Thursday, December 25, 2014

8 Ways to Put Off Writing Your Novel

1. One word: Tumblr




2. Actually, make that another word: Pinterest





3. Consider new ways of complimenting someone

The Surrealist Compliment Generator, man. It says the strangest, loveliest things. Go on, try it. Here are some of my favourites: 

If you were a camel your humps would be esoterically bald from overuse. 

Your soul contains all that is found in insects, pigs and vermin.

Your nasal linings will last as long as the skin of rocks, thrust enigmatically upon a distant shorline of mating beetles. 

I find your eye sockets to be a wondrous amusement park of neo-plastic pleasures and oncogenic delights.

Seven donkeys and a concubine cannot compare with the tarnished sheen left in your path of combustion. 


 photo JT thanks i guess_zpsfbgrgfkc.gif

Can you tell I've refreshed it many times. Ha!



4. Fangirl over other people's writing

from Stay, by Deb Caletti

from The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern



5. Clean your room

Because I'm a neat freak that way. Not because I'm trying to procrastinate. Definitely not.


6. Look for new music on Spotify and 8tracks

What? I'm making a playlist. FOR THE NOVEL, OF COURSE.


7. Read terrifying reviews on Goodreads

I go in there to look for book recommendations, only to end up reading snarky reviews that are equal parts mean (imagine if you were the writer!) and hilarious.



It's enough to make you swear off putting your work out there ever again.


8. Write a blog post on how to procrastinate


9. And um, Boxing Day sales, y'all!

 photo mean girls shopping_zpssqcmzolq.gif

 Really, who can resist? At the very least, it helps to take my mind off the fact that another year has come and gone and I still haven't achieved shit.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Sunday, December 14, 2014

when not writing, I am planning an itinerary


It's mid-December already?! How did THAT happen? Where did 2014 go??

 photo donghae amazed 3_zpsks55xobh.gif
Donghae is as amazed as I am. Except consternation looks better on his pretty face.

It's always as the year wears on that you get more disillusioned. Not only did I not accomplish any of my goals, I'm falling behind on my word count. Why, Joyce, WHY. Procrastination is a terrible colour on you. All those time you were waiting for the muse to strike - keeping unnecessarily busy with creating playlists for your stories, decorating your room, looking for new music, and reading (mean and scary) reviews on Goodreads - you could have plowed through your sucky writing and found a way through your manuscript.

It was around this time last year that I started on Neverland, and I'm STILL writing it, STILL haven't written its ending even for the first draft.

 photo siwonwhuuut_zps61e7d8aa.gif
Don't judge me, Siwon!

It's one thing to write at your own pace, and another to put off writing it because you're afraid you'll fail again like you had the first two times (Neverland is at Draft 3 now).

Good thing for good books in the meantime.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15818357-dreams-and-shadows

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/14061955-siege-and-storm?from_search=true

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/9361589-the-night-circus?from_search=true

*

Also, I'm planning for a trip back to Korea next spring!!

Truth is, I'm a travel noob. I've never travelled free-and-easy before. It's just easier to have travel agencies plan everything nicely for you. But I really want to learn how to plan a trip from scratch, get around on my own, and explore places I wouldn't get to see on a package tour. Everyone I know travel on their own in their twenties. I mean, what better time to do that, right?

And where better to visit than the land of K-pop? Yes, I have become a legit fangirl and I'm not going to be ashamed about it. So I like K-pop, I enjoyed Korea the last time I was there, and now I'm going to make this spring 2015 trip happen.

 photo donghae dorky yeah_zpszbsxuxqa.gif
Donghae approves, obviously

But there are so many sites for flight and accommodation deals and so many places I want to visit and things to take note of (public holidays, for instance - you do not want to jump into the fray at train stations or the airport), transport preparations (e.g. buying train tickets beforehand) that quite frankly I'm getting inundated by it all.

So if you have any tips on flights, accommodation, places of interest, and getting around (we're planning to travel around Seoul, Busan and Jeju), do share! All help will be greatly appreciated by this travel noob :0)

Enjoy the rest of the weekend!

Tuesday, December 02, 2014

Clocked 30K for NaNo - and that's okay

So we're done with NaNoWriMo! One crazy month of uncensored writing, manic word churning, and getting lost in the labyrinth of the world you created.


My word count stands at 30,300. But oh, who cares. I'm having too much fun right now to obsess over word count! With a structure I've never dared to try before but am experimenting with now because what the hell it's NaNoWriMo and there's no better time to write without fear or judgement.

Here is an excerpt from No Room in Neverland (it's a flashback from one of Gemma and Cole's imaginary adventures to Neverland when they were kids):


*


Captain Storm was one of those people who guarded their ship so zealously they barely ever made port. He believed that the sea was his one true home, and to be on land was as unnatural as the hooked metal arm of his nemesis, Captain Hook.

When he first caught sight of the two children, it was on the southern island of Almeta, where he had just gathered enough supplies for another voyage to the Silver Cape. He never stayed overnight on land, even in terrible storms that tore ships apart. But as his men loaded the ship with bags and bags of flour and potatoes, seasoned meat and produce, Captain Storm stepped off his ship.

His crew stared. But the captain’s attention was fixed on the pair of children. They shouldn’t look so out of place in Neverland, where Lost Children made their home. But the two weren’t inhabitants. No, they were just visitors. Port Almeta host vagrants and visitors alike, and these drifters were from the Otherworld.

They were hardy little things, the captain could tell right away even from afar, no more than a day older than eight years of age. Hand in hand, they approached Storm with a steely determination that was absent in the Lost Children around here.

“We would like to cross the Silver Sea with you,” were the girl’s first words to him. Storm could tell she was a lot more nervous than she sounded, mostly because she was plucking at a loose thread in her jeans. The boy nudged her, and she added, “Sir.”

“Captain,” the boy corrected, and the girl nodded.

The captain was being very un-captainlike so far. He cleared his throat and growled, “You want to cross the Silver Sea?”

The pair nodded, their dark eyes too grave for Almeta in daytime.

“Why?”

“We want to know what’s on the other shore.” Tourists, the captain thought irritably. There was no other way to the gilded Hinterlands but sea passage – flight was impossible because of the air sprites out for flesh. Many stubborn visitors have plunged into the watery depths of the tumultuous Silver Sea because of those greedy little bastards.

These children have no idea what they were in for.

“So hitch a ferry. I don’t take passengers,” Captain Storm said.

“You don’t understand. We’re on a mission,” the girl said with enough passion to make the captain’s brows slide up past the shadow cast by his hat. “To save Neverland.”

Storm narrowed his eyes. “Save it how?”

The children shared a brief look before the boy offered, “We know our way around. We’ve studied the maps and everything.”

“We’re not just visitors,” the girl added with an eye roll.

A procession of sailors traipsed by with more bags of ration, staring at their captain and the two children he was entertaining. In the time it took for his men to pass, Storm understood.

“You’re hunting the fool’s treasure, aren’t you? It’s a myth, kids. There is no treasure. Just an old cave and a treacherous jungle.”

“We won’t know for sure until we see it for ourselves.”

Yes, Otherworld children all right. Only they could be this stubborn.

“Neverland is not yours to save,” said Storm. There had been others who tried. Eventually, they gave up after failing too many times, moved on and left Neverland for good. The others ended up as Lost Children, drifting through the days for eternity.

“We don’t know until we try.” The girl possessed a sense of purposefulness and solemnity uncharacteristic of children her age. Not that Captain Storm would know, seeing how few children he came into actual contact with.

How then was he going to have two of them on his ship?

Yet, he looked at the pair of them standing before him now, and heard himself say, “Get on board, then. And try not to fall over. I won’t bother doubling back for either of you.”



*


There is so much to explore for Neverland! So many possibilities, and it reminds me of how fun writing can be if you don't second-guess yourself or let yourself stop writing. It's so easy to make excuses and get overly critical of your writing (and wonder if this is all worth the effort and heartache in the end), but this is exactly how stories end up discarded when all they need is a little more thought and an extra push.


And who cares if I'm having more fun writing the Neverland Chronicles than present day scenes. I'm just happy to go where the story takes me. Because like Chuck Wendig said, "a finished thing is imperfect - but fixable."

NaNo-ers, any retrospective thoughts about the experience? Hope NaNoWriMo 2014 was just as fulfilling for you! :0)

Thursday, November 20, 2014

The week of rejection letters

Three weeks into NaNoWriMo and my word count stands at ... 16k. Yup, just as I expected. I'm not going to make it in time.

 photo guilty_zpsbexnixre.gif

 photo misha guilty_zpscwnnzmsj.gif

 photo sorry_zpsorolsa86.gif


As Chuck Wendig said,
It's harder just not to create art than it is to actually sit down or stand there and commit. It's easier to think about creating something, or to talk about creating something, than it is to actually will yourself to that act -- a very difficult, transitional, sacrificial act. It's easier to think about stories or dream stories or imagine your published stories than it is to actually carve them letter by letter across a piece of paper.

Thinking is easy; dreaming is easier. It's the doing that feels like carving out your skin inch by inch, but it's also what gives you the most satisfaction. Now, if I could just hold on to that thought...

Literary agents, however, have had a very productive week in terms of responding to emails. At this stage, any response is better than none. I'm not really a fan of the whole "We'll reply only if we're interested" policy more and more agencies are adopting these days.

This week, I've had three rejection letters. Nice ones, but crushing nonetheless. I don't think I'll ever be immune to the sting. It's nothing personal, I know. It's just ... you feel like you were soooooo close, you know? They'd already requested the full manuscript for consideration. They liked it. It JUST. WASN'T. GOOD. ENOUGH.

 photo merida face tear_zpsvdmmy4ui.gif

 photo merida headdesk_zpsihqlvm6d.gif 

 photo zooeyweeping_zps00ecfc0f.gif

It's enough to make a writer want to give up sometimes. If your best still isn't good enough, does that mean you're just not cut out for this after all?

At least most of the agents are really kind. I've had one who called me Joshua and some who responded with just one line: not for me but thanks.


Rejection Letter #1:

Dear Joyce,

Thank you so much for submitting Until Morning to Giant Squid Books. Your novel is a fresh take on romantic YA and I have not seen many like it! However, the switching perspectives and long dream sequences did not resonate with us, so I do not think we are the right fit. I am confident that you will find a home for your novel and I wish you the best of luck.


Warmly,
Rachel 



Rejection Letter #2: 


Dear Joyce,

Thanks again for sending me UNTIL MORNING, and for your patience as I read it. I'm a big fan of Haruki Murakami, and your use of magical realism really reminded me of his work. I loved the way the characters' lives were interlaced, and how they meet inside Lexi's dreams of Sam's paintings. I thought the way you constructed their worlds was very fresh and interesting. I loved the twist of her being in a coma. Overall, I thought the concept of your book was very imaginative.

I felt like I had an immediate impression of each of their characters. Lexi seemed very free-spirited (in her dreams), while Sam has always had a lot of structure in his life and pressure from his father. I wanted to learn more about their characters, to see them develop and expand as I continued reading, and unfortunately, I didn't see that as much as I would've liked. It was interesting to learn that Lexi is much less free-spirited in real life, because it helped give more nuance and depth to the version of Lexi that appears in the dreams. However, I still didn't feel that I got to know either of their characters as deeply as I wanted to. I also felt that the way they appear to be complete opposites in the dreams, yet become close so immediately, felt a little too perfect and unrealistic. The similarities between them as well (both having a sick mother) felt a little too coincidental to be realistic.

As much as I admired the overall concept of your book, I'm afraid I didn't connect to the characters in the way I'd hoped, so I have to pass. I wish you all the best in finding the right agent and getting this published.

Best wishes,
Annie



Rejection Letter #3: 

Dear Joyce,

Thank you so much for submitting to the Collaborative. Unfortunately, while your concept is intriguing, we recently sold a project that involves a romance conducted via dreaming, and as a small company, we need to be very careful about taking on projects with too much overlap to titles already on our list. I’m sorry this wasn’t a match but I wish you the best of luck in finding the perfect home for your work!

All my best,
Annie S


Rejection Letter #4: 

Dear Joshua,


Many thanks for sending us Until Morning.
I am sorry I can’t offer to represent you at this time, but I wish you every success with your writing in the future.

Best wishes,
Gillie




 photo donghae exasperated_zpsr6ay2lfe.gif  

Can I go wallow now??

NaNo-ers, power on anyway! It's a daunting task, seeing a novel through to the end without getting held back by rejection or self-doubt, and writing is a much less lonely business during NaNo. But nothing beats reaching the end, you know that.


Also, BIIIIG thanks to everyone who stopped by with an encouraging note or remark - you don't know how much it means to a writer. *kisses you fervently*

Friday, November 14, 2014

Halfway into NaNoWriMo!

 Writing advice from Kate Brauning:
Don’t get discouraged when you’re drafting if you’re not seeing magic happen. That magical touch and those insightful moments you see in great books aren’t magic at all. They’re the result of blood and sweat. First drafts are limp and flat and awkward—that’s normal. The depth and layers come as you revise. And revise. And revise.

Ugh, limp and flat and awkward first drafts. Too much experience with that. But it's true that it gets better with each draft. You kind of figure out more stuff the more you write - the mood, the tone, the characters, their voices, their backgrounds - and all that helps you see the end more clearly.

So how is NaNoWriMo going for all my writerly friends? 

Reading Siege and Storm, book #2 of the Grisha trilogy by Leigh Bardugo, is making me ache to write Indigo Tides.


It is so insanely good, much better than the first in terms of prose and pacing. I mean, it's got mythical monsters and fairy tales and an unorthodox (and callously funny) ship captain that is fast becoming my favourite character in the book. What's not to love? Plus, I love how Leigh doesn't go overboard with the sappiness between Mal and Alina - every scene, every exchange, every touch between them is significant and propels the story forward while leaving your emotions scattered everywhere.

 photo asian babies spazzing_zpslj2j4rr3.gif

 photo mishaincoherentfangirling_zps1198f4ab.gif

But that's a review for another day. I will properly gush about it then. For now,



Off to Neverland! Have a good weekend, everyone :0)

Tuesday, November 04, 2014

It's NaNoWriMo!


National Novel Writing Month entails copious cups of green tea, manic pounding of the keyboard, dreaming up scenes, talking to your characters, considering what they'd do in your shoes as you go about your life, and basically being taken over by this snarling, squalling, blossoming thing called the Work In Progress. Anything that helps churn out that 50K-word manuscript in a month.

 photo aladdin start panicking_zpsjuvemtlp.gif

WIP is going relatively well so far, considering how it had bucked and stalled like a horse that needs to poop for the first couple of drafts before I decided to take a break from it (let it, um, poop, so to speak).

Page 198 was where it succeeded in boring the brains out of me, so now I'm giving it another try, this time with a structure I've never quite dared to attempt before. Narrative within a narrative. Flashbacks (always risky). Non-linear chronology. Something like what Karen Foxlee did with The Midnight Dress.

Once I decided on this structure, it's like things finally clicked into place. This is what gets me fired up and excited to write the story! This is what's missing in the first two attempts! This is what makes me dig deeper into my characters!

Okay. *cracks knuckles* *flexes fingers* Let's do this.

 photo nickwritingletsdothis_zpscdd432e0.gif

Just so we're clear, I'm probably not going to finish 50K in one month. I'm not going to embrace that kind of insanity. But I'll just try my best and log in the daily word count and see where this takes me.

For my fellow NaNo-ers, here's some wisdom from best-selling author Chuck Wendig on the writing process:
"We wish the best for our stories. We want them to be great. We want them to win awards and climb to the top of the bestseller mountain and maybe they’ll change somebody’s life and earn us a giant sack of cash which will allow us to buy a jet-boat or an oil drum full of that very rare civet-poop coffee. Maybe a jet boat fueled by civet-shit coffee."

Yup, that's Chuck.

"... go forth and write. 
Without pressure, without fear, without the expectation of doing anything but crossing the finish line."

And some civet shit-free wisdom from Laini Taylor (please update your blog, Laini - I'm dying for some snippet of your life!):

"Imagine you’re standing at the edge of a jungle in, let’s say, Borneo (because I have a fascination with Borneo). You have a rough idea of how big this jungle is -- you’ve flown over it in a helicopter and seen dense green treecover, and you know what’s on the other side. You know where you want to get to, and you have a very vague idea of what’s IN the jungle, but you have no map, and as of yet there is no trail. What you do have is a machete, a blank roll of paper, and a grease pencil.  
There’s only one way to get to the other side of the jungle: take out your machete and start whacking. Carve your way forward and forward, sometimes sideways and sometimes back, until you get to the other side. That first time through, you’re going to come across ravines, swamps, viper nests, rivers, all sorts of things you didn’t expect and you’ll deal with them and get around them, over them, through them, in all manner of resourceful ways. And when you step out of the jungle on the far side, what you’ll have in your hand is a sprawling, wrinkled, sweat-stained mess of a map of the territory you’ve just discovered. It might not look very pretty, but it is a glorious thing, a document of discovery. You clutch it to you, and after you’ve rested and healed for a while, you go back to the far side of the jungle and. . . you start again. 
This time, with your messy map in hand, you’ll know where to go and where not to go. Some of the things you discovered your first time in, you’ll want to avoid like the plague; others will be perfect, serendipitous things that make the journey richer than you could have imagined when you set out. You’ll know your jungle/story intimately, the good and the bad, from ground level. Outlines, I think, are kind of the equivalent of aerial photography -- you get some idea, but you can’t really see what it’s like down below -- not until you’re walking through it. And when you find things to be not exactly as they had seemed from the air, you have to adapt.  
Be nimble. 
The second time through, your passage will be much more elegant than the first, and it will also be less exciting. Nothing will ever be so miserable or so thrilling as that first bushwhack. . . that first exploratory draft. The misery and the thrill are intertwined -- that’s exploration for you, taking the leeches and fevers with the discovery and getting to name islands and swamps after yourself! The second time, you’ll know what to expect. You’ll be refining your map. It will get more perfect and less exciting with each pass, and then one day you’ll be done. Done with that jungle and ready for a new one."

Yes, this analogy is perfect.

Yes, Laini Taylor is perfect.

Yes, I wish I could write like her.

Speaking of whom, yay for more Laini goodness: her short story, which is collected in this anthology called My True Love Gave to Me, has just been released!

Image from GoodReads

Laini's in good company too: Holly Black, Kelly Link, Stephanie Perkins, Myra McEntire, and more!

And you guys, the UK version has HOT PINK pages:


SO grabbing this from the bookstore.

May the writing gods be with you this NaNoWriMo! :0)

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

oh, the writing? it's slow-going, but it's going

Some writing motivation for this week: 

Despair has never achieved anything, and it never will. 
Dream, writerly friend. Dream. Imagine your stories, and your art, out in the world touching the hearts of countless— but do not expect the universe to bring these to you. Pair your hope with your courage, and you will make your dreams a reality.



Off to work! :0)

Monday, October 20, 2014

Book Review: Shadow and Bone

Fair warning: this post contains fangirl moments over Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo, the first of the Grisha trilogy by Leigh Bardugo. If fangirling gives you a massive headache, walk away now.

Otherwise, OMG THIS BOOK!!



The Story

Set in an alternate ancient Russia, in a place called Ravka, the story opens with a boy and a girl, both orphans adopted by Duke Keramsov before being posted to different vocations: Alina a cartographer, Mal a tracker/hunter. They live in a country that is constantly under siege by Fjerdans from the north, and Shu Hans from the south, and there's this thing called the Fold that the Darkling and his men have to cross on their voyage across the Unsea. There, bird-like beasts called the Volcra feast on human flesh. The inciting moment is when Alina is taken across the fold and manages to save those on board with her once-dormant power of light.

The Darkling, by the way, is the leader of the Grisha (the magical elite) who is trying to wrestle for power from the passive king and rule all the land. He finds use for Alina, who is revealed to be the Sun Summoner, the one who can drive the Volcra away and ensure the safe crossing of the Fold. Alina is taken under the Darkling's wing and hailed as the new hope for the people of Ravka.

But as she is taken deeper into the world of the Grisha, Alina uncovers more secrets and is forced to question her loyalties to the Darkling.


The Pacing

The first 60 percent of the book was kind of forgettable, and more than once I questioned where this was all leading up to. The flirty little moments between the Darkling and Alina, where the latter is lured by the promise of power and affection (things that had been denied to her when she was an adopted orphan), the lessons Alina had to go through, the petty politics of the court, where Alina was the subject of gossip and underhanded attacks by a jealous Grisha girl. I was ready for Alina to stop whining about how pathetic she was physically and get on with honing her powers already.

But then: PLOT TWIST PLOT TWIST PLOT FRIGGING TWIST!

Only it came about 100 pages too late. I would've liked things to move a little quicker, especially around the first 60 percent or so of the book. I took three weeks to read this book because I gave up on it halfway and moved on to other books. But once you survive till 65 percent or so, you will be glued to the page. There, I didn't give anything away, did I?


The Writing

I wasn't really a fan of the prose at the beginning. There were just too many I's in the sentences, and after a while I was like, Vary your sentence structure, pleeeease!

Case in point:

And lest you think this is typical of first-person narrative (I know people who scoff at first-person POV), it's not. There are a lot of writers whose writing feels natural even in first-person.

But then you've got moments like these:





And it's just,

 photo fangirling 2_zpsjrqtkyqf.gif

 photo mishaincoherentfangirling_zps1198f4ab.gif

Sentence structure what??


The Romance

Um, need I say more? Malina (Mal + Alina) is endgame. (I peeked at the end of the last book), and that makes me happy *insert cheesy grin*


So I can get past the excessive use of I's and rote reporting of events, because OH YES THIS IS HOW YA FANTASY SHOULD BE DONE.

And the good news is: books two and three await.



Happy Monday! Hope you're lost in a good book too :0)

Friday, October 17, 2014

Fiction Friday - Night Siege




That evening, we knew something was wrong when the night birds didn't fly our way.

It was the third full moon of the year, so Kayla and I joined the older girls in sneaking out to see the night birds, the way we had been doing for three springs now. Parents knew about their girls stealing up to shore to watch the silent beasts sail across the skies, and did all they could to deter us.

"Don’t trust anything with wings," was what our father told us. They were thieves, every one of them. They stole your trust, and then your magic. Finally, they stole you.

Still, the horror stories they told us about the winged creatures couldn't kill their allure.

Besides, the birds – a motley assortment of jays, eagles, hawks, and albatrosses – had never once tried to harm us. Even when they landed on the shore and shook out their wings and transformed into tall, strapping young men with eyes that flashed like lightning under the moonlight.

The older girls would whisper and giggle over the one with the strong jaw, or the one with the dimpled smile, while Kayla and I shared a glance that contained all the words the older girls were saying. At fourteen and sixteen, we still blushed at the sight of the men.

I knew my sister's gaze lingered on one of them in particular: the tawny eagle with driftwood-brown feathers. She would watch it fold its wings around itself before, in a ripple of stardust and moonshine, turning into a young man just slightly older than Kayla.

The first person I noticed, though, was the boy. He was barely a man yet the first time I saw him, a wiry stranger significantly younger than the rest. The boy – Eylar was his name – stood out from the rest with his sleek, downy feathers the colour of sun-bleached bones. The sea eagle. Each year, he filled out more and more, body taking on harder, leaner lines. His gaze became keener, as did the planes of his face, and his shock of coppery-red hair darkened into a deep russet tone. But there was wonder in his eyes, and laughter in his voice that made me think of milky skies and jewel waters.

They were soldiers from the north, I gathered, who stopped by the deserted beach on their way to the sea-ravaged eastern islands, which were inhospitable at best and perilous at worst. None of us knew what they did there. They went deep into the dark heart of the forest with their crude metal weaponry (that Father always scoffed at) and disappeared for several moonrises until they took to their wings again and headed back north.

Once, Kayla and I decided to follow them. We stole away from the other girls and tailed the soldiers into the forest, pushing through the wall of trees blackened by night.

They kept a brisk pace, navigating their way through the tangled undergrowth with practiced ease, while Kayla and I stumbled along in their wake, waking the forest with our ungainly steps. But we had gone mostly unheard and ignored.

We traipsed for what seemed like an entire moon cycle, finally coming to a stop in a clearing. There, the soldiers gathered around a pile of rocks as tall as them. Light glowed from the spaces in the rubble like a trapped sun.

It took me a longer time than Kayla to understand what they were doing.

"Thieves," Kayla hissed, sounding very much like Great-Aunt Basil, who had lost her husband in the last border war. "They've been coming here all this time to steal earth magic."

I wanted to tell her that magic didn't belong to anyone, not to the earth creatures or to us, the sea children. But the last time I suggested that to Father, he had laughed in a way that made me feel like I was five years old again.

We never told our parents what we saw in that clearing.


*


Tonight, the birds didn't come. The sky was bruised and barren with wanting.

The girls and I held out out for a break in the clouds, a ripple in the air from their silent wingbeats. When it became increasingly certain that the birds weren't coming, the older girls got bored and slunk back into the inky water, making a grudging splash with their tails.

Kayla tugged on my hand. "Come on, Amber. They’re not coming."

I stayed where I was, half-hidden by a rock on the warm sand. With the other girls gone, the water became black glass again. Water lapped at us, eager to take us home, but all I could think of was that pure white plumage.

Kayla gave my hand another tug, and I almost let her. But as Kayla disappeared beneath the surface with a soft splash, a solitary shadow loomed overhead. It cut through the clouds, a blot in the sky, its wings reflecting the pearly moonlight.

I couldn't move even if I tried.

He was half-human by the time he landed on the beach, his feet slipping onto the sand as though he weighed nothing. He folded his wings behind his back, and I recognised that shock of russet-brown hair.

He was alone tonight. Without the rest, he seemed out of place this close to the sea, like an errant sky creature breaking rank. Maybe he was.

Kayla voice at my ear made me jump. "Why’s he the only one here?"

Before I could tell her to hide, Eylar had spotted us. Maybe he had already found us from afar. But the time he closed the distance between us, he had shifted to human form completely. There was a newfound, inhuman grace that now sat within him. He was no longer the sinewy boy I had first caught sight of among the armoured men, but a man himself.

A chill snaked down my back, and I didn't think it was due to the night breeze. I tried to focus on his gaze, not on the firm set of his shoulders.

"They are coming for you. All of you." His first words to us were as cold as the steel of his eyes.

"We should go," Kayla said. She had on that look when we stumbled into old crone Helgina’s shipwreck house, like we were better off keeping a wide berth from it.

"Yes, go. Take everyone dear to you and leave while you still can."

The end is coming sooner than you think, Helgina had intoned. No one had believed her – Father had almost driven her out of the border in a pique – but after her public proclamation I'd had recurring dreams of giant hook-beaked birds swooping towards the water, their talons grasping for us.

"Is it true?" I said Eylar now. There was no lie in his eyes, but no warmth either, so different from the wide-eyed boy learning how to wield a sword on the beach.

"Come on, Amber." Kayla gave me a sharp tug. "Let's go home."

"Your home is not safe," Eylar said. "Go to dry land, deep into the forest, another island."

"We will perish there," Kayla snapped. I squeezed her hand.

"Your magic can certainly keep you alive." His voice didn't contain the usual bitterness that the sky people had when they spoke of us, the sea children.

Kayla stuck out her chin. "Well, then. Let them come. The sky children are no match for us."

"They are with the Inferno."

"Fire," Kayla scoffed. The sea was our protection, away from the reaches of earthly elements.

"The Inferno," Eylar corrected. "It is far from your regular fire. It can plunge into the depths of the sea and devastate everything in its path in less time than it takes for a sea storm to brew."

"We have no reason to believe a word you say."

"You don’t," he agreed. "But every second you stand here doubting me, the Indigo Army bears closer."

There were many ways I had envisioned my first encounter with Eylar, but none of them turned out like this. I wished I had never come up to shore tonight.

"Why are you helping us?" I managed to ask.

"This war has nothing to do with you. Besides, there is no glory in winning a dirty fight."

A shriek rent the still air, cutting off Kayla's response. From the south, a firestorm rolled towards us. Unlike Eylar's crew, the incoming flock was a uniform army of brown-grey hawks whose wings were alight with immortal flames.

Father had been right. The winged thieves were always going to be our enemies. They would not stop until they had stolen all our magic.

"Go," Eylar roared, shaking me out of my thoughts. "I can stave them off with the fire" – he gestured at the pile of burning rocks behind him – "but only for so long."

Kayla squeezed my hand. We tore down the beach, but there was only flames burning infernal all around us. Sky beasts tore through the skin of the sea, screaming murder.