Atlantis

This was my first-ever completed book!  Yeh!

     Unfortunately for you, it was written on paper.   A good 124 pieces of paper without editing, and that's just the first one.  The Atlantis series is also a trilogy.  I love trilogies.  ^,^  Hooray!  I named them, but as said before, don't be too angry with me if I switch on you.  Check the blog frequently for updates, because that's all that I'll really put on there. 
     So, the first one is called Functions.  The second; The Parabola, and the third; Linear.  Throw in some math there, huh.  The reason behind these names is not clear to you yet, but it'll make sense in....uh...the third book? :)  I'm not sure if I want to continue this series, so vote on the blog if you want me to.  I sort of postponed the second one because I'm writing the Witches of Reilli as my prime focus.  But still, I'd like to continue it, though it's tough.  It's tough mostly because it's based off a series called Maximum Ride, and I don't want to plagiarize.  :O Because, you know, I put in some flying skills and magical powers...well, i guess you'll want to see the summary, then, if I'm foreshadowing like this.  BEWARE OF SPOILERS!

Jinx and Tennessee Memphis are two regular girls, ages 14 and 15.  Uh, scratch that. Jinx and Tenni are two very UN-normal girls.  Hard to believe that though they look pretty much like your average 21st century girls on the outside (minus the wings), they're actually part human, part bird, and part mythological spirit.  Unsure of where they came from, they were adopted by an understanding mother, who puts up with them.  When Jinx and Tenni are on their own at a new school, they find something hidden deep under all the clean outside--a laboratory.  With strange life-forms that definitely aren't strolling around town.  When Jinx and Tenni pick up two friends and then get attacked by a maniacal truck driver, they have to run for their lives, meeting new people and unlocking the secrets of their past and themselves.  Jinx, Tenni, Luke, Angel, Ella, and Drew band together as elementals to survive.  I mean, they aren't actually part human after all...they're completely a different species.  What else  they realize is something like they've never heard of before: Atlantis exists.  But it's not the magical, wonderful, breath-taking underwater world everyone thinks it is.  Instead, it's an underground, frightening, demon-ruled country--that created them. And then, on top of all that, they die.  Yes, they die.  And it's a whole new world in hell, literally.  It's just that since Jinx has found her soul mate, and now, due to circumstances, she has to let him go...

Tell me what you think! I'll try to get it typed up ASAP.  :)  If you like this idea, comment on the blog and tell me if you want me to continue this series or not!

Prologue: Tenni                                                        Welcome to the Mindless Rambling of the Fantastic Me
               

               Wow, hi.
                Jeez.
                You do know you just interrupted my nap, right? That is unforgivable. I swear, I will hurl this can of…uh…pineapple juice at you…
                Kidding!
                I suppose you’ve heard of fantasy, right?  The books with all those superpower people where all the protagonists are super-hot and all the villains are dead-ugly?  And magic and unicorns and talking animals and stuff? Yeah, well, you could call this fantasy.  Just leave it as is, read it, drop it back off wherever you got it from, and sit back with some Coke and think, Hm. That was a pretty good story. 
                Er, assuming you meant that I wrote it.  If that’s not the case, it might not be so well written.  I guess that clues you in on my amateur-writer-ness. 
                Anyhow, for you it would just be a nice little paper-printed book like any other, nondescript and fitting in with all the other fantasy books on a shelf…
                But it’s not.
                Not at all.
                Really.

Do you believe me?  That’s what I need.  If you don’t believe me…well, put the book down right now, give it back to wherever it came from, and forget about this.  To tell you everything, I need you to know what this is all about.  And if you aren’t going to believe me, then you’re just wasting precious time of mine. 
                So think about it.  I’ll wait.  Do you believe me?
A. Um, no.
B. Of course.
C. Huh?
                Results: If you chose A, give me ten push-ups and throw this book into a nearby river or the closest garbage bin.  If you chose B, I’ll just have to assume you’re not a really good liar like—ahem—me, and let you read this.  If you chose C, reread the past couple paragraphs, please.  Then choose again.  There’s no way I’m going to repeat the stuff above.  You know how much money it’s taking me to write this?  And our magical ATM cards might not last forever…sorry.  More on those later. 
                Okay, B-choosers!  You’d better be taking me seriously, or I will come and whip your butt soundly.  The fact that you’ve picked up this book means you could be in danger soon.  If you don’t want that, you just might want to put the book down and follow the steps I gave to the people who chose A. 
                Do you wanna know why?
                Welllllllllllllllll…
                IT’LL BLOW UP IN YOUR FACE!
                …
                Not quite. 
                You know, I idolize this writer dude with a quirky sense of humor.  You might’ve heard of him.  His name is Pseudonymous Bosch, and he wrote some wacky series that I don’t really remember that well.  But there’s something he once said that I want to repeat to you.
                “…This is a very dangerous book.  No, it won’t blow up in your face (like I suggested).  Or bite your head off.  Or tear you from limb to limb.  It probably won’t injure you at all. Unless somebody throws it at you, which is a possibility that should never be discounted. Generally speaking, books don’t cause much harm.  Except when you read them, that is.  Then they cause all kinds of problems….But the main reason [books are] so dangerous is that [they] concern[s]a secret.”
                                                                                                                                -Pseudonymous Bosch, who is, in my opinion, the most awesome writer dude in the world who has a weird sense of humor and a particularly vaguely specific way (yes, I know that’s contradictory) of explaining the wackiest things in the universe—which, in fact, do not include fascinating inventions such as self-playing pianos of lollipops that taste like boogers.

                Before you ask, I am not going to throw any books at you.  Or cans of pineapple juice.  Or even a bomb, which under normal circumstances I would happily demonstrate on my sister for you.  (And no, I was not kidding about the bomb. Though I would probably not throw a bomb at my sister, Jinx, unless I was really ticked off.)  No, the reason I wanted to show you that passage is that this book does contain a secret.  Albeit a subtle one that won’t really do much harm to a little person like you. If you can find it, though, good for you.  You have a high IQ.
                But since I hate bottled-up emotions—not that I have many besides...let’s see…hate, anger, humor, sarcasm, and wittiness— I have to tell this to you (not that anyone’s making me do this! I mean that I can’t take keeping emotions to myself, a reason that causes many things to explode around our house). 
                Well, the basics come first.
                My name is Tennessee Tempest Memphis—though nobody calls me that, they all call me Tenni.  I’m not even sure why my name is like that.  I wasn’t born in Tennessee.  I was born in the Virginian countryside, among the fields of crops and the funny green hills that somehow make me think of camel humps.  Farms with cows that moo loudly and don’t mind passing gas in public, since there’s pretty much nobody there to hear them. Vegetables growing just two miles away, which belong to your neighbor, who is lax about security so you can go steal his squash and beans anytime you like. 
                Ah, jeezaweez.  I’m going on a tangent.  Please stop me if I do that again.
                I’m fourteen, born in November, lover of rambunctious dogs and loud iPod music.  Not your typical Virginian girl, but I guess that’s what you get when you cross me with…well, me. 
                I have a sister named Jinx.  Well, her full name is Jinx Terra-Evangeline Memphis, but no one calls her that, either…Strange thing about our names is that our middle names are based off Latin words…you see, “Tempest” is based off of the Latin word for ‘storm’, “Terra” is the Latin root for ‘earth’, and “Evangeline” means “angel”.  I don’t quite get why Jinx gets the angel part of the name, though—she’s certainly no angel.  Of course, I’m definitely not any better; a lot worse, on the contrary, but it’s still not fair…
                Jinx is no wimp, but I take pleasure in saying that she’s not as tough as I am.  Neither of us breaks down easily, but she’ll start to cry a little over a dead animal, whereas it’ll take several dead animals for me to even shed a tear.  It’s not that I don’t get sad; I just don’t feel as emotional.  Jinx is seventeen.  She was born in April, loves all animals—even that creepy old rat who wouldn’t move off our porch rail until I kicked him off with the heel of my old boot (she cried when he fell)—and is a little more attentive and interpretive than me.  I’m tough as nails, ignorant, defiant, arrogant, rough, sardonic—she’s smooth, cool and calm, uneasily ruffled, elegant, forgiving, and perceptive.  Though not alike, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell from first glance—not that we’re twins or anything, but the fact is we tend to adopt identical angelic personalities when a stranger is around, even if I am planning to detonate a small explosive when he (or she) has his (or her) back turned.  And sometimes around each other, we’ll both turn somewhat rude—I guess living with me rubs off on her after a while. 
                Oh, yeah, and then there’s Mom.  She’s kind of strict about things—“WHY DID YOU BRING A BOOBY-TRAPPED STAPLER TO SCHOOL AGAIN!?”—but every bit as graceful and magnanimous as Jinx is, when you catch her on a good day.  I consider her a rock star.  I swear, she is.  And she doesn’t even go on stage live.
                Well, it’s just because she plays a band instrument. 
                In my opinion, anyone who plays a band instrument is automatically a rock star, even if it’s that old guy down the street who looks like a badger.  He’s still one because he plays the oboe.  And pretty terrible at it, too, if you want my brutally honest opinion.  But Mom is a rock star.  (She plays the soprano saxophone.  If it sounds cool to you, it’s not what you’d think—unlike those curvy alto saxophones, the soprano is stick-straight and a paler yellow color than the attractive burnished gold of the alto/tenor.)  Lustrously blonde-haired and blue-eyed, I personally think she should be rocking out concerts, but she has another job, so she can’t.  And I’ve always wanted to play a sassy electric guitar with the amps blasting my tunes so loud out of stage speakers, and Jinx has yearned to learn the trombone for many years (I personally think that the trombone is a terrible instrument to learn how to play.  All that up-and-down sliding must make your arms really tired—not to mention the funky breathing techniques—but whatever.), but we don’t have enough money.  Dad is dead—I don’t know how he died, Mom doesn’t ever want to talk about it—and Mom’s little business doesn’t bring in enough money to afford two more instruments, books, and possibly lessons. 
                Mom’s main job is working at a diner.  It’s a really good diner, mind you—as an employee, she gets all sorts of discounts and we’ve tried just about everything on the menu—the malts, fries, onion rings, tator tots, and Cuban sandwiches are a-MAZING.  We’ve also been in the kitchens; lots of other blonde ladies working in there.  Mom told us they have a policy about no guy employees, which I found really amusing when I was trying to find the bathrooms and I saw that they had no men’s restroom, but I never have really understood why all the ladies there have blonde hair.  Jinx told me her theory—the logo for the diner is a girl with really pretty blonde hair and wearing a red dress and devil horns.  (By the way, the diner is called Devilish Diner—I really can’t fathom why anybody would name their diner that, but it’s okay with Mom and Jinx. At least I think so.  The Devilish Diner is open 24/7, but it’s kind of in the countryside like us and there’s no point in staying open that long because by then all the farmers have gone to sleep and there’s nobody to come eat.  Of course, there’s the occasional frightened and confused tourist, and perhaps Jinx and I take a detour there when we’ve been out late, but overall, they don’t get any business after eight PM.  The great thing is that they’re open waaaaay early in the morning, a lot earlier than you puny non-farming people get up, so when the farmers rise at the crack of dawn, around four, they can go to and grab the Devilish Diner’s famously awesome breakfast special—deviled eggs, not the plain boring kind, but ones drenched in spices and cinnamon and butter, paprika and black pepper, cilantro, chives, nutmeg, honey.  I know, it sounds really gross with all those spices lumped together, and it probably would taste terrible if you were to try this at home, but there’s something about the Devilish Diner’s closely guarded secret recipe that makes it taste more than just plain amazing with a tang at one end, it is super-duper-thunder-trooper-awesome-incredible-KABOOOOOM! Oops.  System overdrive.  Anyway, let me tell you, if you get the offer of having the Devilish Diner’s deviled eggs, you don’t want to turn it down, no matter how icky it sounds right now.)  But I still don’t really know why all the ladies are blonde, or why they even are all women…Personally, I think all this guy isolation isn’t good.  They need to reach out and hire some dudes.  While guys can be incredibly annoying and bomb-worthy, they are strangely fast at working with food…well, when it goes into their mouths, anyway.  Guys are such pigs.  And if you’re a guy who’s reading this, you might be thinking there’s an exception to everything, but I’m sure you have a secret heartache to shovel down your favorite food as fast as you can every time you see it.  So there. 
                Anyway, Mom doesn’t just work at the diner—she also teaches basic saxophone, but not that many people in the countryside have a burning desire to learn sax.  And since we live in the countryside, we grow our own food.  I mean, we’re pretty much vegetarians.  Except for when we go to the Devilish Diner for a bite of hamburger or a chicken tender or two or three or five or nine, we live on greenery and grain.  I think the closest thing we have to something as yummy as meat is chocolate.  Sigh.  What I would give for some sausage right now.  (At this very moment, I am multitasking; shredding paprika plants with one hand and scrawling words in pencil with the other.  The paprika is somehow making me kinda light-headed.) 
                Unfortunately, since Mom works all day with her numerous jobs, Jinx and I are left to cook.  Problem is, neither of us is all that good with freshly-grown veggies.  So Jinx normally ends up working her cooking magic (microwavable, of course, because we’re both hopeless at cooking.  We first found that out after Jinx and I tried to create a broccoli casserole from scratch.  The countertop still has the ugly black blown-up crater from the result.  Mom was really steamed afterwards), and I don’t, because even though she’s seventeen and I’m already fourteen, she still has to play big sister sometimes.  Not because I cry or anything, I’ve cried about two times in my life, but because it’s her…sigh…duty.  I know all you weirdoes out here think that’s funny because it sounds like doodie. Well, ha, ha. 
                Okay, really? Didn’t I ask you to stop me if I started tangenting again? I’m horrible at staying on-topic.  It must be in my DNA.  But, anyway, Jinx and I are pretty independent.  Maybe it’s because there’s something funny about us…
                Ah, but right now I can’t give you much more.  You know, I have to be secretive about all this stuff.  You can’t go blathering about it to all your friends.  You can’t be an idiot and decide to make a blog post about this ‘incredibly exciting new book’ that you’ve read (a.k.a. this book).   Or I swear, I will come and bonk you on the head…even if it’s after you’re dead.  And my bonks on the head are painful…ask Jinx, she’s had plenty of experience with them.  She must have a rock-hard head now…I wonder if my kicks can still get through it…I try and kick Jinx all the time. 
                Oh. My. GOD. ADD-ness is my worst enemy‼
                Anyway.
                For the past twelve years, I’ve lived with Mom.  Same with Jinx.  But before I turned two, and before she turned five, I don’t know exactly where we lived…
                Now, thank you for reading…[insert a flourish here and a bow.]  It has been my pleasure to present these few pages to you…
                And now, my book is officially over.  The end.  Bye-bye.  See you later.  (And I really mean it.  It’s totally over.  There’s nothing left, unless you want to flip through a bunch of random pages that DO NOT contain anything at all.  They’re blank.  Got it?  Don’t go looking for any words.)
                (I bet you think I’m acting suspicious.)
                (I’m not. I really mean that there’s nothing else.)
                (Really.)
                (If you’re still here I will kick your butt.)
                (Ughhhhh!)
                (GO AWAY‼)