a better result from her seeking than I did, and I'm truly happy for that outcome. She was an anxious, strong person that deserved the happiness with her art, her family and love.
Jack. Jack was a character who tugged at my heart, and not in the usual book-boyfriend-potential way. To me, Jack was a boy who glanced up from the pages of Night Owls and when I saw him, I felt as though his eyes were saying, "Understand me. Listen to me. Know why I have spray cans in my bag. Don't judge me--just follow me and see why I do this. Let me tell you my story." So I did. I followed Jack eagerly and felt deeply. His inner whirlwind of emotions and anger but happiness and love for Beatrix and his sister intertwining had me gasping and sniffling at more points than one. Jack's story and cover-ups and expression is truly a thing to behold and I encourage anyone to read this story.
This isn't an average teen rebellion story, nor is it a heart-wrecking love story. It is heart-wrecking, but it is the beauty of a storm encased in pages. This book will make you feel and want to love and want to be free and make those bad decisions and know that forgiveness can be granted.
Reading Beatrix's story with her parents finally allowed me the personal journey of starting to forgive myself, to perhaps look past the forgiveness and feelings my own close-ones had felt at my (as it was seen) betrayal. I'm nearly in tears writing this, remembering this, because these feelings aren't just ones to disappear. But this is Beatrix's and Jack's story--I can only state how I related.
Through their own loves in life, the two found their happiness amidst a tornado of pretenses and deceit and lies. Jack's entire public life was a great big story that wasn't true and he had to let people believe it to protect his family. Until Beatrix came along, and she inspired the trust within him to release the truth and finally take somebody to share his sister's wonderful personality, the words she picked, that he spray-painted for her.
On the surface, before the book delves into its depths, Jack just seems like a teenager who wants to vandalize randomly. But another realization this book gave me: that things have reasons and sometimes they're worth waiting for. Whilst his methods may not have been the most legal or admirable by many, Jack's devotion to his cause is something he strives off and I have the utmost respect for him.
Even Beatrix overcomes so many things to get her artwork shown and displayed--and rightfully so. She had people there who cared for her work, even if it wasn't wholly. There was a shred, and then some by those who truly cared, of support and that was so encouraging. She showed the people who disapproved of her interests or doubted her what she could do, and completely, utterly pulled it off.
The narration and setting was just another thing to entirely make up the story, an important part that fit so well. If the setting isn't right, it throws the entire mood from the book and what it's trying to tell a reader. I may have received different messages to the intended one, but I still gained a great deal from reading Night Owls and will always return to that book, over and over.
Even now, it's been a while since I've opened it but it stays in my mind, reassuring me and reminding me that things aren't what they seem and moving on is out there; it has to be earned, but it's out there. Thank you to Jenn Bennett for sharing these incredible character's stories with me and being an inspiration to my own experiences. Thank you for writing this wonder of a book.
It never, obviously.
But through my frustration at not practicing art early, at not being able to have that talent (because who can ever have everything?), I kept a mad admiration for art. If any of my friends showed me their own artwork, I'd love it immediately. I have a great appreciation for art and galleries and even the quickest of sketches. So when I saw, "A Love Sprayed in Gold," on the back cover of Night Owls, I was instantly curious. Despite the line intriguing me, I was a little hesitant. I was still only getting into contemporary properly.
Two days later, I closed the book, completely finished and slightly breathless at the story I'd just read. My mind was so full of the emotions and situations I'd just read. Whilst I'd had no previous interest in Beatrix's chosen subject of study, the concept of that creating part of her character made me feel piqued. Such a gruesome and beautiful study of bodies was depicted through her story. Again, through art.
Night Owls is the story of a "rebel" spray-painter expressing himself, expressing his heart-wrenching devotion to his sister, meeting a girl who examines and sketches dead bodies on a late-night bus. But art isn't the only side to this story.
So many intricate and raw parts make up this story. Both Beatrix and Jack have less-than-perfect families and, especially by Beatrix's story, I was touched deeply. At the time I read this book, I was still filled with guilt over a decision I'd made months earlier and caused a lot of pain for somebody I loved through that. It was exactly the same choice Beatrix made. In my situation, I never felt as though I could truly be forgiven for what I had done in my own life, regarding my own feelings and decisions. I related to Beatrix and a lot of her narration within that broken family part of her life. Safe to say, I went through a lot of tissues. At times, seeing Beatrix's mother's reaction (quite similar to what I went through) I felt indescribably guilty, wondering if this was an insight on the depth of my own mother's. I was half-tempted to ask my mum to read the book... but thought better of it, knowing she couldn't truly appreciate the story and get past certain parts. But then I realized what Beatrix and I had in common: we were both merely curious to find a part of our lives we'd felt missing and wanted to fill it with our own views. We wanted to stop being fed the information from others and find out ourselves. I feel as though in the end, Beatrix got a better result from her seeking than I did, and I'm truly happy for that outcome. She was an anxious, strong person that deserved the happiness with her art, her family and love.
Jack. Jack was a character who tugged at my heart, and not in the usual book-boyfriend-potential way. To me, Jack was a boy who glanced up from the pages of Night Owls and when I saw him, I felt as though his eyes were saying, "Understand me. Listen to me. Know why I have spray cans in my bag. Don't judge me--just follow me and see why I do this. Let me tell you my story." So I did. I followed Jack eagerly and felt deeply. His inner whirlwind of emotions and anger but happiness and love for Beatrix and his sister intertwining had me gasping and sniffling at more points than one. Jack's story and cover-ups and expression is truly a thing to behold and I encourage anyone to read this story.
This isn't an average teen rebellion story, nor is it a heart-wrecking love story. It is heart-wrecking, but it is the beauty of a storm encased in pages. This book will make you feel and want to love and want to be free and make those bad decisions and know that forgiveness can be granted.
Reading Beatrix's story with her parents finally allowed me the personal journey of starting to forgive myself, to perhaps look past the forgiveness and feelings my own close-ones had felt at my (as it was seen) betrayal. I'm nearly in tears writing this, remembering this, because these feelings aren't just ones to disappear. But this is Beatrix's and Jack's story--I can only state how I related.
Through their own loves in life, the two found their happiness amidst a tornado of pretenses and deceit and lies. Jack's entire public life was a great big story that wasn't true and he had to let people believe it to protect his family. Until Beatrix came along, and she inspired the trust within him to release the truth and finally take somebody to share his sister's wonderful personality, the words she picked, that he spray-painted for her.
On the surface, before the book delves into its depths, Jack just seems like a teenager who wants to vandalize randomly. But another realization this book gave me: that things have reasons and sometimes they're worth waiting for. Whilst his methods may not have been the most legal or admirable by many, Jack's devotion to his cause is something he strives off and I have the utmost respect for him.
Even Beatrix overcomes so many things to get her artwork shown and displayed--and rightfully so. She had people there who cared for her work, even if it wasn't wholly. There was a shred, and then some by those who truly cared, of support and that was so encouraging. She showed the people who disapproved of her interests or doubted her what she could do, and completely, utterly pulled it off.
The narration and setting was just another thing to entirely make up the story, an important part that fit so well. If the setting isn't right, it throws the entire mood from the book and what it's trying to tell a reader. I may have received different messages to the intended one, but I still gained a great deal from reading Night Owls and will always return to that book, over and over.
Even now, it's been a while since I've opened it but it stays in my mind, reassuring me and reminding me that things aren't what they seem and moving on is out there; it has to be earned, but it's out there. Thank you to Jenn Bennett for sharing these incredible character's stories with me and being an inspiration to my own experiences. Thank you for writing this wonder of a book.
Tuesday, 9 August 2016
Setting: Fictional vs. Reality
As a writer, I make up my own times for my story to start. I make the world my characters live in and only use real-life seasons as a guide to show time passing. I prefer to make my own cities or kingdoms or countries; I like to discover them and what they do/how they rule and look/what religions they follow. Most importantly, I like to create their rulers.
In fantasy, my chosen genre of writing (mostly), the position of a monarch is important so I plan this a lot. What they say goes in my made-up world. For example, in my first fantasy story, The Huntress's Curse (hello, Terrin, I'll return to you one day!), my monarch was a king, closely followed by a ruthless queen. They ruled over Ayla, deciding that their view on hunters was final and to be eliminated from their kingdom. Originally, Ayla was called Glyndwr--a prospering trading kingdom that wasn't flamboyantly rich, but wasn't in poverty, either. It consisted of Port Side, and Woods Side. Any lucky (although probably unlucky) hunters still surviving and escaping the king's "death upon sight" rule, lived purely in the woods. Any hunters that still had alliances with the favoured citizens of Glyndwr got their supplies sneakily through them. Most often, these arrangements fell through and... Well, not a good ending for either side of the arrangement.
But mostly, in Glyndwr, the villagers and the hunters lived in peace. Whilst the villagers respected their king, they didn't always agree with his views on the hunting race. So a lot of the Glyndwran villagers made a deal with the hunters: they could freely buy things from their stores (or provide any sort of help required) as long as they didn't get caught, as long as the hunters never hunted in their village. Because in Glyndwr, not all hunters hunted animals. Terrin, the protagonist, for one, didn't always hunt animals. But that's her story. For now, this post is about Glyndwr's story and how I had to change it. So the deal stayed strong; the hunters never killed anyone or anything, instead finding their enemies and prey elsewhere, and continued to get their help from the purposefully ignorant villagers.
The hunters in Glyndwr lived in the woods, as I mentioned. Illeyal Woods was the barrier between Glyndwr and it's neighbouring kingdom with whom they had a loyal and fierce alliance with: Ayla. Now, Ayla was a disgustingly rich kingdom who's ruling duo liked to marry off their children as soon as possible. Their youngest and last child, a daughter named Ariadne, was their final bargaining chip, as they saw their children. So they arranged a marriage for her with the Crown Prince of Glyndwr. I liked Ayla as a pompous alternative to Glyndwr. Here, I don't mind spoiling a what becomes a bigger character because I had to scrap this story completely. In Ayla, Ariadne is shown saddened to be leaving her home, forced into this arrangement she doesn't want. It seems she's been tricked and persuaded into going to Glyndwr and has been swayed to be okay with it, through all the promises of becoming a future queen. All Ariadne wants to do is paint and discover more art, despite living in a personal solitary from watching her brothers and sisters leave her.
BUT, through the second book (this idea was a planned trilogy), Ariadne's character develops far from the lonely, woe-is-me princess of Ayla, and becomes a determined queen who thunders ahead and has her eyes on the only prize she wants: not her betrothed, but the crown itself. Thus, this makes Glyndwr's future a soft-hearted prince who wants to do right by everyone and a steel-hearted princess as his bride.
Now, here comes to present-day part.
My major fault in this extensive planning and writing that took almost two years? Glyndwr. The name. I read up about it and discovered its origins was far from what I wanted it to stand for in my story and it wasn't original at all. But through this realisation, I'd already started querying my first book to agents. This got me nowhere. So, with my changing of Glyndwr came the changing of the whole story. I rewrote, as I mentioned, but continued my original world.
Glyndwr became Ayla-- a different Ayla to the one I'd already created. Ayla became a larger place, a growing empire of sorts, and I developed my new fictional place to something I was finally comfortable with. I changed its rulers and colours, made it something completely new to base my newly redrafted story in.
The whole point of this lengthy, probably unnecessary post? I prefer the freedom of creating my own worlds, as opposed to finding an existing place and using their culture and ways for my stories. I like to make my own rules for these settings, and using real places gives me boundaries for that. I love, love, LOVE, reading about stories set in existing cultures, where it's obvious that the inspiration has come from a certain place, but for me as a writer, it doesn't work. For me as a reader, yes, yay, well done.
A quick list of my favourite books set fictionally but based on existing cultures and places:
Shadow and Bones (series) - Leigh Bardugo
Soundless - Richelle Mead
Daughter of Smoke and Bone (series) - Laini Taylor
The Raven Boys (series) - Maggie Stiefvater
Even then, these stories differ in their basis. Leigh Bardugo seems to use Russian culture and language and words and names in her books, but Ravka is a made-up place only using these ways to be formed.
Daughter of Smoke and Bone is actually set in Prague (mostly), in the human realm, and I love this setting. It seriously makes me want to travel there and see the wonders described in the book for myself.
Through these type of books, I feel like I can experience the culture in a secondhand way. They encourage me to learn more about the places they're either set in, or based off. I've never wanted to travel so much as when I read these types of books.
Right, lengthy post ALMOST over!
I probably went too overboard with this blog, but I'm writing a post on my laptop for the first time (I usually blog from my phone) and I tend to get carried away, but I wanted the chance to go back and explore parts of my own little world I created. Please excuse the tour I gave (unless you liked it) and I'm actually off to work on a book review for Eleanor and Park, which is the best excuse to reread one of my favourite contemporary books and fanboy over it in the form of a review!
In fantasy, my chosen genre of writing (mostly), the position of a monarch is important so I plan this a lot. What they say goes in my made-up world. For example, in my first fantasy story, The Huntress's Curse (hello, Terrin, I'll return to you one day!), my monarch was a king, closely followed by a ruthless queen. They ruled over Ayla, deciding that their view on hunters was final and to be eliminated from their kingdom. Originally, Ayla was called Glyndwr--a prospering trading kingdom that wasn't flamboyantly rich, but wasn't in poverty, either. It consisted of Port Side, and Woods Side. Any lucky (although probably unlucky) hunters still surviving and escaping the king's "death upon sight" rule, lived purely in the woods. Any hunters that still had alliances with the favoured citizens of Glyndwr got their supplies sneakily through them. Most often, these arrangements fell through and... Well, not a good ending for either side of the arrangement.
But mostly, in Glyndwr, the villagers and the hunters lived in peace. Whilst the villagers respected their king, they didn't always agree with his views on the hunting race. So a lot of the Glyndwran villagers made a deal with the hunters: they could freely buy things from their stores (or provide any sort of help required) as long as they didn't get caught, as long as the hunters never hunted in their village. Because in Glyndwr, not all hunters hunted animals. Terrin, the protagonist, for one, didn't always hunt animals. But that's her story. For now, this post is about Glyndwr's story and how I had to change it. So the deal stayed strong; the hunters never killed anyone or anything, instead finding their enemies and prey elsewhere, and continued to get their help from the purposefully ignorant villagers.
The hunters in Glyndwr lived in the woods, as I mentioned. Illeyal Woods was the barrier between Glyndwr and it's neighbouring kingdom with whom they had a loyal and fierce alliance with: Ayla. Now, Ayla was a disgustingly rich kingdom who's ruling duo liked to marry off their children as soon as possible. Their youngest and last child, a daughter named Ariadne, was their final bargaining chip, as they saw their children. So they arranged a marriage for her with the Crown Prince of Glyndwr. I liked Ayla as a pompous alternative to Glyndwr. Here, I don't mind spoiling a what becomes a bigger character because I had to scrap this story completely. In Ayla, Ariadne is shown saddened to be leaving her home, forced into this arrangement she doesn't want. It seems she's been tricked and persuaded into going to Glyndwr and has been swayed to be okay with it, through all the promises of becoming a future queen. All Ariadne wants to do is paint and discover more art, despite living in a personal solitary from watching her brothers and sisters leave her.
BUT, through the second book (this idea was a planned trilogy), Ariadne's character develops far from the lonely, woe-is-me princess of Ayla, and becomes a determined queen who thunders ahead and has her eyes on the only prize she wants: not her betrothed, but the crown itself. Thus, this makes Glyndwr's future a soft-hearted prince who wants to do right by everyone and a steel-hearted princess as his bride.
Now, here comes to present-day part.
My major fault in this extensive planning and writing that took almost two years? Glyndwr. The name. I read up about it and discovered its origins was far from what I wanted it to stand for in my story and it wasn't original at all. But through this realisation, I'd already started querying my first book to agents. This got me nowhere. So, with my changing of Glyndwr came the changing of the whole story. I rewrote, as I mentioned, but continued my original world.
Glyndwr became Ayla-- a different Ayla to the one I'd already created. Ayla became a larger place, a growing empire of sorts, and I developed my new fictional place to something I was finally comfortable with. I changed its rulers and colours, made it something completely new to base my newly redrafted story in.
The whole point of this lengthy, probably unnecessary post? I prefer the freedom of creating my own worlds, as opposed to finding an existing place and using their culture and ways for my stories. I like to make my own rules for these settings, and using real places gives me boundaries for that. I love, love, LOVE, reading about stories set in existing cultures, where it's obvious that the inspiration has come from a certain place, but for me as a writer, it doesn't work. For me as a reader, yes, yay, well done.
A quick list of my favourite books set fictionally but based on existing cultures and places:
Shadow and Bones (series) - Leigh Bardugo
Soundless - Richelle Mead
Daughter of Smoke and Bone (series) - Laini Taylor
The Raven Boys (series) - Maggie Stiefvater
Even then, these stories differ in their basis. Leigh Bardugo seems to use Russian culture and language and words and names in her books, but Ravka is a made-up place only using these ways to be formed.
Daughter of Smoke and Bone is actually set in Prague (mostly), in the human realm, and I love this setting. It seriously makes me want to travel there and see the wonders described in the book for myself.
Through these type of books, I feel like I can experience the culture in a secondhand way. They encourage me to learn more about the places they're either set in, or based off. I've never wanted to travel so much as when I read these types of books.
Right, lengthy post ALMOST over!
I probably went too overboard with this blog, but I'm writing a post on my laptop for the first time (I usually blog from my phone) and I tend to get carried away, but I wanted the chance to go back and explore parts of my own little world I created. Please excuse the tour I gave (unless you liked it) and I'm actually off to work on a book review for Eleanor and Park, which is the best excuse to reread one of my favourite contemporary books and fanboy over it in the form of a review!
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