So, I think I'll be done after those five writing prompts.
I finished the fanfiction, and now I think I'm plenty warmed up.
This Sunday I'll collect and keep my candy. Oh Halloween, how I love you for giving me free NaNo snacks.
The blankets that I'll use to keep me warm and in good spirits during NaNo are in line for the wash.
It's all counting down now.
-6 days until the NaNoWriMo kickoff. yayz.-
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
babygirl'saQUEEN.
Prompt #144:
Drink. Cough. Repeat.
Continue until you don't remember the order. Until you forget to cough.
Isn't it sad that this is what we're all programmed to do from a young age. TV. Books. Movies. Hell, mostly music. Sometimes real people around us.
'Drowning your sorrows' is not a foreign concept to anyone.Mindlessly swallowing alcohol (killing yourself, sometimes slowly) had become a Great American Standard of Living.
You all dream of your twenty-first birthday. Or you think alcohol will make you an adult. Make you cool.
The only thing it'll make you is sick.
And dead, you can't forget dead.
So, screw you America, and your warped ideals, too.
I'd rather be alive than Patriotic.
(I'd rather go out in style.)
Drink. Cough. Repeat.
Continue until you don't remember the order. Until you forget to cough.
Isn't it sad that this is what we're all programmed to do from a young age. TV. Books. Movies. Hell, mostly music. Sometimes real people around us.
'Drowning your sorrows' is not a foreign concept to anyone.Mindlessly swallowing alcohol (killing yourself, sometimes slowly) had become a Great American Standard of Living.
You all dream of your twenty-first birthday. Or you think alcohol will make you an adult. Make you cool.
The only thing it'll make you is sick.
And dead, you can't forget dead.
So, screw you America, and your warped ideals, too.
I'd rather be alive than Patriotic.
(I'd rather go out in style.)
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
whydoyouhavetobeSODamnclever?
prompt #175:
Ew. Cheese steak wrapper. Half-empty milkshake.
Ew. Used condem. 'Someone's sleeping with their secretary.'
The intruder upon this usually calm setting smirked. She was already composing a biography for, let's see. The office door just said 'A. V. - Accountant'. But, this reciept said, 'drumroll please', 'Aaron Valencia, how very typical you appear, Mr. Valencia'.
Oh well, back to the point of this operation. Had to hurry up before the janitor circled back around, didn't we?
'Ha, sorry Mr. Valencia, but I think I'll call you Mr. Vallium instead', the intruder had hit upon a stashed empty prescription bottle about half-way through their treasure expedition.
Ew. Another used condom, seriously? 'I'm going to have to search your desk for pictures, because you must be at least a little good looking, for an accountant.'
Bingo, unshredded records. 'All that bangin' the help must've distracted you. Lucky for me. Not so much for your ex-client Mr. Vallium.'
Identity. Stolen.
Ew. Cheese steak wrapper. Half-empty milkshake.
Ew. Used condem. 'Someone's sleeping with their secretary.'
The intruder upon this usually calm setting smirked. She was already composing a biography for, let's see. The office door just said 'A. V. - Accountant'. But, this reciept said, 'drumroll please', 'Aaron Valencia, how very typical you appear, Mr. Valencia'.
Oh well, back to the point of this operation. Had to hurry up before the janitor circled back around, didn't we?
'Ha, sorry Mr. Valencia, but I think I'll call you Mr. Vallium instead', the intruder had hit upon a stashed empty prescription bottle about half-way through their treasure expedition.
Ew. Another used condom, seriously? 'I'm going to have to search your desk for pictures, because you must be at least a little good looking, for an accountant.'
Bingo, unshredded records. 'All that bangin' the help must've distracted you. Lucky for me. Not so much for your ex-client Mr. Vallium.'
Identity. Stolen.
Monday, October 15, 2007
a SADDay for Aspiringartists.
Oh, gorgeous fanfic, thank you for allowing me to write another scene of you, but could I beg to finish the last without interruption?
prompt #216:
They'll be coming for me soon. I suppose it's for the best now.
I'd rather not be left here. Here, where all I have for scenery is the abandoned homes of my fallen brothers and comrades to block my view of the horizon. Where all I have to think about, in solitude, is how cruelly said brothers and comrades were being dismembered.
How cruelly I would be dismembered.
I wonder what human 'use' I'll be put to. I won't be able to feel it, obviously. But, maybe I'll see from wherever I'm going, or maybe I'll just know.
The injustice strikes me oddly, though. We do so much to improve the quality of living for humans, and yet they kill us.
The once clean air around me is now smoggy and thick.
Depressing and lung-clogging.
I now know what I have to do.
I let it all out.
I won't let them get me.
prompt #216:
They'll be coming for me soon. I suppose it's for the best now.
I'd rather not be left here. Here, where all I have for scenery is the abandoned homes of my fallen brothers and comrades to block my view of the horizon. Where all I have to think about, in solitude, is how cruelly said brothers and comrades were being dismembered.
How cruelly I would be dismembered.
I wonder what human 'use' I'll be put to. I won't be able to feel it, obviously. But, maybe I'll see from wherever I'm going, or maybe I'll just know.
The injustice strikes me oddly, though. We do so much to improve the quality of living for humans, and yet they kill us.
The once clean air around me is now smoggy and thick.
Depressing and lung-clogging.
I now know what I have to do.
I let it all out.
I won't let them get me.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
letme LIGHTUP the Sky.
Damn, I seriously have to finish that fanfiction. It IS for a contest, and I DO have a deadline.
Thankfully, I'm becoming a little more comfortable with this 'Write Every Day' thing.
prompt #137:
She stood a foot and a half away from the stage, seperated by the metal barricade and a meathead bouncer.
She stood a foor and a half away (and a foot below) her heroes. The guys who sang their sorrow to her as she cried out her own. Who sang her to sleep. Who healed her wounds.
She stood a foot below and five feet away from the speaker that delivered their notes, their words to her ears. She loved that speaker.
The multitude of the crowd was behind her. The meathead bouncer was soon overtaken with the responsibility of catching the crowdsurfing idiots.
Behind her, the noise escalated. The guitarist and the vocalist, male and male, had just leaned in for their usual faux-kiss that would be all over the internet as soon as the concert had ceased.
She wished it would never end. Three hours wasn't enough. She looked around frantically. There wasn't a single thing she wanted to forget. (Not even the amount of stubble on the meathead bouncer.)
She hadn't realised that she'd cried through the more emotionally affecting songs until she wiped the 'sweat' off her face at the end. This was, obviously, why the meathead bouncer was looking at her like that. This was, obviously, why the meathead bouncer offered to escort her (and her father, who had now left his seat to come find her) to meet the band.
She realised that, even if she forgot half of this, it wouldn't matter. This was, by far, and would always be, the greatest night of anyone's life.
And she got to keep it.
Thankfully, I'm becoming a little more comfortable with this 'Write Every Day' thing.
prompt #137:
She stood a foot and a half away from the stage, seperated by the metal barricade and a meathead bouncer.
She stood a foor and a half away (and a foot below) her heroes. The guys who sang their sorrow to her as she cried out her own. Who sang her to sleep. Who healed her wounds.
She stood a foot below and five feet away from the speaker that delivered their notes, their words to her ears. She loved that speaker.
The multitude of the crowd was behind her. The meathead bouncer was soon overtaken with the responsibility of catching the crowdsurfing idiots.
Behind her, the noise escalated. The guitarist and the vocalist, male and male, had just leaned in for their usual faux-kiss that would be all over the internet as soon as the concert had ceased.
She wished it would never end. Three hours wasn't enough. She looked around frantically. There wasn't a single thing she wanted to forget. (Not even the amount of stubble on the meathead bouncer.)
She hadn't realised that she'd cried through the more emotionally affecting songs until she wiped the 'sweat' off her face at the end. This was, obviously, why the meathead bouncer was looking at her like that. This was, obviously, why the meathead bouncer offered to escort her (and her father, who had now left his seat to come find her) to meet the band.
She realised that, even if she forgot half of this, it wouldn't matter. This was, by far, and would always be, the greatest night of anyone's life.
And she got to keep it.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
our SACREMENT ofsalmon and IrishBeer.
So, I stumbled upon http://www.creativewritingprompts.com/ , and decided that I'd use it to pick and choose a daily writing prompt to sharpen me up before NaNo. Which reminds me that there's a fanfiction I need to finish, oh well.
Also, I've found myself doing online typing tests, both to up my WPM, and also to try that 'ditch the inner-editor' thing.
prompt #124:
Roy wasn't even aware that he was pacing. He was barely aware of the slight anger bubbling in the pit
of his stomach. Stupid teenagers, he thought, can't follow the most basic direction.
"Hurry up, Jack. Where the hell are you?" Roy's mumbling drew almost no attention from the
surrounding crowd, as most of them were muttering worriedly as well. "When I said three o'clock sharp
I meant it Jack!"
Stupid Evenlyn, no, not stupid. Roy mentally berated himself for even started to refer to anything
about his now two-month-deceased wife. Although, it had been her idea to allow their fifteen-year-old
son Jack to run off to some music program half-way around the world for the whole summer. Well, not
the whole summer, since the program sent Jack home for three days to attend his mother's funeral, but
then requested his presence back, and left his father to grieve alone.
"Excuse me," the voice over the loudspeaker, was, for once, that of a live human, "there's some rather
urgent news I have to relay regarding Flight 348 from Chicago." Roy barely registered that that was
Jack's flight. "The plane crashed down in Ohio." It was audible that the woman lending her voice was
choking back tears, however, Roy was failing miserably at the same task.
"There was only one survivor, a teenaged boy they've identified as J--," it was a miracle that Roy had
survived holding his breath this long, "--ack Davids. We're sorry for your losses."
In the course of one summer, Roy Daniels had lost everything that he loved.
Also, I've found myself doing online typing tests, both to up my WPM, and also to try that 'ditch the inner-editor' thing.
prompt #124:
Roy wasn't even aware that he was pacing. He was barely aware of the slight anger bubbling in the pit
of his stomach. Stupid teenagers, he thought, can't follow the most basic direction.
"Hurry up, Jack. Where the hell are you?" Roy's mumbling drew almost no attention from the
surrounding crowd, as most of them were muttering worriedly as well. "When I said three o'clock sharp
I meant it Jack!"
Stupid Evenlyn, no, not stupid. Roy mentally berated himself for even started to refer to anything
about his now two-month-deceased wife. Although, it had been her idea to allow their fifteen-year-old
son Jack to run off to some music program half-way around the world for the whole summer. Well, not
the whole summer, since the program sent Jack home for three days to attend his mother's funeral, but
then requested his presence back, and left his father to grieve alone.
"Excuse me," the voice over the loudspeaker, was, for once, that of a live human, "there's some rather
urgent news I have to relay regarding Flight 348 from Chicago." Roy barely registered that that was
Jack's flight. "The plane crashed down in Ohio." It was audible that the woman lending her voice was
choking back tears, however, Roy was failing miserably at the same task.
"There was only one survivor, a teenaged boy they've identified as J--," it was a miracle that Roy had
survived holding his breath this long, "--ack Davids. We're sorry for your losses."
In the course of one summer, Roy Daniels had lost everything that he loved.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
you little SPIES.
So, it's now mid-October. One of the things on one of my to-do lists is being accomplished as I type.
The list demanded that I establish a blog to use for venting, squee-ing, and angst-ing during my first ever attempt at the insanity of NaNoWriMo. Which, essentially, is the Mount Everest for writers.
Thankfully, my plot is visciously secure, and came early, fell into place, and shouted its title in my ear repeatedly.
'The City By The Sea' will be a hybrid between a romance novel and the tale of a civilization's rise and fall. So, it's safe to say that I'm excited.
Two weeks && six days before the commencement of NaNoWriMo.
--Lyze
The list demanded that I establish a blog to use for venting, squee-ing, and angst-ing during my first ever attempt at the insanity of NaNoWriMo. Which, essentially, is the Mount Everest for writers.
Thankfully, my plot is visciously secure, and came early, fell into place, and shouted its title in my ear repeatedly.
'The City By The Sea' will be a hybrid between a romance novel and the tale of a civilization's rise and fall. So, it's safe to say that I'm excited.
Two weeks && six days before the commencement of NaNoWriMo.
--Lyze
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