Category: Writing

Posted in fanfiction, fiction, imagination, Simple Plan, Writing

Jars of Clay – Simple Plan Fanfiction – Chapter One

Posted on by marlytheadoptee

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The ending is not the beginning repeating

Los Angeles
9th May 2014

Pierre called me. A first in a million years. I know. Exaggeration, but seriously. It’s not like we really had much to talk about in the last…lifetime. Not really. Not after all the lies. The betrayal. The hurt. Which, to be fair, wasn’t my fault. Nor his. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. Well, not anyone that actually mattered.

David once said to me that it was the industry that was the problem. Profound for someone who had difficulty pinning things down at the best of times. Though at the same time not surprising, since he is a creative at heart. Pierre is too. Chuck on the other hand is a more logical person and that’s why he and Pierre clashed at the moments that counted. Seb and Jeff? Well, they were, are, a mix. And, oddly they were the least effected. Or, apparently so.

Anyway… Pierre called me. Wanting to talk. About an idea he had. Oh, and the fact that it was his birthday and he wanted to catch up.

I’m thirty-five, Pat…and none of us are getting any younger… His words. And, so true. Though sometimes I feel a hundred years old after everything that’s happened.

I guess I’m not making much sense, am I? What am I even talking about? Well, perhaps I should start by saying that this is a story about a band. No. That’s wrong. It’s a story about five young men who thought they were a band. I mean, they were a band. But…it’s complicated.

Oh, and it’s my story too. Though, I’m more a bystander than anything. Pierre would vehemently disagree with that. And so would the fans. They call me the sixth member of Simple Plan. Kind of them…and not something I take lightly.

I see myself more as the person who’s here to tell their story. Makes sense, right? I was their web guy, and merch guy, and videographer, before they went all pro…well, before management pushed me out. I’m not bitter. Many would say I’d be entitled to the emotion. I gather they just didn’t want me looking too closely. Not that they needed to worry about me.

Pierre Bouvier was the crack in the perfect vessel that the Label had created…

* * *

I was telling you Pierre called me, and I never did get to the point, did I? Well, we talked about banal things, as you do. And then Pierre dropped the bombshell.

Chuck and I are getting together to write songs.

I’m still trying to get my head around that.

The traffic right now is going slow as I sit here on the highway. However, it’s still going faster than my brain. I’m on my way to Pierre’s to find out what the Hell is going on. I don’t even want to hazard a guess… it’s too shocking if I’m going to be completely honest about it.

My phone buzzed at me. Shifting gears and checking my Bluetooth connection, I answered with a grunt.

“Where are you?” Pierre.

“Stuck in traffic, dude.” I grimaced at the long line of cars ahead of me, no end in sight. “I’ll be there when I can…”

“Get some beer; David just rocked up in a complete mess.” Pierre sounded distracted, which wouldn’t be surprising if what he said was true.

“David’s in L.A.?” I said and shook my head, squeezing the steering wheel.

“Yeah. He lives here, remember?”

I scratched my cheek as I finally passed the tollbooth. “I didn’t forget. He was away.”

Pierre scoffed and said, “Right. Well, see you soon.” He hung up after that and I heaved a sigh as I continued to wait for the traffic to move.

* * * * *

A million years later… well, again, not really… and I could see the apartments where Pierre lived with his special girl. No, he hasn’t a girlfriend. I’m referring to Delilah his Chihuahua. I sat for a moment in the guest parking chewing over what I was likely to witness. And as I sat there a beat up rental pulled up next to me, and a familiar bald scalp came into view. I blinked then rolled down my window.

“Stinco?”

Jeff halted next to my window and smiled as he said, sounding equally as surprised, “Pat? Did Pierre call you too?”

I nodded as I got out of my car. “He tell you what he’s up to?”

“Yeah, and I don’t get it. But, guess we’ll find out what’s doing, eh?”

Slapping my palms together, I felt like my head was going to fall off my shoulders as I made my way for the entrance.

Pierre was standing there. He must’ve seen us pull into the parking bays.

“Dude, where’s the beer?”

I groaned, shaking my head and slapping him on the shoulder as I walked past him. “Hi to you too, Pierre.”

He half smiled as he tapped his fist to Jeff’s. “Took your time.”

I rolled my eyes as I took the stairs to his floor two at a time; his statement wasn’t even worth a response. And, I really just wanted to get this over with. Whatever this even was.

“And you couldn’t even get the beer.”

Stopping at the top of the stairs, I turned to face him, feeling this sudden wave of anger rush through me. Irrational, I know, but I had just driven for God knew how long to find out what the Hell he was up to and I was in no mood to be treated as if this was some normal visit.

His pupils dilated as he must’ve seen some of what I was feeling flash across my face.

“Fuck you, Bouv. I didn’t come over here to be nagged.” Pierre recoiled at my words, opening his mouth to protest; but I didn’t let him get a word in. “If you want me to stay, you could at least be civil.” I turned and stomped into his apartment, not realising a shocked David was standing just by the door.

I only realised when he was suddenly wrapped around my shoulders and his too loud voice was in my ear.

“Hey, dude! Dude! You’re finally here!”

I smiled as I managed to extricate myself from his arms and turned to face him. David hadn’t changed, much. His hair was longer, though. And he looked older. But, didn’t we all?

“David.” I couldn’t really think of anything to say, so just nodded at him. He didn’t seem fazed, though, grinning at me before spinning on his heels and heading further into the apartment.

I followed him into a spacious living room, dominated by the grand piano that Pierre had purchased in a fit of passion a couple of years earlier. I remembered asking him why he bothered. He just shrugged and said he thought it looked cool…

David plopped himself down on the bench, kicking his feet out.

“Been a long time, man.”

I nodded as I remained standing in the middle of the room. “Yeah, I never did call you.” And I felt bad about it.

“You were hurt as much as the rest of us,” Pierre said as he and Jeff joined us. If that wasn’t the truth, I really don’t know what was. But, I believed I’d moved on from all that.

I shook my head, slowly. “It’s no excuse, though.”

Pierre clapped a hand to my shoulder and said, “Maybe not. But you always come back to us.” My brow furrowed at his words. He gave me a meaningful look as Chuck walked through the door that lead to the kitchen, carrying a case of beer.

“Hey, Pat…a little help here?”

I allowed myself a small chuckle as I went over to relieve him of his load. He heaved a sigh and smiled at me muttering his thanks. I nodded, setting the case down on top of the piano. David raised his eyebrows at me. I ignored him as I snagged a bottle and turned to face Chuck, and Pierre.

The latter was leaning against the large windows, facing away from me, his brows down over his eyes, expression dark.

“You going to talk, Bouv?” I said. His shoulders lifted as his eyes slewed toward me.

“Must think I’m crazy, Pat. After what I said.”

I smirked. “You and Chuck, writing.”

Pierre tilted his chin down. “Oui. You know how things were between us.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. A nervous gesture, I knew. He closed his eyes then said, “We’ve come a long way from the kids we were back then…”

I had to agree with that.

We were too young to know what we really wanted back then.

Too young.

Too naïve…
Posted in fanfiction, fiction, imagination, Simple Plan, Writing

Jars of Clay – Simple Plan FanFiction – Master Post

Posted on by marlytheadoptee

So, I would love to share with you one of my band fictions.  This is one I began writing last year almost a year ago.  I’m only just getting back into it as I’ve had no inspiration.  But, for some reason inspiration struck today.  So, here we go.

~~~~~~~

Jars of Clay

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The band is manufactured and the world doesn’t know it. Pierre Bouvier is beginning to become disillusioned with the charade and cracks are beginning to show.

This story will be recounted by the band’s closest friend and confidant, Patrick Langlois, and will document the rise and fall of one of the most beloved pop punk bands in the world.

For like jars of clay, they were broken, discarded…but Pierre isn’t going to give up on them. He is going to pick up the pieces and put them back together again. To create a beautiful, real, thing.

  1. The ending is not the beginning repeating
Posted in Blogging, my thoughts, personal, Writing

30 Day Blogging Challenge – Day 2

Posted on by marlytheadoptee

How have you changed in the past 2 years?


Taking stock of where I’m at right at this moment, compared to last year, is quite enlightening.  I feel a little more confident and definitely a lot happier and content than I was at the same time in 2013.  And definitely more so than I was at the same time in 2014.
I’ve grown closer to God as well, and my vision of the future, at least as far as the next year is concerned, has a lot more clarity than before.  
Sounds vague, hey?  Well, to put it in a nutshell: I’ve gotten closer to God and am more content than I was two years ago. Because as we all know happiness is fleeting.  True joy is everlasting.  



Posted in Blogging, my thoughts, personal, Writing

30 Day Blogging Chalłenge – Day 1

Posted on by marlytheadoptee
I haven’t blogged in a while, so I figured I would remedy that by starting a 30 day challenge.  So, without further ado… 


Day 1


Weird things you do when you’re alone


This is something I haven’t given much thought to; however, putting my mind to it there are several things that I do that some people may find odd.  
1.  I read books out loud.  I’m currently reading James Dashner’s The Maze Runner and I just read it out loud.  Not to anyone, remember this is something I do when I’m alone.  I remember mum catching me out reading books out loud when I was a teen and she told me to stop because it was silly and that no one reads books out loud.  However, I like doing it for some reason…not sure why?  Perhaps I like hearing myself using different tones of voice depending on how I interpret the writing, or dialogue.   Who knows.
2.  I wander around my apartment.  Not for any particular reason.  I just do.  
3.  This one is connected to number two, sort of.  An extension of it, I guess.  I turn on my iPod, putting my earbuds in and pace around my living room, telling myself stories in my head.  Most of the stories feature the Rebels of Scotland who are my own creation.  But, always to music.  This probably means something.  Maybe I should just bite the bullet and write about The Rebels.  I do know them the best after EP and the rest.
4.  I sometimes stand in the middle of my living room.  Doing nothing.  Just standing there.
5.  I will sometimes sit in front of my laptop after my shower with just my towel wrapped around my waist.
6.  The last thing I do that some may consider weird, and that I know is really a bad habit, is that I will sit and pick the skin on my hands and feet.…and I can waste hours of time doing that…. Without even realising.  It is kind of a problem.  
Posted in imagination, my thoughts, my writing, Writing

Why Do I Write?

Posted on by marlytheadoptee
I fell into writing almost by accident.  It’s not something I gave conscious thought to when I was younger.  Reading a lot probably started me on the creative path, though.  Having stories read to me by my parents were probably also a stimulation for my own growing imagination. I know that I started telling myself stories when I was very young.  A lot of it was, come to think on it, a reaction to life’s situations. 
The very earliest stories I remember making up in my mind were of a German Shepherd dog called Daisy.  She was not an ordinary dog by any stretch.  Daisy was large, with prick-ears.  Her coat was short, thick, tan and black in colour.  However, her most distinctive feature was her tail.  It was broad and flattish like that of an otter; the most striking feature though were the four spikes on the end of it.  Like a Stegosaurus’ tail.  Interesting, you say?
Well, I know she manifested in my mind because I wanted an imaginary friend who could protect me from school bullies.  At around the same time I was reading Jack London’s Call of the Wild and so the main character from the book, ‘Buck’, evolved into Daisy’s brother and companion.  Added to this was the fact that they were talking dogs.  Talking animals were a big thing with me then, and for many years, especially after reading Wind and the Willows, Animals of Farthing Wood, the Brian Jacques Redwall series and others like it. 
Of course, the tales of Daisy and Buck evolved to include, amongst others, a talking Siamese cat called Ming, two unicorns, Moonbeam and Sunbeam, and a talking Malamute.  I even had an ongoing dialogue in my head that included the Phantom of the Opera.  Don’t ask me how that came about… my stories didn’t always make sense. 
Later on, when I started high school, my stories changed to include my high school crush.  And is, I will admit, the catalyst for the still ongoing story that goes through my head today about the Rebels’ of Scotland.  I’ll tell you about them another day – they have a whole history surrounding them.
My writing was always a release for me, in a sense.  I just wanted to get the stories out onto page.  I used to handwrite everything, still have a lot of my notebooks filled with my writing.  But, now I do the majority of my writing on my laptop.  I guess that then made it easier for sharing?  Though initially I only had one audience.  Myself. 
I write first and foremost for myself.  It’s an extension of my stories in my head.  But, when I started writing fan-fiction I started to think that maybe people would like to read the creative ideas I came up with.  And, so now my audience is the wider internet community.  Initially just the Simple Plan fandom and now I want to reach more people.  Though my number one audience is still little old moi. 
Writing for me is a very fluid process.  Sometimes I have no idea what I’m writing until it falls out of my head onto the page.  Stream of conscious writing is something that’s great when I get a brand new idea.  Usually happens at two in the morning, though.  Other times, I have an idea for a story and plan out the characters and the ending before doing anything else.  
But, mostly my stories start with the characters.  They’re not always fully formed when they appear in my mind; but, I know a little about them.  I usually learn more about them as I write, and they always surprise me, as the characters in Shadows Creed did.  This does effect the length of time it takes me to write my stories. 
My longest Simple Plan fan fiction, Adeline’s Choice, took me four years to complete; and the aforementioned Shadows Creed, took over three years.  But, it’s a process I enjoy, most of the time, except when I get writer’s block and then I have to either stop or take a break.  Or, I start something brand new.  As long as I enjoy it, that’s the most important thing.
That’s the thing about writing; for me, I enjoy creating different worlds and exploring the characters of people and how they respond to different situations.  Or using the same character and writing them into different situations, as I’ve done with my Simple Plan stories.  Pierre has manifested in many different ways in my stories and that excites me.  Though I’m enjoying creating my own original characters as well. 
So, I guess the main reason I write is for entertainment and enjoyment; though after I’ve written a story I can often see a message coming out from what I’ve written.  And, though that was never the initial intention of my writing, it’s always insightful.  And I believe all my stories have some theme or other, I just don’t usually set out to write that way. 
Now, though, I do want to write stories that are meaningful.  I don’t want to write something that doesn’t impact people.  Because, really…I write stories because I want them to impact myself, so why not others as well?  I read to open my mind to a world of imagination.  Which kind of reminds me of this one story I started writing, which I may share with you at a later date. 

So, why do I write? To entertain and to spread some joy in the form of creative, imaginative expression.  (Even if the story is sad….I don’t always write happy endings…but that’s life, right?)

Posted in 2014, Daniel McTavish, fiction, first person pov, my writing, Writing

The Uprising – revamped version 1 – Prologue

Posted on by marlytheadoptee



Beginnings

2040

Today is the tenth anniversary of our debut record.  
Legacy was a labour of love.  A lot of blood, sweat and tears, literally, was poured into the album.  And, I’m proud of what it has brought into my life and the lives of others.  It’s been a journey; from its conception to where we are today. 
It’s not been easy.  Changing the mindset of a society is difficult.  And, to think on it, I didn’t initially set out to change things.  My ideas weren’t so grandiose back when I was younger.  I was fed up with the status quo.  But, all I wanted was to bring a sense of joy back into my home. 
And music. 
Music.  Music is life’s blood.  Cliché, maybe?  But, something I believe holds true. 
A lot of people didn’t think that forty years ago…

It’s a strain, trying to get people to see where we went wrong with the laws and mores.  I’m seeing a shrink, that’s how bad it can get some days.  
The good doctor said I should write everything down.  A bit cliché, if you ask me.  I’ve read memoirs before.  Always so, dry, factual.  Not worth for anything but some dusty museum.  Though even those places are becoming extinct. 
I’m not much of a writer.  Sure, I’ve written reports.  Signed off on more than I care to remember.  I’m more an actions type of man.  Rather be doing than writing.
No, that kid, Robbie Douglas.  He’d have been the better choice.  Always scribbling away in a notebook whenever he got the chance.  I may still have them.  His notebooks.  Lachlan gave them to me for safekeeping.  That whole family…are almost my own.
But, I’m getting ahead of myself.  A story isn’t any good from the end.  Knowing only the ending doesn’t explain anything.  I learned that just by living in Valoren City. 
The walled city.  Valoren city of my father and my father’s father before that.  Not sure how many generations of McTavish’s served in this city.  Since the War of Words most definitely.  That long ago event that no one really remembers but caused a lot of unnecessary heartache in my day. 
I’ll be the last, though. 
The Creed’s being dismantled.  Gordon said that a regular police force is what the city needs.  One that actually holds justice of high import and not just the enforcing of rules.  I’m content with that idea.  Means I can relax.  Just keep an eye on the kids.
Hah.  Danny McTavish.  Babysitter.  Well, Granddaddy.  My daughter just had twins.  Boys.  Robert and Phil.  She named them in remembrance of the two toughest people we’ve ever known.  This is as much their story as it is mine.
I guess, I should really start from the beginning then.  Since I espoused that endings didn’t explain anything.  Not without beginnings. 
Everyone has a beginning to their story.  And, I don’t mean their birth.  Though that’s an important date. 
My beginning was an auspicious day.  Or it should’ve been. 

Two things happened to change that, and you could say that society has improved a lot since then.
Posted in Christmas, fiction, Writing

Christmas in Valoren City – Gordon’s Christmas

Posted on by marlytheadoptee
Let the world be still
2002
The Wilderness, Guardian’s Grove
The first candle of the season was burning with a strong flame in the window.  Gordon sat by its light, whittling away at a long wooden dowel, brow furrowed. 
“What’s that, lad?” The old Guardian, Jacob, was stoking the fire, watching him at his work.  Gordon looked over, smiling before blowing the shavings away. 
“Flute.” Holding it up to the level of his eyes, he squinted along its length.  “Gotta figure out how to hollow it out.” Gordon set it down, looking over at the old man.  “I saw pictures in the Book you gave me last Christmas, Coby.”
Jacob chuckled and said, “The Guardian before me passed it on.”
“And we are all grateful,” Gordon said, as he checked the candle. 
The sound of a mournful howl gave him pause. “Is that?”
Jacob went to the door, opening it a crack.  “The pack is on the move.” A frown passed over his features.  “There is something…” He looked back at Gordon and said, “Keep the fire burning.” 
Gordon shifted to sit by the fire as the old man slipped out the door. 
Dingos roamed the Wilderness in these days.  Though they never used to gather in packs; they were traditionally solitary beasts. However, as Gordon grew up he began to notice an increasing number of the wild dogs gathering where resources were high.  The flashes of yellowed coats were unmistakeable when he went out on forays with Jacob. 
Christmas time was when they started patrolling through the woods near the cabin, though, otherwise their usual haunts were the outer fringe. 
The fire crackled, Gordon staring into the flames as his mind wandered.  Leaping flames reminding him of earlier Christmases.  Such joy he never knew came to him at this time.  Jacob always took care to make each season as memorable as an old man could on their meagre means.  There were never any gifts, but Gordon had no need for such fleeting objects in time.  No, Jacob would take him out, both of them swaddled in furs, and they would sit on the hill where they could see the stars.  And he would tell such beautiful tales of the old times.
Gordon’s favourite tale was one of such mystery and wonder he sometimes thought it could be the truest story ever told.  An ancient tale of a saviour God who came down to dwell with the people and, through an amazing sacrifice, brought peace and goodwill to all.  In fact, the old man said it was the real reason they celebrated Christmas each year.  Gordon liked to believe that it was true.  The thought of everlasting peace was a balm for the life that he’d grown up knowing. 
Sure, he was sheltered from the life his parents faced in the City.  But, Jacob told stories of that place too.  Valoren City, the great walled city that kept The Wilderness at bay.  Gordon didn’t know what there was to fear having lived in the Wild all his life, but the old man said the City governance embellished things and put fear in the hearts of its citizens. 
And, they banned music.
Gordon shook his head at the thought just as the door set to creaking.  He cast his gaze in that direction as Jacob reappeared. 
“Lad, get the tub…need warm water.”
“What is it?” he started to ask, pausing when a soft whimpering came from a bundle in the old man’s arms. 
“Is that?”
Jacob, nodding, said, “Injured and abandoned.  Now, the water.”
Gordon got to his feet, gathering what was needed.  As he did, he watched the old man open the bundle to reveal a ball of dirt covered yellowish-white fluff.  The whimpering was emanating from within.  A Dingo pup. 
Pursing his lips he filled the tub with water from the pot over the fire then brought it over to set on the table.  He grabbed a towel on the way, handing it to the Guardian.  The he sat opposite, resting his hands on the edge of the table and waited. 
It took a while, with the pup crying the whole time, but Jacob managed to clean away the dirt and grime and then to tend to the wounds on its trembling body.  The whole time the small creature kept its snout tucked into itself so Gordon couldn’t get a good look at it. 
Jacob scooped the pup up in his arms, carrying it over to his cot where he set it down in the pile of blankets.  Gordon tilted his head to the side.
“He can sleep with me tonight.  Body warmth is what he needs.”
Gordon, smiling, said, “So, it’s a he?”
Jacob nodded as he made sure the pup was comfortable before joining him at the table again. 
“And, now, a spot of tea, lad.”
****
Later that night, Gordon woke to something snuffling in his ear.  He started then smiled as he felt something cold and wet nuzzling at his arm.  Blinking, he turned his head to the left seeing the glow of predator eyes in the low candle light.  Blinking again he fought back a laugh as he realised the pup was balancing against his bed, ears pricked up. 
He held still, allowing the inquisitive young dog to sniff at his face.  The delicate nostrils flared, as its ears set to twitching, listening to his breaths. 
Gordon took the chance to examine the pup, not ever having the chance to be close to one before.  The creamy fuzz of puppyhood made it look larger than it actually was though it was beginning to lose the softness around its face.  Large intelligent eyes watched him as he watched the pup. 
Smiling, and murmuring low so as not to spook the pup, he said, “Feeling better, pup?”
The pup stuck its nose right in his ear then he felt the wet curl of its tongue on his cheek.  Then it stuck its head down and tried to snuggle into his arms.  Gordon couldn’t prevent the laughter bubbling up in his throat, smiling as the pup tried to press close into his body. 
“Want cuddles, pup?” he said in a whisper.  “Guess we can do that.”  With care, he settled an arm around the pup’s body, smiling as it snuffled then went quiet, nostrils twitching still as it slept.  He drifted off soon after the warm body of the dingo pup like a hot water bottle chasing away the cold of the night. 
****
Gordon woke with a yelp then laughed outright when he realised why.  Needle sharp teeth nipped at his arm before the pup jumped down off the bed, trotting across the floor to sit next to the table, nose pointing upward in an expectant gesture.
Jacob, already up and stoking the fire, chuckled low.  “Tough little lad.”
Gordon rubbed at the back of his neck as he got up.  “Just like you, Coby.”
The Old Guardian, smiling, said, “Wasn’t always so tough.”
“Yeah…being Guardian changes you, right?” 
Jacob nodded as he brought a bowl over, setting it down in front of the dingo pup.  Gordon smiled more as the pup stuck its snout into the bowl, wiggling its whole body as it almost inhaled the meat in the bottom of it. 
“Well, nothing wrong with the pup,” he said. 
“Except its colouring,” Jacob murmured.  Gordon blinked, looking up at him.  “It’s unusual to see creamies.”  The old man sighed.  “They don’t do well in the Wild.”
Gordon said, frowning as he spoke, “So, it’s going to stay with us?”
Jacob looked at him, a serious light in his eyes.  “It’ll pay to have a companion.  I won’t always be here.” 
Gordon ducked his head down, continuing to watch the pup.  It walked circles around the bowl, licking it clean before flopping on its belly and looking up at him, tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth.  He smiled then looked over at Jacob.
“I’m going to finish my flute.”
Jacob, nodding, stood to take his coat down from the hook on the wall.  “I’ll catch breakfast.”
****
Gordon sat outside, whittling away at his flute, as the pup was fossicking around the bushes that lined the path.  Sticking its quivering pink nose into the brush, pulling out with a sneeze, causing a smile to flicker at the corner of his lips.  Laughter felt strange, but it was definitely welcome. 
He glanced further up the path where Jacob had gone.  One day he would be the one to do the hunting and the watching.  When the old man’s time came.  Gordon, sighing, set his knife down and sighted along the flute again.  Dusting his fingers along it he allowed a small smile again as he deemed the instrument ready to test out.
“Hey, pup.  Listen to this.”
The dingo pricked up its ears as he set his lips to the flute and began to blow across the hole.  Tilting its head to the side and giving a low huff the pup didn’t seem too impressed before sitting back on its haunches, lifting its head and howling for the first time.  Gordon couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.  He set the flute down, cupping his hands around his mouth to imitate the young dingo. 
Then he stopped as Jacob appeared at the top of the track, a brace of pheasants slung over his shoulder.  The pup’s nose set to twitching as it too took note of the wild birds. 
“Breakfast,” Jacob said, with a grin.  Gordon jumped up, heading inside to get the fire ready, the pup trotting in behind him.
****
Sucking on his fingers Gordon cleaned the juices of the pheasant breast from them, before looking up at the old man.  Jacob met his gaze, lifting an eyebrow. 
“Do they celebrate Christmas in the City?” A question that was forever niggling at his mind.
Jacob nodded.  “Yes.  But, it’s a solemn affair.  And no music, of course.”
Gordon shook his head, gaze drifting to the pup who was gnawing at the whole baby pheasant that Jacob had presented to him.  “How can they live like that?”
“It’s normal, for them.”
“My parents…” Gordon started, but then deciding not to finish the thought.  “That’s just so sad.” 
Jacob’s smile was weary as he said, “They know no other way.”
Gordon sighed, then let the sadness filter away as the pup came wriggling up to him, licking at his fingers.  “Well, pup…we know what it’s really about, don’t we?” 
The dingo gave a small whine then sat back on its haunches and lifted its voice in a howl. 
Jacob smiled and said, “I believe he agrees with you, lad.”

Gordon, chuckling, picked up his flute and began to play a merry tune. 
Posted in 2014, fiction, my writing, Writing

The Uprising – Chapter Two

Posted on by marlytheadoptee



“He’s a friend.”


The Astor
1210 hours
Lachlan bent his head to the wall, listening to the footsteps that echoed along the corridor.  Heavy boots, stomping along the line of cells – knuckleheaded guard named Tate.  Clicking heels in the distance – the General’s wife.  Light but firm tread, purposeful and heading his way – Commander Daniel McTavish, the new TaskerOne.
He shifted away from the wall, back to the metal cot, flopping back as he covered his eyes with a forearm.
“Stop pretending, Douglas.”
Lachlan said, voice rough, “Congratulations, Danny Boy…or should I call you ‘Commander’ now?” He lowered his arm, glowering at the man standing on the other side of the bars.  “You got some pull now?  Maybe you can get me out of this hole.”
The Commander frowned, but said nothing in response, glaring back at him.  Lachlan grunted, sitting up as he planted his feet on the floor. 
“We’ve known each other, how long, Daniel?”
He shook his head.  “Lachlan.”
“How long?” Lachlan said in a hard voice. 
“Doesn’t matter.  I can’t get you out.  You broke the law.”
“Yeah…I get it,” he said, picking at a scab on his ankle.  “Gotta make a good impression on the powers-that-be, aye?”
The Commander, nodding slightly, said, “They’ll most likely have you executed.”
“No surprise.  Gotta set a precedent, right?” Lachlan looked up at him, eyes too bright.  “Haven’t executed anyone in ten years, aye?”
“Yes.  Under the previous T-One.”  The subject was a touchy one.  No one really said the words, but an execution was never the normal response to a crime.  For any crime.  Usually the most extreme crimes were punished by banishment.  Nobody wanted to leave the City.  Not safe.  They called it the Wilderness for a reason, after all. 
“Do I get a final request?”
Daniel’s lips twisted in a sour smile.  “You want a priest?”
“Haha.  Very funny, Daniel.” He shook his head.  “I think you know what I want.” He met the Commander’s eyes with a meaningful look.  Daniel stared back at him, before nodding tightly.
“That I can get you.”
Lachlan managed a smile, laying back on the cot again.  “Can I sleep now?”
The Commander chuckled.  “Knock yourself out.” 
Lachlan rolled onto his side, stopping only to look back at Daniel.  “So, how was the ceremony?”
Daniel stared back at him, face expressionless.  Lachlan sighed, shifting back onto his side and closing his eyes.  The sound of the Commander’s firm tread filling his ears as he drifted off. 
                                                            * * *
“Commander McTavish?”
Daniel walked into his office, finding the General’s wife facing the doorway.  “Helen?”
“Congratulations on your promotion,” she said. Madam Helen Briar was the kind of woman who drew attention.  Bright hats – she was wearing a sunflower yellow fascinator today – dark mascara, slim body; and that voice.  Sharp, no-nonsense, but easily slipping into sensual, dangerous territory. 
He smiled, tightly and said, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, ma’am?”
Helen said in a low voice, “Must there be a reason, Daniel?” 
Daniel’s brow creased.  “There’s always a reason, Helen.”
She leaned against the edge of his desk, folding her arms.  Lifting his eyebrows he waited for a response.  In the past, whenever the General sent his wife to see him, it was always in an official capacity, and also because whatever needed to be said was too hard for him to say himself.  Typical behaviour from a man who made himself look big when really he was a weedy little shit…
“He wants you to fast-track the execution of Prisoner 77.”
Lachlan Douglas.  Daniel smoothed a hand over his jaw, schooling his face into an impassive mask.  It wouldn’t do to let on how much that command hurt.  They had history.  Close friends.  School mates.  Biking together in the city.  Gatherings, picnics on the outskirts of the residences.  And other, not so innocent pursuits… It wasn’t as if the order was unexpected, though.  In the latter years, Lachlan had taken to questioning the status quo, making unsanctioned ‘trips’ out of the City.  And…digging up contraband.  Records.  CDs.  Instruments.  He was caught in the middle of the City, setting up what he called a ‘busking’ station.  That was the reason for his arrest.
“On what grounds, ma’am?” Daniel said, lifting an eyebrow.
“You need to set an example on your first official day at the top.” 
Daniel walked around his desk, taking a seat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.  “There are any number of ways I can do that.”
Helen shook her head.  “The General wants the announcement made by the end of today.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened then he nodded.  “Tell him it’s done.” He pulled the phone toward him, lifting the receiver.  Pausing, he looked pointedly toward the door.  Helen smiled, inclining her head to him.
“I’ll let him know.”
He waited for her to leave, before punching in a number, holding the receiver to his ear.  “It’s Danny.  I need the key.”
                                                            * * *
“You sure you want to do this, Danny?”
Daniel was grabbing stuff from the shelves – bandages, rope, a couple of box cutters etcetera – shoving them in the duffel on the solid oak bench.  He glanced sideways. 
“Do I want to risk my position by helping a felon, bro?” He zipped the bag and said, “He’s a friend, Elliott.”
“I know that.”
Elliott Preston was the City bounty hunter.  He was also responsible for The Locker, the place where all confiscated contraband was stored.  Daniel found it ironic that the Council trusted him, considering who his brother was.  Philip Preston was a career criminal, in fact he was recently paroled.  Then again, perhaps that’s why Elliott wasn’t fazed by what they were currently doing.  Stealing from the Locker. 
Pausing, he glanced at Elliott again.  “Your brother would love this.”
“Don’t even say that, Danny,” he said, shaking his head.  “I’d never hear the end of it.”
Daniel’s soft chuckle seemed out of place in the huge warehouse.  He wasn’t given to light-heartedness, usually.  Hardly surprising in the current climate.  It wouldn’t do to be amused in light of his profession.  Dealing with lawbreakers was no joking matter.  Perhaps becoming one himself would shed new light on that, though. 
“How’s he doing, anyway?” Daniel said, going over to another shelf holding an assortment of firearms.  He kept his eyes on the weapons, allowing Elliott to answer in his own time.  Running his fingertips along the cool metal, he waited. 
Elliott sighed and said, “He’s making friends with the neighbours.”  A short laugh.  “Asked the kid next door to mow the lawn.”
Daniel, glancing sideways at him, selected a handgun from the shelf, adding it to the duffel bag and said, “Can’t he do it himself?”
Elliott lifted his shoulders and said, “I think he just wants the company.  He’s not allowed to do much, being a parolee ‘n’ all.” 
Daniel smiled, doing one more check of the shelves.  “No harm in that.”  He rechecked the duffel then swung it over his shoulder, pausing when Elliott’s hand gripped his shoulder.  “What?”
“You know what you’re doing?”
Daniel ground his teeth and said, “We’ve been planning this for years, Elliott.” 
Elliott held up a hand.  “I believe you.” He shouldered passed him.  “Let’s go bust him out.”
Daniel’s lip lifted slightly as he said, “There’s one more thing I need to get before we do.”

Posted in 2014, fiction, my writing, Writing

The Uprising – Thoughts and Prologue

Posted on by marlytheadoptee

I have finally started planning my full length original novel.  It is very loosely based on my A7X fanfic, Shadows Creed; however the plot, and character motivations are different.

The basic premise is this:

It is 2025.  The Creed controls everything.  Peace reigns after the War of Words.  Music has been banned.  But, there has been rumours of the rise of The Mus.  

The Mus is a mysterious renegade who provokes the Creed through random acts of daring, playing music in the most unlikeliest of places.  No one has any idea of who it may be, except for Pips Preston who has just been released from prison.

Their worlds merge and become the catalyst for a revolution that will change the lives of everyone they know and love.

Main Cast:
Robbie Douglas [Thomas Brodie-Sangster]
Daniel McTavish [Alex O’Loughlin]
Philip “Pips” Preston [Pierre Bouvier]
Elliott Preston [Jim Sturgess]

I will now share the prologue with you and the banner.  Enjoy.
~~~~~

“Let’s go home.”
Valoren City
1st May, 2025
0415 Hours
It began with the drum sticks.  Long, thin, black with a cobweb clinging for dear life to its length as if the poor spider half-heartedly started then got spooked.  He stared at the sticks for a long time, with not a thought.  Just allowing his eyes to follow the straight lines.  Then, casting his gaze to the laptop next to him.  It sat, perching, on an upturned milk crate the faded metal cover catching the dim light that filtered into the room. 
He inhaled deeply before leaning across to hit a key; placing the tips of the sticks on the edge of the crate. 
Pausing, he checked the monitor, reading the words that scrolled across the screen.  Then with a twist of his lips he proceeded to play.
                                                            * * *
Daniel swore as the alarm by his head jolted him awake.  The incessant beeping sent a murderous impulse through him, but he settled for just slapping the top of his radio until it stopped.  The sudden silence afterwards set his teeth on edge, but then something else…
The speakers outside his window were pulsing.  He grimaced, the skin tightening across his forehead as he brushed sleep aside and dragged his body out of bed.  Making his way to the window, not an easy task with his bed covers in his path.  He must’ve kicked them off during the night. He prised it open so he could listen.
Drumbeats.  Unmistakeable.  Filled the air.  He blinked several times before cursing again.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” he said out loud, a groan ending his words. 
He stood still, just listening as his heart rate seemed to match the steady rhythm that the speakers were emitting.  Dragging fingers through his hair he heaved a sigh, shaking his head hard. 
“Coffee,” he muttered through clenched teeth.  “Coffee…then I’ll deal with it.”  He slammed his window shut to block out the sound.  “Coffee…” he repeated as he made the journey across his room to the door. 
                                                            * * *
Freedom.  Such an overrated word.  True freedom didn’t exist in the City.  Pips knew that better than anyone.  He was out.  Standing outside the gates of The Astor.  But, he wasn’t really out.  No one ever was once they’d been incarcerated.  Too little trust was gained.  But, that didn’t really matter.  For the moment, he felt a certain sense of liberty. 
Tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie as he scanned the long stretch of road he felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips when he recognised his brother’s beatup truck heading his way.  Elliott Preston was as reliable as ever.  Like clockwork that guy was always where he needed to be. And right now, Pips was grateful that his brother was coming to get him. 
He lifted a hand in greeting as the truck came to a shuddering halt in front of him.  Elliott jumped out and grabbed him in a bone-crushing embrace.
“Bro…”
Pips returned the embrace just as hard.  Elliott winced a little, pulling back.
“Man, you packed it on.”
Pips chuckled, low, shaking his head.  “Well, I didn’t take up knitting in there.”  His brother squeezed his bicep in response to that.
“Come on, let’s go home.” 
Pips exhaled, a rough sound as he looked toward the truck.  Home.  And freedom…not that he would ever really be free.  No one ever was in the City.  But, at least they could pretend that it was true.  


Posted in Christianity, God, life, personal, religion, working with children, Writing

Life as me. Or at least some little tidbits.

Posted on by marlytheadoptee
Sometimes I wonder what exactly it is I’m doing with my life. Do I really want to work with children? Is my writing just an obsession? Pertinent questions. But, notice, I never, never seriously ask myself, what if God doesn’t exist? What if all the worship I do is worthless, pointless? I never seriously think about that.

I have in passing thought about what my life would be like without the God aspect, but I always come back to the conclusion that without God, life isn’t worth it. God is so important to me. He is the author of everything, and though I am personally responsible for my physical life, my physical being, my physical thoughts and acts; God is still there as well, a rock for my foundation. The guiding light for my heart.

So many things in life steer me toward God, rather than away from Him, and none more so than nature itself. Science also points to God, as far as I’m concerned. But, I don’t mean in the way many ‘Creation Scientists’ claim. I just study science, see nature and believe that God has to exist. Even if it is not the Christian God [though obviously, that is what I believe], there is still a god out there who Created this world.

But, back to my other questions. I have decided that I most definitely want to work with younger children. Beginning in Childcare of course, but perhaps ending up as an Early Childhood teacher in a pre-primary school setting. Of course, it’s not a big money-earning profession, but I’m not really in it for the money. You can’t be. It doesn’t earn you enough to warrant that. Apparently, though the Union in Australia is campaigning for a significant pay-rise and also for the industry to be recognised as a proper career choice and profession as important as teaching in schools.

No matter what, though. I believe this is the area I want to work in. For better or for worse.

Next thing. My writing. I can’t foresee myself ever really publishing anything, most of my original stories get neglected and my brain keeps churning over new ideas that never come to fruition. Though my A7X fanfiction, Shadows Creed has the potential to become an original story, at some stage. However, I can’t see myself ever quitting writing, either. I’ve gotten into a lot of fights with my mum over my writing, with her calling it all ‘crap’. Though I shouldn’t take it to heart because she’s not personally attacking me…it still hurts, and it makes me feel guilty about doing something I enjoy. Which some would say means I shouldn’t be doing it…But, I think I feel more guilty about the being sneaky than actually doing the writing.

I can and will finish my stories, it will just take a lot longer. I hope, though that I won’t tire of them before I finish them… You Don’t Mean Anything being a case in point, though I have some inspiration for it lately.

All in all…that all pales in comparison to how my personal life is going. I am content with myself in general. I have a loving family, boyfriend, wonderful friends, and an amazing God.

That’s me, really. Along with my support of my favourite bands and sporting team…I wouldn’t change any of it. Not for anything or anyone.