#nanowrimo: An excerpt from the #teanovel!

It was a Saturday and Jasmine didn’t know what to do with herself. The routine had always been to be doing things during the weekday, whether that was school or college or work, and then to be not doing things during the weekend, which in school or college had meant either meeting up with friends or joining some church-related activity, but in the past fourteen years had gradually come to mean stumbling into the office at 11am “for five minutes to grab a thing or send an email” and then going home at midnight anyway. She was good at “not doing things” in that context, not so good at what most other people called “not doing things”. 

It didn’t help that after almost a decade of that kind of behaviour (the first five years were a mix; she’d managed to hold out for that long until her seniority and job scope meant she couldn’t just deny her way out of responsibilities) she didn’t really have any friends outside of work. Outside of her old job, she should say. Were they even friends? Or just people she had to deal with on a regular basis?

What even were friends?

Jasmine lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, wondering what she should do. She pulled her blanket over her head and inhaled the warmth. She couldn’t call Aun or Lay Peng, or Deen or Raj—they’d all be working right now, possibly even desperately covering for all the work she’d left behind when she quit, probably even working off that unending to-do list she’d stuck in the front of the file while cursing her. Though she had tried to close up as much as possible before she left. It wasn’t her fault that in the last week of her three months’ notice, whoever that idiot was behind scheduling (her boss) decided that they really, really needed someone on that last-minute job and the only one with a blank week was…her. Because she was leaving. And she needed to close out all her files.

But nope. New client it was, no matter how idiotic it was.

Anyway. Not her job anymore. 

She rolled on her left side, kicking the blanket off and reached for her phone, squinting at the large numbers. It was only eight in the morning. Way too early to be awake on what should be technically a holiday. Well, a weekend. What had she done in the past when she took her annual leave? Oh right—she only took leave to go travel, which meant she had a whole new place to explore, or when she went back home, which meant her mother would put her to work doing something. Like marketing. 

Jasmine got out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen. She blinked and stretched, then sighed as she opened the fridge. It looked terribly empty, even more empty than usual. Right, she’d finished up her leftovers yesterday because she got home late, even though she’d already surrendered her laptop and work badge by the time HR and IT left at five pm. There was a lot she could do just by talking to her team and pointing at their screens. 

She squinted at her phone again. No one had called. She was fairly sure there was someone already in the office, but no one had called. Or messaged. 

Not my job. Not my problem. Not anymore. They’ve got it. 

It should be easy to remember, seeing that she’d turned in all her company property, but it was like this void. In her heart. An emptiness. Maybe she should do some marketing. All she had was cereal and since she wasn’t going to work today (or for the next few days until she found something else to do) she would have to make her own lunches and dinners. Jasmine laughed at herself until she cried. 

When she was done laugh-crying, she washed up, took a shower, and sat down to cereal and milk and the book she’d bought two years ago but hadn’t had time to read. By the time she was done with it, it was four in the afternoon and she was hungry. She didn’t feel like cooking (not like there was anything remotely cookable in the fridge) so she ordered something random off Grab. And then she started another book. 

It was Thursday night (how had six days passed by so slowly and yet so quickly?) before she decided she should do something a little more productive than binge-reading all her TBR and ordering food on Grab because even though she had a lot of savings (she hadn't had the time to spend it), it wasn’t going to last forever. She hadn’t talked to a person in days other than acknowledging the Grab driver and grunting at the guard when she went to pick up her food. She wasn’t even sure if that counted as talking to people. 

Tomorrow was Friday. She’d been unemployed for a week. Friday morning, she would pretend she was on holiday and take a tour of her historical city. 

I mean, people travel all the way here for holidays, right? Why not be a tourist in my own city? 

She rather liked the idea of a staycation.

---

Here's where you can find out more about The Tea Novel!!! Which doesn't have a name yet. Or even a properly thought out plot. But eh, it's the first draft of a WIP so things will sort themselves out...eventually.

#musicmonday: The playlist for my #WIP

Here's the mood board playlist for my WIP.
It's kinda emo.

#musicmonday: Take Over | Shane & Shane

Thirsty, I'm thirsty for you
In a dry land with no drink, I need you
I know you made a home, inside this heart of stone
So turn it into flesh, Spirit, soften it
I give you all I have, I'm holding nothing back
Jesus, I am yours Jesus, I am yours

Take over, Lover of my Soul
Take control
I surrender, there's nothing I want more
Than to know you, Lord

What am I supposed to do with all my kingdoms next to you
You're the Lord, You're the Lord
I could gain the world and more
It's all nothing next to you
My reward, my reward 

---

The Weight of Strength: Chapter 28.

The queen looks amused. “Oh please. Don’t think I’m that stupid. Your god won’t listen to you, not now that you’ve broken all your vows and there is no priest here to reconsecrate you. You’re impure and if there is one thing I know about your god, is that he doesn’t listen to those who aren’t holy enough for him.”

Ayahanda just keeps his hands up as he repeats the litany, more voices joining in. Until I join in. He turns at the sound of my voice and nods at me. 

“You who listen to the broken, hear my pleas now. I have fallen far away, I have spurned Your Word and Your call. Now You have chastised me, You have brought me to realise the error of my ways. You who are ever-gracious, ever-merciful, ever-forgiving, I pray, forgive me now. Forgive me my wandering, my fear, my doubt, my anger, my bitterness. Take it. Take it!” His voice is a broken roar, hoarse in its earnesty. 

“Oh Kudus…”

He doesn’t complete it, but every single Mahan in the hall takes up the cry, “Maha Esa, berkatilah hambaMu dengan kuasa ajaibMu.”

Day 36: Not that far behind the #wordcountgoals, also #shakespeare

Writing comes in spurts.

I find that if I write for long hours and get about 5k to 8k in the day, I can't really write much the next day unless a) I'm under a really tight deadline, or b) it's a really exciting part of the story and I just have to keep going.

Right now I'm in the "I know what's supposed to happen but I don't know how to write it" stage so everything is just SO HARD. So I'm in procrastination mode.

Therefore, behold the great plateau.

It's getting better, though. I think. Because I HAVE A DEADLINE, so I'm panicking myself (needlessly) to actually get through writing it because once it's down I'll be able to actually edit it and make it work but as long as it's not written, it's just this nebulous cloud of idea. Or something.

---

To date I've watched three shows at Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, because you can get cheap £5 tickets and stand like a peasant for 2 plus hours. It's not so bad. I have strong legs. haha.

The Merry Wives of Windsor was slightly confusing because I went in without any idea what the play was about. The second act was pretty good though. It's not quite the kind of comedy I like, but eh.

Comedy of Errors was much better, or at least I liked the storyline better, because it's more due to chance and honest mistakes rather than being... lewd. This is probably the most accessible of the plays so far. The cast for this was also very brilliant--better than the first.

Pericles was an aesthetic choice due to having read The Porpoise. If you did not have background knowledge of the myth or the source story, you'd just be very, very confused, especially since it jumps from royal family to royal family. There are also long bits of narration in between, in classic Greek drama style, so it's different, I guess.

#musicmonday: Even If | Mercy Me

This probably resonates with Mikal's mood:

They say it only takes a little faith
To move a mountain
Well good thing
A little faith is all I have, right now
But God, when You choose
To leave mountains unmovable
Oh give me the strength to be able to sing
It is well with my soul

I know You're able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don't
My hope is You alone
I know the sorrow, and I know the hurt
Would all go away if You'd just say the word
But even if You don't
My hope is You alone

Day 10: I hate everything I've written

It's technically three weeks since I've started, but somewhere in the middle of last week I decided that I needed to change my POV. So instead of writing in the third person alternating between Mikal's and Yosua's POVs, I'm now doing first person present in Mikal's voice. And that's restarted the timer to something like day 10. 

I'm not entirely sure I like it. I'm not entirely sure it works. But it's what I've got. I'm at that stage where I both love and hate everything I've written. And I don't know how to fix it. I just have to finish this thing.

I'm trying to push myself to get to 30K this weekend so that I'm back on my original schedule. I don't really have to--I can probably pick up the slack over the weeks, but it feels better to go back to the plan. Mostly because the plan is structured such that I will have downtime to edit in between writing and to do other stuff. I worry that if I don't at least get somewhere near the goal posts I'm just going to keep freaking and panicking because that's what I do.

Anyway. 30K might not actually happen by tomorrow, but if I push a little, I should start June with 40K and can take time off to actually plan my Great UK Dissertation Road Trip. :D

---

I think I'm afraid of first person because it's too close, too raw. I'm obviously not a sixteen-year-old boy, but the core of what he's struggling with is all too real. 

I'm afraid that the yearning will grow all too strong, and that the bitterness and the grief will overpower the rest of the story. 

I need to reach the catharsis of the story, but there's also a chance that where Mikal finds his strength, where he finds his faith and his power and his certainty, I will only lose mine. 

---

I have never been certain. I don't know if I ever will be. 

My April/May West End spree

Right after formal classes ended last month, I went a little crazy and decided to buy tickets to as many shows as I could afford. Obviously, I'm also rather cheapskate and I need to save money, so I ended up buying cheap, upper circle tickets to three shows (altogether less than GBP100, so yay me).

My selection felt rather eclectic overall so I thought I'd talk a little about why I picked the shows and also what I thought about them. 

The first show I watched was Betrayal on 15 April, for two reasons: I've still regretted missing the PenangPAC run with Marina Tan and OHLOOKIT'STOMHIDDLESTON. Lame? Maybe. But I'd heard that the story is amazing, and it has a famous actor, so why not? 

Well, the show was fantastic. I do have to admit that I didn't always pay close attention to the acting, mostly because I was fascinated by the staging as well as the moving pieces of the stage. (This might be a thing with me; I remember being super distracted by the moving stages in Lion King too LOL). I was waaaayyyy at the back so I might probably have missed some frontal projection cues if they were blocked by the overhang (and maybe super close facial expressions), but it was a really good vantage point to see the lines between the actors, the use of space, that revolving stage indication of going back in time. It was a really minimalistic staging (except for that revolving thing) that played a lot with lights and shadows--the silhouettes were so sharp you could actually just watch that instead of the actors. 

I loved Tom Hiddleston's and Charlie Cox's performances, but Zawe Ashton just gave me the feeling that she was trying a little too hard? I don't know what it was but somewhere between the tone of her voice and some of her actions/reactions, I just got a little annoyed at her. I might probably be judging her a little too harshly (always that but *I* wouldn't have made those acting choices) but I could just be disliking the character, though (which by implication would mean Ashton did a great job, so idk).

The next one was The Phantom of the Opera on 29 April. A classic choice-- loved the songs, wanted to see it because I'd seen the movie and wanted to see how they could do all that on stage. Realised that I have fuzzy memories of the plot, so there were some bits where I was like, eh, did that happen? Not sure if there were substantial changes in the movie version, though. (I have read the book, the book is 0% like the musical. Well, 20%. The characters and the basic setup are the same-ish. If I recall correctly (it's been decades), it was very much focused on the phantom, I think, and Christine was really a side note. But reading the book you'd be like, how did this become the musical?!)

Anyways, mixed feelings about this. I'd been pre-warned by Choon Ean that it might not have aged well, seeing it's a really old show and it's using the same original stage, so whatever was new/fresh/impressive then would seem kind of old-fashioned now. 

I liked all the dungeon scenes, with the moving bits and the lights and the smoke and the candles and the tilting walkways and the boat! (See, moving stages gets mentioned again haha). The singing was impressive, the staging and the acting and the mirrors and illusions... everything was AWESOME, except the one key bit that spoiled everything. 

When the chandelier "fell", you could literally SEE THE STAGE HANDS WALK OUT THROUGH THE CURTAINS AND CATCH IT. 

Another thought that struck me though, was that my memory of the Raoul-Christine-Phantom triangle seemed rather romantic? The Phantom had a sort of sad romantic vibe, like, aww you like this girl so much but she doesn't love you in return, poor puppy let me give you a hug. Seeing it again, the Phantom was all kinds of creepy. Like the friendly neighbourhood dad/teacher/helpful uncle/starstruck fan, who suddenly turns into a perv. And I was going like, NO THIS IS NOT ROMANTIC. The Phantom is AWFUL. And then the songs don't seem so romantic anymore. lol. 

Finally, I caught Fiddler on the Roof yesterday! This was 100% nostalgia and throwback to the time when we were stuck in a house in Sweden and had the movie on replay until we could sing all the songs word for word. I can't do that now, but I *know* all the songs. 

It was fantastic! No moving stages for this one--it was flat and static boo--but the scene changes were as interesting to watch as the show itself, so yay. I might decide to watch this one again from a better vantage point--the place I was sitting had a bit of a restricted view, so there was this corner/angle of the stage that I couldn't quite see. Idk yet though, if it comes down to it, I'd rather watch a new show than to re-watch one. We'll see. 

---

As a minor writing update, this is today's stats!

I didn't do all this today, it's just that I didn't update my stats yesterday, being out and all. Things will seem more slowgoing from now on though, since I've reached the end of my pre-edited stuff. From now on, it's actual writing and slogging!

Deep dive into the novel: Day 2

So. The plan is to go into a deep dive from May 6 - June 30 and write 10K per week to reach 80K (and the end of the novel) over 8 weeks.

Unfortunately, due to events over the last week (last minute plans, unexpected laziness), I did not manage to clear up all the things I wanted/needed to do before the start of the week. Which meant all of yesterday and half of today was spent catching up and finalising consignment statements and accounts, chasing people to reply emails and generally a lot of hair pulling. Which means I'm starting off 1.5 days late.

The good part is that I've already got working drafts of chapters 1 - 3, approx 8K-ish words, so I do have some time to get into the groove. I've thus spent most of my time reediting chapter 1 today. And googling the Malaccan sultanate as well as church hierarchical titles. (This will make sense eventually. hahahaha)

So I'm still sorta on track!

I don't know how often I'll post updates (I might do a dailyish blog, but I might not) so if you want to keep tabs (and push me on), here's my goal tracker.

Note: The dissertation actually only needs max 40K, but well, I might as well get the whole novel done, no? The other goal is to get an agent before I leave, for which I do need a completed novel. lol.

#AtoZChallenge: Agog

All the Mahan palace servants were agog with the news. King Simson was going to marry Queen Layla. The bridge across the channel was going to be rebuilt, trade reestablished between Maha and Bayangan… Yosua would finally be able to see Bayangan after hearing his parents reminisce about their homeland all his life.

“It’s not going to happen,” Garett, his father, said with a grunt, not bothering to look up from where he bent over the washboard and the large, steaming tub. “He has to get the approval of the Temple, and the High Priest in Suci will fight this every step of the way.”

“But Pa, he’s already got the Council of Seven to agree,” Yosua protested.

“Think, Yosua. Who’s got more authority? The Temple or the Council?”

“I thought you wanted to go home.”

Garett stopped scrubbing and gave him a searing look. Yosua shut up, sucking on his lower lip to keep himself from saying something he would regret later.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Garett asked as he resumed his work.

“Dropping off the prince’s laundry,” Yosua replied sullenly.

“Well, get on with it then.”

“It’s done, Pa.” He kicked at the basket by his feet. “His Highness is busy at training, so it’s not like he’s going to miss me.”

Yosua leaned back against the nearby wall and watched his father. As much as Garett said it was random, Yosua knew it was punishment. Yosua had long since realised that his father was assigned the worst jobs every time there was unrest amongst the captives from Bayangan. This latest reshuffling was to humiliate him and to quieten them, to warn them about being too uppity now that the new queen of their home country was visiting.

“It’s not as if they’ll allow me to go,” Garett said so softly that Yosua almost missed it. “You might, though.”

“What?”

“If they have the wedding in Bayangan and Prince Mikal goes, you’ll be brought along.”

“King Simson will bring you too.”

Garett snorted. “He won’t. He’ll make sure I’m kept here, in chains if necessary, to keep everyone else in line.”

“But—they’re proposing an alliance, Pa. Things are changing.”

“I didn’t raise a fool.”

“I’m not—”

“Whatever this treaty is, it’s only for trade. The marriage will be turned into an advantage for Maha alone, not even the rest of Terang. Do you think Bayangan has the power to do anything? The fact that the Queen herself is here, proposing a marriage alliance proves they don’t have enough resources to survive on, Yosua. I cannot think of any other reason why the pride of Bayangan herself would stoop to this.”

“What if—” Yosua froze as the temple bells tolled. He set off at a run.

“You’ll see I’m right,” Garett called after him.

Yosua was still out of breath when the prince entered his rooms.

Prince Mikal frowned at the still-filling bathtub. “What’s got you so excited that you’re late?”

“I… the royal wedding, Master.”

“The what?”

Yosua stammered, “Between your father and the Bayangan Queen?”

The young servant boy had never seen his master turn as white and flustered as he did then, not agog but aghast at the news.

---

Today's suggestions were:

• Apricots, from Barbara Harrison
• Alzheimer's, from Ch'ng Mei Yen 
• Amethyst or Ant, from Sharna Steinert
• Agog, from Inga Vesper

I went with Agog because... I dunno. It sounded fun. haha :)
It's also a plausible scene that may fit somewhere in my WIP, though the timeline may be a little off. By the time this alliance is proposed, several secrets should have been revealed, which don't seem to be evident here. I'll have to think about that.

If you have more prompts for the rest of the month, drop them here.

#AtoZChallenge: Young -- or when Rahsia was young

I don't know if I'm going to keep this, but I like it well enough. It's sort a continuation from Rahsia. (With some stuff in between but eh.)

---

Nek proved hard to corner that evening, though Rahsia tried as hard as she could to speak to her away from her mother. She couldn’t figure out whether it was Mak who kept hovering over them or if it was Nek who kept steering them to Mak, but every time Rahsia was alone with Nek and was about to ask her about what Iman’s mother had said, she’d find that Mak was somewhere within earshot.

By the end of the night, Rahsia was grumpy and annoyed. Finally, Nek came in to tuck her into bed. Rahsia saw her chance.

“Nek,” she started to say, only to be interrupted by her grandmother.

“Rahsia, a secret is a secret. I know you want to ask me about your father, but if your mak doesn’t want it to be said, you can’t sneakily ask me and expect me to tell. That’s what it means to be a Secretkeeper. To keep the secrets safe so that you protect the dignity and the wishes of the person who told it to you.”

“But don’t I have the right to know about my father?”

Nek smoothed Rahsia’s dark hair back from her face. “You do have a right to know, but not from me.”

“But Mak doesn’t want to tell me anything! It’s not fair.” Rahsia could feel the tears prickling behind her eyelids. She forced them back. She wasn’t going to cry like a baby. Not for something stupid like this.

“And she has a right to act that way.”

“Why do you get to know?”

“Because I am her mother, child, and I have the authority to ask her to tell me. You are her child, so she can decide what part of her life she opens up to you.”

“Can’t you make her tell me?”

“What good would that do? It will only cause her pain and create a rift between you.”

“Because of who my father is?”

“No, that is over and done with. Because when you force someone to speak about something they are not ready to share, you rub chilli into wounds that have not yet healed. She carries a heavy burden in her heart that she cannot let go of yet. And I share that burden with her as the Secretkeeper.”

Rahsia’s mouth formed a silent O. “Is it difficult to be a Secretkeeper?”

“Yes. I have heard many, many terrible secrets and none of them can pass my lips. I guard them jealously, even against the priests—”

“But they can read minds, can’t they?” Rahsia interrupted. “Then they would know everything that everyone has ever told you in secret!”

Nek chuckled. “They can’t read my mind. One of the secrets our ancestors have passed down to use is how to shield our minds from being read.”

“Wow. Can you teach me?”

“I will, one day. When you are old enough, I’ll teach you how. It will be a good thing for you to learn.”

“Can we teach Iman too?”

Nek looked sharply at her. “You haven’t told her anything, have you?”

“No, Nek. I didn’t. I promised. But she told me she was afraid of going to the Rumah Ibadat because she didn’t want the priests to know where she’d hidden her stash of chocolate from her brothers.”

“It wouldn’t hurt for her to share, you know. But yes, we can teach her too. Many people in Iman have learnt various forms of mind-shielding, so it’s not like it’s a deep, dark secret. It’s good to learn in a place like Impian, where anyone could force themselves into your mind.”

“Can the King read minds?”

Nek shook her head. “No, it’s only something those of Impian blood can do. The King is from Maha. You know what Mahan’s power is, right?”

“Strength?”

“Yes, that’s right. Now, go to sleep, Rahsia. It’s late.”

“Yes, Nek.” Rahsia snuggled further under her blankets. “Goodnight Nek.”

“Goodnight.” Nek kissed her on the forehead and then left the room, switching off the light and closing the door behind her.

#AtoZChallenge: Xenial

X is always a problem. Sigh. Anyway, xenial: "of, relating to, or constituting hospitality or relations between host and guest and especially among the ancient Greeks between persons of different cities", so here’s a bit about the hospitality of the nomads.

---

Adam looked around the camp as they were led in. It was smaller than the camps along the Pilgrim’s Trail, the dull tents making it seem bleak. Bedraggled children peeked out from tents only to be pulled back by anxious parents. They were led into a large tent which seemed like a community centre. A jug of water and three cups were set out on the table they were ushered to and then they were left alone. Adam poured out the water, and they drank thirstily.

A few minutes later, the camp leader approached and introduced himself as Samad.

“What can we do for you, Penance?” he asked as he sat down opposite them.

“How do you know—”

“Suci has been circulating your picture. Your kidnapping has been widely reported and hundreds of men, both nomads and soldiers, have been mobilised to search for you—which was why I was delayed. I had to contact the General coordinating the search to inform him that you have been found.”

“I see. I didn’t know—”

“How did you escape, if I may ask?”

“We ran. Magda—one of our friends—she sacrificed herself for us. She was in no condition to run, so she stayed behind to cause a commotion.” His voice hitched, and he closed his eyes, allowing the loss to flow through him.

“I am sorry,” Samad said quietly. “I was told that the soldiers have retrieved a body yesterday. They were afraid that you had been sold onwards. The slavers arrested were not very forthcoming.”

Adam frowned. “Yesterday? But that was when we escaped.”

“We just missed them,” Tulen said hoarsely. “We must have.”

Samad gave a tiny shrug. “It happens. But you survived, and you are here. For that, we are all thankful.” A woman approached him and whispered in his ear. He nodded and turned to the pilgrims. “Are you hungry?”

Adam’s stomach growled in response. At Samad’s gesture, all kinds of dishes were brought before them.

“Eat, Penance. And you, Tulen. We will continue our discussion after you have satisfied yourself.”
They tucked in with abandon, sating themselves on the warm breads dipped in spicy curries, roasted meats, and grilled vegetables.

After eating, Adam found himself sitting with the chief alone, stretched out in a more comfortable and homey setting. Tulen had fallen asleep while they chatted and ate, so some kind souls had laid her out on a pile of cushions and covered her with a thin blanket.

Samad leaned back and spread his hands. “So as I asked before, what can we do for you, Penance?”

“We need to resupply,” Adam said. “How far is it from here to Suci?”

“It is about four days from here,” the chief replied.

“Four?” Adam groaned. “I thought we would have been nearer.”

“No, you have gone quite far out of your way. It will take you two days at least to rejoin the Pilgrim’s Trail at the fifth encampment and then another two days to complete the journey.”

“Ah, it is what it is,” Adam said resignedly. “The other problem we have is that all our belongings were taken when we were kidnapped by the slavers. We do not have any money to purchase provisions, or to even replace our waterskins.”

The camp leader shook his head. “No, no, we will not accept payment from pilgrims—surely you know that already? Especially from you, Penance. It is an honour to serve you as you serve your God. Besides, the Temple pays us enough to ensure that we are well fed and have all that we need. No, we do not need your money.”

“Thank you, Samad. Thank you so much,” Adam replied.

“Do you need escorts on your journey? We could readily provide those as well.”

Adam almost agreed. It would be wise. Safe. “No, I must decline.”

“It is no big deal. For now, you should join your friend in sleep as we prepare what you will need for your journey.”

He led Adam to another sleeping area and left him there, deep in thought.

That evening, when Adam and Tulen woke up, they found that everything that they would need for the trip ahead had been prepared for them. Samad spent a little time explaining the marks on the trail that would lead them to the intersection with the Pilgrim’s Trail.

“Stick to the trail, Penance and Tulen the pure-hearted,” the camp leader advised as they took their leave.

“We will, Samad. We will,” Adam replied. “Thank you again for your generosity.”

They left the little camp with hearts full of gratitude and packs full of provisions for the journey ahead.

#AtoZChallenge: What I Wrote Today

Also, what on earth am I writing =.=

---

The next day, Rahsia doesn’t get to resume her lessons, though. She’d had to head in to the shop, and by the time she reaches Iman’s apartment in the afternoon, she walks in to find Ahmad there. He jumps to his feet defensively when she enters.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks.

“I could ask you that same question,” she replies dryly.

“I’m their father.”

“Estranged father.”

“So I haven’t been around. Does that mean I should never get to see them?”

Rahsia wants to retort, but she knows that Iman does want her children to see their father, even if it’s once in a long while, so she shrugs her shoulders. “Well, as long as the children want to see you.”

Tulen nods at her and says, “It’s all right, Aunty Sia. I was hoping bapak would turn up soon.”

Rahsia turns to Telus who is staring wide-eyed at the man. “How about you Telus?”

The boy shrugs a little shyly.

“Do you know who he is?” Rahsia asks.

“He’s my bapak,” Telus replies but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Have you met him before?”

“Maybe?”

“Yes, you have, Lus. Bapak’s been here four times already!”

Rahsia does a quick mental scan of the room. Tulen is holding her thoughts tight to herself and Rahsia can’t help but give an approving smile. Telus has hazy memories of maybe seeing the man before, but he’s not sure. There’s nothing negative attached to the memories, so Rahsia lets it go. Ahmad himself is a mess of uncertainty and pride, as if he’s not quite sure what he’s doing here, but he’s proud of himself all the same.

Why should he be proud of just seeing his children a few times a year? Rahsia shakes the thought away. He can be proud of whatever he wants. “Well, then. You’ll be seeing to their dinner?”

Ahmad looks confused.

“Will you be getting dinner for them, or should I be planning on being back later?”

“What about Iman?” he looks from Tulen to Rahsia.

“She’s rather caught up in something these days.”

Ahmad’s face darkens. “How dare she?”

“How dare she what?”

“Ignore our children?!”

“Oh, so you can ignore the children, but she can’t?”

“She’s their mother!”

“You’re their father!”

“It’s different—”

“And why would that be? And don’t say it’s because she’s a woman. I imagine it took both of you to have them, so it should take both of you to care for them, no?”

Ahmad flails for an answer.

“So you’ll be getting them dinner?” Rahsia asks again, a dangerous look on her face.

“Yes,” he answers weakly.

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Tulen, Telus.”

“Bye Aunty Sia, and thanks!” Tulen calls after her.

---

Getting there... the full target is 60k, of course, but this month's target is only 30k.

#AtoZChallenge: Visions (snippets of the current WIP)

Rahsia scrabbles at the last of her dreams. She’s built her life around a lie. Now that it has all been taken away, she has nothing. Everything she’s been doing in between has been waiting. Waiting for her destiny. Now she has no career, no prospects, no training that would be useful for anything. What use is knowing how to shield her mind to prospective employers? How useful is unravelling a dream to anyone but a priest or a Secretkeeper? What in Trikingdom can she earn by knowing how to skim thoughts or how to tell lies from truth? How could Nek have done this to her?

But it hadn’t been her fault. Nek couldn’t have known, could she? Foretelling was for priests. Nek had always insisted on that. But she’d also told Rahsia many times that she would be the one to take over. Not her mother. Not anyone else. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have— she would—

Nek hadn’t known. It’s a flimsy kind of comfort, but the only one she can find, at least until Iman wakes up. Maybe Iman will be able to tell her more. Tell her something comforting.

---

“What’s your end goal?” Rahsia finds herself asking.

“My what?”

“A priest doesn’t hang around and give advice for no reason, especially one from Suci. What are you trying to do?”

Father Farouk stretches open his hands as if trying to indicate he has come with wide open arms. Rahsia doesn’t believe it.

“Like I said yesterday, you’re important. I don’t know exactly how yet, but you are. And if you’re important, I need you to know everything you should be knowing and doing everything you should be doing,” he says.

“How do you know I’m important?”

He taps his head then points upwards.

“A vision?”

He sighs. “I guess you can call it that. No, it’s not really a vision. A vision would tell me clearly what’s going to happen and most likely when. This is more like a … well, a knowing.”

“A knowing.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t injure yourself trying.”

“Anyway, no change to our dear patient. And I’m sure you’re worn out. I will see you tomorrow.”

#AtoZChallenge: Update for #campnanowrimo

Sooooooo I've been dreadfully behind on my Camp NaNoWriMo goals, even though I've already reduced it drastically.

But yesterday, I did this.

So it's all good, at least until I have to hit my next goal tomorrow.

---

Rahsia wakes up with a crick in her neck. She doesn’t recall why she’s sleeping on the floor in such an awkward position. It’s not as if she fell asleep drunk last night, unless the priest had spiked her tea. He wouldn’t have done that. He couldn’t have done that either, unless he’d brought it with him. There is no alcohol in her house. No drugs of any kind either.

She stretches, feeling aches all along her body. The first thing she does is go in and stare at Iman. Nothing has changed. She goes into the bathroom and takes a long, hot bath until a pounding on the door reminds her that the healer was supposed to come. Has arrived. She scrambles to dry herself and throw on some clothes, kicking her discarded ones into her room and closing the door. By the time she reaches the door, the healer is scowling.

“Sorry. I was in the shower,” she says.

He nods and pushes past her. His inspection is a repeat of everything he did the day before.

“Did you find out anything about this, uh, medical suspension trance thing?”

“No.”

He’s out within minutes, leaving with an admonishment for her to remember to “water Iman.”

Rahsia giggles uncontrollably for the next five minutes. When she finally catches her breath, so goes to do as she’s told. Iman now feels to her like a houseplant. It’s a terrible thing to think of about your best friend, but it’s also a wonderfully amusing thing to think of your worst enemy. She can’t decide which category Iman falls into now, so she just refers to her as her plant. She must be careful not to say it in front of the children.

#AtoZChallenge: Tulen (an excerpt from Secretkeeper)

Rahsia pushes the problem aside when she reaches the Iman’s apartment building. Iman lives—lived—in a small one-room flat on the second floor. It’s poorly maintained, the once-white paint now a dirty, peeling grey. There are weird greenish fungus patches in various corners. There’s rubbish strewn along the hallway and up the stairs. She has to pick her way through the dirt. It’s not as if this is the first time Rahsia has seen it—she comes over often to take care of the children during the weekends when Iman can’t tear herself away from the Memories—but it’s the first time she’s really noticed it. No, the children cannot stay here on their own.

She knocks on the door and smiles when she hears Tulen’s careful voice asking who it is.

“It’s Aunty Sia,” she says.

The chain rattles and the lock turns and the door opens with a squeak. The ten-year-old girl looks up at her with worried eyes. “Where’s Mak?” she asks.

Rahsia’s voice sticks in her throat. How does Tulen know to ask?

“She’s late again, isn’t she? Too busy to come home?”

When did Tulen start sounding so bitter against her mother? Rahsia shakes her head. “No, Tulen. I’m afraid…” She cannot continue the sentence. Looking down, she sees that she’s gripping her hands together, right over left, left over right, cracking her knuckles. She stills them. “Let me in,” she says quietly.

Tulen lets her in and closes the door behind them.

“Aunty Sia?” she asks, a quiver in her voice. She must suspect something now, because of Rahsia’s inability to act normally. How does one act in the face of death? She hadn’t had to think of that when Nek died because Nek was old, and her grandmother, and she’d known she was going to die months beforehand. Why hadn’t Iman told her that she was about to die? Didn’t the Secretkeeper know such things?

A Memory stirs in her.

‘There is no time,’ Iman says to Father Farouk. ‘It will happen today and I cannot say goodbye to my children.’ 
The priest protests, ‘Don’t go that way then. Take another route. We need you, Iman.’
‘You don’t need me, Father. You need the Secretkeeper. And I am not the one. I was meant to only hold this role to teach my daughter what she needs to know for the future and I have failed in that task. I have been so subsumed with the Secretkeeper role and the Memories and the need to know that I have missed out on my true task.’
‘Your daughter?’
‘Tulen will be the Helpmeet. How she comes to that role, I do not know. I have not been given to see. You priests should know. Don’t you?’

Rahsia skims through the rest of the Memory. “Your mother left you a letter,” she says to Tulen.

“What? Why? Where is it?”

“I must find it. I just learned of it. There is no easy way to say this, Tulen, but your mak is dead.”

Tulen is silent for so long that Rahsia is afraid she doesn’t understand. “Do you understand what I just said?”

“Mak is dead,” Tulen repeats hollowly.

---

I was going to give you a snippet from Absolution, but I figured I'd give you a current one from Secretkeeper instead.
Here, Tulen is ten.

#AtoZChallenge: Secretkeeper

Secretkeeper first started out with the thought: What do you do with the secrets you keep?

I’d originally wanted to do an urban literary type story about a girl—one of those quiet types who are great listeners—that’s feeling bogged down by all the secrets she has to keep because people keep telling her things and being trusted to keep them secret. It was supposed to be set in Penang, because why not write about the place I actually live in, huh?

But… I couldn’t get the story to move. Nothing worked, nothing was interesting enough.

Then I decided okay, let’s add in some magic since I seem to write better when its fantasy.

So the story got revised—she’s still burdened with secrets—but this time, it’s because she has developed some magical powers that lets her see visions of the future/or snippets of things that are happening. And what if she sees something, but misinterprets it? And there’s this whole fiasco of her trying to prevent this calamity from happening, but it’s only happening because she’s trying to prevent it…

And it also didn’t work out.

Well, so, I was also working on editing (or trying not to rewrite) Absolution and I got to the bit where I gave the Impianans mind powers and wondered what on earth for. BUT wouldn’t it be interesting that because of these mind powers the priests from Impian are feared? And the common people have to learn tricks/skills to prevent their minds being read?

I was still thinking about that one person made to bear everyone’s secrets, and that felt rather like priests who take people’s confessions, and thought … but what if only ONE person listens to confessions and those confessions and memories can be passed down through the generations?

So yeah, that was how Secretkeeper more or less came about.

#AtoZChallenge: Rahsia

Secrets are a burden.

Rahsia had known that since she was seven and her teacher had stared when she said her name was Rahsia binti Abdullah. The teacher asked if that was really her father’s name, but hadn’t said why, so Rahsia asked her mother when she got home in the afternoon.

“That’s none of her business,” her mother replied with venom.

“But what does she mean, Mak? Why would she ask that?” Rahsia pressed, confused though she had never known her father. Maybe now Mak would tell her about him. “Why shouldn’t bapak’s name be ‘Abdullah’?”

Her mother wouldn’t reply, so Rahsia asked her grandmother that night at dinner.

Nek Ramalan glanced at her daughter over their simple dishes of fried fish with sambal tumis and fried kangkung with steamed rice.

Mak shrugged her shoulders and refused to say a word.

Nek shook her head and sighed. “Rahsia, there are some things that you are too young to understand now. It is your mother’s secret and she will tell you someday.”

“Mak!” Rahsia’s mother protested, scowling.

“Even if she doesn’t tell you in her lifetime, one day when you are Secretkeeper, you will know. For now, it is your Mak’s secret to keep and mine to bear.”

“I will know it as the Secretkeeper?” Rahsia asked with excitement in her voice.

“Yes. You'll bear our secrets, Rahsia, when the time comes. You'll be our Secretkeeper, the one that the world needs at this hour. For this time.”

---

As a random aside, I don't know what Rahsia's mother's name is yet. LOL

This is also all very disjointed, and scattered all over the place & timeline, sorry.

#AtoZChallenge: Quest

I’ve been somewhat defining Absolution, and to some extent Secretkeeper, as YA fantasy. Yet whilst Absolution does fit the demographics (with characters in the YA range) Secretkeeper in all likelihood (especially with what I’m currently writing) will not. Rahsia, who is the main protagonist in Secretkeeper, will be in her thirties for the bulk of the story, at least in this envisioning. (WHO KNOWS WHAT WILL HAPPEN THE MORE I ACTUALLY WRITE! WHEN I WRITE!)

Right now, I’m thinking that both the stories might actually fit better as a Quest fantasy. The overall arch of the two books (I have no idea what the third one is about yet) is basically a quest to rediscover and fulfil the Berith Melach and the Sacrifice to prevent the destruction (or downfall) of the Trikingdom. Secretkeeper focuses more on the discovery by the Secretkeeper and the priests, Absolutions follows how it all actually comes to play.

#AtoZChallenge: Penance (an excerpt from Absolution)

“Sayang, you have the talent of saying many things without telling us anything of importance. I gather that you took up the burden they offered you, but what does it mean?” Magda laid her open palms on the table, as if in invitation. “You use many fancy words, but do not explain the meanings behind them.”

Tulen tugged lightly on Magda’s sleeve. “Ibu, do not press him if he does not want to explain. A pilgrim’s quest is sometimes secret.” She smiled at him.

“There are—it’s not—I do not understand all of it yet, Mother.” He reached out and grasped her hands. He thought he’d covered most of it—the prophecies in both Maha and Suci. What else did she want? What else was there to say? Did he have to spell out the details? He sighed.

“But I will tell you what I can. What I do know.” Yet all I know is merely words, his mind protested. “I am the Penance and the Sacrifice. The Firstborn Male offered freely as Sin Eater, the sacrifice to God to save the Kingdom. The journey starts from Nun. I will have to travel alone through Guruntulang to Suci, accepting only what the Nomad encampments have to offer. If I survive that journey, I will need to carry out six rituals before I can be admitted to the temple. I … I’m not entirely sure what happens after that, but that will be when I offer myself up to God as Sacrifice.”

“Why?”

Adam stared at Tulen. “Have you not been listening? Because God requires it. Or he will destroy us all.”

Tulen’s eyes seemed to burn into him. “No, but why would you agree? Why would your father agree?”

“For the sake of the Kingdom. For the sake of the people.”

“For the sake… oh, that’s what you meant this morning.”

Adam felt the heat in his cheeks. He hoped the flush wasn’t noticeable against his fair skin in the darkness of the room. “The honourable king serves those he loves,” he said, looking at Tunku Nawal.

There was no sympathy there, no understanding as he’d hoped. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, looking at him with hard eyes. “So your brother will be king. Abel, the second son, will be king?”

“They will knight him once the Berith Melach has been completed.”

Nawal looked confused. “But why? Why wait? Or will you take the throne after…”

Adam’s smile felt brittle, fake even to himself. “I doubt I will survive this sacrifice, Your Grace. No, the reason Maha cannot knight him now is because my father has placed the city under a banner of repentance. There will be no feasts until I am mourned and buried and the Kingdom is safe once more.”

---

As you can tell, I have not been writing T.T

#AtoZChallenge: Nek Ramalan + Oblectation

In my Iman post, I introduced the character of Nek Ramalan.

Nek is a short form for nenek, which is the Malay word for grandmother. She’s Rahsia’s biological grandmother, but since Iman grew up with Rahsia (they were neighbours and went to the same school) she also calls her Nek.

In other parts of the story, others—including Father Farouk—also refer to her as Nek. To me, it’s because she’s this little old woman who is so beloved in her community that everyone refers to her affectionately as grandma. I don’t know how this will hold up in the long run, though.

---

I couldn’t think of anything for O, so I went to look at Rebekah Loper’s The A-Zs of Worldbuilding.
O is for Oblectation, which means enjoyment; pleasure. So ... entertainment!

This is something that’s not really developed yet in my world, so… wow. Hard thinking here. Lol.
What I’d like is for some common Malaysian children’s games to come over, like kali toi, congkak or pepsi cola. Though… the names might have to be changed because they’d make no sense at all. This would probably feature more in Secretkeeper than Absolution, because Tulen in Secretkeeper will be younger and more carefree. By the time she gets to Absolution, she’s too busy fending for herself and trying to stay alive to even think about entertainment.

Here’s some examples:
http://www.themalaymailonline.com/features/article/on-the-streets-of-george-town-a-celebration-of-childrens-games-video
http://gtwhi.com.my/celebrate/heritage-celebrations-2016.html

---

This is also a two-in-one post because I gave up on thinking yesterday.