Hope It's Not Too Late

AUGUST 13:

Ever notice how the letter “y” makes everything look more elegant? Seriously! I’ve only just noticed this, but it’s quite amusing.

Anyways, I’ve started a new story. Nothing that would require a long-term commitment, you understand. Just a distraction to help me get over my writer’s block. I realized it only took me five months to write my first book. The second one is going on its eighth month. Really? How unfair is that? So I have my new one to entertain me. It’s set in a medieval- type world, one where magic is possible. For anyone whose read Tamora Pierce’s work, it’s the same basic idea for the setting. But what sucks about writing about a place that doesn’t exist is that I need a map to understand where everything is. So I’ve spent the past few hours drawing a goddamn map. I’ve named all the wonderful countries, rivers, capitals, ports, cities, bodies of water, and mountain ranges. I can tell you about the government of each country, as well as their major imports and exports. I can tell you about the imminent war between two countries. I can name the rulers of each country. But I can't tell you where my story’s going or what the point of it is. So hooray!

On a happier note: I finally asked my mother about dyeing my hair! She said yes, and said that I could even get some temporary dye to figure out exactly what I want before we go to a salon. Seriously, I almost fainted when she told me that. My parents have been yelling at me nonstop over the past couple days, so much so that I’m truly worried about my depression coming back. So my mother being really nice? Something is up, but I’m not sure what.

How do you tell where a gulf ends and a sea begins? Or do you even need the gulf? Because I’m looking at the Kryst Sea and the Maslin Gulf and cannot figure out if I need the gulf or not.

Alright, it’s officially the next day. I’ve been staying up really late typing for the past few days, so it’s not that uncommon for me to randomly glance at the clock and be like: “Oh, is it morning already?” I hope to God I'm not becoming insomniatic again. Because that was an aspect of my prior depression….

I’ll post a bit of my new story if that’s alright. This is the beginning of chapter one:

“Marica? Wake up, sweetie.” I didn’t understand. I peeked through heavy eyelids and saw only my mother, holding a lantern. Was this some birthday surprise? I was turning eight years old next week, so I was practically a lady. But I didn’t want to be a lady if I had to wake up this early.
“Mama?”
“Yes, it’s me, sweetheart.” She stroked my cheek. “Hurry and get up. Kel’s waiting.” Kel was Mama’s friend who trained the hunting dogs in our village. He was nice, as far as men went, but he wasn’t my Da.
I stumbled out of my bed, letting Ma pull a man’s tunic over my head. It reached past my feet, dragging on the floor. Ma pursed her lips.
“I s’pose it’ll have to do,” she muttered, handing me a bag. I took a peek inside. My doll Ana was in there, along with some other cloths that looked like clothes, perhaps.
“Mama, what’s happening?” She smiled sadly.
“You don’t belong here, child. I want to give you a better life than the one we have here.” My eyebrows pulled together.
“Whaddya mean?” I asked. She shook her head, tying back my hair with a ribbon. Mama kissed my cheeks and took me outside.
“Listen to me, Marica Catelli, I love you. And I’m doing this because I want what’s best for you.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m going to miss you, sweetheart.” I began to panic.
“Where am I going?”
“Out of Crenta. Kel will take you to Arnan, and leave you with a friend of his who’ll look after you until you can decide what you want to do with your life.”
“Mama, no! I want to stay here with you!” I grabbed her hand as tight as I possibly could. She squeezed my small hand.
“I will find you one day, Mari. I promise.” Then she picked me up and set me on Dusty, the stallion that Pa had bought her only a week before he died. “I promise that no matter what, I’m going to be with you again.” Kel reached for my reins from his mare. “Look after her, Kel.” The man nodded.
“You have my word, Sara.”
That day, Kel and I rode for Arnan. He never spoke to me, not even to quiet my sobs. Three days later I arrived in the city. Minus Kel and plus Kristian. There had been an accident; Kel was killed, and I’d lost every memory I had, except for my name. Marica. No last name, just Marica. Kristian found me several hours later.
After that, I grew up with thieves.

SEVEN YEARS LATER

“Kristian, get up!” I pounded on the door to his room. “Or I’ll come in there and toss all your clothes outside!” The door creaked open, a bleary-eyed Kris swearing under his breath.
“Gods curse you, Mari. That goddamned pack of wolves that raised you had better hope that they meet an early death.” I grinned. That pack of wolves had been him and his friends, the thieves of the lower city.
“You know you love me,” I said, standing on tip-toe to rest my head on his shoulder. I peered at him with my icy blue eyes. He kissed me on my cheek, his dark brown eyes dancing.
“Come on, kid. You’ve gotta bellow your heart out to get the rest of them awake.” I laughed sourly.
“The Gods know it. And stop calling me ‘kid,’” I shouted after him. “I’m only, what? Five years younger than you?” Kris turned and smiled wide as he began to make his way to the bottom floor.
“Ramari, wake up!” I threw his door open. The man was already up, pulling his cloak around him. “Where are you going?”
“To Rallam.” He noticed my look. “Don’t give me that, Marica Adman. I’ve perfectly fair business there, and I don’t need your approval.” I snorted.
“No business you’ve ever done is fair, Ramari Sri. That is why I have to mother you all the time,” I punched his shoulder, truthfully sad that he was leaving for a long while. Rallam was far away.
“Oh, really? Then why must I constantly point out to you that you’ve forgotten to tie your hair back?” He handed me a black band, smiling. I cursed and took it from him, tying my thick, black hair into a bun.

Hooray. I’ve only got thirteen pages so far, but I’m nearly halfway there! See, I have a theory that if I make it past thirty pages then I’ve got a stable story. Only my fist book and sequel have done so. I’ve had some stories make it to twenty-eight, but tragically ended. So yeah. I suppose I’ll be getting back to my story now, and I’ll post this when I have internet this morning. So au revoir and adieu.

Peace Out

EDIT: I hate how it won't let me indent paragraphs.