#posting this draft so I can get pressured into finishing it HAH

[emagios]

Punctured Canvas

[ Reverse 1999 Vernetto Fanfic ]

Each day always carried a consistent routine. Sonetto would wake up at sunrise, do her morning stretches, and take a walk through the gardens. By seven, she would return to the dining area to eat breakfast together with mother and father, which would last no longer than thirty minutes.

Breakfast was simple, and uneventful. Mother and her would converse about the state of the garden and flowers in bloom, while Father would read the daily paper with a cup of coffee on hand, occasionally humming from time to time to show that he too was following in their conversations. 

When the clock hit the thirtieth minute mark, Father was the first to rise from his seat and went on to prepare for work. Mother would soon follow, speaking with the maids and kitchen staff, listing to them directions and tasks for the day before she too would leave to attend whatever social function their family was invited to.

Sonetto was left last, though she did not linger for long. Instead, she made her way to the study. There, she would read right by the window, seated on the velvet chaise lounge and soaking up the natural light of the morning sun. 

Books were one of Sonetto’s favorite things, and were also one of the rare requests that her parents would readily agree to gift to her. 

To Sonetto, a book was a gift within a gift. Vast expanse of contents bound together between two covers. Within its pages lay inked words whose intended recipients were anyone and everyone. Daring adventures for wide-eyed children, whirling romance for those struck by cupid, or something technical and deeply informative for erudite scholars.

Fiction, and Nonfiction. All of this fascinated Sonetto, who always sought to devour each book and absorb all its contents like the way the soil soaked up water.

But there was one specific piece of literature that she liked to read the most, and it was poetry. 

Poetry rent open an author’s soul. Poems bared the author for all to see- what they were, what they are, and what they would be. Writing, she found, was like painting in that regard. The only difference was the medium of their work.

Perhaps that was why she loved it so.

And perhaps, she mused one day, as she saw the regular postman standing on the wide cobbled streets below her, delivering the bundle of letters to their housekeeper, a stout and kindly old woman. 

Their housekeeper, who would bid the postman farewell in turn and promptly make her way up to the attic-turned-studio to drop off the package of letters. 

The studio, a room Sonetto was heading for next, and a room all to herself with its familiar scent of parchments, wax, and turpentine felt like hearth and home to her. 

Reaching for the newly arrived letter, Sonetto would smoothly unseal it with a palette knife to begin reading. The further she read, a multitude of emotions would swarm through her heart, encasing it with a river of joy, sorrow, anger, love.

All of these feelings, she evoked into life as she weaved strokes of colors onto the canvas before her. Perhaps this was why she began to make personal inquiries- questions that then became a request for  letters. Letters that were written from the heart. That laid open one's innermost desires and wishes— a truth that rested well within one’s soul.

The paintings then, as important as they were for her, were just as, if not more so important for her clients'. 

“We exist to serve.”  A saying that her father often quoted.

The fulfillment of their wishes was something Sonetto was taught, yet at the same time it was also a thing she equally valued. To see her clients' faces light up in joy, awe, or gratitude gave her warmth and even pride. 

But… it was not a pride she could freely display. For, at the end of the day, it was her father that would hand the framed canvas over. It was her father who would accept all the gratitudes and admiration for her masterful work, while she remained behind on the shadow of his back, silent as the whispering breeze. A picture of the perfect daughter. Silent, but attentive. Polite and accommodating towards the guest, there to make sure everything remained in order and all concerns seen to.

Once, when she was younger, she would’ve questioned and maybe even fought for the seemingly unfair arrangement. But she was older now, and understood better the actions of her parents. Arcanists like her were kept away at arms reach by the rest of the world, with some treating them worse. While 19th Century Italy was fortunately not the latter, the concurrent inner turmoil of the nation that remained even years after the unification also meant that the political climate, and in turn the perception of Arcanists, was shaky at best. 

So, yes. Sonetto understood why her father and mother wanted her to keep as minimal interaction with people and the outside as much as possible. To hide herself was to protect herself, and she would always be grateful to her parents for the lengths they went through to ensure that she remained safe. 

And so she would remain paces away from her father’s back, to keep a polite distance between the guests in their house. This was the routine she followed her entire life. This routine, that which provided her and her family safety, and security.

A routine that,  after nearly twelve years, was broken during one Saturday afternoon during a simple luncheon between a not so simple guest. 

The disrupter, in the form of slate green hair and eyes, and a coat a navy blue color like the sea at the provinces where she and her family used to live. Her boater hat, a similar color with her coat with a cyan ribbon wrapped around it, tilted sideways, covering her left eye. 

She had looked, disbelievingly, similar to her in age. Sonetto’s self-discipline was the only thing that kept her from questioning out loud the identity of the young woman seated across from her, who was chatting deferentially with her mother. Surely she could not be who she says she was?  Then again, her sealed letter and badge proved otherwise. 

And living sequestered away did not mean she was wholly ignorant of the comings and goings around her. Sonetto has read and heard of the St. Pavlov Foundation. A renowned public institution dedicated to sheltering arcanists and teaching them how to use their abilities in order to peacefully live alongside humans. And for an organization as well known as the Foundation,  rumors were bound to spring up. One such rumor  was how the Foundation took arcanist children specifically in order to indoctrinate them during their most impressionable years. 

Maybe that rumor held a grain of truth after all. 

“I hope the tea is to your liking, Miss Vertin. We’ve sadly not had the chance to restock our coffee you see.” Her mother spoke up. The three of them were at the garden, seated at a bronze round garden table large enough for four. Her father, the only one missing, had excused himself to his office, promising to return later.

The Timekeeper- Vertin, perked up, and gently placed her cup of tea down. “It’s entirely alright! I’m not much of a coffee person anyways. Besides,” her voice took on a sheepish tone. “Our visit was quite sudden, and I must thank you for graciously hosting me on such a short notice .” The gentle breeze

Her mother sat up straight. “Ohoho, nonsense. My house is always prepared. Ah, but it is a shame that your friends were not able to join us today.” 

A delight, actually. Sonetto thought. Having the Foundation's attention was cause for concern enough, they didn’t need more of their members eating at their house. 

“It’s alright. They were only here to escort me, and they have other businesses to attend to. If I may, is this chamomile? I admit I’ve never really explored my tea drinking tastes other than green tea. This tastes amazing.” 

“Why, indeed!" Her mother replied. "But I can’t take the credit for that. My Sonetto, here, is the one you should be thanking. She’s an excellent brewer, never once made a bad cup of tea in her life.” 

Curious gray green eyes turned to look at her. “Sonetto, is it? Thank you very much. The tea was splendid.” 

Sonetto’s fingers twitched from where it was resting atop her knee, hidden under the table. “You're welcome. I am glad that the tea is to your liking.” 

“It very much is. " The Timekeeper affirmed. " You know, I haven’t really realized just how large your family’s estate is, Mrs. Alessi. Especially the gardens. It's quite a home indeed. Would it perhaps be alright to take a tour of the outdoors?” 

The Timekeeper’s gaze still remained focused on her, despite addressing her mother. Sonetto narrowed her eyes. The former’s lips curled into a slight smile. 

It was Sonetto who spoke first. “I’m sure Mr. Gian, our gardener, can spare a few moments to provide you a tour right now if you really wish to.” 

But, it seemed, her mother had other ideas. “Now now, dear. Don’t you remember that Mr. Gian requested for a short leave just recently this week in order to return home and attend his granddaughter’s birthday? Your father won’t likely be back for another hour, goodness gracious, You know how long those meetings of his can go on. So why don’t you go and take Miss Vertin around while I help the cook prepare for our lunch. Aside from Mr. Gian, you’re the only one who knows the garden and layout of the maze best.” She finalized, inviting no argument. 

Seemingly having no choice, Sonetto could only release a sigh, rising from her seat in compliance. “Very well then.” Gesturing her hand towards the granite slabs that lead further into the garden, “If you would follow me please, Miss Timekeeper. It would be best to still be back in time for my father's return.”

She turned around, ignoring the scraping metal sound of a chair being pushed back as she began to walk away.  ***

It didn't take much for the Timekeeper to keep up with her. She was panting lightly, one arm lifted up, the white frills of her sleeve brushing against her hair as she reached to fix the hat nestled atop her head.

Her other arm remained lax at her side, holding- Sonetto realized, a dark, brown leather suitcase. 

“You should have left your suitcase on the patio.” She started. “Is it not heavy? We can still walk back.” 

The Timekeeper shook her head. “No, thank you. I'd rather keep it close with me. ” She replied. 

Likely important documents from the Foundation.

And probably hefty too, if her earlier struggle was indicative. Wary she may be, Sonetto nonetheless let the matter drop.

Along their path began a line of flora of different types and colors. Oleanders, Sages, and Roses lined up this side whilst the Bougainvilleas, Sunflowers, and Lavenders on the other. She recited them all to her, including a short trivia on what each name meant and what each plant symbolized. 

Sonetto found that doing so kept the guests more entertained when touring the gardens, but that too much information made the listeners uninterested and even impatient which she couldn't quite understand, because would it not make sense to want to learn more of the things you liked? But regardless of that, she had to settle for a shorter script. One that has been effective since.

While it was no surprise to see the Timekeeper nodding along at each tidbit of information shared to her, what was a surprise were the technical questions the Timekeeper asked right back. What were the type of soil used for the plants? Did they used fertilizers to maintain the quality and growth? How difficult was it to maintain such large assortments of flora and in such a space and how often? Or is it all just simpler than it looked?

Needless to say it left the painter momentarily dumbstruck.

“I'm sorry,” The Timekeeper apologized. “I didn't mean to bombard you with so many questions. I've been told that it gets people overwhelmed whenever I do that. You don't need to give me an answer if you don't want to or if you don't know-”

“No!” Sonetto’s voice raised up. She winced at the loud volume of her voice, but continued to speak again at a normal volume. “I have no problem with answering your questions. I was just unprepared, that's all. “

“Then, I would appreciate hearing any answers you are willing to share.” The Timekeeper replied gently. And so Sonetto began, answering the Timekeeper’s questions first, but later turned into relaying all of what she knew. 

Oleanders, of all the plants in the garden, was one that needed the most attention when it came to tending due to its toxicity. While Lavenders were commonly soaked in water during baths, and infused to make wonderful scented perfumes, they also served well as essential oils  and for many ailments. Here, they were often used as tea and Sonetto shared to the Timekeeper her method of making it. The Timekeeper seemed to genuinely follow along, asking follow up questions, begrudgingly much to Sonetto's delight. If she noticed the upturned lips of the Timekeeper when she defended the planting of a sizeable amount of plants only to be used for such mundane purposes, she ignored it.

The two were in the middle of discussing the possible medicinal uses and overall defining qualities of each plant when Sonetto heard the familiar rushing of water. Their conversation came to a close as the white, marble fountain came into view. The fountain was relatively small, spanning three feet wide. At its center stood a pedestal that reached maybe twice its diameter, with two layers. At its top was a statue of a cherub pouring a vase of water, which was the source of the pouring river that trailed down at the base. 

“Is that a key around its neck?” The Timekeeper raised her free arm to point at the glinting object around the aged statue's neck.

"Yes, it is." She confirmed. “The garden has two fountains, you see. The other fountain is at the heart of the maze. I believe you'll soon find out what it looks like, so I feel no reason to divulge the fountain’s appearance for now.”

“Not even if I say please?” There it was again. The subtle smirk.

She could not help it. “Not even on my deathbed.” Sonetto drolled out.

At that, The Timekeeper's grin grew wider and clearer. “So you do have a funny bone in your body.”

Sonetto looked down, fighting the growing grin that threatened to lurk its way out. She forced a sigh.

“I do possess the ability to be… humerus at times, you know.” 

No. She refuses to acknowledge the raised eyebrows and look of mirth on the other's face.

 “The entrance to the maze is just behind the fountain. Now, would you like us to move on?”

“Sure, sure.” 

The two circled over the fountain’s perimeter, the spray of the water causing a mist of prism to form as it caught the sunlight. The silver key around the cherub’s neck also caught the same light, sending a sharp glare into Sonetto's sight. As they reached the back of the fountain, they stopped at the open gates. The wrought iron was intricately carved in arabesque patterns, weaving seamlessly with the vines crawling all around it making it look as if said undergrowth turned to metal halfway.

Sonetto took the first step, the Timekeeper following in pace beside her. The wall was seven feet tall, therefore when the two stepped inside they were welcomed with overcast shadow.

“The maze takes up a fourth of the estate.” Sonetto informed, lightly kicking a small pebble and watched as it rolled away. “Reaching the other side would take us close to an hour, but we may be able to reach the center in twenty minutes or less. I could give you the full tour next time.”

“Next time, huh?”

“I mean- That is, assuming you are to return again and that you wish to have another tour of the estate. Apologies, I shouldn’t have presumed too much of our-”

“No!” Vertin protested, cutting off Sonetto’s trail of thought. 

Drat.

Biting her tongue would have been better than embarrassing herself like this.

Vertin however, was oblivious to the inner turmoil of her mind. She continued to speak.

“I would love to be able to explore the gardens with you next time. The Foundation has a request for your father and so my meetings with your family would likely take a week. If you want, we could even spend time the duration of my- Miss Sonetto? Is everything alright?”

The Timekeeper had said all this, with a light tone that Sonetto dared to once more assume bordered on hopeful. But that quickly shifted into worry seeing the baleful expression that had morphed into Sonetto’s face.  That was right. In their conversations, the young painter had forgotten who exactly their unexpected guest was. What unnerved her, was how easy it had been to do so. ‘But not this time.’ She resolved.

“...The Foundation.” She tilted her head to face the Timekeeper. Whether it was the tone of her voice or the look on her face, the Timekeeper stood straighter. Her arms rested stationary at her side, her brows furrowed but eyes attentive as she listened closely to what the painter had to say.

“I realize, Miss Timekeeper, that whatever business you have is between only you and my father. Yet still, I cannot help but be curious and so, I must insist.” Sonetto ladled her gaze with ice, holding it steadily against the Timekeeper and yielding no vulnerability. “What exactly does the Foundation want from my family?” 

[teacupwriter]

writing process tag

thanks so much for tagging me @katiehahnbooks!! I loved reading your answers, btw. This looks like fun and I need a bit of a pick-me-up tonight, so here goes. :)

1.  What are your favorite genres and/or styles to write in?

I tend toward historical fiction and action/adventure, sometimes with fantasy elements and usually (but not always) featuring romance. I’m not a super ‘realistic’ writer so all of my stuff takes on a cartoon/comic-world quality. Probably a side effect of all the comics and Disney I consumed growing up, but I’m going with it.

2. What was the last writing project you finished and felt successful with?

Mm. Kind of a tricky question at the moment. I recently wrote and posted a Tintin fanfiction one-shot series that I felt pretty happy with at the time, but it didn’t get a great reception. So, mixed results. I think I learned that I should stick to my more natural writing mode. (As in, long drawn-out 30+ chapter stories.)

3. If you have a WIP how do you feel it’s going? What stage are you in?

I have several fanfiction WIPs (read: too many) and one original WIP. I feel it’s going at about the rate I can expect considering my current school workload. I have a title, and the core cast of characters, and a very, very rough idea of the plot, but I’m still in the research/outlining stage. Right now I’m researching the involvement of British Secret Intelligence in the Spanish Civil War (yes, England was all up in Spain’s business and, no, they were not supporting the democratic side) because my female MC’s love interest is a female British spy. Anyway, I love live for research so I may be in this stage for a while...

4. What is your favorite place to write?

Anywhere it’s quiet. Although ever since I got noise-cancelling headphones (best purchase of my life, worth every penny) that can pretty much be anywhere! I am easily distracted by other people though, so unless I’m really in The Zone I prefer to be alone.

5. Do you prefer to write long hand or type? Or some other method?

I prefer to type. I use copy and paste quite a lot when writing, and I keep a spare document open to dump discarded paragraphs/descriptions in case I feel like coming back to them. But I do brainstorming and middle-of-the-night idea scribbling by hand. Last summer when I had a job with a 1-hour both ways commute, I would record myself talking out loud about my story while stuck in traffic.

6. Do you remember your first character? If so can we meet them?

Hah, okay. I could start with my LOTR hobbit OC, Jessica, whom I invented while running around with my younger brother LARPing as Merry and Pippin (we were like 8 and 10 years old, we had no idea what we were doing had a name, of course.) I would play one side of a conversation as Merry and then hop a foot away to play the other side as Jessica. (Who was also his love interest. Of course.) Or I guess I could talk about Fudgie the anthropomorphic stuffed dog who was the star of the first story I wrote at 7 years old, which detailed his voyage across the Pacific Ocean in a bathtub. Or... my Tintin fanfiction OC I created when I was 14, who was, well, not the pinnacle of originality by any means. But I have fond memories of her, and all of them, honestly. Love your ridiculous old characters. #end cringe culture 2018

7. Where do you get your inspiration?

So many places! Sometimes the architecture of an old building, or a dual-ownership home where the top half is painted a different color from the bottom half. (Which I actually saw once in Cambridge, MA. Like, imagine an enemies-to-lovers, ‘we’re stuck renting the same house because it’s a great location but we disagree on everything’ rom com!) Super mainstream action movies tend to inspire me, for some weird reason. (My favorite - the Jason Bourne movies.) I’m inspired by museums, paintings and illustrations, historical photography and comic books... lots of random stuff.

8. Do you outline a story before writing it, or does it all live in your head until the first draft gets put down?

I outline. I outline quite a bit. But I do believe that there is such a thing as too much outlining. You don’t want to entirely snuff out the element of unpredictability. You have to trust that the story might know better than you do, and let it take you unexpected places.

9. Where do you go/what do you do when you’re feeling stuck?

That’s usually when I hand write, or open up a separate word document and just start rambling. Eventually I land on the problem, and once I know the problem, I get an idea of how to fix it. Usually. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just take a break and ignore the whole thing for a while.

10. What got you started writing/doing art? (Because I always love origin stories)

The first time I put a story on paper was for a creative writing assignment in the 2nd grade. (Earlier I mentioned Fudgie the anthropomorphic stuffed dog? Yeah, this was his debut.) The page requirement was 5 and I wrote 20 before my teacher actually stopped me, explained that it was time to turn it in, and even though I wasn’t finished, I could use three magic words: “to be continued...” I never did finish it, but I think I can forgive 7-year-old me. I was probably too busy playing with my Calico Critters.

Okay, I’m tagging @kittensartsbooks, @cabaretofwords, @patomac, @gooseandcaboose, @thewriterexfriends, and @natsacespace. Please tag me if you do this, I’d love to read all your answers!! (But no pressure of course.) ♥︎

[tryslora]

Goals & Objectives (2017 review, 2018 new)

It’s that time again.

I don’t make resolutions, but I do try to set goals & objectives at the start of the year, then review them at the end of the year to see how I did. And at the end, it’ll be time for a new round for 2018.

1. Write 400,000 words with an average of 35k per month.

I am drafting this with the 31st still to go, but I doubt I will write much today. I just barely made it, with 405k as of the start of this day.

2. Finish drafting (and posting) CttK and kickstart a printed version of it.

Draft and posting finished. Kickstart has not yet happened, although I’m poking at what’s needed for it.

3. Outline and start drafting (and posting) the second Twinned book for PHU and the first Marked book for PHU.

This uh.... this changed a bit. I started to outline the second Twinned book, and realized that it would intertwine with the second Marked book. So the entire first Marked book was written and will be finished posting the first week in January. 

4. Draft Bittle’s Bitty Bites and Cover All and post to AO3.

One out of two isn’t bad? I finished BBB and posted it. Cover All has yet to be drafted, but perhaps someday I’ll get it done.

5. Participate in Kinky Kristmas and Yuletide.

HAH. One thing I can consider a success.

6. Successfully moderate fullmoon_ficlet.

Also a success in that I made it through. I was late (often) on masterlists. I’ve moved FMF to Tumblr from LJ and made some changes to the rules. I really hope this will help revitalize the community.

7. Go to camp 3 weekends out of every camp month this summer.

Probably not. :( But I think we averaged half the weekends. It was a tough summer.

8. Run 75 miles in 80 days and successfully test for my second degree black belt.

Done. :D

9. Complete a couch to 5k program (damn it).

NOPE. Did not. Will not. I just don’t like them, I guess.

10. Finish one original short story, edit it, and start shopping it.

Fail. I have my short from 2016, and I should be shopping it. I have started a couple I’d like to submit, and I need to finish those soon.

11. Pay for Christmas in cash.

Mostly.

12. Can and freeze vegetables over the summer. 13. Organize both freezers and make more lunches and ready meals. 14. Learn how to pressure can. 15. Cook meals 2-3 times per week (with less waste).

No real canning, and I never got the pressure canner. Like I said above, it was a tough summer. We have been trying very hard to cook more often, and make sure we get lunches put away properly. It’s been going a bit better.

16. Save for an purchase an iPad.

I ransacked my savings for other needs. Also, it’s going to be a PC instead, one of the foldover/tablet sorts, only large.

17. Pay to get the younger kid to Germany.

This is almost complete. I probably owe maybe another $50 after all is said and done.

18. Destroy more debt to pay more for elder kid’s college education.

I tried. I started to fail, hard, after a while, tho. I went back into debt a bit over the holiday and now get to spend January unfucking that little mess.

So. Some new goals as we head into 2018 (which I hope will be a better year).

1. Timeline, outline, and draft both Twinned #2 and Marked #2. 2. Timeline Twinned #3 and Marked #3. 3. Kickstart a print edition of Twinned #1 (CttK). 4. If there’s enough time, kickstart a print edition of Marked #1 (NYD) six months later. 5. Complete a short story in the PHUverse and submit it. 6. Shop the Death story around. 7. Write 400k. 8. Go back to weightlifting and lunchtime workouts. 9. Go to TKD average twice a week. 10. Finish organizing my living room and sun room and all my knitting and writing stuff. 11. Take an actual summer vacation at camp. 12. Attempt to eat healthier. 13. (possibly) Attend Conference (for 31). 14. Make 31 business work. 15. Save for (and purchase) a PC. 16. Try to practice art on average once a week. Even if it’s awful. 17. Finish 10 knitting/crochet projects. 18. Produce and have test knit the triskele potholder 19. Create pattern for at least one version of the triskele shawl.