Tales of words untold

Here are the words I fumbled yesterday & substituted incorrectly in the middle of a sentence that would almost certainly have made sense if it had managed to make it out of my mouth with an ounce of coherency!

This is the sentence made of those words in order of occurrence. I have not rearranged the words in order to create coherency.

“Convenience Medieval Tale.”

Seems like I was secretly craving a quick knight & princess story and didn’t quite realize until now.

Published in: on March 30, 2014 at 3:45 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Elsewhere

This weeks Writing Prompt was a card from my deck of StoryWorld cards. The card pulled was The Door to Faeryland, and the question from the back I utilized was “Where does the door lead you?”

I’m not sure about this one…

++ Vine covered and sunk deep in the side of a Sudden Hill, the door appears. The gateway to Elsewhere he’s been questing for night into night. 3,000 endless nights, the sun appearing only along the rim of the world for short passes then sulking away for long months without end. 3,000 nights on the wrong side of the door to Faery and finding it here, a Sudden Hill in the flat barrens of despair, he hardly believes his eyes. They’ve lied to him many nights before, and everything on this side of Elsewhere was an illusion covering deceit piled over bones and waste.

++ When as a young man he first crossed into Faery he had believed he’d find light and plenty. But on this side of the Door the sun had been banished. Night along with endless Hunger ruled throughout, and all of Faery had gone dark. In 3,000 nights of wandering he had yet to meet another who wasn’t just a whispering shade. No food, no castles remained, all was vast blank despair, except the Sudden Hills.

++ Inside each he’d found the dead faces and abandoned luxury of long forgotten Fae. Their bodies wasted, they remained unmoving and immovable. Only a spare few had breath and a slow lagging pulse. None responded to his presence, and two had perished as he watched. Flesh and soul evaporated revealing the red boned skeleton inside their lavish garments.

++ Looking upon the Door that would return him to his Elsewhere, to the Earth of sun and everyday living, he hesitated. Could he leave them, a whole vast world of dying dreams, to succumb to Night, Hunger and the despair of the Forgotten? 3,000 nights in Faery and could he spend just one more if it meant being their only hope in hundreds of centuries of a Hopebringer; a believer?

Published in: on March 28, 2014 at 10:53 am  Comments (1)  
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Catfish

I find free writes helpful as a start to my writing time, because they allow me to silence the inner critic, and to give anything at the front of my mind that might be stressing me out just a few moments of time to express itself before I kick those thoughts off stage and get down to business.

This weeks 10 minute Free Write was pretty darn productive actually. I have no idea where this came from, and I’m convinced the writing itself is crap, but the idea? Intriguing…

As always, spell checked but otherwise raw rough draft:

++ A dress is a formidable weapon. One of fierce defiance if cut low enough or hemmed high enough. One of genteel reproach if proper enough and one of quiet authority if styled just so. I’m not a dress person really, but this was one of those occasions where a woman couldn’t be without one. And a man in disguise? Well there’s no chance of impersonating a woman to catch a certain senator’s eye, convince him to take me back to his room, and take incriminating video with hidden surveillance cameras if I didn’t have just the right dress.

++ The saleswoman was two parts annoyed and ten parts fascinated as she brought me different sizes and styles. I’d worn a few dresses before, looked pretty in them if done up and tucked up properly, but not one like these. Never one sexy enough to try and convince an old straight Republican to hire my services for an evening. The case tonight had well known tastes, and Anthony knew what he was doing when he set these things up, so I could only imagine I was the best for the job that he had on staff.

++ “I think that colors very flattering,” came the sales girls tentative comments. Working on commission must be a real bitch sometimes.

++ “Yeah, colors fine. Don’t think there’s enough tits yet,” I said in snide reply.

++ “Oh! Well, I’ve got another style in this red, but it’s…,” she hesitated and I turned raised eyebrows at her impatiently. I didn’t really have all day to play man-barbie.

++ “Trampy,” she finished fast.

++ “Let’s have it. Trampys just the thing for this john,” I smiled as I said it, watching her face leach white and her jaw fish mouth before she turned and fled towards the back of the store. Yeah I can be petty. But who isn’t a little catty at the prospect of cramming his dick back all night in order to fake interest in a self righteous sack of wrinkles? Anthony owed me for this job.

Published in: on March 23, 2014 at 10:45 am  Leave a Comment  
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Hope Vibrates

During last week’s Kaya Writing Time I utilized the following prompt: Create a story based on this personification: hope vibrates.

Here is my 10 minute timed result. I’ve done no editing except spell checking, so you are getting the raw unadulterated ideas that spewed forth in that moment.

++ Hope vibrates through my bones. It’s not entirely welcome, as anyone who has faced a hopeless situation knows; it only hurts when it’s squashed by reality. But it fills my fingers and toes anyway. Tingling along my spine and buzzing in my brain.

++ I’d thought I’d lost the ability to hope, and honestly it had made everything easier. Not better, there wasn’t really anything that could get better about my situation. But easier in a numbed out quiet way. Now hope was back, and I was going to get hurt.

++ It came in the form of a startling crackle through the ships intercom. A static where for months there had only been dead silence through the open PA system. I’d been alone in my cell bunker long enough that I’d begun to believe everyone else traveling in this ship was already dead. No way to tell time except the sporadic automated meals that appeared in my wall cache. I’d guessed two or three months had passed, and I’d heard nothing through the open intercom.

++ Now there was a snap and static. Someone (something?) had activated the mic and hope vibrated through me as I waited for them to speak.

Published in: on March 21, 2014 at 11:23 am  Leave a Comment  
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Reboot

New adventures two years later.

I’ve begun a new writing regimen where I go to my favorite local coffee hangout every Friday morning and sit there for an hour. The only things I allow myself to take into the shop are my notebooks and enough cash to get a Chai Tea. This leaves me two options for entertainment; write something or sit in annoyed and frustrated silence.

So far? I’ve wrote. Nothing long or fancy, and I’ve simply utilized timed free writes and story prompts, but its statistically significant compared to the big dam diddly squat I’ve wrote since March 4th, 2012, which coincidentally is the last time I updated this blog.

Stay tuned…actual writing samples may follow.

~BAM

Published in: on March 17, 2014 at 8:23 pm  Leave a Comment