The ink fell thick and liberal from her tongue and she smeared it across his chest. His eyes like vultures watched her paint, the valleys of color that stained her fingermoons and dripped down the flat plain of his stomach. She retched and coughed and gagged low in her throat as the flow continued. This was sacrifice. This was love in the making. He grabbed her hands and guided them lower. They formed black pools on his hips and he began a shuffling waltz, the rainbow dribbling from her mouth and staining their feet.
----------
Her spine curved against the cold marble as she stretched. Her feet touched at the toes and she crossed her arms up to her elbows in front of her. The long legs of her scarf breezed the floor and she then realigned. Her eyes met those of the man behind the counter and a metallic taste tickled the back of her tongue. Her eyes moved to the imposing steel vents protruding from the ceiling. She recalled a dream the same color as they, a deep greenish grey in which she had carried small innocence to safety and sacrificed her flesh to the wolf. It might’ve been a mistake, but she was awake now. She paid for her postage and left. The cool breeze of the snowcloud day emptied her thoughts. She gulped a mouthful of air to banish the copper resting in her throat.
A vulture sat on a signpost across the street. It watched her, or rather, watched a spot behind her until a speeding bus lifted it away. She followed its shadow on the sidewalk as it circled the post office. The sky began to snow. The fresh petals danced under cars, serpentining and doubling back until the safety of a gutter or patch of grass was reached. If she was a musician, she would’ve thought of a melody to match their effervescence. She rewrapped her scarf and walked away.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Lynford and Natalie, part 2
There is so much blood coursing through his veins. The first barrage brings her to tears and through the mist she sees the slow motion of his first blow. Her throat pounds as a heart and she falls against the trees. There is a question she knows down to her fingertips and her breath is the answer and dissolves among the branches and a low mumbling shakes her feet. The trees are gasping and unfurling in the dusky air and she can only think to murmur "Yes."
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Burmingham Method©: How to Wake Up with No Family
Move away. Pack your life in flimsy cardboard and haul it across state lines. Call your friends, pay off your debts, sell your dog to Ms. Edna down the street. Do not hesitate. Do not be swayed by your father’s questioning brow, your sister’s clinging eyes, your mother’s photo albums.
Arrive in a new city. Find a roommate and a job; unpack half your things on the first day’s adrenaline rush; leave the rest rotting in their boxes for another month. Use public transportation, but keep your eyes lowered and stare only at the grey-grimed streets. Learn to hate tourists. Buy fresh fish every weekend. These are just mental preparations.
Live this way for three months. Console your roommate when his girlfriend leaves him, but refuse to meet his friends. Remove yourself from social situations. Drink only water. Do not laugh at office parties. These are proven methods that will make the final step a breeze.
Wake up on a beautiful morning, a tower of solitude. Leave your share of the next month’s rent taped to the microwave; bring no regrets. We try to make ourselves available throughout the country. Though our methods are experimental, we have a high success rate. Finish living your current life and find us. It will only take five minutes. Tomorrow is a new beginning.
--
A short-short I wrote for my fiction class last semester. It's a tiny bit vague, but I didn't feel like changing that. Just figured I'd update with something over here.
Arrive in a new city. Find a roommate and a job; unpack half your things on the first day’s adrenaline rush; leave the rest rotting in their boxes for another month. Use public transportation, but keep your eyes lowered and stare only at the grey-grimed streets. Learn to hate tourists. Buy fresh fish every weekend. These are just mental preparations.
Live this way for three months. Console your roommate when his girlfriend leaves him, but refuse to meet his friends. Remove yourself from social situations. Drink only water. Do not laugh at office parties. These are proven methods that will make the final step a breeze.
Wake up on a beautiful morning, a tower of solitude. Leave your share of the next month’s rent taped to the microwave; bring no regrets. We try to make ourselves available throughout the country. Though our methods are experimental, we have a high success rate. Finish living your current life and find us. It will only take five minutes. Tomorrow is a new beginning.
--
A short-short I wrote for my fiction class last semester. It's a tiny bit vague, but I didn't feel like changing that. Just figured I'd update with something over here.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Cheating
She sat at the oak table stringing beads,
each specimen carefully lifted and inspected.
In one hand the gossamer string; it quivered
as blood pulsed her finger pads.
With windows opened to the spring chirping of birds,
she threaded: a small clink joined the silence of the kitchen.
This was factory work with grace. She continued.
Her threading lasted until I came home,
stringing lies in my head.
each specimen carefully lifted and inspected.
In one hand the gossamer string; it quivered
as blood pulsed her finger pads.
With windows opened to the spring chirping of birds,
she threaded: a small clink joined the silence of the kitchen.
This was factory work with grace. She continued.
Her threading lasted until I came home,
stringing lies in my head.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Lynford and Natalie
There’s a crowbar in the trunk because I won’t wait for time to break down your defenses. It will be a quiet night, a dark forest clearing where even the trees will join in my chorus of worship. And the first blow will take you away from them and closer to me. My hair’s your breath and your clenched teeth are the sinews threading my heart. One pound, two pound. The sighs from your lips power this ancient engine churning inside. I have worked myself to perfection to serve you gasping under the starlight. The veins in my skin pump viscosity to spill it at your feet and the only answer I need is “Yes.”
Monday, August 4, 2008
IDLE RIFFRAFF
My parents went to Dover Downs Saturday night, and I was responsible for taking out the dogs Sunday morning. By morning, they meant no later than 7am. Completely unacceptable. So instead of sleeping for five or so hours, I decided just NOT to sleep. What did I do? Watched Heroes season 1 and drank (count 'em) 10 cans of diet coke. My little sister, who endeavored upon this quest with me, didn't quite make it (she offed at 5). We made Velveeta around 2. I had some bread sticks and yogurt to keep me metabolizing. It was a night, definitely. My final hour count was 40. I got about 9 hours of sleep, which my body decided wasn't enough for lucidity. Bit of bad timing, since I had a test this morning. I didn't bomb it, but I could recognize a significant difference in my performance. Oh well.
Hey guys here's an awesome experiment! Comment if you read this! (hahahaha)
So I finally finally started my bookshelf painting thing again. It was pretty nice. Of course I changed the original panel design, but I can't draw cats, so it's okay. I learned how to draw stairs~ That sort of thing makes me think I could one day draw for srsly but honestly I was just looking at a Google picture the entire time. But! They look convincingly like stairs. If drawing didn't involve things like perspective and 3 dimensions, I'd be rolling in the money. Now I only have one panel left! And three weeks to do it (that's cutting it close haha)
Yeah, ask me how much of my to-do list I've accomplished, and the answer would be no. I wanted to write a story or two, I wanted to write a sestina, I wanted to sketch some ARG I would never start, and what did I do instead? Stick figures. Mind you, the addition of legs was a nice improvement, but I could've been doing so much more. Sigh.
I'm going through a fantastically interesting period of German learning. Like I can feel myself actually learning it. It's weird, because I've done it before (with English), and now I'm conscious of what is happening. It's hard to think of myself as a brain and some flabs of meat, but this drives the point home. My brain is rewiring itself.
Hhhhhhuh. Guys, I still struggle at expressing myself. I think to some level I'm screwed up in the head. I can easily shun people. I make up complex character-based melodramas in my head just to experience a kind of emotional connection. I criticize my actions and then criticize my criticisms. I'm a hypocrite who loves humans on the large scale but can ignore the woman across the street asking for help. (in the moment we are monsters) Sometimes it's easier to lie to people, especially when it gets me away from awkward situations quicker. I think I hate my family, but I hate that I hate. I can pull meta-bullshit out of my ass.
Well. That's enough meta for now. I think my body wants to sleep.
Hey guys here's an awesome experiment! Comment if you read this! (hahahaha)
So I finally finally started my bookshelf painting thing again. It was pretty nice. Of course I changed the original panel design, but I can't draw cats, so it's okay. I learned how to draw stairs~ That sort of thing makes me think I could one day draw for srsly but honestly I was just looking at a Google picture the entire time. But! They look convincingly like stairs. If drawing didn't involve things like perspective and 3 dimensions, I'd be rolling in the money. Now I only have one panel left! And three weeks to do it (that's cutting it close haha)
Yeah, ask me how much of my to-do list I've accomplished, and the answer would be no. I wanted to write a story or two, I wanted to write a sestina, I wanted to sketch some ARG I would never start, and what did I do instead? Stick figures. Mind you, the addition of legs was a nice improvement, but I could've been doing so much more. Sigh.
I'm going through a fantastically interesting period of German learning. Like I can feel myself actually learning it. It's weird, because I've done it before (with English), and now I'm conscious of what is happening. It's hard to think of myself as a brain and some flabs of meat, but this drives the point home. My brain is rewiring itself.
Hhhhhhuh. Guys, I still struggle at expressing myself. I think to some level I'm screwed up in the head. I can easily shun people. I make up complex character-based melodramas in my head just to experience a kind of emotional connection. I criticize my actions and then criticize my criticisms. I'm a hypocrite who loves humans on the large scale but can ignore the woman across the street asking for help. (in the moment we are monsters) Sometimes it's easier to lie to people, especially when it gets me away from awkward situations quicker. I think I hate my family, but I hate that I hate. I can pull meta-bullshit out of my ass.
Well. That's enough meta for now. I think my body wants to sleep.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Some stream of consciousness writing
Just some words that have been floating around my head in various incarnations and finally found a way into reality.
The oblivion wraps her in warm breaths and silken fingertips - should she give in? - she hasn't felt at ease since she first discovered her body was fallible. Everyone tells her it's just youth and that feeling of indestructibility will fade until talk of dying becomes just as faded and inevitable as one's first apartment, or love.
-and why should she give in? It is more painful and alive to fight. She rejects this oblivion. It does not reject her.
I always have an issue typing up my stream-writing because I hardly ever punctuate or capitalize or (in one case above) use the correct words. Oh well. Raw writing.
I have noticed lately my responses to certain phrases, lines of dialogue, slogans, etc are hyped beyond normal. These words hold a significance to me, but I can't explain why. Some of them have come from dreams, some are connected to unrealized stories, some are just there.
FIELD-STOP hotel
as touch forbids, so sense compels
It loses something in translation
work quickly; we haven't time
"I wasn't lying."
she's there to stop him he's there to play it down
the terminal hand
the outsider/the observer/the one-who-came-before
The Harbinger brings word of your brother's death, Marley! do you rise to the challenge?
he burned out at 30 'cause he smiled too much
Ambrose Gilchrist has a twin
in the moment we are monsters
Well, German class is going well. I have not doodled once, and it feels great to have an energy outlet. Also, learning a language is a sweet way to feel hella smart.
The oblivion wraps her in warm breaths and silken fingertips - should she give in? - she hasn't felt at ease since she first discovered her body was fallible. Everyone tells her it's just youth and that feeling of indestructibility will fade until talk of dying becomes just as faded and inevitable as one's first apartment, or love.
-and why should she give in? It is more painful and alive to fight. She rejects this oblivion. It does not reject her.
I always have an issue typing up my stream-writing because I hardly ever punctuate or capitalize or (in one case above) use the correct words. Oh well. Raw writing.
I have noticed lately my responses to certain phrases, lines of dialogue, slogans, etc are hyped beyond normal. These words hold a significance to me, but I can't explain why. Some of them have come from dreams, some are connected to unrealized stories, some are just there.
FIELD-STOP hotel
as touch forbids, so sense compels
It loses something in translation
work quickly; we haven't time
"I wasn't lying."
she's there to stop him he's there to play it down
the terminal hand
the outsider/the observer/the one-who-came-before
The Harbinger brings word of your brother's death, Marley! do you rise to the challenge?
he burned out at 30 'cause he smiled too much
Ambrose Gilchrist has a twin
in the moment we are monsters
Well, German class is going well. I have not doodled once, and it feels great to have an energy outlet. Also, learning a language is a sweet way to feel hella smart.
Friday, June 27, 2008
The Ghost
So remember that brain cancer story I wanted to write? I pumped out a preliminary scene last night because I had a lot of energy that needed an outlet. It's rough, as in I haven't added in much setting description nor decided on the narrative tone I want to take. Actually it's mostly just dialogue. I got to know the characters a bit better. My little "theme" one-liner that I had in the back of my head (and at the top of the .doc) was "She was haunted by the ghost of the person she used to be." I thought about using that as the first line, but then I didn't.
She woke up an hour later, a sizable ounce of her brain gone. The entire tumor had been removed, they told her, but she would still need a few more months of chemo and would she mind posing with the surgeons? Such a rare operation needed to be documented properly.
Joachim shuffled in after the doctors had gone. He still carried the paperback he had walked in with last night. The bookmark had inched its way along while she was under the knife.
“You were on page 137,” she greeted.
He smiled. He rubbed his eyes and sank onto the corner of her bed. “Yes, honey.” He rubbed his eyes again. “How do you feel?”
“Nothing, mostly. I don’t feel any different.” She shifted. “What page are you on now?”
“316. The doctors said that the area of brain they operated on dealt mostly with memory. They’re going to have to test you out, to make sure you’re still ok. I was talking to a nurse, and she said the tests are mostly word memorization and basic history, like Independence Day and 911.” She stifled a yawn. “But, ah, that won’t be for a few more hours. Give the brain time to recover.” He traced his hand over her cheekbone. “I’m so glad you’re ok.”
“I think I remember everything important,” she said. “How was your night? Did the book get any better?”
“No. No, it stayed about the same. I read when I could, tried to sleep, drank some coffee.”
“You do seem a little red in the eyes.”
A pause. “I was going to call your office, tell them the news. Any special messages?”
She hummed and tapped a finger. “Wish Angela an early happy birthday.”
He kissed her cheek. “I’ll do that now.”
The end. A horribly empty piece of writing. I have major issues with setting. I don't usually write any setting details until the next go-through, because otherwise I get super distracted and I don't finish writing what I had in mind. It's horrible and I get a lot of smack about it in workshop. I have to think about setting with a different part of my mind, and once I'm out of the writing track I am SO out of it. Like ugh. Also I think I have a thing for guys who ramble; it's so adorable to me.
Speaking of adorable, and soccer, since it is Euro 2008 season. I love love love love love it when soccer players head-butt a ball and fall on their asses. Like, when the goalie throws/kicks it across the field and some dude tries to knock it down and he gets a hit in but then just flails from overbalancing and plomps on his behind? POSSIBLY THE MOST ADORABLE THING EVER?
She woke up an hour later, a sizable ounce of her brain gone. The entire tumor had been removed, they told her, but she would still need a few more months of chemo and would she mind posing with the surgeons? Such a rare operation needed to be documented properly.
Joachim shuffled in after the doctors had gone. He still carried the paperback he had walked in with last night. The bookmark had inched its way along while she was under the knife.
“You were on page 137,” she greeted.
He smiled. He rubbed his eyes and sank onto the corner of her bed. “Yes, honey.” He rubbed his eyes again. “How do you feel?”
“Nothing, mostly. I don’t feel any different.” She shifted. “What page are you on now?”
“316. The doctors said that the area of brain they operated on dealt mostly with memory. They’re going to have to test you out, to make sure you’re still ok. I was talking to a nurse, and she said the tests are mostly word memorization and basic history, like Independence Day and 911.” She stifled a yawn. “But, ah, that won’t be for a few more hours. Give the brain time to recover.” He traced his hand over her cheekbone. “I’m so glad you’re ok.”
“I think I remember everything important,” she said. “How was your night? Did the book get any better?”
“No. No, it stayed about the same. I read when I could, tried to sleep, drank some coffee.”
“You do seem a little red in the eyes.”
A pause. “I was going to call your office, tell them the news. Any special messages?”
She hummed and tapped a finger. “Wish Angela an early happy birthday.”
He kissed her cheek. “I’ll do that now.”
The end. A horribly empty piece of writing. I have major issues with setting. I don't usually write any setting details until the next go-through, because otherwise I get super distracted and I don't finish writing what I had in mind. It's horrible and I get a lot of smack about it in workshop. I have to think about setting with a different part of my mind, and once I'm out of the writing track I am SO out of it. Like ugh. Also I think I have a thing for guys who ramble; it's so adorable to me.
Speaking of adorable, and soccer, since it is Euro 2008 season. I love love love love love it when soccer players head-butt a ball and fall on their asses. Like, when the goalie throws/kicks it across the field and some dude tries to knock it down and he gets a hit in but then just flails from overbalancing and plomps on his behind? POSSIBLY THE MOST ADORABLE THING EVER?
Saturday, June 14, 2008
HELLO
It is so laborious to blog/keep an online journal. Ugh. I should be in bed trying to sleep but instead I am awake and writing run-on sentences and possibly in a weird mood. I have concocted a bold print "To Do" list and tacked it to my wall. I need to save money for a trip with some girlfriends later in the summer. This will be difficult because I do not have many hours at the library this time around.
My other two major projects that need to be finished ASAP are my bookshelf comic-painting and my Council documentation. The first is almost there, just two panels left. I overestimate my artistic skills because I am surrounded by beautiful art in so many aspects of my life. I see images in my head that I want to recreate but I don't have the skill to live up the expectations my mind forms. I also give up too easily, I have learned and been told. But I am satisfied with the project so far (well ok this latest panel sucks). The idea behind it was to create a story using poem snippets as the text. It came to me one night when I was trolling my poetry books. I have picked lines from Byron, Tennyson, Eliot, Collins, Shearin, and Pound. It gives me an excuse to paint, which gives me an excuse to make pretty colors.
The Council documentation won't be talked about much, because it's too personal to be discussed with any embarrassment. I have just plowed through my sophomore year journals, and things are going well. The basic idea behind this project is to rifle through my high school lit journals and type out all the Council-related material (just think of it as a universe of characters). I don't know how I ever passed my fiction class, or any literary class for that matter. All I typed was adverbs and lacking descriptions. The Council is the greatest proof of the fallacy of living too much in one's head. After I have typed up everything, I have grand plans to create a basic time line of events, but I've had that aspiration for almost six years now.
Lastly, there are two ideas for stories I have wringing through my head. One is a quasi-high school drama with a character who pays too much attention to the wrong things and loses the big picture. I have had this idea for a while, as in maybe half a year. It started out as a mild journal word doodle, playing around with tone and author's license (I can't exactly call it poetic license). It will give me an excuse to use my human anatomy book more.
The second idea is very recent, fueled by my paranoia and the mood of some fiction I've been reading online (at Strange Horizons). See, the other day I had a horrible headache. Heat headache. It was disgusting. Oh, I think I wrote something about it, hold on. The pain was ferocious. It flowed in a thin river across her forehead and echoed into a deep waterfall at the base of her skull. There were puddles of intensity pulsating past her ears and she felt her entire existence would forever be stuck in this heightened state. It woke me up at five in the morning, and I had to go downstairs to find pills and interact with people. Afterwards, I passed out in my bed and slept for another five hours or so. The problem was, I had that phantom headache lingering with me the entire day, like if I was to turn my head the wrong way, the pain from that morning would come and crash down my walls of peace.
Anyway, a few days after that, I woke up dizzy as dizzy could be. It was Thursday, and I was supposed to work. I managed to take a shower somehow, after swaying my way through brushing my teeth and walking down the stairs. Then I started to get nauseous. Usually I walk to work, but I couldn't even walk to the kitchen without stumbling and falling to the side so I called out. The majority of my day was spent sitting down, staying very still, and drinking small sips of water and coke. Somewhere along the day everything got better. Now that phantom headache/dizziness is really infringing my thoughts, so I thought (obviously) brain cancer!
I do not have brain cancer. I thought about a character who had brain cancer and had a hunk of it removed. She wakes with vague clues to what she can only half remember but it's important to her because it used to be a part of her, and sets off on a journey to find whatever it was she lost. I say no more about it.
Well, I can be rather long-winded at times, can't I? One last thought: I recently started playing Etrian Odyssey again (I have an off-on relationship with that game). I am quite convinced it will take me ten years to finish and that it is an amazing game. Not as amazing as Pimp Professor Layton (oh my god so pimp), but up there. Goodnight.
My other two major projects that need to be finished ASAP are my bookshelf comic-painting and my Council documentation. The first is almost there, just two panels left. I overestimate my artistic skills because I am surrounded by beautiful art in so many aspects of my life. I see images in my head that I want to recreate but I don't have the skill to live up the expectations my mind forms. I also give up too easily, I have learned and been told. But I am satisfied with the project so far (well ok this latest panel sucks). The idea behind it was to create a story using poem snippets as the text. It came to me one night when I was trolling my poetry books. I have picked lines from Byron, Tennyson, Eliot, Collins, Shearin, and Pound. It gives me an excuse to paint, which gives me an excuse to make pretty colors.
The Council documentation won't be talked about much, because it's too personal to be discussed with any embarrassment. I have just plowed through my sophomore year journals, and things are going well. The basic idea behind this project is to rifle through my high school lit journals and type out all the Council-related material (just think of it as a universe of characters). I don't know how I ever passed my fiction class, or any literary class for that matter. All I typed was adverbs and lacking descriptions. The Council is the greatest proof of the fallacy of living too much in one's head. After I have typed up everything, I have grand plans to create a basic time line of events, but I've had that aspiration for almost six years now.
Lastly, there are two ideas for stories I have wringing through my head. One is a quasi-high school drama with a character who pays too much attention to the wrong things and loses the big picture. I have had this idea for a while, as in maybe half a year. It started out as a mild journal word doodle, playing around with tone and author's license (I can't exactly call it poetic license). It will give me an excuse to use my human anatomy book more.
The second idea is very recent, fueled by my paranoia and the mood of some fiction I've been reading online (at Strange Horizons). See, the other day I had a horrible headache. Heat headache. It was disgusting. Oh, I think I wrote something about it, hold on. The pain was ferocious. It flowed in a thin river across her forehead and echoed into a deep waterfall at the base of her skull. There were puddles of intensity pulsating past her ears and she felt her entire existence would forever be stuck in this heightened state. It woke me up at five in the morning, and I had to go downstairs to find pills and interact with people. Afterwards, I passed out in my bed and slept for another five hours or so. The problem was, I had that phantom headache lingering with me the entire day, like if I was to turn my head the wrong way, the pain from that morning would come and crash down my walls of peace.
Anyway, a few days after that, I woke up dizzy as dizzy could be. It was Thursday, and I was supposed to work. I managed to take a shower somehow, after swaying my way through brushing my teeth and walking down the stairs. Then I started to get nauseous. Usually I walk to work, but I couldn't even walk to the kitchen without stumbling and falling to the side so I called out. The majority of my day was spent sitting down, staying very still, and drinking small sips of water and coke. Somewhere along the day everything got better. Now that phantom headache/dizziness is really infringing my thoughts, so I thought (obviously) brain cancer!
I do not have brain cancer. I thought about a character who had brain cancer and had a hunk of it removed. She wakes with vague clues to what she can only half remember but it's important to her because it used to be a part of her, and sets off on a journey to find whatever it was she lost. I say no more about it.
Well, I can be rather long-winded at times, can't I? One last thought: I recently started playing Etrian Odyssey again (I have an off-on relationship with that game). I am quite convinced it will take me ten years to finish and that it is an amazing game. Not as amazing as Pimp Professor Layton (oh my god so pimp), but up there. Goodnight.
Monday, May 19, 2008
YOU HAS FORGET?
There is a competition and a drawing of matches. He gets the short and takes his place atop the shaky wooden bridge. He knows what he now faces and his eyes water until red and dry. It comes with a burp of air pressure and is nothing like what's expected. The air shimmers and rolls over the arena. This is the finality. He sees it lean toward him, all mottle-skinned and asp-like, and his fears leave him in the final second. He is swallowed in purity. It leaves him convulsing and screaming, raw animal yelps and deep sucking pants. The finality departs and the sun sets.
--
More examples of how I don't include many details and description in my writing. I live too much in my head to successfully transfer the imagery to pen and paper, and a lot of times I can't express what I experience in my mind because I'm untrained at conveying emotion. Or I haven't tried enough. I like writing tiny things for myself, which imply entire worlds. Most of my writing is a stepping stone that allows me to experience the events in my head. I am my characters because there's no way they could exist otherwise because I'm all that there is. My universe is myself and my interactions with other universes.
Her anger comes on too strong and she doesn't let up. The cupboards are rattling at the stiletto of her pace. She rumbles back and forth across the lofty kitchen. The cats are curled in their window perching, flicking ears at every footfall.
--
Well I thought about continuing that, because I've got another page or two in my journal, but it is mostly bad. Some of the phrases in the first paragraph are cute, so I'll share that. It's a fascinating trip to read back through my journal, because I find tiny gems. Tiny as in maybe a sentence or two. I like writing one-liners (see above, stepping stones).
"A great pleasure that is, being renowned for what one does for a living." -- This was a dialogue line that squeaked into my head one morning, probably in January. It had something to do with an older writer man, mostly cynical and dry witted. He was probably talking to a younger person when he said this. Maybe a reporter, or aspiring writer. Something along that feeling. Well, this is about the end.
--
More examples of how I don't include many details and description in my writing. I live too much in my head to successfully transfer the imagery to pen and paper, and a lot of times I can't express what I experience in my mind because I'm untrained at conveying emotion. Or I haven't tried enough. I like writing tiny things for myself, which imply entire worlds. Most of my writing is a stepping stone that allows me to experience the events in my head. I am my characters because there's no way they could exist otherwise because I'm all that there is. My universe is myself and my interactions with other universes.
Her anger comes on too strong and she doesn't let up. The cupboards are rattling at the stiletto of her pace. She rumbles back and forth across the lofty kitchen. The cats are curled in their window perching, flicking ears at every footfall.
--
Well I thought about continuing that, because I've got another page or two in my journal, but it is mostly bad. Some of the phrases in the first paragraph are cute, so I'll share that. It's a fascinating trip to read back through my journal, because I find tiny gems. Tiny as in maybe a sentence or two. I like writing one-liners (see above, stepping stones).
"A great pleasure that is, being renowned for what one does for a living." -- This was a dialogue line that squeaked into my head one morning, probably in January. It had something to do with an older writer man, mostly cynical and dry witted. He was probably talking to a younger person when he said this. Maybe a reporter, or aspiring writer. Something along that feeling. Well, this is about the end.
Friday, May 9, 2008
CRUISE CONTROL
She slept and next remembered perching on a cloud, staring down blindly at the city below. She felt the presence of another beside her but her senses did not encompass it and so there was a blank spot in her mind. She saw the city waking, and at the same time was in the city, riding through morning traffic in a duality only possible in dreams. Images of cars melded with the tiny cumulus clouds that dotted the early sky. She reached out to one of the car/clouds and saw a tiny vial of liquid in the grasp of her fingers. The presence that wasn't beside her pushed her arm down and away from the tiny puff of air; "We do not touch the children."
-
This is an important part of the Beth/clouds story, but I haven't yet figured out why. I do know, however, that I'm leaning more towards YA for this story (or at least, my idea of YA). It's become clear to me now that Anthony is involved with this whole mess somehow more than just being her brother, and I'm working towards making the mother less outright villainous. Which is hard, because it's easy to keep her a bitch. I'm fairly certain Anthony isn't her biological son though. Baby steps.
I love the idea of creating a seamless mythology of creatures/ideas/etc. I sorta did that with the clouds and the shadows, but I'm holding back on publishing anything until things straighten out. It's just so much fun. You should give it a try.
With the sudden onset of summer I'll be reading a shit ton more, and that's exciting. I still have a bundle of Banks books to read from my last BN run, and I've got a cool book about modern German culture that I'm sloughing through. Also recently I checked out this cool book Darwin Among the Machines: The Evolution of Global Intelligence, because free time = I get obsessed with post/transhumanism all over again. I wait for the day there's a philosophy class about this, because it's happening now and it's going to change everything. I'm excited.
End of the semester stress has shortened my temper drastically, and tiny things are pissing me off a lot more recently. I don't like losing my temper, at least around other people, so it hasn't caused any issues. Besides, I'm totally ADD when it comes to grudges and hating people. Someone told me once (possibly middle school), "it takes too much effort to hate," and I guess that's my personal motto. I'm glad that I came out the other side of puberty a nice person. Humanity is wonderful and if I ever start sinking I just remind myself how fucking awesome it is that I'm alive and able to accomplish so much. Optimistic sap, mwhahaha. I'm excited to live and I'm excited to die (eventually haha). I don't plan on giving in.
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This is an important part of the Beth/clouds story, but I haven't yet figured out why. I do know, however, that I'm leaning more towards YA for this story (or at least, my idea of YA). It's become clear to me now that Anthony is involved with this whole mess somehow more than just being her brother, and I'm working towards making the mother less outright villainous. Which is hard, because it's easy to keep her a bitch. I'm fairly certain Anthony isn't her biological son though. Baby steps.
I love the idea of creating a seamless mythology of creatures/ideas/etc. I sorta did that with the clouds and the shadows, but I'm holding back on publishing anything until things straighten out. It's just so much fun. You should give it a try.
With the sudden onset of summer I'll be reading a shit ton more, and that's exciting. I still have a bundle of Banks books to read from my last BN run, and I've got a cool book about modern German culture that I'm sloughing through. Also recently I checked out this cool book Darwin Among the Machines: The Evolution of Global Intelligence, because free time = I get obsessed with post/transhumanism all over again. I wait for the day there's a philosophy class about this, because it's happening now and it's going to change everything. I'm excited.
End of the semester stress has shortened my temper drastically, and tiny things are pissing me off a lot more recently. I don't like losing my temper, at least around other people, so it hasn't caused any issues. Besides, I'm totally ADD when it comes to grudges and hating people. Someone told me once (possibly middle school), "it takes too much effort to hate," and I guess that's my personal motto. I'm glad that I came out the other side of puberty a nice person. Humanity is wonderful and if I ever start sinking I just remind myself how fucking awesome it is that I'm alive and able to accomplish so much. Optimistic sap, mwhahaha. I'm excited to live and I'm excited to die (eventually haha). I don't plan on giving in.
Monday, May 5, 2008
MOOT POINT
I have just made cupcakes. They are delicious. I added some honey to the cake mix because at the party there will be no icing. I am of the opinion there needs be none. Tomorrow's party is the last meeting of the Tea Empire, our "Mad Hatter" tea party, where we will wear crazy hats, eat delicious food, and drink a shit ton of tea. I'm so excited.
I don't know what I plan to accomplish with this blog, but I grow weary with LJ sometimes, namely because I don't bitch at all over there, and my bitchiness needs an outlet. And by bitchiness I mean talking about myself. Maybe I will post more of my story stuff. Maybe not. This could end up being a nice outlet for all of the writerly instincts I may develop over the summer. I will try not to be too silly. I can guarantee nothing.
I don't know what I plan to accomplish with this blog, but I grow weary with LJ sometimes, namely because I don't bitch at all over there, and my bitchiness needs an outlet. And by bitchiness I mean talking about myself. Maybe I will post more of my story stuff. Maybe not. This could end up being a nice outlet for all of the writerly instincts I may develop over the summer. I will try not to be too silly. I can guarantee nothing.
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