Hello and welcome to this weeks episode of Why Eden is the Ruler and Overlord of All Mortals.*
*Haha you wish. If I were, then it would be free books and chocolate cupcakes for the populace, and the weekend would be extended by five days, and the night would last twenty four hours instead of twelve. But we can’t all have everything, I suppose.
So I know I promised character snippets in me* last post, but then Charis posted something so cool, and since I have the focus of a hamster in the latter stages of brain decay, I’m going to do that instead. DEAL WITH IT, MORTALS. (Also─it isn’t too late to vote on which character you’d like to hear from! Just putting that out there!)
*I was going to fix that typo. I really was. But then I sounded like a pirate, and who doesn’t like pirates (?!?!) so I left it.
Like Charis, I will not be answering all twenty one questions, but I’ll put a list of all of them below in case any of you would like to do this post. I’m going to be concentrating on my Camp NaNoWriMo 2017 project which is currently, but likely not always, called The Institute of the Touched for these questions. Soooo… Let’s go!
Describe your WIP:
A boy who cannot fathom what he truly is.
A girl for whom power is a game.
A singer with a murderer on her tail.
A street rat.
And the man who wants them all.
That was the blurb that I created in like two seconds for Camp, but as it’s dreadfully uninformative I’ll expand upon that. This story follows the lives of six young people living in Lower Chaxholm, Akkerdam, an alternate universe where people are either Ordinary (my world’s version of Muggles, or Mundanes, or anyone not possessing magical powers) or Touched (someone who does have magic). Bazil Farrin─complete cinnamon roll and the person who’s life this story focuses on the most─discovers that he is an Amplifier, the like of which haven’t been seen in Akkerdam for over four hundred years. Amplifiers are people who have no magical abilities themselves, but can heighten and even control the magic of all those who are Touched around them. Basically, this is about four kick-butt women, one sort of kick-but guy, one guy who isn’t kick-butt at all, and the murderer who needs every one of them for his own Nefarious Plans.
Describe your MCs personality with a GIF:
Would you rather be trapped in your story for a week, or have your antagonist enter your own life for a day:
I would absolutely rather be trapped in my story for a week. Even though then I would inevitably come across said antagonist… Oh well. Then I could frolick about in an adorable bookshop and talk to adorable people and watch people do magic AND YES THIS NEEDS TO HAPPEN RIGHT NOW SOMEONE GET ME THE TARDIS.*
*Before you ask─why would Lower Chaxholm, Akkerdam not be accessible by TARDIS? Broaden your minds, younglings.
A line that was hard to write:
The way Bazil Farrin saw it, there were two types of people. Those who read because they had to, and those who read because they wanted to. Naturally, as an employee in a failing bookshop in Lower Chaxholm, Akkerdam─still working there for reasons such as his need for books exceeded his need for a livable income by a troubling amount and other equally debilitating reasons─Bazil considered himself one of the latter. That rare and endangered breed who enjoys the company of people forgotten or physically fictitious who reside between dry, dusty pages to that of usual and dully abundant mortals… Yes. Bazil was proud and somewhat resigned to admitting that he was one of them.
This is actually the first line of TIotT, and it was really difficult to write, I think because I was essentially setting the tone for the whole thing. I needed to get the correct voice, or else it would just stand out as a paragraph that didn’t match any of the rest of the narrative. (Note: This is all from the first draft of TIotT, so excuse any yucky patches. I haven’t edited yet.)
Choose an ideal reading spot, food, drink, and music to go with your book:
Reading spot: someplace cozy with lots of pillows─maybe a window seat. A bay window seat (you know, one of those ones that stick out slightly from the house in a sort of curve?) with lots of fluffy pillows and more books on the walls.
Food: Chocolate. Is that even a question? Also bread. No WAIT. CUPCAKES. CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES. MAN I’M HUNGRY NOW.
Drink: Coffee. Black*, with honey. Trust me, my darlings, it is HEAVEN.
Music: I’ve been listening to a lot of Hozier and Sleeping at Last while writing this. Anything that’s low and melodious and dark sounding.
*Black, like my soul.
Dish about a favorite side character:
Nona Rastrova! Oh my goodness, I didn’t expect for her to come out this way at all, but I’m actually so happy that she did. She’s a mess, there’s no doubt about it─but still, there’s something about her… She is just a hoot to write. In this bit, Nona and Claudia, who are currently flatmates having… difficulties are having a discussion in the middle of the night after Nona has quite loudly come home.
“Stop,” said Claudia, enunciating clearly just so Nona wouldn’t have any cause for claiming she hadn’t understood, “waking me up.”
Nona grinned at her, huge and loose and white in the darkness, and grabbed at her long, pale hair which hung unbound over her shoulders, twisting it over and over in her hand. She had dark smudges of makeup smeared around her eyes which should have made her look awful, but instead gave her a wild, devil may care sort of look that only she could pull off. A gun appeared in one of her hands, which she lobbed at the bed, only missing Claudia’s head by the inch that it did because she ducked with what she considered cat like reflexes at the last second. It skidded across the bright pink duvet and hit the metal headboard (tin, of course, not iron. Iron did to the Touched what salt did to slugs, only longer and with more smoking of the skin and human vocalizations of torture) where it came to a halt.
There was a moment of complete silence, wherein Claudia stared at the gun and Nona stared, horrified, at Claudia. Then:
“It is truly amazing,” said Claudia conversationally.
Nona cocked her head almost cautiously, clear disbelief written all over her shadowy face. The planes of her cheekbones ended in dark hollows that carved out her cheeks. “Is it?” she said. Her voice was loud. Loud and brazen, like she didn’t have a single care in the world.
Hence the slinging about of firearms.
“Hm?” said Claudia. She was playing it up, she knew, but Sanktel Zelinska. “Oh. Oh yes, it is.”
Claudia turned full on to face her new flatmate. She threw the covers aside and slung her legs over the side of the bed so that her bare feet hung a few inches over the cold, hard wooden floor. “How you do not even need to open your mouth to give me a headache.”
Would you rather never publish this, or have it adapted into a horrible movie:
Honestly I think I’d have to say never published because then I wouldn’t have to sob every time I thought about having my baby ruined. Plus, I have this… issue… *cough, cough* with sharing anything that I’ve written with anyone. Like. At all. So. I’d be more COMFORTABLE, certainly, if this never saw the light of day. But that’s why I have you all, isn’t it? My guinea pigs. My lab rats.
I’ll show myself out.
What’s something you’re still figuring out about this WIP:
World building. A pet peeve of mine is when a fantasy─or contemporary or sci-fi or how-to─book has really strong characters but zero insight as to how the world works. Like, I want to know who your characters worship! And what their houses look like! And what kind of food they have for midnight snack fests! And where this country lies in relation to the rest of the world! COME ON. But that’s HARD as I’ve found, and so I feel like I’m wrestling with a giant squid every time I remember that my world has to… ya know… exist and then try to make it do so.
So here’s The Institute of the Touched for you… Sort of. I put all of the #WIPJOY questions below in case any of you would like to do this post yourselves! Also, don’t forget to vote on characters over here! Read on, lovelies!