Fall Releases I'm Looking Forward To

I thought today I'd share the four new releases coming up I'm most looking foreword to. These next few months are going to be very exciting. :D

The Sword of Summer: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard

Magnus Chase has always been a troubled kid. Since his mother’s mysterious death, he’s lived alone on the streets of Boston, surviving by his wits, keeping one step ahead of the police and the truant officers.

One day, he’s tracked down by a man he’s never met—a man his mother claimed was dangerous. The man tells him an impossible secret: Magnus is the son of a Norse god.

The Viking myths are true. The gods of Asgard are preparing for war. Trolls, giants and worse monsters are stirring for doomsday. To prevent Ragnarok, Magnus must search the Nine Worlds for a weapon that has been lost for thousands of years.

When an attack by fire giants forces him to choose between his own safety and the lives of hundreds of innocents, Magnus makes a fatal decision.

Sometimes, the only way to start a new life is to die . . . (Taken from Goodreads.)

While Riordan's last batch of books, the spin-off series of Percy Jackson, were less than cool, this looks like it's going to be really awesome.

The Forever Man: W.A.R.P. #3

Riley, an orphan boy living in Victorian London, has achieved his dream of becoming a renowned magician, the Great Savano. He owes much of his success to Chevie, a seventeen-year-old FBI agent who traveled from the future in a time pod and helped him defeat his murderous master, Albert Garrick. But it is difficult for Riley to enjoy his new life, for he has always believed in his heart of hearts that Garrick will someday, somehow, return to seek vengeance.

Chevie has assured Riley on numerous occasions that Garrick was sucked into a temporal wormhole, never to emerge. The full nature of the wormhole has never been understood, however, and just as a human body will reject an unsuitable transplant, the wormhole eventually spat him out. By the time Garrick makes it back to Victorian London, he has been planning his revenge on Riley for half a century. But even the best-laid plans can go awry, and when the assassin decides to include Chevie in his retaliation, the three are tossed once more into the wormhole with no idea where-or when-they will end up. (Taken from Goodreads.)

I have absolutely loved Colfer's books, especially his WARP series, and cannot wait to crack open the pages of book 3. Especially since it looks like he's bringing back one of the best villains ever.

The Speed of Darkness: Chronoptika #4

I haven't actually read the 2nd and 3rd book in this series (because my library doesn't have them), so I haven't even read the description of this one. The first book turned out to be breathtaking, and so I, in planning to read the next two, found out that the fourth was due to be released early 2016.

Mission Hurricane: The 39 Clues: Doublecrossed

Last book of the 39 Clues. Possibly the very last that will ever come out. I have really enjoyed these books and will be very sad to see them end. But I suppose you can only stretch a series so far...

What new releases are you looking forward to? Any suggestions for me?

Have a lovely afternoon,

~The Scribbler in the Attic

The Writing Lifestyle

I've found myself realizing more and more lately that I don't think like a normal person anymore.

Writing has started shaping my entire life. It's been heading that direction since I was as young as ten, but I guess I didn't know it until now. Everything I do in my day-to-day lifestyle revolves around my writing.

I'm not thinking ahead to college because all I picture myself doing in a few years is writing. How I get through doing schoolwork is thinking about how I can use this knowledge for my writing. Every morning I wake up, I wonder how much writing I'm going to get done. When my mom asks me what I'm going to do today, I have to stop and think of something besides writing I had been planning to do. It's actually a little scary to think about how unconsciously writing controls my life. I don't even really have the normal "teenage girl" thoughts of something like who I'm going to marry or what kind of house I want to live in when I get older. All I can think is, Oh, look, it's a new day. Guess I'm gonna write.

Is this unhealthy? It's either passion or a mental disorder. Probably both. Do you guys ever feel this way?

Everything around me is fuel for the writing fire. Literally almost every thought that crosses my mind about something usually turns into "how can I use this in a story?" Recently, I was playing soccer with some friends, and accidentally got a black eye from someone's elbow in the wrong place at the wrong time. And, seriously, I was kind of happy, because now I knew how to describe the pain of being hit extremely hard in the face. Great, right?

But something I have to remind myself every single day so I don't get sidetracked is to follow up the question of "How can I use this in my story?" with "And how will this glorify God?" 

I want that question to fuel me with as much passion as my writing. And it's hard. Because I've become so ingrained with the writing mindset, it's hard to fit anything else into my head with it. But it's a very necessary thought. It's an important thought. It is THE most important thought, actually. 

As I've realized how much my life revolves around my writing, I've realized how much more I need it to revolve around that question. How can I glorify God? Because that has to come before everything else. And more than anything it has to come before my writing.

I'm not sure where this post was heading. Hopefully my ramblings made at least a little sense.

How has writing shaped your life? Do you ever have to take a step back and reevaluate?

Colossians 3:23 "And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men."

Have a lovely day!
~The Scribbler in the Attic

Why To Stop Reading A Book

Hey! Look at this! A second post up in less than a week! (I'm praying I keep it that way. ;P)

Okay, so I thought I would write down some reasons why I have STOPPED reading a book. Yes, you read that right. Stopped. Even when I'm halfway through, and as an avid reader it kills my little OCD heart to not completely finish a book, I have decided to walk away from some. 

If you're above the age of 12 and have starting branching out into more uncharted reading waters, then you probably know what I'm talking about. Here are some reasons why I stop reading books:

Language:

I have grown old enough that language does not bother me as much as it might have before, even large amounts of it. But there have come points in several books where the language was simply overwhelming and making the book completely unenjoyable. Most secular authors probably don't realize how distracting it is, or, if they do, they don't care. They assume everyone talks like this. But curse words can act like an attention-magnet. Instead of carrying the story, the characters, and the characters' speech forward, when they're used, they suck all of the attention away from the sentence to fixate on that one word. 

Adult Scenes:

I've stopped trying with YA novels. Anything remotely romantic-related turns out to be all romance. When that happens, the authors usually feel the need to spell out every detail, something I personally do not care to read. You can have adult-content without describing every detail of that. Imagine how much more appropriate books would be if that were the case. But since authors assume you DO want to read all about it, they do write it.

Now, I can overlook those two things usually, IF it has at least one, sometimes two (depending on how bad the language and content is) of the following:

Good/Interesting Characters:

There have actually been few books--nowadays, at any rate--where the characters are compelling and interesting and deep enough to make me want to keep reading. I tried to get into The Raven Boys Trilogy, finding the characters well done, but ultimately not interesting enough to carry the weight of the boring/weird plot, the amount of language, and the complete lack of any sort of moral values. (Now, I know by using this as an example, I've possibly opened a can of worms. I know that the Raven Boys is a pretty big deal for some people, but, sorry, this is my opinion.) 

The Throne of Glass is another example I could use. The language I could take, the occasional adult content I could take, but I couldn't stand Celaena after the second book in the series. She wouldn't stop whining. While the first book kept me interested, and the second book I read for the romance, there was nothing left for me to gain from Celaena's character after that. She was all dried up. And, by taking away the intrigue of the plot of the previous books and the other, more interesting characters, I found that she had been just as whiny and annoying throughout whole series.

Intriguing Plot:

The plot is supposed to be what keeps you reading. You can get away with stupid characters and badly written prose if you have an exceptionally amazing plot. Now "exceptionally amazing" varies due to peoples different tastes. I read a book a while back about the idea that souls are used again and again, but in different bodies throughout time, and boy who could remember his "past lives." He was in love with a girl he kept meeting during those various lives who couldn't remember. (By the way, I DO NOT recommend this book.) The writing style was fairly good, if vague, but otherwise is was an awful book. The only thing that kept me reading was the plot. I wanted to know how it ended. I wouldn't say it was an "exceptionally amazing" plot, but it was intriguing enough that I overlooked all the flaws.

Good Writing Style:

The City of Bones is a good example for this one. It was one of the few books I've read that I read solely for the writing style of the author, and nothing else. I picked it up, intending to enjoy it because I had heard good things about it. Instead, I found the characters dry and devoid of any real standards or morals, the plot predictable, slow, and typical, and the language distracting. I kept reading it doggedly, because I decided that even if it ended terribly, the author was a good writer and I maybe I could pick up on how she did it. 

Enders Game is an amazing book. Great plot, well developed characters, and nicely done writing, but after reading it, I felt like I needed to take a shower. There was a lot language. But, ultimately, it was worth the language for everything else the book gave me. I gained more than I lost. Faerie Wars on the other hand, I put down because it wasn't worth my time. While there wasn't a whole lot of language, the characters, the plot, and the writing were nothing spectacular, there was nothing I could gain as a writer or as a person, and I eventually just decided to put it down. There are better books out there for me to spend my time on.

The older I've gotten, the more books I've put down. One, because I've started to realize that time is precious and I need to use my reading time to its fullest extent. And secondly, because, as I branch out into stranger territories in search of new and exciting things to read, the more flak I have to wade through to get the really good stuff. 

Do you stop reading many books? Do you have a hard time like I do not finishing something simply for the sake of finishing? What makes you stop reading? What makes you keep reading?

Have a lovely afternoon,

~The Scribbler in the Attic

5 Ways I Get Over Writer's Block

Hey y'all! Sorry my super long absence. This month has been crazy, between ice storms, 70 degree weather, last-minute road trips, free archery lessons, visits to the doctor for allergy shots and home school conferences. :D 

Well, as I've been having trouble with this lately, I thought I would share with you all five ways that I get over Writer's Block, and ask about your methods. I actually haven't heard mush advice on the matter, except for the two obvious ones: Take a Break and KEEP WORKING NO MATTER WHAT I DON'T CARE IF YOU HAVE A BLOCK.


Anyways, here's my five-cents:

1). Sit down and write out all your favorite words.
             I was at a really desperate stage of writers block when I decided to do this. It was really late at night, everyone else was asleep, and my light was the only one on in the room I share with my three other sisters. On the edge of sleep, but unwilling to go to bed without scratching the itch I'd had all day to write, but hadn't been able to because of my Block, I rolled over, grabbed a notebook, and started scribbling down all of the words I loved most: shiver, mirror, winter, obsidian, shatter. The next morning I woke up and it was gone. 


2).  Reread a draft of a different book you haven't worked on for a while and try to identify mistakes in it that you could still be making now.
           I've done this several times, and it always helps. It reminds me where I've been and how far I still have to go, but it also helps point me in the right direction for fixing my old mistakes. And it keeps me humble. :)

3). Change the font, spacing, or coloring of your document.

          Seriously. I got this advice from Pinterest, and it actually works. When I get fed up with something, or get a headache, or even start out a story knowing it's going to give me a tough time, I change at least the color. Gray is usually my go-to.

4). Make a list of all of your characters, every single one. Then mark if they are good or bad. Then mark whether they live or die.

          *maniacal laugh* I have this old money ledger I got from my great grandmother. It has columns for expenses, income, taxes, etc. But they are unlabeled, so I made it into a "Death Book" and used the columns for Last Name, First Name, Good/Bad, Die/Stay Alive. Then I filled it out. (In case you were curious, out of all of the characters from the series I wrote down, only about half lived. :P) I know this sounds slightly psychotic, but it really can help--plus, it's kind of fun. :D

5). If you're having trouble describing a certain thing (an emotion, reaction, scenery) go to one of your favorite authors and read how they describe it. Figure out why it works for them, and then make it work for you.

           I usually go to Riordan or Rowling, as their writing style fits mine the best, and this has never failed me. I'm sure you all know the feeling, when sometimes, after writing for hours or even days on end, your patience gets so frayed that the smallest things will start to trip you up. This helps me quickly get back up without losing momentum. (I once got stuck for hours just trying to write the part of a scene where five people enter a room. Talk about stuck. :-/ )


So, what do you guys do? Any suggestions, hints or advice? I could really use it!

Hope you all have an awesome day, 
~The Scribbler in the Attic

First Hellos and Final Goals

Here is my first hello to all of you in 2015!

It's a new year, and like every new year it comes with changes and decisions. I've made some choices I hope you all will like for this blog. There are some things I wish I had done better with my life in 2014, and there are some things that I know I will fail at in 2015. But, thankfully, the beauty of failure is you learn from it.

Starting now, I've decided to do away with "Monday Musings" and "Writer's Wednesday" and "Photography Friday". The rigid schedule and cheesy alliterations just weren't working for me.

I would love for you all to give me suggestions for ways I could improve my blog and my posts! Please comment with any ideas you may have.

Last year, about this time, I told you all that my new year's resolution was to not use any emoticons on this blog.

As you probably can all see, I failed miserably. :P

I have nothing at all against emoticons. In fact, I think they are super cute and funny. But my reason for trying to not use them was because I wanted my writing to be such that I didn't need to use smiley-faces to maybe bring some serious subject I was talking about back into a happy mood, or a sad-face to convey disappointment, when I could very easily just take a few more minutes to be more thoughtful with my words and how they are put together. 

This year, I have no such restrictions. Hah, I'm probably going to use a hundred emoticons a sentence now that I have free range.  But I will also be trying just as hard, if not more, to be more thoughtful in my rhetoric.

Anyways, here's a sketchy outline for the way I'm hoping to do things on Scribblings this next year:

In terms of photography…

In case you were worried, I'm not giving up photography. Just because Photography Friday is defenestrated, doesn't mean my camera has been chucked out with it. There will definitely be photo shoots and more "selfie series" pictures. I love photography and am not planning on quitting any time soon.

Speaking of scribblings…

I have not yet made a plan for what I'm doing with This Name and Moment. What I had planned on being just a short, short book spliced into small chapters to give to you guys, has turned into an explosion of new plots and characters in my head. I would really love to take it to a new height, but at the same time I need to be focusing on several of my other writing goals. So, in other words, I've haven't got a concrete plan. If you're still interested in reading This Name and Moment please comment and tell me! I would really appreciate it. :-)

But, now that I'm not concentrating all of my fuel on This Name and Moment, I can be posting more poems and short stories and stuff. Which I'm super excited about. :D :D :D

Did somebody mention books??

Instead of doing an individual review for one or two books, I got the idea to just post a list of all of the  books I read that month, with short descriptions and my ratings. Also, if you guys can think of any books you would highly recommend, I would love to hear about them! One of my unofficial goals this year is to read a lot more, and for that, I need lots of suggestions! :-)

Well, there you have it. All my incredibly sloppy plans for this incredibly sloppy blog who does not deserve all of you amazing people. :-)

Haaaaaappppyyy 200000000001555555555!!!!!!!!!

~The Scribbler in the Attic

Writers Wednesday // Action Kids Blog Tour Stop

Good morning everyone! Today I'm hosting a blog stop for Aidyl Ewoh (aka Lydia Howe) on her blog tour for her new book Action Kids. So excited to have her here!




Welcome to day three of the Action Kids blog tour celebrating the release of the first book in the series, Action Kids' Club. Read the post from yesterday here.


The answer to yesterday’s quote puzzle is: Ships are safe in the harbor, but that’s not what ships are for. -Unknown

For Today:

Olivia, the narrator in Action Kids' Club is pretty upset about moving at the beginning of the book, but as time goes on, she too, realizes that moving might not be so bad after all. I was 10 when our family moved and I was rather distraught about it. I was pretty convinced that I lived in the best place possible and I didn’t see how moving would make life better. After my parents told me I could bring along the poles I’d been working on for my ‘some-day’ tipi, I was a bit more enthusiastic about the move. It wasn’t long after we moved that I realized having over five times as much property meant we could do a lot more exploring, plus there was a corncrib that we were allowed to convert into our shanty (what can I say... I grew up on Laura Ingalls books). And, we even got to have a campfire on a sand pile where we were commissioned to cook breakfast every once-in-a-while. Suddenly moving hadn’t been such a horrible thing after all and I even found myself becoming loyal to our new property. As the years have passed by, I’ve been ever so thankful that we moved when we did. Moving truly did open up a new world of possibilities for my family. The land here is amazingly beautiful and if I got to go back to when I was ten and pick if I wanted to move or stay right where I was... Well, without a doubt I would choose moving.

What about you? Do you have an experience or story about moving? I’d be delighted to hear it. :) Here’s your quote puzzle for today. Figure it out and leave the answer in the comments section and you’ll be entered into a drawing for a great prize! And, check out my blog to find out about the $50 gift card I’m giving away!


(Answer Key)

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z A B C

(Puzzle)

Idlxuh lv dq hyhqw...lw’v qrw d shuvrq. - Don Howe


Make sure you check out this blog tomorrow for the answer to the riddle and the next stop on the blog tour. Thanks for stopping by!

About the Author:

Lydia Howe (aka Aidyl Ewoh) is a twenty-something adventurous author who enjoys hiking in the mountains of Asia and South America, building life-size models of dinosaurs, taking road trips across Europe and cooking for large crowds. Lydia grew up in a barn and has always dreamed of living in a tipi. She is trained as a John Maxwell coach and her passions include self-development and Christian apologetics. One of her life-long dreams was realized when her first book, “Cave Secrets of the Pterodactyl”, was published by Answers in Genesis in 2013. Her second book, “Action Kids’ Club” was published in November of 2014. Find her online at her Blog, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, Goodreads and Pinterest.


Action Kids’ Club Back Cover Blurb:

Twelve-year-old Olivia Hall’s dream of a friends' club ends when she finds out her family is moving. Her parents assure her it's a good thing, opening a new world of possibilities for the Halls. But going from ‘miss popular’ to ‘the new girl’ won’t be easy, and Olivia is not convinced.
Soon she begins to realize that although her life has suddenly changed, there's plenty of adventure to keep her on her toes. From making new friends at Forward Focus, to hanging out at the world-renowned Kids Zone, to meeting the curious head chef, she discovers that there's much more to life - and her new surroundings - than she ever imagined. How will she make the most of these new opportunities? Or will she let them slip away?


Thanks, Aidyl, for having me host this! This was a lot of fun!
~The Scribbler in the Attic

Writers Wednesday || Treasure Hunting: What I've Learned So Far

It's not as large a genre as you might expect.
When I decided I was going to write a treasure-hunting novel, I went searching for juvenile or young adult books in the genre. Turns out, there's not a lot of them out there. I wanted more fiction than fantasy, but ended up settling with about 50/50 of each, the selection just not giving me the room to be picky. 
I think it's kind of exciting, though, writing in a genre so sparsely populated. It gives you the chance to be a bit more original, to be a bit more outrageous and courageous.

It's not a treasure hunt unless something goes BOOM.
Well, at least, I've yet to discover a treasure hunting story without explosions.With every treasure hunt, obstacles have to be thrown in the characters' faces, and not just bad guys and difficult clues that lead to gold hordes.
There's booby traps, too.
LOTS of them.
I think booby-traps are some of the coolest ways to heighten stakes, because they aren't things you can reason or plead with. They aren't on a side. They can pick off both the heroes and the villains. You have to contend with the laws of physics and nature, and sometimes it takes more brains to figure out how to get past them than it takes to decode any clue.
One of my all-time favorite movie scenes is the one in National Treasure: Book of Secrets where they enter the ancient Mayan caves, and stumble onto a giant slab of stone, which is upheld by a single pillar of wood. And they then have to keep their balance while crossing to the other side, without tipping the whole structure and falling to their deaths.
If you had a huge stash of gold, you wouldn't leave it unprotected, would you?

Historical accuracy isn't an issue, apparently.
Trust me. You don't need to be nervous about bending history a little bit. People expect you to put a twist on events and people from the past and weave a story with them. Even if it's completely outrageous. Just look at National Treasure. 
That isn't to say, though, that research isn't important. You should always strive for good accuracy in your story. But don't pull your hair out over it.


Your clues don't have to rhyme.
Seriously. 


You can make nerdy cool.
I am very tired of this whole age of making fun of nerds and geeks as being weird, instead of seeing them as the very smart and interesting people they are. Nerds and geeks are often people  who grow up to be leaders and writers and world-changers.
One of the cool things about treasure-hunt stories, is that (usually, not always) there is as much need for a macho protagonist who can deal with the obstacles and gun-slinging bad guys as there is for a protagonist who knows his history, who's smart and clever and has to out-fox everyone. Sometimes these characteristics are split between two people, and sometimes, as in the case of Indiana Jones and Ben Gates, you can have swashbuckling and smart in the same person.

Treasure hunting isn't just about 3000 year old artifacts. 
It can be much more modern. There are so many thefts and losses of important cultural art or even hordes of wealth that have happened in the last century, you don't have to limit your sights to Mayan temples and the Knights Templar.

Stayed tuned for next week's Writers Wednesday piece, where I'll be hosting a blog tour for Aidyl Ewoh and her new book.
~The Scribbler in the Attic

Writers Wednesday || Blood Moon

Blood Moon

Upon the earthbound,

marshy road,

I looked and saw the

blood red rose

Of the moon upon

the waves of stars,

Floating o'er the depths of

shadow shards.

Terror seized

me with burning claws,

Dug through skin to

my pulsing heart.

Memory encaged by

thin crystal glass,

Shattered, broken

free at last.

Then I fled the

shades cast by the night,

I fled the grip

of seething fright.

Most of all I fled

that wretched gaze,

Of that bloody moon like

flesh ablaze.

I reached the trees and

welcome shaded veiw

From the moon, pale red light

Still seeping through,

And thought of home,

now far away,

Where I might have found

a different fate.

What'ch'y'all think? 

~The Scribbler in the Attic

Writers Wednesday || Part 17 - The Revelation

This picture was a lot of fun to take. I was literally laughing out loud as I applied the fake blood.
Hope you guys enjoy this next part!

- Part 17 -

The Revelation

Her heart had stopped beating.

It seemed as if she was trapped for an eternity between complete disbelief and complete confusion, yet on the very brink of everything in her broken life clicking into place.

Clarity forced herself to forget every question hurtling through her brain like a thousand trains about to crash into each other, and focus on Stallings to see if he was telling the truth. She watched his eyes and his features, tensing for any little sign of a lie.

She swallowed hard, "…Where? Where are they?"

Stallings held up his hands protectively, his gaze slipping between her and the barrel of her weapon. "Put the gun down and we'll talk."

"No."

"Clarity--"

"Where are they, Professor?" Her voice shook. Jerking her head towards the door to the crypt, she demanded, "In there, with the rest of your corpses?"

"No, they aren't in there."

"Then where, Stallings?" she practically screamed. "Are they dead?" Somewhere in the corner of her heart, Clarity had always had the prowling fear that she would never see them alive, never know how exactly they died. A fear that had been strengthened by her aunt everyday for years after  the night they disappeared. She would yank any trace of hope of her neice's heart with the firm words, "They aren't coming back, Clarity dear. I'm sorry, but they're dead. They aren't coming back."

Clarity felt tears rising in her eyes. She quickly blinked and repeated her question, "Are they dead?"

Stallings gulped. A thousand years seemed to pass as he paused, hesitating with his answer.

"No. They are alive."

Staggering back a step, a wave of heat and dizziness swept over Clarity. She wanted to believe it with every fiber of her being, but doubt won out as she reminded herself Stallings couldn't be trusted. It could all still be a lie.

The sound of approaching boots on tile flooded Clarity with awareness again. Stallings was backing away slowly.

"I'm afraid it's over, Clarity. You can't escape this place."

Clarity's hand holding her gun had fallen back to her side. She raised it to point at his chest again.

"You can't shoot me, Clarity. Think of your parents. I'm the only one who knows."

The pounding footsteps were getting closer and closer. They would be in the hallway any moment. Clarity's hands shook as she held the gun. 
She took a deep breath and shot.

Stallings gave a cry and flinched, pathetically waving his hands as if somehow that would save him. But the bullet wasn't meant for him. At the last second, Clarity had pointed the weapon upwards and shot the florescent lights. A shower of sparks rained down. Using it as her smokescreen, she fled to the opposite end of the hallway, to the secondary stairwell, and threw herself down the stairs.   

Outside, the night was electric and dark.

Clarity found the door to the outside ajar. She breathed a prayer of thanks as she stepped into the open air at last. The wind caressed her gently, playing with her highlighted blue hair as she crouched in the shadow of the building's walls to get her bearings.

One guard by each tower, two others patrolling the wall tops between.

As she scanned the concrete yard, a shadow got caught in the corner of her eye. She twisted her head to get a better angle.

It was Sean. Crouching behind some sort of armored van. His oversized brown leather jacket gleamed slightly beneath the light of the dim moon.

Clattering footsteps on the stairs inside warned Clarity it was time to make a move.

She had never been much for thinking things through. It was usually just a waste of valuable time.

Aiming the gun at the clouds, Clarity pulled the trigger. The shot shattered the silence of the compound. The six guards stationed at the towers immediately began yelling to each other. The two on the ground started running towards the building, directly for her.

Clarity didn't move. She watched as Sean left behind his hiding place and sprinted for the East tower. The wall top guards spotted him. At their comrades' cries, the guards heading for Clarity turned about and went straight for Sean.

Unclipping one of the grenades from her chest holster, Clarity followed them. She wasn't sure whether or not she should be frightened. It was her first time using a grenade.

The guards were closing in on Sean now and she was closing in on them. Catching sight of her, Sean's mouth dropped open. They'd only been apart for maybe twenty minutes, but seeing his stupid face again brought a rush of happiness back to Clarity.

She pulled the pin out of the bomb and flung it with all her might at the two guards.

As it exploded with an eruption of fire and noise, a sheet of heat nearly pushed Clarity to the ground. It seared and scrubbed her skin raw like sandpaper. Shaking away the high-pitched ringing in her ears, she passed the two smoldering men, their clothes smoking, and fell down beside Sean, who had collapsed with the detonation.

"Sean! We've got to get out of here! Sean--can you hear me? We've--"

"Dyterra," he hissed, suddenly awake and grabbing his head. "Thanks and no thanks for saving me."

She opened her mouth to ask if he was alright, but he beat her to it. "You okay?"

"Never better," she grunted, helping him to his feet. "You?"

"You're really asking a guy that after you threw a bomb at him?"

"You're welcome for saving your life," said Clarity. "Now it's time for us to leave."

Sean nodded, "The tower."

Supporting each other, they started for the entrance, when one of the guards on the wall top shouted, "STOP WHERE YOU ARE! DON'T MOVE."

They looked up to find four rifles trained on their heads. Sean whispered so only Clarity could hear, "They can't kill us. They've had plenty of opportunities before now. Stallings needs us."

They started for the tower again, ignoring the guards' demands for surrender. Sean gripped the keypad next to the door and typed in two numbers. The lock clicked, the light on the pad blinking green.

The tower inside was musty and damp. There was only one room, ten-by-ten, a third of it taken up by a iron stairwell going upwards.

"What do we do now?" groaned Clarity.

"Up."

Clarity halted him with a hand on his shoulder and a sharp, "Sean!"

Heavy boots were pounding and rattling, coming down the iron stairs. A pair of legs appeared at the top of the stairs, the rest of the body following. Just before the guard's head became visible, Sean spotted a closet in the corner, next to a coat rack and bench, and opened the door.

Three other men came after the first guard. They jumped down the stairs, about to raise their weapons and call for surrender, when Clarity detached one of her smaller grenades, unplugged the pin, and sent it sailing. Sean grabbed her, flung them into the closet, and slammed the door.

The explosion rocked the building, cracking the walls and sending out a ripple of intense heat. Sean held his jacket over his and Clarity's head, their only protection in case the roof came down. But only a small cloud of dust and mortar hit them.

Hearts beating wildly, the two clutched each other, panting, breathing in the detritus. With a moan and a creak, the metal closet door slowly tipped forward and fell to the floor with a clang. The fire had completely blown away its hinges.

"Come on," muttered Sean, and together they stumbled into the wreckage. "More soldiers will be here any second."

Clarity stared at the bodies on the floor, some of their clothes still on fire. What was left of the men's skin was black. Sean took her hand in his, bringing her attention away from the corpses.

"Don't. Don't look."

"I killed them," she said, her voice strangely loud and harsh in the swirling silence of the tower.

"Yes, you did." Sean squeezed her fingers, "To save us... Come on. We need to go."

She let him lead her to the stairs, the first three of which had been scraped off the wall by the explosion. They hopped onto the wobbly steps. They went up around and around, until at last they emerged into the very top of the tower.  One door led to the North wall top, another to the East.

Clarity pointed out the North door window, "Sean, look! There are guards running this way!"

Sean's gaze was out the East door view, "They're coming from over there too."

"What do we do?"

"The tower is already unstable as it is. We set off another bomb we'll probably disrupt the entire structure and kill ourselves."

"Stop thinking about what we can't do and figure out what we can do!"

Sean went to the North door, "How much do you weigh?"

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind, it's only about fifteen feet. You should be able to make it, if we aim for one of the lower branches."

"Shut up and tell me what you're talking about!"

"I'm going to ignore the fact that that sentence was completely contradictory and tell you that I have a plan."

"What is--"

Sean cut her off by going out onto the North wall top. She was quick on his heels. He was leaning over the edge of the stone railing. Clarity followed his gaze the tree directly across from them. It was an enormous, sprawling cedar tree.

"Sean--wait--"

"We have to jump, Clarity."

"Sean--"

"There's no time! We'll be fine."

The guards were closing in from both sides. The ones on this North walkway were barely twenty feet away. Sean snatched up her hand again and climbed onto the thick stone railing, dragging her up behind him.

"It's simple physics," he said. "There's nothing to worry about. On the count of two we jump."

"Sean!"

"One--"

Clarity aimed at the closest cedar branch.

"Two--"

She bit her lip.

"JUMP!"

They leapt away from the wall, falling more than jumping. Clarity's hand slipped from Sean's. The cedar tree was inches away--and then they were crashing into it. Clarity grappled for something to break her plummet, but the world was spinning around her, green and black. Her stomach flipped.

Then she slammed chest-first into something thick and round and hung on with all her might.

"Sean?" she called in the darkness. The echoing cries of the guards on the compound wall top drifted down. Everything hurt.

"Sean?" she whispered again.

"Here, Clarity," he replied from somewhere below her.

"Are--are you alright?"

"No."

"Me neither."

"We're not far from the ground. Can you move?"

"I don't think so."

"We're going to have to. They're going to send more men after us. We have to get as far away as possible."

*laughs maniacally*
~The Scribbler in the Attic

Writers Wednesday || Part 16 - The Explosion

Wow. 11:39 p.m. I'm cutting Writers Wednesday pretty close...
Well, here it is at last! The next segment of This Name and Moment. I'm super excited because I'm finally getting to the parts of the story with helicopters and explosions. Do you ever, as writers, seem to just be waiting the entire book for a specific scene or scenario? Sometimes I've invented whole stories just to write one scene that I thought of and couldn't fit in anywhere else. It's a terribly inconvenient thing, but then again, I don't think writers are ever very convenient people.

- Part 16 -

The Explosion

Sean was really tired of running. And really tired of stairs. And really tired of florescent lights.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, between freaking out about the men chasing him and finding Clarity before she was killed, he remembered the Volva had said something about going to floor number three.

So three stairwells up, he skidded to a halt and tugged the door open.

It was a hallway, just like all the other floors, with three or four doors on either side. Bolting for the door at the end that led to a secondary staircase on the other side of the building, he caught glimpses through tiny windows of dark rooms filled with shiny, metal things in varying degrees of size and shape.

Sean stopped, realizing suddenly that he didn't hear any sounds of pursuit from the guards. For a moment he teetered, undecided. The Volva had said Clarity was in danger, but she also said he needed some kind of device. Were those shiny metal things it?

It was stupid, Sean knew. Because if he stopped and inspected every electronic piece of equipment in this building, he would never get to Clarity in time. But the Volva had specifically told him to go to this floor. There was no obvious reason except for what was inside those rooms.

Sean tried the nearest door. It opened with a squeak. He felt for a light-switch and flipped it on.

He would just grab a few of these things and then find Clarity. If these even were the things he needed. He had no way of knowing.

The room was cleaner than the others Sean had been in, with very white walls and floor, and blue mood-lighting around the edges of the floor and ceiling. Four tables were stationed in the center of the room, forming a square around open space, covered with the different cathodic instruments.

They were like nothing Sean had ever seen. The majority appeared to be metal snap bracelets. The smallest ones were about two millimeters thick and four-inches long, and fit perfectly around his wrist when he snapped it on. They had touch-screen surfaces, that came to life the instant he brushed it. The screen lit up with a blurry image of some sort of meter, like it was measuring something. If he stepped or moved slightly, it fluctuated. One end of the meter was bright green, the other dark blue. Right now, it looked like he had a lot of whatever the dark blue stuff was.

Clarity's image darted into his head with a painful jolt to his chest, and with no time left to really think whether or not this was what he was looking for, Sean quickly grabbed as many Sean-sized wrist devices he could. Then he jammed them into his pocket and zipped them closed.

Exiting the room, he made it to the secondary staircase and tried to remember more of what the Volva had said. Or… chanted.

Seventeen, fifteen, twenty-six, eight.  

But what did those numbers mean? Floors? Sean doubted there were twenty-six floors. Maybe twelve, at the most. Which disqualified all but the number eight. A code for one of the locked doors? But where was the front door of this place? He and Clarity had been over almost every inch by now, and all they had found were hallways and doors and stairs and stairs and stairs.

What was he supposed to do? Where was Clarity?

That's when Sean noticed a patch of sunlight on the stairs leading up. Twisting his head, he managed to catch a glimpse of the next landing. There was a window to the outside.

Heart hammering, Sean bounded up the stairs and stood breathless before the window, exuberant for something more than dirty white cement and florescent lights.

The compound walls stared back at him, blocking any view of the forest beyond, only allowing him to see the large yard of cement that separated the building from the stone fence. Across it were scattered piles of barrels, crates, anonymous rectangular-shaped structures strapped beneath tarps, various military-grade looking armored cars, and war machines. It was hard to make out anything more than the large stuff in the darkness.

The towers at the corners of the walls were patrolled  by a single guard and the wall-tops  by two. Their black helmets let off a gleam in the moonlight.

Sean's gaze was caught suddenly on a soldier striding away from the building, as if he had come through the wall directly below where Sean stood. There must be an exit to the outside on this stairwell. The other one had had no door because of the Volva.

With renewed hope, Sean skipped quietly down the stairs, determined to keep the guards off of his trail as long as possible. He was exhausted and afraid that if he started running again, he would be too slow.

But the question still at the forefront of his mind was--where was Clarity?

Suddenly, a gunshot shattered the silence. Sean ducked, losing his balance and stumbling down the stairs. He caught himself on the banister and listened as a high-pitched buzzing echoed through the stairway. Blood pounding in his ears, Sean leapt down the remaining steps to the ground-floor. Sure enough, there was a door to the outside.

It had a keypad.

Seventeen, fifteen, twenty-six, eight.

Sean jabbed in the first two numbers, and was about to do the next, when the lock on the door clicked. He yanked it open and stole outside.

The night was cool and windy. The smell of rain was in the air. In the darkness encroaching round the compound, he could hear the soft murmur of pine trees rustling against each other's needles.

The tower at the west corner was maybe a hundred and eighty feet away. Sean pressed against the shadows cast by the piles of crates and barrels, and made his way slowly and carefully in its direction. The guards made no sign they had heard the gunshot in the building.

Sean left the protection of an armored van for the heavier shelter of a dark-green tank, only fifty feet from the tower entrance now. He needed some way to get the guard away from the tower door. It was a long shot, but the tower just might have an outside entrance to the compound. If it did, then he and Clarity would have an escape route.

A pair of gunshots--fired outside--made Sean jump again. He crouched against the side of the tank, head hot with adrenalin. As he watched, the guards stiffened to attention, cocking their firearms and shouting to each other.

This was his only chance.

Sean staggered out from behind the tank and ran for the tower as the guards ran the opposite way, for the building.

Like a knife slipped into ice, fracturing it, the half-euphoric, half-terrifying moment of Sean's small victory was broken by the hoarse yells of the wall top guards drawing the attention of their comrades to the lanky figure lurching for the tower.   

Turning away from the building, they doubled back and came at Sean, darker shadows against the darkness.

Sean tripled his speed, and made it to the tower. A steel door and keypad greeted him.

He was about to try the last two numbers the Volva had given him, but the guards were within feet of him.

Floodlights suddenly bombarded the compound interior with blinding brightness, like a battering ram. Sean blinked rapidly against the spots burned in his retinas. That's when he spotted the figure sprinting up behind the two guards headed for him.

Clarity.

She was holding something in her hand. Sean just had time to recognize what it was before she gave a shout and threw it at the heels of the closing guards.

The explosion rocked the ground, fire and smoke and noise shattering the night. 

Help me out and leave critiques and comments below! Always love to hear from you guys. 
~The Scribbler in the Attic