Sunburnt Stories

It was a Thursday morning when it happened…
Forgetting how hot the sun is in the mornings I got up really early (9 o’clock and hey, that’s pretty good considering I didn’t have to) and decided to sit by my pool and read. Given that uni is breaking my balls at the moment I haven’t really had time to sit down and read something I want. So I said damn to the man and I sat outside until 12 o’clock reading my favourite author Scott Westerfeld. His new release Leviathan was so bubbly that I completely forgot the blissful white sunscreen or even my awesome bright purple hat. So it seems the man got back at me by giving me ouchy sunburn as I was too engrossed in my story to even realise my skin yelling for help. What makes this situation worse is that I have very, very, very sensitive skin. I’m talking:
RED
BLISTER
White…thanks, skin!

From now on it’s sun-smart stuff, because apparently it’s going to be a hotter summer than last year. Urgh, I miss open fires and my Dr. Seuss bed socks already!

In other news, it is one more week to go before I am free from uni and assignments. But for now here is one of my pieces due for my last Fiction class assignment. Constructive criticism would be much appreciated, please!

This is a flash fiction piece, and titled The Beginning of an Ending

I stand at the edge of the platform. Grey faces walk past me in a blur as I concentrate on the yellow digits above me. I enter the train as it pulls to a stop and push myself through the doors as they slide open. The lights are bright. They flicker like the strobe lights in a disco. The floor under my polished black shoes is sticky from old vomit and bird shit. Even as I step further inside the train spilt alcohol along with other dark patches cover the floor. The grey faces become still, as if no disturbance was made. I walk forward. And walk. And again, I walk until I reach the front cabin. I pause outside the door. My hands are shaking as one clutches the door handle, the other holding a gun. I try to pull myself together. I try to justify my actions. I try to open the cabin door and do what I was told must be done. But instead I stand. I wait. And wait. And again, I wait until my breathing has steadied. My mind has justified itself. And my hands have stopped shaking.
There is movement inside the cabin. A whisper. A suitcase clipped open. He knows I am here. He can hear my breathing. He can feel the presence of my gun. He can taste my panic. But now, I can hear his breath. I can feel the presence of his gun. I can taste his panic. I steady myself once more and stand at the ready.
The train chugs on as I breathe. I listen. I swing the door open.
There is a gunshot…

A scream.
A silence.
An ending

Ambiguously yours,

Jinx xx

Character Development: Wicked Lovely Series

Another character, another reason for you to laugh at me!

This character is the silly side of me. The more bouncy, happy side exaggerated into a character for a dark world. The Wicked Lovely Series is one of my favourite series to read. Once again, the series is not finished so I haven’t decided what happens to her, but I would like a happy ending to break up the darkness that circles the story.

***Spoiler Alert***

Name: Tara
Glamour/Speciality when she becomes a fey: Her glamour includes black clothing, lots of piercings and ink. When she becomes fey her black clothing turns multicoloured (picture shows transformation from glamour to fey). Her speciality is her vine tattoo being able to move and extend out in shadows binding people until she stops moving/dancing.
Personality: bubbly, optimistic person. She’s sarcastically cheesy towards Rabbit because she knows he gets annoyed and embarrassed. She becomes very serious around Irial because of the respect she holds for him, but is always secretly intimidated by him.
Court: Dark Court
Fear: Irial
Ink: Black vines on arms that move according to her heartbeat. Love heart on breast which is the Ink Exchange that binds her to Rabbit and makes her part fey.
Lover: Rabbit/Bunny Boy
Story: In Wicked Lovely, she gets a part time job at Pins and Needles where she falls in love with Rabbit. Because Rabbit also loves her, he keeps her involved in his secret life as a faerie. She asks to become a faerie so she can live in his world, but to also have the sight so she feels safer around Rabbits family and friends.
In Ink Exchange, Rabbit agrees to give her the heart on her breast in order to make her accepted into the Dark Court. Her story is a happier one so far because unlike Leslie, the Ink Exchange worked for her. Perhaps in a way because Tara was stronger in her love towards Rabbit, but more because she knew more about the exchange than Leslie did.

Wickedly yours,

Jinx xx

Character Development: The Inheritance Series

If anyone else has done this, then tell me so I don’t feel as embarrassed or nerdy!
Whenever I read a really well written, awesome book, I start to think about what I’d be like, if I lived in that same world. And soon, all these ideas start popping into my head and before I know it I have done it…created a character.

The catch, you ask? I cannot disturb the story in any way. So for those Twilight fans out there, you cannot end up with Jacob or Edward, that’s blasphemy, people! And also very sad…

So far, I have created three characters and I will post them one by one, as I’m seriously overdue for new posts!

To start, this character is for Azz…so he doesn’t kill me for not reading all of Brisingr yet!

***Spoiler Alert***

Name: Evieé
Costume: Black and green pants with green and black top that wraps around stomach; bandages down right arm and shoulder; ink on left shoulder of crest with two swords crossing each other, which is a symbol that she is the best swordsman in all of Alagaesia.
Fear: Dragons, Galbatorix
Lover: Murtagh
Story: In Eragon, she grew up with Murtagh when they were kids and had plans to be married. He tells her about the sword Morzan throws at him so they decide to leave. Murtagh was to leave first in order not to create suspicion and Evieé to leave after. She searches for him and ends up at The Varden, becoming friends with Nasuada and Arya. When he arrives, she helps him escape and they are united once again.
In Eldest, when Murtagh disappears she becomes angry and heartbroken and doesn’t talk to any members of The Varden but Eragon. She only leaves her room for training and dinner. When she fights in the war on The Burning Plains, she meets Murtagh when she sees him fighting Eragon. When running to break up the fight he knocks her out with magic and kidnaps her
In Brisingr, because I haven’t read all of it, it makes her story all the more interesting because I haven't decided her fate!
Personality: She has a strong backbone. The only person who can tell her what to do is Murtagh which becomes her weakness in the end. Very loyal to Nasuada and The Varden. Very proud of her swords, which reminds me of Wade Wilson/Deadpool when he uses his swords in Origins
Wade Wilson: Okay. People are dead.
Team: The Varden

Enjoy laughing at me!

Embarrassingly yours,

Jinx xx

Which Hand Will Sign This Paper?

I never thought I’d ever say this, but I’m beginning to like Non-Fiction better than Fiction. Of course, I still love my YA fictional books but something in me sparks when issues such as the one I am about to mention, makes me so passionate about writing and publishing.

In my non-fiction class today we were discussing what makes non-fiction. First I must ask my readers what do you think IS Non-Fiction? The most common answer you will find is “the truth” which isn’t wrong on any level. But as I found out today, now we have to question “what is truth?” which is a little harder as you will find…

One example of this is Truman Capote, who was the first author to write a non-fiction event in a literary form. His novel In Cold Blood was based on true events, however even though he spent a lot of time with everyone involved in the murder, he didn’t tape record any events or take any notes. Does this affect the authenticity of the text? A lot of texts have been skewed into different types of genres in one, this is called Gonzo Literature. Is it non-fiction or is it more fiction? Can it be both?
It’s the same with the Hunter S Thompson novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. In fact it’s been done so many times they can probably count them down in 20 to 1
But what happens when you take the identity of non-fiction and skew the truth so much that you take it too far?

One of the greatest hoaxes of all time (sadly did not make it on 20 to 1 greatest pranks and pranksters list) would have to be the Ern Malley hoax. In the 1940’s Harold Stewart and James McAuley thought modernist poetry was pretentious nonsense. So to take the piss out of Max Harris who was the editor of Angry Penguins, they made up a guy called Ern Malley, copied and pasted together poetry from existing modernist poets and forged a letter from Ethel Malley, Ern Malleys “sister”, to the publishers telling the story of her brother that died and while cleaning out his room she found these poems. Max Harris was almost drooling over the papers feeling so lucky that he came across them not realising that he was made a fool of after publishing them and promoting them around the world. Its one of my favourite stories to tell, that notion of what makes good literature is forever stained because of this trick that McAuley and Stewart played on all of us.
The reason why they decided to play this prank is because they were taking the piss, and because quite frankly people take themselves too seriously! However, as much as I love that story, it is possible to take it too far.

Anyone know the name Helen Demidenko?
How about Helen Darville?
Well they’re both the same woman. Though it was Helen Demidenko that apparenty “signed the paper”. It was her story The Hand That Signed The Paper that was a hoax that went too far. Helen was apparently Ukrainian, who was writing about her true experience of the holocaust. She dressed Ukrainian, danced their traditional dance, but it was later found out that she was in fact an English woman…with no connection to the holocaust what so ever!
This lady annoys the HELL out of me! How dare she lie to that extent and fool an entire nation of people. It makes you wonder how Ukrainian people would have felt about the situation, pretty darn insulted I think! What makes me so angry at her and make it different from the Ern Malley situation is that they did it for a good cause, it was almost like an extended April Fools Day if you like. Helen, however, wasn’t ever going to admit that she wasn’t actually Ukrainian until someone finally caught her out. The novel won a lot of awards and what for? For a true story that was about the holocaust…yet ended up being fictional. Could the story have stood on its own imaginative legs if she had of been honest the entire time?

It reminded me of when I saw John Boyne at Deakin Uni Library with Tor Dor. During question time one lady asked him
“Have you ever received hate mail or complaints about writing about the holocaust when you are Irish?” and he answered with
“I have a whole box at home full of them. At one literary event someone came running at me and had to be restrained” his novel The Boy in the Stripped Pyjamas is a fictional young adult genius piece! And he was honest with it and called it fictional, yet it still had controversy and pissed people off in a good way. Why did Helen think she had to lie?! I think Mark Harris said it all when he mentioned in an interview “the myth is sometimes greater than its creator” and it’s so true when Peter Craven proves this point by saying “everyone was interested in Helen Darville for what she was not”

There are so many accounts like this out there. Links of different situations are below.

Ern Malley

www.ernmalley.com/

JT Leroy "Terminator"

www.museumofhoaxes.com/hoax/archive/.../jt_leroy/

Norma Khouri

http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2004/07/23/1090464860184.html

Tell me what your thoughts are about these people? Do you think Helen Demidenko has spunk and balls to pull that off? Or do you think she took this literary hoax too far? For me, I have learnt to question more about what I think good literature is, also the question whose reality is it that makes the genre? The author or the reader?

To conclude…its best to leave the “pissing people off” to fags like Kyle Sandilands.
At least when he pisses people off, he’s honest about it.

Jinx xx

Taking over the Melbourne Writers Festival

It has been a while since I wrote a new post on my blog and I did realise a while ago that I didn’t end up questioning you guys about an issue I was talking about in my uni class. However, it did occur to me that there was so much more to write about than to rant on about copyright…seriously it was going to be about copyright.

So many more important things…like…MEETING SCOTT WESTERFELD
Yes. The photo above you is REAL. I am not that skilled at photoshop!

This week the Melbourne Writers Festival is on! I’d never been before today, honestly because I didn’t know about it until last year, but if you happen to be roaming the city in the next week, please stop by and soak in the literature!

I’ve only seen one lecture so far with Scott Westerfeld, Justine Larbalestier and Isobelle Carmody but I can honestly say it is a really great experience to sit in a small room, so close to someone you admire and talk to them about the writing and publishing world.

The lecture I saw was called “Taking over the Grown Up’s Table”
http://www.mwf.com.au/2009/content/mwf_2009_events.asp?name=2335
Surprisingly, it was incredibly laid back and a lot of fun! I was expecting a uni lecture set up, however Scott Westerfeld cracked jokes, the audience joined in on what was discussed and a lot of really interesting things were said.

Some of the issues that we discussed started co-in siding with my course, which was really cool, including covers of books and how important it is to please the audience as we’re the ones who “judge the book by its cover” and decide to pick it up off the shelf.
We also talked about the YA section in general and why its so important to keep the section alive. Which is kind of inspiring in a way because my dream is to open my own publishing company, where I will publish children and YA books. So to listen to these authors telling us how much of an honour it is to write for the YA community, it really made me want to jump ahead in time and start up this publishing company! Though I quickly learnt from this lecture not to grow up too fast!

The fun really began when we all got a chance to meet the authors after. Which meant I finally got to meet Scott Westerfeld! Anyone who has met me before, even for a minute, will know two things about me
I love to read
my favourite author is Scott Westerfeld
So, you can imagine how I was feeling! Clutching my book So Yesterday (the first book I ever read by Scott) I approached the table and realised
“Oh shi- I have no idea what to say! My vocabulary has gone!!”
I even said to Mel as we’re lining up
“Mel…I don’t know what to say!”
I didn’t make a fool of myself too much in the end though…at least I hope I didn’t. I instead told him that his books changed the way I thought about the world as well as mentioning his Uglies series changing the way I felt about myself. And I also had to mention my Food Tech hamper I made for him in year 12 (of course, I’m still ranting about that!) which he remembered and was very appreciative of (yaay!!)

Pictures of the finished hamper once again!

So, to end, I am still so buzzed from the afternoon events and I really do recommend that people come to see SOMETHING. It’s totally worth it, I promise you.

Favourite quote of the day
“Adults are so precious and worry too much about what they should be reading. They’re such wankers about it!” – Scott Westerfeld

Thank you to all authors who take the time out to listen to us rant about how much we love you. Even though you say you appreciate hearing it every time, we appreciate you writing such beautiful tales every time.

Jinx xx

Intro to Fiction Writing (week 2)

Terribly slack of me to post another one of these, I know, but I promise to discuss an issue that came up today in writing class later!
This piece is another first draft. Hope you enjoy it!

I woke in a cold sweat. My breathing was heavy. I lay there slowing my breath trying to focus on something other than the dream that gripped my mind. The stone floor felt comforting against my skin and for the first time in a long time I felt at peace with myself and even with the world, even though all I could see was a dark, grey sky.
When I felt ready to face reality I sat up to observe my surroundings. The Factory was no different to how I remembered it before but it still felt foreign to me. I guess in many ways it was always a foreign concept to me. A place I would never understand and perhaps never wanted to. I said I would never return to The Factory but as most stories go, not everything is what we expect it to be and I guess in many ways, I knew I would have to return one day. To prove it happened if anything at all, even just to remind me, freshen the pain, add salt to my wound or even return to comfort myself. No matter what happened there, it was my home for most of my life.

I started working at The Factory on my 18th birthday. I remember the car crash on the way to my friend’s house. The car flipped and burst into flames with just me in it. I could smell my skin burning as I struggled to push myself around and out of the twisted metal that used to be my dads prized possession. I passed out from the pain of burning and being crushed and when I woke up, I was in The Factory. I will always have memories of the smell. I guess it was to make us believe we were in hospital, to make us believe we were going to be ok. No matter how many needles and funny machinery they pulled out to inject, poke and squeeze into, on and above you, it was still a hospital to us and everyone obeyed. It was only when the others, including myself, left our room, did we realise what The Factory was all about…

Jinx xx

Intro to Fiction Writing (week 1)

Take careful note that this is my first draft but I thought I should post another writing folio piece seeing as I’ve started back at uni now. Hoorah!
Enjoy and please criticize as much as you like!

I remember when he came for me at night. I used to wait for him, watching and holding my breath, hoping that perhaps one day, he would stop coming. When he did come, the darkness in my room settles to the earth and he almost glides to my side and whispers the events that happened that day, that year and my whole life. When he departs I used to dive under the darkness that was slowly rising to try and get a glimpse of his feet. The mystery frustrated and frightened me. He told me everything about him, but never anything about his feet. I hated not knowing the full situation, yet I hated remembering. It always made me wonder whether he was really telling me everything, or whether he was leaving something out, like his feet or some very small but significant piece of information I should know about.

My thoughts would fill as the darkness rose when he left and I would wonder every night whether I should ask questions, give my opinion or even demand to see. I never did. I sat, I listened and then waited through the rest of the day until night falls, darkness sinks to the ground and I remember.

When he came for me this evening to help me remember, he was not alone. I dived under the darkness hoping he would not see me, that perhaps on this changing evening, the man that comes for me every night would forget I existed and the man next to him would leave me be. The man standing next to him had a suitcase in his hand and brown leather shoes. When I saw the shoes as I lay on the cold earth I wondered whether this was the night I would be shown something new and not just reminded about the old. The man that comes for me every night glided as usual towards me and whispered the usual information I’m supposed to know about. I sat up cautiously, waiting for something new to be said. But I didn’t hear anything new and after he finished he glided out, the darkness rose and the man in brown shoes disappeared. After the third evening of this occurring, the man with the shoes shook hands with the other man and they walked out. On the fourth evening, I was taken…

Jinx xx