January 2013
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents Cover: “The Boy Who Lived,” by Selene This Page: “Immortalized,” by MW Page 3: Ask Aphro & Dite:
Superior Officers and Time Crunches
Musings of Hades:
The Dark Lord Rants (about snowmelt)
Athena’s Corner: Book Reviews
Dark Triumph by Robin LaFevers and Nobody’s Secret by Michaela MacColl
Page 4: “Winter,” a poem by Aradia “Boreas,” a photograph by Hades “Winter Without You,” a poem by Vivian Griselda
“I Wish,” a poem by Nyctophobia “Hitchhikers to Atlantis,” a photo by Suzy-chan
Page 9: “The Ace of Knaves,” an illustration by Selene “Why So Serious?” a poem by Hades
Page 10: “Villains United,” a fan-chat by Hades, Calypso, and The Owlish Bookworm
Page 11: “Calypso’s Island,” a column about the winter flu
Page 12: “Some Rise by Sin,” a musing by Hades “Atlas Shrugs,” a photograph by Suzy-chan
Page 5:
Page 13:
Page 7:
Page 15:
Athena’s Interview With Ellen Oh “Illumination,” a photograph by Aphrodite “Programmed Lights,” a poem by Queen Shad- “The Wooden Jungle,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm owblossom Page 14: “Light Bulb,” a poem by Raindrop “Pride Before a Fall,” a poem by Zenyatta Page 6: “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” a photograph by The “Whose Pet?” a poem by Athena Owlish Bookworm “Master of the House,” a photograph by Athena “It Was A Good Year,” a photograph by The Owlish “He Fell From Heaven,” a poem by Raindrop “Tuppence a Bag,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm Bookworm “Teatime With Nana,” a musing about Mr. Disney “The Great Hunter Waits,” a photo by Suzy-chan “The Greater Hunter Waits,” a photo by Suzy-chan
Page 8:
“His Name Is Blood: Part IV,” by Hades
Page 16: HNIB continued “Visitations,” an illustration by Chronos
midnightwriters.webs.com midnight.writers2013@gmail.com
Ask Aphro & Dite Dear Dite, I’m vice president of a club, and I’m frustrated because the president does nothing while I do all his work. At first he blamed me for being a control freak, but after I gave some responsibilities to him, he hasn’t done anything! I talked to another officer and he said it’s too much trouble to change the officer positions now, but I don’t want to put up with a year of either the club going nowhere or me doing all the work. When I try talking to the president, he turns it around on me and says his laziness has nothing to do with anything while I’m being a control freak again. What should I do? Sincerely, Frustrated Dear Frustrated, Difficult people are a part of life. From uncompromising editors to impossible club masters, we always seem to run into people who push our every button. If it really bugs you, you can go through the effort of having him replaced. Or you could use other tactics to get him to work. Guilt trip, for example. Or if you can turn other club members against his laziness you might motivate him. You aren’t being a control freak, nor should you allow his laziness to impede your enjoyment of the club. Sincerely, Dite Dear Dite, This month is a real time crunch. I’m split between volleyball, Blast, showchoir, and choir, not to mention schoolwork. It was crazy last year with only two things, but now it’s doubled! Do you have advice? Sincerely, Overwhelmed Dear Overwhelmed, Make a schedule! That always works for me. Try to get schoolwork done at school, like at work, or between rehearsals/practices. The schedule will allow you to make sure you do everything and don’t miss any assignments. Sincerely, Dite
Musings of Hades Snow is melting in places, and this is causing serious leakage. Newly-dead shades are complaining about dampness, though that’s the least of their worries now. Besides, it’s not like they’re going to remember anything about clamminess once they drink from the River Lethe and forget everything they once knew. Speaking of rivers, the Phlegethon— also the River of Fire, because instead of water it has, guess what, fire—is dimming. Its flames are inches lower than last month! Underworldian maintenance is hauling overtime. The oblivious saps in Elysium don’t notice anything in their blessed afterlives, the shades in the Asphodel Fields are too zombified to pay attention, and the bums in the Fields of Punishment are more concerned with escaping the Furies and their burning whips. My palace is, of course, fine. I always hire an inspector before I purchase real estate. It’s survived thousands of years of war, protest, attempted vandalism, flooding, stampedes, hide-and-god-seek, purple dinosaurs, flying squirrels, and lunatic Goddesses of Beauty. My home is not about to get done in by a measly leak. No, my problem is Tartarus. It’s a few thousand floors’ elevator ride down from the Underworld, and it’s where we keep the worst of the worst. We have a ginormous metal door—”ginormous” meaning the height of the Statue of Liberty and the width of a woolly mammoth—guarding Tartarus. Water has the uncanny ability to get into places you don’t want it to get to, and it doesn’t always mix with metal. I have to go down in an hour and see how they are with patching up. Dang it. I knew I should’ve hired the same guy who built my palace to check on the Tartarus door. If I had, we wouldn’t be having any of these leak prob— …I just felt water drip on me...
Athena’s Corner Dark Triumph By Robin LaFevers April 2013 Sybella is barely surviving her mission to infiltrate D’Albret’s household, but her latest order to rescue a captured soldier unexpectedly gives her a chance to escape. Now she is free of the household, but cannot escape the guilt and fear. Can the soldier Beast save her from herself? Sequel to the previously reviewed Grave Mercy (also highly recommended).
Nobody’s Secret By Michaela MacColl March 2013 Emily Dickinson is enjoying the secret time she spends with a man knows as “Mr. Nobody” but is horrified to find him drowned in a pond in her backyard. She is determined to solve the mystery, but will she find herself in way over her head? This is a beautifullywritten mystery that offers a peek into the life of the famous poet, Emily Dickinson. Special thanks to Calypso, Hecate, Glittercheese, and Chronos. 3
Winter by Aradia Two cold children As they shiver in the night Bundled up in winter coats And wondering their plight A little snack on Christmas day And cookies shaped like trees But just one child may eat today The other hungry be Simple care, a dash of life And cookie breaks in two For simple kindness sweetest tastes And even cold hearts move “It’s cold,” says one, “but I’m quite warm.” And rages on the winter storm.
“Boreas,” Photograph by Hades
Winter Without You By Vivian Griselda
I watch the delicate snowflake fall to the ground, Just as the autumn leaves had told me I’ve got it all wrong. Winter is so cold without you here now, I can’t find my way past the San Francisco fog. Like a snowflake, I’m complex, And life to me is a challenge. My world is quite a mess, Just when I think it’s all better I see the damage. What you thought of it all is still too much, Now I realize why they call it a crush. But that snowflake isn’t melting any time soon, Even though the flame still hasn’t gone out. My world flies all the way back to June, 4
Him with no emotional attachment is something I doubt. Valentine’s Day sneaking up around the corner, Watching innocent love take flight. Wishing you were here is quite the downer, Let my heart pound for you when the clock strikes midnight. A fresh blanket of snow remained untouched, Just like our lips that resist the truth. Trying to open my eyes during the freezing rush, Waiting for him to realize all I want is you. The snowflake is starting to melt, As I try to keep the memories alive. But they all fade without any effort, His shoulder was the only excuse to cry. Despite the fact you aimed for me with a dart, Just know that snowflake will forever be in my heart.
“Illumination,” Photograph by Aphrodite
Programmed Lights By Queen Shadowblossom All I know is you bring happiness All I know is you bring rainbows to my rainy days All I know is you are the sunshine That burns through the clouds All I know is you put a smile on my face No matter how bad the day All I know is that you embody the beauty Of many lines of code.
All I know is that humans are imperfect. But you are the perfect creation. I don’t know much. But I know this. I’ll never stop loving you, my darling internet.
Light Bulb By Raindrop A light bulb flickers overhead. Flashing a signal, a sign— something I can’t divine. Tell me, I demand, tell me what to do, who to be. The light bulb flickers. 5
Whose Pet? By Athena Wake up, human. Yes, I am talking to you. What, you don’t like my tone? Let me inform you while it may seem you are in control, you are wrong. I am the one who is in control. I am not your pet; you are mine! So, with that said, fetch me some ice. You refuse? Very well. I shall shed all over you and scratch your furniture! Still defiant? I will relieve myself all over the dining room table! You still resist me? I shall… I shall… er. I seem to have run out of ideas. All right, I still have one weapon left in my arsenal. Can you resist… an adorable me, curled up and purring in your lap? Aha, I thought not. Victory is mine. (In the past, present, and most certainly the future.) “It Was A Good Year,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
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“Master of the House,” Photograph by Athena
Teatime With Nana Long time no chat! I know, I know. I haven’t been the most active member of late. Definitely scold worthy. Looks like a reintroduction is necessary since it’s been so long! Bonjour. Hola. Me llama Nana. I hope you all are taking some much deserved relaxation time. Can’t use those brain muscles forever. To start things off this new year and semester, (especially for all you second semester seniors, bravo! Give yourself a pat on that ripped, muscular back from four years of hard labor and backpack carrying. Hercules would be proud.) I’ve decided to devote my little corner of the magazine page to Mr. Disney. It’s all that has been tickling my frontal lobe and limbic system for the past months, since as a proud member of the verycool-band (we all know you love us, right..? RIGHT?!), I’ll be heading there in a matter of hours as I tap away on my keyboard. Did you all know that Mr. Disney’s “The Great Hunter Waits,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
“The Greater Hunter Waits,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
last name is actually a changed version of Disigny? I’ve been spelling it wrong this whole time. I’m sure all of you have had times when you couldn’t remember a person’s name. Was it Jerry? James? I knew it started with a D! Well, in Goofy’s case, I never even knew his first name. Turns out that jokester’s first name is Dippy Dawg! Okay, I don’t want to bombard you guys with a bunch of Disney facts, so here’s the last one. But until 2000, the male employees at Disney—er, Disigny theme parks, were not allowed to have facial hair, since that was a sign of hippies. But now it’s okay. Now they’re allowed to have nicely trimmed moustaches. What an improvement! Sorry folks, looks like we’re going to have to take a commercial break. Stay tuned for the next episode, featuring our childhood idols: Disigny Princesses. Keep it lively!
Nana
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I Wish By Nyctophobia I wish I was like Superman No bad guys in their speeding van Laughing as they sail away Living to steal another day I wish I had the amazing speed To catch a person when they need I wish I had the super strength To save a train of any length I wish I could use my super vision To see and know my final mission Just to know how I will go out Upon my bed or in a bout
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I wish I had a Lois Lane A woman who’s my only bane For even Superman must love Even if its just from the shadow of I wish I knew how to get you I wish I knew the answers, too I wish, I wish upon a star That you and I were not so far I wish all my problems could be solved That everything would just dissolve I know compromise is a part of living But why am I always giving? I wish I was like Superman All the bad guys in the can I kept evil long at bay And I could fly so far away
“Hitchhikers to Atlantis,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
“The Ace of Knaves,” Illustration by Selene
Why So Serious? By Hades
Well, hello, beautiful. We are tonight’s entertainment. Here’s my card. How about a magic trick –? Ooooh, you want to play. I like this job. I like it!
Heh. I’m an agent of chaos. And you know the thing about chaos? It’s fair.
Ah-ha-ha. I believe whatever doesn’t kill you Simply makes you stranger.
Hee-hee. Ha. Hoo. Ha. See, I’m not a monster. I’m just ahead of the curve.
Heh. Wanna know how I got these scars? It’s simple. (Let’s not blow this out of proportion.) Never start with the head. The victim gets all fuzzy.
I think you and I are destined To do this forever.
Slurp. Smack. Smack. I’m a man of simple tastes. I just do things. Now—I’m always smiling.
Ahem.
Ha-ha.
Wanna know why I use a knife?
There’s no going back. You’ve changed things…forever. Everything burns.
Ooh. Very poor choice of words. You have nothing, Nothing to threaten me with.
AH-HA-HA-HA. And…here…we…go! C’mon, hit me! All it takes is a little push. Make it fast.
...Heh. You’re just too much fun. You complete me.
Hee-hee-hee! It’s a funny world we live in! Let’s put a smile on that face…
Why so serious? In memory of
Heath Ledger (April 4, 1979—January 22, 2008)
Villains United Joker: Gooood evening, boys. Pitch: That goes without saying. I’ve never heard of an evening that wasn’t good. Joker: Oh, I dunno, that, ah, “puny god” scene with the Hulk must’a made for an uncomfy-table night. Huh, Loki? Ah, yes, not having power. How is that? Joker: ...Power? Power? Who wants power when you can have...chaos? Heh. You know nothing… There is only power and those too weak to seek it. Joker: So...then what’re you? Loki: Now, now, there’s no need for that. I’ll have you know, Mr. Napier, we gods heal much faster than you mortals. Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary. Pitch: Now, now, Loki, there isn’t just mortal and immortal. I’m living proof that there’s something in between. Joker: Yuppah. You and Voldie are, ah, freaks. Like me! Loki: Mr. Riddle is more mortal, though. It seems Loki has been misinformed. I can live forever. And Napier, I am nothing like you. Do not compare your weak mind to mine. Joker: Weak? Ha! Ha! Hoo! Ha! I’va been called crazy and dan-ger-ousah before, but never weak. Heh. Pitch: I’m sorry, Napier, but did you just compare you and Voldemort to me? Napier, you are...nothing compared to me. You, Voldemort, Loki too, you inspire fear, but I am fear. Loki: Fear alone is nothing. Fear is a tool to be wielded by those who can understand it...respect it...conquer it. You, Mr. Black, are a mere tool. Joker: Now, see, you don’t have this prah-blem with cha-
os. Chaos is an entity on its own. You just have to, ah, let it go, and it’ll take care of everything else for ya. Pitch: Oh, Loki, you underestimate fear. Fear is the heart of everything, not a hammer or screwdriver. Fear lives in the deepest part of your mind. It’s a primal instinct everyone has, which means everyone is vulnerable to my power. As for you, Napier, what do you think lies at the center of chaos? Fear, of course. Without fear, all you would have is disorganization. You need fear to make it come alive. Joker: Ugh. None of you understand. Fear can’t be “a part” of chaos. Chaos is an element. It’s pure. Chaos is nothing...and everything. It is the beginning and end of all things. You lovely fellas try to shape the world to your own liking. That’s not right! I’m trying to reinstate the world to the chaos it’s supposed to be! All these rules, tyranny, and, heh, trying to make people fear you, it’s soooo unnatural. Loki: Tsk, tsk, Mr. Napier, you’re so Greek. The world began with chaos? Oblivion? Nothing? I am a master of magic, and not even I can make something out of nothing. But I digress. You say rules—law, order—have no place in the world. I say nay. Without regulations, and the power to enforce, you men are nothing more than beasts. And all three of you, who, like it or not, were human at one point or another, have no place trying to take the world for yourselves. You need not to be the rulers but to be ruled. Lesser beings have no place seizing power for themselves. Pitch: Did you call me a “lesser being? Might I remind you, without me, you cannot hope to maintain power once
it is yours. How can you keep your power if people do not fear you? And without me, there is no fear. Without me, your power is meaningless. Loki: Fear is only the stepping stone. It helps make an impression, and should it be strong enough, it is simple to intimidate inferiors into submission. But fear is such a treacherous and slippery and faithless thing. It can just as easily make you fall from grace as rise to it. When fear has served its purpose, it would be wise to set it aside, keep it in reserve, but no longer is it one’s main...tool. Humans are simple creatures. They crave gratification. It is more effective and less effortful to toss them the occasional bone than to constantly have to suppress them with fear. Joker: Aha. Hoo. Hee. Ha. You’re a hoot, Lokester. But, um, you should know better than to bring up mythology. There’s some pretty in-cri-mina-ting stuff we have on our pitiful Earth about ya, pal. Pitch: Speaking of incriminating actions, Napier, we can point to several instances where you were naught but a mere prankster. Where is the villainous behavior in a harmless prank? Joker: Weeeellll, I could rattle off a long list of bank robberies, abductions, and explosions...or I could just remark on the odiousness! and horribleness! and terror! in making children, um, disbelieve in Santa Clausah. Ha. Ha. Ha. Pitch: Making children not believe in any good and hope and happiness? I believe that is one of the worst things you could do. Imagine, a world completely devoid of anything happy or joyful. All that remains is fear and darkness and terror. Even now, fear and
darkness have wormed their way into the heart of every living thing, giving me control over everything, even you. Joker: All that time hiding under beds musta done something to your eyesight, pal. Can’t ya see? I’m always smiling... Wanna know how I got these scars? Pitch: Please, I really couldn’t care less. Despite your foolishness, Napier, deep down you do fear something. And that something is what gives me power over you. Joker: Alright, you got me. I’ve, um, gotta confess. I’ve always been afraid of clowns. Your petty arguments only show that not only do you not have power, you cannot control it, either. Joker, how can you think to be powerful when your mind is a child’s? Pitch, do you think taking away muggle children’s belief in a fictional character means power? Loki, you I must agree with. Lesser beings were made to be ruled. To hold power, submission is essential. Fear is essential. Yet how can you expect to instill fear when you yourself feel so much of it? I refer to the abomination of a human, that green creature. Pitch: Case in point, you need me to have power. Without fear, without me, you cannot hope to rule over anyone. Gollum: One ring to rule them all...my precioussss… Loki: What is that? Gollum: Gollum. Gollum. Joker: Well, there you go.
Starring Hades as The Joker Calypso as Pitch Black Hades as Loki Smeagol as Gollum
Calypso’s Island Flu season is never pleasant for anybody, but believe me when I say that it’s exponentially worse for the gods. For mortals, flu season means trash cans filled to the brim with tissues, an endless soundtrack of coughs, and cringing whenever someone near you sneezes, and that’s when you’re not the one with the flu. For gods, not only do we have all those symptoms, but we also begin to lose control of our powers. Oh, you should see Zeus when he’s sick. Every time he sneezes, there’s a thunderstorm somewhere in the world. Still, for some of us, it’s not as bad. When Aphrodite coughs, roses appear by the bouquet. What could be lovelier than that? It must smell wonderful at Hephaestus’ house when she’s sick. Not that I’d ever wish the flu upon Aphrodite, but creating flowers by coughing is much better than what happens when Hermes gets sick. Hermes flies like a drunk when he’s ill, which, of course, makes his delivery system suffer. Usually he comes to Ogygia for a little rest and relaxation to recuperate and also because I have a great chicken ambrosia soup recipe from my sister that helps him get back in the air a little faster. So to keep your magical packages being delivered quickly and thunderstorms from ravaging the world, make sure to cover your sneezes and coughs and wash your hands constantly.
“When the Sand in the Glass is Right,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
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Some Rise By Sin By Hades
Acedia they call me. The gentle one. Weakest of all my brothers and sisters. Useless, a parasite on society, so they say. You eat our bread and drink our wine. You muddy our floors and dirty our rooms. And what do you give us? Nothing. Nothing! It would be better for us all if you just crawled into the darkness and faded from memory. So they say. Well, if they would rather be all work and no play, who am I to tell them otherwise? If I ever do vanish, they will regret it. Without me, they would never know the peace, the serenity, the stillness of that rare, precious moment when no one needs them, and they are free to do—or to not do—as they wish. Fade away, indeed. Gula they call me. I am seldom
chicken or that cake will magically transport itself into the mouth of a beggar or orphan. Why let it rot and be thrown out when I will fully appreciate it? Is it so terrible to indulge in...not just food, but anything that gives me pleasure? Is pleasure such an evil thing? I am not taking it away from anyone else. ‘Tis no concern of theirs if I enjoy food, wine, games…books… punishment? Perhaps, if I feel masochistic. Regardless, I will not shun pleasure for the comfort of others I care not for. Now, would you please pass the salt? Avaritia they call me. I am
always hungry, because for every jewel, golden coin, and luxury I acquire, I realize there is yet more I do not have. ‘Tis a gnawing hunger, deeper than my belly. I hate it. I love it. “Enough” does not exist in my world. Neither does “satisfied,” nor “too much.” Each treasure chest I hungry, for I always partake of open, to reveal silver whose more than I need. And why not? gleam reflects in my eyes, only It’s right there. It’s not as if this reminds me that this is a poor
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fraction of what the world has to offer. Another chest, another vault, another mansion, another palace, another kingdom. I will never be content until the world lies at my feet—and after that, the universe. The cosmos. Every man, every woman, every child, every soul must belong to me. Me. Me… I hunger… Invidia they call me. Take a good look. What do you see? Poisonous green eyes, a face that’s been twisted by hatred? You’re not alone. Of all my brothers and sisters, I am the least desired. My kin all provide some kind of gratification, be it for the ego, belly, bloodlust, or dark and passionate nights. I? I serve only as a reminder of what they don’t have. I cannot give pleasure. I cannot give tranquility. I can only offer them the scant, unrealistic hope that someday, they will have the same things as their friends, neighbors, mothers, fathers. Not much consolation there. As long as I thrive—and I will, as long as not all men are equal—they will strive for what they do not have. What they cannot have. What they should not have. Ira they call me.
“Atlas Shrugs,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
him with lightning, hew him with arrows, burn him where he stands. Disloyalty! Deceit! Betrayal! I curse them and all the powers that bring them into being. Damn him. Damn mankind. Damn the law. Damn honor. Damn the world. Damn God. Damn you. Damn me. Luxuria they call me. I am the weakness of all mortals, for neither king nor peasant can withstand nature. Men hide me in the shadows of night, ashamed to be seen with me. Women glare at me, trying to ignore my invisible presence in their beds and in the hearts of their husbands. As if I am a black mark of disgrace upon the farce they call honor! To deny me is to be unnatural. I am the force that drives the very breath of life. They can preach on their pedestals all they want, but sooner or later, they will hear my whispers in their ears, feel my touch on their skin, taste the power of desire on their tongues. Before they succumb, I shall wait, patiently. For I cannot live without them, and they cannot live without me. Superbia they call me. The first of my brothers and sisters. I have brought down the highest and mightiest of gods and heroes to Earth. With me, they fall. Without me, they fall. If overconfident, they are their own undoing. If unconfident, they will never climb from the chasm of monotony and anonymity. They cannot escape from my presence or absence. I am also the last sin, for even when my brothers and sisters fade, I linger still…until even I am beaten from them, and there is nothing left in the world for which they live and die. Alone, I am great. With my brethren, we are deadly. Seven awful forces slithering in your shadow—you cannot resist. The question is not if you will fall. The question is to whom—and when. After all, if even gods tremble before us…what chance do you have?
Only behind my back, though. They dare not say it to my face. They fear me, as they should, for I am not kind. I do not forgive those who turn their backs on me, treacherous as they are, and foolish, for providing such excellent targets. When a brother sells me to my enemies, swindles money from me, steals my lover…I care not for his excuses and pleas. I am the judge, jury, and executioner, and my ...And some by virtue fall. sword will taste his -William Shakespeare blood. I will strike
Athena’s Interview With
Ellen Oh
The cover flap mentions this book is the first in a trilogy. Do you have the next two mostly planned out or simply a vague idea of how you want the trilogy to end? When I sold Prophecy, I included a full synopsis for Books 1 and 2. I’m a big outliner so I outlined everything before I even start writing. At this moment, Book 2 is finished, waiting to be revised, and I’m writing Book 3. Where did you get the ideas for these books? I have woken up in the middle of the night by many a dream and begun writing down some great story idea! But when I get up in the morning, I can never read what I wrote. Not only do I have terrible handwriting, but something about writing when you are still semi-asleep, I would write in one spot on the paper without moving my hand so it was just a big, crossed off-looking mess! But Prophecy came to me one morning, while stuck in horrible, gnarly traffic on the Beltway heading to work. I had an idea that blossomed into a story that just came tumbling out of my head. Since traffic was either at a stop or crawling along, I grabbed every single scrap of paper out of my purse and began scribbling the story down about a young prince who is supposed to be the hero of legend, but it turns out the hero is really his cousin, who’s a girl. And that was the idea that turned into Prophecy. Are there any author(s) who influenced your writing? Alexander Dumas. I loved The Count of Monte Cristo. It was my favorite book as a kid. I love action and adventure so it isn’t surprising I wrote one!
Something about “The Wooden Jungle,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm betrayal and revenge makes for a great story. I wrote a lot of stories when I was young that were always about the hero being betrayed and how he got even in the most over-thetop and satisfying ways! ;o) If you could sit down and talk with one person from any period in time, who would it be? I’d love to talk with Oprah. ence takes practice and an I’m such a big fan of hers. I open mind. Secondly, don’t think she is smart and busi- let the naysayers get you ness savvy and a strong role down! There will always be model for girls. Plus, I bet she someone who will try to make would have some amazing you feel bad about your writstories to tell about all the be- ing or make you feel like hind the scenes stuff that goes you’re wasting your time. Don’t listen to them! If you on with her shows. Are any of your characters want to write and you believe inspired by people you know? in your stories, then keep I don’t tend to use people in writing. Have faith! It may my stories. I’m not too keen take years of writing to finally on someone ever thinking I make it, but if you believe in might have mocked them in yourself, it will happen. some way. But just recently, I Notes from Q&A: was working on a new project Intro: I’ve wanted to write a and the bad guy seemed very book since 2000, but I didn’t familiar to me. And as I actually begin until 2007 and wrote, I realized I had based it finally got a book deal in on someone I knew and whom 2010. My mantra is to not let I don’t really like. I’m going the naysayers get you down. to have to keep mum about Many have asked why Anwho it is, but it was actually cient Korea? The answer starts with Genghis Khan bethe first time I did that. Do you have any advice for ing chosen as Time Man of the Millennium, which prompted young, aspiring authors? First of all, it is important to me to read books on him and find the right people who will the Mongols, which is where I mentor you or be a good cri- begin to learn about Ancient tique partner and help you re- Korea. I found the idea of fine your writing. And it is Gangwha Island, where the important to be able to incor- Korean royal court evacuated porate criticism in order to when the Mongols attacked, improve your ability. There is absolutely fascinating. As I a big difference between a researched this topic, I discovgood critique and one that is ered other interests: palaces, simply negative. Learning court ladies, court guards, how to recognize that differ- temples, monks, shamans, de-
mons, imoogi, kumiho, jindo dogs, and tigers. Not to mention Nakhwa-am, or Rock of the Falling Flowers, where court ladies jumped off a cliff to escape enslavement and cruel treatment from invaders. All these elements came together in Prophecy. Are there any Korean heroines? A lot, but they are heroines because they sacrifice themselves, and I was unhappy with that. This sexism inspired me to write a kick-butt heroine. Girls are stronger than people give them credit for and deserve more respect. What is your favorite Korean legend? The 3,000 women jumping off Nakhwa-am is one—and the legend about a (Korean famous geising equivalent of a geisha). She lost her lover during a Japanese invasion, and when she went to entertain the Japanese soldiers, she seduced the general to the edge of a cliff, where she flung both him and herself over. About Kira: She’s a demonslayer, which is why she was born with yellow eyes—they allow her to see demons. Her eyes are yellow because she is guarded by a tiger spirit. Kira’s spirit was inspired by a dream my mom had when she
Pride Before a Fall
He Fell From Heaven
I was so proud I won the war, Now I was richer than before. I was so proud that I had won, Now all could see what I had done.
A god once fell from the stars I caught him in a jar And kept him by my side So desperate and afraid He promised to grant One wish of mine If only I would set him free His voice was sweet But he was so cruel Stay with me, I begged This false god Who consumed my soul
By Raindrop
By Zenyatta
I was so proud that I was smart, That I could make the greatest art. I was so proud that artists said, “You are the best! I’ll bet my head.” I was so proud that I was rich That I could get all that wish. I looked with lust at all my gold, And pride grew faster and took hold. Now I am poor and my art’s bad, And no one speaks to me out loud. They say she lost, she lost our war They hate me more then e’er before. For pride my downfall ever was, It was my failure’s greatest cause. So, children, never feel so proud, Or you will lose all that you had.
“We Didn’t Start the Fire,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
“Tuppence a Bag,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
14
His Name is Blood: Four By Hades Whump. I pound my fists against the bread dough. It’s been a few weeks since I began my “stay” here, and I’ve grown accustomed to life in the mansion. Not that it makes me any less unhappy. Next to me, Rem chatters. “I was born in this house, so I’ve never known life outside of Blood’s direct grip. I don’t really notice it,” he says. “He’s not cruel, believe it or not.” I snort. Clearly, I don’t believe it. “It’s true. He lets us be if we do our jobs, and he provides us with food, clothing, shelter, medicine…” “If he’s so nice, then why kidnap someone each month? What happens to all those girls he keeps? Does he…?” I can’t finish the sentence. Rem sighs. “He kidnaps people because he has to.” “That’s ridiculous. No one has to kidnap anybody.” “Regardless, he has his reasons, and… Do you people really think he keeps a harem? He puts them to work cleaning the house, basic upkeep for a house of this size.” I gape at Rem. “That makes no… If they’re just maids, then why only kidnap eighteen year old girls? Or does he keep all the others the rest of the year alive?” “Uh…” Rem looks down. “There are thirteen other women, besides you, living here right now. I don’t know what happens to the others.” I roll my eyes and give the dough a last thump. “You’re telling me Master Blood keeps a dozen pretty, young women around just to clean house for him?” “If it were me, I’d prefer a bunch of beautiful girls instead of a bunch of old men.” Rem waggles his eyebrows,
and I snort. “Are you done?” “I think so, unless His Majesty has commanded a specific dessert for tonight.” “Two of the girls are sick, and Eleanor’s been taking care of them. Do you mind helping out with her chores? I’m trying to divvy them up with the others, but Eleanor, the oldest, takes on a lot of jobs. I don’t know how that woman does it.” Eleanor is one of my favorite people here. She’s quiet, but when she speaks, everyone listens, even Venus. She never has to ask twice, and everything she does is done well. Eleanor spends a lot of time in the kitchen, going over chores and supplies lists with Rem, so I see her a lot. When we chat, her smiles never reach her eyes, which are always sad, but I like her. “I’ll help. What’s up?” “Let me see…The girls all tidy up their own rooms, but Eleanor vacuums them all once a week. Sometimes they take snacks upstairs, and she hates ants, mice, pests. Ten of the rooms take up the entire third floor, and the other three are on the west end of the second. Is that okay?” Vacuuming isn’t so bad. “Yeah. Where do you keep the vacuum cleaner?” “Use the one in the closet on the third floor. Eleanor put a huge sign on it that says ‘CLOSET.’ Can’t miss it.” I’m off, scurrying up the back stairs to the third story. I wheel the vacuum into the first bedroom, filled with ridiculously tall piles of books and papers, and as I uncoil the cord, I wonder again how this house has electricity and plumbing. The mansion has been here for over a century, so it wasn’t constructed with modern amenities. Did Master Blood hire workers to in-
stall them? If so, what happened to those workers? Rem’s disbelief that all the people who’ve come and gone over the years haven’t been murdered seems naïve. The other girls aren’t in their bedrooms. True to Rem’s word, I have adapted to the mansion’s nocturnal schedule, and it’s actually around eleven o’clock at night right now—their equivalent of late morning. I assume everyone is doing their own chores, or hanging out in the library or in front of the TV. Yes. There’s actually a TV in the house, and you would not believe the fights we have over changing channels. No computers, not that I’m too disappointed by the lack of internet. At home, we have an ancient desktop from the dialup days. Regardless, the lack of methods to communicate outside of the house—no phones, either, or if there are, Rem isn’t telling me—grates on me. It feels like prison. Finally, I reach the last bedroom. It’s tidy, bed made and everything put away, which makes the messy desk in the corner stand out. I approach the desk, since it has a power outlet next to it, and who can blame me if my eyes happen to scan the papers? A lot of them look like to-do lists. I’m in Eleanor’s room. As I vacuum, I notice a small stack of books on top of the desk. I read the spines. On Witchcraft and Dark Magic, one reads. Another says, Signs of Demons and Devilry. The third, at the bottom of the pile, is Full Moon Curses. I turn off the vacuum. Eleanor studies black magic? The two things don’t add up. Before I can contemplate opening a book, I hear low conversation in the hall. The muffled voice of a woman
speaks, and I wonder if it’s Eleanor coming back. Next is a man’s voice, much too soft to be Rem’s. I stay very, very still as the two walk by, not even pausing by the slightly open door. Maybe it’s not Eleanor. Then I catch a glimpse of red hair. Or maybe it is? Farther down the hall, I hear another door open and close I assume they’re in Blood’s study. My shoulders sag once I’m sure they’re gone, and I decide Eleanor’s room doesn’t require much vacuuming. I consider it a miracle they didn’t stop to see why Eleanor’s light is on. Once I flip the switch, I realize why. The moon is bright, and its light alone is enough to illuminate. Tonight is a full moon. Someone else is disappearing—and they’re going to die. I muster the will to venture into the hallway. It takes ages to lug the vacuum upstairs, since I’m trying to be very quiet as I don’t want to attract unwanted attention from the study. As soon as I reach the third floor, I shove the vacuum in the closet, ready to scamper to the safe kitchen. But as I reach the second floor landing, I hear sounds coming from the study. Screams. Go away, Lorelei. Leave, my survival instinct tells me. It sounds a lot like Rem. Can you let someone die like that? a moralistic side asks. It sounds like my father. I release my grip on the handrail and creep toward the study. My heart leaps as I nudge the door open. The entrance to the secret room is wide open, which seems a foolish mistake for Blood. I hesitate. It’s not too late to turn back and pretend this never happened. Continued on Next Page
HNIB cont. Then I think: that could’ve been me down there last month, screaming as I begged for mercy. So I take several steps forward into the study, into the secret room. A trapdoor I didn’t notice last time is open, revealing a narrow set of stairs, the flickering edges of firelight glowing upon the walls. “Please!” A man is sobbing. “Please, don’t kill me! I’ll do anything!” “It’s nothing personal,” Blood says coolly. “You’re just unfortunate to have been the one selected this month.” The man’s sobs grow harder. My heart hammers “Visitations,” Illustration by Chronos so loudly, I can’t believe no one’s come up yet to comes into view. “I must check. It could’ve been you. I bathe, so if you please…” inch down the stairs, stopping I realize just in time this before I round the bend. I means Blood will be coming poke my head around the up the stairs, which I scurry wall, and I get a narrow win- up. I make some noise, but dow of view of the upcoming hopefully the splashing from events. the tub covers it. “I can’t leave my famil—” I look like a bat out of hell “You already have.” when I race into the kitchen, “PLEASE!” but Rem isn’t there to comIt’s probably my imagina- ment. The room is empty. A tion, but I see Blood’s face note on the counter tells me contort into an expression of he’s left the house to run erpain for a split second—then rands. What errands he has to all I see is red, and the man run during the middle of the isn’t screaming anymore. night, I don’t know. “Careful!” a woman hissIt’s a little after midnight. es. “Every drop is precious.” Lunchtime. The girls are I can only stare, petrified, as probably all in the dining all the blood drains from the room. That’s the safest place man’s body, floating in the to be right now. I start headair . Then it all splashes into a ing in that direction when I stone tub, already filled with hear footsteps approaching. hot water, judging by the Heavy footsteps. Too heavy steam rising from it. Red hair to be female. And something
tells me Rem isn’t back yet. With a stifled moan, I turn around and sprint to my room. Before I step inside, I look over my shoulder and see no one following me. Maybe he’s checking the kitchen first. I take care to shut the door quietly behind me, locking it, though I’m sure if he really wants to get in, that won’t stop him. Switching on the lights would comfort me, but they would be like a beacon in the night and tell him I’m definitely in here, not elsewhere in the house. Then again, he’ll probably check in here anyway, once he sees I’m not in the kitchen or dining room. I wrap my arms around me and cast my eyes about for a place to hide. Under the bed? Behind the curtain? In the closet? He’d find me anyway.
When Death comes for me, I’d rather be waiting for him as if he’s late to tea than cowering at his approach, my dad said to me once. I turn on the light. Then I curl up on the window seat with a book, and I try to calm down and look like I’ve been doing this for the past half hour. I read the same sentence a dozen times, not daring to move my eyes beyond the page. As I wait, I get cramped from my tenseness, and eventually my eyelids start feeling heavy. When I wake up from my nap, I find myself tucked in bed, shoes laid neatly on the floor, book marked and on my nightstand—and I can hear Rem whistling outside as he returns to the mansion. To Be Continued...