Week 4

Remember that weekly project I talked about? "The Youngest Guardian" ? Well week 4 is up here: http://penguinsandninjas.wordpress.com/first-draft/29122013-2/

It would mean a lot to me if you could check it out, read it and tell me what you think of it. And if you and, pass it on.

Happy Writing.

Have a sneak peek

I may have mentioned that I've been re-writing Aries (of course I've mentioned this) but also that a lot of it has changed from the first draft. With that in mind I'm going to give you a scene or two that did not exist up until now.

Tell me what you think:

Her gaze was fixed on the holo-picture that hung on the wall. A group of young fresh faced recruits grinned at the camera with naïve innocence. A faint smile pulled on the corners of Charlie’s mouth and she let green eyes take in every joyous grin and the twinkle in every pair of eyes. A little over fifteen years ago that picture had been taken. Dixon’s face was young, clean of any blemishes the Third War had left. All of those faces she could put a name to and had even made an effort to search out after the fallout of the war. Not including herself and Dixon there was only another two, out of the fifteen in the holo-picture, that made it out alive. One of those survivors hadn’t made it past the Psych ward in UNC’s medical ward.

            The lighting flickered and Charlie pulled her gaze away from the holo-picture to stare at the single red light in the room. It pulsed twice and shut down, encompassing the Captain in a swill of dark. She sighed. Losing power completely had been inevitable. She had hoped that they had a little longer, perhaps a day or two, before it ran out. For a moment she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again they found the holo-picture once more. Third from the right, one arm slung over Dixon’s yet to be defined shoulders, with a full toothed grin was her. They’d met in training, had been shoved into the same group. Then the war came, they were separated and it took years for them to reconnect.

She pushed herself to her feet, grabbed her rifle and let it hang in her fingers by her side, the torch on, as she moved to Medical. Rhodes would scold her but she needed to catch up. If her watch was accurate she’d been alone in the Captain’s room, Dixon’s room, for a good ninety minutes. That was more than enough time by her books. When she entered Rhodes and Nelson were busy checking on Murphy and Dixon and Charlie noted Hunter stood nearby with the torch of her rifle lighting up the working space for the two Doctors. “You okay Hunter?”

The woman turned and nodded. “Yeah, they’re just keeping an eye on me.”

Charlie nodded once and stepped through the room until she came to the side of Dixon’s bed. Nelson was overlooking him and offered the Captain a glance. “He’ll live. At least he won’t be needing the machines.”

She turned her eyes onto the other Captain and sighed. “Thanks. Mind if I talk to him?”

“Give me a minute to wake him up.” Nelson turned to a tray of equipment, including some vials and he selected one, thanks to the light coming off Hunter’s rifle, and turned back to the bed. “Rhodes mentioned you’d want to talk to him at some point.”

“Yeah.”

The needle, once filled from the small vial, was pushed into Dixon’s arm. “Okay, give it a short while and he should be awake.”

Charlie nodded, drew the curtains and sat the rifle on the end of the bed. It illuminated the small space just enough for her to catch the bruises and cuts that dotted the bare skin of Dixon that she could see. She winced at the thought of what was underneath. She settled her hands on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the closed lids.

She tried to recall the last time they’d spoken, or met. Drinks, seven months ago. In a bar in the back streets of the city, where nobody cared where anybody came from or what they did. Everybody to their own. His crew had finished a patrol and were taking a few months leave before they were pushed into another job for the long haul. Command pointed you jumped. That was the way the UNC worked. “What about you?” he said.

“Ah,” she put her glass of beer back onto the table and nodded. “We’ve got a few courier jobs to do before we go out for patrol. Bit of a break then patrol once more.”

“Double booked?”

She smirked. “We may have missed our last patrol. Hunter and Nelson may have had an accident and our engine may have stopped working mysteriously.”

Dixon laughed bright blue eyes, the corners creasing with humour. “Of course. And you wonder why Command demoted you.”

“I never questioned that.”

“Bullshit. Three times they did that and each time you became cranky and a hard ass.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, the smirk giving away to the tone. “Three times. Nobody gets demoted three times.”

He gave a single laugh and finished off the last dregs of his beer. “You do. It’s a miracle you’re still in the UNC.”

A loud smack attracted their attention and Charlie found the source, two men were starting a fist fight. She picked up her glass and leaned back in her seat. Dixon did the same and the guy who had instigated the fight fell onto their table. “Some days I ask myself the same question.”

He frowned at her then. “You want to get kicked out?”

The men struggled on top of the table for a few moments before the two Captains looked at each other, rolled their eyes and grabbed the side of their table, forcing it away from themselves. The two men rolled onto the floor with a  thump and they pulled themselves back into place. “You haven’t noticed?”

His frown didn’t leave. “Noticed what?”

She sighed. “Hunter has these theories.”

“She’s the one who nobody wanted right?”

Charlie nodded. Hunter was a lot to handle and she could handle the other woman. “And now, I’m starting to wonder about those theories too.”

There was a pause and the only sounds to fill the room were idle conversations from other patrons and the bawling couple. Those two had managed to get themselves kicked out of the door at that point. “What’s Hunter doing in UNC if she thinks all of this?”

“She’s a good soldier. Would put a lot of the older men to shame.”

Blue eyes flickered precariously open and Charlie shoved that conversation out of her mind. She missed that bar. Nobody from the UNC ever made it that far into the city’s underbelly, leaving it free to talk about whatever one wanted. It had been their recluse when the job had pissed them off. “Am I seeing things?”

She laughed. “No. It’s me. How you doing Mark?”

He groaned and pinched his eyes shut. “What do you think?” She couldn’t help the chuckle she released and let it subside into nothing but a smile. “Where’s the lights?”

The smile disappeared and Charlie ducked her eyes. “We performed an emergency docking with Aries. We did the standard sweeps and next thing I know somebody’s on Valhalla ripping it away from Aries and I’ve got three unconscious crew dumped in a pile.”

Dixon snapped his eyes open. She waited, letting the quiet voices of Rhodes, Nelson and Hunter fill in for them. “They ripped it away?”

“Docking with another ship is going to be a problem.”

“Fuck,” he moved to sit up, winces following his every movement and Charlie stepped back as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Murphy. How’s Murphy?”

“She’s fine. I’ve got Rhodes taking good care of her.” He simply nodded, his eyes staring off into the dark. “Dixon?”

“Yeah?” he moved his head but his eyes were fixed on their spot on the curtain.

“What happened?”

Charlie opened her mouth to speak when Hunter’s voice called, “He did what?”

            The Captain sighed, turned away from Dixon and drew back the curtain. Eliot stood in the doorway to Medical, the light on his rifle pointed at the floor. The engineer spotted her and nodded his head. “Captain.”

            “Who’s done what?”

            It was Hunter who spoke, “Torres went and used the last of our power to hack UNC. Not fix the ship but hack Command. That idiot!”

            “Calm down,” Charlie said and she turned to Eliot, “is he still in engineering?”

            Eliot nodded. “McCallister is with him. Told me to scram.”

            She frowned and started to move around the Kenyan. Rhodes voice stopped her two feet from the door and Charlie turned to see Dixon and Rhodes standing off. “Doc?”

            Rhodes turned with a glare, “Tell him to get back to bed.”

            Charlie lifted her eyes to Dixon. He just raised his brows and Charlie sighed. “Dixon’s with me, Rhodes come with us. The rest of you stay here.” She moved down the corridor and ducked her head into engineering.

            “All you had to do was get us moving!” McCallister.

            “I know that!” Torres.

            Charlie narrowed her eyes and stepped into the room to see the taller Lieutenant towering over the smaller Sergeant and neither were going to back off. She waited as they stood off against the other. When they refused to notice her she cleared her throat. McCallister turned his head first, uttering a single, “Captain,” which made Torres turn and take a step back.

            “Why’d you do it Torres?”

            The shorter man set a firm expression on his features and stepped forward, an electronic tablet held out in front of him. “Because I hoped that we could let them know our situation. Turns out we’re not in any situation.” She frowned and Torres sighed. “According to any official reports we’re still on patrol. There is no distress beacon and we haven’t contacted Command. Hunter was right. Something is up.”

            “That can’t be right,” Dixon said.

            “Did you read it right?” Rhodes said.

            “I know how to read Rhodes! Fact remains Command have no idea about what we were ordered to do. There’s no record of us going off track to investigate Aries and no record of us contacting Command. As far as everybody is concerned we’re still on patrol.”

            “Alright,” Charlie said and she snatched the tablet out of Torres’ hands. Her eyes fell to the tablet. “Is this what you found?”

            “Every bit of it. It’s all there.”

            She nodded and took three slow, idle steps about the room, her eyes turning down the tablet in the dim light of the torch on her rifle. The more she read the more she frowned and felt the worry turn her stomach. “Charlie?” Dixon’s voice lifted her head to face him, “Is he serious?”

            Charlie sagged and held out the small tablet to the other Captain. He took it, brought his own torch up and started reading. “I don’t know why,” she said, “but Command have no knowledge of Aries being in trouble and us being ordered to assist you.”

            McCallister said, “Admiral Matthias?”

            She shrugged, thoughts itching at the back of her mind. “I don’t know. Maybe he knows something, maybe he doesn’t. Perhaps the information hasn’t entered the system yet or maybe it’s a glitch. For now,” she turned to Torres, “let’s work on getting some power back online.”

            Torres shook his head. “I can’t."

Happy Writing.

Merry Christmas!

Happy Holidays!

Merry Christmas!

Seasons Greetings!

I hope all of you have a fantastic day! And remember, you are all amazing!

Happy Writing!

It's another Sunday

Which means another weekly update on 'The Youngest Guardian'. Go here: http://penguinsandninjas.wordpress.com/22122013-2/

In other news, today is like a whole other Christmas for me. Me and my friends like to do a secret Santa thing and have Christmas dinner with each other. So, today we're all gathering to cook foods, clean plates and give out presents.

And I found time to write my third week.

I hope you guys are having a good holiday.

Happy Writing.

Back to Editing...

It's been a while since I looked at Aries, having to deal with life, University, assignments and whatnot. Anyway, I came back to it and started re-reading the start of the second draft. There is a lot of work to go and I asked myself, "What was I thinking when I liked this second draft?"

But, I am persevering. I know (I think) how the next few scenes are going to play out. Right now, for anybody who cares, the power has completely gone from Aries and Torres is to blame for using the last of their power to hack the UNC.

And stuff is going to happen.

Stuff.

Happy Writing.

10 days since...

... since my last post. I apologise. But in those ten days I've been writing about 11,000 words worth of assignments for Uni. Now that I've written my last assignment I can begin to get on with other things in life, like drinking, this blog, writing, drinking *cough* I mean editing, more writing, life and relaxing. 

So yeah, I shall be back with regular posts hopefully. I know Christmas is a busy time for everyone, then New Year's day but, between all of the madness, I will be here. 

For those who do or don't know about my weekly writing project, you can find everything here: http://penguinsandninjas.wordpress.com/

And the second week, for those who've read the first week is here: http://penguinsandninjas.wordpress.com/first-draft/15122013-2/ 

Please take a look. It would mean a lot to me. It only takes ten minutes. 

Happy Writing. 

And the First week is up

So yeah, that project I talked about, I've started it. The first installment is here: http://penguinsandninjas.wordpress.com/first-draft/week-1/

Remember, all comments are much appreciated and loved be them criticism or positivism. Just enjoy and next week the story shall continue on.

In the mean time, a thirty second poem on butterflies.

Butterfly

Neither a fly

or buttery

Yet it has wings 

and soars.

An array of colours

each one more unique

than the last.

Like humans

they have their own

language.

Like humans

they are

individuals.

Stripes or spots.

Faces or eyes.

Patterns or solids.

They wave their wings

to entice a smile,

to share some joy.

Start of something new

Okay, so, from the 15th of December I am going to be making a weekly writing update for my story The Youngest Guardian. Yeah, I know, nobody will know what it is...

Unless you go here: http://penguinsandninjas.wordpress.com/ This website has all of the details about what TYG is and what my aim for it is.

Happy writing.

Sigh

So it looks like I'm going to have to make some investments into a brand new laptop.

Or at least I'm going to have to soon.

This one is on it's way out apparently so, sucks to be me with all of my essays due finally in 10 days time.

Sigh.

This is all.

I hope everybody else is having better days.

Happy Writing.

In the meantime

Whilst I let my last NaNo piece just sit and gather dust for a few months, probably over the Christmas holidays, and in the meantime I will work on Aries. Once coursework is out of the way of course.

Which means I'll have another view and opinion on that which means it shall be fun and great.

Happy Writing.

Finished le first draft

So, although I said I would hit 70,000 words...

I didn't.

Why? Because I could if I spent the next few weeks looking at a few odd spots here and there and pondering what to do and what to write. A lot of thinking would be needed and I've decided to leave these changes and thoughts until the second draft.

FINAL WORD COUNT IS...

63,055

Which isn't bad considering I wrote 62,211 words in 30 days. It was only an extra 844 words on top of that.

I hope everything went well for you guys and, as always:

Happy Writing.

Last day

It is the last day of NaNoWriMo and I have just under 14,000 words left. I don't think I'll get them all done by the end of the day, however, I do know how these last few words go, so I still have a direction and an ending. Likely chance I finish it in a couple of days time, just in time for Uni next week.

Then it's down to me to write three essays, redraft some 3000 words for an assignment and get all of that done, including seconds drafts and maybe third drafts, before the 13th December.

Yeah.

Two weeks of panic coming up.

And I've heard that many of you have been hitting those numbers hard and getting close or even past 50,000 words. So congrats! to you guys! *Imagine confetti falling from the ceiling to cover you.*

Celebrate all you writers who took part. It ain't an easy journey and it certainly is worthy of a reward. No matter what  that reward is, enjoy it.

As I said up there *look up* my reward is four assignments. *Yippee*

Happy Writing.

Update!

I know I originally said I was going to aim for 75,000 words this November, BUT I've taken it down to 70,000 because the last thing I need is a lot of stress. I am currently at 45, 287 words and there is still a hell of a lot to happen. I don't even know how my character's going to get out of her current situation yet, but, ya'know, I'll figure it out.

In the meantime, I hope you guys are doing well in terms of word counts. Feel free to let know and have a 30 second poem on Winter.

Winter

Cold nights

nip at your toes

and bites

at your ankles.

Wrap up warm

grab a hot drink

get underneath

that blanket and stay.

The leaves are gone

and the trees are bare.

But still they wave

as you walk on by.

Puddles grow

and begin to freeze

forced to change

with the weather.

Snow may fall

or it may not,

but the white flakes

sprinkle their dust everywhere.

A look of wonder 

fills the horizon.

It gets darker

so get in sooner

but do not reject

those clear cold nights.

Look up at the sky

and see the stars

and moon.

Bright and inviting

despite the cold.

Oh boy

There is 6 days left to this event (not including today) and I've only just hit 40,000. EEP!

So far, today, I've written 4,000 words ish and I intend to keep going until it's time for bed. Tomorrow, I'm repeating the plan. Tuesday, the same thing. Write and write and write until Saturday when I can sit back, crawl into bed and sleep from being worn out.

I hope all is going well for you guys.

Happy Writing.

Water

Water

A still reflection
of shining blue.
A gust of wind
and it shivers.

In a stream
it runs downhill,
jumping and hopping
over pebbles and rocks.

In a river
it runs a little faster
sweeping through the gaps
and twisting the corners.

On a beach it waves,
wafts white foam high
and collapses
when nobody waves back.

In an ocean
it is home
to the millions of life
we cannot see.

It simmers in the sun,
waits to be told
where to go
and where to stay.

With a twinkle of the eye
it rests
letting the night
take away its pain
until tomorrow.

Let's be straight

Several hours ago an author (I'm not going to name names) a female other (to make it easier to talk about) tweeted that she's published a series of books for writers wanting to get to the next level in writing i.e. NOT beginners - and this was put into the tweet.

One of the first questions I can see coming to your mind is "What makes a beginner writer?" If that question doesn't cross your mind, well, why not? Seriously. I saw this tweet and thought "Why are we classing writer's as beginners and advanced? What's wrong with just writer?" And I can understand what they're talking about.

To an extent.

Fair enough saying that people are have just turned to writing, they may need a little help or push in getting going. We all did and that's the hard truth. But when this author states "My books are for those who have mastered the basics of writing."

Huh?

Mastered the basics of writing? Is- Is that possible? Is that even a thing? Seriously? Mastering words? Putting a sentence together? Seriously? 

"If you need to ask what the basic techniques of a writers craft is, you're better off with a beginner's book."

BUULLLSHIT

Seriously. Feel free to disagree. Feel free to argue with me or this above author, but seriously. I'm doing a creative writing course and you know what I've come to understand the basics are? Putting words together. Paragraphs that are indented. New speaker = new paragraph. Flow. All of that other basic shit. In essence, we're all past beginner and somewhere on the scale of improving. 

Yeah there's the whole making the words work and making the reader interested crap. But that's not basic it's practice. You can't sum up lack of ability into beginner. You can't. 

This one guy on Twitter asked this woman, "What makes a beginner compared to an advanced writer? I.e what are the basic techniques you're going on about? How are you able to decide all of this?" (through several tweets) But legitimate questions yes? 

And the woman freaked out. "If you need to ask you must be a beginner. A beginner is someone who hasn't mastered the basics. Advanced writers don't need to ask for a definition." 

I read these replied and I was shocked. Flabbergasted. 

So, because this guy asked this woman for what she defined to be basic crafts... he was an idiot and a moron (which is what the conversation later devolved into on Twitter when she called him a prat and a moron to her followers. Mature. Very mature.(for those who could not tell those last three words, read them with a jugful of sarcasm))

I just... the guy asked a few simple and basic questions to which she did not reply and now he's a prat who is also 'obviously' a beginner for asking her to define what she calls a 'beginner' writer and 'basic crafts'. 

Your comments on this very slight yet annoying issue is welcome. Agree or disagree with me or her? Lemme know.

Happy Writing. 

Oops

Okay, so as you can probably tell I have neglected this little corner of the internet. And my NaNoWriMo story for the time being.

Yeah.

I feel bad, but it was my boyfriend's 21st and on the Friday we went to a pub, Saturday we ate dinner with friends, Sunday was me attempting an essay and Monday was us eating pizza and visiting my mum.

So it's halted a little.

But all is not lost.

Once this essay is finished I can burn through the next few thousand words. (She says) Also, within the past month I've submitted a poem and a short story to competitions. Now I'm waiting to be told I haven't won. Anyway, for now, enjoy a poem about.... *fumbles* *scratches head*

Autumn

Orange leaves fall

and scatter themselves

across pavements.

We trod

and kick

and scatter them more.

The wind grows cold

it nips and bites

closes us into

ourselves.

Wrap up tight.

Grab a scarf.

Without a coat

you'll suffer.

Gloves are handy.

The sun

sinks lower

with passing speed.

Quicker

the moon rises

and the dark descends.

On starry nights

we look up and point

at the white glow 

that paints the sky.

Day 11...

It is nearing the end of Day 11 of NaNoWriMo. As you can see from the little bar in the top corner of this page, I'm not doing too badly. Whilst to NaNo's count I am almost halfway there....

as you can tell from up there, I'm not. In order to reach 75,000 words I should've been writing 3k words a day. So, by the end of the today I should be on 33k.

Nah, I'm gonna be halfway through 24k.

BUT! My plan!

To write 3.5k words a day. It is a giant push and somehow, as well as pumping out the words, I am ahead on Uni work too. *woop woop*

So.  I'm going to be doing my best to steam roll through this story (Yeah can't talk about it yet. Super super super secret!)

How are the rest of you folks doing?

Happy Writing!

Illness

Illness

It may start with a cough

Or even with a wheeze

Maybe it's the rough

that twists your stomach with a squeeze.

Sudden or gradually

It'll come to us all

Nobody is immune completely

to everything. We all take a fall.

For some it's a simple remedy.

For others years of tests.

You may ask when are they ready

to give you a result, yet...

Never is it pleasant

or simple.

At the end a triumphant 

cheer. Or away they slip.

Sometimes it is the last straw

that drags a person away.

With a single final draw

of breath, they've crossed

the land of the dead.

Voice

I want to talk about voice... again.

Voice is a difficult 'thing' to grasp. It is how the narrator speaks, how the characters think and how they speak. But every voice is different and this is what makes our jobs, as writers, harder.

By all means, have a narrator who is completely detached - by this I mean imagine a camera following the character and they report what they see.

But it isn't easy to write a voice and stick to it.

At the moment I'm writing in the voice of a character. First person past tense is not easy. I'm a third person kind of girl and writing in first person, for an entire story, is difficult and brain racking. Add into that I decided my character would be American. Do you know what that means? Using American terms and spellings: closet, drapes, customized, color, judgment, pasteurized. Being an English person who is trying to write with American spellings and terminology...

It's killing the editor inside of me. I still don't know if I should use 'cup' or 'mug' and I won't know for a while.

But first person texts are where voice is more important. It is one of the most important things. With a poor voice, your story falls apart. Keeping up the consistent voice, is even harder.

But it is doable.

Happy Writing.

15k

I have finally hit 15k! :D And I am still ahead of NaNo's word count. But behind on mine by 12,000 words!

EEP!

Ah well. I'm doing my best to write 3k a day *cries*

How's it going for everybody else?

Morning

Morning

A cusp of light

breaches the horizon.

Brightens the sky

and opens the day.

Sleepy eyes awake

and push out the dust

that the sandman 

sprinkled last night.

In a daze people walk

the sun still bright

blinding them

for a few moments

Until the day is opened

and the beauty revealed.

Update

NaNoWriMo is going.... okay. I guess. I told you how I'd set myself the crazy goal of 75,000 words by the end of November right? I'm sure I did.

Well that means 3,000 words each day. Doesn't sound so bad does it? So I should be at 21,000 by the end of today....

12,835 so far.

Yeah.

I'm ahead on the 'normal' word count. Way ahead. But WAY behind on my own word count.

So I got some big catching up to do. *cries*

How's your story coming along? Let me know with a small comment or two.

Happy Writing.

Letters

Letters

Put them together

and they make a word.

String a lot of them

and they make a sentence.

They hold meaning.

One letter

is the difference

between dead

and dread.

They make the language

create it 

invent it

and shape it.

Let them stand like soldiers

or let them slouch

like drunkards on a

Saturday night.

Small or big.

Squished or spaced.

Tall or short.

Clumped or separate.

Letters

make the foundation

of any word

of any sentence

of any story.

This month...

...I will try my best with regular posting, including those 30 second poems, but I may not post as normal. Why you ask?

For many reasons:

1) NaNoWriMo. Yeah. I'm attempting this. Way behind on my own personal word count so far.

2) I have two essays due this month. They take priority over anything. Especially if I wish a good grade.

3) Life. I need a life too. 

But I want to thank you guys who are visiting and who are reading. Comments are always welcome and I shall do my best.

In the mean time, have a few poems I made some time ago:

Run away

Let us run away

Let us never look back now

Don't, let them find us.

Silent

Alone and cornered,

Segregated from the pack

The silent tears fall.

Happy Writing. 

Unaware

Unaware

Behind the lies

You carry on

Unaware of the destruction

That follows.

Behind the manipulation

You carry on

Unaware of the trust

You are breaking.

Behind the cheating

You carry on

Unaware of the pain

You scatter

Like confetti at a wedding.

When a line is drawn

You cross it

And ask

"Why do you turn away?"

Is it any wonder?

Is it a mystery?

To anyone else, no

To you an enigma.

Evening

Evening

With a glass of wine

Or a bottle of beer.

Alone

Or with friends.

You spend it.

Watching TV

Down the pub

Reading a book

Or playing videos games.

You spend it.

Online

or off.

In the bedroom

Or the kitchen.

You spend it.

It is dark

with the cusp of light.

It shimmers with silver

And winks with a shiver.

Blue

Or black

It is there.

Evening.

Love

Love

It is warm 

and secure.

It is joy

and happiness.

It is a smile

and a laugh.

It is a bird that

will not stop flying.

It is an ocean

that will not stop waving.

It is a sun that

will not stop shining.

It is a star that

never stops twinkling.

It is everything

and anything.

It is hard to put into words

yet it is easy to do.

We know what it is.

We just can't say it.

Family

Family

They support you

Tell you the truth

Let you know

When you're wrong.

They may not

Always appear kind

But with good intentions

They mean well.

They put on face

And make nice

To make you feel good

About just one choice.

No matter what

Through good or bad

They've got your back

Unless you cross the line

Too far.

There til the end

They suffer just like you

Together.

15,000

I finally hit 15,000 words. Now, I'm going to aim for a minimum of 70,000 words, which means I'm not quite a quarter of the way there.

But a lot of changes have happened so far.

Rhodes is talking a hell of a lot more in the second draft.
The crew of Valhalla find Dixon and Murphy aboard Aries.
It isn't Dixon and a few others that take the ship, but somebody else.
I have to write more Dixon scenes.
He needs a first name.
Aries has a layout.
There is no station, but there is a mysterious energy field in the middle of space.
Aries had the EMP on board - unknowingly.

Just a couple of things to let you know about. But yeah. There's been quite a few changes and trying to go back to my first draft, link it in, add scenes, subtract scenes and such, it ain't easy.

Happy Writing.

Birds

Birds

High they fly

Free to roam

Up in the sky

With wings of chrome.

Across sea tops

The spray of foam

Across their beaks

Travel far

With no boundaries.

Wings

Feathers

Beaks

They fly

With no limit

No restriction

Wandering forever

Until they fancy

A place to sit.

War

War

When we think of war

We think of guns

Soldiers killing

People screaming.

When we think of war

We think of missiles

Large bombs that take

the lives of many at once.

When we think of war

We think of the Men and Women

With families waiting

for them to come home safely.

When we think of war

We think of the injured

Amputees

And PTSD.

When we think of war

We forget the children

In the middle

Running and hiding.

When we think of war

We forget the tears

that they shed.

Not us.

When we think of war

We forget there's two sides.

Forget the country

we're helping to destroy.

When we think of war

we forget the many lives

that don't have names.

The helpless.

The forgotten.

Beauty

Beauty

Beauty is a budding rose

Every sunrise and sunset

A smile on a child's face

Undeniable love for another

The warmth that fills 

You up with just one look.

Beauty is a rainbow

Emblazoning the sky

A tranquil forest that

Utters nothing or just whispers

The feeling of belonging

Yet of being a stranger.

Beauty is a sparkling lake

Everlasting and forever

An innocent face

Untraceable kindness

True love and

Yearning to forever hold.

Peace

Peace

Quiet
Serene
Calm
Peace

Truce
Friends
Pacts
Peace

Two fingers
A smile
A friendly gesture
Peace

An end to pain
An end to suffering
An end to war
Peace

Secrets

Secrets

Hush

Don't speak

Don't think

Just listen

close your mouth

do not tell.

I have a secret.

Little words

Big emotions

Held on close

Never to let go

Sharing

is one big step

To letting go

Hush

Finger to your lips

Mouth zipped closed

Forget the world

And keep this close

I

have a secret.

Planning

NaNoWriMo is just over a week away and I have decided to enter it. No matter how little sense it may make due to all the stuff already happening in my life. But I have done a little bit of preparation. 

Now, when I make notes to do with my story as I go I prefer to do it on plain A4 paper, so why not use an A4 sketchpad for it? The first thing I see when I open the sketch book is this:

A target sheet. When I reach 4,000 words I cross of that box or make it pretty knowing I've gotten that far. We all know that the challenge only asks for 50,000 words but I am pushing myself to 65,000 words, which is why it says it on that piece of paper. 

A big daunting number. A bigger and more daunting number than 50,000 words. 

The second page into the sketchbook contains this:

I did a few notes on the history of the world, at least a few thoughts that came to mind that seemed important. But this is all the planning I am doing. 

And to let you guys know, it's an urban fantasy story (For now at least. May suddenly decide to do a science fiction story at the last minute :P) But yeah. For now, this is all. Even if I did change to do the science fiction story I would still aim for 65,000 words. 

Happy Writing. 

Time

Time

Tick tock

goes the clock

Forward

Back

Forever counting

Second

after second

Minute

after minute

Hour

after hour

Falling

grains of sand

count down

But to what?

Love

Life

Growth

End of a test

Death

Tock

Tick

Challenge Accepted

November is going to be the time where I convince myself that I had good intentions at the start of it. The end of that month will be different matter altogether. I shall be curled up, sobbing, banging my head on the wall, the desk, the floor, begging for the words to disappear.

*cough cough*

What I mean is that on top of the three writing projects I have going I am going to undertake a fourth one (inhale) with hopes that I manage to finish it in time for day 30. (exhale)

It's gonna be a tough month but fingers crossed I'll reach that deadline.

Happy Writing.

Home

It's been a couple of days since I've done a 30 second poem, but, here I am with another. Enjoy.

Home

Warm to the heart

and a comforting cell

It cradles me

whilst I sleep

Holds me

when the day is grey

So much to do

in such a little space

Every rearrangement

a rejuvenating look

These four walls stand strong

even when I am weak

Forever there

when you are not.

Creation

Creation

From dust

From ash

From nothing but air

A new form rises

takes a breath

and opens its eyes

It lives

Talks

Walks

Explores

Hands begin to feel

Nose begins to smell

Everything is new once more

A mystery

To discover

Possible NaNo

Okay. Everybody is talking about NaNoWriMo prep as you know, November is right around the corner. My Twitter feed is full of authors, writers, regular everyday people talking about preparing for NaNo and what kind of person they are.

You see, there are two kinds of NaNo-ers... (Yeah that's a phrase now) Pantsers. Planners. 

Planners speaks for itself. It's the people who spend a discernible amount of time, be that a month, a day, several months, all year, the week before NaNo, planning and plotting their characters and stories.

Pantsers on the other hand is a phrase I hadn't heard of until a couple of days ago. These are the kind of people who have no idea what they're doing. They go into November with no idea, maybe an inkling, maybe the name of a character, and they go from there.

So. Which one am I? I am a PANTSER. And I'm not even guilty about that. I'm still unsure as to whether or not I want to participate as I already have a lot of stuff going on. Do I really want to add the trouble of 1,667 words a day to that?

But... I have a summary for a story. Science Fiction story. Here ya go:

2058. Hundreds disappeared from around the country. 261 years later one returned.

That is my planning, along with a character whose first name begins with a J. Some days he's a Jason, others a Jacob. Maybe even a James or John. Jack? I dunno. It's a J. Maybe I should just call him J from now on. 

But if I am going to take part, it'll be a last minute decision and I'll be having the mantra of 'Fuck, fuck, fuck' going around my head for the month. 

Happy Writing. 

Absence

Absence

One hole

long ago uncovered

Empty

A smile used to sit there

A laugh would rest there

Now they are missing

gone

When they ran

something ran with them

Like a pond with no ducks

A sky with no birds

A field with no mouse

There is something missing

A longing

left unsatisfied

Nothing

but emptiness left behind

30 seconds

At least once a week, every Tuesday, or even everyday, I am going to submit a poem I have created in 30 seconds.

Yes.

A poem that took me 30 seconds or less.

I shall pull a list of themes or prompts to inspire these small 30 second bursts but here is one for today. Enjoy:

I breathe

There is no sun

Only rain

The warmth is gone

The cold, it bites

Yet still I breathe.

Everybody is gone.

I am alone. 

My heart quivers

   shakes

   whimpers

   stutters.

    And stops.

Yet still I breathe. 

The darkness comes

The light goes

Sounds stop

There is nothing

Yet still, 

   I breathe.

_______

Any comments much loved.

Happy Writing. 

Boarding Aries 2nd draft

I decided it was time to give you guys a little more of my second draft. The section I am going to show, as shown in the title, will be the point in which the crew of Valhalla board Aries.

First Draft:

Charlie held back her frustration. Even Torres couldn’t get any information on the layout of Aries. Sokoloff and Zach were busy preparing the ships emergency docking system, a panel that opened up on the side of Valhalla to allow an emergency walkway between the two airlocks. In the meantime she had Torres looking through the database to try to find any word about Aries and who deleted the information that would help them.

    “Sorry Captain,” the Irish man spoke, pushing the screen away from himself. “Whoever did it has the best clearance and removal systems. Sorry.”

    “Don’t worry, you just get ready.” The man nodded and moved towards the door of the bridge. Charlie turned to her pilots and nodded, eyes fixed on the ship before them, “Let’s dock and find out what the hell is going on.”

    “Aye Captain,” both pilots muttered.

Charlie let nothing but her breathing invade her hearing. The lurching of the ship let her know that it had docked with Aries. Once the green light by the door let her know that the air had been pumped full of oxygen she let other sounds invade her senses. “McCallister! With me, Garrison and Torres, Rhodes and Nelson, Eliot and Hunter bring up the rear! On me!”

    She let the air fill the airlock for a little longer before she opened the door, letting McCallister stamp through first, rifle raised. She followed him, swinging her gun to the left of the airlock. Light footsteps behind told her Garrison and Torres were close behind. She and McCallister made it to Aries’ airlock and paused, waiting for Hunter and Eliot to close the airlock to their own ship. McCallister opened the door and Charlie swept through it first, going to the right whilst he crossed to the left. They swept through a few feet before stopping at the interior door that led to the innards of the ship. A small window in the door told Charlie that there wasn’t anybody nearby.

    The sound of the airlock closing let her know to carry on. “Everybody, cameras and microphones on.” People shuffled as they followed orders and soon, Charlie was opening the door that led to the main interior of Aries. The hallway that they were immediately placed in was large enough for two people side by side. It split off into three different paths, forward, left and right. “McCallister and I will take forward, Hunter and Eliot left, Garrison and Torres with the Doctors right. We’ll try to reconvene at the centre of the ship. Go.”

    Everybody pushed off and Charlie took her path first, McCallister following on the other side of the wall. The light from their torches lit the walls and floor, checking every possible space for rooms, doorways and alternate routes. They’d already come across two crossroads and had cleared both before keeping to their straight path directly to the centre of the ship. As they went they checked the rooms, finding offices and storage rooms. Everything about the simple design and small routes has military ship written all over them.

    It wasn’t long before they’d reached the mess hall that led straight to the bridge on the other side. Hunter and Eliot appeared behind them after a few minutes as she and McCallister checked the room for traps. The other four appeared, footsteps loud and careless in the empty ship.

    “Nothing,” Garrison said as he entered. “Nobody, no blood, nothing. Just a few blown fuses and busted wiring. Where’s the people that sent for help?”

    “Oxygen low my ass!” Hunter shouted as she paced the room.

    “Torres, Eliot, could somebody have faked the levels to an outside scan?”

    Both men looked at each other for a few seconds before offering her a shrug. Torres spoke. “It’s possible. But the actual temperature in a ship this old would need to be decreased for a lengthy amount of time.”

    Garrison nodded. “You can feel the chill in the air still. But somebody’s turned the temperature back up when we docked.”

    “So where is everybody?” Rhodes asked, voicing the question that had been on everybody’s mind.

    Charlie addressed her pilots, “Zach, Sokoloff. Run a heat signature scan of the ship. I want body heat signatures now.” Through their radios came silence, not the usual ‘Aye Captain’ that either of them would have said. “Zach! Sokoloff! Do you hear me?” Nothing.

    Then Aries shuddered violently, jerking everybody off their feet and onto their knees. “Fuck!” McCallister muttered before he pulled himself back up.

    There was the sound of metal straining and Charlie eyed the ships ceiling with worry. Then silence. The eerie silence made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It was too quiet, even by ship standards. Many a times Charlie had walked through the Valhalla and heard very little. But there was always a humming from the engine. Humming from the systems as they filtered the air. And even sometimes people still up, unable to sleep.

    But this? The only sounds to be heard were her crews stunted breathing. Nobody wanted to make too much sound. Nobody wanted to advertise that they were here. Nobody wanted the attention. Not a body. Not a drop of blood. A smear. Nothing. Nobody. But she could feel eyes on her. Watching her every step. Whatever it was, whoever it was, nobody wanted their attention. Just in case.

    "The fuck do you think happened?" Garrison. Ever the vocalist.

    Their radios buzzed and the ship juddered again, forcing them off their balance. Zach, still aboard the Valhalla was rushing through his words. "Sir, they jumped me. Dragged me out of the airlock and onto the Aries."

    Charlie's eyes went wide at the prospect. She moved through the mess hall to find the nearest view port and watched as their ship, her ship, started to push away from them. "Mother fuckers!" Hunter, her voice loud and angry, kicked at one of the wooden chairs and sent it flying.

Second Draft: 

    McCallister swung his head to the Captain. She nodded, opened the door and stepped across the small extended hallway first. McCallister followed with Rhodes falling behind him. At the other end he shared a look with O’Donnell. The Captain turned back down the corridor. “Torres! Get this door open!”

    The smaller man appeared and squeezed himself between the group of soldiers and the control panel. It took a total of forty nine seconds for him to pop the panel off and mess with the wires inside. The door opened and Torres was nodded to get back in line. Bands of red light filtered through and reflected themselves across the entire halls. Emergency lighting. The First Officer and Captain shared a look before she advanced first. The light on the end of her gun disappeared down the stairs to the right whilst he took the ones up to the top level.

    The hallway was big enough to fit two people side by side and this was the formation he took with Nelson by his side. Eliot brought up the rear whilst Hunter remained at the open airlock door, just in case. They passed a series of storage rooms and a quick check showed that they were locked. Standard policy. And they moved on. Small white clouds puffed themselves in front of him as he walked. It was cold. Very cold. He could feel the muscles in his fingers working against the biting chill.

    There came another hallway that stretched the width of the ship. He stopped on the other side of the opening and nodded to Nelson and Eliot to take a look. McCallister stood, the light fixed to his gun and his eyes trained on the path they’d just come and moved back to the path they were to keep going on. Being cautious kept them on their toes and alive. The Captain’s words were strummed into their minds to be second nature. Cautious.

    Two swinging beams of white traced haphazard paths along the walls and McCallister turned to see the two soldiers return. “Nothing,” Eliot said. “Just quarters.”

    He nodded. “Move forward.” In their two by one formation they got another ten feet before an opening to the right had them stopping. McCallister swung his gun around the corner first, let his light glide over the surfaces that made up the mess. Swaths of red bathed the room in an eerie gesture. After a momentary glance of satisfaction he stepped across the threshold. He listened to Nelson follow his steps, after which Eliot stepped into the room.

    Nothing. There was no blood. No body. No sign of any trouble but the pulsing red lights and the biting chill. “Zach, Soko,” McCallister spoke. “Where are the heat signals coming from?”

    “One on the lower level,” Zach said. “Got another few yards to your left. I’m guessing that’s the bridge.”

    “Copy that,” he said. He turned his gun to the opening on the left hand wall. “Nelson with me, Eliot search the mess.”

    “McCallister be aware we’ve found one survivor in Medical.” The Captain said. “Eliot I want you with Torres in engineering. Hunter keep an eye out. I’m on my way to the bridge.”

    A series of “Yes Captain,” filtered through the radios and McCallister remained on his path down the straight corridor that landed in the bridge. It was similar in style to that of Valhalla’s only it didn’t have the three seats in the middle of the room for the Captain, First and Second Officer. There was a short stretch of controls with just the one seat in the middle. The ship had been designed and built before two pilots became a recommended idea within ships. Slumped underneath this seat lay a figure. A head of black hair and a standard UNCTU uniform adorned the man’s frame.

    Nelson knelt by the man’s side and checked for a pulse. “He’s still alive but he’s cold.” A pause. “He’s suffered a head wound. I’m going to need to get him down to Medical.”

    McCallister nodded and conducted a quick sweep of the area before he stood next to Nelson. The Corporal commenced with pulling tools and contraptions out of his bag to perform a basic examination.

    “Hunter’s camera and radio just went down.” Zach’s word halted all movements in the room. Lieutenant and Corporal shared a look. Something in the air tingled with the knowledge that everybody else had frozen in shock. There were two heat signatures within Aries. Two. Camera’s had a habit of malfunctioning but radios didn’t.

    “Stay here,” McCallister whispered. He turned and with silent, quick steps rushed through to the mess.

    “There’s someone here,” and the distinct sound of a pistol clicking could be heard. Seconds later there was the sound of two thuds, along with a few groans, before feedback welcomed his ears. He stopped to remove the headpiece and let it hang around his neck. McCallister continued with more urgency. At the point between corridor and mess he twisted to the left. O’Donnell stood there, her gun trained on him. An instant later they turned and moved through the mess.

    Silence thrummed through the ship with enough tension to crack the ship into pieces. And just as quickly as everything had stopped before it stopped again. There was a thud. The two shared a curious look. A second a thud sounded and they snapped back into movement.

    The corner that led down and to the airlock was covered by McCallister as he peered around the edge. There were three slumped forms on the ground and he nodded his head to the Captain. She pushed herself to the corner and proceeded. She stepped over the slumped figures and crouched with her gun pointed towards the airlock. She gave a flick of her gun and he came to a crouch on the other side of the fallen bodies. Hunter, Zach and Sokoloff. Dumped like trash. “We left the airlock open right?”

    His eyes fixed themselves on the airlock door of Valhalla. Hunter was to stand guard at the open entrance of Aries’ just in case. But Valhalla was to remain open too. “Yeah.” Aries gave a violent shake that knocked him off balance. “Fuck,” he muttered before he pulled himself back up.

    The sound of metal straining was loud and the Captain stood and turned her head to the ceiling. Then silence. She turned her eyes to him and he frowned down at her. A sudden realisation came over her features and she turned to the airlock door. Then it hit him. Whoever had gotten onto the bridge of Valhalla was trying to pull away without disengaging the emergency docking. He followed her to the door and pulled it shut. Putting the emergency manual lock into place took a lot of strained effort between the pair of them, from its lack of use, and just as they managed to get the end of it into the slot the ship jerked them to the ground. A loud screech of metal scraping against metal let them know the door was fighting for release into space.

    They jumped to their feet and the strain was harder now that they were fighting the pull of the vacuum of space too. Muscles burnt from the contradiction of the cold air and the heat of being used. The screeching and resistance was loud and the ship rocked once more as the sound of Valhalla’s engines radiating against the exterior of Aries could be heard. They gave a final push on the door and collapsed against the walls of the ship with heavy pants. Nothing but their breathing filled the air.

    “What the fuck was that?” Nelson said.

    McCallister shared a look with O’Donnell and she managed an irritated expression around her panting. “That was somebody hijacking our ship.”

    “What about Zach, Hunter and Sokoloff?” Rhodes.

    “They’re with us,” the Captain said.

    McCallister moved and checked the pulses on their necks. “All alive. Just unconscious.”

    “Unconscious,” the Captain continued. “Give them a quick check when you get the chance. Eliot, Torres, getting this ship up and running again is top priority. Garrison come up to the airlock. We’ll move our people to Medical.”

Bit of a read but you can see that things are obviously changing - Dixon meets the crew much earlier then anticipated and it's a longer scene. Any and all opinions would be appreciated. 

Happy Writing.  

NaNoWriMo

If you haven't heard people talking about then where have you been living? But seriously. National Novel Writing Month. It is 23 days away. Many writers are prepping for it. Many writers are busy scrawling away plans and ideas.

Whilst others sit there thinking. Pondering. Procrastinating or simply wondering.

Am I going to participate this year?

I haven't decided yet.

Currently there are three writing projects on my mind. Above this I have assignments to write, Uni to attend and friends and family to see. Not to mention eating and sleeping.

BUT

I am considering it. But this year I'm considering something different. Instead of me just going ahead with it and writing it, letting you guys know now and again how it's going.... I'm thinking I might upload my day to day writings for you all to see. Yeah. A first crappy draft novel as it's being written. Not many people get to see first draft novels of writers/authors.

But it might encourage me to finish it and get it done. Even if it is crap I can always edit it to be better. (That's what editing is for after all :P)

Are you going to enter? It's a lot of fun and know that you won't be the only one tearing your hair out and bashing your head against the wall.

Happy Writing.

Voices

The natural voice. Natural speech.

You will have to write dialogue within your story. Unless you're that good that you don't need speech. But you will most likely involve some voice or dialogue. Now creating dialogue sounds easy right? Looks easy too?

It isn't.

For one: the conversation or banter has to flow. This means that it sounds like a conversation that could take place in front of you. If you walked into a room and walked in on two or three people exchanging a series of words between each other, would it sound natural or does it sound stilted and framed.

Stilted and framed speech. What I mean by this is that the words don't fit the characters. They've simply been put in to add information or to create a certain scenario or drama between a couple of characters. You could trawl many 'original' work websites where people have created their own original pieces of work. I guarantee you  that you will find many pieces where the speech is 'stilted and framed'. It has been deliberately written like that for a reason other than what the character would likely say.

Two: Making a back and forth series of lines sound well isn't rocket science but it also needs some serious thoughts put to it. Imagine the kind of character you have and how they're likely to respond to a scenario. Would they say something specifically or would they say something that sounds natural to them?

Three: Don't add 'umm' 'err' 'I- I- ... well-' There are many more examples of these and collectively they are known as signifiers of natural speech. These are the little false starts, repetitions and hesitations that you hear in everyday speech. "Well like... well you see...." Imagine seeing those kind of words at the start of every spoken sentence.

Natural speech is good. Too natural speak is bad. There is a middle line and a great way to get an idea for natural speech that draws on the middle line is TV. Listen to the characters. They never start with 'Umm' 'Errr' 'Ugh.' They never hesitate or repeat the first four words of a sentence properly unless it's done deliberately and to an effect. Using very natural speech for an effect is fine as long as it is kept on a brief level.

One way to get yourself used to writing natural speech with voices in mind is to imagine yourself having a conversation with one of your friends. Let's say there's some spat going on between you two. It could be anything. But imagine you were trying to mend the bridges. What would you say? What would they say? How would they say it? What would the reactions be?

Always read the speech in your head before and after you've written it down. If necessary read it aloud to yourself. Does sound natural? Does it sound like the character? Reading the lines again will often help you to see what is wrong with the line.

Happy Writing.

Crazy mind

At the moment, in  my head I have at least THREE ongoing creative projects. Well, technically all three of them are written down and being worked on/thought about every day. So yeah. They're not just in my mind, but they're things that are needed to be worked on a lot of the time. Not to mention the fourth one that's running through my mind.

Ugh.

And with books that need to be read. Essays that need to be planned. Classes that need attending. Volunteering I am determined to do. Writing that needs to be done for Uni. It's all getting a little crazy in my head.

Maybe that's why I'm ill. Shhh. 

I want to offer you guys a little tip.

Do not take on too much at one time. Seriously. It'll drive you crazy. If I don't come out of Uni with some sort of disease or mental illness I'll be surprised. Seriously.

Yeah. So. Take it easy. Don't take on too much at once and just relax and enjoy yourself.

Happy writing.

A few books...

For Uni, having chosen to do an English joint Creative Writing course, I've had books to read. A many of them I am still getting through. For the first two years 99% of the 'required' reading I couldn't give two monkeys about. Why? Because they bored me and didn't interest me whatsoever. Far From The Madding Crowd. Therese Raquin. Mayor of Casterbridge. North and South. No. Never again.

This year however I am a happy bunny. You know how you have those old tale stories you've been meaning to read because of a number of reasons, being classics and origins for a lot of future stories. Or the ones that you've just never gotten around to since you were a kid. Yeah. Those are basically my books for this year.

So far I've read:

Alice in Wonderland.
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

What I have left to read:

Frankenstein. (Halfway through right now)
The Secret Garden (Read most of already)
Dracula.
Peter Pan.
Tom's Midnight Garden.
The Collector.
Wind in the Willows.
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
Winnie The Pooh.

The reason why many of these I have failed to get around to until now is because I know the stories already. Or you know, they've made TV series or films about them. (Even if they are inaccurate films. Spoiler: Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are not in Alice in Wonderland and neither is the JaberWocky. They both appear in Through the Looking Glass.) 

But after knowing the basics, after having seen them on TV in different versions, it becomes a point where I've asked myself, should I? There's all these other books that I don't know the story of that I could read first because I don't know them.

But these books are full of cool surprises and I am glad I chose the courses that I did. Just because you've seen the film does not mean you should not read the book. Seriously. Do it. You'll be surprised.

Happy Writing.

Creating Characters #2

Here: http://mediocrewriterrachel.blogspot.co.uk/2013/07/creating-characters.html I created a post about making 'realistic' or 'human' characters. The summary of what I said was: Think about how your character will act and how they're talking. Could you relate them to somebody you know? Then well done. Can you not? Can you imagine them as a human being with flaws and positives? Well done.

But I want to add a few more pointers to it.

One thing that every character needs is a problem. No matter how small this problem is it's a standard quality required in your character through the story. (Or it's a personal problem which affects the story. Whichever works for you.) How will your character react? What do they say in response to this problem? What can the character learn from her problem? (Or what can the reader learn?)

But if you don't have a problem for your character then they're not much of a character. Everybody right now, everybody you meet today or tomorrow, every person you pass on the streets or see on public transport, everybody will have a problem. There is no such thing as a character who has no problem. No such thing.

What usually comes skipping merrily behind this problem is a motivation that will drive your character to overcome or solve this problem. If your character encounters the problem and just goes on about their day like it was nothing then honestly? What the hell are you doing? Motivation gives rise to action. Action gives rise to more problems. Problems give rise to consequences. Consequences gives rise to more action. And so on.

Everybody has a motivation. (Unless they're just heartless, but even then there's a motivation of some kind.) No matter how small the motivation is there is always one.

Let's imagine a scenario:

Leo is a seventeen year old teenager. His problem? He's locked out of the house and wants to get inside but nobody's home. His motivation? It's the middle of December and it's cold.

Simple.

It's not rocket science. But because he has a problem and a motivation he will have an action. This action could lead him anywhere, it is down to you as a writer. But:

Problem = Motivation = Action

Happy Writing.