#stop acting strange about fictional found family There are actual problems worth caring about on this green earth

[simcardiac-arrested]

what’s up lately with all these snobbish posts about how found family isnt This it’s That and found families don’t have dads or siblings or anyrhing Stop Pushing Your Nuclear Agenda

[kianakrystlewrites]

My Writing Journey

Hello my darlings ♡ Welcome to my blog! If you’ve found your way here, thank you so much for following me on my writing journey. It means the world to have you engage with me as I pave my way to publication. This post is something I’ve been wanting to write forever now, and I’m so delighted to share it with you. I believe when you reach a certain point during whatever path you’re on, it’s important to reflect on what brought you to where you are. For me, I am currently querying my first novel, LOVE LETTERS TO THE SEA (which will have its own blog post very soon). It has been such a challenging and reflective time for me, filled with mixed emotions and uncertainty. Regardless of the “bad days” when I am met with rejection after rejection, I am still so proud of myself for making it to this point. And believe it or not, there are “good days” too (like landing a spot on the Top 25 Pitches list for PitMad, and receiving full requests from agents I’m really excited about). And in those moments of success and fulfillment, I am always reminded of what started it all. 

Like most writers, I’ve always loved English. There’s no need to get into that. But unlike a lot of writers, I fell in love with language before I fell in love with storytelling. I think what triggered my love for the sound of words was getting my heart broken . . . by my first love, by my family, by my friends at the time. Literature, lyrics, prose . . . those were the only things that made me feel whole.  When I had nothing, I found comfort in how words fell off the tongue like honey and wine. It was like a secret language that only I could hear, which evoked a euphoria unlike anything else. When I’d read books like Romeo & Juliet or The Great Gatsby, I could feel myself turn pink with a warm glow. The prose from those stories struck me like a cord. It brought me to life. But there was one writer who shaped me above the rest, and she wasn’t even an author. She was a musician. 

Lana Del Rey. 

Do I even have to say more?

I fell in love with Lana unlike any boy I’d loved before. Her lyrics seemed to understand me in a way no one else did, and I resonated with her as if she were my best friend. I think my true awakening was listening to her music (her song Video Games saved my life during my darkest hours). It was enchanting. Her music told stories, and I’d paint them in my mind. I’d imagine myself as the main character of her songs, and daydream about my downfall in a poetic, romantic way. It all seems very melodramatic now, but she is the main reason I decided I wanted to be a writer. 

I started with writing poetry, getting in touch with language and rhythm, familiarizing myself with how different words sounded next to each other. I think the biggest reason my prose is so lyrical now is because I was a poet before I was a fiction writer. But I didn’t want to just write poetry. I wanted to be an artist. I wanted be be like Lana. Her music wasn’t just music in my eyes. It was an aesthetic, a feeling, something so perfectly her that no one else could imitate it. Not even me. 

I fell in love with fairytales next. I vividly recall one sunny afternoon with my best friend Sydney.  We had spent the day at the beach, and when we came home, she read me fairytales on her bedroom floor. I remember wanting to escape, wanting to live in a dark and beautiful world where I was an enchantress and no one could hurt me. But I also fell in love with the lighter stories too. I wanted to be a princess. I still do. I wanted sweet days and sunshine and a prince charming who wouldn’t break my heart. Sometimes I would even think to myself . . . what if I’m supposed to be a princess on another planet?

Honestly, that was the first seed for LOVE LETTERS TO THE SEA. 

More thoughts came soon after: 

. . . What if my true love is already dead and he’s waiting for me on the other side? The side where I’m a princess! And on that other side, I’d be mind numbingly gorgeous! . . .

. . . Or, what if my true love has been dead for years and years, and only visits me as my guardian angel! We could never be together if that’s the case though . . . now could we? And that’s why I’m *doomed* to be single forever!!! . . .

But in the back of my mind, I always thought that idea was quite romantic. A guardian angel watching over me, in love with me. That’s why he never lets anything bad ever happen to me. He’s someone to protect me, someone to shield me from all the darkness I’ve been battling. 

And then came the dreams. 

I had a series of dreams every day for a week straight. It was always the same thing. I’d be drowning. I could feel myself dying, struggling to breathe. For some reason, the water was always beautiful, and I was strangely aware of that even while I was suffering. But then, this handsome man would reach down and save me, pulling me towards the surface. However, when we’d brake the water, I’d be in a different world. My dream world! The world where I was a princess, and I was beautiful! But most importantly . . . the world where I was reunited with my guardian angel. 

I knew I had to write this story. I had to! Only . . . I didn’t know how. I wasn’t ready. It was one of those concepts that felt too big to pull off in the way I imagined it. But I also knew that this was the story of my heart. It was rooted in my traumas, something beautiful birthed by all my darkness. Only, I was 16. I hadn’t learned how to properly feel all the things I felt. I didn’t understand it, I didn’t understand me. But I knew I wanted to write about this beautiful girl from my dreams, filled with emotion and chaos and . . . love. At the end of the day, she was always filled with love. 

I wasn’t bold enough to write the story of my dreams. And so . . . I daydreamed about it instead. I fell in love with the aesthetic of the story. I imagined the world first. I imagined her beauty. . . all of her dresses . . . her handsome guardian angel. I became obsessed with my main tumblr @bambi-la-bella  ♡ I wanted to live in the images I collected. I created mood boards. I imagined worlds within those photographs. I dreamt of her adventures. I created scenarios in my head.

My writing has always been vivid and cinematic. I have Tumblr to thank for that. I always knew my aesthetic was meaningful in some sort of way, and I wanted my art to reflect it through and through. Present day, I’m building a whole brand surrounding my aesthetic, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

At the time, I still never felt like I could be a writer. Not the kind of writer I wanted to be. I didn’t think I could create fantasy or fairytales. I did try my hand at storytelling though. But I never touched LOVE LETTERS TO THE SEA. I would always write these shitty John Green inspired contemporaries about manic pixie dream girls and runaway teens who’d road trip across the world, escaping their problems instead of confronting them. I’d write about girls like Effy Stonem and Alaska Young, who were broken and beautiful, but not in the way my dream girl was . . . unlike her, they were missing one thing. They weren’t filled with love. I didn’t know how to channel it. I didn’t know how to love myself. All I knew was that I was destructive. I was chaos incarnate. And I wanted to be free.

Senior year, I gave up on writing for good. 

I was extremely lost when I began college. It’s not something I want to get into, but I was so empty. Waking up every morning hurt. My second semester of freshman year, I decided to join a sorority. I was looking for friends, looking to feel like I belonged to something special. Only, I didn’t feel like I belonged . . . not really. I didn’t feel like myself. I don’t even really think I knew who I was at the time either. But I knew I wasn’t a pretty prefect instagram model. I wasn’t skinny and tiny like all my friends. I always felt a need to keep up with them. I wanted to look like them, act like them, be like them. I had no one else to look up to at that point. The thing is, they did made me feel special. When I was with them, I felt powerful, like nothing could hurt me. It was all an illusion. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t like them. Not in the way I wanted to be. 

Then I came across Gabriella Demartino, and everything changed. 

If you don’t know who Gabi is, she’s an American YouTuber who celebrates all things vintage, glam, and girly. I instantly became obsessed with her life and  style. I began dressing like her, doing my makeup like her, embracing things I actually loved. She made me realize I didn’t care about raves or frat parties. I wanted to go to tea. I wanted to watch the Nutcracker Ballet and go vintage dress shopping. I wanted sleepovers with champagne and Audrey Hepburn films on repeat. In my greatest fantasies, I imagined shopping at Chanel, living in Paris, dining at Laduree! . . . Gabi made me realize I wanted to create a life worth living. I wanted to be me. I wanted to be the girl from my dreams from that once upon a time. 

One winter day, Gabi posted this video she created for Christmas time. It was inspired by The Princess and the Pauper, and so whimsical to me. I wanted to live in that story. I wanted to twirl around in a lacy dress and munch on sugar cookies. I wanted to fall asleep by the fire with a ribbon in my hair and play dress up in her walk-in closet. I wanted to create something just like it. I wanted to . . . I wanted to write. After two years, I wanted to write. 

♡ a picture from the video that inspired it all ♡ 

Here’s the tea . . . when I began writing LOVE LETTERS TO THE SEA (which back then was called SWEET ROSE), I was working at a dead end job. And when I say dead end, I mean DEAD. END. We had no manager. Our shop owner rarely ever stopped by. Nobody really cared about what we were supposed to be doing (we were a bunch of 18-20 year olds with no supervision) . . . and there was a computer. Right where the cash wrap was. I was alone during my shift. We had no customers that day. And so, I began to write . . . and write . . . and write. I wrote until I had my very first chapter about Lila Rose Li. Everything I’d learned in high school culminated to this very moment. My lyrical prose. My aesthetic. And my story. (which at the time was VERY different). 

I was extremely proud of my first chapter! I wanted to share it with the world! I . . . I wanted to become an author. 

I wanted to become an author.

That was always a dream I had in high school, but I never thought that it would ever come true. Instead, I was in a sorority, trying to be someone I wasn’t . . . studying fashion, which I was failing at and hated . . . but most importantly, I wasn’t being true to myself. Being an author was a dream I had that felt exclusively . . . mine. 

I decided to take the whole writing thing seriously. And to do so, I told my friends so that they could hold me accountable. “Hey, I want to be a published author!” I said one day. I’m not sure if anyone actually took me seriously at the time, but I let them read my writing as I go, excited that I was writing for someone other than myself. However, Sydney would critique me as I went, which made me realize . . . oh shit. I’m still not ready to tell this story the way I want. Will I ever be ready? HOW will I ever be ready? 

And so, I took the biggest risk I could. The year before I was supposed to graduate college, I decided to change my major to Creative Writing. My mother cried. She thought I was being absolutely ridiculous. She told me she’d never believe in me until I proved myself to her (news flash: present day she supports my writing immensely and prays for me to get a book deal every single night). But at the time . . . I was a disgrace. I was the dishonorable child who didn’t care what mom and dad thought. It’s true. I didn’t care. I’d risk it all to become the writer I always dreamt of being. Even if that meant my family hated me. 

Despite the discourse with my family, this is still probably my favorite part of the journey — being a creative writing major, finding my people, my voice, and my best friend: @chloegracewrites  ♡ It started with dinner parties with classmates I’d met in CW 301. We’d sit around a cheese plate, drink wine, and talk about our story ideas. It was the most wonderful time of my life. I finally felt like I fit in somewhere after searching forever. But when I met Chloe . . . I can’t even tell you how it changed my life.

The day I met her I felt like we were two halves of a whole. We bonded over our love for Laini Taylor, and eventually had our first “creative writing date” where we just gushed about writing instead of actually writing. Most of my brainstorming was done with her. She helped me realize ideas I hadn’t even fully formed yet. In fact, I plotted the concept for my final version of LOVE LETTERS TO THE SEA with her just about a year ago (In August, when I started my final draft). When I think of becoming a serious writer, I think of Chloe. I think about how she pushed me, and how she was the only one out of my peers I trusted to make me better. But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

A lot happened before I actually started to get . . . good.  

I’m not going to lie, when I first started my creative writing classes, I thought I was hot shit. Unlike my peers, I already had a style. I had a story and an aesthetic and I had a voice. Only . . . I didn’t realize that voice wasn’t good. I used to cry every time we had workshop. I didn’t understand that my peers were just trying to make me better. It wasn’t until my teacher turned mentor (let’s call him MDL) lit a damn fire beneath my ass. He returned my first writing assignment to me. I was less than enthused by the grade. Of course, I cried. I cried and cried and was probably known as the girl who cried! But above all, I was pissed! I wanted to be better than this. I knew I was better than this!

I thought about my parents. I remembered everything I sacrificed for my dreams. I thought of quitting my sorority, of quitting fashion, of leaving all my friends behind to follow my own path . . . but most importantly, I remembered that I wanted to be a writer. And if I wanted to be a writer, I sure as hell had to take things seriously. 

My inner slytherin LEAPED out. I was vicious when it came to perfection. I would accept nothing less. In the end, I still cried. But I cried like Azula in the last episode of ATLA: upset that I didn’t win, upset that I wasn’t perfect. My obsession was sick, and yet . . . I was oddly proud of myself. I knew I’d stop at nothing to be the best writer I could be. I wrote twice every day: once in the morning, and once at night. Mind you, I had a job, went to school, and worked an internship at the time. Eventually, one of my professors broke me. He deemed me emotionally unstable. He called me a distraction to the rest of the class because of my perfectionism. And just like that, I realized how insane I’d gotten, and how obsessed with perfection I’d become. But even then, I was thankful. When I got kicked out of class, I scrapped my whole novel for the third time and began again. 

Another fire was lit, and I was going to prove him wrong. 

I decided I wanted to go to grad school to get my MFA in Childrens and Young Adult Writing at the New School in New York. Partially because this professor told me I wasn’t a “serious enough writer” for grad school and that I “needed help.” Boy did that make me mad! I’ll show you, I said to myself. I worked twice as hard, but this time, without the tears or self destruction. You know that scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Miranda tells Andrea “you’re not working hard enough” after Andrea bent over backwards for her job? Well I had that moment too. And just like Andrea, I collected myself, and worked harder than hard. I was basically the Elle Woods of the Creative Writing Department, and I HAD to prove myself. 

And boy, did I work hard as hell. 

Remember that other professor, MDL? Oh yeah. By the end of the year, he went from being critical of my writing to praising it. He even offered me a mentorship (mind you, this was super cool because he’s an award winning author). I won’t give away too much, but I am so thankful for his guidance. By the end of that semester, one of my peers had told me something I’d never forget. She said, “You know Kiana, I’ve always admired how seriously you take criticism. I’m impressed with how hard you work to become the best writer you can be.” I was so proud of myself in that moment. 

Although, I think I’m quite different now. After falling in love with my novel, it’s hard for me to accept anyone else’s opinion other than my own. But again . . . I’m getting ahead of myself. 

That summer, August to be exact, my novel was no longer SWEET ROSE. It was no longer DEVIL’S ROSE, or DEVIL’S ROSE 2.0. It was . . . LOVE LETTERS TO THE SEA. I remember blurting out my ideas for the rewrite to Chloe, and having them not make sense out loud. She seemed to understand me though. For some reason, I think she always has, even when I don’t think I make any sense at all. We talked over my plot, and when I sat down to write . . . it felt like the story I always wanted to tell.

A year after my chaotic semester of getting kicked out of class with a permanent W on my transcript, I no longer felt the need to go to grad school. To my surprise, I was proud of how I’d evolved (plus COVID happened lol). However, all of that hard work from last year still paid off. I got accepted anyways with 50% of my tuition covered. It was a merit scholarship based on my application alone (BASED ON MY OPENING CHAPTERS OF LOVE LETTERS TO THE SEA)!!! I was in disbelief! Take that mr. professor who said I wasn’t serious enough for grad school!

By the time I finished writing my novel in May of 2020, I felt like my story was a work of art. It was my story. The story of my heart. And I had finally created the version of it I’d always dreamed of. But again, I’m getting ahead of myself. 

Flashback to March of 2020, my life began to change even more. I joined writing Twitter pre-COVID, and found my community. With the pandemic going on, I began to create a lot of online friendships. I was connecting with so many other writers, and I learned a lot from them all. 

But my most successful online friendship wasn’t found through Twitter. It was through here on Tumblr. I was convinced I had met my soulmate: @wistful-giselle​  ♡ 

Speaking to Giselle felt like every Lana Del Rey song I’d ever listened to. It felt like reading Romeo & Juliet and The Great Gatsby for the first time again. She spun poetry unlike anything I had ever read (and is a great inspiration behind my prose). She reminded me that my writing isn’t just about the story . . . it’s about the language too. She inspired me to make sure every page was perfumed and lyrical, and before sending my novel out to readers, I did one big revision with her in mind. I wanted to impress myself, but I also wanted to impress her. She was the most talented writer I had ever met. 

Giselle ended up being the first person to ever read my novel from start to finish (and in a single sitting too). For that, she holds a special place in my heart. 

Then came my beta readers. Another person read it all in one sitting: Chloe. Then another. And another. And another. In total, five people read my entire novel in one whole sitting. I was speechless. I still am. Even my CPs flooded me with praise and compliments. I didn’t realize it at the time, but within two weeks, I thought that I was ready to query because of the successful response I had.

I believed in myself, and in my eyes, I thought my novel was perfect (especially because of the validation from readers). Looking back on it now, I’m not entirely sure I was ready. I think that perhaps I was overly confident. Maybe, I still am. 

I started querying in July of this year. I cannot even speak to the amount of rejections I received between now and then. People told me I was ready. They said that agents would swoop me up immediately. In fact, I thought I’d be agented in about a week or so! Boy was I wrong. That’s not how things work at all. 

This part of my journey is probably the darkest. I don’t think I was ever really prepared for it. Rejection, after rejection, after rejection came. I started to lose hope after only a month. I was confused. I didn’t understand what was wrong with my novel. I still don’t really understand it. LOVE LETTERS TO THE SEA is everything I ever wanted it to be. It’s everything I worked so hard at perfecting. It’s just like how I feel about Lana’s music: so perfectly me that nobody else could ever imitate it. I love my story. I think I always will. 

I know I might appear to be doing well on social media to some of you despite all of the rejections. To people who don’t know the details of my life, I probably even seem successful. During SFFpit, I was the top tweet of the whole contest with over 300+ retweets and 7 requests (there were more, those were just the ones that I was interested in). 

In the end, they were all rejections. 

I never wanted anyone to know that. I’m so thankful for my following, I don’t want to let anyone down. But at the end of the day, I also want to be authentic with my audience. I want you to know that even I fail.

In March of 2020, I started with 200 followers on my Twitter account. By September of 2020, I’d grown my following to 1,000+ followers, which I am so thankful for. I know that number may not seem like a lot to some people, but as someone who has never had a rapidly growing following, it means the world to me. I love everyone who supports me more than they’ll ever know.  

I see everything. I notice how many of you there are who tell me you can’t wait to see my book on the shelves. I see your praise and encouragement and support. I read all of your messages. I respond to every one, or at least I try. Sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve it. But I am so, so thankful for it all. It’s the reason I keep believing in myself, even in my darkest hours. 

All I’ve ever wanted is to feel seen. 

And I do. I feel seen by all of you. But I also feel like a fraud sometimes. The truth is, even I get rejections. A lot of them. More than you would think from the outside looking in. And yeah, it hurts. It hurts because I love my story. It hurts because I believe in myself. It hurts because you believe in me too. 

So why aren’t I there yet?

I don’t think I’ve ever felt true heartbreak until now. Querying is the most vulnerable, brutal thing I’ve ever put myself through.

But it does get better. There are some good days too. You might think I’m just being dramatic since the present day marker of this journey actually ends on a very happy note. But that’s the thing about querying. It’s up and down, up and down. It’s unpredictable and scary and it takes a lot of guts to do. But enough on that. 

This post is getting long, so I’m not going to go into detail about pitch contests. All you need to know is that I participated in a huge contest called PitMad, and to my suprise, I made it into the top 25 tweets of the contest, with 400+ retweets and about 8 agent requests. 

And even more surprising, I f*cked up my queries on accident, and still received several fulls 3 days later (lol). My point is, maybe it’s not all about being “perfect”.  Maybe it’s about having a story you love and believe in, and finding the right match for it. 90% of my rejections are based on my story “not being the right fit.” It doesn’t mean my story is bad. It just means I haven’t found the right person to represent me. I know I have a strong story that I love deeply, and that others love deeply too. It wasn’t until my fulls started coming in that I began believing in myself again. Thankfully, I have a group of wonderful people who never once stopped believing in me, even when my light dimmed out. (you know who you are ♡). 

I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t even know if my fulls will turn into offers. All I can do is believe in myself, and know that my story is good enough for someone to want to represent it. And hey, if it doesn’t work out, I can always revise. I did it once before . . . in college, when I was still pushing myself to grow. Sometimes I forget that we never really stop growing. There is always room to evolve. 

Maybe I was right to believe in my novel so fiercely. Maybe I was wrong. 

Honestly, only time can tell. I have a hopeful feeling about my recent requests, and I am very excited about the agents viewing my work. But I also know how devastating querying is. I don’t want to let myself down. Falling from grace and reaching my lowest lows has taught me that I’m not perfect. In fact, there’s no such thing as perfect. I am constantly evolving, and this isn’t the end of my journey. 

It’s just the beginning. 

Love Always, 

        Kiana  ♡  

[siarven]

An introduction to my WIPS and projects including Links to read more!

Monster

Status: 

Not yet started to write/paint. It will one day be a graphic novel. I hope. A 3D short film exists which is when I first developed the idea. Mind you, that’s my 2nd semester short film, it’s not perfect and I had no idea what I was doing. But given all that I’m still really proud.

I have about two thousand ideas for four-panel comic strips and short comics and short stories and a whole novel and a graphic novel. One day I’ll make them all! 

Synopsis/Description:

Sierra is nine years old and she has befriended the monster under her bed. At first she was kind of scared until she realized that the monster was probably as scared of her as she was of it. Now they’re both very comfortable with each other and the monster usually wakes her up during the night because it wants cookies. Suffice to say Sierra is not amused. They do kind of love each other, though, even if it’s more in a sibling sort of way. 

Dreams and Shadows 

AKA my current WIP fantasy novel

Status:

First Draft done. Second and third drafts abandoned half-way through because they were stupid. Currently on the fourth draft, the one that might actually be worthwhile! 

Wrote the first draft during NaNoWriMo 2014 which was back then 93,734 words. At first it was called Dreamweaver, then Dreamweaver and Shadowdancer, and then I shortened that because it sounded stupid. Now the total wordcount that I’ve invested in this stupid book is in the 500K words area, and the current approved words are roughly 75K. It’s probably going to be two books if it continues getting longer without my permission. Also, it’s a fantasy novel set in a world that’s more or less steampunk-y (because who doesn’t love steampunk) :D

Synopsis:

How does one break someone?  There are different ways for different people.  Take Ben, for example. He has many friends, many loved ones. To break him one needs to isolate him from everyone else. Pull him away. It won't work by just taking someone he loves -- he loves too many, it wouldn't be complete. He has lived most of his life with a chipped heart anyways -- another crack would hurt, but in the end it wouldn't make much of a difference.  But then there's also Ava, his little sister. By isolating him one isolates her as well, because her whole world revolves around him. Sure, she's got friends, a mother, a father. But there's only one person she can't live without, so by taking him away you break her, too.  It’s an art to break someone, an art that only few have mastered.

When Ben wakes up the world and his place within it have changed.  There was an accident he can't remember, and now he's in a strange parallel world where nobody can see him, changed in ways that go so much deeper than he could ever imagine. He's alone now, invisible in the crowd, isolated from everyone he loves. And with his loss Ava's world burns down within a single night, leaving behind nothing but ashes and broken bones.

Ben must find a way to Return before those he left behind finally give up on him.  Ava needs to learn that isolating herself only rarely helps and that accepting help from others might be difficult but necessary – and that she might be the only one who can help her estranged parents reconnect and rebuild their relationship.

Also, there might be a way to help Ben, even if Ava is only half certain that he’s still there at all.

The good thing is that they’ve got a guardian on their side, the family cat Amber, who can see both and knows much more than she lets on.

More about it here!

Icicle Soul

Status:

Currently on hold.  Started the first draft during Camp NaNo a few years ago, plotted the whole thing, and then wrote something else. This is the project that I’m most hyped for! I just never feel as if I’m good enough to write it yet. It’s also the one I’m going to write when I’m done with Dreams and Shadows! AKA the thing that’s keeping me focused and writing because once I’m done I can get back to this one! :D It’s also the story that is simplest to pitch and probably sounds the most boring but actually it’s really complex and I love it so much  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Synopsis:

Four different people have to face the Lord of Winter because otherwise Spring won’t return to the worlds. 

Morning Star

Status:

Currently on hold, started with the first draft which is not yet finished. Completely plotted out, characters are fully developed, many great plot twists, magic system and worldbuilding are there... just have to write it. AAAAHHH.

Synopsis:

The Ekhir Empire has survived for over 60 years but now that the First Emperor has died the throne passes on to his only surviving son, a monster by all accounts, throwing millions of lives into the bloodiest conflict to date as the various rebellions form into one to fight back together against a common enemy.

The Guardians created and appointed by God have split into two factions whose conflict has grown into a full-blown civil war, fought by beings who command incredible powers. A small group of people has decided to search for the body of God and to re-awaken her from a coma that, according to legend, started millions of years ago, in hopes of getting help during the fights. What only one of them knows are two important facts: One of the travellers is Lucifer Reborn; and in addition, if they actually manage to find and re-awaken God, she will die. The storyline follows twelve different POV-characters as they try to survive the conflicts that threaten not only their lives but also their families, friends, everyone they ever loved and everything they ever knew.

Since this no longer takes place on earth I’ll change Lucifer’s name when I get back to it^^

An excerpt can be found here! ヽ(‘ ∇‘ )ノ

Burning Skies

Status:

Currently on hold. Another half-written NaNo project. The origin story of my fictional universe (the one where all the other stories except maybe Sierra’s take place.) I’ll definitely write it one day. 

All the NaNo chapters that I’ve written for this are on my sideblog @lirhin​ which was my writing blog back then, here. First draft though, so probably kinda wonky. 

Still love the concept, and all the plot twists. And the magic systems! I’ll start from scratch when I write it again, though. 

Synopsis:

It’s been three hundred years since The Fall. Society has slowly started to revive, pick itself up again, rebuild what was destroyed and retrieve what was lost. Only, the questions remain: What was The Fall, why did it happen, how can we make sure that it doesn’t happen again? Everyone who knew the answers to those questions died back then. A lot of knowledge has been lost during those last days of chaos – including the knowledge of magic. Something of legends, people say, stories told children at night, to try and keep them from acting stupidly. The only problem is — magic has never been lost, just pushed away. Now the power thickens and it’s returning, fast, and the costs are very high. Too bad that the world is trying to force every single mention of it away, and too bad that it’s becoming more and more important in the grand scale of things…

Rin has been abandoned by everyone she’s ever loved, left behind and betrayed. And she knows that she will one day destroy the world. At least that’s what everyone who’s trying to kill her tells her (and she’s dealt with a lot of those people). They have never told her how she will do that but apparently many of them think that she will, somehow – and why shouldn’t she believe them, after all of their attempts? If they think so, so be it — and if the world doesn’t care about you, why should you care about the world?

Cass, on the other hand, has had a similar life in the one sense that she’s completely, utterly alone and lost. Working as a slave for a man who owns a dozen children like her isn’t easy, especially if he choses to train each of them according to their newly-given talents. When the chance finally arrives, the chance to escape and achieve freedom once and for all, Cass doesn’t know what to do. Run and hide or stay and plot revenge?

Firewings (Feuervogel)

Status:

Currently on hold, also going to be at least a trilogy, I guess. This is my first “proper” story, the first time I participated in NaNoWriMo, and I really owe everything to that program. First I wrote it in German, then I re-wrote it in German, then I started re-writing it in English, and now I’ve got at least 600K worth of words. I still love the worldbuilding, magic systems and characters. I might have to think about the plot when I re-write it. Still love it though. Also, it has a lot of characters even if it only started with one (Ilien... always Ilien). 

I named my side blog @lirhin​ after one of my main protags from this project, and my username on NaNoWriMo is also Lirhin... guess why (✿◠‿◠)

Synopsis:

Erlanthar — a world where demon-like creatures, the Skadar (meaning Cursed), come out at nightfall to kill and torture all life they can find, human or otherwise. Everything that protects the human population at night are runes and prayers — prayers that they and their families might be spared tonight, that the runes won't fail, that everything will go on.  Several different plotlines follow a series of characters:  Ilien has lived alone for a very long time solely for the purpose of revenge, hunting down demons in his spare time, until one night he saves a litlte girl from being kidnapped. Her parents were murdered during the kidnapping, so he sort of adopts her, calling her Lirhin since she’s stopped talking. Now the kidnappers want her back.  Jeanna is still a child when her mother and older sister are killed (amongst others) in a demon raid because there was a flaw in the rune system of the whole village. While Jeanna is determined to learn how to protect herself the whole village starts to collaborate to survive the night. Everything changes when she discovers something unbelievable about herself and her older brother. Razouk is brought up knowing that he is not good enough, that he will always be second choice after his sister. He decides that he must prove himself, which is quite difficult when you don't even know the real identity of the man you want to prove your worth to. Then there are also Meena and Arrick, crown prince and princess, watch as their kingdom falls apart since their father is not capable of ruling anymore and their mother is the only person holding everything together. They must find a way to survive and do the best they can for their people.  Finally, Rheon is fed up with the way the kingdom is ruled, being the ruler of a major city himself and fearing for his people who are starving to death. He decides that he must do something about that and that the best way is to start a rebellion. 

Sky Citadel

Status:

Currently on hold. A former Camp NaNo project. I love it and I’ll come back to it. Probably not top priority though. 

Synopsis:

What was once forgotten must be relearned.

What was once lost must be reforged. How can we stand against an enemy when we cannot stop fighting ourselves, each other, our only allies? When we have forgotten the truth about them and about ourselves, when we don't remember the threats of the Deeps? How can we survive if our biggest threat is rising again and we don't remember how to fight? The People of the Spired Sea have forgotten the past, have forgotten about their guardians, the Faye, and how they were saved. Now the old inhabitors of this world are returning but humanity's struggles are directed at each other, inside the community, and at the Marked who have started to rise again to protect humanity against the once-known threat. Jaivyn has lost everything he ever had, and yet gained so much. Ivy had everything and lost it all. And they are only two of the Marked, mankind's "Saviours", broken and conflicted, who are supposed to fight the Ancients and ensure that the Spired Sea has a future. How can anyone do something like that while they cannot even save themselves? 

An excerpt can be found here!  (▰˘◡˘▰)

[sirgoodmovie-blog]

Film Castle Retrospective: War of the Worlds (2005)

A largely forgotten sci-fi gem.

I'm going to talk about this film's plot in detail! If you've never seen it, I would highly recommend giving it a watch and coming back!

I always felt like War of the Worlds just came and went. You hear folks talking about great science fiction films of the last 15 years and this movie rarely comes up. After rewatching it recently, I think I understand why. It's still as affecting and brilliantly paced as I remember it being but it's not exactly what I would call timeless. In fact, this film is so firmly planted in its era that watching it today feels uncanny.

Steven Spielberg did this one! Well, he directed it. It was written by David Koepp (known for Jurassic Park and Mission: Impossible) and Josh Friedman (writer on... Avatar 2, currently in post-production :/ ).

The plot very loosely follows the 1897 novel written by H.G. Wells. Ray Ferrier (Tom Cruise) is a dock worker living in New Jersey. His two kids, Robbie (Justin Chatwin) and Rachel (Dakota Fanning), live with their mother and view him as a deadbeat. On a weekend visit, an unnatural lightning storm leads to an enormous three-legged machine emerging from the ground and disintegrating crowds of people with laser beams. These are the beginnings of a global alien invasion, and we follow Ray and his kids as they travel north towards Boston in an attempt to seek refuge from the tripods with their extended family.

Most folks know this story from the 1938 radio drama by Orson Welles, remembered in infamy for causing some people to actually believe Martians were invading Earth. Spielberg's adaptation doesn't have much of anything to do with Welles', at least on the surface. But let's think about the time periods at play. In the late 30's, America was on the cusp of WWII, with the constant threat of German invasion looming in the national consciousness. The radio play was thoroughly tapped into these fears and was able to exploit them, accidentally creating a horror so palpable that people actually called the police to ask about the broadcast.

Turns out, history repeats in predictable but fascinating ways! The 2005 film is baked in post 9/11 anxiety. It's deep in the DNA of the thing, and there's even a point in the movie where this fear is stated outright (the kids ask their father if the invading aliens are "terrorists"). It's all here folks! Robbie spends almost all of his screen-time trying to join the military to "get back at them", Ray comes home from the initial attack covered in dust and ash, lots of shots of Heroic American Soldiers. There's even a fucking plane crash early in the invasion. I found it amazing how little of this stuff I remember and how it all seems so obvious now, but it's also telling. American culture was steeped in this iconography at the time. It just seemed normal when I was a kid. Every single house on Ray's street having an American flag out front was normal.

but watever!!! Let's talk about robots! Let's talk about what works in this movie!

The tripods are fairly interesting and menacing on their own. The way their little metal tendrils move around is distressingly organic, and that's before they start leaking fluids and sucking people up into their... orifices (sigh). They do this big foghorn yell that's still really frightening! I still remember it shaking the theater. If you have a good sound system you'll probably get a bit of that effect. Their lasers turn people to dust but leave the clothes, leading to a brilliant shot late in the movie where articles of clothing start falling from the sky.

On top of all that, their design takes on a new significance when the pilots are revealed: the aliens are a three-legged species. They are piloting mechs created in their own image, mimicking all giant-robot media ever created ever in the history of intelligent life. Goofs aside, this kind of internal design consistency is what I live for in sci-fi films. I'm even willing to look past the fact that they're triangle-headed, which is the most cliche head shape for an alien to have.

The pacing and moment-to-moment plotting in this film is excellent. The tension and desperation are constantly rising, and it all comes to head in a fantastic penultimate act wherein Ray and Rachel are forced to hide in a basement with Harlan (Tim Robbins), a prepper with a dubious grasp of reality.

Oh sorry, you thought this was a sci-fi thriller? nice try idiot it's a sci-fi horror now.

It starts off with a genuinely touching scene of Ray attempting to comfort his daughter before she sleeps. After tearfully admitting that he doesn't know any lullabies, he starts quietly singing The Beach Boy's "Little Deuce Coupe". It's the only song he knows by heart, or at least the only one he can recall. This is the moment where the emotional core of the movie really comes together.

And just in time, because a spooky alien mechanical eyeball tentacle comes down to investigate the basement, followed closely by the aliens themselves! These scenes are incredibly tense. Not only is Ray trying desperately to hide and protect his daughter from robots, Harlan's delusions of grandeur and desire to attack the invaders almost gives away their position several times, forcing Ray to fight him as well. You find yourself holding your breath as the two men silently struggle for control of a loaded shotgun, with the strange tripedal creatures mere steps away.

These events culminate in the reveal that the aliens are using human blood as the main ingredient in a strange plant/fungus, with the purpose of terraforming the Earth to their liking. Harlan panics. He starts yelling and refuses to stop, and Ray is forced to kill him while Rachel waits in the other room, blindfolded and singing to herself. It's haunting. It's tragic. It works, and Tim Robbins steals every scene he's in.

But uh, not everything in the film hits those highs. I know I've been giving this movie a lot of sugar so far, but it has some big problems.

For one thing: Steven Spielberg Kid Shit™. Ray's children are supremely unlikable for most of the runtime. It's difficult to care about Rachel before the aforementioned basement act, and Robbie's arc never really makes any sense at all. He's a shitty teenager who immediately wants to join the army upon seeing one (1) robot. His insistence that Ray has to just "let him go" runs counter to his attitude in the early parts of the film, where he feels Ray doesn't care enough about him or his sister. It felt like the writers didn't quite know what they were trying to say with Robbie. Figures, since they kinda just shoo him away before the best scenes in the movie, only to unceremoniously bring him back at the end.

Speaking of, the ending is bad. Very bad actually!

It sticks with the "aliens killed by Earth microbes" ending of the original story. This has always been kind of a hard sell. It's difficult to believe that a spacefaring race wouldn't take precautions against that sort of thing, but maybe they evolved to be really resistant to diseases on their planet or something. However, in one of the changes the film makes to the original story, the tripods were buried on Earth a million years ago and were lying in wait for their pilots to arrive and begin the invasion. This just makes the aliens seem even stupider. It's hard to suspend my disbelief when I'm thinking about how during dozens of millennia of planning, catching an Earth cold was seemingly never a concern.

The ending is also too damn happy. Ray and Rachel make it to Boston, and not only is all of their family alive and completely safe, but Robbie is also alive and completely safe and he beat them there! I know it seemed like he exploded and caught fire and was directly in the path of a killer blood robot, but don't worry he's fine! Yeah I know, it feels ridiculous and unearned. But it makes sense in retrospect given that post 9/11 trauma. Nobody at that time would've responded to the bittersweet ending that this film deserves.

Closing thoughts, this film isn't gonna work for everyone. I saw it as a kid so I admit some bias. I can easily see someone watching this thinking it's cheesy and heavy-handed. But I think if you're a fan of science fiction, it's at least worth it to see this classic story loaded up with all of 2005's baggage. For old times sake.

"THEY EVEN GOT A MORGAN FREEMAN NARRATION IN THERE BEFORE THAT BECAME A CLICHE!" - Sir Goodmovie

Related links! Here's a recent episode of Radiolab about the history of the radio play, and here's a stellar video by Lindsay Ellis on post 9/11 media.