You asked...

Before I continue with this post, I wanted to say thank you so very much for your recent blog comments. Every time you comment on this blog, I receive an e-mail notification, and it's just so great reading them throughout my day. They really do make me smile!

Speaking about comments, Claire posted this comment yesterday for this post:

Well, if you really want to read it... ;)

I'm currently writing the first draft of my novel, which is tentatively called Catching Fireflies. What is it about? Well, I like to think of it as an anti-love story. It's more like a mystery story meets a ghost story meets a love story. Or something like that.

I am writing this story for NaNoWriMo, which means I want to have 50,000 words completed by November 30th. Yikes! I hope to meet that goal, but I'm also being realistic with myself. If I don't reach it, it won't be a great tragedy. If I get to finish the novel at all, it will be a great success, however, because I've never been able to finish a novel before. I tend to write only short stories and poems since I have such a short attention span.

I am currently writing Catching Fireflies on the collaborative writing site Protagonize, and you can follow my updates (and leave ratings and comments) here. In addition, I created a blog just for my story, which you can access here:

http://www.catchingfireflies.net/

I welcome your comments & critique for my story! I've included the prologue to my novel below for you to read. Please let me know what you think. :)

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Prologue

I run faster, even though the stitch in my side is now a throbbing mass of pain, even though there is now the taste of blood in my mouth, the metal tang of it heavy on my tongue. I fall twice, tearing my jeans open at the knees and skinning them, but I don’t stop. My legs are propelled forward by something stronger than urgency, harder than fear.

What if it isn’t her? What if I'm just chasing a stranger? Or worse – an illusion? Have I finally cracked? I’ve been mourning her for almost a year. Surely, that is enough time to come to terms with her loss. I should be better by now, fully functional and all that. I know this. Or at least, the rational side of me does. But I haven’t been able to sleep a full night in months and my stomach still turns at the thought of food. Even though I force myself to eat at least one full meal a day, I’ve dropped a few pant sizes. My sister Angie has been threatening to force-feed me, which is something she normally threatens to do, us being Italian and all that, but there is an undertone of menace to her threats now.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Jack. It’s not your fault she died.”

“Who says she’s dead? The authorities still list her as missing. And I’m not doing anything to myself.”

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately, hon? You’re practically a skeleton. You’ve got to take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine. You and Mom need to get off my case already. I’m fine.”

“I think Mom’s right. Maybe you should see a shrink.”

That conversation took place about a month ago, and it was the last time we’d spoken. I’d stormed out of her house, slamming the door so hard the windows shook. Her pleading voice cut short. I won’t pretend I don’t miss my sister, but I will be honest and admit I miss her more. Her absence feels like a vital part of me has been amputated, leaving a gaping hole in its place. Nothing can fill it – not food, not another girl (though my friends have tried to convince me this is the antidote I need), nothing.

Speaking of nothing, my wild goose chase hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I’ve been chasing her phantom for countless blocks now, all for nothing. I come to a stop at a corner, forced to a standstill by the oncoming traffic. And that is when I see her again. She's standing on the opposite corner, facing the horizon. The setting sun making her golden hair catch fire. There is a look on her face I couldn’t read. Is it sadness or peace? I can’t tell. I can’t breathe. I just stare at her, drinking her in like a drowning man, feeling her presence fill my lungs, my heart.

Then she turns towards me suddenly and smiles her special smile, the smile she reserves especially for me, the one that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners and a dimple appear in her chin. She looks exactly the same. Exactly. Her green eyes sparkling at me. Her lips curving in a mischievous grin. Her name bubbles up to my lips, and I feel myself step off the curb, preparing to run toward her. But then the light changes and the cars spring forward, angry honks startling me back onto the curb. The traffic blocks the opposite corner, and I try in vain to peer over it, to catch her eyes again.

When the light changes back, she's gone.

Read more here:

http://www.catchingfireflies.net/

Are you doing NaNoWriMo, too?

This is my first year doing NaNoWriMo. Sorry, if that sounds dirty -- I just realized you may not know what NaNoWriMo is (you can come out from beneath your rock now). It stands for National Novel Reading Month, and it's held every November. You can go here to learn more: http://www.nanowrimo.org/

I haven't been able to participate in it in previous years due to work or school or sheer fear. But this year, I decided to give it a go. I was riding high on a wave of optimism after successfully completing my master's thesis, plus I've had an idea for an Actual Novel simmering in my brain for a while. I've never written a novel before, just lots of short stories, and I know my dream of getting published has a better chance of coming true if I can write a novel.

So basically I'm writing a novel. Of at least 50,000 words. In 30 days. (eeeeeep!)

I am posting my story on Protagonize.com as I go along because the site owner, Nick B, has kindly opened a word count feature PLUS he's holding a contest. I am a sucker for contests, so of course I had to enter. After I finished writing for the day last night, I realized my story had been chosen as Protagonize's featured story of the day. This made my day! Which is saying a lot if you know anything about the poll results in Florida. :-(

But I guess I should focus on the positive and soldier on. 50,000 words, here I come!

Are you participating in NaNoWriMo, too? Give me your link in the comments so we can be writing buddies! Click on the button above to be taken to my NaNo page. And if you want to read my story, Catching Fireflies, go here.

a Rose by any other name...

So I have this gorgeous bloggy/Protagonize friend named Roseanna who is competing to become the next face of Zuneta. She's seriously gorgeous. I mean, just look at her:

She's got 71 votes so far, but she needs 65 more to make it into the top ten. Please do me a favor and vote for Roseanna! Not only is she beautiful on the outside, but she is truly a lovely person on the inside, where it counts most. :-)

VOTE FOR ROSE!

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All content on this site is the sole property of Ana Cristina Simon, unless otherwise stated, and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Where have the fireflies gone?

We are entering summer, that newly discovered territory of humid, sticky nights and ice cream that melts in your hand and fireflies that flirt with the stars.

I miss fireflies. I used to see more of them as a child. I don't know if it's light pollution or pollution-pollution, or what, but I haven't seen them in a while. I've always liked the idea of trapping them in a jar just to watch them light it up, but something about this always seemed cruel to me, too. So I've never done it. Have you?

So I started writing this story today. It's about a boy and a girl and fireflies. :D For once, the story came to me fully formed. This doesn't always happen. My mind is like a halfway home for characters -- they come, get fed and clothed, and then leave and I never hear from them again. But not these two. They walked in, pulled up some chairs and asked how long they could stay.

I hope they stay a while! Here's what I have so far. Please comment with your thoughts -- they're much appreciated.

Fireflies

She turned away from me laughing, her hand reaching up to open a cupboard. We were in her kitchen. The spare light of evening lay in between us like a gossamer blanket. That transparent. That full of possibilities, of stones unturned and doors unopened.

She opened the cupboard, her profile in sharp relief against the raised wood of the cupboard door. She had a classic face with an upturned nose, a delicate jaw, and obsidian eyes that flashed fire whenever she was excited over something. A face made for cameos, made for photographs taken in sepia.

I cupped my face in my hands and just stared, drinking her in. She hummed lightly as she rooted around in the cupboard, a habit of hers whenever she was concentrating. I couldn’t discern the tune and this bothered me, somehow.

“Ah, here it is,” she sighed with satisfaction as she removed a large mason jar from the cupboard.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

She turned towards me with a ready smile. “This is for the fireflies you and I are going to catch tonight.”

"Do you know I've never seen a firefly?"

She closed the cupboard and turned toward me, her wide eyes even wider in her small face. "Really?"

"Yeah. I didn't even know we had them here in Miami."

"Well, you are going to see your first firefly tonight, buster. Just you stick with me."

I felt like telling her I'd stick with her no matter what, to remind her I'd been sticking with her since the seventh grade. But I've learned there are moments you speak up and moments you keep the words inside, hidden, waiting for the day when you'll really need them.

This is not a love story. Let me make that clear. Love stories have definitive beginnings and definitive endings. A plot, a conflict, and a resolution -- the sickly sweet happy ending where our happy couple skips off into the sunset, hand in hand, while the violins thrum madly in the background.

That's not going to happen here. At least, I don't see it happening. Ever. And I'm OK with that. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

But I suppose I should fashion a beginning of sorts, since I still have your attention.

I met Ingrid in the seventh grade. I was the nerd with glasses and the knobby knees and the voice that couldn't decide whether it was treble or baritone. She was the bully with buck teeth and pigtails.

I was down on my knees in the playground, the glasses having been knocked off my face by my friendly classmate Jose. I was blind as a bat's grandmother and couldn't see where my glasses had landed. The next thing I knew, a foot landed in my face and I landed on my back with a breathless "oof!" that sounded somehow comical, like something from a cartoon. Only I wasn't laughing. I was crying. Jose was now on top of me, punching me repeatedly in the nose. There was both dirt and blood in my mouth.

"What's going on here?" came the strident voice I recognized from my third period Social Studies class. It belonged to the girl with buck teeth and pigtails, the one whose hand was perpetually in the air, the one who always had the right answers. The one who cut everyone else in line in the cafeteria and nobody bothered because she was taller than the tallest boy in the whole school. If anything, I was more scared of her than of Jose.

'Why don't you mind your own business, Beaver."

That was the name everyone called her behind her back. This may have been the first time anyone had dared to say it to her face.

"What. Did. You. Just. Say," she said in a menacing voice. I was inching away from Jose, having found my glasses near a bush. I could dimly see that a large crowd was gathering around us, the noiseless hush of their attention gathering more students.

I shoved my glasses back on and winced. The nose was definitely broken. But at least I could see again. And Jose was looking mighty nervous. I watched him gulp and stutter over a response. Watched her hand flash forward and (wonder of wonders) karate chop him. Watched him crumple to the ground in a messy heap.

Watched her head my way, a purposeful look on her face.

Before I could even blink, she was reaching out a hand towards me. I'll admit it -- I flinched. So would have you after having witnessed the Karate Kid in action.

"The name's Ingrid. I think you're in my Science class."

"A-A-Actually, it's Social Studies. And my name is Jack."

"Whatever. It's nice to meet you, Jack."

Her hand was warm in my hand. Her smile was warm, too. I smiled back nervously but then stopped when I realized the action made my face hurt.

"Come on, Jack," she said, still holding on to my hand with a resolute grip. "Let's go get you some ice."

ETA: Thanks to everyone who's commented on this story! I've published it on Protagonize.com and will keep adding to it there. If you'd like to keep up with the story, you can read it here.

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All content on this site is the sole property of Ana Cristina Simon, unless otherwise stated, and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

I protagonize, therefore I am.

One of my most favorite sites, Protagonize.com, is currently up for an award at the LPV7. The category? Startup Most Likely to Succeed.

Personally, I feel this site already has succeeded -- in the six or so months I have been a member of this creative/collaborative writing site, many (and I mean many) new members have joined, plus the founder and one-man-band for the site, Nick Bouton, has recently added a slew of new features that make the site easier to manage plus more aesthetically pleasing, too.

One of the new features is a team of moderators to help Nick manage the 6,000+ authors. I applied, hoping I'd get picked but not really expecting much because I hadn't even been a member of the site for a year. Well, I was picked! :)

I'm excited to do my part to help the site grow because it truly is a wonderful community. It started out as a sort of life raft for me, a source of relief after the creative writing site Ficlets.com went defunct. It surprised me how well I took to the new site, despite the fact that its features were quite different from Ficlets. And that's a testament to how user-friendly Protagonize.com is and how much Nick deserves this award.

If you're a writer who is looking to receive some outside critique, or if you just want to flex your creative muscle, I recommend signing up on Protagonize.com. Please check out Nick's video below and vote his site as the Startup Most Likely to Succeed!

Want to become a member of Protagonize? Go here!
Check out my posts on Protagonize.

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All content on this site is the sole property of Ana Cristina Simon, unless otherwise stated, and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Protagonist's Diary

I wrote this on Protagonize as my diary entry for today. It really details what happened yesterday, but whatever. :p

January 10 - The 2009 Protagonists' Diarymature

Dear Diary,

No, scratch that.

Hello, self.

Eh, I don't know ... Too too. I'll try again.

The sky was the most perfect shade of blue today. I woke up with the knowledge that today would be a good day. A day for puzzle pieces to snap into place, for long-lost objects to be found, epiphanies gained.

To my utter surprise and joy, I wasn't disappointed.

Work was good -- the students were on task, they actually laughed at my corny jokes, and they asked all the right questions. Days like today make my joke of a paycheck seem (almost) worthwhile.

And I saw a great film on DVD this afternoon, this Japanese film called "Millennium Actress." It was beautiful and heart-wrenching in that way that makes you want to jump up in the middle of the movie and write. (Read: I sometimes do this, to the bemusement of the boyf.)

Speaking about writing, I got a good idea this morning in the shower (where I do my best thinking) about this story I've been stuck on for days. I thought I had lost the strand, but it wasn't lost -- it just wasn't where I expected it to be.

So all in all, it was a pretty good day. What's interesting about today is that yesterday, I was feeling a bit blue. For no reason really at all, I was prone to tears and sensitive to every little thing. I felt like a walking open sore -- everything stung, everything felt like an affront.

So I was tempted to close myself, to shut myself in today. I'm glad I didn't. I would've missed this good day.

Diary, I need to remember to be more open. To receive life as it comes. I know I can be too sensitive sometimes. There's a line from a Tori Amos song I love,"My heart is like the ocean / It gets in the way." I think I love those lyrics partly because they mirror how I see myself.

I need to stop thinking of my heart as an obstacle. I need to realize that my heart is like the ocean, not because it gets in the way, but because it collects the drops of everyday. Because it has the power to give back, to provide rivers of truth and understanding.

I will remember to guide myself by its ebb and flow from now on, no matter what tomorrow brings.

Feeling Blah

I woke up feeling blah. I know it's partly because of Andres, quien viene cada mes, (ladies, I know you understood that, even if you don't speak Spanish!), but it also has to do with the fact that my vacation is running out. Le sigh!

I have a veritable Mount Everest of papers to grade, upon which I will get started shortly. I still need to research some more laptops, as I am looking into getting a new one sometime this week. PLUS, I need to find me an outfit for New Year's Eve. There are simply not enough hours in the day.

I've spent entirely too much time today on Protagonize. But at least I've been promoted to rank 3, which is inexplicably called "Daredevil." And even more inexplicably, I'm now ranked in the top 50, standing (surprised) at 32. I don't know how I got that, and I'm bemused as heck, but also happy.

Oh well, back to the world outside my computer! Time to do some groceries and then begin my long, weary climb up Mount Everest.