My Hunger Games Review and Stormy Stories

So last night, I finished the last Hunger Games book.  I have to say, I liked them.  They were certainly better than Twilight.  (Okay, I can't judge fairly since I haven't read Twilight and I'm not going to unless someone comes up with a really good argument) I'm just not the type of girl who likes to read straight romance novels.  It's like drinking maple syrup.  I do, however, love it when romance comes into play in a novel in a significant way, so long as the book still has some semblance of a plot if the romance component were removed.

So, Hunger Games, yes, you were good.  And yes, I read you very quickly, so you weren't a drag.  Story line was good, and now I finally understand all these Hunger Games things I see on the internet.  Was it worth my time?  Yes.  Were they good books?  Yes.  Great, even.  Would I read them again?  Probably.  Will I become a screaming fangirl?  Most likely not.

Though this picture made me laugh so hard last night...

((URG, can't find it... I'll edit this later when and if I find it... you'll just have to wait in suspense until then...MWHAHAHA!!))

Last night it stormed, as it did all of today, and I couldn't sleep and being the girl I am, I came up with yet another story idea- Storm Children.  Four kids are born on the same night during a vicious storm.  Elysia, the child of lightning, Farren, the son of thunder, Raina "Rain" (guess...) and Ciro, our narrator, the son of wind.

Rain is the daughter of a gypsy woman and is born outdoors in the pouring rain.  Hence, her name.

Elysia is born as lighting strikes, illuminating her home as if it were day.  I can't remember who her parents were.

The next town over, Farren is born a few minutes later, his first cries drowned out by the sound of thunder.  Can't remember his family status either, only that he ends up movie to Elysia's village, or maybe it was the other way around.

Ciro is the most interesting.  His first breath is stolen by the wind and somehow he is carried away and taken by the wind, becoming the wind in a way.  Ciro's a bit of an invisible ghost.  At this point.  He finds his way to Elysia and Ferren's village, as does Rain.  Something happens.  I have no plot at this point.  But I like the idea of a story that addresses an issue with society; having it set in a dystopian society, like the Hunger Games or Birthmarked.  Like I said, this was 11 o clock last night...

The most interesting thing about Storm Children is that I'm planning to write it in 2nd person present tense.  As in, "The moment you drew your first breath, the Wind itself stole it away from you.  You hear your mother screaming, "Ciro!  Ciro!" But there's nothing you can do..." (the YOU narrator being Ciro, if that wasn't obvious enough.)  For the times Ciro's not there, I'll use 3rd person... just an idea.  I'm crazy.

Oh, looking at colleges and I think I found one- Concordia College at Moorhead!  so... I'm happy again.  okay... gonna go play Jewel Craft... I mean, clean my room... ;)

Story ideas already...

So I woke up this morning- actually dragged myself out of bed at 6:45 am (I usually get up an hour earlier than that, but I was up late babysitting last night and didn't get home til midnight) and somehow managed to have an idea for a story in my head.  Oh, the crazy things my tired brain comes up with.

Anyway, tentatively titled "The Time Traveler's Daughter" and going to be used for next NaNoWriMo (in November, not Camp NaNo) if I can get a plot, it's about a girl growing up in modern times who discovers that she's not from this time period.  Things that tip her off are her height (she's really short, and humans have been getting taller every generation)  her ideals, what she believes in, ect, ect. Not sure, I'll have to do research.  But it turns out that her father was trying to time travel and she was playing with it and accidentally got transported to the year 2012.  The machine may have made her younger- maybe back to a baby, I'm not sure, these are just swirling life smudges (Beauty is Blind reference!!!) in my head.  But it does wipe her memory, and she is adopted (most likely) and raised in modern times, until she starts thinking "I feel like I'm in the wrong time period" which is the thought that triggered this whole idea.  And maybe there's a romance.  And there will be 3rd person flashbacks to her grieving family in their time period and her dad trying to fix his machine to find his daughter.  And maybe her dad comes and finds her.  And there should be a bad guy- but who?  And maybe I'll actually write this in 3rd person for a change.  I'm thinking Mina for her name, but I'm not sure I'm crazy about that.  And I don't know what time period she's from.  Maybe the late 1800's?

What are your thoughts?

Opening night for the play tonight!!!  Wish me luck!  My aunt is coming up from Arizona for my sister's confirmation.

All right.  Adios!

Holy Week and Prom

Bought a prom dress yesterday at Goodwill for $18.99.  Wasn't planning to go to prom, but I guess I kinda have to now.  I'll post pictures of it later- it's black and hot pink, colors I definitely would not have chosen, but I like them just the same.  Anyway, the real reason I'm blogging is that I wanted to share a Holy Thursday story I wrote several years ago, called Agony. It's my experiment in second person.  Hope you like it.

AGONY

      You open your eyes.  It’s pitch black.  You see the earthen ceiling of your Jerusalem home near the Mount of Olives.

      There’s no way you’ll fall asleep now.  You get up and go for a walk.

      You go up to the Mount of Olives and walk to a ledge near the Garden of Gethsemane.  You hear a man praying, crying.  You’re cold in only a linen cloth, and wet, but you can’t leave.  It’s dark and you’re tired.  You might be able to get back to sleep now if you got back in your own bed.  But no.  The man’s haunting prayer imprisons you behind the ledge.

      “Abba, Father, all things are possible for you.”

      You peer up and over the side of the ledge and see a man in his early 30’s praying so hard he’s sweating.  No wait- that’s not sweat running down his face, you realize in horror, fighting an urge to hurl- it’s blood.  You can find no wound.  This man must be praying so hard he’s sweating blood.

      “Take this cup away from me, but not what I will but what you will.”

      The man pauses, and then leaves the rock he’s been praying at.  You scramble up the rocks of the ledge and follow him at a safe distance.  The rock, you see, has splatters of blood on it from the man’s sweating.  You hear him from behind some olive trees near your ledge waking up three other men.

      He says loudly, disappointed, “Simon, are you asleep?”  Immediately, all three men wake with a start, embarrassed, ashamed.  “Could you not keep watch with me for one hour?”

      Simon tries to offer some lame excuses, but the man cuts him off, repeating an apparent earlier command, “Watch and pray.  Watch and pray that you may not undergo the test.”

      “But Lord…”Simon begins.

      The man again interrupts, simply saying, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”  The man’s coming this way again.  Quickly you run to your ledge and jump down just in time, scraping your knees in the process.

      You hear him again say, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; still not my will but yours be done,” he cried.  You see a blinding light suddenly brighten up the dark place, but think nothing of it.  The man continues to pray.  You continue to watch.

      Suddenly, the light leaves, the man stops, discouraged.  Shoulders slumped; he again dejectedly begins to wake his disciples.  “Peter, James, John, the hour has come.”

      Whatever happened to Simon?  You wonder, but before you can figure it out, you see torches light up the night.  Soldiers.  They are lead by a man dressed similarly to Peter, James, and John.  He walks up the man, says “Rabbi,” and kisses him.

      The man pulls away, with a look that drives shame into the other man’s face.

      “Judas,” he begins.  “You betray the Son of Man with a kiss.”

      You can’t tell if it’s a statement or a question, but you don’t want to stick around.  Bright torches and soldiers can only mean one thing- Romans.  And where there are Romans, trouble follows.  And a betrayal meant there would be an arrest.

      “Who are you looking for?” the man asks.

      “Jesus of Nazareth,” they answer.

      “I AM,” said the man.

      You’re right about the arrest, but you’re surprised.  This has got to be the strangest arrest you’ve ever seen.  The man- Jesus- goes willingly.  The man you believe to be Simon/Peter won’t let him go that willingly.  He draws his sword.  You shut your eyes.  A scream of pain reaches your ears.  You peek your eyes open and see of the Romans clutching his head, blood gushing from the hand covering the space where an ear used to be.  You might throw up.  The sight of blood makes you squeamish.

      “Put the sword away, Simon Peter,” Jesus commands.  So Simon was Peter, he just had two names. 

Then you see Jesus walk up to the Roman, touch his hear, and heal him.

Suddenly you get the urge to help this man.  For once in your life you’re making something count.  You won’t be a coward!  No, not anymore!  You are not afraid!  You crawl up the ledge, your skinned knees smarting the whole time, and stand near the bloodstained rock as you watch Simon put his sword away. 

You rush in, you don’t think.  You must be getting hypothermia from the cold; you can’t think straight.  There’s no way you stand a chance against those Romans!  If Jesus could heal a severed ear surely he’d save himself.  He doesn’t need you!

You realize your cowardly fear too late, and a Roman soldier grabs you by the cloak.  You don’t want to be associated with this man.  If he were to be jailed or killed, the same might happen to you. They’d never believe your story in a million years. 

You have a family to take care of; this can’t happen to you!  You run, ripping your cloak, leaving the soldier with just an empty cloth.  An empty shell that used to shelter your now-naked body.  Feeling ashamed and exposed, you run across the rocks barefoot back home, crying.

In the distance, a cock crows once.  

By: Haili G

based off of the gospel of Matthew