alexmothewriting-blog

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How I invented a language when I was 7

I was 7 years old and with my nanny and in a Poppins-esque manner she decided we should have our own language, one between the two of us and for only us. It was simple at first but by the time I was 17 we were speaking fluently with complex sentences and abstract ideas using a language only we knew.

I came out to my parents without them ever knowing, by writing in Alexian (the name we gave to our language, Aleosan in Alexian) I complained about people to their face in private, I even got out of a speeding ticket by pretending to only speak this made up language.

A little taste of the conlang (let’s see if anyone can figure it out, it’s not as complex as it sounds) with some literary quotes (or just quotes)

“Heta arin, heta isio, heta colosa” - Joso Casan

“Osa fen, dosa fen, rona fen, beso fen” Dr. Soa

“Nota enesa al esempenasona al nota wasila noteras enesa” - Jol Geras, Logosa Elos Alase

“Fios esi nal fios, enesa nal tios” -Yon

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Swords are not heavy! But yes they are tiring in a "holding this position is tiring" sense, kind of like playing flute tires or your arms

Writer’s Guide to Fight Scenes

Punch their lights. Smack ‘em with a camera. Action. Action scenes are great. Even the kindest sweetest reader revels in a bit of action. We are disposed to violence due to our basic nature. This does not make violence OK. But you must understand that sugarcoating it, is not perhaps the best idea. Now let’s get to it.

First Rule of Fight Club…

…we must talk about fighting. So some things to remember in a fight.

Fighting involves all senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell. You must feel the pain, see the opponent, hear the shouting and blows on skin, taste blood if you are injured and smell the sweat off yourself and your enemy. Make it realistic. All five senses should be used.

Punching someone hurts by the way. You bruised your hand and might even break a bone.

Adrenaline is a great friend in a fight. It makes you alert and gets your heart pounding. It’s only after the fight that your pain begins to appear. You might think you’re fine but in reality you are probably more bruised that a month old apple.

Fighting is tiring. Even professional boxers will yell you that doling out blows and avoiding them, takes it’s toll. Many times a fight is won on the back of an exhausted opponent.

Equip yo'self

Fighting with fists and feet can save a life but sometimes weapons are used. We will discuss gun fights in a later post. Swords and knives are popular weapons in fantasy fighting. Yet swords are heavily and swinging them makes you tired. Knives are all fun and dandy, yet you will almost always slice yourself whilst fighting an opponent. Yet using weapons is a plus for your characters even if it is a rock. See my swords post for sword terminology.

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When She Wakes Preview

As with many events that shape who we are as people, this too split Juniper Grace's life in half. Before and after.

It'd been a mystery how she had fallen ill and a greater mystery to how she awoke. Ms. Grace had hired many a specialist to try and find the answer to that mystery, to no avail. Juniper had been in a coma, set on rather spontaneously, for four years now, her mother dotingly coming to visit each day even at the expense of her career (she had been a rather prolific author before these events). Poor Juniper’s friends had all but moved on, her classmates now graduated, few had remained. Everyone had continued in life, but Juniper Grace remained, lost in her own mind, as is usually the case with comatose patients. It wasn't as if poor Juniper had chosen to be left behind, nor was it the intention of her friends to move on, but four years had passed and they grew up, Juniper did not. That isn't to say she didn't age, for one ages regardless of the condition of their health. No, Juniper Grace did age but her mind had stayed, lost in dreams of routine life in her fifth grade class; her mind suspended in idle animation.

Ms. Grace had been notified that same morning and had rushed out to her car without thought to her manner of dress. She currently presided over her daughter in mismatched clothing, down to her socks which contained small little Santas (mind this was mid August) on them. She couldn't have cared, even if she tried, about the people now staring perplexed at the woman standing there over the bed with her hair akin to a bird’s nest. Juniper gave a soft smile to her mother, it was just like her to come see Juniper in her pyjamas. Juniper could do nothing to stop her laugh. It was short and soft, but it was a laugh. More than enough for Ms. Grace.

This reunion of mother and daughter however did not last, for rather quickly a team of nurses and doctors came rushing in, removing Ms. Grace from the room and began running tests. This may be one of poor Juniper's strangest moments. None of her muscles had atrophied and while walking was no easy task, she had managed a few steps. The doctors and nurses were quite bewildered by this development and had decided to do some more tests on her tissue, which Juniper had adamantly objected to with futility.

When she finally arrived home she stumbled to her room to find everything seemed smaller. She looked into the mirror and stared in wonder at herself. She didn't recognise herself at all. She reached out and touched the mirror, tracing her features with her hand. She had grown pale and she had trouble fitting completely in the mirror now (for it was set at the height of a ten year old). It was surreal and mesmerising to her fifteen year old self. A sharp knock at the door had interrupted her reverie and Juniper had realised she’d been crying. Her mother answered the door as Juniper came into the foyer, wiping her tears, to see a teenage girl about her own height with a dark complexion standing in the foyer, her eyes holding a slight glint of joy, or was it sadness? Juniper couldn’t tell.

"Look at you, Juni!" The girl began to cry, "You're all grown up."

"Sarah?" Juniper replied, "You look so different."

For indeed from how Juniper had remembered the girl she had looked quite different, but not beyond recognition. Her eyes were still that subtle shade of auburn and her hair still frayed right where she had tried to place it into a bun.

"I'm sorry, I can't. Ms. Grace, I'm sorry!" At this the girl ran out of the house crying.

Juniper stood there perplexed at what had just taken place. Her best friend had grown up. She had grown up. It was all rather confusing and Juniper struggled to compose herself as she stood there staring into the August day through the harsh division of her door, a subtle reminder of her new life.

"It's getting late, why don't you head to bed?" Ms. Grace asked.

"You're not gonna tuck me in?"

"Honey, you're--" At this sudden realisation Ms. Grace began to cry softly, "I'll be there in a bit, sweetie."

Juniper began to rummage through her clothes and realised none of it would fit her anymore. She went to her mother's room and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt and got changed. She settled into bed, her legs resting over the edge of the once sprawling mattress and looked at the ceiling. She was home, but it no longer felt as such.