Tag Archives: The Stories:Book One-Genesis

The Sky Burns Red or Seeing Red Again

The title of this post refers to two, well, three things.

The first one is the title of a song by the epic band Perception Of Intent, which is also the official theme song to my book, The Stories. POI’s debut A Distant Voice, album drops 11.11.11

Seeing Red is the “name” of the e p i c piece below and is also a line in the song The Red by Chevelle…and also the first words in the song Seein’ Red by Unwritten Law.

 

Point, other than the fact that I remind you that red is my favorite color and is in my last name?

Well, this is all getting so very exciting for me as a writer and I would like to share with you all this piece of red brilliance by Crystal Ord, artist and writer.

 

I call it L’orrah Is Pissed with a little excerpt from the book.

“In your years of loneliness, you gave no power to circumstance. The strengthening of your mind, your body…your very soul…you chose to be more! Now who will you be? Now what will you choose?”

“To be more.” -L’orrah, The Stories.

 

 

Also, here are the songs noted above. Anything with red I embrace-almost. And it so happens the latter two songs I’ve loved for a very time.

“It’s all or nothing, nowhere left to run, are you ready for the last fight?
Get ready with the war cry!
Let me hear you scream like you want it!
Let me hear you yell like you mean it!
If you gotta, GO DOWN! GO LOUD! GO STRONG! GO PROUD! GO ON! GO HARD OR GO HOME!

Let me hear you SCREAM!”–Ozz

Dedicated to all those who have something to say, something to write, something to pray and something to fight.

#letmehearyou

 

In The Stories, you will see red…and legends will be reborn.

 

Word.


When I say, “I’m A Writer”…I Mean It.

A girl in a red cloak…running. Sounds simple enough, right? It was…or at least I thought it was. She wouldn’t leave me alone.

She screamed, “Tymothy…you write!?”

Surprised, I answered her. “Uhh, yeah sort of. I mean I have ideas…but…”

“Shut up!” she interrupted. “Listen! You hear that?” she asked me.

I looked behind her towards the darkness and yes…as I focused on the muted grumbling in the distance it became quite clear what I was hearing. Blood lust. 

“Alright!” she yelled. “We don’t have a lot of time! Come on!” she grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the oncoming thunderous sound of…wolves.

“Are those?” I began.

“Yes! You write?”

“I told you, sort of!”

“Not good enough! Do it!” she was growing more impatient and for obvious reasons. She left my side and jumped high into the trees. “The stories! They’ll come to you! Write about us!” she cried then disappeared. 

As I stared at the last spot she stood the wolves drew in closer. They looked surprised to see me but they salivated none the less. 

“Boy…you mind tellin’ us ‘oo you is?” one of the enormous creatures asked.

“Where’s the…the girl?” snapped another.

As I looked at them and their various razor-lined teeth…it hit me.

I looked at my left-hand and saw a pen. I clutched it tightly and lifted my head to them. They realized who I was and they cowered in their fur. “It’s…it’s the Writer!” one of the wolves yelled in dismay.

“Yeah,” I began, “and you guys are in trouble.”

My love of God, comic books, graphic novels, Del Toro, arte, music! and all things nerd and geek and in between inspire me.

Hey everybody. Thanksa for stopping by. I’d like to invite you all quickly(or my definition of quickly) on a brief trip back in time a few years. *calibrating the Time Clock and waiting on Doc to refuel the DeLorean. What? I don’t have a Delorian? Doc’s not real?

Okay. Well, slight technical difficulty. But nothing we can’t work past, write?

A few years ago, I left the small town I was living in after working seven years as a Corrections Officer in a max. unit penitentiary. It was…difficult to say the least. But I kept my head up and stayed strong, believing my faith and believing deeper in the One I had faith in through it all. We started all over and I quickly learned my entirely new trade. It was night and day coming from corrections into manufacturing. Thank you, my brother for getting me that job. I was happy. I enjoyed creating, working with my hands in ways I had never done.  Then on what would be considered any typical wedding anniversary-my wife and you all will get what I mean..I hope-I decided to surprise my wife, Jennifer, my inspiration numera una- with a “story” written just for her. It was about a robot, me, who was unhappy. He felt lost. Unsure. He seeks out in search of life and laughter and finds his true friend, a flower, the wife. I called it The Sad Little Robot. I shared it on Myspace for a few hours and it garnered a lot of hits and one comment from a lyricist/writer friend of mine, my age, read: “This is so awesome!”

I was thrilled. The views and comments were very appreciated. But I was happy I wrote it. An original story just for my wife. I created this. See before, I had written some poetry, I am very proud of it…but that was the brunt of my writing. I never imagined writing would be something I would do for more than just a hobby. Because I did enjoy it. Robut was the first “real” thing I had written. There is a scripture in the bible that says, “The gifts and calling of God cannot be taken away.” YOU’RE TELLING ME!!!

You see shortly after writing Robut, I got ideas for so. many. other. books. Ideas pulled from all the things I had learned in my years in church and from all of the mentors I had in my life. Non-fiction type stuff. God had never spoken so clear than this time in my life and then…I saw the above play out as clear as day.

See. I’m the Writer of The Stories. It’s been over a year. Since then, I have been on Facebook, Twitter, here, New Authors Fellowship, biblical based Ministries on Facebook that I am blessed to be a part of. In addition…I have made and come to know some of the most kind, supportive, brilliant and talented Writers, (self-pubbed, Indie-pubbed and traditionally-pubbed) and I have been most blessed by them all. I have been blessed to be able to write Guest posts and have had the pleasure of being interviewed. I’m still like-WHAAAT? Ya know.

But before, during and after all of that-there is a book. The first book in a series. The book that I knew I would go traditional with. The one I would query. That one I stared at some days and the one I created a fire under on most. See one thing is I never hated writing it. Never. I am happy to share that. I have inspired, thank you all, and have been inspired. I am grateful and humbled constantly.

Back to that whole query thing. I did it. I sent mine out. And you know what? I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be. (Call me on that bull some other time, will ya? ;})

Thing is…I never quit. I never stopped believing. When I stood outside that day and saw that truck pass by with the name Tim Lowder on it…I never looked back.

Guess what and praise God-it paid off. Because as of Friday, 9/9/2011-I am, an agented #writer. 

Her name is Bree Ogden* of D4EO Literay Agency And as my very epic friend Dawny says: We were meant to find each other.

This I believe because I do not believe in coincidences.

This is only the next step, albeit a HUGE step for me and I am extremely blessed and grateful to Bree. But this is the next step. Work follows…and I know, truly…The Stories is COMING.

Writers are the new rock stars. I send you #writerlove and doff my hat to you all.

You can do this. When I say I’m a writer…I mean it.

No matter your path…you can do this!

Beesler, Allie, Michele Shaw, Dawny, Mowery, River, Michelle Pic, My BNFF’s, Morgan, Leigh, Tiffany K!, TL, My Bros, Jamie and Twisters in the #YASB, My Fellow #7DSers, Alexia Purdy, Leighton, Milligan, Cribbs, Joseph, Diane Graham, K. Newsome, Ralene, Enamored, Deb, SmashAttack!, @ifollowthenight…I love and thank you all-all of you, ALL-for everything.

WORD.

If you say you can’t you probably won’t…so don’t do that.

*Check out Bree. She is the absolute coolest. Oh, there’s more to come on Aspire No More. I give you my, “Word.”

|m|

The Stories: Book One, “Genesis” Excerpt and Five-Star Review Here: http://allieburke.blogspot.com/2011/09/writer-wednesday-stories-book-one.html


The Stories: Book One “Genesis”

Chapter Two: Thunder Above Me, Blood Below

“Little, little girl…I am going to kill you,” he said.

She let out a cry that gave her hiding place away.

He pulled back a fallen partition to find the small child, huddled up, shaking violently in her red cloak. “Do you know why you wear that color, girl? Long ago, someone died. That is why! Your race and your symbols!” he growled in repulsion and spat on her hood. “This will hurt you. It will be…painful. But you will be dead soon after,” he said, sure of himself. “Without question, you will bleed. Your blood will spill over your cloak and become one with it, just as the beginnings of your history. However, no honor will accompany you,” the young beast said softly, grinning.

Confused at his words she could only ask, “Where is my Gramma?”

“Dead. You will soon join her, I assure you. Would you die for your Logos? Your Granny did. That is what I’m here for,” he said callously as he raised his long-fingered hand and pressed his claws to her face. One finger pushed into her forehead, breaking the skin.

She let out a cry, a slow and steady one.

Deliberately he joined two more fingers with the first, tearing her skin in two ripping the flesh away. She screamed. He did not muffle her and her voice echoed loudly through the trees. But no one could hear her calls. As the claws neared her eye, she closed them tightly. He whispered into her ear: “No. Before you die, I want you to see your assassin. Open your eyes.” His claws then made their way over her right eye and resumed the cutting into the skin on her cheek. “I wonder if I can mark even your skull. Perhaps I shall keep it…my prize,” he said, heavily invested in his actions. “No, no. Labadon would crush your skull like the dust it is made of. He would revile at the sight of it in his land!” he said softly, taunting her. He hunched over her on his hind legs and almost surveyed the damage he had inflicted as a painter to his canvas. His lips quivered as he looked into her eyes. He delighted in this kill. He lifted his bloodied claws directly in front of her face as if to brag. She attempted to scream as she covered her face. Her hands were soon diverting the blood from her torn flesh on her face down her hands and arms. He then swiped at her torso numerous times while growling a muted growl. It was a horrible attack. Cold, and with no remorse.

She was becoming weak. The intense pain made her unable to cry anymore. She was in shock and her eyes were glassed over. She seemed to stare at him. The sheer strength of his blows knocked her unconscious. She was only nine. The wolf assassin stood up, wiped his sharp claws on her cloak and left, swiftly, after his leader.

“She is dead! It is finished and yet, we have only just begun!” he yelled to his master.

What was once a home filled with joy, laughter and love was now one of silence and ruin. Two innocents lay disfigured. Dead. It was a massacre. Only a beast full of evil could have carried out such an attack. The rain poured down heavily almost as loud as stampeding auroch. The sound drowned out L’rrh’s whimpers as she awakened, an hour or so later. Her eyes widened and she let out a visceral yell. Then silence.

Grandma, she thought and looked out towards the front of the house. A bit of strength entered her body. It was as if her very soul cried out to her and caused her to move. If I can just see Gramma…once more, she thought to herself. The lightning crashed and with each flash a small, broken and bloodied figure was revealed, arising in the darkness. Her knees buckled under her and she fell to the floor. With every inch she moved, it felt like a mile. She pressed on and made her way through the mud and rubble and crawled towards her grandmother’s body. Finally, with the numbing pain in her body and loss of blood an afterthought, she saw Sarah. “I’m coming,” she whispered. Closer and closer still. Through the mud and rain falling ever harder, she winced from the water hitting her open wounds. “I’m here, Gramma,”…she whispered as she grabbed Sarah’s shawl in her little fingers and squeezed as tight as possible. “Gramma…I love you…the stories you t-told me…it was…you…wasn’t it?” she moaned painfully, her grip loosened and L’orrah…the little girl with the red hood…was gone. The sound of thunder whipped the ground, shaking the earth floor beneath them. The rain fell on their lifeless bodies as equally as on the trampled flowers nearby. It knew no better. The Stories:Book One. The tales you heard as a child? Only rumors of what really happened. God willing this will be on your next must-have list. |m| Because in this fantasy…legends have been reborn.


Red is not just a color…at least for me it’s not.

Favorite colors are not just for kids.

Back in 2002 there was a song called “The Red” by the band Chevelle. Loved it. Still do.

I joined a site called deviantart to try my hand at some poetry and lil art pieces and my nom de plume was TheRed.

I was biased towards the song for two reasons. One, my favorite color is? Blue. No, it’s red. All the way red. The second reason, perhaps THE reason I like the color is for what it symbolizes. Blood. The blood of Christ. Without the shedding of blood, I am not saved. Praise God…He did.

So, we fast forward to mid ’10 and I came to the conclusion that I wanted to write a full-length fiction book. An image popped in my head. The image? Not really an image but more of a scene, a moving one.

A little girl in red runs through a dense banyan filled forest,  breathing heavily. The scene moves to a pack of beasts chasing her, though they cannot be seen. The scenes change back and forth from the girl to the stampeding of the beasts and back…and forth until she stops to face them…and says three words from under breath: Do your worst.

The reason she was wearing red? Because it stood out in the night. So I loved it. The idea. It could only mean one thing: Little. Red. Riding. Hood. It made sense. She wanted to speak. And she chose me to write her story.

It quickly evolved into an entire story, an entire world where I carefully chose the characters that would appear in the first book and the great surprises I have for it’s prequels, Book Two:The Bridge and Book Three:Fulfillment.

In The Stories:Book One we see her not as The Little Red but as L’orrah. The name her Grandmother gave her. You’ve never seen her like this.

The red is a symbol in the entire series. You’ll see.

The red.

My Great-Great Grandfather, Miltiadis Lemos came from Psara, Greece. His name, Miltiadis means red earth.

He named his son, Milton derived from Miltiadis.

My surname, Longoria has no known accepted meaning, this is true. But upon recent  investigation I found that the Basque name Gorria means… RED.

I claim that. With all my heart that part of my name means red. The first part Lon is Basque for lion.

Genealogist’s studies prove our family name is from Spain but from the Austurian region. No matter. The Basque and Austurian regions are related.

One can see…my name that I am proud of, Longoria, most likely means Red Lion.

The point? “The red. It filters through.”

Before I found out about the meaning of Gorria I planned on getting a tattoo of a red lion rampant. I have a literal red lion statue in my home. and without giving too much away, “red lion” appears in my book.

Some things were meant to be.

Destiny. Fate. For me…all God.

I’m ready. Just looking at what I’ve written here, there is NO way I’ll let this pass me by.

I…writing this to share with any who read it…that some things were meant to be.

The gifts and calling of God are irrevocable.–Romans 11:29

Be blessed.

stock image courtesy mjranum-stock


The Stories:Book One “Genesis”-SYNoPSIS

The Stories. The Stories. The Stories. We have all heard about The Stories. Enough.

When can I read it?

This sounds so amazing, I can’t wait to read it?

Wow! Can’t wait! they say.

The blessing is that these are real comments…from real people! :}. Since I’m going traditional and querying-another fact I’m releasing-it will be a while longer before everyone can read it, but I guarantee you-aside from my confidence and all the tremendous, most humbling comments and remarks from the few that have read the intro and chapter-you will be surprised.

The stories you read as a child? Only rumors of what really happened

 

 “We are in the midst of a revolt.
A war.
But what are we fighting for?
Our existence.
Our lives.
Whatever is left of them, that is.
There is no vast army. No strongholds. No one is coming to help us.
There are no, ‘teams’.
Just us…and them.
Logos, I hate them…
We may seem familiar to you.
But you’ll notice things aren’t quite as you remember.
You grew up.
So did we.
You forgot about us.
Things have changed.
We have changed.

Who are we?

We are…The Stories.

 

In this epic fantasy…legends will be reborn.

 

As I sit here, listening to Demon Hunter’s “I Play Dead” I remember a very powerful scene I wrote in The Stories. My M/C is alone. She is small. Frail. She should not be able to contend with the beast-twice her size. Should she be vanquished…so be it. But right now…she will come face to face with the monster. She will choose to prove, if only to herself, that she can fight back. FULL EXCERPT of this scene soon.

For now we are the stories, huh? Who are the “stories”? What of them? Fairy tales? If only.

“Let the blood speak, child…”

Well…

L’orrah was just like any other child her age. She had no thoughts of the future or anything else beyond her beloved Grandmother Sarah and her close circle of friends she called family. She lived day to day, enjoying her quiet life with Sarah and always had the biggest smile on her face. Then..the unthinkable. Oh…the evil. She was barely ten years old when her life ceased when everything she knew and loved was taken from her. An evil wolf, the master,  fought against her Grandmother, ferociously. Her Grandmother knew him. She said his name-Labadon.  Sarah fought this beast valiantly but was no match. As her Grandmother lay, broken, bloodied and dead, L’orrah, having been left for dead herself, crawls through the mud and rain to be at her Grandmother’s side. L’orrah’s life fades quickly with each passing moment.

She awakens under a blue sky, drifting in and out of consciousness barely able to hear the two voices of the ones who came out of nowhere to help her stay alive. A month later, they, too,were gone and L’orrah, able to finally grasp the scope of all that has happened, slips into a black cloud of depression and stays near her Grandmothers grave site of smooth, gray stones. Unable even to open her eyes in the sunlight she chooses death once again, this time by her own hand. She can no longer function. She has no real reason to live. This child, this little girl of barely ten years of age, simply cannot cope.

That is until she unwittingly finds a great set of swords, hidden. They belonged to her Grandmother. They held no magic or special power. The power was in the steel. Greatly enamored by the smaller blade-the kopis-and deeply inspired, at least to find out why her Grandmother used these, why the white beast Labadon called her Lady Sarai and spoke of a great war-she sets out to simply-stay alive. When she first encounters a lone wolf from Labadon’s army, there is no prophecy to fulfill and all is left to choice.

Her life, wrought with pain. With loss and trauma.  But she survived. No one, ever again will simply just do what they wish to her. She makes her new home in a hole in the earth…and emerges only at night to fight against herself and her loss. She decides she will be a force to be reckoned with and carries in her heart a mantra, her strength…the last words she heard her Grandmother say: Do. Your. Worst.

Four years pass and L’orrah  is ready to walk into the greater reaches of the land in search of anyone. An old Friend, Sunder. A once mighty warrior. His two brothers. Maybe to find the bearers of the two voices that helped her so many years ago. To find the reason her Grandmother was murdered. Sure of her herself and her training, she begins her quest. Along the way, however, L’orrah finds that Labadon’s evil has devastated the entire known world…and a stirring within her, perhaps the voice of her beloved Sarah-calls her to arms against him. It calls from within her soul. A darkness. Her speed is unusual. Her abilities are nigh super-human…and the strange power inside her is growing…with every move she makes.

–“You always did love to stare up at the night sky, L’orrah,” Sarah said softly in her dreams.–

–“She knew she would be dead soon. So she closed her eyes and began to pray as Labadon continued his taunts. Her words were unintelligible, but she knew in her heart they would be received. Labadon continued to speak over her prayers, louder and more forcefully…mocking her shallow voice.”–

In The Stories, many legends of old are represented in an entire new light. My light. Carefully chosen.  So that it wouldn’t be a case of adding anyone for the sake of having them. Each must have a reason. Each must have genuine change that reflects the emotion, the feel, the voice of The Stories. It is called The Stories. They are the stories. They have voices. Wants. Desires. They bleed. They scream. They are real. They are alive. They have been transformed. You’ve never seen them like this before. L’orrah, the girl in the red hood, leads these beings in an epic fantasy like no other. In this land, bittersweet endings will come when and only when this evil has been destroyed. But…can one small child hope to defeat a power such as Labadon?

“I am Labadon! Belial! I am flux. This land and all who claim it are mine. I will be their end. No one will remember.”

This is only the beginning…this is only…the Genesis.

The Stories. Legends Will Be Reborn. Witness the rebirth.

Arte by Wyldraven


…and coming next: The Stories: “Histories”

Four races of beings once lived peacefully in the lands of Thiend and Folowil. Indeed it was a time of peace and harmony. Then jealousy and envy raged and grew in their hearts.

Man, the apple of the eye of Logos. The Brutaal, the beasts, the animals. The Obscuriot, the Nychtos-the night. The Deluz, The Ascendants…the day.

The River Amblem was where these races once joined in the great war.

They each had many names…but they are The Stories:Prequel “Histories


So Who’s Going To Sang?

Who knows?

Be blessed.

#AmEditing


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