“The king’s men came for Roshana at high noon.” ~Shadow Princess

“The mourning cloak flutters against my shop window. Eyes dark and wide, mouth open in soundless desire, her pale hands scrabble against the glass that separates her from my bottles.” ~Mourning Cloak

“I had a soulmate.

I knew this as surely as I knew my name or my mother’s face or the three chittering djinns who sat upon my bedposts and made faces at me while I slept. I felt the lack of my soulmate like a missing limb, or a fallen tooth, as a constant ache in my stomach.” ~Soulmate

“The monument could once have been a coffin on a pedestal. Time had fused the box to the rock beneath. Grime and moss crept up the stone sides, the glass at the top was distorted and rippled in waves.” ~untitled steampunk Snow White

“Rafael Grenfeld burrowed deeper into his nest of potato peelings and rotten cabbage leaves. The piercing wind-shriek of the stazis’ whistles had been silent for eight long gongs, his trousers were thoroughly soaked with old tea, soup and other things he didn’t dare think about, and his sense of smell had shut down out of sheer self-defense.” ~Quartz

Join me by posting the first sentences (up to three) of some of your stories in the comments. Happy Monday, and here’s to good beginnings!

Oh, fun, I thought. Doodles on neon-colored index cards. I love index cards, and I love doodles. But then I flipped the cards over and found:

Folks who’ve taken Holly Lisle‘s How to Revise Your Novel course will recognize these as the color-coded scene cards from Lesson 10. Apparently, after I was done with the revision, I recycled them into ATCs. I love that the leftovers and discards from one creative project turned out to be the raw material for another.

Btw, there’s a lot more you can do with index cards besides turning them into artist trading cards. Check out my post, 9 Ways to Use Index Cards, for more ideas. Also, Tammy over at Daisy Yellow hosts ICAD (Index-Card-A-Day) to get those creative juices flowing.

So, instead of NaNoWriMo, I’m going to talk about Japanese paper dolls.

Yep. You heard that right.

A few days ago I had only the vaguest idea that there might be such a thing as Japanese paper dolls. But I have a 5yo daughter who loves pretty things, and she’s studying Japan at the moment, so my thought processes went something like:

Japan–>must do related activity–>5 year old loves fancy patterns, bright colors and pretty costumes–>kimonos!–>rats, I don’t sew and I can’t fob this off on husband who does–>I know! JAPANESE PAPER DOLLS!

So, I googled around and realized I was not the first one who’d made the above connection. Turns out making Japanese paper dolls is a popular activity–and not just for kids. This klutz-proof tutorial yielded us several lovely dolls, albeit with black construction paper hair and faces, because 5-and-3-year-olds cannot fathom faceless dolls.

Of course, pretty Japanese-patterned origami paper is not a staple of our arts & crafts supply shelf, but not to worry. You can actually print out origami paper. It’s not as rich and finger-friendly as real Japanese paper but it does in a pinch. Alternatively, glossy magazines can yield suitable paper–for my test-run doll I made a kimono out of a picture of pink blossoms from a Birds & Blooms magazine.

After making our dolls, we pulled out Children Just Like Me: Celebrations and read a double-page spread on Hina Matsuri, the Japanese Dolls’ Festival that takes place in the spring.

I find real dolls rather creepy (thanks, Chucky), but paper dolls are so delightful and charming. I especially like the ones with period clothing.

What about you? Anyone into paper dolls, origami, or pretty paper?

* bake bread

* art journal—doodles or collage

* play with magnetic poetry (did some today with the kids–SO fun)

* work on a ROADMAP (*not*outline) of Kai’s book

* brainstorm a new story–a short for S&S, Secret Project 2, Flare, whatever strikes my fancy

* read aloud and polish the first five chapters of Quartz to a high shine

* just read

* plan a YA creative writing workshop that I volunteered to do (*gulp*!)

*clean pantry, mop floors, scrub bathrooms, do laundry (there’s some stuff I can’t avoid)

* write a post in different colors–CHECK!

Snow! We’ve had a LOT of snow come our way recently. Even better than the sight of freshly-fallen snow is my kids’ reactions to all this white stuff. The plows have pushed so much snow to the sides of the road that much of it has fallen down our stone wall and into our yard, which is sunken down a level below the road. The olders love climbing up and down this “mountain”. Yesterday, all five of us went sledding in the park. We were the only people there on a lovely not-too-cold late afternoon, and we all had a BLAST wiping out in the snow. David took embarrassing videos. Of course.

Sir I. wrote a poem about snow. The first verse goes:

Snow frosting
Snow white
Snow beauty
Shining in the bright

Speaking of white spaces, here’s an article that Jo forwarded me about making room for creativity in your life–room that the writer refers to as “white spaces”. I found myself nodding emphatically at every point, sometimes rather sheepishly. Simmering ideas? Decluttering living areas? Having unscheduled time to do nothing? Unplugging from the wider world? Fostering a few close connections? Yes, yes, yes, yes, and YES. I know all this, and yet I need to hear it again and again, because white spaces quickly get taken over by lots of busy neon letters saying DO THIS and a bunch of blinking exclamation marks thrown in for good measure.

I love this world map labeled with the translations of the countries’ names. Via Juliette Wade.

And this quote by Michelangelo: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

This is particularly inspiring right now because Kai’s book is so full of tangents, dead ends, pointless exposition, and wild leaps of logic that I’m already despairing the revision stage. (Not to mention whining over how come I can’t write perfect first drafts yet.) Then I see this quote, and I know that writing the first draft is only cutting a block of marble from my mental quarry. Once I have the raw material, I can shape and carve until I set my story free.

What’s inspiring you today?

And so being the writers that we are, we dared each other to write magic school hazing scenes. Jo’s got hers up here and mine is down below:

Senses Box

I don’t know who started them, but the whispers tagged us all day. We shared the news behind raised hands as we ate our accustomed breakfast of oatmeal—lumpy, not mashed like what the First Years got. We passed it along in the white hallways, our words sinking into the padded grey carpet. The news made us squirm, tugged our attention from Master Nyssa in Colors.

Rol’s got a Senses Box! An Upper Level Senses Box!

Master Nyssa took us through the greyscale, then rapped her pointer, just hard enough to make us wince. “Pay attention, class. This next swatch”—she tapped at the black-covered board—“is 5% red in white. We call this tint pink. Prepare your mental walls.”

Our first exposure to a primary color! We all straightened, donned our most focused expressions, clasped our (grey) gloved hands and set up our mental walls against the onslaught.

Master Nyssa went around the room, checking posture, mentally scrutinizing blocks, murmuring reassurances that at our level of training, a tint would not cause permanent damage.

Then she removed the black covering.

Red screamed off the swatch and arrowed for my eyes. My mental blocks were too small, too pathetic. The color pierced my membrane, seared through the liquid in my eyeballs, targeted my nerve. It electrified its way up to my brain, shattered my barriers one by one…

…. hit my primary defenses. And stopped.

I panted. Sweat trickled down my back. Slowly, I came back to my surroundings, dazed, crouched over. Many of my peers had collapsed. Trig was a heap on the floor, several classmates held their heads and moaned. Retching sounds came from behind me. Only Ava looked serene as usual, though her hands clenched each other so hard it was a wonder her nails hadn’t poked through.

Master Nyssa briskly administered restoratives. “Not bad for your first time. Good work, Ava and Fali. Run along to Master Derk now. He’ll understand.”

Master Derk had been warned; he was unsurprised to see only the two of us out of the entire Second Year class. We spent Sounds listening to single musical notes, separated by vast spaces of silence.

Lunch was mashed potatoes without even a shake of salt. Someone had judged that the Second Years had suffered too much sensory assault already.

Back to baby food. I sulked, craving the tingle of salt crystals on my tongue.

The Masters had warned us about addiction to the senses. It was a common failing of those of us born to see the world in all its riotous glory, and to manipulate the fabric of its being. Most of our kind didn’t make it out of babyhood, burned to the core by the colors and curves of everyday things, driven to anguish by the touch of a mother’s hand or the crocheted trim of a blanket. Those who survived shut themselves up in their minds behind walls of impenetrable darkness or abandoned their bodies for a brief passionate life entangled in a wall-hanging, a flower, a sunbeam.

They tell us that we are the lucky ones, kept in ascetic surroundings since our babyhood. The Masters slowly introduced us to sights, smells, tastes, sounds, and textures, and coached us to not be overcome by them. Afterwards, we’d move on to the Collegium where we’d learn to manipulate what our senses perceived.

***

Rol swaggered by with his tray, dramatically tripped on my chair leg (perhaps an inch or two out of its regulated space—Sounds always made me hungry), and sent his dishes flying. Carrot chunks pattered onto carpet, gobs of applesauce rained on Kiri, who beat at the clinging ooze on her robes with rising hysteria. The Second Years let out whispered shrieks at the clatter of bowls and tray and the fleshly thump of Rol hitting ground.

I looked down, mashed potato halfway to my mouth.

Rol grinned at me. His eyes were just shy of unacceptable coloration. “An hour after Lightsout. In the Smell Lab. The Senses Box.”

The Masters swooped down on silent feet. One clapped a mildly-scented washcloth on Kiri’s face, calming her down immediately. Another made a gathering gesture and the offending carrots disappeared. Master Derk hauled Rol to his feet.

“’Sokay, ’sall right. Thank’ee for asking.” Rol brushed his rumpled robe and spoke too loudly in the fake commoner’s accent he affected. He piled his tray haphazardly with bowls and sauntered off.

I stared after him. I’d been noticed. I’d been invited.

I was… somebody.

***

The lab was locked and they were late. I’d been trained—as we all had—to stand still for long periods of time, but it was hard not to fidget.

Rol’s gang didn’t make a pretense at being quiet. Their smothered laughter, the scuff of their feet, the scritch of their clothes made my heart beat faster. As Rol unlocked the door, the hulking Nar showed how he’d pinned paper on the inside of his robes to make them crinkle in that ear-grating way.

In spite of the greasy-feeling bespelled air, the ghosts of old scents lingered inside the Lab. I picked out something citrus, something metallic, and stinky feet.

“This way.” Rol strode to a smooth-surfaced white table and withdrew the Senses Box from his robes. We took in a collective deep breath. It was white and rectangular, with a Fourth Year sigil on the lid.

“How’d you get this, Rol?” breathed Fi, a wispy Third Year with a paler-than-normal complexion.

“I have my ways.” Rol stood up straight. “All right, let’s do this. Nar, you’re first.”

“Awww, Rol. Why me?” In spite of his grumbles, Nar stepped up to the table.

I stared fixedly at the signs on the sides.

WARNING—PRIMARY COLOR OVERLOAD

CAUTION–CURVES

BEWARE—OLFACTORY AND GUSTATORY EFFECTS

And in the biggest letters of them all: MUTABLE

Which was code for organic. My palms grew sweaty.

Nar leaned forward; Rol flipped the lid open. Nar peeked in, eyes screwed almost shut, then reared back and hurried away. Rol shut the lid, but not before I caught its smell through the sluggish air…

Fi was next. One quick look, then her face took on an unhealthy tinge and she scuttled away, holding her stomach.

Flip, peek, hurry, flip. Flip, sway, get pushed aside, flip.

Then it was my turn. The foreign scent of the object inside, heavy and warm like a hand against my lips, fired my nerves. I wanted whatever it was. I wanted to taste it so badly my hands tremored.

So when Rol flipped the top open again, I thrust out my hands, grabbed the object—oh so wonderful and smooth, firm and yielding—and stuffed it into my mouth.

An explosion of color like sunglare in my eyes, rubbery sensation on my tongue that gave way to taste… by the One, the taste of the thing!

Last things I saw, before I was overcome with bliss, were Rol’s gaping mouth and rounded eyes.

***

Three weeks later, once the explosions stopped and the cacophony died to a murmur, they told me what happened. How Rol had fled to the Masters as his gangmates shrieked and scattered. How I’d been stripped and immersed in natal fluid like a baby. How I’d screamed at the light from a single candle, the sound of a whisper.

They told me what it was I put in my mouth. They pulled sad faces, spoke in weighty whispers, told me I’d learned my lesson.

When they left, all I could think of was what awaited me in the world beyond these walls. Of all the wonderful sights and smells, tastes and textures I was missing.

And how I could get my hands on another banana.

Sir I. was playing this phonics game, which involves him making and reading nonsense words. The first word he made was “prete”, which sounded to me like it should mean “prattling moralistically”. Sir I. thought it sounded like a large orange-and-yellow fruit. His next word was “fleash”. Sounds like something a zombie would want, “Fleash! I need fleash!”.

Want to help me come up with definitions for the following “words”?

• splipe
• frube
• zond
• yame
• stuke

But since I have a strongly practical bent, I used my 40% off coupon on alphabet stamps (*siiiiigh*) and left the fairy tale stack behind (*siiiigh*).

If you had this lovely paper (and remember it is quite thick), what would you do with it? Help me justify putting this in my shopping cart next time!

Speaking of awesome landscape pictures, here’s yet another plug for one of my favorite love-to-gawk-at  sites.

Via SF Signal: 40 examples of stunning space art. These images make me feel awed, insignificant, and sometimes disturbed. The artists have captured the vast scale and gigantic grandeur of space so well.

On an altogether different scale, I just love these drawings by Maria William. Oh, the detail.

I recently discovered iHanna’s Blog. This exploring pink journal is so cheerful and busy and full of sparkling life, it makes me want to do one of my own. (And I say this as a not-fan of pink. My color journal would explore greens and blues, especially the jewel tones that blend into each other!).

Where do you go if you need a little online visual inspiration?