Hi, people.

I know I'd said I'd update the story and stuff, but it's going to have wait until January. I'm busy and doing holiday and family stuff right now. So January. Okay? Good.

~ Terri Freedom

Hola.

I just want to remind everyone that this story, Beyond Reason, is what I like to call an "Internet Story"--I'm writing for practice, to get my writing quality up. I'm not taking it quite as seriously as I would an actual novel, but I'd still like critique on it, if possible.

I won't be applying any of the critique I recieve until I get to chapter ten, though, so don't look for an updated version until then. Also, this story might be a little confusing, but hopefully everything will be explained in the end, so please be patient.

Adios.

~ Terri Freedom

Beyond Reason

Prologue – The Puppeteer’s Choice

The puppets danced insanely to a silent tune. Their wooden legs clicked together and their hands beat in the air.
One puppet was a girl. The other was a boy.
There was a heart carved into the boy’s chest. He loved the girl. She was his world. But the girl did not have the same marking. She was oblivious.
The boy puppet danced towards the girl puppet. The girl stopped dancing and turned towards the boy.
The boy’s hand touched the girl’s. Suddenly, she was aware. He was there, in front of her, wanting her. The girl was uneasy, not knowing what to do with the boy’s wooden heart. Should she smash it? Should she hold it?
She turned to the Puppeteer for answers.
The Puppeteer gestured with his hand. He enjoyed making the citizens on strings suffer. He moved the tips of his fingers, and the girl walked away from the boy.
The boy ran away. The Puppeteer made him cry.
Then, the Puppeteer had an idea.
He pulled the boy puppet up so he could hold him. He ran his fingers along the boy’s wooden back, inspecting him. Then he whispered silently into the boy’s ear.
He found another puppet, a smaller one, still a boy. He did the same to the new puppet.
Then the Puppeteer took the two puppets, put them on strings, and forced them to dance their way to a new stage.
The show was on. The puppets’ lives were changed. The Puppeteer controlled them, made them go from their familiar stage to this strange new one.
On Earth, a boy named Jamie Kay, having just been rejected by his life-long crush, was quietly crying over his loss when he abruptly fell over. There was a flash before his eyes, and instead of seeing the ceiling of the school gym, he was gazing into the night sky.
He sat up and looked around. Trees were everywhere. Beside him, his younger brother, Alex, was staring up at the sky, bewildered.
Jamie coughed, and Alex looked towards him. Then Jamie said, “What are the chances, do you think, that we’re not in Kansas?”

Text copyright © 2008 by Terri Freedom. All rights reserved.

Well, well. We meet again.

Beginning sometime this week--probably tomorrow, if I remember--I'm going to begin posting an internet story. It's called Beyond Reason. I'm not taking it very seriously, but I think that it will motivate me to write every day. I'll start out adding to it every day, although, depending on how it goes, I may add to it every other day, or maybe every third day.

Blurb:

Jamie and Alex think that they lead a fairly normal life--well, except for Alex being able to see the future and know what people are thinking. But when the two brothers get mysteriously sent to another world without an explaination, they know that something's wrong. From then on in it's a race to solve the puzzle and get back home. Along the way there's trouble from animals, humans, and mixes of the two as Alex and Jamie trace their past for clues as to getting back home.

Looking forward to your comments, questions and critique on it!

See you next time.

~ Terri Freedom

Hi.

That last story, Beretta Ninety-Two, was a short story I scribbled up in English class, when I left the essay I was supposed to be working on in class at home. The teacher gave me a picture of a uniformed man on the ground, another man on the ground, and a man in black standing with a pistol in his hand. It inspired me to write this short story.

As usual, I'd like your opinions and questions, and your comments and critique, if you can give it.

Until we meet again! [insert evil laugh here]

~ Terri Freedom

Beretta Ninety-Two

Officer Rikshaw collapsed to the ground. His hand clung desperately to his chest, as if it had a chance of stopping the flow of blood. But he knew it was impossible to stop death’s wrath.
Vaguely he recalled the recent events:
The old man was walking down the crowded sidewalk when the young, desperate mugger seized him roughly.
Riley Rikshaw saw it all happen from across the street. He saw the old man get pushed against the vandalised wall of the alleyway, saw the mugger’s mouth move, no doubt demanding money and spewing threats of beatings or death.
Riley dashed, darted, and dodged through traffic. Car horns blared, and taxi drivers hollered in different tongues and made rude gestures with their hands.
Riley didn’t care for them. The drivers and passengers could be delayed, could be five minutes late for their appointments. But Riley could not be five minutes late for his appointment with the man and the mugger. The man might be severely injured in the five minutes it took to get to a crosswalk, cross the road, and run all the way back to help. Time refused to be on the side of innocence, it seemed.
The elderly man had taken off his gold wristwatch and placed it in the mugger’s hand. He was in the process of removing his wedding ring. The mugger kept his right hand tucked away in the pocket of his hoodie, causing Riley to suspect a knife or gun.
“Stop what you’re doing this instant,” Riley demanded as he cautiously approached the two. “I’m a police officer and I’m ordering you to stop.”
“Help me,” the aged man implored weakly.
“Shut your face,” snarled the mugger. He eyed Riley up and down, as if searching for something. “You don’t look like any cop I ever saw.”
“Undercover,” Riley answered, flashing a badge, “but not unarmed.”
The mugger grinned, flashing yellow teeth. The he pulled a pistol.
With a bang and a bloody hole in his forehead, the man’s long life ended in an instant. Riley shouted out in protest and reached for his own standard-issue handgun inside his jacket pocket.
Time refused to be on the side of innocence, it seemed. The mugger had already fired a second bullet, and his aim was true.
Officer Rikshaw collapsed to the ground. His hand clung desperately to his chest, as if it had a chance of stopping the flow of blood. But he knew it was impossible to stop death’s wrath.
Vaguely he recalled the recent events . . . .

Text copyright © 2008 by Terri Freedom. All rights reserved.

Hey everybody!

Everybody meaning the two people who actually look at my blog...

No credos? I'm mildly disappointed. Well, poetry writing mood is gone with the warmer weather, I suppose. Now I'm working on my story, titled, for the moment, "Demon Slayer". Plotline:

When two men, Graelys and Elrar, meet one another for the first time, it's a mutual feeling of respect, and a slight trust. As they learn more about one another's bloodline and personality, their emotions turn from content to hate. Pitted with each other in life-threatening situations and staring dangers in the face, the two have to learn to use each other's strengths--whether it's Graelys' physical prowess or Elrar's magical study--to the advantage of both of them. But what happens when they become each other's enemies, for neither can prosper with the knowledge that the other lives . . . .

Dun dun DUH!

Intriguing? Please . . . share your thoughts with me.

~ Terri Freedom

So... hey.

It's been a while. I know, I know. I planned on updating this thing every day. But, you know, stuff happens. Anyways, I'm back, or at least for the time being. And, to celebrate my return, I'll make you suffer by reading another one of my poems! Yayz! No, but seriously. This one's not about dancing cats. This is an untitled credo. Here's a link in case you haven't heard of it before:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Credo

Yeah, so, basically, a credo, in poetry, is a free-verse poem stating your beliefs. I'd like to share the one I wrote. Without further ado:

I believe in the grey line,
The power of greed,
The strength of innocence,
The rage of time,
The mood of Earth,
Wind, Water, Fire.
But Tamora Pierce's books
Should be burned in a bonfire.
I believe in never giving up.
I believe in chasing your dreams.
I believe in preserving Nature,
Wisdom, Knowledge, Courage.
And I believe in free and expressing
The soul and the mind through art.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, I'd really like to get your feedback on this. Do you agree with what I said? Disagree? Why? Also, for anyone and anyone who wishes to accept, I issue a challenge:

Write your own Credo. Make it true to you. Post it in a comment. Here's the template:

I believe -
The -
The -
The -
The -
- , - , - .
But -
-
I believe in -
I believe in -
I believe in -
-, -, -.
And I believe - (Longest)

If you have any questions, comments, or credos, feel free to post 'em and I'll try to respond. Other then that... See you later.

~ Terri Freedom

My Dog Has Purple Shoes

My dog has purple shoes,

He wears his yellow socks;

He has a shirt that's new,

And he stomps on rocks.

~*~

My cat has orange pants,

And a top-hat, too.

In her pants, she will dance,

To a merry tune.

~*~

My hamster has a small red top,

And a skirt with swirls;

With joy she leaps and hops,

And happily jumps and twirls.

~*~

~ Terri Freedom

"Intresting plot line. Is Step'an a boy or girl? Who is Karlin's father?"

Step'an is a guy. He calls himself Stephen around humans. He is one of Karlin's fathers, known to Fareys as birth father. With Fareys, both the males and females have the ability to carry children and give birth, and both sexes have hormones in them that makes them attracted to men and women. Since Fareys are extremely rare, they need the ability to reproduce with basically any other Farey they come across. Until, of course, you come across someone like Step'an, who seems to take fancy to everyone except Fareys--from human girls to Vampiric men, Step'an gets himself into a lot of trouble that way.

"Does the name have to incorporate the origin (use of animal names)?"

Well, that would certainly be preferable. I hate using made-up words in my stories. All it does is confuse the reader, and I have to explain what it means, what it represents, etc. It's just useless page filler. However, if you(or someone else(or me)) can think of a better, real word to explain their beliefs, it would be super-fantastic-crazy-awesome.

~ Terri Freedom

Hey again.

I came here to post a (crappy) poem I wrote, but I lost it. D: It's okay, though. Poetry pleases the eyes and ears and sings to your soul, right? That's why you're grateful to not read my poetry. It makes your eyes and ears bleed and your soul scream in pain.

Just keeping in touch.

~ Terri Freedom

If you're reading this, let me know. I want to know if I should just give up on this whole blog thing or what?

~ Terri Freedom

I would propose another story idea and ask your opinion, but, then again, you're not reading this, so there's no point.

Why?

~ Terri Freedom

Fairy. Faerie. Farey? Yes. Farey it shall be, for my race of butterfly-winged humanoids, the ones that have both males and females carrying children, speaking ancient tongues, living underneath forests, and feeding off flowers. Farey it is for the handsome young Step'an, who was brutalized by humans and lost his wings. Ah, yes, Step'an, the only Farey to reproduce with one who was not of his noble race, but of a darker, more evil one--Vampires.

Step'an, the only Farey to produce a half-breed child, Karlin, who struggles for survival every day, suddenly vanishes. Karlin, the half-breed, who must eat both vegetation and human blood, a diet which puts him in danger of dying from stomach diseases every minute of his life. Fighting not only against time but also against his own best friend, Jesse, who intends to kill him after discovering what he is, Karlin's only option of survival is to run away with his Vampiric father. Deep in the hearts of the forests and searching desperately for Step'an, will Karlin live through the Hunt or perish as so many other humanoids have before him?

I'd love your input on my output. I'd love it if you'd give me your opinions, you likes and dislikes, and you loves and your hates. Suggestions and observations are all welcome. Comments and critique are equally important. Let me know what you think.

See you around.

~ Terri Freedom

Hai, I'm back! Not like anyone cares... Anyways, I was thinking of a new race for one of my books, but I wasn't sure what to call them. One of the other races are the Wolfsmen(a proper title), Wolf-Worshippers(a neutral title), or Dark-Skins(a derogatory title). They live high in the mountains and deep in the forests with the wolves, which they believe are the Greatest Hunters(gods) that have ascended from the Great Depths(heaven) and taken the forms of the beasts.

Anywho, the other race is different and yet quite similar. This new race's religion is derived from the Wolsmen's. They believe the same basic principles, only that wolves are not the deities' form, but tigers(representing the goddesses) and cobras(representing the gods). So, this is my dilemma: Catsmen? Tigersmen? Catswomem? Tigerswomen? Cobrasmen? Snakesmen? It seems that nothing is suitable for the entire race.

So, if you have any suggestions or preferences or whatnot, please, please let me know ASAP. Anything may or may not help, and hey, suggesting something completely insane may actually help. You never know with someone as crazy as I am.

Until next time.

~ Terri Freedom

Hi there. Nothing today; I have to buy and read Brisingr, the third book in the Inheritance Cycle. I'll be back and posting in a day or two. Maybe three. Anywho, I'll be back.

See you then.

~ Terri Freedom

Hey. In case you're wondering, that last post was a flash fiction story I wrote a few months back. It's the sixth draft. Sample it and give me some feedback, if you don't mind. I don't care if you think it's bad, just tell me exactly what you didn't like about it. Or, on the other hand, tell me exactly what you did enjoy about it. Also, if you have any questions, feel free to ask and I'll reply.

See you around!

~ Terri Freedom

The Rose

Taking Josh’s hand in her own, Karli cautiously reached for the words she’d been planning last day. “Josh . . . I was just curious about yesterday, in Phys. Ed.? When Mr. Johnson mentioned we had to get our parents to sign our field trip forms . . .”
Josh held his breath, knowing exactly what lay ahead of him.
“. . . and you said your ‘parents’ wouldn’t sign it? Then he said for your foster parents to call him . . . . And I was just wondering . . . did your parents, y’know, abandon you when you were young?”
Josh carefully kept his eyes averted. “My parents didn’t abandon me. They’re dead,” he whispered. “They were murdered, years ago.” His murky brown eyes finally met Karli’s brilliant blue ones. A rueful smile played across his lips. “I’ve still to avenge their deaths.”
“I’m sorry,” murmured Karli awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say.
Josh laughed, yet there was not a drop of humour or light-heartedness in it. “Why would you be sorry? It’s not as if you butchered them. You aren’t the one who ripped their beating hearts out or laughed when their bodies crumpled to the ground. You—”
He came to an abrupt halt, uneasy. He kept his gaze to the floor, biting his lip. Karli saw his chest rise and fall in a silent sigh of agony.
She gently touched his cheek with her quivering hand. His eyes, though he willed them not to, focused on her face. “I’m sorry I asked you about it. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She bit her lip, not wanting to hear him speak such gruesome words again. He stood up, unwilling to be charmed back into happiness.
He sighed exasperatedly. “Look, I just—I’m sorry, I’m overreacting,” he interrupted himself, calming down a bit. “It’s just . . . a painful memory. You don’t need to hear it. Just because I caused their deaths doesn’t mean you have to be involved,” he added under his breath.
“Don’t blame yourself, Josh,” Karli whispered, also rising. Then, imagining her own parents being slaughtered like pigs, shivered. She pushed the image to the back of her mind, focusing on the task at hand. “It’s not like you could stop it.”
“You’re wrong. I could have stopped it. I—I could have told them to run, or. . . .”
“Josh, stop it. This is stupid. You didn’t kill them,” she enforced her words, unwilling to believe her boyfriend a dangerous person. He was, after all, Josh the peacekeeper, Josh the pacifist. Now he seemed to be trying to convince her that he intentionally hurt his own parents. But that was impossible . . . wasn’t it? “It couldn’t have been your fault. Even you aren’t able to stop a . . . a crazy, bloodthirsty killer.”
His voice was a monotone. “Crazy. Bloodthirsty. Killer. Perfect words for him—particularly ‘bloodthirsty.’ And I could have stopped him—of course I could have. He . . . .”
“You're not the one to blame, Josh. Not unless you knew he was going to kill them.” Her dark thoughts grew even darker. It could have been possible, really. “But you . . . you didn’t, right?”
His voice was a pained whisper. “What if I did know, Karli? What if I knew exactly what was going to happen, and made little effort to stop it?”
“Josh, I’m not going to believe you're at fault. You’re the superhero, Josh; you always are and always have been.”
“What if I’m not? What if I killed my own parents? . . . What if I killed you?”
“You wouldn’t. You’re the greatest guy in the world.” Oh, good God, Karli thought, what if he is a killer? What if he’s on drugs? “You’re as harmless as a flower.”
“Then I’m a rose, drawing people towards me, then pricking them. Hurting them . . . drawing blood . . . .”
Karli inhaled deeply, and wrenched the malevolent thoughts from her mind. “Enough of this nonsense, Josh. I know it wasn’t your fault. Stop trying to convince yourself it was.”
He steadily walked towards her, closing the space between them. Taking her hands in his, he kissed her softly on the cheek. “I’m so glad you feel that way.”
“It doesn’t matter. So long as you feel that way. It really wasn’t your fault.”Karli pulled closer to Josh as he carefully kissed her jaw. “I did kill them,” he breathed on her skin.
She moaned, annoyed by his persistence, as his lips made contact with her neck. They parted, and his teeth raked her smooth skin.
As she was about to pull away, his teeth pierced her flesh, and she collapsed into his arms, gasping wordlessly in pain. Rich blood, the blood of a young girl, flowed down his throat and he it drank greedily.
Stopping before he killed her, Josh regurgitated the blood back into her, adding his own saliva, which carried the infectious toxins. Then he moved slightly away from her, licking his lips.
His thirst now satisfied, he smiled. He was bitten, and now so was the one he loved the most. The first thousand years for him had been difficult—lonesome, yes—but the next thousand would be happy memories of himself and Karli.
Nothing could have been more perfect.

Text copyright © 2007 by Terri Freedom. All rights reserved.