#ellen writes things

[flymetothemoon23]

Loves!! I'm so flipping excited to share my first byline in the Mary Sue, talking about my passion for both Harry Potter and gay culture

[poopybuttbrain]

Journal Post #4

8/3/12

Bit of a stressful day today. Two SACs to do at school, a chemistry prac where I had to design my own experiment, and a language analysis essay about Bolt's breach of the Racial Vilification Act in English.

Not to mention the fact that I got back spasms as soon as I sat down in methods that morning.

Just can't catch a break, can I?

On the plus side, I found out a time for my oral presentation for marriage equality. And Mrs Ingram finally got around to correcting my first draft of my oral.

Luckily, she had gotten it to me then, otherwise I would have done some drastic editing, as I'd been going over it last night looking for faults and trying to prioritise arguments.

Self-editing is so DIFFICULT!

It feels like you're slicing off your own fingers, because with each sentence or argument you trash, you lose a little bit of what's important to you on the topic.

I have to go, Mum's arranged for me to have a massage to help my back.

TTFN! =D xoxo

That massage was soooo gooooooood.

One day, if I ever get super rich, I'm hiring a personal masseuese. For sure. Or maybe I could reap the benefits for free and date a masseuse when I'm older. Even better.

Went to the local book shop today and saw that they almost had Jodi Piccoult's entire collection of novels. I almost squealed in excitement right then and there.

I absolutely adore Jodi's writing!

Her writing evokes so much emotion, as well as keeping readers in suspense for the entire novel. Her characters are all so real in the way they act, tink, feel; each one's personality unique, yet relatable.

Not to mention the plots! Ahhhhh! (not as in "Ah! Scary!" but rather, "Ah! So ingenious!") Each plot is so well thought out, planned thouroughly and riddled with humour and heart warming moments in between the inescapable drama.

I personally feel that I have so much to learn about writing simply from studying the nuances of her style.

Note to self: Re-read "My Sister's Keeper" and "The Pact" and focus on the style of writing =)

'Tis time to sleep now though, I'm flat-out exhausted.

So long!

Ellen ♥

[eleanorlyon]

FUCK YES!

Excuse my ineloquacy, but, oh my god, I'm excited!

I just presented my persuasive speech and got the highest possible mark for it!

djshfjasrhgt.ak;hfgjdahjfkad/df,.ajhmk,ylrt?wkhyler8iq7f56elqju6yk5l;wuivod8yuhgtrejadIOTYEOW/htnker4hyWEO'PQ

I LITERALLY JUST KEYBOARD SMASHED AND I REGRET NOTHING!!!!

My teacher said that it could have everything I could have possibly put in there: an appeal to patriotism, inclusive and exclusive language, loaded language, attacks, anecdotes, logical arguments, statistics, evidence, emotive language, a call to action and great tonal shift! EEEEE!!!!!!

[poopybuttbrain]

Because I'm shameless when it comes to self-promotion:

I want to give you the link to my writing blog, eleanorlyon.tumblr.com

I'm posting my final draft of my persuasive speech "Legalising Marriage Equality in Australia" in less than five minutes and by the end of the day I'll have posted my original one-shot "Honour Amongst Thieves" on there too.

There's also the first chapter of my Faberry fic "Lost in a Concrete Jungle" already posted, as well as a drabble based on "Breaker Morant" called "Only the Good Die Young"  written from George Witton's perspective. AND there's a text analysis essay from "Generals Die in Bed", for anyone studying it this year.

So head on over!

=D

[poopybuttbrain]

Okay so there's a writing comp going on for Victorian students and I want in.

It’s only meant to be 500 words long.

It can be any medium - poetry, persuasive, narrative, expository - you name it, its allowed.

It can be on whichever topic you want.

All I need is an idea. A spark. A little nudge to get things rolling.

Can you help be my inspiration?

[poopybuttbrain]

Pretty sure its a bad idea to get fic ideas when you're already working on two other fics, but OH WELL, it happened!

Check it out on my writing blog!

LE CLICKY LE MOUSE HERE

[poopybuttbrain]

My Creative Writing.

I wanted to post some of the creative writing pieces that I have written for my english classes over the years. I know they're not fantastic but I LOVE getting criticism about it =D especially when people are seriously analysing it and aren't afraid to point out the mistakes or weak points or the parts that are quite frankly, shit. That way, I can continue to improve my writing in the future =)

Okay, so here goes. This is my latest creative writing piece to date and came from the prompt of...!

~drumroll~

Family gives us different experiences and memories

And here's a little intro to explain

Main character is a 20yr old Muslim girl named Tasnim.

She is visiting her family on Christmas break. They live in Seattle.

The story idea was formed from the current issue of Honour Killings.

Honour Killings are murders performed by male  relatives onto female family members, whom they believe the female relative has committed an act of sexual indecency. This may be as innocent as talking to a man, or as unintended as being the victim of a rape.

Summary: This is the story of a girl falling in love with the "wrong man" and her family exacts revenge upon her.

There's a reason that fairytales end well.

 No one wants to tell their kids the truth, because once you've grown up, once you've seen how the world really is, you realize that you just don't want to know. Once you hit reality, you have years of it. Everyone should get a few years of happiness first. There's that myth that once you fall in love, once you've found the real head-over-heels, I'd-die-for-this true love, everything gets better. That's not true. In fact, it's better if you don't find true love, really.

Love that you just think is true love, yeah, losing it hurts you. You get mad, you get bitter, you think nothing's worse. Honestly, you really haven't felt anything yet. Generic love is safer, healthier. True love is no doors barred, and once you've got it in you, it’s like barbed wire...you shouldn't even try to pull, that only twists the pain tighter. But even when we grow up, we believe the fairytales, even if it's only on the inside, even if we never admit it. I thought that once I found true love everything would be alright. I should have known better.

~~~

The front door slams as I bound through it. I remove my gloves and jacket, hanging them on the pegs in the mistletoe strewn hallway. Cheerily, I hum tunelessly to myself and half dance into the lounge room. I halt immediately. My brother, Sameer, stands in the lounge room in front of our family portrait, by the pine tree draped with light and tinsel and turns his head. Glistening trails of tears are rolling from his anguish filled eyes.

Confusion sweeps over me.  What’s going on? Why is he looking that way? What would cast such a shadow on his usual cheery demeanour? My eyes glance over his rigid stance. “Sam...” I begin hesitantly, “Sameer, is something wrong?”

My brother sneers at me. I recoil, confusion turning to downright bewilderment. What in the world is happening?

Words echo through from the kitchen. Mama’s speaking to herself in the language from her and Papa’s home town. I can’t understand it. Mama and Papa used to live in a small town in rural India, before Papa was offered “new opportunities” here in The States. Mama was betrothed to my father before he left and the families simply could not let them so much as be within six-foot vicinity of each other before being married first. Oh, what a disgrace on their honour should they accidentally sit on the same sofa, or be driven around in the same cart, let alone fly on a plane together! Oh no! None of that, not in the “old town”! Honestly, you would have thought they would become more civilised like the rest of the world.

Papa never liked it when I mentioned that. He would say: “We are “civilised”... We are honourable. It is for honour upon which we base all our decisions. We need honour.”

Honour this, honour that. I even looked the stupid word up in the ancient dictionary we have at home because he kept saying it that often. It didn’t help much. It listed at least ten different ways it could be meant. I didn’t even know it was possible for a word to have that many meanings. Then again, I’ve never really cared much for words either. Numbers and figures are what intrigued me the most...

Without warning, my mother switches to English and hollers, “Whatever you do, Sam, don’t kill Tasnim and the other one in the house. There’ll be the bother of getting rid of the bodies. Shoot them among the trees and then dump the bodies somewhere.”

Realisation. Shock roils through me. He’s going to kill me. Why?! What for?!  Without warning, the world goes black. A blindfold. I’m struggling against the unknown force behind me with all my might, but it isn’t anywhere near enough.

“Hush, hush, my child.” My father whispers in my ear. My father? Why, Papa?! Why?!

My stomach lurches, threatening to bring up my last meal. I know where they will take me. I know what they will do. The barbed wire inside my mind and heart twists and all I can think of is Him. My love, my life, my soul. Adrian. Adrian. Adrian. We were going to start a family, one we would call our own, and now what? Now what will happen to him?

When we met that fateful day two years ago, it was like summer-gone-wild. It was a stifling, stinking, stagnant summer’s day. When suddenly, the day’s description went more along the lines of:  Swoon-worthy, superb, sweet, and special. Maybe I was wrong; maybe I do have a thing for words, with the right dose of inspiration.

My inspiration was Adrian. My parents would have had a stroke at his name alone. Clearly that wasn’t a good Islamic boy’s name. They wouldn’t need to see the rest of the package before they made up their minds... Eyebrows that curved slightly, making a perfect frame for his green-grey eyes. Unkempt coal black hair, a chiselled jaw, straight nose, dimples in his cheeks as he smiled and the usual Seattle-induced pale skin. Forget “you had me at hello”. This boy had me at eye contact. Not that “boy” was an accurate word for him. Sure, the hair and dimples gave him a child-like quality but, he was clearly over the awkward teen phase.

Introducing himself, handshake and all, he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee. We were talking over our steaming mugs when we began to know each other. Awkward silences didn’t exist between us. He had me doubling over in laughter more than some of my best friends could. Who was this mysterious, fascinating stranger? He wasn’t Muslim or “a child of good Indian heritage”. But I didn’t care. My parents weren’t feeling my emotions. I had more than felt the spark there with Adrian, and I didn’t mind catching fire. I had even attempted to rationalise it with myself: what my parents don’t know, can’t hurt them right?

Sure, but I didn’t realise it would end up hurting me...

Papa’s attempting to drag me out of the lounge room, toward the back door, but my kicking has increased in ferocity. I will not let my own family end my life. I feel an object collide with my shins. The Christmas tree. I hear a creaking of limbs and the high pitched sound of shattering glass and china. I must have broken something, maybe even the family portrait. Secretly, I am glad. I want to leave some evidence of my struggle behind or at least destroy something precious or of value to this family of monsters. Just like they are about to destroy something precious and of value to me; my life. How can they do this? These are people I know and love, people I have experienced my entire – albeit short -- life with. Don’t they remember the amazing memories we’ve shared?

Like when we road tripped all the way to Disneyland for my eighth birthday. How Princess Jasmine had bestowed a peck on the cheek to Sam and a free balloon too. His eyes had been as large as dinner plates and he had vowed he would never ever, ever, ever wash his cheek again and that someday he would marry the “beyooooooooteefullll” princess. We played along with his act and declared him “Prince Sameer” and called him “His Royal Highness” for the remainder of the day. With his balloon tied to his dainty wrist, he ran circles around us, the balloon bobbed along behind and occasionally colliding with Mama and Papa’s heads. Hysterics consumed us when Papa was hit for the fifth consecutive time and chased Sameer all around Frontier Land, scooping him into his arms, and tickle-torturing Sameer till he couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. We were so elated that we didn’t care about the crowd of strangers gaping at our antics. In our minds it was just us. Our family, enveloped within our own bubble of joy, in the happiest place on earth...

The blindfold is dampening. I can’t stop this waterfall of tears. Someone has latched onto my flailing legs and constricts them. It could only be Sam; Mama doesn’t have the strength to bind me so tightly. My legs and arms are thrashing with envy for the solid ground. My body still thrashes and jerks, hoping desperately that somehow I can escape. That death isn’t inevitable. I will not let them take me, at least not without a fight. My father and brother are yelling at each other and at me. How can none of our neighbours hear? ... The neighbours! I inhale as much oxygen as my lungs have the capacity to hold. With as much force as I can muster I let out a shriek of pure desperation.

Only to be answered by a metallic clicking sound and an incredible body shattering boom.

A gun. A bullet. A shot.  Agony. And the world slowly fades into a black void.

Okay The ending is AWFUL, not even I wanted it to end that way.I had to finish it off shortly for my english class word limit, otherwise marks are deducted (curse you writing restrictions!!!) There was going to be a heap more, where her Dad and brother drag her outside and she realises Adrian is there with her and then they die together, OR a neighbour has called the police and the police bust in and saves them. ( I can't seem to choose between the impact of tragedy or the elation of a happy-ending right now)

So if you have any queries or critiques or ideas of how to move on from here that would be Fan-Frekin-Tastic! Just click Here

Thanks for reading this! I commend you and am super grateful =D

Lots of love, Ellen xoxoxox