Amelia Whitaker – Literary Arts Blogspace

A Snippet From a Draft That May as Well be Seen.

The title pretty much says it all. Here’s a snippet from a draft that may as well be seen, because who knows when it’ll come to fruition?

–

Shale’s hooves thump against the ground. The field is nothing. Dirt and roots break under every steady hoof for miles and miles on end. The snow rolls in ridges and craters from where it’s filled undone earth. It’s as if the cloudy sky crashed down in swathes of churned dead gray and fascia white, meaning what they’re walking on must not even be land at all. It’s a corpse. Hugo sees the same scenery no matter where she turns her head, and it’s all the same. She thinks that no humans could have done this. They are not possibly so powerful they can create this distortion; rend this land until it’s so out of reach. This must have been the battleground of dragons. This field is a setting in tales of draconic warlords.

Then Hugo sees little feathery tips sticking out of the snow, cast about as if they were the same as the twigs buried in the snow. But there’s no forest here. They’re iced over arrows. Some are so shattered and strewn they’re no better than splinters. Hugo flicks her eyes to Shale’s hooves, the bumps in the snow, and feels the way she jostles in the saddle. There could be anything in the snow. Rusted spears crafted for human hands; ripped off chest plates forged for human figures. Rot. Bones. Hugo’s mind flicks to Brutus.

Brutus.

Hugo could have done this with her. Hugo should have done this. But this isn’t the work of Derecho, it’s the work of humans, and Hugo feels pressure building behind her skull. She wants to run, she thinks, and she doesn’t know why. She keeps running to how this could have been her, but it wasn’t her, wasn’t even a dragon, should have been her, and all of it fills her lungs and makes her want to crumble to snow. Snow is a nothing of a thing, in her mind. She listens to the way it crunches beneath Shale’s hooves, and to her it sounds like final, choked breaths. Maybe she heard the same sound in the moments when Brutus died. Felt it in the lightning and the reverberation of the ground. Maybe this is what Hugo choked on that day. But then why didn’t Derecho choose her?

Why is she still here?

Because she could never be chosen. She isn’t enough— she’s destined for too little, and anyone who’s heard her sister’s tale knows. Derecho saw the destiny flowing through Hugo and saw it wasn’t incredible, nothing with luster nor impact, and showed the world just what a sorrow that is. Brutus was worth all her mother’s grief and more. Even her death was bright. Hugo can only follow her, like back when they were young.

“For the love of our sanity, be careful,” Ailith spits out the words as if they were bile, “There’s all sorts of sharp things in the snow here. Shale just nearly got speared and you didn’t even blink.”

Hugo curses, “I didn’t mean to— I’ll keep my eyes sharp.”

“Sharp,” Ailith huffs in passing, “I’m holding you to your word. Shale is, too.”

With a nod, Hugo’s guilt moves her hand to softly stroke Shale’s neck. Right. She wouldn’t forgive herself if Shale got hurt from her carelessness. She hopes whoever buys her after Hugo’s gone will give her all the luxuries Hugo can’t.

For now, though, Hugo needs to make sure they make it. Ailith rides a little ahead as to get a view that isn’t half Percheron flank, Hugo assumes, so she stays a bit back. If she were alone, she would run, but she has three lives around her she can’t go on without. She bears the burning in her eyes from scouting the shining snow. They can’t go fast because then they’ll up their chances of injury, but they can’t go slow because of the sun. Getting caught out here in the darkness would either give the horses frostbite or, again, impale them. Hugo pats Shale again in apology.

She begins to wonder how many horses died in the battle that took place here, but Hugo locks away the thought for Shale’s and Lumber’s sakes. It’s a disturbing thought and she has to focus. She notices now that some of the large lumps beneath the snow are darker than others, and she avoids them without mind of what may be underneath. They must be getting into the real thick of it. Hugo sees the way Lumber’s nostrils flare and Shale’s ears perk.

“Where’ddya think they were headed to?” Ailith cuts in. Hugo turns the question over in her brain.

Thinking of: Snow

Before I sit down and write, there’s one word on my mind: snow.

Beep!

“Chunks of snow and frost tumble down from the disturbed hillsides. They’re sloped like mountains and could just as well hatch one. Like an egg tooth bursting from the rounded peak of its shell. Egg teeth are probably white, like snow. So, there’s egg teeth and frost tumbling down from cracked nests that are convex instead of concave. Not a very good nest, mama bird. Unless you’re looking to have them soar. The hillsides, I mean. The mountains are dead with that. But the hillsides reach higher than dead mountains, likely because the dead mountains are dead. You think a hillside could fly as long as it kept breathing?”

Dr. Faraday opens her mouth to speak, but she’s quickly cut off by the beep of an input and an automated voice.

Beep!

“—Don’t answer that. These are my words, the thought of you speaking makes my mouth itch. Prickle. It’s not going away. It’s like a tickle with nails but soft like a buzz, like the feeling from a fly zipping across your ear minus the fly inside your mouth, and you don’t flinch so much as cringe, which could make frost and teeth fall off your shoulders, which would make your shoulders hillsides. I don’t want birds on my shoulders. Those are mine. These are mine. I’m gonna sprout mountains from my hillsides to punt them off. Choke on the teeth in the sky.”

“Shut off the audio both ways.”

Beep!

“The s-”

The laboratory goes silent as a collective, save for the shuffling of individuals subconsciously moving closer to one another. The shuffling brings them further away from their creation, and it would be laughable if not for the enormity of the subject. A human brain, lab grown, hooked up to walls of monitors and tubes, sits in a small, square, see-through containment unit upon a pedestal. It is labeled ‘The Terrarium,’ by a fancifully penned sticky note. Dr. Faraday wrote it, and placed it, herself.

Still, nobody speaks. Someone in the back brings up a transcript of the brain’s conversation onto a large monitor. It is read, clear as day, silently, by all present. All at once:

“That’s a bit aggressive, right?”

“It’s making up sensations for itself.”

“Absolutely none of that made sense.”

“That sure is some data.”

“We made that.”

“Interesting…”

“Oh, man.”

When I finally take the time to look up from my mind, I see a hundred different words alongside the simple starting point of ‘snow.’

Boy, did we drift off from snow. But I don’t dislike it. It’s raw, and might not make sense, but it was freeing to write, and likely influenced by the absolutely freezing air conditioner in front of me. It’s probably laden with other little bits like that. Little bits of me. In any case, it sparks ideas, and it was fun, and I think everyone needs to have some fun with their writing. There are the agonizing bits of writing, the joyous bits of writing, and what you get when you start off with the word ‘snow,’ then get paragraphs leading up to an ethical dilemma. Maybe the next time I simply want to write, I’ll sit down with the word ‘brain,’ and see where I’m taken.

Words on Journaling

I open up to a blank page, document, note, and begin to write. My typing is faster than my mind and my mind is faster than my typing, but there are still words, and I’m still writing. My handwriting is messy and overly spaced, but so is my mind, and I’m still writing. Even if I may loathe the outcome, at the end of the day, it’s still writing.

Journaling, though at times a battle to start, is entirely worthwhile. I am no expert at it, but if there is an expert at something as personal as journaling, I think I’d furrow my brow. The entire point of journaling is to write, well or not, about anything you want. A journal for you and you only, so you can really make it whatever you want. I use mine with no theme involved. The pages hold whatever is on my mind. Still, even with how free a journal is, I have found some advice and collected some experience that helps, because ironically the hardest part of writing a journal is the writing part. You can know it’s supposed to be messy and whatever you want, but it’s difficult to stay true to something so undefined. Freedom in messiness lets you discover more things about yourself, and that’s daunting, but immensely helpful. You can think more clearly once your thoughts are on the page instead of on the brain.

One piece of advice I have found helpful is to write notes anywhere, everywhere, and on anything. Take that napkin from a restaurant and turn it into a notepad, then copy it down in your journal if you feel like it. You can also cut out bits from notepads, worksheets, sketchbook pages, etc., and glue them into your journal. Heck, stick entire sticky notes in there. It’s fun. The more chaotic your journal is, the easier it is to write chaotically in it.

Telling yourself to write chaotically and messily can still leave you with the itchy feeling that you’re performing a task wrong. You become all too aware of every sentence you can reword, every punctuation mark you should put, the reading speed of your words. I find it helps to turn this into a more solid challenge. Challenge yourself to write with absolutely no punctuation, making the lack of punctuation undeniably the point, and only cast a glance at the last word you wrote if you must. Messiness goes from something you feel like you should be doing to something more fun with a mysterious outcome.

Don’t confine your journal to only words. For me, my journal serves the purpose of writing every day, but I still draw in it. Journals are creative outlets where any urge you can fit on a page goes. You don’t even have to be good at drawing or writing if you think you aren’t. From the stone age to the day you’re reading this, humans from early ages have indulged in finger painting and writing and warbling tunes. It is human nature to create, and nobody has the right to say you must be good at it to do it. You, Picasso, and the people who drew on cavern walls are all united in the act of creation. That is good. Things can be good, messy, and upsetting. Go wild.

Journaling, though at times a battle to start, is entirely worthwhile. I hope this helps you with your journaling joys and endeavors. There are still many ways to journal, and experimenting with different methods reveals different results for everyone. Even if these methods don’t spark a fire for you, keep messing around with all sorts of things. You’ll get there.

Frog Blog: Some Final Friends!

Frogbloginning (Frog-blog-beginning)

The end of the school year is just around the corner, and thus, this is the last of my blog posts for the year. Of course I have to send this off with a final frog blog! I hope you enjoy these final friends. (Or at least final until next year.)

Emei Moustache Toad (Leptobrachium boringii)

(Source)

CHOCOLATE CHIP MOUSTACHE FROGS. (Every toad is a frog, but not every frog is a toad.) How could you not love these guys. They look so adorable with their fancy spiky faces and cat-like eyes. It’s actually only the males that grow these moustache spikes, and they do so during breeding season. They use their moustaches to battle! That’s right, I’m not calling them spikes just because they look like it- they’re actually spikes. Tough and stabby spikes. They’re absolutely wonderful!

Wallace’s Flying Frog (Rhacophorus nigropalmatus)

(Source)

I am SO SUPRISED that I haven’t shown off these amazing guys yet! Flying frogs! Flying frogs! They sound super duper cool, and they look amazing! I really love the patterns on their webbing- it’s so distinctive. But, ahem, as one might expect, these frogs don’t actually fly like birds or bugs. Launching themselves from the trees they live in, Wallace’s Flying Frogs are able to glide up to 50ft to the forest floor. Incredible.

Mutable Rain Frog (Pristimantis mutabilis)

(Source) (Source)

Relatively, this frog was actually discovered somewhat recently in 2009. The mutable rain frog is a super cool frog that is able to change the texture/shape of its skin to match its surroundings. It reminds me a bit of an octopus because of it! And, if that somehow wasn’t cool enough, the original specimen was named “Punk Rocker” by the scientists who discovered it. A fittingly awesome name for an awesome frog.

Frogblogending (Frog-blog-ending)

That’s it for now, but don’t forget that there are plenty of frogs to discover! May the frogs be plentiful and eternal, and goodbye!

Moments Montage

The universe has aligned for me to tell you all about random things I have perceived. (It’s time to talk about moments again.)

I don’t consider myself a superstitious person, but that is stabbed in the foot by the fact I tend to avoid bad superstitions if a person I’m with does. Sometimes it still comes to mind, though- like the morning of the day I’m writing this, where I saw a dead butterfly in the road. The dark asphalt was criss-crossed with an absurd amount of skid marks I had never noticed before, and in the midst of it, laying on its side, was the corpse of a tiger swallowtail. The wind slowly carried it across the ground, stopping and starting, but the swallowtail never flew. In that moment my brain remarked something about a bad omen, but the most I felt was sadness. The sight was remarkable in a way I wish it wasn’t.

Yet, on another, happier note taking place the same day, my window has once again allowed me to see an adorable animal. There’s been a good few times I’ve found turtles (safely) around my house. You can tell they’re turtles and not tortoises because of their claw structure, by the way! Turtles swim in water, so they have flatter, webbed feet. Tortoises, meanwhile, don’t swim, so their feet are much more rounded, bulky, and not webbed. BUT BACK ON TRACK. The turtles I find hide away in their shells, because, they’re turtles, of course they do, I’m a big scary thing that’s making weird cooing noises. However, this time was different. Through my window I was able to see a turtle walking around my back lawn, chomping on grass and leaves littering the ground. I squealed with utter joy. They move fast for a turtle when they’re unbothered, and their scaly skin bunches up around the joints. It’s beak was so shaped, too… I’m pretty sure it was even a turtle I had seen before, due to comparing the patterns on the shell with past pictures.

I wondered if instead of the geese we had last year, this year we would have a turtle frequenting the lake. Last year there was a pair of two geese that stayed throughout the seasons. I never got close due to stories, and thus, they remained peaceful. They would take turns- one would watch for danger, and one would eat. As time progressed, they had little gosling babies. They were absolutely adorable little brown-yellow fuzzballs. I got to watch them peck around in my back yard and grow into adults. It was really interesting to see them in their teenage years. They were, quite literally, just full grown geese but smaller. They had the same coloration and shape.

Revived from the Basement

I am coming in last minute with this topic today, which is just about writing in general. Well, more specifically, how my writing has changed over time. I recently freed an old, dusty story from the basement of drafts, and that is what sparked this. I don’t think I want it to be my main focus for future projects, but the difference between when it began and when I resurrected it is very eye opening for me.

Originally, I had left the story years back due to how messy its plot and world was. There was a good premise and neat atmosphere, but I never got around to truly developing the society. Plus, the character goals were really odd, and I wasn’t incorporating some cool ideas right. Eventually I drifted away from that world, and whenever I thought about it again, I knew I wasn’t going to revive it. Not in a sad way; I just wasn’t interested in fixing it up when I had other things I wanted to work on more.

But then, I had an assignment I was struggling to complete. That assignment lead to me thinking of the story, and, in need of at least something on paper, I got to writing. I did not remember anything super in depth, but I remembered the premise. Because I only remembered the premise, and because of how my skills have grown, I found myself enjoying the story much more. Now it actually felt coherent, and the changes my mind made to fill in blank memories made the plot much more interesting to my eyes now. Plus, I’ve grown a lot more adept at worldbuilding.

Looking back at notes on what the plot used to be doesn’t make me embarrass me, but I actually find it really interesting. “Oh, man, you didn’t focus on that idea more?” “Wait, this was never actually supposed to happen?!” It’s given me a closer look at just how much I’ve grown. I still have a lot more growing to do.

Maybe one day I’ll revive other basement stories just for fun, but I think I’m good for now.

Foaming about Houseki no Kuni AGAIN.

As I write this I am FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. Houseki no Kuni has officially ended today, April 25th, 2024, and though i haven’t read it due to availability things, the hype is STILL THERE. I am screeching. I am rolling. I am a frog. Man. To honor this occasion, and also because I just want to write about Houseki no Kuni again, I’m going to share SOME of my favorite panels from volume 12, which were the last chapters up until today. With that said:

This blog post DOES INDEED CONTAIN MAJOR SPOILERS for the Houseki no Kuni manga, also known as Land of the Lustrous.

Now, onto the panels! I was only able to get some pictures because I was on a time limit, plus there’s a lot of moments I love, so no ranking today! These are in no specific order.

THIS ENTIRE SCENE

Cinnabar is such an interesting character to me, and they have so many moments that are stuck in my brain. This, this moment, though- this has to be one of my top favorite. Cinnabar’s blank expression as they agree with Phos’ snide commentary, not backing down even though they believe what Phos says. The fact that Phos’ dialogue is literally partly them voicing their own views on themself, with how others behaved around them before they went to the moon. It’s an amazing look into both Cinnabar and Phos’ character, and it does the story incredibly scrumptious justice. Also, the mercury-phos Cinnabar crushes between their palm is a stinging callback to near the beginning, when they preformed the same action (minus the crushing) to say they weren’t completely giving up on Phos yet.

BRO. BRO THE ART. BEAUTIFUL.

DO I EVEN NEED TO ELABORATE. The clashing shapes, the way Phos’ spikes stretch towards Cinnabar, the way Cinnabar’s mercury lash out at Phos, the impeccable shiny texture of both substances, the emphasis on the battle, the varying character in each stance. Haruko Ichikawa is a master of detail, and this scene DELIVERS.

Stares

The signature symmetry is back at it again, and GRHRHRHR. This moment is so pivotal to the plot, and the construction of the scene is so chompable. I especially love how you can make out different, distinct characters in the crowded clouds, and Phos’ people being centralized despite their lower population. I can’t imagine how Phos must have felt in this moment.

Bonus!

The cover of the volume itself. Compared to all previous volumes, this cover is very desolate and empty, which adds a very tasty contrast. The contrast isn’t for no reason, either: the emptiness and somber tone is likely due to the story within. It wouldn’t be fitting for the cover to be colorful and full when the main character is isolated and suffering.

Mini Talk on Description

While I do not know how adept I am at describing my processes, I figure it’s better to try than not, because the topic for this post is writing description! Writing description is one of my favorite things to do in writing. Kind of. There’s a lot of things I like about writing.

First of all, this is basic knowledge, but it’s important you use all kinds of senses in description. Not only does it improve your work, but it also includes people who may not have certain senses, such as smell, sight, sound, etc. While writing this I thought, “Well, there’s some exceptions, like when someone screams, what else can you do but say they scream?” But then I realized I was literally ignoring one of my favorite things to do, which is translating senses into different senses. I feel the best way to describe this is with some examples.

“The choked shriek crashes into you like a wave, drenching your psyche in icy terror that sends prickles across your skin.”

“The deep red and magenta hues of the dress brought to mind the feeling of smooth gemstones.”

“The hot cocoa smelt like soft, cozy moments by the fireplace.”

Of course, these have to make sense, but also I’m the type of person that feels these things sometimes. Birds chirping being popping bubbles of colors sounds like it makes sense to me. An emotion feeling mustard yellow makes sense to me. For someone who doesn’t feel these things, I’d imagine they’d have to draw off of researching symbolisms and thinking about association. Ironically I struggle on how to describe crafting this method. I ask, “Why does X feel like X?” Does a bite feel like a kiss because the character is so used to being bitten? Does the personality of someone feel minty green because they’re calm? Things like that.

There are a bunch of more tips I can think of, but I don’t want to make this blog too long. Hope this mini talk helped!

Wondering

My first thought for this post was to write about the experience of taking a nap on a damp picnic table.

My second thought for this post was, “Is that enough?”

My third thought for this post was everything cluttered inside my brain.

As I sit at this keyboard, my skull feels like a bog of allergies and stuffiness, yet my heart beats with the urge to create so fiercely that I feel my chest melting. My fingers feel somewhat electric at the bone, and I want to write everything. I do not yearn for coherence. I want to feel the worn plastic of the keyboard bend beneath my fingertips as I write everything without a care. I want to break into sprawling prose about the raindrops pattering onto concrete after a storm, I want to write about the moments of bliss on the picnic table as I heard the world around me, I want to write the orange and textured beat that is playing in the background, I want to write map ideas for a project, I want to write- It would all jump from one topic to the next, thoughts blending together in impulsive dialogue and handmade quotes. It would mention a character’s unamused glare in a spiral of nature descriptors, observing the jumbled vines of words for one reason or another. It would describe how it feels to flex your hands above your head, with the joints stretching and skin pressing into muscles, before detailing the wooden window blinds in front of me and how they might taste. It would go on about the feeling of wiping up dust on the pad of your thumb, then break down into bullet points on worldbuilding and gods. It would wonder if my mind sounds as enthralling as I think it to be, or if I am living in the emotion of writing too much, and go on a whole page spiel on the undermining of emotions. It would branch into the feeling of a warm embrace through the eyes of another being, then the eyes of a moth begging for the attention of a lantern. It would bubble up with sci fi horror, as wishing for the lantern’s attention is the equivalent of knocking on death’s door, then simmer down as I sternly think about frigidness seeping through the moths exoskeleton. It would leave me with a page of incoordination. It would leave me with a page I would love dearly. Despite it all, it would leave me a page that would make me wonder:

“Is that enough?”

Ranking Animals from Avatar: The Last Airbender

Hello! Recently, a certain new live action came out, prompting me to instead binge watch the original animated series. There are a lot of thoughts I have on Avatar: The Last Airbender, but for this blog I’ve decided to create a tier list of my favorite creatures from the series!

1. Appa

Of course, the first on this list either has to be Appa or Momo. Though I love both very much, I ended up putting Appa in first place due to everything he does for the group. Aang’s sassy “Why don’t we all get on your back and you can fly us to the north pole?!” quote lives rent free in my head. Appa is also insanely adorable, and I love his character design! He reminds me of one of my dogs, too, in all honesty, and I say that very lovingly.

2. Momo

Momo my beloved! I love this silly little guy and all his iconic moments, plus, his theme rocks. I also love the thought of a bat lemur- the two combined work so well! Animal sidekick characters tend to be glossed over in my mind, but for some reason Momo didn’t fall subject to that. He fit in with the group from his first introduction, and it makes me happy that not all the creatures of the air nation are gone. May his adorable eyes stare into your soul.

3. Bosco

Bosco! I think a big part of why I love him is because he’s a bear. Just a bear, and the show plays off of that. The comedy surrounding him overall is a big part of why he’s on this list, I think. The way the earth king asks Bosco for his opinions and the way everyone treats this wild animal as royalty is ridiculous. Bosco is also very cute in the scenes he has.

4. Shirshu

If not for the personalities and building of the previously mentioned, shirshus would be at the top of this list. First of all, the design is absolutely baller- I really love the droopy fur, star-nosed mole face, and the simple patterning. The stance of them also gives off such vibes in general- like they’re going to rip your face off. I also love the paralyzing tongue whip and the sheer monstrosity of their sense of smell. Can you imagine moving to the other side of the world after committing a crime, only for some huge, growling animal to burst down your door, knowing what you did? Amazingly terrifying!

5. Koala sheep

I need everyone to see koala sheep. Literally look at them. Look at their smushed faces, big noses, and fluffy ears. Look at their cottony wool. What is there not to love about them, apart from them being part koala and koalas being pretty horrible? Nothing! They’re adorable and act chill even when Aang screams into one like a pillow. I wish these dudes existed in reality.