Trouble in the Pack

The moon dips shyly behind a soft tuft of cloud, casting a faint, muted glow over the treetops. Behind me, fingers of a cold breeze gently caress my back, slowly lifting a lock of my blonde hair off my shoulder. In the pale light of the moon, my hair looks drained of all color. White. Monochrome.

I shiver against the cold night air, but ignore the urge to turn back and go back home. I'd rather freeze here on the open trail than go home right now. I can't. Won't. Especially after the things he said to me.

I feel tremors of anger creep up my arm, and my fist jerks involuntarily. Just like that, with just one thought, all the anger I've spent the past half an hour walking off comes slamming back. I have no disillusions about my place in the pack. I'm a half-breed; I'm a soldier. I've accepted that that's all I'll ever be and quite frankly, I like it this way. What hasn't been easy for me to accept is our new igetia, Caedan - and that's only because we've been friends for a long time. I'm not one for taking orders, even less so when my friends are the ones issuing them.

Our previous igetia, - the closest human translation of the term would be either "leader" or "alpha" - used to call me the agrio of the pack. I still don't know what the word means; Caedan's father died before I had the chance to ask. Lhea used to insist that the word  means "troublemaker", but I know she was just making assumptions as usual.

Thinking her name sends another tremor of anger through my body. I leap off the rock into the grassy forest floor and break into a run, as if running can actually put distance between that name and the memories attached to them. Lhea is one of the reasons I'm so furious with Caedan. I'd been out of line when I'd questioned his orders - I know that. And maybe I would be fine right now if he had known where to draw the line when he chewed me out for my back-talking. I got yelled at a lot. Especially by him. I was used to it. But he'd pushed me too far by blaming me for my twin sister's death.

I think he knew it, too. The moment the words has left his mouth, I'd seen a flash of regret and pain in his eyes. But that didn't matter to me. I'd whipped around on my heels and run out of the cabin, and I hadn't stopped for anyone who called my name. They could track me, but everyone in my pack knew better than to come after me when I was in a mood. The only people who would have even dared were Lhea and Caedan - one is dead, and the other is the person whom my anger is directed at. I'm safe for the moment. But he'll send someone after me eventually.

He's too smart to come himself. Just as well, I might rip his head off if he does.

I run for almost a mile, leaping over protruding roots and wandering rodents, and stop only when I reach the cliff at the edge of the valley. I've retreated to this spot many times since I was a pup. Surrounded by tall, protective firs, this one spot at the edge of the cliff offers a brilliant view of the valley below, where my pack lives. And, if you sit in the right place and look in the right angle, you'll be able to see the faint lights of the city just along the horizon. Two different worlds, so close and yet so far away. It used to fascinate me as a child. Lhea and I would always sneak away from the pack and escape here. To think mostly. Sometimes we would talk about our future. Sometimes we would just sit here and watch our people ramble about in the village.

"Winnie the Pooh has his thinking spot, and we have our cliff." She always used to say.

Weary, I drop unceremoniously onto the edge of the cliff, my legs dangling freely over the side. It's only now that I allow myself to think about Lhea.

We were young, when it happened. Just a few months shy of of our nineteenth birthdays; when Caedan's father was still our igetia. It was raining that night. I still remember the way the fat drops of water pelted our fur as we ran through the forest, playing. Mom had forbidden us from leaving the cabin, but we'd gone any way; sneaking out in the middle of the night after Mom and Dad had fallen asleep. Lhea hadn't been too keen on the idea, but I convinced her to join me. "Where's your sense of fun, Lhea?" I'd asked. "We won't get caught, trust me." It took a while, but she eventually came along with me.

It happened just as we were about to turn back and go home. We'd played in the rain for about an hour, running and hunting, getting our fill of much-needed exercise and Lhea was getting tired. So after much begging and pleading, I finally relented and agreed to go back home. Everything that happened after that is still a blur to me. I remember gunshots and yells. I remember leaping in front of Lhea when the hunter aimed his gun at her. I remember the blur of black fur over my head as Khayl tackled the hunter. I remember having the wind knocked out of me as a hefty man fell on top of me as Caedan tried to pin him down. I remember seeing the flash of orange light as one of the hunters opened fire. And most vividly of all, I remember the heartbreaking howl that ripped out of my throat as I watched my sister fall to the forest floor, bleeding.

A sob erupts from my throat and I try to choke it down. It doesn't work. Soon, I'm sobbing furiously, not bothering to keep my voice down. No one can hear me, no one can see me. Why should I hide my tears? I'm allowed to grieve for my sister, aren't I?

"Your recklessness and your inability to listen when you're told something is what got Lhea killed."

I'm angry at Caedan. Furious. He could have said anything to me; anything but this. He didn't have to push me this far. I've had a over a year to process what happened that night, to plow through my emotions and then lock them up in a jar and toss it the the farthest reaches of my mind. I've not thought about that night in a long time. So why tonight? How did one simple sentence land me here, sobbing violently at the edge of a cliff?

It doesn't take long for the answer to come. Caedan's words affected me this much for one reason and one reason only. They're true.

It is my fault that Lhea's dead. I just never wanted to admit it.

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Alright, so this is a little something I came up with last week which I may or may not be continuing.
I was toying with the idea of turning this into a full book, but I've put a pin on the idea for the moment. I've got three books I'm working on currently  (Toxic Snow, SoTR, and ISTC) and really don't have the time or the energy to take on a new one at the moment. Maybe I will actually continue with this. Not right now, though.

Anyways, let me know what you guys think. As always, constructive criticism is always welcome.

Tick, Tick

Wife. Kids. House in the suburbs. The position in his firm that he'd been lusting after ever since he joined the company. A cat. With each passing tick of the lone clock on the wall, Silas added another achievement to the mental list he was drawing up, calmly ignoring the simpering cries of his cellmate who lay crumpled in a snotty, crying head on the bunk behind him.

One day, he thought. One more day and I'm free.

It had been almost a month since he'd last seen sunlight; gazed upon his wife's face; seen his children smile. Thirty-two years he'd been alive and in those thirty-two years, he'd never felt as broken as he did in that moment.

Tick.
Tick.

Each passing second was a reminder of his imminent freedom - the end of the time he had to serve for his crimes. Crimes. The word ran sour in his mind - it was a joke. A rancid joke that curdled every other thought it touched. The only crime he was guilty of committing was being in the wrong place at the wrong time - if that could even be considered a crime. Things would have been a lot different if he had just listened to Pamela and called in sick that morning. He should have known better. The woman was always right.

For the first time since he'd been thrown into that ratty jail cell, Silas let his shoulder's slump forward in dejection. Pamela. What would she think of him now? Would she believe the stories the media and the authorities were telling her about him? And what about this kids? How had she explained to them that their daddy was locked up in prison because he did horrible, horrible things? The thoughts passing through his mind were almost enough to break him and turn him into an inconsolable, blithering mess like his cellmate.

It is not easy to live as a framed man.

The clanging sounds of iron on iron smashed through his thoughts.Turning, Silas saw Norman, one of the more friendlier prison guards, standing in front of the cell, a piece of paper in his hand. "For you," the man grunted, passing Silas the slip of paper through the cell bars.

"What is it?"

"Last Meal card, Silas." The note of sympathy in the guard's voice was impossible to miss. "Choose your favorite."

Staring at the piece of paper, Silas felt everything inside of him shatter.

It was not easy to live as a framed man - but it was even worse to die as one.


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This was just something I came up with as I was trying to amuse myself during a power outage. It could use some work, I know. But I thought it might be worth the share. 
Maybe I'll continue with it, maybe I won't. Who knows? 

Feel free to leave your comments below :)

Apologies are in order

I guess I should start this long overdue post by apologizing for he Houdini act I pulled without any warning whatsoever.

Yes? Alright then.

I am extremely sorry. I truly, truly am.

The reason why I've been almost completely off the grid for the past month (or was it months? I've lost track of time) is because I've been so incredibly overwhelmed with school work and examination preparations and coursework that I have legitimately not had enough time for anything else. I couldn't even put aside a half-hour a day to work through my writer's block (yes, my arch nemesis decided to pay me a visit) because I had to focus more on Iago's convoluted plot to ruin Othello. As you've probably guessed, life has been eventful. NOT.

Alright, no. Maybe it hasn't been completely uneventful. There was that one incredibly soul-crushing, stress-puke inducing, constant-tears-of-bitterness involving, incident that spanned over the past couple of days... but that's a tale for another blog post. I don't want to gripe right now.

Where was I?

Oh right. Apologizing.

While I might be done with enduring Iago throwing (extremely racist) insults at Othello, I am still not 100% free from my scholastic duties as an A Level student. Translation? Despite the fact that I've chosen to reappear and start updating my stories once in a while, (pinky promise) you still won't see all that much of me until June. Tragic. I know.

I'll be uploading a little sneak peak of the upcoming second installment of The House of Voices somewhere within the week; and maybe after that, I'll upload a couple of monologues and short conversations I've written for my new anthology Fragments and Parlays. The updates for Toxic Snow and Strays on the Run might get a little delayed, unfortunately. I'll do my best to squeeze in a few updates, but I'm really in no position to make promises at the moment. So sorry.

Anyhoo... I guess that's really all I have to say for now. I'll pop in again in a couple of days with more updates. Who knows? Maybe I'll decide to shake things up a little and post an anecdote or a few personal thoughts on a personal subject... Maybe I'll decide to talk about the aforementioned incident of pure, unadulterated heartbreak. Real life tales of tragedy and dream smashing; YAY!

For those of you still reading my stories and for those of you who don't ardently hate me for disappearing again; I love you all. Really. The support I get from you guys is truly unbelievable. It's the kind of thing that keeps perfectionist, scatter-brained, self-doubting artists like me, strong. And I'm indescribably grateful for it.

I promise to do better. In both life, and my arts; be it music, writing and the crazy doodling I do when I'm bored. Because, really, in a world where virtually nothing's certain one thing's for sure; there's never any harm in trying to be better. At anything.

Good night world. This is Gabrielle Philips, signing out.
xx

(Another) Cover Update!! Part. II

Can't believe I almost forgot this...

But as you may or may not know, I've been spending the past few days making photo edits of what I pciture my characters to look like and posting them on my Facebook Page. So far, I've uploaded pictures of Avery and Xander from the Night Cat series.

Representing The Black Widow series so far are; Archer, Milo, Casey and Mirah. I should be uploading a picture of Alexis sometime this week. Tomorrow, maybe, if things go according to plan.

Okay, so back to the point, since I've been uploading all these Fancasts for my books, I realized that I didn't have one for The House of Voices Gang. So naturally, I spent all my free time during the past week trying to find the perfect Fancasts for October and the gang.  And - drum roll please - after spending days stuck and unable to find the perfect Parish, I found him today!

*Throws confetti and dances manically*

Instead of simply posting different characters everyday, I decided to do something different for THoV. I plan to hold a competition of some sorts for the fans of the series of Wattpad, and, if someone wins, I'll post a teaser for the second installment of the series, along with a picture of the character the winner chooses.

Pretty neat, huh?

All I need now are some ideas for the competition. If any of you have a suggestion, please leave me a comment or a message either here, Facebook, or my Wattpad page.

I look forward to hearing from you guys! :)

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PS: I also revamped the cover for I Hear Them Calling.
Thoughts? ;)

(Another) Cover Update!!

Guess who's been redoing the covers to her Night Cat series these past couple of weeks? Moi, of course!! If you haven't already seen them on my website, the you can check them out here.


Night Cat:

Howling in the Night:

 New Cat in Town:

Wattpad Update! - Covers

I made new covers for Frost Poison and Toxic Snow today, and I thought I'd share them with you guys.

Frost Poison:

Toxic Snow:

What are your thoughts on the new covers? Yay, or nay?

Let me know what you think. You can leave comments here, on Wattpad or on my Facebook page :)

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PS: The photographs I've used on the covers do NOT belong to me. I found them on Google, so credits to whoever these belong to. I repeat, they're not mine. I did, however, edit them.

Wattpad Update!

Okay, announcement time!

Since I have finally finished IHTC and am taking a break from the House of Voices series until I get the plot of the sequel all worked out, I've got time to finally sit down and focus on Toxic Snow and SotR.

So here's how it's going to work. Since I've been working on Toxic Snow longer, it's got a higher priority level. Translation: I'll update it as soon as I'm done with a new chapter (revision and all) and am half-way done with the new one. SotR, however, I'll update once a week. Since I updated it this afternoon, you guy's will have to wait till next Tuesday for the next update. I'm sorry, I know the Night Cat series has a bigger, more demanding audience than Toxic Snow, but that doesn't mean I can neglect it, now does it? Alexis and Archer need my attention too.

So yeah, that's the plan, and I'm sticking to it. If, due to unavoidable circumstances, I am unable to update on a Tuesday, I'll inform you guys on the day and update it on another day that same week.

On another, related, note, I was reading Night Cat the other day and I realized something. It's horrendous! Guys, seriously. How does it have that many reads? Why has no one said anything to me about how whiny and teeny-bopper-y my characters come off in that book? Now, now, don't start getting all mad at me. I'm not dissing my work. It's pretty okay work for someone who started writing it when she was thirteen, but it needs work. A little polishing here and there, removing some unwanted punctuation (Yes, there was a time when I thought four question marks was appropriate) and, hey, I might even make the chapters a little longer.  In addition, I'll also might be adding a few new chapters, so fans of the Night Cat series, stay tuned, you might get some new material.

As for New Cat in Town, don't worry. I haven't forgotten that either. I'll be working on it as I revise Night Cat, allowing me to corroborate Xander's POV with Avery's much easier. It's daunting work, writing a finished story from another person's point of view. It takes a while to make sure I don't do what I usually do and mess details up. Details are important. Ask any successful storyteller. Bear with me guys, Xander's story is coming. I'll try to post a new chapter of NCiT with every re-post of Night Cat. How does that sound?

Anyhoo, that's all I have to say for now (I think. My memory isn't functioning too well today) If there's more, I'll post another update here, or on my Facebook Page.

Good night all,
This girl's hungry =D

There's Poetry in Life

Now that I'm finished with the first book in my House of Voices series - which, you can read here, by the way (Shameless self-promotion. Yay!) - I have more time to start another series I've been meaning to get work on.

It's called There's Poetry in Life; and each post in this series shall feature a in-depth breakdown + analysis of whatever poem I'm obsessed with at the moment.

Today? The Old Familiar Faces by Charles Lamb.

I have had playmates, I have had companions,

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days,

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

One word: Nostalgia.
Pure, unadulterated nostalgia. Right from the first line, you see it. The speaker is longing for his school days, a simpler time. From the use of present perfect tense, the poet gives the impression that the speaker is trying to covey a message: he had these friends and he lost them. He lost them and wants them back. It's an understandable emotion. Haven't we all wanted to return to the days of our childhood at one time or another? When our only worries were scraped knees and what we'd get for Christmas? It's the kind of nostalgia that everyone feels at some point in their lives - the longing for a simpler time.

I have been laughing, I have been carousing

Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies,

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

In the second stanza, we're transported to another point in the speaker's life. From diapers to the cusp of adulthood, the years of the bachelor. The speaker reminisces the time when he'd been a carefree youth, sitting among his mix of close friends ("bosom cronies") and enjoying life. Compared with the second stanza, we see the gradual differences between the two periods of the speaker's life. Different cares, different works and involvements, different companions. Subtle changes, but they're there.

I loved a love once, fairest among women;

Closed are her door one me, I must not see her --

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

The Friday Tummy Blues

My day so far:
Woke up to thunder and lightning. Tried to go back to sleep, but was not permitted. Turned out I had some really important matters to attend to in school; go figure. Went to school. Hung out with my friends. Attended to the aforementioned matters and then came home early on account of the fact that my stomach is making me want to rip it out of my body.

Yes, that was my gift for Valentines day. A stomach bug. Remind not to hate on the holiday so much; the universe doesn't seem to like that. Or maybe it doesn't like me... I don't know which.

As I sit here, home alone and being a complete and utter retard while chatting with a bunch of friends, I decided that instead of whining and griping about my battle with my stomach, I'd channel the pain and frustration I'm feeling into my latest chapter of I Hear Them Calling. I haven't quite finished the chapter yet, so maybe channeling my physical suffering (yes, I'm exaggerating) and using it to make the chapter as heart-breaking as I need it to be might be for the best.

So yes, that's the plan for today. Ignore the warring stomach and aim to make my readers either cry or hate me.

It's a good one. I think.

Welcome to my Mind Palace

Yes, folks. The rumors are true. I finally decided that it was high-time that I stopped neglecting my blog and started posting. And yes, I know it's the third time I'm saying this, but I actually mean it this time. I am going to try and post regularly. I swear.

If, however, I go too long without posting, feel free to drop a message reminding me to keep my promise. Knowing me and my tendencies to procrastinate, it's probably going to be necessary.

I shall leave you now, but feel free to peruse through my blog.

You'll have to excuse the older posts, I'm afraid. I was feeling too sentimental to delete them.