Monday, September 30, 2013

A Year of Blogging

Hey ya'll!  It's been one year since I have created this blog!  Yeah!  Yearly anniversary!

I feel bad that I haven't been blogging half as much as I would've liked, but it's okay.  I have had a very busy year, and with this school year (I am homeschool!) I am doing several extra classes.

I have several cool things to post, I just need to sit down and do it!
Thanks for looking at this blog!

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Black and White by Grace Sullivan

Allison Ludzz is my great online writing buddy, but the other one who inspired me to write again is Grace Sullivan.  She is a sweet girl that went to church with me, and we became friends while swimming, talking about boys and crushes, and her amazing orange Julius and sugared popcorn!  (Yummm!!!!!!!!!!)  She also intrigued me with her story, Bloomington Romance which was about a rich girl that was shipwrecked on an island with a handsome boy (I love James!).  

She sadly moved away, but this is her story.  Thanks, Ace!  (I accidentally stumbled upon this on her Pinterest page!  Haha!  That's us when we were both eleven!  I'm the one on the left.)

Black and White 

A Novel by Grace Sullivan

           The world was once lively and full of dreams and color. Back when people knew what was right and how to treat one another and people knew what the meanings of their individual lives, but then it went away. The people grew greedy and vile and they began to treat each other horridly and they exploited themselves to an extreme degree. They were so busy looking at their feet as they walked down the busy streets that they never said “Hello” or “How do you do?” to each other any longer. They looked down at their rain splattered shoes and swore at the sky they never noticed. Soon enough, they forgot the sky was even there. Even the name of the sky was forgotten. Then it was taken away. The color was drained from the world because the people no longer deserved it. The color was taken, and no one even noticed; for they just continued to stare at their feet, never realizing their lives were all wrong. The true dreamers, the true imaginative people were scorned for their preposterous idea of color. They were cast out of their cliques and thrown away like the week’s garbage until only one was left to rot in an asylum.
Henrie Clovis. Henrie was the only one left. A sixty-seven year old man on the verge of true insanity, people never believed his preaching of a better world and this curious idea called color. He was thrown to where he now resides, in that asylum; waiting for an inspired soul to believe his tale. Eventually he found that inspired soul while she was on a school field trip. She was just as kind and well minded as he was. For an unknown reason, she decided to defy all the social laws and go into the forbidden room. This is their story of discovering the truth.

Chapter One
The Forbidden Room

I am in horrible agony. I can’t tell anyone, not even my mother. My father is gone, went away after I started talking to him; the one in the asylum. Father said before he left that when he was child people told him the same thing. They were put in jail, for no reason at all! No one agreed with them, so they were cast out. That’s why I can’t tell anyone what the one in the asylum says; even though I believe every word. I caused my mother’s grief, my father’s until he left, and my own. I’m an only child, have been ever since I mentioned the one in the asylum’s theory. No! Not a theory at all! What he says is truth. That’s another fuzzy concept in this world, truth.
            I am in seventh grade, (or I should be. I was banned from school as soon as I stepped out) as I am telling you this story. No one talks to me, just him. I go to see him every day. The first time I saw him I was seven years old. I was on a field trip in first grade to the asylum. I snuck off to an open door. My friends told me never to go to room 119, but I went in anyway. They said the man in there was the craziest of them all. No medicine could cure him at all. He’d just go on saying the things he did, and then I said,
            “If he keeps saying it with every medication maybe it’s true!” I exclaimed.
            I got scolded by my teachers and I was discontinued by my friends after that proclamation. They never thought I would actually go in to that room. Then I tiptoed into the room to see an elderly man lying on a cot reading “The Giver” by Lois Lowry. I’ve read that book and all the others in that cycle since then. It was funny to me then for I’d only seen people read textbooks. And this thing called a Library he told me about was full of books like “The Giver.” And that’s how our friendship started.
            “Sir, what’s a giver?” I asked him in my small, meek voice.
            “A giver is a gracious, selfless, generous person,” he replied simply.
I had never heard any of those words in my life. But the way he said them made me think they were real words. I never asked what they meant, just thought about asking.
            “Sir, if I may be so bold, you don’t sound crazy to me,” I said kindly.
            “You would be the first, my dear child. Would you like to come in?” he asked.
I glanced back at my classmates shaking their heads in disapproval.
            “I would love to come in,” I said brightly.
            I stepped through the forbidden grey doorway and sat on a small stool across from his bed where he sat upright, his book closed now.
            “Young lady, what’s your name?” he asked softly.
            “Lillian Jay Jenson,” I replied.
            “What a beautiful name,” he commented.
            “Sorry, what does beautiful mean?” I asked tasting the foreign word on my tongue.
            “Something of good report, something that pleases you when one looks at it, smells it, touches it, tastes it, and thinks of it. Something excellent of its kind, do you understand?” he explained wisely.
            “Somehow, yes, yes I do understand. Sir, why do you suppose I understand?” I asked.
            “Lillian, may I call you Lilly?” he asked.
            “Yes, by all means.”
            “Lilly, how old are you, love?” he asked.
            “I am seven years young,” I said.
            “Seven! Why, how extraordinary. Lilly, I believe you are very special,” he said with a warm smile.
            “What do believe and special mean?” I asked.
            “Believe in this situation means that I think you are special even though I have no proof. I have confidence in your specialness, Lilly. Special means you are distinct from the usual. You are the only one of your kind. You are the only you there is; the only one that thinks and acts and speaks like you. You are special. Do you understand Lillian?” he explained knowingly.
            “I completely understand, Sir. But I have to stop calling you sir don’t I? What is your proper name?” I asked.
            “What’s my name, you ask? I haven’t been asked that in ages! My name is Henrie Clovis. I’m sixty-seven years old. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, pleasantly surprised at my interest in him.
            “How do you do Henrie?” I asked putting out my hand.  He laughed heartily.
            “Quite well, Miss Lillian Jensen,” he replied.
            “Well Henrie, I must be off to my class. They’ll be boarding the bus soon and I should hate to be tardy. I’ll return soon enough, farewell,” I said sadly.  I shook his hand once more and he smiled kindly at me.
            “I shall look forward to when you do in fact return. Farewell to you too, Lillian,” he said sadly.
            With that, I bounded merrily from the forbidden room to see the whole staff, my classmates, and the teachers glaring at me in wonder; scolding me with their horridly cruel, disapproving eyes. I just smiled sweetly at them, not knowing at all what I did.
            “Lillian Jensen! Did you go into that room there?!” exclaimed the teacher angrily.
            “Yes ma’am I certainly did,” I said simply not understanding her anger.
            “You confess?” she asked profoundly puzzled at my quirky behavior.
            “Whole heartedly, Misses Riviera.”
            “Well! That makes things easy, then! You shall have your mother called and you shall never return to school. Do you understand?” she dictated.
            “No, I do not understand,” I said plainly.
            “Why do you not?” she asked in frustration.
            “I do not comprehend what I have done wrong,” I said simply.
            “Don’t say comprehend!” she shouted.
            “Why not?” I asked confused.
            “High vocabulary is unheard of! Unacceptable!” she exclaimed.
            “I don’t know!”
            “Back to the original question, why am I in trouble? Why must I be punished?” I asked.
            “You went in to room 119,” she answered solemnly.
            “What’s so bad about room 119?” I asked.
            “The man within is the most insane of them all. We don’t agree with him,” she said curtly.
            “Does that mean I’m not allowed in or you just don’t like me going in?”
            “We don’t like it that you went in.”
            “So I have permission to enter of my own accord?”
            “I guess.”
            “Well then, I shall. May I still ride the bus to the school?” I asked.
            “How dare you suggest such a thing after what you’ve done!” exclaimed a member of staff.
            “Then I shall walk,” I said simply.
            I walked right out of the asylum and walked the half mile home where my mother and father waited for me. A little girl of seven, walking on the grey street past the grey trees, watching the grey people pass with their grey faces staring at the pavement, no cars, only people. When I returned home, my mother paced in the living room and my father sat at the table with his head in his hands.
            “Hello!” I called merrily.
            “Lillian!” shrieked my mother in agony.
            “Yes?” I asked undaunted in my cheerfulness.
            “What have you done?” she asked.
            “What are you referring to?” I asked.
            “Go to your room! You’ll be served your meals there. You’ll never come out of that room, do you understand?” ordered mother.
            “No, I do not understand.”
            “You should!”
            “Because I said so, that’s why!”
            “All right, I’ll obey even though I don’t comprehend all this punishment whatsoever. Good day to you, mother,” I said calmly.
            I walked down a wide hallway to my room and sat down on my medium sized grey bed with the white pillows. I sat there on the bed, thinking; nothing more than that. Pondering those words that Henrie said, and making sense of it all. I heard my parents arguing in the living room.
            “She went in to room 119 in the asylum!” shouted mother.
            “I know, I know. What do you suppose we do?” replied father nervously.
            “We cover it up of course, when people ask us if she did it, we’ll say the asylum nurses love to gossip and make up stories. All right?” she said shakily.
            “Fine, but you know this will get worse don’t you?” he said sadly.
            “I know! Our daughter has virtually ruined our lives. You’ll lose your job, we’ll lose our friends, and we’ll be completely isolated!” she said edgily.
            “I know, what’s the point of living now?” he asked, his voice quivering.
            “What are you suggesting?” she asked scarcely audible.
            “I’m suggesting we get rid of the kid. Just dump her on the street to die. We’ll be better off without her,” he said darkly.
            By this point I was beginning to be concerned. I wanted to stay with mommy and daddy but they didn’t want me anymore. They were ashamed of me. Scared of what I would do to them. I took out my black marker, and went over to the white wall and wrote in big letters across the middle.
            “Mommy!” I called.
            She ran to my room to see what I wanted. I expected her to ignore me, so I was pleasantly surprised. She looked at the vandalized wall and stared at it was a puzzled expression.
            “Honey, what’s that that you wrote on the wall?” asked mother.
            “I wrote ‘I’m special’. Can’t you read mom?” I asked.
            “Erase that right now!” exclaimed mother.
            “Why? It’s a lovely thought! Plus, it is not washable,” I said.
            “Pull the blinds, no one can see this. No one can see you, got that?” she said frantically.
            “Why are you attempting to hide me?” I asked.
            “Because of what you did, your father is in our room packing! PACKING! He’s leaving me!” she exclaimed devastated.
            “Why is daddy leaving?” I asked.
            “Because he doesn’t want his life to stink! That’s why he’s leaving,” she said angrily.
            “Why would his life stink?”
            “Because of what you did!” she yelled nearing tears.
            “What did I do?”
            “You went into room 119 at the asylum!” she screamed.
            I backed away slowly from her, still wondering what was so bad about that lovely man Henrie in that room. I wondered so passionately, but could never bring myself to ask in fear of being thrown on the street like father first suggested.  Mother sat crying in my room, and when father walked out she begged on her knees shrieking for him to stay. I just stood in my room, listening and not understanding but completely serene. Somehow that day, that incident made me wiser. I spent that night dreaming of grey things like any other little girl and I woke the next morning to mother sleeping on the living room floor, tears staining her face. I kissed her cheek, put on my sweater and walked to the asylum, unaware of the splendor that would come to me soon enough.

WOW.  I thought this was a beautiful story!  Hope to read me, Ace!  Really!  :)

The Rebellion by Allison Ludzz

I have asked a few of my friends to send me their stories so I can publish them on this blog!
First up is Allison Ludzz: to be honest, I don't know where I even met her!  Somehow we accidentally emailed each other and we were skeptical of each other at first (as we should've been!), but when we found out we were the same age, homeschool, and both love to write: we became instant friends!

To be honest, she was the one that first got me into writing again.  Shout out to Allison Ludzz!

She has previously finished a novel (whoooot!) and is beginning a new one which is AMAZING.  If you want more of hers, leave it in the comments!  Thanks Allison!  I'm turning it over to her now.  :)  (BTW, I didn't really write this bio...hehe!)

Allison Ludzz is a young Christian author that lives in New York on a farm.  She is a splendid piano player and is a great sister to her large family.  She loves to write and read, but loves Christ even more.  Allison has previously written another novel, Sarah Henry, which is about a brave girl that goes out West with her family, told in her own words through a diary.  This second novel of hers was inspired by the Hunger Games.  You could read more of her works at her blog, which can be found here.  Her friend Madeline Parks is an incredible author she says, and she loves her stories.  (Aw!  Thanks, Allison!!)  

    I started this story in the very beginning of April 2013.  I've worked hard to complete it, but it's still not finished.  To be honest, even I don't know how it will end yet.  It is similar to the popular "Hunger Games" books, as it is also supposed to be in the future.   I hope you enjoy it. -Allison
The Rebellion
By Allison Ludzz

      I open my eyes.  In a flash it all returns to me.  The torrent of bodies, bloodied and scarred.  The screams, the pleas.  Nausea whips through me and shakes my body like a rag doll.  And so begins the new day.
      My name is Shakia Napel.  I live in Base 55.  I am 15.  What remains of my family has been scattered so far and wide that we have no hope of recovery.  But that’s what they want you to think.  To tear down invisible walls inside of you, any hint of resistance, and smother it.
      I sit up.  A quick glance around my room brings me back to reality.   Reminds that today is another day.  Another day of the endless torture I have so long faced.  My clean set clothes have been set carefully on a shelf, as they have each morning since I’ve been here.
Along with them sits my wrist watch.  It has been programmed with my schedule for the day.  Every moment, every second has been accounted for.  I have exactly 42 minutes before my first activity.  05:15 Breakfast.  But I already know sleep has become impossible.
      I swing my legs down being careful not to wake my roommate, whose name I still do not know.  I wake up long before she does, and am in bed long before she is.  According to my schedule.
      Emotions run through me, anger, hatred, fear, longing, but mostly regret.  Regret for not running fast enough to warn my family.  For allowing the Justice to steal them from me.  Regret for living, when so many others did not.  For every time I save one of their soldiers’ lives.  But just as I have each day, I shove these thoughts away.  I have no room for them here.
      With a sigh I stand.  I feel as though I have aged 50 years in the 4 months I’ve been here.  Here, not home.  Because here will never be home.  Quickly I change knowing that these thoughts will only bring back the memories.
      I make my bed and silently close the door behind me.  The long corridor
of white doors does nothing to ease my tormented mind. 1045, 1044, 1043, 1042…
These are my neighbors who I will never know.  We are placed in groups whose

schedules rarely match.  Making your life more solitary than ever.  
      While I walk, against my will, my thoughts return to home.  Our port by the sea, the long warm summers.  Spending hours upon hours at the lighthouse with Keela.  Keela.  Keela.  Keela.  I have to stop.  Hunched over with my head between my hands his name rings over and over.  Keela.  Keela.  Keela.
If I had a single friend in this desolate place, I might be able to bear our separation.  If I knew if he was dead or alive.  If there was some hope… hope.  Hope is often at the forefront of my mind.  But hope I will not get.
I look at my watch, 15 minutes until breakfast.  I don’t have time for this… I think to myself… Pull yourself together!  1003, 1002, 1001, 1001.  The elevator.  My worst nightmare.  It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to scan yourself in before you enter.  I put out my hand, and cringe as the needle pokes into my skin.  “Shakia Napel.” A robotic voice says and the doors open.
Inside the door is a scanner, first my eyes, then my wrist watch.  When I first arrived I accidentally put my wrist watch in first and consequently was punished.  Which is one of the reasons I hate it so much.  The security in this place, Base 55, is such that you have certain routes that you can only use at certain times.  For example, I am not allowed in the hall leading to the hospital until after I finish breakfast at 05:55.
Then the elevator drops, quickly and without warning. There is no indication as to what level you are on.  It goes to where your schedule says you are supposed to go.  In my case, breakfast at 05:15. It’s not written on my wrist watch where I’m supposed to go, but the elevator can read data that is not visibly written there.  But I know where I will go.  Breakfast, in Eating Center #4, Table #8, Chair #9.  I know because on the back of my chair, and electronic device has my name written on it, until 05:55. When it changes to April Meadows.
I sit with the same people every day.  But there is not one of them that I would call my friend.  They were all born to this world, and know no other life.  They are not aware of the misery as acutely as I am.  They are not reminded of it every waking second of every day, because it’s all they’ve ever known.

There is only one person out of the 9 others who sit at my table who I even remotely like.  Her name is Makila Amber.  But even though I like her, each  time I see her it feels like a dagger has gone straight through my heart.  Makila was my mother’s name.  It might be me, but I believe that they have placed me with her so that I never can forget that this place is my prison.
The doors open.  Straight ahead is Eating Center #4.  I am 10 minutes early, an unprecedented amount of time.  So it is empty.  There is not one speck of life in Eating Center #4.  My chair doesn’t even have my name on it yet.
I sit, and am reminded of how tired I am.  My eyes flutter closed and the images begin…
I am sitting in the top of the lighthouse.  My chair so comfortable that I doze on and off throughout the night.  I have not had more than 4 hours of sleep in 3 days.  Slowly I nod off.  But am awakened by a sharp scream, a scream so earth shattering that I can feel it all the way through to my bones.  With a start I jump out of my chair.  Eyes riveted on the scene before me.
Justice Assault Soldiers fall from the sky, seeming to appear out of thin air.  As quick as I can I light the warning fire.  But it is already too late for the townspeople. They are greeted with an onslaught of gunfire, and most are dead before the cold night air reaches them.
Remembering my training, I race down the lighthouse stairwell.  I reach the bottom just as the top of the lighthouse is blown off by a mortar.  The force of the blast pushes me to the ground.
I am suddenly and painfully on my feet.  Blood drips down my face, but I pay it no mind.  I am running, but I seem to cover no distance at all.  It’s as if the earth is rotating under my feet and I am unable to keep up.  I am 20 yards away from my home when they reach it.  Before my eyes my family are dragged out and beaten, while our house goes up in flames…

Saturday, August 31, 2013

New Favorite Artist!

So, my friend Abby sent me a link to one of her friends named Oriah Pratt.  You have seriously got to check her out!  She is amazing!  She really needs to get her songs on iTunes--if she was, I would totally buy them!

I really love the last two--they mainly inspired me (along with Justin Bieber's Love Me and One Less Lonely Girl) to write Puppy Love, with Carson and Madison!

Not Another Love Song

Favorite Songs to Write With

I don't really write to songs, unless they are classical.  Celtic Woman (The Voice, Caledonia, May It Be, The Sky and the Dawn and the SunSpanish Lady) and Howard Shore are the best!

But, when you are writing cute romance novels (aka, Popstar Love) I learned that pop songs give you lots of great ideas!  Here are my favorites:

I Want It That Way-Backstreet Boys This is the best!

As Long As You Love Me-Backstreet Boys

Stay Stay/Love Story/Red/You Belong With Me/Today Was a Fairytale-Taylor Swift The last one is my favorite for writing!


Beautiful Soul-Jesse McCartney

One Time/Mistletoe/Pray (really sweet video)/One Less Lonely Girl/Love Me-Justin Bieber

Call Me Maybe-Carly Rae Jepsen

Hold Your Light Up-Conlon Bonner

Good Time-Owl City and Carly Rae Jepsen

My Heart Will Go On-Celine Dion  For those times when you have to cry...

David Archuleta:
Something 'Bout Love
Don't Run Away

And of course One Direction...hehe!
I Would, Up All Night (# 1 song on my iPod!) One Thing, Irresistible, Loved You FirstThey Don't Know About Us, Stole My Heart, I Wish, Nobody ComparesEverything About You
The last few inspired my Popstar Love novel.  :)

So, do you have any favorite songs you love to write to?  Leave them in the comments!

Friday, August 30, 2013

Publishing with Create Space

Hey guys!
Sorry I haven't posted in a half a million years, but here I am now!
So, I won NaNoWriMo (National November Writing Month, happens every November) in 2012.  I won that with my novel--The Pirate Sisters!  I got about halfway with I think about 24,000 words, and then I stopped.  Throughout the year I have been have writing it, so I got up to about 32,000.

Well, when you win NaNo, they give you a free publishing code which you can use to get FIVE FREE PAPERBACK COPIES.  Yeah!!!!!!!!!  So, in June, I went nuts and wrote about 30,000 words more on the  Pirate Sisters.  I finished the entire novel in about two weeks, leaving me with about 64,000 words.  :D  That is a little bigger than Brandon Mull's Fablehaven!
I edited the thing in two days (so it wasn't perfect at all) and on June 30, the deadline, Mom and I got on to publish it with the little deal. see, I stayed up till ten o'clock (super late, I know ;) Eastern time...the thing I learned from this is don't procrastinate and get it published at least two days before the deadline.  I suppose the deadline ended somewhere in Asia instead of my time, which means no free book sadly.

But it was a great experience!  :)  And I learned that you can publish on Createspace, you just have to pay to get your book in print.  So I will edit the Pirate Sisters better and the publish. So I had my little adventure.

July I had no idea what I did, and ditto with August.  We went camping and my grandpa retired, we saw monster trucks, I went to the Lion King on Broadway and went to the Melting Pot!  :D  I was spoiled, but more on that later.


Sunday, May 26, 2013


Honestly, my life has been CRAZY since I last posted!!
I have some of the best friends.  Kylee and Aubree Ward, Katie Larsen, and Abby Rosengern are my buddies!  We met online at LEA (a homeschool online academy), and then instantly hooked when we learned that we all loved to write!  (I'll post some of their stories soon--maybe with their consent.  ;) )

Well, Kylee and Aubree's mom Tammy--she's supremely awesome!--does a Mother Daughter Retreat every year in Utah.  Since I live clear across the country in NC, I didn't except to go.

I was dead wrong.

On Tuesday April 28th--my last post, mind you!--they skyped me and said they bought tickets for me to come out and see them for the week.  IT WAS SO MUCH FUN AND AMAZING!!!!!!!!!  LOVE YOU GUYS!!!  I FELT LIKE I WAS IN A NOVEL!!!!!!

Anyway, in less than twelve hours after finding out I was on an airplane, and at 4 o'clock in the morning my time my aunt Torrey picked me up at the Salt Lake airport.  I slept a bit, and then we went out to lunch, and then drove for about an hour up to...somewhere.  I think Ogden.

There, Katie Jo picked me up!!  I had never seen any of these girls face to face, but we must have got on fine since I had only known her an hour when I nearly choked to death (she made my laugh while I was drinking water because I was taller than her, thus I nearly died after being away from home less than 24 hours).
I slept at her house that night....guys, she lives in the WILD!!!  Not really, but she practically lives in the mountains with horses, chickens, cats, and falcons that her dad tames!  No joke!
This is the view from her atop her chicken coop.  That night we danced on the roof screaming to One Direction and talking about boys and kisses at sunset!

The next day at noon I finally met Abby for the first time!  It is the strangest thing meeting people you have never seen before but knowing them so well....  ;)

At 2 we drove to...somewhere.  It was gorgeous!  Look here and seriously check it out!

This was at the resort we stayed at!  There I met Kylee and mistook Aubree for her little sister Braxee...knew the face, just said the name wrong, blah!  :)  I made lots of new friends with the same standards as me as well!

It lasted from Thursday to Saturday night.  Saturday night was sad since I said goodbye to Abby and Katie.  I don't know when I'll see them again, but I made some of my best memories!

I spent the night at Sister Ward's house (I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS) and we call everyone either Brother or Sister with their last name), with Kylee and Aubree!  I went to church the next day with them, took a lovely nap, and when I woke up I had dinner and then Brother Ward and Kylee drove me to the Salt Lake City Airport.  In the car, we talked about boys, and temples, and boys, mainly about Preston though.  ;)

On the airplane I sat with someone one from church, which was crazy!  I also sat with her on the plane ride there!  The flight left at midnight I believe.  Hugging my little One Direction pillow which Katie bought for me and begged me to bring, I was zonked after thirty minutes into the flight, and when I woke up my neck hurt, it was 3 in the morning, and my pillow case was covered in my drool.  Hmm.  I sat next to a boy named Peter about my age, and we made small talk, but we were both exhausted.  Quite the gentlemen, and I feel sorry for him since he's going to Boston for his grandfather's funeral.  I asked about the Boston Marathon and he says his uncles are police officers and were going through people's homes trying to find the murderers.

I fell back asleep, and suddenly we were landing.  I LOVE AIRPLANES!!!  It was AWESOME to see all the trees as well!  Sister Fairbern took me home, but not before I took a deep breath of the clean air.  Of course it was raining and was all gray, with the huge, brilliant green trees against the morning sky.  Spring had come at last.

I got home at about seven in the morning Eastern time on Monday, and I 'stayed up' another hour talking to my siblings and watching movie trailers before I finally took a quick little nap.

And THAT, was my awesome adventure.  I think it's safe to say I have some of the BEST friends in the world.  Love you guys!  <3


Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Blog Designs!

Yippee!  So I changed my blog background!  And it took forever, but now I love it.  ;)

With the help of my totally awesome friends, Abby and Kylee, they gave me some links to some sweet template blogs!  Check them out, and find one just perfect for you!  xD

Have fun!

Elowen: Part 1 of the Prologue

This is my story that I am writing about a medieval young lady growing up in...well...the Medieval times.  :) Her name is Elowen, and I absolutely love her!  She's one of my more rebellious, loud characters.

And seriously check out Alfred!  He's called an Irish wolfhound, and they're the biggest dogs in the world!   They're huge!  

Well, see ya!

A Novel

By Emily Parker
Copyright Emily Parker, 2013


Elowen snuggled deeper under the covers.  This was the second time the rooster had crowed, but she wasn’t ready to leave her nice warm bed just yet.  She was awake yet not ready to get up.  It would only be another long day.  Or would it?
As Elowen suddenly remembered what was planned for the day, she grinned from ear to ear and threw off the covers and stumbled out of her eye bed and onto the cold cobblestones below.  She pulled off her nightgown and got dressed in some boy’s breeches and a loose tunic that was much too big for her but had to be fastened with a belt.  Her Father had given it to her a year ago leaving room for her to grow, and she was grateful.  It would’ve been near to impossible to practice with swords in a lady’s dress.
Grabbing her boots and socks but too impatient to put them on, she threw open her door and raced down the narrow hallway.  It was dark, but there was little window slits for light to pass through, along with evenly placed torches mounted on the walls.
The castle was silent, but even Elowen’s panted breathing and excited giggle that escaped her every once in awhile wasn’t enough to wake up the huge castle.  As Elowen reached the bigger part of the hallway, she grinned mischievously when she saw one of the soldiers leaning onto his spear as he dozed.
Elowen hid, and then taking careful aim she hurled her boot at the soldier.  He woke with a start and a cry, and Elowen collapsed onto the floor in giggles.
“Elowen!” cried Collen.  The little girl continued to laugh.  “Why’d you do that?”
“You were asleep!” she said in a whisper.
“I was not,” said Collen, his cheeks flushing.
Elowen rolled her eyes.  “Well, I gotta go!”
“Wait!  What are you doing at this godforsaken hour?”
Elowen picked up her boot and made some quick justs and slices as if it were a sword.
“That’s a sloppy weapon that boot is, a lady shouldn’t have one in my opinion, especially one that isn’t yet eight winters.”
Elowen’s face fell, and then she glared up at Collen.  “Said who?  I can be whoever I want to be!”  Elowen then blushed as Collen grinned at her.  She had fallen for one of his jokes again.
“All right, hurry up!  You might miss your lesson!” he said, pretending to kick her but Elowen was already racing down the hallway.

* * *

Elowen took a deep breathe as she stepped into the kitchens.  While the rest of the castle was for the most part quiet and sleeping, the kitchens were rarely ever still.  There was always somebody mixing broths, baking bread, butchering the pigs, or seasoning the goose for the Lord’s supper.  And there was always dishes to clean.
Elowen dodged through the crowd and the servants were surprised to see her in boy’s clothes, but they couldn’t ever mistake the curly blonde head that could never seem to brush out the tangles.   
Elowen found who she was looking for.  Sitting before a fire was a plump old lady with sleeves rolled up to the elbows and dirty hair tied back in a rag.  “Margie!” squealed Elowen, throwing herself before the servant’s feet.  Marguerite smiled at the rosy face beaming up at her.  
“”Morning, child!  What are you doing today?”
“Remember!  Today I get to go practice with Father!”
“Oh!  Of course!  Now there’s your breakfast right there, little missy!”
Elowen grabbed a clay bowl that was piled with tasteless but still hot porridge, and there was some fresh goat cheese melted on baked bread.  She seated herself next to Marguerite again, putting her bare feet on the hearth so the fire could warm them.
They shared a comfortable silence, but then Marguerite broke it.  “You know, I don’t approve a young lady like you learning how to fight with swords.”
“But Margie!” said Elowen, with an exasperated tone.  “A Lady herself shouldn’t pluck a chicken’s feathers off!”
“That’s different!”  That’s what Marguerite was doing so now, taking off the feathers of a dead chicken for the evening meal.  “Any girl, even if she is the second cousin of King Isaac--Lord bless him--should learn how to get messy!”
“And that’s exactly what I’ll be doing today!” Elowen beamed.  She put the bowl back on the table where it was swept away by some maid to be washed and put away.
“Just don’t come back covered in mud!  I’ll draw your evening bath for you and....”
But Elowen was scarcely listening as she struggled to pull her boots and socks on--or as well as she good as she hopped about on one leg.
“Lady Elowen!  You are not leaving this castle with hair like that!”
Elowen groaned and sat down as Marguerite washed her hands.  There was no getting around Marguerite when the old woman put her mind to it, and Elowen had tried before to argue.   Marguerite fished a wooden comb out of her apron pocket and began to brush Elowen’s thick, curly hair.  It was quite beautiful but wild and hard to tame, very much like the girl it was on.  With a sigh, Elowen put on her boots and warm woolly socks (though not in that order, mind you!), and then grinned when she spotted a familiar dark gray lump.  There were many fires in the kitchens, and lying before one of the bigger ones was a huge wolfhound, dozing.
Elowen clapped her hands thrice and the big dog lifted his head, but then rolled over and didn’t move.  Elowen groaned and then flinched as Marguerite began to braid her hair tightly back.  “Alfred!  Get over here, now!” Elowen said.  Her voice wasn’t very loud, but the wolfhound heard it.
The dog got up and then made his way over to Elowen.  The servants flinched and moved out of the way.  Alfred really was a huge dog, and even though Elowen was a tall child, she was only a few inches taller than Alfred’s head.  When Alfred stood up on his hind legs, he was as tall as Lord Stefan.
Alfred rolled over in front of Elowen, and she grinned as she ran her hands over his wiry, long gray hair.  Even though he was a huge beast and was a swift hunter, he was gentle and patient, and as a baby he didn’t mind when Elowen yanked on his fine hair, played chase with his tail, or climbed on his back as if he was a horse.
“Alright, I’m done,” Marguerite finally said.  Elowen jumped up in excitement, her now
crazy hair out of her face.
“Goodbye!” she cried.
“Goodbye, child!  Be safe!” said Marguerite.
“Come on, Alfred!  Come on!” she said.  Alfred got up and Elowen began to sprint as fast as her legs would take her, the dog loping after her, but not before Elowen snuck a juicy red apple.