UPDATE – SEMI HIATUS

 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!  I’m sorry for the delayed wishes for the new year (and I mean both Jan 1st New Year and Chinese New Year 🙂 ).  It’s been a long time since I’ve posted, and as the owner of this blog I’m absolutely horrified with myself!  I miss this blog almost everyday, the feeling of thinking up materials for posting, and then posting them.

Hopefully soon, I’ll be back to my usual posting.

Until then, Words That Flow Like Water is on a semi hiatus.  I’ll post from time to time, but it seems I don’t have enough inspiration and my life has become a bit cluttered.

I will update you all as soon as I can and get back soon :).  For now, though, if you want to follow what I’m doing or reading you can find me here:

Wordsthatflowlikewater @ Instagram

Nina {ᴡᴏʀᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ} on Goodreads

I’m so sorry! I’ll be back soon!

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Daydreams. 55 Fiction.

Blue sky

She dreamed of a kiss, too good to be true.  Her fingers gripped the lapels of his jersey.

“Wake up.”

She moaned.

Prod.

More moans… falling.

Falling?

Her eyes flew open, a delicious blush spread across her cheeks as she hit the ground.  He was looking at her.  The man of her dreams.  How embarrassing.

New Years Resolutions

After thinking about it for a few days, I have decided on my New Years Resolutions.  When I think about last year, I know how disastrous some parts of it were.  And then there were the parts that I want to improve on, to go further with.  So, this post is going to list both my personal new years resolutions for the year (which include my writing goals), and my bookish resolutions!

Personal Resolutions

  • Submit some publications.  To be more specific to myself, have ONE confirm/acceptance.
  • Exercise.  Oh yes.  Of all the cliched new years resolutions I could give myself, I give myself this one!  But well, it’s not like I intend to set a particular exercise regime for myself, rather, I intend and want to just move my body more.
  • Write!  Write more, and complete more.  I’m definitely going to finish the writing project I’ve been working on and definitely not putting it on hiatus like I did with the Curse Mark last year.  It’s not like I’ve needed to push myself to finish a project like this before, but rather, it’s something recent.  At this age, fresh out of uni with a degree and then diving right back in again for postgrad, I find myself needing to balance out my life again.

 

 

Bookish Resolutions

(And for the fun stuff!)

  • Classics.  Oh yes, I’m definitely trying this one again this year.  I will DEFINITELY read three classics this year.
  • Finish all the books I bought.  And try and not splurge too much this year on new books since I can’t afford it right now.
  • Finish my challenges for QBC!  I do think I’ll take up less yearly challenges this year, but I also do want to finish them all.  I know for one that I struggled a bit with the A-Z challenge (why are some letters just so hard??) and definitely with the months challenge! (which, Sam and I have agreed and already simplified!)
  • Read books I would never read (at least 3!)

 

I don’t know how I’ll go with these resolutions, but I seemed to have done alright last year!

What are your new years resolutions?

 

The Bad Habits of Good Readers by Carol Jago

In the end I decided to reblog this, because most of it so true! And while I never stuck a book inside my textbook, I thought about it! And although I did well in school, no.5 is so true!

Nerdy Book Club

Time for confession. While applauding the model of teachers as master readers and students as apprentices, it seems to me that before we recommend that students should become just like us, we would do well to examine what compulsive readers actually do. In my experience, avid readers often:

1. Value speed over reflection. Such readers seldom pause between books to think about what they have read. They reach for the next one with hardly an intake of breath.

2. Skip anything they find boring. Unlike inexpert readers, these “master” readers feel free to jump past anything that interrupts the flow of a story. They skim descriptive passages and skip altogether imbedded poetry or quotations (for example the medieval tale within Edgar Allan Poe’s “Fall of the House of Usher.”).

3. Care more about their personal reading than assigned reading. I have known many who perform very poorly in high school…

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This Is My Declaration

I am Australian

Regardless of my

Visual appearance.

I am Australian

Born and bred.

But maybe not

Through and through

The way some perceive.

I am Australian

Who’s short

With olive skin.

Who’s Chinese by blood,

But not necessarily by heart

I am Australian

I only speak English,

At the expense

Of my mother tongue,

For reasons you will probably

Never understand.

I am Australian

Regardless of

What You Say.

If you ask me

‘Where are you from?’

Do you really expect an answer,

Other than, from here?

Don’t look at me,

Up and down,

Don’t examine my cheekbones

And the green veins on my wrist

Don’t presume and assume

With that mono

Homo

Singular minded,

Colonised perception

That is too often present

Behind those innocuously asked

But infuriatingly insensitive

Question of, ‘where are you from?’

Should I ask,

‘Where you are from?’

And then tell you,

No, I mean

WHERE ARE YOU REALLY FROM?

Should I comment on the fact

That the blood of convicts,

Run in your veins

Or that your parents’

Parents’

Parents’

Were migrants too?

Are you offended?

Just like I am

When you ask me

Where are you from?

What makes YOU

More Australian than I?

I am Australian

You have no right

To tell me

That I am anything

But what I am.

Have a care,

For where you tread

With your filthy,

Words,

Rooted in an

Unconscious

Discrimination.

I am Australian.

Born and bred.

This is my birth country.

It is the country I have schooled.

The country I call my own.

Why shouldn’t I call myself,

Australian?

This is Australia,

A country of many bloods

Of arms that sprout,

Reaching upwards,

A tree,

Just beginning

For those of us who have come,

For those who are the fruits,

Of the seeds planted.

How dare you have the gall

To imply

That I Am NOT?

I am Australian

As much as you

As much as those

Whose generations

Have exceeded

Those of my parents.

I am Australian—

Not by blood

But by birthright.

If I am not Australian

Then what the hell am I?

I Am Australian

So don’t tell me I’m not

With those oblivious questions

That do little but leave us

Hovering in the third space,

Defiantly straining against

The old traditions of the former generations

And the new and modern of our host

No.  Of which I have become a host.

We want to be accepted

For what we are,

What WE say we are,

And NOT what you think we are.

We are Australian

And this—

This is my declaration.

[ N.B ] This came out more strongly than I anticipated, but I think, those of us who are Australian born, but aren’t always perceived as Australian should not be afraid to be Australian.  Which, I know, sometimes is very difficult, specially when it seems like everyone is just so determined to go against you, telling you otherwise.  In truth, not everyone cares, so feel free to be yourself.  And while my above poem is well, a very strong declaration, it is all truth, for it has happened, and I have felt all those things, but the reality–not everyone is treated as such.  As we grow older, we learn to freeze out the irrelevant people, and focus on the world, one that is MUCH, MUCH bigger than the world of the school.  And out there, we are not alone.  And even though we aren’t, and we might meet people who are from all different backgrounds, this ‘where are you from’ question might become even harder to answer, but well, stick to what you know!  That is–who you are.  YOU are what you say you are, don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.

The Curse Mark: Chapter Eight

CAN ANGELS LIE: LENNOX VANDERWERKEN

Kisa Kevser was very kind.  She was patient, and she cared.  Those were the qualities of a pure angel.  But like any living being that could think, Kisa had thoughts on everything.  And she was not afraid to voice them when given the opportunity.  Lennox noticed this.  He noticed everything that was related to his little protégé because whatever happened to her, whatever she did, reflected on him.  Kisa though, was nearly perfect, if only she held her tongue a bit more.  But she couldn’t—didn’t know how to in any circumstance.

Lennox looked over at the long line of homeless youths waiting for their serve of soup for the night.  Each and every one of them had an expression on his or her face that communicated something, a feeling of great sadness.  Angels of the third rank were more in tune with the feelings of humans in conjunction with maintaining an objective stance toward them.  But third rank had fewer obligations to maintain objectivity compared to someone in second, and least of all the first rank.  Those in the first rank were closest the Almighty, and were least in tune with humans, and generally could not care less about them.  Standing here in this shelter was not entirely what someone of his rank should be doing.  But he thought it was a good place to start.  It was a good place for Lennox to isolate the pros and cons of Kisa Kevser, and then from there, slowly whittle away her cons and reshape her as the perfect angel she should be.

“We need more soup Lennox.” Lennox turned around to see Kisa standing there.  She had dress that covered the gems inset on her chest today, and one that made her look more innocent and childish than the other.   He also noticed that the sleeves, while gauze, were long and covered her arms entirely.

Lennox looked around for more soup, but one sweep of the kitchen told him exactly what he thought, “no more.  There’s no more.”  Turning back to the line though, he knew he would have to be the unlucky one to tell them that this meal was over.  Before he could though, Kisa’s hand was on his arm, and her musical voice said, “It’s okay, I will tell them Lennox.”

Lennox.  His name was pronounced Lennex, but the way she said it, made it sound more magical and desirable than how others said it, with the exception of Cara de Vries.

Nodding slightly, he watched her walk over to the line.  It shouldn’t have been shocking to see how her presence lightened the knowledge she was about to give the ones who missed out.

“Extraordinary angel, that one,” said Alona.  She was the manager of the shelter for the day. With long dark red hair and sharp eyes, she was also a human.    And she was a hard worker, even though every day she wore the same high stilettos and tight, face-stretching ponytail updo.  Alona looked taller than Kisa, but if he took her shoes away, Lennox was sure they were about the height.  She turned her eyes to look at Lennox, dark brown, with a glow of red, it took Lennox a moment longer to realise that she was younger than she seemed.  Tilting her head up to look at Lennox, she added, with a faint smile, “And I don’t think she’s in the right business.  Speaking of business, I don’t suppose she could partake in a shoot, with hair like that, she would fit right into the underwater theme we have going on at the moment at Bellezza.”

Lennox smiled sadly, “unfortunately no, she cannot.  But I understand what you mean,” he said in a fair and firm manner, so that she would not think to try and persuade him otherwise.

The girl smiled tightly and it was evident, she was hardly deterred by his words at all.

When Kisa came back to join them, she smiled politely at Alona, greeting and also saying her goodbye the way any good little angel would before Lennox took her away.  Lennox smiled at Alona, there’s no way I would leave you alone with her.  Alona though returned the smile, her eyes narrowed clearly reflecting the endless determination the girl was known for; she wouldn’t give up.  Which meant, if Lennox intended to fulfil his mentorship, he had to keep an even more watchful eye on Kisa to ensure that she did in fact learn to maintain angelic composure.

Outside, in the arid heat, Lennox tucked his forefinger under the collar of his polo and pulled it away from his neck.  Running his finger along the collar, he tried to widen the space as much as possible to let out the suffocating heat that was trapped between his body and the shirt he was wearing.  It wasn’t working.

“Like this.” Kisa reached up and loosen the buttons at the top of his polo.  Buttons he had buttoned up to maintain a sense of decency.  “You’ll be more comfortable that way,” she said smiling.

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Imaginings of a Wild Heart.

The girl looked up at the sky, and said, “Did you know, I can read the stars?” She was trying to be cool and cute.  But she was slightly flustered, and she was shy.  Looking up at the guy standing next to her—rather she peeked up at him, and ‘peeked’ would have described it better if she actually had bangs or a hat for her peek from under, which she did not—she saw him look down at her, and she smiled.  Sort of.  It was a small smile, because she didn’t know if she should really play it cool and look really knowledgeable, or if she should play it cute, and smile brightly.  But she was wary of everything about herself.  She wanted to adjust her scarf, to brush her hair back, to lick her lips which were getting chapped.  But she didn’t want to seem overly conscious, so she just stuck with licking her lips, even though she could feel something in need of readjusting—her scarf, her shirt, or her bra, she didn’t know, but she hoped it wasn’t embarrassing.

“Oh?” He said.  He had his hands tucked in his pockets, and though they were standing close, she was standing a little away from him too.  She had asked him out, well asked if he would like to go and star gaze with her at the university.  He was busy, but it seemed she had caught him on a free night.  Or rather, he also had something to do here, and so it was all kind of convenient, nothing special really.

“Oh yes!  I can!”  She said, encouraged by his reply, which seemed like he was curious.  Or maybe he just didn’t believe her.  She didn’t believe her either, and this was either going to come across as corny, or maybe it would give her the answer she wanted to hear.  Or maybe, she was just going to embarrass herself.  She was hoping for the middle answer.

“Alright, go, tell me something.”

Crap.  How was she going to start this?  “Well…the stars tell me you’re a Taurus,” she began lamely.

He laughed, and she wanted punch him in the arm.  “You know when my birthday is!” He said laughing, and shifting away when she really did reach out to punch for his arm.  Her fist glanced off the hard, yet soft, fleshiness under that cotton sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing.

“Just listen!”  She said, flushing red, a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance, yet her mouth was parted in a smile.

“Okay, okay,” he said holding up his hand as she went in for another punch.  “Stop punching me and I will.”

He was such a liar.  Yet he was still here, looking overly amused.  Pouting lightly, and looking up at the sparsely cloud covered sky, she squinted.  All around them there were other stargazers wrapped in thick coats, puffy jackets, and some, even in blankets.   Most of them had telescopes, borrowed or purchased, set up in front of their chairs—a variety of camp chairs, stools, cushions on wood and even one office chair.  Even though the event was for a few hours only, people had gathered early, collected telescopes and settled in as if for the night.  She had been a little too late to get a telescope, but at least she had dad’s small one in her pocket.  Coming here had been on whim.  She had actually been late in hearing about the stargazing event, and had almost chickened out if he hadn’t asked what she was doing tonight in their regularly sporadic texting conversation.  An unexpected question and she had said the first thing that had popped into her head.  And he had asked if she was going to go, to which she had answered, quite thoughtlessly, “I want to go, but I don’t know…”  Being a girl, she couldn’t go alone, regardless of her age.  She didn’t have a car, and most of her friends lived on the other side of the city.  If she wanted to go out, fine.  But she usually had to be back before dark—lest she bring down the rain of worried parental censure and a storm of scolding for rebellious young girls.  And then he had surprised her, asking her if she wanted to go.  It wasn’t like he knew about her family and all their weird cultural—maybe it wasn’t cultural, maybe it was just parents being parents even though she wasn’t exactly sixteen anymore—it wasn’t like she wanted to share.  The last time she shared with a guy, it became the sky climbing wall between them.  What had possessed her to ask him?  In many ways, it had been perfect timing, and when she’d asked if he would go with her, and felt the extreme elation that came with knowing she had somewhat succeeded.

For as long as she could walk and talk and brush her hair, pull it back and make it look pretty, she had been unable to flirt.  In actuality, it wasn’t that she didn’t know how to flirt, it was just that with guys, she had a difficult time reacting.  It was always too embarrassing for her.   So she kept her mouth shut if there was a guy around, and even more so if that guy was good looking, tall and somewhat possessed an aura that she, with her daydream tendencies, could only daydream of having.   And if any of those guys talked to her, despite the fact that she had gotten better at talking to such guys over the years, she could rarely do little more than smile and answer the question.  Other than that, she was just shyly standing off to the side, awkward.

But with this guy, it had been kind of sudden, and it had been kind of vague between them—a grey cloud separating black to white.  He was everything she liked, dreamed of, and had hoped.  It seemed beyond real for her to be trading words with this guy, and yet it was so very normal.  For once, she had her head screwed on tightly, though, not so much when she was returning texts.  With those, she hardly knew what she was saying.  So maybe her head wasn’t tied on that tightly, but she wasn’t a teenager and she could handle this like a woman.

Woman.  If only she could be as smart and sophisticated as a woman should be—she was anything but which made her mind a whole lot more receptive to the torrent of daydreams that were coming to her on a daily basis.    Such wonderful daydreams.  So awfully farfetched.  But she enjoyed them nonetheless, doing no more, and no less than necessary when it came to him.  She liked the grey. She liked and disliked knowing and not knowing where they stood.   So why had she opened her mouth and asked him out.  Well rather, she had typed it into her phone, pressed send and had heart palpitations all evening until he replied back with ‘okay’.  Okay.  Such a simple word.   While in flowery terms, it sent her heart smashing out of her chest, soaring far and wide, in much simpler, plain and realistic terms, her hands had gone clammy and she fretted, thinking of cancelling five seconds after asking.

“So, what are the stars telling you?” He prompted her, jerking her out of her thoughts.

She was already here now, the sun was just about setting, meeting the horizon at the set time, just after six in the evening.  They were still standing, but that was okay.  There were others standing too.

She smiled, “you see up there?”  She pointed at a random constellation.  It was a surprise to see even that constellation up in the sky.  But then again, other than a few wisps of cloud, it was an unusually clear night.  But thankfully, and luckily too.

He looked at her first, then looked up too.

“I didn’t think it would be up there tonight, so this is purely coincidental, but it looks good,” she said wistfully.  She was making this up as she was going along.  It was not coming out like she had daydreamt in her head.  In her head, her speech had been smoother, and she had acted more sophisticated and cool.  An enviable persona.  But well, regardless of the fact that she was failing this miserably now, she was going to push ahead and try.

“Oh?”

She could hear that smile in his voice again, but she ignored it, swallowing hard, and ploughing on.  “Legend says if you see that constellation in the sky, it means your love life is going to improve.”  Corny.  Corny.  It had come out corny.  Why had she said it?

She couldn’t look at him now.

“And-it’ll-get-better-if-you-ask-the-one-you’re-interested-in-out-on-a-date,” she said, letting the words spill out in a single chunk.  She really couldn’t look at him now, and yet she dared to peek up at him, expecting a heavily dealt blow of rejection.  But if she was to think that she didn’t have a chance here, that if she had misread all the signs, then she really wouldn’t have a chance at all.  At the same time though, she didn’t want to build up expectations, she didn’t want to find herself in a position where she was worried constantly, fretting idiotically about whether a guy was interested in her or not.  She just wanted….what did she want?  Why had she asked if he wanted to come today?  What was she thinking in letting those words spill out?  Why couldn’t she just say ‘do you like me’?

He blinked, evidently something was going on in his mind that she couldn’t even conceive, and right now didn’t want to.  She was so tempted to close her eyes, squint and go back in time to when this never happened, but then he opened his mouth.

What happens next, I truly don’t know.  I thought about writing the ending, but honestly, I just thought this story up one random afternoon.  I was kind of daydreaming while scanning through facebook, and seeing that my university was holding a ‘break the star gazing record’ event, which, had I known earlier, I would have totally gone!   I wrote this immediately after I daydreamed it, but I never got to the ending, in my daydream or when I wrote it, and when I read it over, I realise, I don’t know how I would end it.   Maybe if I set it aside, thought about it, and edit it, I might know, but for now, I don’t know!

I would loovvveeee to know how you, my dear readers, fellow bloggers, and all friends, if you happened to have read the above all the way through, would end this short story!

Bear In Hibernation. 55 Fiction.

Sourced from here: Link

She is a bear, huddled in her blankets all covered.  Her hair splayed across the pillows, eyes closed.  The chill could not touch her.  The rain endlessly pouring, visible through the curtains.  She smells  it—and sleeps on.  Shoots spring from moistened land as the sun rises, spreading warmth.   And she awakens, stretching, welcoming spring.

[N.B] This time last year, it was unseasonable warm.  Although I dislike immense heat, I do prefer it to be a little warmer–I miss being able to walk out with only a t-shirt on!  (and pants of course!!!!)  I probably wouldn’t mind winter so much if we actually had snow down here–that would be fun!  (The novelty of it would exceed all negatives associated with it.) But no….down under only mountains get snow, flatlands get rain, rain, and more rain, which leads to mud, which leads to mud covered dogs, which leads to ten clothing changes in one day haha.  Ah well!  I’m looking forward to summer, and luckily, today is a nice cold but sunny day <3.

It Starts With You. 55 Fiction.

She opened the book, flipped the pages, breathed in the new book smell.  Her eyes moistened, becoming shiny and overcome with emotion.   There are no words she could use to express how she was feeling right now.  All she knew were the words on the page:  This is my story, and it starts with you.

Never Back Down. 55 Fiction

The man was beaten, thrown down to the ground, sweat, blood, cut to the bone.  His eyes rolled back, his life flashing before his eyes, and the world spinning out of his grasp.  She’s looking at him.  Fearful.  Afraid.  A lion roars in him, sends his blood raging.  He surges upwards—one punch knockout win.

.

A woman of her own right. 55 Fiction.

There were so many things she could do.  She could punch him.  She could yell at him.  She could cry.  She could beg him.  But none of that was necessary.  It was too late.

Looking him in the eyes, a woman of her own right, she said, “good bye.”

Gathering her bags, she walked out.

[N.B.] Wow.  It has seriously been a long time since I’ve written a 55 fiction story.  But it looks like I might just be writing some more now!  I sure as hell missed writing them.

The Curse Mark: Chapter Seven

A MOON AT STAKE:  ADRIENNE CYNZIA

When Adrienne woke up the next morning, Cara de Vries had managed to become shoved to the very back of her mind, becoming the least of her worries even though she should have been the most concerning problem in Adrienne’s bank of future disasters to come.  However, even though the sun was gloriously baking Adrienne as she lay in her bed, unwilling to force herself to complete her daily pre-bar opening routine, Adrienne could only think about the events of the night before.  She was here.  Selene was here, or as she went by here, Cynthia Kaminski, well known model.

Groaning, she rubbed her temples, blinking up at the plain cream ceiling.  Part of the ceiling was peeling to her left, tucked away in a corner that it was almost barely noticeable.  If you weren’t lying on the bed like Adrienne was, you wouldn’t have noticed it.  But right now, all Adrienne seemed to want to do was to stare at this imperfection on her ceiling.  Stare and stare until it became the bane of her existence forcing her out of her bed and into work clothes.  She wanted this imperfection gone, and while she wasn’t much of a handyman, she could fix a wall. It couldn’t be that hard.  So long as it was fixed, and the blemish was finally gone after living here for such a long time.

This was how Algor Rosenberg found her a few hours later when he arrived at the bar to help with the pre-bar opening routine.  He had just walked in downstairs when he heard a string of angry French swear words explode from above, and with one glance around, it was obvious that there was no one else around.  With no other indication of any other living soul within the building, Algor took it as Adrienne getting mad over some home project or another.   This was unusual, since Adrienne rarely partook in personal home projects alone, let alone by herself.  They were just not something she was good at, yet, Algor had come to realise the woman only reacted in such a way when she was piss mad at something, or distracted, or had a mind that felt like it was going to explode.  Whichever of those reasons were currently preoccupying her mind, Algor hoped that it wasn’t all three.

He was wrong.

And when he walked upstairs and into her room, invading Adrienne’s personal space, all he could say was, “whoa…”

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Random Music Moment #144

For a bit of a spiritual awakening–something calmly and spectacular instrumentally!  Maybe something beautiful for your day?  Something relatively calming for the book you’re reading?  Today’s random music moment is Spiritual Awakening by Future World Music.

window #877

I really like the composition of this picture, and the colour…..

P e d r o L

02

Residential area in Hong Kong, China

publico.pt, AFP

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The Curse Mark: Chapter Six

THE DEVIL’S CHILDREN: CARA DE VRIES

 

Boys, idiots, Cara thought as she shoved her way through the crowd.  Though Cara hardly spared a thought for who she passed by or whether they were even boys to begin with, they could have been men! But well, like Cara cared.  Uncouthness was uncouthness, and what she had seen was enough to categorise and file away.

Sighing heavily, she had no idea where to go now.  She had completely failed in her attempt to tempt Adrienne Cynzia into telling her about Lennox Vanderwerken.

Making her way to the best hotel in the city (it was so much classier to call it a town, though it looked more liked the city she had grown up in over two hundred years ago, and not at all like a city that existed in the present day), Cara charmed her way into a very last minute, upper class hotel room.   With a flick of her hair, and a flash of a smile, Cara was booked in and at a fine price too.  Even if she earned enough and had enough savings for several times over, there was no need for her to waste it on accommodation, was there?  But then, her own place would be nice.  And if she was truly honest with herself, she technically did not have that much in savings, not with her frivolous attitude to life.

As she took the keycard from the receptionist, the woman said, “I love your outfit.”

Blinking, Cara smiled, “thank you, perfect isn’t it?” She said twirling around once elegantly, showing off the Victorian era dress.   Although Cara’s head was tilted to the side looking down at her dress, she was not actually doing that.  It was just anyone who was within her vicinity who was affected by her illusion who saw what she wanted them to see, including the fact that she currently looked ten years older, slightly taller, and was twirling around.  In reality, she was merely standing there, smiling with the keycard in her hand ready to leave.

Waiting out the receptionist’s awe, Cara politely took the compliments and said, “custom made,” when the woman asked where Cara had gotten such a dress.  She had had it for years, along with a closet full of similar dresses in different shades.

“It’s amazing,” said the woman in awe.

“Yes, it is,” she said with a hint of impatience in her voice that did not match the friendly smile on her face.

Cara watched carefully, noting the way the receptionist’s smile dimmed a bit when she sensed the impatience, perhaps even heard it, but didn’t see any evidence of impatience on Cara’s face.  This made Cara highly amused.  She enjoyed watching the confusion in the receptionist’s eyes, and were it not because she had other, better things to do, Cara wouldn’t have mind messing with the receptionist’s mind a little bit more for the fun of it.

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The Curse Mark: Chapter Five

MURDEROUS INTENTION:  KENICHI AI GRAVITAS

 

Memories were such fickle things.  Kenichi watched as Mio’s fingers twitched.  With her eyes closed, Kenichi knew she wasn’t just staring into some daydream with that usual dreamy look of hers.  It was because she was working.  The only time Mio was ever serious was when she was focusing on retrieving or erasing a particular memory.  Such as this very moment.  Leaning back against the cushy back of the booth, Kenichi’s violet eyes flickered between his imouto and her client.

The Fae Prince was not one of Mio’s usual customers.  He fell into the rare category; a kind of man who requested the removal of his own memories as opposed to someone else’s.

Selfish or selfless?  Kenichi considered the Prince.  He knew the man was a prince; the fool’s wings were poking out from underneath his polo shirt.  Kenichi had noticed.  Fae ranks were recognisable based on the colour and transparency of their wings.  Although Kenichi would not be what one would call an ‘expert’ on the Fae, but he was knowledgeable from his past experiences, most of them were unpleasant.   He could thank his imouto for that.

Kenichi couldn’t remember a day when he was not assisting his imouto and not running into trouble of some kind.  His eyes glanced once around the diner.  There were plenty to amuse the eye if one was interested in the colourful crowd that populated Riverton.  But they were not his concern.  Turning his gaze back to Mio, he watched her open her eyes and pull her hands away from the fae’s temples.

“It is done,” she murmured, her violet eyes, several shades paler than Kenichi’s, blinked slowly and de-hazed.  Very soon, Mio would revert back to her usual oblivious self and no doubt she would indeed seem like someone incapable of removing memories with absolute precision.  “Your request has been fulfilled, once you pay me, I shall remove all trace of this meeting as well.”

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The Curse Mark: Chapter Four

WHY WE FALL: BLAYKE FERAY

 

He was a typical customer to Adrienne’s, and yet, he did not possess the air of a typical customer.    Blayke Feray was nervous.  If he was not so conscious of where he was currently sitting, then his knee might have been bouncing up and down mimicking the intense beating of his heart.  Apparently he was not good at deception, even though he was fallen and no longer sitting amongst the puffy clouds of heaven with Cassia and the rest of Leora’s charming crew.  Not that Blayke had wanted anything to do with Leora’s crowd to begin with, it was just well he somehow managed to find himself running into them more often than not.

Glancing left at the woman who appeared to hold the bar mistress’s attention, Blayke was mesmerised.  He had not realised how mesmerised he was until the bar mistress said, coldly, “So you found me.”

Blayke blinked and sculling the rest of his drink, he decided to clear out of the bar as soon as possible, it didn’t look like the place someone like he should be.  Throwing down the appropriate number of colourful bills, and a few coins, Blayke stepped down off his chair and in one swift move, with a brief glance at the intense air between the bar mistress and the new comer, he made his way out the door.

People like him who wanted nothing more than to lie low knew better than to stay in an environment where a major conflict was potentially going to break out.   Adrienne’s Bar, he’d frequented it every so often, but usually he stuck to the wall, drinking in quiet as he frustrated himself over the very fact that he had been in the same town for too long.

Riverton, a safe zone.   If there were beings such as Adrienne and her mysterious guest holding presence here, it was no surprise that it was a safe zone.  But Blayke knew that it wasn’t the only reason why it was so safe here.  Blayke wasn’t safe here.  He was just a tad bit more fortified, but safe.  The secret in his mind was hardly safe, as was the object locked in a box in his wardrobe.  The key, well that was safely around the neck of an angel who was safe in heaven who did not entirely know the truth about the last gift he gave her.

Walking down Riverton Main Street, Blayke felt the roiling unease in his chest for the very fact that he had potentially put his sister at risk.  No wonder he fell.  A man as selfish as him did not deserve to be up in heaven.  He could not even excuse his actions.  They had not been for the better good.  In the beginning, he had been acting selfishly.  One action at a time.  No wonder he was fallen.

Arriving at his brick apartment block, Blayke climbed up the stairs one step at a time.  Looking down at where he walked mainly to avoid the puddles of water that seemed to never go away.  Stepping over a step that had an extremely large puddle of water, he kept his black leather brogue boots clean.  Glancing up once as he passed by an open door, Blayke caught sight of a woman with a dark red bob looking agitated.  When she saw him, she scowled, causing Blayke to quickly drop his gaze and stride quickly past.

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Book Slumps due to Overexposure

Read my mind Sam.

Though for me, it was fantasy, the whole genre apparently, because I can’t seem to get into anything fantasy related that I have to read….and yet got into the first contemporary book I read in ages.

I think it’s time for a change xD, even though I love fantasy with all my heart, I definitely need to go reading into other genres that I also love. When was the last time I read a historical? Or something sci-fi/dystopian? It seems I fell into reading so much fantasy, I didn’t even notice….!

Book review: Writing for peer reviewed journals

A reminder to myself, that I don’t have to freak out—not that it stops he natural process of entering a new world for the first time.

The Thesis Whisperer

Here at the Whisperer we know you read a lot, so we try to do some of the reading for you. There’s a lot of books out there on doing a PhD and being an academic – which ones should you buy?

If you are a regular reader you will know that Pat Thomson and Barbara Kamler wrote one of my favourite books ‘Helping doctoral students write’. Last year they produced a book on writing for publication called ‘Writing for peer review journals: strategies for getting published’. Pat Thomson authors the fabulous ‘Patter’ blog and we collaborate on some mutual research interests, so it is fantastic that ANU PhD student Briony Lipton sent in this review and you can get an unbiased view!

Briony Lipton is a PhD candidate in Gender Studies in the School of Sociology. Her research explores the relationship between academic women, feminism and university leadership in…

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The Curse Mark: Chapter Three.

CAN ANGELS LIE? LENNOX VANDERWERKEN

“Is it nice down here?” The young angel asked Lennox Vanderwerken as they touched down, the feathers of their wings ruffling as though to shake of any dirt they may have gathered during their journey from the upper skies to the hardened earth ground.

“Your father has never brought you here?” Len asked her, turning his gaze to that angelic innocence that was familiar with all young angels.

“Oh no, he felt it was…corrupting, the influence of mortals, felt they were too emotional,” she said in a voice that was like honey.  It was a lovely voice, suitable for singing, being a little low but not alluringly low.

Lennox huffed, so corrupting, yet they still assign you to me for the mere purpose of eliminating the emotional tendencies you’re already showing.  “I would not like to contradict your father’s words, for they are very true.  As protectors of such delicate creatures, we cannot be excessive in our selfish desires.” He scanned Riverton’s grand fountain.  In the night, it was alight with the lights that edged the circular stone base.  “However, Kisa, he can be incorrect sometimes.”

“Incorrect?”    Kisa asked, a frown creasing her forehead.  Len had heard all about her history when she had been assigned to him.

“Yes, incorrect,” he said as he turned his head, spying a cosy motel for them to rest.   “Come, we must find some accommodation.”

“Accommodation, we must…rent?”  Kisa’s eyes were wide in surprise at this new understanding.  Len frowned, she did not know? She did not understand? Or was it because she had never actually rented before?

“When you were travelling around the world, did you not rent places with your companions?” He said gesturing with one hand for them to walk over to the motel he had seen.  While Kisa was wearing a thin white dress looking relatively modern, Len knew he looked out of place.  Carrying a large blade on his back, he was wearing a set of white robes, the kind that was popular in heaven.

“Um, not really,” she said, running a hand through her hair.  The sleeve of her dress slipped down her upper arm revealing a patchwork of white and light brown scars.  Len made no comment about the scars, he had been instructed to slowly uncover the story of her year away from home piece by piece.  It was amongst one of the things he had to attend to in order to mentor her properly.  She was not…like all the other angels anyway.

Truth, “I see, well since it’s too late to find the real estate, it is the more appropriate option.  Tomorrow, we will be moving in, in a manner of speaking, into the home that has been organised for us.”  Lennox pushed the door of the motel office open and looking faintly blank, he pressed the bell on the counter.  Next to him, he noted the way Kisa’s nose wrinkled in disgust at the quality of this office.

Lennox had often made frequent trips down to Earth for a variety of different reasons but he had never stayed more than a night so he had gotten used to checking into whatever motel was available.  Pleasant or not, he wasn’t bothered.

Smiling faintly at the manager who walked into the office, yawning and looking as old as their hair, grey and lined, perhaps mid-fifties?  The man’s eyes roamed over Lennox taking no note of anything unusual except the blade strapped to his back before looking over at Kisa, who certainly held more of his attention no doubt for her wavy blue-turquoise tresses, before his eyes dared to trail down.   Kisa too immersed in staring at her surroundings left it to Len to defend her honour.  He wondered if she even noticed, wearing a dress cut as low as hers was (albeit covering everything perfectly), revealing the line of five blue gems set in her chest.  The teardrop shaped gem in the centre, right below the joint of her collarbones.  One each side of this gem, set two smaller gems that lined the collarbone.  Now, Len knew the story behind the gems, they were related to her parentage, but he was to pretend he didn’t know anything.

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