CassJayTuck - THE BLOG

ONE CHAPTER FROM A PROJECT OF MINE...'CAUSE YOU VOTED FOR IT. ON TUMBLR.

2012-02-11T21:00:00.000-08:00

"The next step has been decided, and it’s basically the same plan we had before. But there may be a few tweaks.” She and Jestin placed the dirty dishes into the sink.

“What tweaks?” asked Gabby, turning in her seat to look at her.

That made Martha pause a moment. “I’m...I’m not sure. I’m just saying, we’re going by the original plan, but be prepared for anything.”

“As always,” Trent said. He gave me a wink, like I was suddenly in on a joke.

“Anything,” AnnaSee said. Tyler raised his eyebrows at her, and I could tell they were thinking the same thing. Ruth was playing with a tiny doll, oblivious to everything. “Any idea what anything might be, Martha?”

“I usually don’t,” Martha answer honestly. “But it doesn’t hurt to prepare ourselves for the unexpected. There’s no need to be alarmed, I’m just saying, we did pull the plug of them today, and now there are a few very angry people left in our tracks. I don’t plan on them coming after us, but...” She looked straight at me when she said, “Sometimes things happen that we don’t plan. Right?"

I had the feeling that she was talking about something else, something that could only be understood on a different field completely, a field only Martha and I stood on.

As to not add any further aches to my already reeling brain, I didn’t even try to interpret it. “Take this morning, for instance,” I said, and Jestin snorted from the sink.

“Trenton, I’m going to need you to wire a couple of Safety Fields around the cabin,” she went on.

Trent bristled excitingly. “New ones?”

“At least a dozen, but only a few that are actually harmful. Mostly motion and heat detectors, something I can track from my room or from New York City, if I must. Can you do that?”

“Can I do that,” he mocked her, tsking as he shook his head. “Your deflated faith in me is disappointing, Martha. ‘Course I can. And I thought you might say that. I brought my stuff with me, figured you might need your favorite tech guy to do some work. Guess what else I’ve got?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell us whether we guess or not,” Clyde said. “And you’re gonna spew a bunch of nerd stuff no one understands.”

“Oh, don’t put us all on your IQ level, Clyde,” May said. “Some of us can tie our own shoes.”

Clyde was unfazed. “You can tie your own shoes now? Gosh, May, congrats. It’s only taken you sixteen years to discover how to make bunny ears.”

May scratched under her eye with a very specific finger.

“Violet, Trenton Call is our...” She waved her hand in the air like she was trying to grasp at the words.

“Tech nerd,” Clyde said helpfully.

“Clyde,” Martha chided him.

“It’s all right, Martha. I am very much so a tech nerd and very proud.” He turned himself to face me. “Those little Bursters that the kids stuck on the walls? I built them.”

“I thought AnnaSee did,” I said.

AnnaSee looked alarmed. “Me? No. I just stuck the parts together when it was time. I’m good, but I’m not Trent-good.” She thought a moment. “I don’t think anyone is Trent-good. ‘Cept maybe Martha. She designed the blueprints for the things.”

Jeez, what didn’t this woman design the blueprints for? “Ah. So they created the tools, and everyone else was just...” I shrugged.

Gabby snapped her fingers when she thought of the words. “Moral support!”

Jestin scoffed at her. “Not even.”

“Well, the kids of course are the ones with the guns...an’ the trainin’,” Gabby allowed, flicking her hand in his direction. “But moral support, that’s me. I don’t believe in guns an’ hitting. I’m a pacifist.”

Clyde, AnnaSee, Jestin and May instantly looked at her with varying degrees of disbelief.

“I am!” she exclaimed.

“Like Martha?” I asked.

Now Gabby looked as amused as them. “Who told you Martha’s a pacifist?”

“I am a pacifist,” Martha insisted.

Clyde coughed under his breath, “Conditional pacifist.”

“So...no one’s a pacifist?”

“Let’s make this very clear,” May finally sighed, slamming her phone on the table mid-text. “Martha’s not a pacifist. And Southern Belle here isn’t a pacifist either. It just makes them both feel better about themselves to say so.”

Martha rolled her eyes at her niece.

“Doesn’t anyone want to hear what I’ve got with me today?” Trent whined. “You never let me tell you!”

I raised one finger. “Anyone interested in what this dude’s got in his bag?” I asked the others, still quiet as ever, nervously taking in all the conversation.

They shook their heads slowly.

“Oh, you’ll change your minds,” said Martha. “Trenton is a remarkable inventor. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.” That actually meant a lot from a Doctor, who knew what I’m sure was some of the most complicated technology in existence. The Machine, Mother...they weren’t exactly hybrid cars or microwaves. That technology wasn’t mainstream.

Suddenly I was interested in what a Doctor could be so impressed with.

“Oh, it’s awesome,” Trent said giddily, bending down to grab one of the many duffel bags he’d dragged in. Jestin and Martha watched with interest from the sink, where they’d started washing the dishes, as he zipped open the bag and pulled out a simple, dark silver cylinder about the size and width of a ruler. He held it up for all of us to see, his face alight with the pride of a man holding a bar of well-earned gold.

“It’s...a lightsaber!” Clyde guessed.

“Ha, close, kid. No, it’s just one piece of a set. I stick these babies around the premises, and no one will get close to our new friends.”

“What do they do?” asked Tyler, his big eyes blinking with unconditional amazement.

“Stick ‘em about twenty meters apart from each other, into the ground, and they emanate an imperceptible, untraceable force that automatically links to the other ones. Put ‘em in a circle, and—“

“Force field!” Clyde clapped his thick hands so loudly every one of us jumped. “That is cool! How’d you get it?”

“Oh, it’s just a tester that the CIA threw away because of some technical issues they couldn’t be fixed. But of course, no failing technology has a chance against my gentle yet firm hand.” He waved the pole like a stick he was about to throw to a dog. “I’ve got connections, you see? I’ve got friends. I’ve got lots of friends in places you don’t even know—“

“Bragging is unbecoming, Trent,” Martha called from the other side of the kitchen island.

“I’m not bragging, I’m just being honest.” He rolled the tube around in his hands. “The force field, as Clyde calls it, is made up by these thickly compacted, though still gaseous, atoms that don’t leave their designated region, which is something like fifty feet high.”

“And what do the atoms do?” AnnaSee wondered.

“Oh, you don’t even want to know,” he said ominously.

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked,” she replied, frost coating every word. “Don’t make me force you to tell me.”

“She will,” Clyde said, and AnnaSee gave him a curt nod. “Have you ever taken AnnaSee’s Pop-Tarts before?”

“Don’t take my Pop-Tarts,” she said.

“Okay, fine, I was gonna tell you anyway,” he said, bouncing in his seat. “The atoms work as...scramblers, I guess you could say. You come in contact with them and they connect and shake the atoms in your own body, that vibrancy emits electricity and shocks the perpetrator easily as a wet finger in a socket!”

He sounded way too excited for a man who just described painful death.

“You are devious, Trent!” Jestin said.

“Thanks!”
“Wait, so what about if we want to leave this place?” I asked, trying not to sound like I wasn’t still clinging to the idea of taking off out of here and taking on the world all by my lonesome. “Do our atoms get scrambled then?”

“Oh, no no no,” he said off-handedly. “’Course not. You’ll all get these little passkeys, like necklaces, that let the atoms know not to attack. You’ll walk in an out without a problem.”

“Oh, conditional atom-scrambler. That’s not as devious,” Clyde said, sinking with disappointment.

“Can you make my Brenda come to life, Trenton?” Ruth asked sweetly, showing him her tiny plastic doll. “Can you make her talk?”

While they discussed the possibility of making Brenda the doll talk, the Flickering Thing made a point of shining right in my eye twice. I blinked, annoyed, and swatted at it, which only succeeded in making me look like an idiot. Martha passed out the dessert for those who didn’t storm out of the room, which May declined, reeling back from the apple pie like it was a pile of mud, before she stalked out as well.

“Well, today’s just the day of dramatic exits, huh?” Clyde said, digging right into his pie. “What should I do on my way out? Somersaults?”

“It’s been a tense day,” Gabby said generously, hovering her fork above the pie.

Jestin turned off the sink. “Yeah, and May’s just a total—“

“Jestin,” Martha warned him.

I was startled into a smile, which Jestin returned to me. Annoying as he was, I couldn’t deny the fact that maybe, just maybe, if he stopped sedating me against my will, we could be friends.

The apple pie beckoned, despite everything. I liked the way the others softened after tasting Martha’s food, too. Not because I wanted them to trust her, or turn her into our honorary God Mother, but because it meant four less nervous glances in my direction. I got enough of those from everyone else.

LARGE-ISH EXCERPT FROM PROJECT D

2012-02-02T19:00:00.000-08:00

“You’re up earlier than any sane person.”

“That should say something about me. Anyway, what’s your excuse?”

“What’s always my excuse, man? I’m hungry.”

Although my eyes are still closed, my body still limp, my mind wakes because of the voices. Charlie. Evan. I can now recognize their words from miles away.

For a while, they say nothing.

Then: “We out of peaches again? I can’t find any in the back room.”

“Probably. What’s next on the breakfast menu?”

“French toast with a side of cinnamon-sprinkled strawberries and a tropical smoothie.”

There’s a moment of disdainful silence. If I had to guess, I’d say Charlie’s using it to give him a look.

Evan snorts. “It’s looking like oats. As in plain oats. Unless someone wants to wake Cleary and borrow his flint for a fire—“

“Wake up Cleary? Unarmed? Dying wasn’t on my agenda today, actually, but thanks.”

Evan laughs at that. The noise draws me just a little further from my dreamland. I manage to open one eye. It’s still dark inside, but the light from one of their lamps illuminates the blue of my curtain.

“Oh well, then. Oats it is. Momma always did say I could use more fiber.” Both of them laugh at this. I open my other eye, but can’t bring my tired limbs to move and join them. And I'll admit it: I'm curious about what they'll say without me standing there.

“So, what makes you rise and shine this early, Charlie?”

Charlie’s voice drops low, but I can still make out the words. “Nightmare. A really bad one.”

Evan whistles. “Sucks. Care to elaborate?”

“It’s that guy again. I can’t get him out of my head. Ever since I was there, he just—I feel like he’s watching me. In my mind, he laughs at me.” It’s everything I have not to leap up and embrace Charlie. I can’t let him know I’m eavesdropping, even if it’s not purposely. Still, I understand what he means about him. Probably better than anyone.

Or at least I think I do, until he says, “There’s something about him, Ev. Something we’re not putting together. Something Sam doesn’t know.”

Something I don’t know? I frown. The things I do know about him are pretty awful. I can’t imagine how terrible the things I don’t know are.

MY SHORT STORY-INTO THE BLUE

2012-01-26T15:50:00.000-08:00

This a short story I wrote for a contest.
It's completely and wholly 100% mine. Original. Copyrighted now. SO NO STEALING.
You guys wanted to see it, so here you go!

INTO THE BLUE

“God punishes sinners,” my grandma used to say.

She used to say it twice during breakfast, over the phone at every chance she had, and to the point of chanting at dinner, like she wanted to make sure those words carried with you, haunted your dreams and burned them black until they were nightmares.

‘Cause I’m a sinner. I mean, I think I’m one. I’ve made more than my fair share of mistakes and I’ve never had the guts to repent for them. Now, I haven’t been to church since I was Matt’s age—save for Christmases and Easters, or if there’s a promise of free food—and I don’t know if I will ever become a regular, like grandma was. It’s not that I don’t believe in God—I’ve seen too much of both sides of the world, the ugly stuff and the good stuff, to decide yet—it’s just that I can’t take the looks people give me when I’m in that stark-white building, like I’m a cockroach they just can’t squish dead.

I’m a sinner. I think I’m a sinner. I’ve done things, and I’m not proud to admit them. And I won’t. Ever again. Not to you, to myself, not even in a prayer. Also, I did accidentally burn up one of the apple trees outside of May Tessie’s house one time, which was the most exciting thing to happen to this town since they discovered Bible Pictionary, and no one wants to let it go.

And now, as I wake up to the strong smell of a burning world and the screams of minds gone mad, the first thing I think of is my dead grandma’s words.

God punishes sinners.

My second thought is my brother.

I stumble out of my covers, kicking them off of me like they’re putting up a fight, and scramble across the floor. I nearly trip over his Tinker-Toys.

“Matt!” I hiss, shaking his shoulder. “Mattie! Wake up! Something’s burning!” And people, so many people, are screaming outside our door. They’re screaming names and moaning good-byes and all sorts of things I don’t understand.

Matt opens one eye, then the other. Then both of them widen. “What is that, Dan?”

“Probably nothing,” I lie, picking him up out of bed and letting him droop over my shoulder. “Maybe another church campfire.”

They do that every now and again, start up a big bonfire at this old woman Margie Smithers’ house, roasting marshmallows and hot-dogs with their kids and comfortably judging each other by the warmth of the flames. But when I look at the clock and see it’s barely three AM, I know that can’t be it. Not that I really thought it was in the first place.

“What’s that screamin’ for?” Matt wants to know. I’d sure as heck like to know, too.

But then I get closer to the front door, pressing the pads of my fingers against the wood, someone outside screams in terror. There’s a weird whooshing, buzzing noise pulsing in and out from the sky, like the world suddenly has a heartbeat. And now I’m not sure I do want to know.

“Why’s the sky all blue?” Matt asks. His lips are dry and right on my earlobe. “Look-it, Danny.”

I look. The shutters in the back of our small and messy kitchen are barely containing a strong glow, so blue and so bright it pushes out of every nook and cranny of the window’s covers and lights up the cracked tile on the floor. Like some sort of gateway to heaven.

Outside, someone is screaming, “No! My baby!”

Or...not heaven at all.

Suddenly I’m angry, because while sinner I might just be, stupid I’m not. There’s no sort of war going on in the world right now, not since nearly a hundred years ago, so it’s not like we’re under attack or anything. I don’t know about the blue, or if this is some kind of a trick or a stupid church game, but Matt has school in the morning and I need to work a double shift at the Roll-N-Munch. We both need our sleep.

“I’ve had about enough of—“ When I open the door, I gasp so deeply that the air in my throat gets stuck. I stumble backwards, nearly dropping Matt, and brace myself against my bedpost, which shakes and hits the back wall. I hear one of my pictures fall to the ground. Glass breaks. Some of it skitters over to where we’re standing.

“Danny?” Matt is clinging onto me like I’m this tall mountain, towering over all the trouble, and he can never be hurt.

Which isn’t true by a long shot.

The world is on fire. Blue fire. I don’t feel heat or anything, but I can smell the burning. The grass, the houses, even the asphalt of the street is covered in blue flames. It flickers and dances about ten feet high off of every surface, and my neighbors are...are inside of it. They’re inside and then they’re burning away into nothing, devoured in a single flicker, right in front of me. In front of my little brother. Some of them are trying to avoid it, leaping around with their children, diving for the tiniest untouched spaces, but the fire just spreads out and eats them up just the same.

The family right across the street from us, the Stones, are quivering on their porch before something tall and dark pushes them across their yard, screaming, into the fire. My neighbors are all outside, wailing their lungs out being dragged out of their homes into the blue fire by these...these people, or...

“Danny!” Matt cries.

This has all happened in seconds.

“I...I don’t know,” is all I can say. I don’t need to question if I’m still sleeping, if this is a bad nightmare. It’s not. I know when I’m awake and when I’m sleeping. Dreams are sloppy and stupid, too slow or too fast, too many holes and ruts. This isn’t happening in patches: this is reality. I know reality. Boy, do I know it too well.

God punishes sinners.

I reach out to slam our door shut, when two dark shadows step from either side of the porch, blocking the blue light with their figures.

Mattie screams out, and I clamp my hand over his mouth. I’m panicking like him, screaming like him, all on the inside, but I know it’s the outside that matters now. Whatever’s going on, all we could do was stay calm. Or at least pretend.

One of the figures steps inside, and then lets in his friend. His friend shuts the door, but I can still hear all of that screaming, and there’s no masking that smell. Like the world’s sitting on the red dot of a burning match.

Matt whimpers under my fingers, but I don’t dare let his mouth loose. He babbles when he’s nervous. Says things he shouldn’t. I can’t risk that right now.

Not with these...things in my home.

I say things, but I’m not sure if I mean it. They’re human, but they’re not. They’re like bad imitations, animatronics, with arms longer than their legs and faces with small round eyes, weird, bulky eyebrows, and long lips that almost touch their ears. And when they move, every movement is a jerk, a twitch...like they’re not comfortable in their own skin.

Okay, so they’re human, I guess. I guess. But I only guess that because it’s the only thing that makes sense, I mean, what else can they be?

One of the...sort-of humans pulls a clipboard from his black trench coat. That’s all they’re wearing—trench coats that touch the floor and hats with the front brims longer than the back one. Like ugly super spies with no sense of style.

“Danielle Lake?” he says, looking at me from his clipboard. And, holy crap, I have never been more frightened in my life than I am in this moment. Which is saying a lot, considering I just witnessed a burning Earth outside my front door. But his voice is all wrong. It’s human-sounding, but like it’s a voice coming from an intercom. It scratches and cracks, and beneath it there’s this...this strange...buzzing. Like lizards do sometimes, if you get too close. The buzzing noise is paired with every word. And he says my name like he’s new to reading: Dah-nee-ee-ell-ee Lah-key. All broken up and with the wrong sounds.

“Uh...yeah?” I say. What else can I say? What if he speaks out of some sort of a voice box, or has a disability?

“Stand,” he says, and it’s funny, ‘cause he says it like he’s sure I’ll obey him.

It’s funny to me because I don’t obey. I don’t usually. “Why?”

“Stand,” he insists again, like I didn’t hear him the first time. Mattie shudders at his word.

The other guy leans over to gaze at Mr. Demanding’s clipboard. “The small one is Matthias Lake.” He says Matt’s name weird, too. Mah-thuh-ee-ahs Lah-key.

“Oh.” The man nods.

“What’s going on?” I demand. “Is this a joke? It’s not funny, and I swear, I’ve got a gun under my bed—“ which is unloaded— “and I know how to shoot it at intruders—“ which is a lie— “like your creepy selves!”

“You’re mistaken in thinking you have a place to talk when not having earned the privilege,” says the one with the clipboard. “New laws are to be instantly instigated. You will not speak unless you have the privilege to do so. That is one Law.”

“What?”

“You’re mistaken in thinking you have a place to—“

“I heard you,” I say, swatting my hand at him like he’s some fruit fly. “I want to know what you mean. I want to know what’s going on!”

“Knowledge is only provided to the Privileged,” says the other one. “Another Law.”

“Oh, for the love of—“

“Stand, both of you, and disconnect,” Clipboard demands. “State your talents.”

“Our...what?”

“Skills. Talents.” He narrows one eye at me. “What do you do?”

What sort of question is that? I do a lot of things. I watch TV and I read and I sleep and work and play with Mattie and breathe in and out... “I don’t understand.”

Clipboard makes a weird clicking noise with his wide mouth, irritated. The other one regards my brother, like, sure, the six-year-old will know what to do! “You are young, before your physical prime, but still flexible and energetic. Do you engage in fast-paced activities, sporting events?”

Mattie just stares at them. My hand is gone from his mouth, but he doesn’t say a word.

“What about your reflexes?” he goes on. “Young males like to divulge themselves into virtual activities, I understand. Do you play games on a screen often? That talent is of some value.”

Now I stand. And Mattie stands right along with me. I shoo him behind my back, and he holds on to me with his dear life.

“What is this all about?” I snap. “Is this...like, a government thing? ‘Cause I’ve paid all my debts, and even though I’ve had issues keeping up with the gas bill, it’s only ‘cause my manager has been scanty with hours. Ever since he hired his cousin, he—“

“You do not have the Privilege to speak,” they insist in unison. And boy does that shut me right up. Which is no easy feat.

Clipboard nods to his friend, who opens our front door again. I wish he hadn’t. ‘Cause now I can see where the fires come from. Little orbs—little from my end, anyway, but the size of my house in reality—are dropping from the sky from silvery bands of metal. And man, they’re bluer than blue and brighter than the sun, just like the fire. Eight legs are curled out from underneath them, just hanging there. The sway in the sky, coming from somewhere up in the deep dark nighttime, dangling above us all like lazy spiders.

And another thing.

They’re beating. At the same time. They’re beating. They grow bigger and then smaller, making that noise I heard earlier. What are they? Are they alive, like us?
Are we gonna be alive for long?

The worst part is that the fire is gone. All that blue fire from before has vanished, not leaving a single trace. No burns, no ashes, just the smell of something dark and ugly. It’s the worst part ‘cause my neighbors are gone, too. The screaming has stopped. If you block out the pulsing hum of the floating spiders, all you hear is this terrifying nothing outside my front door.

They’ve all disappeared.

A single patch of blue fire shimmers on the street, big enough to roast s’mores in.

“The New Law is in jurisdiction as of this moment,” says clipboard. “We accept everyone to Society, but only the useful are rewarded with Privileges.” And now I notice the way he says that word. Like it’s a precious name. Capital ‘P.’

There’s nothing I want more on this Earth than for me to wake up at this moment. To wake up and stop being afraid and realize it’s only a nightmare. To rub my eyes and see Mattie all wrapped in his sheets, dreaming of the stuff kids with no troubles dream about. I don’t even know what those kind of dreams are like anymore.

And I never will again after tonight.

“So you’re invading us, is that it?” I ask, hysterical. I laugh, but the laugh gets caught at the end. It turns into a sob. “Like Outers?”

“You are under our jurisdiction now, and therefore under our currency system.”

“Currency?” I look around the house. I don’t know where I last put my wallet. It may as well be in the trash for all it’s worth. “Money? Is that what you want?”

“We have no need for paper,” Clipboard says. He hisses the last word. “Under the New Law you will be a member of the Trade. We measure Talent. And Talent earns you valuable things. Priviledges.”

“Like what?” Not being burnt to a fiery blue crisp?

“Speaking, singing, laughing. Friendships. Information. Secrets.” He smiles. His smile is just awful.

“I gotta pay you to speak?” If that’s truly the case, I’ll be in debt quicker than any gambler in Vegas.

“Indeed,” they confirm.

“And you are already ten Talents in debt,” Clipboard informs me. Well, great. First the gas company, now this.

The things pull out guns next, or I think they’re guns—they’re longer than ones I’ve seen and white all over—and I know not to talk anymore. Not if I want to keep Mattie alive. So when they tell me to move out into the street with my brother, I do as they say, holding Matt as close as I can. They point at the blue fire, still flickering on right there.

“Step inside,” says Clipboard.

“We’ll burn!” I argue.

“Eleven Talents now,” says the other one. “It is a door, Danielle Lake. When you are on the other side of it, you will both serve the government with your Talents.”

I decide to take the risk of being a dozen Talents in debt ‘cause, at the point, what the heck? “I’ve heard of Outers like you. You were in the last War, floating somewhere above it all. Like you always do.” They bristle at that, both their mouths clicking. “What if I’m useless, huh? What if I don’t have Talents to give you?”

They smile together. The corners of their mouths hit their ears at the very same time. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve seen all night.

“We’ll make you useful,” answers Clipboard. Then he shoves Mattie and I in the blue flames. The last thing I see is the church down the street.

God punishes sinners, all right. But this seems sort of severe.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, HERE'S A STUFF FROM MY UNTITLED NANOWRIMO PROJECT AND PROJECT D!

2011-12-24T22:15:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas!

NANOWRIMO UNTITLED PROJECT EXCERPT:

“She’s interesting, isn’t she?” AnnaSee walked into the room. Her brown hair was tied back into a braid, her eyes soft and alert all at the same time. She’d changed since this morning, into black pants and a sweater to match. Her sneakers had doodles all over them.

“She’s...more aware than the others,” Jestin said. Part of me wanted him to touch me again, so I could finally make a verdict on whatever I was seeing. The other half of me promised to slap him once I Awoke if he even tried.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, the others act like...like they fell asleep in that place, and they never woke up. Even now, they’re just sleep-walking.”

AnnaSee studied him. “You know, you’re kind of deep.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “None of them will look me in the eye.”

“They’re scared.” She shrugged, looking over at the Me on the bed. My fingers were curling in and out, grabbing handfuls of the blanket. I realized my hands were doing the same, a nervous habit. Only I couldn’t feel the blanket the way I'd felt Jestin’s skin.

“She’s not,” Jestin said.

Au contraire, my unobservant friend, I thought.

“Of course she is,” AnnaSee said. “She’s just much better at hiding it.”

NOW THE PROJECT D EXCERPT:

We run.

It's strange. Neither of us truly knows what that was back there, but we both know to put as much distance between it and us as we possibly can. Maybe that's human nature.

“You don’t know anything about that...thing?” I ask when we burst out the door.

“No, but you sure seem to.”

“I don’t know. I think I might. Maybe I—“

Crack!

Everything happens so quickly. A matter of three seconds, at the most.

One.

Charlie’s foot smashes straight through the road, into a little hollowed-out hole concealed by a thin sheen of plastic the same grey color as the asphalt.

Two.

I scream, “Charlie!” His chin has smashes against the ground and is already gushing thick, sticky blood. He looks up from the street, his eyes wide with terror and understanding. I understand, too.

A pressure plate, hidden in the road.

A bomb.

Three.

I don’t even think about it. I don’t have time to run in the other direction, away from the plate, but even if I did, I would never leave Charlie. So I throw myself at him and cover him, leaning over his body. I hold tight to his shoulders. My long blond hair drapes over his face.

I know it won’t do much. It probably won’t do anything.

But I will never leave Charlie. If I leave him, I will always owe him.

I have only a millisecond to hope in vain that the bomb will not go off, that it had gone bad years ago. Only a millisecond, and just as quickly, the hope shatters.

BOOM!

The ground erupts beneath us. Incredible, really, how quickly things can be destroyed. I scream at the top of my lungs, holding Charlie with a death grip, when I hear the noise bursts into my ears.

Though my eyes are squeezed shut, I can imagine it perfectly. The trigger plate must been linked to the entire street, because the noise repeats every other second. Baum! Then, farther down: Baum! until it has to be half a mile away. I feel heat, that’s for sure. By the time the explosions have stopped, I’m drenched in sweat.

But...shouldn’t I be dead?

I should’ve felt the flame of fire. At least for a moment, before my body was torn apart. I should’ve been elsewhere by now. Heaven, maybe. I don’t think I’ve been awful enough to go...elsewhere.

I shouldn’t feel Charlie’s panting breaths beneath my stomach. I shouldn’t feel the ringing pain in my ears.

I should be dead.

I open my eyes. I can see blazing fires through the curtain of my hair, and smoke. Blankets of it. But then my eyes go fuzzy with tears and it is nothing but a blur of red and black, a distorted painting of chaos.

I should be dead.

There you go. You know the drill: This is all copyrighted, blah blah blah, no-stealy, and all that jazz.

Merry Christmas!

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJEct D 10/10/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-12-10T23:28:00.000-08:00

“A lone brick can’t serve as a foundation to my reality. So for now I just live. I reflect best I can, think of the future as little as possible, and move obediently in the fine line between. In the present.”

She's my favorite girl.
Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 10/09/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-12-09T02:07:00.000-08:00

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, staring at my arm like it’s a snake, poisonous mouth agape. “I’m so sorry.”

I LOVE HIM TOO MUCH. STOP IT, CASSIDY. HE IS NOT REAL.
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 10/06/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-12-07T14:25:00.000-08:00

My logic falters alongside my voice. “I guess...” It could be something simpler than all of those, or something a thousand times more complicated. The only option that doesn’t seem plausible is coincidence.

Nothing seems like a coincidence anymore.

Oh, and did I mention?

I'm almost done writing Project D.

And THAT'S what's up.

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 10/05/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-12-05T10:16:00.000-08:00

“It’s a weight you can’t shoulder, Sam, losing someone like that.” His eyes travel to the photo again. “It never gets lighter and you never grow stronger.”

Today's quote is brought to you by...depression! Have you pondered on the worth of your life today?

Ask anything, question everything.

"DID YA MISS ME?" -PROJECT D

2011-12-03T21:15:00.000-08:00

Now that NaNoWriMo is through, I've gone back to work with Project D a bit. It's pretty darn close to being done, actually. MIND YOU, I'm not just leaving Project NaNoWriMo in the dust. Like I said, I usually work on more than one project at once.

So...PROJECT D IS BACK! With, what else? Magical chickens.

I had a fun time writing for Project D today. I was sick at home, so I got a lot done. Going back over it, though, I found a recurring theme in today’s bulk:

“I just don’t understand what makes them…”

Evan flaps his arms up and down. “What makes them into giant demon chickens?”

“We didn’t have to deal with fire, or Dear Ladies, or—“

“Demon chickens,” Evan adds quietly.

“Shut up, Evan!”

DEMON CHICKENZ, ERRBODY. You think it’s Delirious Cassidy talking through the evil zombie plague that refuses to vacate my body? Or am I just brilliant? Okay, fine, the first thing then. Either way, I’m not getting rid of it.

Ask anything, question everything.

SINCE YOU'VE ASKED SO NICELY...

2011-11-28T10:45:00.000-08:00

Well, NaNoWriMo month is about up and I hit the 50,000 mark almost a week ago. Except, um, I sort of took a pause there because of the holidays and what-not. IT'S THE MOST BUSIEST TIIIIIME OF THE YEAR. Finals and Christmas and working at a retail store. What a wonderful mixture.

So anyhoo, you've been asking, and I love you all, so here's ANOTHER excerpt from from NaNoWriMo Project. You know the drill--copyrighted, no-stealy, blah blah blah--so just be respectful of my work.

Here you go:

“How’d you guys even get in here?” I asked, envious. Like I said: Seven years. I’d studied every nook and cranny of this place, as often and carefully as I could. I’d never even found a window, and all the vents couldn’t fit a handful of mice, let alone a rag-tag trio of bombers.

I thought we’d go out some crazy, cool way, like climbing the elevator shaft down the hall with suction cups clipped to our hands and feet or something. Nope. Jestin just pressed the up button, and with a pleasant ding! amongst a series of unpleasant beeps coming from the bombs we’d left behind, the door slid open.

We stepped inside and let the door shut, leaving the white hallway, the stuff of my nightmares, behind.

A bit anticlimactic, actually.

“Well?” I asked. “Was there some sort of secret shaft or something? Underground tunnels? Did you climb in through the roof somehow, or...?”

Clyde looked at me like I was stupid. “We came through the front door.”

Behind us, AnnaSee snorted. Even Jestin looked like he was trying not to smile.

“The front door,” I said slowly.

“Yeah, like, the entrance,” he went on, smiling wide. “You know, there’s this cute little lobby with this really nice receptionist named Whitney. She was cute, too. Too bad I had to, like, subdue her and stuff.” He pulled a gun from his belt and clicked off the safety. “Don’t worry,” he told me, still all smiles. “It’s just a dart gun.”

“Like a Nerf gun,” Jestin said.

“I don’t know what that is,” I muttered. “You mean to tell me there’s an entrance and a lobby? Like some sort of fancy hotel or something?”

“It wasn’t that fancy.” Clyde shrugged the duffel bag further up his arm. “You’ll see.”

I bristled like a wild dog, suddenly in a really bad mood. I should have been elated, floating amongst the clouds of pure bliss. But two things put me in a rut: one, that stupid Flickering Thing was back, blinking in—where else?—the corner of my eye. I didn’t even try to catch it. What was the use? I guess I’d somehow picked a hole in time and space. Maybe the universe didn’t like my attitude problem.

For another, this all felt...wrong. Well, escaping felt right, but there was an undercurrent to the whole thing that didn’t, like a slither of a river’s current was going south, while the bulk of it was flowing north.

I caught Jestin staring at me while I mulled over the little storm cloud raging above my head. “How long have you been here?” he asked me when I finally turned to look at him.

“A while.”

“And how long is a while?”

I didn’t answer.

'KAY, YOU'RE WELCOME, BYE!

Ask anything, question everything.

YOU WANTED A TASTE OF MY NANOWRIMO PROJECT? OKEE DOKEE.

2011-11-10T08:44:00.000-08:00

Here's an excerpt.
NO STEALING, YOU.

“Holy...” Clyde’s voice faded. “There’s someone in there!”

“Yeah, someone!” I snapped. “Can you hear me or can’t you?”

“I...” Clyde cleared his throat. I heard him move towards the door. “I can hear you. Sort of. It’s muffled. I’ve put my ear against the door. What’s that buzzing noise? Who are you?”

“Clyde! It’s probably one of the Doctors!” Jestin said angrily. “Get away from there!”

“Hey! Screw you, buddy!” I yelled. “I am not and will never in my life be a Doctor! I will be dancing around in my lonely grave the day I become a Doctor!”

Clyde snickered on the other side of the door. “She’s pissed at you for saying that.”

“She?”

“Yeah, man. It’s a chick.”

“What is going on?” demanded AnnaSee.

“Keep looking for the Burster, Ann. I’ll deal with it.”

“The alarm is going to override whatever the heck you did to it any minute,” I shouted at Clyde. “You need to let it think you belong here. Mother doesn’t like strangers.”

“Your mom is going to override the system?”

“What?” I heard a confused Jestin say.

“No, no! Not my mom. Mother! Capitol M, Mother. The security system of this place!”

Lots of dialogue, I know. It's one of "those" moments. Don't need a lot of description there for you to get a feel for my characters, they do all the work themselves.

So, how's everyone's else NaNoWriMo projects coming along?
How are you liking it?

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT...3? C? P? O?

2011-10-13T15:52:00.000-07:00

Here's the great thing about not being a published writer: You get to experiment.

As much as I love all of my stories, it's sort of fun to hop back and forth between three or four of 'em. Yup. I said three or four. In actuality, I have about twenty stories "in the works," meaning I started writing them (mostly just to get the idea out of my system) and they're all just sort of chilling in my "Project" folder. When it comes to being a writer, my philosophy is this: I don't care what I'm writing, as long as I'm writing. What I mean to say is a lot of people feel pressure to choose one story and stick with it, then force yourself into completion. Personally, I find it's better for me to work on more than one at once. Hey, you're still writing, aren't you? Progress is progress. That's not to say one doesn't have to eventually sit down and finish a single project if you want to publish, but I think it's good that you're getting somewhere at all. No matter how slow the progression is.

Anyways, that rant being ranted, I have some excerpts for you guys from a new project I'm working on. The idea is old (I'm talking junior year of high school old) but my take on it is brand-spankin'-new.

Also, being at James Dashner's signing (author of The Maze Runner series) where he told inspiring writers he tackles 3,000 words a day, gave me the incentive to try out his method. So there you go.

I don't even know what to call this one without revealing the title. Project 3? Project C? Project...Awesome? Let's just stick with Project 3.

Don't worry. I haven't abandoned Project D or 2. They're still very much alive.
Anyways, here's your QOTD:

I wish I would’ve appreciated that moment. I wish I would’ve looked around and took in everything that mattered to me. Pictures of my family, the old quilt thrown over the couch, which my dad was sleeping soundly on, still in his mint-green scrubs. I really, really wish I would have known that I wouldn’t be coming back home for a while.

Of course, we usually can’t predict life-changing events.

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 10/07/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-10-07T15:47:00.000-07:00

Charlie stiffens, his kind eyes turning into ice. “Don’t talk to me about not opening up, Cleary,” he says through his teeth. “We all have our secrets.”

Cleary purses his lips tightly. I see his fingers curl into fists.

Now, boys. Play nice.

Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 9/27/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-09-26T19:56:00.000-07:00

At first I think he will be taught in no time—but as the sequences get more complicated, and his temper more heated, lessons stretch longer due to “breathers,” as he calls them. By unofficial definition, ten or so minutes for he and I to glare in different directions, arms folded, after a screaming match.

Still. Progress is progress.

CLEARY M. EVERYBODY! Boy do I love him.

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 9/26/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-09-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

“It’s locked?” I ask them as I approach.

“No, we just like banging on doors with chairs for fun,” Cleary grunts.

Heh. Heheh. I love my children.

Ask anything, question everything.

I'M SORRY! AND FOR MY INCOMPETENCE, HERE'S A PROJECT D QOTD!

2011-09-24T23:21:00.000-07:00

I'm so so so so so sorry.
I have not abandoned you. I have just taken a severe beating from school, that's all. And while I heal, I'll share a Project D QOTD with you. And then maybe you'll all forgive me for not posting for a loooong time? *puppy dog eyes*

Here ya go!

"He isn’t good, a part of me thinks. And if someone isn’t good, aren’t they evil? Is there a line in between? Does insanity—as the case may also be—excuse both personas?"

Tada! What do you think, eh?
Ask anything, question everything.

1,000 SUBS! WOOHOO!

2011-09-03T09:41:00.000-07:00

I'd like to take this post up to offer one big, fat thank you to everyone who's supported CassJayTuck. I hit 1,002 subscribers this morning! Exciting!

You guys are all the best. Proof that bookworms get their say in things and people will actually listen. You've restored my faith in humanity!

In celebration, come join me on u-stream tomorrow for a live chat! 4 o'clock Mountain Daylight time, my username is CassTuck! I look forward to being a weirdo for you...live!

Be there! It'll be loads of fun. (:

P.S. Any questions? Comment below, I will answer.
P. P. S. Sorry for lack of QOTD's lately. I've been waiting until THIS moment, BECAUSE...drumroll, please...I will be unveiling two looooong excerpts from both Project D and Project 2 on our u-stream chat!

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT 2 (9/1/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY)

2011-09-01T21:58:00.000-07:00

“I am on your side,” she said. “Never doubt that.”

I narrowed my eyes at her.

She leaned away and rubbed her hand through my hair, which I swatted away. “However, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t enjoy outrunning you tomorrow.”

“Who says you will?” I said, deflated.

She thought about this. “Challenge accepted.”

“No!” I said. “No, that wasn’t a—“

Too late. She shut the door behind her, taking all the shreds of my dignity along with her.

Ha. Ha-ha.

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT 2 8/31/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-31T20:44:00.000-07:00

“We are two different fires!” she said with absolute conviction. Her arms were still steaming. “If we touch, we burn!”

Badadaladalalabadala.
Yep.
Ask anything, question everything.

RANDOM THOUGHT - BUSY BUSY BUSY BACK TO SCHOOL

2011-08-31T09:18:00.000-07:00

I know you guys have heard the excuses from me a dozen and one times, but just know I'm not even remotely lying when I say: I'm sorry I've been so off-the-YouTube-grid, I have just started school, am currently searching for a job (though I've been offered to be paid to review people's books, but I'm not feeling that,) and I'm all in all just trying to get into the flow of things. Once my schedule is secured, it'll be much easier for me to do crazy-awesome YouTube-type things.

To add to the list, guess who's also working on two novels? Yeesh. I'd pick one, but it feels like I'm picking my one of my own children over the other one. I know I'll have to do it eventually, but until then, Busy Cassidy it is.

ANYHOO! I'm sure you don't care, but what the hey, it's a blog. People have blogged about much more irrelevant things. So on that note, classes have been pretty good. Favorites are Theatre and Cultural Astronomy (and I quote my 80-year-old, white-haired, wiry, and awesome, professor: "WHY AM I SO FREAKIN' OLD? CHEESE AND CRACKERS. YOU GUYS ARE BABIES.") And my Least Favorite Award goes out to my Ethnics and Values class, proof that Bor married Ring and had a baby.

My Literature classes are lining up well, but, I don't know, too many forty-year-olds. In one class, I'm a baby. The closest age to me is a thirty-six-year-old. What does that say? I don't even know. Allz I know is we're reading Poe this semester, and I am PUMPED (though we'll also be delving into Emerson and Thoreau, in both cases, ew.)

So yeah. That's my post. It probably doesn't mean much to you.
So, how's everyone else's education flying? Good classes? Bad classes? Crazy professors/teachers (for you little tykes)? I want to hear stories, people!

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT 2 (8/30/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY)

2011-08-30T22:50:00.000-07:00

Here's the thing. Y'all know about Project D, yes? 'Course you do. But did you know I'm currently working on two books at once? Yeah. That's my life.

Anyhoo, these past few days I've been working a little more diligently on...erm, howsabout we call it "Project 2," and so the quotes coming at you for the next couple days'll be coming from that. Cool?

So yeah. That's whats up.

“Okay, here's a question: What's the first thing you do when someone points a gun at you?”

“Duck?”

Witty banter! Hooray!

Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/29/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-29T21:33:00.000-07:00

My mind is...not in the right place. It’s not that I’m crazy. My train of thought is straight and steady. It's just not on the right track.

Tell me about it.
Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/28/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-28T17:04:00.000-07:00

“On three,” I say quickly.

            “On three,” he agrees.

             Just like that, we are forced to trust one another. Just like that, we have no choice.

Hi there, would you like a Junior Mint? YOU CAN'T HAVE ONE THEY'RE MINE! HA!

Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/26/11-8/27/11 QUOTE(S) OF THE DAY

2011-08-27T22:38:00.000-07:00

Sorry ya'all. I skipped a day 'cause I have an inkling of a life.
Here we go.

8/26/11:
"Are you serious?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
Evan scrutinizes his scowl for a moment before deciding, "If the joke is incredibly sick, then yeah. You kind of do."

8/27/11:

“No,” I whisper. I spot Cleary on the grey side, poised to shoot. His dark eyes are empty pits. “Cleary, don’t!”

I'm sleepy. Enjoy!

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/25/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

“Please, God, I’ll never ask for anything. Nothing ever again,” prays Evan. “Except for PopTarts. I miss those things. Oh, and Snickers bars. But nothing else, I swear.”

Ha. HA.

Ask anything, question everything.

HOW TO MAKE A YA FICTION TITLE

2011-08-25T23:23:00.000-07:00

Want to title your YA work? Have no fear! I can help!

ONE WORD TITLE:
Pick a single word that sounds mystical. Or just use the word "Mystical."

TWO WORD TITLE:
(How you would describe moonlight/sunset) + (Some sort of physical action e.g. Gaze, Embrace, Kiss, Slumber, etc.)
Or
(How you would describe moonlight/sunset) + (Emotion e.g. Passion, Love, Despair)
OR or
(How you would describe moonlight/sunset) + (Astrological term)

THREE WORD TITLE:
Only one rule: Must. Be. Epic.

FOUR WORD TITLE:
Forget it. More than three words? You aren't gonna sell.

(Of course of course of course this is a joke. If you are writing a novel and the title is ten words long, do not fret. I was just kidding.)
Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/24/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-24T22:40:00.000-07:00

I know he knows something. Charlie is a smart boy. Even if I were to lie to him right now, he wouldn’t truly believe. What’s worse, he’d know I was lying to his face. I owe him my life; I owe him the truth.

I guess this is a little weird out of context. I just really love that last part. It's, uh, for lack of better explanation, as powerful as it needs to be.
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/23/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-24T00:38:00.000-07:00

Our eyes lock. It is not the first instance this has happened, but for some reason this time feels different. Like there is a literal physical link between us, a string which grapples both mine and his gaze, stretched so tightly it is a wonder that it doesn’t break. We are connected now. If I am to look down or up, he will also. I’m sure of it.

Careful, now, folks. This might not be what you think.

Or it might be exactly what you think.

Depends on what you think.

Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/22/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-22T23:02:00.000-07:00

“What are they doing?” Charlie mutters.

“Let’s not find out,” Cleary growls.

He is the first to shoot.

BANG BANG GUNS ARE KEWL BANG BANG.
Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/21/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-21T23:18:00.000-07:00

“Look, I’m riveted by the All Great and Powerful Light as much as the next guy, but can we please get out of here?” demands Evan, pointing to the rising smoke miles away. “We can chat about this when we’re not near, you know, lethal explosions.”

Oh, Evan. Evan, Evan, Evan...
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/20/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-20T23:40:00.000-07:00

"Weather doesn't make way for us, Ms. Tally. We make way for the weather. Or it pushes us out of the way, if we are stubborn." He squeezes my shoulder. "Think about it."

Ha. You've never met this character before. HA.
Ask anything, question everything.

DATING ADVICE/WHAT I'VE LEARNED FROM YOOTAH

2011-08-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

If dear old Yootah (where I attend my college-level educational experience AKA college AKA money vacuum) has taught me anything, it's taught me how to date. Amongst other things.

OTHER THINGS YOOTAH HAS TAUGHT ME BESIDES HOW TO DATE:

1. Peanut butter is your friend.
2. Ramen Noodles are not your friend.
3. Wal-Mart kind of sucks, but it's either that or drive 20 minutes to Smith's. Which you never have the gas for.
4. Paycheck — Gas — Groceries = Not near enough money to buy those jeans you want from Gap. So forget it.
5. Black ice is God's way of making you look like an idiot.
6. Wear at least three pairs of socks at night if you want to have all your toes in the morning.

Anyhoo, Yootah is great. I love it dearly. But I have never in my life dated as much as I dated in Yootah. I mean, a little bit, but it wasn't really a priority in high school for me.

So I've gotta get myself back in the zone. The dating-zone. The actually-try-to-look-pretty-zone. Which means I gotta start showering again. Dagnab.

ANYWAYS!
I figure, what the heck, we can all get into the zone together! Allz you gotsta do is follow my guidelines to being dateable.

GUIDELINES FOR BEING DATEABLE

1. Shower. Apparently it's "offensive" if you skip a week or eight.
2. Brush your teeth. I think cavities are sexy, personally, but whatever.
3. Don't quack like a duck in public. Person of interest may mistake you for an actual duck and not approach you, in fear you might bite them or beg them for bread crumbs.
4. Hold a red rose between your teeth at all times. It makes you look romantical.
5. Pretend you speak another language and say, "BLEHBLEHABDUOIEASNCUIWBADNPOEFBC LEUBDALNKUEICOBLEHKEEDEENK!" over and over. They'll think you're exotic.
6. Do not ask Person of Interest if they've counted their eyelashes recently. They probably haven't and their embarrassed to admit it.
7. Do not end every sentence with "because the couch told me too."
8. Learn to yodel. Obviously.

AND THERE YOU HAVE IT. That's pretty much all you need to do, or not do, as the case may be, to be dateable! I'm good, right? Yeah. I'm good.

GOOD LUCK! HOPE YOU GET DATES AND STUFF.

I have no idea what urged me to write this post. Stupidity?
I'm hungry. I want grilled cheese.
BYE.

Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/19/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-19T22:25:00.000-07:00

          “Lord, give me the strength to survive this. Give me the strength to be free,” he whispers under his breath. Is he praying?

In my heart, for the first time in my life, I pray, too. Lord, you may not know me, or maybe you do. It's just that I don't know you well. My name is Sam. I wish to see this boy be free. I wish to see me be free, too.

This is pretty dang early-on in the book. All the same. A quote is a quote is a quote.
Ask anything, question everything.

HELLO HI HATERS

2011-08-19T12:30:00.000-07:00

Don't be fooled by the title of this post...I'm not about to give a long and snarky speech that will serve as the comeuppance certain people deserve. I just have a few things to say.

Thing is, I don't have many of 'em. You know, haters. Two or three. I have received an unhappy message and nasty comment or two. I'm a big girl. I can handle it. Besides, the complaints never seem to have anything to do with what I do on CassJayTuck. It's always like...I don't know, my voice is annoying (I bet) or I look like a man (am I a pretty man?)

Once again, I'm 19. It doesn't hurt my feelings and I have better things to do with my time than retaliate. Like sleep. And make toast.

The point of this post is to let ya'all know that haters gon' hate. Some people asked me how I deal with them. Like I said, I don't have a lot (not that popular, hello) but here's the advice I can offer you: Just leave it alone. There's nothing those people hate more than not getting the attention they beg for. Capisce?

In an unrelated note, in a few days you might notice my YouTube channel will be missing some of it's videos (old ones without much relevance) DO NOT FREAK OUT. I'm just cleaning out my channel. I've got a handful of videos that don't need to exist, none of which are important.

Anyhoo. That's all for now.
GudBai.
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/18/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-18T22:25:00.000-07:00

I should be dead.

*ahem.*

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

That is all.

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/17/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-17T23:22:00.000-07:00

"Hatred is a disease. It consumes, it kills." He hisses the final word, pressing his fingers harder against the keys. A harsh A and B-minor slice through the air.
I swallow before saying, "But I thought you hated me."
"Hate you," he repeats flatly, as if not understanding the idea. He shakes his head once. "I don't hate you. I just don't like you very much. Disliking isn't a disease...it's just a mild cough. A cold. I can stand that."

Can I get three cheers for Cleary? I am so excited to unleash this character to the world someday. He deserves some lovin'.
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/16/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-16T22:59:00.000-07:00

"You're born, then you die. That's that."
"What about everything that happens in between?"
"Insignificant. Because you die."
"Glass half-full kind of guy, that's our boy Cleary," Evan chirps, raising his glass. Charlie meets his drink with a clink! "To optimists!"

My boys...and girl. ♥
Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/15/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-15T22:26:00.000-07:00

"Can I help you?" Cleary snaps, annoyed.
"Yes. I would like to contact the alien probe that took Cleary away and replaced him with you. Do you think they have milkshakes onboard? I could use a milkshake."
"Evan--"
"Preferably strawberry."
"You're asking for a face rearrangement, dude," mutters Charlie, zipping up his jacket.
"Hey, chocolate works, too." He raises his palms in mock-surrender. "I'm not picky."

This one is long. Ah well.
Fun fact: I like writing for boys about a billion times better than writing for girls. For reasons like this.
Ask anything, question everything.

Project D 8/14/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-14T16:57:00.000-07:00

"So what do we do from here?"
"What we always do," he says, handing me the gun. "Improvise."

The funny thing is, I've never shot a gun in my entire life. And I don't have the slightest clue how a bomb works. I had to do some research for this. That being said: Dear government, don't be alarmed by my previous Google searches. I'm just writing a book is all.
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/13/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-13T23:11:00.000-07:00

"It’s amazing what people will do when they feel they’re in danger. They’ll throw moral right out the window to protect themselves. Human beings are brilliant, but...we also have a brilliant sense of self-preservation. We’ll kill to stay alive."

Yep. That's my boy, my favorite character, Charlie. He rocks the socks right off my feet.
What do you guys think?
Ask anything, question everything.

YA'ALL NEED TO STOP BEING SO NASTY. LIKE, FOR REAL.

2011-08-12T21:06:00.000-07:00

Okay, so did anyone take a gander at Cassandra Clare's 'Dirty Sexy Club Scene,' a snippet from City of Lost Souls? She tweeted it to her dedicated followers a few days back.

Of course, I'm a total sucker for spoilers. I'm one of those crazies who'll sit on Google forever just to get a glance of something that may or may not be horribly written fan fiction, or find a photocopy of an actual page of the actual book that was actually found in the actual trashcan of the actual author by his actual gardener. (Holy smokes, I fit a lot of 'actually's in there.) Yep, that's me. I'm not exactly proud of it, but I figure, what the heck? I've already made myself look like a total idiot on YouTube a million times over. I could tell ya'all that I dress up like a banana every Friday night and do interpretive dances to Justin Bieber, and at this point, it probably wouldn't make much of a difference.

Not that I do dress up like a banana. As for the Bieber-Interpretation, well, as long as no one's caught me on video, then there's no solid proof of that, either.

Anyway, where was I? Right. City of Lost Souls snippet.

I read it, just as any little spoiler-indulgent obsessive-reader would.

Consider me scarred. For. Life.

Holy ICK. I mean, I don't mean to be a goody-two-shoes, but ICK ICK ICK.

It started out okay. Kind of steamy, but I guess I'm used to having to push through parts of YA fiction like that.

Then it got unbearable. Like sitting in a sauna. A sauna that smelled like dirty feet and Shadowhunter sweat.

I know, I know, it's not the real version and it won't be in the actual final draft of CoLS. But still. I don't think I will ever, and I mean ever, be able to look at these characters the same way again. You think I was kidding when I said scarred for life? Nosireebob. I meant it.

What's worse is that the fans rejoiced! They raised their hands in jubilee and exulted! They begged for more and praised it!

That's when I really noticed, for the first time, for some reason, how legitimately nasty TMI fans can be.

Now, before I insult anyone, take a moment to count yourself of the group to which I refer. Do you read TMI because of the excellent plot, or because of the sexuality? Please, spare me on this one. Books can't live off of sexuality alone. They can't thrive. Why do you think all those sappy 5-dollar romance novels like The Cowboy's Affair with The Hungarian Bride and Their Love Child Plus a Vampire Hi Mom I Wrote This in Forty-Five Minutes Because I Was Bored are all crammed in the back shelf of book stores, collecting dust, save for the occasional unmarried forty-seven-year-old who gives it a home?

Don't get me wrong. Romance is good. Romance is grand. But romance without plot? It's like eating a handful of sugar. Ick.

Sorry, I went off on a tangent. Ahem. Now, count yourself out if you appreciate TMI for the writing, the plot, the shining characters. You are excused. Exit to the left.

Now, for those who tweeted things like:
"OMG, IZ THUR GONNA BE A SEX SHOWER SCENE?"
"Will there be a lesbian make-out part?"
"I can't wait till Clary and Jace have sex!"

You have problems. Like, serious issues. Please go stare at a wall until your mind rights itself.

It has to be asked, as I always do ask: Really? I mean, come on. Really? After everything that happened with Sebastian, everything that happened in CoFA in general, you inquire about Jace and Clary's sex life? Really?!

Gross, guys. Just gross. You can call me immature all you want, but I happen to appreciate characters with morals. It paves the way for--oh, I don't know--a plot line? A reason to read other than sensual make-outs?

Just to make things clear, I'm not insulting Cassandra Clare in anyway. She's a great writer and I really respect her, plus, it's her story. She can pretty much do whatever she wants to do.

Who I'm talking to are those creepy little fans out there who need to fish their minds out of the gutter. Didn't your mother ever teach you anything? Sheesh. It's a scary, recurring pattern in YA fiction: The Gone series has done it, Twilight has done it (though Stephenie Meyer's way of writing it was classier, so she is technically excused) and plenty of other authors have done it. They have centered their character's relationship around sexuality.

About to go off on another tangent, here: Sexual tension? This is good. I encourage it. It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with sex, it just means there is a physical want between two--or three, if you dig love triangles--people. That's pretty essential to a good book (if there's romance involved) and...like, human nature.

But sex? Ugh. I hate typing the word.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: More and more authors are losing grasp of what makes a book great. Plot. Characters. Twists. Dialogue. I like kissy-kissy parts and corny quotes as much as the next 19-year-old-girl, but people, you are taking it too far.

Do you really expect me to believe, in the midst of all that happens in YA fiction-- plagues, deaths, running from the law, freaking evil vampires on a rampage, being attacked by mutant wolves and snakes--that two characters are going to be thinking about...that? Like, really?

That aside, a lot of people argue that authors are just being realistic. After all, teenagers think about nothing these days but sex, and their romance is purely physical, right? Right? Right?

*Ominous chirping noise.*

Oooh, that's right! Only slutty teenagers are like that! *slaps hand to forehead* My bad!

Like I said before, this rant has little to do with TMI. That CoLS snippet just got me to thinking, that's all. Once again, no disrespect, no hate, do your thing, I'm on the other side of this computer and you're heavens-knows-where. You have the right to disagree with everything I say and despise my temper.

Still. My opinion stands.

Here's my final statement.

Authors: Slow. It. Down. Or stop it altogether. Especially if you're writing YA. You're not exactly contributing positively to the rising sexual problems of this generation, you know? I don't know if you forgot what it was like to be a teenager, but there are certainly other things to worry about. Many promises. I don't care what your reasons are for doing it. Maybe because in your mind, controversial book = good?

Look. I would never tell anyone to avoid controversy. That'd be stupid. But if you're going to write the world a story, write a story. Does that make sense?

My philosophy (and maybe I'm too young to have one, but all the same): Controversy is easy. Anyone can write something controversial. Offensive words come easier than soft ones. Writing a story that brings everyone together, that can be read and enjoyed by all, despite different opinions? That's tough. That takes talent.

Okay, call me a wimp. Call me narrow-minded. Call me whatever you want. This is just how my mind works.

So, what do you guys think? Of...like, everything?
Let me know!

Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/12/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-12T14:55:00.000-07:00

“No,” Evan murmurs. “Tell me that’s just half a dozen crows on steroids. Please someone just tell me that.”

Oooh. Enigmatic, huh? For those of you who've read the excerpt (a few posts below) you might get the jist of what's about to go down.
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/11/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-11T18:22:00.000-07:00

“Screw you, Cleary.”

“The same sentiments to you, my neurotic friend.”

Daaaaw, I just love it when my boys get along!
What do you think?
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D 8/10/11 QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-10T14:11:00.000-07:00

"Their hygienic system is impressive. That is to say, it exists at all, which is impressive for three boys."

Lalala. Random quote. Laughed while writing it because I have six brothers, and it is, in fact, impressive.
What do you guys think?
Ask anything, question everything.

PROJECT D QUOTE OF THE DAY

2011-08-09T14:09:00.000-07:00

Quote for 8/9/11:

"My future isn’t bright. Not yet. But I have one, and that’s something."

You guys can read the excerpt below (the post titled 'An Excerpt from Project D') to get character names and a bit of a feel of what may be going on. It'll give you something to work with.
So, what do you think?
Ask anything, question everything.

A QUOTE A DAY?

2011-08-09T01:05:00.000-07:00

In my quest to publish Project D (see excerpt below the except below,) I may need a little help. As in positive reinforcement. Luckily, I've got some great viewers and subscribers from YouTube who are extremely supportive and want to see me go that direction.

So, howsabout we help each other out?

I'll post a quote a day from Project D, and you tell me what you think is going on, who you think said it, why, if you hate it, love it, want to give it a puppy, etc. etc. This interaction will in turn excite me, therefore inspire me to write more and more.

Ready? Let's begin.

8/9/11 PROJECT D QUOTE:

"One morning, I woke up and thought to myself, 'I don't care.' And that is the story of how I lost my pride."

You guys dig this idea? Yes, no? Let me know!
Ask anything, question everything.
PS- NEVER FORGET: Everything is copyrighted! Do not steal!

I WORK ON 301920748392 PROJECTS AT THE SAME TIME

2011-08-07T19:55:00.000-07:00

Somebody asked me the other day if I'm a "write one book at a time" type of gal. I'm not. While Project D (see excerpt below) is my priority as of right now, I have several other books I am currently working on. I'll give you an excerpt from one of them, just for the heck of it.

And with this one, you get to know the actual title! Hooshaw!

EXCERPT FROM CHASE HAVEN



“How good’s this info, Tamar?” The anxious whisper came from his left, and Tamar felt instantly annoyed. Their doubt buzzed around his head like a swarm of annoying bugs.
“Shut up, Jay,” he hissed. “As good as it gets, all right? You have the stuff?”
“Yeah, man. Right here.” The boys stopped walking and bent around the duffel bag Jay was now unzipping. Trey clicked on his flashlight and examined the contents.
He whistled. “Nice."
“Best of the best,” Jay replied. “Gotta guy in Brooklyn. Owed me a favor.”
“It’ll do,” Tamar said, which was his version of unbridled approval. He took Trey’s flashlight and shined it above them.
The boys stood in the middle of a subway tunnel, abandoned more than a decade ago. Above them, there was an equally as deserted office space that stretched to eightieth street, two stories tall. Not too big. Not too showy. But very, very empty.
It was the perfect place for an operation. A big enough place for whatever it was that these guys were fixing up—drugs, counterfeit, no one really knew what they made a cool dollar off of—with a network of underground tunnels, good for a quick escape, if they needed it.
Tonight, they were gonna need it. But they wouldn’t get that far.
Tamar checked his cell phone. No new messages. But it was almost time.
“Get the thing ready, man. We have five minutes.”
Trey took the flashlight and held it in his mouth as he began the wiring on the bomb. The timer was blank. Tamar and Jay stood on either side of him, watching both ends of the tunnel with dangerous, careful eyes. If anyone came down to early, they were screwed.
“What kind of stuff are these guys into, anyways?” Jay said under his breath.
“No one knows,” Tamar said. “That’s what's so messed up. No one knows an official member, what they sell or how they sell it, but they run mosta New York City.”
“Crazy. So what’s Boss trying to do Them in for?”
“What do you think, stupid? They got more power then him, and no one even knows their names.”
“Almost done,” Trey grumbled.
Tamar felt a weird chill down his back, and he thought back to when his great gramma was into voodoo—she told him sometimes people could sense the future, ‘specially if something bad was coming. But that was stupid. Black magic crap.
Everything was gonna work just like Boss said. It always did.
“What do you think, man?” Jay said. “Unofficially. You hear anything?”
Tamar glanced quickly down both ends of the tunnel, trying to shake the chilly feeling that they were being watched. “Met a guy in Queens last week. Told me he met another guy who works for them. Says they got no gang title, to stay more inconspicuous.”
“No title,” Jay muttered, disgusted. He spit. “No name for people to get scared of, no name for them to respect.”
“I don’t know, man, it’s weird,” he said. “He told me that there’s two people in charge. Didn’t know their names, who they was, how old they was. Nothing. That’s all I’ve heard.”
“Man.” Another low whistle. The sound carried down the empty—or were they? No, he couldn’t think like that. They were empty—tunnel.
“Hurry up, Trey! Somethin’ don’t feel right down here.”
“I’m hurryin’. Almost done.”
A small shuffling sound made them all jump. It had definitely been there. That small sound.
“You hear that?”
“What was it?”
“Trey, finish with that thing! Now!”
Trey nodded quick and got to work with trembling hands, reaching down to attach the last wires, when the bag...slid away from his hands.
All three boys froze.
“What?” Trey whispered.
“It was the wind.”
"Down here?" Jay whispered.
"Yeah. Happens sometimes. I think." Tamar tried to sound unafraid, but they had all seen it move on it’s own. “Finish it. Now. Boss is gonna blow your brains out.”
Inspired by that frightening thought, Trey reached for the bag again, which skidded away again, at least two feet back.
“It’s a frickin’ ghost!” Jay yelped, scrambling back into a slimy wall.
“Not worth it, man! Not worth it!” Trey assented.
“Shut up! Both of you! It’s just some weird trick or something!” Tamar yelled. He rolled up his sleeves and dove for the bag, which rose a couple feet in the air immediately. He face-planted on the cement while the bag swung down on his head, knocking him out cold.
Trey and Jay both screamed, scrambling to get away, when they were tripped at the feet by some unseen force. They fell to the floor, terrified and looked up at the shadow who loomed over them, a terrifying man—or, wait, boy.
Little boy.
“What the—“
“Sorry,” said the boy. He extended his hands to the two guys. “Didn’t mean to hurt you guys. And, um, him...” He nodded at a passed-out Tamar. “Well, there’s no permanent damage at least, but I had to stop him from setting off the bomb, you understand.”
They both just stared up at him in terror. They didn’t understand what they were looking at—a skinny, teenaged kid with messy dark hair and eyes that nearly glowed green. He had a polite look on his face, not the kind you’d usually see around these parts.
“Are you guys okay?” The kid looked concerned. “I didn’t hurt you, right? You can hear me?”
Trey finally gained the courage to scramble up to his feet. “Who are you?”
Jay followed him, brushing the slime off of his jacket. “Yeah, you better get outta here if you know what’s best for you. We got—“
“A home-made blaster? I recognize it. Ugly thing. I hate bombs. And what you’ve got here is basically a whole lot of C-4 with a timer attached. Jeez, that looks unstable. That trigger is way too sensitive. You’re either extremely brave or incredibly stupid to be lugging this thing around, and considering your track record so far, I’ll have to go with stupid,” said the boy. He blinked up at them. “Why exactly did you bring it into a subway tunnel, by the way? You looking to execute a couple dozen unlucky rats?”
Both of them didn’t know what to say for a moment. Then Jay tried again, standing up a little straighter, taller, hoping to wane his confidence. “You know how dangerous gangs are, don’t you, kid? The Bloods, Crips? There’s a big, bad gang that lives right above us. You don’t want them to catch you?”
The boy looked amused. “No, wouldn’t want that.”
“So you better get back to your mommy and daddy. I bet they miss you.”
A cold smile played on his lips. “Oh, I really doubt it.”
“He said get out of here!” Trey yanked a short, sharp knife from his belt and pointed it at the boy. Years ago, he'd named the knife Shock. Mostly 'cause it was the first thing people showed on their face when he brought it out. The second thing was pain.
But the boy didn't move an inch. He stared at the knife, tipping his head to one side.
“No, that’s not what he said exactly,” he answered. “

Though he certainly implied it. Nice knife, by the way. Classic. Kind of big, though, hard to conceal. You know, you should really sharpen it. Dull knives are a pain." He paused a moment, then chuckled. "Ha! That was actually funny. Get it? A pain? 'Cause, getting stabbed by a dull knife is--"

"Are you done?" Trey stepped closer, digging the side of the knife into the boy's shirt.

"Look, I hate to break it to you guys, but you’re the ones who should probably get out of here.”

The boy pushed Trey's arm away, scooping the bomb up from their fallen comrade. He took a smaller, sharper knife out of his own pocket, and brusquely cut one of the blue wires in half. Then he threw it to them.

“Take your now deactivated bomb and beat it.”

Trey and Jay looked at each other, astonished. “Let’s get something straight, huh?” Trey growled at him. Both had their knives out, now. “You’re the skinny little kid all by himself. There’s three of us. We’ve killed before and we’ll do it again.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said the boy. “And since one of your friends is currently taking a nap,” he nudged Tamar with his battered sneaker, “there’s actually two of you. Thanks for calling me skinny, by the way. It’s the Atkens diet, you know?”
“You think you’re real funny, don’t you?” Jay grabbed the kid by the shirt, hoping to ensue terror in his eyes, but he remained straight-faced.
“Yes, I do,” he said seriously. Then the boy grabbed the wrist holding the knife and twisted it hard, knocking the weapon out of his hand. It skidded to the ground with a soft clang. The boy slammed Jay against the wall, pinning his arm behind his back. “Now, how about you two get out of here before I’m forced to inflict some serious—“ He pressed harder, and Jay moaned “—pain on you?”
“Get offa him!” Trey yelled, grabbing his shirt.
The boy turned on him and pulled his knife, slashing it across both of his arms. Trey scrambled back in pain and surprise, and the boy to the opportunity to grab him by his knees, yank upwards, and flip him onto his back.
Jay recovered and went after the boy, pulling out another knife. The boy ducked from danger and grabbed him by the neck, pinning him again—
            “Enough,” said a voice.
            All four boys froze. Though one was unconscious. All the same, the boy and the others stopped and stared down the tunnel at the voice.
            “Sorry,” the boy said. “I tried to not hurt anyone. Didn’t want to. They both pulled knives on me.”
            “It’s okay,” the voice answered. “You hurt?”
            The boy shoved Jay to the ground and brushed off his jacket. “Nope. Not really. You?”
            “They didn’t even make it through the door.”
            Trey and Jay stared in shock as a girl—a little girl—walked into view from the darkness. She was pretty, they guessed, in a girlish sort of way. Dark eyes, brown hair that had been chopped just to her shoulders. She was slim, maybe too skinny, but there was no doubt about her strength.
            “It’s a girl,” Jay muttered.
            There was no child-likeness in the girl’s eyes. “Yeah. Thanks for noticing. Landon? Did you get the thing?”
            The boy—Landon, they guessed— nodded at the deactivated bomb. “Yep. The clock didn’t even start ticking.”
            Her eyes fell to Tamar. “One of them is passed out,” she observed.
            It looked as though Landon was trying not to look too pleased with himself. He bit back a grin. “Yeah, my bad.”
            The girl smiled at him. Then she turned on Trey and Jay, a flash of dangerousness in her eyes that they’d only seen in kingpins and drug lords. No teenage girl should look that frightening.
            “Your plan was...interesting,” she told them. “Execution: sloppy. Try to draw us out, and then bomb the place from underground. And I think you meant to kill us after that. Or before the explosion. Doesn’t really matter, either way. But really, guys? For future references, you probably don’t want to go around bragging to everyone in New York that you were going to take us down today, at this time. Word gets around, you know? So I suggest that you take this back to your boss,” she threw Trey the bomb, who fell on his back with an oof! under it’s weight, “and get out of here. Next time, me and Landon won’t be so nice. Got it?”
            “Who are you?” Jay snapped. “Some little girl? Like you’re some big somebody?”
            “I’m not anyone,” the girl said. “No one you need to know. Now beat it.”
            Jay brought himself up. He grinned at the girl grossly. “You’re a pretty thing, you know that? What do you think will happen if I go back and tell my boys that a pretty young thing like you is running around these parts, unprotected, huh?”
            The girl sighed, like she was bored. “Well, unprotected might be a bit too strong of a word.”
            Behind them, Landon chuckled.
            “Who’s in charge?” Trey shouted at her, trying not to sound afraid. “We wanna talk to your boss!”
            “Talk away, I’m all ears,” she answered. “But I’m kind of itching to hit the sack soon, and I’m sure Landon feels the same. Can I ask what urged you guys to come at four in the morning? You couldn’t have, like, waited till noon so we both could’ve been rested and not as cranky?”
            Trey and Jay didn’t know what to think. Even less-so what to say.
            “You didn’t hit them with a stun gun, did you?” she turned asked Landon, who strolled to her side.
            “Nope,” he said. “Far as I know, they haven’t made stun guns that quiet.” Then, under his breath: "Note to self: Research silent stun guns."
            “You’re in charge?” Trey said, shocked.
            “In charge of what, exactly?” The girl asked, sounding curious.
            “This, man!” He waved his hand, still on his butt, at the ceiling. “This whole thing.”
            “Oh.” She looked to Landon. He just shrugged at her. “Yeah, I guess.”
            “You’re just a kid!” Jay protested.
            “Understatement,” Landon said under his breath.
            “Correction, I am a capable kid,” she said coolly. “And I’m fifteen. So three years shy of adulthood ain’t that bad.”
            “Dude.” Trey looked whiter than Jay had ever seen him.
            “That’s—that’s not possible,” said Jay. His mouth was quivering.
            “I don’t get what the big deal is,” she said, sighing. “So I’ve got people. Why’d we have to get bombs involved, here? If you want friends so badly, make a Facebook.”
            “We don’t care about your people!” shouted Jay, spitting at her feet. “We care about the product.”
            Now she just looked amused. “What product?”
            Silence. Except for a distant dripping sound. And eventually Landon’s snicker.
            “You—you know,” blustered Jay. “The stuff. Drugs. Uh, counterfeit. Smuggled—“
            “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” the girl interrupted, squeezing her eyes shut. She pinched the bridge of her nose, exasperated. “You mean to tell me that’s why you tried to blow us to the skies? Because you think that I’m running some kind of dirty business?”
            Trey and Jay looked at each other. “Aren’t you?” they asked, almost in unison.
            “Huh,” Landon said out of the corner of his mouth. “Guess we’re popular now.”
            “Did you miss the part where I said I was fifteen?” she asked. She looked at Landon. “Did they? Did they miss that part?”
            Landon shrugged. “I was there.”

THE END!
That's like, the first half of the very first chapter. All I can say is, it's not what you think.
Anyhoo!
THIS IS COPYRIGHTED. DO NOT STEAL IT. STEALING IS FOR DUCK-FACED DOODLE-BERRIES.

Thanks!

(SORRY ABOUT THE WIERD SPACING ERRORS. I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO FIX 'EM.)

AN EXCERPT FROM PROJECT D

2011-08-04T21:06:00.000-07:00

Okay, here's the thing: Project D isn't the actual name. It's just the hush-hush secretive codename I'm using to cover the real title. The only people who know the real one is Rachel (As in Rachel Aro, as in rararachelaro on YouTube, as in @racheltbm on Twitter) and myself.

I'm keeping it that way for now. Gotta keep as much of this under wraps as I can.

Anyways, you guys asked, and you shall receive. I hope you enjoy it, even if you probably won't understand what the heck is going on. But that's the point of an excerpt, isn't it? To make you want to know?

Yeah. So here we go.

I carry my history book like it is made of solid gold.

Evan whistles a song I don’t know as we pass through downtown. Or what used to be downtown. Now it looks like nothing but a war zone.

“We’ve been walking for hours,” I say.

“We sure have. Huh.” He looks down at the map of town we stole—borrowed from a gas station we passed earlier. “Town hall should be right here. It should be—“ His eyes catch on something straight ahead. “Oh.”

“Oh what?”

“Oh...I think that’s it. I mean, I think that used to be it.” What he’s pointing to ahead is literally the biggest pile of wreckage I’ve seen since we’ve arrived here. I didn’t even consider the possibility of it once being a solid, whole building before. It is nothing but a pile of white chunks, one atop another, a child’s mess of toy blocks. The only thing still standing is an American flag—well, semi-standing. It is snapped in two, but the top half hasn’t fallen completely. Colors that used to stand for something are nothing more now than faded red, white, and blue fluttering sadly in the nonexistent wind.

“Well...there are clearly no people around there. But just in case.” He steps forward and cups his hands around his mouth. “Oi!” he yells. The sound echoes for miles. “Anyone in there? If so, how the heck did you all fit? That can’t be comfortable. Anyways, I’m Evan, this is Sam, and I haven’t seen civilization in six years! So I’d really appreciate, like, a hug or something.” He opens his arms wide for an embrace that’ll never come. “I’ll warn you, though, I probably smell. But not too bad. Any takers?”

Neither of us actually expects there to be an answer. So when an inhuman screech shakes the atmosphere, both Evan and I yelp and spin towards the source.

I have only heard that sound once in my life. And I hadn’t wanted to hear it again.

“What the—what—?” Evan is in total shock and awe at the Dear Lady, hovering a mile or so away. She spots us and screeches again, a call of triumph. It seems to make the very ground tremble. I can see her inky black wings extend as she swoops down towards us.

“No,” I mutter. “No no no!”

“What is that thing?” Evan croaks. He sounds as though he’s just swallowed a fistful of hot sand.

“It’s a Dear Lady! The thing that took Charlie!” The thing that was only part human. The very creature that raised me from infancy. “Run!” I grab him by the arm and yank him with me, forcing him to move. We sprint as fast as adrenaline’s fuel can allow, jumping over chucks of the street and nearly tripping on our own shoes.

“Help!” I cry as we run. “Charlie! Cleary! Anybody!” Even as I scream, I know it isn’t any good. No one can hear me but Evan. And he is about to be killed.

Because of me.

“Leave me alone!” I scream at her, the same words Charlie said before he escaped, except the difference is I won’t actually make it. There’s no way. She is shrieking with delight, gaining in on us, and we are not going fast enough to make it to safety—which doesn’t exist anyways.

It is unfair, among other unpleasant words. Completely unfair. I’ve only just gotten a taste of this new world. Too many pages of my history book, which I still hold with a grip of iron, will go unread. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to die.

Both options are one and the same.

Okay. Hope you liked it. Don't really care if you didn't.

Hope you're all satisfied, my little psychos!

PS- THIS IS COPYRIGHTED. DON'T STEAL IT. STEALING IS FOR LOSERS.
If you want to copy and paste it elsewhere, like on another site, or do anything like that, ASK MY PERMISSION FIRST. E-mail is CassJayTuck@aol.com. Or just message me on YouTube. PLEASE. THIS IS MY BABY AND I DO NOT WANT TO SEE IT FALL INTO THE HANDS OF EVIL.
Gracias.

TEAM WHAT?

2011-08-01T17:24:00.000-07:00

Where there is YA fiction, there is a girl. Where there is a girl, there is a boy. Where there is a boy, there is another pining for her affection. And where there is a love triangle, there are near-rabid groups of teenaged readers with a bloodlust for anyone who chooses the boy they haven't personally chosen for the female heroine.

Yes, my friends. Where there is YA fiction, there are "teams."

I love it when people ask me what "team" I am. It makes me feel like one of those squealing 13-year-olds that stand in line for ten hours at Twilight movie premieres. Ah, to be young again.

I actually don't dig the term "team." See, I have a remarkable--or not so remarkable, as the case may be--gift for figuring out exactly which boy the heroine will choose. It's more of a formula, actually.

THE FORMULA

(girl + mysterious boy = romance) + (time)(boy + girl X relationship) - happiness X new boy X conflicting emotions + awkward "other kiss" with boy who is not the boyfriend + crumbling(relationship) - other boy - boyfriend(never mind, I love this guy instead X other boy finds another reason to live) (girl + mysterious boy + forgiveness + unconditional love) = let's never fight again I love you to Reese's pieces kissy kissy muah!

You can go ahead and substitute the boy for girl and girl for boy when necessary.

To put it simply: More often then not, the winner of the girl's affection is usually the guy she fell for first, or kissed first, or pretended to fall for first, or hit in the face first, etc. Basically, if he got first anything, he usually ends up champion.

Are there exceptions? Sure. Are there a lot? Nope.

Afraid that the boy you have personally chosen over another in a book you're reading won't be the love triangle champ? Confident he will be? If you answer at least four of the following questions with 'yes,' he's sure to be the winner!

1. Is he mysterious and dark, with a twisted sense of humor or overall personality masked by indifference and/or snarky comments?

2. Is he secretly a mythical creature?

3. Is he sweet and caring to the girl, save for rare moments of frigidness (moments in which usually lead to the downfall or almost downfall of the relationship in question)?

4. Does he drive a motorcycle? (Sorry Jacob Black; you don't count.)

5. Does he have the sappiest lines in the series so far?

6. Has he risked his life for the heroine at least twice?

So there you have it. Sorry if your boy isn't the winner. I mean, he can still be a winner...you know, in your heart.

So why don't I like the term "team"? What was the point of the sarcastic rant above?

Well, for starters, if there are "teams" then there are "winners" and "losers". Like I said before, I'm pretty much always able to spot "winners." Can't you? Edward, Peeta, Jace, anyone? Tell me you didn't see those coming. I won't believe you.

A lot of you will argue that the whole "team" thing is for fun, and I'm being too technical.You're probably right. My mind just sort of works that way. Or maybe when you say "team" you just mean "I like this guy better than the other guy in general, not with or without the girl." That's different. I'm talking in-it-to-win-it-you-better-get-the-girl-in-the-end "teams."

Anyhoo. Moving on.

If my rant has made no sense to you at all, then let me simplify it for you:

I don't like being called "team" anything. It makes me feel like a preteen at a Twilight premiere who didn't bother reading the books in first place and is only there to gawk and Taylor L's abs. I don't know why. It just cheapens the whole experience, some how.

That's not to say that I don't pick sides. I definitely do that. To be honest, I do it a whole lot. I'm not being a hypocrite or anything, or at least, I don't think so. Because I always end up picking the winners.

So, if I have to use the phrase "team," here are the gorgeous guys and gals I root for.

Team Edward (Jacob was annoying and whinny, 'specially in Eclipse.)
Team Jace (I love Simon, but not with Clary.)
Team Peeta (Gale is boring and doesn't develop in the slightest between books 1 and 3.)
Team Daniel (Cam is a creep.)
Team Four/Tobias (Well, we're only on book 1, so...Yeah. Not really any other options, unless you're a fan-fiction enthusiast. Then there's a world of possibilities. They're probably working on a steamy make-out scene between Tris and a hamburger right now.)
Team Ethan Wate (Really? A Team John Breed actually exists? Really? Really?)
Team Annabeth (Rachel is cool and all, but...Yeah. Annabeth.)
Team Percy (As apposed to Luke, who's like, dead and all...)
Team Riley (From Inside Out, not Eclipse. Ick.)
Team Hale (I have nothing to add other than: Duh.)
Team Elder ('Cause quite frankly, Amy doesn't have any other choice.)
Team Will (Sorry Jem, I sure love you, but Tessa and Will have that kind of dysfunctional relationship that I can really sink my teeth into.)
Team Fang (Dylan is nothing but a robot jiggly-puff.)
Team Sam Temple (C'mon, Astrid. You're really gonna go off the deep end and leave this handsome boy in your wake? Fine. I'll take him.)
Team Ky (Sorry Xander. Cool name and all, but Ky is the winner.)
Team Alex (After everything he did for Lena? You'd be heartless not to pick him. And so would Lena.)

That's all I can think of for now.
Can you think of any others?
Comment.
Ask anything, question everything.

JOSH JOSH JOSH JOSH JOSH JOSH JOSH! ...and I guess Liam's all right or whatever.

2011-07-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

BEHOLD, WORLD! BASK IN IT'S GLORY!

Yep, we fans asked, and EW totally delivered. Or should I say Lionsgate delivered. Or whoever dyed Josh's hair (it looks AWESOME!)

Anyways, I love love love LOVE this. I am now thoroughly convinced...Josh will make an excellent beyond excellent Peeta, and I was INCREDIBLY STUPID to doubt his utter studliness before.

Yeah, I guess Liam looks good, too. Thing is, I don't like Gale. It has nothing to do with the whole love triangle thing with Katniss--well, maybe a little--I've just never liked his character. Can you say zero character development? Say it with me, now. ZERO CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. And he had PLENTY of time for it.

Anyhoo, back to Josh. Goodness gracious, he looks good. That face, right there, is the perfect touch of smugness, sweetness, and stubbornness mixed with the brooding gaze I've always imagined Peeta to be good at. And can we all applaud Josh's heavy-lifting arms, please? *applauds wildly*

I am so, so very happy with the casting of this movie. Really, I am. We are so lucky to get such talented actors and actresses on board. Who knows? Maybe we'll actually get a movie that is worthy of the book from whence it came. A first (Holes aside.)

PS- Ya'all have got to get over the whole Josh not having blue eyes thing. Seriously. You're like the bloodthirsty PJO fans who wouldn't get over Alexandra Daddario's hair. What you need to focus on now is acting, and plot. Acting I think this movie's got in the bag. Plot, let's pray. *crosses fingers*

AND IT'S ONLY THE BEGINNING...

2011-07-27T10:55:00.001-07:00

You're no stranger to me. Well, I guess you are a stranger TO ME. But I shouldn't be a stranger to you.

You know my YouTube channel? CassJayTuck? Yeah, I'm the one who makes videos of herself ranting about books, amongst other things.

Anyways, I've decided to create a blog. Like, a BLOG blog, not a vlog.

Now let me answer the questions that dance happily around your head.

WHY?

Well, I've got a lot of opinions and reviews and random thoughts and rants that I want to get out there, but videos take a lot of time! Gotta record 'em, edit 'em...it takes a couple hours, unless I'm lazy and do an unedited video, which makes for one long, crappy video.

I would've made myself a personal website to do this--maybe someday--but that costs money I don't have, and all-around seemed too tedious a process, so I went with a social blogging site, where opinions from all over the globe--no matter how unwanted they are--can emerge from the strange depths of anyone's mind. Say, me.

So I'm going to use this for more Random Thoughts, Dear [BLANK]'s, Book Reviews, Rants, etc.

Don't worry, the original CassJayTuck YouTube isn't going anywhere and I will still make videos--I'll post 'em on here, as well-- but this way it's easier for me to unleash ALL my opinions.

That being said, you've been warned.

HOW?

What do you mean, how? I'm just going to write this blog, stupid. It's not hard.

WHO?

Me, stupid. Why are you asking stupid questions, stupid?!

WHAT?

WHAT, what?

WHEN?

Why does that matter to you?

WHERE?

Like I'm gonna tell you...the last thing I need right now is a stalker. A SMART stalker. Who READS.

So, yep. Hello, blogger world, and, in advance, I apologize...for, like, me. I'm a wee bit of a lose cannon. But I think that's what YouTube likes about me.

Anyways, I'm CassJayTuck, Cassidy Tucker, or DJ Money Wizard, as some call me.

This is my blog.

I'm going to go eat toast now.

Later.