Mariella Hunt

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  • Being a Traveling Pantser


    DSCN9349.JPGI will always be a pantser, no matter where in the world I’m writing.

    I had a loose outline for the third book of my series. I even made index cards by taking a notebook and cutting its pages into rectangles – I guess it’s easier for me to use index cards that aren’t real and not be afraid I’m wasting money?

    Anyway, it’s a good thing I didn’t spend money on index cards, because the outline I made on these makeshift cards turned out to be a waste. I’m 20k into the first draft, and it’s nothing like I’d planned. At least for the Fallen Faery Tales, I will always be a pantser.

    The story is coming along so easily! Words are spilling onto the page (or into the document) and I’m resisting the urge to edit, meaning I make faster progress. I think it’s the different location that keeps my Muse busy, making her feel generous.

    dscn9350I’ve been trying to start a bullet journal, and though it isn’t pretty (certainly not Pinterest worthy!) my favorite feature is a writing goal tracker. At the end of the day, I fill in a box with the daily word count goal. I keep the goal small, just 2k a day, and have been able to fill in all of the little boxes since January 1. I hope to finish a new draft by the end of January, and if it winds up longer than the first two books, I’ll still be filling in little boxes come February.

    When I’m not writing, I’m reading (The Count of Monte Cristo is quite a feat!) or enjoying the Peruvian summer (if it’s not too hot to enjoy.) We’ve gone to the beach and seen different parts of the city. All this helps with my projects.

    Travel is a great for any artist. If you can get somewhere new, just for a little while, do it. Your story will thank you, your Muse will love you, and even if you don’t write during the vacation, there’ll be plenty of material to work with at home!

  • Story: Prince of the Haystacks


    prince

    When the young prince first fled into the barn, he thought it too small and messy for someone of respectable breed to sleep in. Having grown accustomed to feather pillows and silk sheets, he struggled at first to adapt and sleep on the hay.

    But he was fleeing an angry wizard’s curse, so it happened more quickly than he’d expected.

    Now he gazed sleepily into a corner, remembering long nights spent in hiding from the bitter old man determined to bring about his ruin—all because of a necklace. In the back of his mind, he replayed the moment that amulet shattered when he threw it—he thought of the rage on the old wizard’s face—but he didn’t think of it for long, dousing the memory with a sip of wine.

    By now, this place was more than a barn: he’d ordered servants to deliver his most important belongings, like books and comfortable pillows (his mattress wouldn’t fit through the window.) Now it didn’t look like a barn, but a large tree house where no one came to see him.

    He gazed at his reflection on the surface of the goblet, wondering not for the first time how he ended up here—but he didn’t wonder long enough to stir his conscience, because at that moment, he heard the old wizard sneezing outside.

    “Ha-ha!” cried the prince, delighted for the distraction. “Back again? I see you have yet to brew a cure for your allergies!”

    He patted a nearby hay bale fondly. Who would have thought something so common would repel black magic?

    Every night at this time, the wizard came to this barn in search of vengeance for his amulet. The prince used to think these appearances irritating, but now he looked forward to them; they broke the monotony of life in this tree house, and it wasn’t as if the wizard could hurt him.

    “Oh!” cried the wizard, and sneezed again, loudly. “You—insolent boy! When I get to you, I’ll turn you into a—ah-choo!—a proper toad!”

    He took another sip of wine, chuckling. “A rather handsome toad I’d be, don’t you think?” he asked his reflection. “I would be the brightest of all the toads.”

    “You would be caged!” cried the wizard. “Caged and then poisoned—or sold to an aquarium—ah-choo!”

    “Tell me,” the young man continued, “when are you going to stop coming? I’m sure your allergies are more than fits of sneezing. Perhaps your skin goes up in boils or your nose gets runny. Surely it’s not worth chasing me for one silly necklace.” Deep down, he wanted the wizard to give up so he could go back to his comfortable bedroom.

    “Ah-choo! Curse you and every word you say! Curse all your ambitions and dreams! When you step out of this barn, I will set every plague on you—”

    The prince yawned, drowning out this familiar string of fruitless curses, and decided the barn was comfortable enough. He could always have more books delivered if he ran out. His mother made sure they sent him food and water, and of course wine. It was not yet cold enough for the situation to be too uncomfortable.

    Outside, the wizard’s angry words continued; mixed with each curse was a poignant sneeze. Two sneezes, three, four—the prince counted them, thinking that if anyone ever asked, he would tell them he had always found haystacks the most comfortable place to sleep.

  • Writing: The Learning Process


    Too many writers talk and act as if writing were slow torture. … As New York sports writer Red Smith once observed, “Writing is easy. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.” … If you want to write, here’s a secret: the writer’s struggle is overrated, a con game, a cognitive distortion, a self-fulfilling prophecy, the best excuse for not writing.
    From Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies for Every Writer

    You’re never done growing as a writer. I realized this when I saw the differences reading my novels, Dissonance and Serenade. Only a year after Dissonance’s release—a year of obsessive practice and reading—my skill had improved.

    Serenade surprised me. I often found myself staring at a sentence and thinking, “Did I write that?” Time and practice will help you grow, and you will find it worth the effort.

    Dissonance and Serenade each have different qualities that make them special. I love Dissonance because:

    • It was the first book I finished. I’d written stories in the past, but something about them didn’t feel complete, even as first drafts.
    • When I released Dissonance, I was doing more than putting a story out for an audience. I was proving I could overcome my own insecurity by giving my work a chance. It was the first time I walked past fear, following a dream.
    • It has heavy backstory. I have three bound copies of previous drafts; each could stand on its own, trailing off into a different adventure. Same story, different breath…same dream, different night.

    I am proud of Serenade because:

    • When I wrote it, I was able to plan where each scene would go, meaning I had a clearer path. Unlike with Dissonance, there won’t be three bound versions of Serenade; I’d found a manner of plotting that worked for me. Instead of same dream, different night, this book is one vivid dream.
    • Reading Serenade showed me that my hobby was so much more than a hobby. For a long time, writing has been something I did because I enjoyed it, but my work was read only by my closest friends. Serenade opened my eyes to the fact that, with time and hard work, my audience will grow.
    • This second completed work on my shelf is a reminder that, just like Allie has a long story waiting to be told, my own journey has just begun.

    I’m excited that there’s room for improvement in my writing. I’m eager to learn what my weaknesses are, then work until I surprise myself with more growth. This homework is exciting, rewarding, and fun.

    So where do I start? With the basics, of course.

    writingtools

    I found the book Writing Tools: 50 Essential Strategies for Every Writer at a yard sale, and it’s been sitting on my shelf for well over a year. Today I decided to page through it; to my delight, I found there are exercises.

    I will never be finished learning to write, so may as well enjoy the lessons. If Dissonance and Serenade were the first two “chapters” of my journey, I’m gearing up to embark on the third.

    What books do you believe are most helpful when it comes to improving as a writer? Do you delight in constructive criticism, or does it sound overwhelming? (If so, don’t worry–you have reason to be overwhelmed!)

  • Story: The Fisherman’s Boat


    boat

    It was one of the last warm days before fall kicked in with all its chill. School had just ended for the day, and two children walked through the woods, a sister and her younger brother.

    To the boy, this was a new route home. However, his sister had been here before; she was taking him to see an old fishing boat left by the man who had lived nearby. For some reason, it had been abandoned in the woods when the man passed away.

    As they approached the fishing boat, something about the clearing felt wrong to the girl, who stopped with a small frown. The first thing she noticed was how exposed the boat was. In the past it was protected from the weather by a plastic sheet. The sheet had vanished, allowing leaves to fall inside and create a carpet of brown. Not only that, but the ground was littered with garbage and names had been scratched on the outside.

    “How dare they treat it so awfully,” whispered the girl, feeling her heart break.

    She gathered wrappers from inside the boat, tossing them into the bushes. The fisherman’s boat ought to be respected, not treated like a big trash bin. She wondered if his family still lived nearby; she could tell them to take better care of their heirloom.

    This clearing in the woods had been her haven. Now she could not bring herself to feel the magic she once did; it was as if something had been stolen from her. Even if she came daily to clean the boat, it wouldn’t be the same.

    For some reason, she thought everything would be as she remembered it—this clearing hallowed as if the fisherman’s spirit still lurked. Clearly, the dead were powerless to protect their own items once found by the living.

    No good mystery could remain pure for long.

    “Why are you so sad?” her brother asked, taking a step closer.

    The girl couldn’t bring herself reply. Her disappointment made it worse: she had promised her brother a journey to the prettiest part of the forest, but now it felt as though she’d failed him. Instead of speaking, she picked unhappily at some grass with a cold hand.

    He spoke again, voice high with childish wonder: “It’s full of leaves, like a chest of gold!”

    “It shouldn’t be full of leaves,” she mumbled. “It should be covered with a sheet.”

    “But then how would the fisherman’s ghost get inside?”

    She frowned and stopped picking at the grass; he continued breathlessly, as if this were the most wonderful discovery in history.

    “Look! There are names on the side. Can we write ours, too?”

    “But that’s vandalism.”

    He pouted. “Please? I want to let the fisherman know I was here!”

    It was with astonishment that she took a pin from one of her braids and handed it over. She watched her brother carve his name onto the side of the boat. When he stopped, he said, “When he returns tonight, the fisherman will know he had a visitor.”

    His words were so pure, so innocent and glad—and suddenly she felt excitement once more in her cold, young heart. Perhaps there was still magic, if one knew how to look…even on the surface of a moldy old boat.

    “Move over,” she said, sitting next to him. “I’m going to write my name.”

  • The Late Serenade Announcement


    My second book, Serenade, has been available on Kindle for a few weeks now, but I didn’t want to write a blog post about it until you could get it on paperback. Now it’s all set up (get your paper copy here!) and I can finally gush about it.

    14569105_1316321241711353_1496182805_n

    This is the second book following Allie’s adventures–the second of many books, because I’m not good at coming up with endings. I keep coming up with subplots and different ways to expand on world-building. I’ve been working on Serenade all year; it’s so strange to be holding it as a paper book! It finally feels real.

    I had a lot of help from friends and family (hi, Mom!!) Special thanks go to Kristia S. for the lovely cover. Thanks also to my editors, Alex and Sarah. Then there are all the beta readers–some of which even read the book twice–including Syd, Rae, Faith, Phil, Alex (she has been such a great help!) Jennifer and Chris. Briana has also been a great encouragement. I wasn’t able to mention everyone in this blog post, but know I could not have done this alone. You’ve all been very patient with me; I am blessed to have so much support for this journey.

    Here’s what the story is about:

    Months after her narrow escape from death, Allie feels incomplete. She is weakened by Dissonance, a music-based illness which drains her strength every day; she struggles to feel useful, living a quiet life with her family in their Florida apartment.

    As faery tales begin to fall, an unexpected death drives them back to Serenade, a kingdom where many see them as traitors. Facing new responsibilities, Allie must prove she has the strength to be a Muse and finally beat her Dissonance for good.

    Read it on your Kindle by purchasing it here! And remember, each time you buy a book, you help me fund my coffee obsession. :D I’m already working on book three! (And a couple more.)

    I hope you’ve had a good year, and when you read Serenade, I hope you enjoy it!

    -Mariella

  • Cover Reveal: Clara and Claire by Lindsey Richardson


    I am so happy to participate in the cover reveal for an epic book I was able to beta read this year! Isn’t the cover gorgeous? Visit the author here!

    claraandclaire-official

    Title: Clara and Claire
    Author: Lindsey Richardson
    Release date: December 2016 **actual date TBA soon!
    Cover designer: Alivia Anders of White Rabbit Book Design
    Blurb:
    Betrayal wears many masks. Sometimes… familiar ones.
    On the night of her 20th birthday, Clara Nasso witnesses an illegal act of magic.
    The following morning, two lives are changed forever.
    When Claire Kanelos, daughter of the head counselor, disappears from the island of Ninomay, Clara is kidnapped and taken there by a council member. Her unmistakable resemblance to the missing woman, and the disturbing facts that come to light, convince Clara to stay and play the role of Claire –at first, for one night only, and then indefinitely.
    Though Clara grew up hearing stories about the rich and powerful mages that filled Ninomay, all she finds there are liars and mysteries. And Ezra, the only person who can see through her disguise. He promises to help her return home, but how can Clara leave when secrets are unraveled every day and a killer might walk freely?
    When she might be the key to Claire’s survival?
    About the Author:
    Lindsey Richardson is a fantasy author who lives in Texas with her husband and three cats.
    Born and raised in Maryland, Lindsey has always adored reading and writing. At twelve years old she discovered her love for magical stories and wrote her first novel.
    By the age of eighteen Old Line Publishing expressed their interest in Lindsey’s novel, Cursed With Power. Lindsey has been both traditionally published and self published.
    Since 2010 she has worked on the Magicians series. The complete list of books in the series are as follows: Cursed With Power, Shadows and Embers, Thicker Than Blood, and Bloodline Inheritance. The series follows the lives of five Dark magicians, fighting for survival.
    With the series complete, Lindsey works on future projects. Her upcoming release, Clara and Claire, will be releasing in December 2016.
    Lindsey Richardson also writes under the name Lindsey R. Sablowski.
    Follow her books and learn more at her website: www.authorlindsey.com

     

  • A Dreary, Abandoned Place


    Drip. Drip. Tea trickles over the side of an overturned saucer, but no one is around to right it or wipe the wooden floor.

    The front door of this old house has been left wide open, pictures on the wall knocked over to show signs of a struggle. A stray cat wandered in not long after the residence was vacated and sits curled up by the window, enjoying warmth from the winter air.

    Outside, it’s started to snow in flurries. A layer of ice dusts the entrance to the house. Aside from the cat, nothing from outside has noticed the absence of people. That tea is cold by now, but continues to drip; it make a noise that mesmerizes the feline visitor.

    As you can see, this place is empty. It’s unlikely that anyone will come back, since this house was built miles from town. Somehow, it still has the feel of having been inhabited very recently.

    There’s no point staying, but we can speculate: there will be unattended phone calls for weeks, perhaps months. More animals will take up residence in the tidy bedrooms as nature reclaims this corner of the woods.

    For now, the saucer drips its cold contents onto the floor.

    Drip. Drip. Drip.

  • Into the Enchanted Forest


    bluelady

    You’ve lost yourself in a daydream again.

    The paths of your wondering have led to the greenest forest you’ve ever seen – even colors appear bolder in this place. There is a breeze but it’s not unpleasant; branches are thick, yet you don’t fear what you will find here.

    You’ve been walking for quite a while before you notice them – little lights in the bushes. They’re like fireflies, hiding when you squint to get a better look. Though fleeting, they’re impossible to ignore once you’ve spotted them, much like magic or love.

    You ponder: is this what it would be like if the stars tumbled down to float among trees? They may be closer, but they’re no easier to touch. Instinct whispers that they will vanish if you try disturbing them.

    Not wanting to scare off the magic, you continue on your way. Flashing a little smile, you wander deeper into this enchanted forest, planning to get lost in more daydreams from now on.

  • Am I Lost?


    tall-tree

    Am I lost? the young girl wondered, peering up a tree. She clutched at her teddy bear, frowning with confusion; what she knew in her mind contradicted how she felt in her heart. If she was lost, then she preferred it this way.

    The forest felt like home.

    She’d been wandering for hours among ancient trees, stopping occasionally to pick a flower from the ground. In her head, she knew she ought to be afraid, but her heart basked in the open space around her.

    Mother always told her not to venture into the trees, lest she lose her way. That advice had been spoken ominously, as if something awful would happen in the midst of the green. Perhaps her mother had been wrong; it was lovely here, and she felt safer than she had by the hearth at home.

    Perhaps the forest was home.

    The breeze sounded familiar, like a voice she’d heard long ago. If she stopped, she could almost hear a song of welcome. Leaning against the tree, she closed her eyes and breathed in perfect rhythm with the wind.

    If the forest was home, then she had been lost on those nights she sat by the hearth. Had the trees been calling her each time she dreamed of going to the woods? Was Mother trying to keep her lost by telling her not to return?

    She did not want to leave this peace behind. The forest felt like home.

    Smiling, she hugged the bear to her chest, watching a bird flit from branch to branch. She realized that she was not lost, for she felt no fear as she breathed in the fresh air. Rays of sun warmed her face, surrounding her with warmth.

    No, she was not lost. It was quite the opposite: at last, she’d been found.

  • On Mermaid Tales & Short Stories


    dissonanceeditcollage

    I may have completed edits for Serenade (which I still expect to release sometime in October,) but that doesn’t mean I’ve stepped away from these characters and their adventures.

    It has been a fun week of world-building and character profiling. My personal copy of Dissonance is currently full of sticky notes! They were placed to mark facts I would like to expand on in future books. The first book focused more on characters than setting, leaving plenty of room for creativity in future installments.

    In the process of taking notes for backstory and character personalities, I accidentally worked out a rough outline for Book 3. I have always wanted to write a world involving mermaids, and can finally get to that when I work on Allie’s next adventure. With the help of some friends, I have worked out some of mermaid culture, and it’s more complex than I had anticipated.

    It would seem backstory is a lot easier to work on than a blurb for Serenade. I will try to have it ready this weekend, though; in the past I have been very good at procrastinating, but want to change that. There will never be a blurb if I don’t sit to type it up.

    Another habit I’ve been working on is writing a little every day; a lot of that random fiction has been shared on this blog. It’s a way to control plot bunnies and make sure my Muse doesn’t get bored. Short stories are an interesting new form of writing; I look forward to practicing and getting better. I’ve been reading collections of short stories, starting with a book of Mark Twain’s work, and for Halloween I’m going to try Lovecraft.

    How have your stories been treating you? Do you have a specific method for world-building? Do you work on detailed character profiles?

    I would love to hear your advice!

  • The Melody of Moving On


    lighthouse

    In the past, the ocean’s cry had never filled my heart with sorrow; everything had changed. My heart felt heavy as I approached the lighthouse one last time. Without her hand to hold, the place was bleak, haunted by years of shared laughter.

    Our favorite spot at the cliff’s edge had seen good memories, all of which were spoiled the day she fell. This lighthouse was the place where I failed to save her. The blame was heavy on my shoulders; drinks didn’t help and time didn’t heal, so I’d come back for closure.

    The air was chilly, fitting for a late September night. I ignored the cold biting my skin, breathing deeply. I heard the waves but didn’t see them, in the same way I sometimes heard her voice knowing she wasn’t with me.

    My love no longer breathed, but she lurked in my heaviest memories.

    I closed my eyes and let the phantom of her laughter fill my mind, not numbing it with vice or distraction. Her laughter, the singsong way she used to say I love you—and later, her scream as she fell.

    It was time to stop running from these sounds.

    The full force of her loss hit me in waves colder than the ocean. She was everywhere and nowhere. The sea echoed her poetic words, immortalizing songs she would sing and the way she whispered my name.

    It hurt, but I didn’t run. I sat on the cold ground, heart aching as each memory pierced it like the thorns of a rose. Then, finally, numbness crept over me. It might not have been peace, but my agony drifted off in the breeze.

    Standing, I walked away from this cursed place, turning my back on a red rose I had left on the ground. The rose was not closure, and wouldn’t change the past. Still, it was my last gift to her—a gift, an apology, and a good-bye.

  • The Enchantment of Spring


    Inspired by this photo on Pinterest!

    It was a pleasant, bright afternoon. Not a trace of frost remained from the colder months, and the world was coming back to life. In the village, children played, singing songs and shouting. Windows were flung open so that laughter could be heard, sounds of joy because beauty had returned.

    In the village, no one thought of how the forest had reacted to the awakening of spring. Flowers sprouted and trees reassumed their vibrant green hues; animals came out of hiding, yawning and stretching underneath a cloudless turquoise sky.

    Nor could the villagers see a young girl wandering alone through the bushes. She was alone, but did not feel lonely; she was not sullen, but full of joy. Laughing, she twirled in a graceful pirouette, feeling wind tousle her hair.

    Another giggle escaped her as she let her arms dangle mid-twirl, feeling alive as the wind kissed her face. At last the winter frost had gone! Already, she could feel her magic waking from its slumber.

    Around her trailed the springtime magic, winding around her with each pirouette, ribbons of purple smoke. Her magic had gone to sleep during the months in which snow dominated; oh, how she’d missed these outside games, the freedom of open fields.

    The young girl stopped dancing, pleasantly dizzy, and flopped down onto the grass. All around her, purple flickered—different shades, bold to her eye—slowly vanishing into the air.

    She closed her eyes, listening to the birdsong. Spring only lasted a few weeks, and seemed to be shorter each time it came around; she would make the best of it this year. She would leave magic wherever she went, until her time for slumber came around once more.