HER: Introduction

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HerĀ is a novella I began several years ago, when I was much younger. I still fiddle with it every now and then, hence why I will be posting it here.

I often have difficulty describing it–it’s kind of a ghost love-story, with a relatively complex plotline. It’s somewhat twisted, occasionally edging into the pornographic, but nothing exactly overt. It reads a lot like a mystery novel, at times.

The title refers to an unnamed ghost woman who, while at a party with all of the main characters, plunged from a balcony to her death. She knows exactly how she died, but none of the other characters do, and she enjoys tormenting everyone who was there the night she died. She haunts them, punishing them for her death–and says that, when who pushed her from the balcony is brought to justice, she will leave them alone.

She has some poltergeist-abilities, so she definitely is able to torment everyone she finds. Meanwhile, her targets deal with their own personal issues; secrets don’t like to stay secret, when the dead are around.

I plan to post HER once a week, beginning with the seven previously-written chapters. These posts will occur on Wednesdays, and hopefully I will have more chapters when the old ones are done.

I hope you enjoy,

Half-Mad Writer

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~~In the Beginning….~~

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In the beginning….In the beginning, what was there?

In the beginning, there was peace.There was quiet, loneliness, love, heartache, rock music, and sometimes depression. I grew up lonely–I had one main friend, and he was a selective mute. Seeing as I had a rather extensive speech impediment (I had difficulty pronouncing: ‘S’, ‘th’, ‘l’, and ‘r’ as well as a few others) he and I weren’t the most talkative pair. He barely spoke to anyone but me, and to me, he would rarely speak an actual sentence. Needless to say, he got bullied a lot–and I got bullied a lot for defending him.

Most of my childhood memories involve being bullied, really. Still, I have to say there were good memories, too–I travelled the world, wrote a 121 page novel (by hand!) at the age of eleven, threw rockin’ parties that hosted anywhere from thirty people to over a hundred (my family’s awesome), and I read a huge amount of books.

I still read a huge amount, by the way–fantasy, romance, science-fiction, horror, manga of many different genres, webcomics, and anything that makes me think. I also read a bit of non-fiction, too–mainly stuff that relates to things I’m writing about, though.

I’ve always been a writer. At the very least, I’ve always been telling stories. Always, always been telling stories. Ever since I learned to talk, I could tell stories that stretched on for hours–and I’ve held onto that ability, even though now it’s transitioned to being able to type at ninety-words-a-minute and think even faster.

So, that explains the ‘writer’ part of the ‘Half-Mad Writer’ name. What about the ‘Half-Mad’ part?

I’ve always been just a bit off. Well, I guess you could call me: Eccentric, weird, unique, odd, crazy, strange, disturbing, or just plain silly. I don’t enjoy doing what other people do, and find myself most at home with a book and Jasmine Tea. I like anime, but I’m not an otaku. I like video games, but I’m not a gamer. I don’t really categorize easily.

Oh, yes. I also believe in there being something supernatural. There has to be more to this world than what we see and feel.

I’ve also known, for the longest time, that I lost my mind. That’s the only way to explain the emptiness in my chest, the screaming voices in my skull, or the maelstrom of thoughts that escape onto pages upon pages of innocent-white paper. I have issues trusting people, trusting myself, and believing that there IS something good coming. I lost hope in the world a long time ago–about the same time that I decided it isn’t worth caring about what other people think of me.

 

So, if you want to know what to expect from me….

Just expect half-mad words from a broken girl. Poetry, prose, stories, novels–everything, and nothing. Insanity and love, all mixed together with a pinch of joy and dash of sorrow.

 

With love, the Half-Mad Writer