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Writtin' Thread

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schimmy:
I wrote a poem as a sort-of-joke birthday present!

Evey,
I'd hate you for your modesty
if you weren't completely unaware
of your talents for persuasion
and the boys that hump your leg.

So many obsessed, and still you're clueless;
Either you are the great deceiver or something else.
You'll get by, you'll manage just fine.
There exists a boy with such persistence
he will eventually sway your heart.
You will let him in, and you will be fine.

And you will be happy,
and whenever you're not,
choose the right memories to remember
and you will be fine.

Ceiling Cat:
You say the road to finding love
Is never very far,
But
What if you're staring back at Earth
Through a spyglass on a star?

-

He's incompetence
Multiplied by an anxious
Facial expression.

mishy:
i have nice things to say about the stuff in this thread i have read. (i admit to skimming some of it. it's hard to catch up when there's so much text all put together...) i <3 the detective story on the first page. i will comment more on other things. i don't see much in the way of constructive criticism, mostly just support and "i likes", but i encourage you to swing clubs at my stuff. i can take it like a big girl.

my contribution (for now, more later, i goddamn hope.) this is something unfinished, supernatural fiction broken into scenes. so far there's 10 scenes, but that's a lot, so here are the first two. (it's partially inspired by John Dies At The End.) no title yet, working title is "the sparks" or something like that. tell me if you want more. i intend to post it on my under-construction website, but who knows when that'll be.

also, "someday i want to be a writer, like, a published one." i imagine retiring, or maybe baby-making and writing something awesome during mat leave, but i'm having a bitch of a time seeing myself as a writer *now*. i even have a wrist tattoo that says "write life" in courier font, a nagging reminder to myself. i regret the tattoo (i have others i don't regret) because i always have to explain it when someone sees it, and i always end up feeling guilty and stupid because i haven't been writing lately... ever... so someone, puh-lease, give me a challenge or an exercise, cuz i do my best work when it's assigned and the format is constrained. a blank page is my arch nemesis - to me a challenge is a weapon to fight the blank page.

~~~~~~~~~~

#1: The Bathroom Scene

  Expected blurriness. Her contacts? Yes, they were dry. Not surprising. She tried not to rub her eyes, but the blurriness seemed apart from that. Water would help.
  Her legs moved her to the bathroom. A garden of hygiene condiments littered the edge of the blue porcelain sink. This was not her domain. Her tattoo burned against her thigh. She knew peripherally that a mirror was poised for her inspection above her hung head, and that it was a door, slightly ajar, that hid more washroom fauna. She wasn't ready for herself yet, her face could wait.
  Without warning she coughed violently, dark blood painting the blue porcelain. Well, it was better than the alternative.
  Something bright flashed in the liquid and her breath caught, a painful sliver of adrenaline flashing across her shoulders. It’s still there! She hurriedly pulled some toilet paper off the roll and wiped every speck of blood she could find, flushing the mess down the toilet. She flushed again for good measure. The sparks scared her shitless.
  She now felt it necessary to hazard a look in the mirror, expecting to find the sparks in her eyes, the threat of power staining her face into something barely human. She held her breath as she raised her head slowly. But it was only her own deprecation she saw, mascara down her cheeks, eyes puffy after a terrible sleep, the remains of her alcoholic evening making her pores large and her skin grossly sweaty. She exhaled and smiled grimly. It was time to go home.
  And it was time to call Heng again.
  She rounded up her belongings, her clothes and stiletto heels, her cell phone – out of battery. She found the door out of the foreign apartment, and discovered she was at least six floors up a winding staircase. Her hurried descent felt like free fall to her spinning head, but was more likely a series of lucky stumbles. Once outside in the glaring greyness of deep-city streets, she walked to the nearest intersection to determine where she was. Corner of Oscar & Clarke.
  It came to her without effort, her 58-block route back to the Georgian Loft, the home she shared with four roommates. In the same instant she also knew three bus-route options and the higher likelihood of hailing a cab from a location three blocks west of here. The instant knowledge petrified her, another razor of adrenaline swept across her shoulders. The spark was in her, somehow. Something was stirring the wind, stirring up her blood. She had to hurry.
  She hated the source of her instant knowledge, but she recognized the weighted advantage of choosing the cab option, and headed west. She would head straight to Heng's and call the others from there. If she had known eight months ago what would happen to them, that it would change them permanently, she wouldn't be here now. She wouldn't be so used to being scared.


#2: The Bedroom Scene

  He sat up in bed, awakened by the feeling that something terrifying had just happened. He felt like he'd been running for his life and just tripped over a rock, the intensity of panic and danger suddenly doubled. His sheets were drenched in cold sweat and clung to his body. He roughly rubbed his face with the sheet, trying to dry the sweat and get rid of the heavy feeling that pulled at him. Not ready yet to face the day, he let the sheet drop and hung his head, exhaustion creeping at him from behind. Finally, he opened his eyes again, wondering what time it was.
  With a start, he noticed the blood on his sheets. It sparkled at him, like a wink. It was taunting him. "Oh shit."
  He jumped up with the sheet and pulled the red-stained case off its pillow. The white pillow was also red. He grabbed the pillow, too, and ran down to the laundry room. He shoved it all in the washing machine and turned it on to cold water, fullest setting, and slammed the lid shut.
  A cold shiver ran down his spine as he sat down on the stairs. The last time this happened, Jill was... There was so much blood... and the air was so thick with sparks that it hurt to move and all they could see was white. Cold and white.
  He didn't want to think about it. It was time to pack and give Heng a call. He shook his head to clear the mess of memories, took a breath deep enough to fill every crevice in his lungs, and turned to go upstairs.
  There was a sudden bumping sound in the washing machine, and he spun around, feeling the blood drain from his face. But it was only starting the next cycle. He hated being so jumpy.

mishy:

--- Quote from: Barmymoo on 24 Dec 2008, 12:00 ---And just like that, I've found another glimmer of hope that will keep me chasing smoke and stardust.

--- End quote ---

holy shit, i knew a guy who really had that kind of hold on me, and i was pathetic just like that, knowing better but still getting swept up in whatever evil magic it is that gave me hope in an asshole like him.
when writing hits home, it hits like a truck! kudos.  8-)

Gilead:
I've been in an amazing and hell of intense week long dramatic writing workshop at NIDA, so I thought I'd post some of the shit I've done, this is a dramatic monologue I did.

My most memorable day? Well mine was a night and a day really, but it didn't start there, it started with a girl.

Her name's not important, and I wouldn't tell you it anyway, what's important is the way we were together. Ever since we met it was like lightning between us, every touch, every word a little jolt and shiver down my spine; It only got stronger over time.

See, luck just wasn't on our side, whenever I was single, she had a boyfriend, when she was single, I'd be going round with some girl, neither of us were the kind who'd break those sort of rules. Instead we'd skirt the line, touching and teasing and flirting and always pulling back just short of the big shock.

Then one day, she moved away.

Slowly I forgot about her. About the love and the lightning, until the night I was out with my buddy Tim and there she was, back in town for the weekend. Instantly the lightning was back, a dancing current of light and tension crackling between us. Tim felt it and knew to stand well back, he's a heck of a guy Tim, the kind of guy that always knows when to step back and when to jump in.

Me and her, we got to talking, about old times and new times and pretty soon we're leaving the club. Outside, a storm brewing, a palpable pressure in the air that felt like it was just for us. A wind swept through, sudden and cold and cruel, she pushed herself in to me.

It was then that I raised her face to mine, pressed my lips to hers, as soon as they touched there was no controlling the current. We were wires torn free, twisting and touching and buzzing as we earther ourselves. I don't even remember the trip home, I just remember pushing her in the door, touching and tasting and smelling her and revelling in the ecstatic crackle of our own private storm.

The next day the air was calm and still. The sky, once thick with portentious thunder now sat silently. We said our goodbyes, kissed one last time. But the current that had danced between us for so long was gone, finally earthed in a powerful explosion of energy. After that, we parted.

I don't regret it, not really, I felt like it had to happen, it was a heck of a night though, and a damn memorable day.

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