Alchemy/NaNo Update

alchemy symbols
Image found on Google 

Alchemy has always been a fascinating part of science to me. In the Pagan beliefs, we have the Pentagram which symbolizes the five elements of: Spirit, Earth, Air, Water, and, Fire. Now imagine a world that has a whole caste system where there are individuals who use Alchemy as a form of science, which used to be combined with the use of magic. Now imagine that the magic has been banned so the Alchemists rely solely on the power of science. This is a huge part of my novel.

It’s been a journey writing this novel. I am learning a lot more about myself. I’m learning more about conveying emotions in my readers, and, how to write appropriately in an Active tone as well as an first person POV. Writing a novel has been not only challenging but also extremely rewarding. I look forward to sharing excerpts of the novel once its more polished but for now it’s a very ROUGH draft, it’s okay. That’s where proof-editing comes in!

Anyway here’s a little micro fiction for you, told in the perspective of Prince Sebastien:

The ball was on the horizon, only seven days away and the prince did not want to squander around the castle. He told his closest confidant that he wanted to spend the day as a peasant so he grabbed a nightshade cloak and wrapped it around his collarbones. As he glided down the steps of the proud kingdom, he noticed his father wrapped up in conversation with the leader of the Knights. 

His feet propelled him forward and into the streets of the kingdom. The market was busy this afternoon, filled with hopeful dames, which wanted so desperately to become Nobles. As his cloak continued to fly behind him with his quick movements, the prince carried himself toward the crowd. Through the crevice of a tight alleyway, he squeezed his body through, being careful not to drop the hood of the cloak, so he could not be recognized. 

Square pieces of black parchment paper floated around the sweaty palms of romantic ladies, fantasizing about marrying the prince. He scowled. Unfavorable of his fate, wishing he could be either an Alchemist or a Knight. He craved adventure, danger, and, mostly to be left alone. He was tired of having to please all the Nobles. If only, he could just runaway into the depths of the mountains or into the lands of the djinn. 

He got through the edge of the alley and stumbled into the bottom of a path leading up to the market. And as he slid out, a beautiful girl with laced up boots, olive skin, auburn curled hair and eyes that faded between violet and hues of honey-brown walked in front of him. She was struggling with the weight of the cart that she carried in back of her. Hunched over, doing her best to get it up each stair.

The prince watched as she dropped the cart and it came flying toward him. He lunged in front of it, catching it with his forearms, nearly toppling backward as he caught it. The weight of the cart wasn’t as bad as it looked. And, he smiled up at the girl, looking down on him with rose colored cheeks. He carried the wagon up toward her, despite her protests. He carried the weight of the boxy framed wooden wagon up towards the sky. 

And, he lost sight of her…but hoped that he would see her again…

-Work of: Celena StarVela (E.R. Buendia)

 

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The Strange Day

My Halloween gift to all of you (I will be posting microfiction/flash fiction horror pieces all weekend):

The sunlight slanting in through the window, lingered on a bowl of fruit as the day came to a close. This was the last of light which became a treasure to the people, who were frightened, as the end was near. She scurried grabbing her rifle from the shed outside, as the grumbling sounds of the walking dead could be heard in the distance. What started as a peaceful day, ended being the last harmony to be felt to the remaining survivors of the zombie outbreak. The Aztecs prophesied this day would come, that the skeleton people would be the end of human civilization and today was that day.

The kitchen was still sanctimonious, a sacred space, and, Himalayan salt was no longer going to work against these monstrosities. The only hope was this shotgun she had purchased hesitantly months prior. She thought of gratitude for preparing herself by taking shooting lessons. She was not going to become a meal to those flesh eaters. A hideous sound came from the front door, and, she sprinted to the mahogany archway, trying to remember if it was locked.

The sound of bones slamming against the doorway was sonic, and echoed throughout the house. With the rifle in her hand, the young woman opened the door. In front of her was a rotting corpse with hemoglobin parchments drooling off of his chin. She raised her shotgun, and said “not today” as she pulled the trigger releasing a blast through the skull of the dead man.

~Celena StarVela

RePOST from Brave and Reckless..You Were Meant to Know the Night

As the moon dances across the lake Fairies fall into slumber Poppies shine brightly against the darkness Lovers begin laughing into the wind As they prepare for their midnight rendezvous The humidity of the summer winds Bring sweat to the brows of children The lonely ones feel melancholy, While filling their hearts with hope And […]

via You Were Meant to Know the Night Writing Prompt Challenge: ER Buendia — Brave and Reckless

The Old Man’s Doll Emporium

Hi everyone!

Great news…you can find a sound clip of the story in my previous post up on the Sci-Fi and Fantasy Poetry Association’s Halloween Poetry Reading page this month and I will be featured on the Brave and Reckless blog tomorrow at 3pm 🙂

NaNoWriMo prep is going great and I have an exciting novel planned to write which I believe some of you will love!

Here is another creepy flash fiction piece I came up with during the Story A Day Challenge, enjoy:

   The doll store was conveniently in the middle of two stores which had gone out of business in what seemed to be a ghost town. The owner of the store, Mr. Styles, lived above the store in an apartment and continued to build his dolls. One day, Billy wandered into The Styles Emporium and was astounded by what he saw. Each doll was made of a light porcelain paint, and brown ringlets with sun kissed highlights embraced her blushing cheeks. Each doll with bright blue eyes and ruby red lips which extended in a smirk. The curious part of it all was that all of the dolls had the same face. 
As I looked toward the countertop, Billy saw there an old man, looking out into the sea of dolls, his mind obviously somewhere else. Billy wanted to ask him the question that the rest of the town wanted to know. Why did the dolls all have the same face? For decades, little boys and girls would wander through the Emporium, wondering the same thing. No one feeling courageous enough to pose the question which was haunting the town.
Billy decided this was the day he would break the tradition and find out the longest kept secret. Billy walked closely to the counter, noticing the man had a bald spot on the top of his hair, his gray hair frizzed out as though he had not combed it in weeks. Perched upon the bridge of his nose were clear framed glasses with attached clear beads. As Billy approached the man, his eyes darted up toward Billy and asked, in a grumpy tone, “Yes? What can I do for you, boy?”
“Uh…why do all of the dolls have the same face,” asked Billy, suddenly feeling flushed and wondering why he had done this. 
“Boy, it is a long story. The face of the doll is the face of a daughter that I lost long ago to a tragedy. Her image has been engrained in my mind, unable to forget her, I decided long ago that I would create dolls that looked like her. To this day, I will always love her and never forget my baby girl. A doll creates and maintains an image of a person for eternity. They are sometimes seen as supernatural objects. I did it thinking I could resurrect her memory. But, she remains gone.” 
Feeling melancholic for the old man,  Billy thanked the old man for explaining his story and decided to purchase a doll.
Scrounging up the remains of his allowance, Billy dropped his change on the counter. Mr. Styles said “thank you, come back at anytime, Billy” and winked.
Billy ran out of the store with his doll and a grin on his face. He now knew the answer to the town riddle. 
~E.R. Buendia/Celena StarVela

Frightful Night

It is Halloween season, the merriest one of them all, and as a result, I have been working on a short horror zine (a compilation of flash fiction and poetry pieces) dedicated to my favorite time of year!

Here is a snippet of one of the flash pieces I plan on submitting to SciFi and Fantasy Poetry Association and including in the zine (which I will be selling later on):

The black horse rides through the flames risen from the earth

Samhain is here, the veil is thin,

Children scream and cry… frightened of the headless man

*thump, thump, thump*

The hooves get heavier and draw closer to the town

Screams pierce the dreary night

Fire engulfs the hay as the headless man draws closer

The autumn winds are defeated by the flames

But the horseman does not stop

The only hope is daybreak

But it is too late and the villagers drown in the flames

Destined to haunt on the next Hallow’s Eve

 

The black horse rides through the flames risen from the earth

Samhain is here, the veil is thin,

Children scream and cry… frightened of the headless man

*thump, thump, thump*

The hooves get heavier and draw closer to the town

Screams pierce the dreary night

Fire engulfs the hay as the headless man draws closer

The autumn winds are defeated by the flames

But the horseman does not stop

The only hope is daybreak

But it is too late and the villagers drown in the flames

Destined to haunt on the next Hallow’s Eve

~Celena StarVela (E.R. Buendia)

Note: Pen name is now Celena StarVela for any magical or horror stories I write.

I am excited to continue sharing my work with you all and I plan on submitting some more stuff this month. Finishing up a couple folklore, horror, and poems which have to do with goddesses, witches, and, also prepping for NaNoWriMo! Delving into the steampunk realm this year 🙂

Love and Light

~ Celena Star Vela ~

Why I Write…


Why did I start writing and why do I write?While developing an 8 week lesson plan for a Creative Writing workshop that I’m starting at my work, I realized that there was a question that I haven’t answered on my blog and now is the time to answer it!

           My story starts when I was eight years old. I went to a Spanish immersion school that offered a lot of opportunity for creative expression; my creativity was encouraged from a young age. I am grateful that my parents put me in the schools they did so that I could connect with my inner artist and discover my talent. The first piece I wrote was a poem and it was part of a project that we were supposed to do in class to create a mother’s day card for our mothers. I wrote a poem about the colors that my mom wore, specifically her red lipstick, and my mom kept it after I gave it to her and still has it today!

           I always felt out of place with my peers and writing became an escape for me besides reading, it was therapeutic and it was a way for me to connect with my imagination. Some people had imaginative friends, I had my own imagination and creative pursuits. As I got older and continued to enjoy the creative projects that my teachers would assign us, my mom ended up creating a space in the garage where she would post all the art projects on this wall by where we kept our shoes. I cherish that memory as a muse for me to continue to create works of art whether it’s  writing, painting, photography, doodling, dancing, any form of expression.

           When middle school came and I had this inspiring Spanish language teacher, I continued to write. At this point, I was blogging and I had created different websites that I would use to post short stories, poetry, and, journal. Each morning during the week, we would be asked to free write for the first 10 minutes or so of class. And every Friday, my teacher would pick a winner for best writer of the class. I won on a consistent basis and I used this as motivation to continue writing.

           When I got to high school, I was diagnosed with depression at the age of sixteen years old and I started to see an art therapist for a little while. Once again, writing became a form of healing for me. In high school, I continued to keep a poetry journal and would sometimes write short stories. I had a LiveJournal that I would share my work on or I would just vent on there sometimes. In 11th grade, when my depression was getting worse, I decided to submit my poetry to a national contest and I won one of the prizes. I just needed a teacher to sign a recommendation for me but I never followed through. I no longer believed in my talent and my creative spirit started to fade away.

           In my junior year of high school, I wrote half of a romance novel but after my computer crashed and I lost the draft, I gave up on writing altogether and the next few years were filled with different experiences that are now inspiration for me to write. I have always used writing as a medium for healing and expression. At times when I felt like I did not have a voice, I found that voice through poetry or through the characters of the stories that I was telling. I always felt like I could relate to characters that faced oppression, discrimination, or, some kind of bullying. And as an avid reader, it has just added more fuel to my passion for writing.

           At a creative workshop I attended with Juliette Sobanet, she asked us to think about why we wanted to tell our story, the novels or stories we are working on. I guess the true reason is to inspire others and maybe they will be able to find strength with my characters as they read along. The message I want to convey in the novels I write is for young teenage girls all over, to not give up on yourself and to embrace your weirdness…it’s okay to be unique. It’s okay to be creative and pursue your artistic dreams. Everyone goes through some type of darkness, and although some stay, there are others who fight to reach the light. I write to help, heal, and, to inspire. 

Halloween Zine 

I am excited about a short book project I am finishing up with prose and flash fiction pieces combined with original photography. It’s going to be a short horror anthology for Halloween. Making a zine is not as difficult as I thought it would be and it’ll be a cool way to share my work locally. Purpose is to get my work out and read!

Morgana outline is slow going,  been distracted by yoga teaching and important deadlines for school. Writing is my way to unwind and relax. Its been keeping me balanced.

Here’s my story for today, it’ll be up in the zine….

Swipe, Swipe, Swipe, 

Left and Right, Left and Right

The young woman moved her index finger back and forth

Hoping to get matched with the latest handsome stranger

Little did she know, she was in for danger

As she continued to swipe, 

a heart formed on the screen of her iPhone

A MATCH, finally, she let out a sinister giggle

“Let’s meet up tonight” 

wrote the interested fool

“Meet me at the corner bar on K Street” she replied, excitedly, knowing she’s in for a night of free booze and food, a relief to her penniless bank account


After an hour, the night grew tiresome as the man had forgotten his wallet and she was stuck with the bill


Feeling agitated, due to the plan not working, she got up to leave


The man glared at her with an apathetic gaze filled with mischievous desire


Thinking that she was in for a midnight rendezvous,


the woman let the mystery man follow her home

As the streets grew darker and the clicking of the woman’s heels got heavier


the man followed closely, breathing deeply onto her neck


In the shadow of the street light, the woman spied the outline of a knife


Raised high in the air, above the outline of her own head


A shriek formed inside of the woman’s mouth, “ahhhhhhhhhh”


As the blade came down into her right shoulder


Searing pain rain through her body, trying to run,


The man followed her, striking once more,


And, the woman kept running, approaching her door


As her bloody hand reached to open the door, she caught her reflection


And blew herself a kiss, as she fainted onto a puddle of rainwater face first 

-E.R. BUENDIA

The light fades…

So for this piece I decided to delve into some world building for a trilogy scifi idea I have, which takes place in another planet beyond the sun’s reach…the land is dying because its desperate for light…here’s a narrative on my protagonist’s childhood memory:

The sunsets were dazzling as the sun prepared to go into its slumber. Hues of mustard and tangerine blended together into a beautiful spread across the sky surrounding the kingdom of Gaela. The young girl cupped her hand pretending to lift the colors of the sunset out of celestial sphere that reflected off the lakes. A smile formed upon her face, as she closed her eyes and felt the last rays of sunlight seeping through her skin. Light was a luxury in Gaela and any moment that the people could get with the sun was sacred. The sun was a god to the people and the moon was as well, any source of light.

    Eighteen hours per day the land was filled with terror and darkness. Creatures beyond the fray awaited the moments the moonlight dissipated into the abyss of the universe so they could prey on the weak. The kingdom lived in a state between waking and sleeping, in a constant fear of the night. They were forced to become one with the night as the sun’s rotation grew further away from their planet. Circadian rhythms were out of sync, causing a mental disorientation amongst everyone and this young girl managed to maintain balance through all of the chaos. There was something special about her. She had the ability to manipulate the four of the five elements: water, air, earth, and, fire.

    With this power, she had to hold onto the secret because if anyone were to know what she was capable of, she could be drained from her energy. She knew the cost of her special ability could lead to her demise so she never spoke of it. She tried her best not to let her powers show in each activity she had with other children her age. She knew it was wrong yet the curiosity gnawed at her insides of how much further she could take it. How powerful could she become?

~ ER Buendia

~

Day 2-Story A Day in September

Prompt of the Day: The problem with going through life one day at a time, each in order…

The problem with going through life one day at a time, each in order is that a person can never skip from Monday to Friday. The stillness of Wednesday drags by minute by minute as dreadful as waiting for the desert heat to pass in the middle of July. Beads of sweat form on those restless individuals who have to endure the sun’s beating merciless power. As the clock continues to tick closer to the five o’clock hour, business folks stare at those final seconds at 4:59pm with the eagerness to leave their suits behind and change into their gym gear, or, take it all off and tune into Netflix. Although taking life each day at a time can be blissful and fulfilling, it can also be a real drag.

E.R. BUENDIA

StAD September 

Hey guys,

I will be using the Story A Day Challenge this month to help me connect with my characters and also to bring you some cool flash fiction. Currently developing a horror anthology zine which I hope to release Halloween week.

Here is my first prompt piece inspired by one of my book ideas (the modern day Arthurian one): 

  1. When I was born…”


When I was born, a reincarnate of a goddess from centuries past bore into me. Her soul lit up the room and my mother was astonished, believe it to be an angel. The light blinded a couple of the nurses in the room because it was powerful luminescence which created a sun-like blast. At first, people were unsure of what I was. They believed that I was a spawn of the devil or some type of evil, but other holy rollers believed me to be an angel. But the dreams I had told me otherwise.


The images of my birth haunted me as I grew up feeling unsure of how to identify myself. I had been adopted into a family that did not know whether to fear me or adore me. As I grew, I began to grow curious of the incident that happened that day I was born and began to read about past lives, angels, evil, and, any other occult topics. I would spend hours trying to decipher what I was. Growing up, I was perplexed by my ability to touch wounded animals and heal them. The animal would shake off their injury and wander off into nature, without any sign of discomfort. My adopted mother caught me healing a wounded bird one day and asked a priest to come and observe me, believing me to be a child of God.


The thing is, that I was not a child of God and I was not related to the devil. I was just me and part of being me, was that I was reincarnated. I did not know this until the dreams began. Dreams of a lush green pasture, a great kingdom, and hooded tall men which looked as though they were wizards from Lord of the Rings. In reality, these men were druids, a race of magical beings who had been lost in the waves of time.  In the dreams, people called me Morgan, Morgaine, or Morgana. I did not know what it meant until I stumbled upon mythology which addressed a Morgaine la Faye as a Triple Goddess. I, then, figured out that the power I held inside of me was related to her. Was it possible that I am a reincarnation of a powerful goddess? Me? I am barely passing my high school Algebra class…how could I be the powerful triple goddess?