Having finished the skeleton of one story, and after taking a day off from any serious writing effort, I'm gonna get back on the wagon again. This time around, it's gonna be a silly story. Not that my last story wasn't silly, but this one is actually going to be intentionally fun. I plan on using puns with reckless abandon, for a start. I'll probably change my mind later on, but that's my style. Technically, I wrote this sentence sometime last week, so I really am not doing any writing today... but I might. I might at least write the next sentence. That will give me warm fuzzies. Anyway, here it is:
When the baker closed for the night, he had no idea the yeast in the day's labor was not going to be the only thing that would rise that night.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Saturday, April 13, 2013
A New Ending is Just the Beginning
I know I said I wasn't going to work on my finished S.A.D. story for a while. I know I said that I was going to work on other projects in the meantime. And I will, but I had to write this idea down as part of my process of documenting my own writing. Given that I haven't been able to think of anything else to write because this idea is so persistent, I think it's safe to assume I'm not going to get any other writing done today, so I might as well get this idea down and be done with it. This idea of mine concerns the ending. I rushed the ending that I wrote, and I knew that was going to be something I wanted to change ASAP. So it's pretty good that it's the first thing I'm re-working.
My new ending notes: Instead of reaching out and choking him to death, the gun-beast will instead reach out its hand, slowly enveloping his gun into its ever-moving self. The gun-beast won't stop at consuming his gun. It'll continue to consume his hand and then his arm and then his head and torso and so on, in a great spray of blood. Grinding him to death, basically.
The idea itself needs work, but I'm really pleased with it regardless. I hope that my re-working of the rest of this story will be as pleasing to me as this was.
My new ending notes: Instead of reaching out and choking him to death, the gun-beast will instead reach out its hand, slowly enveloping his gun into its ever-moving self. The gun-beast won't stop at consuming his gun. It'll continue to consume his hand and then his arm and then his head and torso and so on, in a great spray of blood. Grinding him to death, basically.
The idea itself needs work, but I'm really pleased with it regardless. I hope that my re-working of the rest of this story will be as pleasing to me as this was.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Fear Can Suck the Pointy End of My Pen: or, I'VE FUCKING DONE IT! I FINISHED IT!
I did it. I fucking did it. I finished the story. That is to say, I finished the first draft. It's every bit as terrible as I was aiming for, and I couldn't be happier. Well, I COULD be happier. If it had come out 100% perfect the first time, that would have made me happier. As it was, I wasn't shooting for perfection, just completion. The second draft is where I will reach for perfection. If I don't get it then, I'll do a third draft. Hopefully, by that point I will have either a perfect or close to perfect story as I can manage. For now, I'm putting this story aside to let it and my mind rest a bit. I'll do some other story or stories in the meantime. I WILL come back to it, though. There's no doubt about it. I'm determined to make this story readable and enjoyable to not just me (although that's first and foremost) but to others as well. I'll be damned if I write something lots of people like. I'm good with a few people saying, "Hey, this doesn't suck!" That's good enough for me. I definitely rushed the ending, and that's going to bother me for some time. But I had such a good flow going that I couldn't make myself stop until I had finished the story. So, I finished it as quickly as I could, comforted that I would come back and slow it down some. Okay, enough blather. Here's the first draft of the story I haven't titled yet:
He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating. He grabbed his keys from his pocket. As his fingers worked to find the right key, he looked at the doorknob and became more confused by the situation. Where a keyhole is supposed to be was instead a smooth sphere. He looked left and then right and then up at the room placard. In place of numbers was "BANGFUCKIMDEAD". Now he KNEW someone was fucking with him. He banged on the door and turned the doorknob again. There was a loud dry sucking sound, like someone sucking on the straw of an empty glass of soda trying to get those last few drops. And like someone flicking a light switch, he was inside his classroom.The light was blinding but he could make out the shapes of the dissection tables and his desk as well as something he couldn't quite make out. He heard a low, slow laugh as the light began to dim. As his eyes adjusted to the changing light, the shape before him began to come into focus. There was a sack laying next to the form, that's what he was able to make out first. as the form became clearer, the less sense things seemed to make. Guns and bullets, hundreds of them. But they weren't stacked or piled, they were collected into a humanoid shape. Its shape was not stationary. Assault rifles, hand guns, shotguns, and bullets all moved constantly. In and out, up and down, left and right. It was like a hunter's wet dream of a puzzle box. A gun near its foot inched out and poked the sack next to the gun-beast. A soft whimper from the sack, and he realized the janitor was inside. The gun-beast laughed again and moved a leg-full of ballistics towards him. He shied back against the door. He needed to escape this thing, but he couldn't leave the janitor behind. He looked around the room for some sort of defense. That was when he saw that the room wasn't his room. Everything was in its place, but nothing was as it should be. It was as if someone had melted everything just enough so that it would attach to one another to make one giant piece. He looked back at the sack. was he really willing to risk his life for another in the face of such madness? He didn't know what was going on or what any of it meant. The only possible means of escape was the door behind him. The gun-beast took another step toward him. He turned around and grasped the doorknob. The knob melted at his touch. Tendrils of ice cold liquid metal flowed onto his hand trapping him.For a few brief moments there was some give with the metal, but soon the metal had solidified. The metal had gotten up to his elbow. He was now one with everything else in the hellish room. He screamed as loud as he could. He screamed, his throat becoming rawer by the moment. He jerked his body, trying to free himself. The gunbeast laughed again, and this time it did not stop laughing. It reached a hand out, bullets of fingers. He reached to his hip and drew a gun of his own, a last ditch effort. He pulled the trigger rapidly as his screaming intensified, flecks of blood flying out of his mouth along with the spittle. He could see they weren't doing anything to slow the gunbeast. He put his gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. The gun fired on an empty space. The gunbeast closed its hand around his neck and squeezed. And then, darkness...
He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating. He grabbed his keys from his pocket. As his fingers worked to find the right key, he looked at the doorknob and became more confused by the situation. Where a keyhole is supposed to be was instead a smooth sphere. He looked left and then right and then up at the room placard. In place of numbers was "BANGFUCKIMDEAD". Now he KNEW someone was fucking with him. He banged on the door and turned the doorknob again. There was a loud dry sucking sound, like someone sucking on the straw of an empty glass of soda trying to get those last few drops. And like someone flicking a light switch, he was inside his classroom.The light was blinding but he could make out the shapes of the dissection tables and his desk as well as something he couldn't quite make out. He heard a low, slow laugh as the light began to dim. As his eyes adjusted to the changing light, the shape before him began to come into focus. There was a sack laying next to the form, that's what he was able to make out first. as the form became clearer, the less sense things seemed to make. Guns and bullets, hundreds of them. But they weren't stacked or piled, they were collected into a humanoid shape. Its shape was not stationary. Assault rifles, hand guns, shotguns, and bullets all moved constantly. In and out, up and down, left and right. It was like a hunter's wet dream of a puzzle box. A gun near its foot inched out and poked the sack next to the gun-beast. A soft whimper from the sack, and he realized the janitor was inside. The gun-beast laughed again and moved a leg-full of ballistics towards him. He shied back against the door. He needed to escape this thing, but he couldn't leave the janitor behind. He looked around the room for some sort of defense. That was when he saw that the room wasn't his room. Everything was in its place, but nothing was as it should be. It was as if someone had melted everything just enough so that it would attach to one another to make one giant piece. He looked back at the sack. was he really willing to risk his life for another in the face of such madness? He didn't know what was going on or what any of it meant. The only possible means of escape was the door behind him. The gun-beast took another step toward him. He turned around and grasped the doorknob. The knob melted at his touch. Tendrils of ice cold liquid metal flowed onto his hand trapping him.For a few brief moments there was some give with the metal, but soon the metal had solidified. The metal had gotten up to his elbow. He was now one with everything else in the hellish room. He screamed as loud as he could. He screamed, his throat becoming rawer by the moment. He jerked his body, trying to free himself. The gunbeast laughed again, and this time it did not stop laughing. It reached a hand out, bullets of fingers. He reached to his hip and drew a gun of his own, a last ditch effort. He pulled the trigger rapidly as his screaming intensified, flecks of blood flying out of his mouth along with the spittle. He could see they weren't doing anything to slow the gunbeast. He put his gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. The gun fired on an empty space. The gunbeast closed its hand around his neck and squeezed. And then, darkness...
THE END
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Big Bad Reveals Itself and Another Story Begins
I started writing my silly story today after I lost my nerve with my S.A.D. story yet again. Finding the right words isn't as easy as I had hoped, but I'm working on it. The more I write of this story, the more I clearly see that this is indeed a very, very, very rough draft. The idea is all there, but the writing is not. Today more than even the first day I sat down and wrote my first sentence in years, I realize how atrophied my writing skill has become. Used to be, when I couldn't find the words, I'd just stop, for fear of making the story not perfect from the get go. Now, it's different. I still have that fear, but I'm soldiering on, taking it one sentence at a time. With each word, I'm telling myself that it's okay, go on. The words don't have to be there just yet. They will come when the idea is there and concrete. I often lose sight of that. But when I do, I tell myself it's okay, I just need to take a break and work on another story. Rinse and repeat. And so I worked on my silly story some. Might be I work on several stories at once, taking a long time to finish even one. Nonetheless, my resolve to finish each will not waiver.....more or less. For now, six new sentences in which the Big Bad is revealed...-ish:
He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating. He grabbed his keys from his pocket. As his fingers worked to find the right key, he looked at the doorknob and became more confused by the situation. Where a keyhole is supposed to be was instead a smooth sphere. He looked left and then right and then up at the room placard. In place of numbers was "BANGFUCKIMDEAD". Now he KNEW someone was fucking with him. He banged on the door and turned the doorknob again. There was a loud dry sucking sound, like someone sucking on the straw of an empty glass of soda trying to get those last few drops. And like someone flicking a light switch, he was inside his classroom.The light was blinding but he could make out the shapes of the dissection tables and his desk as well as something he couldn't quite make out. He heard a low, slow laugh as the light began to dim. As his eyes adjusted to the changing light, the shape before him began to come into focus. There was a sack laying next to the form, that's what he was able to make out first. as the form became clearer, the less sense things seemed to make. Guns and bullets, hundreds of them. But they weren't stacked or piled, they were collected into a humanoid shape.
He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating. He grabbed his keys from his pocket. As his fingers worked to find the right key, he looked at the doorknob and became more confused by the situation. Where a keyhole is supposed to be was instead a smooth sphere. He looked left and then right and then up at the room placard. In place of numbers was "BANGFUCKIMDEAD". Now he KNEW someone was fucking with him. He banged on the door and turned the doorknob again. There was a loud dry sucking sound, like someone sucking on the straw of an empty glass of soda trying to get those last few drops. And like someone flicking a light switch, he was inside his classroom.The light was blinding but he could make out the shapes of the dissection tables and his desk as well as something he couldn't quite make out. He heard a low, slow laugh as the light began to dim. As his eyes adjusted to the changing light, the shape before him began to come into focus. There was a sack laying next to the form, that's what he was able to make out first. as the form became clearer, the less sense things seemed to make. Guns and bullets, hundreds of them. But they weren't stacked or piled, they were collected into a humanoid shape.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
The Light at the End of the Tunnel
Nothing much new to report on the writing front, save for the 9 new sentences I wrote today. I hope to have this story finished by Friday, but I think I'll shoot for NEXT Friday instead. Might be that I even do a second draft by then. We'll see. For now, here's the story so far:
He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating. He grabbed his keys from his pocket. As his fingers worked to find the right key, he looked at the doorknob and became more confused by the situation. Where a keyhole is supposed to be was instead a smooth sphere. He looked left and then right and then up at the room placard. In place of numbers was "BANGFUCKIMDEAD". Now he KNEW someone was fucking with him. He banged on the door and turned the doorknob again. There was a loud dry sucking sound, like someone sucking on the straw of an empty glass of soda trying to get those last few drops. And like someone flicking a light switch, he was inside his classroom.
He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating. He grabbed his keys from his pocket. As his fingers worked to find the right key, he looked at the doorknob and became more confused by the situation. Where a keyhole is supposed to be was instead a smooth sphere. He looked left and then right and then up at the room placard. In place of numbers was "BANGFUCKIMDEAD". Now he KNEW someone was fucking with him. He banged on the door and turned the doorknob again. There was a loud dry sucking sound, like someone sucking on the straw of an empty glass of soda trying to get those last few drops. And like someone flicking a light switch, he was inside his classroom.
Tuesday, April 9, 2013
Hang on to Your Butts
Six more sentences today. I actually know where I'm going with this story, finally, and it's going to get really fucking weird. I know WHAT I'm going to do but I'm not sure how I'm going to do it. I suppose that's the fun of writing, when you figure that out. But for me, right now, it's a bit daunting. I might write more tonight, but I'll probably leave it until tomorrow, just on the off-chance I find myself at a loss for words again. When I get it written, should anyone actually read it and wonder where I got the idea... Rest assured I will point the blame squarely on the shoulders of Bentley Little. It was the moment that I decided to try to think like BL that I came up with what will help me finish out the story. I'm both really excited and really, really scared that I will actually finish a story...a story that I now definitely have interest in...which is a first. Usually, I just try to write what I think others will like. Not this time and most likely not anymore. It's freeing, thinking the way BL does. I recommend it highly to everyone. Anyway, here's the story with the 6 most recent sentences:
He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating.
He walked to the door not realizing he was about to die. He should have known, though. The door was locked. The janitor always unlocked the door in the morning for him.15 years and the janitor never forgot. What was going on? He tried the door knob again. Locked. He heard a scuffling sound and then a muffled bark of laughter and what sounded like a yelp of pain. Two kids, perhaps, groping each other. He smiled at the thought, remembering what it was like to be a teen again. Another giggle, this time much louder, sounding very sinister. He reached into his pocket for his keys. He was unnerved by the laughter, but his composure remained. It was just some randy students, he told himself again. He had been through worse many times before. He heard soft metallic clicks within as he brought the room key to the keyhole. He froze. That sound was familiar to him. As familiar as own family. Bullets being loaded into a magazine. Not here, not now! This was NOT happening! Not at my school. If he had known what was really going on on the other side of the door, he would have run right then and forgotten all that he had heard. But he was a scientist at heart and by profession. Curiosity came with the territory, and fear never stopped him from investigating.
Monday, April 8, 2013
It's Not Giving Up If I'm Still Writing Something....Right?
I didn't write at all yesterday. In my defense, I was over at Theo's place playing board games with him and our buddy, Kris. Couldn't very well write AND play games at the same time, now could I? That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
As far as today is concerned, I haven't written any new sentences in my S.A.D. story. I'm still trying to puzzle out something interesting to do with it. But I DID write something today. I did two paragraphs in the collaboration with Theo, and I'm very happy with them. They aren't perfect, but they will do for now.
All in all, I'm rather pleased with myself. I think I'm overcoming my fear quite well. And now that I've said that, I'm probably going to fail miserably tomorrow. Ah, pessimism.
As far as today is concerned, I haven't written any new sentences in my S.A.D. story. I'm still trying to puzzle out something interesting to do with it. But I DID write something today. I did two paragraphs in the collaboration with Theo, and I'm very happy with them. They aren't perfect, but they will do for now.
All in all, I'm rather pleased with myself. I think I'm overcoming my fear quite well. And now that I've said that, I'm probably going to fail miserably tomorrow. Ah, pessimism.
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