Time to write!
Ok, but guys, I have an excuse. The prompts have just been really awful. Like write your life story. Hi? In a blog post? All of it. In keeping with the popular instagram and twitter trend... #Idon'tthinkso. And...and...and... things like describe your favorite pet and what makes you unique. I just can't write these journal-esque prompts on this creative writing blog. It won't work and I won't do it. I have been writing though. Whether on my other blog or working on my novel or updating my resume, I have been spending time with the word, which is better than nothing. However, today I will pick a prompt and write.
Assume Ghosts are real. What are they like?
Matt used to tease me about ghosts. He told me they could come out of the furnace at night and breath bad dreams into my nostrils.
Ghosts don't come out of furnaces and nightmares certainly aren't the result of ghost breath, but that doesn't mean that ghosts don't exist.
I was seven when I saw the first ghost and I didn't really think anything of it. It just looked like an old lady on the bus, and since she wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary it didn't bother me. It wasn't until I started seeing things more unusual, things that no one else was seeing, that I realized they were ghosts.
Like the little boy sitting on top of the swing set, dangling his legs between the chains. I had been terrified he was going to fall off, but when I'd run to get the playground attendant, she told me there was no one there. Miss Tinnsey didn't ever trust me after that, she called me a troublemaker and accused me of acting out in order to get attention, but I'd just wanted to make sure that little boy was okay.
It wasn't just Miss Tinnsey the playground attendant who thought I was acting out. In junior high my drama teacher called me worthless and a serious "over actor" because I reacted to parts of the scene that "weren't happening". My parents didn't understand why I always insisted on them talking to me about the people who were in the room, so I could ascertain which people were there and alive and which ones were just hanging out post-mortally.
Because it's not like you can just tell. They're not misty, or dripping, or oozing. They aren't wrapped in chains or bandages, and certainly none are draped with sheets. Their normal appearances meant they didn't really frighten me. But the fact that I could see them did.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Supermarket Shopper
Time to write!
Day 5 & 6 had entries that went together so I'm posting them in the same day, which day is this day. Now.
Prompts: Pick a letter of the alphabet. List everything that would be found in two aisles of the supermarket starting with that letter.
Now write about someone who would buy all the items listed in the day 5 prompt
Can I just be honest with you? I hate this prompt. I really do. Yesterday I hated it as well and so I decided to just write a blog post on my real person blog instead. Because I wrote I'm not going to count it as cheating. So I'm just going to write about a person in a store. Cause I don't want to list stupid things that start with 'B' or any other letter.
Anxious and ansty, Bronson Bruckwilder pushed his cart through Dunford Deli. Bronson knew that he was supposed to have brought the list his wife had made, and he knew that she was going to be irritated when he got home, even if by some miracle he managed to bring back the correct items from her rather extensive grocery list, because she would inevitably see it still sitting on the brown marble countertop, meaning he had forgotten it again. Bronson hated disappointing Elaina. A part of him wanted to drive home and get the list, but the store was twenty minutes from their flat, and he had a late class that night. Driving an extra forty minutes was just out of the question.
And so he walked through the aisles. He wished the breads, cheeses, meats, drinks, produce and whatever else he was supposed to have remembered would just come to life and jump into the cart, knowing that they were on Elaina's list.
But that wish was silly. Food with the ability to move would not be appetizing, and would probably be pretty hard to eat anyway.
Day 5 & 6 had entries that went together so I'm posting them in the same day, which day is this day. Now.
Prompts: Pick a letter of the alphabet. List everything that would be found in two aisles of the supermarket starting with that letter.
Now write about someone who would buy all the items listed in the day 5 prompt
Can I just be honest with you? I hate this prompt. I really do. Yesterday I hated it as well and so I decided to just write a blog post on my real person blog instead. Because I wrote I'm not going to count it as cheating. So I'm just going to write about a person in a store. Cause I don't want to list stupid things that start with 'B' or any other letter.
Anxious and ansty, Bronson Bruckwilder pushed his cart through Dunford Deli. Bronson knew that he was supposed to have brought the list his wife had made, and he knew that she was going to be irritated when he got home, even if by some miracle he managed to bring back the correct items from her rather extensive grocery list, because she would inevitably see it still sitting on the brown marble countertop, meaning he had forgotten it again. Bronson hated disappointing Elaina. A part of him wanted to drive home and get the list, but the store was twenty minutes from their flat, and he had a late class that night. Driving an extra forty minutes was just out of the question.
And so he walked through the aisles. He wished the breads, cheeses, meats, drinks, produce and whatever else he was supposed to have remembered would just come to life and jump into the cart, knowing that they were on Elaina's list.
But that wish was silly. Food with the ability to move would not be appetizing, and would probably be pretty hard to eat anyway.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Pesky Insurance Companies
Time to write!
Day 4: Write an excerpt including the line, "Sorry, we can't insure a journey like that."
All my big beautiful plans were ruined. All I'd ever dreamed of. Done. Down the drain. Shattered like so many mirrors thrown on the floor. Not a terribly deep metaphor but I was too upset to think of anything else. Literary devices come second to major life crises.
It had all started when I was seven years old and had first watched Jumanji with my older brother, Bernard.
As I'd grown up the lack of reality pertaining to Jumanji was firmly established, but I began preparations to emulate as Jumanji an experience as possible. The endeavors had actually made me something of an expert in jungles, wild animals, natural disasters, and people with serious disorders which made them want to hunt humans. This did involve some extensive findings on serial killers - not the most pleasant of studies - but I felt that if I wanted to recreate Jumanji I would need to learn about all of the various aspects.
I was twenty-five years old. I was armed with my folders containing the necessary locations I'd need to visit if I wanted to recreate Jumanji. However, I needed help. The travels would be extensive and I needed money.
So there I stood grasping my portfolio. I took a deep breath. I'd just presented my case to the board. I needed this grant. I needed. This. Grant.
"I'm sorry," said the lady with the cat eye glasses, finally. "We can't support a journey like that. And there's no way we can insure it."
She just stared at me as I felt my insides crumple. Who even wore cat eyed glasses anyway anymore? What did she know?
Day 4: Write an excerpt including the line, "Sorry, we can't insure a journey like that."
All my big beautiful plans were ruined. All I'd ever dreamed of. Done. Down the drain. Shattered like so many mirrors thrown on the floor. Not a terribly deep metaphor but I was too upset to think of anything else. Literary devices come second to major life crises.
It had all started when I was seven years old and had first watched Jumanji with my older brother, Bernard.
As I'd grown up the lack of reality pertaining to Jumanji was firmly established, but I began preparations to emulate as Jumanji an experience as possible. The endeavors had actually made me something of an expert in jungles, wild animals, natural disasters, and people with serious disorders which made them want to hunt humans. This did involve some extensive findings on serial killers - not the most pleasant of studies - but I felt that if I wanted to recreate Jumanji I would need to learn about all of the various aspects.
I was twenty-five years old. I was armed with my folders containing the necessary locations I'd need to visit if I wanted to recreate Jumanji. However, I needed help. The travels would be extensive and I needed money.
So there I stood grasping my portfolio. I took a deep breath. I'd just presented my case to the board. I needed this grant. I needed. This. Grant.
"I'm sorry," said the lady with the cat eye glasses, finally. "We can't support a journey like that. And there's no way we can insure it."
She just stared at me as I felt my insides crumple. Who even wore cat eyed glasses anyway anymore? What did she know?
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Loss and Feet
Time to write!
So, yesterday I moved out of one apartment and into another and then had a movie party and didn't post my writing exercise cause I'm silly. So I will post days 2 and 3 right here. :)
Day 2: Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.
Lila didn't know what to do. There was no way to escape. No fairy, not even the most powerful or important fairy, could fly with only one wing. Her shoulder ached. The skin was raw from where the wing had been pulled out by the cruel little boy, who thought he was just catching a little person butterfly.
She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go in the glass mason jar. Besides, every time she stood up she nearly fell over, being so off balance.
Lila knew there really wasn't anyway she could get out of this on her own. She wasn't strong enough physically in her current state, and everyone - especially the fairy council - knew her magic would never be able to save her in a situation like this.
While Lila was a perfectly nice fairy, and looked the part of the proper little pixie, the only spell she'd ever been able to manage was collecting the dew and directing the water. How on earth that was uesful, Lila could hardly imagine. It hadn't done much for her in the last one hundred years or so.
Day 3: Tell about someone putting their foot in their mouth.
"What do you mean Jenna's kids are going to be ugly?" Vivian said, hands on her hips.
Jason had thought his critique of a less popular girl would impress the queen bee. As she glared at him with expertly lined eyes, Jason found himself stammering.
"Ha ha...you just...just like...she's not, um, really...you know. All that attractive. And so, um...ha ha. Genetically?" Jason didn't know how this 5 foot 3 girl could make him feel so tiny and powerless. Maybe it was the 3 inch stilettos, that seemed a little out of place in the red and gray linoleum halls of West Chapel High, but which no one would every comment on as long as they were on the size four, narrow feet of Vivian Mason.
"Jenna is my cousin." Vivian said. "Our mom's are twins. We have the same genetics."
Jason could do nothing but try to duck his head to hide the embarrassed redness on his cheeks as Vivian shook her head, making her chocolate brown curls bounce, and stalked down the hall.
Yes, I did really want to write about someone physically putting their foot in their mouth but I saved my immense humor for another time.
So, yesterday I moved out of one apartment and into another and then had a movie party and didn't post my writing exercise cause I'm silly. So I will post days 2 and 3 right here. :)
Day 2: Tell about a character who lost something important to him/her.
Lila didn't know what to do. There was no way to escape. No fairy, not even the most powerful or important fairy, could fly with only one wing. Her shoulder ached. The skin was raw from where the wing had been pulled out by the cruel little boy, who thought he was just catching a little person butterfly.
She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go in the glass mason jar. Besides, every time she stood up she nearly fell over, being so off balance.
Lila knew there really wasn't anyway she could get out of this on her own. She wasn't strong enough physically in her current state, and everyone - especially the fairy council - knew her magic would never be able to save her in a situation like this.
While Lila was a perfectly nice fairy, and looked the part of the proper little pixie, the only spell she'd ever been able to manage was collecting the dew and directing the water. How on earth that was uesful, Lila could hardly imagine. It hadn't done much for her in the last one hundred years or so.
Day 3: Tell about someone putting their foot in their mouth.
"What do you mean Jenna's kids are going to be ugly?" Vivian said, hands on her hips.
Jason had thought his critique of a less popular girl would impress the queen bee. As she glared at him with expertly lined eyes, Jason found himself stammering.
"Ha ha...you just...just like...she's not, um, really...you know. All that attractive. And so, um...ha ha. Genetically?" Jason didn't know how this 5 foot 3 girl could make him feel so tiny and powerless. Maybe it was the 3 inch stilettos, that seemed a little out of place in the red and gray linoleum halls of West Chapel High, but which no one would every comment on as long as they were on the size four, narrow feet of Vivian Mason.
"Jenna is my cousin." Vivian said. "Our mom's are twins. We have the same genetics."
Jason could do nothing but try to duck his head to hide the embarrassed redness on his cheeks as Vivian shook her head, making her chocolate brown curls bounce, and stalked down the hall.
Yes, I did really want to write about someone physically putting their foot in their mouth but I saved my immense humor for another time.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
30 Day Writing Challenge Take Two - Day #1
Time to write!
Once I started a 30 day writing challenge and it failed horribly. Horribly. I believe I made it to day 8. Ouch. Ouch is what that is. However, I will not be deterred. I have 36 days until my wedding. I'm going to take my honeymoon off. Sorry, that's just as far as my dedication goes. However, I really want to do this challenge beforehand because once I'm back I want to make serious progress on my novel. To keep my mind fresh though, and as a writing warm-up I intend to write here in the mornings. And such is the plan! Let's see what happens.
Day 1: Select a book at random in the room. Copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.
In a garden of state, treason was a weed; just when you thought you'd rooted it out for good, it returned more virulent than before.
And that was the trouble with ruling a kingdom. There was no job security.
Calren rubbed his eyes and tried not to heave an unkingly sigh as he tried to process the letter before him. The courier waited impatiently in the doorway, hands twitching for a coin as a tip or a return letter.
"Thank you," Calren said finally, not bothering to glace up at the courier. "You may go."
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from muttering as she walked away. He could've decided no reply was needed fifteen minutes ago when she'd first delivered the letter. But he was king now, and her sass did not belong in the royal court. She couldn't count the number of times her mother had reminded her of that when she'd left to serve in the capitol city.
It wasn't until after the courier's footsteps had faded completely that Calren took off the crown - no gaudy thing with fur or embellishments, but a simple gold circlet - and laid it on the table in front of him. In the six months since his coronation he still had not gotten used to it, and even the informal circlet persisted in giving him headaches.
Royal Liege,
It was with a dire sense of duty that I write to inform you there is mutiny among your ranks.
Not a promising thought, especially when the peasant uprising led by the Marquis of Refflin had only put down what they had assumed was "for good" a week before the coronation had taken place.
Once I started a 30 day writing challenge and it failed horribly. Horribly. I believe I made it to day 8. Ouch. Ouch is what that is. However, I will not be deterred. I have 36 days until my wedding. I'm going to take my honeymoon off. Sorry, that's just as far as my dedication goes. However, I really want to do this challenge beforehand because once I'm back I want to make serious progress on my novel. To keep my mind fresh though, and as a writing warm-up I intend to write here in the mornings. And such is the plan! Let's see what happens.
Day 1: Select a book at random in the room. Copy down the last sentence and use this line as the first line of your new story.
In a garden of state, treason was a weed; just when you thought you'd rooted it out for good, it returned more virulent than before.
And that was the trouble with ruling a kingdom. There was no job security.
Calren rubbed his eyes and tried not to heave an unkingly sigh as he tried to process the letter before him. The courier waited impatiently in the doorway, hands twitching for a coin as a tip or a return letter.
"Thank you," Calren said finally, not bothering to glace up at the courier. "You may go."
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from muttering as she walked away. He could've decided no reply was needed fifteen minutes ago when she'd first delivered the letter. But he was king now, and her sass did not belong in the royal court. She couldn't count the number of times her mother had reminded her of that when she'd left to serve in the capitol city.
It wasn't until after the courier's footsteps had faded completely that Calren took off the crown - no gaudy thing with fur or embellishments, but a simple gold circlet - and laid it on the table in front of him. In the six months since his coronation he still had not gotten used to it, and even the informal circlet persisted in giving him headaches.
Royal Liege,
It was with a dire sense of duty that I write to inform you there is mutiny among your ranks.
Not a promising thought, especially when the peasant uprising led by the Marquis of Refflin had only put down what they had assumed was "for good" a week before the coronation had taken place.
Finally Writing Again
Time to write!
"You were right," said the old man, leaning back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. "We were there." His slow, lazy voice and half closed eyes made me feel like he thought this was the most casual conversation in the world.
I didn't know how to answer. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, my wrists tied together behind my back with a zip tie which dug into my skin.
I wish I'd read that full "How To Escape From a Zip Tie" link I'd seen on the internet back at school.
"If you promise not to tell," the old man continued. "We might tell you about it."
"Harold!" whispered the old woman sharply - I assumed she was his wife. She looked at me with distrustful eyes. They had caught me in their cornfield last night. I'd followed them after I realized they looked an awful lot like the people from the background of that picture on the front page of the newspaper.
There had been a massive bombing. New York's remains were plastered all over the papers, and in almost every single picture of the wreckage, there was an old man and an old woman - dead ringers for my captives.
"You were right," said the old man, leaning back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. "We were there." His slow, lazy voice and half closed eyes made me feel like he thought this was the most casual conversation in the world.
I didn't know how to answer. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, my wrists tied together behind my back with a zip tie which dug into my skin.
I wish I'd read that full "How To Escape From a Zip Tie" link I'd seen on the internet back at school.
"If you promise not to tell," the old man continued. "We might tell you about it."
"Harold!" whispered the old woman sharply - I assumed she was his wife. She looked at me with distrustful eyes. They had caught me in their cornfield last night. I'd followed them after I realized they looked an awful lot like the people from the background of that picture on the front page of the newspaper.
There had been a massive bombing. New York's remains were plastered all over the papers, and in almost every single picture of the wreckage, there was an old man and an old woman - dead ringers for my captives.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Love or Madness
Time to write!
It's been AGES! However, my dear fiance's family's interest in my writing has reminded me that I need to do it a little more often.
The main reason I stopped writing in this blog because "The Forgotten" which I first started writing here, really took off and I started working on it as a complete novel. I still want to finish that - it's my goal to make significant progress on it this summer - but updating this blog with ideas and blurbs is never ever a bad idea.
I don't have lots of time to write at the exact moment because I need to continue studying for finals, but I was reading some [translated] Urdu poetry for my English class and came upon the following stanza by Ghalib:
"What I have
Isn't a case of love
but madness --
I grant you that.
But then it's true --
Your reputations rests
Upon the fact that was you
who drove me mad."
I don't know why but that struck me. I would love to write a quick scenario based on that verse, or the theoretical letter from one lover to another based on these lines, but that will need to wait at least until I finish reading all the Urdu poetry which I didn't actually read when it was assigned because oops.
It's been AGES! However, my dear fiance's family's interest in my writing has reminded me that I need to do it a little more often.
The main reason I stopped writing in this blog because "The Forgotten" which I first started writing here, really took off and I started working on it as a complete novel. I still want to finish that - it's my goal to make significant progress on it this summer - but updating this blog with ideas and blurbs is never ever a bad idea.
I don't have lots of time to write at the exact moment because I need to continue studying for finals, but I was reading some [translated] Urdu poetry for my English class and came upon the following stanza by Ghalib:
"What I have
Isn't a case of love
but madness --
I grant you that.
But then it's true --
Your reputations rests
Upon the fact that was you
who drove me mad."
I don't know why but that struck me. I would love to write a quick scenario based on that verse, or the theoretical letter from one lover to another based on these lines, but that will need to wait at least until I finish reading all the Urdu poetry which I didn't actually read when it was assigned because oops.
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