With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (part 16)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Kingdom of Heaven or anything else that you might recognize here. It belongs to Sir Ridley Scott, William Monahan, and history.

 

Chapter 16: Coup d’état

Guy knew that Raymond was not listening to him as he stated the reasons why he had decided to go to war — the main reason being that he was king and if he wanted to start a war then he would do so— and he did not care one little bit. Raymond of Tiberias was the past; Jerusalem had no use for an old cowardly Marshal who would rather make peace with God’s enemies than do his duty and eradicate them from the face of the earth. He had control of the army now, and he was going to use it as he pleased.

“There are some of you who might not agree with our succession,” he said, looking at each and every one of the gathered nobles. No one said anything. They all knew what had happened to Guy’s last opponent, and no one relished being left to die alone in the desert and becoming food for carrion birds. “But it is war!” continued Guy, his confidence swelling. This was what he had come to the Holy Land to do. “And I am…” Then his eye strayed in the direction of the desert, and his confidence evaporated like a puddle in the scorching eastern sun. “…the king,” he finished, and he knew he sounded pathetic, but no one was paying him much attention.

Loved and lost, or never loved at all?

Writing Prompt: Loved and lost, or never loved at all? Which might you prefer?

To know nothing about love is to know nothing about losing that love. And while I might save myself the pain of loss by not loving at all, I would never know the joy of loving. To know neither joy nor pain is as good as living the life of a corpse or a robot. There will be no meaning to my existence. I will not know why I do certain things, or why I will do anything not to do them.

Therefore, I would rather have loved once, just for a day and then lose that, than stay neutral all my life. Humans are creatures of emotion. We need love.

Ten things I want for my birthday…

My birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks, and I thought I’d make up a list of ten (as yet non-existent) things which would make my life easier, or simply breezy. Just a little bit of silliness really.

1. An automatic essay writer–just plug in the information and it will produce a well crafted essay. Better yet, plug in the topic and connect it to your brain so it knows your point of view, and then produces the essay.
2. A real automatic car–Just tell it where you want to go, and it will take you there. You can sleep in the back seat and sleep.
3. A portal maker–Even better than the automatic car. Just say where you want to go, a door will open and you can just step in. Very eco-friendly as there is little to no fuel used.
4. Writer’s block medication–A pill which will get rid of the most enduring of writer’s blocks.
5. Automatic note taker–takes notes in class automatically and without needing any effort on the user’s part. Includes accurate diagram drawing mode.
6. Automatic computer doctor–a robot which can fix all computer problems; just tell it what’s going on and it will diagnose and get rid of anything which makes the computer malfunction.
7. Automatic cooker–Just throw in the foodstuffs, raw, unwashed and unsorted, and watch it produce a six course meal, complete with dessert and coffee.
8. Automatic cleaner–it just cleans, and does it the way you want it.
9. Music writer–All I have to do is plug myself in and it will write down any weird tunes/symphonies which I create inside my head but can’t reproduce manually on paper. Watch as the world becomes a society of Mozarts and Beethovens.
10. Automatic researcher–will read all boring textbooks for me and when I plug myself in, the information will be magically transferred into my head. Better yet, plug it into the essay writer and do no work other than just the plugging.

A Portrait of the Joker as a Young Man

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that you recognize. Batman belongs to DC Comics and Christopher Nolan. I’m just playing with the characters.

How had it come to this? Delirious with medication and only slightly aware that he was in a white room, Jack Donahue repeated this question over and over again in his head. As the anaesthetics wore off, he became aware of the tubes connected to his body and the soreness of his swollen face. Slowly, he reached up. His fingers came into contact with stitches on his cheeks. The memories came back. Jack groaned and tried to sit up, but his body was still uncoordinated for the anaesthetics were still in his system.

 

“Mr. Donahue?” said a voice. “Don’t try to move. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” A hand pushed him back down onto the hospital bed. Jack did not resist. As consciousness returned, so did the memories. A tear slid down his face. He wished he could forget.

A Different Type of Discrimination

Right now, I should be getting dressed and eating breakfast instead of being on the computer. However, I don’t want to go offline yet, as I’m in the middle of a role-playing game. It’s funny how addictive the internet is. Perhaps I crave the companionship of people like me. Creative people are a rare breed. You only find one or two amongst hundreds (might be a slgith exaggeration there) and even amongst creative people, there are those who don’t know what you’re on about. I had a friend who was a brilliant writer; she won a prestigious national literary award when she was fifteen. However, she and I could never agree about what constituted as good literature. What I enjoyed put her to sleep and vice versa. She was more like the mainstream literary people in my country who preferred literature which reflected aspects of society. I was more of a person who wanted to write stories reminiscent of Hollywood blockbusters.

In my country, discrimination is rampant. However, there is one sort of discrimination which no one has addressed yet; genrism. It’s not an official sort of discrimination, but it’s what I call the descrimination against certain genres of literature. People who write historical or fantasy epics are said to be wasting their talents. These stories simply are not welcome in our literary circle. Everyone who is a ‘proper writer’ should be writing about serious real life. It puts people like me at a disadvantage because I don’t want to write about serious real life. I see enough of that; when I write, I want to escape to a fun and exciting place with people who I want to meet, not people who I see everyday.

Children are discouraged from writing fantasy in school. When I was sixteen, I was forbidden by the teacher to write anything set in history. She said I had to bring myself back to the ‘real world’ and write about an ordinary setting. To prove my point, I wrote about guerilla warfare in the streets of Baghdad. It took a heck of a lot of research about rocket-propelled grenades and machine guns and tanks, but I finally got there and even got to describe gore, something which I’m good at and fond of doing. I guess I have to thank that teacher actually, because she made me strive to prove that epics are just as valid as literature as all the boring gritty real life stuff which I wouldn’t touch with a barge pole. She made me really try to improve my writing, and to create good believable and likeable characters for my epics. Of course, I got into fanfiction and one can’t publish fanfiction, but I still managed to achieve something. Apart from the reviews, I got nominated for the MEFA awards, something which I am still surprised about.

In my opinion, far too many authors write for renown and not for fun. That is true of me to some extent, but what really brought this to my attention is my friend’s question. She said, “What’s the point of writing fanfiction? You don’t get any recognition for doing it.” I replied saying that I did it because I loved doing it, and it’s true. I also said that people get renown for writing good (or bad) fanfiction, just like in the world of printed literature. In the end, it isn’t recognition that I really want. I just want to prove to the world that writing epics is not a bad thing and end this discrimination against certain genres so that other really good works (such as the film Kingdom of Heaven) will be recognized for their brilliance. At the moment, some wonderful works of art are ignored just because they happen to be of the ‘wrong’ genre.

The mini-philosopher in me.

I just finished my essay, but I’m getting a sense of doom, possibly because I feel that my essay is horrid. It always happens though; I finish a piece of writing (done in a style with which I am not familiar) and I am very insecure about it. I get reassured when others tell me it’s good, or when I get an A (that does not happen most of the time, so I suppose my worries are not over the top, mostly).

I despise academic subcultures. Actually, I despise having to conform to any style. Perhaps that rebel in me is still not tamed, because whenever anyone adamantly argues for one thing, I feel the urge to argue for the opposite side, even though I might not agree with my own arguments. I don’t know why, but I feel really irritated when people are very certain that they are right. It seems to me that no one side is right, although all sides can be wrong, but we don’t see how wrong we are until something goes really badly in our lives, and we have to revise our opinions.

Don’t know what’s gotten into me, because that was really philosophical. Usually, I’m just a ditzy girl who likes to look at pictures of good looking actors and cast them in my stories. Perhaps it’s the influence of Kingdom of Heaven, since I’ve just finished the movie. It makes me wiser and more thoughtful than usual.

Anyway, considering I’ve just finished Kingdom of Heaven, I’m going to write Baldwin V’s coronation scene, and that court drama concerning Guy and Sibylla. Not sure how I missed it last time; I think I was too busy with the creosote bush and a sulky and hot knight.

Heaven

I just watched the second half of Kingdom of Heaven again today, and it was still an amazing experience. I don’t know if it’s possible, but I’m even more in love with Balian. The acting was beautiful and touching. I could feel his shock when Sibylla declared that she didn’t really give a damn about what she did as long as she had power. I know I’ve already written that scene in ‘With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla’, but I’m wondering whether I should write a very short piece from Balian’s point of view at that moment in time. For all the stories which I’ve written about him, I’ve never written his perspective in first person before. I’m a little afraid of the first person perspective, because it doesn’t sound like the character, but it sounds like me talking. It’s also rather limited. However, considering this is Balian, and he’s been my muse ever since I started airing my work, I’m willing to give it a try.

I also managed to skip out that very emotional scene when Sibylla takes off her brother’s mask and sees his ravaged face. How did I manage to skip it? Probably I was too busy thinking about Balian and the creosote bush. Maybe I should do a oneshot of that as well, just to fill in the gaps. Actually, there are lots of things that I could write if I want to elaborate on Sir Ridley’s masterpiece. Too many ideas; too little time.

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (Part 11)

Disclaimer: All the characters and events of Kingdom of Heaven belong to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan, and, of course, History. I’m just borrowing them and writing my own interpretation.

 

The walls and hangings muffled the sounds from outside. Many candles burned, but they did nothing to dispel the shadow which was falling over the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. It took a while for Sibylla’s vision to adjust to the darkness of the king’s chamber. It had been so long since she had set foot in here. The scent of incense could not conceal the underlying smell of decay which permeated the room.

 

She approached the bed where her brother lay; a pitiable and wasted figure. One bandaged hand rested on his chest. The other arm was outstretched; it was in the same position which the physician had left it. The silver mask was still in place, however. It was the same cold emotionless face which he showed the world; the face which was supposed to hide weakness.

 

With a shaking hand, the princess reached out and rested it on her brother’s bandaged one, unsure of whether he would feel it or not. Baldwin stirred, and with what seemed like a great effort, opened his eyes. “Hello,” he said. His voice was breathy and weak, but Sibylla’s heart lurched at the sound of that benevolent tone. It was the same one which he had used with her all those years ago, before he had put on the silver mask.

A Random Bout of Typing.

I’m feeling rather good about myself at the moment. I was not rushing around trying to get everything done this morning, and I wrote a decent amount, so I’m pretty proud of myself, actually, since in the mornings, I’m generally not motivated to do anything. I also finished one essay in the weekend, so that might contribute to my confidence this morning, since I have almost three weeks to work on my other one.

I’m waiting for the university printer to work at the moment. It’s still early, so the room is relatively empty. There are still free computers. Later in the day, it will be very full. I have so many papers in my backpack that it is not funny. I’ll have to sort them out and file them tonight, or else I’ll lose track of everything and I’ll never be able to locate my notes. It takes so much energy to simply make myself do the work though. I’d much rather write about something, as long as it is prose and not something argumentative. Now, that takes far too much energy.

The concrete outside is dark with water. The branches of the trees are skeletal in the pale grey winter light; they are naked, save for a few brown withered leaves still clinging onto them. Very few people are out and about on this cold dreary mrning. I can see two people sitting on a bench, talking and smoking. Well, at least one of them is talking. The other just sits there, staring in front of her as if she is simply part of the landscape.

Waves of hot hair waft from the heater beside me. It gets a bit irritating, actually, but I chose the seat because it was close to the window and because the computer was already on, so I wouldn’t have to wait for it to start up. There is a text that I have to read for this afternoon’s tutorial, right after my class on Islamic history. I don’t feel like reading it, but I know I have to, or else I won’t be able to contribute. However, the remnants of the weekend still stain my mind. I want to make a video for YouTube, or just simply type and let the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard sooth me. It’s almost like meditating. Whenever I just let myself go and simply write or type, it’s like I’ve gone into a trance. Nothing really seems to matter except the sound of the keyboard and the words of the screen, or, if I’m writing with pen and paper, the scratch of the pen, the scribbles, and the texture of the paper.

My eyelids feel heavy, as if I am about to fall asleep again. It must be the warmth of the room, and my relaxed state, because if it was a bit colder, I would be wide awake. Temperature is so important to levels of concentration. I like it a little bit cooler, but everyone else seems to be fine in the warmth. Perhaps I’m used to a colder temperature indoors, since at my place, we hardly ever use heaters, prefering to wear coats indoors.

Perhaps I should stop typing now. My fingers on the keyboard feel good, but the sound and the rhythm are making me sleepy.

The Complicated World of Fanfiction

I realize I haven’t written much about my writing and creative life in this blog, and it’s supposed to be a writer’s blog. What can I say? I’m just a bit ditzy like that, and I am a professional when it comes to going off topic. Just because I haven’t been writing about being creative doesn’t mean I haven’t been creative though. I’ve spent the most of the past three weeks trying to think of how to go about writing my latest fanfiction creation, Chance Encounter: Legacy of the Third Age. I’d been consulting all sorts of Tolkien experts and discussing options with them; I’d even read bits of the Silmarillion. While it has been hailed as one of Tolkien’s greatest works, and I loved his other great work, The Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion was a really dry read, at least for me. I’m the type of person who latches onto a character and then attempts to put myself in the character’s shoes. The Silmarillion is more like a history text.

Anyway, I read the relevant bits, did a lot of discussion, and that was just for the back story. It really goes to show how hard writing is when you want to do it well, and fanfiction, just because it can’t be published, isn’t what douchebags write. You need to do a lot of research or else they’ll flame you to kingdom come.

Speaking of flames, many people can’t tell constructive criticism from a flame, which is sad, because while flames are sometimes just copy-and-pasted messages, constructive criticism is designed to help the writer. Sure, it doesn’t feel great when you first read it, but after you’ve absorbed it, you realize that you were doing something wrong, and you learn from that other person’s experience.

So, if you ever get a flame (generally goes along the line of ‘your writing sucks big time, and you’re so bad that you should jump off a cliff’, or something like that), you should just reflect a bit before replying. Is your writing really bad? Have you checked your spelling and grammar? Have you totally warped the fandom you’re writing in? If you answered yes to the first, no to the second, and yes to the third, then maybe you should change the story, or go to someone else for advice. If you get a flame, you’re probably going to get concrit as well, if your story needs changing. If you only get that one flame, you might also have to check whether the flamer hates you. There is a lot of faction struggle going on in the fanfiction world, and some people flame each other because they hate each other. You might be the friend of someone who has an enemy, and the enemy will see fit to flame you because you are their enemy by association. Also, don’t reply to the flamer. It just makes them happy.

So, yeah. That’s my advice for the day.

And now, I should be writing some concrit for someone, and then go off to eat breakfast/brunch, and write in my journal. I finished my first Moleskine notebook yesterday, and now I’m going back to the cheap stuff for a while before I continue with the rest of my Moleskines.

Idiots and…wise people?

The other day, I was making up a statement concerning freedom and wisdom and I needed a group noun for wise and smart people. Being the relatively studious sort of person, I went and got my Oxford Thesaurus off my bookshelf and tried to look for something which would suit. One of the few words I knew which meant someone smart was ‘genius’, but as there was such a fine and fuzzy line between genius and madness, I couldn’t use that for my saying. I looked up ‘genius’ in the Thesaurus. That didn’t yield any good results (‘Einstein’ wasn’t exactly what I was looking for) so I went and looked up ‘intellectual’ instead. There were very few synonyms, but after a while, I chose ’sage’. The word ‘intellectual’, while appropriate, didn’t have the right rhythm. The thing is, I didn’t find many nouns which meant ’smart people’.

Out of curiosity, I looked up the word ‘fool’. That was the other word I was using in my statement. There were so many synonyms listed there that it would take a while for me to type them all out. I found ‘idiot’, ‘ass’ (very insulting to donkeys, in my opinion), ‘halfwit’, ‘blockhead’, ‘dunce’, ‘dolt’, ‘dullard’, ’simpleton’, ‘clod’, ‘dope’ etc. just to name a few. The most important observation was that there were a lot more synonyms for ‘fool’ than there were for ‘intellectual’.

So what does that tell us about society? It was just a curious thought. Why are there so many words for a stupid person? Do we live in a society of idiots, or are we just a defamatory society which delights in putting people down? Either way, it doesn’t look great.

Just life, really.

Well, I actually managed to get up in the morning today, and then wasted all the time online. Honestly, I feel as if I am addicted to the internet. The first thing I do when I get up is go on the computer and see who’s online. It’s sad, actually. A lot of time should actually be spent writing. However, I have just finished a story, and I expect to feel melancholic for a while yet. It just feels like that another stage of my life is over, and I’ll never experience the joy of writing that particular story again.

I did read a book, and it was a really funny one too; a chick-lit novel. I’ve become quite fond of those at the moment. Maybe it’s the need to read something silly and lighthearted after reading all those serious history books. My friend’s got his forum up and running, and people are posting things there. It’s quite exciting, and I’ve stolen some ideas from the other forum .

Anyway, I did a paper dump again (to those of you who don’t know, a paper dump is when I dump all my drafts because I’ve finished typing them up. It amounts to quite a lot of paper per week). My desk now looks slightly tidier, but I’ve yet to prepare for the return to my studies. Exam grades come out on Tuesday, and I hate waiting for results. It’s almost worse than doing the exam itself.

This week, I should actually be working on the beginning of the next instalment of my fanfiction series. I’ve got the minor details sorted out, finally. What amazed me was how long it took to find a proper name for a very minor character, and the right Roman emperor. Since it’s only the first week of semester, I don’t expect too much work, so it’ll be quite good for launching the sequel (and even if it was a busy week, I would launch the sequel anyway. I made a promise).

Nothing exciting has happened in my life lately. I’ve even neglected journal writing *gasp*. Once the semester starts, there will be more things to talk about.

With You, I’ll Be Only Sibylla (Part 9)

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Kingdom of Heaven belongs to Sir Ridley Scott and William Monahan, and History.

 

Chapter 9: A Kingdom of Conscience

 

Doors were meant for protection; those leading to Sibylla’s quarters were made to keep out any unwelcome presence. Inside was her refuge; a place of peace and safety in the middle of Jerusalem’s dark undercurrents and courtly intrigues. The colours and hangings had all been chosen for the tranquillity they represented. The inner chambers were sheltered from the heat, but with the coming of evening, they would be graced for a short while, with the dying golden light of the sun as it set over the heart of Christendom.

 

The princess loved the security she felt when she was in her sanctuary; it was like being in the warm loving embrace of her old nurse, who had long since passed away. When she returned this afternoon, she expected to find her son there, playing or completing the tasks set by his tutor. What she saw gave her a most unpleasant shock. Guy had gone too far; he had invaded her haven and worse yet, he was with her son, telling her boy how he ought to arrange his pewter figures. The man had his back to her, but she could hear him quite clearly. “Always surround your knights with foot-soldiers,” he told the boy.