Piece of the Week:
It was surprisingly succulent, through the moist, crisp surface of the fruit. She chewed it slowly, marveling at the mysteriously bittersweet taste that washed over her palate. With each turn of the fruit in her mouth, a new sensation swept over her, and a new spark of wisdom opened her mind. A tang of bitterness taught her about pain and suffering, then a twinge of sweetness taught her about happiness and laughter.
With a swallow, all knowledge and sensations culminated into one sudden burst in her core, spreading a searing warmth through to her toes and fingers. When it all cleared, she opened her eyes.
And she could and would never again close them.
Prompt:
Apple. Suggested by Dev Kimiko. It made me think of Adam and Eve--specifically Eve.
Work in Progress:
Haven’t worked on this one in awhile. It’s a story that takes place in a world somewhat loosely based off ancient Rome/Greece, where athletes are the most highly regarded members of society.
She could feel a subtle leak of adrenaline tingling her fingertips as she stood at the archway, just out of sight. Waving her arms and stretching her legs, she loosened every inch of muscle in her slight body five times over. Before, she could only hear her own breathing. Now, she could hear the wave of cheers from the crowds seated around the city arena--it was five times larger than the one in her hometown. And excited and nervous chuckle escaped her as she hopped in place to keep her blood in motion, watching as the host of ceremonies took his place at the center of the track field. As he held the bullhorn to his mouth and began to speak, anticipation shot along her spine.
Distractions Used:
Two and a Half Men on TV.
Currently Reading:
None right now.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Bound
Piece of the Week:
Those arrogant, selfish, irresponsible spawn of a witless savage!
What do gods need with fire, anyway? We only need it to keep warm and help us stay alive. They, what, need it to stare at when they’re too bored to torture us? And it’s not like I stole it all; they still have more than enough to last them an eternity.
Gods. They create us, then ignore us. The only times we’re ever granted their attention is when we’ve done something they think is wrong, or when they wanna knock us around.
What right have they to any superiority, anyway? Because they live longer than we do? Hasn’t made them any wiser. Because they’re perfect? Ha! Give me about five minutes to get that poor joke out of my system. If the gods are perfection, then so are war criminals and rabid vermin.
Ah, yes. The gods. I just took some fire to help us survive, and they see fit to bind me to these rocks. Zeus also said he would have a bird eat out my liver every day. Knowing their sick sense of humor, I’m sure he was serious.
Well, I hope their stupid bird chokes on it.
Prompt:
Bound. Suggested by raimeisan. It made me think of Prometheus, who is the narrator of the above monologue.
Work in Progress:
Haven’t been working on any lately.
Distractions Used:
Simpsons on TV.
Currently Reading:
Still working on Beastly. Haven’t had much time to read in one sitting.
Those arrogant, selfish, irresponsible spawn of a witless savage!
What do gods need with fire, anyway? We only need it to keep warm and help us stay alive. They, what, need it to stare at when they’re too bored to torture us? And it’s not like I stole it all; they still have more than enough to last them an eternity.
Gods. They create us, then ignore us. The only times we’re ever granted their attention is when we’ve done something they think is wrong, or when they wanna knock us around.
What right have they to any superiority, anyway? Because they live longer than we do? Hasn’t made them any wiser. Because they’re perfect? Ha! Give me about five minutes to get that poor joke out of my system. If the gods are perfection, then so are war criminals and rabid vermin.
Ah, yes. The gods. I just took some fire to help us survive, and they see fit to bind me to these rocks. Zeus also said he would have a bird eat out my liver every day. Knowing their sick sense of humor, I’m sure he was serious.
Well, I hope their stupid bird chokes on it.
Prompt:
Bound. Suggested by raimeisan. It made me think of Prometheus, who is the narrator of the above monologue.
Work in Progress:
Haven’t been working on any lately.
Distractions Used:
Simpsons on TV.
Currently Reading:
Still working on Beastly. Haven’t had much time to read in one sitting.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Rust
Piece of the Week:
It was her worst fear.
Alarmingly, it didn’t even cross her mind at the time, the possibility of taking a life. She was only concentrating on defending Hiko and herself. The night shadows flickered with the light from the fires. She could hardly even see a city anymore, just columns of fire congesting the sky above with thick smoke. And the enemy: there were five surrounding her. No…six. Ten. Hundreds. And she somehow knew that if they brought her down, she would never see Hiko again.
She fought her way through in a whirl of kicks and punches, every resource of tribal combat flowing out of her naturally like breath through her lungs. It was exciting, more so than she ever imagined it would be. She liked it.
But someone’s hand halted her kick. Another stopped her punch. She couldn’t move, and they were all encroaching on her. Heat waved over her face, as though her opponents emitted the very fires they had caused. With no other course, she drew her sword and thrust it forward into the enemy standing before her.
All other opponents vanished. She yanked out her sword, and as the red blood met her eyes,
she realized what she had done. The blood darkened to rust, and spread across her entire blade like moss, until her weapon was dissolved completely away in her hand. Her heart throbbed at the base of her throat as she stared into the dying face of her enemy. It was her father! No…not hers, but she somehow realized that he was someone’s father. The pained face before her had a wife and children, people who cared about him.
In his final agony, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Where he touched her, she turned to rust. It crept up her arm, shedding her flesh to the ground as it went.
Indra bolted up in her bed, her chest thumping. It had only been a nightmare.
Yet, sadly, it wasn’t far from what had really happened.
Prompt:
Rust. This prompt was suggested by lynx_child. It made me think of metal, then of sword, then of my fantasy novel character Indra. I don’t have this piece anywhere in the novel, but it does describe an instance that happens. This novel is currently posted on Authonomy.com.
Work in Progress:
I’m working on Part Five of The Great Drift, the piece I have going on RunesOfGallidon.com. It tells of an annual event which transpires in the swamp region known as the Stretch of Shadow, where multitudes of people--generally around the age of eighteen--move away from home, traveling across the Stretch in boats and sightseeing along the away.
The Totem Tide Pool is the most mysterious region of the Stretch. No one knows who carved and placed the thirty totems here, nor why. Legend speculates that the totems were carved in the likeness of the Spirits which reside here. The Spirits, being offended by the caricature representations, cause the unsteady rise and fall of the pool’s tide.
The totems were truly miraculous--they were stone. She had always imagined wooden totems, naturally, but all thirty totems, standing six feet out of the high-rise water, were hewn from white, moss-covered stone. And each face, some resembling a creature more than a person, was so distinctively unique, that it was like witnessing an assembly of foreign ambassadors, set throughout the area in a classroom fashion.
“How tall do you think they are?” Ilya asked, trying to peer into the water.
“From the bottom under water, to the top out here…” Esfir speculated. “Probably at least twenty meters.”
Yakim took out his compass. “They’re all facing dead west.”
“Not that one,” Kuzma pointed out.
There was one totem, set at the outermost border of the area, facing east. It was a more definitively human likeness, with a square jaw and seemingly random scrawls—like scars. For a moment, Luka turned to Enzo to compare, but she shook her head to clear the absurd connection from her head.
Distractions Used:
Becker on TV.
Currently Reading:
Still working on Beastly.
It was her worst fear.
Alarmingly, it didn’t even cross her mind at the time, the possibility of taking a life. She was only concentrating on defending Hiko and herself. The night shadows flickered with the light from the fires. She could hardly even see a city anymore, just columns of fire congesting the sky above with thick smoke. And the enemy: there were five surrounding her. No…six. Ten. Hundreds. And she somehow knew that if they brought her down, she would never see Hiko again.
She fought her way through in a whirl of kicks and punches, every resource of tribal combat flowing out of her naturally like breath through her lungs. It was exciting, more so than she ever imagined it would be. She liked it.
But someone’s hand halted her kick. Another stopped her punch. She couldn’t move, and they were all encroaching on her. Heat waved over her face, as though her opponents emitted the very fires they had caused. With no other course, she drew her sword and thrust it forward into the enemy standing before her.
All other opponents vanished. She yanked out her sword, and as the red blood met her eyes,
she realized what she had done. The blood darkened to rust, and spread across her entire blade like moss, until her weapon was dissolved completely away in her hand. Her heart throbbed at the base of her throat as she stared into the dying face of her enemy. It was her father! No…not hers, but she somehow realized that he was someone’s father. The pained face before her had a wife and children, people who cared about him.
In his final agony, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Where he touched her, she turned to rust. It crept up her arm, shedding her flesh to the ground as it went.
Indra bolted up in her bed, her chest thumping. It had only been a nightmare.
Yet, sadly, it wasn’t far from what had really happened.
Prompt:
Rust. This prompt was suggested by lynx_child. It made me think of metal, then of sword, then of my fantasy novel character Indra. I don’t have this piece anywhere in the novel, but it does describe an instance that happens. This novel is currently posted on Authonomy.com.
Work in Progress:
I’m working on Part Five of The Great Drift, the piece I have going on RunesOfGallidon.com. It tells of an annual event which transpires in the swamp region known as the Stretch of Shadow, where multitudes of people--generally around the age of eighteen--move away from home, traveling across the Stretch in boats and sightseeing along the away.
The Totem Tide Pool is the most mysterious region of the Stretch. No one knows who carved and placed the thirty totems here, nor why. Legend speculates that the totems were carved in the likeness of the Spirits which reside here. The Spirits, being offended by the caricature representations, cause the unsteady rise and fall of the pool’s tide.
The totems were truly miraculous--they were stone. She had always imagined wooden totems, naturally, but all thirty totems, standing six feet out of the high-rise water, were hewn from white, moss-covered stone. And each face, some resembling a creature more than a person, was so distinctively unique, that it was like witnessing an assembly of foreign ambassadors, set throughout the area in a classroom fashion.
“How tall do you think they are?” Ilya asked, trying to peer into the water.
“From the bottom under water, to the top out here…” Esfir speculated. “Probably at least twenty meters.”
Yakim took out his compass. “They’re all facing dead west.”
“Not that one,” Kuzma pointed out.
There was one totem, set at the outermost border of the area, facing east. It was a more definitively human likeness, with a square jaw and seemingly random scrawls—like scars. For a moment, Luka turned to Enzo to compare, but she shook her head to clear the absurd connection from her head.
Distractions Used:
Becker on TV.
Currently Reading:
Still working on Beastly.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Steampunk
Piece of the Week:
I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, leaving a smudge of grease trailing across. "If I force the bolt any tighter," I warned my employer, "then the joint won't be able to move at all."
"It will," he said. "Just do it."
I rolled my eyes. I had promised myself I would never work with know-nothing engineers ever again, and yet here I was in the back of some hermit's den with a wrench in my hand. Hauling a deep breath, I latched my wrench onto the bolt and pushed as hard as I could before my hands slipped off the tool. "There. The wrath of God couldn't budge it now--happy?"
He smiled. I hated that creepy-ass smile. "Yes."
Standing back, we both looked at the completed work. I followed his design directly, despite how many errors there were in it. I mean, it looked exactly like a heap of scrap metal, yet he was determined that it would actually be capable of doing something.
"Okay," I said, finding a rag to wash up with, "I finished it. Now you gonna tell me what this thing is?"
He handed me the other half of my pay and said, "It's going to destroy the sorceress Adliha."
I scoffed through my nose as I chugged a jug of water. "Of course, yes. As I may have mentioned, with no viable fuel source and joints tighter than a tax collector's purse, the only thing it's capable of destroying is a mouse--if it tips over."
"The fuel source it takes is strong enough to move mountains."
"And what is this miracle fuel?"
His smile grew slowly to a grin, baring jagged teeth. "Adliha will fuel it with her own magic...then it will destroy her."
His tone froze me completely in place. He was crazy, clearly, but a madness struck the tone of his voice which rang with sincerity and an underlying knowledge I couldn't pinpoint. Could it be possible that I signed on with some criminal mastermind?
Prompt:
Steampunk. It was suggested to me by poecilia_wing, and I thought I'd give it a go.
Work in Progress:
However much I've tried, my writing mojo hasn't been flowing for any of my current works. I have made some progress on my next Great Drift chapter for runesofgallidon.com, though.
Distractions Used:
None, while writing today's entry. Spooky, eh?
Currently Reading:
Beastly by Alex Flinn, a modern-day Beauty and the Beast told from the beast's point of view.
I wiped my brow with the back of my hand, leaving a smudge of grease trailing across. "If I force the bolt any tighter," I warned my employer, "then the joint won't be able to move at all."
"It will," he said. "Just do it."
I rolled my eyes. I had promised myself I would never work with know-nothing engineers ever again, and yet here I was in the back of some hermit's den with a wrench in my hand. Hauling a deep breath, I latched my wrench onto the bolt and pushed as hard as I could before my hands slipped off the tool. "There. The wrath of God couldn't budge it now--happy?"
He smiled. I hated that creepy-ass smile. "Yes."
Standing back, we both looked at the completed work. I followed his design directly, despite how many errors there were in it. I mean, it looked exactly like a heap of scrap metal, yet he was determined that it would actually be capable of doing something.
"Okay," I said, finding a rag to wash up with, "I finished it. Now you gonna tell me what this thing is?"
He handed me the other half of my pay and said, "It's going to destroy the sorceress Adliha."
I scoffed through my nose as I chugged a jug of water. "Of course, yes. As I may have mentioned, with no viable fuel source and joints tighter than a tax collector's purse, the only thing it's capable of destroying is a mouse--if it tips over."
"The fuel source it takes is strong enough to move mountains."
"And what is this miracle fuel?"
His smile grew slowly to a grin, baring jagged teeth. "Adliha will fuel it with her own magic...then it will destroy her."
His tone froze me completely in place. He was crazy, clearly, but a madness struck the tone of his voice which rang with sincerity and an underlying knowledge I couldn't pinpoint. Could it be possible that I signed on with some criminal mastermind?
Prompt:
Steampunk. It was suggested to me by poecilia_wing, and I thought I'd give it a go.
Work in Progress:
However much I've tried, my writing mojo hasn't been flowing for any of my current works. I have made some progress on my next Great Drift chapter for runesofgallidon.com, though.
Distractions Used:
None, while writing today's entry. Spooky, eh?
Currently Reading:
Beastly by Alex Flinn, a modern-day Beauty and the Beast told from the beast's point of view.
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