Fire

Fire

Twisting, shimmering

glowing

Ethereal, eternal

but abrupt

Life giving, nourishing

but destructive

Protective and illuminating

but dangerous all the same

I am the element of contradiction

Why We Write

Why do we write? Sometimes I ask myself why. Like, why do I perform an art form where most of the results will never be seen by anyone but me? Why? Why not just read or find something more seemingly deserving of my time.
Because I have to.
I go through periods where the words won't come, where the worlds I create fall flat or my vision of a character fails to happen.
But I continue onward.
We write for the same reason the basketball player who has never gotten a basket continues to shoot the ball. We write the same way the swimmer practices their strokes day after day after day. We write the same way a singer sings the same note over and over again in a succession of melodies hoping to hit the right one.
Writing is a lifestyle that one does as often as they need. It's a need to put down words and a need to get the thoughts and questions we have out of our head.
Some need to write like they're running a marathon, others write like they're running out of time, or the last group writes so infrequently that you forget they partake in the hobby.
Every writer has a different view of it. But we all fall under the same umbrella. We're writers.

The Queen of Light, Coronation Day

An excerpt from an original short story based on my current work in progress. Enjoy~ - Alyssa

“Roselyn.” Knock knock. “It’s time to get up, my lady.”

I groan as I pull the covers further over my head, burying my face deeper in the fabric. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep he’ll go away. Unfortunately for me, Maion is persistent. His stacked shoes mimic a horse’s as he clops across my room. Just let me sleep old man. He pries my hands off the covers and tugs them toward him, throwing them over his shoulder. His famous smile is painted on his narrow face. As usual his white hair is slicked back with far too much gel. A spotless white suite is his attire of choice. Baby blue eyes peer down at me with annoyance.

“Rise and shine,” he orders, his voice drier and plainer than a saltine cracker.

I moan and roll onto my stomach to avoid his rays of judgement.  

“I don’t wanna…” I grumble. I’m definitely not a morning person. It’s a daily battle getting me up and ready in a timely fashion. I’m grouchier than a bear and more stubborn than a mule. Frankly, it would be easier to negotiate with a brick wall. And it might even care more than I do.

“You must.” His tone is stern. “If this were any other day I’d let you sleep until noon.”

I have to keep myself from snorting. That’s a lie and you know it, Maion.

“But,” he continues. “You know today is an important day.”

Damn, it’s here already? I didn’t realize how fast it had come. I almost forgot about it. My insides twist as my heart slams against my ribcage. I sit up so fast I almost fall face first onto the floor.

Maion continues to stand over me.  His smile is replaced with a thin pink line. “Be downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes. Don’t bother getting dressed. Iofel will be up with your dress to help you get ready.” He’s pleased enough with his efforts. Quickly he turns and exits, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

I sigh. He’s such a pain. I go over to the vanity and begin to brush my tangled while curls. You heard right: white. Don’t ask why. All angels have white hair, that I know of. So, no, Maion’s not elderly, he’s an angel, like me. He’s technically my butler, though he likes the title “assistant” better. Maion’s my right hand man. He practically raised me all on his own since my parents are no longer around. He’s one of the most intelligent people I know, the same one who taught my mother when she was my age. The maids tell me he used to be a lot more carefree and kind back then. But her death hit him hard; even harder than it hit me. His heart turned to stone. He’s been trying to make me just like her. He has a special place in my heart and to my family. I wish he wasn’t so uptight all the time, though. Makes him so much harder to love and appreciate.

Of course, I’m an angel too. But not just any angel; I’m the Queen of Angels, or more commonly known as the Queen of Light. Well, technically I’m not Queen yet. Today is my eighteenth birthday, as well as the day of my coronation. The Kingdom of Light, where I, along with all the other angels, live, hasn’t had a King or Queen since I was born. Maion told me once about how my parents went off to do some field work in the mortal world. They were going to help spread peace to human towns. Sadly, a band of demons brutally murdered them, leaving me as their only heir. I was barely a year old when it happened. That’s why I’m not allowed to leave the castle. Maion doesn’t want to risk losing the last member of the Lux-Aeterna royal family, humanity’s “eternal light.”

But it’s so boring here day in and day out. It’s the same routine: fight with to get up, eat breakfast, classes with Maion, which include how to act like a lady and be a proper ruler. In between we have a snack or two before eating dinner and praying before bed. To any of you out there who want to be a princess or Queen or royalty or whatever: it isn’t as easy as it seems. I’ve trained my whole life for this one day, the day where I’ll have to step up and rule and entire kingdom.  Becoming a Queen at age eighteen will increase my responsibilities a thousand fold. I can feel it now. I wish I only had to worry about which boys liked me and if my makeup was on point.

I can’t believe Maion only gave me ten minutes to get ready. He knows it takes me at least twenty to brush my hair alone. It’s gotten so long it touches the back of my thighs. My bangs, on the other hand, constantly hide my eyes, making me look more childish. I don’t even look an adult much less fee like one; and I’m light years away from a Queen. My face is round with baby cheeks. My sapphire eyes still have an innocent shimmer to them that suggest I never left the house. I have no defined curves or feminine qualities at all. I don’t look at all how royalty should. It doesn’t help that Maion reminds me of how “un-queenly” my appearance is.

Sigh. Just yesterday I was an innocent princess, but overnight I was supposed to blossom into a knowledgeable Queen. That’s all I ever hear. “Study hard now so you can be a great ruler later.” “No, you can’t leave the castle. It’s dangerous.” “Think of what your parents would do before you act.” How the hell am I supposed to know what my parents would do? Sure, Maion has shown me pictures of them, telling me how great rulers they were, especially my mother. They didn’t raise me, so how would I know how to rule an entire kingdom? I feel like I have no qualities of either of them. Both were kind and thoughtful, putting others needs ahead of their own. I, however, am a rebellious troublemaker who will go out of the way to trip a Maion with a heavy tray rather than help him carry it. The only thing I have is their eyes. Like them, mine resemble the ocean: deep, mysterious, and can turn from raging to calm in a matter of minutes. 

Writer's Block

Writer’s Block, that time in every writer's life when they simply can’t put anything down on paper. The words don’t flow. Inspiration plays hide and seek with your brain. You fear your story will never be written. I understand. Though it may seem like I’m productive and all, I actually procrastinate with writing more than half the time.

The reason I want to talk about this issue early is because it’s one of the toughest hurdles to jump being a writer. To some, ideas cascade like a waterfall in their mind. Their world is as vast and endless as their imagination. The problem: they don’t know how to describe it all on paper. The words don’t come as easily as their ideas. I know a lot about that. I struggled as a writer for the longest time. My ideas were endless, but how I’d write them were a constant problem. Blank pages glared at me for hours. How would I ever start my story?

So what did I do? I read any book I could get my hands on, absorbing its sweet knowlege in my brain. I watched television and movies, paying careful attention to their good and bad points. I observed how others behaved and how their actions affected others. To me, all of this was the key to be a good writer. And it actually worked. Books taught me how to write; the styles I liked and the ones I didn’t. Popular fandoms helped me see what people wanted out of a story, as well as what they didn’t want. People showed me how to make my own characters more organic and less robotic.  

The key to being a good writer is to be a good observer. If you know life works together the story will feel real to the reader. However, this method of learning isn’t always easy. What do you look for? What’s right and what’s not? How do i know if I’m observing the right things? That’s the beauty of writing; there’s no right or wrong way. Writing is a personal art. It adapts to the person writing it. A story is unique to it’s creator. No two stories are alike (that’s plagiarism!).

The most important thing to do when you have writer’s block is to write no matter what. No matter how bad it sounds on paper, any draft is progress; any progress is better than none. So relax. Don’t worry about how it sounds or compares to others. Everyone can improve and everyone can revise and edit. Take your time. Writing is not a marathon.  

ONce you get past writer’s block your work won’t become a chore. It’ll be enjoyable. That’s how it is for me. And that’s how writing is supposed to be.

So smile. You and your story are both unique. Don’t write it for others, for their approval, write for your own. Because self gratification and hard work means more than words can describe.