#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.

#CoverReveal: Amok

EVERYONE! IT'S AMOK'S COVER REVEAL DAY!

What is faith, except hope in desperation?

All Putera Mikal wants is to gain the Amok Strength, the supernatural power granted by Kudus to the Mahan royal family. No matter how religiously Mikal keeps his vows, Kudus still denies him the Strength—whilst his father, Sultan Simson, flaunts the Strength despite his blatant defiance of the Temple and the priests’ visions of coming doom.

Then the prophecies come true.

Taken captive, Mikal must find a way to liberate his people and restore his throne in Maha—and the key to this is the Amok Strength. But what does it take to gain Kudus’ favour?

***

Amok releases in one month, on 24 June 2021, but you can preorder your copy now!

  

Amazon | Teaspoon Publishing

***

Love the cover? Check out our cover artist's website for more: Jiwosophy

Jiwo also explains his process in this thread:

@natzers approached me to illustrate and design the Cover for her "Absolution" Series, starting with the 1st of the trilogy, "Amok". Here's a thread documenting the creation process from beginning to completion.@teaspoonpub #CoverReveal #coverart #bookcover pic.twitter.com/SMdKxdUmYy

— jiwosophy (@jiwosophy) May 24, 2021

***

About the Author (aka me!)

Anna Tan grew up in Malaysia, the country that is not Singapore. She is interested in Malay/Nusantara and Chinese legends and folklore in exploring the intersection of language, culture, and faith.

Anna has an MA in Creative Writing: The Novel under a Chevening scholarship and is the President of the Malaysian Writers Society. She can be found tweeting as @natzers and forgetting to update annatsp.com.

Find her online: Website | Instagram | Facebook | Twitter

***

Visit other stops on the Cover Reveal! Their posts will be going live throughout the day, so I'll update the links as and when I see them. But you can go ahead and see all their other bookish posts too :)

C.O. Bonham

Moments For My Thoughts

Sholee's Sphere

Mermaird | Mermaird on Instagram!

a Sith reader

Runalong The Shelves

H. L. Burke | burkesdragons

L.A. Thornhill

Kara J Lovett

Jason Joyner

Abigail Falanga

#fridayflash: more #nanowrimo excerpt from the WIP

Josh stood frozen. Was this the way? Was this how they’d finally be able to return to Maha? They’d get Michael back to Maha—it was impossible to bring Samuel under these conditions—and when they were there, they’d be able to drum up the revolution, be able to amass an army to fight back, find a way to win back their city. He could subvert Lady’s Dell’s orders. Somehow. He had to talk to his father, see how they could use this to their advantage. Maybe they could actually leave without too much bloodshed.

The blow that landed on his cheek stunned him.

“Bastard. You’re planning to take it, aren’t you?” Michael growled. “You’d take my throne from me and laugh as I grovel at your feet. You want to break me like Dell has done my father?”

“Michael—”

“The throne of Maha will not be taken by infidels. It will not be occupied by Bayangans. The world will end before God allows that to happen!”

“Michael!” Josh grabbed at his prince’s flailing arms. “That is not what I intend to do! Listen to me, Michael,” he whispered fiercely, forcing the mad prince down on his knees. “You will be restored to your throne. But for now you must stop this. Stop it before you endanger everything.”

But Michael wouldn’t stop. He was in a frenzy, driven by fear, anger, and bitterness. Josh wrangled him into a chokehold, then manoeuvred his body, pressing him face-down into the floor. Reaching out, he snagged the ever-present chains and snapped them on the bands around Michael’s wrists and ankles. Michael continued wriggling on the ground.

“I don’t know how to talk sense into you, Michael, but you have to snap out of this. I can’t return a throne to a madman.” Josh kept his voice low, hoping that no one was listening at the door. “I’m going to meet my father tonight. I didn’t plan on bringing you along, but I’m going to need to. You need to listen to everything we have to say and understand Michael that everything we’ve been doing is intended to return your throne to you. You’re going to have to make decisions tonight. And you’re going to have to trust us.”

Michael stopped struggling.

“Can I let you up now?”

Michael nodded and Josh lifted the pressure from the back of Michael’s head and neck.

“Do you really mean all you said?” Michael asked, still wild-eyed, mouth full of carpet dust.

Josh nodded. “I do.”

“Why have you never told me all this before?”

“I told you right in the beginning, but you refused to believe me. And then it got too risky.”

“Then why tell me now?”

“Because if Dell intends to return us to Maha, this speeds up our timeline. This is an unexpected development that I hope will turn out for good. I don’t know how exactly we can subvert it to our purposes, but if we can, it means that you now need to know what we plan and how to react when we stage our coup.”

Michael lay silent. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Then he opened it as he exhaled. “I’m sorry. Could you let me go now?”

Josh dug in his pockets for the keys and released the chains. His jaw hurt and he stretched it.

“That’s going to bruise really badly,” Michael said, dropping his eyes habitually.

“Yeah, thanks.”

They sat in silence.

“You know what?” Josh finally said. “You really pack a punch. This was the hardest time it ever took for me to subdue you. And even then, I felt as if you let me.”

Michael lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling. “Something’s changed. Something clicked in me and I felt a surge of power. Not like anything I’ve ever felt before. It shocked me so much that I stopped. I was only flailing about half-heartedly to throw you off.”

Their eyes met. Josh’s eyes widened.

“Your Berserker powers,” he gushed in a quiet whisper.

“No…” but Michael’s eyes widened too.

---

I was thinking of developing this week's homework into something for next year's Commonwealth Short Story prize so I decided not to post it up. :)

Anyway, did a 10K day yesterday, wouldjalookitdat!

View this post on Instagram

#goalachieved 7k at the Uxbridge Library, 3k in the Brunel Library. Going back to chill in my room with a good book. Bai. #nanowrimo

A post shared by Anna Tan (@annatsp) on Nov 15, 2018 at 12:58pm PST

The story is probably 80% waffle right now, but that's okay, because most of that waffle is helping me figure out what the characters want :p

#fridayflash: excerpt from the #nanowrimo WIP

A knock on the door alerted King Samuel that it was time for the scry. He reluctantly kept the bottle back in its place, stood and smoothed down his shirt, then shrugged on his royal robes. He would appear in this kangaroo court in all his regality so they’d remember who he was and what he represented.

The council was already seated when he entered the Council Room. They made to rise, but he gestured at them, signalling them to keep their seats. He took his own seat at the head of the table and nodded at the priest in charge to open the scry.

The High Priest from Suci appeared in the mirror and, to his surprise, the Secretkeeper from Impian. What was she doing there? Where they conspiring against him? He narrowed his eyes at them. Well, if it was going to be a firing squad, at least Tun Ali from Impian wasn’t there. Moments later, King Samuel winced when Tun Ali appeared in a second mirror. Ali looked bored.

“You too?” Samuel said with a snort.

Ali shrugged. “I was summoned, so I here I am.”

“Well, let’s get this over with, shall we?” Samuel said, looking at the High Priest.

“This is no joking manner, young man,” the High Priest said sternly.

“As I have said over and over again, this is the best course for Terang—it is the only way to see lasting peace in the kingdom, instead of always having to worry about impending war from Bayangan.”

“You would ally with the enemies of God!” the High Priest protested.

“Well, if God were against them, he can strike them dead and we wouldn’t be in this fix of always being on the brink of war. Don’t you want peace, High Priest? Don’t you think the people deserve that chance for peace?”

“Young man, your heart is in the right place, but your actions are wrong. This treaty might offer peace for the short term, but it will only end in disaster,” the Secretkeeper said.

“I’ve prayed about this,” Samuel said obstinately, “and since God hasn’t struck me dead, I can only assume that I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“He has sent his word to the priests both in Maha and in Suci but you have ignored their advice! You only listen to your own council.”

“The Temple itself says that each man can approach God on his own and that God speaks to their hearts. My heart says that this is what is right for me and for Terang. Dare you go against your own teachings?” Samuel mocked. He pushed aside the remnants of his worry that he might be headed in the wrong direction. This was right, he told himself again. “Besides, the council of seven in Maha are in agreement.”

The seven other men around the table nodded. They hadn’t all been in agreement at first, but Samuel had worn them down, pleading his case and reworking the treaty to satisfy their worries until they had reluctantly agreed. The only thing he refused to budge on was the fact that he was going to marry Dell.

The High Priest and the Secretkeeper seemed to be having a hurried whispered conversation.

Samuel preened. He’d managed to throw them off, at least a little.

“My visions only see dark things if you take this route,” the Secretkeeper finally said. Her face was downcast, her tone low, but Samuel knew it was all an act. 

Get him to pity the woman and maybe his heart would be moved. No. He’d made his decision and he would stick to it. “Ramalan, I do not profess to understand the workings of your visions. But I have seen things with my own two eyes and they tell me that this is the best way forward. The people of our city are crying out for help. This treaty will bring jobs, trade, money. It will help everyone from the poor to the rich.”

“Must you marry the girl?” Ramalan asked.

Samuel’s face pinched. “Is that what this is all about? Despite all that I do for the kingdom, all the things I sacrifice, you would deny me the right to marry a young woman who is willing?”

“We do not deny you the right to marry anyone, King Samuel,” the High Priest replied. “Just not her. Not her, who is our ancient enemy.”

Samuel shook his head. “I don’t understand you. For all your talk of forgiveness and repentance, you cannot accept when one who was our enemy has repented and is now seeking to be our friend.”

“Fellow rulers,” Tun Ali finally spoke up, “Far be it from me to impose on any of you, being the youngest of all, but it is Samuel’s right to marry whom he wishes.”

Samuel shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Ali.”

The two scrying from Suci looked frustrated. “God says—”

“If I may remind you, High Priest, there are many Bayangans in Maha. All of them follow God and the teachings of the Temple. How can you be prejudiced against them when you preach love towards all? Princess Dell may yet come to know and follow God as we do.”

“And has she shown any interest in following our religion?” the Secretkeeper asked sharply. “Or does she merely delay you and tell you it may come to pass one day in the distant future?”

“In fact, Dell has visited the Temple in Maha when she was here,” Samuel said. He’d almost had to coerce her to go, and it was just a tour of the premises and not during services, but he didn’t say that. “I would say that she is quite open to listening about God. Belief and faith will come in time.”

A long silence permeated the room. 

“Do you have anything else to say?” King Samuel said when a long enough time had passed.

“It looks like we cannot convince you otherwise.”

“No, you can’t. I have quite made up my mind, and it is within my rights as the King of Maha and Sovereign of the tri-city states of Terang to do so, especially when the Council of Seven are in agreement.”

“One last thing then,” the High Priest said.

“What would that be?”

“Will you release my priests? The Temple in Maha has informed me that you have unlawfully imprisoned the Chief Priest Francis and two other high ranking priests over the last three months. What offence have they made against you?”

Samuel grimaced. “I will release them on the condition that they return to Suci and replaced with new priests who respect the authority of the King. These priests have spoken out publicly against My Royal Person in the middle of Temple services in an astoundingly rude manner. This is both disruptive and against the rule of law. If they wish to admonish me or impart their ‘words of wisdom’, I would advise them to do it in a more courteous manner instead of inciting insurrection.”

“Noted. We will discipline them as necessary,” the High Priest said.

“Now, if that is all…?”

Samuel waited for those in the scrying mirrors to assent before he signalled for the attending priest to break the link.

“Well, that’s that then,” he leaned back in his seat with a big smile.

---

So this is the last bit I wrote yesterday during my write-in at the Uxbridge Library. I'm kind of liking it at the moment, and unfortunately liking my "bad people" with more glee than the actual intended protagonists of this story.

If you notice, this takes place in the whole Absolution universe ha. It's supposed to happen way before Secretkeeper and Absolution, so yes, the Secretkeeper is Nek Ramalan, though I suppose she's not old enough to be "Nek" yet. Hmmmmmm. 

#nanowrimo updates

I'm taking a break from #fridayflash in November (not that I was terribly consistent before) because I'll be posting writing updates from NaNoWrimo over at my Patreon page. (Or you can just see my graph on the sidebar.)

If you want sneak previews of the snazzy new novel I'm working on, head over to https://www.patreon.com/annatsp and become a patron! You'll only be charged once I publish the novel.

#Guestpost: Worldbuilding Cultures: Cultivating Sensitivity through Creativity by @Rebekah_Loper

Today, for the final post of what apparently became worldbuilding week, Rebekah Loper talks a little bit about cultures and sensitivity as part of her book launch tour.

Rebekah is a fellow A to Z blogger and Wrimo, who, coincidentally, introduced me to Realm Makers!

Worldbuilding Cultures: Cultivating Sensitivity through Creativity

Last summer, I read an article about fiction readers being more empathetic people than non-readers. There doesn’t seem to be a formal article or study about writers being more empathetic (though many writers are avid readers, so it wouldn’t be a surprise), but I would say that especially for writers of speculative fiction empathy is a necessary skill.

One of the methods I advocate in my book is to look at the world around you, especially climates similar to what you’re worldbuilding, and see what types of cultures developed from them. In this time, when terms like cultural appropriation and white-washing get tossed around frequently (and often justly), it is a fine line to walk.

When cultural inspiration is done inappropriately, it becomes something along the lines of plagiarism – taking something that wasn’t yours and claiming that it was, despite evidence to the contrary.

It’s one thing to take a single aspect of a culture, look at it from a new perspective, and re-build it for your world from there. It’s another matter entirely to take entire existing cultures (and cultural stereotypes) and transplant them into your story – especially for fantasy. Not only is it sloppy writing, but it’s disrespectful.

Culture has so many nuances to it, and especially so when you’re writing about a culture that isn’t yours. That doesn’t mean it’s an impossible task, however – it simply means you need more help than you do when you’re writing something that happens in your own backyard. It means learning how to put on someone else’s shoes, and walking a mile (or one hundred miles) in them, and knowing that it’s probably not ever going to be enough.

It all comes back to empathy – for your readers to be able to step inside another mind, another world, you have to know the nuances of your characters, and that means knowing their culture, whether it’s based on a real culture from our world or it’s one completely made up for your story.

Sometimes it means hours and hours of research and worldbuilding and revisions, and sometimes it means recognizing that you may not the best person to write the story. Most importantly, though, it means learning more about the world around you, whether it ends up in the story you write or not.

---

Rebekah Loper loves to create worlds – whether they are magical and fictional, or a productive farm in her suburban backyard where she makes futile attempts to curse Bermuda grass from all existence.

Rebekah lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma with her husband, dog, formerly feral cat, a flock of chickens, and an extensive tea collection. She blogs at rebekahloper.com, and is also a contributing blogger at Fantasy-Faction.com and The Rabid Rainbow Ferret Society (fictionalferrets.wordpress.com).

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About the book:

Worldbuilding is the ultimate act of creation for speculative fiction writers, but how exactly do you worldbuild? You ask 'what if' and use each answer as a springboard to more questions and answers about your fictional world.

In The A-Zs of Worldbuilding, that ‘what if’ process is broken down into 26 themed chapters, covering topics ranging from architecture to zoology. Each chapter includes a corresponding set of guided exercises to help you find the ‘what if’ questions relevant to your story’s world.

Fair warning, though: worldbuilding is addictive. Once you get started, you might never put your pen down again.

Amazon | Apple | Nook | Google Play | Kobo

Get The A-Zs of Worldbuilding ebook for only 99 cents (USD) now through September 30! (Regularly $3.99)

Sign up for Rebekah’s newsletter by September 30 and get a 25% off coupon for The A-Zs of Worldbuilding paperback when you purchase it from RebekahLoper.com or CreateSpace!

---

Check out my review HERE!

Enough is enough.

The most I can say is that I am tired and drained.
I'll try to keep up the last few book posts, but everything else will be on hiatus.

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At any rate, I 'm crazy enough to think writing a 40K novella for Tor submissions next month is possibly worth it.
Make that in 3 weeks.
I did nano, didn't I? (but that didn't need to be good enough to be submitted, eek.)

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Also, short story needs to come out soon; it's written, just needs editing. And a cover. But, TIME.

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I can't wait for Christmas to be over.

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Also, hello nanohoppers. I'll continue following you guys when I recover from being a buried potato.

#grinchy. #verygrinchy. #seasonschmeason.

The 2016 #nanowrimo reflection post or how I wrote 33K in 4 days

Writing is often a constant battle between getting the words out and getting the words right. For the month of November and NaNoWriMo, the goal is getting the words out—whether it’s right or not. Not everyone can work that way, and that’s fine, but it’s often a handy tool for me to jumpstart new projects instead of procrastinating and waiting for inspiration to strike.

I had been a bit ambivalent about doing NaNoWriMo this year, mainly because I would be away for half the month, but I’d been encouraging a lot of people—mostly from our baby writing group—to do so and I thought I should set a good example by at least attempting it. After all, winning or losing wasn’t my main goal; my main goal was to continue to build this writing community.

I talked to our weekly write-in group as well as the NPO I work with, LUMA, and we set up the LUMA Drop-In Writing Space to host writers from 10am-10pm daily for the last 6 days of November. The dates also coincided with the annual George Town Literary Fest & In-between Arts Festival, which was focusing on food and zines, so we made a public event on Facebook and announced it in all the writers' groups we knew of online.

And then November started, and I went on my holiday, working sporadically on the new novel and totally pantsing all the way. Which was how I found myself at the start of our write-ins on 25th November with only 17K words. On one hand, I did wonder if I could actually reach 50K in such a short time, but on the other hand, I wasn’t very bothered because I knew that I had a lot of time before me and all I had to do was sit down and write, besides opening and closing the door for people (ah, the privilege of not working a 9-to-5). And so I broke a personal record and wrote an average of 8,000 words a day over the next 4 days, finishing 2 days earlier than I expected.

Now, obviously, I want to replicate this since I’m making writing my full-time job. If I know what’s been working these 4 days, that would help me to work better, right? I tracked all my writing this month (wordcounts & times) in Wordly and here’s my analysis of the data:

• I rarely wrote anything more than 1K before lunch (noon/1pm). I open the place at 10am, but by the time I’m finished pottering around, making tea, going up and down the stairs, turning on the laptop, checking my phone, it’s usually almost 11am before I even sit down and start writing. This isn’t anything new. Even in my previous day jobs, when I had to be in the office by 8.30 – 9am, I always felt super unproductive before 10am, especially before making tea.
• Tea is important, as noted above.
• I averaged about 5.5 hours of writing time per day, despite being at the centre for 12 hours a day. If you subtract approximately 2 hours for lunch and dinner, I only “worked” about 55% of the time. It seems unproductive, but I’m not very good at focusing for extended lengths of time. It also works out (as averaged by Wordly) to about 1,541 words per hour. I’m not entirely sure if that’s good or bad, but at least it’s measurable.
• Not having Internet access probably helped a lot, because there’s only so long you can stare at your phone before you feel that you’re wasting time.
• Setting small goals helps, especially when I don’t feel like writing, or am unsure where the story is going. During those times, I do a sprint of maybe 15 minutes. At the end of that 15 minutes, I’ve either written a good bunch of words and am excited to continue, or I’ve figured out a new direction and need to sit back and think about it.
• Knowing where the story is going helps me to write faster. Some of the “unproductive” time was spent thinking about the story’s direction and possible plot points, which then translated into higher word counts during the next writing session. (Some of the unproductive time was also spent staring into space, which is another matter altogether ;) )
• The best writing sessions were usually between 20 – 30 minutes.
• The best writing session goal was usually to hit 1K words per session, which usually averaged out to 30 minutes.
• I was hampered at times because I’d previously researched some local fairy creatures/folk tales, but I’d only saved the stub or link, instead of saving the whole document for reference. Having all research on hand (that is not online, where I’ll get distracted) is probably pretty important.
• Having the right mindset really helps. During these 4 days, all I thought about was “I need to finish writing this story before I can do anything else”. This is very different from when I’m writing at home and thinking about ‘oh- I haven’t finished my book review’ or ‘I need to do this other project first’ or even ‘maybe I need to read/research this’ (and the usual culprit - ‘I’m hungry/bored/sleepy, I need to find something to eat’). So – I do really need to get into this ‘cave’ mindset when writing to make sure that I stop procrastinating! (Also already noted by the way I can be superbly productive finishing a short story for submission… the WEEK before the deadline!)

In summary, here are the things I need to be working on to make sure I’m really writing and not just being a bum:

1. Set writing goals & deadlines and STICK TO THEM
2. Work on only one project at a set time.
3. Research BEFORE writing where possible (ahahahah) and SAVE/archive my research
4. FOCUS!

All of which I already knew before, but now there’s DATA. Hard, measurable data.

But other than that, the writing space has also been a win community-wise. There were some down/slow times, especially in the beginning where I feared I’d be sitting there writing alone (which turned out okay because I was productive), but there’s also been a steady group of regulars, as well as a few newcomers added to our writing community. The group’s excited to take it further, so we might see more people coming for write-ins in future. And maybe more collaborations/discussions/critiques happening spontaneously.



… the only thing I am actually uber sad about is that I didn’t attend anything in GTLF at all. I’d been eyeing maybe 2 – 3 sessions, but I needed to sit in LUMA to keep the space open. Maybe next time we’ll try not to overlap with the fest. I had been hoping for some drop-ins from fest attendees, but that didn’t actually happen.

#fridayflash: a #nanowrimo excerpt

“I don’t believe I have ever been to this part of the Fairy Kingdom before,” Mary Hays said, looking around at the strange trees. It felt hot and muggy, unlike the cool breeze they’d been having earlier.
Ataneq also peered around. “It feels different.” He started to run further down the path.
“Slow down, Neq, I’m not as young as I used to be!” Truth was, Mary was feeling every bit of her 70 years as the heat folded around her. She took off her shawl and used it to wipe her sweat. “Oh my! Why is it so hot here?”
Ataneq stopped and waited. “I do believe that we’ve been joined by a new fairy kingdom,” he said as he waited for her to catch up. “Isn’t that exciting?”
“It is. But how does it happen?” Mary had been in and out of the Old Fairy Kingdom ever since she was 8 years old when that old meddling crone, Baba Yaga, had lured her sister in. Her grandmother, the Fairy Queen, had been dead against their presence in the Kingdom, harbouring her anger and hatred against her supposedly human father, only to find that Darrick Hays was half elf and half human. They’d been given grudging permission since then to enter the Kingdom. Whilst their friends had been allowed in as children due to the Dragon’s decree, only Jane and Mary had been allowed the privilege of continued access until now because of their blood ties.
“I don’t know. I’m not entirely sure how I stumbled into this one either.”

They walked down the overgrown path, Ataneq slowing his pace to match Mary’s. He looked at her with worry sometimes. She’d been a bright, young girl when he’d first met her, and now she was old and grey while he hadn’t changed a bit. The ravages of time. He hated it. He was glad now that he hadn’t made an effort to find his way back home when Baba Yaga had offered to turn him back to a human. Too many years had passed - his wife and sons would have died by then so there was nothing for him to return home to. This was now his home, for better or worse.
“Does it look to you like there’s some sort of plague here?” Mary asked, dislodging him from his melancholic thoughts.
“Is there?” He peered closely at the tree he was standing next too. “Well, it looks like a tree. It’s a little… pale? But maybe that’s just what trees in this place look like. You know, maybe they’re a light-bark type of tree.”
“But I don’t think they’re supposed to be slightly transparent, do you? Do you think we should as Euthalia for her opinion?”
“I don’t see why not.” On second thoughts, Mary was right. The tree didn’t just look pale. It looked a little translucent. Another thought struck him. “I suppose these trees can talk to the dryads?”
“How would I know? Can’t all trees talk to dryads?”
“Well, how were you planning on calling Euthalia then?”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought that far. I just assumed that we could call her and she’d appear as she always did.”
“We can try.”
Mary and Ataneq took turns calling for the dryad by name. When she didn’t appear after a few minutes, Ataneq shrugged and said, “I suppose that answers it. These trees probably don’t talk to the dryads. Or, not yet anyway, if they really are from a new realm.”
Mary looked around. “So, should we go on or do we go back?”
“Oh, onwards, of course!” Ataneq grinned. “It has been a long time since we had a new adventure!”
“Everyday is an adventure with you, adlet,” she teased in reply. “I never know when you’ll turn round and try to eat me!”
Ataneq laughed. “You know I’ll never eat you. I don’t like the taste of stringy old women!”

---

Here's a little excerpt of what I've been working on for NaNoWriMo!
I'm awfully far behind, so any form of moral support is welcome. :D

Here is my extremely pathetic wordcount graph

#bookreview: Dissolution by Lee S Hawke

Dissolution is supposed to be launched today! (Edit: I now have an Amazon link! http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DEGTLGK)
At any rate, I thought I'd just post my review here before April gets crazy.

If you want to help fund her crowdsourcing for science in Australia, head over here!

Dissolution - A Dystopian Novella by Lee S. Hawke
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Taking the concept of selling your souls to work literally, Hawke builds a city where at 18, you sell yourself to the highest bidder. Madeline has known all her life that Merce is where she wants to be - so that she can help fix up Unilox through her modding skills. But when the Auctioning goes terribly wrong, she finds herself on the run.

Dissolution is a gripping read - Hawke takes you down to the depths of rejection and out to the wilds of fear and desperation, before holding out a little carrot of hope. There's a determination to Madeline that seeps out through her every action and word, helping her do the unthinkable: disconnect from the world absolutely by turning off her UConn. Turning to the outcasts for help.

Technology is the core of Dissolution, and Hawke explores our slavery to tech and connectivity, and how we find our value in our jobs and possessions, making non-conformists the stranger-enemy. Corporations that were once meant to protect have been subverted from their purpose. Are corporations inherently evil? Or do they just allow people with the propensity for it to have too much power?

There's much to think about. Or you could just enjoy a good story.

View all my reviews

A #nanowrimo excerpt: Of Elephants and Potatoes

And here it is, an excerpt from the story I started for Nanowrimo, which is probably going to die an ignominious death very soon. Enjoy, or rather, just stab me to death right now.

---

The thing with being In a State was that it often tired Cherise out so that she didn’t have any bad dreams. This time though, because she had fallen asleep after less than half an hour of crying, her subconscious was still overly active, resulting in the strangest dream about elephants that she had ever had. Not that she had ever dreamt of elephants before.
She had opened her eyes to see a large, matronly elephant bending over her, nuzzling her neck with its trunk. She had blinked and rubbed her eyes, but the elephant still loomed over her. She could feel the gentle touch of the elephant’s trunk on her neck, unexpectedly feather light, like a warm caress.
“Why do you cry, little one?” the elephant asked.
Cherise’s eyes widened.
“You… you speak. I’m… I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Cherise pinched herself.
The elephant’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm. Yes, yes you are.”
Cherise nodded. “That’s right.”
“So why don’t you tell me why you’re crying, little one? After all, this is only a dream, so you can say whatever you want.”
“I - I…” Cherise couldn’t figure out what to say. Frankly, she felt a little silly for talking to an elephant, even if it were only an imaginary one.
“You remind me of that cartoon,” she said instead. “The one with the flying elephant.”
“Maybe I am.”
“I haven’t seen that cartoon for ages. I don’t really remember what it was about except that little Dumbo was crying because he had been separated from his mother.”
“So why are you crying? Have you been separated from your mother?”
“I - well, it seems so silly.”
“Nothing can be sillier than you dreaming of talking to a cartoon elephant, so why don’t you try me?” the elephant said. Cherise found herself agreeing.
“Well, you see, Nate got married.”
The elephant waited for her to continue. After a while, it prodded, “and you’re heart-broken because you like him?”
“No, not exactly. I never liked Nate in that way. I mean, he was nice. We’ve been friends for a long time, but I never had romantic feelings for him.” She paused, sitting up. The elephant settled into what passed for a sitting position beside her and they sat companionably in silence. Cherise found herself leaning on it.
“Do you have a name?” she finally asked.
“Hmm. You can call me Iris,” the elephant replied.
“Iris. Like the flower?”
“No. Iris, like your eye.”
Cherise thought about that. “Because you are all-seeing? Or something?”
“Or something.” Iris’ trunk settled about Cherise’s shoulders like a warm hug. “Why don’t you continue telling me your story?”
“Oh. I thought I’d finished. Well, Nate got married. And everyone was so happy and so pretty. And then I felt like a useless fifth wheel which no one noticed or wanted.”
“Fifth wheel?” Iris queried.
“You know, like that spare tire thing that’s in the car that you never remember you have until your get a flat tire?”
“I’m not very familiar with the concept of cars, but I think I get what you mean.”
“Yea, I mean everything is always done in pairs - or in this case, with four wheels on a car - and you never ever need that last person, unless something goes wrong. And I’m always this person - this - useless person until something goes wrong and they say, oh but maybe Cherise knows what to do. And then most times I don’t, but I try. And sometimes I do but it’s all so - ugh.”
“Doesn’t that make you a useful person, though? Because they need you?”
Cherise shook her head. “You don’t understand, Iris. I don’t want to be needed anymore. I want to be wanted.”
Iris flapped her ears thoughtfully.
“And maybe what I really want is a family of my own. Despite the fact that kids are such bothersome things. But… but maybe they won’t be that bad,” Cherise continued in a rush.
“But that sounds like you want to be needed. Children are needy little people after all.”
“I - I…” a small tear leaked out of Cherise’s eye. “I don’t know what I want. I just know that I don’t want to be where I am anymore. The white elephant. The elephant in the room.” She paused. “No offense.”
Iris engulfed her in a warm elephant hug. “Don’t worry little one. Things will get better soon.” Cherise wriggled a little, but Iris’ hug was strong and comforting, and once she was settled in a comfortable position, she closed her eyes and listened to Iris sing a little Elephant Lullaby.

Hush, little one, close your eyes
Iris is here to still your cries
The world so harsh will fade away
As Iris sings her little lay.  

---

And my terrible word count so you can laugh at me.

#Fridayflash: Madeira Red

Max was good at twiddling his thumbs. He had nothing to do that sweltering afternoon after lunch, so he sat in Nando's Gurney Plaza twiddling them, watching the world pass him by. A hundred frantic shoppers later, he'd drifted off into a bit of a stupor, so when he looked up and saw a tall, long-haired guy approaching his table, he fairly jumped out of his skin. He eyed his Madeira Red suspiciously, wondering if there had been alcohol in it. They wouldn't. They'd lose their halal license. But he couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that a very much younger version of himself had just plonked his extremely thin derriere on the chair in front of him and was grinning at him like a maniac.
"Crazy, isn't it?" Young Max said as he beckoned a waiter.
"How - who -"
"What, why, when?" That cocksure grin again. "Ice lemon tea, please." The waiter nodded and walked away.
Max finished gaping. "Are you really me? How is this possible?" He cast another dubious glance at his drink.
Young Max followed his gaze. "It's just pomegranate juice and Sprite. And sugar."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm quite sure that I'm real and that you're not drunk. You stopped drinking a long time ago, remember?"
"Yes - but if you're a younger version of me, how would you know?"
"Because I'm not."
"Not me?"
"Not a younger version of you. I'm a different version of you."

Fifteen minutes later, Time Travelling Max leaned back in his chair, nibbling at his straw as Max leaned his forehead on his open palms and groaned.
"I have no idea how to understand what you just said."
"That's okay. It's not important. You just have to remember what I'm here to tell you."
"Why are you here?"
"You haven't been listening, have you?"
"I've been trying!" Max barely stopped himself from pounding the table.
"Temper, temper. I know how it is. That's where those scars came from, right?"
"Oh how much you know, but how little you understand!"
Time Travelling Max fell silent, contemplating his remark. "That is true. I've only studied what you've been through. I do not think I will understand." He shook his head as if to rouse himself. "It doesn't matter. The only thing of importance here is the message."
"Which is?"
"Things are not as they seem."
Max scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?" He watched as his other self opened his mouth, lifted a finger and then froze.
"Apparently not supposed to tell you. Just remember that. Things are not as they seem. I have to go now. Thanks for the drink."
Max gaped as he got up and rushed away.

Seconds later, Max went back to twiddling his thumbs, solemnly swearing to himself that he would never drink Madeira Red ever again. Wasn't worth the price and the (he was quite sure) hallucinations.

---

This is a Max story, written under duress.
Maximillian Chan (Max) is a long-haired, tattooed, gangster/biker type dude that first appeared in my 2003 NaNoWriMo. AND THEN SOMEONE GREW AN UNHEALTHY OBSESSION WITH HIM.
I don't know if that's 700 words. It's probably round about the 200 range.
But that's too bad.

#bookreview: Division by Lee S. Hawke

Division: A Collection of Science Fiction Fairytales by Lee S. Hawke
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Science Fiction Fairytales. Read that again. Science Fiction Fairytales. Figured it out yet?
I haven't. But I like it.

From the first story, The Soldier, up to the final title story, Division Hawke draws you into a strange yet familiar future world of technology, pushing the limits of what we'd expect to be normal.

The Soldier tells the tale of being used as a soldier in the war against disease. Dissimilation brings you into a virtual reality within a virtual reality within - which is the real world again? Please Connect makes you ponder a world where human connection has disappeared and sex is an unnatural ritual obligated by the government.
In The Grey Wall you discover a strange world of living furniture, and wonder - what if? - even as Beauty brings you deeper into a different world where you wonder what choices you would make if you could change everything about yourself. Lemuria is a semi-horror story of an alien-like invasion and escape.
Undoubtedly, the crown jewel of this anthology is Division itself, a story of raw grief, of coping mechanisms, of pain, of division and loss.

It's a short work, one you can finish reading in maybe an hour or less. But it's one that leaves you with a satisfied feeling in your chest.

I received a gift copy of this e-book from the author in exchange for an honest review.

View all my reviews

Writing goals for 2015

I don't like making goals. I don't like the fact that I almost always never achieve them.

Anyway, a couple of days ago I created a file in Google Docs to track submissions. Because I decided I'm going to get round to writing and submitting stuff. And since I do better with short stories anyway, that's what I'm going to work on more proactively this year while I figure out what I really want to do with the fairy tale novella that's kind of hanging and the rest of my 50K nanowrimo novels that are desperately in need of [dire] edits.

So I figure the idea is to write more short stories and submit them. And if they get published, all well and good. If they don't (or if I miss the deadline), well, by the end of the year or maybe next year, I'll have enough shorts to compile into a book that I'll title "Misfits: an anthology of short stories that didn't fit anywhere else". Or something like that.

I also want to get round to writing the script for Ruth and Joseph, and there's an Easter/Cheng Beng idea somewhere in there. All these half-written, half-thought out ideas really need to be finished.

There's also the collection I started on Medium that I should work on. An article a month doesn't sound like too much, though I am lazy and unmotivated. We'll see where that goes. If any of you want to contribute, e-mail me at posts [at] annatsp [dot] com. That's where I compile all the e-mails that have to do with things I'm posting on behalf of people, such as this Medium thing (if you have a Medium account, I'll just add you as a contributor), guest posts, book tours, blog tours, and all that kind of stuff.

Single & Female

Okay. Actually, that looks like a lot of goals. Let's see how it goes.

---

On a not-quite-writing related note, I'm coming to a point where I'm wondering whether the whole creative arts dream I have is really what I want to do. I mean, I want it to happen, and I think that Penang AND the Church desperately need it... but at the same time, I think that the piece of it I'm gravitating towards is actually just writing the scripts. I don't really care if I do act in them or not. If I could find someone else to deal with the rest of it, I don't mind just sharing the vision.
.sigh.

A #giveaway! In time for Christmas!

So... I finished NaNoWriMo... as in I completed the 50K words... but the story isn't quite done yet. But I got lazy.

Anyway, while I get back to actually finishing the story, here's something to entertain you - remember the book I was blitzing in November? The Expatriates?

Yeah, well, I have a copy to giveaway. Check that out here. Special additional entries available if you show some love for Love in Penang. ;)

Don't have a copy? Find out where you can get one here. Or, well, pretty Amazon widget just below. (P/S - if you're from Malaysia/Singapore, it's cheaper in the local bookstores listed in the link above. Also, if you're anywhere in San Jose, I'll be there in Jan!)

Anyway, distractions aside... ENTER GIVEAWAY HERE.

#nanowrimo 2014: Update 3

So... I'm terribly far behind. I should have broken 30K by now, but I haven't. *sigh* But anyway, random excerpt below for random people. I don't have half as much good stuff that I would like, but the way it's going I'm only at the beginning of the story and I've already reached 27K, so maybe this would actually turn out to be full-ish length novel of maybe 100K instead of dying of lack of story at 50K as it usually does.

That's progress, isn't it?


---

When they had finally made their way out of the city, Abernathy slowed his pace and shook his head, with tears streaming down his face.

“I don’t understand,” Adam said.

“It has always been like this,” Abernathy replied. “Always when you tell the people that God’s judgement is near, that his wrath is upon them, they will try to bribe Him. They will bring of their ‘offerings’, thinking that the more they bring, the more God will listen. But they ignore the finer points of the law - the ones that say to bring the best into His storehouses, bring of your first fruits and not of your leftovers. To them, anything they bring to God is good enough, because they put themselves first. The point of their worship is themselves, not God. God has no place in their hearts.”

Adam looked backwards the the gates that were now closed to him. He wondered if he would ever find his place back in the city he had called home once more. The walls of the Capital stood tall and forbidding, the thick gates seemed to say that he could never return. In the distance, the towers of the Castle stood high above all else, the flag of the Kingdom waving in the soft breeze.

“And how is this different, Abernathy? How is this different from the ways that we seek to please God in order to bring about blessings to ourselves and the kingdom?” Adam asked in a soft voice. “How is this different from me trying to be the penance, trying to take on the weight of the world, when I don’t know who God is and I’m not sure if I’ve ever known?” There was anguish in his voice that started even Adam himself - he had never thought himself so passionate or so burdened.

“Tell me, Adam son of Capital, why you do this? Why have you taken upon yourself this Penance and the Blood Sacrifice? Why do you volunteer yourself to be the Sin Eater for the Kingdom?”

Adam opened his mouth a few times, trying to get the words out, but failing. It seemed as if all the glib answers that often appeared in his brain had slunk away and were now cowering under the light that the priest was shining into him in quest of the truth.

“I - I do not know,” he said humbly. “It felt right - it felt as if it was what I was meant to do. It felt as if God were approving of my sacrifice.”

“Why did it feel that way?”

Adam searched deeper into his heart. “Because I understood then that the people needed it. That for the sake of the people, someone had to complete the Berith Melach, and if the law required the firstborn, then I would be the one who would have to fulfil the law.”

“Did you think of yourself and what you would gain?” the priest pressed again.

Adam shook his head slowly. “I - I thought first of all that I would lose. I thought about how I would lose my kingdom, the kingship my father had bestowed on me - that the Council of Peers had gifted to me. I have to admit, I almost refused. I wanted to refuse. I was too selfish - how could you take my kingdom from me just after you had given it to me?”

Adam had stopped walking. He stared into the distance as he talked, dimly aware of Abernathy by his side. “Why would a good and loving God give me everything I had ever dreamed of only to strip it away within the month? What was the point of that? What was the point of serving a God who would simply punish you for the sake of other people?” He turned to the priest with fire in his eyes. “And that was it, Abernathy, for the sake of the people. That was my turning point. To be able to rule well, to be fit to be called the King of the Kingdom, I would have to sacrifice it all for the sake of the people.” He fell silent, his shoulders slumped, his head bent low.

“So you said yes.” The priest’s voice was low, as if he were sharing a secret. “And that what makes your sacrifice acceptable, Adam son of the Capital. Because you think first of God, and the fulfilment of the law, you weigh the cost to yourself and the gains to your people and you do not consider yourself - but you have faith. Faith that what you do will be for the good of the Kingdom.”

“Is it not wrong to be so selfish as to think of the cost and all I have lost?” Adam asked with tears in his eyes.

Abernathy held him in a tight embrace as he sobbed. “No. It is only human. God didn’t say that we can’t grieve over what we lose. He just says that we need set aside that grief and trust Him.”

The two men walked along the road in silence. As they travelled, Adam drank in everything that he could: the sound of the birds chirping, the shade of the trees as they covered their path, the crunch of leaves and twigs under their feet, the rustle of the animals that scurried away around them, the breeze that caressed them so gently.

“I feel as if this is the last time I will see these things again,” Adam remarked.

Abernathy chuckled. “How morbid you are, my son. It’s not as if the Holy City does not have foliage and animals, you know.”

“I know - but these are the trees and the animals of my city and my childhood. It would just somehow be different, as I am growing different.”

---

AND I DON'T KNOW WHY ABERNATHY. It was some random name from another random story which got stuck in my head. I need new names. :(

#nanowrimo 2014: Update 2

An excerpt, as promised.

---

“I have decided,” the Princess announced to no one in particular, “that something must be done to prevent this marriage.” She looked over to where the maids were studiously ignoring her. They were heartily sick of this conversation and line of reasoning by now.

“Does any of you have any ideas?”

No one replied. The Princess continued pacing the room.

“There are, after all, many things much more important than marriage. I suppose if I decided on one of them, Father will have to allow me to pursue it instead of simply getting married to god knows who. The question, however, is what should I do?”

Continuing to talk to herself, she found her way into the kitchens where Magda presided over the huge cooking pot, wooden ladle in hand.

“Magda, you have to help me,” she said, standing in front of the pot and peering into its contents.

“What is it, sayang?” Magda replied.

“Father comes back from the Capital tomorrow and I need to find an excuse by then as to why I should not marry this prince.”

“Why do you not want to marry him?”

“Because I don’t know him, and I resolve not to marry anyone I don’t know. What if he is the youngest son of many and never amounts to anything much? I would have lost out on a greater match.”

Magda rolled her eyes. “As I have said, sayang, you should meet him first before you decide -”

“No, no, Magda. You cannot take my father’s side! He has no right to simply draft me into a marriage as if I were a soldier that he can force to fight on his side.”

“The Tun doesn’t do that.”

The Princess ignored her comment. “What if he is ugly or stupid or just plain unlikeable? No. I must find a way out of this.”

“All you can do is delay the inevitable, sayang, unless God himself wills it.”

“Ah! God!” A look of glee spread over the princess’ face.

“What? What is it?” Magda asked suspiciously.

“A pilgrimage! I should seek the face of God to find out if it is his will for me to marry this prince!”

“Do not take God lightly, my princess,” Magda said warningly, waving the ladle at her. “A pilgrimage is not something you can simply embark upon -”

“It is the perfect excuse,” the Princess interrupted. “I will avail myself to the service of God - by the time I journey to the Holy City and back, whatever urgency my father and this prince has to try to make a match will be over, and I can go back to my own plans.”

“And what if God does answer you?” Magda asked, narrowing her eyes. ‘What if the Almighty decides to call you into His service?”

The princess looked at her uncertainly. “Well, I highly doubt it, but I will cross that hurdle when I come to it. Don’t be such a sourpuss, Maggie dear. I’m sure God won’t expect me to do anything of the sort.”

She turned on her heel and flounced out of the room, ignoring Magda’s mutters.



Tulen stared at the princess’s retreating back with her mouth gaping.

“Oh, shut your mouth before a fly goes in, child. You look like a goldfish,” Magda grumbled.

“How could - why - I - I don’t understand,” Tulen said, flustered. “She - why?”

Magda grunted in reply. “The girl is need of a good smacking. Unfortunately, Magda doesn’t have the right to do so,” the old woman said, more to herself than in answer to Tulen.

“But will she truly - how can - punish her - won’t God?” Tulen tried again.

“Sayang, I can’t answer your question if I don’t understand what you’re asking.” The ladle waved in the air. “In order to ask a question, you need to put the words in the right order.”

“But…” Tulen gave up.

Magda chuckled at her. “Yes, the princess often has that impact on most of us. It is hard to fathom her mind, to understand the strange things that she does. But it is not our place to correct her. The Tun has made that clear enough to us.” She shook her head and waved the ladle upwards. “He is too lenient with her, allowing her to be headstrong in all the wrong ways. Her waywardness will be upon him, for he has allowed it. I have told him before and warned him, but he cannot find it in his heart to reprimand his precious only daughter.”

“Will he really allow her to go on a pilgrimage just to get out of this marriage?” Tulen finally found herself able to phrase a complete sentence.

Magda shrugged. “Most likely yes. If she phrases it in the right way, and oh, she knows the right way to wrap her father around her little finger, the he will grant her all that she wishes. I am quite surprised that he had not asked her permission about the marriage proposal in the first place.”

“Then will we - who will - I mean,” Tulen took a deep breath. “If she goes on this pilgrimage, who will go with her?”

Magda looked up at her sharply, taking in the breathless hope on her face. Her face softened. “Ah, I see. Well, that will really depend on what her father says. We shall see, Tulen. We shall see. Who knows, God may grant you your heart’s desire.”

#nanowrimo 2014: Update 1

It's been a little quiet here because I've been busy, and November started.

I'm not quite sure I'm ready to post any of my writing for the current novel as yet (I'm quite far behind, and I'm not sure I like what I'm writing yet), but I'll just leave you with my concept/synopsis/blurb thingy then.

---

Working title: Absolution

The prophets have long foretold that the time of judgement is coming. The End of Days is near.

As the Heir to the Kingdom, it falls on Adam to take up the role of Sin Eater: performing Penance on behalf of the Kingdom to ensure their salvation. Dressed in sackcloth, he sets out alone from Capital, crossing the Desert of Bones, only hoping that he reaches the Holy City in time to present his sacrifice and complete the Covenant of Salt before the End of Days is set into motion.

Princess X of the City of Dreams is on a pilgrimage to the Holy City to seek direction for her life’s work, and to try to get out of that annoying arranged marriage to the prince of the Capital. In her entourage are her former nurse, Magda, and the street waif that Magda picked up. On the way, they meet a wandering beggar who claims he is heading to the Holy City to complete the Covenant of Salt before judgement is brought upon the Kingdom.

Tulen has lived the past decade of her life under the guilt of having killed her younger brother. His body was never found and the local priests announced her innocence, but she has never known peace since then. When Magda offers her a chance to join the Princess’ pilgrimage to the Holy City, she jumps at it, hoping that she would finally find absolution for her soul.

---

Also, she's Princess X because she still doesn't have a name. Urgh.

Anyone want to give me a name? Her father is currently called Tun Nadir. Don't ask me why.

Oh. And here's the widgety thingy!

#bookreview: Creation by Kat Mellon

So this girl from the Nanowrimo FB page posts and says that her book is free on Amazon for a day, and would we support her by downloading it? And I was like, sure, why not? It's free anyway.

And then I read it. (Which is what I usually do with books. But usually not that fast).

Creation by Kat Mellon
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I don't know how to review this book, because to write about what the core of what the book meant to me would be to reveal the ending and be extremely spoilerish. And you wouldn't want that with this book, seriously.

I was fascinated with the world Mellon created, the sense of the surreal in her writing and the way it makes you look at the world with fresh new eyes - a little Pratchett-ish in that sense, only not in a humourous way.

It's beautiful prose. *tears*

View all my reviews

Looking for answers: snippet

Shukri studied the boy who was studying him with wide eyes.

"You're Nadia's little brother, aren't you?" Shukri blew out a puff of smoke into his face.

The boy barely flinched. "Not so little."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough." 

"Hmph. And what do you want?"

"The truth." He folded his arms, staring up at Shukri hungrily.

"About?" Shukri turned his back to the boy, running his finger against the dusty titles on the shelves behind him.

"My abah. You knew him, didn't you?"

Shukri's finger stopped on a thin tome abruptly. 

"He used to come here. I know that. Tell me about him."

"And how do you know that, little boy?" 

"My name is Adam."

Shukri turned to see the boy standing behind him, staring at the book his finger lay on. "Well, Adam, this is a very interesting book," he said with a smile. "I believe it belongs to you." He pulled it off the shelf and wiped it on his sleeve. 

"Me?" Adam took the book from Shukri's hand and turned it over and over.

"Open it."

On the first page was an inscription:

For Adam, when he starts asking questions, as he surely will. Mahatma Tash.

"How did he know?"

"You come from a long line of questioners, Adam Tash," Shukri said, smiling. "I think it's something in your blood."

"Kak Nadia never asks questions."

"Doesn't she?"

Adam thought about that. "Well - she doesn't sound like she's asking questions..."

"But she gets answers all the same, doesn't she? It's a rare skill. Now run along, Adam. Read that book carefully and keep it safe. Don't let anyone know that you have it or what's in it."

"Why?"

"Do you know what contraband is?"

"Yes..."

"Well, that's it right in your hands."

"But -"

"You wanted the truth about your father, didn't you?"

"Ye-"

"Well, that's it. Now you have it."

Adam bit his lip as he looked at the black, leather-bound book in his hand. It could have been anything, really. A daily planner, a journal, a fancy quran, a classic novel.

"Don't think you're old enough yet?" Shukri asked, holding out his hand.

"I'm ready," Adam said, gripping the book tighter. 

"Good. Come back and see me when you're done reading. Now, I think Nadia's looking for you."

Adam ignored the voice that was calling his name. "How do I know you'll still be here?"

"Don't worry. I will be."

Adam stuffed the book into his backpack. Shouldering the pack, he walked out of the room, turning once to see Shukri still looking at him pensively. Shukri gave a small wave and turned back to his papers. 

---

Started thinking about my failed 2010 NaNoWriMo novel (which I intended to be a kind of Malaysian dystopian thing), given the level of amusing/annoying things that Malaysian politicians have been saying recently. I was trying to get more background on Adam's father, but somehow I'm not there yet.

Maybe I'll get there in another installment.