Turf Wars: Chapter 3

"Oh my, what happened to you?" Valerie asked Greyson as they lay basking in the morning sun. She had just noticed the large wound near his hind leg.

"It was an accident. Some dog thought he could get me. I was a little careless. It could have been avoided." Greyson replied.

"You can't fight Ginger in this condition." Valerie said, concerned. "You need to take your time, and plan carefully, before you attack."

"Oh, I'll be fine," he said dismissively. "I'm sure I can take him on. How tough can one old guy be?"

"Very tough, I think you'll see. You need to lay low, at least until that heals. Then we'll take him down. He won't know what hit him," Valerie said, wisely.

Two months later...

There were three of them - and they were the prettiest kittens Valerie had ever seen. With Greyson for a father, how could they be otherwise? She liked them all lovingly. The tiny grey kittens cried as they tumbled closer to their mother. 

Greyson was still in hiding. Valerie could sense that Odie and Ginger had their suspicions of a stranger on the turf. If they knew about the kittens, it would only be a matter of time before they sniffed him out. And then, it would be war. 

He came around once or twice a day, when he knew it was safe, to see the children. They all took after him. Children, being heirs, played a very important role in family feuds, without ever actively participating.

The children soon grew too old to stay hidden in their little box all day. They were coming out and playing most of the time, each day venturing a little farther from their hideout. The litter, comprising of one boy and two girls, were very noisy and energetic, all of them perfectly healthy. 

Odie watched from afar, then returned to Ginger's side. 

"You were right," she said. "I just confirmed it. There are three of them. All grey."

"Hmm... how long did your sister think she could hide them from us? Hide him?"

"I can't believe she would dare to do this," said Odie, more shocked than angry. "What are you going to do about this? Please tell me you have a better idea than just challenging him head on."

"Relax, Odie. I have a plan. There's only room for one of us on this turf."

To be continued...

Turf Wars: Chapter 2

"Hi, I'm Greyson," said the handsome, grey tomcat standing before Valerie.

"Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Valerie," she said, still transfixed by his looks. "You're new here, aren't you? I haven't seen you around before."

"There comes a time in every man's life when he has to set out and find his own territory. I've been traveling for two days. It looks like, finally, I've found something I like," he said with a grin.

"Oh, you will love this place! We could use a - Oh no!" Valerie exclaimed. "Ginger. He shouldn't see you. He'll - "

"Ginger? Is he your - ?"

"He owns this turf. If he sees that you are his competition, you won't walk away without a fight."

"That's exactly what I'm looking for, Valerie dear. I will challenge whoever owns this turf, and make it my own," he said confidently.

"I don't doubt that, Greyson. In fact, I'll be rooting for you. Anything to get rid of that sick... never mind. But you can't do it now. Don't jump into it. Take your time. We'll take him down together," she said.

"And when I'm king, you'll be my queen."

"I can't wait."

She took him around and showed him all over the turf. Greyson was impressed; by this goldmine of a turf he had tumbled upon, and this clever, beautiful woman he had met. He had known that taking over a turf would be extremely difficult. But it might be easier, if she was by his side.

Together, they walked out into the night.

To be continued...

Turf Wars : Chapter 1

Ginger and Greyson were ready for war. Snarling, seething, shouting profanities at each other, they waited for the perfect moment to launch their attack. Tails erect, hair standing on ends, the tension between them was insurmountable. They were oblivious to the spectators watching them; their wives and children, hiding under cars and on top of walls, fear and worry clouding their faces. The moment was right. They pounced.

Then it was chaos.

Six months ago...

It was meal time. Odie and Valerie jumped for the food the minute it hit the plate.

"Get away! It's mine!" Valerie shouted, using her paw to push Odie's head back.

"You first!" Odie snapped, countering with a swing of her paw.

Odie and Valerie growled and hissed, ready to fight for the plate of food before them. Valerie raised her paw to attack, but the fight was broken up when the human came back out. The human lady separated the cats, divided their food into two equal halves and gave it to them. Odie and Valerie grudgingly ate their shares, safe in their corners.

It didn't matter that they lived in the same house, or that they were half sisters. Odie and Valerie hated each other. Their father was a majestic, white tomcat who was the best ruler the turf had ever seen. He was kind and benevolent, yet strong and mighty. His reign lasted for generations and it was a time of peace in the turf. No one dared challenge him.

But now, he was no more. Old age caught up with the cat who had never lost a fight in his life. With him gone, the golden age also came to an end.

Odie and Valerie, having finished their lunch, lay basking in the sun, carefully grooming themselves. A tomcat announced his arrival and the ladies looked up; Odie in eagerness and Valerie in contempt.

Ginger jumped down from the wall and approached them, his tail held high in pride. As the present king of the turf, he owned everything and everyone in it. His orange fur looked almost brown due to lack of care. All over his body, he had wounds that refused to heal. A prominent scar ran across his face; a mark that will forever be a reminder of that one fight from which he was lucky to walk away from in one piece. As a ruler, Ginger couldn't hold a candle to his predecessor, who was far greater than him in terms of looks and capability.

Odie dutifully ran to him, licking his face and neck affectionately.

"Darling, I'm so glad you're home. How was your day?" Odie asked.

"Tiring. Very tiring." Ginger replied, collapsing on the floor and stretching himself all over the sun baked sand. "Being king is hard work."

Valerie grunted in disapproval and walked away.

"Does she have a reason for hating me?" Ginger asked once Valerie had left.

"It's not just you, it's us." Odie said disdainfully. "She's so stuck up. When does she ever care about anyone but herself? I mean... I miss our father too but... you wouldn't be king if he was still around." Her voice changed to a silky soft purr. "And you are so good at being king."

"Baby, you got that right." Ginger smirked.

That night, finally alone, Valerie stretched herself and started grooming. Ginger must have gone by now, but she didn't want to be anywhere near other cats. Ever since Ginger got control over the turf, Odie had been treating her like she was a second grade citizen. Odie never missed a chance to rub it in her face that he had chosen her to be his queen and not Valerie. Yeah right. Valerie scoffed. Like I ever wanted to be wife to that smug, ugly...

She was alerted by a thud just a few feet away. She sat up, cautiously surveying her surroundings. A tomcat appeared before her, and she was immediately blown away by how handsome he was. He had a long, bushy tail, thick grey-brown hair and a very masculine face. He smirked at her and said,

"Hi, I'm Greyson."

To be continued...

The Stages of Writing a Book

My debut novel, Home Safe Home, released today (26-3-17, Sunday).

 

A lot of people were confused as to what goes on before a novel hits the shelves. Hopefully, this blog post will clear that up.

Writing a book consists of many different phases. Here, I am listing all the phases I went through before bringing out my first book.

1. The Pre-writing phase - This is the very beginning; the conception of an idea. It happens over a period of time; from when the idea first hits you to it slowing taking shape inside your head. Once the idea shows potential to be a story, the next phase begins. 
2. The Plotting phase - This is the phase were I find myself desperately searching for a pen and paper to jot down an idea before I lose it. This is also the phase where one completes the story. A rough outline is made, describing the story from start to finish. Character profiles are made for all the main characters. This is the phase where we tie them all together. 
3. The First Draft phase - A first draft is nothing more than a glorified outline. It's just a big messy draft, including all the scenes and dialogue one has planned for the book. Personally, I think it's the most exhausting phase, as one has to set their sights on completing it, and not on the quality of the piece. 
4. The Drafting phase - This is probably the longest phase in writing. Basically, it is the act of stretching out the initial story like a rubber band; stretching and stretching until its breaking point. With each rewrite, it gets bigger and better. So, naturally, that takes a lot of time. After about 4 or 5 drafts, I am ready for the next phase. 
5. The Beta Reading phase - This is the phase I'm most excited for. Once I'm done with multiple drafts, I send the latest one to a few handpicked beta readers, who read and review the book. Then we do a 20 to 25 question interview, where they tell me what they liked and didn't like about the book. My beta readers are awesome, because they give extremely helpful constructive criticism. 
6. The Rewriting phase - Once the beta reviews arrive, there will most likely be scenes that stick out like a sore thumb. It is in the rewriting phase that we address all those major and minor flaws. After another couple of drafts, it's ready for the next phase. Almost there. 
7. The Critic phase - This is where I send my draft out for critic review. A critic is often a person with a respectable background in literature and language; teachers, scholars, professors and other writers, who read the manuscript and write a critical review. A critic reviews from a professional standpoint, while beta reviews are from the perspective of readers. 
8. The Final Drafting phase - Critics may or may not give suggestions for improvement, but this is the phase where we correct all the mistakes we can find, and make small changes wherever necessary.
9. The Publishing phase - I chose to publish traditionally, as opposed to self-publishing. Once the publishers accept your manuscript, there are a couple more stages of proof-reading, and the book goes in for printing. 
10. The Post-writing phase - This phase includes the official release, marketing, etc. It's all about spreading the word. 

Home Safe Home will be available on Amazon soon.

Click here to buy my book.

Writing is an extremely personal and intimate journey on the road to discovering yourself. We write to tell stories and to have our voices heard. It's what I live for. It's what keeps me going. I write to live, and I live to write.

Scaring Children into Praying

Eight year old children are generally curious; and I was no different. My dad was watching a movie on his computer one day when I, naturally, peeped in to watch. If I knew what I was about to see would haunt me for weeks to come, I would have left just as quickly as I had come in.

A man was in an interrogation room with 3 other men in suits standing around him. They have a conversation and suddenly, the man's mouth literally seals shut. The men in suits seize the helpless man. They rip open his shirt as he is kicking and squirming, unable to scream. One of the suited men pull out an electronic device with long tentacles. They released the device, (or should I say creature, as it bore an uncanny resemblance to a shrimp in its movement and behavior)  over the struggling man's bare stomach. The thing crawled forward and then, to my horror, went inside his body through his belly button, just as the man awoke from what appeared to be a dream.

8 year old me was utterly petrified, as I quietly slipped out of the room. What I saw shook me to the core, haunting me for days; for weeks.

Fast forward to five years later. I was 13 when I first saw The Matrix. The scene where the Agents implant Neo with a probe through his navel in the interrogation room brought back so many memories. I was amused by the memory of how much this scene had affected me as a child. Now, I watched, unshaken, enjoying the movie for what it was.

Fast forward again. Tenth grade. I was 15. Every year, our convent-run school arranges a two day retreat for Catholic students from classes 5 to 12. This year was no different. Personally, I hate retreats (why? The list of reasons are a blog post for another day). I only turned up because it was mandatory. This year, they just gave me another reason to dislike it even more.

We walked into the hall and saw a projector screen set up in front. It was pretty common for the priests and brothers leading the retreat to show us clips, short films and devotional music videos. I was definitely not expecting what they were going to show us that day.

As part of a "prayer", they played a compilation video of the most gruesome and gut-wrenching scenes from the movie The Passion Of The Christ. And when I say gruesome, I mean raw, unadulterated, R-rated violence and gore. They played it repeatedly (5 times, to be precise, as we recited the Mercy Rosary) in a school hall with children as young as 9 & 10 watching right in the front row.

By the age of 15, I had seen my fair share of R-rated movies, and was not one to be easily put off by violence or sights of blood. But this movie (or rather, these scenes) were unwatchable. I found myself looking away more than once. If it was this hard for me to watch, I can only imagine what the young children in the front must have been going through.

Movies are given ratings for a reason. As evidenced by my little Matrix incident, age matters a lot. It's when you're young, that such scenes affect you the most. R-ratings are given to movies to protect children from things they shouldn't be seeing at their age. These people (the priests and brothers) completely ignored that when they showed the video at a school retreat. They made 10 year olds sit through severely uncomfortable and nightmarish scenes, all in the name of prayer.

What they did was unnecessary, and I was not in a position to protest. This was not prayer. It had nothing to do with spirituality. By forcing children to watch something this harrowing, they were implementing religion in young minds through fear. Their lack of concern shocked me, perhaps, more than what I saw on screen.

This incident is something I'll never forget, because, to some small extent, I understood what it felt like to watch something horrendous you can never entirely get over. All that shock, fear and confusion... it doesn't go away easily. At such a young age, it cuts deep.

Movies are given ratings for a reason. And using such a violent movie to scare children into praying? Bad move, brothers. Bad move.

Holiday hobbies

With eleventh grade coming to a close this Wednesday, hopefully, I get a week of holidays. And after the disaster that was the finals, I've been determined to enjoy this week to the fullest.

For me, a fun vacation equals a productive vacation. There's nothing worse than the feeling of emptiness of not having achieved anything, that seems to creep up as the reopening day draws close. So here I am, trying to accomplish as much as I can in the little time I have.

I pulled out my knitting needles the day school closed. Oh, how I missed the calming monotony of the needles as it repeated each stitch! A couple of hours were all it took to make a small yet useful neck cowl.

Day 2. I looked down at my hands and saw my barren nails. For some odd and rather unfair reason, our school does not allow painted nails. I spend the day giving myself a manicure. I used deep pink as a base, over which I applied a coat of Claire's fluorescent pink glow-in-the-dark nail polish (my nails actually glow in the dark now). Onto this thick coat, I stuck on some sequins, because why not? I topped it off with a clear coat for that all important finish.

Day 3 and I was running out of things to do. That's when I noticed whole boxes of paint that had been drying on my shelf for the past few months. Brushing off the dust, I sat down to paint. An old plate served as the perfect site. I can now use this as a wall hanging. After a whole afternoon of painting, this was the result:

I'm halfway through the holidays. As excited as I am for school to reopen, I don't want to go back without having done anything. These little hobbies are what make each day a little better, and a little brighter.

5 Reasons Why Old Books Make Perfect Gifts

 

Looking for the perfect gift? Look no further than your cramped up bookshelf.

Here are 5 reasons why old books make exemplary gifts...

1. Old books smell awesome: There is no denying that the magical smell that emanates from books is how nerds get high. You know you're an ardent bibliophile when the first thing you do after getting your hands on a book is open the pages and bury your nose in it. There is a clear cut difference between the smells of new and old books; each of them are engaging in their own way. But old books own a smell that's utterly intoxicating. And the older the better. Which is why the aging books in your shelves would make a priceless gift. 
2. Save yourself some space: Your bookshelves are overflowing with hardbacks and paperbacks, and the new set of books are homeless. You stare at the shelf for an hour or so, before acknowledging the hard reality that your perfect arrangement has to be changed to accommodate the new comers. And most of the time, they end up getting squeezed into whatever little space there is between the old books, because we can't seem to part with any book that has made our bookshelf its home. We've all been there... right? Or is that just me? Books make brilliant gifts, no matter the occasion. And by choosing to gift a book from your collection, you're freeing up space for more books to come.
3. Adds meaning to the gift: An old book from your shelf has much more meaning as a gift than a new book you picked up at the store based on a one-line review on the back cover. You've read the book. You've experienced it. You know how good it is. And now, you're sharing that experience with a loved one. You are opening them up to the same experience that you've had. That adds great meaning to an otherwise normal gift. 
4. Receiver values it more: To them, it isn't just another one of a million copies. It is the book that has seen the tears and smiles of another reader. It has a history. And that makes it an invaluable possession for years to come. 
5. Letting go: It all comes down to how much you welcome change. Its about letting go of the past, and making room for the future. By gifting an old book, you are giving it new life, in the hands of someone else. It is time for it, and you, to move on. 

 

Books are not like any other gift. Books are eternal. And they only get better with age, like fine wine. Make someone happy today with a gift that will always hold a part of you, a book that tells more than the story within its pages. Books are precious, intimate and deeply personal. It's more than just a gift. It's a shared experience. It's a lifetime of memories.