Ninja Writer

Writing

Why do I roleplay?

Honestly… I roleplay because I love to write and I know my partner at least will be reading it and that they’ll care what happens next in the story. They’re a part of it, so they’re every bit as invested as I am. When I write alone, I don’t get that same feeling. In fact, I start feeling despair the further I go on by myself that everything I’m writing will forever be left unread and it’s depressing. Like what’s the point?

Most of the things I write aren’t things the people around me in real life care about so I don’t show them what I’m writing or get any input. It’s lonely. Roleplay allows me to do my number one favorite thing: write–and it matters to at least the one person I’m writing with. That’s all that matters and all I ever wanted. Being rich and famous? Not really and that’s why I become less motivated to spit out novels as time goes on. Read More

Some Good Advice

Wow, I just saw this linked from a link in an article from Ongoing World’s Facebook page. I fell in love. I’ve been saying this kind of thing for ages but I usually rant in a pretty distinctly harsh way. This guy says it all in a positive tone. I love it! Here’s the link!

Rachel Aseltine R.A. Aseltine is an author and roleplayer living in California with her husband, guinea pig, and five cats. http://raaseltine.com

Follow You

Long, wicked black claws curled around his closet door with a soft tick-tick sound. One narrow red eye peered through the slim opening, glowing imperiously. Everything else in the room was cast in deep shadow. Only that eye and those claws seemed visible in a sea of darkness.
Matthew held his breath and watched. He tried not to move. He tried not to exist. Wide hazel eyes remained fixed on the claws because the eye filled him with cold dread. That eye paralyzed him.
Visions of blood and claw marks flashed through his memory, sepia and red film reeling violently. Matthew could not breathe. He couldn’t think. He closed his eyes. He trembled.
The sound of claws sliding over wood and plaster sent a shiver down his spine.
“Gil,” he whispered, his voice shaking on the single syllable.
He heard Gil’s voice in his head.
“I see them every night, Matt. They’re hunting me.” Read More

School

NOVEMBER 7: school

“Lemme school you on this,” Connor said in his lyrical accent, shaking the can of spray paint in his hand. He regarded the dusty brick wall in front of him with a slightly tilted his head. He took a step forward. “I’ve been doing this since you were in diapers.”

“Uh-huh,” Noel said but he watched Connor with veiled interest in his blue eyes. He sat on an old milk crate turned upside down, hands between his legs and gripping the crate. His black and grey striped tuque was pulled down low enough to cover his eyebrows, covering his piercing. He bit his lower lip and Connor could see him jiggling his right leg before his gaze darted around. Read More

Crashing

It’s a little early but I’m already at that point in my NaNo novel where I hate what I’m writing… Just going to keep chugging along because I want to at least finish this thing but once it’s over, I need to go back to my one of my older novels and get in some editing…

Rachel Aseltine R.A. Aseltine is an author and roleplayer living in California with her husband, guinea pig, and five cats. http://raaseltine.com

Callous

NOVEMBER 6: callous

He stared down the barrel of the gun, imagining how it might feel to pull the trigger.

Loneliness was a bitter ache, deep in his bones. All this time, he thought by remaining detached and callous, he could keep his heart guarded. All this time, he didn’t even believe he had a heart to guard. Who in all this time had he loved as much as his younger brother, whom he loved as much as he resented, whom he missed and who seemed to have forgotten him. Then when they saw one another again, he was met with anger and misunderstandings. Miki was too quick to jump to conclusions. And what must he think of Hiro, deep, deep down, for him to believe that Hiro willingly melted into the shadows and out of his life. Read More

Apricot Excerpt

“How did I get here?”
Her voice still didn’t rise above a whisper. Her voice sounded as pale as Chase looked. Wispy, insubstantial, fragile.
Chase’s lips moved and Iris leaned in close, closer, hoping to hear whatever he kept from her, whatever he held on his tongue. Desperately, he held it but she knew he wanted to share it. She waited. Chase didn’t say it. He averted his gaze. Iris closed her eyes and lifted her head. The heat from the late afternoon sun warmed her, warding off the chill that started deep in the pit of her stomach.
“I was in the atrium,” she tried to explain. Her teeth shook. She felt almost numb from the cold of it. It. Whatever it was.
“I was in the atrium only a few minutes ago. Only a few seconds ago. Chase. Chase…” Her voice shook and rattled. “Chase, please help me.”
“Apricot,” he said. Read More

Memory/Three

NOVEMBER 4: memory

He missed him. Life wasn’t the same without Blue. There were days when he felt close to the end of his rope with him, when he didn’t know how to react to the things he did or said. Those years were long past him, nothing but a distant memory, but they had shaped Raziel into the man he was today. Blue had shaped him into the man he was today.

He missed him. He thought about him all that time he was gone, believing he had died out there. It killed him, his own inaction, his own hand in his demise. And when he discovered he was alive, it killed him that Blue had survived without him. He taught him well, but now he knew Blue was still alive and that there was nothing now between them. They were no longer partners or brothers or whatever it was one would have called them. They were nothing and Raziel had nobody but himself to blame. Read More

Ambitious

The third day’s challenge, also a day late. Hopefully I can get day four done today… On time. Also, I want to say that YAY, I caught up to my NaNo words for the day (hit 6685, might try for more later tonight.)

NOVEMBER 3: ambitious

He sat in the car, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his own knee. His eyes were on the street across from him. Rain hit the windshield. The wipers slid over the raindrops, sliding them from one side to the other. There was a lone boy out on the street, probably about eleven or twelve. He was in that awkward, gangly stage where he was just starting to grow out of his childish stage. His eyes were big and dark, his hair plastered to his head. Read More