#witchnovel

[persiahejazi]

back on it

I’ve been gone for so long, writing and finishing school and procrastinating. I’ve been thinking about coming back to this blog as a a way to look back on my journey with this novel I’m in the middle of.

So here we go!

Here’s some fun facts about this project:

- It started off as two independent wip projects that I’d had on the back burner for the last three-ish years until I decided to smash together this past summer.

- This was my #NaNoWriMo17 novel.

- This project started my caffeine addiction, no shame.

- It’s an #OwnVoices project about demons, witches, and Portland.

I’m planning around being ready for #DVPit in late April and I’m going to pour everything I have into it. Let’s get witchy.

[tardis14]

A Witch in Love £1 book

https://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/222726561638?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649

[danpaul]

Conceptual artwork for a mid-grade novel I’m writing entitled The Apprentice Witch, about a young girl named Alice who is drawn into a world of magic and mystery to discover she’s more than just the town weirdo.  Alice is chosen to become Apprentice to the Magistrate, Eleanor Montgomery, the most powerful witch around.  

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - March 23, 2015

In a flash I was overwhelmed by images, feelings, memories.  Every witch who had been executed for witchcraft I felt their deaths.  Every non-witch executed, I felt their deaths.  Every great spell cast, I cast.  Every revolutionary potion, I brewed.  It seemed to go on and on.  The history of witches and witchcraft in… I didn’t know.  How much time had passed?

And still the images flashed by.  Until suddenly they didn’t.  It was like a sky clearing after a storm,  the realization sinking in.  I tested my theory.  And felt the horror sink in.

When the memories stopped, I was no longer in control.

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - March 10, 2015

When I reemerged I caught a bit of the chanting, it wasn’t much but it was enough.  Preparations had begun.  They were starting on the convocation brew.  Something I would not have to drink for another four years.  I understood why my mother had been so insistent on her two friends creating the correct angles.  I was about to leave the kitchen and return to my room when my mother turned from the stove.  Her long black hair was frizzy, even tied back with a scarf.

“We need to talk Sable,” she said, pushing a wild strand of hair out of her face.

I knew it was serious, she only used my first name when things were serious.  I tried to meet her green eyes but they were very studiously examining the worn wooden table in the middle of the kitchen.

“About what?” I asked, still trying to sneak out of the unbearably hot kitchen.

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - March 8, 2015

          Walking into the kitchen was like walking into a Finnish sauna, minus the cedar benches plus the pungent smell of newt liver.  Altogether not the way I intended to start my morning.  I could make out my mother and her two friends huddled around the stove, jointly stirring a bubbling pot.

         “Budge a bit to the right Artemis,” my mother said.  She was standing in the middle and the woman to her right leaned as far that direction as she could without crawling onto the counter-top.  The other woman, seemed to know without speaking that she had to move to the left more and so, she too, awkwardly forced her torso away from her legs.

          I wanted to ask them what they were brewing at six in the morning on a Wednesday but knew better than to ask.  I might screw up the mojo by opening my mouth, goddess knows I have before.  Instead I  slunk into the walk in pantry and procured a blueberry bagel.

[100-wordsaday]

Amelia - March 5, 2015

I grew up in a dead girl’s shoes.  I didn’t know it, wouldn’t know it for four long years.  They never tell you what it’s like afterwards.  How the person you were before doesn’t exist, can’t exist.  Not after a goddess has taken residency in your head.  Not after you’ve played with power that should have burned you alive.  Not after you’ve sealed the fate on another girl.  They don’t tell you any of that.  But you know all of it when you wake up.  Four years isn’t a long time.  It’s the amount of time dedicated to high school, which flies by in a blur.  Except when you are a prisoner in your own mind.  Scientists say that you wouldn’t recognize yourself if you saw yourself on the street.  Well, when I opened my eyes for the first time in four years, I didn’t recognize my reflection in the mirror.  I still don’t.