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The Chocolate Box
The Chocolate Box will be under Probation. So if anyone acts up badly and abuses the chatbox we will reserve the right to remove it without warning.
Here is the first chapter of Optio et Pietas. I was calling the story Doom, and posted the first chapter as such, but now I've decided to make that the prolude, so if you want to read that, just look at my last post, it'll be titled as "Optio et Pietas prolude". The title of the story is Latin for "Choice and Duty"- the reason it's in Latin will be clearer further on in the story.
By the way, this story is really, really unpolished, and the first bit involves a lot of personal conversation, which I'm not very good at. If you have any corrections or better ideas, that would be really great!
HOMER
Casey stirred herself. Admittedly, Geometry was never the most stimulating of subjects, but it was only 7:00, she shouldn’t be falling asleep. Cursing and muttering, she gripped her pencil tighter and tried to focus her mind on the mysteries of math. Still her mind wandered over the dreams that were interrupting her sleep. It’d been three days since the thunderstorm, and yet variations of her wild nightmare were still rupturing her sleep. None of these dreams were as potent or clear (last night’s had been purely ridiculous and absurd) as the first, yet they all seemed to rotate around the same theme. Worst of all, they were depriving her of sleep.
When the dreams awoke her, she would lie in her bed for hours, at first because of the sense of terror that was still surging through her mind, but even after the panic rescinded she couldn’t fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel the clammy mist crawling up her body, ready to pounce if she didn’t awake. The night after the storm, after lying in bed for three hours, she decided to take a sleeping pill. That night was perhaps the worst of all.
The pill took affect all right, and Casey fell into a deep sleep. Too deep. Drugged by her medicine, the dream ensnared her, terrifying and tormenting her mind. All sorts of variations of her dream would repeat themselves over and over like a scratched record, and the medicine prevented her from waking and ending the agony. After that ordeal Casey felt exhausted- she never was one for much physical exercise, but this sleep left her utterly drained. So it was that Casey felt there was no solution- warm milk, leaping sheep or sleeping pills were unable to ease her disturbed slumber.
Hopefully the dreams would go away. Casey remembered what one of her friends had said about sleep-deprivation self-help books in the library, and made a mental note to pick one out tomorrow, while she researched her debate topic. But for the moment, Euclid called.
In the quieted hush of the library, Casey spun round her computer chair and wandered off to the aisle with “A Good Night’s Sleep- How To Solve Problematical Sleep Disorders in You and Your Child”, which was among the self-help books.She was most surprised when she walked into the aisle, and found Damien Barque, a black-haired boy of about seventeen scouring the pages of “A Good Night’s Sleep” as if his life depended on it. Completely enraptured by his curious reading material, Damien hadn’t noticed Casey’s approach, an opportunity Casey was all too happy to exploit.
Just in case none of you saw it: Homer has posted an entry about writing habits below this one. Thank you.
Now, here is the entry you have all been waiting for(you havn't been anticipating this, then that's ok, too. ):
^^^^^^
Once upon a time, there lived a princess. She was the daughter of the King and Queen of Teralou. She, aside from her mother, was considered the most beautiful creature in all the land(maybe even the whole world!). No, she was not beautiful when she was young; actually, she was a very sickly little girl. She was like that up to the age of thirteen. Then, she cared for her complexion more, and she learned to love to brush her hair, which was wave upon wave of chocolaty brown. Her eyes were the darkest brown in the whole kingdom; and no one had lips as finely curved as hers. Suddenly, all the young men in the kingdom noticed her newly found beauty. They noticed it from far and wide, too. She had lots of them come to show their stuff. For two years they came. And for two years, she kept saying no. She didn't have very many friends anymore, for all the girls envied her. They couldn't see why she didn't take to the Duke of Lythe; or why she never gave a glace to the Prince of Meadow. Only her parents knew why, and they were beaming with pride. Her True Father was proud as well. For the princess looked for one thing only: her true "brother". Someone who walked daily with her Father. Someone who knew Him as a Father and a Friend. That was something that the Duke of Lythe, and the Prince of Meadow, or any of the others did not have. Her father's counselors tried to tell her that she would never find anyone like that. But she knew to trust her True Father, and if He wanted her married, He would bring someone who met her expectations along; and if He wanted her single, then she would simply give up the kingdom to her younger brother, Jonathan. Princess Esthar of Teralou was, by far, the most beautiful young woman inside and out.
What habits have you guys formed when writing? When I write, my habit is to sit down and do a big hit in one go, with classical music playing in the room. What habits have you formed, and how do they help you get stories onto paper?
On the flipside, do you have any bad habits you’re trying to erase? Or are you trying to cultivate any new, good habits at the moment?
HOMER
P.S. Who is the leader of Inklings now? I haven't kept up to date with the changes around here.
Hey, everyone! This is the newest member!!!! I'm going to be posting on of my stories called Tammies wish-I'm already posting them on my blog. Just to let you know...the first chapter isn't all that great. It gets better, don't worry.
BTW, my name is Rachel, and my Username on the chatbox is WarriorsGirl, because I love the warrior series!
I laughed when I saw the elf make faces at Jennie. I laughed so hard that I fell over onto the floor. The elf looked pleased with himself and didn't notice Jennie run away with tears in her eyes.
But I did.
I heard a maid giggle when she saw Jennie stumble and fall, her long legs streaming everywhere. The maid didn't notice a sharp cry and Jennie burying her head in her arms.
But I did.
Walking to the table at dinner, Jennie sliped on a piece of butter that was on the floor. The King and Queen chuckled to themselves and didn't see Jennie push away the food and not eat anything, even though her stomach was plainly growling.
But I, Her Royal Majesty Princess Gwenevoria, did.
* * *
I caught up with my mother as she walked back to her Royal Room for dinner, and said, "Why is Jennie always made fun of?"
The Queen glanced sharply at her. "Gwenny..."
I hastily curtsied. "Please tell me."
Mother stiffened. "Now is not the time, Gwen. You know the Castel of Lights is having trouble as it is without your silly questions. Please go back to your room and write in your journal. Then I expect you to take an hour long bath, making sure you are 99.9999% clean, then you may read until nine thirty. Now leave me at once!"
I curtsied again, and then walked off as fast as I was allowed.
* * *
I entered my room. It was quite dull, actually, compared to the rooms in the Castle of Dawn, where the twelve children live. There's a rumor that they are all named after the twelve months in a year...I've always wondered if its true. Anyway, my room has a canopy bed, a pool sized tub, a bathroom with two sinks (one for washing hands, one for washing face) and on the wall two large platforms, one with another bed on it and a ladder leading up, and one with a couple blankets and a piece of rope. The one with the bed was my writing area, the one with the rope was my two cats area.
I looked around my room, making sure no one was there, and dashed under the bed. I tapped the wall gently, and out came a small door that had a tiny cubbyhole inside. I reached my hand in, grouped among other things I had hidden, and found my journal. Unlocking it with the key that hung around my neck, I came back out from underneath my bed and started climbing the ladder up to my small alcove.
The 17 of December, in the year Yam.
Must I write in this again? Mother expects me to write in this every day, and the only thing I found in it is discomfert. This will be a short entry, I can tell. My hand hurts from writing, my head hurts from looking at my awful handwriting, my neck hurts from always having to hide this stupid key from our guests. Even my sister Jennie, the clutzy bookworm, dislikes writing. Once I was snooping through her room, and I found the cubby whole in her room with the Diary in it. She's lucky-hers isn't under the bed, its next to the window! She has some very dull entries, but the one thing I learned from it is that she hates writing in it too. Goodness, this is the longest entry I have ever written! Good night, Journal.
Sorry I haven't posted for a while. This chapter might be a little sad...but it will get better!
Charlotte Bronte
_______________________________________________________________________
That evening, Ryan sat and the head of the old kitchen table, cutting up his steak. It had been a long day. Between the mysteryous appearence of Cieran and his extremely grumpy daughter, he had only managed to get done half the things he wanted. The fence in the east pasture needed to be repaired, the west side of the barn needed repainting, not the mention the plumbing in the house screeched and moaned for no reason.
He glanced up from sawing at his steak. Savannah was chattering constantly about her day. Charlie glowered at her plate. Cieran exercised explicet manners and cut his meat into tiny portions. Cieran had a room in town, but had stayed for lunch and supper. Charlie and Savannah had made steak and potatoes, and Ryan had tossed a salad. Tossing a salad was the extent of his culinary capabilities.
Cieran seemed oblivious to the silence (aside from Savannah's chattering) and even seemed to have a faint smile on his face. How he could be so calm was unfathomable to Ryan, for the tension at the table was as thick as steel wool. He wasn't exactly clear on exactly why Charlie was so upset, but he had stopped asking. Since that fateful day, he had just stopped asking.
Savannah cleared the table and brought out an apple pie while Charlie sat glowering, slouched in her seat, as Ryan and Cieran talked horses. The apple pie did nothing to lift Charlie's spirits, and as the dishes were being cleared, it got worse.
"How did the older girl get that limp?" Cieran asked calmly. The entire kitchen fell completely silent except for the steady drip of the leaky kitchen tap. Ryan, who had been walking out the door, paused the turned slowly. Savannah stared open-mouthed at the scene unfolding before her. Charlie turned slowly and glared at Cieran.
"How....dare...you!" she hissed scathingly. "How....dare....you!" She pointed her finger in Cieran's face, her rage becoming clearly apparent. "You. Have. No idea. How I got this limp. And you know what? You're not going to know either! Because that is my private business and you have no right to say that! No right!" Then she turned and limped from the room, brushing rudely past Ryan.
Father looked after daughter in bewilderment. Then he looked at the others in the kitchen. Cieran looked slightly stunned. Savannah stood holding a plate in one hand and a knife to cut the pie in the other, her mouth hanging open. A door slammed in the room above them as Charlie raged into her room. Then Ryan met Cieran's eyes evenly.
"That was extremely rude, Mr. McMarra," Ryan said gruffly. "You had no right to speak to the daughter of your employer that way." Cieran pinked a little. "I know. But I canna help it."
"Can of what?" Savannah interupted. Ryan threw her a dark look. She turned away quickly and continued slicing the pie in silence.
"I understand your curiosity, Mr. McMarra, but my daughter is extremely particular on that subject. You spoke to her in a very rude and uncalled for way." Ryan's voice was hard. Then he walked slowly back to the table and sat down. "However, if you must know, I will tell you, if you promise to never bring up the subject around my daughter."
"That I can't promise," Cieran said, his voice somehow wise and sage. "But I'll do my best, that I can promise." "Good enough," Ryan said grimly. Savannah's ears practically rose to a point.
"That stallion that you saw in the yard today- he came onto my farm like a devil wind and stayed, but no one could ride him. Until Charlie. She was the only one he trusted. Those two were unbeatable. They could have gone to the Olympics if they wanted to. Charlie's mother, my wife, was her trainer. They were unstoppable that trio." Ryan paused, and blew his nose. A lump and risen in his throat and he didn't want to show it. Cieran listened intently. "Then one day, the stallion got loose. No one understood later what happened. Charlie and her mother were in the hay loft above the barn looking over a course map for an upcoming show. That stallion-" Ryan voice cracked. He cleared his thraot and began again. "That stallion knocked over a kerosene lamp- we didn't have electrical in the barn then.
"The flames ate up the wood and straw unbearably fast. My wife and child were caught in the burning hay loft. Charlie- she tried to run, but the burned floor gave out and she fell into the stall below. Beams crushed both her legs. My wife...she didn't make it. Her name was Emily."
Everything was silent in the kitchen. Then Ryan stood and left the table. He was sorry he had told Cieran.
Hey guys... I know I seem like some foreign alien or something. Some of you new Inklings probably don't even know who I am! Anyway.. this is Lois Johnson... Syd on HSB. I have been HORRIBLE about posting on here so I'm going to try to get better... Right now, I just wanted to 'advertise' my friend's blog. Well.. I'm running it but she's writing everything for it.. It explains it all there. Anyway... it's here Thanks Inks!
;-)Syd/Lois Walfrid Johnson
I stood at the gate, watching her go by. I wish I could come with her.
I probably looked a sad sight, standing with tears rolling down my face,
with more tears marks on my face already. As the little girl skipped past the gate, I looked in her eyes to see, eternal happiness. Her happiness was like no other. Her eyes glimmered with hope, faith, and something strange I have never seen in my life.
@
As she went away, she left a sparkling path after her. I wish I could climb over the gate and walk on the path she left. The girl all of a sudden came back. She looked at me with glimmering eyes and said with a soft voice, Climb over, I will not hurt you. Come, walk on my path with me. When she said those words I thought I would crack and fall into a million pieces. The girl still stood there. Looking straight into my eyes. It almost made me shiver, not with fear, but with hope. Hope of going into a new world.
She looked at me again and whispered why do you think? Can you not see I have happiness? You could have everything on this side of the gate. Just swing your legs over, as I said, I will not hurt you.
I still just stood there. Could I really trust her?
She laughed a slivery laugh. I know what you thinking. You can trust me, really you can. I was once a girl just like you. Homeless, and not wanted. She laughed again, and then said once more, Come with me. In my world, it will be your world.
Suddenly, I felt my life was changed forever.
I went over the gate, slowly, trying not to show my fear and excitement.
Finally, I was over. She flashed a big grin at me and said Come! My father is waiting for you!
I looked at her with puzzlement. How could her father know I was coming?
Suddenly I felt myself flying toward the sky. I was right, my life is changed.
Fellow writers, it's Charlotte Bronte again. I am writing this to say that there was a grave mistake made in my last post. Sorry for everything that's been happening. I am not leaving Inklings, period. I will never leave Inklings. I might not be able to go on it as much as I'd like, but I'm not leaving. So I'm sorry for an confusion.
Unfortunately, our computer is still not up to par, so I might not be able to post as much as I'd like, but this is okay. I'll stick around.
I am Sam Hopkins (or, SammyJo, on HSB). I was told I needed to introduce myself on here. Sorry if you meant I needed to comment with my own account instead of writing an entry on the Beginningwriters account. Feel free to delete this entry if that's how it goes. I'll understand.
Anyway, as for introducing myself: Like yourselves, I am a writer. Well, in my own mind, at least. I pray that at least one of my stories will someday be published, as I have created them with the sole purpose of being a light for Jesus, in a way. Right now, my goal is to produce at least one good, fictional book, in where the lovers trust there lives and "love story" to God. I want to show the world (mostly young people) that things turn out for the better when you trust the Lord. Especially with this vital area in their lives. I would like to know what you all think about this purpose.
Thank you for allowing me to become a fellow Inkling!
Your Friend In Christ,
Sam Hopkins
PS: If there is anyone else with the name "Sam" on here, please let me know; otherwise I will simply be known as "sam". Thank you.
This week’s Writer’s Talk is about outlines. does anybody do a quick outline of their story beforehand? Do you find that a brief outline of the story helps you keep on track, or does it limit your creativity? How detailed are your outlines? Do you use it as an emergency measure, if a section just isn’t flowing? What’s your experience?
Homer
P.S. Do you guys think that Writer's Talk and any other posts about writing in general should be posted here or on the Inklings' Lounge, or even a new blog?
Current issues have deemed it impossible for me to continue on here for the time being. While I am still going to continue to be a part of Inklings, I will unfortunately be unable to continue on here for several days or weeks. If all goes well I will be able to continue on here, but unfortunately I may have to leave.
I have many friends on here, all of whom are excellent writers. I hope to continue my writings on here. I can be reached by PM on homeschoolblogger under the name UndoTheHorsePen.
Yours in Christ,
Charlotte Bronte (also known as UndoTheHorsePen in some circles)
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