Two minutes...go!

[Sorus]

That is kind of funny.. I would definitely admit to Twitterphobia... but eh, who knows?
She might, she might not.

I tend to fixate on details. Obsess. Go off on bizarre tangents. No one here has seen me at my worst, though the BSG crowd may have come close a time or two.

On that theme, many years ago I did contact one of my favorite authors and ask some silly fangirl questions - and he was really, really nice about it, but he did admit that the answers were not something that he had ever considered. Which is why I write my own stuff when there aren't answers or when I don't like the answers.

[Sorus]

Another disconnect, because I feel guilty about slacking.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------



I was cultivating patience in a garden of dust...

She came striding out of the mirage, a refugee from some masquerade ball, glittering and perilous, if somewhat disheveled.

A memory of cool white marble, the whisper of fountains and courtiers, the false moon low and ominous.

Her mask is askew, her gown looks as though it's been slept in. Hands on hips - "There was a door here, just out of reach." Her tone suggests a minor inconvenience.

"Where did you come from?"

"Everyone wants to know," she says, speaking not to me but to the surrounding desert. "But most are too polite to ask."

[Linna Heartbooger]

That's a fun disconnect.
I had a disconnected scrap, too.
So maybe what you did gave me extra permission/motivation to write it up & post it. (and potentially get moving again.)

Once, you decided to lock away parts of your heart... probably in that box, with paperwork.
It seems like it'll last a long time like that, like it'll keep a person safe...
Like it's the responsible thing to do; like nobody will blame you for not doing your part to take care of yourself.
Not like those people you find falling apart, crying all over someone, wishing someone would just fix their problems.
But maybe Someone's been prying at the corner of the box with His pry-bar.
Maybe sometimes I can put things in and take things out.
Maybe there is opportunity.
Will I fail at my part, with the time that is left?
(about 3 mins)

[Sorus]

I can relate to that. I'm trying to keep it frivolous, because it would be very easy to go a darker route. Also, this is something of an experiment.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------


"I'm human on my mother's side," she confided. "Zeus' bastard daughter - barred from Mount Olympus, I must make do with the last days of El Dorado - destroying myself nightly for the dubious penance of rebirth."

The endless desert, broken only by the skeletons of ships...

"It's not bad, for purgatory. Not for the agoraphobic, I suppose. If you lost your grip you would fall forever." Her head tilts back as she surveys the depthless cobalt sky.

"I don't think that's how gravity works," is all I say.

[Sorus]

Making up for lost time, I guess. Speaking of time...

------------------------------------------------------------------


"I'd been living off the clock, translating back into real time with a shimmer of squandered seconds that rained like quicksilver over the parched land."

She kneels carelessly, lets a handful of sand trickle through her fingers, flecks of mica glinting like falling stars.

"Physics." She dusts off her hands. "Now, do you suppose this is the bottom of the hourglass or the top?"

[Sorus]

"The Last Days of El Dorado," I say. "Wasn't that the karaoke bar down on Main Street?"

I remembered the heyday, before the gilt started to fade, opulence and obsolescence hand in hand...

"This was never an ocean," she says, ignoring me. "Though the sand remembers water, it was transplanted here."

"Maybe none of this is real."

Her eyes are predatory behind the mask. "You shouldn't joke about such things."

[Linna Heartbooger]

I'm lacking a lot of context cause I'm somewhat un-read, (or under-read) but enjoying it.

Otoh, I have a Flannery O'Connor book out, and that just might explain a lot of what I'll write for a bit.
Something new.. and with all the subtlety of a wooden mallet:


As they turned into the driveway, her eyes ate up the greenness of the bush.
She was always voracious for that.

Her mind thought back to those moments in the church service they'd come from.
Singing "in Christ ALONE, my hope is found..."
and madly placing hope in the thrill of impressing her co-worker with her words and wit and ideas on Monday.
She was always getting distracted.
Why did she always have to come up with good ideas for words for those dialogues while in church?

Singing, "Lord I give you my heart, I give you my soul, I live for You alone..." while turning over and over in her mind how she couldn't believe her new friend looked older and so much more serious and mature than her, but simultaneously was prettier than she'd ever been..

(took about 3 minutes; have messed around doing minor edits to it a bunch, though; finding editing fun.)

[Sorus]

There really isn't much context - I'd originally intended it as a one-off, and I'm just pulling it out of my... hat as I go. It may have been somewhat inspired by Moorcock's psychedelic phase, and the unrelated thought that the Greek gods must have had some very odd family reunions.

[Linna Heartbooger]

There really isn't much context

Oh; I meant I don't really know my Greek & Roman mythology.
Though as of the other day, I've (possibly re-) learned that Poisidon fathered a cyclops, and I now will not make a mistake as to whom is being referred to if one says "The grey-eyed goddess spoke."

and the unrelated thought that the Greek gods must have had some very odd family reunions.

You and I both seem to have great affection for imagery and irony.
"a refugee from some masquerade ball"?
"Everyone wants to know... but most are too polite to ask" spoken to an empty desert?
"Physics."

[Sorus]

There's a storefront at the tail of the dead-end alley, a window full of dusty knick-knacks - the sort of place you don't give a second glance. It's 1960 in Doctor Clockwork's shop, in that narrow space between the counter and the door, surrounded by pendulum clocks that show the time in New York, in Sydney, in Milan.

It's an analogue space in a digital world, off the grid, off the map, off the chart. He's got a stethoscope and surgeon's hands; he worked his way from apprentice to master back in the old days, in the old ways.

It's a bubble of fresh air, frozen in perpetuity, away from the brightness and the hustle and hurry, sideways to the world of modern inconvenient conveniences.

[Sorus]

And no, I have not forgotten that I have left my main protagonists stranded in a dive bar while I struggle to hammer out coherent backstory in I-can't-believe-it's-not-fanfic land. I'll get back to that eventually. Maybe soon.

[Linna Heartbooger]

Something pointed, linked to a conversation I had this week IRL.
You've gone ahead and said He sounds like a sociopath, and I kind of see your point.
You don't know how ignorant you are, though.
And can you explain why the sky comes in these shades of blue and gray and white?
Or why the leaves and the grasses are grean and lush, a pleasing gift to the eye?
(2 mins.)

And no, I have not forgotten that I have left my main protagonists stranded in a dive bar while I struggle to hammer out coherent backstory in I-can't-believe-it's-not-fanfic land. I'll get back to that eventually. Maybe soon.

Hehe!
Nope, didn't think you forgot.
Some people love world-building; I don't loathe you your world-building.

Who knows what gains your forthcoming writing will have from the gal from the masquerade?
I like writing when it's like play.

I, on the other hand, (which may or may not be holding a metaphorical quill) I have a rough idea I know what my gal on the bus is just about to do and say.
I know what fragments of the backstory need to exist, (not a lot, and nearly all relational!) and have composed them.
So I think I take the cake for pre-eminenent "bad girl who's slackin' at her writing" here.

[Sorus]

Oh no, the real slackers are the ones who are lurking without contributing anything.

I'm sad that participation has dropped off - it's such a fun idea and there's been some good stuff here.

As to world-building... it's not my strongest point, and it's really, really hard under the time constraint. Especially with the whole fanfic background, it would be soo easy just to slip into that universe. Even the original backstory I'm working on is trying to choreograph itself to the same chronology.

[Menolly]

Oh no, the real slackers are the ones who are lurking without contributing anything.

^guilty as charged^

I save all of my writing for Gravin Threndor or the turns I send to the GM for each game. I don't do first drafts and editing much, though. So technically, what I write could be considered a very long bunch of two minutes strewn together. I think the piece linked above took me six hours.

But I really do not claim in any way, shape, or form to be a writer. I sit at the laptop with Word open, and allow my character to tell me the tale, which I then transcribe. Hence the very rare editing on my part.

[Sorus]

But I really do not claim in any way, shape, or form to be a writer. I sit at the laptop with Word open, and allow my character to tell me the tale, which I then transcribe. Hence the very rare editing on my part.

A lot of what I write could be described as setting down what the character tells me (sometimes quite insistently). If you write, you're a writer. I like what you linked, though I will confess I don't follow GT very closely.

This thread is a great place to bounce around rough drafts and such - no pressure.

[Linna Heartbooger]

Oh no, the real slackers are the ones who are lurking without contributing anything.

^guilty as charged^

I save all of my writing for Gravin Threndor or the turns I send to the GM for each game. I don't do first drafts and editing much, though. So technically, what I write could be considered a very long bunch of two minutes strewn together. I think the piece linked above took me six hours.

Meanwhile I feel like a slacker because I "lag out" on similar games I play... to the point that someone starting a game is going with the assumption that he's just going to "NPC my faun" from the get-go.
(argh. I think my problem has to do with having the desire for perfectionism, but without feeling I can justify the 6 hours.... above 6 hours?!? That's commitment.)

Wackily enough, a scene I imagined in my mind for my (new, about-to-be-in-a-game) faun's backstory also involves his mother washing clothing.

Oooh, here's something very very early from the faun's backstory:
In the pool of golden light shed by a candle,
drawn faces were seen, yes, drawn faces were seen.
Warm was the spring evening, but great was my mother's struggle
on the day when her labor pains brought me forth into the air.

[Sorus]

"Come."

She doesn't wait to see if I follow. I consider for a moment, the merits of this self-imposed exile - perhaps I am, after all, ill-fit to execute my own fate.

I watch her figure recede into the distance, sandals dangling carelessly from one hand, posture preternaturally perfect as she seems to glide over the shifting sand.

I sigh, then run to catch up.

She glances at me; she never had any doubt. With one hand she pushes her mask back over her eyes, the act of a warrior preparing for battle.

"Better hold on. This could get messy."

And the bottom drops out of the world.

[Linna Heartbooger]

I've decided Tara (the POV character on the bus) reacted rather differently from the way I did when I encountered this same situation on a public transit.
There are people who react like this towards people [who they expect to be] complete strangers, right?

Well, anyway, it was a great day hanging with the girls. And the haircut was fabulous. My hairdresser is the best. The color she'd dyed it this time went fantastically with my turquoise blouse... I was in one of my favorite outfits, since I have this one necklace that goes with the blouse and is fun and colorful, and emphasizes everything by the neckline just right. So as I was riding back home on the bus, I was feeling really great. Just feeling really great, really myself, knew I looked great. You know, like in one of those ads where the girl swooshes her hair and it just blows in the breeze. Just like that was how I felt.

Yeah, that was when I heard a bunch of guys talking behind me.
The tone of their voice was mocking... if they'd been about 10 years younger, I'd expect them to say, "Neener-neener," but no.
"He's not trying to get her to have sex, cause he's 'waai-iting for marriage.' "
What?
I looked across the aisle of the bus.
This one nice guy was getting picked on by his friends for being "the virtuous one."

I shut my phone and got up. "Excuse me," I said, fumbling past the lady who was next to me.
I got to the aisle, grabbed on to the handle above, and scarcely knew who was talking as I stumbled over toward the voices.
"How dare you? How dare you?"
"What the---?"
"Stop trying to pull him down to your level."
But then I looked up at the guy I was talking to, and found I was staring straight into the eyes of my enemy.
"You!"
(3 mins)

[deer of the dawn]

"I got nothing'" she said aloud to the glare of the screen.

The cat lifted its head from her lap and gazed at her with green eyes.

"You can't possibly believe that," said the grimalkin. "After all you've been through.

"I can't talk about that, you idiot. If I tell people I hear animals and things and people saying things to me, they'll lock me up."

"Try ME!!!" said a thundering voice behind the monitor. She looked up and there stood Archangel Michael, sword in hand.

"Ohh...." was all that came out. The keys began clacking furiously.

"FASTER" thundered Michael. She wasn't sure if that was the prickle of sweat at the back of her neck or the poke of the sword. She didn't dare turn her head away from the monitor. Her fingers flew obediently over the keys at speeds that would make Mavis Beacon jealous.

The cat in her lap grew nervous and jumped down.

Suddenly her fingers stopped.

She sat, frozen, not even knowing what was on the screen; it was a blur.

"WELL DONE" boomed the angelic voice. "AWW, NICE KITTY." She heard the purring over the faint whirr of the hard disk.

She heard the whirr of the printer and the snap of the warm paper as Michael snatched it.

What had she written?

The snarl of the cat coincided with the WHOOSH of wings that signaled his exit. She felt claws on her knees. The screen had already gone to sleep. How long had she sat frozen? The sun slanted up the wall, only a blush as the world awoke.

She stood, the cat's paws thudding to the floor. She felt woozy and stiff and had to pee. The cat ran to her refuge, her dish of kibbles, and Ishe heard the crunching.

Dare she awake the computer monitor? For now, she turned away, queasy.

[Sorus]

It's like falling through a broken mirror - every shard a distorted fragment of history, amorphous as quicksilver - the heart of the shattered continuum.

If you lost your grip you would fall forever...

"You came through here."

"There was a door. It's closed now, but there are others."

"There --" A familiar sight, an annex that spanned the breach even in my day.

"No, I shouldn't think so. You're not dressed for it, and I have standards."