So I read the instructions wrong, kinda misunderstood the assignment. I had 1,000 words to play with but only thought I had 100. So here's my error:
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Winter sleeps under skin, under the last contrived epidermal layer. All the other statues stand jealous in their heat for no one reaches out a curious hand to stroke calf or hand or hem.
“What does it feel like?” he asks, but her steel lips don’t answer. Only the hum of a generator and the coolant rushing through an approximation of veins fills the silence between them.
He reaches a tentative hand to hers, the temperature foreign. “How People Felt When There Was Snow” does not flinch away, but stares into the tomorrow when she will contain more life he.
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
3 Day
Last year was the first year I finished the 3 Day Novel contest. In January when I got a notice saying I'd received an honourable mention there was a lot of Muppet dancing going on. Scared the cat. Scared myself.
At the end of the contest I drank out of my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) mug that read "Novelist Fuel" and had a rather intense moment. This 26K word, 110 page, flawed bit of Cthullu chic lit that ended with a chain saw meet elder god scene - that was the first book I wrote. Whole thing. Beginning, middle, end. My arms burned under the ice water wraps I'd kept on to keep writing. The rest of me buzzed with a new and volatile joy. So the "Honorable Mention" certificate, copy of Geist and free pizza coupon? Send me beyond time and space. And under the sofa, haven't really written since - but before the results came in I'd finished NaNo, so that's two manuscripts of dubious origin that I'm sitting on.
Yesterday I got an email from the gods of the 3 Day Novel contest. I think she's also known as Melissa. Anyway, it contained the epic sagas, distilled to 25 words each of three writers who'd polished off their 07 submissions and been since published. I think of how simply awful my entry was and is; finished and monumental in that respect but a readable story? Hrmph. Then I look at the still unused pizza coupon and think, "well, someone liked reading it". What part I don't know, but the only way to find out is to have another look. I'll revisit it.
The summer stretches ahead but being older now and this being Canada I know it will land squarely on the labour day weekend soon enough, a weekend in which I've foolishly booked two weddings. And I still want to enter. The transformation of time, stress and sweat into stories is an iridescent alchemy that I can't remember why I've resisted for so long. It's fun. I think it might be like surfing or lion taming or something. With coffee.
At the end of the contest I drank out of my NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) mug that read "Novelist Fuel" and had a rather intense moment. This 26K word, 110 page, flawed bit of Cthullu chic lit that ended with a chain saw meet elder god scene - that was the first book I wrote. Whole thing. Beginning, middle, end. My arms burned under the ice water wraps I'd kept on to keep writing. The rest of me buzzed with a new and volatile joy. So the "Honorable Mention" certificate, copy of Geist and free pizza coupon? Send me beyond time and space. And under the sofa, haven't really written since - but before the results came in I'd finished NaNo, so that's two manuscripts of dubious origin that I'm sitting on.
Yesterday I got an email from the gods of the 3 Day Novel contest. I think she's also known as Melissa. Anyway, it contained the epic sagas, distilled to 25 words each of three writers who'd polished off their 07 submissions and been since published. I think of how simply awful my entry was and is; finished and monumental in that respect but a readable story? Hrmph. Then I look at the still unused pizza coupon and think, "well, someone liked reading it". What part I don't know, but the only way to find out is to have another look. I'll revisit it.
The summer stretches ahead but being older now and this being Canada I know it will land squarely on the labour day weekend soon enough, a weekend in which I've foolishly booked two weddings. And I still want to enter. The transformation of time, stress and sweat into stories is an iridescent alchemy that I can't remember why I've resisted for so long. It's fun. I think it might be like surfing or lion taming or something. With coffee.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Writing on the go
I have four half written short stories and two manuscripts to flesh out. I've had them for a while now. While they are outside my head stories and so almost real, they need work and my work habits need a bit of a make over.
For years I've wanted a laptop. I do have one, an elderly beast which must remain hooked up to life support to maintain signs of it's slow and plodding life. I call her Ethel, and am unsure of the integrity of the data she keeps. She's also an unwieldy girl who doesn't travel well. I've wanted a lighter, faster and portable laptop. Something to write in coffee shops in, or in parks. I used a Palm lifedrive for awhile, but it's had a stroke recently and prognosis is not good for a useful recovery. I'd nearly had myself convinced that a netbook would be an economical option before a friend (who knows me well and is fortunately unburdened with tact) told me on no uncertain terms that I was being an idiot. Laptops are expensive and out of range for my current income, but settling on tech isn't something I'm going to have long term patience with.
I think the reason I write better in coffee shops is a lack of discipline on my part. The chaos of the environment is external to me, none of my business. This forces me to focus on the page and story before me. At home all the chaos is my business, very distracting, this and that to do. Not a lot of writing gets done. Becoming a more disciplined person is harder than spending money on a solution, but of more long term benefit. I'm going to have to make a greater effort toward that at the home office.
And for the coffee shop writing which I seem to need? I have a lot of paper, and nicked a well made pen.
For years I've wanted a laptop. I do have one, an elderly beast which must remain hooked up to life support to maintain signs of it's slow and plodding life. I call her Ethel, and am unsure of the integrity of the data she keeps. She's also an unwieldy girl who doesn't travel well. I've wanted a lighter, faster and portable laptop. Something to write in coffee shops in, or in parks. I used a Palm lifedrive for awhile, but it's had a stroke recently and prognosis is not good for a useful recovery. I'd nearly had myself convinced that a netbook would be an economical option before a friend (who knows me well and is fortunately unburdened with tact) told me on no uncertain terms that I was being an idiot. Laptops are expensive and out of range for my current income, but settling on tech isn't something I'm going to have long term patience with.
I think the reason I write better in coffee shops is a lack of discipline on my part. The chaos of the environment is external to me, none of my business. This forces me to focus on the page and story before me. At home all the chaos is my business, very distracting, this and that to do. Not a lot of writing gets done. Becoming a more disciplined person is harder than spending money on a solution, but of more long term benefit. I'm going to have to make a greater effort toward that at the home office.
And for the coffee shop writing which I seem to need? I have a lot of paper, and nicked a well made pen.
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