scribal_goddess: (scribbles)
Which I'm all for - my sentient math equations should be able to solve themselves without my input. The've shown a lot of inventiveness this semester in making my life miserable, after all. Also, I'm a sucker for books, and although I'm not allowed to think too much about it (as per the rules,) I've got a list. 

Rules: Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Comment if you want to know why I chose a specific book or tell me what you think about me based on this list of influences. 

Starting now:

1) A Wrinkle in Time (Madeline L'Engle)
2) The Theif (Megan Whalen Turner)
3) The Hound of the Baskervilles (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)
4) Black Beauty (Anna Sewell)
5) The Hobbit (JRR Tolkein)
6) To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
7) So You Want to Be A Wizard (Diane Duane)
8) The Book of Three (Lloyd Alexander)
9) Bridge to Terabithia (Katherine Paterson)
10) The Book Theif  (Marcus Zusak)
11) Neverwhere (Neil Gaiman)
12) The Merlin Conspiracy (Diana Wynne Jones)
13) The Once and Future King (T. H. White)
14) The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood (Howard Pyle)
15) House of the Scorpion (Nancy Farmer)


I feel a bit like I'm recapping my childhood here - I read almost all of these books before the age of thirteen. Actually, only 10 onwards are ones that I read after that.  Except for Robin Hood, that was some time in fifth grade. 

Oooh! I forgot Othello (Shakespeare, obviously,) and Macbeth (same source, of course.) I also could have filled this list with Madeline L'Engle and Lloyd Alexander books, but I felt that might be cheating a bit. Not that I didn't cheat a little based on what was truly influential rather than the first thing I've thought of, and that I picked the most important books for me from some of the series I've got. Also, I just noticed, but I could probably make a list of these  influences for each storyI've ever written and still not cover all of it...

The true secret to creativity? Read so widely that no one else can discern your influences and inspirations for anything in particular. XD
scribal_goddess: (Default)

Prompt: Rough Childhood, from [livejournal.com profile] smoothiesims

Name: Yellow Ribbon
            Characters: The Newsons
            Rating: G
            Words: 328
            Summary: Georgia waits for the day everything will get better. 


Georgia Newson woke to the sound of yelling, rolled over and picked up the battered Snoopy alarm clock that was fifteen minutes fast and had to be adjusted every night, and sighed. That was Ginger and Gabby, at it again – and there was the slam of the door as Gabby stormed out of the apartment, headed out for nowhere in particular. She’d show up at school, eventually. Probably.

She pulled on her clothes quickly and kicked the wall near the door. A kick back reassured her that her twin was also awake and waiting to see if the coast was clear, and she eased the door open to find Ginger slouched at the table staring at a burnt plate of instant scrambled eggs and sobbing. Gallagher already had his arm around her shaking shoulders, and was making an attempt at soothing noises.

Georgia tried not to listen – not listening was the only way to get any privacy in their two bedroom apartment – and gave Garett a poke to scoot him over. She turned the burner off on the stove, and the two of them scraped the salvageable portion of the eggs into a Tupperware for later, adding the pan to the pile of dishes in the sink that needed soaking.

“I’m sorry, I… I’ve got to get changed for work,” Ginger said, and disappeared into the girls’ room, wiping her eyes. Gallagher just stood there uselessly.

Although she tried not to, Georgia couldn’t help but stare at the faded Polaroid fixed to the fridge: a handsome young soldier in grayish green fatigues, his hair buzzed so tight to his head that you couldn’t tell it was curly. After two years in the sunlight on the refrigerator, it was hard to distinguish the soldier from the sand

And though Georgia had only a passing acquaintance with religion, she whispered a prayer straight to the only person she knew who could make it right.

Come home, Gavin. Come home soon.



Prompt: This Dress is Itchy, from [livejournal.com profile] bellemistoire

Name: A White Flag
            Characters: The Greenmans
            Rating: G ish. It's a Daisy fic, so some will find it sad on principle. 
            Word Count: 780
            Summary: Azalea is fairly certain that she has the most embarrassing family in the world.


Azalea had always known that her oldest sister was, to borrow a phrase from her mother, “special.” She was six years younger than Daisy and couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been the ‘big’ sister, though at fourteen and 4’11 it felt more like a misnomer now than it ever had.

It wasn’t Daisy’s fault. But no one had given Azalea a choice in the matter either, and she just knew that somehow, Daisy was going to ruin her first high-school party, and that if she didn’t, the quads would.

She’d spent the better part of a week trying to convince her mom to keep Daisy out of her hair – to take Daisy and the quads roller-blading, or for ice cream, or something – but her mom had pointed out, with unfair amounts of logic, that there was no way that she could handle the five of them alone in a public venue, and that she was not leaving Azalea to host a pool party without any adult supervision. Someone, she said, would drown, and then Azalea’s party really would be ruined.

It wasn’t fair when parents used sarcasm. It also wasn’t fair that her mom had decided to let the quads invite that elf girl – Dolphin, or whatever her name was – and wasn’t supervising them. Oh no. She was letting them loose in Azalea’s pool party, and it was already bad enough that Briar was there. She was getting sick of her school friends hitting on Briar, and of the fact that she had as many siblings present as visitors. All of the little kids pestering, the Briar being embarrassing, and parental supervision was combining to thwart her progress towards the hot, hot lips of Michael Sims, who looked even finer in trunks than she ever would have thought.

Just as she finally sat down on the plastic lawn chair next to him with a juicebox full of punch and started up a decent conversation, she felt a tug at her shoulder.

“What, Daisy?” she snapped.

“Zae, dress is itchy.” Azalea turned around to look at her adult sister, who was scratching at her stomach and wearing a frown, “Zae, make it stop.”

She’s probably got leaves or sand or something down it, Azalea thought. She noticed that Daisy wasn’t wearing shoes, but Daisy was going to throw a temper tantrum if she tried to make her put some on, and that would be a party-killer. Besides, it wouldn’t do her any harm in their own backyard.

“Not my problem, Daisy,” she said, and turned back to Michael.

“But it itches!”

“Go take care of it, then!” She heard Daisy leave, and sighed. “Sorry, Michael,” she said, “My parents insisted that all the kid siblings be here.”

“That’s okay,” he said, “The little ones are having fun, and I don’t think any of us mind sharing the pool.”

Azalea looked at the poolside, where two of her friends from school were braiding Zebrina and Genlisea’s hair, while Rosemary, Basil, and their friend were playing guys vs. girls cops and robbers far too close to the poolside for her father’s comfort. It was okay by her if her friends were fond of the squirts – they didn’t have to live with them.

“Yeah, the quads are actually behaving for once,” she said, “Of course, they’re seven and a half now, so…”

“Quads?”

“The blond one’s not ours. She’s the best friend of at least half of the quads, though, - depends on the day who claims to be her best friend - so she’s here a lot.”

“Oh,” said Michael, “I guess I should have figured it out – she doesn’t look anything like you.”

“Well, everyone knows that I have family like some people have rats,” Azalea replied. “So… when you say that, what do you mean, exactly?”

“Well… nobody else in your family is blonde,” Michael replied hesitantly, “Plus, you know, she’s a little kid, and you’re… not.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“I mean, I um… you’re really pretty,” Michael fumbled, blushing furiously, and Azalea swore she could already taste her first kiss in strawberry punch as she leaned closer to him, “I… if you don’t mind, that is -”

A chorus of screams and a splash whipped them both around.

“What the hell…?” Azalea wondered as her mother came running across the lawn towards the pool, where she could just make out Daisy’s black hair bobbing in the pool, and the quads covering their eyes and yelling.

“Daisy! That was very naughty of you!”

Daisy, unfazed, beamed at her family, waving her white dress over her head as she treaded water in the pool. “Not itchy anymore, Zae!” she declared.



scribal_goddess: (scribbles)

Name: Organic (prompt: Organic from

[livejournal.com profile] esmeiolanthe)
Rating: Gen, no spoilers.
Characters: The Greenmans
Summary: Rosemary Greenman continues her diary assignment and talks about her extended family.
Dear Diary,

This is my second entry. Teacher says we have to tell about things that our family does like the pioneers, which is easy because my parents like to farm. Mom wants me to talk about our organick produce, which is very good for you. Nothing nasty in it. Nobody will get sick from chemikles.

Also we have to talk about our family. This is easy because I have a lot of it. Probably my sisters will write about our tomatoes as well. (Not Azalea because she is in high school and she says, go away, find out the math worksheet yourself, can’t you see I need to write a S.A.? I say, shut up Zae. I wish sometimes we did not all share a room. The Pioneer Girls must have been very patient or had nicer sisters.)


I have one grown-up cousin who is from my Uncle (Dad’s brother,) and no other relatives besides them. Briar said that Dad told him we also had an Aunt but she is moved away. She devorsed my uncle and never comes to visit. I asked my grown-up cousin Jules about her once, and she said a word that Mom washed Azalea’s mouth out with soap for saying. I think Jules is angry that her mother does not come and see her. I do not think I could do without mom because, who would cook? Dad burns things and there are too many of us. Except, sometimes mom is very busy and forgets that Daisy won’t eat normal food. So when she makes plates for seven of us she forgets to make one for dad. He ends up making burnt food. Sometimes Daisy tries to feed it to the trees or our dog. The Dog is named Beasley and he has yellow eyes. He is also not very fun except for Daisy. He sleeps a lot and does not want to play with us four children. This dog he For some Resun reasons he only loves Daisy and follows her everywhere. If we ever get another dog the new puppy will belong to someone other than Daisy.

Dad is never happy when he has to burn his own food. But, Briar says, he always forgives mom because she is so busy with seven of us and she makes him happier once again. When I asked how she made dad feel better he said that was probably how they got me and Basil.

I think he meant maybe Mom decided to have more kids so that dad wouldn’t be the only one who was having them after the aileens gave him Genlisea and Zebrina. She and dad didn’t know that we were two twins. Or about the other two either.

I will finish this entry now because my bedtime is too early. It is a waste of time, which is what Briar says when Mom sends him to bed, but he and Azalea get to stay up until nine, ten thirty on Friday and Saturday, which is a whole hour more than the rest of us get. Daisy does not sleep normally. This is a good thing because the girls’ room would not fit one more bed.

Goodbye Diary,

Rosemary Greenman, age 8.



scribal_goddess: (Aranel)

Name: Weather the Blame

Prompt:  Taking the blame.

Rating: T, because when has an Aranel fic been much less? My girl swears.

Spoiler Rating: Four out of five elf ears. Seriously, the only thing I’m bothering to conceal in this one is exactly why these events are occurring. Which… well, you might do the math, but then, you won’t know how it happened anyway.

Characters: Aranel (Elvensong) Roanoke, touches on Bastian, Anariel, Lydia, Haldir, Viridia, Ariadne, Achenar and Calla.

Summary: The tabloids have a field day at the expense of the Elvensong extended family, and Aranel is powerless to stop them.
                            - - - - - - - - -

            It wasn’t enough, Aranel knew now, to change things. You had to make people want them to be changed.

            That was the hard part. There was always someone who preferred to stick their nose in other people’s business, to cling to whatever power they might have at the moment, to clutch their sameness to their chests and refuse, like a toddler, to let go.  

            She’d made a speech, once, about the politics of the word no. She’d stirred up the crowd – such a young crowd. She’d been so young. Half of the attendees hadn’t even been old enough to vote yet. They’d been the ones who papered the town, their schools, the clubs, with the red and green flyers. Vote, said the flyers, vote for anything so long as you vote for change.

            And there had been so many who had. A majority. Enough.           


But it wasn’t enough. There were always those who whispered, always those who said the cutting words that were weapons in their mouths, poison to the ears. They hadn’t been happy: and now the ones who screamed the loudest were the tabloids. Scandal. Curse.

            Why couldn’t they leave her the fuck alone? What business of the press was a politician’s kid sister? They’d never been interested in Aranel’s family before. They’d only wanted pictures with her children, to prove that she was a mother, prove that she was a “family friendly choice,” whatever that meant.

            There was something wrong with the whole family, the tabloids and the opposite campaigners, the commercials, yelled. An illness ran in it, a strange destiny. The middle daughter was a homewrecker, living with a newly-divorced actress. The mother had broken down in tears at a public event. The father was going senile, forgetting names and faces, forgetting to put the milk back in the refrigerator, and had been retired gently from the hospital when it became clear that his forgetfulness was a danger to the patients. The only people who seemed to be holding it together were the son and heir, and the oldest, the politician with the problem daughter, the one who could no longer make speeches, had no energy left. Why should she? Grass had grown over the grave, dirt piled over the emptiness that the river had snatched from them, rushed out to sea.

            They’d looked into her birth certificate for the fourteenth time. She was a citizen, for god’s sake, they had her records on file. Just because she had pointy ears they assumed that she somehow didn’t truly belong here, as if her whole life had only been passing through, not stopping. And it wasn’t enough for them to attack her – she’d grown a skin of steel, not for nothing in the last two terms – oh no. They had to go after her family, her sister, her husband, her children. No, they hadn’t used money from Bastian’s job as an architect to fund her campaign. Despite the fact that it was, technically legal – despite the fact that her opponent had used his inherited profits from a massive canning factory – that had been the safety money, the if this all goes to hell we’ll still be able to put the kids through school money. They attacked his work, his art. They swarmed the campus to get a picture of Tanith’s newest piercing, headlines with her face popping out of news racks like demented daisies. Politician’s Daugther Goes Bad. Politician’s son tells reporters to fuck off and leave his sister alone.  Politician’s nephew seconds the statement, and tells them where they can stick their cameras. Politican’s brother: Successful on His Own or Riding Sister’s Coattails? Sister-In-Law of Aranel Roanoke: Elected due to Family Influence? Recently Divorced Actress Living With Society Reporter, Sister of Politician: Their Affair and How it Shook the Film World.

She could see the headlines on her eyelids. They burned in her sleep.

Not as much as the gravestone, marking nothing, not even enough left to bury. They couldn’t find a thing. Even after the note, she had hoped.

Aranel needed to find the energy that had fled from her and poured into that grave as if it could reanimate the odds and ends they’d elected to bury in a tiny box. It was a time capsule of sorts: in her dreams for weeks, they’d dug it up together, like the box in the corner of the house that they’d laid in with the handprints of her children and a few laughing, irreverent lines. They had sworn that someone, someday, would want to demolish or remodel the house. Aranel had told her, give it fifty years. We’ll be old women when they open that box – you’ll have to bring it to me in the nursing home, I expect.

No, she’d said. They’d declare the house a monument, the historic house where the governor had lived, and they’d never tear it down in either of their lifetimes.

Such a short time to hold out hope for. They hadn’t had fifty years, and never would.

If she could get that energy back, just for a moment, she’d do something. She’d been chafing in silence far too long, dying to write blisters out of her fingers, dying to speak, to thunder, to rally the hue and cry and say it again.

We must work for it, but in the end we will make it all allright.

The energy and the joy of it was gone, the sense of sorting the world back into place. She could no longer see the wall that would grow from the brick she had laid. Still, she had the anger, but the anger was less and less of a bulwark against the overwhelming tide. Tomorrow, if she took the pitiful page she had penned, and railed against the newspapers, defended her family and her honor, they would take it and tear her to shreds on her own words. Defensive. Guilty. The innocent would never protest.

The innocent lay at the bottom of the river.

Of her bones, no coral was made, and no sepulcher to the breath of youth snatched away. Aranel still tended, on the wall of her office, that painful shrine to the past. It was the least she could do. If she had been less concerned with saving everyone, with changing everything, she might have been the hero. No matter what else she’d done, she had always protected her family, keeping them well away from the ugly side of politics, forbidding them knowledge of the hate, of the threats, of the mail passed through an x-ray scanner.

If she could have stood on the bridge and reached out, she would.

She had been the one who listened, and if she’d paid more attention, she would have seen the warnings, would have known what to say to make everything dark in the world, all the secrets, melt away. If she could go back in time to that day, when she had first stood on the stage, triumphant in presenting herself to the world, trapping an innocent hand in her own, she would have shut everyone she loved out of the political world for good. She’d even have given it all up, if she could only be sure. Aranel could only tell herself that it was the hate that had killed her, the casual malice and the cut-and-paste letters of fear and anger.

And then the flood of tabloids had been unleashed, and all that Aranel could do now was grieve, and weather the blame. 
scribal_goddess: (Aranel)

Title: Strawberry Milk
Prompt: A comfortable bed
Rating: T ish, and spoiler quotient of rather small, as this is part of the Newson side stories...
Characters: Gallagher Newson
Summary/Explanation/Textwall:
Do not ask me where the hell this idea came from, but it is absolutely, 100% canon. Basically, as I was doodling in class one day, I thought about what Gallagher Newson would be like when he grew up a little and stopped being such a smug player, the way he is in high school. (Don’t worry, guys – that’s coming up.) I figured, he’d still be one hell of a crappy boyfriend, not because he’d cheat or lie, but because he’d generally be a flake and he just doesn’t know what to do about emotions or sensitive issues: his default is to get the hell out of dodge. He’d make a great non-serious fling, but it’s just his luck that he’d mostly go for girls who want some sort of commitment, at least in the short term.

            I also figured that he’d like the idea of a threesome, but that it would have to be with two girls. And if the girls are romantically involved as well as sexually, they’d be taking care of the feelings stuff together and invite him over when they felt like having a wild night. Also, it's been headcannon for a long, long time that Chris (Jones) and Melissa (Smith) Roomies, from sims 1, are together.

            Ergo, this 100% canon situation was born. I repeat, 100% canon. Be proud, guys: this is probably the closest you’re getting to a smutty fic.

           


A lazy Sunday morning with his two favorite people )
scribal_goddess: (Default)

Name: Could not Remember

Rating: G, but kinda spoilery if you think hard about it. Of course, you’d have to have an idea of what was going on to get the spoiler. If I were Cee I’d make this three bonnets or thereabouts.

Prompt: Pulling a horsie out of the surgery dummy, from docnerd. (Yeah, I was all like “WTF am I supposed to do to this?” and then I was like “OMFG, I know it all!”)

Characters:



Haldir Elvensong. This is spoilered for reasons.

Summary: He could not remember their names, and that bothered him.

Speaking of all this, I still have a spoiler-guessing meme going a few posts back. I'd like to know what you think all this is about.

  ***  

            Three a.m. again. He wasn’t ever sure if it was the vague dreams that drove him out of bed or the need to pee.

            At sixty four he had finally given in to the overwhelming knowledge that he was now an old man. Superfluous, except as a vessel for regrets, which filled him up to the point where he wondered how there was room for the dreams.

           


There were too many stairs. )

scribal_goddess: (Default)

Hey look, I can change fonts! Kind of.
Here are my prompts for Myshuno 2012. Thank you to everyone who contributed: I could have played this game twice. "Extra" inspiration from the extra prompts will probably play a role in several of my fics this time around. Also, I'm going for blackout. Wish me luck!


Cut for unholy mess )

scribal_goddess: (Default)
So... because I leak plot points like a sieve, and because I jump firmly up and down on Jess' bandwagon when I can... this is that thread. The thread where anyone who reads can tell me what they already know about the future of my legacy, and what they're guessing based on the clues. Yup, there are clues. 

I want to do this because I want to know how much you lot have put together about the great, big, legacy-shaping thing, (hopefully you're all right about which plot point that is... yes, I know I'm evil,) but there's a heck of a lot of small sideplots which I'm fairly certain that you can guess, too. 

Credit for the meme goes to [livejournal.com profile] mzyra and to [livejournal.com profile] lilycobalt. I've done nothing but steal it and hide it under my pillow, as per usual.  Post away, people, and don't be afraid to be ludicrous! I'll give you cookies when the plot point comes around if you turn out to be right. 

Meme 11:

Jun. 20th, 2012 09:52 pm
scribal_goddess: (Default)
Meme taken from [livejournal.com profile] medleymisty

Rule 1: Post the rules
Rule 2: Say 11 Random things about yourself.

Rule 3: Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post and then make 11 new ones.
Rule 4: Tag 11 people - Okay, so [livejournal.com profile] mzyra, [livejournal.com profile] joandsarah, [livejournal.com profile] themorganlegacy, umm... [livejournal.com profile] holleyberry, and anybody else who might be reading this, I chose you!


Memes this way, brought to you by 94 degree heat at night )


scribal_goddess: (Default)
Meme time!
Rules:
Lucky 7 has its own set of rules. Here’s what you are supposed to do:
Open your WIP (work in progress) and:
1. Go to page 77.
2. Go to line 7 on that page.
3. Copy the next 7 lines, sentences, or paragraphs as they are written.
4. Tag 7 authors who also have Works in Progress.

  I'm currently working (for a given value of work) on turning a series of three novellas into a proper novel or at least a novel in three parts. And wondering if "The Queen's Sorceress" is a semi-decent name for the whole thing. That's the only name out of the three I'm not sold on.
  Speaking of Memes, I tag anybody who reads this who actually has a work in progress that even made it to page 77. (77? Seriously? Most of whatever I've worked on most recently gets to be about 50 pages if it gets lucky. Not that I'm necessarily writing the entire thing when that happens...)
  Yeah, so starting at page 77 of Finder (the second novella) here we go.

  “Why, whatever are you talking about, sister dear?” I asked sarcastically. To my knowledge, I had not done anything stupid to any room in the castle recently, by magic or no, and it was just like Ella to assume that when something went wrong, it was my fault. 
  
“Don’t be an idiot if you can help it, Rae,” she snapped at me, tapping her foot impatiently, “I know you were working magic there yesterday, and it’s just like you not to clean up your disasters. You left a mess in the schoolroom for Merideth too.”
  
I sat up at that, “And I took care of it. Who appointed you to be on my case all the time, anyway?” She’d gotten on my nerves already, and I didn’t much care if she got mad at me – assuming she wasn’t already. 
  
“No one had to,” she snapped back, “Merideth’s just too nice to tell you that everyone’s sick of all your irresponsible garbage. Do what you must, but have the decency to clean up after yourself so no one else has to deal with it.”
  
She stalked off immediately, and all my sharp words died on my tongue as I saw Verdandi staring at me. I pressed my lips together and stared back until she looked away. Good. It wasn’t any of her business.
  
“Let’s go outside.”
  
No one thought I could do my job. Well, I was just going to have to prove them wrong.
scribal_goddess: (Default)
My apologies that this is so late... but the middle of July just didn't work so well, for many reasons.

The requester is de (Fireflowersims) who asked for Rean and his partner recieving five wedding gifts.

Onwards )

~ ~ ~
I swear I didn't mean this to end on a sad note, but... Well.
scribal_goddess: (Default)
This is for the Get Married +8,000 writing meme, in honor of New York legalizing same-sex marriage. The requester is [livejournal.com profile] myzra, who asked for Rean and his future spouse (who I haven't mentioned in-story yet...) discussing the roles of the wedding party, such as best man and maid of honor. So, here you go, Myzra!

That said, it's not really that spoilery. )
scribal_goddess: (Default)
I have no idea where it came from, but it sounds like fun, so...

Give me one of the characters from my story and I will tell you:
1) How I feel about this character
2) All the people I ship romantically with this character
3) My non-romantic OTP for this character
4) My unpopular opinion about this character
5) One thing that will happen to this character in the future of my story.
scribal_goddess: (Default)
De did it, so I might as well. So... for sims, writing, and the Internet, I have 10 resolutions.
10 things about next year. )

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