I am now hosting this blog myself, and have migrated all my posts over to http://www.swordbeatspaper.com. Follow me there! 🙂
The Last Moon Elf: Chapter 1
This is a novel that took me five years to write and edit. It then sat on my computer, untouched, for another five years. Only a handful of friends and relatives have read it. Now, I’ve decided that it deserves the light of day, because it’s not doing anyone any good just hiding on my hard drive.
I am going to post one chapter to this blog every week until I’ve posted the whole novel. Please tell me your thoughts! The only way for me to get better at writing is to write–and to receive and incorporate feedback.
Here is a link to the full-sized map.
***
In the thick morning mist, she stood as still as possible with a wooden bow clasped in her left hand. Her right hand was gloved, and she drew the string back with her first three fingers. Letting all thought drain out of her mind except for the target, she released the string. The arrow hit the tree where she had aimed with a thunk.
A comforting hand clasped her shoulder. “I think you’re ready for a heavier bow.” Whiskey had worked as the Oak Tree’s bartender since she was little. His hair may have been graying, but his grip was still as firm as ever. “You’ll be quite a woman, knowing to use weapons. That, with your ears and hair, will make you stand out like a rose in a field of daisies.”
“I’d be a nettle. My ears are ugly.” She fingered their pointed tips, sticking out from beneath her long hair. “And I’ve never seen anyone with this hair color. It’s unnatural. Like I’ve said, real red hair is actually somewhat orange, not wine-colored.”
“Nonsense! It’s as natural as that pretty face of yours.” She gave him a sidelong glance and he smiled. “Here, try my bow.” He held it out to her.
“Yours? But it’s so much heavier! I can’t draw the string all the way.”
“You’re much stronger than you used to be. Take it.”
They exchanged bows, and she tested the weight of the heavier one. “I don’t know…” She took an arrow from the quiver on her back, nocked it, and tried pulling the string, but she couldn’t get her hand to her cheek.
“See? I can’t.” She let the string relax.
“Before you give up, I want you to try something. Concentrate on the feeling of courage. Of strength. Close your eyes if you need to.”
“What?”
“Just try it. Believe you can do it. Believe you can pull the string back.”
Deciding there was no reason not to try it, she imagined herself pulling the string back in one smooth motion. She could do it.
This time, when she pulled the string, a strange red glow surrounded her hands, and she had to keep herself from letting go in surprise. She was filled with a sense of strength, and was able to draw the string all the way to her cheek. Yet again, she hit the dead center of her target.
“What was that?” The red light around her hands faded away, and she turned to look at Whiskey. “Was that magic?”
He smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped and looked into the trees behind her. His smile vanished.
Rain turned around. An enormous raven sat in the tree above her, staring. She tried telling herself birds didn’t stare at people, it was just her imagination, but a strange feeling of dread settled over her. The bird didn’t move. Whiskey whispered, “Stay still.”
She did as he said and he nocked an arrow with the bow he carried, pointing it at the raven. It shrieked at him and he barely missed the bird as it flew into the forest. Whiskey swore.
“We better head back to the inn,” he said, taking his bow from her and returning hers. “I’ll be right behind you. Go ahead and take your horse, I’ll walk.”
“But what just happened? Why did you shoot at the raven?”
“Don’t speak of it to anyone. Go on, child, I’ll meet you there.” He walked forward, pulled the arrows out of the trunk of the tree, and handed them to her, all the while keeping his eyes on the raven. She knew when to stop asking him questions, so she put the arrows back in her quiver and turned away.
Pan gave a quiet whinny when she approached, fog interlacing the trees around them. She took her thick cloak off the saddle and secured it around her neck, then slung her bow over her shoulder. After she mounted Pan, they started down the path to the inn at a swift trot.
She pulled the hood of her cloak up to shield her face from the cold. Could she actually have used magic? There were plenty of stories about magic-wielders, but she didn’t think any were true. Until now. A spark of excitement had ignited inside her.
As the inn came into view, she burrowed deeper into her hood. The Oak Tree was the last place she wanted to go. Learning to cook and sew, cleaning and taking care of customers day after day. An endless pit of tedium. She wanted more. Whiskey had gifted her with a bow on her twentieth birthday and since then, she lived for these archery lessons. But women weren’t supposed to waste time with weapons.
She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter as she glimpsed the smoke up ahead against the mist. Her body ached for a long sit in front of the fire, but she knew that she’d be put to work as soon as she went in. As she neared the stables and left the trees behind, she steered her horse around the back to avoid being seen from the inn’s windows. She slipped off the saddle and tiptoed around the stables to the entrance.
The building was small, capable of holding at most six horses. Hay littered the floor and gray, foggy light shone through the small windows near the roof. Finding no one around, she went back to Pan and hurried him into the proper stall. She made sure he was left as she found him and took the bow and quiver in her hands.
She turned around to leave the stables and jumped at the sight of Damien, the stableman, his skinny body slouched in the corner on a pile of hay. Shoulder-length sleek black hair surrounded his gaunt face. His eyes narrowed. “They’re looking for you,” he said. “You can’t get away. They’ll get you, mark my words, they will.” His tone of voice sent shivers up her spine, just as the raven had. He was known as a strange man, but never this strange. He stood up and grasped a nearby stall door with his bony fingers. “Go on. Run to your mother and father. They won’t save you.” A strange fear gripped her throat, but she wouldn’t let him see it. She gave him a quick look of annoyance, pulled her hood back, whipped her long hair in his direction, and walked toward the inn’s back door without a second glance.
The door creaked as she entered and closed it behind her. Her stomach growled at the smell of her mother’s fresh baked bread. She hurried up the stairs and Mimsy, the other woman who worked at the inn, came out of a room looking flustered. Rain hid her bow and quiver behind her back. Mimsy’s bright orange hair was done up in a bun, and little strands had fallen out across her face. She had the real red hair.
“There you are, for goodness sake. I can’t cover for you all morning. Where have you been? ” Mimsy eyed the bow sticking up behind Rain’s back. Rain lowered the bow. “You know you shouldn’t be practicing that.” She emphasized the word “that,” as if just saying “archery” would be committing blasphemy. “It’s just not like you. Ever since your birthday you’ve been acting strange. What’ll you do when they find out?”
“Please. You’re just as bad as Damien,” Rain replied. Mimsy had been employed at the inn as far back as Rain could remember, and they were close enough to be sisters. They were both responsible, hard workers, but Mimsy just couldn’t understand going against the rules for something as “useless” as archery.
“I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.” Leaning in closer, she whispered, “Hurry and come down to the kitchen. Your mother hasn’t been waiting long. Maybe she won’t suspect anything.” Mimsy winked and hurried down the stairs.
***
Rain went to her room down the hall and hid her archery supplies in a concealed space beneath her bed. She threw clothes on that were more suitable for kitchen work and then slowed her pace on the way down the stairs. The tables of the main room were all empty except for one, where two men sat with drinks in their hands. She had seen them before; they had recently become regulars. When they were too drunk to go home, they’d stay the night.
The skinnier man had a carrot-colored mop of hair and curly, uneven stubble along his chin and cheeks. His companion had a hefty paunch and a repulsive stench about him. As she walked by, the skinny man made a motion to grab her skirt. She sidestepped his gesture and glanced at the two men and their empty ale mugs. They were customers, so she held her tongue before she got herself in trouble.
“Lovely mornin’ in the Afton Hills isn’t it, darlin’?” he slurred.
“If you like the rain.”
She started walking toward the kitchen to help her mother, but before she could leave, the men repeated what she had said with raucous laughter.
“If I like Rain? I like Rain just fine, sweetcakes,” the bigger man said. “That is your name, right? Rain?”
She glared at him.
“By the way,” he continued, “how did you get your hair that color? Looks like you got your head in a jar of raspberries.” He exploded into laughter again, elbowing his friend. “Good one wasn’t it?”
The skinny man just smiled and made a quick movement under the table.
“Ow! What’d ya do that for?” The bigger man lifted his booted foot off the ground to massage it.
“Don’t touch me,” the thin man said. Before Rain could escape, he pushed both of their mugs across the table at her. “More ale, sweetie.” She forced a tight-lipped smile, took the mugs, and ignored any more comments from the two as she headed toward the bar.
The bar was empty except for Whiskey. He wiped down the wooden surface with a rag, and smiled when he looked up and saw Rain. There was no sign of his previous worry about the raven.
“Good morning, Whiskey.” She placed the two mugs on the counter and did her best to make it look like they hadn’t seen each other yet this morning. “More ale for the two men over there,” she said loud enough for them to hear her. She then whispered, “I don’t suppose you could fix something stronger, to knock them out?”
He laughed, full-bellied and deep. “No, I can’t. But I can take them the drinks myself. Perhaps they’ll drink enough to pass out.” He winked and then started to fill the mugs behind the bar. “Why don’t you go ahead to the kitchen? Your mother’s waiting.”
“Right.”
She walked around the bar and through the kitchen entryway. Her mother stood kneading a loaf of bread with her floured arms. Bags of sugar and flour sat open on the counter, and measuring spoons and other baking ingredients lay scattered about the room.
“Rain dear, there you are. Come and take these loaves, won’t you?” The familiar smell of the kitchen was intense with baking, and right away it loosened the knot in her stomach. “Quite nice of you to be helping Whiskey out so early in the morning with… what was it? Checking Pan’s horseshoes?”
Rain smiled and nodded. She hid her guilt by taking the wooden baking paddle and placing the loaves in the oven.
“You know, love,” her mother continued as she prepared the next batch of bread, “the fair is coming up next week. Does your dress need mending?” She smiled and paused in her kneading. “All those lovely young suitors.”
Rain, in the middle of pulling out a perfect loaf from the oven, almost let it slide onto the floor. She made sure her mother hadn’t seen it and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
“It’s fine, mother.”
Rain’s stomach was in knots again. She hated public outings, hated how she stood out so much. None of the other young women were quite as tall, and none had her deep red hair. Some people even noticed her ears were a little too pointed. All the men were petty slobs like the customers she’d just encountered, only interested in her because she looked different. Because of that, all the women were either jealous of her or found her strange. The attention was difficult to handle, and tried her best to avoid it. She wasn’t even interested in any of the men. The only thing this fair would bring was more humiliation.
She took a loaf of bread and sliced it, letting out some of her anger with the kitchen knife. As she did so, her father came inside from his morning business, which usually involved smoking his pipe. He was a gentle giant, rarely using his size to intimidate others.
He trooped into the kitchen and took a whiff of the freshly cut loaf of bread in front of Rain. “What’s going on here, ladies? Those loaves won’t get themselves out of the oven.” Rain smiled, knowing the minute she turned away, he’d snatch a piece from behind her back. He winked at her, but the smile drained from his face at a look from his wife.
“Fergus,” she said, “The kitchen is for the women.” She raised her dough-covered wooden spoon at his face and looked as if she were going to smack him with it.
“Alright, Celena.” He backed away from her makeshift weapon. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He kissed Rain on the top of her head. “Good morning, daughter.” He sighed and left the kitchen.
“Well. Your father’s right, the bread won’t bake itself. We’ll slice them later. Take those loaves out of the oven and help me start the next batch. With weather like this, we’ll probably get a good number of customers, and soon.” The bread was famous, and quite a few regulars came in every day for a slice of Celena’s hot baked goods. She had a way with food.
Rain took the bread out of the oven, hoping it hadn’t burnt during their conversation, and was relieved to find it just slightly crispier than usual on the bottom. She wanted to follow her parents’ plans for her, but she knew she wouldn’t be happy with the life they envisioned. Ever since she’d started archery, all she wanted to do was feel the bow in her fingers, hear the whistling of the arrow through the air, and the feel the satisfaction of making her target.
***
The common room filled in no time at all. Soon Rain was whisked out of the kitchen to help serve the guests hot barley soup, fresh bread, and ale. As her mother had predicted, more customers than usual had come this morning. In passing, she saw through the window that the fog had cleared but instead of sunshine, dark clouds had rolled in. The rain would come soon, and there was no better place to be on a day like this than the Oak Tree’s common room, warming by the large hearth. When most of the customers were served, she asked Mimsy to take over for a short time, and then took a piece of bread and a small bowl of soup for herself. She sat at the end of the bar and eavesdropped on the conversation between two men a few seats away.
“I learned of it just yesterday,” a short, balding man said. His pudgy frame and fine clothes named him a merchant.
“But that’s impossible.” The thinner man was Dramon, who came most every day to talk with Whiskey and exchange news. “How could that happen?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I heard all the buildings were abandoned. Many of the houses were torn apart. The place was a right mess.”
Dramon frowned at his mug and then looked back at the merchant. “Was everyone… killed?” he whispered. Rain nearly choked on her bite of soup-soaked bread.
“No bodies, though I did hear a few places had been bloodied up.” Rain put down her spoon, losing her appetite. Whiskey had also been eavesdropping, and she shared a surprised glance with him. The fear was back in his eyes, and it made her more nervous than ever.
Rain jumped at a loud roll of thunder. She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. Storms in autumn were common enough, certainly nothing to be scared of. Whiskey stared at the merchant in silence.
Dramon looked as afraid as she felt. “That town is close to the Fangs! What if something came from across the mountains?”
The merchant regained his composure and shook his head. “Impossible. Nothing’s north of the mountains except trees and wild animals. But you never know. Strange things are happening these days.”
Whiskey leaned toward the men and whispered. “That is dangerous talk. I wouldn’t be spreading rumors like that unless you saw it with your own eyes.”
The merchant raised his voice in protest, nearly shouting. “It’s true! The man I heard it from is the most trustworthy man I know.” The tables near the bar quieted. At a stern look from the barman, the merchant let it go, and the room regained its buzz of activity.
Rain ate the rest of her soup at the bar in strained silence. Everyone knew the Fangs of Grunae were the tallest, fiercest mountains in Graemar. Most people just referred to them as “the Fangs.” Nobody knew what was on the other side of them; the gates through the Pass of Hearn had stayed closed for decades. There were many stories, but they were just that. Stories.
Another clap of thunder roared over the inn, and a strong hand gripped her shoulder. She jumped and almost dropped her empty bowl when she realized it was her father.
“Sorry to scare you. It’s nasty out there, isn’t it? Your mother wanted you to come back and help with dishes and to make beef stew. We’re almost out of soup.” Fergus put the rest of a large piece of bread in his mouth and grunted with pleasure.
“I know, father, I was just heading that way.” She started off to the kitchen, now hearing the pouring rain on the window. As she walked, she took another glance at Whiskey behind the bar, and saw him frowning at her with a distant look, as if recalling an old memory.
***
The storm continued to rage as the day wore on, and many of the customers coming in were soaked. The afternoon’s crowd had dwindled to some townsfolk staying out of the weather, a few travelers, and the occasional merchant. Dramon had decided to stay at the bar, but his mug sat empty next to him. Rain sat at the opposite end of the bar, staring out a window to her right. It wasn’t even twilight yet, but it was as dark as the middle of the night.
She had managed to keep the weather and the morning’s events out of her head with the crowded common room, but now that business was slowing down, worry creased her forehead.
“What’s wrong, Rain?” Whiskey asked. Lightning flashed in the window, and Rain’s stomach made a nervous flip.
“Why is it so dark?” She had other questions, about the raven and the merchant’s story, but she sensed Whiskey wouldn’t talk about them in such a public place.
“It’s just a particularly nasty storm, that’s all,” he said as he looked out the window, but his expression told her he didn’t believe it himself. “I have just the thing,” he smiled, and walked into the kitchen. He immediately backed out, followed by Celena, waving her soup spoon this time. “I was just going to get Rain a fresh sweet bun to cheer her up—”
“They’re not finished,” her mother said, emphasizing syllables with her spoon. “Rain, maybe you’d like to help me? It could get your mind off things.”
Rain nodded, thinking it wasn’t going to work, but knowing better than to refuse to help. She followed Celena into the kitchen and grabbed a large portion of dough, forcefully spreading it out over the flour-covered counter. As lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, she pushed harder at the dough and tried to forget her fear.
***
A lightning bolt flashed in the sky and a loud boom of thunder rattled the doors and windows. The few people that were left in the afternoon lull grew even quieter. A sound like wood splintering into tiny fragments came from the entrance to the inn, followed by startled shouts and gasps from the customers. Celena started to leave the kitchen to see what had happened, but Fergus came running in from the back door and held out a hand to stop her.
“You stay there, I’ll handle this,” he said, a worried frown on his face.
Rain dropped her dough and rushed to stand behind her mother, drawing a sharp breath when she saw the source of the crash. The sturdy oak front door had been blasted to pieces, leaving the frame splintered and cracked. Another rumble of thunder sounded above the inn, and out of the dark storm came a blinding white light, horizontal to the ground. It shot straight at Fergus as he ran past the tables of frightened people to the open door, long knife in hand. The light struck him before he could dodge it, and he fell to the floor with a cry of anguish.
“No!” Celena screamed, and ran to him. He twitched and writhed, and Celena grabbed his arms, trying to calm him down. Within a few seconds he lay still on the floor. “Fergus, are you alright? Fergus!” Kneeling, she cradled his head in her hands and sobbed.
Rain had never seen her mother sound so frightened. She was too shocked to do anything other than stare at her parents. It was like a dream, unreal, unfolding in front of her.
A soft cackle came from beyond the empty doorframe, and the customers grew quiet. Rain looked into the darkness, where the lightning had come from. A dark figure appeared, her slender frame robed and hooded in black. Under the cowl, she smiled, her two dark eyes inspiring fear in whoever looked upon them.
“It is time to learn from your pitiful mistakes,” the woman said. She walked forward into the inn, exposing the red symbol of a raven sewn onto her robe’s right breast.
Rain glanced around the room and saw that people—including Mimsy, who had been passing through—were sitting or standing, completely still. She tried to say something, but the woman’s eyes fixed on her and she was immobilized by a fear deeper than she had ever felt.
The woman approached Celena, who was still clutching Fergus. Celena held him tighter as the woman knelt and placed a slender hand under her jaw, holding firm. Celena tried to pull her head away, but only succeeded at craning her neck back. Tears ran down her face.
“Why?” Celena croaked. Rain wondered at the courage it must have taken to speak through the fear she surely felt.
“He was simply in my way. I’m sorry if he meant something to you.” The woman’s smile moved no further than her lips. “Now, I think you have something I want. Give it to me. Tell me where it is.”
“Never,” Celena replied, shaking with grief, pain, and the strain of avoiding the woman’s touch. “Never.”
“I’m not so sure you understand. Whether you live or die does not matter to me. I can get the information I want either way. This can be easy, or it can be—” she squeezed her hand under Celena’s jaw and neck, “—hard.” Celena simply stared at her, a defiant look in her eyes. “Very well then.” The woman let go of Celena’s chin and held out her other palm, facing Celena. The air around them seemed to spark and fizzle. A loud boom sounded and bright light shot out from her palm, striking Celena full in the chest.
Before Rain could try to open her mouth, a gasp came from the dark-robed woman and she fell to her knees, staring at her chest, where a long knife protruded from her body. Behind the woman, Whiskey stood panting, eyes filled with rage.
A drop of blood slid down the corner of the woman’s mouth. “You haven’t won,” she whispered. “Myrna will have her revenge…” Her eyes glazed over and she slumped forward onto the ground.
Book Review: The Design of Everyday Things, by Donald Norman
Have you ever pushed on a door when it was supposed to be pulled? Or forgot to save your work on a document? Or had trouble using a new phone or app? We tend to blame ourselves when these things happen, but we shouldn’t. They’re problems with design.
The Design of Everyday Things is an excellent primer on how design decisions should be made, and why products tend to deviate from ideal designs. It’s essential for designers, and very helpful for engineers who often have to–or want to–take on design themselves. It’s actually an interesting read for anyone who wants to understand why products are made the way they are.
My boyfriend recommended it to me since I’m interested in learning more about the field of user experience (UX) design and human-computer interaction (HCI). His college class on HCI used this book as an introduction to the field, and given its anecdotal style, it’s actually quite an interesting and engaging read. Don’t be turned off by its focus on everyday objects, or the fact that it was published in 1988; the lessons you learn in this book can be applied to any product, and that’s why Norman wrote it this way. It’s still relevant today.
There were a few points that Norman made that stood out to me. Given what I’ve seen in software development, I found this passage to be especially true about the design process:
“Most designers live in a world where the gulf of evaluation is infinite. True, we often know the product too well to envision how people will use it, yet we are separated from the end users by multiple layers of corporate bureaucracy, marketing, customer services, etc. These people believe they know what customers want and feedback from the real world is limited by filters they impose. If you accept the problem definition (product requirements) from these outside sources without personal investigation you will design an inferior product regardless of your best intentions. If this initial hurdle is overcome you are only halfway home. The best design ideas are often ruined by the development-manufacturing process that takes place when they leave the design studio. What this really points out is that the process by which we design is flawed, probably more so than our conception of how to create quality designs.” [p.158]
In software, as in many industries, coming up with a design is essentially a game of telephone. One person (perhaps a product manager) directly talks to the customer, who tells someone what the customer said. This message gets passed down the line to engineering leads, who then decide to either come up with a design themselves, or pass this message along one more time to a designer or to their team of engineers. There are so many potential points of failure, even if the design is excellent. How do the designers or engineers know that what they’re hearing is exactly what the customer wanted? They don’t. They have to trust that the message got passed along accurately. Communication is key here, and while some places attempt to keep the engineers, designers, and product managers talking together, some don’t, or some don’t do it well enough.
Another point in this book that spoke to me was about how quickly technology is advancing, and how that impacts us in how we use everyday things:
“Don’t these so-called advances also cause us to lose valuable mental skills? Each technological advance that provides a mental aid also brings along critics who decry the loss of the human skill that has been made less valuable. Fine, I say: if the skill is easily automated, it wasn’t essential.
I prefer to remember things by writing them on a pad of paper rather than spending hours of study on the art of memory. I prefer using a pocket calculator to spending hours of pencil pushing and grinding, usually only to make an arithmetic mistake and not discover it until after the harm has been done. I prefer prerecorded music to no music, even if I risk becoming complacent about the power and beauty of the rare performance. And I prefer writing on a text editor or word processor so that I can concentrate on the ideas and the style, not on making marks on the paper. Then I can go back later and correct ideas, redo the grammar. And with the aid of my all-important spelling correction program, I can be confident of my presentation.
Do I fear that I will lose my ability to spell as a result of overreliance on this technological crutch? What ability? Actually, my spelling is improving through the use of this spelling corrector that continually points out my errors and suggests the correction, but won’t make a change unless I approve. It is certainly a lot more patient than my teachers used to be. And it is always there when I need it, day or night. So I get continual feedback about my errors, plus useful advice. My typing does seem to be deteriorating because I can now type even more sloppily, confident that my mistakes will be detected and corrected.
In general, I welcome any technological advance that reduces my need for mental work but still gives me the control and enjoyment of the task. That way I can exert my mental efforts on the core of the task, the thing to be remembered, the purpose of the arithmetic or the music. I want to use my mental powers for the important things, not fritter them away on the mechanics.” [p.193]
When people worry about what technological advances are doing to our society, this argument explains my viewpoint exactly. These days we may not be spending as much time on the fine details of spelling or typing or doing mathematics by hand, but this frees us up to spend our time on other pursuits that may advance our knowledge of the world. Pursuits that would otherwise not be possible.
Another interesting anecdote from this book answers the question of why we still have “querty” keyboards. It’s not an ideal layout; why do we still use it on the majority of keyboards? The more efficient Dvorak layout has been proven to allow for about 10 percent faster typing. Initially, the “querty” layout was chosen for mechanical reasons. Around the time of this layout’s development, keyboards became popular, and it was good enough that nearly all manufacturers used it as their layout. Now, for the average keyboard user, changing your layout and having to re-learn how to type is too much effort for only a 10 percent improvement in typing speed. It’s an interesting example of why ideal designs don’t always end up being the most popular.
I don’t often read nonfiction, but since I could relate to the content of this book so well, I enjoyed it. It’s also a lot more interesting than a typical textbook because of its anecdotal style. I highly recommend giving it a read if this sort of content interests you. However, if you take nothing else from this review, take this: If you encounter a poorly designed product, don’t blame yourself. Tell the company that created it about the problem, and be descriptive. They’re listening.
Clothes Shopping!
I got a chance to go clothes shopping with a friend last week–in person this time! Since the last Stitch Fix I got was disappointing, I had a hankering for new clothes. I also had some good ideas for what I wanted, since I’ve been pinning things on my fashion pinterest board a lot lately. I chose five items for myself and did my own kind of Stitch Fix, which I’m very happy with. Jeans and stripes FTW!
Jean Shirt – Gap
I really like the casual “working” kind of look that a chambray or jean shirt like this has. Since it’s jean-colored material, I can almost treat it like a neutral color. It can go with graphic tees quite well, which is great since I have so many! And, thankfully I have some black stretch jeans that look good with it. I’m not a fan of the blue-jeans-on-blue-jeans look (just tacky), or the black leggings look (too tight around the bum…).
Jean Vest – Express
This was probably the item I was unsure about the most, since it’s a very bold “grunge” style, but I’ve wanted to try pulling off the look for a while now. When I brought it home, I was happy to see it worked pretty well under my gray (pictured) and black (not pictured) zipped hoodies. It also works well over most t-shirts and tank tops, so it’s a pretty great summer look too! I’m quite happy with it.
Green “Cargo” Stretch Jeans – Express
These are really comfy. It may be hard to tell in the picture, but they have a pattern just above the knees that give it more of a cargo look, without adding any extra pockets. I don’t have any pants this color, and I like the style. I figured I have a few tops that could work with it–maybe even the new jean shirts–so I went for it!
Striped Tank – Gap (see above)
This is just one of those basics that I felt like I didn’t have enough of. I love Gap’s plain ribbed tank tops, but I didn’t have any striped ones of the same cut, so I picked this one. It just so happened to go really well with the green pants! Great for the end of summer, and good for layering in the fall too.
Striped V-Neck Shirt – Gap
I saw this on a mannequin and it immediately stood out to me. I love blue, I love stripes, and I’m getting more into v-neck tees these days, so I couldn’t help myself. My goal lately is to get more casual shirts that aren’t just graphic tees, since I’m a bit tired of wearing those every day. This shirt fits the bill!
Total spent: $245.65
For everything but the striped shirts from Gap, I had to set the clothing aside and walk around the mall for a bit to be sure I wanted them–good advice from my friend. But, I found myself needing to go back and get the things I left! I feel like I did reasonably well for the cost. I’m pretty sure a full Stitch Fix box would cost around this much in total.
Needless to say, I won’t be doing another Stitch Fix right away. I’ve spent enough on clothes lately! And, with this shopping trip, I got everything I’ve been thinking about asking for from Stitch Fix. I’ve now got a pretty solid start to a fall wardrobe, enough to not shop for a while.
One update on Stitch Fix: I decided to complain about my last disappointing fix, and they suggested a few things for me to try next time to get a better outcome. Then, they gave me $20 to my account, to waive my next fee! So I think I will try them again, it just won’t be for a while.
If you’re interested in trying Stitch Fix, here’s my referral link!
Stitch Fix #2
For an explanation of what this service is, see my first post. And if you’re interested in the service, use my referral link!
This second Stitch Fix box was not my style. Here’s my fashion pinterest board for reference. I ended up with a different stylist, which maybe meant she either didn’t read all my feedback from before, or just didn’t understand my style well enough. Kind of a let down. These were the contents, from the top:
Quebec Embroidered Peasant Top
This was unfortunately not my style at all. Too billowy and sheer, and I’m not a fan of the chiffon style of fabric. I guess my stylist didn’t see that comment in my feedback from the last shipment?
Verdict: Return.
Hobson Scoop Neck Blouse
I really like the pattern on this one, so I really wanted to like the shirt, but again it’s chiffon. Also a little bit too loose to wear without a tank top underneath, especially around the underarms. Otherwise the length did feel right.
Verdict: Return.
Haiden Distressed Straight Leg Jean
I wore these in most of the pictures, they went pretty well with the shirts she sent. These were cute, but unfortunately about an inch or two too big around my waist. You can’t really tell in the pictures, but I’m sure I’d be pulling them up all day long! I also feel like the ripped sections felt too forced, it’s like they tried to make preppy jeans look distressed. I’d rather the patches be less square, at least, and I’d like to be able to roll the hem down all the way (they’re stitched in place).
Verdict: Return.
Stanyan V-Neck Knit Top
This one was cotton-y fabric and pretty comfy overall. Style-wise, I mostly didn’t like the cinched fabric on the back of the shirt, it’s not my kind of thing. I’m one for plain, straight-cut shirts! Bottom line though is that it felt too big. I wanted it to fit a bit tighter. Starting to think I should ask for a small instead of a medium shirt size!
Verdict: Return.
Emily Lightweight Chevron Infinity Scarf
This was the one thing I really liked in this fix. I wore it with a plan black v-neck shirt and I think it looks great! Good for this end-of-summer time. Unfortunately I don’t have a lot of shirts it would go well with since most of mine have patterns or prints that don’t necessarily match, but I’ll just have to experiment and maybe find some more. 🙂
Verdict: Keep.
Total spent after returning clothing: $28
I’m starting to wonder if they don’t carry a lot of stuff that’s my style. From other reviews I see online like mine, and from pinterest, it seems like they cater better to the preppy or classic look. Either that or they don’t read feedback as thoroughly as they say. I will probably give it another go in a month or two, but I don’t have as high hopes and may not do it again if it’s another let down.
At the very least, ordering from Stitch Fix has made me think more about what I like to wear. It’s given me the courage to ask for clothes that I wish I was cool enough to wear–because really, I am cool enough. 😀 Now, I might just have to go out and find those things in stores myself…
Stitch Fix #1
These days I’ve been too busy to go clothes shopping. Even when I do have time to go shopping, I’d rather do other things (like binge on The Witcher). I’m not the type to wear much makeup or spend a long time getting ready in the morning. As a software engineer, my workplace is very casual. Most mornings I just throw on a t-shirt, jeans, and a hoodie, and I’m good to go. But I’ve been getting bored with the same old stuff every day and wanted to try some new things.
In comes Stitch Fix. I heard about the service from a coworker. These popular “monthly box” type companies are popping up everywhere. I’ve seen ones for beer, coffee, international snack food, art supplies, you name it. This one in particular spoke to me.
However often you choose, they will send you a box containing 5 pieces of clothing. You will be assigned a personal stylist, and they will learn your style from a long quiz you fill out when you sign up, as well as any Pinterest boards you may have. Also, you can send a note to your stylist before every “fix”, telling them the kinds of things you want in your next fix.
Here’s the pinterest board I sent them, which I’ll keep updating. It was fun to set it up, I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time thinking about what I like to wear. Yay for spending hours on Tumblr and Pinterest! 😛
For my first fix, I told my stylist to send tees, tanks, and shorts since summer is still going strong here, and I don’t have a great selection in my closet other than graphic tees. I also suggested flannel/plaid (for some reason I’m craving it even though it’s summer). These were the contents:
Fisher Collared Top
This was a bit different from the tank tops I have in my closet. I don’t have any with collars, or in this particular cut. Once I tried it on though, I loved it! It’s just different enough that it’s fun, and similar enough to my style that it’s comfortable.
Verdict: Keep.
Jovani Twill Jacket
I have always loved jackets like this, but haven’t ever found the perfect one for me. This one felt like it was almost on the baggy side, but it was super comfortable. It seemed great for layering with hoodies in the fall.
Verdict: Keep.
Granada Crochet Back Panel Top
This one didn’t really match my style. After trying this it on, I realized I’m not a big fan of chiffon fabric. The cut was also on the flowy side, which I don’t really like. If it were a tighter fit and a more cottony fabric, I probably would have liked it.
Verdict: Return.
Sam Hi-Lo Short Sleeve Tee
The fabric on this was was really soft and comfortable, but I wasn’t in love with the cut. A little too loose and too asymmetrical from front to back.
Verdict: Return.
Cindie Linen Short
This one just flat out didn’t fit me. For some reason the waist size ended up a couple inches too big, even though the shorts did say they were the right size. Probably the brand runs a bit big or something. I also think I would have preferred shorter shorts. Did like the color though!
Verdict: Return.
Total spent after returning clothing: $150.
It was fun to get my first fix, and I found a couple of great things, so I’m going to keep going with this! Right now my schedule is set to about once a month. If you’re interested in trying it out, why not use my referral link? 🙂
Catching My Excuses
I’ve been on a bit of a writing hiatus. Okay, more than a bit. I haven’t written anything other than technical docs at work and the occasional small Facebook post for at least six months, and really it’s been a lot longer since I wrote regularly. I’ve been asking myself why, and for a while I felt like writing was so much of a chore and a guilt-trip that I had been mistaken in my young aspirations to write. That I’m not capable of writing anything good, and that the encouragement I got from other people had just been them projecting their ideas on me.
I always thought that I was above this kind of self-doubt, especially about writing. In high school, I decided I was going to be that person that actually followed through with their writing ideas and got something out into the world. In recent years I’ve felt like I’ve let myself down, since I haven’t continued writing much since then. I’ve been confused whether it’s my interests changing, or me falling into that too-easy trap of making excuses.
Slowly I’ve become less hard on myself about it all. I’m in the beginning of my professional career, in the middle of my twenties, and still figuring out what I want out of life. Over time, I’ve found that I’ve missed the overwhelming glee that comes with creating new stories, and I even wrote down a story idea the other day on the bus home from work. But it’s just been sitting on my phone.
This morning, a friend of mine commented on an old blog post I wrote a couple years ago when I was having a hard time handling critique on my writing. She was glad for me that I was getting back into writing, and encouraged me to keep going. When I first read the comment, I found myself making the excuse that it wasn’t relevant anymore, that it was a shame I’d let writing go for so long. But, I caught myself. Why not make it true? Why not get into writing again?
My second excuse, and probably every creative person’s favorite: Do I really have time? I have a busy life, people I want to spend time with, and other hobbies that I don’t want to let go of! I don’t have time to write. Again, I caught myself. I know there are people that fit writing in wherever they can, even if it’s fifteen minutes every other day. Why can’t I do that? I don’t even have kids to take care of. I have a fair amount of spare time that is not dictated by anyone else.
Then my last line of defense: I don’t want to give up any time doing something fun for something less fun. If I get back into writing, I want to be sure that I’ll enjoy it. I am tired of getting back into it, only to be overcome with self-doubt or boredom and then stop again.
And here’s the part of my friend’s comment on my blog post that hit home the most: move on and try writing something else for a while. I had even had this same thought a while back when I wrote that story idea on the bus. I’d realized I didn’t like where the story I was planning was going, and that perhaps if I backtracked, I could fall in love with it again. There is no rule saying that you have to finish the first story idea you think up. In my mind, I went back to that first experience that sparked an idea, of a dim, quiet subway station in Scotland, train approaching with headlight-eyes, breaking like a wailing ghost, and thought of a possibly better–and very different–direction for the story.
Thinking of writing a novel again still daunts me, so my plan is to try out a short story and see where it goes. In the past I’ve been afraid of short stories, thinking if I wanted to write sci-fi or fantasy that it wouldn’t be enough “story” to be interesting. But deep down, I know that’s not true, from the myriad of amazing short stories I’ve read by even my favorite authors. I want to try it.
And finally, I want to remember that I’m doing this for myself. Only for myself. If I focus on the idea of getting my writing out into the world, then I fall in that rabbit hole of asking, what do people want to read? Will they like what I’ve written? Then my inner critic starts hating everything I write, and I don’t even have the chance to write crappy stories in order to get better. I just stop. I don’t want that to happen this time.
So, I’m going to go write a crappy story about a train, and enjoy every bit of it.
My Struggle with Work-Life Balance
I’ve been learning a lot over the past year about what it means to work as a software engineer. What “work-life balance” means to me–and how difficult it is to get there–is my current biggest challenge. I have a great job and a boyfriend that I love, but what does that leave time for? My introverted nature means that most of my social life involves spending time with my boyfriend and my cat, and the occasional excursion to visit my friends, most of whom live at least a little far away.
Spending time with these people means I get to do some of my hobbies: playing video games and tabletop games, watching movies and tv shows, and going hiking and biking. This does not leave me a lot of time for those hobbies I need to do on my own: reading and writing. The main time I have for reading is on my lunch break, and hopefully I will get more time after I switch back to taking the bus to work later this summer. I will occasionally go to a cafe with my boyfriend on one of our “coffee shop dates” where we work on our own personal projects, and this gives me time to write.
Sometimes though, even though I make it all the way to the coffee shop, all I feel like doing is reading. I did this last weekend and started reading the Naruto manga from the beginning, cause I hadn’t read manga in a while (mangapanda.com is awesome, by the way). I thoroughly enjoyed my day and don’t regret it. In the back of my mind though, I feel like I am neglecting my writing–but whether this is my inner critic talking or whether I do actually want to write more often, I don’t know. Lately it’s felt like a chore whenever I don’t have a bit of inspiration or when I feel like doing something else, and this makes me feel like a failure. What kind of writer am I if I can’t push myself through the imaginary “writer’s block”?
My job tires me out. When I get home, all I want to do is chill out, but there’s laundry and dishes and a cat to take care of. When I have housework-free time, it’s most often taken up by things I feel like doing in the moment, which is not often writing. Today is one of those rare days when I feel like it, and it’s not a chore.
As I venture into the adult world, I feel like my priorities are shifting. It’s really hard to let go of what feels like my childhood fantasy of becoming some great, famous writer. I know I don’t have the bandwidth right now to work on that dream to the level I would need to accomplish it. Maybe someday I will be able to. Bit by bit, I know I will keep writing, because I keep coming back to it as my favorite medium for self-expression. Having big dreams is what keeps me going, and I know that deep down I would be devastated if I ever completely gave up those dreams.
Given all of this, I need to find a way to be okay with the minimal time I have available.
Writing Again
This past week, I’ve felt the need to have something I focus on in my spare time. I may not have a lot of spare time these days, but I don’t have nothing, and I’m happiest when I spend that amount of time doing something fulfilling. I thought about getting into a video game I played a few years ago, and I even tried it for a few days, but I quickly remembered the reasons I put it down and decided against it. I’ve felt sad that I haven’t managed to do much writing these past couple months, and I figured, why not try to channel this new-found energy I have into writing again?
I’ve decided to put aside my novel for a while, and start on this new story that’s been nagging me to be written. Don’t know if it’s a short story or a novel yet. If it’s a novel, probably not a series. I figured, though, that the first thing I should do before I get too far with it is re-read those critiques I posted about last time and try to apply any good writing tips to this new story.
The time away really helped. One of the two critiques (#1, referring to my previous post) was the most helpful, giving me a lot of good advice. The main points seem to be that I needed more well-defined characters, settings, and more attention to staging detail–they suggested drawing a map of the area for use when you write a scene, to get locations of things right. It’s not that I didn’t have any of it, I just needed more of it. They pointed out where I did well, so I get an idea of how to do it right. It’s just a rougher draft than I thought. Most of the benefit would be from planning before actually writing… so that’s what I’m doing, with a new story. Why work on an old story that doesn’t excite you anymore?
This whole process has given me so much energy to write and get this story out that I’ve fit it into my spare time any way I can. Maybe half an hour to an hour a day (and longer this weekend). Not sure how long it’ll last, but I’m gonna try my best to keep it going. I’m positive that this perfect setting and tone in my head for this story won’t be as perfect once it’s on paper, but I can’t stand not trying to get it out.
One great idea I’ve had is to keep a Pinterest board of images that inspire me, and it’s really helped get me in the right frame of mind for this story. Take a look here, if you’re interested: http://pinterest.com/paperbackdragon/new-story-inspiration/.
The Problem With Critics
In February this year, I entered my book in a writing contest. I sent in two copies of the first 30 pages and a 1-page synopsis. The best part about it was that I’d get two critiques, no matter if I ended up a finalist or not. I hadn’t had an editor (let alone two) with no relation to me take a look at my work and give me honest advice before, and it was a great opportunity.
I found out sometime last week by email that I wasn’t a finalist. I was a little let down, but not heartbroken. There were 900 entrants, and they had to pick 10 finalists for each of 12 categories (two from each category actually win money and a chance to chat with agents and editors at a conference). I can’t imagine having to choose between so many people. I didn’t let it bother me. They said the critiques would be mailed out the following week, and would be scored out of 50.
The critiques were in the mail today. Interestingly, so was the next issue of the New Yorker, which happens to be entirely fiction this time. Today I also received two old issues of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction from a coworker as a suggestion of a place I could submit short stories to if I wished. Turned out to be a day to face where I wanted to go as a writer.
To be blunt, the results were not what I was hoping for. Critics can be harsh, it’s true, and not all of them are good at giving both negative and positive feedback. But these ones are honest, and not affected by their relationship to me. They weren’t even shown my name when they critiqued it (and I wasn’t shown theirs). They likely didn’t see each other’s critiques either.
Both of them are of the opinion that it needed a rewrite. The whole thing. Their overall reasons appear very different. Critic #1 (who gave me a 31/50) says I need to either change my story somehow so that it stands out from the rest of the fantasy genre, or make the writing much stronger (many suggestions are given for this), but says it cannot succeed as is. Critic #2 (who gave me a 22/50) says my main problems are that I rely too much on dialogue to carry the story, and that the world I’ve created does not have enough of a fantasy setting.
From the time that I’ve spent in critique groups, I know that the best way to really get use of critiques is to notice where multiple critiques all point out the same issue–even if they suggest different ways to fix it. The important thing is to see where they end up agreeing on a problem. If you understand what they mean, you can fix it in the best way for you, rather than them. It’s going to take a lot of re-reads and dissections to find that here. I’ve got a full 6-7 pages from each critic. Of course, first I need the stomach to sit down and read it carefully.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. Do an entire fresh rewrite? Ignore the critics and submit to agents anyway? Take a break (not that I’ve spent a lot of time in the past few years working on it) and write something else? Maybe short stories for a change, if I can figure out how to write them? How much of what they’re saying is opinion, and how much should I listen to? Do I really want to continue with this story? And, how much longer is it going to take me to do a rewrite now that I have a full-time job?
This is why I like science and computers; there’s a right answer and a wrong answer, and no in-between. I’m so grateful that I enjoy my day job and that I’m good at it.
I love it to pieces, but writing is hard.
swordBeatsPaper 