Define That Word #2 {Voting!} + The Wands of Trystal Chapter One

What’s up? ๐Ÿ™‚ Here are finallyย  the polls for Define That Word! Guess who’s been stalling for two weeks. *tries to ignore blatant stares of her audience*

Well whatever. Here they are!

I made a new stories page! Check it out. ๐Ÿ™‚ Also, for the title of my book, what do you think is better:

Fun fact about my book: There are going to be five books in the series!! ๐Ÿ˜ฎ (impossible)

And, comment below what you think the title of Book One should be. Above, you are voting for the title of the whole series. Now what should the title of book one be?

How about, let’s do another poll.

Chapter One

I lean against the window, gazing at the dull gardens of the school yards. I tear slides down my cheek, and I quickly rub it away. No one can see I am crying. I promised my Mom I would be strong. A year ago, my Dad left my Mom and I, and just three weeks ago I was taken to live with my Aunt when my Mom disappeared. In only two days, my Aunt had arranged for me to be shipped of to Miss Steeple’s Boarding School for Girls.

I imagine myself with my Mother, flying through the sky on fairy wings. It has been my wish for so long, I think.

The school bell gongs and I leap from my seat on the window sill. How many times has it rung this time before I paid attention? I wonder. Yesterday it was six, so I had been told. I can’t be late for class again.

I grab my brush and run it through my golden hair, and then twist my hair into a french braid. A curl bounced over my eye and I push it back. Messy again. Mom used to do such beautiful and neat braids.

I arrive in class, and the first thing I look at is the big grandfather clock ticking away on the other side of the room. 9:16AM. My record of being late. I sigh and slide into my seat, ignoring the blatant stares I grew so used to in my two weeks here.

โ€œMiss Drinnigan, I thought I made it clear that if you were late again, you would not have dinner for three days?โ€ Miss Steeple’s voice cuts through the whispers and snickers echoing through the room.

โ€œI’m sorry, Ma’am. I lost track of the time.โ€ I answer in all honesty. I feel my cheeks burn a tomato red. โ€œI was thinking about- nothing.โ€

I hear a giggle from across the room. Miss Steeple gives the owner of the giggle a cold stare. โ€œMiss Temple, back to your duties.โ€

โ€œA time to think, a time to be on time.โ€ Miss Steeple claps her plump hands together. Another loud snicker sounds behind me. Miss Steeple says nothing. Only smiles slightly. Of course. Jessica Morgan. Teachers’ pet.

โ€œTurn to page seventeen in your English books.โ€ She turns back to me. โ€œI would like to see you after school, Jovial.โ€

I nod. โ€œYes Ma’am.โ€ โ€œI let my backpack fall of my shoulders. I kick it under the desk. Another day without my family in this horrible place. I feel a sharp tug on my braid. Jessica Morgan. I grit my teeth and turned back to my work. She isn’t worth wasting my time. Jessi smirks. โ€œI heard we’re having potato soup for dinner tonight, Drinnigan.โ€ She whispers. I can feel her hot breath in my ear. My stomach rumbles. I suck in my breath.

โ€œYeah right, Morgan.โ€ I shoot back.

Jessi gives my braid another yank and looks down. โ€œJovial Drinnigan. What a sissy name.โ€

I glance at the clock and then close my eyes. โ€œSix more hours.โ€

School drags on, and finally the last bell of the day gongs and I shoot out of my seat like a rocket on fire. โ€œJovial!โ€

I stop. Right. Miss Steeple wanted to see me after school. โ€œYes Ma’am?โ€ I turn around.

The girls push past me and Jessi Morgan rams her shoulder into mine. โ€œHave fun, dork!โ€ she hisses, then turns to Miss Steeple, putting on a silky smile. โ€œSee you at dinner, Miss Steeple.โ€ Miss Steeple smiles and swoons over Jessi’s beauty. She is so much more beautiful than me, I know.

I scowl. Rat.

Miss Steeple turns back to me. โ€œI know your mother just died, but that doesn’t give you any excuse to be late for every class since you’ve been here. I expect better from you, Jovial.โ€

โ€œI’m sorry, Miss Steeple. It’s just been hard.โ€

Miss Steeple sighs. โ€œI will see you at dinner tonight, Jovial, don’t be late. And please try harder.โ€ Miss Steeple brushes past me, patting me on the back.

Maybe she isn’t so bad. I creep to my room, trying to avoid the cold stare and mean words of Jessica.

I push the door to my room open. โ€œI wish I were a fairy,โ€ I say outloud, as soon as the door is shut. โ€œThen I could get away from reality.โ€

Being a fairy has been my dream eversince I was two years old and my Mom read me fairytales every night before bed and when I woke in the morning.

I spy the painting above my bed and smile. It is a painting of my Mom and I that she had painted. In the painting we are walking down the path in our favorite park, holding hands. It is Autumn, our favorite time of year. Mom has a periwinkle in her right hand, holding it pressed against her chest. I am only six at the time.

โ€œOh Mom, I wish you were here. I wish I could be a fairy and escape this awful place.โ€ I whisper, climbing onto my bed. I place my hand on the periwinkle. Smiling again, I sink into the bed and lie down for a quick nap.


Music is playing. Everything smells so sweet like the honey dew scent I smelled every morning at home. My eyes flutter open. Where am I? I blink my eyes to adjust. So blurry. I gaze at my surroundings. A silky purple canopy is above me, the color of a fresh periwinkle. But it is still bright in the room. Around me there are people. But they look different. I feel like I have known them for a long time.

I struggle to sit up and blink again. I’m right. They’re fairies. Lacy wings extend from their backs, fluttering as the fairies flit about the place. This is impossible. Fairies aren’t supposed to be real! But yet, here they are in front of me, flying around. I must be dreaming. But it all looks and feels so real to be a dream. I don’t bother pinching myself. Even if this is a dream, I never want to wake up. That must mean I am small. Because everyone knows fairies are much less than a thumb high.

โ€œShe’s waking up!โ€ a voice says. Oh no. I don’t want to! I close my eyes, thinking it is someone from my boarding school. But then I open them again when I still feel the cold hard surface of the toadstool I am on beneath me.

I try to find the owner of the voice. It’s a boy. He has a hint of green in his wings, and the green in his eyes are only a tint darker. He wears a long brown shirt and leather pants. A braided leather belt is strapped around his waist and he wears boots. He flies towards me, a bow and arrow in hand. I scramble back. โ€œWhat-what are you?โ€ I try to sound steady, despite the fact that I am a little scared, but it only comes out as a croak.

The boy scoffs. โ€œI expect you’d know. You wished to be here.โ€

โ€œBe nice, Kip.โ€ Another voice says. A fairy, a girl with long shiny aqua colored hair floats towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her voice is like a rippling brook. Her eyes are a shallow sea blue, and her dress blue, fading into a lush grass green.

โ€œRelax, Lark.โ€ Kip says, a slight smirk on her face.

Lark glares at him.

โ€œOh I know you’re a fairy, but- how? Why?โ€ I stutter.

โ€œHi there!โ€ Lark says, pushing in front of Kip and smiling. โ€œI’m-โ€

โ€œQueen Alalia!โ€ she is interuppted by a shout. โ€œShe’s here!โ€

My head shoots up when I hear the name. I wonder what fairy has the same name as my Mother’s.

The fairy who is called Lark, darts back into the crowd. Kip, the fairy with the bow and arrows flies beside me, extending his bow and fitting a feathered arrow on the quiver, aiming it directly me. My eyes grow wide and I try to look for an escape route. Suddenly his arm shoots up and he lets go. Zing! The arrow whizzes over my head. I cower. It sices a rope holding a curtain made of long vines. They are covered with leaves and flowers. It drops down behind me, just barely brushing the ground. I stare at it. Periwinkles.

I turn back to the fairies. A hush flows over the crowd of fairies and everyone sits still on their toadstools and petal seats.

I back to the vines. I squint. It’s so bright. A fairy in a long glittering dress made from thousands of periwinkles, appears from behind the vines. It looks like someone I know. Someone I have loved for a long time. My heart skips a beat.

Muahahahaa whooo is it? Guess in the comments, but I won’t tell you. ๐Ÿ˜‰ You probably will guess right though. ๐Ÿ˜›

What do you think of my new book? | Got any constructive criticism for me?ย 

What I Did In English + Photos

Ok so my Mom and I are doing a book called ‘Writing From The Inner Self’. Personally, it annoys me. Before I start writing, I have to sit still with my back away from the back of my chair, my feet on the floor and I have to concentrate. That’s the annoying part. And then when I get into writing it’s good. ๐Ÿ˜‰ I think I just don’t want to admit it’s helping me concentrate. Don’t tell my Mom that! ๐Ÿ˜›

My Mom likes everything I write. (I love my Mom! She puts up with me!) Even when I write my rantings about how much I dislike the book. (Actually now I like it a little) So I asked her to give me tips on how to write something she won’t like. And then I asked her if she wouldn’t like it if I wrote a story with lovable characters and she would fall in love with the characters and then I’d kill them all. She sat there for a moment and then said she wouldn’t like that. Now I know! ๐Ÿ˜‰

The exercise for today was to imagine a beautiful place in nature and to notice the things around you and the time of day and season. Then imagine sitting down and noticing where you chose to sit and then imagine an action happening and after the action you stand up and walk back the way you came and notice what you can hear and see and see if anything is different from when the action occurred. And we’re also not supposed to edit anything or stop writing. I think I did a couple times though. ๐Ÿ˜› The following is what I wrote: (Sentences with *’s I edited just now)

I trudge up the hill slowly, my bare feet digging into the soft green grass. I take time to notice my surroundings; a bunny hopes past me. The wind blows gently, making the daisies around me sway. I spin around and run all the way up the hill, the grass a carpet at my feet. I look around and sit down once I reach the top. The sun is shining and a couple clouds dot the sky. A pond is to my right, *ducks paddling their webbed feet through the babbling water.* Birds *sing songs*in the heavens and butterflies flit around me. *One lands on my finger. I laugh.*

Suddenly, I hear an old vintage car rattle across the old dirt road behind me. I sigh and lie down. After a few moments, I stand up. A bunny is just peeking out of a burrow, wondering if the old noisy thing has passed. I walk back down the hill. The birds are gone now frightened by the car. But soon they fly into view again. And the butterflies are once again lazing on a dandelion or flitting around the meadows. I continue to walk down the hill and the bunnies are still coming our of their holes after the car has passed.

The action: The old vintage car rattling across the road

What changed after the action: When I walked up the hill and sat down the bunnies and birds and butterflies were already out. When I walked back down the hill, the animals were just coming back out because of the noise of the car.

Also, here are a few photos:

A couple weeks ago we went to the funeral service of an old friend near the place we used to live. Afterwards, we visited our old place and my Mom took a couple pictures of my brother and I rafting on our dam. Wow, I miss that place!

We also used to catch yabbies here… All the ones we caught died though. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ
We had a rope connecting the raft to a tree just in case we couldn’t row back… My brother was using a pitchfork to row!
2017-07-26 18.43.17.jpg
My two older brothers and my Dad built this raft years ago. It’s sort of falling apart. It still holds us though if we stand on the middle boards that are popping up. Also, my brother has a hat and mustache because I wanted to cover his handsome face.

I hope you enjoyed that piece of writing and photos! ๐Ÿ™‚ See you later.

chat with me!

Do you have a dam? | Do you go rafting? |Have you caught yabbies before? | How has your day been? | What are you doing in English?

Be - YOU - ti -f ul!-4

How To Write Good Dialogue {A Guide For Writers}

Hello, everyone! I thought I’d share with you a couple tips on staging good dialogue when writing a novel. I am by no means a professional, many of these tips I tend to stray of when writing dialogue. I do make mistakes as well. ๐Ÿ˜‰ I hope these tips will help you as they help me.


Take a look at these lines of dialogue (btw I’m just making the dialogue up as I go ๐Ÿ˜› ):

“You caught the culprit, detective?” Hefler placed his feet on the desk.

“Not yet, sir. But we will.” The young detective

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes sir.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, sir.”

“But how?”

And blah blah blah. I don’t think anyone wants to read dialogue like that.

  • Your character doesn’t have to directly answer another character’s question all the time. Readers don’t want to be slowed down by useless dialogue. And plus it’s not very natural to be holding a conversation such as the above. Perhaps instead of answering directly to every question, maybe you could give more information on the situation instead of giving useless dialogue.
  • Use your dialogue to show your character’s personality. Not yours. You might not have the same personality as your character. Therefore, you might not talk the same. You have to put yourself in your character’s shoes. The way your reader talks is a good way to show what kind of person they are. Do they use slang? Do they like to use big words? Do they talk a lot or a little?
  • Let your characters talk as naturally as possible. Although it’s good to match your character’s dialogue with their personality, it’s also a good idea to let them talk naturally. Let them talk the way that you and people around you would usually talk. Try to write their dialogue in a way that your readers will be ableย  to relate to them.
  • Don’t make conversations overly long. This is something I struggle with. I try to cram all the information I need to disclose with my readers that I forget I’m making my dialogue too insanely long. Action needs its place too. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Maybe the character can find out along the way.
  • This isn’t exactly on dialogue, but you don’t have to write ‘he/she said’ after each dialogue. You could write, ‘Kim groaned’, or ‘Kim’s eyes sparkled’ to show what she is feeling at the time. You could even write something the character is doing, just to show that that person is talking.

That’s about it! I hope you got something out of my opinions. ๐Ÿ™‚

Smile, and God bless!

Be - YOU - ti -f ul!-4


Define That Word Poll

Hi everyone!

My Mom and I have been using this writing book for school called, “Writing From The Inner Self”. After reading a little bit, I wrote a small writing assignment Mom gave to me. ๐Ÿ™‚ I thought I share it with you people, so here it is!

Question: How can writing touch and transform many different aspects of yourself?

Writing can expand my imagination, bringing me into new worlds. Writing can also help me to pour out my mind and my thoughts, helping me to see things in a somewhat imaginative and slightly different way.

For me, when I write, I feel so good about myself; I feel like I’m in my characters’ life. And that helps me when I write. ๐Ÿ™‚

When I write and just let my mind flow, it brings out my creative self and it helps me to see the little things differently, because every little thing as a story! ๐Ÿ™‚ I cannot imagine (well maybe I can ๐Ÿ˜‰ ) what my life would beย  like if I never wrote; if I never even knew the art of writing. Writing is a thing where I can use every bit of my imagination even if it sounds silly.

Another aspect that could change about myself is my lack of courage and self assurance. That could happen once I’ve put a story out there for other people to see and critique. That could help me better in my future writings.

And something else that could change is the fact that I’m poor. ๐Ÿ˜› Money comes when publishing a book, I believe, and that’s certainly something I’m looking forward too. ๐Ÿ˜‰ lol


I got a few entries to my Define That Word game, so here is the poll where you guys can vote for the best definition/s. ๐Ÿ™‚ Vote away! The results will be published within a near future post once I receive enough votes. Feel free to vote for your own doll if you think it is the best definition. ๐Ÿ™‚ You can vote more than once by clicking ‘return to poll’, but please don’t vote for your definition more than once.


chat with me!

How do you feel about writing? How do you think it could change some aspects of yourself?

Do you think I should do more Define That Word games?

Do you think I post too much? I think maybe I do and if I keep doing it, readers won’t be able to see my later posts, even if they were just posted the day before or something like that. Do you think I should have a schedule when I post? Although I’m not really a fan of that, because when I think up something to write, I don’t like waiting to post it. I like to post it straight away. ๐Ÿ˜›

Be - YOU - ti -f ul!-4

10 Writing Tips That Help Me

I really am just talking to myself. There are so many times when I feel stuck on a part, and I give up thinking and put aside my story for weeks; maybe months. Two books in a series that I put aside I left for years! I only got back to writing it last year. So maybe these tips will help me, and you get past our writing block scenario. I’m just writing what helps me when I’m writing. ๐Ÿ™‚

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