August 26, 2008
Bolognese, my latest story, first draft, which I am aiming to polish and submit to a competition by the deadline 6 days from now. It should be ok. I will leave it a day or so and come back to it. I kinda feel bad; my last story was about an awful dumping and this is about remembering an abusive ex. Not all the men in my stories are bad. Tony is an ok guy. And the first story of my recent revival, the Electric Dude Interlude, is about a nice guy. I really like him. It’s a shame his story was so short. Maybe I’ll bring him back if I need him later.
“He’d left pans and knives out where I could find them but I had to root around for a strainer. Flipping open the cupboards I found a quarter bottle of whiskey – Bell’s – the same kind Eddie used to have. It’d been two years but I’d always remember. Number of times he threw those bottles at me I’m surprised I’m not still ringing. But Tony…”
August 18, 2008
Bog stomping is what happens when you go for a nature walk in the hills of south Wales during a severe weather warning and decide that the path just isn’t challenging enough. Stomping through waist high grass dotted with super spongy moss pillows under all of which is not so much the ground as eight inch deep running water is rather fun. It reminded me that although nature can make me fall on my ass it also provides a cushion for me to land on.
We also passed through an eerie rotting pine forest, proper wicked witch territory with the only light coming from the path. I could imagine making a horror film there, or playing goth dares. At one point we had to climb down over some fallen trunks and any branch or tree near it would come away in your hand, too dead to support any weight.
I am inspired to find what natural spots I may be able to get the bus to.
I was also inspired by the many retellings of the baccanalia orgy to have some rather awesome sex when I got home. I think the line that clinched it for me was “Just remember, it’s not about the sex” so I took some time and did it properly. I almost cried it was that good.
I was also inspired to write another short story, after reviewing part of a certain soon-to-be-Dr’s novel. Damn him for showing me up by acting to achieve the things I only dream of. I am amazed by his plotting abilities; he must have been developing and sustaining his story for around 50,000 words now. This is something I find incredibly difficult and I envy him for it. My new short story, like the one I wrote last week, is under 500 words. Here is an extract for you:
“I fell into the indoor market and plummeted between stalls. People were walking at me from every aisle and turning. I had to dance around them all; I was so far inside myself they couldn’t see me. I didn’t want them to see me. I felt dizzy and sick. They didn’t want to see someone like that.”
August 14, 2008
This is the working title of a short story I finally put together last night. It’s a really short story. Less than 500 words. I don’t think it could be longer though, and I’m quite pleased with the first draft. Here is an extract:
“You alright?” I said, casual like.
“I don’t have a fucking clue what is going on.” She stared right into my face. Full-on at me. Not like girls in clubs with the sideways, half-closed, half-truth eyes. She was honest. She didn’t have a fucking clue.
“Neither do I.” I said. And she smiled.
Squee. Now I just need to write 200 more and I’ll have a whole book (/snark).