Kevin's Watch

I can totally empathize with the working-while-sick aspect.

My story failed because I ran out of time when it was only about half done, and I wasn't very happy with it to begin with. I did save what I wrote and may post it if I can make it a two-part with a somewhat satisfactory ending. But like I said, not thrilled with it.

Loved sorus' start-of-story since the day I saw it.

Like your intro, peter.
Have an idea as to how you could work the last half into something that fits, and I think you'd like it.

want to say more, but should leave the house in like 5 mins or so.


Here's my 7 mins:
The little boy had just said, "When I grow up, I want to be daddy!" We'd laughed, filled with joy and pride. Now we turned to the little girl, who sat in her chair, quiet and thoughtful. I studied her soft brown hair - hair I'd just carefully put back just ten minutes ago.. and which was already starting to come loose from its bonds. She sat in her chair, thinking a moment more. "When I grow up, I want to be Billy Graham," she declared decisively. Before I even knew myself, the first words out of my mouth were, "Don't you mean you'd like to be like Amy Carmichael, or maybe you'd like to...?" But I was interrupted: "Dear," and more insistently, "Dear." my husband said, checking me. Turning to his daughter, "Why do you want to?" he asked quietly? "Well, I don't know, of Billy Graham or Amy Carmichael, who got the most people saved?" He looked over at me. "See?" said his eyes. The girl looked at him. "Who?" she asked again. This time it was a question, not an explanation. "Actually, in a way, no one really knows the answer to that," he said, grinning impishly.

Thankyou for your tact Linna In truth it began to go desperately wrong very shortly after I began [I'd intended there to be an alien under his skin which would come out, but time constraints drew in and it morphed from an sci-fi/horror into a macarbe heap of trash]. Cest-la vie! The best laid plane.......

Your story on the other hand is both warm and comforting - as perfect an anodyne for mine as could have been composed!

Sorus....... your turn! [ Only Joking.... stories of the quality of yours and Linnas can't be just pulled out to order.]

[Interesting little aside; As I said, the pieces Ive posted have both been virtually done as 'automatic writing' peices in that I have sat down with a pen, paper, and fifteen minutes - and no pre-thought idea of what I'm going to write. As I said above, in the last case I'd got a cold, seen a picture, woried about working etc... and cobbled it into a story. It was only later that I realised that I'd had the Scarlett Johanssen film Under the Skin saved on my sky digi-box to watch at a later date for weeks. This film is about.....you guessed it..... an alien that gets under peoples skin! It would appear that my/the brain has just as much trouble generating random data as do lottery ticket machines, and goes about dealing with the problem in just the same manner - by plucking recent memories, subconcious or otherwise, and jumbling them up together in order to produce an output. A lottery machine takes a selection of numbers from the previous half dozen tickets sold when requested to produce a 'lucky-dip' ticket.]

More from the department of "Write What You Know," mixed with a special dose of, "What if people actually talked this way in the real world?"

The older woman had me sat down right there. I barely had the first phoneme of the word 'But' out of my mouth when she cut me off: "Honey, today, what we're going to talk about is verbal emasculation." My mouth did not close, as my mind flipped back and forth between "but she's so articulate," and "did she really actually say that?" to "this generation amazes me."

Straightening her back and brushing back a puff of curly gray-white hair, she continued. "You know what I mean - at least if you think about it. Even though you're a new wife, and even if you're careful with your words, the temptation will always be there." "You know how it starts; you know there are a hundred ways to cut down a man and humiliate him." She took a breath, "And I think I saw at least half of them, when I got together with other housewives." Looking out the window into distant memory, she added more softly, "And I often kept my silence. Or laughed. Which is always to my shame."

I clutched my young son sitting on my lap and took a deep breath, thankful he couldn't understand what Constance was telling me. I remembered the way my friend had spoken the other day about how she sometimes felt sorry for her little daughter because of the world that she'd brought her into. I thought, "Maybe this is a little like what my friend felt."

qfufs wrote:Thankyou for your tact Linna

bah! You call that tact?
Naww, I was testing the waters to see if I could suggest a (not-too-troublesome) re-write on the last half.

peter wrote:Your story on the other hand is both warm and comforting - as perfect an anodyne for mine as could have been composed!

Hah! But what if the thing I really wanted was for my story to be subtly subversive?

peter wrote:..and no pre-thought idea of what I'm going to write.... It would appear that my/the brain has just as much trouble generating random data as do lottery ticket machines, and goes about dealing with the problem in just the same manner - by plucking recent memories, subconcious or otherwise, and jumbling them up together in order to produce an output..

see... this is where I'm always "cheating," by comparison. (don't know about sorus)
I -never- compose these on the fly.
It's always a story that's been scraping away at my consciousness (usually for days or weeks), and I use the 7 minutes to just get it out of me. (hopefully w/out literally ripping any of my skin off)

Also, I think we should not worry -quite- as much if some of the stuff we write is low-quality at first.
We -want- our writing to work. We want it to bless others.
And I think that's true for you as much as anyone, peter.
I think that if we continually have that motivation, we will fumble around until we find things that have the right fit.

And so it was Linna! [Subtly subversive that is.] The little boy is gender stereotypic [but no worse for that], the little girl has reached beyond the confines of gender to get to the heart of the matter of her concern [saving peoples souls], and once having satisfied that demand, makes a further one of her own ["Who?"], turning the question back on those who should be in the know [her parents] - but are found [in the nicest way] to be wanting.

Yesterdays story is also subtly unsettling; the 'verbal emasculation' of husbands by the very people who they rely on most to support their fragile ego's when alll the world seems agin'em. Followed by the mutual sharing of this matrimonal butchery in the name of the communal 'sisterhood'. Yes - it's a blessing her son is too young to understand what he is hearing! Strong stuff Linna!

Linna Heartlistener wrote:see... this is where I'm always "cheating," by comparison. (don't know about sorus)
I -never- compose these on the fly.
It's always a story that's been scraping away at my consciousness (usually for days or weeks), and I use the 7 minutes to just get it out of me. (hopefully w/out literally ripping any of my skin off)

Also, I think we should not worry -quite- as much if some of the stuff we write is low-quality at first.
We -want- our writing to work. We want it to bless others.
And I think that's true for you as much as anyone, peter.
I think that if we continually have that motivation, we will fumble around until we find things that have the right fit.

Very well said, and yes, I do always go into it with an idea, else I would use up the time staring at a blank page.

I've posted things I wasn't 100% happy with, as well as things that probably would have benefited from more editing and polishing and whatnot.

But on the other hand, with infinite time, I sometimes tend to over-edit, or spend a lot of time editing something only to realize that I actually liked the first draft.

"No; I KNOW," she said, raising her head.
Her dark hair swooshed back, and a familiar glint - not quite a smirk - tickled the edges of her eyes and jaw.
If there wasn't electricity crackling palpably about her hair, it was only because of the damp weather we'd been having.
"I know because I knew him."
"Great, so you're both alike."
"Yes, we are a lot alike."
Really? She'll admit to that?
But then the younger woman softened: like a scene in a movie where a white daisy drops through the sunlight.
"I don't have to worry and you don't have to worry," she said.
"Because I know that one of the most courageous men I've ever known often felt fear."
(About 8 mins. editing afterwards.)

I feel like there's an expression for those little moments in a movie that are there for visual beauty / the poetry of it, rather than because they show something happening.
(Whatever it is, it's not in my default vocab.)

qfufs wrote:Yesterdays story is also subtly unsettling; the 'verbal emasculation' of husbands by the very people who they rely on most to support their fragile ego's when alll the world seems agin'em. Followed by the mutual sharing of this matrimonal butchery in the name of the communal 'sisterhood'. Yes - it's a blessing her son is too young to understand what he is hearing! Strong stuff Linna!

Yay! When I got the idea, I thought you'd like it!

I've always liked 'swoosh' and I don't think I've ever actually used it in any context.

Thanks for the comment!
...to which I say... "Really...? Izzz thaaat so?
I gotta remember - Sentence Game! (link alert - Mallory's) artificial way of potentially causing you to use it, but... whatevs. beggars cant be choosers. one day or another you or I get stuck eating scraps now and again.

...speaking of which, pretty sure I was thinking of this when I picked "tortoise":

She'd just turned onto the dirt road, kicking up a spurt of reddish-brown dust. We were bopping and jangling along... I don't care how good your shocks are: dirt roads will still make your car or truck feel like you're rattling along in a gigantic tin can.

She slowed to a stop.
"Tortoise crossing!"
He was small, so she could have just gone over him, but... that's no fun.
"Haha... I love his yellow spots! He's pretty cute," I offered.
The tortoise lumbered along, cutting a straight but steady path.
"I am currently imagining what if someone hooked up a miniature harness and buggy to him," she said.
"Like a... oh, that would be hilarious!" as the image formed in my mind.
"Tortoise-powered!"
"Turtle wax!"
So there we were, stopped in the middle of the road making Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles references.
The Queen Anne's Lace was in bloom on the roadside and the sun was tilting towards the reddish end of afternoon light.
Glorious.
"Tortoise power!"
(About 6 mins.)

I like it. And the one before, too - I just got distracted by Swoosh. Shiny words do that to me, especially the ones you don't hear every day.

I can't do 'real' stories. They always end up being scifi/fantasy/horror. The closest I've come is actually the last one I was working on here (haven't posted any of it yet), and I think that's a large part of why I'm struggling with it.

"Remuneration! why, it is a fairer name than French crown. I will never buy and sell out of this word."-Costard the clown, Love's Labor's Lost, Act III, Scene 1.

These was by far the weirdest applications I'd ever seen. Everything looked normal on the outside: long fake-wood table with stacks of applications on it, people incessantly asking questions - which would normally seem stupid, but this time didn't, considering the circumstances. There was no coffee, but free water.

The woman who faced us cleared her throat and began to speak, "Hi, my name is Angela, and I can help each of you with the process - but one at a time," she chuckled. "I am sure there are many things you don't understand; don't worry, that is completely normal."

A hand shot up from our little knot - the eight of us. "I don't really understand how we get paid."
"Yes, remuneration is... different from with most things you could apply for. Remuneration is applied, in varying degrees, over varying periods of time... to people you love most, people you love less, people you will know someday, and even some who are your present enemies."
"So, I don't understand what's in it for me."
Angela raised her eyebrows in amusement. Seemed like she'd gotten used to her applicants running off this same script for decades upon decades.
"Welll... consider this: Is there any one of us who can live without love?"
Silence.
She started to move her hands slowly, to emphasize that on some level, she understood how very difficult this point would be to receive, "But here's the thing: if those people receive good things - and it's in some measure comin' through you, YOU benefit."
Unimpressed sighs and restless stamping around in place.
"How about a specific example? I think that always helps me when I'm taking in something that sounds kind of wild and crazy."

A hand shot up.
"I ...actually saw something that I thought I could do, but.. then it said that the remuneration is that I'll be able to teach others later. But, like, I'm not a teacher. Will I need to go get a teaching degree?"
"No, Ma'am."
The woman's shoulders visibly relaxed with that response.
Angela grinned right at her, "You've got your eyes on that one 6-year deal?"
"Well, it's something I could do. I've got two kids at home, and, well, I'm a single mom" - she flinched as she said that last bit - "But I could DO it, you know?"
Angela nodded, "You'll do great."
______________________

Okay, I enjoyed writing that one a ton.
15 mins, plus a few seconds here and there for editing.

Sorus wrote:I like it. And the one before, too - I just got distracted by Swoosh. Shiny words do that to me, especially the ones you don't hear every day

Yay.

Sorus wrote:I can't do 'real' stories. They always end up being scifi/fantasy/horror. The closest I've come is actually the last one I was working on here (haven't posted any of it yet), and I think that's a large part of why I'm struggling with it.

been wanting to respond to this earlier...
Well, I always wanted to do something elevated and fantasy-ish, because... I loved fantasy, gained so much from what I read, wanted to do that for other people.
But, just not happening.

Then one time I read something where lorin wrote that she felt weird, like everyone here wanted to write scifi/fantasy except her; she wanted to write about the real world, and I think a seed was planted in my mind.
And then I read Flannery O'Connor stories, and O'Connor has all these insinuations of mysterious stuff that seems unreal working behind utterly mundane interactions..
And something in me went, "Okay, maybe I could do THAT!"

"If what you've got is a hammer, all kinds of problems seem like they require a hammer"?
(err, but what if you've got spaceships and lasers and death rays...?)


(Edit: adding the "15 mins."
Edit II: added Shakespeare quote... because people always think stuff looks more impressive if there's a Shakespeare quote involved, even if it's out of the mouth of Costard the clown? or because it fit.
Also fussed with organization of different things I said.)

Linna Heartlistener wrote: Well, I always wanted to do something elevated and fantasy-ish, because... I loved fantasy, gained so much from what I read, wanted to do that for other people.
But, just not happening.

Then one time I read something where lorin wrote that she felt weird, like everyone here wanted to write scifi/fantasy except her; she wanted to write about the real world, and I think a seed was planted in my mind.
And then I read Flannery O'Connor stories, and O'Connor has all these insinuations of mysterious stuff that seems unreal working behind utterly mundane interactions..
And something in me went, "Okay, maybe I could do THAT!"

"If what you've got is a hammer, all kinds of problems seem like they require a hammer"?
(err, but what if you've got spaceships and lasers and death rays...?)

I think my biggest inspiration is still Michael Moorcock. Both for his 'multiverse', in which all his various characters and their universes are connected, and more specifically, for his series where reality as we know it is broken beyond repair, but everyone has accepted it as normal.

My main story (my main original, non-fanfic story, I should say) tries to take that on, to some degree. It spans such a large time period that I have a great deal of freedom. Technically it starts somewhere in the Middle Ages, with an alien spaceship crashing somewhere in Europe. Most of what I've posted here is in something approaching a contemporary, if dystopian, setting.

(A friend recently pointed out that in all of my stories that don't take place in space, it's either a desert, or it's raining. Apparently those are the only settings I can do.)

As a 5 to 15 submission, Linna Heartlistener wrote:The older woman had me sat down right there. I barely had the first phoneme of the word 'But' out of my mouth when she cut me off: "Honey, today, what we're going to talk about is verbal emasculation." My mouth did not close, as my mind flipped back and forth between "but she's so articulate," and "did she really actually say that?" to "this generation amazes me."

Straightening her back and brushing back a puff of curly gray-white hair, she continued. "You know what I mean - at least if you think about it. Even though you're a new wife, and even if you're careful with your words, the temptation will always be there." "You know how it starts; you know there are a hundred ways to cut down a man and humiliate him." She took a breath, "And I think I saw at least half of them, when I got together with other housewives." Looking out the window into distant memory, she added more softly, "And I often kept my silence. Or laughed. Which is always to my shame."

I clutched my young son sitting on my lap and took a deep breath, thankful he couldn't understand what Constance was telling me. I remembered the way my friend had spoken the other day about how she sometimes felt sorry for her little daughter because of the world that she'd brought her into. I thought, "Maybe this is a little like what my friend felt."

Linna's passage leapt to my mind while watching the classic holiday special "A Charlie Brown Christmas" earlier this week, as Charlie and Linus bring their simple tree to the auditorium.

Charlie and Linus return to auditorium, place tree on piano.

Charlie: We’re back!

Children gather around piano.

Violet: Boy, are you stupid Charlie Brown. You were supposed to get a good tree. Can’t you even tell a good tree from a poor tree?

Patti: (sighs) You’re hopeless Charlie Brown.

Lucy: You’ve been dumb before, but this time you bit it.

Children laugh, exit. Charlie is alone by piano.

I'd not noticed before that all of the belittling comes from the girls, even from normally sympathetic characters like Patti.

The culture of what Constance terms "verbal emasculation" seems to start really early. If Constance continues to speak to Linna's inner author, I hope we get to see it.

Savor Dam wrote:Linna's passage leapt to my mind while watching the classic holiday special "A Charlie Brown Christmas" earlier this week, as Charlie and Linus bring their simple tree to the auditorium.

Charlie and Linus return to auditorium, place tree on piano.

Charlie: We’re back!

Children gather around piano.

Violet: Boy, are you stupid Charlie Brown. You were supposed to get a good tree. Can’t you even tell a good tree from a poor tree?

Patti: (sighs) You’re hopeless Charlie Brown.

Lucy: You’ve been dumb before, but this time you bit it.

Children laugh, exit. Charlie is alone by piano.

I'd not noticed before that all of the belittling comes from the girls, even from normally sympathetic characters like Patti.

The culture of what Constance terms "verbal emasculation" seems to start really early. If Constance continues to speak to Linna's inner author, I hope we get to see it.

*sigh*

I looked down at the coffee spot on my formerly-immaculate pink scrubs. It got there when I was jolted by my boss's voice calling, "Esperanza Seca!" as she came barreling down the corridor. Her imposing form and gentle face peered at me from the doorway now. "Oh, sorry," she said at the sight of my spilled coffee. "It's just that," she went on steadily as she wetted a rag and wiped down the breakroom tabletop vigorously, "I've come to the conclusion you're the only one of us who can handle the patient in 308 without punching him." Her tabletop efforts drawn to a close, she tossed me the rag to wipe my clothes, and leaned back against the sink counter.
"Oh wow! It's down to the skeleton crew, isn't it?"
"Just the four of us? Uh-huh."
The ward got quiet at this time of night.
(5.5 minutes)

Sorus wrote:(A friend recently pointed out that in all of my stories that don't take place in space, it's either a desert, or it's raining. Apparently those are the only settings I can do.)

I thought this was interesting. I hadn't noticed, but.. makes some sense those settings would go together.

I have wanted to say all this time, "Have you ever tried writing rain in the desert?"

Linna Heartlistener wrote:
I have wanted to say all this time, "Have you ever tried writing rain in the desert?"

I've been playing with this idea, but nothing worthwhile has come of it yet.

"If we present a man with a concept of man which is not true, we may well corrupt him. When we present man as an automaton of reflexes, as a mind-machine, as a bundle of instincts, as a pawn of drives and reactions, as a mere product of instinct, heredity and environment, we feed the nihilism to which modern man is, in any case, prone." -Viktor E. Frankl

Today, as the morning meal is warming on the coals, and the little one is sleeping, wrapped in a cloth, I read the letter from my sister Narilah.
She tells me that old Sartala, our teacher, has strange worries.

"One day," she told Narilah, "people will say that there is no spirit... that there is only the body you are born with, and the place you are surrounded by."
"Who would believe such a thing?" Narilah asked.
"Whole lands and whole people will believe such a thing," Sartala told her.
"Only ones birth and ones surroundings making a person who they are? But what about the rest of you? Who ever heard of a tree without sap? Or who ever made a house to be empty?"
Sartala smiled: Narilah always pleased her.
"Yes; you see what it would be like. But think about what lies the minds of whole lands have been moved to before."
Narilah didn't stop and try to think about that, though.
She only kept countering: "Can an arm cut its own self off at the shoulder and go on living?"
Sartala only said, "Right."
Then Narliah listened to Sartala's silence, and said, "But you think this will happen, and it makes you sad, grandmother."
She replied, "Yes, and now you know why I let you know," and pulled her cloth around her shoulders and looked down.
But it was the look that says, "It is because I cannot hide what I feel from you, because I love you."

I put the letter down and look over at my tiny daughter. She startles awake for an instant at the sound of one of the noisy fowl outside. I put my face where she can see it and smile at her. She smiles back and closes her eyes, relaxing down again, almost asleep, grin still on her infant face.

(16 mins, more or less. Changed the older sister of previous installments from "Sarilah" to "Narilah.")

Sorus wrote:

Linna Heartlistener wrote:I have wanted to say all this time, "Have you ever tried writing rain in the desert?"

I've been playing with this idea, but nothing worthwhile has come of it yet.

Dat's okay!
You know why I "just had to" come up with that idea?

[Edit1: replaced the word "soul" with "spirit," cause that was what I meant in the first place.
Edit 2: added link to next part.]

The next part of this story is here.

Linna Heartlistener wrote:Dat's okay!
You know why I "just had to" come up with that idea?

No idea, but I am curious.

Does it have to do with SRD's habit (which is not unique among authors) of taking two diverse ideas and using their juxtaposition to drive a story?

Please let it have nothing to do with the 1984 film version of Dune directed by David Lynch. What a travesty...

Sorus wrote:

Linna Heartlistener wrote:Dat's okay!
You know why I "just had to" come up with that idea?

No idea, but I am curious.

It has deserts and it has rain, but flips the symbolism!
(maaan... I saw some amazing desert rain episode on Nova or something when I was a kid. It was beautiful.)
so it was my idea of something that could be an attempt at a "hack."

(though if you did a really violent storm, that probably wouldn't "flip the symbolism"...)

Save or Damn wrote:Does it have to do with SRD's habit (which is not unique among authors) of taking two diverse ideas and using their juxtaposition to drive a story?

It doesn't, but I am a huge fan of a wicked juxtaposition.
What are some of your favorite examples of "two juxtapositions driving a story" that SRD uses, SD? (feel free to point me to a thread outside the Hall.)

_______________

Took my little one and set him down on the rug.
Shook my head to shake away some of the dizzies, sipped another sip of my Starbucks.
It was too early, but I was used to that these days.

I took off my sunglasses and let my eyes adjust to the library's lighting.
The rug was colorful... A for apple, B for bird, C for cat, and so on.
Brilliant red and red-orange, royal blue, dark green, and a rich yellow ochre to set it off. The neutral color was cream instead of white, which I approved of, and the dark green took the place of black for contrast.
If there has to be a "this is supposed to be for kids" aesthetic, this was one I could approve of.
I smiled as another mom walked in bearing a bundle bedecked with magentas and purples: "aww, she's so cute! looks like she's about the same age as my little guy. how old?"

The blonde mom in sunglasses startled as if just awakened, "Oh? Her? Syd here is eight months... or she will be in... oh, six days just about."

"Sydney! I was going to name him Sydney if he was a girl.
Well, that or Riley."
This was going well so far, I thought.

"Oh, well, I didn't want to name her Sydney, but I had to."
"Haaad to?"
"Kind of! What's your little guy's name?"
"Evan. But why'd you name her Sydney? Did her dad insist?"
"No; my cousin. She and I would talk every week, and she kept teasing me, because Sydney was her favorite name, and she knew she wouldn't get to name a kid that."
"I can respect a decision like that."
"No, she was single."
"Well, that can change... you never know. I have a friend-"
"No. No."
The woman looked down, adjusting her child on her lap.
"Oh well, okay. But how did she convince you?"
"She didn't exactly."
Now she looked down and spoke carefully, stroking back her little girl's hair.
"Carla was dying of leukemia. She died two months before this one was born, so I just had to name her Sydney in her honor."
"Oh... that's.. so.. so sweet."
That got dark real fast.
I reached for a sip of coffee right away.
(about 15 mins, more or less... with inevitable editing, though I did restrain myself a bit.)