Between the Lines (Part 2)

part two of the story I wrote for my friend’s birthday.

Verse and Fables

This is the second part of the story I wrote for farhinhusain’s birthday.

Part 1

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Vivid portrayals wrapped themselves around his mind, engulfed his senses, drowned out the rest of the world around him. They calmed the crushing need to be recognized, to be understood.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he laughed at the irony. He was using the action as a means to escape from the consequences of the action.

There was a shove to his side, and he almost fell over from his chair, not so much from the strength of the shove as from shock and momentary panic. His arm throbbed. Ishti and Dip stood over him, glaring, and their expressions demanding attention. The rest of his surroundings slowly came back into focus. A cacophony of white noise, the faint aroma of many different types of food mingled together.

His mind was still repeating the…

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Between the Lines (Part 1)

A little something I wrote for a friend of mine.

Verse and Fables

Written for a farhinhusain’s birthday. Hope you like it!
Criticism highly appreciated.

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“Excuse me,” a female voice said to his side. The almost manic hysteria dissolved into quiet panic. He turned. It was the librarian. His fingers untangled themselves from his hair, and suddenly he had to deal with them hanging stupidly on either side of his head. “Are you looking for something?” she asked.

“Well, there was this one book in turquoise cover on this shelf…” he gestured toward the shelf he’d just been racking. “It’s by Rainbow Rowell.” Lord knew there was no use telling her the title of the book.

And Lord knew he had to find it if he was to stay sane.

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ARC Review: A Wizard’s Forge

A Wizard’s Forge

Book One of the Woern Saga

by A. M. Justice

Wise Ink Creative Publishing

New Adult, Sci Fi & Fantasy

Description

Scholar. Slave. Warrior. Wizard.

On a planet far from Earth, descendants of marooned space travelers fight a decades-long war. Shy scholar Victoria knows nothing of this conflict until pirates kidnap and sell her to the sadistic tyrant behind it. He keeps her naked and locked in a tower, subjecting her to months of psychological torture. After seizing an opportunity to escape, Vic joins the fight against her former captor and begins walking a bloody path toward revenge.

As the Blade, Vic gains glory raiding her enemy’s forces, but the ordeal in his tower haunts her. Bitter memories keep her from returning the love of the kindhearted Prince Ashel, whose family has fended off the tyrant’s invading army for a generation. When enemy soldiers capture Ashel, Vic embarks on a quest to rescue him and, on the journey, discovers a source of spectacular power. With wizardry, Vic can rescue the prince, end the war, and wreak the vengeance she craves, but she might also destroy her only chance for peace.

Winter Recedes

Verse and Fables

The cold comes later
Like ice, taking longer to form
When the temperature is set high in the freezer.

It lasts a shorter time
Like ice-cream left out in the open,
Or like a snowflake, melting on a gloved finger.

It chills with less enthusiasm
Like a war lost
Pointless struggles and dwindling hope.

Winter recedes somewhere we cannot reach
Slowly, waiting for the “all at once”
There’s only so much to do.

Warmth spreads, true to its nature
How long will it take for us to understand
That Winter just wants friends?

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Betrayed

Verse and Fables

The seminar hall was dark to begin with. If one put out all the numerous energy savers, they’d be left with next to no natural light. During the day, if it was sunny enough outside, just a trickle would filter in from the other side of the building, opposite the only entrance.

It was raining, meaning they were going to be deprived of what little diffused sunshine they usually got. Almost as if to make up for setting the virtual football tournament on a day like this, Debby felt, they kept the lights in the hallway outside turned on. The lights inside were on too, but just as long as the match didn’t start. Inside the seminar hall, the field space for the match was bordered with white masking tape. Bleachers were lined along the outside of these boundary lines. At the very front of the huge hall, where they…

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Reformation

Dear readers,

Today, I bring you an announcement.

After over two years with WordPress and over a year and a half of blogging, I now feel that my brand name doesn’t quite fit. “Khan’s Lantern” wasn’t a name I chose out of commitment or particularly passionate feeling. Neither does it hold much of a significance to how I identify myself and my will to write.

4 Tough Questions for Your Critique Group

Something we should all keep in mind when critiquing.

Ramona DeFelice Long

Critique groups are great. I have participated in several, of different sizes and styles, and each one taught me to be a better writer. Reading works in progress allowed me to see how stories grew and, from those lessons, I became a more astute reader.

Now that I work as an editor, I have my own process for critiquing a manuscript or work in progress. If the MS is complete, I do an initial quick read from a reader’s perspective. I want to find out where the story goes without thinking about how it happened, what it means, and if it makes sense. After that, when I know the ending, I start back on page 1 and read again, this time as an editor. In the editorial pass, I make lots of comments because now that I know where the story ends, it is my job to help make sure…

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Two Sides of the Same Coin

Here’s something I wrote back in November for the Prestigious Writing Competition.

Verse and Fables

Here is my entry for the Prestigious Writing Competetion 2015. It got the position of 1sr Runner-up. Please leave constructive criticism. God knows I can improve.

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Nina felt desperation grip her. The beginning scene was supposed to be something unforgettable, something that anchored you to the story. Why did she have gaping holes in her memory of that near-perfect epic she had cooked up?

This would not do at all.

She sat up from bed, hands in her hair, and tried to remember it. By staring at the sheered rectangles of light on the wall in front of her, by closing her eyes and straining. Just one frame. One moment in the entire scene. One small thing her protagonist said. Anything!

Keeping her eyes closed made her drowsy, however. So, she opened them again. Her eyes darted from one corner of the dark room to another, as if the walls…

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The Kite Runner

Verse and Fables

“It’s a sad story.”

“Sad stories make good books,” she said.

~The Kite Runner

I’ve had the honor, more than once, of being recommended a book that devasted the one who recommended it. It tore their heart out, stomped on it till it was broken beyond repair, and they came out, handed the book to me. The Kite Runner was one of these many.

I read it at an unlikely time. The O Level mocks were going on, and I was supposed to be studying all day. But nothing breaks the bleakness of routine better than a book.

I’ll try my best to not fill this with spoilers, because:

1. I don’t want to, and
2. If you haven’t read it, I don’t want to spoil it for you.

I try and imagine the situation in Kabul, around the time when they had to flee. It must have been something like that…

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The Banana Chronicle

Maybe I should do a post on why this site is so important. In the meantime, enjoy this little ficlet. If you’re up to date with the “AMI XUNAED” incident, you’re likely to have that much more fun while reading it!

Verse and Fables

Junaed was thinking, for the umpteenth time in his life, how annoying the constant traffic congestions were. With the bus drivers going berserk right in the middle of highways, almost literally driving through buildings in avenues and hitting pedestrians on highways intentionally, one could only wish for so much sanity when on the streets of Bangladesh. And then there were the hand-pulled three-wheelers they called rickshaws. One could not even get started on them. Them, and the numerous private cars that seemed to belong to a select 5-6% of Dhaka’s population.

Junaed was thinking, again for the umpteenth time, how convenient it was that he’d gotten a motorcycle. He could swerve through gridlocked roads in a matter of minutes, which meant he was never late for anything.

He was thinking all this on the way to see his mother. It was indeed a blessing, because he’d be able to get…

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