Happy Blogiversary, Cyberspace!!!!

 

good morning, cyberspace!

And welcome back to one of the most glorious days in all existence!

MY BLOGIVERSARY!!!!!!

ASDFGHJKLASDFGHJKLASDFGHJKL!!! I can’t even believe it! Today marks the TWO YEAR ANNIVERSARY!!! for this wee little blog. . .! TWO. YEARS. I just. . .it doesn’t feel real, my friends. Two years ago, I created a blog. Me. The girl who finishes absolutely nothing has kept a blog somewhat running for two entire years.

. . .

. . .it’s a miracle. . .

This blog feels like it’s been in existence for forever, and at the same time, it feels like I’ve just barely begun to splatter much more personal information than is probably natural into the great and terrible Cyberspace. I have met so many amazing, wonderful, beautiful people through blogging, and though I’ve never met any of you in real life,  I can honestly say that you guys are some of the bestest, most truest friends I have ever had.

Maybe that sounds weird. Or crazy. But ’tis the truth, my friends. You guys are amazing.

THAT IS ALL.

Except it isn’t all, because WE’VE GOT SOME THINGS TO DISCUSS, PEASANTS. Three days ago, in my post ingeniously titled “Please Don’t Murder Me, Peasants (*insert awkward laughter here*) (I know. i’m a genius. you can send me some cookies anytime through the Suggestion Desk) I asked — nay. . .begged — you all to help me decide what to do for my blogiversary this year.

Because my brain has been about as fried as a pickle lately and I can never make up my mind.

AND. LIKE ALWAYS. . .you really stepped up to the plate. I don’t even know how many of you participated in the poll (because all WordPress is giving me are percentages, and HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA — math=no), but I DO know that some of you participated, even though I’ve been absolutely abysmal when it comes to a posting schedule and keeping up with all of your wonderful blogs lately. BUT YOU PARTICIPATED. BECAUSE YOU ARE AWESOME.

You guys deserve all of the cookies, I swear.

HOWEVER. I do have a small bone to pick with the lot of you.

I gave you three glorious options for potential things that we could do to celebrate. THREE. THREE THINGS, GUYS.

And yet. . .you picked All Of The Above. Why.

Granted, not all of you picked All Of The Above. Some of you — unlike me LOLOLOLOLOLOL #sorrynotsorry — were able to grab hold of your last brain cell and choose something specific. And to that small minority I must give a slow clap of appreciation, because out of everyone in Cyberspace, you tiny portion of the internet were able to make up your minds. Congratulations.

There are three billion people who wish they were you right now.

But for as for the rest of us. . .well, I honestly should have been expecting this. Give a person an All Of The Above option and they are obviously going to pick it.

Which is better? Whipped cream or a cherry?

Short answer? BOTH.

Which is more delicious? Brownies or ice cream?

BOTH.

Which is the best way to celebrate a blogiversary? Embarrassing yourself for all of eternity, sharing a deleted piece of your soul on the internet, or telling random strangers three billion random facts about you because that is TOTALLY SAFE WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.

BOTH!

. . .wait.

So. As per the majority vote, we are going to be doing ALL OF THE ABOVE today!!!

Because embarrassing myself is 100% what I’m best at. Just ask my family. So without further ado and dilly-dallying, LET US BEGIN THE CELEBRATION!!!

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Part One. . . A Page From The Past

Ah. What better way to celebrate my blogiversary than by creating a giant wall of shame to hide behind for the remainder of eternity? Absolutely nothing can compare, my dear friends.

So, with just a little bit of digging into the archives of my past, I have brought forth from the dusty pits a few little samples of my past works to share with you all today! Because this is what you asked for, and I, as always, live to serve.

So let’s get right into the embarrassment, shall we? 

STORY ONE. . .RESET

I feel like I should give a little bit of background into this book before we begin. . .

Basically, this book was THE BOOK that I believed I would someday get published with. After I finished The Dragon Elements and promptly realized it was trash, I decided to jump on the Dystopian bandwagon and write a book that I dubbed as the next Divergent.

It was perfection. It was flawless.

It totally didn’t have any sort of character flaws or clichés whatsoever.

In a nutshell, RESET was a dystopian (*coughHungerGamesandDivergentcough*) story about a hard, calloused teenager named Kaida who was forced to spend her days in an underground pit called the Groove (#soclever) because the Surface (#again #clevertitling) was poisonous and would kill you with a single breath.

So naturally she and her weirdo best friend, Benji, decided to leave the Groove and find the Surface.

Of course.

As it turns out, the fact that the Surface was toxic was all just one big conspiracy theory designed to keep the people of the Groove locked underground so that they could keep digging to find a magical stone that would reset the entire planet, but WHATEVER. THE DETAILS DON’T EVEN MATTER AT THIS POINT, GUYS. XD All I am trying to tell you is that this story suffers from two major things: A) it is very poorly written, yet had you asked fifteen year-old Kenzie whether it was any good or not, she would have sworn up and down that it would get published someday, and B) it suffers from basically every single dystopian stereotype you could ever wish for.

So. Ye have been warned.

And also, though I used to think this story was the best thing since sliced cheese, I never actually finished it. Which is kind of a shame, because now that I’m reading back through my  writerly notes, I’m finding myself slightly intrigued with some of the character developments. BUT WHATEVS. I have moved on to bigger and brighter things for now, and though Kaida and Ziri and Vein will all continue to be a part of me for the rest of time. . .I think we can all agree they taste kinda like cardboard. So. I’m not too sad that they’ve been shoved to the back of my writing drawer.

But anyway. That’s enough of me blabbing about this book. Let’s get into the snippets!*

. . .Excerpt from Chapter One. . .

“They can’t make us stay down here.”

The torches flicker along the stone walls and cast dim shadows across the cavern. It is too dark to see who spoke, but it doesn’t matter. I know that voice better than my own. 

“You know why they keep us down here,” I say quietly. “It’s—”

“I know, I know. ‘It’s safe. They’re protecting us’,” he imitates my tone perfectly. “You’ve only said it a million times.”

I feel my cheeks redden, and I am for once thankful for the darkness that surrounds us.

I hear rocks scrape as Benji shifts next to me, leaning closer.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about leaving, too.”

My stomach turns to ice. (that sounds painful. . .?) What is he thinking? I want to snap some sense back into him before someone overhears. Questioning the Leaders is dangerous, unheard of. To question the Leaders is to question our entire existence. It’s treason. (#dramaqueen2018 [also does no one see how completely tyrannical these Leaders are? No? Okay. Let’s keep going.])

Besides, everyone knows what happens to the ones that leave. We have all seen the bodies that return to be dumped into the grave pit.

(grave pit. i named the place where bodies are being dumped. . .a grave pit. why. and also thIS MAKES IT SOUND LIKE THE LEADERS KILLED THESE POOR PEOPLE? WHAT ON EARTH, KENZIE.)

The silence stretches out between us, pierced only by the jagged breaths of the ones that still fear the dark. (*raises hand* I still fear the dark, guys. apparently I have jagged breathing. which again sounds extremely painful.) That is, until we hear it. (ooh. dramatic.)

Hovercraft. The soft whirring engines fill the room, faint at first, but growing stronger as they fly towards us. I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing through my nose. The hovercraft carry bombs, missiles, weapons bent on weeding out an underground city. They are constantly searching for the Groove, for us. A knot forms in my chest, and I try to steady my breathing. I should not be thinking these thoughts. The bombers will pass over us just like every other day, fruitlessly searching for the world buried miles below the surface. (ten bucks say they find you.)

The engines grow fainter as they move away. The knot in my chest loosens. I relax a little, slouching forward and away from the stone wall. Pretty soon and we’ll be able to leave.

The minutes tick by.

The engines have disappeared. Silence once again seeps in where the soft humming used to be. I look over to my right, where Benji is sitting. By the torchlight I’m able to see the gleam of his eyes. He stares back at me, the question going unsaid.

One of the Leaders should have come by now.

I shrug at him, unsure if he can even see me, and he blinks and looks away.

(because he totally can’t see you if he’s staring straight back at you with unsaid questions burning in his eyes. #LOGIC)

As soon as the white of his eyes vanish, (EW?) the knot reforms. I tuck my knees up to my chin, wrapping my arms around them, and focus on the torches. They flicker and dance with whispered pops and hisses, the flames suspended halfway up on the walls. The colors are enchanting, and I soon become lost in them. I barely notice as the rock beneath me begins to vibrate. Loose chunks of rock scatter across the floor, fall from the ceiling. I rip my gaze away from the flames and look at Benji. He looks at me with raised eyebrows. (why are these two just awkwardly exchanging so many glances. what is even happening right now. XD [and also that earthquake is like the flimsiest thing ever.])

“What’s going on?” I’m surprised that my voice doesn’t shake on its way out. (because this is a totally valid thing to ask when there’s a literal earthquake happening right beneath your feet. good job.)

“How am I supposed to know?” Benji asks.

I don’t answer. (ah, yes. just ignore him. that’s a good idea.) The bombers couldn’t have found us. Not now. They’ve never hit us before. It must be something else. Something the Leaders are doing a few levels up. One of them will come soon.

With a hiss, the torches fizzle out as one, and we are plunged into darkness. (because torches fizzling out in sync happens all of the time! this is totally physically possible! *thumbs up*)

Someone screams. A woman. (because we thought it was an old man. . .?) Her cry sends a child into tears, and soon the whole cavern is filled with sound. Yells, shouts of confusion. Boots shuffle across the floor as people stand, bumping into each other in the dark. More yells. I feel a hand on my arm, keeping me from standing. Benji. I barely hear his voice over the chaos.

“It stopped.”

It takes me a moment to figure out what he means, but then I notice it too. The vibrating has stopped. I flatten my palm against the roughly cut stone.

Nothing.

“You’re right.” (this conversation is even more bland than the earthquake. XD)

“What do you think it was?”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “No clue.”

“Think they hit us?”

My stomach twinges. If they did…

“They’ve never hit us before,” I answer. (good job, Kaida. let’s just redirect the flow of the conversation.)

Benji is silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Right.” (If I ever have a conversation like this with someone, you have complete permission to stab me in the toe to spice things up a bit. seriously.)

The others have begun to realize what happened. They stop shouting, and the cavern falls quiet. (I didn’t think anyone knew what was happening????????? ???????)

“What is happening?” (Pretty sure that’s what everyone is wondering right now, sir.) a man asks. (my sister and I laughed for like a solid five minutes at this exchange. there’s just. . .one random man. one random man who appears out of nowhere to ask what’s happening. I am so done with this story, guys, oh my word. XD)

Nobody answers him.

#DONE

I can’t even with this book anymore, guys. All the awkward staring and the bland questions and just no. WE ARE MOVING ON.

. . .

UM. GUYS. I FOUND SOMETHING.

Back when I was still a smol little bean in high-school (this was two years ago. #stillyoungandclueless) I had a lot of writing prompts that my mom would give me during my writing class. They were tons of fun to do, and I truly believe they helped me grow as a writer while improving my technique and creative “voice”.

However. . .that being said. Some of these prompts turned out a little bit. . .um. . .weird.

Like this next snippet I shall be sharing with you.

Ahahaha. . . DON’T JUDGE ME, GUYS.

also why on earth did I sign myself up for this

STORY TWO. . .STUCK TOGETHER (a short)

“You have to be kidding me.”

“Hey, this wasn’t my idea.”

The girl stares at me as if I’m the one that’s crazy, but this was not what I had planned for the day. I mean, seriously? Like I would want to (there’s a word missing here. wow.) strapped to her side all day. Talk about a waste of my time. But there’s nothing I can do. When the Officials want something done, they make sure it gets done, even if that means binding two people together with invisible rope.

The girl wiggles her arm, trying to get it to come unstuck against mine.

“That’s not gonna work,” I say. “There’s no way we’re getting out of this.”

She ignores me and starts twisting her shoulders.

I roll my eyes. “Will you stop? You’re only gonna make it worse.”

She stops, but her face is scrunched up and grotesquely blotchy. “Who are you, even?” she blurts.

It takes a whole lotta man-power (?) not to roll my eyes again. Honestly, how annoying can one girl be?

Angst-a-licious, I tell you.

“I believe I’ve already introduced myself before, but as your attention span is less than adequate, let me state it again. I am Chess, your handsome, intelligent—did I mention good-looking? (*bangs head on wall* . . .*repeatedly*) —muse.” I raise a hand to my hair and run it through, watching my reflection in the full-length mirror pasted to the girl’s wall. I point at my reflection and wink. Man, am I gorgeous. (WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WH–) But something’s not quite right… (i’d say. . .)

Oh. It must be the ugly girl standing shoulder to shoulder with me. Huh. Strange how something so disgruntled can take away the value of perfection.

The girl’s eyes spark at me through the mirror. “And why am I stuck to you?”

I study my fingernails. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea, doll. Already told you. The Official’s want me to give you an idea, and until I do that—” I motion to our current predicament. “—stickidee-doo-da.”

“What do you mean, give me an idea?”

Wow. This one is slow.

“I’m your muse. I give you idea. You write idea. We become unstuck. This all started when you decided you wanted to be a writer, girly.”

“But I don’t have any ideas. I haven’t for weeks. I’ve got writer’s block.”

“Excuses, excuses,” I say, shaking my head.

“Okay, fine. Give me an idea then.”

I wiggle my fingers at her. “No.”

Her mouth pops open, revealing extremely pointy teeth. She should probably get them shaved, or something. (I am so confused. and also ashamed. I am conshamed.)

“What do you mean, no?”

“I don’t have any ideas.”

“What?!”

I shrug. “Writer’s block.”

She groans and sinks to the floor, forcing me to drop after her. I watch her bury her head in her hands through the mirror, then flick my gaze to my own face. This will be an interesting week. And by the looks of it, we’re gonna be here a while…

. . .

And that, my friends, is where it ends.

Okay. I think there’s a lot we can learn from this.

1 – I was obviously a very troubled youth. Please understand that it is taking a lot of willpower to even post this on the internet. I am extremely close to just deleting this entire thing and ignoring the fact that it is my blogiversary.

2 – I feel like the very beginnings of Chess has sort of evolved and morphed into Thao. Which is slightly frightening, to be honest. . .

and 3 – apparently my obsession with the bizarre — a.k.a. shaving teeth??? — has remained fast and true throughout my entire life. #themoreyouknow

And also I kinda feel like my writings have vastly improved since these little excursions, so I mean. . .? Yay? Maybe. . .?

And lastly, the final little snip I’m going to give you guys today (because I am honestly freaking out just thinking about posting this smudge at this point. . . *insert nervous laughter here*) is. . . . .!

. . . a failed attempt at writing a script.

As a bit of an explanation before we dive right into this — I used to have a very strong obsession to write TV shows and movie scripts. I was POSITIVE that I was going to be the world’s best film-maker or something.

I DON’T EVEN KNOW, OKAY.

But as I was taking a scroll through the depths of my writerly drawer, I just so happened to stumble across this little gem, and suddenly. . .all the memories just came racing back.

So here you go, Cyberspace. Smol Kenzie’s first attempt at writing a TV show pilot.

If you need to find me, I’m going to be the deflated little bean in the corner with her head stuffed in a paper bag of shame.

STORY THREE. . .Piper

EXT. – APARTMENT – DAY (oooh, look! shiny script formatting! ah, those were the days)

People mill outside the NYC apartment building and the adjoining coffee shop, COFFEE CREME. (oh goodness, no) Inside the floor thirty seven window, there is a woman visible.

INT. – ROOM 312 – CONTINUOUS

Room 312’s walls are painted white, with light colored wooden floorboards. The woman, PIPER WATERS, sits in the window seat. She is approximately 21 years old, has wavy red hair, and is currently tapping away at the keys of a laptop.

PIPER V.O (that means Voice Over. #snazzy)

New York City. The most populated city in the whole world, full of old celebrities, new celebrities, and soon-to-be celebrities. And someday, I will be among them, the Greatest Writer That Ever Lived. (*furiously tapping delete key*)

(sighs, speaking awkwardly) (can someone please demonstrate this, or. . .?)

If only I could figure out what to write… (HA. HAHAHA. HA. *flings three thousand plot bunnies at her face*)

The screen of her laptop shows a blank word document page. (#relatable) Piper bites her lip and taps her fingers idly against the keys. The blinking cursor taunts her. She groans loudly and slams her face into the keyboard. When she rises, amongst the jumbled letters is the word ‘loser’.

YEP! We’re done with this one, too. . .

To be fair, however, I think Piper realizes how lame this script is, because literally in the next line. . .

PIPER

That’s it. That is it!

Piper slams the laptop closed and shoves it away. She swings her legs off the window seat, stands, and walks away from the laptop. Her bare feet patter against the wooden planks.

PIPER

(muttering to herself while crossing the floor)

All I need is some time away from it. I can go outside, get some fresh air…

(beat)

Mingle, catch a cold, die young. Nope. That’s it. Not happening.

Piper turns around and heads for the bed at the corner of the room, which she flings herself face-first into.

Basically my exact reaction.

So! Let’s move on to the rest of the post, shall we? This has been embarrassing enough.

*I don’t feel like I need to mention this to my writerly friends, but just in case some weirdo person is reading through this, I’m just going to subtly mention that, once again, all of the writings and stuff I post to this blog are — unless otherwise mentioned — my own creations, and therefore are copyright protected. So basically. . .NO STEALING, YA WEIRDO. (and yes, I’m aware it’s awful, but it’s still mine, so. *shoos*)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Part Two. . . Deleted Scenes

This is the one that I was the most terrified about, but now, looking back on the fact that my old writings were about as awful as a moldy peanut, I’m miraculously not so scared anymore!

HALLELUJAH.

Now, unfortunately I don’t have a lot of deleted scenes to share — because SPOILERS and CONFUSING THINGS and NO ONE CAN READ MY BOOK EVER LOLOLOLOL — but I DO have some snippets that have been deleted that I think I can pop in here without giving away too many spoilers.

However, before we begin, I would again like to state that the following scenes/stories/snippets/characters ARE my own creations, and — however terrible they might be — I love this book, these characters, and this overall Thing™ that I have created with all of my heart. I know I can trust my writerly friends with this, cause y’all are the best and are just here to have fun and be creative with me,  but as for all you internet trolls out there, you are NOT ALLOWED to copy or steal or whatever you may want to do with the snippets I’m sharing. Not only would it quite literally break my heart, but it would also be illegal. So. Just chew on that for a second, Bob.

And now, without anymore copyright warnings and whatnot, let’s dive right into the deleted scenes whilst hoping and praying that this is less embarrassing than the last thing, ahahahaha! shall we?

DELETED SCENE #1. . .Prune Juice

Another splash flooded Thao’s ears, and before he could fully comprehend what was happening, a giant glob of water splattered right on top of him, soaking him through to his very core.

No… Not water…

Thao jerked upright, sputtering.

Not water. A thick, stinking layer of the emerald-colored goop that had been festering away in the glass tank for the past five years. It was all over him, seeping into his clothes with the ferocity of a thousand creeping, crawling, infesting germs. They were on his shirt, his jeans, his boots, swarming in every dripping lock of his blond hair…

Thao froze, his heart hammering in his ribs as he slowly swished his tongue back and forth across his teeth, tasting the strange twang of a foreign substance.

…in his mouth.

Something between a snarl, a growl, and the cry of a wounded bighorn sheep burst forth from his mouth as he leapt to his feet. The sparkling ceiling was stripped clean from his mind, as was the fact that he had nearly died just moments before.

Forget shattering rainbows and nearly being strangled to death. There was fecal matter in his mouth. (you might consider not including– [NO. THE PUBLIC MUST KNOW.])

“BLECH!” Thao spit a fizzling glob of saliva onto the cement, but it still wasn’t enough. He could still taste it. Still feel it crawling around on his tongue, his teeth…

“You’re wet. Would you like a towel?”

Spinning around on the heel of his permanently destroyed boot, Thao caught sight of Adaline, who had miraculously pulled a towel from who knew where and was offering it to him like a simple swatch of cloth could cleanse him from the horrors that were infiltrating his system.

Water.

His wild eyes swept right past her head, searching for a misplaced cup of stagnant water, a bucket, a tub, anything—

There.

The silver fridge snapped into his focus, and he bolted towards it, pushing Adaline out of his way with a shove in the process.

“Ouch—!”

Thao ripped the fridge door open, nearly breaking the rusted metal hinge that kept it attached to the box, and snatched the first pitcher he could find, popping the lid and dumping the contents into his mouth before he could even properly assess what it was. Not that it mattered, anyway. He would take anything over the stinking tank liquid.

After gargling three mouthfuls and spitting them all out onto the dirty cement floor in quivering globs, the taste of whatever had filled the pitcher finally started to register on his tongue. Thao paused, the pitcher halfway to his lips, and frowned. It tasted like…like…

…like raisins?

“Hey! Don’t touch that—!”

CKZZZZZRRRRT.

The phonograph’s drunken melody suddenly screeched to a halt as a loud thud declared the phonograph’s happy dec(s)ent to the floor. Thao ignored Peter’s shouts as he raked his tongue across his teeth.

No… Not raisins.

Prunes.

He had just gargled three mouthfuls of prune juice.

Peter continued shouting over the sound of cracking glass and fizzling water erupting throughout the laboratory.

He hated prunes.

Grimacing, Thao held the pitcher out away from his stomach. His tongue scraped against the bumpy roof of his mouth as he snapped his teeth together, removing the tart flavor of moldy prunes from his taste buds. Granted, it was better than the flavor of liquid fecal matter, but still…

Pounding footsteps rotated around the locket, punctuating Peter’s yells and the snapping of pipes.

Thao shuddered.

Prunes.

And that, my friends, is the infamous Prune Juice Scene! This scene, while it unfortunately did not survive the second draft due to Thao being entirely nonexistent during the part of the book in which it takes place, still remains as one of my slightly twisted favorites to this day.

It is, however, slightly disgusting, and therefore it is most likely a good thing for all of humanity if it was never heard of again. So.

MOVING ON!

This next snippet was taken from a scene that was just recently deleted from the second draft of everlost. I’m a little bit disappointed that I had to cut it, because there are certain elements about it that I absolutely ADORE (although none of them actually appear in this particular snippet. MWAHAHAHAHAHA). BUT. ALAS. If I have any hope of entering Pitch Wars (this hope is, unfortunately, quickly dwindling, but alas. there is always next year, my friends.) I have to miraculously cut 90,000 words from this monster of a novel.

And — unfortunately for this scene — it was no longer necessary with some major minor revisions I have been working on.

SO. Because I had to completely delete this beautiful scene from the beast that is EV, I have decided to keep it alive on this here blog.

So without further ado, I present you — my wonderful friends — with Bertha.

DELETED SCENE TWO. . .BERTHA

“I’m sorry, Mr. Crowe, but you’re not permitted to leave the premises.”

Thao flatted his palms onto the desktop. “Excuse me?”

The woman behind the desk stared back at him, her deadpan expression partially hidden behind bright green winged eyeglasses. “You are not permitted to leave the premises at this time,” she repeated dryly.

“Yes, yes, I got that part, thanks,” Thao said. “But I need to leave. I…” his thoughts tumbled over each other, searching for a viable excuse. “I contracted the flu.”

The woman blinked. Just once. “The flu.”

“Yeah. From one of the patients.”

One thick, darkly angled eyebrow jutted up at him.

“It’s the stomach flu,” Thao continued quickly. “Really nasty.”

The woman — Bertha, if her name tag was to be believed — turned her head to the left pointedly, and Thao followed her gaze to find a small blue panel tacked to the wall, guiding visitors and patients toward the restrooms with a thick black arrow and the silhouette of a gurgling toilet.

Thao turned back to Bertha. “Yeah, see, I actually need out of the building.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Crowe, but you are not permitted to leave the—”

“Yes, thank you for that, Bertha,” Thao interrupted. He drilled his fingers against the curved wood, struggling to temper the flare of panic and frustration that was boiling beneath his skin. He was quickly losing all grasp of patience that he had carefully cultivated over the past twenty-three years. Seconds were slipping past him, precious seconds that should have been sweeping him out the bloody front doors and out onto the island. Instead, he was forced to sit here waffling away time with Bertha, just biding his time until Glasses or Loony or the potato or — joy of all joys — the rest of the [!!!!!SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS!!!!!]turned up, their gnarled fingers ready to drag him back into the depths from whence he’d just escaped.

“Look,” Thao said finally, attempting to keep his voice at a level, conspiratorial volume, rather than giving in to the spontaneous urge to strangle the irritable woman’s flabby neck with the gruesome beaded chain of her glasses. “Can you at least tell me why I can’t leave? This is really urgent business, so I’m sure you can just sort of…” Thao waggled his fingers towards the computer beside her, “…work your secretary magic here, yeah?”

The woman’s scowl deepened, creasing into her face like a multi-layered onion. “We’ve recently received a message from the director himself concerning you, Mr. Crowe.”

Thao blinked.

Crudpops.

“He’s informed us that you are not allowed to leave the building under any circumstance, whatsoever.” Bertha’s voice was like gravel.

“Oh, well, I can assure you that—”

“And that you were also prone to try and weasel your way out of unpleasant or difficult situations using coerciveness and flattery,” Bertha finished. She adjusted her glasses on the tip of her nose with one clawed finger.

Thao couldn’t hold back the gag this time. He pulled away from desk, his thoughts roiling. “Well. That must have been one extensive letter.”

“It would seem.”

“So that’s it, then?” he asked. “I’m stuck here. For good.”

“My apologies,” Bertha said, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I hope the remainder of your day goes more according to plan. Good day, Mr. Crowe.” Bertha turned stiffly back to her computer, slipping her glasses down to the very tip of her hooked nose.

Thao backed a few steps away from the desk and hesitated, his arms swinging awkwardly at his sides as he watched Bertha out of the corner of his eye. The woman was a statue. A proper stone golem. His grandfather had obviously known what he was doing when he stationed her at the front desk. No one wanted to mess with a toad like that. Not unless they were severely, hopelessly desperate.

Which, as a matter of fact, he was.

“Actually, you know what,” Thao said, returning to the desk and slapping his hands onto the worn wood. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the most beautiful blue eyes?”

Almost immediately, Bertha snapped those puffy, serpentine eyes straight onto him, and he cringed, an involuntary gargle escaping his lips.

“Eugh…”

Bertha scowled. “Good day, Mr. Crowe.”

“Okay, then.”

Thao turned away, still shuddering.

Well, he’d tried.

Now, I don’t know about you guys, but I think I can see a bit of a drastic change in my writing style. You know. . .like I’m actually writing words of quality now. And obviously I still have a lot of improvement to do — I don’t think I’ll ever reach a point where I can’t improve my writing — but comparing this snippet to the one from RESET. . .I mean the dialogue isn’t making me cringe, so. . .? #IMPROVEMENT!

Unfortnately, however, I think that’s all I’ve got for Deleted Scenes today, folks. I was hoping to pop at least three into here, but I can’t seem to find anything else that isn’t either A) riddled with spoilers, or B) something that I’d really rather stuff into my writing drawer and forget ever existed.

And, quite personally, I think we’ve had enough embarrassing memories splashed across this blog for the day. . .

Or. . .you know. . .a lifetime.

And also this post has already broken well over 5,000 words, which means you guys are probably getting annoyed with me right about now. SO! Without further ado, allow us to jump on into the third — and final! — part of this two-year blogiversary adventure!

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Part Three. . .The Q&A!

Aha.

Guys.

I made a bit of a booboo here.

See, something I hadn’t quite anticipated when making the poll three days ago was that, in order to have a GIANT KENZIE Q&A!!!! like I promised. . .I actually needed to have some questions.

That I could answer.

Because without any questions, there can be no answers.

Which means that all I have to offer for a giant Q&A is a & symbol.

Because I have no questions.

SO! Because of this giant mistake that I have made, I will unfortunately NOT be able to do a Giant Kenzie Q&A. . . . . . . . . . . . . .yet.

That’s right, folks! Even though I won’t be able to answer ALL OF THE NONEXISTENT QUESTIONS!!!! today, I will answer them on the 31st!!! In that beautiful, glorious, FANTASTICAL Friday post I promised y’all! Because at this point I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to enter Pitch Wars, which means that I won’t be able to hop on here and scream in your faces about how excited I am.

So if it isn’t too much to ask (and you aren’t currently throwing your cookies at the screen and screaming at me because you expected ALL OF THE ANSWERS instead of ALL OF THE EXCUSES), I would GREATLY appreciate it if you could post all of the questions you’ve ever wanted to ask me — or all of the questions for my characters (mwahahahahahahaha) — down in the comments below! You can ask me literally anything, from what my favorite flavor of ice cream is, to whether I would prefer to be a cannibal or a raven, or even what my absolute favorite character I’ve ever created was.

Although the answer to that will probably be extremely vague and splattered with many Um’s and Er’s.

However, since I know you all were absolutely dying for that glorious Q&A — and since Phoebe is an absolute lifesaver with a folder full of the absolute best (and most terrifying, oh my word) questions ever — I DO HAVE A COUPLE QUESTIONS THAT I CAN ANSWER TODAY!!!

See? I’m nice, guys. Don’t you love me?

So with a giant thank you to Phoebe (THANK YOU, PHOEBE!!!!) — it is my greatest pleasure to present to thee. . .

A TINY SMUDGED THOUGHTS Q&A

QUESTION ONE. . . “If you had to choose between never wielding another pitchfork or never eating cookies ever again, which would it be?” — Phoebe

Holy Guacamole, Phoebe. This is probably the most terrifying question I have ever received. It took me practically all day to figure out how to answer this, because on the one hand. . .cookies are my life. Seriously. Without cookies, there is no existence for me.

Yet on the other. . . .never wielding another pitchfork ever again would completely eliminate my sole purpose in this world. I was born to wield pitchforks. ‘TIS MY DESTINY, PEASANTS.

I mean, other than flinging cookies at everybody’s face, of course. That’s like the second half of my destiny.

But, after much careful deliberation — and many cookies and pitchfork waving’s for thought, of course — I believe I have finally chosen my answer.

AND THE ANSWER IS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

SMUDGED THOUGHTS WILL RETURN. . .

. . . ON AUGUST 31st. . .

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

TALK TO ME, PEASANTS!

GUYS!!!! GUYS!!!! I literally cannot believe that I have been blogging for two years now!!! It’s amazing, really. I didn’t think this weird little thing I started would last very long. . . BUT LOOK AT ME NOW, PEASANTS!!! Two years in and still going strong!!!!. . .ish.

But my wonkerdoodle schedule hardly even matters right now, because no matter how late I post (*aha*) or how odd my life becomes, you guys are literally some of the most supportive, amazing, encouraging and overall FANTASTICAL people that I have ever met. I am so, SO insanely blessed to have gotten to know each and every one of you over the course of these past two years, and I cannot even begin to thank you enough for letting me be a part of this weird little internet community. Y’all are the best, guys. Really and truly. I know I haven’t been the best blogger as of late, but you all are still so loving and supportive, and I just cannot even put into words how much your comments and friendship mean to me. <3 <3 <3

Here’s to another glorious two years of blogging ahead of us, my friends! I hope you’ve enjoyed this rather weird sort of post, filled with all of the embarrassment and strangeness, but now, with this smudge having well broken over 6,000 words, and the clock having just struck 10 on a Friday night, I fear that it is officially time for me to wrap this little beast up.

And also go hang my head in shame because I cannot believe I am actually sending this out into the great and terrible Cyberspace. Aha.

BUT ANYWAY! As always, folks — until next time. . .

*flings cookies and cake and pitchforks into the air and disappears*

P.S. I AM SO SO SO SO SORRY THAT THIS IS GETTING OUT SO LATE AGAIN, GUYS!!! I kind of spent the entire day hanging out with my siblings, which is something that I really didn’t know I needed until now. I’ve been working so much on EV lately that I’ve kind of forgotten what “Not Writing” feels like. So yeah. I’m so sorry this is late, but at the same time, today kind of saved my sanity. Or whatever bit of my sanity is left, to be honest. XD

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