It’s not a crime to be human. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise…
I’m back today to tell you about a new page on the site, as well as a new campaign I am running.
I’ve done quite a lot of explaining today, so I’ll allow most of these things I have already written to save me the time. In essence, I’m at the end of my rope. I have a final spark in me and I am using it to mayhaps light a flame.
What is a Ker?:
In Greek mythology, the Keres /ˈkɪriːz/ (Κῆρες), singular Ker /ˈkɜːr/ (Κήρ), were female death-spirits. The Keres were daughters of Nyx, and as such the sisters of beings such as Moirai, who controlled the fate of souls and Thanatos, the god of peaceful death. Some later authorities, such as Cicero, called them by a Latin name, Tenebrae, or the Darknesses, and named them daughters of Erebus and Nyx. (Taken from Wikipedia.)
I yet live.
I feel like the universe has been attempting to show me the error of my ways… I have been away from this blog, and away from my “career” as a writer. I have been trying to compromise. I’m going to truncate this explanation in favor of introducing the content I have for you today.
“Something is not right.”
I am slowly returning to a project that was, and still is, inextricably linked to my eternal soul… or something. The tale follows a princess. She has a problem- a curse- that has threatened to turn her life into a living hell.
The story I have for you is taken from some extras I was preparing for a special edition of the completed novel. It is a diary entry by the princess, regarding an experience from her childhood. I had planned to have quite a few of these injected into the main text, not only from the princess’s point of view, but from that of those acquainted with her.
So, without further ado, this is The|Anomalous|Girl.
Also, if your interest in the princess has been stoked, head over to the library to enjoy The Port and the Storm (free, of course,) a short story occurring before the events of the main novel.
Wait. Hooligans? Are you…? Oh well. I am here to present, not the next entry in the Rainfall series, but a stand alone short story. I don’t really have much to say about it.
There is one quick note I will give you: it is not 200 pages. It wound up being… 5858 words ( 😉 ) The story has multiple endings, and I really prefer that anyone reading not have the ability to just flip page by page through each ending. Choose an ending, and then go back and choose again via my handy-dandy embedded hyperlinks. That’s all for this section of the site.
If you’re interested, there may be some photos posted, as well as a new diary entry in The evolution of Hope. I’m not sure yet. We’ll see.
Alright. That’s all for me. Click through the image below for a free pdf of Catalina(s)!
Happy 4th, those of you that celebrate it!
I figured this would be as good a time as any to unveil a story that just kind of came out of the ether. As with most of the tales I envision, this one popped up when I was doing something completely unrelated. I whipped out a post it, jotted it down, and continued about my business. It was clearly a Rainfall kind of story, but it doesn’t really have a numerical place in the progression of things.
I’m not quite sure I’ve nailed the feel I was going for in this one, but rather than front load your experience with all that I believe I have gotten wrong, I’d rather explain where I was coming from with this. This is not a generalized story. What I mean is: I, in no way, think that this is how a conversation of this sort goes every time the topic comes up. Frankly, I never think that about anything I write. I write the experiences of the characters that I envision. I see how they feel, think, and act. The only true story this is based upon, is the one playing out in my head. So please don’t come at me because you see this as some rash generalization. Again, in this fictional world, with these fictional people, this is how it went.
I guess, at some point, I started to grow curious about whether a relationship could survive such a truth being shared. I began wondering about the true dynamics of a relationship, and the dynamics of attraction. How much of your attraction to someone (your crush, your lover, your spouse) is based on their gender? How much is it based on their mind? Would it matter to you if their gender suddenly changed, in a supernatural sense? They would still be them, but would you shun them regardless? How much does it matter that- to follow through with being yourself as a trans human being- you do have to make the choice to push forward? The choice to push through everything telling you no, while your entire being is saying yes! Is it a betrayal of your partner to be yourself, if your true self is not exactly the same- physically- as the person they met and fell in love with?
All questions that are constantly on my mind. Being the way that I am, I don’t really have the typical stance with regard to these issues. Gender isn’t an issue to me when it comes to a potential partner, so all I can really do is wonder while using my particular viewpoint to explore these topics through my writing.
May I Present…
So, here is what I came up with: the tale of a lovers quarrel over something completely inconsequential as far as their relationship is concerned. Or is it the most important issue their relationship has faced since its beginning? Your guess is as good as mine. People are people, and experience is subjective. Enjoy.
[anchorite]hope | email@example.com | @tgki_hope | T.G.K.I on IRC
Greetings, and welcome back.
I’m in the middle of a not-so-great day, so I would like to keep it brief. Wet Sand is finally as complete as it is going to get for the time being, so I would like to share it with you all. Before that, I’d like to talk a bit about why it took me so long to nail it, and just how I feel about the way it turned out.
Dancing on Wet Sand
The problem was the male counterpart (but some would say males are always the problem, eh? Eeeeeh?). Frankly, the way he was originally written had me hitting a wall. Originally, he was a fan of the main character, but then he- later on- turned out to not be a fan. This wasn’t a problem in itself, but the true issue stemmed from it. To be honest, I didn’t like him. He was too excitable, he didn’t seem all that intelligent, and there was no way I would ever give him the time of day. Here’s something you don’t know about me: I like to write characters that I would mesh with, unless they are an antagonist of some kind. This guy, I could not mesh with. More importantly, I couldn’t see him winning the main characters heart.
That being said, given time, I found the character I was looking for. I think a big part of the idea of this guy that saves our female lead, despite an intense anger brought on by her actions, comes from straight-laced intellectual characters. I realized he was wrong, and eventually came to a true understanding of the type of person he was (the type of person the female lead could fall in love with.)
Without Further Ado
I am extremely satisfied with the result of my waiting. This one has a lot more funny than the last one, but the stories in the series were always intended to have disparate tones. It’s a bit longer, though I hope it ends up feeling like it is too short to you! For this particular story, I know that I couldn’t have possibly done any better than what you see today, so enjoy.
As with Beneath Her Umbrella, a PDF of Wet Sand will be available via the dedicated Rainfall page soon.
If you like it, please feel free to share it!
Next time: Tune in July 4th for a special bonus episode!
[anchorite]hope | firstname.lastname@example.org | @tgki_hope
Gazing on the Hope Well
I stand there staring vacantly,
wobbling, and savoring,
uncertainty is flavoring the precipice of hope;
I see her staring back at me,
not judging, only questioning,
her face mirrors my longing to embrace my precious hope;
I stumble, disappointingly,
falling back and wondering,
how long must I be parted from my one and only hope?
And then I realized, sheepishly,
she’s always been here with me, oh my shining ray of hope;
I wish to love her endlessly,
and rush to her resplendently- seek comfort in my hope;
I dive into her recklessly,
the vacancy envelopes me,
I fall alone through saccharine truth, embraced by bitter hope.
[anchorite]hope | email@example.com | @TGKI_Hope
It’s been a while since I have posted anything, so I thought I would reappear to present a story I had planned on telling about a month ago. I have a few things in the works, including the second tale in the Rainfall series, and a new section of this site devoted to a sort of personal blog/ photo gallery.
Apologies to anyone awaiting the next entry in Rainfall (do you even exist?,) but it just isn’t ready yet- mainly because I am not quite prepared to finish telling it yet. In an effort to fully illustrate my sincerity, I will post the first bit of what I have done- though it is unfinished, and I have yet to come anywhere near the realm of satisfied when I look at it.
But first, the story.
I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I would guess somewhere between six and ten. I was invited to a water park, and I was a kid. Guess where I spent my day.
Skipping the obvious merrymaking therein, at one point, I decided to do something not so intelligent. I went on a water slide.
Yes, it was a water park.
Of course, it does stand to reason that one would spend the day on water slides.
Moving on from (read: skipping) the desired explanation, I followed my friends up many flights of stairs to- what turned out to be- quite the thrilling ride back down. Well, until the end.
What awaited me upon exiting the tube, I had already seen before climbing the stairway, but for some reason had not linked the two together. For some reason, I had not realized that the tube would drop me into the deepest pool of water I had ever seen, let alone fallen into. I had also somehow forgotten the importance of being earnest… wait, no, that is not what I meant to say…
I had forgotten the eat my Wheaties?
I had forgotten… my two… front… teeth…?
Oh, that’s right.
I had forgotten how important it was to be able to swim when one is being propelled into a potentially deadly vat of liquid CHILD DEATH.
Though- I assure you- it sounds worse than it is.
Come on, I mean it.
Joking aside, I realized only after I was pulled from the water, that I had made a mistake.
I’m getting ahead of myself though.
As I went down that slide, you would figure a wave of fear would have overtaken me, but it did not. Not when I hit the water. Not even when I sank to the bottom of that silent blue, such that my toes touched that which, surely very few, had ever touched. Fear was absent that day.
Never for a single moment did I feel that I was in danger. It was not that I felt invincible, or that I knew someone would save me. In truth, I had not considered for a single moment that I could fail in my attempt to reach the surface. And, not for a single moment, did I give up in my attempt to reach the surface on my own. Not when I realized how slow going it was, and not when I was wrenched from my pursuit and back into the light of day. Not when I was told “don’t go on these rides if you can’t swim” by the life guard, and not when I felt like crying after feeling the sheer malevolence in his glare. Not when I left the park that day, and not when I went to sleep that night. To this day, I have never ceased in my attempt to surface under my own power, and this is what- in literature- is called hamartia (wikipedia definition.)
More than an inability to give up, which can be a good thing, I suffer from an inherent ignorance of my own limits. I rarely ask for help, and even when I do it is rarely with an entire task. Using this reminiscence as an example, I would ask that a tow rope be left in the pool, rather than ask to be rescued.
I can’t really remember why this story popped into my brain or if I was going anywhere with it when I planned this post, but I suppose you could learn a lesson from my horrible example:
Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you are drowning, because only the worst people would think less of you for it.
It is far more likely that they will grow cross at you for having almost drowned in the first place, and on their watch at that.
I know very well how difficult a mantra like this can be to live by, especially when you think that perhaps you do not deserve help, and I’m not going to sit here and tell you that you do deserve it. Only you can decide that, just as only you can decide if it is possible for you to be happy. I struggle with these questions every day, and I don’t see that struggle ending any time soon (though, does it not appear- within a storm- that said storm will never end?)
Under the water, I certainly felt that it was endless, and I didn’t fear it because I felt I knew it well. I was at peace within its stillness, but I have since learned that there is a peace beyond it as well.
My back arched as his hand caressed the bare, sun touched, skin.
His chin tickled my chest as he slowly inched his way up to me, frolicking in the gentle scent of the ocean that seemed to linger, becoming an aromatic perfume.
My elbows dug into the sand as he reached my lips. He teased them with a playful smile, tickling them from a scant distance.
As I eyed him defiantly, he bit into them, freeing a deep sigh from somewhere within.
The tide rolled in as he embraced me and tangled his lips in mine.
So, to wrap this one up, I thank you for visiting and especially for making it this far.
Are you awaiting the next chapter of Rainfall? Have you ever almost drowned? Do you hate water? Are you curious about the type of images that will be found in the new section of the site? Wanna know why Wet Sand is taking so looooooong? Are you curious about what I had for breakfast this morning? (Here’s a hint: it wasn’t a tangelooooo.) Tell me all about it in the comments below, through email, or twitter, because… it would just be nice to hear from you ;).
Until next time:
When life gave me lemons, I threw them out the d*** window because too much citrus makes my mouth sore…
anchoritehope | firstname.lastname@example.org | @tgki_hope