I’m working on some stuff for a presentation tomorrow and my brain is refusing to cooperate. Hopefully the internet will be up when I try to publish this post – must remember to copy the text first just in case. Anyway, I’ve decided to make a quick post.

I rarely read books in the same series one after the other. For example – I read the first book in the award-winning series by George R.R. Martin – A Song of Fire and Ice (the book was called A Game of Thrones).

I am now reading a book from a series called The Old Kingdom Trilogy by Garth Nix (known as the Abhorsen Trilogy in the U.S.). The book, specifically, is called Sabriel. I remember reading this years and years ago, but barely even remember the plot anymore. This is what I like about my forgetfullness when it comes to books – I can finish reading and then start all over again in no time with no idea as to what the details of the books are. I also remember reading the second book in the series, called Lirael – I think it was my favorite, can’t wait to curl up in a chair with that one.

Nix’s ideas just seem so original to me – and I’ve read lots of fantasy novels, it’s my favorite genre along with self-discovery. His plots revolve around a whole new type of magic and he builds his world to seem so solid and real.

Back to work for me, but this series is definitely a must-read for any fantasy lover.

Part 1

“Have we met?”
Amanda looked up from her cocktail and found herself staring at a pimpled boy. She rolled her eyes and tilted the rest of the drink down her throat. “No.”

Ed put his hand around her shoulder, watching the unfortunate man slunk away. “Honey, you’ll never get a good one with that attitude!”

“You think that’s a good one?” Amanda set the empty glass on top of the bar.

Ed raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, pointing to the rather obese young man in the corner of the bar. “He was better than the fatty. Now excuse me, I’m going man hunting. I suggest you do the same.”

Amanda knew she should never have come here. She has given up on men. Perhaps she should scout women instead. But alas, becoming lesbian is not a conscious choice, and while she was scanning the nearby female faces, Amanda simply could not feel excited about the numerous potential prospects.

She emitted an exasperated sigh and proceeded to move toward the exit. Amanda had had enough. It was then that she saw a man approach her from her right and put one hand on her shoulder. She forced herself to not roll her eyes as she half-turned toward him.

“Let me ask you a quick question, my friend and I have been arguing over this all night.” The man grinned down at her. Amanda cocked her head. He had interesting hair – it was lime green at the tips.

“I’m actually on my way out.” She smiled wryly.

“Oh I only have a second myself so this won’t take long. I need a woman’s opinion on this. What do you think of guys who wear pink shirts?” He was now facing her head on, that crooked grin never leaving his face. This guy just wasn’t going to give up, was he?

“It depends on the shade of pink.” Amanda looked over the man’s attire. He wore a navy blue silk shirt with weathered dark jeans and black lace-up shoes. “It wouldn’t look good on you, though.”

“Oh yeah?” He looked mockingly hurt. “Why do you say that?”

“It just wouldn’t. I really need to go, I’m sorry. I’ve given up on dating.” Amanda glanced around for Ed.

“Who said I was interested in dating you? Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit? Unfortunately I seem to be getting attacked by horny women on the dance floor tonight so I needed to come off for a bit of a breather. You don’t look like the dancing type so I figured I’d be safe.”

Amanda crossed her arms on her chest.

“I happen to be a great dancer.” She remarked. While Amanda’s dancing career was over, her passion remained. How dare this stupid man say she didn’t look like the dancing type?

The man raised an eyebrow. “I can’t believe that. Don’t get me wrong, you have an alright body and all, but a dancer? I’ll have to see it to believe it.”

“And I’ll need a drink to loosen up enough to dance with a cocky stranger.”

“Great, same here!” He pulled a coin from his pocket. “If it’s tails I’m buying. Heads means it’s your treat.”

The man shuffled her to a more secluded corner of the room and flipped the coin into the air. He caught it expertly, slapping it onto the back of his hand. He then proceeded to stretch out his arm toward Amanda.

“What is it?” he asked.

“…it’s heads.” Amanda bit her lip. “I guess we had a deal.”

He smiled and put one arm on the small of her back, leading her toward the crowded bar. Amanda glanced at her watch. She had no idea how she got suckered into buying an unknown man a drink and owing him a dance, but at least he was better than pimple face and fatty. Amanda found herself adjusting her black sequin dress as she leaned toward the girl across the bar.

“I’ll have a vodka shot.” Her new acquaintance leaned in toward her ear.

Amanda parted her lips in a half smile. “I may be buying, but we never said you could choose what you’d have.”

“A raspberry Cruiser and a jager bomb, please.” She called out.

“Jager bomb works, too.”

“You’re getting the Cruiser.” Amanda tilted her chin up and pressed the bottle into his hand.

The man’s smile faltered, Amanda saw his eyes dart from side to side. She smiled inwardly. Finally, she had him at a loss for words. He regained his composure quickly, however, and twisted the cap off of the bottle. He poured the crimson liquid in his mouth and wiped his lips with a shrug as Amanda dropped the shot of Jager into the mug of Red Bull and gulped down the drink quickly.

“Sufficiently loosened up now, sweetie?” He asked.

“Maybe if I knew your name.”

“Philip.”

“Alright, Philip, but only for a minute.” Amanda set her empty glass back onto the bar.

TO BE CONTINUED…
—————————

SNEAK PEAK:

Philip gets thrown in a dumpster, Amanda meets a handsome millionaire and considers turning into a man hunting gold digger.

Everybody’s debating about The Golden Compass. Christians have been attempting to halt the release and convince people to refuse to see the movie, raising their holy voices and screaming at anything they think might listen that the movie is outrageous, anti-Christian, blasphemous, and so on and so forth.

“Clergymen who kidnap children. Witches who aren’t wicked. Even a pair of sexually ambiguous angels. If you thought Harry Potter was blasphemous, wait till you get a look at [this] trilogy,” wrote one film critic last week.

Oh my GOD :o Witches who aren’t wicked?! Why, this is the ultimate of evils!!! Those darn nice witches.

So fucking what? Did atheists pipe up and make a fuss when Narnia, which is so OBVIOUSLY Christian-promoting, came out? Heck no! So for the Christians who are too idiotic to realize that not everyone believes in their god or wants to or has to, for that matter, shut up and let us have our fun. You can do whatever you want with your viewing habits, but don’t push them on the rest of the public. Yeah we’ll go and see the movie if we damn feel like it, and then go and read the books while we’re at it.

The things people come up with in the throes of boredom. I’ll add a glossary later for people who don’t understand a word of this.

BIG PURPLE HAT

“I’m scared.” Christopher was shaking. Beads of swear gathered on his high forehead.

“Come on, man, you can do it. Put the hat on.” said Paul.

“Not the hat, no.” He ran a shaking hand down his clammy face.

“Put on the goddamn hat.” Paul shoved the oversized purple hat on Christopher’s head and readjusted the multicolored parrot feathers that adorned it. “It’s all in the peacock theory, man. She’ll go for it.”

Christopher blinked rapidly, watching the woman by the bar tilt her head up to swallow another shot. Paul called her an “HB6”, said she was perfect for someone like Christopher. He clammed his lips together into a thin line and drew himself up to full height – all five foot six of him. He was going to do it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Christopher tiptoed toward his target. He was a solitary hunter, moving in for the kill.
“The three second rule, dude, remember the three second rule!” He heard Paul hissing behind him, barely audible through the deafening roar of the crowd around him.

Oh shit. Christopher forgot the three second rule! He jerked his head to the side and pursed his lips in an attempt to look sleek. He then proceeded to sprint toward the prey, approaching, coming, almost, almost….

“Hi there.” He slid to a halt in front of the woman. The HB6 popped a green olive from an empty cocktail glass into her mouth and raised an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” she rolled the olive between her teeth. Was that an IOI? Is she interested? Does this mean we can fuck? Oh God, what now, what now? KINO!

Christopher slapped one hand onto her bare shoulder, keeping it there with the grip of clammy death. “So, uh…” he coughed. “What’s your name?”

“What’s with the hat?”

“Um…well…I asked you first.” Christopher’s other hand instinctively went to the prominent hat, which was now tightly jammed on top of his head.

“I don’t give my name to men in giant purple hats.” She smirked and proceeded to chew her olive, licking her crimson-nailed fingers as she snapped for another cocktail.

Christopher swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down painfully. He looked back to Paul, but his friend was nowhere in sight.

“My…my grandmother gave me this hat just before she died.” Holy shit, what the fuck was he saying? Talking about his fake dead grandmother? In an attempt to quickly diffuse the situation and wipe the intensely uncomfortable look off both of their faces, he blurted the first thing that came to mind: “So who lies more, men or women?”

“Men. Would you mind removing your hand? You’re sweating on me.” The HB6 cringed under his deathly hold.

“Oh yeah, sorry.” Christopher attempted a chuckle and managed a sort of husky grunt instead. “But yeah, why men?”

“Because you just lied to me about a dead grandmother.” The HB6 smiled.

Oh. My. God. She knows!

Christopher licked his chapped lips in an attempt to re-moisturize them. “What- what are you talking about?”

“Even if your grandmother was dead, I doubt any mentally stable individual would walk around with her hat on his head.”

“I…well…” She had a point.

The HB6 slid off of her bar stool and slid her empty glass toward the bar tender. “And I don’t like to associate myself with mentally unstable men.”

Again…good point.

“So I think I’d better go.” She granted Christopher a wry smile and disappeared into the crowd.

“Dead grandmother?” Paul appeared behind him. “Come on, you could have come up with something better than a dead grandmother.”

But Christopher wasn’t listening. He pulled the purple hat from his head and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with an emerald green feather. Pursing his lips once more, he slammed one hand on top of the bar, sending the abandoned cocktail glass rattling. “I want that one.”

TO BE CONTINUED

I want to extend a big thank you to Jenn of Before I Am Famous for taking my idea for a weekly short on board and writing about a fantasy creature who falls in love with a human. It’s a very nice, sad story that gives us a bit of insight into the power of love. Be sure to read The Fisherman’s Daughter.

I swing the front door open and sniff into the chilly air. Stuffing my coat into the closet and stroll towards the kitchen, jingling my keys. A crackling sizzle emits from the stove. My mother grins at me, wiping her hands against her apron as she glances at the frying potatoes. I smell the turkey cooking in the oven as I set out the dishes. Straightening up the oaken chairs in front of the wooden dining table, I pluck an olive from its dish. Its tangy juice slides down my throat and I glance at the grandfather clock in the spacious living room.

Our guests arrive within minutes. They set their gaudy purses and heavy coats on the beige leather couches and laughter carries through the house as we begin our Thanksgiving dinner.

I’ve decided to write a story. But not just any story. Do you remember the Goosebumps series? Where it’d give you a choice to alter the plot of the book by picking the character’s next action? It’ll be like that – only longer. And once the story is finished from one character, I’ll do the same thing from the point of view of another character in the same world. It may be a totally different plot, but the new character may encounter one from the first ‘path’.

I have a feeling this will take a while :S

The entire thing will be put together in a web site, which I will link to when I add enough chapters to actually follow the storyline a bit.

JK Rowling has officially stated the Professor Dumbledore is gay. When asked whether or not Dumbledore finds his true love by a younger reader during a presentation, Rowling said: “Dumbledore is gay.” The crowd was very surprised. Indeed, apparently Dumbledore had a thing for Gellert Grindelwald. He was smitten by the rival (whom he himself defeated in a duel). I, personally, love this not so unnatural twist of events. Now that I look back on it, it was obvious all along!

Rowling had to correct the developers of the 6th Harry Potter movie (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince) because the script mentioned a female love interest of Dumbledore’s. I’m lovin it :D. Dumbledore is just plain awesome.

             Jerry was never the smartest crayon in the box, if you know what I mean. I never quite understood why the girls loved him so much. Yeah, he had that manly feel about him, the masculine voice, the chiseled features. But come on, how can any woman be interested in a man who can’t tell a face wash from anal lube?

            “I mean, I don’t think you’re hearing me correctly, honey.” I tapped my temple with one manicured nail. “My brother; is; whacked; in; the; head. He is blow drying his chest hair as we speak.”

            The girl at the door blinked up at me, a smile plastered to that rosy round face.

            “Oh to Hell with it, just come on through.” I stepped aside and shook my head as the girl bounced over the threshold with delight. She carried a box of chocolates in her slender little hands – expensive, too. I swear these girls keep getting younger and younger and richer and richer.

            “Is he upstairs?” her blue eyes swam with anticipation as she stared up the stairs. I knew at this point she was about to drop to her knees and start praying to our Holy Carpet.

            “Jerry, come down here!” I hollered from the hall. I inspected myself in the mirror, flattening my straight brown hair with both palms. My gold bracelets jingled and sparkled in the dim light of the corridor. I wished Jerry would hurry up; my ‘flock’ would be arriving soon and I had no intention of allowing my big brother to woo them into a group orgy.

            And then he appeared. The Great One made his presence known. I could hear the steps creaking threateningly as he pounded down like a bull in heat. I stood in the doorway to the den, my head cocked to the side as I worked on inserting a golden hoop earring into my lobe. I rolled my eyes as Jerry catapulted into his preteen date and swooped her up into a bone-cracking bear hug.

            “Oh, Jerry,” giggled the blondie, “you’re so affectionate.”Jerry patted her head (Like a dog, I thought) and tossed his leather jacket across one shoulder. He gently nudged his date past me towards the door. I smirked at him as he wiggled his eyebrows at me, that boyish smile giving away his evil intentions.

            “Bye, Kimmy, don’t wait up.” He slammed the front door shut.

            Yes, my brother was definitely a ladies man. I kind of admired him, really. That is, until I went upstairs to find that he had mistaken the blow dryer for his penis pump yet again. The blonde public hairs stuck in the plastic cylinder betrayed him.