I Love You Too Much To Hurt You (Stodder)

EMERIC STODDER

            Lemminkäinen held my life in his hands. And he let me go.

            Scrambling through the woods, I channeled the rest of my magic into healing my wounds. I had no notion of where I was going or what I would do now. Why had he left me alive?

            I fell to my knees, passing a trembling hand over my face, pressing against painful bruises and cuts. The pain brought me harshly back to reality. In seconds, a new plan was formed.

            “What did he do to you?”

            Looking up, I saw her pale face, framed by her Titian hair, filled with concern. She’d followed me in spite of everything.

            “You look awful,” she said. Kneeling in front of me, she passed a hand over my skin, doing in a gesture what my weak powers had been unable to do, brushing away the pain like dust from a tabletop.

            “Go back, Alice,” I said, pulling away from her and staggering to my feet.

            She looked up at me, still kneeling in the muddy leaves. “No.”

            I looked down into her dark eyes, then started to walk away. She didn’t fit into my new plan. I hadn’t expected her to want to.

            She followed me. “Where are we going?”
            “You’re going home.”

            Catching up to me, she twined her arm in mine. “You’re so funny.”

            “I’m not joking. You know what happened today.”

            “If you mean I have to choose between you and Lemmin, it’s ok. It’s not a hard choice.”

            “He’s your family.”

            “Why are you being this way? I know what you did today, and I want to help you.”

            “There’s nothing to help with.” I fixed my eyes straight ahead, ignoring her warmth and the smell of honeysuckles emanating from her.

            “Of course there is. You have another plan.”

            “I don’t.”

            “Why are you lying to me?”

            “I’m tired, Liss.” At last I was telling the truth. “All I want now is a warm fire and a pot of tea.”

            “You don’t mean that.”

            I smiled wanly. “I told you I was too old for you.”

            “Sure, you want a break, I get that. But, after awhile, you’ll be ready to strike again. And I’ll be there with you.”

            “I don’t want you to come,” I said curtly. I stopped, wrenching my arm from hers. “Can’t you understand that, you silly little girl? I was only with you because it helped my plan. But that plan failed, and I’m sick of the sight of you.”

            She took a step backwards. “You don’t mean this.”

            “Of course I do. Now go away.” I started off again, feeling a proper crotchety old man.

            “Emeric!” she called after me.

            I didn’t look back, and she didn’t follow.

♥/Kat!e

I Should be Writing

I sat down to write a blog post the other day, and my blog was blocked!! Apparently it developed some sort of virus that would brutally murder your computer if you opened it. I threw a big fit, deleted some stuff, nothing worked, so I gave up. But now things seem to have worked themselves out and everything is running smoothly (knock on wood.) Basically, I'm saying don't blame me for the lack of recent blog posts because, for once, I actually have a valid excuse (ok, my blog may have sorted itself out about two weeks ago....)

I woke up this morning feeling really inspired to write. And I believe in writing as soon as I feel inspired, because that doesn't happen often enough. I got up, turned on my computer, and saw that I'd left Facebook open. Then I spent an hour on Facebook. It's not even that Facebook distracts me, but as soon as I get on it all of my creativity seems to seep away. Facebook is the enemy. I should probably delete my account (again,) but then I would have absolutely no social life. So probably better not. Besides, then I wouldn't be able to run Creative Writers, and that page fills my soul with joy. Right now we're obsessed with "You Should be Writing" pictures. I've posted about forty of them, and people keep requesting new ones.

Haha, too bad they don't seem to be inspiring me. This one is a more accurate representation of my life:

I did make some progress on The Witch's Key! ...two days ago. I wrote about 1,600 words. Changed The Council to The Coven (which makes infinitely more sense in a village of witches; I'm really not sure why it wasn't The Coven from the beginning.) Oh, and I introduced Orilla, which made me happy since she's my favorite. I still haven't found a picture for her yet, since I apparently have no idea what she looks like. Also, I'm trying to give her a Louisiana accent, and I've watched about a billion (that's a low estimate) videos of people talking in Louisiana accents, but it's still super hard. Writing real cultures is the hardest! This is why I prefer to write books that take place on fantasy worlds, but my characters don't actually care what I want. Jerks. 

Anyway, while I was browsing Facebook today, I came across an interesting article. This vlogger published a book and broke J. K. Rowling's first-week sales -- of all the Harry Potter books. I actually find it super hard to believe. But I'm really excited for her! I started watching her vlogs, and she seems really sweet. I've also added her book to my Amazon wish list (hint, hint.)

Reading about Zoella's success has inspired me to work on my own vlog. I mean, not that I expect to hit such great heights (though I suppose there's no harm in dreaming,) but I do have a loyal, if little, fan base -- some of whom have held on even though it's been a year since my last video. I have one viewer in particular who has e-mailed me several times, demanding videos -- and I really appreciate it. At this moment, old footage is being processed (which takes forever, hence my writing this ridiculously long blog post) and videos are being prepared! Hopefully you'll see something in the not-too-distant future. 

Also, if I keep up on my vlog, maybe it will inspire me to do more writing. It did last time. I feel too hypocritical telling the world (or even a tiny portion of it) to write if I'm not writing myself. I have gotten really excited about The Witch's Key again. I get to (re)write the scene where we meet Thanasius today! And we all know how much I adore Thanasius (Lisa Mangum teased me for having a crush on him when I pitched my novel to her.) 

My videos have finished processing, so it's time for me to go! I promise to really try to hit both the book and the vlog hard this week (because abusing them always helps.) Hopefully I'll have some progress to report next time I post! And hopefully my blog won't get another virus....

Love and sparkles~! 

♥/Kat!e

Magicland Deadline

New Goal: Complete my latest novel, Magicland, by August 28, 2014.

That's only four months from now. 120 days. But I'm already on Chapter 5, and I wrote the entirety of The Witch's Key in three months, so I think I've got this.

Once Magicland is finished, I will begin editing The Witch's Key (yes, I am aware that I've been editing this novel since May 2013, but this time I mean it.) I'm giving myself a good long break from the project, trying my best to not think about it at all (which is surprisingly difficult.) Focusing on Magicland has been the best distraction that I've found (and I still get distracted by my Pinewood cast from time to time. Who knew Phyllida could be so pushy? No, she's not helping me thresh out the details of her novel -- she just wants me to write cutesy stuff that happens with her and Thanasius after the book is over. Which, by the way, is not that interesting.)

See? I'm still thinking about Pinewood! Let's move on to Magicland.

First, what is this story? My elevator pitch (which, of course, is bound to change after I finish the book and learn what it's really about) is this:

An enforcer for a loan shark in Depression-era New York City gets dragged back to Fairyland to fight in a war he thought he'd already lost. 

I'm really stoked about it. The story begins with Jak Day and his sister Maurelle living, as stated, in 1930s New York (I have it pegged at 1933.) Then Jak gets captured by gnomes -- wait, stop there. This is probably what you think when I say gnomes:

And the image of a lawn of those coming after my hero is just silly. Kind of beautiful, actually. But so, so wrong. This is more what I have in mind: 

Not so silly now, is it? 

Anyway, where was I? 

Right. Jak gets kidnapped by buff, scary gnomes and dragged off to Fairyland (actually, he goes willingly so they won't kill his sister.) But, of course, Maurelle doesn't want to be protected, she wants to save her brother. So she, her elf-friend Niron, and Jak's crazy witch (literally) ex-girlfriend all go running off on an ill-planned quest to save him. 

In the five years that Jak and Maurelle have been gone, Fairyland has changed a lot. Now, instead of a land of music and freedom, it has become a police state. Or something... I'm not 100% on the political structure at the moment. I know it's totalitarian and that most of The Council is corrupt and evil. I'm sure the rest will figure itself out... probably. The joys of being a Discovery Writer, right?

So, that's the basics of the story. Like I say, I'm almost done with Chapter 5. That's 24 pages, a little over 7,000 words. Wow... putting it in those numbers makes it seem much smaller. It's cool, I've only got about 81,000 more words to write. In four months. Psh, that's nothing. If I can write 50,000 words in one month (which, actually, I've only done once) I'm sure I can do 80,000 in four. Cake. Mmm, cake. Now I want cake. No, wait, focus. 

I haven't been getting a lot of writing done recently ... mostly because I've been distracted filling out character sheets on Charahub. I did discover a few things. Suzerra (the witch) was raised by goblins, and Hereward, who is the human member of The Council, has three sons. Charahub is a lot of fun, and has gotten me thinking and excited about this story again. You should definitely check out the link and see all of my beautiful charries. I cast Lauren Cohan as the villain of my novel -- I only know who she is because she plays Vivian Volkoff on Chuck, but she's so perfect for Donella! Who says watching television isn't productive? 

But character-building is only so productive, and then I've really just got to get the thing written. I suppose I should work on that. 

Oh! But in the spirit of procrastination, here is my beautiful Fairyland Pinterest board. And my 1930s Pinterest board, for good measure. And why not throw in Fairies and Gnomes, too, while I'm at it? 

Omigosh, speaking of gnomes, I am in love with this creepy gnome child! 

I don't know who she is, but she is going to be a character. She's just so obviously evil and creepy and I love her! 

Can you tell I'm procrastinating because I don't want to work on my novel? *sigh* I guess I really should go put these words someplace more useful. I've got a (self-imposed) deadline to meet. 

Live long and prosper, my lovelies. 

♥/Kat!e

Last Day of School

Emeric stood at the top of the stairs, looking out at the sun-goldened school grounds. His lips tugged
upwards, and his heart beat a steady. peaceful rhythm. While his mind traveled miles, touching every corner of the earth, for that moment his feet were content to stay where they were.
"So, this is it, huh?" Lemminkäinen came up behind him, his hands in his pockets and that easy smile on his face. "One more boring ceremony and you're out?"
"Yeah." Emeric glanced at his friend, noticing that the other warlock had his cloak on inside-out and his forehead was black with soot. He chuckled.
"How's it feel?" Lemmin asked.
"You'd know if you'd ever stop ditching classes." Emeric elbowed him teasingly.
"Where's the fun in that? You know me, I'll never get out of this place. I'll probably be stuck teaching if I can ever graduate."
"Like they'd have you."
"Fair enough. So, what're you gonna' do?"
Emeric turned his gaze back to the grounds, and the forest beyond. "Oh, y'know." He shrugged, and his grin spread wide across his face. "Change the world."

♥/Kat!e

Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: 

Emeric Stodder is the antagonist of my novel The Witch's Key. This scene is almost 300 years before the start of the novel. 

Phyllida and Stodder talk about Me

"What do you think?" Stodder asked, taking a long sip from his steaming mug of tea.
Eyes darting around the room, Phyllida merely shrugged.
"Come, come, Miss Mandrake, do not be reticent. She is writing your story, after all. You must have an opinion."
Fingers rubbing at the smooth surface of the table, Phyllida still refused to look at him. She shook her head.
"You know what I think?" Stodder leaned forward in his chair.
Phyllida shook her head again.
"I think she is a low, miserable coward." Stodder's deep voice rolled over the table like soft thunder, signalling the beginning of a storm.
Phyllida's hand on the table stopped moving. Her brown eyes found his face. "No," she said.
"Yes." Stodder's lips twisted into a poor facsimile of a smile. "She has not the guts to do what you did, only to peck away at her keyboard, writing others' deeds -- your deeds. She has not even the courage to discuss both sides of the argument. She shows me in a very poor light, never showing--"
"Everything she says you really did!" Phyllida burst. "You really did torture Thanasius."
"And you."
Back to staring at the table. "...and me."
"But with good reason. Does Miss Larson go into the reasons? No. Why? She is a dirty mundane and a filthy coward."
"Good reason?" Phyllida repeated faintly. "You can't really believe that?"
His eyes narrowing, Stodder took another swallow of tea. "Why does anyone do anything, but for what they believe to be a good cause?"
"Torturing teenagers?"
"We are straying from our main topic. You have not yet told me what you think of Miss Larson."
Swallowing hard, Phyllida merely shrugged.
A slow smile started over Stodder's face as his cold swamp-colored eyes watched her. "You do not like her, either."
"That's not true," Phyllida said, too quickly.
Stodder laughed. He finished his cup of tea and got to his feet. "If you will excuse me, Miss Mandrake, I must return to my cell. It is always a pleasure to see you. Tell Miss Larson she is welcome to do these little hypothetical chats any time."
"She can hear you," Phyllida said, not looking up.
"Can she? Hello, Miss Larson." Stodder smiled up at the ceiling and gave a little wave. "I hope you rot in hell." He turned to go, and Phyllida only watched him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.

♥/Kat!e

Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: 

Thanasius's First Love

She looked like a Halloween Witch and a Beauty Pageant Queen rolled into one. Her golden hair tumbled to her shoulders, and he could tell she had tried to frizz it like the other witches did, but it really just wanted to fly in beautiful curls. She'd painted her eyes with intense red and lined them in dark black, but she couldn't counter the sweetness of her dancing blue eyes. She had done her lips in dark red, too, but he could imagine that they were naturally pale pink -- the same color that mantled her cheeks.
Her smile was so wide, he could see each of her white teeth. She talked expressively, waving her hands in wide, excited gestures. When she laughed, it put him in mind of little golden bells.
"Dude, you're staring." Vance's voice broke in on his thoughts like Housekeeping ignoring the "Do Not Disturb" sign. "And I think you're drooling a little."
Mortified, Thanasius wiped at his mouth. Vance laughed.
"You've got it bad!"
"Please be quiet," Thanasius whispered, glancing nervously at the beautiful girl to see if she had heard. She was still chatting animatedly to Hestia. He noticed the jaunty angle of her pointed black hat and smiled. Everything about her was friendly. Even Hestia, usually a bundle of nerves, looked relaxed as she spoke. The new girl seemed to let off a golden aura of peace and comfort.
"You're doing it again." Vance rolled his eyes. "Just go over there and talk to her."
Wringing his hands together, Thanasius shook his head. "I could hardly do that."
"And why not?" Vance asked.
"She is... ethereal. I would not know how to approach her."
"She ain't an angel -- well, any more'n the rest of us." Vance chuckled at his own joke. "C'mon, Terrance, you're a reasonably attractive guy and only kind of strange. Go talk to her!"
Thanasius fixed his eyes on the girl, trying to convince himself to take Vance's advice. Golden bells rang again, and she tossed her hair back, revealing the fine line of her neck and the delicate curve of her ear. She was wearing earrings shaped like radishes. Was that a reference to Luna Lovegood? His heart banged against his rib cage, and he had to squeeze his hands together to keep them from shaking. From what he could observe of this girl, she was the dictionary definition of Nice. She seemed so approachable. Still, he could not get his feet to move.
"That's it," said Vance, running his fingers through his curly dark hair. "You're taking too long. I'm'a go talk to her."
"No!" Thanasius cried, louder than he had intended. A few of the people around cast him weird looks, but he did not care. If he let Vance make a move on this girl, he knew that his friend would have her making out in a corner within twenty minutes. And there was really no way to compete with that, except to call first dibs. "No, I will speak to her."
"Way to go, Romeo." Vance grinned. Then he raised an eyebrow. "So... you gonna' do that now?"
Taking a deep breath, Thanasius nodded. Forcing his feet forward, he slowly made his way towards the couch.

♥/Kat!e

Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: 

Progress with --Amos-- Alatar Fuddle

Working on editing The Witch's Key, and realizing I needed to do some major character work with A. Fuddle, I have found myself with a major blockage. However, my Number 1 rule of writing is: Think positively. That sounds more than a little corny, but it works.

Basically, I don't allow myself to have negative thoughts like "I'm stuck" or "I can't figure out this character." The moment I feel that way, I sit down and try to make myself proactively figure out a solution to the problem. This is probably a good method for life in general. I'm not to the point where I can do it with all my problems, but I can generally do it with writing.

So I didn't let myself think "I can't figure out Fuddle" but rather made myself sit down today and start working character sheets.

First, I found a picture of him. This was really hard, as I knew nothing about what he looked like! I tried searching for Wizard, but only got sketches of old men with grey beards. I tried Male Witch, but mostly got pictures of weirdos. However, I did notice during these searches that I was pulled in by ones who were blond. So I searched: "Blond man in thirties" and finally, finally found this picture:

Having a picture of him gave me some grasp of who he was, and I was able to move on from there.

Next, I sat down with a very, VERY basic questionnaire, with questions like "Eye/Hair Color," "Major Strength," "Life Goal." And found myself stymied by question number one: "Name."

In the original draft, his name was Amos Fuddle. There was no real reason for me to change that, but with all the struggles I have been having with this character, I thought a change of name might help. I do love his last name, though, so I thought I would only change the first name. I have a lot of Harry Potter references throughout the book, so I felt no twinge of regret in getting rid of Amos. Now the difficulty was finding something to replace it.

First I looked at a list of Norse gods. Most of them were impossible to pronounce; this was a pity, as I was really tempted to name him Andhrimnir (for the chef of the gods.) However, his name gets mentioned way too often to give him something as hard as Andhrimnir, and 'And' is a silly nickname. So I moved on to the Wikipedia list of fictional magicians (a good reference.) Really, all I learned is that his name definitely begins with an A. Every name I have ever found that might fit him starts with that letter. Right now, I am calling him Alatar, because I don't have a Tolkien reference in my names yet, and Alatar is awesome.

Whew! Done with question one. I moved on. Question two: Birthday. November 23 (no significance, just what he answered when I asked him his birthday.)

Question three: Birthplace

Stuck again!! Why would Fuddle not answer basic questions? These weren't even obtrusive (yet)! I needed a way to get to know him. Talking out loud didn't feel right, and setting up a Facebook was out of the question. What I needed was to get him talking in a different way.

Back when I was about ten, I used to sit and have text-based conversations with my characters in Notepad documents. These were silly and random, but sometimes gave me good information about my characters. It seemed like now was a good time to pull out this exercise. So here is the conversation I had with "Alatar" Fuddle:

Alright, Mister Fuddle, let's take this time to get to know you, shall we? 

Very well. 

Do you have a first name that I can work with?

You may call me Alatar. 

Is that your name? 

...

It's not your name, is it? Fine. We can work with Alatar for now. So, why don't you tell me about yourself?

What would you like to know?

What is the most relevant thing I should know about you? 

I'm not sure how to answer that. Why don't you ask me what you want to know? 

Alright: What do I want to know?

That isn't what I meant. What I meant was: why don't you ask me the questions you want me to answer?

Alright, well, how long have you lived in Pinewood? 

Twenty eight years. 

How old are you?

Forty six. 

Where did you live before? 

Veilmont. 

Where is that? 

Colorado. 

Why did you move?

It was time to start out on my own. 

Why Pinewood? 

It seemed as good a place as any. 

It's rather far from Colorado. 

I wanted to get away. 

From what? 

Colorado. 

What in particular? 

My parents. 

Why?

I was in search of independence  Every young man starting off should move himself as far away from home, from "the nest" you might say, as possible. This gives him the opportunity to stand on his own two feet, to make or break it on his own. 

I didn't take you for the independent type. No offense. I just though you were more of a follower than a leader. 

I have made that decision. Yes, I may follow rather than lead, but not out of weakness of will or character (no matter what miss Owens says), but because I am wise enough to know who to follow. I don't need to be the one in charge. I have no such pride. 

You seem to be known for your fiery speeches. 

I make myself heard. 

Speaking out is important to you? 

The world must be educated. As I learn things and find direction, I feel it is my responsibility to share those edifications. One will never change the world by staying silent. 

You want to change the world? 

It is in dire need of change. 

What direction would you like to see it take? 

One for the better, hopefully for those with magic. You see, Miss Larson, we have been forced into a very poor style of life. We are trapped in tiny communities. We are forced into subjection, cowering in fear as those without magic have hunted our ancestors and would no doubt hunt us if they knew of our existence. We have faced generations of bigotry and stereotypes. If we do not rise up, we will find even what meager form of life we have scraped together crushed until we are nothing more than the terrible stories the mundanes tell. 

You really believe you have been treated so poorly? 

One has only to look at history to see that that is true. What is more, mundane literature and entertainment continues to be full of lies about us. These terrible tropes will be our undoing if we let them continue. 

Why have you latched onto Stodder specifically? 

He is a man with a plan who respects the contributions I have to offer. We compliment one another's work styles well. He does not always communicate with me, and I do not understand his inclusion of Miss Owens in his plans, but I still feel it is a good match. 

What is your problem with Rolanda? 

She is young and unexperienced, which leads her to be hasty and temperamental  She has time and again tried to cut me out of the equation. To be honest, and this is just between you and me, I think she is only in this because of some peculiar attachment she has to Stodder. She does not believe in our cause, she is only dedicated to him. That seems to be a flimsy foundation for such an important venture. She will never be able to convince anyone to join us if her only argument is "Stodder is amazing." 

What do you think this attachment she has for him is? 

I don't know. He has been her master since she was very young. It may be simple loyalty. Stodder is a great man. Her loyalty is well placed, but I fear it distracts her. One should never look to a single individual, but rather see the cause in its entirety and truly believe in what one is fighting for. 

In a single word, what are you fighting for? 

Freedom. 

You don't feel you are free now? 

Not to do what I please. Not to travel nor to work, nor even to proclaim what I am. If I am to travel outside the walls of my little, protected village I must lie about who I am. Even my name I should have to keep a secret--

You do that anyways. 

--and I could not hold my head high. I am proud of who and what I am, Miss Larson. Everyone should be. Everyone should be able to say "This is who I am!!" without fear of being struck down for it. I do not have that right. Nor do any of my friends. This saddens me. I want to see a world where I may be honest about myself and still be accepted. 

And you believe Stodder will help you make this world?

I believe he and I share the same ideals. I hope that we can achieve this level of world harmony together. 


After doing this exercise, the other pieces of Fuddle's character have really come together! I am having a much easier time filling out character sheets for him, and hope to see him flow much better when I rewrite the scenes he is in. I think I understand his motivation and his place in the story a little better now. I hope to see that shining through in my next draft.

So that is how I got to know Alatar Fuddle.

♥/Kat!e

Problems with Amos Fuddle

I am adoring Kizzy Relicum, Codswallop's little sister. She is ridiculous and so much fun! However, I'm not particularly stoked about her showing up, because I now have a lot of research to do about gypsies. With Codswallop, I could get away with not really knowing anything about the culture. Now that I have Kizzy, who was actually raised as a gypsy, I have to really know my stuff.

Ah well, that is why the internet was invented, right? Yup. Google was invented specifically for writers. Bet you didn't know that, did you?

Anyway, today I need to not be worrying about gypsies. Instead, I need to be working on editing The Witch's Key. Or, more specifically, getting to know one of my characters so I can fix the scenes in which he plays a part.

This character is Amos Fuddle, though his name may change. Anne Perry at the LDStorymakers conference recommended changing a character's name if you were having difficulty getting to know them. I do love the name Fuddle, so I'm going to try just changing his first name for now. Maybe that's all he needs.

Somehow, I doubt it. This character is giving me no end of grief. And not the way Codswallop did. Codswallop was in my head, mucking about and causing problems. I could talk to him. And, even though these conversations weren't very useful, I knew he was there and I could get an idea of his personality and, as has been shown, eventually get him to talk... enough to write an entire novel about him.

Fuddle's different. Fuddle... isn't there. There is no voice in my head. He did show up for a character chat once! ...Rolanda turned him into a slug. He spent most of the character chat just oozing slime over things. Stodder did make her turn him back, but then he was too scared to say anything.

When I try to get into Fuddle's head, it's like there's nothing there. I thought maybe it was because Fuddle didn't really exist. Maybe this character doesn't belong in the story. Perhaps I could just cut him -- after all, he's nothing more than Stodder's lackey.

But Stodder needs a lackey. And Rolanda can't do the job. I need someone to make fiery speeches -- Rolanda doesn't have enough influence, and Stodder's too elegant for that sort of job. He's more the type to sit where everyone can see him, adding weight to the argument just by being there. Getting crowds riled up isn't really Stodder's cup of tea. And now I have Stodder in my head, going off on the different kinds of tea and which are his favorite... dude, what is your problem??

I did have an idea that Fuddle doesn't really exist, but rather is a human facsimile, nothing more than magically animated flesh. I don't think this is true, but rather an accurate metaphor (would that be a metaphor? I'm going to go with 'yes.') Fuddle seems empty-headed because he is nothing more than what Stodder pours into him. Maybe? Something like that?

When I was finding pictures for my characters, the only thing I found for Fuddle was a picture of what he doesn't look like. I frequently call him 'Stodder' by accident. If I let him hang out in my head for any time, Rolanda turns him into a mollusk.

But I CAN get to know him! I have character sheets, and I know how to use them. I will get to know Fuddle, even if I have to threaten him. I know Rolanda would curse him if I asked... no, actually, she wouldn't. sigh Maybe I can bribe Morgana -- though she ran off with the money I paid her to deck Codswallop!

My characters. *shakes head*

♥/Kat!e

Codswallop's Diary

Back when Codswallop was still just a minor character in The Witch's Key, I filled out a character sheet for him. It was full of questions like "You come to a fork in the road, which direction do you choose?" and "What makes you feel safe?" and "What do you like to do in your free time?" At the end of the list was a simple directive: "Write a diary entry about a particularly vivid memory." Codswallop wrote this:

☆☆☆

I remember when she left the first time. It was a cold spring day, with azure skies and the faint strains of early birdsong. I was six years old and I didn’t understand.

I was still wrapped in my blanket as I made my way into the kitchen, the bitter smell of coffee guiding me. She always drank coffee in the morning. My feet padded against the cold wood floor. They didn’t hear me come in.

My mother stood in the middle of the kitchen, the morning sunlight making her glow. She is a beautiful woman. I never saw her looking more beautiful than she did this day. Her skirts were all the colors of the rainbow, and fluttered around her like flower petals. Her arms were lined with bracelets, her neck heavy with chains, and from her ears swung golden hoops -- she was so bedecked that she sparkled and she jingled when she walked.

There was an energy about her that I had never seen before. Her skirts moved back and forth -- swish, swish, swish -- as she kept in constant motion. She was excited. Her aura was bright, shocking pink like the tulips she had planted one spring. When I looked at her, I saw roads and worlds ahead of her, filled with happiness and laughter.

Her aura was bright, shocking pink

So why was my father so upset?

His aura was dark, muddy brown. He gripped her by the arm and said again and again: “Don’t do this. Don’t leave us.”

She tossed back her golden hair and laughed, the bracelets on her arms laughing along. “Don’t take it so serious,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

She kissed him then. Long. I watched with wide eyes, seeing their auras dancing together. My father’s aura changed when she kissed him. It turned as gold as her hair. Her aura didn’t change, only shifted, like it wanted out the door right then.

My mother pulled away--with difficulty; he clung to her. She patted his cheek and started for the door. His aura darkened until it was almost black.

That was when I knew. She was leaving for good. She said she was coming back. And maybe she would. But it wouldn’t be the same. She wasn’t going on a trip. She was leaving us. Leaving her life. Leaving her husband and her son.

“No!” I ran to her and I clung to her rainbow skirts. But it was like trying to cling to a rainbow itself.

“Goodbye, chikni.”

“No, Mama! Don’t leave me!”

“But baxt thaj sastipe!” she smiled her dazzling smile.

And then she was gone.

My father sat at the kitchen table and he cried. I dragged a stool over to the counter so I could reach to fix him a cup of tea. All the while, I wondered about the roads my mother was exploring without us.

I wish that I could go back to that day. If I could, I would change one thing:

I wouldn’t ask her to stay.

☆☆☆

This has now become the first page of his story. As mentioned before, the relationship with Codswallop's mother is... complicated. I'm still not sure quite the part that this will play in the story. Codswallop's mother (Aishe) may actually show up at some point... or she may not. Ah, the joy of being a Discovery writer. At this point, I have no idea what is going to happen.

I guess I should go work on that. In case you're interested, here are Codswallop's answers to the other questions on the sheet:

You come to a fork in the road and have no idea where to go. How do you feel? Which road do you take? Why? What’s at the end of the road?

I feel calm. Life is full of choices. I know there is a guiding force that will take me where I am meant to be if I only follow it. I close my eyes, search within myself, and take the path I am supposed to follow. My future holds laughter, fear, tragedy, and joy. That is what I will find.

How do you react to being lectured by someone in a position of authority?

I usually just laugh at them. Unless it’s my father. Then I threaten to break my promise.

What do you love to do most in your free time? Why?

Assuming “free time” means “time not spent Seeing,” I enjoy such pursuits as watching beryls, playing sports, and generally goofing off.

What makes you feel safe? Why?

My knowledge of the future. I know I will be fine.

♥/Kat!e