The Wonderful World of WIPpeteering

Welcome again fellow WIPpeteers and blog followers!  No one has yet told me that posting in the late pm on Tuesday evening disqualifies me from participating on the Wednesday WIPpet, to which I thank you kindly.  I tried that 'schedule your blog to post at a certain time' function and it still alludes me.  Then there's the matter of linking up, which doesn't have a timed schedule that I can fail at mastering to use, so Tuesday evenings are a better time frame for me to manage my posting.  I must thank K.L. Schwengal for hosting this event.  It has been a motivating force that helps kick my butt into writing something every week.  I have a goal of finishing Spellbound by the end of September.  I can do this!!

Let me just say that Wednesdays are about the coolest day of the week for my inbox.  I can't wait to get home from work and respond to your comments.  It takes me a bit to make the rounds myself, and this week will be no different.  Today, the 24th of July, is a holiday in Utah, so straight after work me and the hubby will be heading over to spend time with his family, who I absolutely adore (sorry, but I really don't like the word whom. SO not using it).  Diving straight into it.  I am finishing off the first chapter, which comprises of thirteen paragraphs.  07+2+4=13, and that's how you are getting thirteen paragraphs from me today.

"Spellbound", Book One in the "How You Found Me" series 

***

Akira had been true to her word.  Harper’s Grove had been besieged with several attacks in the span of a year.  She herself had never shown back up, but Goldore had.  The Minions had.  Other monsters, creations that seemed bred from a science fiction horror show, showed up in the name of Akira, touting the flame of domination and submission.

Yet each time a new threat surfaced into Harper’s Grove, the Defenders met them on the battle field.  They fought, they defended, and they protected.

The first major attack had come from red-fleshed creatures with rough patches of sewn up skin, thick-muscled torsos adorned with large bottomed feet and an astonishingly small head that held no proportion to the rest of their body.  People quickly realized why the heads were so tiny, though; these things were dumb.  They looked like the Hulk met up with Frankenstein and fell into a pool of red dye that threw them into a washing machine and spat out multitudes of replicated violently mean, snarling creatures that enjoyed destroying everything in their path, their intellect showing nothing better than to smash, smash, smash.

They were incredibly stupid creations, fondly termed as a Golem monster by geeks and nerds of the Dungeons and Dragons culture only too happy to find a real live hoard of creatures that were once only considered to exist in video games and human imagination.

The Defenders met face to face with these dim-witted creatures and effectively eliminated their threatening presence.  It wasn’t without risk of safety to the citizens, however. Damage to buildings and personal property of those in Harper’s Grove amassed, and construction quickly became a very wealthy profession that was always high in demand. 

So had television.  News casters had managed to make an entertainment spectacle of Akira’s presence.  The attacks never happened outside of the city, and no one thought to ask why, only the desire to capture history in the making.  As annoying as those locusts of media were, they thankfully had enough sense not to send reporters flocking in.  The horrific events of the Annual Fair remained in everyone’s mind that an out-of-this-world phenomenon, Akira, had shown herself to be a dangerous enemy to contend with.  Which was why, of course, that didn’t stop the number of camera poles that went up throughout the city so that future attacks could always have an audience on standby to watch and speculate from afar. 

It was why Terry knew so much about this town and its history, the dangers of Akira and the heroics of the Defenders.   He’d studied the footage, studied how the Defenders fought, studied their skill and combative methods and team work. 

The Red Defender fought with a distinct martial arts style, showing extraordinary skill with or without a weapon.  The Blue Defender mirrored some of those skills but was also blunt and direct when riled enough with anger.  The Purple, Yellow and Orange Defenders were cunning.  Often times they played the frail warrior, feigning inability to fight as efficiently.  It was a clever ruse, for the enemy always fell into single-minded arrogance to take out the weakest link, when in fact they had walked into a trap that sprung fierce warriors into gutting their opponent with efficiency.  The Gray Defender, Terry noticed, seemed to engage himself the least in hand-to-hand combat.  His lasso and long-handed flail were weapons of distance that required calculation and strategic planning, which were utilized to acute advantage.  Though the others were no doubt fierce protectors and defenders, Terry suspected the Gray Defender was the key player in strategizing how to end a battle and truly wound the enemy.

Terry continued staring up at the monument, lost in the thoughts and memories swimming around in his head.  These were a group of highly skilled fighters, known for their magical abilities, but mostly for their message to defend, protect, serve, and not let the enemy win.   Six people – it seemed a little crazy that six people, extraordinary or magical, could fight the way they did against the alien forces of Akira.  It was true she hadn’t picked forces that had keen intellect, but strength was still strength, and her side had lots of it. 

It had been a year already.  Last week held the anniversary of the slaughter at Harper’s Grove Annual Fair.  It had been a dismal news day for the television stations to broadcast as there was no fair.  The Defenders were seen patrolling and alert, but nothing unusual happened.  So instead the news hammed it up with memorial segments and interviewing—yet again—the few survivors from that day who were forced to rehash painful memories so that their tears could be captured on film.

Still though, six people could only continue to do so much.   Yes, the police force around town helped out with the normal day-to-day nuances of law enforcement, but still, Terry couldn’t shake that feeling inside that it was time for the Defenders to expand.  Something else was on the horizon.  He could feel it.  Why and how he could, he had absolutely no idea, and he shared these feelings of foreboding with no one.  He realized the mockery he would suffer if he were to start a raining platform of impending doom.  He was the first one to throw the stone at himself for the absurdity that a nobody like him, an outsider who was very much ordinary, would have a hunch that the mysterious Akira had something up her sleeve. 

Still, though, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling.  So here he was in Harper’s Grove, having moved here under the simple belief that he was somehow meant to join the Defenders and help put a stop to whatever it was that was coming.

He would have never guessed that the unseen threat was he, himself.   
  

What's that phrase again? Oh yes, WIPpet Wednesday!

Hello and welcome to WIPpet Wednesday!  Another week has flown by. I must say, I've been proud of myself.  I have a goal of writing one chapter each week, and if I stick to my outline (which I'm not, because already it's changed) I should be done with Spellbound by late September.  I completed chapter ten last week, and this week I have chapter 11 to complete, which is already done!  Oh yeah!  I got myself away from the apartment for two days when needing to write, and that helped out immensely.  I was able to concentrate and focus on just writing.  Mind you, I didn't feel like I wrote very much.  Coming home a few hours later to maybe 1k written doesn't feel like I accomplished a lot, but it added up in the end.  I accomplished my goal and I'm on track of where I want to be.  BUT.  (You know there's always a but, right?)  I need to re-outline the rest of the following chapters.  The story has changed somewhat, and so has the way I wanted the chapters to flow. That means the rest of this week may not feel like I'm getting ahead so much because I'm spending time outlining (and Wednesday and Thursday are full days for me where I won't be home much at all).  Nevertheless, I am feeling great! 

So without further ado, here's my WIPpet piece for today.  Thanks so much to My Random Muse for hosting this awesome event.  Be sure to click on the link to read the other WIPpeteers out there who have their own fascinating imaginations at work, and please feel free to join in with your own! 

For this being the 17th day (or almost 17th day.  I find that Tuesday evening is the best time to post this because I really hate getting up extra early before work Wednesday morning, and as was pointed out to me, it's already Wednesday in Australia!) I give you 17 sentences, finishing right where I left off from last time.  Remember, I am going in chronological order. 

****

It was widely rumored that the Defenders possessed magic, that something gave them their supreme fighting abilities.  Because whoever they were, everyone knew that the Defenders weren’t ordinary.  They were extraordinary. 

They were heroes.

When Akira, flanked by Goldore, had shown up the next morning among the fairgrounds, reuniting with her minions that had kept guard over the hostages, she had demanded an answer from Harper’s Grove citizens.  That answer came in the form of a crossbow singing through the air right toward Akira’s heart.  She deflected it with her wand staff, but that moment had started a rebellion the alien threat hadn’t anticipated.

No one should have been able to penetrate the force field she had placed around the fairgrounds.  At least, that’s what she had screamed out toward the six masked heroes charging her way.  When more arrows sang through the air, she screamed at her minions to attack, but they were already under siege.

Goldore charged forward, meeting heads with the Red Defender.  The two of them danced in a ferocious tangle of swords while Akira shrank away from the battle.  It was clear she had been prepared for a quiet surrender, not an attack.  Forced to retreat as the carnage of her minions continued to mount, she made sure to take out the lives of a few more citizens before she fled the scene, vowing that she would return, that she wouldn’t relent until Harper’s Grove was under her rule.

Terry stared at the monument of the Defenders.  This was why he was here.  They were why he had chosen to leave his small home town.   

The Happy Secret To Better Work

Have you ever heard of TedTalk?  I didn't either until my husband stumbled upon it through our Rokku, and then also through Netflix.  I highly encourage you to look it up if you have either device, or even on youtube.  TED is an acronym, which stands for Technology, Entertainment, Design.  Each episode is relatively short in length with a purpose of giving you food for thought.  Something to enrich your life.  I have yet to find one that I haven't gained something from.  In any case, I will make this blog short and brief, with one clear message:  Watch this video.  It's twelve minutes long, I hope you can spare the time.  This is a profound message on happiness, or how to achieve it through better work.  What does that mean?  That's why you need to watch the video.  I welcome you to leave comments and let me know your thoughts.  The speaker is Shawn Achor, a psychologist. 

 

WIPineering away

Whew, I've been absent for a bit.  I won't lie.  I'm not the greatest at social networking.  I'm a bit lazy when it comes to putting in the time for it, and believe it or not, I don't always know what to say.  I missed out on last WIPpet Wednesday because I, um, *cough*sort of forgot about it*cough* and the events of said Wednesday didn't allow me to make a post until the late evening, in which case I decided to just wait until the next week.

So here I am!  For any of you who would like to join in on WIPpet Wednesdays, all you need to do is share your blog on this link of the Work In Progress you have going on, or heck, you can just decide to create one on the spot!  My Random Muse has been so kind to host this event.

Yes, I do realize the date will not *quite* say Wednesday, but I'm staring at the clock, and it's reading 11:34pm.  I really don't want to have to wait until morning where I am hauling my tired butt out of bed and half-asleep.  This is close enough, right? 

First of all, I would like to thank all of you who commented on the last WIPpet I participated in, and I apologize for not replying back to you in kind.  I appreciate your comments, your support, and I love your critiques.  After all, this is a work-in-progress, if it's going smoothly, I'd say I must be some sort of genius!  But as I don't think that's the case, I do love any bit of advice that could help me get there ;)

So, enough blabbering, because this is going to be a long WIPpet for you.  21 paragraphs!  Last WIPpet started with the beginning of book one, 'Spellbound' for my 'How You Found Me' series.  From hence forth on, I will be giving you WIPpet segments in chronological order.  As such, this next segment will be somewhat repetitive, as I have already shown it to you.  But I do want to go in order, so there are a few new paragraphs at the front and at the end to help tie in and show you where I'm going. 

How did I come up with 21 paragraphs?  Well, 18 would have sufficed, but July is the 7th month, today is the 10th, and it is 2013, which would be read something like 07/10/13.  So I did the math as follows: 7+10+1+3=21. 

Because (large) parts of this are a repeat, there are two past comments that helped utilize a few (small) changes you'll see (ahem, there is no longer a Harper's Grove Annual Massacre, though that will forever make me laugh and I wish I could keep the title for that reason alone), and the Minotaur's description has been tweaked. Thanks for your comments and critiques!

****

Terry stood at the large memorial wall in Harper’s Grove Cemetery, gazing upon the names of dozens of victims etched on cold granite.  His parents had protested him moving here a month ago, but sometimes a son had to walk his own path, even if it meant walking into fire.

He’d heard the story of the massacre at Harper’s Annual Fair countless times:  Standing atop the stage and scattering local entertainment, Akira’s large emerald eyes bore down onto the crowd, glaring with fierce determination, silently challenging anyone to defy her.

“Kneel, and submit to my will!  Pledge your loyalty to me this day, and your lives will be spared.  You will know work and sweat and labor, but you will also know the freedom from frivolous argument and unnecessary warfare!  Follow me, and take pride in building a new nation that will not fall apart!” Her honey coated voice, enhanced by some sort of magic, rang through the air so all could hear.  Blank, confused stares turned into defiant expressions.  No alien was going to waltz in and declare herself ruler.    

Steve Cromwell, an older gentleman who had the reputation in town for being a heckler, shouted out, “You’re crazy!”

Almond-shaped eyes fixed their stare on him.  Akira said nothing.  Slowly, her lips pulled up in a feral smile that revealed fanged teeth while a growl rose from the back of her throat.  There was a flash, and a long bronze staff instantaneously appeared in her hands.  A half crescent moon sat on the top, hundreds of tiny emerald gems inlaid into the metallic surface.  The gems glittered dangerously as the staff pointed at Steve.  Brilliant green light shot out from the crescent moon center and hit him square in the chest.

The older man was blown backward through the crowd, the force of the blast knocking citizens down as his body carved a path.   He landed roughly on the ground, the crack of his skull echoing loudly as it smacked against the earth.  Blank eyes stared up at nothing, the jaw slanted and jutting out at an unnatural angle.  

Steve was the first casualty.

A terrible moment of silence passed, then Suzanne, Steve’s wife—her name also etched on the memorial wall—filled the air with the shrill keen of a widow’s despair.

Akira’s minions stepped out at that point, scores of them surrounding and trapping the crowd where they stood.  They were skinny, lanky gray creatures with oversized arms and hands, hard wrinkled skin similar to a rhino and just as tough. They had bald heads and melted faces with red beady eyes.

Suzanne’s cries were joined by terrified shrieks from several others, ripping the air with fear and disbelief.  Citizens scattered here and there, only to wind up face to face with one of the melted gray-faced minions, unable to escape.  Large, ape-like hands rose into the air, and when they struck down to the earth, human bone crushed and splintered. 

Stepping out next was a beast of mythical legend: the Minotaur—he was a fearsome creature with a black bull head and two great pointed horns that curved outward and were sharp as spears.  His rippling torso bulged as if the skin were ready to burst, veins popping and pulsing in rhythm to his snorts of anger. Below all of that bulk were thick stalky legs and cloven feet that danced around, demanding all eyes to turn.  Clad in bright golden armor from the waist up and a helmet around his horned head, he declared his name in a thunderous roar that rattled the ground: Goldore.  Those eyes glittered black coals of putrid and hate, targeting any human as the enemy.  Wielding his great golden sword high up in the air, devastation struck wherever it landed. 

So much bloodshed.   So much loss.

Scores upon scores of people died.  Screams echoed for miles as people scrambled to escape from a trap that snaked them in the further they tried to run.  Too many minions outflanked the citizens, holding them hostage while death claimed them in grotesque fashion.

Few found miraculous escape.  Very few, and not nearly enough.

Still, it could have been worse.  They all could have died.  No one would have known the true account of what really happened.  Akira could have taken over Harper’s Grove that very day.

She didn’t, though.  She wanted the citizens of Harper’s Grove to see her power, to taste the stench of fear and death, and to know what awaited them if they defied her.  The killing stopped.  An impenetrable shield went up over the fairgrounds, and Akira gave the town one day to gather the deceased and decide their fate—more killing and destruction, or complete surrender and willingness to declare her their new ruler.

They never needed to make that decision.

Terry wandered past the memorial wall, tipping his head in silent thanks to the souls achingly sacrificed that day.  His eyes trailed ahead, finding what held his true purpose in coming to the cemetery. 

He stopped in front of the monument of the town’s heroes, the Defenders.  Six masked champions carved from stone stood tall and upright, each holding their famous weapon of choice.  The Red Defender—the team’s leader—was at the front, legs poised to take charge, his broadsword raised up in defensive preparation to strike; the Blue Defender—second in command—held in each hand his three-pronged Sai , arms angled to impale any enemy foolish enough to slip past the first line of defense. Beside him stood the Gray Defender with a lasso in the left hand and a long-handed flail in the other, positioned to attack from the side. 

Flanking the rear was the last three of the team – the feminine curves revealing them to be women.  
The Purple Defender had her back toward her fellow comrades, her sights targeted toward the unseen enemy with her cross-bow raised and ready to fire, while the Orange and Yellow Defender finished the deadly circle, holding their bladed wheels of wind and fire that answered back to them when they flung their sharp-jutted metal teeth into the enemy’s vital organs.

No one knew their true identities—they wore masks that concealed most of their head, leaving open space for the eyes, nose, mouth and chin.  They were simply known as the Defenders, catalogued in name only by the pale, muted individual color of their uniform.  The material on their masks and suits looked something akin to thickly woven nylon mesh, yet performed like some secret militarized armor that seemed virtually impenetrable.  It was adorned with black leather straps crisscrossing at the chest and connecting to a black belt that housed their weapons.  At the center of the chest rested a gold medallion, a black D etched with bold lettering on the surface. Thick black boots and gloved hands covered their limbs.