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The Ring of Fire October 18, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Personal Writing Life.
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Do you ever find yourself waking up in the morning and realize it is autumn?

This morning I awoke quite early and found myself staring at the ceiling as the realization dawned on me. How had summer passed by so quickly? I managed to let months pass with so little writing that I felt shame making its way up my spine with skeleton claws digging into my nerves.

But the writer in me woke at the right time, it seems, for NaNoWriMo is mere weeks away. The very idea of the challenge has sparked that fire inside my soul.

I am ready to jump the hurdle and tackle the obstacles. I am ready to create. I am ready I conquer.

This is my self centered way of apologizing for my silence. I’m back, baby.

Oops, I did it again~ August 6, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Manic Mondays.
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Hello all.

I suppose I should start out by apologizing for my disappearance. So, I am sorry and please, do forgive me for my absence. My reasonings are kind of personal and private so I am not going to get into some big explanation, sorry about that.

But to get back onto schedule, I will divulge this little fact about my absence: it has put me severely behind schedule in all things Camp Nano. Which has, in turn, put me off. I am very cranky that I am already so behind that I don’t think I can catch up.

Not only that but my poor campaign has been lifeless due to my lack of updates and almost no activity on the part of others (aside from one
lovely contribution). So I need to get back on top of that.

So honestly I could be in a “woe is me” kind of mode right now. But I am really trying so hard not to be. So please please please, I ask you to be my support to get back on my feet. Thank you.

Fiction Friday: {I+J break} ~Update~ July 20, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Personal Writing Life.
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Hey guys, no real fiction today. Unfortunately I’ve been ill since last night so I really couldn’t concentrate on creating a new chapter for today.
But I didn’t want to leave you hanging, so I thought I’d give you a quick update on my life, writing-wise.
I’ve been really good lately, until yesterday at least. I am editing a little every day and my book is getting closer and closer to being ready. I’ve been plotting out my next books that come up in the series so I’ll be prepared for writing them come August.

I mean, of course, there’s room for improvement, as always, but I’m really proud of myself for doing as much as I have been. Not only that but I’m probably going back to school for creative writing. I’m super excited about it, to be honest with you.

Anyway, don’t worry, Inked and Jinxed SHOULD be back next week, and I’ll do my best to make it a bit of a longer one to make up for the lack of update this week. Do forgive me but I’m much too drained from all the sick.

Manic Monday: Mid-twenties crisis? July 16, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Manic Mondays.
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I seriously considered letting this Monday go. Why, you ask? No reason aside from the fact I am dog tired. I think I may get the first real night of sleep in a while tonight, and I’m looking forward to trying.

But no. I’m doing my best to keep up a schedule here, and I want to become someone who writes at least a little every day, even if it’s only blogging or planning for my books.

So, here I am.

What was going on for me today was mostly normal.Eureka was on the tube most of the day to prepare us all for the tragic end of the series. I went to the gym, like a good little girl. I lounged around with the felines of the house, like a good little slav- I mean, cat lady.

But then I realized something.

Holy shit. I’m going to be turning 24 years old in two weeks. Less than, at this point since I was born at 2:22 AM on July 30th. Yes, I know the time of my birth. I’m a bit of a moon-child so I’ve learned to remember that. I also know that I was a Saturday baby, the best kind of day there is. Mm. Saturday.

Alas, this year it is on a Monday, the bane of mine (and Garfield’s) existence.

But that wasn’t the point of my sudden realization. The point was this: I feel old. I hate that I feel old, I truly do, especially because I’m not old at all. I’m young… certainly in the way I act, but yes, young even in a physical state. And yet my soul often feels so tired, and the fact that my age keeps climbing, as it tends to do, has sent me into a sudden whirlwind of thoughts leading from one thing to another.

Of course, that lead to the convergence on the wonderment over what the hell I’m going to do with my life. I know what I want to do with my life. I want to write. I want to write amazing books that everyone will read and love, and pass on, and force their loved ones to read even if their loved ones are strictly “non-fiction only” readers [pff, lame]. I want to write blog posts and commentaries and reviews on books that my fellow authors have written. I want to come together on projects like anthologies with my idols, my peers…

And the problem with that is, most authors aren’t able to live off of their writing alone. I may be stuck doing retail the rest of my life. And then I thought…

Should I switch my focus? Maybe I should try something like accounting, that seems to always have job openings.

But I came to my senses after less than a second and mentally andliterally smacked myself in the face, which let me tell you: it hurts like hell on several levels. Screw all of that. Of course I may have to get another job. It’s expected. And hell, I may be stuck in retail for a while but I need to have faith in myself, because despite all of my pessimism, I know that I’m a good writer.

And I know that sometime, hopefully soon, someone else will realize that, followed by another person, and another.

So yeah, society. I’ll play your little game. I’ll diligently look for a job, I’ll apply to at least ten a day. But hell if you think you’re stopping me from writing as much as I want every day. There’s no way anyone is going to stop me from creating my own worlds, my stories, my characters, my universe… and if they think they can… well, they better have a wrecking ball because I am not backing down until I’m dead.



But please don’t kill me, ok? I have stuff to write tonight.

Quick plug-like update July 14, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Personal Writing Life.
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Hey, all. I just wanted to put it out there that I’m working on getting my first novel published! I have just started an Indiegogo campaign to fund this project, so if you’d like to help, I would be incredibly grateful.

The book is described briefly in the campaign, and it’s the first in a series! I’m really having fun doing final edits on this book and I really want to get it out there in hard copy, so I’m hoping that everything will come together.

If you want to help, but can’t afford it, if you could comment, plug it, tell friends and family, I would be so happy. The more activity I have on the page, the more likely it will be featured so that other people, complete strangers, will be able to see it with ease!


Here is the link: The Mechanics of Magic Publishing Project


Thank you so much for even taking the time to read this. I am so very appreciative of it.

Fiction Friday: Inked and Jinxed [3] July 13, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Fiction Fridays.
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{Last Part}


After work, I found myself staring out at the busy intersection as I stood in the empty parking lot. Sunday night, and yet the damn street still buzzed with the rush of cars. I scowled.

“What are you looking at?” Had I been a normal person, I probably would have jumped at the sudden voice from behind me. But since I wasn’t anything near normal, I simply replied to the interrupting voice.

“The spot where you died.” I said solemnly. But I forced a small, apologetic smile onto my lips as I turned to look at him.

“Oh.” Fletcher said, just as solemn.

We stood in each others’ company, in silence for just a moment. But the silence bored me. “I will see you tomorrow, Fletch. I have to sleep. I didn’t get to last night.” I left out the reason why. He didn’t need to know that I had been wholly preoccupied by a Shade infestation, a swarm of them that materialized in my own apartment. Sure, it was unusual. But knowing him, he would start worrying over it, over me, and forget his own problems.

And yes. I was apprehensive about being possessed, but he still deserved some peace of his own. So no distractions for him.

“You do look tired.” He nodded, arms crossing over his chest. I surveyed him carefully. That same ratty old hoodie from a year ago.

“Gee. Thanks.” I rolled my eyes. He chuckled. “Good night. Try to… I don’t know, do whatever it is you ghosts need to do to recuperate.”

“Mm’kay.” He muttered, and phased out of existence once more. I stared at the empty space before returning my gaze to the intersection. But the view made my eyes ache, and my chest throb, so I finally walked to my car and got in.

When I got home, I arrived to a lovely surprise. Sarcasm, of course. Shades.

Shades everywhere.

They milled about like it was a shade mixer, a speed dating service for the dead and damned and all I could do for the first moment was stare with my jaw hanging. Didn’t I just get rid of twenty of these assholes the night before? Didn’t I just sacrifice a relaxing night of a soak in the tub and early to bed to exorcise them all?

With a groan, I pushed back the sleeves of my jacket. “That’s it. I’m having that damn bath tonight.”

I dropped my “purse” (it was actually a messenger bag but hey, it worked better for me) to the floor beside me and pulled the door closed. At the click of the latch, it seemed as though the throngs of Shades snapped their darkened heads to face me. The air suddenly felt thick and damp, and my breath caught. Hell… it smelled.

Well that was new. It wasn’t a stench of garbage in the sun or of a rotting body. But it was definitely a distinct scent. It was like wet moss and dank, dusty basements. A chill ran down my spine. Something was different. Something wasn’t right.

They started to advance.

I stepped away, shifting so that my back was to the kitchen. And I kept backing up until I was in the little room. Butt against the counter finally, I reached behind me, not even daring to look away from the approaching forces of shadows. My fingers grasped the familiar bottle and I pulled it to my chest, tugging at the cork jammed into the mouth. The neck of the glass whined in protest.

And then I froze.

Breath. It flipped my bangs away from my face, even though I couldn’t see anything before me. And I knew that I was in trouble. This wasn’t just a Shade problem anymore.

Manic Mondays: Why the hell did I write THAT? July 9, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Manic Mondays.
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Yeah, so I had written up a whole post to put up by hand early this morning and I just literally crumpled it up and threw it out.

It wasn’t like it was bad or anything. I’m just in one of those “Nothing I wrote back then [read: this morning] could possibly be relevant anymore” moods.

So here I am, pantsing my post at 9 at night, with no idea what to say about my crazy or my writing.

But maybe that is, on its own, a prime example of both.


Now, this kind of thing is a crazy that I’m sure many writers and authors contend with.

You write something. For once, just for once, you realize that you have written something amazing. Nothing can top this. The world is bright and colorful and full of beautiful things because you wrote something that will bring joy to people. You feel the excitement rushing through your veins to the point your fingertips tingle  in anticipation.

As a celebration, you decide to allow yourself a small break, perhaps a trip to Starbucks for a tall iced white mocha, no whip. Or perhaps a well-deserved lunch break (ramen, anyone?), or even a little read from a book or magazine you’ve left to the side for too long.

And then, like a good little writer, you come back to your work, excited and raring to go on the finishing touches. And suddenly, the thing you wrote, mere moments, hours, or, let’s face it, days ago, suddenly seems to have lost its luster. It’s dull, and horrid, and you wonder “How the hell did I create this Frankenstein’s monster?”

Why did I write THAT?


But, in keeping with my hopes of helping you as well as myself with my posts on this blog, I’m going to be nice and not leave you hanging. I’m going to tell you WHY you wrote that piece of drivel.

You wrote it because despite your own ever-changing opinion, there is something amazing still sitting under the grammatical errors and plot holes. You wrote it because you had something to say, something brilliant to share. And you better damn well pick the “monster” back up, because the world DESERVES to be allowed access to that brilliant gem.

All that’s left is to get over your horror and polish the shit out of that diamond in the rough (shut up I’ve been watching Aladdin), and I’m sure you will realize that it’s still that perfect idea you started with, but somehow it’s become even better.


And here’s a little secret. It gets better because it’s been through the grinder, because it’s spent time as a groaning Igor before you gave it a makeover.

Your story is like any person, it’s your baby. And like any person, it needs to experience some rough times before it can blossom into something grand.

So put down the mocha and pick up the red pen.

(Or alternatively, switch the mocha to your other hand so you can still red pen it with your strong hand) :)

Fiction Friday: Inked and Jinxed [2] July 6, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Fiction Fridays.
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“You need what for why now?” I blurted, with the distinct feeling that signaled my face had heated up to the point of a fierce blush. Damn.

“Sorry.” Fletcher rushed to correct himself. “That didn’t sound right, did it? What I mean to say is that… well, I mean to say that I think that I’m, you know, ready.” I watched with careful observation as he shifted his weightlessness from one foot to the other. He was definitely not comfortable.

“Are you sure?” I asked, not quite comfortable, myself. “You seem pretty nervous about it still. There isn’t really any reason to push yourself, no need to rush! Take all the time you need.” I reassured him. But honestly I was saying it for my own sake, too. Because the fact of the matter was that I was nervous about it.

Despite my sixteen year experience record with ghosts, I had yet to go through the act of possession. At least, I had not experienced it at such a personal level.

And certainly not with a boy.

Well, “boy” may have been pushing it. He was older than me, after all. But death doesn’t really age a person, so I had grown to feel older than him (which he tended to pout over, which was ridiculous because he was only three and a half months older than me to begin with).

But I digress. I watched him struggle, fidget, and mumble nonsense noises to himself for a brief moment. But then his head tilted and he looked down upon me, shifting so he was right in front of me rather than five feet away. I winced. I hated when they – ghosts – did that. It was freaky, even with Casper the friendly fart-cloud. “I’m sure.” He said. “I think it’s time. And… I’ve been thinking about moving on. This seems like the logical approach to do so.”

That particular statement made me nearly drop the pen I had been fiddling with on the counter. I managed to catch myself, to catch it, but I don’t think that I managed to keep the surprise off of my face. “Moving on?” I repeated, sounding as dumb as can be.

“Yeah. I mean, don’t you think it’s time? It’s been so long, Emilie…” He sighed and raked his translucent fingers through his translucent, luxurious dark hair. “A year. Hell, more than at this point. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. And I sure as hell don’t want to-”

I cut him off, quick as can be. “You wouldn’t. You would never become one of them.” He was about to say he didn’t want to become a Shade. I knew it. We had that conversation  before. Shades were ghosts that had become so lost in the woods on their way to the afterlife that they lost themselves, as well. They lost their memories of not only their death (because that was common), but also their life. They lost everything that made them, them. And because of it, they tended to take the lives of others instead. It was all very messy business.

“I don’t want to risk it.” He muttered and sighed. The bell over the door jingled. A real, live customer. “I’ll see you later.” He uttered and shifted out of the shop to who knows where, leaving me with only a cold breeze to the face in his absence. I shuddered.

“Hi, welcome to Secret Society Tattoo, Worcester. How can I help you today?” I said, doing my best to retrieve the fake smile again.

Epic fail July 2, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Manic Mondays.
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I lost for Camp NaNoWriMo. By about 20k. I’m pretty down about this.

But, in all honesty, I am doing my best to pick myself back up again. And now I have tubthumping stuck in my head.

I get knocked down. But I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down.

That’s something to live by. Thank you, Chumbawumba (I think)…(I hope)…

[Correct me if that’s wrong]


Anyway. So I’m picking back up on writing with Fiction Friday and I’m going to be writing at least four days out of the week. But mostly I think I want to focus on creating some new characters. I’m putting my mind to drawing my characters for “Inked and Jinxed” and creating some of the other characters before I start on the first real chapter.

But anyway. I’m keeping myself busy with job hunting, too. I’m desperate to find work at this point so my life has gotten seriously hectic. If I stop posting for a while, that’s why, but I want to try really hard to keep this blog going, for myself more than anything. It’s kind of a connection to my writing roots and I need to stay grounded in my craft.

Let me know… what is it that is in your life right now, distracting you from the things that make you happy?

Fiction Friday: Inked and Jinxed prologue June 29, 2012

Posted by Jade Bennett in Fiction Fridays.
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So… Here we are, Fiction Friday and what do I have for you? Something that I am about to pull right out of my ass. Forgive me if it isn’t great but I really didn’t have the mental capacity to prepare this week. However, I didn’t want to leave you all (all two or three of you) hanging. So I am being good and actually keeping my commitment to post a story on Fridays.

So, here goes nothing. Enjoy!


I pulled away from the design, bringing up the cloth to gently dab away the sprouting blood. He was crying. Surely they should be big, manly tears on such a big, manly guy. But in all honesty they were not. They sounded like the muffled sobs of a three year old girl, muffled only because his face was pressed into the head cushion.

He had, of course, completely missed the point of the hole in the cushion for his face and was instead crying hot tears into the leather.

“Just a bit more.” I reassured him steadily, switching out the ink for the darker blue for the shading.

“Ouch, ow! No more, please!!!” he cried out. I stated at him, an surely my expression was blank as could be.

“I haven’t even resumed yet, Mr. Harris. Are you certain you want to continue? We can leave it for now if you are all that uncomfortable.”

Fifteen minutes later, I found myself waving at the poor brute as he left the shop a broken man, tattoo only partially complete. It would not have been so bad had the entirety been colored in flats but parts had already been shades. I sighed and attended the register to check the transaction. Well, at least I got paid for the two hours of unbearable pain; mine that was, from having to listen to him cry and moan and complain. Really…

I may be thought cruel for such feelings on the matter had it not been for the fact that Mr. Harris was a regular. We went through this every time he came in.

I’ll be honest. It was really starting to get on my nerves.

The shop was cleared out at that point, no appointment or walk-ins cluttering the lobby. So I took the moment to let down my hair and scratch the ache out of my scalp. Ahh, best feeling ever.

But someone cleared their throat and I snapped to attention. “Hi, welcome to Secret Society Tattoo, Worcester. How can I help you today?” cue fake smile, and go.

I halted with the fake smile though when I realized who was standing in front of me. “Hello, Emilie.” Fletcher said. No wonder I hadn’t heard the bell hanging over the door.

Fletcher was my own, personal ghostie.

And he was also my own personal pain in the ass. Great.

A little background on me may. E necessary here. I have been able to see ghosts since I was a child. I don’t remember being able to see them until I hit seven, and in turn, got hi by a car while I was riding my bike. When I woke up in the hospital, I was told by a doctor that I had died for exactly one minute. And then I realized that doctor was a ghost when my mother walked through him to get to me.

At first it scared me. A lot. When you see ghosts who are still in their state of death, as some tend to be, it can get freaky. I think the worst I saw was the ghost of a woman who had been roasted alive in a burning building.

But I eventually became immune to the horrific appearances of the victims of violent deaths. And eventually, I learned to keep it under wraps that I could see them, after a stint in a mental health facility provided by mummy dearest. She had my best interests at heart, I’m sure.

Not that it made it any easier for me.

And Fletcher… Where to even begin?

I met Fletcher a year before, during my last month of apprenticeship at Secret Society Tattoo. At the time, he had been alive. And cute. I took his virginity that day. I gave him his first tattoo. Of course, the entire time he was there, silence was replaced by flirting and lame jokes. To be fair, it was on both ends. He was cute. Hell, somehow he still remained cute after he died. It was an amazing feat, considering he had been rammed into by a pickup truck.

And yet, there he stood before me, same perfectly tanned skin, same blond, shaggy hair, same perfect white smiled. And all of his parts were still included and without blood. All of which was very weird because I had seen him get hit by the truck myself.

I saw him fly across the lot. I saw his body.

And violent deaths usually kept their wounds. At least that was true from what I had seen during my life, pre-Fletcher.

But then, Fletcher was special in more ways than just the one. Over the past year, I had learned that not only was he a ghost, but he had also been like me. He could see things that other people couldn’t.

Maybe that was why he still looked as hot as he had when he was alive.

Still… “I told you not to show up at random anymore.” I said, forcing a frown onto my lips. I couldn’t help but notice the way he smirked at me though and I faltered.

“It isn’t random. As you can see, I have come at the perfect time. No customers. And I have come with a purpose.” Oh god… “I am here to ask a favor.”

“A favor?” I asked, brow quirking up as high as it could go.

“I want you to let me use your body.”


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