from here:
During the story, there is a visit by an unexpected visitor. During the story, a character finds a pleasant surprise
Maggie Maggot was squirming on top of a dead squirrel, taking a nibble here and there, when Corvin Cockroach crawled up to join her.
"Get off 'a my food," said Maggie.
"Mags, I got news for you! Everybody in Insecttown is talking about it. The Zombie Apocalypse has finally happened! Do you know what that means?"
"You're gonna try to steal my squirrel's brains?" Maggie wasn't serious, but she didn't trust Corvin. She edged closer to the squirrel's head.
"We get to eat live meat!" said Corvin excitedly. "Everybody's becoming zombies now. There'll be plenty of food, and it's all live and warm at the same time as decomposing. The best of both worlds! Leave that pathetic squirrel meat--come on, let's party!"
Maggie had always dreamed of eating live meat. It had always been too tough for her to chew, though. The thought of eating a zombie was too tempting. So when Corvin crawled away, beckoning, Maggie oozed off the squirrel and followed him.
It didn't take long for them to find a zombie. There was one stumbling down the road; he seemed to be fairly fresh, as he had all his body parts. Corvin and Maggie crawled onto him, rooting around until they found a spot of broken skin. Then they began to feast.
That was just the beginning. Corvin and Maggie stayed on that zombie until he fell to pieces. They were much bigger by then, nearly twice their former size; they could move faster now, and they quickly found another zombie host. They ate, grew bigger, moved on.
Soon, Corvin and Maggie had grown to the size of kittens. They ate through decomposing zombies with increasing speed. They weren't alone, though; all the other maggots and cockroaches in the world were also getting bigger and eating faster.
Eventually there were no zombies left, just a bunch of really big maggots and cockroaches. There was a great war between the two races, wanting to eat each other, except Corvin and Maggie had fallen in love by then, and they hid out in a hollow tree while the insect war raged on.
They emerged when everyone else was dead. They ate the maggot and cockroach corpses for a good six months, and then there was nothing left to eat. They eyed each other warily. Then Corvin held out a front leg.
"Go ahead, Mags. You can eat me," he said.
"No!" protested Maggie. "I love you, Corvin. You eat me."
"Let's just hold hands and die together, then," said Corvin. Maggie nodded, tears in her eyes.
They went to a cliff. "On the count of three," said Corvin.
They jumped. Maggie felt as if she were flying. "This isn't so bad...I always wanted to be a flying insect," she thought dreamily.
Then they impacted something--but not the ground. They had fallen onto a flying saucer that was checking out the situation on Earth.
A new alien race was coming to populate the planet. Corvin and Maggie, each the size of horses by now, and with teeth big enough to chew through anything, smiled hungrily.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Offering
Lately, I've been going through some internal semi-crises. What I mean by that is that I've been a little depressed. It's a combination of too much isolation, too many stories rejected, a weird fuzziness in my head when I try to write new stories, and some other things. I have Neptune on my Ascendant in this location and it doesn't contribute much to clarity.
Anyhow. I've been reading the Hatha Yoga Pradipika again and trying to reinvigorate my connection to divine inspiration, in a half-assed kind of way. Flexibility of body creates flexibility of spirit, if one holds that premise during the asanas. I've been trying to do a little inverting here and there, too--physical change of perspective can create psychological shifts--and my arms are weaker than they used to be, since I've not been doing any inversions for a couple of years. I recall that in my Kundalini Yoga training we were told that headstands are done more by people in isolation--it's not "householder yoga," for which shoulder stand is the preferred inversion. Well, I'm pretty isolated, so headstands should be all right for me.
I noticed that all the stories I've been writing lately have talking animals in them. I realized that part of the reason is that most of the talking I do here is either to animals or to small children whose conversations are mostly nonsensical. So when I write, they've been talking back to me...
The useful piece I read today talks about how if we treat everything we eat as an offering to the Supreme Being, along with everything we do--it creates the intention that the food be nourishing, and that makes a huge difference in its actual ability to nourish. Food becomes something that reinforces awareness rather than escapism.
The same thing goes for everything else we do during the day. As I sit here typing, if I treat every stroke of the keyboard, everything I write as an offering to my higher self and the god of my heart, I become aware of what I'm doing; I straighten my hunched posture, the energy flows better. I have less tendency towards unhealthy habits.
I tried to eat a pastel today with that same attitude. Ideally, we could eat the worst foods and by making it an offering, they don't harm our bodies. But as I ate it, I realized it was giving me a stomachache. Oh well.
Anyhow. I've been reading the Hatha Yoga Pradipika again and trying to reinvigorate my connection to divine inspiration, in a half-assed kind of way. Flexibility of body creates flexibility of spirit, if one holds that premise during the asanas. I've been trying to do a little inverting here and there, too--physical change of perspective can create psychological shifts--and my arms are weaker than they used to be, since I've not been doing any inversions for a couple of years. I recall that in my Kundalini Yoga training we were told that headstands are done more by people in isolation--it's not "householder yoga," for which shoulder stand is the preferred inversion. Well, I'm pretty isolated, so headstands should be all right for me.
I noticed that all the stories I've been writing lately have talking animals in them. I realized that part of the reason is that most of the talking I do here is either to animals or to small children whose conversations are mostly nonsensical. So when I write, they've been talking back to me...
The useful piece I read today talks about how if we treat everything we eat as an offering to the Supreme Being, along with everything we do--it creates the intention that the food be nourishing, and that makes a huge difference in its actual ability to nourish. Food becomes something that reinforces awareness rather than escapism.
The same thing goes for everything else we do during the day. As I sit here typing, if I treat every stroke of the keyboard, everything I write as an offering to my higher self and the god of my heart, I become aware of what I'm doing; I straighten my hunched posture, the energy flows better. I have less tendency towards unhealthy habits.
I tried to eat a pastel today with that same attitude. Ideally, we could eat the worst foods and by making it an offering, they don't harm our bodies. But as I ate it, I realized it was giving me a stomachache. Oh well.
impromptu
The story is set in a small town. During the story, there is a need to ask directions. The story must have an elephant at the beginning. The story must involve some glue in it.
*****
Someone was knocking at the door.
"I'm coming!" Minnie called.
When she opened the door, she almost fell over in amazement. An elephant stood there.
"Excuse me," said the elephant. "I've been walking for days and I'm afraid I've lost my way. I'm trying to get to the North Pole. Can you please direct me?"
"What would a talking elephant do at the North Pole?"
"One of Santa Claus' reindeer is having a birthday party. I met her last year while he was delivering presents and we quite got along. She invited me specially."
Minnie was already scheming about how to keep the elephant. She would make so much money charging people to come see a talking elephant! Her small town's tourism would skyrocket, thanks to her. She could give elephant rides...maybe set up a psychic elephant advice business...and if all else failed, and the elephant wasn't cooperative, elephant meat was an expensive delicacy.
"You can't get to the North Pole without swimming or flying," she said. "Why don't you come into my backyard and I'll call around, see if I can commission a special boat?"
"Much obliged," said the elephant, and Minnie showed him into the backyard. She gave him a bowl of peanut butter in which she'd mixed some powerful sleeping pills. Soon, the elephant was fast asleep.
Minnie was afraid that the elephant would easily destroy her property when he woke. So she used large amounts of Krazy Glue and glued his feet to the ground and his rump to the side of the house. "Got you," she gloated, and she began to make a sign--"See the Talking Elephant--$10 for 10 minutes."
The elephant was forced into slavery for Minnie. He tried to explain his cause to the people who came to gawk at him, but they just laughed and threw peanuts at him when he spoke. When he refused to speak, Minnie showed him the price list she'd gotten for elephant meat, and unwillingly he cooperated with her moneymaking efforts.
And Minnie did get rich.
But of course such an evil use of an innocent elephant could not continue indefinitely...
***
What happens next?
*****
Someone was knocking at the door.
"I'm coming!" Minnie called.
When she opened the door, she almost fell over in amazement. An elephant stood there.
"Excuse me," said the elephant. "I've been walking for days and I'm afraid I've lost my way. I'm trying to get to the North Pole. Can you please direct me?"
"What would a talking elephant do at the North Pole?"
"One of Santa Claus' reindeer is having a birthday party. I met her last year while he was delivering presents and we quite got along. She invited me specially."
Minnie was already scheming about how to keep the elephant. She would make so much money charging people to come see a talking elephant! Her small town's tourism would skyrocket, thanks to her. She could give elephant rides...maybe set up a psychic elephant advice business...and if all else failed, and the elephant wasn't cooperative, elephant meat was an expensive delicacy.
"You can't get to the North Pole without swimming or flying," she said. "Why don't you come into my backyard and I'll call around, see if I can commission a special boat?"
"Much obliged," said the elephant, and Minnie showed him into the backyard. She gave him a bowl of peanut butter in which she'd mixed some powerful sleeping pills. Soon, the elephant was fast asleep.
Minnie was afraid that the elephant would easily destroy her property when he woke. So she used large amounts of Krazy Glue and glued his feet to the ground and his rump to the side of the house. "Got you," she gloated, and she began to make a sign--"See the Talking Elephant--$10 for 10 minutes."
The elephant was forced into slavery for Minnie. He tried to explain his cause to the people who came to gawk at him, but they just laughed and threw peanuts at him when he spoke. When he refused to speak, Minnie showed him the price list she'd gotten for elephant meat, and unwillingly he cooperated with her moneymaking efforts.
And Minnie did get rich.
But of course such an evil use of an innocent elephant could not continue indefinitely...
***
What happens next?
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Feeling stuck? do another impromptu!
I've been procrastinating all day long, in between hanging out with the little ones. My mind feels like mush. I still want to work a little on the novel, so here's my warmup:
The story must have an ant in it. A character hits something in anger. A character becomes sick during the story. During the story, a character discovers someone has been pretending to be them.
***
Once upon a time there lived a brave ant named Antdy. He was in love with another ant named Antgela. But Antgela was a little bit snooty, and even though she liked Antdy well enough, she wanted him to prove his love to her. "You can perform a task for me, like suitors used to do when they courted princesses," she said. "After all, you look like any other of the ants. What is there to show me you deserve me more than any of the others?"
Antdy wanted to protest that his love for her was far greater than that of any of the other ants. But he loved her too much to argue, and he simply said, "Very well. What do you want me to do?"
"Fetch me a donut hole from the Smith's Sunday pastry basket," Antgela said.
Antdy's heart sank. The Smiths were the humans who lived in the great house under which Antdy's colony lived. In order to get a donut hole, he'd have to travel a long distance over ground and up a kitchen cabinet, withstanding the temptation of ant bait put out to poison them and avoiding being seen by any animal or human. And even if he could successfully reach the pastry basket, how would be be able to lift such a heavy object and bring it to Antgela intact? It was a mission beyond reason. He opened his mouth to tell her so. Then he looked at the graceful, proud line of her neck, the way her antennae curved like the stem of the tenderest flower. Determination filled him.
"I will not disappoint you," he said.
It was only Monday, so Antdy had six days to wait until the Sunday basket came. He prepared by meditating, working out, running long distances and lifting the heaviest stones he could find. In between his frenzy of activity, though, he wept. He simply didn't believe he could achieve the monumental task Antgela had laid upon him.
At dawn on Sunday morning, Antdy was off and running. He left the safe confines of the underground colony and entered the house through a crack in the floor. An enticing smell beckoned him from the right; he ignored it and instead focused on the pastry basket up on the kitchen table. Several children were there, grabbing croissants and Danishes out of it. Antdy jumped in between two floorboards right as one of the children came pounding across the kitchen.
"Whew! That was close," Antdy panted.
He got to the table leg and began the arduous climb. One leg after the other, all six were trembling by the time he got to the top. He waited there, just under the rim of the table, for a moment when the family would leave the room. He prayed that it would happen before everything in the basket was taken. Maybe there would be no donut holes left by the time he got there! Would Antgela accept something else? a chocolate croissant, a heart-shaped sugar cookie? He thought of her scornful, beautiful face. No, it was a donut hole or nothing.
The remaining children went outside then, laughing, screaming, pushing. Antdy looked around--the coast was clear. He clambered over the edge of the table and made it to the basket.
There was one lone donut hole sitting at the bottom of the basket. Powdered sugar was dusted all over its golden brown surface. How was Antdy going to get it out and across the floor? Approaching the donut, he tried to move it. It was too heavy. He hit it in frustrated anger--it would not move. Finally he sank down, sobbing, defeated.
He only opened his eyes when he sensed someone watching him. It was a beautiful ant fairy, with glowing wings of iridescent blue-green and a wand that looked like a blade of grass. "Why are you sad?" she asked as she hovered there.
Antdy told her his story.
"Such courage as yours only deserves to be rewarded, Antdy," said the fairy. She waved her wand. The donut hole rose in the air and flew out an open window. "Your ladylove will get her donut hole."
"Thank you, oh thank you!" Antdy said, wringing his two front legs together.
"You more than deserve her...just make sure she deserves you too," said the fairy, and she flew away.
Antdy couldn't wait to get back. He rushed down the table leg, across the floor, and through the crack to get back to the colony.
Antgela was there, eating her donut hole. Her pretty face was covered with powdered sugar--and another ant was sitting next to her, licking it off!
"What's going on?" Antdy cried, bewildered. "I got you your donut hole...I accomplished your task, proved my love..."
Antgela rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Antdy. It was Grant here who got the donut hole for me. I was sitting here waiting all morning long, and just when I was going to give up on you, Grant here came rolling the donut along."
Antdy felt sick. He looked at the pair in front of him and suddenly could see how faithless and fickle Antgela was. She and Grant deserved each other. He was just thankful he discovered it before he actually got involved with her!
"I'm happy you discovered that," a voice said behind him. He turned. It was the ant fairy. She had doffed her wings and held out a slender front leg. Antdy took it, feeling his heart opening once again as they walked off together, basking in the sweetness of life and love.
The story must have an ant in it. A character hits something in anger. A character becomes sick during the story. During the story, a character discovers someone has been pretending to be them.
***
Once upon a time there lived a brave ant named Antdy. He was in love with another ant named Antgela. But Antgela was a little bit snooty, and even though she liked Antdy well enough, she wanted him to prove his love to her. "You can perform a task for me, like suitors used to do when they courted princesses," she said. "After all, you look like any other of the ants. What is there to show me you deserve me more than any of the others?"
Antdy wanted to protest that his love for her was far greater than that of any of the other ants. But he loved her too much to argue, and he simply said, "Very well. What do you want me to do?"
"Fetch me a donut hole from the Smith's Sunday pastry basket," Antgela said.
Antdy's heart sank. The Smiths were the humans who lived in the great house under which Antdy's colony lived. In order to get a donut hole, he'd have to travel a long distance over ground and up a kitchen cabinet, withstanding the temptation of ant bait put out to poison them and avoiding being seen by any animal or human. And even if he could successfully reach the pastry basket, how would be be able to lift such a heavy object and bring it to Antgela intact? It was a mission beyond reason. He opened his mouth to tell her so. Then he looked at the graceful, proud line of her neck, the way her antennae curved like the stem of the tenderest flower. Determination filled him.
"I will not disappoint you," he said.
It was only Monday, so Antdy had six days to wait until the Sunday basket came. He prepared by meditating, working out, running long distances and lifting the heaviest stones he could find. In between his frenzy of activity, though, he wept. He simply didn't believe he could achieve the monumental task Antgela had laid upon him.
At dawn on Sunday morning, Antdy was off and running. He left the safe confines of the underground colony and entered the house through a crack in the floor. An enticing smell beckoned him from the right; he ignored it and instead focused on the pastry basket up on the kitchen table. Several children were there, grabbing croissants and Danishes out of it. Antdy jumped in between two floorboards right as one of the children came pounding across the kitchen.
"Whew! That was close," Antdy panted.
He got to the table leg and began the arduous climb. One leg after the other, all six were trembling by the time he got to the top. He waited there, just under the rim of the table, for a moment when the family would leave the room. He prayed that it would happen before everything in the basket was taken. Maybe there would be no donut holes left by the time he got there! Would Antgela accept something else? a chocolate croissant, a heart-shaped sugar cookie? He thought of her scornful, beautiful face. No, it was a donut hole or nothing.
The remaining children went outside then, laughing, screaming, pushing. Antdy looked around--the coast was clear. He clambered over the edge of the table and made it to the basket.
There was one lone donut hole sitting at the bottom of the basket. Powdered sugar was dusted all over its golden brown surface. How was Antdy going to get it out and across the floor? Approaching the donut, he tried to move it. It was too heavy. He hit it in frustrated anger--it would not move. Finally he sank down, sobbing, defeated.
He only opened his eyes when he sensed someone watching him. It was a beautiful ant fairy, with glowing wings of iridescent blue-green and a wand that looked like a blade of grass. "Why are you sad?" she asked as she hovered there.
Antdy told her his story.
"Such courage as yours only deserves to be rewarded, Antdy," said the fairy. She waved her wand. The donut hole rose in the air and flew out an open window. "Your ladylove will get her donut hole."
"Thank you, oh thank you!" Antdy said, wringing his two front legs together.
"You more than deserve her...just make sure she deserves you too," said the fairy, and she flew away.
Antdy couldn't wait to get back. He rushed down the table leg, across the floor, and through the crack to get back to the colony.
Antgela was there, eating her donut hole. Her pretty face was covered with powdered sugar--and another ant was sitting next to her, licking it off!
"What's going on?" Antdy cried, bewildered. "I got you your donut hole...I accomplished your task, proved my love..."
Antgela rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Antdy. It was Grant here who got the donut hole for me. I was sitting here waiting all morning long, and just when I was going to give up on you, Grant here came rolling the donut along."
Antdy felt sick. He looked at the pair in front of him and suddenly could see how faithless and fickle Antgela was. She and Grant deserved each other. He was just thankful he discovered it before he actually got involved with her!
"I'm happy you discovered that," a voice said behind him. He turned. It was the ant fairy. She had doffed her wings and held out a slender front leg. Antdy took it, feeling his heart opening once again as they walked off together, basking in the sweetness of life and love.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Getting back on track
So I finally got my Internet back yesterday, and I've been happy, but also completely overwhelmed with all I didn't do in the past week. I'm behind on critiques, writing flash pieces, and I didn't do the blog hop on July 15th that I said I was going to. It was to do a flash fiction piece of 250 words on the prompt "independence day." I tried to write it after the deadline, but it's not the same thing when one's not in the group energy. Maybe just my excuse. Anyhow...onwards!
I found myself wishing, during the week, that I didn't have Internet about 2/3 of the time. It's beneficial to take away the #1 distraction and means of procrastination that exists for me. Although I ideally would like to be able to have enough internal discipline to withstand temptation without difficulty, I haven't got the self-discipline to not bite the carrot dangled in front of me. As it was, I longed for my Internet connection, but I wrote instead much of the time, and did so in longer stretched than I'm used to. It was helpful, and it was good.
It's strange for me having a blog that's supposed to further my writing career, or at least create its energy, its intentions...the blogs I've had before have been so highly personal. When I share too much, though, it creates too much of a mirror for me--the fact that an audience exists for these words refracts it endlessly until it's a twisted funhouse, and the reverberations are like dozens of split personalities, each with a different voice that condemns me for a different reason. It's why I prefer, ultimately, writing fiction, because it sublimates my pain and expresses it in a way that I can find beautiful, that I can bear to have read by an audience of spirits. If I just said straight how I feel, for you to read, I would sit in judgment, and the energy would not move.
I don't get to read new books very often while I'm here. I started rereading the Bihar School's Hatha Yoga Pradipika, one of the best books on the philosophy and practice of yoga that I've seen. It talks much of balance. Instead of trying to control the mental energy with more mental energy, one simply should focus on balancing the personality, and then the life-force energy and mental energy will naturally be regulated. The problem with sitting in front of a computer all day long, running mental energy, and trying to discipline oneself to focus that mental energy in a certain way, is that the imbalance feeds itself--life-force energy gets short shrift and one starts having worse posture, snacking on carbs, and getting pear-shaped.
The answer is to get up after I do this blog entry, do a little yoga, and then get back to my novel.
I found myself wishing, during the week, that I didn't have Internet about 2/3 of the time. It's beneficial to take away the #1 distraction and means of procrastination that exists for me. Although I ideally would like to be able to have enough internal discipline to withstand temptation without difficulty, I haven't got the self-discipline to not bite the carrot dangled in front of me. As it was, I longed for my Internet connection, but I wrote instead much of the time, and did so in longer stretched than I'm used to. It was helpful, and it was good.
It's strange for me having a blog that's supposed to further my writing career, or at least create its energy, its intentions...the blogs I've had before have been so highly personal. When I share too much, though, it creates too much of a mirror for me--the fact that an audience exists for these words refracts it endlessly until it's a twisted funhouse, and the reverberations are like dozens of split personalities, each with a different voice that condemns me for a different reason. It's why I prefer, ultimately, writing fiction, because it sublimates my pain and expresses it in a way that I can find beautiful, that I can bear to have read by an audience of spirits. If I just said straight how I feel, for you to read, I would sit in judgment, and the energy would not move.
I don't get to read new books very often while I'm here. I started rereading the Bihar School's Hatha Yoga Pradipika, one of the best books on the philosophy and practice of yoga that I've seen. It talks much of balance. Instead of trying to control the mental energy with more mental energy, one simply should focus on balancing the personality, and then the life-force energy and mental energy will naturally be regulated. The problem with sitting in front of a computer all day long, running mental energy, and trying to discipline oneself to focus that mental energy in a certain way, is that the imbalance feeds itself--life-force energy gets short shrift and one starts having worse posture, snacking on carbs, and getting pear-shaped.
The answer is to get up after I do this blog entry, do a little yoga, and then get back to my novel.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Monopolies are bad!!!!!!
For the second time this year, a truck plowed through some phone cables in the city, leaving us without Internet and phone for three days and counting. Because the phone company has a monopoly, they don't care about fixing things in a timely manner--if we don't like it, tooooooo bad!!!
So I missed out on both the Independence Day blogfest and on a bunch of book giveaways over the weekend. I thought I'd be able to win at least a couple, and thus try out some new authors...
Anyhow, I'm at an Internet cafe with a bunch of teenagers playing video games. Got the kids and husband waiting in the car for me. Updates to come soon...
So I missed out on both the Independence Day blogfest and on a bunch of book giveaways over the weekend. I thought I'd be able to win at least a couple, and thus try out some new authors...
Anyhow, I'm at an Internet cafe with a bunch of teenagers playing video games. Got the kids and husband waiting in the car for me. Updates to come soon...
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Impromptu Thursday
Topic: During the story, a mysterious package arrives.
***
Fairy glasses
"I'm coming!" George yelled in reply to the incessant knocking at his door.
When he opened it, no one was there. A small package wrapped in iridescent foil lay on the welcome mat; it was addressed to him.
George had a naturally suspicious nature, since he was obsessed with "disaster porn" and knew all about the possibilities of anthrax in the mail, or boxes with toys in them that turned out to be bombs. Still, who can resist a package? So he opened it.
Inside was a pair of glasses with lens that gleamed with the same rainbow-y iridescence as the package's wrapping.
He put them on. Suddenly he saw a small grinning man--about the height of his knee--standing in front of him. When the man saw George staring at him, he giggled and ran.
"Hey, you--wait!" But the little man was already gone.
Suddenly he was seeing little people everywhere. Tiny fairies with wings, leprechauns strutting about rubbing blond beards, squat troll-like brownies eating his leftovers. They were all over his house!
George couldn't stand the idea that he'd been sharing his living space with all these vagrants. He got his broom and his vacuum and began to chase all the fairies out, beating them, vacuuming them up and throwing them into the garbage, and spraying Raid on the especially stubborn ones. Soon his house was all clear, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
***
My time is up. The story doesn't have an ending as I can't think of one. There is a fairy tale about an ointment that a woman rubs on a changeling baby's eyes in order to make it see fairies, and she rubs her own eye and is opened up to an entire world of fairies existing concurrently with her own. In the end she accidentally gives it away that she can see them, and a fairy puts out the eye on which she had the ointment--so she becomes blind to them and physically blind in that eye.
I don't like that ending, but I don't like George as a character either. I'm thinking more that someone was testing him with the glasses and he fails, or that somehow the fairies living there protected him from some nasty fate that will now befall him. And I don't particularly like that ending either because I am a sucker for happy endings.
***
Fairy glasses
"I'm coming!" George yelled in reply to the incessant knocking at his door.
When he opened it, no one was there. A small package wrapped in iridescent foil lay on the welcome mat; it was addressed to him.
George had a naturally suspicious nature, since he was obsessed with "disaster porn" and knew all about the possibilities of anthrax in the mail, or boxes with toys in them that turned out to be bombs. Still, who can resist a package? So he opened it.
Inside was a pair of glasses with lens that gleamed with the same rainbow-y iridescence as the package's wrapping.
He put them on. Suddenly he saw a small grinning man--about the height of his knee--standing in front of him. When the man saw George staring at him, he giggled and ran.
"Hey, you--wait!" But the little man was already gone.
Suddenly he was seeing little people everywhere. Tiny fairies with wings, leprechauns strutting about rubbing blond beards, squat troll-like brownies eating his leftovers. They were all over his house!
George couldn't stand the idea that he'd been sharing his living space with all these vagrants. He got his broom and his vacuum and began to chase all the fairies out, beating them, vacuuming them up and throwing them into the garbage, and spraying Raid on the especially stubborn ones. Soon his house was all clear, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
***
My time is up. The story doesn't have an ending as I can't think of one. There is a fairy tale about an ointment that a woman rubs on a changeling baby's eyes in order to make it see fairies, and she rubs her own eye and is opened up to an entire world of fairies existing concurrently with her own. In the end she accidentally gives it away that she can see them, and a fairy puts out the eye on which she had the ointment--so she becomes blind to them and physically blind in that eye.
I don't like that ending, but I don't like George as a character either. I'm thinking more that someone was testing him with the glasses and he fails, or that somehow the fairies living there protected him from some nasty fate that will now befall him. And I don't particularly like that ending either because I am a sucker for happy endings.
New story up!
A new story just went live on Eschatology Journal. It's called "The Unsinkable Love Boat" and is a post-apocalyptic love story, flash fiction style!
Monday, July 11, 2011
Goals update
Today is Monday, so I want to report on how I'm doing with my goals.
I restarted my month of having a daily word quota on July 8. So far, so good. 1667 words is actually not hard to complete, but when I hit dead ends in my story, the resistance can be so overwhelming I can't even write a sentence let alone 1667.
I did a few months of Jerry Cleaver's "The Complete Story" online writing course. I didn't benefit much from my contact with Jerry Cleaver during the course, and this is why: He is not the type of writing coach who actually reads and critiques your story--his method is to try to make you as independent as possible by giving you 10 assignments you complete at your own pace. He reads the assignments and gives minimal feedback and a few pointers of things to read in his manual or book. This feedback didn't help me. That said, his book, Immediate Fiction, and the manual he provides to accompany his course, have some excellent pointers. He talks about writing just a sentence when you're feeling the resistance, and that has helped me. Other tips in his book have been good for me in helping establish a daily writing practice.
I haven't written a flash fiction piece this week yet, but I have another couple days before a week will have passed, I think.
Theo is crying and grabbing my leg, so that's it for my update!
I restarted my month of having a daily word quota on July 8. So far, so good. 1667 words is actually not hard to complete, but when I hit dead ends in my story, the resistance can be so overwhelming I can't even write a sentence let alone 1667.
I did a few months of Jerry Cleaver's "The Complete Story" online writing course. I didn't benefit much from my contact with Jerry Cleaver during the course, and this is why: He is not the type of writing coach who actually reads and critiques your story--his method is to try to make you as independent as possible by giving you 10 assignments you complete at your own pace. He reads the assignments and gives minimal feedback and a few pointers of things to read in his manual or book. This feedback didn't help me. That said, his book, Immediate Fiction, and the manual he provides to accompany his course, have some excellent pointers. He talks about writing just a sentence when you're feeling the resistance, and that has helped me. Other tips in his book have been good for me in helping establish a daily writing practice.
I haven't written a flash fiction piece this week yet, but I have another couple days before a week will have passed, I think.
Theo is crying and grabbing my leg, so that's it for my update!
Friday, July 8, 2011
Impromptu redux
Today I'm back on track with another word count month. I notice that since I haven't been reinforcing the brain-synapses for prolific fiction-writing, they are tending to flow towards wasteful activity instead. To get everything going in the right direction again, I shall now perform another 8-minute impromptu story.
Topic: A character will send a letter. A character is attracted to someone throughout most of the story.
*****
Christmas wish
Dear Santa Claus,
I've been a very good girl this year so I wanted to make sure you knew what I want for Christmas this year. It's something that comes in quite a big package, but I know you have it in stock. What I want is YOU!!!! I've had a giant crush on you since I first saw photos of you in your sleigh, flying above the world delivering presents to all the little girls and boys in the world. I have never seen anything so manly and I just shiver imagining you shouting "Ho ho ho!" after you've slid down my chimney, eaten my milk and cookies and then had your way with me on the rug in front of the Christmas tree. Hearing you call me a "ho" will make me want to do all the dirty things I know you do with your reindeer late at night when you get back from a long night's journey and need to relieve your stress.
I know you are married, but since it's been several centuries of marriage I'm sure Mrs. Claus no longer expects complete faithfulness from you. Even if she does, that's totally unrealistic, especially since you are #1 on my list of what I want and it would be selfish to deny me. If you don't give me what I want in my home, I'm going to climb up to your North Pole anyhow and warm you up. Don't take it as a threat--take it as a promise.
My house is the one with the panties on the weathervane.
I love you Santa!
xoxoxoxoxo
*****
I didn't really like that topic. Lemme try another one:The story must have a werewolf in it. The story must involve a book in the beginning. A character becomes optomistic during the story. During the story, a character is slandered.
*****
"The werewolf will take its wolf shape during the full moon," Balufolus read. "However, on other planets it may take other shapes. This author does not know."
Balufolus had been suffering for seven years already from the bite of a werewolf. Every month he became a wolf during the full moon and he never knew if he was going to kill someone. There were a lot of bounty hunters and magicians and the like who were after him, and he was tired of running.
So when the Space Shuttle WilliamandKate went into space for its mission to Mars, Balufolus was a stowaway aboard. He felt really sick most of the voyage since he hadn't done all the astronaut preparation, but he made it to Mars all right.
It turned out, fortunately, that there was a huge cover-up about life on Mars, and there was plenty of oxygen to breathe. So Balufolus' optimism was justified and he ran out happily, picking flowers and greeting the strange five-legged animals who stared at him with three eyes and beeped with their antennae.
"Hey! You shouldn't be here!" shouted one of the shuttle members, spotting him. The man took out his NASA ray-gun and began to chase Balufolus.
Just then, the moon became full on Mars and Balufolus felt his clothes bursting. He turned into a giant cow. He wasn't fast like he was as a wolf, and the laser beam from the gun caught him full in the face. His body flew through the air so high that it looked like it was jumping over the moon. The image was caught on telescope camera and broadcast all over the world. While Balufolus' body flew, it also released a gas that turned the moon into green cheese.
Even though Balufolus came to an unhappy end, he had a lasting impact on both literature (nursery rhymes) and science, and his spirit smiled down from the heavens, content with his accomplishments.
The End
*****
That one I cheated and took two extra minutes, because I wanted to change the ending.
Topic: A character will send a letter. A character is attracted to someone throughout most of the story.
*****
Christmas wish
Dear Santa Claus,
I've been a very good girl this year so I wanted to make sure you knew what I want for Christmas this year. It's something that comes in quite a big package, but I know you have it in stock. What I want is YOU!!!! I've had a giant crush on you since I first saw photos of you in your sleigh, flying above the world delivering presents to all the little girls and boys in the world. I have never seen anything so manly and I just shiver imagining you shouting "Ho ho ho!" after you've slid down my chimney, eaten my milk and cookies and then had your way with me on the rug in front of the Christmas tree. Hearing you call me a "ho" will make me want to do all the dirty things I know you do with your reindeer late at night when you get back from a long night's journey and need to relieve your stress.
I know you are married, but since it's been several centuries of marriage I'm sure Mrs. Claus no longer expects complete faithfulness from you. Even if she does, that's totally unrealistic, especially since you are #1 on my list of what I want and it would be selfish to deny me. If you don't give me what I want in my home, I'm going to climb up to your North Pole anyhow and warm you up. Don't take it as a threat--take it as a promise.
My house is the one with the panties on the weathervane.
I love you Santa!
xoxoxoxoxo
*****
I didn't really like that topic. Lemme try another one:The story must have a werewolf in it. The story must involve a book in the beginning. A character becomes optomistic during the story. During the story, a character is slandered.
*****
"The werewolf will take its wolf shape during the full moon," Balufolus read. "However, on other planets it may take other shapes. This author does not know."
Balufolus had been suffering for seven years already from the bite of a werewolf. Every month he became a wolf during the full moon and he never knew if he was going to kill someone. There were a lot of bounty hunters and magicians and the like who were after him, and he was tired of running.
So when the Space Shuttle WilliamandKate went into space for its mission to Mars, Balufolus was a stowaway aboard. He felt really sick most of the voyage since he hadn't done all the astronaut preparation, but he made it to Mars all right.
It turned out, fortunately, that there was a huge cover-up about life on Mars, and there was plenty of oxygen to breathe. So Balufolus' optimism was justified and he ran out happily, picking flowers and greeting the strange five-legged animals who stared at him with three eyes and beeped with their antennae.
"Hey! You shouldn't be here!" shouted one of the shuttle members, spotting him. The man took out his NASA ray-gun and began to chase Balufolus.
Just then, the moon became full on Mars and Balufolus felt his clothes bursting. He turned into a giant cow. He wasn't fast like he was as a wolf, and the laser beam from the gun caught him full in the face. His body flew through the air so high that it looked like it was jumping over the moon. The image was caught on telescope camera and broadcast all over the world. While Balufolus' body flew, it also released a gas that turned the moon into green cheese.
Even though Balufolus came to an unhappy end, he had a lasting impact on both literature (nursery rhymes) and science, and his spirit smiled down from the heavens, content with his accomplishments.
The End
*****
That one I cheated and took two extra minutes, because I wanted to change the ending.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Impromptu time
When I was in high school, I was heavily involved in Speech and Debate. My speech specialty was called Extemporaneous, in which we drew three choices of possible news topics and then were given a half hour to prepare a speech. I preferred doing these speeches to the Impromptu, which were more broad topics in which we were given three minutes to prepare a five-minute speech.
So in honor of those fond memories (NOT!) I am going to do an impromptu story for you, my very few first readers. Yes, I'm talking to YOU, random person who's happened along my blog! I dedicate my following effort to you.
I'll get my topic for the day from Seventh Sanctum's "Random Challenge" generator. Seventh Sanctum is the best and most creative writing idea generator that I've found thus far.
I'll give myself eight minutes in all.
Here is the topic: The story takes place a thousand years into the future. During the story, an important item or piece of equipment fails. A character is sad throughout most of the story. During the story, a character has an accident at home.
Tears of Stone
When Niobe woke from her 2000-year nap, she was still crying. She'd been crying when that confounded god had killed her children and then that other god had turned her into a fountain. What were their names? It was so long ago, she didn't remember. If she weren't crying so hard out of habit, she would have had the last laugh, because all the Greek gods were long dead. Only she, trapped in stone, had survived.
But what was it she had survived to experience? For not only were the Greek gods all dead, but it looked like most of the world had also passed on. All signs of civilization were in ruins, and most was grown over almost completely in various hues and textures of green.
"Halloooooooo?" she yelled.
"Oo-oo-oo--oo!" said something in return. It was one of the moss-covered rocks. When it started hopping towards Niobe, she shrieked and kicked it. It fell over, cracked into a dozen pieces that then lay still.
Niobe shrieked as another twenty rocks became animated and ran towards her, all saying "oo-oo-oo!" She tripped over one of them and fell, and the rocks transformed her into one of them.
But this is actually a happy ending for our sad Niobe, because she was used to being a rock anyhow, and now she had company. She found actually that two of the rocks with her were reincarnations of her dead children. With them, she lived happily ever after.
*****
OK, impromptu story session is over. Ha...I didn't say it was going to be a GOOD story.
So in honor of those fond memories (NOT!) I am going to do an impromptu story for you, my very few first readers. Yes, I'm talking to YOU, random person who's happened along my blog! I dedicate my following effort to you.
I'll get my topic for the day from Seventh Sanctum's "Random Challenge" generator. Seventh Sanctum is the best and most creative writing idea generator that I've found thus far.
I'll give myself eight minutes in all.
Here is the topic: The story takes place a thousand years into the future. During the story, an important item or piece of equipment fails. A character is sad throughout most of the story. During the story, a character has an accident at home.
Tears of Stone
When Niobe woke from her 2000-year nap, she was still crying. She'd been crying when that confounded god had killed her children and then that other god had turned her into a fountain. What were their names? It was so long ago, she didn't remember. If she weren't crying so hard out of habit, she would have had the last laugh, because all the Greek gods were long dead. Only she, trapped in stone, had survived.
But what was it she had survived to experience? For not only were the Greek gods all dead, but it looked like most of the world had also passed on. All signs of civilization were in ruins, and most was grown over almost completely in various hues and textures of green.
"Halloooooooo?" she yelled.
"Oo-oo-oo--oo!" said something in return. It was one of the moss-covered rocks. When it started hopping towards Niobe, she shrieked and kicked it. It fell over, cracked into a dozen pieces that then lay still.
Niobe shrieked as another twenty rocks became animated and ran towards her, all saying "oo-oo-oo!" She tripped over one of them and fell, and the rocks transformed her into one of them.
But this is actually a happy ending for our sad Niobe, because she was used to being a rock anyhow, and now she had company. She found actually that two of the rocks with her were reincarnations of her dead children. With them, she lived happily ever after.
*****
OK, impromptu story session is over. Ha...I didn't say it was going to be a GOOD story.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
My psychological self-assessment of my aches and pains
Today I spent most of the day in Sao Jose dos Campos, picking up my permanent residency card and then doing various chores that we do whenever we leave town.
Since I pulled a muscle in my neck yesterday and today developed a large headache on the left side of my head, I haven't done any work yet on either my novel or flash fiction. I haven't read anything new in months either. I thought I'd take the opportunity to write about my pain, since these areas are psychologically very important to writers--I bet a lot of them get headaches! And until my headache eases, I'm not going to work.
The head is what we show the world, the “face” we display. Because it’s the control center, and the area onto which the most attention is placed both internally and externally, oftentimes the body will first register stress and energetic imbalances here—through headaches, vision or hearing problems, or skin problems such as acne.
Headaches represent invalidation of the self, self-criticism, and fear. They are a frontline indicator that a person is not taking care of herself, not listening to her inner guidance system, and not doing what she really wants and needs to be doing.
Migraines are recurrent headaches brought on by hormonal changes that cause the blood vessels in the head to dilate. What they represent are a dislike of being driven, a resistance to the flow of life or to change, and feeling pressure from others’ or one’s own expectations. Often suppressed anger and a feeling of being a victim to pressure exist. Migraines can also represent sexual fears or stress.
According to Edgar Cayce, migraines can be caused by problems of the digestive system, such as pressures in the colon and adhesions in the intestines. In TCM terms (Traditional Chinese Medicine), these kinds of headaches can indicate a disruption in the flow of the stomach meridian, which has to do with a person’s ability to process their daily routine and their ability to change. In the etheric body, it is the third chakra that is affected and needs balancing.
Anthroposophical medicine states that the body is tripartite--with a cephalic pole at the head and a motor-digestive pole at the lower-abdominal area, moderated by a rhythmic system which moderates between the two with blood and breath. Headaches can actually be caused by too much energy required at the digestive pole, putting the tripartite system into imbalance as there is too little energy to do what's needed at the cephalic end. This is really simplistically and possibly inaccurately stated--anthroposophical medicine is fascinating but very complicated. That said, I often find that working on digestive stuff eases head pressure for me. What I can say with certainty is that it's all interconnected.
Remedies:
Sometimes adequate rest, nutrition, hydration, and exercise are enough to dispel a headache. The deficiency of any of these can be very stressful to the body. A small amount of caffeine, preferably as green or white tea, can also sometimes temporarily alleviate headaches.
Sexual release, such as through masturbation, can dissolve head tension and stress-created blockages and re-distribute energy.
Nutrition: Cayce recommends increasing the diet of fresh vegetables and eliminating fried food, as well as using colonic irrigations and castor oil packs.
Imagery: Close your eyes and imagine that you are gently bathing your head in blue-green. Move into the place of the ache, inhaling blue-green deeply, gently, and slowly into that place. Exhale and imagine that the ache is releasing, dissipating; feel the borders of your skull disappear and open.
Crystals and hands-on-healings can be used here as well. Green and blue stones, such as green aventurine, emerald, aquamarine, turquoise, sodalite, chrysocolla, lapis lazuli, and sapphire are recommended. They can be held in the left hand to draw in the energy while the right hand rests gently on the place of the headache. You can also use the energy of the crystal to incise the headache like a cyst. Amethyst, jet, topaz, and rose quartz are also helpful stones for headache.
Acupressure: for all headaches:
- Large Intestine 4: Press into the webbing between the thumb and index finger, in the hollow against the second metacarpal of the index finger.
- Small Intestine 1: Press the outside corner of the base of the little fingernail.
- Bladder points on the head: B1, directly inside and below the eyebrow; B2, to either side of the top of the head; B10, just below the base of the occipital ridge, to either side of the midline
- for a temporal headache: Triple Warmer 16, posterior and inferior to the mastoid process (bump in front of ear)
- for a frontal headache: Gall Bladder 14, on the forehead, about one centimeter above the middle of the eyebrow.
Isn't that nice? I've got a green Andara crystal that I'm holding in my lap to try to detoxify my head pain.
The neck and shoulders have similar psychological meanings to their physical functions. Shoulder pains represent emotional burdens, and necks show the amount of flexibility (or lack thereof) that we have in our thinking and viewpoint. Stiff necks show rigid, stubborn thinking, an inability to see other viewpoints.
Since I pulled a muscle in my neck yesterday and today developed a large headache on the left side of my head, I haven't done any work yet on either my novel or flash fiction. I haven't read anything new in months either. I thought I'd take the opportunity to write about my pain, since these areas are psychologically very important to writers--I bet a lot of them get headaches! And until my headache eases, I'm not going to work.
The head is what we show the world, the “face” we display. Because it’s the control center, and the area onto which the most attention is placed both internally and externally, oftentimes the body will first register stress and energetic imbalances here—through headaches, vision or hearing problems, or skin problems such as acne.
Headaches represent invalidation of the self, self-criticism, and fear. They are a frontline indicator that a person is not taking care of herself, not listening to her inner guidance system, and not doing what she really wants and needs to be doing.
Migraines are recurrent headaches brought on by hormonal changes that cause the blood vessels in the head to dilate. What they represent are a dislike of being driven, a resistance to the flow of life or to change, and feeling pressure from others’ or one’s own expectations. Often suppressed anger and a feeling of being a victim to pressure exist. Migraines can also represent sexual fears or stress.
According to Edgar Cayce, migraines can be caused by problems of the digestive system, such as pressures in the colon and adhesions in the intestines. In TCM terms (Traditional Chinese Medicine), these kinds of headaches can indicate a disruption in the flow of the stomach meridian, which has to do with a person’s ability to process their daily routine and their ability to change. In the etheric body, it is the third chakra that is affected and needs balancing.
Anthroposophical medicine states that the body is tripartite--with a cephalic pole at the head and a motor-digestive pole at the lower-abdominal area, moderated by a rhythmic system which moderates between the two with blood and breath. Headaches can actually be caused by too much energy required at the digestive pole, putting the tripartite system into imbalance as there is too little energy to do what's needed at the cephalic end. This is really simplistically and possibly inaccurately stated--anthroposophical medicine is fascinating but very complicated. That said, I often find that working on digestive stuff eases head pressure for me. What I can say with certainty is that it's all interconnected.
Remedies:
Sometimes adequate rest, nutrition, hydration, and exercise are enough to dispel a headache. The deficiency of any of these can be very stressful to the body. A small amount of caffeine, preferably as green or white tea, can also sometimes temporarily alleviate headaches.
Sexual release, such as through masturbation, can dissolve head tension and stress-created blockages and re-distribute energy.
Nutrition: Cayce recommends increasing the diet of fresh vegetables and eliminating fried food, as well as using colonic irrigations and castor oil packs.
Imagery: Close your eyes and imagine that you are gently bathing your head in blue-green. Move into the place of the ache, inhaling blue-green deeply, gently, and slowly into that place. Exhale and imagine that the ache is releasing, dissipating; feel the borders of your skull disappear and open.
Crystals and hands-on-healings can be used here as well. Green and blue stones, such as green aventurine, emerald, aquamarine, turquoise, sodalite, chrysocolla, lapis lazuli, and sapphire are recommended. They can be held in the left hand to draw in the energy while the right hand rests gently on the place of the headache. You can also use the energy of the crystal to incise the headache like a cyst. Amethyst, jet, topaz, and rose quartz are also helpful stones for headache.
Acupressure: for all headaches:
- Large Intestine 4: Press into the webbing between the thumb and index finger, in the hollow against the second metacarpal of the index finger.
- Small Intestine 1: Press the outside corner of the base of the little fingernail.
- Bladder points on the head: B1, directly inside and below the eyebrow; B2, to either side of the top of the head; B10, just below the base of the occipital ridge, to either side of the midline
- for a temporal headache: Triple Warmer 16, posterior and inferior to the mastoid process (bump in front of ear)
- for a frontal headache: Gall Bladder 14, on the forehead, about one centimeter above the middle of the eyebrow.
Isn't that nice? I've got a green Andara crystal that I'm holding in my lap to try to detoxify my head pain.
The neck and shoulders have similar psychological meanings to their physical functions. Shoulder pains represent emotional burdens, and necks show the amount of flexibility (or lack thereof) that we have in our thinking and viewpoint. Stiff necks show rigid, stubborn thinking, an inability to see other viewpoints.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
The value of taking breaks
I'm on the 5th day of my week-long break from writing according to a daily quota. Generally I'm finding it kind of depressing as I fill my extra minutes with "filler"--escapist stuff that I'll sometimes turn to when I'm procrastinating. Killer Sudoku...Minesweeper...reading sensationalist news.
I'm happy Casey Anthony was acquitted, by the way. No matter what the media witch hunt sparked emotionally, the evidence was far too circumstantial to convict. I thought it was amazing how, because she's beautiful and her child was beautiful and there were so many lies and so much mystery in this case, she became a mirror for the world to project their denied selves onto.
Possibly a waste of time like all the other things. But there is some concrete value in my break despite its lack of productivity:
- It makes me see how good it is to meet daily writing goals.
- It's nice to have days where I'm not pressuring myself to do anything, so a part of me gets to relax.
- I can catch up on brainstorming and plotting.
- I start finding more creative ways to waste time as the other stuff gets old. I just did a Tarot reading (Celtic Cross) for myself on my novel-in-progress, and it's very nice:
Card representing the current situation: 10 of wands, the "Lord of Oppression" card. Blocked or thwarted will. Frustration, losing faith, wanting something that seems unattainable.
Challenges: 3 of cups--there aren't many challenges; this is a card of fertility and bounty.
Foundation of the situation: 6 of wands: card of striving, of fight with eventual victory. I've been struggling a long time, but the energy is positive.
Passing influence: Princess of Swords: keen observation, likelier to represent my being somewhat irritable and angry lately. Nice to know it's passing.
The "destiny"--where I'm headed if I change nothing: 9 of cups: the "Lord of Happiness," inner fulfillment and bliss. :)
Coming influence: Ace of Swords: turning point into clarity and wisdom.
My attitude: Prince of Cups: intense volatility hidden underneath an impassive veneer.
Environment: World: card of completion, showing I've reached the end of some stage and am enjoying the fruits.
Hopes and fears: Judgment: self-explanatory!
Final outcome: 2 of wands: "Lord of Dominion"--everything goes according to plan, unfolds in harmony, positivity, and order.
One of the problems with psychic predictions is they tend to take us out of present time--we bask in the energy of what may be as if it's already happened, so it seems much more effort when we look to take the steps needed to get there. At the same time, it's good to make the goal and to know what we want to feel when we get there. Manifesting goals is similar to the process of writing.
This is how my friend Valentine puts it, which I really like:
"Writing as a process mimics patterns of self-conscious awareness... closer than other artforms, which can't be fully articulated in words. the focus of conscious thought moves between very closely focused observations of minutiae and broadly framed generalizations--like a camera shifting between wide angle and deep focus.
"Some stories are made with cameras that have a fixed focal length, told from one measurable distance without variation. others zoom in and out, micro and macro. some linger in the same shot long enough to notice an odd sock on the floor near the edge of the frame. others flit between juxtapositions."
We zoom to big picture and then to the details. Time and space work the same way--we zoom to future and back to present. So, patting myself on the back for something I haven't yet done can be good, just as a few days of twiddling my thumbs can be. The book is created just as life is, in a rhythm that can be enjoyed in its varied phases.
I'm happy Casey Anthony was acquitted, by the way. No matter what the media witch hunt sparked emotionally, the evidence was far too circumstantial to convict. I thought it was amazing how, because she's beautiful and her child was beautiful and there were so many lies and so much mystery in this case, she became a mirror for the world to project their denied selves onto.
Possibly a waste of time like all the other things. But there is some concrete value in my break despite its lack of productivity:
- It makes me see how good it is to meet daily writing goals.
- It's nice to have days where I'm not pressuring myself to do anything, so a part of me gets to relax.
- I can catch up on brainstorming and plotting.
- I start finding more creative ways to waste time as the other stuff gets old. I just did a Tarot reading (Celtic Cross) for myself on my novel-in-progress, and it's very nice:
Card representing the current situation: 10 of wands, the "Lord of Oppression" card. Blocked or thwarted will. Frustration, losing faith, wanting something that seems unattainable.
Challenges: 3 of cups--there aren't many challenges; this is a card of fertility and bounty.
Foundation of the situation: 6 of wands: card of striving, of fight with eventual victory. I've been struggling a long time, but the energy is positive.
Passing influence: Princess of Swords: keen observation, likelier to represent my being somewhat irritable and angry lately. Nice to know it's passing.
The "destiny"--where I'm headed if I change nothing: 9 of cups: the "Lord of Happiness," inner fulfillment and bliss. :)
Coming influence: Ace of Swords: turning point into clarity and wisdom.
My attitude: Prince of Cups: intense volatility hidden underneath an impassive veneer.
Environment: World: card of completion, showing I've reached the end of some stage and am enjoying the fruits.
Hopes and fears: Judgment: self-explanatory!
Final outcome: 2 of wands: "Lord of Dominion"--everything goes according to plan, unfolds in harmony, positivity, and order.
One of the problems with psychic predictions is they tend to take us out of present time--we bask in the energy of what may be as if it's already happened, so it seems much more effort when we look to take the steps needed to get there. At the same time, it's good to make the goal and to know what we want to feel when we get there. Manifesting goals is similar to the process of writing.
This is how my friend Valentine puts it, which I really like:
"Writing as a process mimics patterns of self-conscious awareness... closer than other artforms, which can't be fully articulated in words. the focus of conscious thought moves between very closely focused observations of minutiae and broadly framed generalizations--like a camera shifting between wide angle and deep focus.
"Some stories are made with cameras that have a fixed focal length, told from one measurable distance without variation. others zoom in and out, micro and macro. some linger in the same shot long enough to notice an odd sock on the floor near the edge of the frame. others flit between juxtapositions."
We zoom to big picture and then to the details. Time and space work the same way--we zoom to future and back to present. So, patting myself on the back for something I haven't yet done can be good, just as a few days of twiddling my thumbs can be. The book is created just as life is, in a rhythm that can be enjoyed in its varied phases.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Goal-setting
I wrote roughly 35,000 fiction words in May and the same in June. I initially had a goal of doing 50K in May, and then in June, I just wanted to beat May's number. When July rolled around, I happened to just be coming to a point in the novel where it's starting to unravel, because I haven't got enough of a vision for what's going to happen. So I decided I'm due for a break, to brainstorm and organize plot, and to re-vision the next several months of writing.
So here's what I want to achieve:
- Start my month of counting words on July 8, aiming for 1667 words a day and 40,000 for the month.
- Assuming a chapter is ~6000 words and I'll be writing two drafts of it during this time, I would like to complete 4 chapters during the month that I'm mostly not going to throw out.
- Assuming the novel will be 150K words, or 25 chapters, and putting in a couple weeks more of breaks, I would complete a medium draft by the end of October. Just in case it isn't complete then, I'll use the energy of Nanowrimo to whizz through whatever's left.
- Assuming I need to do two more revisions, two months each one, my final draft could be complete at the end of February. During this time I'll get editing done by Kiersten and at the Critters Writers Workshop.
*sigh* It's not going to be done as quickly as I would like, but then again I've been at this for many years already and I've got to be realistic.
- Write one flash fiction story per week, and submit one to an e-zine.
- Blog posts daily.
- I'll update on goals, or redo goals, on Mondays.
So here's what I want to achieve:
- Start my month of counting words on July 8, aiming for 1667 words a day and 40,000 for the month.
- Assuming a chapter is ~6000 words and I'll be writing two drafts of it during this time, I would like to complete 4 chapters during the month that I'm mostly not going to throw out.
- Assuming the novel will be 150K words, or 25 chapters, and putting in a couple weeks more of breaks, I would complete a medium draft by the end of October. Just in case it isn't complete then, I'll use the energy of Nanowrimo to whizz through whatever's left.
- Assuming I need to do two more revisions, two months each one, my final draft could be complete at the end of February. During this time I'll get editing done by Kiersten and at the Critters Writers Workshop.
*sigh* It's not going to be done as quickly as I would like, but then again I've been at this for many years already and I've got to be realistic.
- Write one flash fiction story per week, and submit one to an e-zine.
- Blog posts daily.
- I'll update on goals, or redo goals, on Mondays.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Writing can't be wrong!
I've started many blogs before, and some of them actually lasted for a while. My last one was half-heartedly about being an expat in Brazil, but I realized after a short while that I don't actually leave the house enough to make such a blog interesting. I spend most of my time indoors on my computer, either working on my novel, writing flash fiction, or procrastinating doing one of those.
So I thought I should probably do a blog about writing. The reasons for this are manifold:
1) Supposedly, in order to "make it" professionally as a writer, one should create an evolving web presence. Static web pages with a list of publication credits aren't enough these days--one needs to blog.
2) Blogging helps exercise the brain-muscles for writing anything else. It'll break down any subconscious resistance to writing born of the fear that everything one puts down needs to be perfect.
3) Writing is ultimately about self-expression, but doing it in a way that other people can understand is the other half of the equation. Blogging is a way to write to an audience (even if no one is reading it, the potential is there), and thus it feeds some subconscious need on the part of every writer to be heard. This is good when working on neverending novels that may never see the light of day.
4) "Write about what you know". I don't know who said this, but it's a common writing adage. If I am going to have a blog I ought to write about what I'm doing and thinking about all the time.
5) Creating a witness for my productivity. If I say on my blog that I'm going to write 1667 words a day, I suspect I'm likelier to actually make that quota than if I don't tell anyone at all. If nothing else, I'll have the motivation that I could post about my success.
6) Bust through "perfect pictures." I'm probably getting repetitive, but this one is important. We have an Internal Editor, and we have a mechanism for writing in flow, or writing "hot"--that stuff that just comes out like lava...or vomit. It's the balance between those two that creates writing pieces that progress and evolve to their natural perfection. I suspect that most writers suffer far more from overly strong Internal Editors, and blogging is a way to say, "To hell with making sense or organizing! It's gotta start somewhere, and the dross has to clear from the pipes before the water can really flow."
So that is my optimistic beginning for my new blog. It'll be good to come back to in the coming days when I'll probably want to nix it and start another one.
So I thought I should probably do a blog about writing. The reasons for this are manifold:
1) Supposedly, in order to "make it" professionally as a writer, one should create an evolving web presence. Static web pages with a list of publication credits aren't enough these days--one needs to blog.
2) Blogging helps exercise the brain-muscles for writing anything else. It'll break down any subconscious resistance to writing born of the fear that everything one puts down needs to be perfect.
3) Writing is ultimately about self-expression, but doing it in a way that other people can understand is the other half of the equation. Blogging is a way to write to an audience (even if no one is reading it, the potential is there), and thus it feeds some subconscious need on the part of every writer to be heard. This is good when working on neverending novels that may never see the light of day.
4) "Write about what you know". I don't know who said this, but it's a common writing adage. If I am going to have a blog I ought to write about what I'm doing and thinking about all the time.
5) Creating a witness for my productivity. If I say on my blog that I'm going to write 1667 words a day, I suspect I'm likelier to actually make that quota than if I don't tell anyone at all. If nothing else, I'll have the motivation that I could post about my success.
6) Bust through "perfect pictures." I'm probably getting repetitive, but this one is important. We have an Internal Editor, and we have a mechanism for writing in flow, or writing "hot"--that stuff that just comes out like lava...or vomit. It's the balance between those two that creates writing pieces that progress and evolve to their natural perfection. I suspect that most writers suffer far more from overly strong Internal Editors, and blogging is a way to say, "To hell with making sense or organizing! It's gotta start somewhere, and the dross has to clear from the pipes before the water can really flow."
So that is my optimistic beginning for my new blog. It'll be good to come back to in the coming days when I'll probably want to nix it and start another one.
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