February 2015


All year round, she sang her songs. Some of woes and some of mirth. Through her songs I saw a truth. A truth I simply could not deny.

Winter’s grip was tight as iron. Merciless and unforgiving. But this young girl was not deterred. Unassuaged from my lake.

Through the bitter chill, she saw its beauty. She trudged through snow and walked through sleet. In icy cold, she sang her song. Lilting melodies much too sweet. Much too calm whilst bound by Beira.

Just this once I’d play along. Flute in hand I’d add this timbre. So by my rock I sat and played, watching my girl from a distance. In an instance she would hear.

Oh, but she stopped a while to look around, her bright emerald eyes full of wonder. Her cute open mouth akin to a guppy.

“Who is there?” she cried out. Unremitting, my tune went on. My one and only answer. Were she The One, she would understand.

I allowed a moment of silence before I changed the song. A plume of mist escaped her mouth as she huffed impatiently. As I played my haunting piece, her furrowed brows softened and a shy smile gave way. She took a seat on the snowy blanket. Immersed by the chilling trills, she closed her eyes. So serene she might have been a meditating monk.

I arose from my rock and stepped on the icy lake; the thin sheet fragile as a babe. My nimble feet glided quickly across as the ice cracked beneath me. Relief washed over me when my bare feet stepped on frigid snow. As I turned around I saw that my lake was a fractured beauty— the waters peaking beneath broken shards of ice. Not once had I allowed my melody to stop.

As I approached my girl I allowed a pause. A moment just to appreciate her beauty. Her hair was dark as the depthless seas, her ruddy cheeks in contrast, glowing. My webbed fingers stroked her cold, soft cheek as my eyes consumed her long dark lashes and angular face. She shivered from the contact but did not open her eyes. She could not and she would not— my song had ensured that.

“Who are you?” she asked. More probing questions. Gaps of knowledge to be filled. Could she not hear the truth as I did?

I brought my flute back to my lips, continued where I left off. Calmness returned upon her, smoothing crinkles on her face. She would remember. She must remember.

She rose to her feet, singing the song she had heard many years before.


Glittering lake, giver of life;

                A gate to a world you cannot fathom,

                Pure perfection, splendorous.

                There the woes are nevermore.


On she went with her song. As I stepped back, she came along. Blindly did she follow, not a worry did she show. As my feet touched ice, a web of cracks did appear. Eyes still closed, my girl placed her feet on that path. Lithely she followed with her dainty feet, careful to avoid the ever-cracking web. How foolish I was to tempt Beira’s cruel nature.

A bright crack tore through the ice, cutting my melody short in my throat. Only could I watch as the cursed ice cracked slowly beneath her feet. Eyes flung open, did her orbs shine—glisten— till my heart smashed, broken, as she sunk into the lake.

For but a moment was I numb, as shards of pain pierced my heart. The absence of her voice forced me to regain willpower, and I flung into the lake.

She was a fallen angel, sinking deep into the abyss. Her ivory hand stretched out to me as her body sank and I grabbed for her, so sure that I could save her.

A high pitched cackle grated through the murky lake and I truly knew that all was lost. I had loved and lost, and damned this dear child also.

The girl pleaded with her eyes at me but she was passed the point of saving and I was all too far from redemption. So I sang a lament for her. I put all the fragments of my soul in it, and hoped for such thing as a heaven for her even as my throat burned with the need to wail my woes. I sang through the cackle, knowing this revenge was that bitter woman’s triumph over me.

And my girl sank, so too with the remaining fragments of my soul.

The end of a life was a natural thing. Yet, how natural could it have been for I, a father, to have slain a daughter?

Wretched thing that I was, I meant to take her with me. Wicked thing that I am, I must be with her.

But soulless as I am, I have no place in her afterlife. And so the divide goes on and on, with only the shadow of a melody to remember her by.

Note: This is an old post from my old blog

I’m roughly in the final quarter of my third draft (which might as well be a first because it is a complete re-write) and I’ve reread some of my stuff and I’ve noticed a bunch of inconsistencies. This brought me to wondering about plot holes and this is what I have found out during my search.

But what is a plot hole? A plot hole can be an inconsistency in your novel, or an unanswered question of sorts that isn’t done on purpose as some sort of cliffhanger. Here are other ways of finding out if you have a plot hole:

  Unaccounted for characters & Subplots

 A well-liked, or particular quirky character goes off on a subplot mission. We never hear from them again. In some cases, this can be okay. In reality things do not always go according to plan. In the world of fiction, however, things can be smoothed out better. It might be okay to leave the character to dissapear somewhere. Maybe they die on their mission. Maybe they lose communication. But you need to at least mention them at some point so we know their status. Subplots are sometimes used to parallel with the main plot, or more often than not, it is a romantic subplot. In a romance novel, however, the romance is the main plot, and the subplot might be anything from a mystery to a work related problem the main character is having. Whatever a subplot may be, it ought to be

Small part characters like fellow classmates or co-workers your main character is not friends with don’t matter so much. I really don’t need to know how the day went for the pizza delivery guy.

Unaccounted main characters, however, are even worse that supporting characters. Your readers have invested a lot of time and emotions into them, so they deserve to know what became of them.

Unexplained Motivations

When creating a multifaceted character, contradictions may occur. People do not always participate in activities they believe in. For instance, if your character is subjected to peer pressure, they may be persuaded to do something like drinking alcohol when in actual fact they may have religious or other personal reasons to be against drinking. 

A plot hole occurs when a character does something out of character that is then left unexplained. You may have a villain who decides to blow up a building ‘for the evulz’ and leave it at that. So long as his future actions are consistent with his character, this is fine. He may go on to commit a string of crimes ‘for the Evulz’. You cannot, however, have a villain with a sound, well thought out plan, who decides he wants to take over a multi-millionaire company decide to blow up a building ‘for the evulz’ and just leave it at that. Your readers can’t suspend their sense of disbelief enough to allow something like this. 

So to round that off, make sure that your characters are motivated enough to do the things that they do, and you take the time to explain it at some point, or else it will come across as just random.   

 Rules of Logic 

Fiction means that the events in the novel never really happened. This does not however allow you to throw out all the rules of logic. Sure, you can rethink the laws of gravity, or even the laws of time and space as we know it. But they must have some sort of logic. In fantasy novels, there is usually some sort of Magic System. This Magic System may not be explored thoroughly – it all depends on how much your main characters interact with said magic – but you should have some sort of logic in mind. Magic always comes with a price. 

But what if your novel doesn’t use magic? Well, there are still bound to be some kind of rules. If the novel is set during a particular period, it ought to follow many of the conventions. If for some reason it does not at some point, your reader needs to know why. 

I’ve been exploring with poetry lately and I happened upon a new way of writing. I have dubbed it Glitch Poetry because my first attempt happened accidentally as a result of a technological fault. Not only has the name stuck with me, but so too has it’s method of writing.


But how did I happen about it, you wonder? I attempted to dictate to my microphone using Dragon Dictation whilst I was in the living room. My housemates came in, continuing a conversation and the microphone picked it up and messed up my story. But the end result was a very strange, abstract sort of poem.

Here is a taste of my writing…


Who will serve glitch poetry?

That doesn’t want to be that what is,

These words bring the further and further and further.

I am the sample,

We will cruise-ship your idea about,

No control panel system,

Only evidence is there.

I want the latter. Must squint for locator.

Bartholomew is a strange one. In fact he’s so strange that he has a very common name but has requested to be called Bartholomew in all future blog accounts of my time here at uni.
Then there’s Alfred. He literally aspires to become Alfred from the Batman comics. Go figure.
My other housemates are only just a little bit more normal… I lie. They aren’t normal. Not even a bit.
But we get on for the most part and that’s what counts.
But what do you do with housemates you can’t get along with?
Here’s my advice…

If you can’t beat them, join them.
Try getting to know them. My housemates last year like to pull pranks every now and again and sometimes it was just easier pretending to laugh it off. But sometimes it wasn’t;

Tell them how you feel.

Just be honest, and let it go.
Just be honest, and let it go.

I find this pretty challenging, or at least face to face, because I really like to be liked. I can be loud and I may even seem aggressive at times, but that’s only how I act with my good friends. I try to play it safe with other people and I try to avoid conflict. But sometimes you can’t do that. Bottling up your emotions is never a good idea because then you’ll get a weird Elsa Complex and then you’ll have to Let It Go and since you don’t have the voice of Idina Menzel, that won’t end well for ANYONE.

So I strongly advice messaging your housemates if you can’t communicate verbally with them coherently. Via text or via Facebook. Whatever works. Just let your voice be heard before you get really aggravated.







Make a cleaning rota.
… or do communal cleans when everyone is available.

Oh... How I despise cleaning.
Oh… How I despise cleaning.

Share communal costs to things like kitchen equipment.


Socialise together every now and again.

If the Avengers have time to socialise after saving the world, I'm sure you can too.
If the Avengers have time to socialise after saving the world, I’m sure you can too.

But for those of  you get saddled with the crazies, you may want to consider asking the university for new housing.

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