Thing an assassin does not need to know.

So, I'm just going to slowly add to this... It's for one of my stories, and I need to figure out what a character's weaknesses are. If you think of anything to add, tell me: narglestudios@gmail.com

- Basket weaving
- Cooking (Knows some things about wilderness survival and road food.)
- Stamp collection
- Advanced math
- Some Science (The stuff not useful during murder)
- Calligraphy
- Drawing
- Advanced English (High school)
- Art
- Creative writing
- Farming/agriculture
- Plumbing
- Cleaning
- Dewey Decimal System

I feel clever

“Wings, could you please try to be normal for just three seconds?”
     “But Betty! That’s totally impossible, don’t you see?” Wings said, his eyes the size of dinner plates. Or, you know, the moon or something. Wait… that metaphor is overused too…
     With eyes the size of the blacksmith’s belly. There. Perfect.
     “Well, obviously you can’t be totally normal,” Betty said, effectively reminding us of just what was happening before I went off on a metaphorical tangent.

I feel like crap.

She refused to wake up and smell the roses for what they really were. All she got was the faintest perfume and the stink of the manure beneath. She didn’t smell the green of the grass beyond and she didn’t smell the mold at the bottom of her shoes and she walked blindly through the garden. Soon her eyes became only for the manure, and she began to hate, and the roses began to hate her back because she didn’t understand. She wouldn’t even look at them, only glancing up and complaining that the sun was too hot on her back, for the roses created that heat and that light, the wonderful things that could have cured her of her bad temperament, but she did not look and she did not listen to their cries.

Soon the roses began to keep secrets from her, and she only got more suspicious of them, tearing out their roots and trying to rip out all of the manure. She did not see that it was the dark and smelly things that helped them to grow. Everything is good in some situation, no matter how strange. But she did not see, she only smelled the bad.

The women had another set of flowers. She had chrysanthemums, also bright and with so many petals. But they had so many more petals. And they did not need manure to grow better, only the sun and water. They were more perfect than the roses, or so she thought.

Of course, the roses knew that she was right. The roses could see that the chrysanthemums were better, because they did not need manure, like the roses did. The chrysanthemums did not raise a stink. But they were messier than the rose, and they annoyed the woman with all of the tiny petals they spread across the ground. But the woman loved them despite of that.

She did not feel the same way about the roses.

The roses began to wilt, because flowers need more than food and water to grow. They need love. Sometimes other people would walk by and compliment the roses, but the rose told themselves that the strangers were just too far away. The strangers could not smell the manure. The roses became ashamed of the smell, and when the woman complained about it to the others, the roses felt even more ashamed. The woman did not know that the rose was ashamed of the smell, and so she shared it with everyone, complaining and wondering aloud what was to be done.

And the roses wilted even more.

The woman noticed, as did all of the neighbors. The neighbors but more manure on the roses, not knowing that the rose was so weak that it could not get the nutrients into itself fast enough. No one knew that every night the dew dripped off of the rose, falling to the ground like tears. They thought such things were impossible for roses, because roses were supposed to hold their water. And it was true that, though no one ever saw them, the roses were good at holding the rain inside. But it would spill over all too often when no one was looking and the roses could not help but saw to themselves ‘you are worthless.’

The woman smelt all of the manure, and yelled even more.

Then the roses looked over the fence, and they quickly became infatuated. Over the old white wooden pickets were flowers that were blooming tall and strong. They were flowers that were not ashamed of themselves. The rose tried to mimic them, straightening her stem and putting a rosy color in her petals. But the problem for her was the same. She still smelled, when you got too close. From the outside, in photographs, she seemed beautiful, but when you came close and when you asked the woman about her, you realized that she stank. Strangers used to ask about the roses. ‘How is it that your flowers look so bright?’ but the woman would just point to the places where the leaves had holes, and to the thorns, and she would say ‘they are not bright. They are smelly and corrupt and stupid and lame. They do not have the wonder of the chrysanthemum.’ And then she would lead them across the garden and show them the yellow flowers, and the rose would wilt again.

The rose became obsessed with the world she saw on the other side of the fence. She tried to be like the people she saw, and she became smart. She tried to argue with the woman, to demand that the woman look at her, see her, but the woman ignored her.

The woman did not see how hard the rose was trying to shine.

The rose began to be tossed against the rough brick wall behind it, and the petals along its back began to tear and fill with holes. The rose was sure that people could see its ragged edges, but no one could, because those edges were kept behind, where people’s eyes did not travel. The woman did not notice the rose dipping itself into a pot of bright pink paint. The rose looked right, but the woman only smelled the manure, and she only saw the ragged edges and the thorns.

Many people tried to help the rose, and she tried to help herself. For a long time she held herself from the wall, but then her arms began to tire and weaken because she was once again distracted by the world on the other side of the fence, the world that made her stronger and yet also made her worse. One day she fell against the wall completely, and she was sure that every inch of her was turn. But the people still only saw the pink paint.

Soon, she began to yell, and stamp.

And the roses though they would quite be crushed under her feet. But they survived the ordeal, and they managed to spread their seeds, in the hope that someone would see and someone would help the roses to grow.

But no one ever saw and the rose withered and died, crushed by the one who only ever saw the stink, and not the beauty in broken things.

No one ever sees the beauty of broken things. Broken people are the strongest of all, and yet we choose to lock them away rather than look at them. Broken people are the strongest because they have survived where others have shattered so much that they have died.

So, does anyone else have this problem?
I think I have a certain limit to how much time I can spend around people. Like, if I’ve been in a crowded place all day long and I don’t get a chance to  just be by myself I get really snappy. Normally I manage to be a pretty good friend to my little brother, but after I’ve been at school all day I just want everyone to shut up and leave me alone.
Yeah, sounding similar to anyone? Just wondering.

And this is how i died.
Jess knew the others were asleep. It was strange, the way their mind worked, some parts awake and some parts asleep, all at the same time. As long as she didn't move around too much Stacy, Lyn, and Iris would stay fast asleep.

And Mike probably would too.

She would never admit it to anyone, but she kind of had a crush on the devil boy. He was a dork, sure, but he was sort of cute, and he was edgy enough to make up for it. How many people could truthfully say that they lived in hell?

And she was sort of freaking out, as he was right next to her.

Lazily, she flopped over, without disturbing the others. Their dreams were a little funky for a minute, but it wasn't too bad at all. Jess looked at the dark shadow that was Mike and had a few little dreams of her own. But she stayed awake.

Jess was brave. It was on principle and it was actual bravery. She almost never ran from anything, unless it was a least ten times bigger than her or smelled really, really bad. So naturally, she was inclined to do something daring. Tentatively, she reached out and touched Mike's chest.

He didn't wake, not even when she began to gently move her hand back and forth, feeling the muscles underneath his shirt.

"Oh goodliness, I had no idea he was hot too," she said, the words hissing into the night air. She continued rubbing his chest, in a state of ecstasy. "He needs to take of that sweatshirt more often."

"Um.. what... what are you doing?"

Stitch's eyes flew open an her hand froze. "Er..."

Mike gently pushed her hand of his chest. And coughed.

"So... I sort of have a crush on you?" Jess said.

"Really?" Mike sounded stunned.

"Yeah. I mean, you're sort of cute, in an underworld type of way, and even though you're a dork you're kind of edgy without knowing it. And I didn't know how hot you were before, but now... Man, I need to see you shirtless."

"Um... "

"Look. I actually have no idea how to do this. I've never really... done, romance. And if the others found out... They would never let me hear the end of it. So I guess its not really a good idea for me to make out with you and stuff."

"Okay?"

"I mean, it's hard to keep secrets when you're all in the same head. So I can't have any late night make out sessions, or there would be some pretty serious reactions and restrictions and stuff."

"That's... fine?"

"Okay. Goodnight then." Jess turned over, and after a long, long time, both of them fell asleep.

...oOo...
                                      I SHIP IT!!!

Look a thing!

 (BTW they are all from Endron so yeah)
Silken lives from century to century, apart from the world, though it is he who changed it the most.

Trixie lives from decade to decade, each new end bringing new strife.

Crow lived from year to year, coasting along until a certain someone stormed into his life.

Emily lives from week to week, almost failiing, but never quite.

Summer lives from day to day, always tumbling and just hanging on to the balance beam of life.

so I wrote something..

In English we were supposed to write a satire and so after three days of attempting to find something to write about, my fingers burst forth with inspiration. Actually, in the middle of dinner I somehow became inspired so I just wrote down key points on a napkin because there is no way I would be allowed to leave the table right in the middle of a meal. But then I wrote, and wrote some more, an came up with something that I am for now calling The Angels. It's supposed to be a satire on celebrity, and you can come and angrily comment and say I don't know a thing about what their lives are actually like, but I will not listen unless your name is Katy Perry or Lady Gaga or some such. Until then, I'm going to rely on my years of watching people, stalking people, reading long (And boring) tomes on how people tend to work and make my own assumptions.
     Oh, and part two of this little story is that I printed out my paper, set it on top of my dresser, the default place for 'stick this in your backpack before you go out the door' and then went to bed... and then I obviously didn't bother to notice it this morning. So now I have a late assighnment on top of all those glorious insecurities because literally not a single person in the class told a tale. No, they just exagerated their pet peeves and sounded funny, while I wrote a depressing two page thing about a chick who doesn't even have a name.
     Face-palm to the end of the universe and back.
So yeah. Here it is, The Angels, on celebrity.

They called them the angels.

They were said to live in the clouds, those exalted, their palaces of stone and gems shining for the rest of the world to worship. Always there was the talk. At times it seemed that these people never had a dull moment, never were anything but wonderful, beautiful, to be worshiped. Their clothes were made of the finest threads, their eyes shining with laughter and with the sun in all things. They were said to be different from one another, individual, and surely, surely they tried to be. They were of course different in small ways, in the things they produced. The numbers seemed to move in constant flux, but always there were at least seven. Seven ways to change the world of their lessers.

Once a year they called. Their halls lit up, the light shining through the clouds, and their voice sang out sweet and clear. In those moments, the ones when the eyes of the world were on them, they truly did seem exalted. They seemed more.

But for Her there was only fear. She had never wished to be chosen. Some said that those chosen would become angels themselves, but She knew it to be a lie.

How could one become exalted when all those above the clouds were lies?

With wrists bound to an old column, tears began to drip down Her face. Never again would Her family be Hers, never again would She be able to hope for something normal, and something good. There was only one life for the angel’s and their immediate lessers.

It was not a castle that She found above the clouds. It was a prison, much like the one left behind, the walls covered in words.

Of course, She could not read them. She did not yet know their meaning.

They choose her a guide, and led her through the grungy halls. They were different, every angel. Each had a personality, a look, hobbies and sides of themselves that She had never before seen. But they were all, each and every one of them, broken.

Always they had been idols, and always they had called. Now She knew why. They were not the immortals the world may believe them to be. They passed, replaced with someone much the same. Perhaps this new one wore a cloak, or perhaps they wore nothing at all. But they were all stuck, trapped by a people who worshiped them, trapped by a people that would not let them be released, because it would surely mean that peoples’ downfall.

Yes, some of the lessers rose. But only because an Angel was dying, only because everyone knew that they were soon to pass from the world.

She became a leader of sorts. It was the worst death of them all, one of the oldest, that no one had thought would pass. She was supposed to last forever. The one who had been chosen was charged with the task of living up to the impossible standard.

When She broke, they all saw it coming.

The blood was always cleaned away before the next one came, but they always knew. There were reasons for the coincidences. No death was by accident. All were by choice.

Their clothes were not fine, but pictures, pasted over posters that showed the rags they truly wore. Their lives were lived on the sides of cliffs, always trying to maintain the balance between being amazing and falling to one’s death. Their faces were painted, and only in the dark could they cry and smear the brilliant reds and blues. That was why their eyes shone so. Tears, just held back.

And always, always, that fervent wish…

To go.

You are only crazy if you are locked up - Whisp
So, isn't it great that we two are free?

In a small way, I feel like I am not the same as the rest of the people here. My biggest OTP is my own.

I have to wonder if other people feel this way. Does J.K. Rowling ship Harry and Ginny, or Hermione and Ron? Does Suzanne Collins ship Peeta an Katniss?

You should all look forward to a lot of cute moments, but at the same time it will be so hard to understand. So many of my characters are complex and diverse, I don’t know how I ever came up with them. I daresay that a few have taken on lives of their own, completely independent of what I try to make them.

That’s the thing about me. I don’t think up stories, ideas of some shadowy figure going on a while adventure, their face only filled in later. I think of people, faces, names, sometimes just a single word that can define them. There are worlds within my head, and yet… they would be nothing without the people that populate them.

I feel so sad when one of them has to go. Sometimes they never arrive in the first place, because there is no room for them in the story. But Bealon and Vanessa are still very much alive in my head, despite how they have been cut from their tales. I know that not everyone can be, but still.
It’s even worse when I have to let them go, when someone it comes to be that Dellie, or Violet, or Chess, must die in order for the world to be saved, or because it is the only way to make others realize their stupidity and the true importance of the people around them.

Sometimes people ask me (close friends, the ones who hear my rants) why I don’t just change the characters, or the story. If the death makes me so sad, them why must it take place? If you hate this character so much, them why not make them more agreeable? Why is that so hard to answer? Why can I not put into words the way that, one the story has been found, it can never be forgotten?
It is so hard to understand things. Addiction is one, though I’m a bit better at knowing about that now that I have found the internet. I suppose your own self is another, and perhaps the largest. As a teenager, I find myself doing and saying things, becoming things, that I have never known before. My brain does not make sense to me, and though I have heard that it is impossible to multitask, I find myself thinking of doing two different things in the same instant. Sometimes words come to me, their source unknown, clouded. I consider that the moment when my characters come to life. I never have to think of what Trixie will say, and for Emily it is hardly a struggle. But for others, I am forced to sit and muse over the next sentence, the next word. For those who know me, I find that with Crow. I want him to be perfect, and yet I know that he cannot be the perfect husband. He must have flaws, because we all have flaws.

Some things come easily, and some do not. It has always been my hope to actually finish my first, and greatest (Not to mention most complicated) story, but I cannot. I am not yet great, and I still have ever so much to learn. But for now, I can fill my time with plotting for the greater days, and with the smaller, an simpler tasks.
                                          …oOo…
I hope you have enjoyed the Beautiful Randomness (I must remember to trademark that) above.
(This was originally posted on Tumbler so yeah.)

Stitches synopsis

So, the continuation of the last post doth begin...
Ally and Stitch found themselves within the vampires' home, where they met Drake, the serious one; Bella, the small one; Jonathan, the old boyfriend; Jessica, the snotty used to be popular one; and of course Seamus, the baby vampire. Together they form the New York coven of vampires, and they are an interestin group indeed.
Stitch explains to them the circumstances, and that their old friend Iris has been resurrected in this new form. After two fight scenes, a lot of running, and a lot of disappointment when they meet the vampires leader, Ally and Stitch escape and head for home.
Next comes the werewolves. In this new group we are introduced to Jess's brother and her mother, an old woman called Merrill, and the tribe's witch doctor (Basically) a woman called Topaz. (Her brother had a name, but my mind. It is not working.) This interaction is a little more interesting, because Topaz has done work in the feild that the impossibility that is Stitch falls into, and she takes particular intrest in the details. Also, Jess can talk through the shared body, which brings a lot of sadness, as well as a great deal of hope. After telling her family the situation, Topaz takes Stitch to see her, or Jess's, sister. They watch the girl for just a moment, while Topaz informs Stitch that saving the world is now a top priority, because Jess was not the only on killed.
Not sure whether to be sad or happy, Stitch an Ally go home once again, before heading to their final destination; the home of the gargoyles. Here, the destruction is even more obvious. The girls find one of Lyn's old friends, lying shattered in the street.
Gathering the monsters that are now their friends, Stitch leads an expedition up the mountain, at the top of which the shards, and the murderer of all those monsters, is waiting. The trip up is long and tedious, with trials specifically built for each member of the crew, which includes; Stitch, Ally, Jessica, Drake, Bella, Merrill, Tiffany (A zombie they met in Lyn's town), and Angie (Jess's sister from eairlier).
 Eventually, when only Stitch, Ally, and Jessica are left, they make it to the top where they find...
WAIT A SECOND! I'm not giving away the climax just yet! Wait for the five years it will take for me to get the book published or become a beta reader to find out! (By the way, the guy at the top of the mountain isn't the real villain. He was put up to it.)

Stitches

Hey, you thought I was done? I haven't even told you about Stitches yet!
Silly invisible people. You so stupid.

So. Here's a brief summary:

Stacy wakes up, electricity racing through her body. Only it isn't her body, not anymore. She opens her eyes, mismatched of course, to see a scarecrow.
The bag of burlap and straw introduces herself as BirchTree Calloway before promptly running off to find the witch that made out heroine. Stacy looks over her new body, and whta a body it is.
Gray gargoyle skin, basically shock absorbing stone, covers every joint. Her face is a wild mash of vampire, werewolf, gargoyle, mermaid, and human, and for some reason she can't get the voices that have wormed their way into her head to shut up.
Just as she's realizing that those voices might be there to stay, the dungeon door bangs open. Enter Mirana, witch with certain skills in the way of life. Oh, and making freaky Frankenstein's monster style girls out of several different species. Mirana explains to our favorite Franken-girl (Fine, my favorite) that the five people who made her up died through some unusual circumstances. Except for the human. She just got hit by a car. Birch volunteers the idea for this girl's new name, and she suddenly becomes Stitch, which is mildly annoying.
The next few weeks, she trains. Soon Stitch discovers that she can breath underwater, fall from above New York's skyline without a parachute and live, smell a steak from down the hall, hear things other people can't, (Yeah, that includes those voices) and a lot of other epic stuff. Her toes are three inches too long, she can't show her face without a few screams, and she talks to herself quite often.
After Stitch finally accepts that her friends are there to stay, they introduce themselves as Jess and Lyn. Jess the Snarky werewolf, and Lyn the very extremely nice gargoyle.
A few things of note happen during her time at the mansion. Stitch meets the other members of Mirana's coven, and one witch named Silver makes a particular impression on her. Then, she finds a copy of the paper, and her world begins to come crashing down.
Donning a very comvering black hat, Stitch sneaked away, hopping through a portal on the way to her own funeral. As they burried Stacy's coffin, which she knew was empty, she heard a shout.
Her friend Alyssa came up to her, angry and confused, because this was a private funeral, and therefore this strange girl in the old hat should not have been attending. Ally really did not care how suspicious her friends death was, any reporters had better buzz off.
She shouldn't have taken that hat off, but it happened. The black lace tumbled to the ground as Ally stared at the monster before her, terrified.
That was right about when Stitch ran.
So, eventually Ally found her way to Mirana's mansion, and that started a long argument, which was eventually lost by Stitch when the girls found themselves in the home of the vampires.

Yeah, I'll continue this tommorrow cause It's too long and it's Thanksgiving and my family is arriving.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING BY THE WAY!!!!

NaNoWriMo

I FINISHED. NOT EVEN KIDDING
I think I've gone in to shock. I wrote 50,000 words in a month. I wrote a book, in a month.

So yep, that loud noise you heard a while ago was my brain exploding.

So, in other news, tis time to span you with some lovely picture.

 So, this one is actually related to previous topic. This is Angie, Jess's kid sister.She's the first one to die and the second to get resurrected. (Besides, of course, Stitch and all who make her up)

 So, if the other one was from Stitches, this one is not. (That didn't make sense, ignore it) This is (from left to right) Crow, Emily, Zane, and Rose. From Endron, here's the crew in Halloween costumes because YANA.

 

Oh, and this is Stitch. I may have posted this before but whatever. I'm still not happy with how the mermaid eye turned out, but it is still a pretty epic picture regardless.

So yep. That has been my life lately. I've probabally watched more youtube videas this month than any other time of the year, and I could spam you with those too, but I'm afraid I'm too lazy to look them all my dear invisible followers.

Endron out.

CWC Plot

But first, this:
I hope I have given you lols. Go read it, it's awesome! http://dragongirlhellfire.deviantart.com/gallery/31624694

So, plot. Some people prefer not to plot out their stories, but come anyways! Once your story is finished, you want to know the elements of a good plot so you can see where you succeeded and where you failed. 
     Two tips on plot, from http://blog.janicehardy.com/2012/05/best-advice-on-plotting-ive-ever-heard.html
are to focus on Cause and Effect.
"When writing out your plot, think in terms of but and therefore. When you’re writing, don’t worry about if a section is a scene or sequel. Think cause and effect, sentence-by-sentence, action to reaction, scene to scene, and you’ll never go wrong."    This tip is a lot like the other one, and is just as helpful.
so, basically I am now just going to list websites and tips. I promise this will make actual sense at the lesson... probably.
This related to plot and character: What is your main characters heart's desire? The plot should stem around this desire. Heart's desires can change, but they cannot be instantly rewritten. If your character really wants a dog, then they will not just walk past free puppies. But if they get a dog and realize how much work they take, your character may change their minds.
     http://writerswrite.co.za/the-top-10-tips-for-plotting-and-finishing-a-book
This website has a few good tips, but I don't like all of them (So I'll leave them out)
1. Write the ending first. It may change in the future, but it's good to have at least a general idea of where you're ending. You don't have to plot before you start your story, but it can be helpful.
2. Choose your antagonist first. This may not apply in all cases. Most of my stories have started out as a character. But you need to develop your villain just as much as you develop your hero. We don't have to like their goals, but we should be fascinated by them, or at least interested.
3. Decide on a genre and stick to it. Don't change from fantasy to romance!! You can have romance elements in a fantasy story, or fantasy elements, but don't start one way and then snap into another. No one will love you and I for one will be thoroughly disappointed. (This happened to me once. No wonder the book was free...)
4. Be disciplined with settings. Do not introduce a brand new setting towards the end of the book. Try to keep to a small number of areas, and if your characters stay in a place for more than a night or if that place has significance in either the plot or their lives, do development behind the scenes that is not necessarily included in the story. Try to stick to around five major settings.
5. Don't include to many characters. You can have a large cast, but most of that cast should function off camera and behind the scenes. They may appear for a few moments, but the main characters of your story should be a small and elite group. Don't use my stories as an example, for example! I have way too many characters, and not only is it hard to keep track of them all, it's hard to give each character the time they need, so many of them can become sorely underdeveloped, while characters who have almost no appearances have tons of development. (This can though, in my opinion, be a good thing. trixie doesn't show up too much, yet when she does the effects are... large, to say the least. And even though you never really know her whole story, you can tell that its there.) If you are going to have multiple points of view, don't have any more than three. It kills all sense of understanding if you have more than that. And I could go on with just this all day, so I'll stop before this gets any longer.
6. Just write the end. It doesn't matter that there's loose ends. Once you end your story, you can go back and look at everything as a whole. But before you even scroll to the top, close your microsoft word program or notebook and don't look at them again for at least two weeks. I've tried it both ways, and if you can force yourself to just leave it alone, completly and totally, you will be much the better for it.

And now I am finally going to shut up. See what happens when I actually prepare?
Br

Super(ior) Hearts

So, go look to the other pages for fun and random fan-fics. If you read, I promise a future with violence, character development, several meltdowns, romance, and devils. (BWAHAHA!!)

Hi there invisible peoples.
Oh, and mom. You too.
So yeah, I really have nothing to say today...

So I have a sort of idea, about some witches who do stuff (Very much in development) And Jackie, our favorite reaper friend, just got a makeover. And so yeah. Have some pictures:

 Amerilla, Witch of plants

 Bubblegum, Witch of flame

 Illyana, Witch of Ice

 Mirelda, Witch of water

Sepia, Witch of Knowledge

(Sorry , totally forgot I mentioned Jackie!! Here!)

The Dots are supposed to be scars from when she was killed. I made her look like my friends, who I sort of accidentally based her off of. And the purple glowy hair just looked cool...

OMFOUNDERS DILLON COLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, I has finally gotten the third and last book of the Star Shards series by Neil Shusterman, but I'm not letting myself start it because I know if i do I'll stay up all night reading it. And it helps that they're school tomorrow and if I don't finish I will not pay attention in class. At all.
Sigh.

In other news, I have started something else new that I will probably never finish. So please help encourage me to get the thing done. http://www.wattpad.com/story/7824041-super-ior-hearts
And please do follow me on wattpad because occasionally I post things that make sense, while here I just... Rant.

Because ranting is fun.

They should seriously make a video for my face when I say that line. Just my face, nothing else.

So what Super(ior) Hearts basically is, is a story about my characters, and what if they were superheroes and supervillans. Of course, Emily Swiftfoot now hates me because I';m both making her be a villain and making her fall in love with Crow again. (Who just happens to be one of the fore-mentioned superheroes. Insert evil laugh here.) And I made the cover myself, and I'm very proud of it. They're all so adorable. Can you guess who they all are?
So yeah, go read that. It's cool. I've gotten really far in how long? Three days? Why much dedication on things I can never actually make money off of? Sigh.

Newbie

So, I'm coming up with new ideas, a lot of which have been listed at the bottom of the page. And the one theme throughout my stories is that the main character is never normal. There always has to be something special about them. So I keep trying to make a normal character, but it just doesn't happen, because really, are any of us normal? I want someone who fits in well, but isn't that just so boring? But it can be interesting. Each of us has so many issues, even if no one else knows about them. We have flaws, and if one were able to just peek in on a life and see every part of it, without anything being hidden, then something could be found. A different way of looking at life may be revealed.

Founders, what was that. Anyway, what I was supposed to be talking about before random inspiration i have two relatively new ideas. The first is something from yesterday, really. It's just an idea to have five witches, each with a specialty, and have them clash and be forced to work together.

The second idea is actually really old. I first made this picture.

 

At the time I had no idea who she was, and I didn't know for a long time after that. But eventually she gained a name, and a sense that she had a troubled past.

Oh, and the part about how she's an assassin or something. 

So for a long time, the two pictures of The Dragon sat in my hard drive. Then one day I found them again and made a companion picture.

Yeah, big difference. And she's smiling! And after I made this I just couldn't stop thinking about it. So I started writing, and then all at once the folks from Life in The Underworld popped up and I figured out just why her past is so troubled.

She can't remember anything from before her fifteenth birthday. And the stuff that happened after that... Well, that's where the super assassin part comes in.

So now I've got a story with something called a heartless, reapers, devils, skills with a sword, one very spunky... twenty five year old, and one secret organization.

This should be fun...

Today i would just like to say:
Tuna muffins.

Not to late...?

So...  I never go on this blog and now I apologize and prep[are to spam you with tons of news about everything.
So. Italy was amazing, and I will post about that, with pictures and fabulous tales and such.
I have finished several drafts of Endron, and I am hoping to get it to the point where people can read into by December at which point I will be 15.
Which is another thing that makes me scream into my pillow for about five hours.
My other stories are going well, but I'm devoting most of my attention to the Endron trilogy. And that's the big hurrah.
And for anyone who cares and knows what I'm talking about, Emily gets to keep Summer.
OH THE FEELS!!!!!!!
And I think that's about it. I'll split the rest of it up into long and probably boring posts.

I love all your faces, nonexistent people!!
(And suddenly I realize I don't just talk to myself, I blog to myself. The trials of an author are never through.)

Individual Worth

For some reason, today I feel like i really need to tell you all how truly beautiful you are. Every one of you is amazing in your own special way, and every one of you has a great potential. Don't let yourself down. Don't insult yourself: That's everyone else's job. I don't have very good self esteem, but I'm trying. I'm trying to see the world in a better light, to see myself in a better light, as hard as that is, and to see other people in a better light. 

I know that every person has their own disabilities, their own flaws, their own struggles and addictions. But there is always a chance that we can improve. There is always hope, even if you have none of your own,. There is always someone who will give a thought to every person, thinking about just how beautiful they really are, and there is someone who hopes for them to be better. Today that person is me, and maybe no one else. Tomorrow it can be you, or any day after. As long as you have hope,. and you spread that light all around you,. you and every other person can and will improve. Share this message, and share a message of you own. Take that chance to show the world how amazing you can be. And remember that you are beautiful. Here's something that relates. I found it a while ago and loved it, because somehow, even though they're selling a product, it feels more like a way to lift each of the women up.

In other news, I made a new YouTube video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VA1AlAJC8Ak

Since the add a video button can't find the video on YouTube I'll just give you a URL. Harumph.