Bad Me Wrote Some Excerpts

So I realize that I haven't been doing much on here besides excerpts, small posts, poems, and songs, but here's another. I PROMISE I'll get back to actually foing something constructive, in about ten days most likely, but until then you'll have to have in there with me. Because it's NaNoWriMo, so I have to finish. I started half a month late too, and I'll be gone for the last two days, so it's a bigger hurry. I hope you understand. I apologize.

Any who, here's the purpose of todays posts. Everything special that I did in that pretty curvy font ^-^

In my dreams, I was swimming. My back to the ocean floor, I floated across the dazzling waters. Unlike most nights, the moon refused to show its face, and instead the clouds, and some shining stars, flickered over the surface of the incredible mass of liquid.

            I smiled. In the distance, I heard someone rushing out to join me. When I turned upright to see who, it was the surfer from class. So much time had passed since then, I had almost forgotten about him. Only then did I get a good view of his true features—and how well they worked together to construct every expression.

            In a nutshell, he was breathtakingly beautiful. His hair, which was confirmed as a light golden blonde, was styled in the way of Leonardo DiCaprio, shooting backwards and to the side messily at odd angles, and somehow still adding to his appearance. Some of it swept forwards again, hanging into his face. Sea blue was the color of his eyes, which was no surprise judging by how attached to the sea he had seemed earlier. Besides his jaw line and hair, everything was fitted into a soft curve. Even the harshness of his tan seemed to be dulled to make him look better.

            He ran across the water, as if it were land, and didn’t so much as stick a toe in until he was beside me. He reached out to touch me, cup my cheek—

            —But I didn’t get to feel what it was like because my eyes sprung open. I think they wanted to see it for themselves, not in some creepy dream, but alas, there was no surfer in front of me. There was only Lara, and my crazy dreams, alone.

-and-

Caspian was in my dreams again. Honestly, it was starting to annoy me, since every appearance was only getting me more and more confused. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the next time I saw him, I would deny answers. Or from Lucy. She seemed to know. Tarren had to know too. Caspian had claimed to be good friends with him, and with him being Lucy’s boyfriend, if Caspian hadn’t told him, then Lucy would have. Either way, there was something terribly wrong with being lied to by two people you’d known since sixth grade.

            Back to the dream. It was exactly like it had started the night before, with myself floating across the surface of the water, far out in the sea, and Caspian walking over it to reach me, sinking down once beside me. This time, though, he didn’t try to touch me. In fact, he almost looked afraid to. The fear in eyes confirmed that.

            I righted my body in the water, turning into a vertical position in the ocean and I, confused, tried to figure out what was wrong. We didn’t speak. We just stared, into each other’s eyes, with such an unwavering gaze it should’ve been illegal. Such emotion churched under that soft exterior; I wanted to just reach inside and grab hold of them, so I could understand, because I certainly wasn’t anywhere near that at this point. I wanted to see what he was hiding, and unravel it fast.

            Yet, that soft outside still laid between the worlds of me and him, and he had an army of lashes defended. I wondered if . . .

            I kissed him. I leapt forward, grabbed his face gently with my hand, and I pressed his lips to mind. The best thing? Probably the fact that he kissed me back.

            As if he wasn’t thinking straight, he wound his arms around me, pulling me closer than we had been when he saved me from Marcus. In the cool water, there was nothing between us, nothing stopping us.

            I thought I had found what he had been hiding, what I had been hiding. I didn’t understand it as I thought I would after this, but I could identify it at the very least. That attraction. That feeling as if I knew him, as if he knew me. Everything about me. But most of all, that attraction. I didn’t have to say it, but I did anyways.

            Love.

That's all! Drive safe, be happy...It's summer! I even forgot about that for a moment. It's funny, because I plan to spend every minute this summer writing and editing. I'm afraid time'll pass so fast I won't be able to catch up! Lol (Laugh Out Loud)
Lol (Lots of Loud!)
Cass

Slow Posting . . . Sorry

If life was as empty as my hands, then there'd be no purpose. Luckily, it isn't, and though everything isn't clear, that's the thrill of living. Life is there to bring excitement, pain, longing, bliss, love, embarrassment, and joy. It teaches lessons, and gives us time to beg for forgiveness for our sins, as we make more mistakes in the process.

And that's basically all I got to say.

I don't know what to think yet. But read this:

The wind flew over the beach, sending ripples through the coarse specks of sand as the luminous moon reflected on the ocean waves. Softly pressed footprints walked out to the water’s edge, where I girl stood. The water climbed up to her ankles when she walked further into its depths.

            Something, someone called her back, but when she turned all she found was darkness. She wished someone was there to be with her in her final moments, but she was utterly and completely alone. Everyone hated her. Even her best friend.

            In efforts to rid herself of her old life, she started yanking on her necklaces. Some fell to the ground, embedding themselves in the sand to be found by another. Others dunk into the water, and were so light they floated away.

            The final one, through, trembled in her hands before she let go. Neatly scrawled on the pendant was, ‘The World is there to Push You Down. I was Made to Pick You Back Up.” It was from her mother. Brittney had picked it out with her Mom.

            The girl allowed a single tear to slide down her face and join the ocean, but just that one.

            She continued. The water was chilling, and shivers through her body that made it hard to move or function, but she pushed forward. She couldn’t give up now.

            The ocean called to her, and she loved the beautiful melody it sang to her with every step. The waves crashed right in front of her, and she almost smiled when one splashed her face, landing only inches from her outstretched fingertips.

            “Sorry Mom,” she whispered, and let the water engulf and choke her to death.

I love it, and don't. It seems imperfect. Needs help. I'll fix it later . . .

Never Surrender

I've seen so many writers quit after such a long run, several of them close friends. Why? Because of doubt. 'I'm not good enough.' 'I'll never make it.' Because of fear. 'Well, I won't try because I don't want a rejection, or better yet, no reply at all.' Because of 'no time.' 'I'm just so busy!' Each and every excuse you could give is nothing when you have talent. If you don't like it, sure, but if you do, then you sure as heck better be out there doing it.

I guess I'm not one to talk, though. I've used every excuse I listed up there--but no matter what I said I came back to it. Writing is my drug. Surrender to it, and fill your heart with it. Don't surrender to doubt, even if it is your biggest weakness.

Sorry for the lack of posting. I've been giving my other blog attention:

http://kayleewantspie.blogspot.com/

So yeah. If you don't like the annoyed, blame-the-world-but-not-myself tone, then don't go there, because that's what it is. Adios.

Cassie

Revelations

So I'm not even going to try to be something I'm not. Let's be honest here.

I am not a full-on writer. Yes, I write everyday, but I prefer to jump around a bit. I blame my relentless creativity, my easy-going personality, and my overall forgetful mood. For all these reasons, it makes it hard for me to get very far in a story. Very hard to focus. And very easy to take breaks and start new stories. So you can probably guess I have a lot started.

I think that sometimes I can get judged by this factor. Writers usually have patience, and a rock-hard dedication that pulls them through. Me? I was raised in a family where I got everything I wanted, threw a tantrum if I didn't, and was eventually bribed to stop. It's made me defiant, relaxed with deadlines, and most of all, lazy. And really, I hate it. I'm slow in my writing (Some people can get 10k down in a single day, where I can barely get 1k on my best days, sometimes 2 or 3k if I work late into the night.

I also realize that I could be writing right now. But with the revelation of how many good stories I had started up, I came to post here. Creativity doesn't just hit in story ideas, and today this post idea hit me hard.

Idk what the point to this is. I do know I miss several people, and that I'm a sucker for many things, so yeah. I suppose I can finish off with an excerpt. Not that anyone cares--because it'll probably never get finished.

My breath is held. I am frozen to a halt, stricken with fear. My eyes are glued to the feathered wings sprouting from my back, though not in admiration for the beauty of the light shimmer reflecting off the pureness in their white. Only terror.

          The entwined feathers drag my eyes to them, each trying to steal the spotlight from another as they attempt to win me over. But then one of the extra, unwanted limps twitch, and my mouth opens to scream, but something tangles with my lips, and stops my plea.

          And then my eyes spring open. Tears run down the side of my face and down my cheeks; I’m soaking in the liquid. My damp hair is wrapped firmly around my face, especially my mouth, explaining the gag. My blankets, soggy from my tears and sweat, tie around my body in an unwelcome embrace.

          I attempt to calm myself from my troubled state and, failing, I instead decide to slowly untangle myself. It takes a few minutes, but as soon as I’m free, my fingers leap to my back. Nothing’s there at all, except my trembling shoulder blades.

          An exhale of relief emits itself. I can live another day.

Perhaps a Little Random

As the title clearly states, this is pretty random, but I just wrote it and despite its clear flaws I'm postin it. Enjoy!

When I found you,

I didn’t expect to be handcuffed to the wall,

Caged like an animal without fight.

You took my breath,

And used it against me.

Seized the chance

to ruin me.

You think you’ve rendered me helpless,

But I’m not that pathetic.

I will rise up,

Sharpen my metals,

And unleash the defiance

That’s been building all these years.

An eye-opener, a tear-jerker.

And the hand-cuffs. Very important.

And one more poem:

Like a bird takes to the wind,

She took to her pen.

The sky opened up,

And she dashed up to fly.

Never a day does she rest,

But instead she does test,

Counting down the seconds

Until she can have that paper in her hands again.

A New View

I think Mondays are truly special. After a challenging, or relaxing weekend, you get to come back to school and learn and see your friends again. It's the beginning of the week, and the beginning of change. Maybe that's why so many people hate the day . . . (if you don't see my reasoning then go ask someone smart :P)

Anyways, today, I have to say, was one of those days. I watched a science experiment that made a visible tornado with dry ice (dipped in water and poured in) with Bryce leaning on my desk (it wasn't until afterwards I realized how hard my heart was pounding and how heavily I was breathing by his closeness, which I don't get since he's always closer in band . . .), I stole someone's homework (on accident, of course, but I'm proud ;) ), I actually ate all three meals, I tried some healthy brownies that gave me a stomach ache, I openly talked about Bryce with a few people, I annoyed Bryce by reading his texts over his shoulder during band (seriously, I didn't read anything but his sig thing and who he was texting though), and sat in the back row in choir. Not too many new things, but new enough.

Most of those things are about Bryce. Dang it. I'm not supposed to be obsessed. Did you know I have his whole schedule plotted out even though I only actually have two classes with him? XD

Okay, enough teasing. OH I FORGOT! I also did not straighten my hair or apply eye make-up. I was so proud ^.^

Also, I think science is the most screwed up thing in the universe. Biology the most, though, medical stuff coming close in second. It's not the diseases and crap, though, it's the cruel heartless stuff they do to frogs and even people (but especially frogs).

Yeah, I'm pretty pathetic. Get over it.

*sing-song voice* Anyways, I have a dress to go get on for pictures for my friends (it's for the dance), so ta-ta for now! Please enjoy yourself until we meet again.

Secrets and Jessamine

There are times when I wish I didn't have so many secrets. Because once you're at your limit of secrets, one is going to be spilled, and you're not gonna like it. And then there are those ones, that everyone knows about, but then someone doesn't and you have to repeat it for the billionth time. By that point, the 'secret' becomes pointless, and loses its fire, which had been kindling as soon as you realized it. Sometimes, secret telling can eventually cause the secret to become untrue.

I have no examples I feel like supplying today, but the paragraph above is a really good way to describe 90% of my frustrations in life. Secret-telling. Secret-keeping. It washes me out, even more than sprinting with Kayla down the sides of a soccer field does. I wish it didn't.

I wonder if that's why my newest story is about secrets, secrets that can't be told, secrets that can be used against us, secrets that could have protected us, secrets that tear us apart.

I hate secrets. And so does Jessamine. Jessa is my main character in my story. She's darling, a pretty little 15-year-old, dreading her 16th birthday, when truth will shatter and she'll have to pick up the pieces, sorting the lies from reality. All the while fighting the destructive nature of her new wings . . .

Anyways, that's all I got for today. I'm thinking of posting an excerpt soon--so keep your eyes posted for it!

Random things about Jessamine:

1. She is the middle child of three girls, all cleverly named with the beginning of J.
2. Older sister is named Jocelyn.
3. Younger is Jazmin.
4. In order from oldest to youngest, their nicknames are Jocy, Jessa, and Jazz.
5. Jessamine has blonde hair.
6. She sees her father only every five months, when he comes back from the airforce.
7. She is adopted, but her other sisters are biologically related.
8. She has a nightmare every single night, and it happens to be about wings.