Understanding Writing Style

Being in a creative writing class has made me realize (if, only more so), my writing style and how it differs (and is similar to) my peers in the class. I've written short stories for the class thus far, two poems, and naturally, my inclination was to write, or share, my previously written work, or type up stories where couples were distraught, on the verge of a break up, lost secrets not told, secrets, as a whole, I realize tends to more or less resurface in my work, something my professor enjoys immensely to say the least. I showed him A Night of Frivolity, which he loved, and for my midterm, I had expanded upon Judgment, briefly flirting with the thought of making it a straight psychological thriller/mystery, but when it came down to it, the book was just that, but flirted, instead, with vampires and magic. Deadly vices in their own rights. He gave me an A+ on the work and told me that he would've distributed it to the class but he didn't want them, (and these are his words, mind you), to feel 'intimidated.' I scoffed immediately - my work hardly warranted such a claim, but he's remained impressed with my work, so much so, like I've said previously, he's offered to give The Dark World to a publisher friend of his, so we'll see how that goes.

He has stressed to me that he desires to see me write something that didn't involve vampires, magic, because he says my character building, plot structure...etc., it's all there, he just desires to see what else I can do. And I agree. I too have wondered when (because I know there is no more if), I will write a novel or short story that is solely...normal? Well, sans fangs and magic, at least. I don't know if that's soon, because I believe I've just begun to fully explore my love for those dark themes and what they bring out in me and what I can understand within them, and I can't see myself, for right now, working on anything contemporary or even solely historical fiction. I enjoy reading those types of works, but not too often, and would sooner pick up a book with swords, potions, alchemy, dragons, magic, supernatural creatures...etc.

I often wonder if this is a phase. Shall I one day grow out of it and venture onto...calmer pastures of writing? Or shall I always find comfort in the macabre, the bloody?

Only time will tell.

For now, I'm quite glad with the streaks of A++'s that I've earned in my creative writing class thus far, and the positive acclaim my writing has garnered.

Oh, and I was mentioned in the much-talked about author Jayme K.,'s interview with Carlana of This Lady Writes, do check it out and snag a copy of Disorderly and Nocturn by Ronald Andres Moore when you can!

Keep your bite,

-S.C. Parris

Oh and I'm listening to this amazing music by 78Violet (sisters Aly and AJ Michalka) while I go about my night. Give it a listen, will you?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jwr9JwyOHqA&w=640&h=360]

Finals, Writing, and Anxiety

Fitting that this be my 100th post, it being about the end of things, as it were. No, I'm not ending this blog, but I am ending this semester at college (it's finals week, hence my lack of blogging, and writing. For shame, I know), and for a while now I've been holed up in a whirlwind of anxiety and sickness.

I don't feel well. I don't feel...like myself. I feel scared, tired, sad, and, quite frankly, not good enough. I barely go on Goodreads anymore, I no longer promote TDW or TIG (and part of that is because I'm in the middle of editing/rewriting The Dark World and the version that's up is no longer valid), and I no longer write (much) of The Rather Depressing Tales of Patricia L. Bordeaux.

I haven't touched my laptop in weeks (I'm on my boyfriend's desktop), and any updates I've done have been through the library at college or on my phone. I'm...sad. At ill-ease with where I am, I guess. And I suppose it's due to the finals, the stress of passing my classes, and the stress, I guess, of not having people read A Night of Frivolity. It only adds to my anxiety, my feelings of inadequacy. Now, I'm sure it's being read, but reviewed, it is not. And that's a bit disconcerting.

For all the promises of reading it and reviewing it, I've only had two people come through on it, and yes it's received good reviews, but that's about it.

I know it's all the stress with everything I have going on on my end, but it is the main thing that has been bumming me out about this, taking me away from the utter...mass of criticisms on Goodreads. I remember a time when reading used to be what feelings were stirred in me when I read books, what I didn't like or liked about a book that was only my opinion. Now it seems, with Goodreads, it's been exacerbated and the wormhole's been torn open: everyone has their opinions, especially on vampires (thank you sparkly glitter monsters), and it's made it quite hard to wrap my head around...it all.

I don't know, I guess I'm overwhelmed. I know everyone's entitled to their opinion and we can't really help what the mainstream media has decided will be the next Harry Potter. I just need a longer break. And that's what I've been taking, I'd say, a well-deserved break, before I have a breakdown and just can't deal with any of this at all.

I know I sound utterly mad, and just - I'm not making any sense.

Sigh.

I'm gonna drink some tea and take some medicine and study some more before I have to head back to college for a final.

And for those that have followed my blog since day one, thank you.

For those that have just found it and read this and think I'm an overly sensitive person who can't calm down, you're kind of right, but not always. It's one of those days.

I'll be fine. I'll leave everyone with this:

"There was much I could say about my life, much I could pen down with reasonable time given, but it was terribly hard for me you see. For I was old. Much too old to remember, but still far too young to forget. I was trapped in time...and as much as I never wanted to be, I had no choice. My name is Patricia Lauren Bordeaux, and I, like my creator before me, am a very lonely vampire."

-Excerpt of A Night of Frivolity. Get it today for Kindle.

Keep your bite,

I'm keeping mine despite it all.

-S.C. Parris

New Review for A Night of Frivolity!

Jayme K., the author of Youth, read my ebook and reviewed it on Goodreads. You can read it in its entirety here, or simply look below:

Jayme K. rated it 5 of 5 stars  Truthfully I don't liken myself a fan of Anne Rice or even much period piece literature, so I went into this short story with mixed feelings. That being said, having finished the story - I have to say, I was impressed. Despite not being a fan of the genre, S.C. Parris still managed to captivate me with the style and prose of which it was written and delivered a really good and interesting tale. I'm not going to delve much into the storyline since it is a new release and I'm not looking to spoil, but I have to give props to anyone who can get me fully invested in a story, regardless of how long or short, in spite of having a pre-conceived stance on the genre of which it happens to reside. ANoF is a worthwhile read, not just for horror fans, but for readers in general. I recommend.

You can get your copy of A Night of Frivolity here for $4.99.

Keep your bite.

-S.C. Parris

 

Fable For Mythology Class | Short Story

Fable: You Don’t Know Best When You Don’t Have the Whole Story

            There once was a young woman who swore she was the most correct in all things. If anyone had a different thought, she called them wrong. If anyone had a different way of doing things than her, she called them wrong and would rather see them bend to her way.

            One day, this woman was walking down a barren street when she came across an old, dirty child. It was clear the child had had no proper place to sleep, and had no food to eat, so dirtied and thin was he.

            Desiring to stop and help the child (for what other way would the child gain a life of prosperity?), she stopped just before him and stooped low so that she may talk with him.

            “Dear child,” she began smugly, deeming herself to know the boy’s answer before he would say it, “what heinous act of little care has brought you into the squalor like this?”

            The young boy merely opened his mouth and said, “My mother caused it.”

            Aghast at this answer, the young woman soon smiled and said, “Where is your mother? I wish to speak with her so that I may tell her the best way to reduce your poor condition.”

            “Talking to her won’t help, Miss,” the boy said, but she waved him off, and he pointed toward the inside of the old run down house the young woman just realized was there. Squaring her shoulders she went inside the house and was quickly overcome with a most horrible scent.

            As she stepped over dirtied, quite old furniture, and lamps that hadn’t been used or lit in what had to be centuries, she finally found the staircase where the terrible smell seemed to be exuding from.

            With one last glance to the dirtied boy at the door, she knew she had to assist him; it was only right, after all, and she stepped up the stairs, placing a hand over her mouth as the smell was the worst up here.

            Several doors loomed before her but she moved to one that remained open, sure that that was where the evil mother must have spent her time, ignoring her child, and leaving the house in such awful conditions.

            Once upon the threshold, staggered back, for the terrible smell was great here, so great she thought she would not be able to move forward, but her desire to give this woman a grand talking to remained strong at the front of her mind, so she stepped into the dim room where thick, old curtains hid the sun’s light.

            And as she turned upon the bed to find nothing there but unworn clothes and layers of dust, her eyes caught the thin hair cascading down the back of an old rocking chair.

            Justice filling her heart with renewed vigor, she stepped toward the back of the chair, extended a hand to it, and spun it around so that she could give the woman a nice talking to about the correct way to raise a home and child.

            What she saw caused her to step away.

            The woman was mostly bone, vague remnants of muscle and tissue existed on what was once a frail face.

            Her mouth laid open in an expression much resembling horror.

            And the young woman had not but moved two steps away from the corpse before the voice entered the room:

            “I told you talking to her wouldn’t help, Miss. She can’t talk, not anymore.” And she turned to look at the skinny young boy as he held a small dirty knife in his small hands. “And now you won’t be able to talk either.”

            The young woman, so overcome with fear, threw herself out of the nearest window and landed roughly on a low, long hedge. She was greatly hurt, but more so scared, and she ran from the old house, the boy, the dead woman, and never spoke again, indeed.

Keep your bite.

-S.C. Parris

New! Brief Stories with Surprising Twists! Daily!

There was something on her shoulder but as she turned to look at it, it disappeared leaving her all the more confused. "I don't know what that was," she told him. He touched the same shoulder while she gave him a once over in confusion. "Don't worry," he said, "you'll be dead soon so it doesn't matter." | Brief Romance/Horror Twist of the Day. Liked it? Want more? Let me know in comments and I'll keep 'em coming!

Keep your bite.

-S.C. Parris