In which I agonize over a scene I can’t get right. And say something about literature. I think.
I am trying to write a scene. It’s not a particularly complex scene or, at least, it did not seem so when I visualised it. The general idea is for the protagonist to move from one platform on a train station to another. She doesn’t make it all the way to the other one, but instead gets kidnapped. Even the kidnapping is quite straightforward and she is unconscious for most of it. Continue reading “An Augmented Scene”
In which we measure entropy with a fob watch.
Groggy. Look at that beauty. Grogginess. No, groggy is the one. Groggy groggy groggy. I feel so groggy. Say it. Feel its rrrr, its ghghghg.
I woke up this morning some time not long before the alarm. I know that because I fell asleep again and immediately the alarm went off. I was gone deep. That’s a well constructed sentence, that is. You know it, because you’ve been there. Now I’m sitting here with the aftermath, the fallout, the debris of who knows what kind of chemicals floating between and among the synapses. From completely unconscious to alarming consciousness in the space of a few seconds. The things we do to ourselves. Continue reading “Groggy Fob Watches”
In which I stumble through The Gray House and find my way back to the front door.
I dreamt of a Borat-like character last night. Some vaguely east European character. I was this man with the funny accent. Why, though? I’m binge-watching a series about zombies. In wherever America and everyone have deep south American accents. Yee-haw and all that. Even the zombies growl and lament in the accent. Why do I dream I’m Borat? It is a disturbing mystery, I tell you. Continue reading “Reading, Rereading”
I’m tentatively glad I don’t have an instant delete function for stupid things I say. It would depend on how it works.
Now, time travel I’m totally okay with. I won’t feel I need to kill my grandfather.
Continue reading “Zombies Having A Laugh”
I am having some trouble writing these days. Perhaps I’ve become to used to not writing. A habit of not writing. It has to be broken.
Which is indeed why I am sitting in front of you, writing, at six in the morning. Hard habits need to get kicked real hard in the teeth. And by teeth I mean… Self-motivation. I have the tomato timer running as well. It’s serious.
A pity that it has to be this way. It is not as if I don’t want to write. I want to write so desperately that I am writing at six in the morning, even though I only went to sleep at twelve. Why does it work like this? I can hardly see the damn screen. It’s as if writing is a negative thing that I want to get out of the way as early as possible so I can have the rest of the day writing free? This is somehow not really how it is, and yet, here we are. Continue reading “Troubled Thoughts”
But what does it all mean? he wondered.
Yesterday was a write off.
I always maintained that I will never become an alcoholic because hangovers are too unpleasant. Goes to show how naive I am. What happens is that instead of drinking fit, one becomes hangover fit. It’s a nasty fitness, of course, because it’s not so much the hangover that somehow, miraculously, gets more pleasant. There is what I call an isostatic effect that kicks in. Essentially, one settles into a level of unpleasantness – an ambient unpleasantness which means that one’s discernment is recalibrated. It is quite insidious. On the other hand it reduces the abyss to abyssinian rather than abyssal, if you understand my meaning.
Continue reading “Stumbling Through The Plateaus”
She was almost there. Just a few more steps…
Not all boomerangs come back, said the scientist. This is quite true, I can confirm. On the other hand it is often a relief not having the boomerang coming back. Those things can take your head off. We played with them on the rugby field which wasn’t far from our house. Frisbees, often, but every now and then someone would bring a frigging boomerang, and so we then had to figure out how to throw it so it’d come back. Eventually someone would manage to do it and it was frightening – everyone scattering in every direction. That thing came back hard. It made a noise like a stealth gunship as it whirred by. Continue reading “Properly Educated”
This is not sitting right with me, but the alternative is clearly not an option.
The bit I posted yesterday on the 4thewords forum has clearly done the lead balloon thing. It is stuck at the end of the thread among all those pithy, humorous entries like an Ever Given in the Suez channel. So it goes. I didn’t expect anything less. It’s not the first time I misread the rules and ‘stuck an aubergine in my ear.’
Don’t get me wrong, and this is probably the really sad part, I like my entry. It does literally what they asked for: describe badly. But there are explicit rules and there are community understood rules. Common sense, even, and I don’t have any. Continue reading “Tragedy Of The Common Sense”
He didn’t realise that the road less travelled would turn out to be quite this empty. He really wished he’d brought a machete to deal with the brambles.
Here’s a fun idea on the 4thewords forums: Badly describe what happened in your story today.
The main character (there are a couple, but she is the most important one, right?) of my story, of the WIP, the novel, has to accompany the colony Envoy. She doesn’t really have to do anything, of course, but if she doesn’t do this then there is no point in going on with the story, really, because this coming scene is really important and sets everything in motion. Also, ‘accompany’ because no-one wants to even hint at anything other than friendliness and magnanimity. I mean, the other Envoy, the one they’re going to meet… Wait, let’s back up a bit. Continue reading “Avoid the Envoys”
Nothing prepared me for my own stupidity.
I can write these in my sleep. Honestly, I can.
I wish I could.
I left the house today. One of my sandals broke. Not today, the other day, but I had to go find new sandals. I don’t go out often and it showed. Everything went kind of wrong. That annoying wrong where nothing actually breaks down to the point where you can’t go on. It’s just keeps dragging behind you and making everything a little less enjoyable. They didn’t have any sandals in my size. I had to drink my pills in the bookshop and it felt as if I had dropped one of them. I couldn’t find the one that may have dropped so I don’t know which one I didn’t take. I had my reading glasses on a string around my neck, which was a mistake as it got caught in: the car safety belt putting it on and taking it off, and in the sling of my handbag putting it on and taking it off. Continue reading “A Few Books Read”