In the Field…

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The simple fact is that I did not like them, I never have, nor will I ever like them in the future. What was important, however, is that I could stand them. Even for a little while. Most other people of my kind couldn’t stand them, they would have an actual physical reaction to anything that wasn’t from the Field. Anything foreign was expelled by people like me- those who can touch humans and speak to humans without instantly feeling their disease spread. Sometimes the humans were expelled by force, but a lot of the time we try to convince them to leave of their own accord, because although we can touch them, we don’t want to do it. Everytime I talk to them, I feel their twisted notions creeping into my brain. I will be tainted soon. I wonder what will happen then? Perhaps I will be expelled like the humans, like that scum. And rightly so. Because they are the Enemy. They will destroy the Field.

Without the Field, there is nothing.

This is inspired by a line from a Linkin Park song ‘Runaway’:

“I wanna be with the energy, not with the enemy”

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Having not looked at Ted.com in ages, this made me very, very happy 🙂 Enjoy!

Back Before the Earth was Round: p2

This is Part Two of a short story. Read part 1 here!

The breeze picked up, a trail of booze-soaked stench followed the pirate. I hid behind a small boulder on the beach and gagged. Dirty Beard’s song was long from finished but I couldn’t hear him. He was much further ahead of me now. It was for the best, he was almost at the docks. If i followed too closely his crew might see me. I looked down at the clothes I had stolen from my father. They fit badly, the sleeves reaching past the tips of my fingers. The overall effect was quite desirable however. I looked like a workman, and a poorly maintained one at that. It would be the perfect disguise for where I was going.

Breathing in slowly as I crouched behind the boulder, I pulled my hat low over my brow, just covering the tip of my vision. Slowly, I rose from my postilion and left the security of the beach to follow Dirty Beard to the docks, trying to exude the confidence of a ships’ hand.

The salt air was eroding the wooden pier which at the moment was bustling with activity. In the distance the sun was taking a last long look and the variety of people clustered in the small space. A young, but strong and weather-beaten girl helped her father bring in the last of the day’s catch-possibly their entire lively hood. There was a look in her father’s eye as they packed up to leave: a glow, like pride but much fonder.

I strode down the pier, stopping every now and then to admire the fish and speak to the sailors. All the time, I watched Dirty Beard’s long and solitary drunken hike to his ship. Even now, with the sun almost gone, I could see the deck bustling with life. I was itching to get to the ship, but the time was not yet right. Soon, soon it will be. The last dregs of fisherman were packing away their things and would soon be gone. If I didn’t get on board by then it would be all over.

Too be continued soonish!

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I’ve been looking at this blog, and although I love the theme and it beauty(I had no clue blue and orange could match so nicely) it detracts from the writing itself which should be the focus. It also distracts me from the writing which is where the quality should come from.

I’m trying to decide between a couple of different themes: Vertigo, Manifest, Mystique, Pink Touch 2, and Esquire.

My only other requirement is that is should be different or allow me to make it different.

Maybe you all can help?

Little Green Man (Sunday Picture Press…old)

They were looking at me like an alien. I was of course, but they shouldn’t know that at this point. It was too soon, far too soon for that. I cocked my head to the side and tried to coo like the baby-simulations that had been drilled into my head.

The old woman’s expression merely became more severe. I surveyed her. Her pointed spectacles gave her the look of the perpetually surprised, and somewhat unusually bug-eyed. She had wrapped a belt twice around her waist despite there being no need for it. Her dress was form-fitting enough, and the man’s belt was no pretty sight. Low self-worth should be the answer; which meant the older gentleman was NOT her husband.

I supposed I looked strange in my simulate body, but to be honest, we didn’t think they would notice. Humans are not the most intelligent species in the galaxy, despite the rest of the committee’s willingness to let them believe so. Now looking at the humans, I saw the details we had missed. Proportion for example; I have a rather large right fist, compared to the other. I was also closer to orange than tan, and I had blue hair. I do look like an alien.

Slowly, the woman disappeared from my line of vision as these thoughts ran into my mind. I was losing them; unfortunately that means I would have to make that ear-splitting noise. I cried as convincingly as I could. When I opened my eyes again, the woman was holding a carving knife over my crib.

I think they noticed.

This was inspired by an old Sunday Picture Press promt:

Visual Prompt 2 -- Title Unknown, Diane Arbus

Check out the other prompts and the amazing writing of Indigo Spider

Disappearing Act or Where’d he Go?!?! (Sunday Picture Press)

Visual Prompt 2 — Title and Artist Unknown

So an actual new prompt this week! I did Indigo Spider‘s Sunday Picture Press, this time an original piece. The prompts? A portal theme and the picture to the left.

Check it out for yourself!

She watched from the rushes as the little dingy cut across the water. The hunched silhouette in the boat ruffled and made itself small. She had been following him for a week at least. She had followed him all over the country, through jungle and town. It seemed this would be the end of both of their journeys. Ever since she heard about the disappearance of her brother, there seemed to be only one reason: him.

Somehow his outline against the brilliant backdrop of the river was deceiving. He appeared harmless and weak-like an old man. But she knew better. She watched as he picked up his oars and began to paddle feverishly towards the bridge. That arch that formed a perfect circle in the water had some sort of significance to him. He never turned away since he got in the boat.

She watched as he approached the bridge and slowly paddled under it. His silhouette was much more truthful now-big, imposing, frightening. But as soon as it appeared it began to fade. He was becoming translucent-she could see the river through him. She blinked. He was gone. The river stood empty and sad.

So…obviously this is unfinished…any takers for a follow up? Tandem writing is fuuuuuun! *wink wink*

Related articles

• Dear Gilliam: Sunday Picture Press| IndigoSpider >>Dear John|scribbla (coevalcornucopia.wordpress.com)

What I’ve learned about my writing and Camp Nano exploits

Image by randomcuriosity via Flickr

This month I’ve been giving Nanowrimo a third try. Well, that’s not really true seeing as I’m attempting the brand new CAMP NANOWRIMO, which is like the original Nanowrimo but in July and a separate one in August. And it has a whole summer camp theme.

Things I’ve learned about my writing from previous Nanowrimo years is that:

1. Writing a novel is a LOT harder than writing a short story.

2. I’m better at short stories

3. Seat-of-my-pants writing lends VERY bad results from my brain.

My first Nanowrimo novel was suitably horrendous. A seat-of-my-pants romance novel that had no plot and only one clearly defined character which I abandoned after 10 000 words. Which reminds me of another thing I learned.

4. I am very, VERY bad at writing romance. I haven’t attempted it since.

Although, to be fair I only discovered Nano two days before the final day. So I didn’t have that much time.

My next try at Nanowrimo resulted in 5 000 words during the month. Much worse than the first time, but it lent better quality writing. I actually continued working on it afterwards and it is about a third to three-quarters done. Not counting all the strings that hold it together, which I most likely haven’t written yet. I learned something else from this.

5. A novel, unlike a short story, needs to have a clearly defined path from point A to B, or you’ll end up with rubbish.

So, that novel’s going to need a lot of editing and rewriting once I actually finish writing it. Maybe.

Finally, the novel I’m working on now. It’s coming along better than the others, I’m about half way done. Unfortunately, I lost motivation last week and am now 10 000 words behind. It has a defined route, but I need to work out the stepping blocks. Some of the characters are just hanging around and I need to figure out the details of that brilliant climax! I’m really hope I end up finishing this one, because if I don’t finish it by the end of this month, I doubt I’ll work on it again for at least a year. Yikes.

I’ll post a synopsis for the novel once I’ve written one I’m happy with. Wish me luck! I’ll need it 🙂

Inspiration Monday: How to Make a Mask

From this lovely prompt from Inspiration Monday! It’s old though, so beware 😛 I suggest you check it out if you need inspiration 😀 Also check out these awesome writer’s tips on the rest of the BeKindRewrite site.

It’s not difficult to make a mask. It just requires patience and concentration. If you start young, it’s even easier. No one will know, they will see the gleaming facade and trust that it is the real runny core, an honest person.

Of course they would be wrong. What would an honest person have to make a mask for? They would be lovable, likable, perfect by just showing themselves as who they are. It would be easy to live like that- if I was an honest person. No, life is much more difficult for the scum and demented that walk the world in droves. We have to create an intricate container for our horrifying form, and weld it shut for all eternity. Nothing touches us here in the locked coffin, and we feel safe.

You have to make a conscious effort in the beginning. Pay attention to their behavior, and say what they want to hear. Theres always the ultimate trick- a smile, often accompanied by humble body language. No one wants to feel inferior, so you make them feel large. Little do they know this feeling is all smoke and mirrors, a puppet show at best. You- the masquerader- is the one holding the strings.

Soon it becomes easier, lies spill from your lips and you feel no hurt. You see their trust and you play them, convincing them of your eternal innocence.

Then one day, if your lucky, the divide between the mask and it’s wearer blurs and joins into one, and you become the person you wanted to be from the beginning.

And if you’re not, you wont.

Dear Gilliam: Sunday Picture Press| IndigoSpider >>Dear John|scribbla

So this originated with the wonderful writing challenge by Indigo Spider: Sunday Picture Press. I encourage you to check it out! I have a few unfinished drafts from the prompts that would really never have existed without the challenge.

That post prompted a letter from Scribbla: “Dear John”. Which you simply must read! At the end he gives us all an open invitation to respond, and although I’m not half the writer, I was in character when I wrote a reply…So here it is!

Dear Gillian,

I will answer you in order of your grievances. I am grieved to hear of your plight. Since you wrote to me I have wondered at your situation’s possibility. But you would not lie to me-there is not reason for it. I have written to my fellow adventurers in the hopes that they have answers for you.

Bessy is safe. She did her job well and I commend her for it. I hope you will not abhor me for using her to deliver my reply. She seems the safest and most reliable way to communication.

I am much saddened by your predicament. It seems unlikely that my information alone will not be sufficient. I will send a team with supplies to your village. I would accompany them, however, the time it would take me to reach you would render the effort pointless.

When you described you friend’s wife and her wounds I assumed they had been cleaned secretly by her husband. However, the incision in her neck is startling. I have not heard of this before but there is only one conclusion I may come to. It may distress you, but I must be frank. The devil is at work in you village. You friend’s wife has either been taken or is a product of his malice.

You have not spoken of her reaction to being discovered, nor her history. Pray, examine those facts. They will point to the truth. I assume that the gash in her throat is a relic of an attempt on her life. It has failed, it appears, and this worries me. If no evidence for her innocence and possibility for her to be saved is found, I implore you to finish the job. The village’s affliction may well be the work of the Devil’s spawn.

In my memory alone I have no knowledge for you. But-as I attested earlier-I have attempted to secure other’s . This is not a case of dragons and cannibals it is mortal danger.

Do not have mercy for the witch.

Yours,

John Mansfield.

PS: Gilliam, I told you that I wrote to my friends about your village’s situation. Today I received a positive reply.

The village in question no longer exists. The only history remaining of it is that of the neighbouring villages. Just as you described, darkness descended upon this village. From the outside, the darkness bled outwards then faded at the edges of their village. They did not receive any pleas for help, nor did they send any of their own. Some lowly farmers reported missing sheep. It was assumed they were lost in the darkness and could not return.

I no longer believe that a rescue team will be enough to preserve your village. Please, try to survive and abandon your scientific interest! If you can find any method of escape, I implore you to make it known to the village at large and evacuate.

I will be travelling with a group of brave priests to your village. I believe  this is the only way to save your souls.

Believe in His power and you will be blessed! I hope to see you again. John.

Feel free to criticise my portrayal of John in the comments 😛

Other replies to the “Dear John” letter:
chesshirecat’s extremely imaginative and intriguing reply
ladynimue’s creepy and surprising version
sparrowsong’s reply was oh so startling!
and Mike’s suspenseful reply got me excited.

I love writers 😛

Back Before the Earth Was Round

Another Inspiration Monday post via Stephanie at BeKindRewrite!
Prompt: before the earth was round.

Tap, tap, tap, click.

“What yer staring at? Want one too do yer laddie?”

The boys scattered, terror on their faces, each diving to the relative safety of their mothers arms. Their fearsome combatant was slumped across the top of the bar, bottle of rum in one hand and a time worn map in the other. If you happened to be brave enough, you would risk taking a closer look at this eyesore. If you were foolish enough, you would stare long and hard at a wooden leg poking out of the bottom of his trousers. These were several inches too short for the pirate, and he was running short on time as well. Dirty Beard rose from the bar, rum swishing away in it’s fragile packaging, and waddled to the door. It was to the seas again-he never felt right on the land. Too stable; too safe. I watched as Dirty Beard wandered out of the pub and strolled towards his ship, singing pirate songs with a tune now long lost and forgotten.

The pirate’s name was in fact Leonard Peters, but no gold-loving man of the seas would consent to be called Captain Peters or the excruciating Leo Beard. So he had settled for the less glorifying, slightly insulting title of Dirty Beard-or so legend goes. I for one had not succumbed to the treacherous legends of yesteryear nor was I satisfied with rumor. Dirty Beards’ unravelling was long over due and I planned to make it happen. It was time for the truth. I was now too old for fairytales. Slowly, I left the pub and followed him.

I could still hear Dirty Beard’s tuneless warbling in the distance; it made things easier for me. I followed the sounds of the wailing and eventually had him in my sights.

“Yo ho, Yo ho. 

Gold in sacks and stacks of gold, 

Rum and bear and caskets closed.

Fearsome beasts-

The seas so cold!

Such is the tale of pirates!”

Disclaimer: The Pirate in question is not related in any way to this Leonard Peters.

Beware…this is only part 1 of this story! I have the idea in my brain, just need to get it all out 😛 For now, enjoy.