Tag Archives: Inspiration

Impressions of China: Landmarks

One of the items on my bucket list has always been to walk down the path along the Great Wall of China. I don’t know where the desire came from, since I’ve also always wondered if it was built to protect the country from intruders or to keep the people from escaping. Its majesty, its insane height, its steep stairs and even steeper trails left me breathless.

 

After a few days of walking through crowded streets and the omnipresent smog, I needed a little rest from the over-stimulation, so I visited Beihai park – beautiful and huge, its lake with water lilies reminded me of how nature, trees and water are so important in a city so big. And as always, I noticed the details on the simple stair rail.

 

I’m no fan of imperial monuments, blame it on my conscience, so I passed quickly through the many (and similar) buildings to find peace and a little quiet in the park right behind them. It was impossible to approach the gorgeous old trees, but interestingly shaped rocks were in abundance.

 

I’m a writer, so I read a lot. One of the spots I had to visit was Lao Tse’s home, and to my surprise, I found it in a tiny alleyway between decrepit hutongs. His was perfectly kept, though, since it’s been renovated into a museum.

 

What I sought next was architecture, details, what makes Beijing different from other Chinese cities. I think I found it, and will show you in my conclusion, next week.


Impressions of China: The Arts

In order to have a visitor’s visa request accepted, I was asked to lie about being a writer, otherwise I wouldn’t be granted access into China. So I was left with the impression that artists weren’t allowed to express themselves, that they were scared into silence and never revealed what’s inside them.

I’m used to going to the art galleries sparsely spread across Montreal and the suburbs – so imagine my surprise when I arrived at the 798 district, as big as a small town, where streets upon streets welcome art lovers into galleries and little boutiques. I *almost* want to live in one of those industrial quarters where Art lives and breathes.

You can find sculptures at the end of a street, next to a parking lot, hiding ugly highways. Some also tower over you, reminding you that there’s always someone watching over your shoulder, whether you think you’re free or not.

There are monsters bouncing and others waiting to have their pictures taken – because a big part of the culture is this easiness to remain young at heart, laugh like children and enjoy the cute and silly, like this guy.

As I walked the 798 district, I wondered if Art changed the views of the people, if years of communism had been forgotten with their ‘end’, if artists found ways other than the written word to express their oppression and anger. I guess I found it, whether you see this fist as smashing down on people or you imagine it to represent freedom, rising up in the air.

 

As beautiful as the 798 district was, I wanted to see landmarks, those I’ve read about in books for years and never imagined seeing up close and personal. Until next week, my friends.


Scribbles Blog Hop

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always loved good quality paper, and certainly a good journal. Thick but not heavy, long but not wide, a hard-cover without too much glitz. I can spend hours looking, touching, sniffing journals in a bookstore, and if I really want to treat myself, I make a detour to L’Essence du Papier

My journals through the years

There’s a certain excitement when I find a good journal: it’s the possibilities. Maybe my next book will be written on these pages * Maybe these pages will be inked with my next big project * Maybe this new story will change my life. And this goes through my head every time I start a new one…

The uncompromising list of characters for Wild Swan

I keep one by my bed – since most of my problems are solved at night, between the click of the light and the beginning of my dreams – one in the bathroom – because my best ideas come in the shower – one in my handbag – for flashes that begin from a conversation heard in a coffee shop, bookstore, ladies room. Oh, and there’s my main journal, the one I always have handy in my office, by the computer, for story development and outlining.

Misery of Me flashes, since published in Tattered Souls 2

It often starts with a scene between characters, a glimpse of a futuristic world, a dream that leaves a lasting impression. And anything can spark the flame: a melody heard on the radio, an art piece on a wall, the way the sun’s rays hit the color of my antique trunk…This is what I love about creating worlds and people: anything can happen.

 

Happy writing, and don’t forget to visit my fellow Scribbles Blog Hoppers:

Pocket-size & pretty ♥

**In honor of the first Scribbles Blog Hop, I’m giving away this small and practical dark blue/white journal to anyone who leaves a comment & subscribes to my blog. I’ll draw one lucky winner on Monday the 14th of November, noon-ish.**


Impressions of China: Between Extremes

I was fortunate enough to visit Beijing in October, and I was told many times how much I’d hate it: too polluted, too crowded, too noisy. What no one ever said was what could be found in the gap between the extremes.

For every glare there was a smile; people spat next to my shoes and some bowed after we bumped into each other; many stared at my height and pale skin while a few connected with me for a short moment.

It’s hard to try and understand the complexity of this culture that is not only at the other end of the world, but that has such different principles from my own.

The hotel was right smack in the middle of the Forbidden City, where gorgeous parks are filled with old people moving slowly through Tai Chi positions, bordered by jam-packed streets where you can easily get killed if you don’t check to your right, left, up, down, back and front, and then do it all over again fifteen times.

I still can’t believe I made it home, with all the bicycles, scooters, cars and tourist busses trying really hard to get a piece of me.

Hutongs can still be seen, if one looks hard enough. But what you cannot miss are the countless condos built for the rich citizens, the government funded museums and new constructions pushing the struggling poor people away to the countryside to be forgotten. Misery meets prosperity, and it’s very hard to watch.

Every damn time I stepped into a taxi, I felt dizzy and nauseated. At first, I blamed the erratic drivers, but then I realized when driving down a street, racing up one of the 6 ring roads or getting stuck in the middle of traffic, I was breathing in so much pollution, it made me ill.

And some mornings, away from the crazy-busy streets, it got difficult to see the landmarks.

So what did I find between the gap? People who work hard to survive, a population that endures a lot and doesn’t get much in return, a country on the verge of imploding when the rest of the world isn’t ready. In the land of contrasts, I got curious as to what makes the heart of the city beat, which I think I found…

Toa chie, good people.


The Birdman

A friend’s new avatar picture + Ghost Hunters gang visiting an abandoned prison where a man was said to tame crows = new #FridayFlash for you to enjoy, good people.

The Birdman

So carefully he let go of the last crow, its wings flapping in a fury of feathers until it reached the October sky. So high the bars at the window he’d never reach, the rain and snow and hail always finding ways to remind him you need wind to fly.

Every limb disjointed and broken, the guards bruised and wounded him with their fists until he fell apart. His soul, the birds beaked and scratched into a secret escape.

Each carrying a part of the man, free at last.

With the morning came promises of torture, but the guards found an echo of emptiness, no crooked bars at the window, no tricks pulled at the lock. In the fog around the prison, birds flew high and above, each carrying a part of the man, free at last.


Epiphany (and giveaway winner)

It happens while I’m driving, taking a shower or walking – every darn time I don’t have a pen and piece of paper handy – and it always surprises me with a bucket of ideas with not enough brains to hold them all in. Oh yes, when Epiphany strikes, you better be ready cause she’s not a frequent visitor, not in my neck of the woods, anyway.

This time, it was so unexpected, I almost confused Her with the hallucinogenic side effects from standing so close to potheads in the crowd of an Arcade Fire concert. There I was, enjoying Power Out, when She hit me right in the head.

I’ve been working on this script-turned-novel for a while, now: my own version of Swan Lake, the ballet by Tchaïkovsky. I’ve been obsessed with it ever since I first started taking classical ballet, and it got me into finals at screenwriting contests, but I never really LOVED it – not like I do Rebel, I never connected as much with it. So what’s wrong with it?

I’m not a fan of magic and I hate prince/princess stories, that’s what. My carefully faithful adaptation was full of it, as was my novel’s first draft – but how to change such a big part of the story? How to make it mine without taking out the humans turning into birds and the doomed love story?

Well, thanks to a combination of strong whiffs of marijuana, good music and my old gal Epiphany, I have found it. Swan Lake is about to become Wild Swan, a super-duper dark YA fantasy that deals with unrequited love, a powerful druglord, and learning to fly.

The lesson in this? It hits you when you think you’ll never find a solution and you’re sure to fail.

Congrats to Cherie who won my Tattered Souls V2 copy!!


Chatting with Samantha Young

Here is one hell of a YA fantasy writer who is not afraid of the dark…

AM: The world around the Soul Eaters is really unique, but what strikes me as even more original is your main character Eden: she’s a self-proclaimed bitch with no friends but one, and we still root for her and identify with her struggles against her family of psychopaths. Who or what inspired you to go against current of nice and sweet mcs?

Samantha Young: The world of Warriors of Ankh was actually built around Eden’s character. I wanted a real challenge when it came to writing my next mc. I wanted to create a character the reader still liked despite the darkness within her. I’m always fascinated by those kinds of characters in tv and books because they make you question your perspective and I guess, at first, I was experimenting to see if I could do that too. I’m so happy to see from the reviews so far that I’ve achieved that.

AM: Oh, you have, because despite this terrible fate awaiting her, we want her to win in the end. Tell me about the challenge of the world you’ve built – it’s freaking dark, which is my favorite atmosphere – how did you come up with it?

Samantha Young: The most challenging element of the world building was actually how dark I could make it for the genre it’s in. I wanted Eden’s home life to be disturbing, not only to highlight what she finds so beautiful about her friendship with Noah, but also to remind the reader that there is a part of Eden that hungers for that same darkness. There wasn’t any one particular book or movie that triggered ideas but over the last year or so I’ve read a number of YA books that pushed the boundaries a little and they definitely gave me the courage to up the creep factor.

AM: Oh Sam, I’m all about darkness, which is why I liked your book so much. For Rebel, The Hunger games highly influenced me, not only for a strong and intelligent MC, but to go to a dark extend in the premise. How about you, which books inspired you? I. Want. Titles.

Samantha Young: A series that really inspired me to push the boundaries was Holly Black’s The Modern Faerie Tales. The second book, Valiant, is one of my favourite novels ever and Black is so wonderfully unafraid to delve into darker subject matter. There is a sinister quality to these books I just LOVE. Also Kelly Creagh’s Nevermore and JL Bryan’s Jenny Pox. Bryan has a very ‘take no prisoners’ attitude with his writing that I so admire, he just says it how it is, and that really inspired me to attempt the same.

AM: So what’s next for you? You’re such a prolific author, I’m intrigued on how many projects you can handle at once!

Samantha Young: Well some of the projects I’ve released this year I had already written a good while back so that gave me a head start when it came to self-publishing. But I do have quite a few projects planned for the end of the year and next year so I’m intrigued to see how I handle it all too, lol. I’m releasing the first book in my new series Fire Spirits. Book One is titled Smokeless Fire and it’s a YA Paranormal Romance. This series is based on the real legends of the Jinn, twisted by a little creative license on my part. At present I plan to release four books for this series, a third and final instalment for Warriors of Ankh, a sequel to Slumber and a spin-off series to my Lunarmorte books from now until 2013. Uh… we’ll see how it goes…

Samantha Young blogs, where all her titles are available.


Callum77

I dreamt this about a month ago and thought it’d be the perfect #Fridayflash – have a nice weekend, folks:)

Callum77

Why would he visit each factory?

The crowd of workers gathered to listen to his genius mind, to catch a glimpse of his cherished face. Small at first, then the factory parking lot left no space to breathe, so many people by piles of rocks under the long ramp. Rain lashed from the sky, the sheets of metal rusting with an iron smell, dirt puddles now mud. Why would he visit each factory? I wondered, when a hand fell on my shoulder.

“Long time, Marla.” Tobias smiled at me, checking over my shoulder to see if anyone heard. “Never fancied seeing you here.” Behind him, his wife and two children; before me, what my life could have been. I nodded to Carey, she waved back, staying away.

“I’m curious, is all.” My shaky voice shamed me, showed how vulnerable I’d become with the passing of time.

“Aren’t we all? Just to see what he’s become.” Tobias checked Carey, his watch, anywhere but me. “Think Rick will show up?” Like anyone cared if the drop-out found his way back from California.

“Have I ever let you down?” Rick leaned close to me from behind, a breath of menthol cigarettes and Vodka, both prohibited by the new laws controlling us. “I promised a million years ago, so I came.” He showed us the thick padding of the bullet-proof vest under his trenchcoat. “Came prepared if we’re found out, though.”

We. As if I was still part of their group, even after I deserted it to join Callum; as if the past was behind us and didn’t taint the future.

***

Second year of college, a long way to go before our Doctorates in Engineering and Technology diplomas, when Callum admitted after a night of debauchery: “It’s always been you, Marla. Since kindergarten.” Tobias was sleeping in our room, and my feet rested on Callum’s lap. “You need to know the others don’t matter, because they’re not you.”

That switch in my heart, I regretted it the next day, as Tobias yelled: “You fame whore, once he’s fried your brain cells with his experiments, he’ll throw you to the curb like the others!” Which was pretty much what our other friends thought, too.

Not Carey, though. As I trudged my stuff down the driveway, she smiled and said: “Don’t worry, Marl. I’ll make sure he’s okay.” Did she ever. They got married the next year and moved far away from Callum and me, even though by then, I had wanted to vanish from his sight, too.

Callum invented it, the device small enough to be slid up through the nose to render computers a waste and the human body a machine, keeping all communications silent, through our minds only. Saving us so much time, turning us into better citizens who couldn’t hide anything.

After being his guinea pig that one time, I never again approved of having my mind meddled with, didn’t like the intrusion, the hopelessness. Neither did Tobias, Rick or Carey, and once I made my choice clear, Callum left me for good, but by then, the government had already set him on a mission to rectify the working class. Buried under so much money and power, he forgot about us—me most of all, I’m sure.

Not many knew what would happen after the mandatory surgery, the government leaving little choice on the matter. For our own good, to work more efficiently, to be more proactive against daily threats from enemy countries. But their minds were tampered with, their most personal thoughts, their every wish spammed for hours, with a humming that never went away.

I knew and the population didn’t, so I fled from the city, hid in the abandoned suburbs, found ways to pretend I’d had it done when I got caught, by reading people’s faces and watching their body language closely. Because outcasts were also known as fugitives.

***

“Here he is, the man of the decade,” Rick whispered as Callum strutted down the factory ramp twenty feet above the crowd. And this unnerving silence I’d never grown accustomed to, the air febrile with thoughts I refused to adhere to. Partly to blame, I should’ve stopped him all those years ago, while he had still listened to the words coming out of my mouth.

Callum77, the name by which he was known, this computer genius who always used the same code, the same user name, with everything he ever touched. Nothing secret, everything out in the open, except what truly lay in his heart. The world knew and embraced him for it: no feelings just thoughts.

Through his mind, the man I once loved spoke to everyone but me, and one look at Tobias, Carey and Rick assured me: we had to stop him and the government. We had to rebel.