The other day I was reading a blog post by impossiblegirl123, author of Life and Other Diasters, that got me thinking. The post was about the author’s favorite books growing up, and I mentioned some of mine in the comment sections. It was then that I noticed something interesting about the books mentioned: several of them had orphans as main characters. From Harry Potter, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Eragon to The Thief Lord and The Bartimaues Trilogy, all these books had at least one parentless child as the protagonist.
Now here’s my question: why? Why are orphans so popular in fiction, especially fiction aimed at children and young adults? It’s not something I’ve considered before, though now that I look at it the orphan trope seems pretty popular. Heck, I use orphans in Reborn City: all the main characters are orphans in one sense or another! So in this post I’m going to try and figure out why orphans are so popular as protagonists, especially when in real life orphans aren’t that lucky to be in harrowing adventures involving magic, love, and mystery (how many series did I just pin down right there?).
1. We want to think good things will happen after horrible events occur. I think that’s the more emotional reason behind the orphan trope. Everybody hopes that after a disaster occurs, such as the loss of parents, we’ll be then blessed by something extraordinary. Having orphan characters, people who have no parents and are affected by their absence in some manner, allows for us to identify with the characters and what we hope would potentially happen to us should, God forbid, we tragically lose our parents before their time.
2. Who needs parents in the way? An orphan cahracter is a parentless character. And how many times would a parent get in the way of a character if they had to set out on a probably very dangerous journey? I’d say 100% of the time. Hence, having an orphan character means parents won’t get in the way of the plot development.
3. Great introspection. Parents help to shape our identities. Orphans are therefore somewhat lacking an identity. During the course of their journeys and adventures, there is plenty of room for an orphaned protagonist to wonder about the important questions, such as “Who am I? What’s my purpose in life? Why was I abandoned to the world? Will I ever find someone who will love me for who I am? Why do terrible monsters keep coming after me?” It’s perfect for authors who love to add a little grounding introspection and character development in the middle of a pulpy action-adventure plot.
4. A morality tale. As children we’re often taught the difference between right and wrong from our parents. When you have a lack of parents, whom do you learn right and wrong from? Do you even get a chance to learn or do you have to figure it out yourself? Do you ever figure it out at all? All of us want to believe that fi we were in horrible situations, like being orphaned at a young age, we’d be just as moral and virtuous as we are in reality (which might be a contributing factor in the continuing popularity of Oliver Twist and Harry Potter, two orphaned boys with incredibly kind dispostitions). Personally I find the story slightly more interesting when the orphan in question has to struggle to be the righteous and confident hero, which will forever put me at odds with the first couple chapters of Sorcerer’s Stone, but you still can’t deny that there’s something about characters who remain good in the face of adversity that just makes you want to love them, right?
From many Brothers Grimm protagonists, to Tom Sawyer and Oliver Twist, to Batman and Spider-Man, to Harry Potter and Eragon, we love orphans in fiction for any number of reasons. The reasons we may include them in our stories may be any of the ones listed above or perhaps an entirely different reason, but the reasons are why orphans are a continuously popular trope in fiction and while they’ll still play large parts in the stories we write for years to come.
Do you have a favorite orphan character? Have you ever written an orphan character? Why do you like the character or why did you use that sort of character archetype?
It’s time for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are part chance to practice my craft, part sounding board to see what works with readers and what doesn’t, and part shameless plug to get people interested in my published work.
If you like or hate this week’s Exercise, please let me know. I appreciate feedback, positive or negative. And if you want to read past Weekly Exercises, please click here.
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Darla led her cousin Will through the fields behind her Daddy’s farm, pulling on his hand as she led him through the tall stalks of corn. She giggled and he laughed, letting himself be pulled along. Overhead, the country moon shown bright above them as they raced for the woods behind Old Man Keller’s house, where they would have some alone time.
Will had come to stay with them this summer because Darla’s Uncle Pete thought that Will’s city friends were bad news, and he wanted Will somewhere away from that sort of environment. Darla didn’t mind at all. She and Will hadn’t seen each other at all since they were both four years old, and in that time Will had gone from a cute little boy to just plain cute. Plus he had that big-city swagger and confidence and that dialect you only heard in the city and in the blockbusters they showed at the theater in town. It made Will that much cooler, and if he didn’t mind, Darla wouldn’t mind herself if they were kissing cousins for the summer.
“So what was your Dad talking about earlier?” asked Will when they reached the woods. “That Owl-Man thing he mentioned?”
Darla groaned; her father had probably figured out that she planned to take Will out to the woods and had tried to make her reconsider by mentioning sightings of the Owl-Man in the woods and in the fields.
“It’s just an old urban legend.” said Darla. “That the guy who owned Keller’s woods before he did was into black magic and one day he cursed himself with an owl’s head, so now he lives in the woods pecking the eyes out of anyone who crosses into his woods and sees him so he can keep his secret. It’s just meant to keep kids from making out in the woods. The real reason why nobody should go in is because Old Man Keller has a gun.”
“Then why are we going in?” asked Will.
“Because it’s the only place nobody goes to make out.” said Darla with a wink. “We’ll have the whole place to ourselves.” Will grinned as they ran into the trees. When they were a ways in, they stopped and Will pulled out two of Daddy’s beer cans from inside his jacket. They were about to take a long deep drink when they heard a branch break. Both froze, looking around in case someone had followed them in. There was no way around.
Shrugging, they toasted each other with the beer cans and took a long gulp. The beer tasted dark and full of teenage rebellion. Darla wiped her mouth and looked at Will. She wondered if this was a good time to see if he wanted to kiss when there was another cracking noise. Will stood up, looking around. “Somebody there?” he shouted.
“Oh, sit down.” said Darla. “It’s probably somebody who had the same idea as us. And if Old Man Keller hears you, he’ll shoot you—Eek!”
A man emerged from the dark, holding a rifle in his hands. Darla couldn’t make out his face very well, but from the smell of tobacco and his girth she was pretty sure that it was Old Man Keller.
“Oh, hi Mr. Keller.” she said. “Um…we were just leaving. So if you don’t mind telling my Daddy about this, that would be great. ‘Kay?”
All Old Man Keller did was fall over onto his belly. Darla jumped away, spilling beer all over her shirt. Why was he so big? And why did he fall down? He had nearly crushed her!
Will turned over Old Man Keller, asking him if he was okay. The next moment he jumped away, his face suddenly green. Darla looked at Old Man Keller and saw that his eyes were missing from their sockets. Darla screamed, dropping her beer can in fright. She must’ve stood there screaming for half a minute before Will pulled her away. They were running away at top speed, heading through the cornfields and back to Darla’s house. When they got there, they stood bent over their knees, breathing hard.
“What was that?” asked Will. “Why were his eyes–?”
“Didn’t I tell you kids not to go out to Old Man Keller’s woods?” said a voice, Darla’s Daddy’s voice. Darla and Will jumped, looking around for Darla’s dad. “Owl Man’s watching for anybody who goes into his woods at night who shouldn’t be there. That includes his own family.”
They looked up and saw a man in a T-shirt and overalls standing on the roof. At first Darla recognized her father and was glad he was there. But then feathers sprouted from his face. And then to her horror he jumped down, his beak clicking loudly for eyeballs to eat.
This morning when I posted on my Facebook page and Twitter feed about Reborn City coming out three days from now, I joked that I couldn’t tell if I was shivering from excitement or from the cold (this year autumn seems to have passed Ohio by and let winter take over early). Later today when I logged onto the Internet after back-to-back classes and quite a bit of homework, I noticed that my sister Adi had posted about RC on Facebook and Twitter as well. It made me very happy and I was glad that she was my sister. It also made me wonder if she’d been replaced by an alien of some sort, which is always a possibility.
But you know, I’ve received a lot of support these past couple of days. My mother told me last night when we went out to dinner she might buy more than one copy of RC, and I’ve had friends, family, and classmates telling me to let them know when it comes out just so they can buy it.
This makes me very hopeful. I’m looking forward to seeing how RC does when it comes out, and I can’t wait to hear what everyone thinks of it, seeing as it’s my first published novel. I guess with the first one you always feel the most trepidation and excitement, because it’s your first time putting a full-length work out on the stands. And when it goes out, you wonder to yourself, will this be my big break? Will people love it or hate it? Will I have an excellent movie made out of it starring the actor from one of my favorite shows?
Okay, that last one was a bit much for a self-published writer with only one other book to his name, but you get the idea,
Anyway, thanks for the all the support, everyone. I can’t do any of this without you constantly reading, liking, commenting, and cheering me on. I hope that when RC comes out you like it and that you’re not afraid to tell me what you think of it, whether it be positive or negative thoughts.
(The following review has more than one spoiler, so if you haven’t finished or even begun reading The Wolves of Midwinter but are planning on it, please don’t read this till you do. Sorry I have to spoil some things, but I can’t do the novel justice in this review without mentioning one or two very important plot points. I’ll try and keep the number of mentions down though.)
This’ll be last review for a while, so I wanted it to be special, and I can’t think of anything more special to review than Anne Rice’s latest novel. Some of you may remember my review last summer of Ms. Rice’s The Wolf Gift. I’m sorry to say that I won’t be using food metaphors this time around, not just because it’s been a couple hours since my last meal, but also because I found it a little ridiculous, looking back, that I was the reviewer who used food metaphors.
Now on with the review.
Anne Rice has a talent for crafting truly extraordinary stories. In another author’s hands, they might seem mundane or boring, but with her hands she’s able to craft a engrossing novel that keeps you reading the story long after you should go to bed. The Wolves of Midwinter is no exception. In this volume of The Wolf Gift Chronicles, protagonist Reuben Golding has some unexpected developments in his life, including the visit of the ghost of a friend of his. This sets the stage for further developments in Reuben’s life as a Man Wolf, as his fellow Morphenkinder Margon and Felix introduce him, fellow pack member Stuart and Reuben’s lover Laura to some more aspects of their strange, immortal world. At the same time, Reuben deals with the changing dynamics of his family as changes in his life and in the lives of his loved ones occur and as his own immortality becomes more apparent to him, sometimes rather painfully.
What do you brood about tonight, dear Morphenkind?
What is most magnificent about The Wolves of Midwinter is that the novel is always engaging even without a central antagonist or conflict to drive the story forward. Sure, there is a dangerous pack of Morphenkinder with some very dark plans for Reuben and his pack, but they are not essential to the plot that without them there would be no story. Indeed, reading the novel you get the sense that you’re reading about several chains of events closely linked to one another like crisscrossing lines of dominoes, and that the dominoes are just falling to their inevitable conclusions in the book you are reading in your hands. I marvel and kind of envy how the novel was written that way (I wish I could write a story like that. I wonder how Ms. Rice learned how to do it?).
The only part of the novel that I didn’t care for was when Reuben gets a little surprise gift a few months before Christmas, he seems to accept the implications rather quickly and give into the demands his family puts on him without much of an argument. I would’ve rather seen a more in-depth exploration of how he reacted to this surprise gift (not to mention how Laura takes it), but the rest of the novel moved along very well, so that was the only complaint I really had. And when you compare it to the rest of the book, it seems a little bit trivial.
My favorite portion of The Wolves of Midwinter was the last hundred or so pages, starting with some terrifying and unexpected events at a Morphenkind Yuletide celebration, followed by some tribulations in the life of Reuben’s brother Jim, and ending in a joyous celebration at the end of the Christmas season that almost makes you want to cry but instead makes you marvel at how masterfully crafted the ending of the story is.
For The Wolves of Midwinter, I’m giving it a 4.4 out of 5. The storytelling and language, the plot, the characters and how they deal with events as they (sometimes literally) hit them, made this a truly enjoyable read. I hope to read more of Reuben’s story in a future volume of The Wolf Gift Chronicles. Either that or another novel in the Songs of the Seraphim series, I love those books.
Oh and speaking of which, congratulations to Ms. Rice for her Song of the Seraphim novel Angel Time getting made into a TV show like Stephen King’s Under the Dome was this past summer. No word yet on when that’ll be happening, but I can already see it in my head and I bet it’s going to be great. I’m kind of seeing Christopher Eccleston as Toby O’Dare and Mehki Phifer or Omar Epps in the role of Malchiah. Don’t know if that’ll actually happen, but I definitely wouldn’t mind if it did..
I’ve decided to post excerpts of my published work on separate pages. From now on, readers can click on any of the pages for the books I have out and read excerpts from the final drafts of each novel/short story collection. So if you’re interested in getting a sneak peek at The Quiet Game, Reborn City or Snake, you can scroll above, click on any of the pages for those works, and find a link to an excerpt.
I hope you get a chance to take a look at them. Each excerpt is carefully selected to give you an idea of what you might be reading should you decide you might want to purchase a hard copy of my published work (or e-copy, as it is these days).
I’m signing off now, but I want to let you know at some point during the week, besides more countdown posts for Reborn City and the usual Weekly Exercise, I also plan to write a reflection piece or two on themes in writing and perhaps a special Halloween post. Oh, and my last review till the Doctor Who 50th anniversary special.
Until then, have a good night everybody! See you later in the week and happy reading!
I got my homework done earlier than I’d expected today, so I’m writing up a blog post to mark up how close Reborn City is to coming out. I’m so excited! I still can’t believe it’s been over four years since I first started writing the story.
To classify RC, it’s dystopian science fiction, but it’s a different science fiction than anything we see in the market these days. Unlike The Hunger Games or Divergent, the world of the story is (at least in my opinion) close enough to this world that we don’t have to totally suspend our disbelief in order to enjoy the story. Instead of just going “Crazy events must have happened to create a state that murders its children from the districts” or “I’m sure there’s a great economic/political/cultural reason behind why Chicago is divided into factions”, I try to make the world slightly more believable. For example, racism, gang violence, and Islamaphobia are still major problems in this world, and the technology, although sometimes pretty incredible, is mostly recognizable to any citizen living in the developed world.
There are things that make the world of RC different though. For instance, buildings can change shape in the future, cars rely on vegetable extracts for food, and hoverbikes have just come into being. Not to mention that some gangsters in this novel have abilities beyond the ordinary. But most importantly, at this point the world of RC is mostly made up of city-states and small nations, and because of the Third World War, most nations and city-states are demilitarized. Now there’s something you don’t see everyday!
Well, it’ll be up to the readers whether or not this world I’ve created is more believable than the worlds of other authors. And they may let me know in any reviews that RC gets. At any rate, I’m just excited for them to read it.
If you’re interested in reading Reborn City, it’ll be available Friday, November 1st, and will be available on Amazon and Smashwords. The print paperback version will be available for $6.99, while the e-book version will be available for $2.99. And I’ll be using the Kindle Matchbook program, so that if you buy a copy of the e-book, you may be eligible for a discounted or even free copy of the print paperback version (at least I think that’s how it works). Anyway, I hope you/’re as excited as I am and I can’t wait to hear what you think when you get the chance to read it.
I didn’t get to do this with The Quiet Game (I forget why), so I’m doing it with Reborn City. Guess what:
Yes, seven days! Reborn City will be coming out November 1st in both print paperback and e-book formats. It’s been a long process, but it’s finally almost time! And I could not be more excited. Well I could be but I’m pretty sure it would involve illegal drugs, so I’ll stay at my normal levels of excitement.
You know, it’s been over four years since I first sat down and started writing Reborn City. I had an idea for a novel–possibly one with a sequel or two–on the way home from the library while listening to a CD with a lot of rap and rock music. I stopped by a Dairy Queen for a treat and started thinking about how to develop this idea, which had street gangs at the center of it and a sci-fi twist. Then at my sister’s birthday, after the cake and presents had been put away, I started writing some notes down in a journal. Then I started researching, and typing a manuscript, and then after many breaks and a lot of painstaking work over the course of two years, I finished the manuscript. Another year and a third of editing, eight months spent emailing chapters to my dear friend Matt Williams and making more adjustment based on his suggestions and the final copy was done. Finally I created a cover on CreateSpace (which you can see above) and I sent it all off to the copyright office.
A few months pass by, a book trailer comes out, and now we’re finally at the end of this long journey. I’m hoping for wonderful things to happen with this book. I’ve poured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into RC, and I hope people really like reading it. It’s not as scary as some of my other work, so that may appeal to less fear-loving readers. And it’s sci-fi dystopian fiction, so considering today’s market that’s good to have.
But there’s more to it than that. The novel tackles some powerful themes, like racism and Islamaphobia, drugs and gang violence, and a number of other issues. And I’m hoping its those themes that will resonate with readers and help them fall in love with characters, rather than some dashing heroine and a couple of good-looking guys rebelling against a government that’s pure evil (how many franchises did I just describe there? I think I got Twilight in there too).
So without further ado, I’m going to give you guys a treat in honor of RC coming out. The first treat is the RC book trailer, which is right underneath the next paragraph. Immediately following the video is an excerpt from Chapter One of RC, for all your reading pleasure. I hope you like the video and the excerpt and that you’ll be interested in reading the actual book afterwards.
Also, if you haven’t already read them, please see my interviews with Zahara Bakur, Rip, and Jason Price, three very important characters from Reborn City. They’re very amazing people…though two of them did threaten to kill me for various reasons.
Reborn City, former Nevada
28 Anno Bombus (2056 CE)
June 28
Zahara and her family had decided to eat out at a restaurant in North Reborn that served kosher meat, the closest they could get to halāl. “I know it’s for Jews mostly, but it’s a very nice place and the Jews were very nice to us in New York.” Zahara’s father, Emir Bakur had said when he’d suggested it. “They know they don’t have to fear Muslims anymore. And the Chaplinsky family in 4F was nice enough, right?”
However Emir had taken a wrong turn on the still-unfamiliar streets and highways and they had somehow ended up in West Reborn. The sight of the place gave Zahara chills, and it just wasn’t the reports of gang violence: the area had a grittiness that Zahara didn’t like. The cold brown houses, the rusty lamp poles, the cracked, light-grey concrete. West Reborn looked unkempt, uncared for, like the city had kept up the other areas of the city but had forgotten about this one. The only buildings that looked in any good condition were casinos, bars, and strip clubs, displaying three-dimensional holograms of cash prizes and sexy women drinking beer while looking at passerby with bedroom eyes. The sight of them disgusted Zahara.
In the front of the car Emir and Aaliyah were arguing, trying to figure out how to get back to where they were going. Zahara closed her eyes and tried to let the music from her filepiece filter into her right ear. Surrendering to the small device, she wondered if she’d ever get out of this city and get back to New York where she belonged. Somehow, Zahara had a feeling she would never come to like Reborn City, no matter how much she lived here.
After a few more minutes of her parents arguing about which direction, Zahara opened her eyes again, prepared to tell them they should just check their phones for the directions. Her eyes widened as she saw an arm swing up from the sidewalk and throw a rock at the windshield. The glass cracked as the rock rebounded off the windshield and into the road. Aaliyah and Zahara screamed as Emir braked the car and jerked at the steering wheel. The car skidded to a screeching halt, the nose pointing towards the middle of the road.
Zahara saw her father unbuckle his seatbelt and before she could stop him, stepping out to inspect the damage. “What in the name of Allah—?” he said, but stopped as he heard the click of a jackknife being opened. He turned around and saw two men, one of whom was holding a long, deadly-looking blade. Leaning forward in her seat, Zahara could make out the details of the two men: both of the men had a ruddy tan complexion, were wearing green clothes, and had looks on their faces that said they did not like making new friends. On the neck of one Zahara could make out what looked like a tattoo of a pitchfork with a sombrero hung over the right prong.
One of them, who was large and muscular, spoke to Zahara’s father. “Hand over yo’ fuckin’ money an’ yo fuckin’ car.” he said with a Spanish accent. “Ya got that?”
“Sure!” said Zahara’s father, holding his hands up defensively, looking so unlike the corporate lawyer he was. “Just take it easy, okay? Just take it easy—!”
“Hurry the fuck up!” said the other man. “Who ya think yo messin’ with, estupido?” This man was thin and gangly and had a strange leer on his face, like he would rather punch Emir than talk to him.
“Okay, okay!” said Emir, backing back up to the door and turning off the engine. Zahara’s mother Aaliyah saw this and as her husband stood back up out of the car, unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door.
“Mother!” said Zahara in English. Aaliyah looked behind her to where her daughter was sitting on the edge of her seat, fists balled in her lap, chewing her lower lip. “Don’t go out there!” Zahara hissed; Zahara rarely used English with her parents and she was only using it now because she didn’t know if these two men in green were fans of Muslims or not. Either way, it was not a good time to find out.
Zahara’s mother looked at her daughter as if she’d gone mad. “I don’t have a choice, Zahara.” she said in Arabic, pushing a loose lock of hair back under her hijab. “Our car is being stolen.” She opened her door and slid out of the seat. Zahara watched with disbelief as her mother closed the car door. Did her mother think things would go peacefully?
Suddenly the skinny gangster stared at Zahara’s mother and pointed at her hijab. “Hey Manny!” said the skinny gangster. “Check out the headscarf. Musulmàns!”
The fat gangster, Manny, stared at Zahara’s mother, then turned back to Emir, his expression livid. “So, you thought you’d get the jump on us, huh?” he said, thrusting the knife at Zahara’s father. “Fuckin’ terrorist! Let us jack ya car an’ explode us too?”
Zahara winced. Fuckin’ terrorist. She had been right, these two men hated Muslims.
“No, that’s not it at all!” said Emir, looking terrified as the skinny gangster pulled out a gun. “Please, you have to believe me—!”
“Shaddup!” yelled Manny, stabbing Emir in the belly. Emir went rigid as the knife plunged into his belly, then collapsed as Manny pulled the blade out. Blood poured out of Zahara’s father, pooling around him in a big red circle.
Aaliyah screamed in horror, staring at her husband as tears flooded down her cheeks. “Emir!” she cried. “Emir—!”
The skinny gangster pulled out his gun and shot Aaliyah in the forehead; her eyes rolled into the back of her head as Zahara’s mother fell lifeless to the ground. Zahara gasped, trying to keep her tears and screams inside herself. If the gangsters saw her they’d kill her too. And maybe…just because she was a teenager and a girl…they’d do other stuff to her, too. Zahara shuddered to think of what they’d do to her if they did that too.
Manny was kicking Emir’s lifeless body casually, making sure he was dead. “Think they’d play us, did they?” he said to his companion. “Fuckin’ terrorists.”
“Yeah, well they’re shittin’ in hell now.” said the skinny gangster. “Shows what happens when ya mess with Diablos.”
“Yeah.” said Manny, looking up from Emir’s body. “Come on, let’s go—wait a minute.” Manny’s piggy little eyes fixed on Zahara in the backseat of her parent’s car. Zahara squeaked as Manny took two steps towards her. “Yo, Che. Come check this out.” Manny called to his friend, followed by something in Spanish. Zahara nearly froze up as she realized she’d been discovered.
Quickly Zahara unbuckled her seatbelt, threw open the car door and ran, throwing her filepiece as a distraction. Manny and Che jumped back as the filepiece hit the ground, probably thinking it was a grenade or something. By the time they realized their mistake, Zahara already had a head start on them. They set off after her, angrily yelling in Spanish at her. Zahara turned around, saw them catching up, and ran faster, determined to get away.
As Zahara ran, bumping into people and flying past holograms, she began to cry; her parents were dead, she was miles away from any familiar place and with no familiar people to help her. The heartache she was feeling was so intense that she could just keel over and die, but she wouldn’t die here, and she would not let herself be caught by the gangsters chasing after her. She’d get out of West Reborn, find the house (she still hadn’t thought of it as “home” yet), and then she’d call New York and get help. Or maybe kill herself. Either way, she had to get out.
The gangsters were only a few feet behind her. But a few blocks ahead there was a police station. Maybe, if she was able to get there, she’d be safe. She could tell the police what was going on, they’d arrest her parents’ murderers, and then she could go back to New York—
Suddenly Zahara tripped on a shifted slab of concrete and fell. Thrusting her hands out in front of her, Zahara cried out as she scraped her hands and knees. She tried to stand up again but then someone grabbed her shirt from behind and yanked her up. Zahara stared into the faces of Manny and Che, the Hispanic gangsters who had murdered her parents. Che grabbed Zahara’s arms and twisted them into a painful armlock.
“Hello, Little Miss Terrorist.” said Manny. “Thought ya could get away so easily. Thought the po-po would help ya out. Wrong!”
Both of them laughed cruelly, and Manny brought out his knife, holding it close to Zahara’s jugular. The blade gleamed with the blood of Zahara’s father still fresh on it. Che and Manny laughed harder at the expression on Zahara’s face. “The po-po are just pussies.” said Che. “Fuckin’ pussies. They couldn’t catch us an’ throw us in the clink, an’ they would never help a fuckin’ Musalmàn. Besides, even if they would, them assholes can’t see us. It’s dark out, ya know.”
Manny pressed his face close to Zahara’s, grinning wickedly. The foul smell of his breath wafted over Zahara’s face, making her want to puke. “And the nearest streetlamp is right ovuh there.” he added, cocking his head in the direction of the lonely streetlamp.
With a great effort Zahara twisted her head away from the knife. “Somebody help me!” she screamed.
“No one’s gonna fuckin’ come to your rescue, Little Miss Terrorist.” said Manny, pressing the blade to Zahara’s neck; a little bit of Zahara’s blood trickled onto the knife, mixing with Emir’s. Zahara whimpered as Manny pressed his face even closer than before, so close she could see the pupils in his beady eyes. Behind her Zahara could feel Che’s hot breath on the nape of her neck.
Suddenly Manny’s free hand swooped down and grabbed the button on Zahara’s pants, undoing it in an instant. His hand reached into her pants and began feeling around.
“No, please.” said Zahara, tears spilling from the corner of her eyes. “Please don’t do this—!”
“Shaddup!” said Manny, looking up from what he was doing; Zahara felt the blade of the knife dig a little deeper into her neck. “Ya shaddup an’ try ta enjoy it. Maybe aftowards we’ll let ya kill yoself, got it? But no bombs; ya might hurt someone.”
Che giggled as Manny worked Zahara’s pants off, exposing her white underwear. As he did Zahara felt the fight go out of her. She was going to die and painfully too and at the hands of her parents’ murderers. She’d never see her friends again, she’d never see her parents again, and like the two men had said, no one was going to help her—
“What ya mothas doin’?” said a voice. Zahara looked away from Manny as a figure dressed in a black hoodie and jeans stepped into the lamplight. Manny paused and then stood up, pulling the knife away from Zahara’s neck.
As he did Zahara felt her energy disappear. Black edged into her field of vision as Zahara strained to discern the face of the newcomer. But the darkness took her and Zahara couldn’t see his face. The last thing Zahara thought before she fainted was that she would’ve liked to see the face of her potential rescuer.
That, and how embarrassed she was that her pants were lying uselessly around her ankles.
It may break some hearts, but I’m taking a break from writing. And believe me, I don’t want to. I’d rather be sitting on the couch writing short stories, novels, articles, and blog posts, celebrating afterwards with whatever book or TV on DVD I have at hand at the moment.
Just a couple problems. One is that I’m a full-time student with five classes all assigning a ton of homework at the same time. I hate it, but I have to attend class and get my homework done on time. And that’s time consuming. Plus I work about ten to twelve hours a week, and I have responsibilities as resident manager of my building, and I have a ton of reading that’s piled up so I want to get through it before it’s all due back at the library and–somebody stop me!
In any case, I have too much to do to write my fiction regularly. So for the time being, I’ll be restricting my non-school writing activities to some light editing, the occasional blog post, and Weekly Exercises. Yes, I know it’s terrible. I know you want to cry. But dry your tears, it’s only temporary. I’ll probably be free to write again soon. And Reborn City is coming out soon, so there’s no reason to fret. There, all better right?
Honestly, I have no idea who I’m comforting. I’m just trying to see if I can make someone laugh.
Well, until the next post (whenever that may be), have a good evening folks.
It’s time once again for my Weekly Exercises. These flash fiction pieces are my chance to practice my craft. They also act as sounding boards for readers to comment on how I’m doing, and they’re my shameless plug to get people interested in my published work.
This one’s a special one, since it’s number 10. Ten weeks in a row, plugging these things out. It’s been quite fun writing them and I’m constantly looking for new ideas for an exercise (and if you have one let me know. I may just write an exercise based on a suggestion, and you’ll get a mention). For this week’s exercise, I decided to do something a little special. I wrote a piece about an obsessed fan, but I changed a few things around for this piece. It’s always nice to try something original.
If you have any thoughts, please let me know. I love getting feedback from readers, which is partly what the Weekly Exercises are for. Also, if you want to take a look at any other exercises, you can check out the Weekly Exercises page.
Enjoy!
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Katie loved the books of Emma Davies, stories of love and swashbuckling adventure on the high seas. She had probably read the Vivian Carpenter books a dozen times, cried each of the five times she’d read The Admiral’s Daughter, and when Davies’ latest book, Shanghai Bride, had come out, Katie had stayed up for two days straight reading it, pouring over the text, imagining the characters in her mind, gushing over each and every word in the book.
And sometimes, when she was alone at her apartment or at work or those rare opportunities when she was the only rider on the bus, she would kiss Emma Davies’ photo on the back of her paperbacks, kiss it like she’d never kissed anyone before. She loved the woman, blue eyes and blonde hair with pink highlights. Emma Davies loved Katie too, she knew it. Every book had been written for her, coded as a fun adventure story as well as a romance-filled love letter to Katie. Oh, when would Katie and Emma Davies be united at last? She couldn’t stand the wait!
So Katie packed up her bags and drove out to New Hampshire, where Emma Davies was supposed to live. It took some time, but Katie tracked Emma down to a lovely Victorian mansion in Concord with a brick wall encircling it. Oh, Katie wanted their wedding here! She climbed over the wall, tiptoed through the lawn to the back and was trying to unlock the back door when she felt a sharp pain on the top of her head and passed out.
When she woke up, her head hurt, she was in a dark room with only a single light bulb and no windows. Emma Davies stood before her, wearing a white silk kimono and frowning angrily. Overjoyed to be finally united with her, Katie tried to get up and hug her, but found she had been tied with chains and had a gag in her mouth. She tried to shout through the gag to Emma, but the beautiful woman only scoffed.
“Did you think that I would be happy to find you on my lawn?” she said, shaking her head. “I mean, I get how popular I am with my fans. I’ve hugged crying women more times than I can count at book signings and in the supermarket and while getting my hair done at Aveda. But honestly, if you’re going to sneak onto private property, you should know there are some consequences. So what do you have to say for yourself?”
Emma removed the gag. Katie sucked in a lungful of air. “Emma, I love you!” she cried, tears falling down her face. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Oh, I love you too.” said Emma, kissing Katie’s forehead. “I love all my fans very dearly. But the ones who go the extra mile and think their love trumps my personal space must be punished when they step out of line.”
“What do you mean?” asked Katie, but as she spoke Emma picked up a chainsaw from the corner. Seeing it, she realized what was happening. She screamed.
“Oh, don’t scream.” said Emma, pulling the chainsaw’s cord. “It’ll be quick. And besides, you’ll be remembered. Once this kimono’s soaked up your blood, I’ll frame it in my office. I tell people the bloody kimonos I collect once belonged to a little-known pirate who was a terrible sadist. It’s a hoot how they buy it up. And yours make six. One for every book I’ve written! How exciting.”
Today I do the last character interview before Reborn City comes out in two weeks. And today I’m interviewing Jason Price, CEO of the Parthenon Company and the main antagonist of the novel. Price is one of those characters that is full of himself and full of hate and power. He’s a dangerous character, and I would not want to get on his bad side.
If you would like to read my other character interviews with Zahara Bakur and Rip, click on the links.
Now here’s Jason Price:
Notes and Stats:
Sex: male Age: 65 Race/Ethnicity: African-American Birthday: December 12th Eye color: Brown Hair color: White (originally black) Religion: atheist Affiliation: Parthenon Company Special Powers/Abilities: Went to the University of Michigan as an undergraduate before earning a degree in biochemistry. Later joined the United States Army as a lieutenant before being honorably discharged and joining the Parthenon Company. Later became a member of Parthenon’s board and then its CEO. Notes from the Author: I based Jason Price on Samuel L. Jackson visually, but his character is based on a number of different villains. He’s a war-monger, a corporate executive with no conscience, a racist, and he’s just plain nasty. For a man of his age he’s still incredibly fit, his mental acuity is undiminished, his vision is unshakeable and he’s very dangerous to mess with. Go against him at your own risk.
RU: Mr. Pirce, it’s a pleasure to meet you.
Price: Where the hell am I?
RU: That’s not important. Mr. Price, I know you are the head of Parthenon Company. Could you tell me a little bit about what your company does?
Price: Parthenon is an entertainment corporation that also leads several cities whose main business is entertainment, such as Reborn City, Seattle, and Marvolo, the new adventure hotspot for families and adults. Our corporation is based in Reborn City and we’re also currently expanding our enterprises into virtual reality video games, as well as travel, new forms of music, and–
RU: Enough with the salesman’s pitch. Didn’t Parthenon used to be a weapons developer and supplier for the military?
Price: True, but after the Third World War we became an entertainment corporation. We started with Reborn City, and through trial and error we’ve become one of the biggest suppliers of fun on the North American continent and in the world.
RU: So you guys aren’t working on anything military? Nothing that might involve the Hydras in West Reborn?
Price: How’d you know about that?
RU: I’m clever that way. So you don’t deny the Hydras and Parthenon are linked?
Price: Look kid, I don’t know who you are or how you know about our involvement with the Hydras, but if you poke a dragon, prepare to get roasted.
RU: Sounds tasty. Now tell me, why would an entertainment compnany that’s supposedly left the weapons industry still be working on weapons projects, especially projects that might still be considered illegal by other city and nation-states?
Price: Oh, don’t get into the legal crap with me, boy! It’s only a matter of time before some Adolf Hitler or Osama bin Laden comes along with plans to destroy the free world. And guess who’s going to be supplying the weapons when that person does show up?
RU: Okay, better safe than sorry. I get it. By the way, can I get a tour of the Facility underneath Parthenon World Headquarters?
Price: You know too much.
RU: Yikes! That’s a gun! He’s pointing a gun at my head! Okay, time to cut the interview short! Join me next week when I give you readers a preview of the first chapter of Reborn City itself…that is if I survive till next week! Help me!
Rami Ungar The Writer 