Okay, I'm going to be as brave as TT. Here is what I just wrote, completely unedited, rough first draft. It isn't my piggybacking and therefor what I should be working on, but it is what was on my mind today. I really am going to have to buckle down, pick a project and run with it, like Jan did, if I am ever going to accomplish anything... I get that... but dang it's hard. So anyway, here's what I've got: [it is the beginning of a larger idea that I had]
Lost
To Carter the world couldn’t get much better than this. Yesterday he had turned eight and his mom and dad had gotten him the 10-speed he had been begging and pleading and dying for. They had told him over and over that he wasn’t old enough for one yet, always careful not to say ‘too little’ because of course Carter was huge. Not fat, just huge. He hulked over the other second graders and was happier about summer vacation than even his new bike. No more teasing, no more jokes. His dad told him over and over, Carter, you have a responsibility. Your size gives you an advantage, but because of that, you can’t use it. What was the point of being a big ole freak if he couldn’t even pound on the shrimpy little snots who teased him for it?
He turned as he came up to the Shelton house. He loved to look at it. It had a tower, just like a castle, and Jaymie Shelton lived in the room at the top, just like a princess. He hoped she would look out her window and see him on his new bike. Maybe she would wave, and he would wave back, and then she’d put up the window and call down for him to wait and then…and then…
There was something splattered across the glass on the big patio door. There were no sounds, no music, no tv noise coming from the house. It was creepy and quiet. Something was wrong. Then suddenly a sharp, blaring noise pierced the silent afternoon, and Carter yanked his bike around and raced for home.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Lillies and The Lovely Bones
In this kingdom there are lillies, growing tall and beautiful, strong and wild. They know the secrets of peace, of bending to the wind, and of waiting for things to come to you. What I would give to be a lilly...
Okay, I know, this is not piggybacking or storytelling or even reasonably good poetry, and therefor I will certainly be accused of cheating, but it has been a long few days, and this was on my mind. Other than that bit, I wanted to recommend Anne Seabold's The Lovely Bones to any who haven't picked it up. Not to give the wrong impression, it is not a book to be taken lightly. It is also not for the faint of heart. I had to put it down three times in the first 33 pages; just set it down, walk away and take a breath. Play with my babies, do something cheerful. It was not a darkly written book, it was oddly cherful and light in some regards. I was actually amazed at Seabold's ability to do that. It would not be easy for someone who has lost a child, because of course it is about the death of a young girl. It lets you know that in the opening line, "My name was..."
In truth it is not an easy read for anyone, but it is a great read. I truly enjoyed the book. It was more than a book to me, it was a lesson, a learning experience, about grief and life and family and the impact of death on everyone. I commend and thank Mrs. Seabold for sharing her wisdom, and will, when I am ready, pick up Lucky.
Okay, I know, this is not piggybacking or storytelling or even reasonably good poetry, and therefor I will certainly be accused of cheating, but it has been a long few days, and this was on my mind. Other than that bit, I wanted to recommend Anne Seabold's The Lovely Bones to any who haven't picked it up. Not to give the wrong impression, it is not a book to be taken lightly. It is also not for the faint of heart. I had to put it down three times in the first 33 pages; just set it down, walk away and take a breath. Play with my babies, do something cheerful. It was not a darkly written book, it was oddly cherful and light in some regards. I was actually amazed at Seabold's ability to do that. It would not be easy for someone who has lost a child, because of course it is about the death of a young girl. It lets you know that in the opening line, "My name was..."
In truth it is not an easy read for anyone, but it is a great read. I truly enjoyed the book. It was more than a book to me, it was a lesson, a learning experience, about grief and life and family and the impact of death on everyone. I commend and thank Mrs. Seabold for sharing her wisdom, and will, when I am ready, pick up Lucky.
Monday, January 12, 2009
excuse me please
Sorry, slacking I know, but I have been doing some reviewing and editing for a fellow writer, so I am working...sorta...
Saturday, January 10, 2009
More Piggybacking...
Three days earlier:
"Kyle, man what happened last night?"
"Stu! Dude, you were awesome! I won like five hundred bucks betting on you." Kyle's voice was like thunder booming in Stuart's head. He winced and held the phone several inches from his ear as he turned the shower on.
"Um, okay. Great for you. What the hell was I doing? I woke up covered in something sticky.
Just something sticky, Kyle.
My place is trashed and I feel like I've been run over. What happened?"
"Well, first there were those girls from Eastern..."
Stuart wasn't listening anymore. He had turned to grab a towel and caught sight of his reflection. There was not only what looked and smelled like chocolate syrup smeared all over him, but there was also an unmistakeable ring of lipstick decorating his - personal parts.
Stu had lived his entire life in luxury. He had done some wild things, some crazy things, some things he wasn't proud of and sure, a few things that he couldn't really remember, but to not even remotely have any recollection of a hummer? Yeah, he was officially on the wagon.
"Kyle, man what happened last night?"
"Stu! Dude, you were awesome! I won like five hundred bucks betting on you." Kyle's voice was like thunder booming in Stuart's head. He winced and held the phone several inches from his ear as he turned the shower on.
"Um, okay. Great for you. What the hell was I doing? I woke up covered in something sticky.
Just something sticky, Kyle.
My place is trashed and I feel like I've been run over. What happened?"
"Well, first there were those girls from Eastern..."
Stuart wasn't listening anymore. He had turned to grab a towel and caught sight of his reflection. There was not only what looked and smelled like chocolate syrup smeared all over him, but there was also an unmistakeable ring of lipstick decorating his - personal parts.
Stu had lived his entire life in luxury. He had done some wild things, some crazy things, some things he wasn't proud of and sure, a few things that he couldn't really remember, but to not even remotely have any recollection of a hummer? Yeah, he was officially on the wagon.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Piggybacking
Our project for the next two weeks is something called 'piggybacking', which is a writing exercise in which you steal a first line and go from there. (I've just been told the correct term is 'borrow' a first line, I disagree, but po-tay-to po-tah-to, right?) So anyway, I have considered a few:
"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." This of course from Stephen King's The Gunslinger. I don't think I can do this one, it is one of my all time favorite stories and it is my favorite first line ever. I keep thining, 'how on earth can you go anywhere else with that?' Next:
"We all have flaws," said the Duke. "Mine is being wicked." This was in People magazine as 'thus begins' a book named 13 clocks, that I have not actually read, though I belive I will soon be picking up for the kids. I like it, but am not certain if that is the actual first line. If it is, I was thinking:
"We all have flaws," said the Duke. "Mine is being wicked."
He sipped wine from a jeweled goblet and stroked his hairy chin most thoughtfully. The gleam in his eyes turned from excited to down-right devilish.
"Of course, wickedness is awfully fun."
Okay, so whadda ya think? Huh huh huh?
Yeah, let's try one more just in case...I am going to randomly pick something off of my sister's bookshelf...hmmm, Nora Roberts' Sweet Revenge. This may take several tries. First line is - oh, this may be do-able. Here goes:
'Stuart Spencer hated his hotel room excessively.' Not marginally, not slightly, not even grievously. Excessively.
Stuart was well acquainted with excess. You might even say it defined him. He not only indulged himself with his every desire, he overindulged. He had never stayed in anything less than a five-star hotel suite. He looked around the grimy walls of his 15x15 room just as a fat, shiny cockroach skittered across the door. A shudder ran down his spine and he wondered how he had gone from there to here in just three days.
Hmmm. This is harder than it sounds. I keep second guessing myself, wondering if I am totally messing up someone else's work, if I am too close to the original work and thereby bordering on plagerism, if I am too opposite and thus losing the perfection of that first line's placement... gahhh! Anyway, this is my start, let me know what you think, please.
"The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." This of course from Stephen King's The Gunslinger. I don't think I can do this one, it is one of my all time favorite stories and it is my favorite first line ever. I keep thining, 'how on earth can you go anywhere else with that?' Next:
"We all have flaws," said the Duke. "Mine is being wicked." This was in People magazine as 'thus begins' a book named 13 clocks, that I have not actually read, though I belive I will soon be picking up for the kids. I like it, but am not certain if that is the actual first line. If it is, I was thinking:
"We all have flaws," said the Duke. "Mine is being wicked."
He sipped wine from a jeweled goblet and stroked his hairy chin most thoughtfully. The gleam in his eyes turned from excited to down-right devilish.
"Of course, wickedness is awfully fun."
Okay, so whadda ya think? Huh huh huh?
Yeah, let's try one more just in case...I am going to randomly pick something off of my sister's bookshelf...hmmm, Nora Roberts' Sweet Revenge. This may take several tries. First line is - oh, this may be do-able. Here goes:
'Stuart Spencer hated his hotel room excessively.' Not marginally, not slightly, not even grievously. Excessively.
Stuart was well acquainted with excess. You might even say it defined him. He not only indulged himself with his every desire, he overindulged. He had never stayed in anything less than a five-star hotel suite. He looked around the grimy walls of his 15x15 room just as a fat, shiny cockroach skittered across the door. A shudder ran down his spine and he wondered how he had gone from there to here in just three days.
Hmmm. This is harder than it sounds. I keep second guessing myself, wondering if I am totally messing up someone else's work, if I am too close to the original work and thereby bordering on plagerism, if I am too opposite and thus losing the perfection of that first line's placement... gahhh! Anyway, this is my start, let me know what you think, please.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
TRUE intro
Okay, this is the intro page to a much larger piece, (working title 'The True Story') (Not a true story) but I am a little stuck on some things, so please let me know what exactly this gives you, so that I will at least know if I am on the right track or completely derailed or somewhere in between. Also, I can't quite get the formatting right here in the blog, so bear with me on that, please...
A woman asked me once, “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
We were on our second date and she’d done nothing but interrogate me for hours. I humored her, because really, why not. When you know that a person is experiencing the last hours of their life, it’s easy to be tolerant.
I grinned at her, knowing my dimples would make me seem boyish and cute. “Sometimes I sing too loud in church.”
She thought that was the funniest thing.
A woman asked me once, “What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”
We were on our second date and she’d done nothing but interrogate me for hours. I humored her, because really, why not. When you know that a person is experiencing the last hours of their life, it’s easy to be tolerant.
I grinned at her, knowing my dimples would make me seem boyish and cute. “Sometimes I sing too loud in church.”
She thought that was the funniest thing.
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