#and a lot of thoughts about how the movie!ninja put each other on pedestals

[lloydskywalkers]

Heyo! Hope your doing exceptionally well, wonderful and ur staying safe! I was reading ur little oneshots for the movie! Verse and instantly fell in love! Think u have anymore for Kai and Lloyd? (But u don’t need to listen to this, obviously hehe) Have a splendid day!

ahhH thank you, I hope you’re doing well too!! :D oh man it’s been so long since i’ve written something for movie-verse, but I’ve had this little snippet in my head for a while so I guess it’s as good a time as any (and it is, of course, about kai and lloyd bc when is it noT)

it’s a little different than what i usually write, for movie-verse? but i hope it fits the bill! (takes place pre-movie, btw)

Of all his friends, Lloyd thinks Kai is most like the sun. Not just for his codename, and the enthusiasm with which he brings fire to the team, metaphorically and far too often literally, but for how bright he is. Kai reminds Lloyd of the sun at full force, strong and blazing and staunchly refusing to let anyone hide from his warmth. An endlessly combusting ball of stubbornness and passion.

Kai also reminds Lloyd of the sun in the way that he possesses about the same amount of brain cells the sun does, which is zero, because the sun has no brain — much like Kai.

“Hey, ru—de, ow, stop—”

Kai’s petulant response strangles off in cracked pain as Lloyd hushes him, simultaneously pulling the alcohol-soaked cloth from his arm with a sympathetic wince.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lloyd murmurs, wringing the edge of the cloth. “But I’ve gotta — it’ll get infected, if you don’t—”

“Nah, s’okay,” Kai says, breath hissing out through clenched teeth. He gives Lloyd a wavering smile that could almost be encouraging, were he not bleeding over Lloyd’s faded bedspread. “Just caught me off guard, I’m good now. ‘Sides, the — the stitches are gonna be worse, so—”

“It won’t be that bad,” Lloyd promises him, cleaning the rest of the deep slashes that run across Kai’s arm as quickly as he can. The lower ones aren’t so bad — he could get away without stitches, maybe. It’s the uppermost one that scares Lloyd, cutting deep enough into Kai’s skin to pose a threat. And Lloyd has no intention of leaving Kai anywhere near in danger, especially with the reason he’s hurt in the first place.

Lloyd swallows against the thick lump that suddenly forms in his throat, trying to banish the flood of emotions that have been rising since the battle against his father’s forces earlier. Surprise, shock, gratitude—? A swirling maelstrom of a deep-seated kind of aching warmth Lloyd is utterly unfamiliar with. It leaves him off-kilter, and words don’t come easily as they usually do.

Not that words ever come easily to Lloyd, but normally he isn’t quite this stuttering. Maybe. He hopes not. Maybe he’s just hyperaware right now, after everything, and he always sounds this embarrassing.

“I promise,” Lloyd continues, yanking himself from his thoughts as he busies with the needle. “I’ve got a lot of experience, and I’ll be gentle.”

Kai watches Lloyd threading the needle with a thinly-veiled fear, but he nods, the bravado Lloyd’s more familiar with making its way across his face. “Nice,” he says. “I trust you, Dr. Lloyd.”

Lloyd’s hands falter with the needle for a moment, before he resumes sterilizing it, ducking his head. Kai sounds like he means it — Kai sounds like he means everything he says, but the way he says trust hits differently, for Lloyd.

They’ve only been a team for few months, now. Not very long at all, to form any kind of trust in the son of your greatest enemy. Lloyd’s been going to school with some of the same people since kindergarten, and they’ve never looked at him with anything kinder than hatred, much less trust. And yet Kai is here, offering him his bleeding arm in Lloyd’s tiny room, trusting him to repair the damage he only took because he was protecting Lloyd.

Lloyd doesn’t understand. He doesn’t — people don’t — but his team—

They listened to him. Actually listened to him, to Lloyd. They actually listen to him in general, have since they were all thrown together in this odd little grouping, but it hasn’t quite hit home in the way it did tonight, when he’d snapped orders at them in barely-restrained panic, Kai’s blood staining his fingers as he’d staunched the knife wounds meant for him.

They hadn’t flinched back at his raised voice. Lloyd never raises his voice — he’s learned to keep it quiet, soft, unassuming. Even the slightest slip of frustration is enough to send anyone around him murmuring in suspicion, eyes narrowing and hissed whispers of just like his father filling the air.

Lloyd’s voice had been sharp and strained, barking across the rooftop, and they’d listened. No one flinched back, no eyes widened in fear — they’d just listened. They’re still listening, carrying out Lloyd’s orders without question, and it’s — it’s dizzying, if Lloyd had to put a word to it.

Cole and Zane are taking care of clean-up — something Lloyd will have to thank them for later, profusely. Neither were particularly happy about letting Kai out of their sights, but Cole and Zane are better at keeping each other steady than anyone else. It was the right call, Lloyd knows it was. Hopes it was.

But Lloyd hasn’t been having much faith in his calls, tonight. Not after Kai went down.

He swallows, focusing on the sounds reverberating from behind his closed door. Nya and Jay are talking with his mother, Nya’s louder tones easier to hear as she laughs. Lloyd knows her well enough to catch the strain in it, but he knows it’ll fool his mother. They’re distraction — Lloyd’s house was closest, and he’s got the best supplies stashed there. No one questions why he’s the one with the fully stocked medical kit, but Lloyd suspects they’ve all drawn their own conclusions.

He wishes they’d believe him, when he says it’s because he’s worried for them. He grew up with Wu as his uncle, who picks fights on a daily basis — with Morro as his cousin, who picks fights on an hourly basis. Lloyd knows the importance of having the good kind of medical supplies.

He finishes prepping the needle, squeezing Kai’s wrist briefly in warning. Lloyd’s not usually a tactile person — not that anyone would let him be — but he knows Kai soaks up touch like a starved sponge, and Lloyd’s desperate to give any kind of comfort he can before he starts with the needle.

Kai swallows, fixing his eyes firmly on the faded glow-in-the-dark stars plastered across Lloyd’s ceiling.

“Okay,” he says, his voice tight. “Bring it on.”

Lloyd swallows, steels himself, and sets the needle against his skin. Kai flinches at the first prick, eyes squeezing shut briefly, but otherwise he doesn’t move, jaw set stubbornly as Lloyd moves quickly. For his part, Lloyd keeps his eyes locked on the stitches, his hands steady. For all that Lloyd’s made up of bouncing nerves half the time, his hands rarely shake. Never when patching wounds up. He’s always been proud of how steady he can hold a needle, and tonight is no exception.

It’s the least he can do.

Kai suddenly tenses up, a broken-off noise strangling in his throat. Lloyd’s heart twists, but he stays steady, rallying himself. Conversation — Kai likes talking, right? Distraction, he can do that.

“So, um,” Lloyd stutters. On second thought, he’s awful at small talk. But — for Kai. “The way you took down that last guy was, it was really cool. Where’d you learn that?”

Kai bites his lip, exhaling shakily before he answers. “I train too, you know.”

Lloyd’s mouth quirks, despite himself. “Not like that.”

“What, a ninja can’t — can’t get creative,” Kai replies, through half-gritted teeth. Lloyd doesn’t say anything, but Kai rolls his eyes, continuing. “Fine. When I was younger, I ah…might’ve taken a few dance classes. For Nya! ‘Cause I couldn’t let her go alone, y’know, but they were — they were kinda fun, I guess, and maybe they slip into fighting, sometimes.” His cheeks darken, and Lloyd bites back a quiet laugh.

“Nothing like Cole, obviously, ‘cause he’s an actual dancer, but — that’s where I got it from.” He pins Lloyd with a glare, that’s somewhat dimmed by the scrunched expression of pain on his face. “Tell anyone and you’re dead though, okay?”

Lloyd hums his agreement, too focused on the stitches to reply immediately. After a moment, though, he speaks up again. “I did some ballet, when I was little.”

“No way,” Kai says, sounding delighted.

“Yeah, way,” Lloyd says. “I’ve heard from a very reliable source that dancing backgrounds are useful, with ninja stuff.”

“Very reliable meaning your uncle,” Kai grins.

Lloyd shrugs. “Maybe,” he half-smiles. Kai suddenly sucks in another pained breath, but to Lloyd’s relief, it’s likely the last one. He finishes off the stitches with a well-practiced hand, snapping the end of the thread and exhaling in relief.

“There. All done.”

Kai’s eyes widen. “Seriously, already?” He glances down at his arm, his other hand moving up to touch the stitches. Lloyd smacks it away, glaring at him.

“Don’t touch. You still have to watch out for infection. I’ll text you instructions for taking care of it, and everything. Just don’t do anything, ah…”

“No ninja-ing?” Kai finishes for him, crestfallen.

“Probably a good idea,” Lloyd says, apologetic. “But it’s not too bad. Shouldn’t take long, and you can be out, uh, ninja-ing again."

Kai is quiet for a moment, regarding his stitches. Then he turns to Lloyd, who is immediately staggered at the bright smile that stretches across his face.

“Cool. Thanks, Lloyd. You’re good at this.”

Lloyd can’t answer, his throat burning. He forces the welling moisture back, looking away. Kai’s only hurt for him, and that is layered with so much more meaning than Lloyd can comprehend right now.

“No problem,” Lloyd mutters, focusing instead on the voices outside his door in an attempt to find footing again. He can hear his mom laughing at something Nya’s said, open and relaxed in a way his mom rarely is. Lloyd’s heart twists into knots.

He doesn’t deserve them, any of them. Not really.

If Kai reminds Lloyd of the sun, then the rest of the team reminds him of stars. All bright and shining, bursting with warmth in their own way. Maybe not quite at the blazing heat that Kai does, but Nya is a north star if Lloyd’s ever needed one. Jay’s a blinking constellation, scattered stars that form a complex whole much larger than you’d thought. Cole’s the kind of star you see first pop up over the horizon, blending with the oranges and purples of the sunset, like a painting you’d see in soft watercolors. Zane’s the early-morning kind of star, the ones that stay stubbornly after the night’s left, dotting the pale morning with a calm steadiness.

Lloyd would be a planet, he supposes, caught in faithful orbit around the five people who have somehow, for some reason, given him a chance. It’d be generous, though. No, Lloyd is content just to be a moon — with no light of his own, reflecting only the brilliance others give him the best he can.

Kai’s finger taps the edge of his forehead, snapping Lloyd from his thoughts, and he blinks in confusion.

“Lost you there, again,” Kai asks, words mangled through a yawn. “Where’d you go?”

Lloyd shakes his head, turning his attention back to the bloodied thread leftover in his hands. His stomach turns, and he quickly sets it aside. “Just thinking.” He pauses, momentarily lost for words. He settles for jerking his head toward the window, where the smoke trailing from their hard-won battle is still visible against the dark sky, and gives Kai a wry smile. “How much do you wanna bet the cheerleading team comes up with a new song tomorrow?”

It’s been an inside joke for them, the ridiculous songs Chen and his gang keep coming up with to throw at Lloyd, and normally it gets a laugh from Kai. This time, though, Kai is silent, his eyes searching as he stares at Lloyd. Lloyd shifts under the attention, caught off-guard again. He doesn’t know what kind of look this is, that Kai’s giving him.

“They shouldn’t talk about you like that,” Kai finally says. His voice is quiet, but Lloyd can spot the brewing anger in it. Kai’s always got anger to spare.

“Sticks and stones, remember?” Lloyd shakes his head. He’s learned, after a while, that anger changes nothing. “Words will never hurt me.”

“Words hurt when people are throwing sticks and stones at you while they yell about your dad,” Kai grumbles.

“No one’s thrown rocks since second grade, actually.”

“Hm.” Kai’s tone is a mix of thinly withheld anger and mild amusement. Lloyd tilts his head, confused, and Kai gives a huff, anger tugging loose.

“Y’know, people say that if kids throw rocks at you in second grade, it means they’ve got a crush on you.”

Lloyd knows well enough it’s a joke, but he flushes red anyways, heat spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah, sure,” he stammers. Kai laughs at his reaction, though, the odd kind of anger departing, and Lloyd feels he’s found his footing again.

They’re quiet as Lloyd finishes cleaning up the medical supplies, Kai nodding sleepily on his bed while Lloyd carefully washes the needle in the bathroom sink. Maybe he can convince his mom to let Kai spend the night, he thinks. Jay and Nya , too — their apartment isn’t very big, but it’s awfully late to make them walk home, and Lloyd is fine with taking the floor, if he needs to.

Lloyd nods to himself, resolving to ask her once he’s finished hiding the evidence. His mom’s been so thrilled about him having people over at all, he can’t see her saying no. A smile pulls at his lips as he listens to the conversation outside his door again. Jay’s rambling on now, bright and excited without any of his usual reservation. He feels a pang, wondering if Jay’s the same as him — wondering if they’re all the same, playing at muted caricatures of themselves, too fearful to let whatever lies beneath shine through.

He wonders what it means, that they’re the ones with the city in their hands, that weight on their shoulders. Wonders what it means, that Lloyd feels safer with bullets strafing the air around him and his mask on, than he ever has with it off. That Green Ninja will always, always sound better than Lloyd in his ears.

“Hey, uh.”

Lloyd starts at Kai’s voice, twisting the sink off as he turns to face him. Kai looks half asleep, but the smile he gives him is bright as ever.

“Thanks, seriously. Not just for this, but for looking out for us. You’re a good friend.”

Lloyd’s heart skips a beat, his brain latching onto the word friend and holding on tightly, tucking it somewhere safe inside his chest.

“So thanks, Lloyd,” Kai yawns, barely awake at all now, but still stubbornly clinging to the threads of awareness.

Lloyd’s got his own thank you to give back, twisted and strangled behind whatever lump’s formed in his throat, but Kai’s snoring before he gets the chance to say it. So Lloyd tugs the edge of his comforter over his friend — his friend — instead, and runs the words over in his mind again and again, like a treasured line from a book.

On second thought. Maybe Lloyd isn’t so bad. He’s only ever liked his name the way his mom says it, without any of the snapping, harsh emphasis others give it. In others’ mouths, Lloyd’s name is a curse. In his mom’s, Lloyd’s name belongs to a person.

But he thinks, maybe, he likes the way it sounds when his teammates use it, too.

[naomi-l-tiessen-blog]

Tips on Finding Inspiration to Write

Helllloooooo everybody ~

Happy Thursday Blogday!

So, you've finally done it. You’ve broken through the writing hiatus. You've admitted defeat, and know in your heart of hearts that it's time to brush off the dust on your novel baby and write again. So……now what?

I’m not all that fond of musicals, but one exception is Moulin Rouge. I LOVE that movie. Ewan McGregor can serenade me anytime. Alright, eassssy there, Scarlette, focus. I promise this weird little story has a point. One of my favorite parts of the movie is when Christian, one of the main protagonists, moves to Paris to fulfill his dream of writing about love. Only, hold up *record scratches to a halt*…Christian doesn’t know a thing about love. In the words of the Great Swedish Chef: Vurt Da Furk.

Christian has a passion for love, is motivated beyond all belief to write about it, has 100% gumption to write, but he lacks inspiration. Awkward.

The same thing often happens to writers. They have a passion for writing, and are incredibly motivated up the ying-yang to write, but sometimes, as much as we don’t want to admit it, the inspiration well runs a little dry.

If you thought you were the only one that experienced this, don’t worry, you aren’t. Get off your pedestal…you aren’t special (despite what yo mama says…oh snap!).

Everyone goes through this from time to time. And that’s totally fine.

“But Scarlette, you wrote about motivation just a couple weeks ago! Isn’t motivation and inspiration the same thing?”

First of all, great question! Second of all, how dare you even think that?? Just kidding. But in all seriousness, they aren’t the same thing. Motivation is the act of psyching yourself up. Chest-pounding, head-banging, screaming profanities until your lungs ache…that sort of stuff. It’s getting pumped up to do something maybe you don’t want to do, but know you need to. Whether it’s for finishing your manuscript, getting published, or for the greater good of mankind, motivation is all about finding the strength to get from point A to point B. Sometimes it’s positive, and sometimes it’s negative. Inspiration is passion-driven, coming from within. It’s about being tuned in with your inner self, being in alignment with whatever makes you “tick”. Often, when you are inspired, you can feel it in your bones, and you set out on your own path to seek fulfillment. Inspiration might not always be obviously productive, but generally the end result is positive on account of self-discovery and true, natural growth. Think of it this way: inspiration is the engine, and motivation is the vehicle. Each has their own individual purpose, but together, they become a force to be reckoned with. Inspiration and motivation often go hand in hand, and help feed one another.

Ok, lesson over. Class dismissed.

Just kidding, you still need to finish reading my blog.

Here are 10 tips on sparking your inspiration for your writing journey! Now, these are just 10 tips in a sea of millions and millions of ideas. These ones are some of my favorites that I find work best for me. Some of these might mesh well with your writer’s soul, and some of them might not. And that’s ok! There are plenty more ideas where these came from.

1) Music. What are you listening to? Is it clashing with the scene you are writing? Maybe rocking out to Celine Dione's "My Heart Will Go On," is not the best material to be listening to when you are writing an epic battle sequence featuring a shit ton of blood and gore. Personally, I can't listen to lyrical music (brain stops working, and silly Scarlette starts writing down the lyrics instead), so I opt for orchestral goodness. Anything from Lord of the Rings scores, to video game soundtracks and remixes, to dubstep. The thing about these types of playlists is they have a wide range of genres to fit into the mood you are trying to write. Switch it up!  

2) Carry around a little notebook and pen so you can jot down anything that is potential writing material. You never know when inspiration will strike, and Life seems to know when you are un-prepared, the sneaky bastard. How many times has this happened to you: you are walking along and suddenly a string of dialogue trickles through your unsuspecting mind. Or you see someone who has an uncanny resemblance to a character in your novel, but has a couple traits you didn’t think to include. Or you are sitting in a coffee shop and overhear a conversation that would fit in oh-so perfectly with that scene you’ve been stuck on for aggggeeeessss. Seriously, inspiration and ideas are literally all around you, just begging for you to take notice. So you, brimming with excitement, reach for the notebook you could’ve sworn you put in your bag the other day. Only it’s not there, because you are a writer and have way too many notebooks to possibly keep track of. In a mad panic, you look for something, anything to write on, but it’s too late; just like that, the moment is gone. Has this happened to me? Never! *goes and cries quietly in the corner*.

3) Try looking at your manuscript from a different angle. No, I don’t mean flipping it upside down (unless that works for you?). And no, I don’t mean pulling a Big Hero 6 and having someone hold YOU upside down, either (…unless THAT works for you?). What I mean is, if staring at your manuscript waiting for inspiration to strike simply isn’t working, try something else. For me, if I know exactly what I want my characters to say, but I’m stuck on when they say it, I’ll make dialogue my priority. I’ll write out every.single.thing I want my characters to say in bullet form, and once it’s all out of my head and safely on my computer screen, I’ll work on filling in the blanks. Sometimes it’s hard thinking about everything at once (dialogue, setting, tags, emotions, etc), so freeing up some space in your noggin helps the ideas flow a bit easier. Side-note, this also helps me figure out whether my dialogue is helping properly propel (say that ten times fast) my story forward, or if it’s just a waste of space. Bonus!  

4) Change it up. Go outside, get some fresh air. Get the blood flowing. Now, I’m not always a physically-active person, but going for a little walk is a great way to blow off steam, help the frustration fizzle out, and allow new ideas to present themselves. And if exercise (or leaving your house) isn’t exactly your cup of tea, maybe try something else. Stop staring at your computer screen and maybe start writing longhand for a bit. Take a break to do a writing prompt instead. Go on the internet and look at pictures for character and setting inspiration. Read inspirational quotes from other authors (seriously, my saving grace). Host an emergency dance party. Try something different!

5) Have a writing buddy? Maybe bounce ideas off each other. Once my friend and I were playing a game of Scrabble before initiating our writing date, and for every word we created, we had to tell an elaborate story about said word, as well as how it corresponded to any word it was attached to. By the end of it, we had concocted completely ridiculous stories. But this really helped us tap into our creative sides, helped the brain juices (shit balls…how does this saying keeping making it into my blog?!) start flowing (…disgusting). You can also use your writing buddy to be your soundboard for ideas you aren’t 100% sure about. If you don’t have a writing buddy, have no fear! Have you ever thought really hard about something, and it seems damn-near genius, perfect, Nobel Prize worthy in your sweet little naïve head? Then you open your mouth, and nothing but garbage comes out? And as you are talking, you see your audience’s face fall with confusion, and all you can think is, “oh God. No. Please stop. Just stop talking. YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE!” And it’s at this point that you realize that it sounded SO much better in your head? Ok, well, to save you the embarrassment, I’ll tell you right now that you don’t always need an audience. Unless you have a fur-baby. I’d like to think that they count as audience members. But sometimes all you need is a quiet room, some walking space to pace around, and maybe a squishy stress ball to wring your pent-up aggression into. And when you are good and ready, talk to the walls. The act of talking out loud, even if it’s just to yourself, will help you hear the mistakes and holes in your ideas, or help create new ideas altogether. If this still doesn’t work, try recording yourself, wait for a chunk of time, and listen to the recording (while trying not to cringe on how weird you sound).  

6) Be a stereotypical writer. People watch, eavesdrop, watch the world blaze forward with you on the sidelines, like a ninja in the shadows. Or a really creepy stalker. I like the ninja reference better, so we are going to stick with that one. Watch TV and movies. Listen carefully to the dialogue, how the characters react, how the scenes are set up. Read books and graphic novels. Look at the character’s facial expressions and figure out how you’d describe what emotion they are portraying in your own work.  Use all this to help feed your creativity and spark your thoughts until they are running wild with ideas.

7) Find something that feeds your creativity monster. For some, it might be the smell of coffee, or meditating, or doodling. For me, I daydream a lot; I let scenes from my story play out in my head like a movie. I watch my characters react, listen to them talk, add quirks that make them more human, personable. Find some sort of habit or hobby that tends to help the ideas naturally flow easier without you having to force them out of hiding. BUT, with that said, obviously have limitations. Don’t watch an entire Doctor Who or Supernatural season in the name of science and inspiration. No. Bad. Don’t do that.

8) Start a writer's journal to mark your progress. It’s nice to see how far you’ve come! From budding ideas, to plot building, to character developing, outlining, chapter sequences, and world building. All that fun stuff is incredibly handy to keep track of. I often find that if I’m stuck in a rut, I like to read over my old materials and review my journals. It helps remind me of the ideas I might’ve put on the back burner, and re-kindle my excitement on current projects when I see how far my hard work has gotten me. And worst-case-scenario, it’s always good for a laugh at yourself. I have no idea what 16-year-old Scarlette was thinking in some of those earlier entries.  

9) Sleep on it. No, seriously. Have you ever noticed that you can spend hours gritting your teeth and pulling out your hair while trying to think of something that is on the tip of your tongue, you can nearly put your finger on it, but it’s just out of reach? And finally, after wasting hours and getting nowhere, frustrated and fed up, you go to bed. And right when you are about to fall asleep, in that weird, limbo state between awake and asleep, that certain something pops into your head with ease. Know why? It’s because your subconscious is relaxing. You aren’t distracted by life around you, thus allowing your subconscious to come forward, unfiltered and uninhibited, free from cognitive obstacles of the day. Granted, this can happen during the day as well (it’s happened to me when I’m waiting to board a bus, or standing in line at a grocery store), but it isn’t as regular, as common sense often kicks in before your subconscious has a chance to make an appearance. Having said that, don’t beat yourself up about spending hours upon hours thinking hard and coming up empty-handed; often all that thinking helps drive the ideas forward, making it easier for your subconscious to present them later on.  

10) Simply write. You can't just sit around waiting for your Muse to stroll through the door; you can't rely on that flaky bitch. You might end up waiting a couple hours, which can then turn to days, months, years, etc. It's not a safe tactic, unless you are totally cool with your book being done in 10 years. It's up to you and you alone to get the words onto the paper. Worry about editing later. Just focus and breaking through that block and finding the inspiration behind it.

And that’s it! There are tons of ways to get inspired out there if you know where to look. The world is bursting with ideas just waiting to get plucked by our eager writer minds. These are just a few options, but they are still quite handy! What are some ways that you get inspired to write?

With that said, I post new blogs every Thursday, and if there is anything you’d like me to discuss, feel free to message me on here, or tweet me @ScarletteStone

Until next time, 

Happy Writing!