Autumn Written in Blood

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The gentle sensation of an autumn chill stroked against her cheeks, but Evangeline kept her eyes closed, and threw the duvet over her face. She tried to force herself to go back to sleep. She was sure that if she chose to rise from the comfort of her linens, she would see the mid-fall and winter frost dancing across her window pane. She could very well imagine herself settling for a warm cup of coffee at her usual cafe and take in the scenery for inspiration.

However, a cloak of numbness had wrapped itself around her soul, managed to keep her sullen, and not wanting to move. A vicious case of writer’s block had taken wake in her spirit, and was haunting her body like a disease.

“I need to check my phone…”

Evangeline let a sigh escape as she agonizingly roll beneath the covers onto her stomach and reached for her phone. These last few months had proven to be a struggle. Sleepless nights, trashed character concepts, and story board papers strewn about on the usually well kept floor. The life of a writer was shining at it’s darkest upon her. Sliding her fingers on the screen of her work phone, she saw multiple newsletters and amass of emails from her editor.

She groaned, knowing full well that her editor was going to hunt her down if she didn’t get back to him today, “I’ve gotta get up.”

With the vigor of an old decrepit 90 year old body, Evangeline’s feet touched the hard floors as she practically dragged herself towards the shower. The familiar hiss of hot water raining down from her shower head, her pajamas sluiced down to the floor. Her thoughts of hope also falling along with it.

Slipping into the spray of liquid heat, she washed, and scrubbed the grime of her sleepless escapade. Lately, Evangeline had been dreaming random oddities, she was seeing visions of unknown origins, while this should of been something to use as inspiration for her writing. The dreams made no linear sense nor did it strike passion, what it did do, plant a seed of wariness and perhaps… fear.

Evangeline shook her head, maybe being an author had finally taken a toll on her sanity. Causing her to frequently hallucinate more than live properly in the real conforms of reality.

“And that’s why I’m a writer…”

Terror Pods and Creepypastas

Ever have one of those long days at work and you come home and think to yourself, “man, I can sure use some tea and Creepypasta narrations.”? Well that happens to be me, because I am a weird person with fairly eccentric moments (i.e. the disaster that is my blog). I love horror stories, I love the thrill of the imagery the story being told creates for me in my mind.

Sometimes a creepypasta is so good that I will replay it over and over, other times, I’ll just sit there and wonder what the hell I just listened to. Wondering if the narrator purposely chose the story to troll the listeners or if that they had run out of options to choose from. There is always a scary story that is to die for.

My favorite story happens to be “Hachishakusama”, beware though, it sounds all nice and bright when you read the title and feel as if that the story is just pure childish. However, the reason why this story got me so good is because of the realistic nature that this story held. I won’t get into too much details on it, as it would be preferable for someone to either listen or read it.

Over time, and years of growing up, things that I had been told that weren’t real or were practically unfounded began to show signs of some truth. Call it ridiculous, it is up to you to decide, but all legends, myths, and even our childhood fairy tales contain strands of truth. Maybe the real truths of the stories had been drowned out over the many years of storytelling, just like in the game ‘Telephone’ that I would play in kindergarten.

I still get vicious chills listening to this story, it has been over a year since I stumbled upon the urban legend from Japan. However, the sounds and the storytelling still renders me speechless, even now as I listen to it … the hackles on the back of my neck stand at attention.

In need of more horror stories of the same stride? Take a look at Yami Shibai, especially “The Umbrella Goddess.”

 

Pumpkin Spice, None of This Sweltering Heat is Nice!

The heat in the west coast has been flippant likes the rolling waves of the ocean, it’ll come sometimes in hard thrashes, and other times it comes as a gentle breeze from the seas. Either way, I have a big dislike for summer, I hate the burning sun and the longer hours of daylight. I prefer the shorter days of light, and the nip in the air that tells you that summer is dying.

I always find myself huddling towards the more colder regions, even if that means opening the fridge doors at the local Target store just to get my cold air. Every summer has been fairly unforgiving, although, I know I can tolerate some of it to an extent. I grow weary and tired of the venomous onslaught of heat and humidity that seems to try and coax me to get sunburned outside.

It always seems to go like this every time spring decides to evolve from it’s mere quiet form of flowers and warmth, to a diabolical hell storm of fire and humid debauchery. I hold my mug, eagerly awaiting for the tea to cool down so I can drink it down to at least reminisce for the days of autumn that should come dancing in the next month and half or so. However, until then, I am stuck, sitting at my coffee table glaring at the outside with dismay and how I can’t wear my cozy sweaters and fuzzy slippers.

I enjoy the finer days of rain and clouds with a book or Nook in my hands, a tea cup perched onto the window sill with steam wafting upwards in tendrils. Those are the days I long for when the summer begins to roll in and dry up what was left of the spring’s frolicking. Amazing how a season can make you miss so much for half a year…

Cruel Cakes and Cups of Fanfiction

I really don’t have a specific theme for this blog, and I know most places do. However, I like so many things that I can’t manage four to five different blogs relating to all the many hobbies and passions I love doing. One of my passions happen to be writing and creating content, whilst another is playing games and reading books.

I would say I’m a plethora of strange things, as I also love horror and macabre things. So sadly, I cannot dabble placing my many different loves in different areas. Which turns this blog into a cluster fuck of all my strange curiosities and closet of whims.  I am totally in awe at how this blog and many things came to be as of late, due to my impulsive nature to always dive head first into things.

I didn’t really plan out my blog properly, which I had first thought it would be a website solely talking about reviewing books. However, that tilted and I did a review post on a game too… The from the game it went back to books, but then I faltered on doing the review because life got in the way.

But now, I’m back to blogging and rethinking that it isn’t so bad to just write a cesspool of randomness in here. Maybe some of it can be appreciated, most of the time my indecisive writing style will probably annoy people. Anyhow, I forgot to get to the point of why I was writing this blog, I ended up going on a tangent of otherworldly devices.

I wanted to talk about the cruel cake of being drawn into a fandom, and then tasting my first cup of fanfiction tea. It was maybe back in 2015 when I was still living in Hawaii, that I had found this mobile game called My Forged Wedding on Mangafox.com. I honestly thought the guy on the cover was cute, and had figured it was probably like a manga with the way it was drawn.

Lordt, if I had known that this was going to be my crash course into Otome Games and Visual Novels, I would of NOT bitten into the Cruel Cake of Fandom so quickly just because the guy looked cute. Here are the two images that lured my dumb ass into Otome Hell, and forever recruited me into the #OtomeArmada.

Obviously, this guy is what they call a Tsundere (is a female/male character who is usually cold, but he/she becomes spoony on her/his lover. Or, he/she is cold to the main character at first, but he/she becomes lovestruck later), it was after this dude’s route that I totally fell in love with the Otome Gaming Genre. Making me eager to find or hunt down any games of the same vein.

However, back in 2015 there wasn’t a lot of these games, and I struggled with the releases of routes for the mobile apps that I ended up finding the Voltage Otome Fandom on Tumblr. Which was already on fire with passionate people from different POVs and husbandos, however, we were a small group and had a love for these games all the same.

But just like everyone in the fandom, we struggled to find a way to cope while we awaited for a route or new game to come to us. So we spent our time looking for fanfiction, and oh boy did my world get thrown for a loop when I read these either fluff or smut filled stories. It satiated some of my eagerness, but then, it also sparked something that I had long ago crushed to silence.

Ya see, I loved writing since I was a kid, I even RP’ed… But my dreams of even becoming a writer or going to school for an Creative Writing and English degree was crushed very early. Don’t get me wrong, I understand why my parents did what they did, they were hesitant for me to go to school for something other than nursing. Nursing had stability, but what they didn’t realize was that nursing broke my stability of mind and peace.

I’m rambling off point again, sorry….

During my time in the Voltage Fandom, I had started to RP and it gained a certain popularity to a point that one of my favorite fanfiction writers encouraged me to write a story. I was pretty hesitant, because I felt I had no skill since I had stopped writing after high school, but with much anxiety and mixed courage; I found my way to publishing a few fanfiction pieces.

It was after a few of those pieces that I started to get into a momentum of writing and began to feel alive again. When I was done being a nurse in the day, I came straight back to my computer in the afternoon and would just write and write. It was fanfiction at the time, but … one day, a few followers stated I should write a book, or I had incredible skills to be an author.

I remember just thinking that they were insane, because writing is hard… To even try and be a writer in this day and age was preposterous due to the amount of luck and preservation it took to even be noticed. But one person… I will keep their name private since I still talk to them to this day said something that made me realize, it was time to do things my way and screw it with being a complete realist all the time.

“Everyone starts somewhere, whether it’s luck or hard work, you start somewhere.”

While that sounds bland to others, it made complete sense at that time and pushed me to pursue my schooling for a degree in writing. So fanfiction writing… I salute you for bringing me much pain and suffering in pursuing my degree to what I am truly passionate for. The Cruel Cakes of My Forged Wedding to the horrifying kinetic novel of Higurashi No Naku Koro Ni, these games drive my writing and my hope to keep marching.

I keep marching on.

 

The Song of Cinnamon buns

Have I been kicked out of the blogging world yet? I wonder if anyone who clicks my blog titles are frowning or are actually curious if I really wrote a blog about cinnamon buns. Sorry to troll anyone, I just write blog titles that come to mind when I am blogging away.

I’ve never been a good sport at coming up with the most wittiest headliners, and I swear I still struggle with writing the first opening sentence to a book. Sometimes I can bleed onto paper, and let what words course through my veins saturate an entire page with wonders. Other times, I’m playing Jenga with words and Hopscotch with grammar, which, I still am terrible at doing by the way.

I must confess, I am terribly bad at expressing myself personally and even to others. I like to hide behind the face of someone who portrays an intellectual mind veiled in mystery… or insanity, depends on the person. There is a saying that we show our true faces when no one else is around, which I believe is true, which is why I need to talk about cinnamon buns.

At times, I hide behind this strong facade that I can handle not eating sweets anymore and usually I steer clear from any carbs. However, as of late, I’ve been running behind closed doors and munching on cinnamon buns and ice cream. I try not to beat myself up for these slip ups, but I realize more and more that the song of cinnamon buns stems from my own insecurities about control in my life.

Did that even make sense?

I probably never will make sense, regardless of how I wish to sound at least linear to others. So much chatter and babble in this mind of mine.

Grimm Oranges and Sherlock Apples

The titles for my posts are so random that I feel absolutely proud that I can come up with what I feel are witty headliners. Except Grimm Oranges would probably get copyrighted and same with Sherlock Apples. Can you imagine having an orange from some place named Grimm Farms?

For certain if I had found a place that serves oranges with that name I would be jumping to see if I can find fairy tales inside them, or branded onto the peel. Although, I know some of my family members and friends would be mortified to even hear the word ‘Grimm’ in the name of a fruit. They’d probably think the oranges were charcoal colored on the inside or bled onyx liquid… wait that would be a fantastic thing for Halloween (I’ll write that down in my planner).

Then… What about Sherlock Apples? Would we find mysterious clues to heinous murders and crimes, or maybe score a random lucky ticket to meet Benedict Cumberbatch? Either way, I think I’m getting off point on what this blog was supposed to be about…

Oh, right! I wanted to talk about tales and mysteries, since they are a big part of my writer life. I have a miniature library in my room that houses several different versions of fairy tales and fables, and also classics such as Alice in Wonderland. To which I use for references, or to garner facts from when I want a character of mine to represent something from the iconic Jungian Psychology or classic storytelling archetypes. Do I even make sense…?

Practically I think I’m babbling at this point like the Mad Hatter, since I can identify with him in certain aspects and that my mind tends to go awry at times. Maybe I should of named this blog The Apples of March Hare Manor? Since the actual tea party was held at March Hare’s home, but it was called the Mad Tea Party. Which got mistaken a lot over the course of the years of the story re-tellings.

I’m sitting here drinking Tumeric tea and wondering just how out of control I sound on this blog, since I lack structure on keeping to a subject that could possibly make sense. Madder and madder I go, where do the teacups and pot fall, nobody knows…