Love Eclipsed? - Romantic Friday Writers

Time for another round of  RFW - Romatic Friday Writers February Challenge

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings among other things in this fan fiction spoof are the property of Stephanie Meyer, author of the Twilight series of books. The original characters and original plot are the property of author Stephanie Meyer. This author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material pertaining to the Twilight series of books or the Twilight motion pictures. No copyright infringement is intended in this fan fiction.

*A disclaimer for my readers...this follows the first person account of Bella and uses long, extraneous sentences as found in the original books. The setting is towards the end of the second book - New Moon where Bella, Edward and Alice are held hostage by the Volturi - the vampire royalty while in Italy. Bella's knowledge of the existence of vampires threatens their secret existence in the world. Unlike her beau and his family of vegetarian vampires, these are true, cold blooded vampires who prey on humans.*

We stood in the red room - Alice and me, not Edward - as you will find out soon enough, surrounded by red eyed men and women who looked more like diminutive porcelain dolls that  licked their lips every other second. Yes, I have been keeping count, nothing much to do as usual for me. I turned around at the noise as Felix snarled/smirked at me. I can never tell the difference with these pale, stoned faced monsters even after spending all my spare time with a similar pack of seven back home.

Hush! Bella! these are not monsters. 
I caught Alice's eyes long enough to find disapproval there and I rejoiced, only to be dejected a minute later for the glare in her golden eyes was directed at me.
I tried to erase my thoughts but it was too late, reminding me of the disadvantages of living with a seer, a sore point with Edward. He claimed and I had counter argued, and now I realised what how right he had been.

He had proclaimed to be a monster, not good enough for me. He was no monster, my Edward, he had proved it today, falling into an silent, unsightly heap on the floor diagonally across from me, no match for Aro's boys. I see him for the first time, his true self, an ageless but delicate, sparkling creature that called itself a vegetarian vampire.

Boy, was he way off when he said, "Bella, you are not good for me.'"
The bright smile flashed and my heart ached to see "him" in person once more. 
When I get out this mess alive, I am making amends to Jake. Will he take me back?
Edward was cold and icy to hot bodied Jake. His kisses, duh, if you could call those pathetic attempts one, fleeting, neither here nor there. 
Am I glad these pale faces cannot read my mind.

"There you go again," The wolfish smile on Alice's face said it all. I let myself be content with images of Jake tinkering with my bike, and being held in his hot, sweaty arms.
"Dream on, Bella. Edward is a classic stalker boyfriend who will not leave you alone now." She said to me, her voice so soft I could barely hear it. "I am sorry, Alice." 
"You owe me one." her words as cryptic as Aro's smile.

****
All I remember is being dragged through the dark, damp tunnel that went on and on.
"My heart hurts." I said to no one in particular.
"Sorry Bella, I forget my vampiric strength sometimes," The pixie looked very happy. "Let's go shopping."
I groaned. "You owe me one, remember." "Where is Edward?"  I had to ask out of sheer politeness, not that I cared.
As the door bell rang, she muttered, "Just in time." "I'll pick you up at 3. Have something, I can hear your stomach grumble." She vanished as always, not before yelling, "Don't wear your grandma clothes!"
Jake stood at the door. I caught my breath. I was going to faint. He held me, a little too tightly for comfort.
He sniffed the air angrily. Was Edward in the house?  I looked around, afraid and irritated. 
He turned to me, "Tell your leech friend, all the perfumes in the world can't hide her stink from us."
I relaxed and grinned when he whispered,"Just the two of us now. He's gone, that leech of yours."
"Where?" A stab of guilt tore at my heart. "He chose to be Aro's bodyguard." 
***
 My life was no longer dark. .A streak of blinding light illuminated my twilight sky. Bella was not that streak of light as I has long believed, Renata was. Bella's brain held no secrets. Renata, my partner, had shown me that. I had made a promise to Alice and I kept it. Bella was not my first kill, someone close to her had been. Jake was in for a nasty surprise when he went home tonight.
***
666 words (suprising isn't it?)

Hi folks, I am attempting a story after two long months...don't be too hard on me.

I was the guest at Nutschell's blog for Wednesday Writers Workspace...Do visit to know about my writing habits and a bit about me.

Writer's block or Writer bollocks- IWSG

The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day for participating blog owners who may be professional or amateur writers. (All you need is the passion and output, published or not). Started by Alex Cavanaugh the author of the sci-fi space opera CassaStar and sequel CassaFire, it is a means for writers to talk about their fears big and small. It is also an opportunity to connect to other writers who may have conquered these or are sailing in the same insecure boat as you.

A month has passed since I lasted updated this site and Google gave me a thumbs down for my so called writer's block - they called out on my bollocks (bullocks if that makes you feel less threatened) by downgrading my page rank from 3 to 2. Not that I mind, as this blog was a personal outlet for anger and frustration - which turned into a sort of showcase for my limited talent. Just that the freelance writer can no longer point out, with a fair amount of pride, to this beautiful home production on professional networks for quite a while.

Which brings us to the moot question, does writer's block really exist or it just an imagined state of mind used as an unwilling, unwitting scapegoat to cover up our laziness or preoccupation with other areas of life?

Can't I just say, I am so tired from writing crap copy for little more than peanuts, maybe dates, that my brain pretends to have a stroke when it comes updating this blog, forget about working on my fiction or poetry?
Truth be told, I have been missing this baby like a heroin addict just out of a failed rehab effort. While writing in isolation is still mandatory, blogging in isolation is no longer an option, not when I have a supportive community of writers that I call friends.

Relocating from cool Bangalore to pleasant for now Chennai hasn't been easy either, more withdrawal symptoms and then the farewell gift - finding that your best friend from college no longer wants to meet you in person.
The questions come pouring in, do my blog friends want to me meet me via these pages, do my characters miss me, and then Eureka, it hits me...do I miss all this?

I do, I do and so...before I chase you away, there is no writing block, not for me, just a matter of carving an hour or two and  pressing some buttons or keystrokes till something gives. A blog schedule helps too as does creating this toon...

By Rekha Seshadri | View this Toon at ToonDoo | Create your own Toon

A New Beginning

Sunset at Bangalore 31/12/2012 5.50 pm

IWSG - A Rejuvenated ME

The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day for participating blog owners who may be professional or amateur writers. (All you need is the passion and output, published or not). Started by Alex Cavanaugh the author of the sci-fi space opera CassaStar and sequel CassaFire, it is a means for writers to talk about their fears big and small. It is also an opportunity to connect to other writers who may have conquered these or are sailing in the same insecure boat as you.

My first post in over two months.

No insecurities just some blog changes given my two year journey.
I am at a better place than I was when I started out two years ago, I have never written more words- fiction or otherwise even in my so called heydays or heady youthful days.

I no longer fervently aspire to get some hard nosed Ezine to publish my work or despair at my lack of productivity in terms of a published book.

I am publishing, and on my blog (full creative control, if you ask me). I hope to make it a proper outlet with a domain name et al...have more guests telling their stories, doing more book reviews and goofy/smart musings on the quirks of life and thought.

Enjoy this Bangalore Sunset while you are here.

Thanks to everyone here who made me feel special...this blog will go on as long as I can write words and entice or entrap a few visitors along the way. ;P

Magic Realism And Three Women - A Review

Fractured Legends -  Kranthi Askani
Publishers - APK Publisher
Genre - Speculative fiction - Contemporary fantasy - magic realism - women's fiction
Novel - Paperback - 200  Pages
Price: Rs 192
Available at Flipkart.com/Indiaplaza.com  (India)

Blurb:
We are like the moths that follow invisible spiral loops to go round and round a flickering flame before jumping into the center leaving in their wake, a glowing red sore in the eye of the flame,” says the narrator, a temple slave. Priyambada makes up her mind to leave the temple where she melt into flesh at night and froze into statue by the morning. She renounces her immortal chalices, the temple facades, for a mortal life, for a life in flesh... But the tangles of life in flesh – marriage and bearing children – thrust her into a world of tribulations that cast her off into the past, sealed past, frozen past...
Nandhini, a professional assassin, is plagued by an assignment to retrieve a mysterious manuscript that is smeared with a rope of blood across its pages. She finds herself in the midst of a complex game of deceit and rivalry between two factions... Pravalli is drafting a very long letter to her mother. She is grieving, glowering, repenting, atoning....
Fractured Legend is the story of these three women who are sailing away from their turbulent pasts, the denouement puzzlingly curling them all together into one tight ribbon of hope...

This narrative follows the lives of three women - Priyambada who as a temple slave is immortal, but forgoes it for a human life and goes through the cycle of marriage & childbirth. Though she can't make a clear break from her past; she is happy in her new life. Nandhini is a trained assassin eliminating people for a price. She is entrapped by a close relative to kill someone related to her job, and for the first time in her life wonders at the futility of it all. Pravalli, on the other hand, is estranged from her mother Priyamvada over the secrets of the past, and is writing a letter of forgiveness and trying to come in terms with her mother's behaviour. The story progresses through the eyes, actions and reactions of the three female protagonists.

I liked the use of magic realism to get the tale across. That the book is based on a female perspective focusing on the trials and tribulations of Indian women (some of these aspects have universal connotation) makes it interesting enough to plow through the slow first 1/3 of the book.

The author had tried to portray the heroines (each of them is one in their own right) in a humane, understanding and empathic manner. He has attempted to infuse a vintage feel to the grey of contemporary realities. The concept is intriguing enough, and comes as breath of fresh air among all the college romances and chick-lits floating on the Indian book scene. It shows a side of India, applicable to many regions of the world, where women are struggling to assert themselves, while being bound to often well meaning but grossly misused traditions and customs.

 If you can leave aside all rational expectations of the world we inhabit, the book has the ability to move you with the sadness, pain and loneliness of the three women. The secondary characters, especially the husband - Priyamvada’s and son - Nandhini’s stand out, though their presence in the book is limited. The women move back and forth through their memories, dream a lot and often traverse between the real and surreal world. The author has left us with an open ended story, maybe a sequel is in line. 

 On the flip side, the author uses a dry narrative style of storytelling throughout the novel. The lack of dialogues makes it a very distracting read. For someone used to books, even long winded classic ones, with flowing conversations, this can be a difficult book to attempt and read through. The sentence structure  is awkward, and the overuse of adjectives and adverbs could have been avoided.

I am not sure I could recommend this book to a reader in its current version despite descriptive and detailed analysis of the lives of contemporary women and use of magic realism. A major review of the language usage and a rewrite would do wonders for this book. 

I would give this book a 3/5 rating basically for the debut effort, for attempting a book without the prejudices of the male point of view and for choosing a difficult women's related story.

Personal Disclaimer: This book was recieved for the purpose of review, hence the post in entirety is my basic impression after reading the book. It is not based on intervention by the author, publishing house or the blog review forum.

One Sigh Too Many

 I forgot my IWSG post this month, and I almost forgot this...having been away from my blog for over two weeks. 

 Before I proceed my Friday Guest post at Misha Gericke's  Blog sylmion.blogspot.com - guest post friday-rekha seshadri.html. Do  check it out. My first one. :)

RFW Challenge No 44 for Featured Writer/Runner Up titles . Post Any genre, any POV. Remember the romantic element. 

 My attempt at Prosetry for the prompt.

Wish I had kissed you then
When Chance hovered around, flapping her multi coloured wings. We were no longer just friends, but maintaining the status quo. So afraid of saying the word, so guilty of holding back.  
Now, empty words, emptier dreams, and emptiest memory that I alone drag along.

Wish I had kissed you then
A piece of You forever with me -precious and sacred, my secret visitation.
Nothing more than a Kodak moment,  a rarely visited spot on the shelves littered with books and stuff - your bored eyes proclaim. Is the spot taken by more significant others, old friends relegated to a rusting steel almirah at your parents retirement retreat?

Wish I had kissed you then
 Lost - the charmer, idealistic and innocent to the wolfish ways of the world. 
Found  - the expert rat racer, flipping through your black berry, revealing the unbridgeable chasm that separates us.
 Choosing what you once said never mattered, hollow words.  I see her by your side - tall, slim, vivacious yesterday as she was a decade ago, our proclaimed rose queen - every valentine.
Did you secretly wish to send her those 1001 roses her boyfriend deemed then, his exclusive right?

Wish I had kissed you then
Seeing you hand in hand -  in love? So easy for you with her, impossible for you with me. Was it me who keep you at a distance, or was I just an available backup while you waited for a chance with her?
Wonder if that ex boyfriend nursed hidden wounds in a dim lit pub, as I did in crowded escalators of the latest mall in the Metro.
I could never be her then, do I wish to be her now? Do I dare find unpleasant answers to  these mocking questions swirling all around me?

Wish I had kissed you then
These seven years past seem like seven lifetimes, the gulf between what we were and what you are, plain for unblinkered eyes to see. People change, it's oft said, oh, they do, not quite like you.
The real You before me in all his glory, kept well hidden from our unsuspecting hearts then, a pretender and a master of disguise? The simple, care free boy no longer, this one I'd rather not know.
Your smile is the same, but leaves no tugs on my heart strings, much to my surprise. Is it because I see with fresh insight, the smile of an all knowing flirt?

Wish I had kissed you then
On that watery night, taking refuge from knee high, black, muddy pools. The monsoon and her electric backdrop, sending shivers of a different kind amid much discomfort. 
Wished I had seized a stolen moment, that stolen kiss. 
No meaningless memories,  not wasted years of longing.  
My heart wouldn't have known betrayal. 
What we were - laughed way with tears of regret. 
What we could have been - unsolved mystery no more.
What we are - not evoking one sigh too many.


WC - 495  FCA

A Magical Journey

My  late...late entry for the WHAT IF? Fairytale Madness BlogFest! 
·          Best Love Story

Sadat seemed pleased as he turned to me. His long, delicate fingers created butterflies in the air and as usual in my gut.

"The Sultan, may the merciful one give him long life, has agreed to annul our wedding. But..."

I knew it! The greedy, 'honey with noodles' loving character hadn't changed in all of my 17 years on this dwelling of humanity. 

Sadat, my gazelle eyed beauty, was harping about the other crook in our lives, his father - the vizier. 

"Two marble palaces with walls encrusted in precious stones?"  Did I hear that right? The ethical djinn world was restive as it is with the marked lack of Arab spring out here. 

Sometimes, I wish I hadn't found the lamp. At least, Jasmine was out of Sadat's life. What was she thinking, flirting with my boyfriend in a transparent two piece?...Shaitan forbid, even my djinn has picked up her silly song as his welcome tune. I linked my coarse, browner hand in Sadat’s and sighed...

His face was adorned by an enchanting smile that revealed his pearly whites. Time to wake up the 'A whole new world' guy.  Rubbing the magical lamp never felt so good.

***

"Well, well, well! What have we here?" Imhotep ran his fingers over this shiny, bald pate. The crystal had revealed more than he had hoped for. His naughty 'nephew' was alive and the magic lamp--so near and so far. His eyes took on a glassy look, his pupils dilated and he drew a sharp breath at the sight of the pretty boy seated next to the thief.

'The temple of Anubis would be barren without this jewel.' He rubbed his ring. 
“My Akka, your wish my command." 
“Kublai Khan's Palace,” resonated through the empty chamber.

***
*Shaitan - Satan *Akka - Master 
* Imhotep -  High Priest, Egyptian architect, engineer and physician elevated to demigod, given evil traits in novels and myths.  "A greedy immortal here".

*Kublai Khan - Grandson of Mongol Leader Genghis Khan, created the Yuan Dynasty of China and played host to the Italian traveller Marco Polo.

*

Wc 290
* Got tired of writing hetero romances...

A Kick Ass Conversation

As the Olympic Games 2012 drew to a close in the morning (IST) we close in on an author who's recently released book is set in the backdrop of the London Olympics. As a part of her month long blog tour she has consented to an interview in the dream chronicle.
The fear of getting kicked by a black belt in Wing Chun kung fu is a good antidote to flowery prose from my end. And our show begins without further delay...

She talks a bit on the characters and settings in the book:

 Are any of your main or supporting characters inspired from real life/ literature or are they purely products of imagination?

I think my characters are an amalgamation of the characters I meet everyday, with some fictional traits thrown in. Detective Kurt Lancer, for instance, was created to reflect the multi-ethnicity of modern London: a half-English, half-Nigerian police detective who grew up in the East End. To add further layers to his character, I gave him some complexities and almost conflicting traits: for instance, he practices Wing Chun kung fu, a ‘soft’ martial art, instead of relying on his considerable size and brawn in a fight.

 Does your martial arts knowledge get incorporated in the book in any form?

Yes! My protagonist, Detective Lancer, practices Wing Chun, the martial art I teach, and I have used some of my self-defence knowledge in writing a handful of fight scenes in the book.

 Is this a standalone novel or is there a planned series that follows?

I am currently working on a second book featuring Kurt Lancer. Hopefully good news for any Lancer fans. ;)

 For a peep into her writing techniques and habits: 

What kind of research was needed for the book?

Obviously, the majority of the research centred around the places near Olympic venues. Apart from that, I also researched the history and origins of the Games, a bit of Greek mythology, and (you’ll find out why when you read the book) death by electrocution in water, various medical conditions, and bomb-making. that last one most probably got me blacklisted by Homeland Security! :)

 How does the writing pan out? Is it slow draft and fast revisions or fast draft and slow revisions?

I’d say it was a slow draft and slow revisions! Although I believe revisions were easier and less painful because I’m a hard-core plotter: outlining the entire story before I begin writing minimises plot holes, so revisions are mainly a matter of correcting typos and rewording sentences.

You have written short stories, how easy or difficult is the transition to novels and back?

Short stories and novels are two completely different beasts. The straightforward plot allows me to write short stories without an outline, but with novels, I need an outline to help consolidate multiple sub-plots ... and to ensure I don’t accidentally give a blue-eyed character green eyes later on!

Now, treading carefully on personal ground ;)

Your book is scheduled to be released during the London Olympics. Do you plan to watch any of the events live or cheer the participants from the living room?

I did try to get tickets to some of the live events, but alas they sell out so quickly. :( So I’ll be cheering on my team from the comfort of my living room!

The book in question - Oracle

With London gearing up to host the Olympics, the city doesn't need a serial killer stalking the streets, but they've got one anyway.

Leaving a trail of brutal and bizarre murders, the police force is no closer to finding the latest psychopath than Detective Inspector Kurt Lancer is in finding a solution for his daughter's disability.

Thrust into the pressure cooker of a high profile case, the struggling single parent is wound tight as he tries to balance care of his own family with the safety of a growing population of potential victims.

One of whom could be his own daughter.

Fingers point in every direction as the public relations nightmare grows, and Lancer's only answer comes in the form of a single oak leaf left at each crime scene.

Purchase Links: Amazon US | Amazon UK | Barnes & Noble

About the Author

J.C. Martin is a butt-kicking bookworm: when she isn’t reading or writing, she teaches martial arts and self-defence to adults and children. 

After working in pharmaceutical research, then in education as a schoolteacher, she decided to put the following to good use: one, her 2nd degree black belt in Wing Chun kung fu; and two, her overwhelming need to write dark mysteries and gripping thrillers with a psychological slant. 

Her short stories have won various prizes and have been published in several anthologies. Oracle is her first novel.

Born and raised in Malaysia, J.C. now lives in south London with her husband and three dogs.

Contact: Website | Blog | Twitter | Facebook

A Coincidence?

Time for another round of  RFW - Romatic Friday Writers

Challenge 42- I need a change.

I wandered into the balcony tempted by the cool breeze and the tantalising view of the golden sands. Sips of the invigorating cup of spiced tea while listening to the melody of the small town rousing itself from sleep formed my daily routine. I enjoyed hearing the slapping sounds of pigeons from adjacent cottages and the clanging horn of children’s bicycles as they passed by.

Peace proved elusive today and the noise grated on my nerves. This trip hadn’t turned out as well as I hoped, even my daughter’s imminent arrival from London failed to cheer me up.

His indifference hurts. It went back decades and I am used to it. Why did it nag me now?

Sundar is a liberal man, but his modernity extends to the children alone. For me, he is the husband cast in the mould of my father and grandfather before him. Disciplined men yet rigid in their set ways. My husband is in Singapore trying to solicit new customers for our knit wear factory.

 The textile industry has taken a hit given the global slowdown. With the high labour turnover and the power crisis in our state we may have a white elephant on our hands. The workers won’t be getting a bigger bonus, if they received one.

I took another sip and let out a sigh. I had an easy life. I shouldn’t be complaining.

He had been more enthusiastic than me over our ladies club’s week long sojourn to Goa. Why didn’t he take me with him? As the chief merchandiser, I could scout their retail markets while he attended the trader’s meet. I hadn’t visited our office in a month. The three projects on hand were on schedule, and the juniors competent enough to oversee the day to day activities. They kept me in the loop with emails and calls.

“Anita, a package for you.” My childhood friend, Dina‘s voice filtered through. Who could it be?

“Go on, open it.” My friend seemed to be onto the secret. “It from him,” she whispered.

What an age to turn romantic. Was my college sweetheart returned to me? I almost tore open the envelope in my haste.

 The papers fluttered down from my hands. My friend raced against the wind to retrieve them.

I watched, as her light coloured cheeks turned crimson. “Bastard,” was all I heard before my head hit the floor.

 Wc 400

 FCA - full critique acceptable

* Do visit on the 12th  to catch J.C Martin's, author of recently released mystery thriller Oracle, interview...there is a  Giveaway with three prizes for 3 winners that runs till Sept 2. 

RandomMusings For The Day #48

Now that the Mars Rover has landed and tweeted..is it time to rephrase the cliché : Curiosity kills the Little green men??