Beneath the Surface

For about six months to a year now, I have been writing a novel. And yes, a full on novel--probably, actually definitely not, as big as the ones George R.R. Martin writes. But nevertheless, a novel. It is a fantasy and I would love to tell you more but the thing is, its a secret. As far as I know, no one has done my idea before. And I am honestly quite proud of myself for writing something original. I can however tell you that it includes the depths of water.
Anyways, I thought today I would share the first page with you. I am in my final stages of editing and hope to send it to one of the many wonderful publishing companies as a pitch to see what they think. Hopefully that will happen by the end of this year or by next. Due to it being grade 12 this year, who knows what will happen. I guess that is what holidays are for. :) (Supposably)

The first page of my current W.I.P.: Beneath The Surface. Enjoy :)

Once upon a time, there was a boy who was known for having a slightly bad temper… and he, was me. The thing was, it wasn’t just a bad temper; the fact was, when it came, it was an ugly dragon’s head, ready to plough into me. It didn’t just effect my emotions, it affected my whole entire body, shutting down my brain and overriding my limbs until it wasn’t me who was controlling my actions or my thoughts, it was the anger itself. Not so much of a happy fairy tale, huh?

So, let’s begin again…

My name was Regan Bloom and I was a seventeen year old who was currently struggling to finish his last year of high school. I honestly didn’t really care much for school, my mother didn’t pressure me into trying my hardest and she didn’t even bother to ask me how school was. So, I guess I fell into a rocky cavern where I was constantly getting into trouble, falling asleep during class and just not paying attention whenever I was awake. I also didn’t have many friends or many people that liked me, and that probably didn’t help my motivation for doing my best either.

In fact, my life was pretty dull and un-extraordinary in the first place. Most of the time, I sat alone—in classes, at lunch, on the bus, at home. However, the more I came to think about it, I didn’t really mind. I was one of those people who preferred the silent, solitude moments. I never was one that was up for crazy nights, drinking alcohol, singing Disney melodies from the top of their lungs… Unlike most teenagers my age, I preferred being at home, my thumbs twiddling with the remote to my very old, quintuplet-hand XBOX. Although, most of the time, I just got frustrated with it because it was so slow and jumpy most of the time. I blame all of my character deaths on the faultiness of my remote.

My mother was practically non-existent. From a very young age, I had learnt to care for myself—cook, clean, buy groceries for myself. The only times my mother did make an appearance for more than a few minutes was on my birthday. However, I will explain the reason a little bit later on. 

Why Me?

So for my university course last week, we had to take the short story that we had written the week before (in my case, my previous blog post: The Hunt) and change the genre. I wasn't entirely sure what my previous short story had been but I decided to turn it into a horror/crime.
I titled it, 'Why Me?'

Why Me?

It happens the moment my eyes open in the morning. It happens the moment my gaze wanders around for the first time—noticing the rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains; surveying the way the sunlight reflects off the fronds of the plant that sits on the windowsill; observing, through still bleary eyes, blood.

The sounds of everyday life filter into the bedroom, completely oblivious to the blood that is everywhere in my bedroom—the carpet, the walls, my hands; completely oblivious to the sight and smell which overtakes anything else. The moment I roll out of bed and place my feet against the floor, the blood seems to beckon me closer for inspection.

The blood stares up at me with sad eyes, with an expression that seems to read, ‘Why me?’ I crouch down beside it and myhand hovers over it; hesitant. A single touch though is all it takes for me to ache for more.

Then the second touch is a completely different story. The second touch begins a whole new frenzy which causes for my own blood to chill, tasting the spilt blood that lies on my skin.You think, maybe a second time won’t hurt. Maybe it won’t be as bad. Maybe it will be easier.

Then just as I am beginning to focus—ping! I have a new Facebook message.

“Hey! How are you? What are you doing” I reply and then, “Oh, you know, planning my future.”

After a half-hearted five minute conversation, mostly one sided, I plan once more. The pen and paper come out and I’m scribbling. Stroke after stroke, word after word, plan after plan. Another ping! And my friend is sending me all of thoseemojis with the tears gushing down their faces while complaining about some relationship that has just ended.Bingo. My friend has just become a part of my plan.

Suddenly my pen is scribbling across the paper at a million miles per hour. The tip cutting into the paper as if it is as sharp as a butcher’s knife. The ink flowing out, the colour of blood.All over my hands, all over my face and all over the sheets of paper.

Blood is everywhere. There is now a body sprawled across my bed and it stares up at me with blank eyes. Eyes that once used to gaze at me with warmth and not the cold they are now filled with. Just like the previous puddle of spilt blood, theirs seems to ask, ‘Why me?’ But I cannot answer that. Nor could I answer it for the last body. It just is and just was. Not a question of why or how, but a matter of it is done and cannot be undone.

The frenzy that had been singing in my blood is satisfied… for now. The sight of orange jumpsuits and bars that imprison your freedom vaguely comes to mind. A large amount of evidence is stacked up, enough for the image to become a reality. But that is not a problem for me. My problem is my next who or when.

If only my friend knew what I did to help her.

The Hunt

While I am still in high school and completing my final year, I am also in university. How does that work? Well I have chosen a university course as one of my electives. And no surprise here, I'm studying creative writing. *cue fake gasp* Shocker!
Anyways, for my assessment I have to put together a port folio and this week I had to write a VERY short story. Yes, you read that right. Not just a short story, a very short story, which meant I had to write between 400 and 500 words. It was an extremely difficult task. I struggle to write short stories as it is, I write novels.
As any good procrastinator, I thought I had more time to work on it but when I go and check in the discussion board where we are supposed to have put them, I see everyone else has already submitted theirs. And then the realisation hit me like a slap in the face. My short story was due that night before midnight and it was already 7pm. But nevertheless, I managed to make something up and I thought I would share it with you.
So without further ado, here is my very short story (can't forget the very), titled 'The Hunt.'

It happens the moment your eyes open in the morning. It happens the moment your gaze wanders around for the first time—noticing the rays of sunlight filtering through the curtains; surveying the way the sunlight reflects off the fronds of the plant that sits on the windowsill; observing, through still bleary eyes, the life that carries on outside the door. The search for inspiration.

The sounds of everyday life filter into the bedroom. The moment I roll out of the bed and place my feet against the floor, my life as a writer begins.

The blank page stares up at me with empty eyes, with a closed expression that lacks emotion. My pen hovers over it; stationary. A single stroke though is all it takes before whole characters are coming to life right before your eyes. A single stroke of ink—blue, black, red or green is all it takes for something to take place.

Then the second stroke is a completely different story. The second stroke begins a whole new journey and you think, maybe you could be onto something good, onto something big. You think, maybe you could be the next J.K. Rowling, the next Terry Prachett, the next Bryce Courtenay.

Then just as I am beginning to get back into the swing of writing, ping! I have a new Facebook message.

“Hey, how are you? What are you doing?” I reply, and then, “Oh, you know, just writing a book.”

After a five minute conversation, I drag my attention back to my most recent project and continue writing. Stroke after stroke, word after word, sentence after sentence. Another ping! And when I check my messages, I find my friend sharing her apparently horrible life story with those emojis that have tears gushing down their cheeks after every sentence.

“It’s okay,” I tell them, but as I am trying, and failing, to bring those tears to a standstill, a light bulb goes off somewhere in my head and helping my friend becomes the least of my worries. My pen, that was once stationary, is now like a bullet out of a gun, the tip flying across the lined paper at a million miles per hour. Suddenly my friend’s life has become my latest inspiration.

In the background I can still hear my phone reminding me that I have new messages, no doubt my friend still going on and on but I ignore it, completely captured in the world that involves the smell of white out, the sound of my pen scratching against the paper, the feel of my teeth gnawing at my bottom lip as I write.

If only she could read what I have just written… she would despise me.

Hope you enjoyed it. :)

~PasoMaddie xx

When Depression Kicks You In The Backside

As a teenager, we deal with a lot of pressuring issues that eventually, whether we want it to or not, catches up to us and asks for a rather big price. School is one where we stress day in and day out about whether we have completed an assignment that needs to be handed in the next day or whether something stupid you did the day before will be remembered by your fellow class mates. Stressful, right?
Another issue is your outside social life which at times can be very suffocating. When things go wrong in your friend group--an argument or something else--it can be hard to know what to do and sometimes when this happens it can feel like the world is crumbling and falling apart, as if the earth beneath your feet has suddenly gone very unstable. It's terrifying because you stress and wonder whether your friendship is going to last through this hardship. Just recently--and by recently, I mean literally 20 minutes before I decided to write this--that was how I felt. My birthday is coming up in a week and I decided to do some pre-birthday fun and that was all good until somebody decided to cancel because they hadn't realised they had made plans prior to this. Anyhow, it literally blew up. There was a lot of arguing from both sides and before my very eyes, it seemed like the world was crumbling down around me.
A few years ago, I had a similar situation in which my friend was beginning to change. To me these changes were not favourable on my part and through another one of my friends, she found out that we weren't exactly liking it. So she picked a fight with me and once again, everything blew up. It's safe to say, we never fully recovered and after certain events afterwards, we are no longer friends. It is saddening to say the least.
When this sort of stuff happens, it is terrifying. After my previous experience, I'm scared that this is it, that the invisible tether of rope that has held us together as friends for so long has now snapped. And unfortunately, I am terrified that it won't be able to be joined back together.
I really hope that is not the case. I really hope that our friendship is stronger than that, that we can come back to our friends no matter what.
Anyway, it's not just the friendship and the schooling, although those are large proportions of it, it is everything else in between too. Extra-curriculum activities, and because this is a blog that I intended to be for my writing journey, writing can also be a stressful issue. I really wanted to have finished editing my novel before school began but unfortunately that didn't happen and now I am two weeks into my final year of high school and am having to do only small bits of editing in whichever small bits of free time I can find.
It's all of this stress that is building up on our shoulders that is gradually beginning to get heavier and heavier until things are feeling a little bit darker than usual. It's all good while you're at school, surrounded by friends and laughing with them. But it's the coming home part that is depressing, where there is no friends to laugh with. I'm not quite sure how to explain it, but this is what it feels like for me. And particularly tonight after a depressing and tearful night, things for me are feeling a little bit blue.
I guess I am going to just have to try and beat it because it affects not only me but my friends and family too, and it also affects what I do and how well I perform. Just for a bit more stress, right?

~PasoMaddie

Loathing Self Doubt

Self doubt can be a killer, and so can your own thoughts. The human race is greatly known for placing pressure on themselves to strive for perfection. And if it is not perfect, all hell breaks loose. I am no exception. My mind is my worst enemy, no matter what I'm doing and writing is often when it happens for me. At the moment, I am editing my book and a lot of negative thoughts have been coming into my brain. You're not good enough... This book is terrible... I am a horrible writer... How do authors do it...
And quite often, if not all the time, I struggle to overcome this doubt that I have planted into my head, on purpose or by accident. Sometimes it makes me want to just give up altogether because I feel like I can't do anything that pleases my own brain, and it can take a very big toll on my self-confidence. It's like a wall that you've put up over the years, but every single time you begin to doubt yourself, it is like an army that is attacking your castle, attempting to rip down your wall--brick by brick, and overrun your kingdom.
The thing about self doubt is that once it starts, it continues to build and build until you are weighed down my your own constant attacks. And eventually, it becomes unbearable until you do give up. Or, your mind sets in to perfection; the constant need to perfect a small action until it is something that you can no longer send self doubt towards. The only problem is that generally, you can never make it better, or not in your eyes. Through your eyes, it is just as bad as it was before, maybe even worse, and your self doubt becomes stronger and stronger.
I loath self doubt because it really does make you feel bad about yourself and, for me, it makes me feel bad about my writing. Writing is something that I dream of doing for the rest of my life, particularly, making it as a well-known published author; and when I get self doubt, I begin to wonder if I should begin to look at other potential career options, rather than just wasting my time on something that could potentially not even happen because I am simply not good enough.
I have trouble getting through these sorts of rough patches, as does anyone. I just have this constant worrying that I am not only letting myself down, but I am also letting down everyone else. Sometimes, I read reviews that I have received through Fanfictions that I write, and for a small while, I do feel better about myself and my writing. However, than once I start reading over my own, original work and find parts that I am not particularly happy with, I wonder what people see in my writing, and how they think it is as good as it is.
I try and push through self-doubt, because I know it is probably not as bad as it really seems and that I am just being picky, and is probably fixable. I am not sure how you push past these moments, but I think the best I can do at the moment, is ignore it and just let it take space in the back of my mind, somewhere where I can't see it or hear it.

A little about Moi

Hello!

My name is PasoMaddie and I am an aspiring writer. I absolutely love to put my ideas down onto paper and someday, I hope to share my ideas. I have written books since I was little and now it is becoming more than just a fun activity, it is becoming more of a potential career option and more of a craving.
I am still in high school and graduate next year. After that I plan to study creative writing at university and hopefully someday have a book published.
I thought I would begin a blog to demonstrate my journey from now to when I become a published author (if that happens). At the moment, I am editing a book that I am hoping to publish once finished and so I will begin from there...
I hope you enjoy and sit with me through my adventure.

~PasoMaddie