Work in Progress

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Started this tonight. Paranormal Romance. Not sure about her name. May change it. Already have a Juliet elsewhere. May also change to first person. Not sure, want to go from his head as well, so probably not. Also may remove the fictional town. Feels like cheating. Just have the mom live in Phoenix.

  ----

Juliette gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Why didn’t she leave as soon as she got the first call? Was the test in her literature class really so important? So important she couldn’t gone home when she got the call? Aunt Erin had called on Monday and asked her to come home as soon as possible, said that her mom was very, very sick. Juliette had passed it off as Erin being an extremist of sorts and had said she would come on Friday after her classes. Now it was Wednesday and Erin had called again to say that her mom had gotten worse and the hospital had flown her to Phoenix because they could do nothing more for her in Tunsen.

Tunsen was her hometown. A strange place by any standard. It had been founded under the guise of yet another Arizona mining town by her great-great however many times great grandfather back in the eighteen hundreds. Now it boasted a population of less than two thousand. The closest town was two hours away,  Not that anyone in town remembered or cared that her family were the descendants of Oliver Tunsen. Her mother, Sarah, had been the younger of two daughters of the last Tunsen, and much to Grandpa Tunsen’s chagrin, she had indeed chosen to change her name when she married Jasper Harris. Jasper. Dad. He was a whole different story. She wondered if anyone had called him. She hoped not.

She shook her head to banish thoughts of him. That was the last place she needed to go. She pushed the accelerator down and sped her Jeep around a little Toyota that decided the speed limit really was a limit. Couldn’t they see they were the only one on the entire freeway actually going seventy-five? Didn’t they know she had to get to the hospital?

And she knew she was being unreasonable. But her mum was in the hospital. She wasn’t waking up, Erin said. And they didn’t know what was wrong. She wasn’t surprised Tunsen Medical Center couldn’t help. Since she moved down to Tucson she had realized that Tunsen Hospital shouldn’t even be considered a hospital. You could get a flu shot and they could set a bone or stitch a cut. If you were brave, you could have a baby there, but pray nothing goes wrong because you’ll have to be flown to Phoenix. They just weren’t equipped for anything like that. They didn’t even have an operating room. Hopefully the doctors in Phoenix had a better idea of what was going on.

She squeezed the steering wheel even tighter, her knuckles pale, and glanced up at the exit signs. She couldn’t remember the exit number, but she knew it was 7^th Street. She still hated the freeway after being out of Tunsen for four years, she was so accustomed to its smaller streets and lighter traffic. She let out a panicked caw when she saw it was the next exit, and weaved her Jeep over into the far right lane then onto the onramp, earning her plenty of honks and angry gestures.

Soon she arrived at Good Samaritan Hospital. She’d been here once before when Grandpa Tunsen died. She was only twelve then and thought the tall white building looked like something out of an alien movie. Looking at it now, ten years later, she still had the same impression. Inside it didn’t take her long to find Erin. She was shouting at a nurse about how her sister needed silk sheets.

“Erin,” she called as she came near and the older woman’s head popped up, her anger dissolving into tears. The woman had mood swings like Juliette had never seen in anyone else.

“Julie, baby,” she called, brushing a hand through her pixie short gray hair. She had a streak of hair at her temple dyed pink now, last time Juliette had seen her it was green. She hurried over and pulled Juliette into a hug, hunching over to do it. Erin was built like Grandma, tall and spindly, almost scrawny but never gaining any weight no matter how many cupcakes they ate.

“What’s going on?” she asked, pulling gently from Erin’s arms.

Just like that Erin brushed the tears from her cheeks and her anger was back. She turned her glaring eyes back to the nurse. “I was trying to explain to this nurse that my sister needs better sheets. Silk. Or Satin.”

“Mom doesn’t need silk sheets.” She smiled at the nurse, a cute girl with an upturned nose and curly hair wearing blue scrubs like she’d seen on everyone else. “Thank you.”

Aunt Erin had married Victor Dawson who owned a chain of restaurants throughout the country. And somehow he ended up choosing Tunsen, Arizona to build his mansion retreat in the woods of the White Mountains. Completely random to her, but Tunsen seemed to have that kind of draw. But since then, Erin had gone from living in the rundown condo with the leaky roof that Juliette remembered from her childhood, to Dawson Manor. Juliette had hated staying with her there. She got lost in the massive mansion.

“She deserves silk sheets.”

“She doesn’t even like silk sheets, Aunt Erin,” she muttered, rubbing her hands on her face. “Where is she?”

Erin led her to the room nearby. A heart monitor beeped and kept track of her vital signs, the numbers didn’t mean anything to her, though. Her mother lay on the bed, tucked into crisp white sheets. She was pale, her normally glowing complexion ashen. Her chestnut hair peppered with gray strands fanned across the pillow case. She brushed her hands through her own dark brown curls and slumped into the chair beside the bed.

“What’s wrong with her?” she breathed weakly.

“She has a fever that just keeps going up. She had been coughing all the time, then she starting throwing up. Then her speech was slurred and she couldn’t walk straight, like she was drunk, falling over. It all happened so fast. She passed out and I couldn’t wake her up, I took her to the hospital and they flew her here pretty quickly.”

Juliette nodded weakly and took her mom’s hand. Her skin was too warm and clammy.

“Victor is contacting doctors all around the country and flying out whoever he can.” Erin rubbed her shoulder. “I called your father.”

Juliette flinched and shrugged her hand off unthinkingly. “Why?”

“They were married for twenty years, Julie.”

“What did he say?” she asked, already suspecting the answer.

“He hung up.”

Juliette snorted. “Figures.”

“Julie,” she began but Juliette waved her hand.

“I just want to sit with mom and not think about him. Please.”

Her aunt nodded a bit and rubbed her shoulder again before walking out of the room.

Juliette sighed, leaning forward to put her arms on the mattress, folding them to pillow her head and keep hold of her mom’s hand. “I’m here. I’m sorry, mom. I’m sorry. Please wake up. Please, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll stop fighting. Just wake up.” She pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’ll move back to Tunsen, learn the magic. Whatever. You just have to wake up.”

----

Lyric the Djinn

Lyric’s world exploded in colors and sounds and sensations. She quickly formed a body around her essence. Tan skin, deep auburn hair, and chocolate brown eyes. Chocolate. Chocolate sounded amazing. Maybe she could get this master to give her chocolate before they started spouting off wishes. They obviously didn’t have a clue what she was, no preconceived notions about genies forming her appearance straight out of the bottle.

Clothes before chocolate. She wrapped a loose shirt and pair of trousers around her body. It was men’s clothing from her own time. She smirked as a pair of boots covered her feet and she touched down on the ground. Once upon a time her father would have hit her for wearing it. But he was long since gone, and it was something familiar and comforting to wear something from her own time. The last time she’d gotten out of her bottle, she was told she looked like Robin Hood’s merry lady. She still wasn’t sure what it meant.

She had no idea how long she had been confined to the dark, lifeless dimension “inside” her bottle. And now it all came rushing back. The smell of smoke, tobacco smoke specifically, filled her nose. A dim room, lit only by a few lights on the walls. Dark wood walls and wood floors, tables scattered around and a long bar with stools. Music, unlike any she’d heard before played from a small metal box on the bar. She approached it slowly, eyeing it curiously. A man’s voice crooned over the sound of unfamiliar instruments.

She reached forward to examine it, take it apart and find the tiny little man that must be inside when a bottle crashed behind her. She spun around to see him standing there. She knew him instantly, just as she did all her masters. Giaccomo Rossi. Jack. First generation American. His parents came over from Italy and he was born here just after. America. The New World. She’d always wanted to come here. Maybe he’d let her see the outside world. She idly stared into his green eyes and traced his family history back. Often she could find a common line between them, but she’d only found herself in Italy once or twice.

Jack had dropped a bottle of liquor, staring at her now in shock. She had appeared out of nowhere, of course he’d be shocked. It made sense.

“Hello, master. May I call you Giaccomo? Much nicer than Jack. Do you have chocolate? It has been so long since I’ve had chocolate!”

She laughed brightly and opened up her senses. She could smell the liquor he’d spilt, not a far cry from the ale they used to drink in the seaside towns. She opened her arms wide, spinning as she took in the smells and sounds of this new world. Djinn senses were so much stronger than a humans. Mortals live on this world, while djinn are a part of it.

“Who are you?” He asked nervously. “How did you get in here?”

“What year is it?” She asked moving back to the singing man in the box. “The last time I was let out it was… 1922? I believe…”

“It’s 1968… What do you mean let out?” He frowned deeper. “Who are you?”

“Forty-six years. Nearly a lifetime.” She sighed.

“Who are you?”

She tensed. That was three times. Djinn worked under rules of three. Three wishes. Three repetitions for the binding spell. And three questions. Ask a direct question three times and a djinn must answer, whether you are their master or not.

She clenched her jaw. It started like pins and needles through her blood. But it grew quickly. She knew she had to answer, but she hated being forced like this. That was the curse of the djinn. She wondered what free will truly felt like. The pain increased and she knew soon she’d barely be able to gasp in a breath to answer.

“I am your djinn, master.”

“My gin? Like, gin and tonic? That don’t make no sense, lady.”

“Djinn. Commonly known as a genie.”

“A genie? Like… lamps and three wishes?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “You get three wishes. But it is a bottle, not a lamp.”

She scanned the bottles of liquor he kept behind the bar, finding hers nestled amongst the others, looking distinctly out of place. Small, cloudy glass. Uneven shape, hand blown. All bottles djinn were tied to were enchanted to make people want to pick them up. Want to open them.

She pointed at her bottle. “That one. That’s mine.”

James glanced at it, then back at her. “You’re crazy. How did you get in here?”

Two times for that question.

She sighed. “Three wishes. You may wish for anything with a few exceptions. I cannot kill mortals, I cannot raise the dead, I cannot make anyone fall in love with another person – or animal, do not try that – I cannot grant you more wishes, nor can I grant you eternal life. Though I do not know why anyone would ask or such a thing. If they truly understood what it meant they would not.”

“Why did you have to come into my bar, crazy lady? We’re not even open, the door is locked, how did you get in here?”

Three times. She didn’t wait even for the pins and needles this time. There was no point in finding it. “In my bottle. Someone brought it in here. And you opened it and here I am. Three wishes you get. But… first… Please may I have some chocolate, master?” She asked again.

“Fine. Here. My mama baked me cookies.” He set a plate of baked goods on the bar and backed away from her toward  the front entrance. While she plucked a cookie off the top, he checked the lock on the door. Still locked, of course it was.

She took a bite and the doughy morsel exploded in her mouth. Sweet and fine, dark chocolate chips that melted in her mouth. She could trace the cacao beans back to their origin, if she wished. But no, she would rather enjoy the taste in the present. She closed her eyes on the second bite, moaning indecently. So good.

“Why are you doing this?”

“A better question, my friend, is why are you not taking advantage of it?” She asked. “I have offered you three wishes, nearly limitless in possibilities. And you worry more about the state of your locks?”

“Fine, prove your story to me.” He said, folding his arms.

“You wish for a display of magic. Simple.” She waltzed around the room, deciding she liked this new music. She found what she was looking for, a picture of a woman in what she hoped was today’s fashion. She liked it. A boxy little sleeveless dress in bright blue, boots to her knees in white leather and little white gloves up to her wrists. While her clothes morphed, she changed her hair. Finding a short little cut on a picture of someone named Mia Farrow, her hair shortened quickly, cropped close to her scalp and a lighter colour now.

She smiled back over at her master. He was across the room, staring wide eyed at her. Her smile widened into a grin and she popped the body out of existence, reforming it behind him.

“Do you approve, master?”

He stared at her a while longer. “Three wishes?”

“Yes, master. Three wishes.”

His wishes were simple and he barely paused to think about them. Wealth, and a handsome face. She considered teaching him about the consequences of selfishness and vanity. She knew other djinn who killed off  beloved relatives and left their masters untold sums of wealth. She even knew of a djinn who when his master wished for him to “change his face” with no specifics, set his face on fire, leaving it scarred for life. She didn’t think she could be that cruel, she didn’t have it in her. Never had.

She didn’t teach him the consequences. She created a locked box that would never be empty, always full of the currency of the time and land he was in. And gently molded his features, turning his rather aquiline into something smaller and much straight, made his lips fuller, the kind even she would like to kiss, and gave him dark wavy locks that any woman would want to run their fingers through.

He set at a table to contemplate his third wish. “What happens to you? When you grant my third wish?”

She glanced at him, frowning lightly. “It matters not. Please hurry, master.”

“It does matter. What happens?”

Twice. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re a living, breathing person.”

“Yes. And I have been for seven hundred years. I move from master to master, wherever my bottle takes me. It should be of no consequence to you.”

“But what happens?!” Three times. “What happens in between masters?”

She clenched her jaw, needles filling her veins. She didn’t want to answer. She did not want to guilt him into anything. Many of her kind were bitter tricksters by her age. But she couldn’t do it. Mortals didn’t know any better, it wasn’t their fault.

“I go back into the bottle.” She gasped when the pain became too much. Then she stared into him and the words poured out of her mouth. “A dark, lifeless prison. Alone with the passing of time and only my own thoughts and dreams. No sound, no light, no sensation. Nothing. I do not exist within the bottle.”

“Oh.” He said simply, seeming truly upset about it. “What is your name?” He asked after a long silence.

“Whatever my master wishes it to be.” She responded honestly.

“But what do you call yourself.”

She stared at him another moment. “Lyric.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Why does that amuse you?”

“It’s just… a word, not a name.”

“It is a name I chose for myself when I was changed. I had aspirations as a… troubadour, I suppose in that time.”

“Changed?”

“Djinn are not born, master. We are changed.”

“From what?”

“Mortals. Humans. One of you.”

“So is it like… When you die or something you can be a genie instead of an angel?”

“No. Becoming a djinn is usually a curse, or a misguided blessing. It deals heavily in difficult magic. A witch may curse a person into a life of servitude. Others think they are blessing the other with eternal life and youth, incomprehensible power… But they do not think about the way our free will is taken away and bound to that of whoever holds our bottle.” She sighed, staring out the window at an unfamiliar world and wishing she could return to hers. “And sometimes it is a desperate act by another djinn, to save a dying human.”

“Oh.” He repeated, just as sadly as before.

“Do you have your last wish, master?”

“I wish…”

He looked at her, something strange in his eyes and she swelled with hope. Perhaps this improbable candidate would wish her free. Or even break her bottle and free her entirely… Was it possible?

“I wish … that this place, my bar… I wish everyone in the city wanted to come here.”

She stared at him a long moment, almost incredulously. Then closed her eyes, sending out a pulse of thought throughout the limits of the city. The thought was simple go to Jack’s Place. Then she sent out another pulse. This one telling them they wanted to come here to drink and have fun, and not care what happened to the bar in the meantime. No one would understand why they suddenly had no care for his property, but she hoped it would be up in flames by the end of the night.

She’d never done anything like that before. Never used her powers against the mortals. In all her hundreds of years… Gods, it felt satisfying.

“Goodbye Giaccomo. You will need luck. Perhaps you should have wished for that instead.” She said before blinking out of his plane of existence and back into darkness. Who knew how long it would be this time? She settled into the darkness.

At least she’d gotten chocolate.

---

Lyric didn’t know how long it had been when the world opened again, this time truly exploding. She felt the link between her bottle and her essence shatter and she stood in the ruins of Jack’s Place, staring down at the shards of her bottle at Giaccomo’s feet, his face full of fury. A long jagged cut ran down his face marring the work she’d done reshaping it.

“You bitch! You destroyed it! They stole the box! It’s your fault!” He shouted at her.

She couldn’t help it, in the face of his rage, she laughed brightly, letting in the essence of the world around her. “Oh, Giaccomo! You did it after all! You freed me!” She cawed.

He snarled and lunged at her, she made herself intangible and he went right through her. “What do you mean?”

“You broke the bottle. That frees me from this life!” She twirled around, her arms open wide. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

“You’re free? What do you mean?” Twice. “You’re my genie!”

“Was. Was your djinn. Now I have no master. No bottle. Nothing!”

“I don’t understand.” She realized then that he was drunk and probably truly didn’t understand what she was talking about. Still he asked a third time. “What do you mean?”

She thought without a master the pain wouldn’t come. That she was free from the rules. But when the needles starting rafting through her veins again she knew that she would never be completely rid of them.

“When you break a djinn’s bottle, it frees them. Unless some witch binds us to a new bottle.” She waved a hand dismissively. “But they’d have to find me to do that.”

She lifted herself off the ground, using the energies around her to keep her afloat as she grinned down at him. “Goodbye, Giaccomo. And for freeing me… Even if you hoped to kill me…”

She waved a hand and the money box she’d created for him appeared in his hands. She felt the drain on her powers now. With a master that would be a parlor trick. She’d have to learn her new limits. She would have so many new things to learn. Wonderful. So wonderful!

Countdown Initiated

10 Things I Wish I Could Say to People
1. It's not that I don't want to hang out with you, but I'm sick of being the only sober one. Can't you have one night where you're not drinking or doing drugs? No? I didn't think so.
2. I'm very alright with the fact that I've never been "clubbing". The "music" in those clubs gives me a migraine.
3. I'd go dancing with you, but I don't trust you. Why? Because you're male.
4. Your daughter is screaming for a toy and what do you do? You buy it for her? Yeah, that'll fix the problem.
5. What on earth possessed you to do/write/wear/say that?
6. I want to like your story/poem, but it's just bad. Very bad.
7. Are you even human?
8. I'm pretty sure that's not legal.
9. Don't. Touch. Me.
10. You're just a complete dick, aren't you?

9 Things About Myself
1. I don't stand still well.
2. I'm always writing a story in my head. If you interrupt the story, don't be surprised if I suddenly start talking about dragons. Or about how the lady sitting at that table probably has six kids, all grown, and she's suffering from empty nest and her husband is dead and she's contemplating never getting out of bed again. Or about how that guy spent his best years traveling from town to town selling photos in a stand on the side of the road. Now he's reaching the end of his years, his hands shake so badly he can't hold the camera. And all he wants is that one perfect picture.
3. I'm finally proud of my geekiness.
4. I've done ballet since I was 3. I still remember a lot of my choreography from over the years. I can pull the Snowflake Waltz out of my ass at the drop of a hat.
5. I will have no respect for you if you have none for me. I don't care what your job is, if you treat me like shit that's all you're going to get from me.
6. I love living by myself. Just me and the dog.
7. If I didn't need it to buy food, I wouldn't care about money.
8. I love sleep. I'd love more hours in the day to sleep. I love the dreams.
9. I correct people's grammar before I can stop myself. It gets me a lot of angry glares.

8 Ways to Win My Heart
1. Don't be too forward. I'm easily scared off.
2. Take me somewhere I'll enjoy but I've never been before. Make it an adventure.
3. Don't talk down to me. Do it once and I'll remember it forever.
4. I've had very bad experiences with men, please keep this in mind.
5. An exotic accent would hurt.
6. I don't always want to be treated like one of the guys. Just because I enjoy some of the same things, I want romance in my life, too.
7. I'm going to have performances over the years. I expect flowers.
8. Must love dogs. Must love animals.

7 Things That Cross My Mind A Lot
1. Why are you even talking to me?
2. Do you really think it's OK to do that?
3. [Insert Day Dream About Comic/Movie/TV Show/Cartoon Character or Hot Movie Star/Guy at Work Who's Completely Out of My League Here]
4. Anti-Me Thoughts
5. What would happen if I did this to this character?
6. I really want to work create a story around this character/situation. How could I do that?
7. Songs. If I'm not writing a story in my head, I'm singing a song.

6 Things I Do Before I Go To Bed (no particular order)
1. Take Pills.
2. Contacts out.
3. Dog Walked.
4. Dog in bed.
5. Play solitaire on my phone.
6. Write Story as I fall asleep.

5 Places I Want to Visit
1. England
2. South Africa
3. France
4. Ireland
5. So many others I can't even list them

4 Things I'm Wearing Right Now
1. Pants
2. Camisole
3. Undies
4. Sweater

3 Bands(Singers) I Listen to Often
1. Frank Sinatra
2. Josh Groban
3. Broadway Musical

2 Things I Want To Do Before I Die
1. Have a child.
2. Write something that someone important will want to read.

1 Confession
Some days I wish that something would happen to me so that I wouldn't have to go to work.

Glee

Almost forgot to post something today. It was a good day. I took my antidepressant which is good. I registered for my classes, also good. I taught my little girl's ballet class, which was awesome. And now I'm watching Glee. Everyone keeps telling me that it's the best thing ever. And so far ... the music is good, but that's about it. The story lines are not really all there, like there's something that's just not clicking. The characters are transparent and kinda boring. I mean, the only one that seems to have any personality is the jock with a hidden passion for singing. The teacher has a personality in there, but it never gets to come out because someone shuts him down before he can say two bloody words. They keep telling me Rachel is a goddess and that I will love her, but honestly, I kinda want to shoot her. In her stupid nose. She's a bitch!

And yet all the same I'm still watching. Because the music is awesome. But I think it's more because otherwise I feel like I'm some sort of traitor to my group.

And I just realized that my dog snores. And I'm wondering if that's what wakes me up at all hours of the night when I can't figure out what it is.

It's possible.

Just to show you how truly geeky I am, I'm going to reveal something about myself. I do forum based RPGs. Nothing with dice or anything. It's all about the story and character development and the people I'm working with are great. I've been on this site for years, and every once in a while it dies, but it always comes back. And then it dies again. For a year at a time sometimes. But it always comes back. I've been working with two of the other members there. Well one is the site's creator and the other is just another guy who's been there nearly as long as she and I have. We are some of the few on the site who can, a) really write, and b) do so consistently, and c) treat everyone else on the site with any sort of respect. It's awesome and we just finished a really great dialogue session. And I'm feeling really good about my writing skills tonight.

However I have to go back to work tomorrow, so hopefully I'll still be awake enough to post something up tomorrow night. I'm wondering if consistency is the key to getting readers.

Knitting

So I'm adding two new items to my Resolutions list.

a) To take the dog, hereby referred to as Tigger, to the dog park at least one time a week.

b) To get back into knitting regularly.

Knitting was something I really enjoyed. It gives you something you can actually see and feel. It's instant gratification.

And I always enjoy taking Tigger to the dog park, it's just the getting off my ass and doing it that I fail at.

So, yeah. I started what I hope will one day be a shawl to wear with my new brown dress that I bought in November. The logical thing to do might have been to find a pattern, but I'm not very good at following patterns. Hopefully I'll be able to make something out of it.

Coyote Tales

This story is something different from my usual. It’s something I’ve been wanting to write for a long time now. My mother grew up on the Navajo Reservation. No, she's not Navajo. My grandfather worked at the boarding schools. He loved the culture and instilled that love into my mother. She, in turn, passed it onto me. When I got into writing, I always promised myself that I would write some of their myths in my own style and give them as a gift to my mother. I've finally gotten my writing to a point where I really feel like I can do justice to the great stories in Navajo folklore.

I decided to start with a Coyote story. Mostly because they were the first ones I ever heard. I plan on writing more. I’m having a few issues with it, but overall I think I’m fairly pleased.

I tried to use language a little differently than I usually do. I wanted to make it sound more like a folklore might. Audience wise I would see it as an older children’s book, does the language work for that?

I tried to make the references to the different constellations clear. Can you tell which ones are mentioned or does it need more?

I mention a few other characters found in Navajo folklore, Beaver, Wolf and Rabbit. Is Coyote’s relationship with each of these characters clear in the lines it is touched on? Or do I need to add to it? Or is it not necessary at all?

I think that’s all. Any other grammatical problems, general questions, thoughts. I want to hear what you like and what you didn’t.

Coyote and the Stars

The sky was dark and the moon hung low in the sky over the desert landscape. The few trees were bare now, the world was entering winter, and a few patches of snow clung to the ground under the under the scarce blades of grass.

Coyote trotted along the path, his ears perked and tail high. The chill in the air didn’t bother him and the breeze brought a familiar scent floating to his nose. He stopped in his tracks, and turned his head toward the smell to take a deep whiff. Beaver. He’d seen head nor tail of Beaver since the last time they’d played tricks. And the thought that he may have caught the scent of Beaver’s den made his blood race. It was, after all, his turn to make Beaver look a fool. Coyote turned his nose to the ground and followed the trail.

Lost in Beaver’s scent, he traveled off the path and deep into the desert. He moved around a few bushes and was nearly stabbed by a low growing cactus, but never veered far enough to lose the odor of his friendly foe. Soon he’d lost track of all else, lost in the aroma.

“Yá’át’ééh, Mą’ii,” a soft voice said.

The hair on Coyote’s shoulders stood on end and he dug his heels into the ground. He lifted his head, a few clumps of red mud clinging to the end of his wet nose. His tense body relaxed when his eyes fell on the raven haired woman seated on a finely woven blanket. Her kind face was illuminated by lights sparkling on the blanket.

“Hey, First Woman,” he said, padding forward. “How’s it going?”

First Woman frowned at him slightly. “You always speak so strangely, Trickster,” she said in an even tone.

“Sorry,” Coyote grumbled. “Yá’át’ééh, First Woman.” She gave him the same smile she always wore around him. Humoring and placating. “So how is it going?”

“Quite well,” she said. She gestured to the thousands of sparkling lights spread out before her on the blanket. “I call them stars.”

Coyote moved forward further and took a seat next to her. He watched the tiny lights twinkle before her moved forward, nudging a few with his nose. He pulled back sharply, a paw covering his nose. “I don’t like’em. They burn.”

First laughed lightly. “I should have warned you. You have to touch them carefully.”

“So what’re these stars for?” Coyote asked, nudging them more carefully now.

The woman sitting there eyed him carefully for a moment, then considered the question before she responded. “To guide me people. To give them hope.” She pointed to a group of stars in the rough shape of a spoon, the handle of which lead the eye generally northward. “These show the way to find this star,” she gestured to one particularly bright star, “it points to the north. It can guide a lost man home to his family.”

Coyote nodded and watching for a few moments as First Woman placed each star carefully into the sky. He cleared his throat. “Can I help?”

The woman seemed surprised, but nodded, a genuine smile gracing her lips. “Of course, Mą’ii.“

Carefully, not wanting to be burned again, Coyote took one of these stars and placed it in the sky. He took great care and created a crooked line of stars in the sky. First Woman frowned at him when he bared his teeth in a proud grin.

“What?“ he said, indignantly. "It’s a snake.“

She shook her head and continued silently in her work. Coyote shrugged and began work on a hunter just above the horizon. First Woman nodded proudly when he’d finished this shape, and Coyote was pleased.

They worked in silence for a long while, which for Coyote was a feat in of itself. When Coyote had finished the shape of two dogs chasing a hare, First Woman laughed, trying to hide it behind her hand.

“What?“ he groaned, trying to see what she found so funny. “It’s me! And big brother, Wolf. We’re chasing Rabbit. Going to catch him this time.“

“The stars can’t be moved now, Trickster, you’ll never catch Rabbit here,“ she said, still stifling laughter.

Growling in frustration Coyote stood and grabbed the blanket’s edge and pulled. Startled First Woman stood quickly, stepping off the blanket. With a fierce movement of his head coyote shook the blanket and the thousands of stars still left to be placed went flying. They found a place and stayed there, shining next to the moon in the sky.

“Mą’ii,“ First Woman scolded. She started to say something else, but stopped herself, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose, calming herself for a moment. Coyote sat back down, pressing his ears against his head, and turning his face away from First Woman.

“Sorry,“ he said quietly.

First Woman looked up at the sky and her anger seemed to fade. “It’s alright, Coyote, my friend,“ she said and gestured for him to look as well. “It’s beautiful.“

Creating a Character

So, I wasn't going to post anything tonight. I had a shitty day at work and just didn't want to deal with. Period. Then I remembered that that is why I started this in the first place. To make myself feel better after days like today. Mind you, I've learned from the nasty stories about people losing their jobs after posting something not nice about their jobs, so I won't do that. It was just a bad day. One of those days, ya know. One of those days.

But it's over, as of 4 minutes ago it is now January 4th. Much better day. A day off from work. With a nap and a chiropractor appointment being my only plans. Perhaps I shall go to Bookman's finally and get trade value for all my stuff. But mostly I'm going to wallow in my grumpiness.

But I came home and Lord of the Rings: Return of the King was on. And watching Orlando Bloom kill the very large elephant always makes me happy. As does watching Samwise Gamgee kill some orcs. Yes, Sam, shout about the Shire and your gaffer while your trying to infiltrate to orc's tower to save your Mister Frodo. That screams of logic.

I also came home to find the Magnificent Madame J. had ideas about a character I've been half-assedly working on for a couple days now. Nothing about the character, just about what she could do in the story we're all working on. And it was like all of the sudden it clicked. She's a Mal Reynolds personality wise. She has illusion powers that she uses for the good of mankind, and if that's not possible at least for her own amusement. A good person at heart, but not unwilling to hurt other people to get what she wants.

I love creating characters. It can make a day go from hell to ground level in about 20 minutes. It starts with a power. Today's character was shapeshifting. But that was boring today. I didn't particularly want to do just a shape shifter unless there's some catch to it. I've done shape shifters before, but never very well. So I decided to base her powers more in reality altering. But I didn't want to bring up the chance of her being so powerful that could alter history so that Event X never happened. I hate those story lines in comics. Blah. So I decided to change it to illusions. She could change her appearance and the world around her. And it works really well. It helped develop her personality later on.

Next came her name, and for that matter usually ends with changing that name. It's usually the name of one of my friends, just as a filler. Sometimes it works for the character, but usually it doesn't. Today she started off as Alex, which works well as a filler name, because it's fairly generic. (Not to say that all Alex's are generic personalities, I know 3 Alex's at work and none of them are generic. At all.) She was Alex Cummings. Which I was going to keep until I remembered why it sounded so good Alan Cummings. Yay Alan Cummings. Or is it Cumming? That's a possibility. Anyway, I then changed it to Miranda Cummings, (I was watching Lord of the Rings, remember. Miranda Otto plays Eowyn.) And after that many more changes were made until finally we arrived at the name Jenny Bianchi. (See. That's a big difference, I don't want to list ALL the changes. It'd be like, 20 posts worth.) And her appearance is roughly based off of this picture of Cameron from House. It seemed liked fate when I realized that her real name is Jennifer as well.

So next I started working on her history. And this is when it really clicked. She a bitch, and has a thing for practical jokes. She was spoiled growing up and because of that thought she could do whatever she wanted. She's kind of an Emma Frost character.

Anyway. That's a ramble on how I created a character tonight and how it made my mood finally go up after a very shitty day. Now it's 12:59, and I started this post nearly an hour ago. I think it's time for bed.

Goodnight to the world.