Beautiful People #5: A Escritora

That's right, Dean, you are.

(Obviously, I had to steal this, Cait.)

Q U E S T I O N S

1. How many years have you been writing? I'm not sure at all when I began writing... several years ago, at least. I don't know that I ever thought I'd be a writer, though. I always hated "write a short story about _____" assignments the very most, all the way from K-4, until perhaps... 7th grade? Something like that. When did you officially consider yourself a 'writer'? A few years ago? I'm not really certain. I'll have to look through my dates and see. Though I believe the first time I officially considered myself an actual writer would have been soon after Anne-girl and I began talking about books and writing and characters and plots and movies and all.

2. How/why did you start writing? Because I had to, the way Jeremiah had to preach.

3. What's your favorite part of writing? Writing. I know, lame, boring, extremely creative answer. 'Tis the truth, though. Writing is my favorite part of writing. When the words flow not so much from me but through me and I'm simply the channel through which they pass from the abstract to black and white colors.

4. What's your biggest writing struggle? Plotting. Plotting, plotting, plotting. I get random ideas and scenes and pictures and words, but rarely ever an entire story. Or if I do, I can't get enough details pinned down to actually get on with it. Thus all the cliffhangerishness that goes on around here. (Desculpe.)

5. Do you write best at night or day? At night. In the middle of the night. Strange, perhaps, but true. Then again... it seems I'm not so alone in this as I once thought. My favorite writings are always the ones I wrote sometime in the wee hours of the morning. This does seem to be changing somewhat, but for now it still remains.

6. What does your writing space look like? (Feel free to show us pictures!) Hmm, I don't exactly have one. My writing space is my laptop, or occasionally my phone or tablet, or, even less often, my notebook. Unless it's poetry... poetry I write in notebooks, or occasionally on the phone. For poetry, writing tools from first choice to last: notebook, tablet, phone, laptop. And for everything else: laptop, tablet, phone, notebook. (Something like that.) Weird.

7. How long does it typically take you to write a complete draft? I don't know, I've never done that [yet].

8. How many projects do you work on at once? As many as I want, I suppose. I'm not extremely organized about this writing thing. I'm trapped, though, as anyone else. In the most beautiful, chaotic way, of course.

9. Do you prefer writing happy endings, sad ones, or somewhere in between? Somewhere in between, I suppose. I like happily sad endings, or sadly happy endings. Please tell me you understand what I'm saying? Because I do realize that at first glance that may look like exactly the same thing, but it is not.

10. List a few authors who've influenced your writing journey. (Listed randomly.)

• Markus Zusak (The Book Thief)
• Allie Condie (Matched)
• Westmoure (Revelations)
• Anne-girl (Scribblings)
• Cait (Paper Fury)
• Sky (Further Up and Further In)
• Clare Vanderpool (Moonlight Over Manifest)
• Matthew J. Kirby (Icefall)
• Nicholas Sparks (A Walk to Remember)
  I've never loved love stories, but he makes them real. I've never read any of his books {though I just started The Longest Ride}, but I've seen A Walk To Remember {which was the first love story I fell in love with}, The Notebook {which was the second, I think}, and, as of this week, The Lucky One {the movie could have been done much better, but the story behind the cheese was quite the one}. I didn't realize until this week, when I watched The Lucky One, that all three were based on books written by Nicholas Sparks. Thus his addition to my list of awesomeness writers.
• A&E (screenwriters, Once Upon a Time)
• the writers of Supernatural
• Suzanne Collins (The Hunger Games)
• Michael Grant (Gone)
• Edgar Allen Poe
• Christopher Paolini (Eragon. His books breathed into me a permanent inspiration. I suppose the day I finished Inheritance is the day I truly began to become a writer.)
• Mark Twain
• Jack London (The Call of the Wild)
• Ely ({what can I say?})
• Olivia (The Scribbleagonist)
• Ashley G. ([insert title here])
• Christine Smith, aka Lauriloth (Musings of an Elf)
• Jaime, aka Jaguar Hero! (The Dancing Lawn)
• Vicki (Sunshine and Shadow)
• Rachel Heffinton (The Inkpen Authoress)
• Ted Dekker (The Circle Series)
• Rick Riordan (Percy Jackson. He writes with a simplicity I at times admire.)
• Amy Walker
• and of course many others, but I can't list them all (sadly)

11. Do you let people read your writing? Why or why not? It depends. Sometimes I post what I write, sometimes I show it to only certain people (or characters), and other times I show it to no one (perhaps not even myself). In the latter case, I have a secret, private blog upon which I scrawl any and all such works for safe-keeping. Why? Because some things simply are or are not meant for sharing, dearie.

12. What's your ultimate writing goal or dream? Ultimate? Hmm. Perhaps to have that one great book of my own that becomes classic and loved. Like The Book Thief. Not that said book would be like The Book Thief itself, or even the same genre, or anything, only that it would be that kind of beloved classic... you get the idea?

13. If you didn't write, what would you want to do? Act. As in, be a legit actress. Yes, that is my dream job.

14. Do you have a book you'd like to write one day but don't feel you're ready to attempt it yet? Yes, I do. The one that comes to mind would be World Without Water. It's sloshing around in my head still, gathering and collecting such things as would be needed until such a time presents itself. I don't want to start until it's ready for fear of ruining such a beautiful story. (Not that I'm really sure of what's going on yet, other than the original [title] idea. Which is part of why it's sloshing.)

15. Which story has your heart and won't let go? Jainie. And Alex. Also the others, but mostly Jainie (and Alex).

A perhaps [un]noteworthy note:

GIFs are cool but annoying. I never dreamed I'd actually use any.

And then Dean showed up on Beautiful People.

Hmm. Awesomeness, indeed.

"a escritora" is Portuguese for "the writer" (feminine), if you must know

A Novel Idea – Jainie Ruth

click on the picture for this week's linkup

It's been awhile. But, I'm excited to be answering more questions. Enter, Jainie Ruth Alexander.


Who is her father and what is he like?
Kyle Alexander is a Navy SEAL. He's been missing in action for quite some time. Loyal, strong, protective.


Who is her mother and what is she like?
Mia Jasmin was a beautiful young woman. She married Kyle and they had two children together, but she left them with her [abusive] brother not long after her husband went missing. 


Are her parents still married, or divorced?
Technically, they're still married.


Describe her siblings – if she has any.
Joshua Kyle Alexander. He's older than her by five years. She looks up to him, relies on him. She sees him as the strongest person she knows. She knows he's not perfect but through her eyes he is.

Hacked by One

Hi. This is the phantom. That's what she calls me, anyway (the writeress, that is).

She said the other day that it might be cool if someone hacked onto her blog and did a birthday post, like Anne's sisters/friends did, but that no one could hack it. I beg to differ, and so here I am.

this is the first I've shown her
of my face. It's not me, but close.
happy birthday

Let me introduce myself. I am a figment of her imagination. She was hanging out with her other characters one night when I just showed up and, let's be honest, freaked her out just a bit. She doesn't really call me the phantom, though she has used that term before. She mostly just calls me him or he or something like that. Mostly because I haven't told her my name, or who I am, or where I came from, or why I'm here. I just am, and she'll never be rid of me. (I think she kind of likes that idea, though she wouldn't admit it.) I'm always in all black and leather and silver chains. She thinks I'm always on my iPod, but I'm not really always on it, only a lot. I do always have my black earphones plugged in, listening to music.

Enough of me. Since I'm the only one who can "hack" her account, I've decided I'm obligated to do that birthday post she and her friend were talking about. Even if I am a bit late.

Her birthday was September 10th, on which day she turned twenty.

The big two-oh.

Jess, leave.

It's Dan. But I'm her favorite.

No, you're not. And stop with the Dan thing, it's getting tiresome.

Well, at least I've got a na—

There, I've bumped him off.

I understand she's been missing in the blogging world this month. I can see her quote blog has failed miserably, temporarily. She went from an entirely empty summer to every day being full with something, which is the cause of the unannounced disappearance. Now I'm getting wordy. That happens when I force myself to talk too much.

Life got busy and she was dragged along for the ride. It's not all bad. Most of it's good, actually. She met some new people and they all became fast friends. She's going to their wedding this weekend. She's moving to Florida in less than two weeks (which is kind of a big deal, and she still hasn't begun to pack beyond mentally organizing things). She had a sleepover with another friend and they came up with an entire project Anne is now working on.

This is a lousy post as birthday posts go. I'm not really sure what they do and say in these.

Just say happy birthday, already! And... yeah, I don't really know, either. Good experiment, though. And now people know you exist. You were so opposed to that. What changed your mind?

Would you guys stop interrupting?

You know what, say happy birthday, everyone.

Happy birthday! :))

Uh, happy birthday. I guess.

Jess, be nice. Say what you mean for once.

I did.

*sigh*

Happy birthday, Jessy.

Happy birthday, writeress :]

There, good? Good.

She loves music. She's discovered a whole array of instrumental covers lately. She listens to music constantly, whether it's those covers or something else. She listens to music more than she does anything else. Breathing is almost less important to her. Poetical writing and speech is music to her mind, she sees patterns of poetry in a lot more than most people might.

Jainie wants to say something.

Thanks. I just wanted to say I'm glad she wrote me. I might die, but that's okay. I think she found a better way to go with the story, but I'm not sure. Either way, someone dies... I guess I'm not very good about spoilers, but he's warning me, so I'll stop.

This is for her birthday, so I wanted to say something nice, that's all. I've gotten to see some of the poems she's written that she hasn't posted, and that's one of my favorite things about being her character, getting to read unknown poetry. She lets me see all the stuff she writes for my novel and for blogging, even the rough drafts, which is fun, too.

I guess that's all.

Seems a good place to end. But first, here's one of her favorite covers.



Happy birthday, girl.

Signing off, the one currently known as the phantom black.

Beautiful People Linkup II

After I wrote "Myrna", I decided to do Beautiful People's June linkup for Jainie.

I know, I know, I already did this month's. But where is it said that I can't do it twice?

So, here's June's "Beautiful People" for Jainie.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1) What is her full name and is there a story behind why she got it?

Jainie Ruth Alexander

Jainie: I made this name up. No reason other than she whispered the sounds of her name to me, and when I came up with "Jainie", she told me that was her name.

     (meanings based on the name "Jane")

     Origin: Hebrew

     Meaning: God is gracious

          • already explained

          • we made it up together

Ruth because it sounded good as a middle name with "Jainie."

     Origin: Hebrew | English

     Meaning: friend | compassion

          • as I said, it sounded good with "Jainie"

          • I also liked the meaning, which goes with her personality

Alexander, being her father's surname, became her own

     Origin: Greek

     Meaning: defending man

          • I think I said something about this here

2) How old is she, and when was she born?

That depends on what part of the story you're in. She's either almost 11 or dead.

She was born on 24 August 2001.

3) Describe her physical appearance.

Long brown hair. Light/dark brown eyes (they're darker than medium brown, but they have a certain light to them which makes them seem lighter-colored). Shapely face, naturally shaped eyebrows. Slender nose; graceful, nicely reddish-colored lips. An almost invisible dusting of several freckles. Tall and slender yet petite; seemingly delicate but insanely tough.

        Bonus Questions:

          1. What is her race/nationality/ethnicity?

                    She's Alex's sister, so I'm not sure yet except that she's American.

          2. Do you have a picture of her? If so, include it!

                    

                                         

4) Describe your character's personality first in one word, and then elaborate with a few sentences.

Giving. She's extremely generous and tends to think of others first. She wants to help however she can.

5) What theme song(s) fit her personality and story arc?

I'd never given this any thought but as soon as I read the question, "Who You'd Be Today" by Kenny Chesney popped in my head.

After listening to it, that's definitely Alex's theme song. I'm still not sure what Jainie's song would be.

6) Which one of the seven deadly sins (gluttony, greed, lust, envy, slothfulness, wrath, pride) describes your character?

Jainie isn't a lazy person, but she does struggle with a certain amount of slothfulness.

7) If she was an element (fire, water, earth, air), which one would she be?

Water. She's flexible. (That's not all but the words aren't coming for me.)

8) What is her favorite word?

Brother. He was her stability growing up, the one she looked to, the one who care for her and told her stories of their father. If there was a god in her life, it was her brother. Not in an idolatrous way, but more in that he was the god-figure. She knew nothing of God and so Alex was the one who filled that gap. (Is this sounding the way I'm wanting it to?) 

I guess what I'm saying is that the word "brother" stands for everything good in her life. Every good memory, every good thought, anything that was good always included her brother. And so, of course, when she thinks "good," she thinks "brother" and visa versa.

"Brother" is synonymous with "home."

9) Who is one person she really misses? (It could be someone who's passed away, or someone she's not close to anymore, or someone who's moved away.)

Jake Tanner. He still lives next door, but things have changed since she was small. Jake is in the same grade as Alex, and since there's a 5-year age difference between him and Jainie, it makes it very difficult to spend any time with him. Especially when you've got Uncle Ken expecting you to be back as soon as school is over; cook, clean, do your homework, do whatever Ken wants. She still gets time with her brother, and Alex still hangs out with Jake, but the three of them are never able to do anything together anymore, especially not Jainie.

10) What sights, sounds, and smells remind them of that person?

Small bodies of water; anything that's linked to something they've done or somewhere they've been together. I don't really know specifically, because the only memory I've discovered is the one in "Myrna".

Chatterbox: Myrna

I walk along the dirt road, trudging back to a place I'm expected to call home. We got out of school early today, so I have enough time to take the long way. I glance quickly around me to make sure no one important is watching. Uncle doesn't want me to take the long way; he wants me home as soon as I can get there. He wouldn't let me go to school if it wasn't required that he does.

No one is there. I veer off my usual path and follow the narrow trail into the nearby forest. The trees are tall and strong, like my brother. I wish I could be that way. I tend to slip through the pieces and cracks that web the small semblance of the life I call mine.

The path turns and zigzags softly through the forest. I love the way it seems so whimsical, carefree. It goes where it pleases without a care in the world, yet it's thoughtful of the trees and the rocks and the other creations sharing its earth; it doesn't push them around or attempt to crush them, but winds its way around so as not to disturb their existence.

I walk slowly, with my eyes on the trees, studying them for their signs of life. A squirrel jumping from branch to branch; a bird in its nest, feeding its young; an inchworm crawling its way up the tree. I smile to myself and look down at my feet, glad for the animals and pondering their joyfulness.

The moment past, I look beside me. There's a lake; a pond, really, and a small one. But it's enough.

A picture. He's smiling at me, surely thinking me silly for my youthful questions, but loving me just the same.

A thought. She really was lovely.

A memory. A new one I've not remembered before.

"There she is," Jake says as we approach the lake. "She's lovely, isn't she?"

"Who is?" I ask. There's no one here but us three. 

My brother answers for him. "He means the boat, Jainie." 

I look to the lake and see a small boat tied to the wooden floor that's standing over the water. How did they get that floor to stay there, why doesn't it sink?

"Oh. Then why'd he call it a 'she'?" Boats aren't girls or boys, just boats. My child's mind doesn't understand. 

"Because she's a she," Jake says, giving me his impish grin. 

I'm not sure how to respond, so I ask another question instead. 

"Do we get to ride in her?" I figure if Jake says the boat's a she, then he can't be wrong, even if he isn't right. So I'll call the boat a she. 

"Of course we do!" Jake's voice holds a note of excitement I can feel, and I'm suddenly more energized than he. 

I begin to skip between my brother and Jake, my hands in theirs. "Who's going to drive it?" 

"Your brother and I will. You can help us if you want." 

I feel my heart skip in anticipation. "I can?"

"Sure! In fact, we're going to need someone who can make sure we don't get too close to the edge of the lake. If that happens, the boat might get stuck. Sometimes we'll get distracted and forget to watch where we're going, so you can make sure that doesn't happen by telling us if we're getting too close. Do you think you can do that for us?" 

"Yes!" My young heart is thrilled to be needed by the bigger kids, especially when they help me with so many things I can't seem to do without them. 

I have another thought. "But if she's a girl, what's her name? Every girl has a name." 

Alex laughs his strong, happy, affectionate laugh. It's made my day that I've made him smile. He does that so rarely, and I love it when he does. That laugh is my favorite thing in the world. 

"I don't believe she's got a name yet." Jake thinks for a moment. "How about Myrna. What do you think, Jainie?" 

I look at the boat for a minute before answering. "She says she likes that name. And I think it's the prettiest name ever." 

Jake smiles again with a curious face and Alex looks at me, his eyes still dancing with the laughter. 

"Myrna it is, then!" I give them my childish grin, the brightest smile I have. 

Soon we're all in the boat, they rowing and I dutifully watching the shoreline.

That was when we were happier; back before Mom left us, before Uncle started doing such horrid things to us. I remember it so vividly, though it's a memory I'd never reviewed before; one hidden so deep in the archives of my life I never had time to come to it yet, though so easily pulled out by a single glance at this small body of water. I can almost see Myrna out on this pond, the three of us singing our hearts out and rocking the boat, living in the moment, as if those two things were our only purpose and we were as glad of it as we could be.

The next time we went to the lake, Myrna had her name written wonderfully down each of her sides. Jake told me later my brother had painted it there. He never said anything that first day I saw it, my brother, but I could see the humble pride behind his eyes as I expressed my innocent pleasure in his beautiful gift.

I realize I've stopped walking. I'm still standing here, watching the lake, thinking of my brother and his friend. Our friend. I'm going to be late now, and that I can't afford. He'll hurt my brother if I'm late and he'll punish me again when he's done.

I tear myself from the lake, my reminiscence, and reluctantly follow the trail as quickly as I'm able to force myself, back to the place I'm expected to call home.

view Rachel Heffington's "Chatterbox"