Random plotbunny #1

Note: This is not edited, and I haven't fact checked anything so any technical stuff I've mentioned is probably wrong. The plotbunnies had something to say so I let them...any comments on the voice I've decided to use and whatever the hell is going on here, I'd be happy to receive.

Thanks in advance.

Rewrites are awful.

Getting the first draft down is nightmare enough, but rereading it and destroying every other line so that it’s perfect is a hellish task. I’m of the opinion that you have to be some kind of masochist to enjoy this part of the process, but this is coming from someone whose been rewriting their own eulogy for the past two years.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not dying or anything.

I’ve actually been dead for the past two years.

Why I’m still writing my eulogy is simply because I’ve procrastinated all this time. You’d think being dead would open up your schedule, but you’d be dead wrong…

And now I’ve realized that I’ve used the word “dead” three times in the past two paragraphs and used it once in a horrible pun.

Sigh.

And, backspace…

See, Miranda, who’ll probably come in to interrupt my – what? Fiftieth attempt at this damn thing? – says writing my eulogy will bring me some closure or something of that nature. But I really don’t see the point. I don’t remember what it was like to be alive, even in the literal term.

At the moment I’m nothing more than a soul inside some meat machine.

Which is, you know, great, but not something I can write odes about that will encourage people to weep for the loss of my existence. Mainly because I’m technically still here and also because I’m not much different from the others who are on the same boat as I am –

Hey, boat! I remember reading somewhere about the River Styx in the Underworld, you know Greek Mythology, about the souls of the deceased having to get onto a boat to get across the river and into the afterlife which is why the Greeks bury their dead with a coin so they can pay the fare? That’s always a great metaphor, better go and google – OH MY GOD.  THERE’S A VIDEO OF A KITTEN SNEEZING.

“Daphne.”

Oh come on.

“Yeah?”  

“We’ve got another one.”

“Can’t you take it -”

“No.”

Sigh.

And I just saw another one about a pug getting scared of its own fart. This was going to be the best day ever.

Grumbling, I pushed away from my desk, flipping the screen of my laptop down.

Knowing Miranda she’ll probably come in here while I’m gone and search my internet history.

Yes. She is that nosy. And no, I don’t think she has a life beyond playing the starring role as the annoying older sister, but I’m pretty self centered, so I probably wouldn’t notice either way.

I tugged the vial around my neck, twisted the tiny cap open and took a shot.

There was enough for me to turn back, not that I’d want to since my meat machine of a physical body immediately flopped over – “my back” hitting the table before sliding down into a useless heap of limbs on the floor.

Oh hell. I didn’t realize my skinny jeans gave me kankles. Ugh. Note to self, sew that ish up.

With an irritated huff, I dragged my physical body off the floor and onto my bed. I really should have taken the shot while I was in a comfortable position, but I always forget how useless the physical body is after the soul leaves it.

Anyway.

There was no need for window dressing since I was at home, but leaving “my eyes” open was creepy even to me so I closed “my lids” with my index and middle finger and tried, not for the first time to close my jaw which flopped back down at every attempt. Whatever. I’ll just have to wipe the drool off when I get back.

Where was I going anyway?

The thought had barely left my mind as sirens screamed from a distance outside my window.

Yupp. That’s probably it.

It didn’t take me long to get there, not that I had to walk. Jumping, as it’s called, but not what is actually done, is a wonderful thing, even if I don’t have complete control of it yet. (So I may have ended up in a different country the first two times, but in my defense it takes years to master getting to an exact location, and two years is barely enough time.)

There are two police cars, an ambulance, a news van and bystanders aplenty, all leaning over trying to see over the edge of a cliff beyond the mangled arms of the metal railing that should have kept cars from flying over but clearly didn’t. Tsk. Tsk. You had one job, Railing.

“This is an active crime scene.”

“And an active story, people deserve to know what’s going on here.”

“People have been injured, and if someone has, heaven forbid, died. Don’t you think the family deserves to know from us rather than from the news?”

“You’ll probably take two days to even identify the body let alone inform the family -”

“Still better than having their loved ones turned into media fodder -”

“Wait,” a bystander interrupted, “someone died?”

I walked through the crowd, the yellow tape, the angry cop and even angrier reporter that were basically going to be a new ship I was going to sail on because seriously? That sexual tension is not imagined people.

The crowd began to mutter and talk louder amongst themselves speculating, and if possible, trying even harder to get a peep at the destruction at the bottom of the cliff.

Whoa there Eager Beavers, I came for one person, I’m not dragging a dozen more. Besides the amount of work that is, I’m not capable of it yet and I will certainly not be making round trips to collect. No.

Black cloak barely whooshing as I slid down the cliff, without fear and with the grace of a cat (before I tripped on a very solid piece of stone and almost landed on my face which would inevitably hurt both me and my physical body tremendously) I surveyed  the damage in front of me.

An overturned car with the hood practically crushed all the way to the windscreen, smoke coming out of the bottom (or the top considering that it’s upside down now), one of the wheels turning restlessly and a bloodied arm sticking out of one of the broken windows. Probably the driver.

Oh. Maybe he’s –

The paramedics were able to get the body out, shouting at each other before thrusting the injured man onto a gurney. He didn’t move much and…Wow. That’s a lot of blood.

But that’s not my guy.

Hmm, if not driver then a passenger –

“There’s two more in there,” informed one of the EMTs.

Two more. Okay, so who will it be?

“Any idea who they are?”

The reply was incredulous, “Apparently his wife and his girlfriend.”

Oohh I’d love to know the story behind that one.

 “Do I even want to know?”

Of course I do! But maybe later – My spidey senses are tingling!

But for some reason it was nowhere near the car…Maybe the person got thrown out? Will it be the wife, will it be the girlfriend? It’s time to place your bets!

 Detective Jorah Riley and the medical examiner – oh look, it’s the cute intern!

“That’s a lot of fracturing.”

“Is this just from getting hit by the car and the railing or her hitting her face the ground?”  The detective asked, running his hand over his newly shaved head.

“Probably all of the above, I’ve never seen anything this bad…”

Well you are new to the game, Intern. It seriously does get worse. Good for morbid fascination. Not so good on mental health. I mean, look at me.

“What do you think?”

“Oh, she’s definitely dead.” Is that a sense of humor or does he like to point out the obvious? Either way, Detective Riley isn’t amused, and Intern coughs and then clears his throat. “I’ll need to open her up to figure out what happened exactly, but I’m leaning towards an accident. Did you hear, that guy had his wife and his mistress in the same car, it’s no wonder he lost control.”

Who even told them that anyway?

“I mean, who do you think she is?”

“Hard to say, but she definitely wasn’t in the car.”

 “What makes you say that?

“The amount of fracturing isn’t consistent with any that could be achieved if she was in the car and then thrown out of it. Plus there’s minimum glass on her, all superficial in depth, more a spray than the result of impact.”

With an approving nod, Detective Riley clapped him on the back. “Good job Henry, I’ll leave you to it.”

Good.  Then I can find out where this girl’s soul went wandering off to.

I pause. Dear lord, there’s a desert down here?

Squinting into the distance, all I saw was a wavy heat wave crimpling up the horizon. And sand. Lots of sand. This’ll be just lovely.

A quick glance at the body that lay on the ground, I noted the clothes. It would have made it easier; I hoped to find her but…

Really? A beige shirt and brown shorts? Who dressed you?!

A badge on the shirt answered my question: Ashgrove Prep.

I thought private school uniforms were supposed to be fashionable? Is Gossip Girl built on a house of lies?!

Fine, I’ll just have to do this the hard way.

Fortunately for me Henry the cute intern was still trying to organize a body bag, and Jane Doe was still lying on the ground. Guess its Fate then.

Bending at the knee at her side, I reached out to brush the hair out of her face.

It was matted with blood sticking to her cheek and leaving a bloodied trail in its wake, a strand had gotten caught around her necklace and it pulled just enough that her head turned with little resistance.

It was an ugly sight. Girlie’s neck was definitely snapped.

Hmm…

I pressed another hand to her chest, and it depressed with no resistance. Whoa. Was it liquefied in there?

Well, this wasn’t going to be fun…

Taking a breath for strength, I implored to the empty case that was Jane Doe’s body, “Open.”

Project Flaw: Conceit of arrogance

Arrogance is believing you're good. No. Better. 

It's a type of confidence that can be inherent - a trait carried down the family line or acquired from an age of people fluffing up your feathers. 

It is the belief that you're special, and let's face it: Everyone is special. 

There are few stories out there that don't have "special" protagonists: Enviable skills. Royalty. The one that inherits. The war hero. The face of a rebellion. The one whose destiny has been fated.   The intelligent one. The unique one. The youngest. The oldest. The kindest. The forgotten one. The outcast. The chosen.

We're all a bunch of special snowflakes really. The difference?

Being arrogant, you know that you're special.

You don't need anyone's help.
You're certain you've made it to where you are completely on your own.
You know you're amazing.
You think everyone's running on your time.
You think your word is law.
You're painfully smug when proven right.
Everyone lives for stories about you.
You feel that it is everyone's duty to be outraged when you are (especially in regards to the bad reviews you get).
You don't believe you have anything to learn - and if you do, you don't think anyone should teach it to you because you know better.
You're almost never wrong.
Anyone who says otherwise is the one that's wrong.

The thing with arrogant people is that they're probably the most insecure people you'll ever meet.

They fixate on people's issues with them, usually spinning it into a personal attack on themselves even if it's a purely work/story related. They'll be offended, defensive and downright annoying when they "decide" they don't want to fight anymore (mainly because they can see that no one is supporting their argument). In the end, they want validation just like everyone else, and the only reason they act the way they do is because they've pushed their "fake it until you make it" mindset too far and might actually believe that they're above everyone else - experience and knowledge be damned.

Sometimes, however, they don't realize they're being arrogant, they just come off that way.

I know when I was younger all I wanted was for people to notice and acknowledge me (see the previous post), and following the "fake it until you make it" mindset, I came off more confident than I felt. The fact that I might have been arrogant as a child didn't occur to me, I just felt like a counterfeit and it pushed me more and more to pretend that I could do everything on my own to compensate.

Hermione Granger from Harry Potter is an example as well. Though she's clearly the brightest witch of her generation, at the beginning of the series as well as during, she came off as a serious smart ass. She was difficult to like for some people, and was a downright pain to everyone else in her year.

Unintentional of course.

She was very conscious of her position as a muggleborn wizard which I think was her reason for wanting to do so well (and show it by constantly raising her hand in class) - she wanted to prove that she deserved to be where she was, and that she wasn't just lucky to have magic to spirit her away from her muggle life.

Whatever her reasoning, she still came off as arrogant which of course meant people didn't warm up to her quickly.

Arrogance is a flaw that an individual has difficulty to recognize in themselves, and even in their characters.

It adds a layer of complexity that we as writers, don't have to think too much of (that's how Super Strong Mary Sues are made you know) and provides a reasonable flaw for a character. Plus, it's an added growth point for the character to try and rectify in the story so technically it's a pretty great flaw.

What's interesting is that arrogance isn't borne from being a horrible person who doesn't bathe, it's from trying too hard to make it seem like you're okay; it is the outcome of being in denial.

Project Flaw: Validation required

Validation is a human flaw.

It's a desire, present from our most conscious age of memory: everything from our first steps, performing at school plays, playing some sport and proudly waving about an awarded ribbon.

Having a skill is great. Being noticed for it is even better.

As a writer, I've always been told to write for me and not to care what people think. With the amount of naysayers out there, the "critics" that flood the web, the trolls and even worse, the real people in our lives who are just trying to be realistic -

But you know what? Write for yourself.
Easy as the advice is to give, the same can't be said for taking it.

We're told to develop that tough skin and grow a pair. Others have had worse, what's a little bad comment from some stranger on the internet? From that friend/family member you knew wouldn't really get your story? Psh ~ so what do you care what they think?
 
Don't kid yourself. 

Wanting and even needing to be noticed, praised and accepted is one of the biggest hindrances in anyone's life. Besides procrastination, this need has been crippling me even before I started my career in writing.

I wanted my story to be perfect.
I wanted to be flooded with glowing reviews (follows and favorites too!).
People making fan art and spinoffs based off my work.
Create such a well-established headcanon that fans of the original work (fanfic wise) couldn't tell what was canon and what was mine.
Having something of mine placed into those tv-trope wikis like I've seen with other stories that were the pinnacle of popularity - the coveted story people would refer to when talking about the fandom.

However, that is not to say that wanting validation is bad.

1) It made me listen to the critique I got - yeah sometimes it wasn't given very nicely and a few insults towards my intelligence were thrown in, but everything with a grain of salt right?

2) I started to develop that "tough skin" to the point where I can see a criticism as anything but a personal attack (even if the critic takes cheap shots) and yet still see that there's some use in the critique I've been given.

3) It made me look and crave for growth. The world turns nonstop, to stay static and in a rut can and should feel like a trap. Wanting validation forced me to look for ways to grow even when I sometimes couldn't bare to change my ways.

 and finally

4) During my attempts to have my abilities validated, I experienced failure. If I didn't care what people thought because it was better that way from the beginning, I wouldn't have realized the lessons I've learnt.


Nationally ranked sportswoman. High school cum laude. School's best pianist/violinist/vocalist. Youngest best selling author. 

I wanted those things when I was younger because it seemed like the only way to be noticed in any way by anyone. I wanted those things for other people. I wanted people to tell me how much I was worth in time, attention and love and it isn't worth it.

It's tiring to live off of someone else's validation.
 
No one lives for others. We're a selfish species at heart. So you know what? Be selfish.

Your story.
Your words.
Your life.

Own it so you won't need someone else to.

Project Flaw: The Fatal Flaw

I've been reading a lot of articles on Lifehack.org lately. Probably because I subscribed to it and now I get an email every now and again to link me to articles of interest and well...I'm interested.

Everything from 10 quality traits all introverts have, 50 incredible travel experiences to have once in your life and even Learning a new language can slow aging has popped up and I've spent countless hours reading every other article that interests me at the bottom the one I decided to read first.

Funny thing is, the only reason I subscribed to lifehack is because of it's one article about avoiding procrastination techniques and well...clearly, it hasn't worked all too well.

You see, I've started college again. I either try to study or write during the evenings. I have work on Saturday. On Saturday nights I try to see my friends for a few hours. On Sunday I try to reboot, watch some mind numbing tv and catch up on sleep. But I still find myself lacking the hours, not getting work done and doing just about anything to put everything else off.

It's probably because instead of studying, I lie in bed either trying to sleep or surf the web/facebook. Instead of doing my morning exercise t get me through the day, I sit on my phone reading fanfiction. Instead of getting chores done before I start homework or prepping for the next day of college, I end up on the couch watching tv until I'm too tired or it's too late to get anything done.

Unlike some issues in life, I know the root of the problem.
It's common enough, but it's also extremely unhealthy and a horrible waste of time.

This issue, problem, whatever you may decide to call it is called procrastination.

It's haunted me most of my high school career and now here I am, second year college student and still falling into the lull of "there's time later/tomorrow/next week/next month/next year."

The sad thing is that this preoccupation of unnecessary things is something a lot of people go through every single day.

Unfortunately not everyone has that undeniable urge, drive or ambition to push through the trudge of work to get to their goals. And it's pretty sad.

It isn't a great flaw, not something like selfishness or arrogance. But it's all consuming, completely wrong -

Selfishness can be taken as ambition to the extreme, a need to claim something as yours even when it's lost and then do everything to get it back, damn the consequences-people-what have you.

Arrogance can be taken from the "fake it 'til you make it" mindset. When you push too hard and delude yourself into thinking that you're better, so much better, than everyone else without really having the skill or desire to actually be better.

Both of these start off with good intentions. Procrastination does not.

We may think we're doing something useful, but in the back of our minds we know that we're just distracting ourselves, putting off whatever task we have ahead of us because we're not feeling up to it.

Procrastination is borne from laziness, a lack of urgency and the strange thought that something will just happen and all the time they have wasted would be worth it.

I've realized (not often enough) that all we really have in the world is time. It may be a man-made concept, but it's the truth.

We aren't entitled to the next day or the one after that, we're damn lucky to even get the hour or two that has passed. But procrastinating makes us think that we've got all the time in the world to put something off.

Speaking for myself, I've put off writing - a novel I've wanted to published, a story I've wanted to tell, all because I think I have so much time to do it. I'm young, pretty young anyway. If I want to be a bestselling author, the next Jane Austen or Oscar Wilde, I have decades to write that novel...

But what if I never do?

What if I wake up, dying, unable to even breath without assistance, barely able to remember my own name...what then?

I could be optimistic and say that I'd still push through, to my dying breath, I'd write. But that would be a lie.

As cliche as it is, I don't want to lie on my death bed with regrets.

I want to try - crashing and burning if I have to, just to say that I did.

Project Flaw: Why perfection isn't healthy

Everyone has flaws. Real people and fictional characters alike. Flaws are present in every aspect of our lives if we pay close enough attention.

Flaws have that effect of building character in something. If something were perfect, it wouldn't be particularly interesting, would it?

In stories, character flaws are important.

They make readers able to relate, understand and see things through the eyes of the character in charge of the tale.

But can the same be said for normal, every day, real life people?

I like to think I'm honest with myself. I mean, if I can't be honest with me, who can I be honest with?

Following the vein of the pilot episode of Mind Games (even though the show was cancelled, but that has nothing to do with this mm'kay?) I am going to be admitting just a few of my flaws as a person and more importantly as a writer:

I'm a weenie.
I hate making characters suffer.
I'm an idealist.
I'll only take a happily-ever-after.
I'm a romantic.
I'm afraid of 'breaking' characters, and not liking them if they have certain flaws or realizations I don't agree with even though I came up with it.
There's a part of my brain that comes up with stuff even I'm afraid to acknowledge and that I can't seem to accept as my own.
I'm selfish.
I'm arrogant.
I like to think I know best.
I'm easily offended.
I'm sensitive.
I can't compartmentalize.
I'm inconsistent.
I'm easily overwhelmed.
I'm easy to diagnose myself with depression.
I'm easily influenced when its the right person or the right words said.
I'm stubborn.
I lack confidence.
I feel overwhelmingly insecure.
Seeks validation.
I procrastinate.
I'm indecisive about practically everything.
I like to dream about a life rather than actually having one.
I'm afraid, terrified of moving out of my comfort zone.
I hate feeling lonely.
I don't like the ugly truth.

The point of all this, as it was mentioned in the Mind Games pilot, is to be able to open myself up and show that I have nothing to hide. The dangerous side of this is that I am also open to either ridicule or acceptance by others, and the question of me being "perfect" has been shattered long before anyone has even gotten to know me.

Not only from a writing perspective, but from real life situations I've always been told to "fake it until you make it". Confidence goes a long way especially when a tough skin is required to brave the trolls, negative responses and the like. Pretending that you've got it handled (via Olivia Pope) is a way of getting people to trust in you and your abilities and becomes a point from where you try to prove that you deserve this trust, or rather, expectation you have inadvertently put on yourself.

"Faking it", however, is problematic.

We get arrogant. We get closed minded. We get negative about other people. We only do things that make us feel good. All in an attempt to be our version of perfect.

And perfect is all a load a bull.

The more someone pretends to be perfect, the more they forget who they actually are.
The more someone closes themselves off to feeling things that make them uncomfortable in order to maintain that perfection, the more they limit themselves from experiences they can actually grow from.
The more someone craves perfection the more unhappy they are with everything they do and everything around them.

Until one day when that person decides they can't retain it, can't achieve it, can't emulate it, can't do it.
And then their whole world falls down.

This is different from wanting to do your best. This is about growth, and what it takes to get there.

once upon a dream ~

I've got a lot of dreams, as all people do.

At 19, I've given up on most of them: being the cum laude of my high school (oh primary school me, you were adorable), going to university (wasn't made for it unfortunately), becoming a nationally ranked swimmer and tennis player (oh little me, so ambitious!) and all other sorts of impressive feats most people younger than 16 would admit to dreaming of.

Hint. Hint. Do you know why some people consider me a falling star now?

Nonetheless, the reality stick hit me hard, and so did the terrible habits of growing up.

For all the parents or adults out there who don't remember their formative years, a friendly reminder: Hormones are a bitch and mood swings suck for everyone.

Anyway.

The wonderful thing about growing up, and life in general is that there will always be new dreams, and thankfully despite my dinosaur era-ending-crash landing I still have hope for these dreams.

One of them being my dream of becoming a writer. It was always a hobby and the amount of time and experience I gained through writing fanfiction for so many years can never be undone, and for the life of me, I can't stop writing even for even my own good (cum laude, nationally ranked sportswoman, university, all that jazz). It's a madness that I wish were not mine and yet at the same time if there were a cure, I would rather scorn it than take it.

But that's what it's about though, isn't it?

A writer writes because they have to. It isn't so much as a desire as it is a need. However, I know very well that things can change, that maybe someday I won't need it as much anymore and to claim the loaded title of "writer" still makes me hesitate..

But in my own world, in my muse palace, I'll loudly and proudly say it: My name is Angela, and I'm a writer.

Perhaps one day I won't be afraid of the title, or even better, I'll deserve it.

Careful - this one's another dreamer ~

there isn't much to say about me besides that.

I write a lot, I talk a lot, and I get bored a lot and because it seems that I can't get any attention in real life or keep at something consistently I've decided to throw my thoughts at the internet hoping something will stick.

That's right, I'm yet another aspiring writer on the interwebs.

This blog is run by plotbunnies, random thoughts on writing and anything that might just inspire me that day. I might also fangirl about my favorite series, movies and books because I can't seem to keep friends. Go figure.