The Payment

     "Huh."

     Iphri rolled head over heels through the dirt, just keeping hold of her twin daggers. She twisted upright, skidding to a stop in a crouch.

     "Impressive," her opponent said.

     He shouldn't have been able to touch her at all. She was slow today. Eyes narrowed, Iphri charged. She dropped, sliding into his legs. With a yelp, he clattered on the ground. Iphri spun and leapt. The man rolled out of the way. Her weapons hit earth.

     Both of them clambered to their feet, breath heavy. Her opponent smirked, gesturing for her to attack. Bouncing towards him, she dodged to the side, pirouetting. This time, he predicted her move and jerked, elbow catching her in the back. She slammed down face first, breath gone. She coughed once. Twice. Then rolled, catching his sword with her crossed daggers.

     He grinned, pressing down. "Say it."

     "Never." Her daggers slipped, the blade inching closer.

     "How long have you two been at this?"

     They looked over in unison. Hovering above them was a woman with a thick braid of red hair, hands on her hips.

     "Um. A while," Iphri said.

     "We got bored," Grez said.

     Selna rolled her eyes.

     Iphri kneed Grez in the groin, twisting her weapons. Groaning, he fell over, sword skittering away. Iphri rolled above him and thrust a dagger at his throat. "Say it!"

     "No." He squinted at her. "You cheated."

     Iphri leaned forward. "Say it. Or I'll tell everyone what happened at the McHayden job. Princess Squishems."

     An exasperated sigh. "You are the queen of fighting. I bow to your superior skills. I'm unworthy to even kiss the ground you walk on."

     Hopping up onto her feet, Iphri sheathed her daggers at her hips. "Damn right."

     "I forget why I thought this was a good idea," Selna said.

     "Did you really need both of us anyway?"

     Selna grabbed Iphri's hand, pulling her close. "I missed you, br'akteth." The kiss was soft and sweet.

     "And him?" Iphri jerked a thumb at Grez.

     "Enh, just in case. We're being paid well to recover this gem for the Admiralty. May as well do it right."

     Still lying in the dirt, Grez said, "Thanks. Nice to be appreciated."

     "Come on, kids," Selna said. "Let's get this over with."

#

     The morning sun bled through a thick mist, mountainous horizon ablaze with colour. Atop the edge of a crumbling tower, Iphri held Selna, who was resting her head on her shoulder. Grez was nearby, studying a deep red gem cut into a faceted tear drop. It glittered within its infinite depths.

     "That was no fun," Iphri said. "I didn't even get to stab anybody."

     Selna gazed up at her. "Just think of all the violence-free gold you'll be getting."

     "Fair point."

     Twisting the gem this way and that, Grez asked, "Are you sure we have to give this back to the Admiralty?"

     "Yes," Selna said. "Trust me, it's much saf--"

     The stone slipped from his fingers. They all watched it fall to the ground far away.

     "Oh--"

     It shattered. An electric flash of red light exploded around them. Then the world dropped away, tower and all.

     "--crap."

     It was dark as they lay among the stony rubble.

     "Grez," said Iphri.

     "Yes?"

     "What did you do?"

     "That's a very good question."

     Selna groaned. "Did I forget to mention that was a portal stone?"

     "You may have neglected that, yes," Iphri said.

     "Artifacts are your thing, lady," said Grez. "We're just mercenaries."

     Standing, Iphri dusted herself off. Then she helped Selna to her feet. "So. Beloved. Where are we?"

     "Well..."

     "You don't know?"

     "I have a theory?"

     Iphri glanced over to Grez. He was holding up a hand for help. She ignored him.

     "Okay. Let me think." Looking around, Selna said, "The shadows are too thick. What do you see, Iph?"

     "The remnants of an ancient tower."

     "Iphri..."

     "Fine. Some ruins, I think. Things skittering around. And then a whole lot of nothing else."

     Grez wandered up to them, straightening his tunic. "Let me guess. Into the ruins?"

     "To the ruins," Selna said.

#

     The soft grey stone of the fragile buildings was textured, characters from an unrecognisable language carved into their surface. Selna and Grez followed close behind Iphri, who navigated the treacherous environment with care. They passed through an arch of rubble and stepped into a large, open chamber.

     Torches burst into life. Iphri yelped, shielding her sensitive eyes. A booming voice echoed around them in a strange tongue.

     Selna said, "I think that was 'Welcome, travellers. State your purpose.'"

     "You seriously understand the language of some ancient underground portal dimension?" Iphri said, still blinking.

     "Apparently." Selna cleared her throat. "We're lost. We simply seek passage home."

     Mouth hanging open, Grez pointed across the room. "You two see that, right?"

     Iphri glanced over. In front of an ornate, gilded mirror was an apparition. Blue and wispy and in the vague shape of a... cat?

     "Ah yes, I recognise those words. I know the world of which you speak," said the voice. The cat's voice? It came from no particular direction. "Very well. Passage can be arranged, for the correct payment."

     "What payment do you require?" Selna asked.

     "Something of value. Something that cannot be replaced."

     "Anything?"

     "Yes."

     The trio looked at one another. "Give us a moment to confer," Selna said.

     Iphri furrowed her brow. "So, a life?"

     "No," Selna and Grez said together.

     "It went okay last time."

     Selna shook her head. "There's no coming back from here, br'akteth."

     "Then what?"

     Grez said, "A memory?"

     "Memories can be replaced."

     "Some can," said Selna. "Not all."

     The two women exchanged a glance. Iphri sighed. "The night we met."

     "No," Grez said. "No, surely there's something else."

     "You can't replace a first meeting like that," Selna said.

     Silence fell. Iphri's mind scrambled for alternatives. She could tell by their expressions that the others were doing the same. Nothing.

     "What will it do to our other memories of us?" Iphri asked at last.

     Selna pulled her close, burying into her chest. "I don't know, beloved."

     Lifting her chin, Iphri kissed her. Forceful. Desperate.

     When they parted, tears were falling down Selna's cheeks. She turned to the cat spirit... thing. "We're ready. We've decided."

     "Your offering is acceptable."

     Another flash of crimson light. The trio stood where the tower once did.

     "Some day. Some day a job will go as planned." Iphri was checking everything was in place, then caught sight of Selna beside her. "Are you alright? Why are you crying?"

     Wiping her face dry, Selna shook her head. "I... I don't know."

     Iphri's chest ached, so sudden it knocked the breath from her. As she stared into Selna's emerald eyes, she felt empty. Confused. She turned to Grez. "What's going on?"

     A wistful smile. "Just a normal day for the three of us."

a piece of me

it echoes inside
there
where you are meant to live

darkness
no lights but the porch
flickering, burning, waiting
a beacon
hopeful and hopeless

i will keep it warm for you
i will wander its halls
footsteps damp, salt in my wake
this home, not my home
our home
quiet, haunted
by what hasn't
by what may
by what may not

but it remains
there
space carved away years ago
the piece of me i gave
the light is on
map and guide
even if
even if you never
even if you never return
home

feel me

feel me

hear me

i am present

alive

willing

full of answers

full of questions

full of lies i never told you

desire coloured by

honesty at odds with

perception

worlds within worlds

within each other

without…

feel me

in, over, around, above

hear me

the taste on your tongue

the blood on your lips

before you i lie

posed repose

drawn and quartered

split between the lines

the silence

the remnants of

feel me

touch the raw chords of your making

hear me

the dissonant roar of your demise

More

More, she said.

More, more, give it all.

Keep giving.

More, when the silence falls.

More, when the cracks begin to show.

More, to quiet the never-ending screaming. 

More. 

When there is nothing left to give, still more. 

More, because the void swallows the broken places inside, 

and the nothing beyond is still more palatable than what was left behind. 

More. 

Outgrown, the vessel shatters and falls away. 

More. 

Lacking form, density, space, time, 

there is nothing. 

There is everything. 

More. 

When the long miles behind you echo with your ghosts, 

more. 

Always moving, always forward. 

More, as the future slips further and further from your vision. 

More, as you fall. 

More, as you crawl. 

More, with the bloodied stumps grinding into asphalt, 

still more. 

Bones rattling against one another

in a disjointed rhythm 

as you finally still. 

More. 

Always more.

Dreaming Big

If you've taken a passing glance at my bio, you will have seen that I study Nutrition as well as write. Food and words are my two great loves for many reasons, more than I really have space for in this one blog post. I have a Why I Write post in the works, but my brain has been a bit here and there, so I'm waiting until I have the right mindset to tackle that one properly. So, that will have to wait for now.

Recently, I've been thinking of ways I can combine them so I can do both the things I love at once. As much as I do enjoy science, it's less important to me if I can turn the other two into Real Jobs somehow.

Cafe culture in Australia is generally pretty great, because as a country we are obsessed with both amazing coffee and delicious brunch food. Still, during the week, cafes cater to the work crowd, so they'll be open very early for breakfast and through early afternoon for lunch, but that's it. On the weekend it's no better, because while we love our brunches, most dinners are left under the purview of 'real' restaurants. So, cafe hours are often quite limited, and fair enough, as that's what they can make a business catering to. There are a few exceptions to this rule, though very few, and it's possible that Melbourne with its strong artsy leanings caters to the writer better than Sydney often can.

Still, I've sort of latched on to this idea of a very writing-focused cafe, with much longer and much later hours overall. Someplace with super cozy chairs and tables to encourage you to spend time there, and a courtyard that's easily covered so that you can take advantage of fresh air and sunny days as they come. Perhaps there would even be a super quiet zone upstairs with proper desks instead of cafe tables that worked more as a hot-seat writing space, but you could still order up coffees and snacks as needed. There'd be books all over the walls, of course, in case you want to take a break from work and just want to lounge about for a while reading. The hours would cater to writers and students and freelancers, those of us who don't adhere to those strange 'office hours'. There'd still be morning hours for the weirdos that do wake up before noon, but breakfast and brunch would be served all day and we'd stay open until late, till just about all those more sensible people have gone to bed.

Honestly, that sounds like heaven to me. And I'd probably go for it too, if I ever made enough money from writing or other work to invest in its start up.

I'm pretty ok with others stealing this idea and going for it, cause I think places like this should exist! Although, maybe not if you live in Sydney, cause I want to do it here? Maybe? Some day?

On Never Reading Enough: A Personal Challenge

I've been thinking recently about why I don't read more. My reading list is endless and ever-growing, as I'm sure is true of all book lovers. I don't really lack for time or energy to do so among all my other commitments. I could certainly prioritise reading more over catching up on my TV shows or playing video games, which is how I often otherwise spend my down time. But I often find myself choosing not to read over other forms of relaxation, because I often simply want to turn my brain off for a while.

And as both a lover of stories and a writer, this makes me feel, well... guilty. I know reading is as important to good writing as much as the practise of writing. You see it mentioned in nearly every piece of writing advice out there: to write well you must also read, a lot and often. It's not that I don't read for pleasure at all, because I definitely do... but I don't do it as much as I'd like or feel that I should. I've been making a concerted effort to fix that, because my reading list is beginning to get out of control.

Still, the idea that I'd choose not to read over other entertainment is strange to me. I read voraciously as a child. I preferred books to people (and still do, quite honestly), and I lived in the library growing up. I spent most summers there. I'd check out a huge stack of books, hungrily read through them all, and then go back for another round week after week.

But that was before the internet, before adult responsibilities, before a lot of things which now make me pick and choose carefully how I must spend my time. Not that that has ever stopped me from having many sleepless nights where I just had to get to the end of whatever book I was engrossed with at the time. I haven't had nearly as many of those in a long while, though.

I think what I've come to realise is that I do read all the time, just not in the same way. The more my life has revolved around the internet, social media, endless blogs and news articles, etc. the more I find the thought of reading for pure pleasure a task as opposed to simple relaxation. I spend all day reading words on a screen, so much that the thought of reading for fun seems like effort. How depressing is that?

As I'm ironically complain about reading blogs on a blog, I'm going to challenge myself now to read a lot more books instead of other forms of entertainment. And instead of some of my sometimes wandering internet time, for sure. I'll never be at my childhood levels of reading again, obviously, but I'm wondering if I can do a book a week. Maybe every two weeks to start and see how I go. So let's say 12 books over six months.

I'll post progress and mini-reviews on my Facebook and Twitter to keep things accountable under the hashtag #12book6.

The list as it stands, maybe kind of in order:

1) The Name of the Wind - Patrick Rothfuss
2) The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
3) The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman
4) Blackbirds - Chuck Wendig
5) The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
6) Daughter of the Forest - Juliet Marillier
7) The First Man in Rome - Colleen McCollough
8) Banewreaker - Jacqueline Carey
9) The Paying Guests - Sarah Waters
10) The Gunslinger - Stephen King
11) God's War - Kameron Hurley
12) The Killing Moon - N.K. Jemisin

Wish me luck!

Updates!

Sorry, things have been far too quiet on this blog. Mostly because I've been busy with writing related things but not in ways that I can show you yet! It's frustrating! And I've had a blog post on the back burner for a while, but between uni and taking on writing projects it's fallen through the cracks. Hopefully, I'll post stuff a bit more often when I need a break from the craziness.

But the good news is that by the end of the year, there will be a couple ways for you to get your hands on my writing that is Not This Blog. And probably far better than what is on this blog, since there will be editing and feedback and stuff. You can trust I'll be pimping the heck out of it once everything takes shape, but for now it's nose to the grindstone to get all the writing done.

I'm really excited about the subject matter of the projects I'm a part of. If you have any interest in mental illness or modern takes on fairy tales, you will love them too. (Unsubtle tease is unsubtle.)

Okay, back to work. Whee!