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Until next time,

Fariha K.

 

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Vicious: Review

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I wanted to read such a story for a long time, and I’m glad I read this!

The story is essentially in two timelines; the present and 10 years ago. It is in third-person narrative, and follows two sets of characters’ lives. The story progresses of how their lives have intertwined with each other, and the implications that follows, in a form of a revenge story.

The character development was a gradual. It gave insight to each of the character lives and why I should care about each one of them, which I did.

“Heroes vs. Villains” was a reoccurring theme. And it really comes down to the perspective you chose to see, that will define who you label ‘hero’ or ‘villain’.

I would love to have a sequel, but as a standalone novel it is well-written, and I loved it. (UPDATE: there is a sequel coming soon!!!)

Overall 5 out of 5 stars.

Writer In Motion: Afterthoughts

It’s been a week since I’ve posted my final draft, and honestly I haven’t had the time to return back to it to continue it further. Nor I’ve had the time to read the final submissions, which totally sucks.

What I missed in this past week are the brilliant authors who’ve come together to make this possible:

Jeni Chappelle  | K. J. Harrowick (Blog 1 & Blog 2) | Jen Karner | H.M. Braverman | J.M. Jinks | Melissa Bergum | Thuy Nguyen | Kristen Howe | Kathryn Hewitt | Sean Willson | Paulette Wiles | Ellen Mulholland | Sheri MacIntyre | Jessica Lewis | Susan Burdorf | Stephanie Whitaker | Dawn Currie | Megan Van Dyke | SKaeth | Ari Augustine | M. Dalto | Sheryl Stein | Belinda Grant | Coffee QuillsCarly Hayward | Maria Tureaud Justine Manzano


What I Learned

#WriterinMotion was a learning curve. What I considered as once of the final steps; the completion of the first draft, is only a milestone and the real work begins after that. From self-editing to feedback from Critiquing Partner and finally the corrections from your editors.

Each of those step are important in the whole writing process. And my respect to authors has renewed after I went to the (short-version) of the process and how much hard work from so many people goes into writing each book.


Moving forward

I’m filled with motivation to return to my shelves drafts and look at them from new eyes, after what I’ve learned from #Writerinmotion. I expect to restart from scratch since there is so much to do before actually sitting down to write it.

But first, I plan to continue my draft from Writer in Motion of course. What started from just a photo prompt has been evolving into something so much more in my mind and I can’t wait to let it out on paper.

Last but not the least, thanks to Jeni and K.J for spearheading the whole project and I can’t wait until they host something else.


Past links

The Introduction

The Process

Draft 1 – Unedited

Draft 2 – Self-edited

Draft 3 – Critiqued Draft

Draft 4 – Professionally-edited Final Draft


FTK 🙂

Writer In Motion: The Completed Draft 4

The Writer In Motion Blog series is finally wrapping up. In this week’s post, us Motioneers post our final draft which started from a single photo prompt. My assigned editor was none other than Jeni Chappelle and I’m so thank full for her feedback.


The Feedback and Final Editing

Jeni managed to axe around 50 words right away. The theme, I noticed soon enough, was repetitions. I tend to over-write (a lot) to emphasize a scene or point in the story. After reading her edits, the sentences felt so much smoother and the plot flowed easier.

These line-edits were different than my CP edits as the later were more focused on the overall plot, setting, and characters. This felt like tiding up everything else (especially my excess use on commas – oh and welcome to hyphens!) My story is so much more tighter and easier to read, than my very first draft, I love it so much!


The Desert Spirit

Genre: Supernatural, Young Adult, Fantasy

Words Count: 946


The clinking of glasses and the gruff voices of men filled The Boots Lounge. It was dimly lit and smelled of beer, sweat and salt from the sea. Sailors and miners in their uniforms the color of the sea or earth were regulars at the pub on the last corner of Old Town, which was at the south end of the west coast. It used to be the heart of the peninsula, before trade with the main continent led to New Town’s establishment in the north.

Unusual folks also frequented the pub. Recently a lady clad in a grey suit had walked in and won all the poker hands, leaving none the wiser. And she was never to seen again. The pub regulars didn’t speak about the fact that she had horns—real horns.

What was unusual about today was that there was a young man, no older than twenty, who wore all black, and no part of peninsula had black uniforms. He took a seat next to the counter.

The bartender, Finbar, looked him over. “Ya new here lad? What’ya want to drink?”

“Aye, I don’t pass by often. Um…one ginger ale would do, please.”

The drink was served and swallowed almost immediately. But when Finbar turned around to retrieve the decanter, the glass was already full.

 “In all my life at the sea, I’ve never seen one.” An old man with a missing fingertip banged his third glass of beer on the oak table. “And the new sailors won’t shut up about how dangerous the waters have become. They’re as feeble as yesterday’s hatchlings.”

“All right, mate, I hear ya. Ya’ve not seen the Loch Ness Monster, but ya gotta’ve seen the Kraken, surely,” replied Aidan, a frail miner with permanently blackened nails.

The conversation had gone on for a while now. At first, it was like any other nightly chat about sirens and mermaids. Now, however, it had expanded to several tables, everyone weighing in on what other ways a body could die at sea.

“I’ve heard half a dozen ships have gone missing,” someone from another table added. Hushed voices filled the room as the group recounted the news of a sixth ship disappeared at sea.

“The Kraken is real all right,” said the young man in the black uniform, joining the conversation.

The old man looked up at him. “What’s yer name lad? The name’s Barley, and no one here has ridden the waters as much as I have. And the last time the Kraken was sighted was over a hundred years ago.” Barley paused to gulp the remaining contents of his glass. “Finbar! Get me another round.”

“Fraser, fill him up, won’t ya,” said the bartender, turning to his son who was washing the dishes.

“Aye, Pa!” He ran to do the new task as bartender-in-training.

“You can call me Ruari,” said the young man, taking the empty seat at Barley’s table. Ruari had striking yet innocent features, although his distant eyes gave away years that might exceed Barley’s time at sea. “One of my friends have gone missing. They say it’s the Kraken.”

The atmosphere darkened as others remembered those who had vanished as well.

“Well then, who thinks Red Beard is real?” said a portly miner next to Aidan, attempting to change the mood. However, it backfired as every sailor within hearing distance tensed up.

Barley downed his fourth glass. “Gerard,” he said in a serious tone and rubbed his missing fingertip absentmindedly, “mind when you take his name as there can be pir—I mean—his accomplices anywhere.”

“What about the Sand Sailor then? Anyone heard ‘bout him?” Ruari’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“We are talking about real legends here, not some fairytale, boy!” Barley retorted, and the pub was filled with light laughter.

The tinker who was playing a forgotten tune in the corner of The Boots Lounge started a well-known nursery rhyme, and soon enough the pub’s regulars joined in.

Sailor O Sailor,

Gone to the sea.

Sailor O Sailor,

Tell me you see.

Sailor O Sailor,

This is all but sand.

Sailor O Sailor,

Come back to the land.

“I’m curious about the Sand Sailor though,” Finbar spoke when the laughter and singing had quieted down. “I’ve heard they unveiled a painting in New Town. The painter claims it’s the boat of the Sand Sailor.”

“The sailor who steers a boat in the middle of the desert and comes to the land when the sky is clear and the moon is red.” Barley sighed. He lit his pipe and took a long puff. “I’ve heard that painter is a complete nutcase after getting lost in the desert looking for the brightest star to paint. Spouts nonsense half the time.”

Just then the town bell tolled twelve chimes, marking the end of the hour and start of the night shift. The patrons filtered out. Ruari paid for his drink, which was still full, and made his way out.

Ruari’s coat sat forgotten on his chair. Holding the coat, Finbar ran after Ruari.

Barley was getting up from his table when Finbar returned. Noticing Finbar dazed, Barley asked, “Ya okay mate? Ya look white as a sheet.”

Finbar sat on the nearest chair and told his son to get him a glass of water. “That- that Ruari guy, he—” He drank it and fingered-combed his ginger hair then continued. “He doesn’t have a shadow.”

Ruari headed towards his awaiting boat in the Shifting Dunes which divided the west and east coasts. His ship sailed across the sand, guided by the stars that filled the night sky and the blood moon for that one night.


Stay tuned for my overall thoughts on #writerinmotion post coming up next week.

Meanwhile, take a look at everyone who participated!

K. J. Harrowick (Blog 1 & Blog 2) | Jen Karner | H.M. Braverman | J.M. Jinks | Melissa Bergum | Thuy Nguyen | Kristen Howe | Kathryn Hewitt | Sean Willson | Paulette Wiles | Ellen Mulholland | Sheri MacIntyre | Jessica Lewis | Susan Burdorf | Stephanie Whitaker | Dawn Currie | Megan Van Dyke | SKaeth | Ari Augustine | M. Dalto | Sheryl Stein | Belinda Grant | Coffee Quills

And to our editors who provided the cherry on top for all our drafts!

Jeni Chappelle | Carly Hayward | Maria Tureaud | Justine Manzano


FTK 🙂

Writer In Motion: The Critiqued Draft Draft 3

Another week has flew by and this one has been particularly engaging with fellow Motioneers (yes, I made that up). We were paired up with our Critiquing Partners (CPs) and reviewed each other drafts.


The Critiquing Process

To be completely honest, I had never critiqued drafts before; only did some beta reading. Upon researching, critiquing is more in-depth analysis of the story. My method of critiquing was simple, I focused on three main elements:

  1. The Tone, Pacing, & Voice: How are the characters engaging with each other and with the reader. How are they interacting with their setting. What discrepancies are there in their though-process, etc.
  2. The Setting and World-building: The world-building is my favorite aspect in fictional writing. I want to see a well developed world where the characters fall right into place.
  3. The Descriptions and Dialogues: Lastly, I look at the wording and overall flow which comes from the descriptions of the places and the dialogues of the characters.

The Editing Process

My amazing two CPs, Dawn Currie and Ari Augustine did a brilliant job at pointing out the areas I had to work on, while also praising the parts that were good.

Firstly, I did a complete read-through my draft before jumping in to edit one paragraph at a time. I started with any grammatical/spelling corrections, then moved on to sentence structure and wording. Finally, I added more details to wherever they were needed and cut out the parts that didn’t need to be there anymore. My final word count is EXACTLY 1000 WORDS.

My screen looked like this:


Finally, here’s my #WriterInMotion – Draft 3


The Desert Spirit

Genre: Supernatural, Young Adult, Fantasy

Words Count: 1000


The clinking of glasses and the gruff voices of men filled The Boots Lounge. It was dimly lit and smelled of beer, sweat and salt from the sea. The pub was located at the last corner of Old Town where sailors and miners were the regulars. Old Town located at the south of west coast, used to be the heart of the peninsula, before New Town was established in the north once trade was established with the main continent.

Weird and unusual folks also frequented the pub. Recently a lady, clad in a grey suit, had walked in and won all the poker hands, leaving none the wiser. And she was never to seen again. The pub regulars don’t speak about the fact that she had horns, real horns.

What was unusual about today was that there was a young man, no older than 20. The enlisted young folks either wore the color of the sea or the miner’s khaki uniforms. This visitor, however, wore all black, and no part of peninsula had black uniforms. He took a seat next to the counter. The bartender, Finbar, looked him over and asked, “Ya new here lad? What’ya want to drink?”

“Aye, I don’t pass by often. Um- one Ginger Ale would do, please.” he replied. The drink was served and gulped down almost immediately. But when Finbar turned around to retrieve the decanter, the glass was already full.

***

“In all my life at the sea, I’ve never seen one,” an old man with a missing index fingertip said, banging his third glass of beer on the oak table. “And the new sailors won’t shut up about how dangerous the waters have become! They’re as feeble as yesterday’s hatchlings!” he continued.

“Alright mate, I hear ya! Ya’ve not seen the Loch Ness Monster, but ya gotta’ve seen the Kraken, surely!” replied Aidan, a frail miner with permanently blackened nails.

The conversation had been going on for a while now. At first, it seemed like any other nightly chat about sirens and mermaids. Now however it had expanded to several tables, everyone weighing in their opinions on what other ways you can die at sea.

“I’ve heard half a dozen ships have gone missing,” someone from another table added. Hushed voices filled the room as the group recounted the news when the sixth ship had disappeared at sea.

“The Kraken is real alright,” said the young man in the black uniform, joining the conversation. The old man looked up at him, “What’s yer name lad? The name’s Barley, and no one here has ridden the waters as much as I have. And the last time the Kraken was sighted was over a 100 years ago.”  He paused momentarily to gulp the remaining contents of his glass. “Finbar! Get me another round.” Barley roared.

“Fraser, fill him up, won’t ya.” said the bartender turning to his son who was washing the dishes.

“Aye, Pa!” he said, running to do the new task as ‘bartender in training’.

“You can call me Ruari,” said the young man taking the empty seat at Barley’s table. Ruari had striking yet innocent features, although his distant eyes gave away years that might exceed Barley’s time at sea. “One of my friends have gone missing, they say it’s the Kraken.” The atmosphere had darkened as others remembered those who had vanished as well.

“Well then, who thinks Red Beard is real,” said a portly miner sitting next to Aidan, attempting to change the mood. However, it backfired as every sailor within hearing distance tensed up.

Barley downed his fourth glass. “Gerard,” he said in a serious tone. “Mind when you take his name as there can be pir—I mean his accomplices anywhere,” He rubbed his missing fingertip absentmindedly.

“What about the Sand Sailor then? Anyone heard ‘bout him?” asked Ruari, his eye sparkled with curiosity. This elevated the mood.

“We are talking about real legends here, not some fairytale, boy!” Barley retorted and the pub was filled with light laughter.

The tinker who was playing a forgotten tune in the corner of The Boots Lounge started to play the well-known nursery rhyme and soon enough the pub’s regulars joined in.

Sailor O Sailor,

Gone to the sea.

Sailor O Sailor,

Tell me you see.

Sailor O Sailor,

This is all but sand.

Sailor O Sailor,

Come back to the land.

“I’m curious about the Sand Sailor though. I’ve heard they unveiled a painting in New Town,” Finbar spoke when the laughter and singing had quieted down. “The painter claims it’s the boat of the Sand Sailor.”

“The sailor who steers a boat in the middle of the desert and comes to the land when the sky is clear and the moon is red,” Barley sighed. He lighted his pipe and took a long puff. “I’ve heard that painter is a complete nutcase after getting lost in the desert looking for the brightest star to paint – spouts nonsense half the time!”

Just then the town bell tolled 12 chimes, marking the end of the hour and start of the night shift. The pub started to filter out. Ruari paid for his drink, which was still full and made his way out. Finbar noticed Ruari’s coat was sitting forgotten on his chair. Holding the coat, he ran after Ruari.

***

Barley was getting up from his table when Finbar returned. “Ya okay mate? Ya look white as a sheet,” Barley asked noticing Finbar dazed.

Finbar sat down on the nearest chair and told his son to get him a glass of water. “That- that Ruari guy, he-,” he paused to gulp down water and fingered-combed his ginger hair, then continued, “he doesn’t have a shadow.”

***

Ruari headed towards his awaiting boat in the Shifting Dunes which divided the west and east coasts. His ship sailed across the sand, guided by the stars that filled the night sky and the blood moon for that one night and one hour.


What’s Next

Now we handover this draft to our assigned editors. It’ll be my first time working with a professional editor and I’m super excited. My editor is the awesome Jeni Chappelle and I can’t wait for her feedback!!


Stay tuned for next week’s post where post our final drafts! You can read the critiqued drafts by other authors, here!

FTK 🙂

Writer In Motion: The Self Edited Draft 2

This week in #WriterInMotion, we post our self-edited drafts. You can find my Draft 1 Here, To find out more about what this blog series is, click on my introductory post here to find out more.


Returning to this draft felt like detaching my self from ‘the writer’ mindset to ‘the reader’. Some parts I wrote sounded too obvious as a reader, and some parts weren’t as clear. So I added character names and expanded the background and well, corrected grammar mistakes. Finally, below is my Self Edited Draft 2!


The Desert Spirit

Genre: Supernatural, Young Adult, Fantasy

Words Count: 1037


The clinking of glasses and the gruffy voices of men filled The Boots Lounge.

The pub was dimly lit and smelled like beer, sweat and salt from the sea. It was located at the last corner of Old Town so both sailors and miners were the regulars you’d find at The Boots Lounge.

The weird and the unusual people also occasionally visited the pub. Just last month a lady had walked in and she was not the ones you find at the Red District nor the ones you find in the Markets of New Town either. She wore a suit. She had wagered a game of poker with every man in that room. At the end of that night, she had won all hands leaving none the wiser. But, no one had seen her since.

What was unusual about today was that there was a young man, no older than 20. There are young men enlisted as miners and sailors, but those usually wear the blue stripes or the khaki uniforms. This one wore all black and no part of town had black uniforms. He took a seat next to the bar. The Bartender, Finbar, looked him over and asked, “You new here lad? What’ya want to drink?”

“Aye, I don’t frequent this part of town. Um- one Ginger Ale would do, please.” He replied.

***

“In all my life at the sea, I’ve never seen one,” an old man with a missing index fingertip said, banging his third glass of beer on the oak table. “And the new sailors won’t shut up about how dangerous the waters have become! They are as feeble as yesterday’s hatchlings!” he continued obviously irritated.

“Alright mate, I hear ya! You’ve not seen the Loch Ness Monster, but you must’ve seen the Kraken, surely,” replied a frail miner in his mid-50’s with permanently blackened nails, named Aidan.

The conversation had been going on for a while now. At first, it seemed like any other night’s chat about Sirens and Mermaids. Now however, it had expanded to several tables, everyone weighing in their opinions on what other ways you can die at sea. “I’ve heard half a dozen ships have gone missing,” someone from another table added. Hushed voices filled the room as the group recounted the news when the sixth ship had gone missing at sea.

“The Kraken is real alright!!,” said the young man in the black uniform, joining the conversation from where he sat next to the bar. The old man looked up at him, “What’s yer name lad. The name’s Barley, and no one here has ridden the waters as much as I have. And the last time the Kraken was sighted was over a 100 years ago.”  He paused momentarily to gulp the remaining contents of his glass. “Finbar! Get me another round,” he said to the bartender.

“Fraser, fill him up, won’t you,” said the bartender turning to the boy who was washing the dishes. “Aye, Pa.” the boy said running to do the new assigned task as ‘bartender in training’ as his Pa called him.

“You can call me Ruari,” said the young man coming over to Barley’s table. Ruari was handsome on most accounts, but his eyes gave away years that perhaps might be even more than Barley’s time at the sea. “One of my friends have gone missing, they say it’s the Kraken.” The atmosphere had visibly changed as others remembered those who had gone missing as well.

“Well then, who thinks Red Beard is real,” said a short portly miner sitting next to Aidan, attempting to change the mood. However, his attempt backfired as any sailor in hearing distance became clearly tensed up.

“We are talking about legends, Gerard. Mind when you take his name as there can be pir—I mean his accomplices anywhere,” Barley said in a serious tone after finishing his fourth glass, rubbing his missing fingertip absentmindedly. 

“What about the Sand Sailor? Anyone heard ‘bout him?” asked Ruari, genuinely sounding curious. This fortunately elevated the mood. “We are talking about real legends here, not some fairytale, boy!” Barley retorted and the pub was filled with light laughter.

The tinker who was playing a forgotten tune in the corner of The Boots Lounge changed to play the nursery rhyme and soon enough the pub’s regulars joined in.

Sailor O Sailor,

Gone to the sea.

Sailor O Sailor,

Tell me you see.

Sailor O Sailor,

This is all but sand.

Sailor O Sailor,

Come back to the land.

“I’m curious about the Sand Sailor though. I’ve heard they unveiled a painting in the New Town. The painter claims it’s the boat of the Sand Sailor,” the bartender spoke when the laughter and singing had quieted down.

“The sailor who wheels a fishing boat in the middle of the desert and comes to the land when the sky is clear and the moon is red,” Barley sighed, lighting his pipe and taking a long puff. “I’ve heard that painter is a complete nutcase after getting lost in the desert looking for the brightest star to paint, spouts nonsense half the time.”

Just then the bell tolled 12 o’clock and the pub started to filter out as the night shift was about to begin. Ruari paid his change for the Ginger Ale, which was still half full and made his way out. Finbar noticed that Ruari’s coat was sitting forgotten on his chair against the bar. Holding the coat, he ran after Ruari.

***

Meanwhile Barley was just getting up from his table when Finbar returned. “You okay mate? You look white as a sheet,” Barley asked concern evident in his voice.

Finbar sat down on the nearest chair and told his son to get him a glass of water. “That- that Ruari or whatever his name is, he-,” he paused to gulp down water and fingered-combed his ginger hair back, then continued, “he doesn’t have a shadow.”

***

The young man headed towards his awaiting boat, in the Northern Desert.

His ship sailed across the sand with no destination in sight, guided by the stars that filled the night sky and the blood moon for that one night and one hour.


Stay tuned for next week’s post where we fine tune this draft based on the feedback gained from our critiquing partners! You can read the self-edited drafts by other authors, here!

FTK 🙂