Erm, I sorta lost track of time today. So I thought I'd take a leaf out of Meri's book and write a haiku (or something like one). Not that haiku are easy~
***
The skyline sparkles—
Stars tangled in weighted nets
Slowly dim and die.
***
Eh, crap. Ah well.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Day 19
Continued from Day 16. Yesterday and the day before were a bit of a cop out, so I thought I'd get some more of this novel thingy written today. ^_^
***
Even at a young age, before disillusion set in and such fantasies went the way of Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy, she had instinctively known that going any farther would put an end to her imaginings.
Now, though, there was nothing to stop her from following the path to wherever it led; after seven years away, talking rodents and tiny people with wings were all but forgotten. Violet barely hesitated as she came to the wood, and she trod onwards, pointedly pushing the empty boxes she’d left behind to the back of her mind.
It was cool in the shadow of the trees, and a wind rustled the leaves of the canopy above. The cultivated flowers were soon left behind her, and she breathed in the smell of earth and damp. Beyond the well-tended path the undergrowth grew wild and untamed, and Violet had a sudden fancy that as she walked the plants were closing in, encroaching across the path behind her so that it disappeared entirely. She did not turn around.
Violet wondered why the path was there. Someone—most likely her grandmother, though she shied away from that train of thought—had obviously used it regularly, but there didn’t seem to be much point to it. She supposed the wood was pretty, if a bit unnerving. But where did it go?
That question was soon answered when she turned a corner and the trees began to thin. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, blinking, and surveyed the meadow before her. Here the path petered out, getting quickly lost in the tall grasses. Violet waded through them slowly, looking around. There was nothing there. No sign of civilization, no sign of the path. Just a meadow surrounded by hedgerows, and a country lane on the other side.
The scene jolted as her foot caught in a hole and she stumbled. She righted herself, cheeks burning even though no one was there to see her clumsiness. Brushing off her trousers Violet glanced back over her shoulder and froze.
The wood was gone. Where there had been trees there was now only a hedgerow, and behind that another field. There was no sign of the way she had come, even though she had only walked twenty paces out into the meadow.
***
Even at a young age, before disillusion set in and such fantasies went the way of Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy, she had instinctively known that going any farther would put an end to her imaginings.
Now, though, there was nothing to stop her from following the path to wherever it led; after seven years away, talking rodents and tiny people with wings were all but forgotten. Violet barely hesitated as she came to the wood, and she trod onwards, pointedly pushing the empty boxes she’d left behind to the back of her mind.
It was cool in the shadow of the trees, and a wind rustled the leaves of the canopy above. The cultivated flowers were soon left behind her, and she breathed in the smell of earth and damp. Beyond the well-tended path the undergrowth grew wild and untamed, and Violet had a sudden fancy that as she walked the plants were closing in, encroaching across the path behind her so that it disappeared entirely. She did not turn around.
Violet wondered why the path was there. Someone—most likely her grandmother, though she shied away from that train of thought—had obviously used it regularly, but there didn’t seem to be much point to it. She supposed the wood was pretty, if a bit unnerving. But where did it go?
That question was soon answered when she turned a corner and the trees began to thin. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, blinking, and surveyed the meadow before her. Here the path petered out, getting quickly lost in the tall grasses. Violet waded through them slowly, looking around. There was nothing there. No sign of civilization, no sign of the path. Just a meadow surrounded by hedgerows, and a country lane on the other side.
The scene jolted as her foot caught in a hole and she stumbled. She righted herself, cheeks burning even though no one was there to see her clumsiness. Brushing off her trousers Violet glanced back over her shoulder and froze.
The wood was gone. Where there had been trees there was now only a hedgerow, and behind that another field. There was no sign of the way she had come, even though she had only walked twenty paces out into the meadow.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Guess what?
I'm tired! (Betcha didn't see that one coming, didja? -_^) It's only five o'clock and I'm already having trouble keeping my eyes open. So, yeah. Not gonna happen today.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Day 18
I worked on my next part for the chain story today, but I still can't post it. Don't worry; I'll have something up tomorrow, provided I'm not too tired. I'm actually going out for a change, though, so we'll just have to see. ^_^
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Day 17
I thought I'd write a bit of a scene that comes later on in my droid story; I'm a bit too tired for the novel idea or the werewolf story. I'm not so attached to this story, so I don't mind messing it up. :)
***
The door slid shut behind Nia and she collapsed on the bunk. The cabin was small; standing with her hands outstretched, her palms would probably lie flat against the metal walls. There was a little storage under the bunk, consisting of several metal boxes with latches, but apart from that the room was bare.
She shook her head to clear it and grabbed her pack. Turning it upside down she dumped its contents out onto the bed. Along with her cloth roll of tools were a few changes of clothes, a small purse that clinked as it fell, a notebook, a pen, and a small metal box that she picked up. It fit into the palm in her hand and a closer look revealed it to be made of nothing more than different bits of scrap metal. Nia turned it over and pressed a piece before setting it on the ground.
***
Ooo, not much today. Ah well. Must sleep now. ^_^
***
The door slid shut behind Nia and she collapsed on the bunk. The cabin was small; standing with her hands outstretched, her palms would probably lie flat against the metal walls. There was a little storage under the bunk, consisting of several metal boxes with latches, but apart from that the room was bare.
She shook her head to clear it and grabbed her pack. Turning it upside down she dumped its contents out onto the bed. Along with her cloth roll of tools were a few changes of clothes, a small purse that clinked as it fell, a notebook, a pen, and a small metal box that she picked up. It fit into the palm in her hand and a closer look revealed it to be made of nothing more than different bits of scrap metal. Nia turned it over and pressed a piece before setting it on the ground.
***
Ooo, not much today. Ah well. Must sleep now. ^_^
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Day 16
Still haven't really discovered where the werewolf story is going; I have an idea, but I think "and something happens" is just a bit too vague. ^_^
I haven't thought about this novel idea lately, so I thought I'd try writing the beginning and see what happens. Some of it was written a while ago, but I think the majority is new.
***
Violet had known that the task would be difficult, but as she nursed a cup of tea and surveyed the mess of cardboard boxes she realized she had completely underestimated it. The sheer effort it took to neatly pack away her grandmother's things, to sort the china and the knitting needles and the books that only a short while ago had helped define a person's life, was utterly exhausting. These were the things that had surrounded her grandmother, here in her little house, and now she was gone and they were all that was left behind.
A lump was forming in her throat and she quickly took a sip; the too-hot liquid burned in her mouth and on the way down. Violet cast her gaze around the room and it settled on the clock on the mantelpiece. It had a simple wood casing, with a still life above the face depicting several apples, a bowl, and the clock itself. The Roman numerals were wrong in the painting—the artist had mixed up the order, so where there should have been XI for the eleven there was IX. Violet remembered when she'd first noticed the mistake; being only six or seven she hadn't even understood Roman numerals, but she'd felt great pride in pointing out the difference to her grandmother.
Violet turned around suddenly and put her mug on the table by the door. This was just too much. She strode into the kitchen and out the back door onto the patio. Closing the door behind her, she breathed in a deep breath and let it out shakily. She looked out over the garden, feeling a calm settling over her. The flowers and vegetables still reminded her, but unlike the lifeless house and its contents they made her smile.
There was a path that began where the patio ended, and Violet found her feet taking her away from the house. It wound its way past runner beans twining up canes, through flowerbeds of foxgloves and roses that buzzed with bees, to the bottom of her grandmother’s garden. There it entered a small wood, and the gravel crunching underfoot gave way to tamped down earth. In the shade of the trees the path quickly turned out of sight, and as a little girl Violet had never made it to the bend before retreating to the sunlit garden. It wasn’t that she had been afraid of exploring; well, not entirely, anyway. Looking back, she realized she had been afraid of losing the mystery of what might lie in the beyond. As long as she hadn’t ventured too far she had been free to imagine fairies lounging atop spotted toadstools or squirrels arguing over a nut. Even at a young age, before disillusion set in and such fantasies went the way that Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy go, she had instinctively known that going any farther would put an end to her imaginings.
***
Hm... not terrible, but not great. Huzzah for editing!
[Edit: Continued here.]
I haven't thought about this novel idea lately, so I thought I'd try writing the beginning and see what happens. Some of it was written a while ago, but I think the majority is new.
***
Violet had known that the task would be difficult, but as she nursed a cup of tea and surveyed the mess of cardboard boxes she realized she had completely underestimated it. The sheer effort it took to neatly pack away her grandmother's things, to sort the china and the knitting needles and the books that only a short while ago had helped define a person's life, was utterly exhausting. These were the things that had surrounded her grandmother, here in her little house, and now she was gone and they were all that was left behind.
A lump was forming in her throat and she quickly took a sip; the too-hot liquid burned in her mouth and on the way down. Violet cast her gaze around the room and it settled on the clock on the mantelpiece. It had a simple wood casing, with a still life above the face depicting several apples, a bowl, and the clock itself. The Roman numerals were wrong in the painting—the artist had mixed up the order, so where there should have been XI for the eleven there was IX. Violet remembered when she'd first noticed the mistake; being only six or seven she hadn't even understood Roman numerals, but she'd felt great pride in pointing out the difference to her grandmother.
Violet turned around suddenly and put her mug on the table by the door. This was just too much. She strode into the kitchen and out the back door onto the patio. Closing the door behind her, she breathed in a deep breath and let it out shakily. She looked out over the garden, feeling a calm settling over her. The flowers and vegetables still reminded her, but unlike the lifeless house and its contents they made her smile.
There was a path that began where the patio ended, and Violet found her feet taking her away from the house. It wound its way past runner beans twining up canes, through flowerbeds of foxgloves and roses that buzzed with bees, to the bottom of her grandmother’s garden. There it entered a small wood, and the gravel crunching underfoot gave way to tamped down earth. In the shade of the trees the path quickly turned out of sight, and as a little girl Violet had never made it to the bend before retreating to the sunlit garden. It wasn’t that she had been afraid of exploring; well, not entirely, anyway. Looking back, she realized she had been afraid of losing the mystery of what might lie in the beyond. As long as she hadn’t ventured too far she had been free to imagine fairies lounging atop spotted toadstools or squirrels arguing over a nut. Even at a young age, before disillusion set in and such fantasies went the way that Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy go, she had instinctively known that going any farther would put an end to her imaginings.
***
Hm... not terrible, but not great. Huzzah for editing!
[Edit: Continued here.]
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Day 15 (one day late)
Ooo, the halfway point! Funfunfun. ^_^
I just finished a really interesting book by Michael Pollan called The Omnivore's Dilemma. This isn't really a review of the book or a discussion, both of which can be found elsewhere (most notably here), but more of what it's made me ponder in a roundabout way.
Rough draft, as usual, and a rather rambling one at that. I expect it stretches the "creative" guideline, but I'm not picky. ;)
***
I don't often think about food. Oh, I like it all right, and sometimes my mum or dad will ask me what I'd like to eat for dinner, forcing me to contemplate it for a short while. And I suppose that when I remember events in my life, like trips abroad or Christmas's spent with family, I, like many people, inevitably think about the foods that accompanied them. But where our food actually comes from, well, that's something that doesn't usually cross my mind when chewing on a ham sandwich.
Of course, this is partly because I have a fairly good idea of our foods' origins, a better idea, I'd like to think, than some people out there. I've read the articles about the factory farms, the toxic retention ponds of full shit, the chickens forced to live so close together they eat each other, the algae blooms caused by agricultural runoff, the perils of monocultures, and the death of the small farm.
Thinking about these things while eating would put anyone off their dinner, so instead, when my thoughts do stray to my food, I comfort myself with flimsy reassurances that my mum buys organic, so it must be okay.
Reading Pollan's book, among other things, forced my to examine my ideas and conceptions about food. What I discovered made a lot of sense based on my general world-view, but there were some surprises in there, too. It's interesting to see what you learn about yourself when forced to ponder something relatively new.
I now know that I don't want to be a vegetarian, and I don't think I ever will. I had recently considered whether I should try it, and reading this book help me sort things out. For me, eating other animals is part of life, and not something of which we should be ashamed. Any moral qualms I have are not about killing innocent animals, but their quality of life, the environmental impact of how they're raised, and how they are killed. So instead of eschewing meat entirely, I've decided to make sure I know where it comes from and to eat less of it. It's a grayer position, but then not everything is black and white.
Then there's hunting—Pollan's descriptions of hunting actually made me want to try it. Which was sort of disturbing, until I realized my views on hunting hadn't suddenly morphed into that of the stereotypical sport hunter who owns more guns than seems entirely necessary. I still don't think hunting for sport is right; if you hunt an animal you should do so with the intent of eating it. But the idea that I might actually want to experience hunting once or twice, well, that's certainly new.
Finally, there's that flimsy reasoning that I don't have to think about my food because a lot of it's organic. Turns out that organic food isn't synonymous with small family farms and happy little animals. I suppose if I weren't so naive I would've figured this out sooner; organic agriculture has had to become more and more industrial to meet growing demand.
***
Okay, not sure how to end it. Since it isn't anything special, I think that'll do. Rambles don't need conclusions. ^_^
I just finished a really interesting book by Michael Pollan called The Omnivore's Dilemma. This isn't really a review of the book or a discussion, both of which can be found elsewhere (most notably here), but more of what it's made me ponder in a roundabout way.
Rough draft, as usual, and a rather rambling one at that. I expect it stretches the "creative" guideline, but I'm not picky. ;)
***
I don't often think about food. Oh, I like it all right, and sometimes my mum or dad will ask me what I'd like to eat for dinner, forcing me to contemplate it for a short while. And I suppose that when I remember events in my life, like trips abroad or Christmas's spent with family, I, like many people, inevitably think about the foods that accompanied them. But where our food actually comes from, well, that's something that doesn't usually cross my mind when chewing on a ham sandwich.
Of course, this is partly because I have a fairly good idea of our foods' origins, a better idea, I'd like to think, than some people out there. I've read the articles about the factory farms, the toxic retention ponds of full shit, the chickens forced to live so close together they eat each other, the algae blooms caused by agricultural runoff, the perils of monocultures, and the death of the small farm.
Thinking about these things while eating would put anyone off their dinner, so instead, when my thoughts do stray to my food, I comfort myself with flimsy reassurances that my mum buys organic, so it must be okay.
Reading Pollan's book, among other things, forced my to examine my ideas and conceptions about food. What I discovered made a lot of sense based on my general world-view, but there were some surprises in there, too. It's interesting to see what you learn about yourself when forced to ponder something relatively new.
I now know that I don't want to be a vegetarian, and I don't think I ever will. I had recently considered whether I should try it, and reading this book help me sort things out. For me, eating other animals is part of life, and not something of which we should be ashamed. Any moral qualms I have are not about killing innocent animals, but their quality of life, the environmental impact of how they're raised, and how they are killed. So instead of eschewing meat entirely, I've decided to make sure I know where it comes from and to eat less of it. It's a grayer position, but then not everything is black and white.
Then there's hunting—Pollan's descriptions of hunting actually made me want to try it. Which was sort of disturbing, until I realized my views on hunting hadn't suddenly morphed into that of the stereotypical sport hunter who owns more guns than seems entirely necessary. I still don't think hunting for sport is right; if you hunt an animal you should do so with the intent of eating it. But the idea that I might actually want to experience hunting once or twice, well, that's certainly new.
Finally, there's that flimsy reasoning that I don't have to think about my food because a lot of it's organic. Turns out that organic food isn't synonymous with small family farms and happy little animals. I suppose if I weren't so naive I would've figured this out sooner; organic agriculture has had to become more and more industrial to meet growing demand.
***
Okay, not sure how to end it. Since it isn't anything special, I think that'll do. Rambles don't need conclusions. ^_^
Day 14 (two days late)
Well, I missed another two days, which is rather disappointing, but really, I'm not doing too bad. So far, in the first 13 days of this challenge (if I include the writings of Day 11 which have not been posted), I have written nearly 5,300 words. That's about 408 words a day, which doesn't seem like much until you realize that's about as much as I wrote per week before I started. Success! ^_^
Today I'm think I'll try writing three days worth (we'll see how that works out.) First I'll be taking a quick break from my pet werewolf to work on my chain story, but never fear! He shall return once I figure out what the hell happens next. ;)
This morning I got the second part of my chain story, the 300 or so words my partner wrote in response to what I wrote on Day 11. I have absolutely no idea where it's going, but it's really quite fun to wonder what he/she will write next. (I'm not sure I really know who my partner is, but maybe the more we write back and forth the more of an idea I'll have.)
Anyway, I can't post it here until it's over, but I'll get something else up today. ;}
Today I'm think I'll try writing three days worth (we'll see how that works out.) First I'll be taking a quick break from my pet werewolf to work on my chain story, but never fear! He shall return once I figure out what the hell happens next. ;)
This morning I got the second part of my chain story, the 300 or so words my partner wrote in response to what I wrote on Day 11. I have absolutely no idea where it's going, but it's really quite fun to wonder what he/she will write next. (I'm not sure I really know who my partner is, but maybe the more we write back and forth the more of an idea I'll have.)
Anyway, I can't post it here until it's over, but I'll get something else up today. ;}
Monday, June 23, 2008
I'm just too effing tired
And fed up, and overwrought. Sometimes it feels like my dad is the teenager, not me. He's currently listening to music downstairs, and it just so happens that I cannot escape the beat no matter where I go, and it is driving me insane. Normally I don't mind, but sometimes I'm tired and I can't focus and the last thing I want is some music pounding into my bedroom at 9:15 at night.
How hard is it to understand that sometimes I just can't deal with more than one thing at a time?
[/rant]
Sorry, venting over. I shall write something tomorrow, preferably before my dad comes home. >_<
How hard is it to understand that sometimes I just can't deal with more than one thing at a time?
[/rant]
Sorry, venting over. I shall write something tomorrow, preferably before my dad comes home. >_<
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Day 13
Next little bit in my "reverse werewolf" thing—when I started I hadn't planned on going anywhere with it, but now that I've got my first fangrrl... ;}
It began here, continued on Day 12, and is, as usual, a rough draft. In other words, there's a reason for any crappiness. ^_^
***
Stepping into the water, he let it flow around his legs, numbing the wound a little.
The trap was still very heavy.
The pebbles shifted under his paws as he made his way downstream, away from the Pack. His leg was now blessedly numb, but the cold water was beginning to sap his strength; he could feel a clumsy heaviness in his limbs as he splashed through the water.
He felt a sense of urgency now. Clambering out onto the opposite bank, he left footprints in the mud and trampled the undergrowth. The spot wasn't far from where he'd entered the stream, leaving similar markings, and with any luck the hunter would notice.
Entering the water again, he moved upstream, past his first trail. He was shaking, staggering, but he kept on, following the stream around a bend. Once out of sight of the fake trail, he crawled back onto the bank and lay there panting. His leg throbbed painfully, and he wondered blearily if that was bone he could see next to a metal tooth.
He couldn't walk, only drag himself further into the bushes and away from the water. Finding a hollow he curled up awkwardly, the trap still biting into his flesh. He licked it feebly. The sky above was greying in the pre-dawn light, and he waited for the sun and its warmth.
The day passed in a daze. At times he was aware of the passing of hours, and at others he slipped in and out of awareness, finding the sun had moved across the sky in what seemed like minutes. Eventually it began to set, and he could feel the full moon in his bones. His nose itched, and he sneezed.
The change was quick; fur melted into skin, bones rearranged, his eyesight dimmed. He braved it without a sound, having done so many times before, but it was painful. His pelt itched like he'd been bitten all over by thousands of ants, and his bones felt as if they were breaking. Within a minute, though, it was over, and he uncurled himself.
He inspected his wrist; it was bleeding, and he put down his head to lick at the wound before remembering himself. In the dark he could just make out the trap mechanism, and with a bit of struggling he managed to remove his hand. He stood up unsteadily and held his hand to his chest, wincing as the movement jolted it. Squinting into the darkness he began to walk. In only a few meters he managed to stub his toe, walk into a branch, and practice several new swear words he'd learned the previous moon.
***
I'm beginning to think I should've named my pet werewolf. "He" is getting awfully repetitious...
Not sure about the description of the change. It seems rather anti-climatic, and not very descriptive, either.
It began here, continued on Day 12, and is, as usual, a rough draft. In other words, there's a reason for any crappiness. ^_^
***
Stepping into the water, he let it flow around his legs, numbing the wound a little.
The trap was still very heavy.
The pebbles shifted under his paws as he made his way downstream, away from the Pack. His leg was now blessedly numb, but the cold water was beginning to sap his strength; he could feel a clumsy heaviness in his limbs as he splashed through the water.
He felt a sense of urgency now. Clambering out onto the opposite bank, he left footprints in the mud and trampled the undergrowth. The spot wasn't far from where he'd entered the stream, leaving similar markings, and with any luck the hunter would notice.
Entering the water again, he moved upstream, past his first trail. He was shaking, staggering, but he kept on, following the stream around a bend. Once out of sight of the fake trail, he crawled back onto the bank and lay there panting. His leg throbbed painfully, and he wondered blearily if that was bone he could see next to a metal tooth.
He couldn't walk, only drag himself further into the bushes and away from the water. Finding a hollow he curled up awkwardly, the trap still biting into his flesh. He licked it feebly. The sky above was greying in the pre-dawn light, and he waited for the sun and its warmth.
The day passed in a daze. At times he was aware of the passing of hours, and at others he slipped in and out of awareness, finding the sun had moved across the sky in what seemed like minutes. Eventually it began to set, and he could feel the full moon in his bones. His nose itched, and he sneezed.
The change was quick; fur melted into skin, bones rearranged, his eyesight dimmed. He braved it without a sound, having done so many times before, but it was painful. His pelt itched like he'd been bitten all over by thousands of ants, and his bones felt as if they were breaking. Within a minute, though, it was over, and he uncurled himself.
He inspected his wrist; it was bleeding, and he put down his head to lick at the wound before remembering himself. In the dark he could just make out the trap mechanism, and with a bit of struggling he managed to remove his hand. He stood up unsteadily and held his hand to his chest, wincing as the movement jolted it. Squinting into the darkness he began to walk. In only a few meters he managed to stub his toe, walk into a branch, and practice several new swear words he'd learned the previous moon.
***
I'm beginning to think I should've named my pet werewolf. "He" is getting awfully repetitious...
Not sure about the description of the change. It seems rather anti-climatic, and not very descriptive, either.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Day 12
Continued from Day 10. Sadly not very much today; I got a tad distracted by other things. (Bad eladnarra!) ^_^
***
But with the trap still clamped around his leg, how not to leave a trail? He couldn't lead the hunter back to the Pack even if he could make it that far, and he didn't think he could.
Gingerly he began to move, dragging the trap through the leaves. With every step pain jarred through his leg, and the weight of the metal trap was almost too much. He staggered to a stop, panting. The sound was loud in his ears, but there was something else—he cocked his head, and the gurgling babble of running water reaching his ears. If he made it to the water perhaps he could confuse the trail. It wouldn't work if the hunter had dogs with him, but a haze was already beginning to cloud his thoughts. The plan would have to do.
His progress was slow, but eventually he made it to the bank of the stream. The water was from the spring melt, and he stopped to take a drink; it slid down his throat in the way cold water does on a hot day. Stepping into the water, he let it flow around his legs, numbing the wound a little.
The trap was still very heavy.
***
[Edit: Continued tomorrow.]
***
But with the trap still clamped around his leg, how not to leave a trail? He couldn't lead the hunter back to the Pack even if he could make it that far, and he didn't think he could.
Gingerly he began to move, dragging the trap through the leaves. With every step pain jarred through his leg, and the weight of the metal trap was almost too much. He staggered to a stop, panting. The sound was loud in his ears, but there was something else—he cocked his head, and the gurgling babble of running water reaching his ears. If he made it to the water perhaps he could confuse the trail. It wouldn't work if the hunter had dogs with him, but a haze was already beginning to cloud his thoughts. The plan would have to do.
His progress was slow, but eventually he made it to the bank of the stream. The water was from the spring melt, and he stopped to take a drink; it slid down his throat in the way cold water does on a hot day. Stepping into the water, he let it flow around his legs, numbing the wound a little.
The trap was still very heavy.
***
[Edit: Continued tomorrow.]
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Day 11
Ugh. Tired. I did do something "creative" today, mostly brainstorming and messing around with different ideas, but since it's to do with the collaboration thing going on over at Locution I can't actually post it. So I guess you'll just have to take my word for it. ;)
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Day 10
A while back I had an idea for a story about werewolves which were only men under the light of the full moon, and wolves for the rest of the month. Maybe a bit silly, but I thought I'd mess around with the idea a bit. The first few paragraphs were written previously, but I edited them today and the rest is new. (I'm not stretching the guidelines, I swear!)
***
A lone wolf loped through the trees, gracefully maneuvering the rough terrain in just the light of the stars. His pace was loose and unhurried—with a full belly there was no need for hunting, not now. No, tonight was for exploring.
His gait slowed as he reached the edge of the forest and the trees began to thin; he came to a stop, sitting on his haunches alertly. His ears twitched to catch the faint sounds of cars on the new highway that drifted up from the valley below. Lifting his nose, he sensed the smog mingling with the fragrance of the pine needles crushed beneath his paws, and he bared his teeth to growl softly. The humans were moving farther up the mountain, farther into the Pack’s territory. There had always been hunters, but hunters could be tricked, outrun and outsmarted. But the developers didn’t hunt; they encroached. With their loud machinery that belched smoke into the air, they literally paved the way for the hoards of humans that followed. There were too many to fight, and the patches of forest they could retreat to were dwindling.
The wolf let out a huff of air and turned away from the highway. He began to run, perpendicular to the slope, his paws moving faster and faster. The ground moved quickly under him, and soon he came to the city. From the bluff he looked down on the starks lights of the skyscrapers and the glowing suburbs; the stars faded into a gray night sky. The sounds of wheels on tarmac were louder here, and a siren wailed in the distance. Compared the gentle quiet of the forest, it was deafening. Or perhaps it just seemed that way.
He didn't linger and melted back into the forest, leaving the humans and their noise and lights and smells. The Pack would soon wonder where he was, and Blackfoot would have his hide if he suspected he'd been so close. He could feel the moon begin to rise, hidden by the mountain; tomorrow it would be full. Maybe that was why he was so preoccupied, so lost in his thoughts that he missed the tracks on the ground and the unnatural patten of the leaves where they'd been disturbed.
The trap snapped around his foreleg. Hot pain shot up into his shoulder and he stifled a yelp. He could feel blood welling around the metal jaws. His instinct was to bite at the metal, to pull and fight and struggle, but he repressed it. Instead he looked for the anchor that chained the trap in place. He pawed at the ground around it, nudging the metal spike with his nose. Slowly it came loose, and after what seemed like an age it was free from the dirt.
His breath was coming in heavy pants now, and he licked carefully around the throbbing wound. He had to get away before the hunter returned in the morning. But with the trap still clamped around his leg, how not to leave a trail? He couldn't lead the hunter back to the Pack even if he could make it that far, and he didn't think he could.
***
[Edit: Continued on Day 12.]
***
A lone wolf loped through the trees, gracefully maneuvering the rough terrain in just the light of the stars. His pace was loose and unhurried—with a full belly there was no need for hunting, not now. No, tonight was for exploring.
His gait slowed as he reached the edge of the forest and the trees began to thin; he came to a stop, sitting on his haunches alertly. His ears twitched to catch the faint sounds of cars on the new highway that drifted up from the valley below. Lifting his nose, he sensed the smog mingling with the fragrance of the pine needles crushed beneath his paws, and he bared his teeth to growl softly. The humans were moving farther up the mountain, farther into the Pack’s territory. There had always been hunters, but hunters could be tricked, outrun and outsmarted. But the developers didn’t hunt; they encroached. With their loud machinery that belched smoke into the air, they literally paved the way for the hoards of humans that followed. There were too many to fight, and the patches of forest they could retreat to were dwindling.
The wolf let out a huff of air and turned away from the highway. He began to run, perpendicular to the slope, his paws moving faster and faster. The ground moved quickly under him, and soon he came to the city. From the bluff he looked down on the starks lights of the skyscrapers and the glowing suburbs; the stars faded into a gray night sky. The sounds of wheels on tarmac were louder here, and a siren wailed in the distance. Compared the gentle quiet of the forest, it was deafening. Or perhaps it just seemed that way.
He didn't linger and melted back into the forest, leaving the humans and their noise and lights and smells. The Pack would soon wonder where he was, and Blackfoot would have his hide if he suspected he'd been so close. He could feel the moon begin to rise, hidden by the mountain; tomorrow it would be full. Maybe that was why he was so preoccupied, so lost in his thoughts that he missed the tracks on the ground and the unnatural patten of the leaves where they'd been disturbed.
The trap snapped around his foreleg. Hot pain shot up into his shoulder and he stifled a yelp. He could feel blood welling around the metal jaws. His instinct was to bite at the metal, to pull and fight and struggle, but he repressed it. Instead he looked for the anchor that chained the trap in place. He pawed at the ground around it, nudging the metal spike with his nose. Slowly it came loose, and after what seemed like an age it was free from the dirt.
His breath was coming in heavy pants now, and he licked carefully around the throbbing wound. He had to get away before the hunter returned in the morning. But with the trap still clamped around his leg, how not to leave a trail? He couldn't lead the hunter back to the Pack even if he could make it that far, and he didn't think he could.
***
[Edit: Continued on Day 12.]
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Day 9
Continued from yesterday. It wasn't exactly going anywhere fast, but I thought I might see where it takes me. That, and I'm too tired to think of anything new. ^_^
***
Mertel might have had fancies of "doing what he loved" and "getting off this rock," but look what that had got him. Nothing but disappointment.
Nia shifted the pack on her shoulder and turned to leave. She found herself face to face with metal rimmed eyes, and she yelped in surprise. The eyes turned towards her and she realized they were lenses. A questioning series of beeps made her smile in relief.
"Hello, little one. Who do you belong to?"
It was a spherical droid, hovering off the ground at eye level. His metal casing gleamed brightly, but his eyes were strangely dark. It moved hesitantly through the air, nearly running into her head before backing off.
"Oh, you poor thing! Is is your optical sensors? They don't look like they're working properly."
He beeped in affirmative.
"Do you mind?" She reached out a hand and was rewarded with friendly chatter. "Here, let me take a look."
Carefully Nia grabbed hold of him and looked for the access panel. "Hold on," she said, reaching for her pack as she sat down on the ground, legs crossed comfortably. Out of the pack she took a cloth roll, which she opened to reveal her tools. She let her hand hover over them for a moment before picking a screwdriver of the right size.
"There we go. Now, for the access panel—" Once it was unscrewed, she gently lifted the curved metal panel and peered inside. "There you are; it's just a loose connection. I can connect it easily enough, but you'll have to power down, I'm afraid. It wouldn't be very safe, otherwise."
The droid, which had stayed quiet throughout the process, chirped and then turned itself off. Nia reconnected the wire, and was replacing the panel when her concentration was interrupted.
"Just what do you think you're doing with my droid?"
Nia looked up into the face of a middle aged man, whose current expression, complete with red-faced indignation, could only be described as irate.
"I'm—I'm so sorry, sir! Here!" She thrust the droid into his hands and stood, ready to flee. "I didn't do nothing to it, sir." Maybe if he thought her slow, maybe he'd let her go.
He glanced suspiciously at her for a moment before inspecting the droid. He pressed the hidden power button, and it hummed to life, beeping cheerfully. The man's eyebrows rose, and he turned his gaze back to Nia. He was looking at her much more closely now, and his calculating gaze was making her nervous.
"You fixed it."
"I dunno what you're talking 'bout, sir. I didn't do nothing." Nia scuffed her foot in the dirt and looked at the ground, twisting her hands in her skirts.
"That won't fool me, girl. How much do you charge normally? I won't pay more because you're pretending to be slow."
"Pay?" The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and Nia cursed herself. If the man wanted to pay her, let him. He didn't have to know she would have fixed the droid for free.
***
[Edit: Continued here.]
***
Mertel might have had fancies of "doing what he loved" and "getting off this rock," but look what that had got him. Nothing but disappointment.
Nia shifted the pack on her shoulder and turned to leave. She found herself face to face with metal rimmed eyes, and she yelped in surprise. The eyes turned towards her and she realized they were lenses. A questioning series of beeps made her smile in relief.
"Hello, little one. Who do you belong to?"
It was a spherical droid, hovering off the ground at eye level. His metal casing gleamed brightly, but his eyes were strangely dark. It moved hesitantly through the air, nearly running into her head before backing off.
"Oh, you poor thing! Is is your optical sensors? They don't look like they're working properly."
He beeped in affirmative.
"Do you mind?" She reached out a hand and was rewarded with friendly chatter. "Here, let me take a look."
Carefully Nia grabbed hold of him and looked for the access panel. "Hold on," she said, reaching for her pack as she sat down on the ground, legs crossed comfortably. Out of the pack she took a cloth roll, which she opened to reveal her tools. She let her hand hover over them for a moment before picking a screwdriver of the right size.
"There we go. Now, for the access panel—" Once it was unscrewed, she gently lifted the curved metal panel and peered inside. "There you are; it's just a loose connection. I can connect it easily enough, but you'll have to power down, I'm afraid. It wouldn't be very safe, otherwise."
The droid, which had stayed quiet throughout the process, chirped and then turned itself off. Nia reconnected the wire, and was replacing the panel when her concentration was interrupted.
"Just what do you think you're doing with my droid?"
Nia looked up into the face of a middle aged man, whose current expression, complete with red-faced indignation, could only be described as irate.
"I'm—I'm so sorry, sir! Here!" She thrust the droid into his hands and stood, ready to flee. "I didn't do nothing to it, sir." Maybe if he thought her slow, maybe he'd let her go.
He glanced suspiciously at her for a moment before inspecting the droid. He pressed the hidden power button, and it hummed to life, beeping cheerfully. The man's eyebrows rose, and he turned his gaze back to Nia. He was looking at her much more closely now, and his calculating gaze was making her nervous.
"You fixed it."
"I dunno what you're talking 'bout, sir. I didn't do nothing." Nia scuffed her foot in the dirt and looked at the ground, twisting her hands in her skirts.
"That won't fool me, girl. How much do you charge normally? I won't pay more because you're pretending to be slow."
"Pay?" The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and Nia cursed herself. If the man wanted to pay her, let him. He didn't have to know she would have fixed the droid for free.
***
[Edit: Continued here.]
Monday, June 16, 2008
Day 8
Don't think I'll get two "days" up today. Ah well; I think as long as I don't miss any more days I'll be all right.
This isn't very long, and I'm not sure how much I'm making sense at this time of night, but no matter. I have a feeling this could be loosely termed as Star Wars fanfiction, but as I'm not consciously using any terms or concepts from the series, save "droids," I think I may be all right.
A rough draft, as per usual.
***
Herlon was the largest city Nia had ever stepped foot in. As the only spaceport in the outerlands that wasn't all that surprising; anyone with business in the region had to come through here. And yet, according to Mertel, Herlon was like a small village when compared to the capital.
Standing in the shadow of the ship docks, Nia was having a hard time believing it. How could any place be bigger than this? Tall skyscrapers, glittering in the sunlight, rose so high they were lost in the clouds, and the crowded market streets stretched for blocks in every direction.
Closing her eyes against the barrage, she was assaulted with the smells of hawker stalls, meat cooking on open flames, and the coarse shouts of sellers promoting their wares. Someone bumped her roughly behind and she stumbled, eyes flying open. Nia winced as a particularly enthusiastic vendor let out his shout right next to her ear, and she fled to the dark doorway of an establishment.
It was quieter here, and Nia stopped to catch her breath. Looking up at the sign she saw it was a shop selling droids and she smiled. She tried to peer through the grimy glass, but didn't venture in. She couldn't afford a droid, and the proprietors wouldn't look kindly upon her "skulking" around the shop.
That thought made her frown, but she banished it from her mind. True, she was no thief—she'd come to Herlon for honest work, from whomever would have her—but they wouldn't know that. Never mind that she could fix just about any—
No. Nia shook her head. She wouldn't do this. She was here to take any work she could have. Mertel might have fancies of "doing what he loved" and "getting off this rock," but look what that had got him. Nothing but disappointment.
***
[Edit: Continued on Day 9.]
This isn't very long, and I'm not sure how much I'm making sense at this time of night, but no matter. I have a feeling this could be loosely termed as Star Wars fanfiction, but as I'm not consciously using any terms or concepts from the series, save "droids," I think I may be all right.
A rough draft, as per usual.
***
Herlon was the largest city Nia had ever stepped foot in. As the only spaceport in the outerlands that wasn't all that surprising; anyone with business in the region had to come through here. And yet, according to Mertel, Herlon was like a small village when compared to the capital.
Standing in the shadow of the ship docks, Nia was having a hard time believing it. How could any place be bigger than this? Tall skyscrapers, glittering in the sunlight, rose so high they were lost in the clouds, and the crowded market streets stretched for blocks in every direction.
Closing her eyes against the barrage, she was assaulted with the smells of hawker stalls, meat cooking on open flames, and the coarse shouts of sellers promoting their wares. Someone bumped her roughly behind and she stumbled, eyes flying open. Nia winced as a particularly enthusiastic vendor let out his shout right next to her ear, and she fled to the dark doorway of an establishment.
It was quieter here, and Nia stopped to catch her breath. Looking up at the sign she saw it was a shop selling droids and she smiled. She tried to peer through the grimy glass, but didn't venture in. She couldn't afford a droid, and the proprietors wouldn't look kindly upon her "skulking" around the shop.
That thought made her frown, but she banished it from her mind. True, she was no thief—she'd come to Herlon for honest work, from whomever would have her—but they wouldn't know that. Never mind that she could fix just about any—
No. Nia shook her head. She wouldn't do this. She was here to take any work she could have. Mertel might have fancies of "doing what he loved" and "getting off this rock," but look what that had got him. Nothing but disappointment.
***
[Edit: Continued on Day 9.]
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Day 7 (one day late)
Continued from Friday. I decided to to a bit of editing, so this is the whole shebang. I've managed 1,118 words, which isn't too bad. Not sure if I'll ever be able flesh out any of my ideas to the required length (1,200-1,400 words) for submitting to the The Folio Weekly, but it was a fun attempt, anyway. It gets a bit iffy towards the end; I think I may've lost the plot slightly. That's all right, though. Perhaps I will work on it a bit more, flesh it out just a tad and work on the flow and such.
Anyway, I'll (hopefully) have two "days" up tomorrow, to make up for my slip-up yesterday.
***
Solving for Pattern
Watching the news these days is a bit like watching a scene in an apocalypse movie. The main character changes the channels, each time coming to a news anchor detailing some aspect of the catastrophe(s). "In the ongoing food crisis, riots have spread to Egypt and Haiti," intones one woman. "Oil prices reached another record high today," drones an economics analyst. Another click on the remote and there's someone talking about global warming. "Scientists fear that the ice cap is melting faster than predicted..."
At first the characters dismiss the events as coincidences. They fail to see the larger picture, to see that all the events are connected and that the world as they know it is coming to an end. Then slowly it dawns on them, but it's too late to change anything; all they can do is hope to survive the coming storm.
Of course, the analogy does fall short. We’re not facing an army of zombies, for instance. That’s a fairly simple adversary to comprehend, at least once you get past the fact that they're the living undead and here to eat your brains. Just remember to aim for the head, and for god's sake, whatever you do, don’t get bitten.
But this, this is different. We’re not facing a future with one "enemy," but many. And while some people are still at the oblivious, TV watching stage (whether by choice or through ignorance), the rest of us, if we're not completely insane, are probably starting to get a bit worried. We can't bomb the hell out of global warming, and while invading a country to get at their oil reserves might work in the short term, it certainly won't work for long. (And no, that isn't a veiled reference to Iraq. If peak oil comes to pass, and the worse predictions come true, there will be many wars waged for the control of scarce resources.)
So what is there to do? Many people across the world are working on solutions; campaigning for legislation curtailing carbon dioxide emissions, inventing new green technologies, educating others about speculation and its role in rising food and oil prices, speaking about the changes global warming could, and most likely will, bring to our planet. Their efforts are commendable, and will make some measure of a difference, but the challenges now facing us require a response far beyond anything humanity has ever orchestrated. Not only that, but I think they require a whole new way of thinking about problems and their solutions, and one possible contender is the concept of "solving for pattern."
Wendell Berry coined the phrase in an article of the same name. Originally it was applied to agriculture; however, as Berry indicated in his article, the concept can be applied to just about any problem. And while it was first written about nearly thirty years ago, I feel it's just as relevant today as it was then, perhaps even more so.
Essentially, solving for pattern is the practice of looking beyond the initial problem, engaging in a holistic approach, if you will. In his essay Berry defined a "good solution" as, among other things, one that solves several problems at once and doesn’t cause any new ones. Paul Hawken, author of Blessed Unrest, defines solving for pattern as something that "arises naturally when one perceives problems as symptoms of systemic failure, rather than as random errors requiring anodynes."
Well, duh, you think. Of course a good solution shouldn't cause any new problems. To continue our rather silly analogy, it would be a bit like nuking the zombies without giving a single thought to the nuclear fallout, or the humans still in the city.
The problem is, our efforts to make things better do often make them worse. In a more realistic example, consider the current biofuels issue. On the surface the idea seemed sound—make fuel from plant matter and therefore reduce our dependence on oil, a resource which, sooner or later, we'll have to do without. Biofuels were hailed as the solution to all our problems; understandably, really, since a lot of us are still looking for that perfect fuel that will take the place of gasoline. Trading one fuel for another at the gas pump seems a lot simpler than changing our entire energy economy.
Such a simplified view hasn’t severed us well as we now know; our "green" solution to the energy crisis has had ramifications in areas far beyond fossil fuel usage. Land that once grew food now grows fuel, and while the biolfuels' guilt in the recent increases in food prices hasn't been agreed upon, the fact that the grain it takes to fill an SUV once would feed a person for an entire year speaks volumes.
If less land is being used for farming food, then more will have to be found, which brings us to the next unforeseen consequence of biofuels. A search for farmland inevitably destroys forests, grasslands, and wetlands, which, besides being home to many species and indigenous people, ironically store carbon. One of the solutions intended to help curb global warming is actually causing more carbon dioxide to be emitted into the atmosphere.
Even biofuel's claim to reduce the use of fossil fuels seems suspect these days. To grow crops requires fertilizers and pesticides, manufactured using fossil fuels, and tractors have to get their fuel from somewhere. Some people have gone as far to say that we might as well just pump regular gas into our cars, for all the "hidden" fuel costs that go into making biofuels.
So obviously it isn't simple, taking all these consequences into account. Or is it? That's the thing about solving for pattern; very often the best solutions are good because they're simple.
Sustainable agriculture, which Wendell Berry wrote about in his essay, is an example of a solution that solves for pattern. As Hawken explains in Blessed Unrest, it helps to solve quite a few problems: it reduces agricultural runoff, since there are few or no man-made fertilizers and pesticides used; it helps reduce carbon emissions and therefore global warming, because, unlike industrial farming, organic farming sequesters carbon; it promotes healthy soil, because it reduces soil erosion and the depletion of nutrients. And those aren't even half of the benefits of sustainable agriculture.
Solving for pattern, then, is not only possible, but a viable way of approaching the challenges we face today. Just think—solutions that not only take the big picture into account and address several or more problems, but ones that don’t cause any more glitches. It might just work, if we look at things a slightly different way, and watch out for those zombies.
***
[Edit: Reposted here on my other blog.]
Anyway, I'll (hopefully) have two "days" up tomorrow, to make up for my slip-up yesterday.
***
Solving for Pattern
Watching the news these days is a bit like watching a scene in an apocalypse movie. The main character changes the channels, each time coming to a news anchor detailing some aspect of the catastrophe(s). "In the ongoing food crisis, riots have spread to Egypt and Haiti," intones one woman. "Oil prices reached another record high today," drones an economics analyst. Another click on the remote and there's someone talking about global warming. "Scientists fear that the ice cap is melting faster than predicted..."
At first the characters dismiss the events as coincidences. They fail to see the larger picture, to see that all the events are connected and that the world as they know it is coming to an end. Then slowly it dawns on them, but it's too late to change anything; all they can do is hope to survive the coming storm.
Of course, the analogy does fall short. We’re not facing an army of zombies, for instance. That’s a fairly simple adversary to comprehend, at least once you get past the fact that they're the living undead and here to eat your brains. Just remember to aim for the head, and for god's sake, whatever you do, don’t get bitten.
But this, this is different. We’re not facing a future with one "enemy," but many. And while some people are still at the oblivious, TV watching stage (whether by choice or through ignorance), the rest of us, if we're not completely insane, are probably starting to get a bit worried. We can't bomb the hell out of global warming, and while invading a country to get at their oil reserves might work in the short term, it certainly won't work for long. (And no, that isn't a veiled reference to Iraq. If peak oil comes to pass, and the worse predictions come true, there will be many wars waged for the control of scarce resources.)
So what is there to do? Many people across the world are working on solutions; campaigning for legislation curtailing carbon dioxide emissions, inventing new green technologies, educating others about speculation and its role in rising food and oil prices, speaking about the changes global warming could, and most likely will, bring to our planet. Their efforts are commendable, and will make some measure of a difference, but the challenges now facing us require a response far beyond anything humanity has ever orchestrated. Not only that, but I think they require a whole new way of thinking about problems and their solutions, and one possible contender is the concept of "solving for pattern."
Wendell Berry coined the phrase in an article of the same name. Originally it was applied to agriculture; however, as Berry indicated in his article, the concept can be applied to just about any problem. And while it was first written about nearly thirty years ago, I feel it's just as relevant today as it was then, perhaps even more so.
Essentially, solving for pattern is the practice of looking beyond the initial problem, engaging in a holistic approach, if you will. In his essay Berry defined a "good solution" as, among other things, one that solves several problems at once and doesn’t cause any new ones. Paul Hawken, author of Blessed Unrest, defines solving for pattern as something that "arises naturally when one perceives problems as symptoms of systemic failure, rather than as random errors requiring anodynes."
Well, duh, you think. Of course a good solution shouldn't cause any new problems. To continue our rather silly analogy, it would be a bit like nuking the zombies without giving a single thought to the nuclear fallout, or the humans still in the city.
The problem is, our efforts to make things better do often make them worse. In a more realistic example, consider the current biofuels issue. On the surface the idea seemed sound—make fuel from plant matter and therefore reduce our dependence on oil, a resource which, sooner or later, we'll have to do without. Biofuels were hailed as the solution to all our problems; understandably, really, since a lot of us are still looking for that perfect fuel that will take the place of gasoline. Trading one fuel for another at the gas pump seems a lot simpler than changing our entire energy economy.
Such a simplified view hasn’t severed us well as we now know; our "green" solution to the energy crisis has had ramifications in areas far beyond fossil fuel usage. Land that once grew food now grows fuel, and while the biolfuels' guilt in the recent increases in food prices hasn't been agreed upon, the fact that the grain it takes to fill an SUV once would feed a person for an entire year speaks volumes.
If less land is being used for farming food, then more will have to be found, which brings us to the next unforeseen consequence of biofuels. A search for farmland inevitably destroys forests, grasslands, and wetlands, which, besides being home to many species and indigenous people, ironically store carbon. One of the solutions intended to help curb global warming is actually causing more carbon dioxide to be emitted into the atmosphere.
Even biofuel's claim to reduce the use of fossil fuels seems suspect these days. To grow crops requires fertilizers and pesticides, manufactured using fossil fuels, and tractors have to get their fuel from somewhere. Some people have gone as far to say that we might as well just pump regular gas into our cars, for all the "hidden" fuel costs that go into making biofuels.
So obviously it isn't simple, taking all these consequences into account. Or is it? That's the thing about solving for pattern; very often the best solutions are good because they're simple.
Sustainable agriculture, which Wendell Berry wrote about in his essay, is an example of a solution that solves for pattern. As Hawken explains in Blessed Unrest, it helps to solve quite a few problems: it reduces agricultural runoff, since there are few or no man-made fertilizers and pesticides used; it helps reduce carbon emissions and therefore global warming, because, unlike industrial farming, organic farming sequesters carbon; it promotes healthy soil, because it reduces soil erosion and the depletion of nutrients. And those aren't even half of the benefits of sustainable agriculture.
Solving for pattern, then, is not only possible, but a viable way of approaching the challenges we face today. Just think—solutions that not only take the big picture into account and address several or more problems, but ones that don’t cause any more glitches. It might just work, if we look at things a slightly different way, and watch out for those zombies.
***
[Edit: Reposted here on my other blog.]
Saturday, June 14, 2008
I'm really tired
Really, really tired. I didn't want to screw up so early in the game, but I'll have something up tomorrow. Hopefully that'll be all right. :(
Friday, June 13, 2008
Day 6
There's a free magazine that comes out every Tuesday in my area called The Folio Weekly. It's a fun read—I love their movie reviews, and they often report on local news of interest, such as environmental goings on in North Florida.
They've also got a backpage editorial, and anyone can write one and submit it for consideration:
***
Solving for Pattern
Watching the news these days is a bit like watching a scene in an apocalypse movie. The main character changes the channels, each time coming to a news anchor detailing some aspect of the catastrophe(s). "In the ongoing food crisis, riots have spread to Egypt and Haiti," intones one woman. "Oil prices reached another record high today," drones an economics analyst. Another click on the remote and there's someone talking about global warming. "Scientists fear that the ice cap is melting faster than predicted..."
At first the characters dismiss the events as coincidences. They fail to see the larger picture, to see that all the events are connected and that the world as they know it is coming to an end. Then slowly it dawns on them, but it’s too late to change anything; all they can do is hope to survive the coming storm.
Of course, the analogy does fall short. We’re not facing an army of zombies, for instance. That’s a fairly simple adversary to comprehend, at least once you get past the fact that they’re the living undead and here to eat your brains. Just remember to aim for the head, and for god’s sake, whatever you do, don’t get bitten.
But this, this is different. We’re not facing a future with one "enemy," but many. And while some people are still at the oblivious, TV watching stage (whether by choice or through ignorance), the rest of us, if we're not completely insane, are probably starting to get a bit worried. We can't bomb the hell out of global warming, and while invading a country to get to their oil reserves might work in the sort term, it certainly won't work for long. (And no, that isn't a veiled reference to Iraq. If peak oil comes to pass, as many predict, they'll probably be many wars waged for scarce resources.)
So what is there to do? Many people across the world are working on solutions; campaigning for legislation curtailing carbon dioxide emissions, educating others about speculation and its role in rising food and oil prices, speaking about the changes global warming could, and most likely will, bring to our planet.
But the challenges facing us require a response far beyond anything humanity has ever orchestrated. I personally think they will require a whole new way of thinking about problems and their solution, and I think one contender is the concept of "solving for pattern."
***
Okay, time to get some sleep for a change. To be continued tomorrow. [Edit: Continued Sunday.]
Oh, and did I mention this is an editorial? I know some people will disagree with my assessment of the situation, but please, no flames. ;}
They've also got a backpage editorial, and anyone can write one and submit it for consideration:
These are unpaid submissions that should be between 1,200-1,400 words in length. They can be on any subject, but topics of local interest and/or concern are given preference.Anyway this is my attempt to get ideas down, a practice of sorts. No idea what I should write about when submitting, but this'll do for now.
***
Solving for Pattern
Watching the news these days is a bit like watching a scene in an apocalypse movie. The main character changes the channels, each time coming to a news anchor detailing some aspect of the catastrophe(s). "In the ongoing food crisis, riots have spread to Egypt and Haiti," intones one woman. "Oil prices reached another record high today," drones an economics analyst. Another click on the remote and there's someone talking about global warming. "Scientists fear that the ice cap is melting faster than predicted..."
At first the characters dismiss the events as coincidences. They fail to see the larger picture, to see that all the events are connected and that the world as they know it is coming to an end. Then slowly it dawns on them, but it’s too late to change anything; all they can do is hope to survive the coming storm.
Of course, the analogy does fall short. We’re not facing an army of zombies, for instance. That’s a fairly simple adversary to comprehend, at least once you get past the fact that they’re the living undead and here to eat your brains. Just remember to aim for the head, and for god’s sake, whatever you do, don’t get bitten.
But this, this is different. We’re not facing a future with one "enemy," but many. And while some people are still at the oblivious, TV watching stage (whether by choice or through ignorance), the rest of us, if we're not completely insane, are probably starting to get a bit worried. We can't bomb the hell out of global warming, and while invading a country to get to their oil reserves might work in the sort term, it certainly won't work for long. (And no, that isn't a veiled reference to Iraq. If peak oil comes to pass, as many predict, they'll probably be many wars waged for scarce resources.)
So what is there to do? Many people across the world are working on solutions; campaigning for legislation curtailing carbon dioxide emissions, educating others about speculation and its role in rising food and oil prices, speaking about the changes global warming could, and most likely will, bring to our planet.
But the challenges facing us require a response far beyond anything humanity has ever orchestrated. I personally think they will require a whole new way of thinking about problems and their solution, and I think one contender is the concept of "solving for pattern."
***
Okay, time to get some sleep for a change. To be continued tomorrow. [Edit: Continued Sunday.]
Oh, and did I mention this is an editorial? I know some people will disagree with my assessment of the situation, but please, no flames. ;}
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Day 5
Continued from yesterday. A rough draft, as usual.
***
Suddenly Agatha found herself being pulled by her arm through the ruins. Her camera thudded uncomfortably against her chest, hanging as it did from a strap around her neck, and she hoped it would be all right. She stumbled behind Elise, rocks clattering underneath her feet. She didn't bother protesting, since she knew her friend would release her. Eventually.
It wasn't until they reached the beginning of the trail that Elise realized she was still tugging on Agatha's arm. She stopped and dropped it, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry."
There was nothing apologetic about the word, but Agatha had to smile. "All right then," she said. "You've dragged me away. Now what?"
"We climb!" With that Elise started up the steep path, scampering past boulders that rose on either side.
Agatha followed, legs moving quickly so she could catch up. They settled into an easy rhythm, walking steadily as the path cut into the side of the rock face and the canyon disappeared from view. Soon there was nothing but blue sky above and red rock all around.
"I don't get it," said Elise, breaking the silence. "You're making such a big deal out of nothing. Why not just take the picture and hope for the best?"
"I dunno." A bead of sweat slid into Agatha's eyes, and she wiped her brow. "I just want that perfect shot, you know? I want to take a picture that, years later, I can look at and remember exactly what this place was like. It's just so beautiful—how am I supposed to capture the essence of this trip on a strip of film?"
"Maybe you can't."
"Oh, but have you seen Ansel Adams? The feelings you get when you look at his pictures! All I want is a reminder of this day, and I can't even manage that."
Elise glanced back over her shoulder. "I think you're being to hard on yourself. I mean, I took some pictures today, and I didn't have a mental breakdown because they might not come out right."
Agatha felt a twinge of annoyance. What did Elise know? Her camera was some plastic disposable thing, and the pictures it was capable of taking were just as crap as the camera itself. The words were out before she could think. "Well, no wonder. With that thing of yours, the only question is just how bad they'll be."
She could feel the anger and hurt in the air before Elise even spoke, and her stomach twisted.
"Fine. Be that way."
The rest of the trail was walked in silence, and by the time they reached the top Agatha was miserable. The sun was starting to set but it was still hot, and Elise was pointedly ignoring her, and with good reason. She watched as her friend found a flat-topped boulder a good distance away and sat down facing the view. Agatha sighed and took her camera in hand.
The canyon was admittedly stunning. In the light of the sunset the scruffy landscape glowed warmly, and the walls of the Anazasi ruins stood in stark contrast with the long shadows cast out behind them. In the distance, giant monoliths of rock jutted upwards from the flat land, reminding Agatha of the skyline of a city.
She stood there for several minutes before she put her eye to the viewfinder. A few pictures later, and she still couldn't shake her disappointment. Here she was, at Chaco Canyon, watching the sun set, and all her pictures fell flatter than... well, something really flat.
The sun slipped lower and lower, until at last it was nearly gone from the horizon, only a sliver of light remaining in the darkening sky. Agatha turned away, reaching for her lens cap, but froze when she saw Elise still sitting there, legs crossed, staring out into the sky. Her hair was blowing softly around her, and the dying rays of the sun were just enough to light her serene face.
The camera was up to her face before she realized it, and Agatha snapped the picture without a second thought. She screwed on the lens cap and walked over to her friend. Elise looked up, and smiled, all forgiven.
"Did you get it?"
Agatha smiled back. "Yeah, I think I did."
***
Suddenly Agatha found herself being pulled by her arm through the ruins. Her camera thudded uncomfortably against her chest, hanging as it did from a strap around her neck, and she hoped it would be all right. She stumbled behind Elise, rocks clattering underneath her feet. She didn't bother protesting, since she knew her friend would release her. Eventually.
It wasn't until they reached the beginning of the trail that Elise realized she was still tugging on Agatha's arm. She stopped and dropped it, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry."
There was nothing apologetic about the word, but Agatha had to smile. "All right then," she said. "You've dragged me away. Now what?"
"We climb!" With that Elise started up the steep path, scampering past boulders that rose on either side.
Agatha followed, legs moving quickly so she could catch up. They settled into an easy rhythm, walking steadily as the path cut into the side of the rock face and the canyon disappeared from view. Soon there was nothing but blue sky above and red rock all around.
"I don't get it," said Elise, breaking the silence. "You're making such a big deal out of nothing. Why not just take the picture and hope for the best?"
"I dunno." A bead of sweat slid into Agatha's eyes, and she wiped her brow. "I just want that perfect shot, you know? I want to take a picture that, years later, I can look at and remember exactly what this place was like. It's just so beautiful—how am I supposed to capture the essence of this trip on a strip of film?"
"Maybe you can't."
"Oh, but have you seen Ansel Adams? The feelings you get when you look at his pictures! All I want is a reminder of this day, and I can't even manage that."
Elise glanced back over her shoulder. "I think you're being to hard on yourself. I mean, I took some pictures today, and I didn't have a mental breakdown because they might not come out right."
Agatha felt a twinge of annoyance. What did Elise know? Her camera was some plastic disposable thing, and the pictures it was capable of taking were just as crap as the camera itself. The words were out before she could think. "Well, no wonder. With that thing of yours, the only question is just how bad they'll be."
She could feel the anger and hurt in the air before Elise even spoke, and her stomach twisted.
"Fine. Be that way."
The rest of the trail was walked in silence, and by the time they reached the top Agatha was miserable. The sun was starting to set but it was still hot, and Elise was pointedly ignoring her, and with good reason. She watched as her friend found a flat-topped boulder a good distance away and sat down facing the view. Agatha sighed and took her camera in hand.
The canyon was admittedly stunning. In the light of the sunset the scruffy landscape glowed warmly, and the walls of the Anazasi ruins stood in stark contrast with the long shadows cast out behind them. In the distance, giant monoliths of rock jutted upwards from the flat land, reminding Agatha of the skyline of a city.
She stood there for several minutes before she put her eye to the viewfinder. A few pictures later, and she still couldn't shake her disappointment. Here she was, at Chaco Canyon, watching the sun set, and all her pictures fell flatter than... well, something really flat.
The sun slipped lower and lower, until at last it was nearly gone from the horizon, only a sliver of light remaining in the darkening sky. Agatha turned away, reaching for her lens cap, but froze when she saw Elise still sitting there, legs crossed, staring out into the sky. Her hair was blowing softly around her, and the dying rays of the sun were just enough to light her serene face.
The camera was up to her face before she realized it, and Agatha snapped the picture without a second thought. She screwed on the lens cap and walked over to her friend. Elise looked up, and smiled, all forgiven.
"Did you get it?"
Agatha smiled back. "Yeah, I think I did."
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Day 4
An idea for a story a had a while back. The first few paragraphs were written previously, but the rest is new.
***
The Perfect Shot
Agatha squinted through the viewfinder and frowned. Her finger rested on the shutter release button, but she couldn't bring herself to take the picture. The ancient wall lost some unnameable quality when made to fit within the frame. Lowering the camera, she tried to figure out what it was that was missing. Was it the texture of the individual stones, worn by centuries of weather? Or the pattern they formed, interlocking perfectly together as they did. Or the way they glowed in the afternoon sun. She shook her head. Why was this so difficult?
"Watcha doing?"
She’d half expected the interruption; maybe that was why she jumped. Agatha turned to look at her friend. "Elise, not now, okay?"
"Oh, come on, you’ve been at that for ages. Why don’t you give it a rest and explore for a bit? I heard the tour guide say something about a trail up that cliff." Elise gestured at the rock face behind her. "Sounds like we could get a great view of the whole ruin, and the canyon landscape." She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. "I bet there's lots of stuff to take pictures of."
Agatha knew her friend was trying to make her feel better, but the sun was hot and Agatha was tired and it just. Wasn't. Working.
"I don't understand!" she said. "Nothing looks right."
"Well standing there starting at a wall isn't gonna help. Come on!"
Suddenly Agatha found herself being pulled by her arm through the ruins.
***
To be continued tomorrow, when I'm not quite so tired. Gah, I wish I were more prolific. I shall never never write enough for a novel if I don't learn to write more.
***
The Perfect Shot
Agatha squinted through the viewfinder and frowned. Her finger rested on the shutter release button, but she couldn't bring herself to take the picture. The ancient wall lost some unnameable quality when made to fit within the frame. Lowering the camera, she tried to figure out what it was that was missing. Was it the texture of the individual stones, worn by centuries of weather? Or the pattern they formed, interlocking perfectly together as they did. Or the way they glowed in the afternoon sun. She shook her head. Why was this so difficult?
"Watcha doing?"
She’d half expected the interruption; maybe that was why she jumped. Agatha turned to look at her friend. "Elise, not now, okay?"
"Oh, come on, you’ve been at that for ages. Why don’t you give it a rest and explore for a bit? I heard the tour guide say something about a trail up that cliff." Elise gestured at the rock face behind her. "Sounds like we could get a great view of the whole ruin, and the canyon landscape." She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. "I bet there's lots of stuff to take pictures of."
Agatha knew her friend was trying to make her feel better, but the sun was hot and Agatha was tired and it just. Wasn't. Working.
"I don't understand!" she said. "Nothing looks right."
"Well standing there starting at a wall isn't gonna help. Come on!"
Suddenly Agatha found herself being pulled by her arm through the ruins.
***
To be continued tomorrow, when I'm not quite so tired. Gah, I wish I were more prolific. I shall never never write enough for a novel if I don't learn to write more.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Day 3
In my previous post I mentioned that I'd come up with an idea for a novel, a fantasy set in England. It's in the early stages yet, and a lot of it is rather vague in terms of plot and suchlike, so I thought I'd try some exercises. This one is my first attempt at writing some dialogue from a scene that occurs very early on; I'm trying to get a feel for the characters (named, for the moment at least, Violet and Samson). Tomorrow I think I'll try writing a description of each character from the other's point of view.
It's actually quite helpful (I've already learned some things I didn't know about Violet before), but I'm having a bit of trouble with Samson's dialogue. He's supposed to be in his twenties, but here he's disguised as an old man. He's also not from modern-day England, so I'm not sure how to pull that off...
***
V: Excuse me. I was wondering if you knew which way it is to Nottingham.
S: Nottingham, miss?
V: Yes.
S: I'm afraid I can't say I've heard of it. There's no Nottingham around these parts as far as I know.
V: But that's impossible! I've only been walking for half an hour, maybe less.
S: Lost, then, are you?
V: No—I mean, maybe. It's hard to explain.
S: It will be if you don't even try.
V: Well, I was walking in a wood, following a path, when I came out into this field. But when I turned around it was gone!
S: The path?
V: Not just the path; the whole wood! If I didn't know any better, I'd say it had disappeared, but that's just silly.
S: You're probably right there; it'd take some pretty powerful magic to make the trees actually disappear. Are you sure they didn't get up and walk away? They can be mighty quiet when they want to be.
V: Well, if you're going to be like that!
S: Like what, miss?
V: Taking the mickey! I know it sounds ridiculous, but there's no reason to be rude.
S: Where did you say you were from, again?
V: Nottingham. Well, Middle Barton, really, but I've just come from my grandmo—from a house in Nottingham.
S: I see. Would you like to come with me to the next village? Perhaps someone there will have heard of this Nottingham.
V: Yes, thanks, that would be great. I need to find a phone, anyway, to call my parents. I didn't exactly tell them I was going for a walk.
S: A phone. Yes, that would make sense.
V: Pardon?
S: Oh, it's nothing. After you!
***
Note: Names of places are place-holders. I'm not sure exactly where I should set the story, so I've just used familiar names that work well enough.
It's actually quite helpful (I've already learned some things I didn't know about Violet before), but I'm having a bit of trouble with Samson's dialogue. He's supposed to be in his twenties, but here he's disguised as an old man. He's also not from modern-day England, so I'm not sure how to pull that off...
***
V: Excuse me. I was wondering if you knew which way it is to Nottingham.
S: Nottingham, miss?
V: Yes.
S: I'm afraid I can't say I've heard of it. There's no Nottingham around these parts as far as I know.
V: But that's impossible! I've only been walking for half an hour, maybe less.
S: Lost, then, are you?
V: No—I mean, maybe. It's hard to explain.
S: It will be if you don't even try.
V: Well, I was walking in a wood, following a path, when I came out into this field. But when I turned around it was gone!
S: The path?
V: Not just the path; the whole wood! If I didn't know any better, I'd say it had disappeared, but that's just silly.
S: You're probably right there; it'd take some pretty powerful magic to make the trees actually disappear. Are you sure they didn't get up and walk away? They can be mighty quiet when they want to be.
V: Well, if you're going to be like that!
S: Like what, miss?
V: Taking the mickey! I know it sounds ridiculous, but there's no reason to be rude.
S: Where did you say you were from, again?
V: Nottingham. Well, Middle Barton, really, but I've just come from my grandmo—from a house in Nottingham.
S: I see. Would you like to come with me to the next village? Perhaps someone there will have heard of this Nottingham.
V: Yes, thanks, that would be great. I need to find a phone, anyway, to call my parents. I didn't exactly tell them I was going for a walk.
S: A phone. Yes, that would make sense.
V: Pardon?
S: Oh, it's nothing. After you!
***
Note: Names of places are place-holders. I'm not sure exactly where I should set the story, so I've just used familiar names that work well enough.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Day 2
I meant to write in a notebook that I took to the orthodontists today; I've got a new idea for a novel, and I was hoping to play around with some dialogue to help me figure out some characters. Alas, I didn't manage it, and when I got home I was horribly tired. Which was a bit depressing, since I hadn't thought about my illness affecting the challenge. I haven't had a really bad day like this in a while (just some not-so-good days), so it's a downer when I feel like I've suddenly gone a step backwards.
Anyway, I'm feeling a bit better now, so I think I shall ramble. It won't be a particularly creative ramble (or a long one), so it might stretch the limits of the challenge, but at this point I think anything will do.
I just finished watching a film with my parents entitled Paris, Je T’aime. It's a collection of five-minute shorts set in Paris, each about love of some form or another. The shorts ranged from a strangely hilarious one about a man who falls in love with a vampire, to a story narrated by an American woman (in rather appalling French) about how she fell in love with Paris.
It was really quite wonderful. A lot of the stories were simply "slice of life;" they showed scenes that could happen to anyone, simple moments that aren't particularly exciting or dramatic, but are somehow utterly real and authentic. I'd love to write something like that; most of my ideas for stories are science fiction or fantasy, which can't exactly be called realistic. And while science fiction has been traditionally a wonderful vessel for examining the human condition (honestly, what better way is there to get people thinking about what makes us human than writing about androids?), it doesn't tell it like it is. To be able to write about everyday events, everyday people, and to imbue that writing with meaning and poignancy, well, that seems pretty damn difficult to me.
Heh, not that examining the human condition in science fiction is any easier.
Anyway, I'm feeling a bit better now, so I think I shall ramble. It won't be a particularly creative ramble (or a long one), so it might stretch the limits of the challenge, but at this point I think anything will do.
I just finished watching a film with my parents entitled Paris, Je T’aime. It's a collection of five-minute shorts set in Paris, each about love of some form or another. The shorts ranged from a strangely hilarious one about a man who falls in love with a vampire, to a story narrated by an American woman (in rather appalling French) about how she fell in love with Paris.
It was really quite wonderful. A lot of the stories were simply "slice of life;" they showed scenes that could happen to anyone, simple moments that aren't particularly exciting or dramatic, but are somehow utterly real and authentic. I'd love to write something like that; most of my ideas for stories are science fiction or fantasy, which can't exactly be called realistic. And while science fiction has been traditionally a wonderful vessel for examining the human condition (honestly, what better way is there to get people thinking about what makes us human than writing about androids?), it doesn't tell it like it is. To be able to write about everyday events, everyday people, and to imbue that writing with meaning and poignancy, well, that seems pretty damn difficult to me.
Heh, not that examining the human condition in science fiction is any easier.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Day 1
All right, here goes nothing! I'm starting to wonder what on earth I've got myself into, but no matter. I'm sure I'll manage somehow. ^_^
***
Carrie had told herself she wouldn't look down, but now that she was twelve feet off the ground this was proving to be a difficult resolution to keep. Every time she wanted to move a foot she had to look down to find one of those plastic holds first. And with her arms beginning to get tired, seeing that the ground was so far away wasn't helping matters one bit.
Why had she agreed to go rock climbing with Alice? Sure, Carrie had read a book about it, as her friend had so helpfully pointed out, but since when did that translate into any sort of skill?
"Come on, Carrie!"
She braved a look—Alice was waving her arms and grinning. Good thing she wasn't belaying. Alice could be rather exuberant at times, and Carrie shuddered to think what would happen if she was in charge of the ropes and got a sudden urge to throw her hands in the air.
"I think I want to come down!" Carrie shifted her weight; her left leg started to jiggle uncontrollably. "Scratch that. I want to come down, now!"
"Aww! But you’re almost there!"
Alice’s pleading wouldn’t sway her, not this time, Carrie told herself. It was her lack of resistance, after all, that had got her here in the first place. She had been stuck in the same spot for several minutes. Her arms hurt, her leg had mutinied, and she had a sneaking suspicion she was developing a blister on her palm. There was no was she was making it any higher.
Back on the ground, she felt a twinge of guilt at the disappointment on Alice’s face. It wasn't her friend's fault that she failed miserably at sports. Carrie undid the knot and handed the rope to her, lips turning upwards in a wry smile. "Your turn. Bet you can't do any better."
Alice smiled in return. "You're on!" She strode up to the wall and leaned back her head, making a great show of surveying possible routes. The effect was pretty funny, like the exaggerated movements of a silent film, and Carrie laughed.
***
Ye gods, this is crap. Not to mention short and going absolutely nowhere. Ah well—the challenge didn't specify that it had to be good, or long, or complete. *sigh*
Not a great start, but I think I'll get better with practice. Probably. Maybe. Possibly. ;)
***
Carrie had told herself she wouldn't look down, but now that she was twelve feet off the ground this was proving to be a difficult resolution to keep. Every time she wanted to move a foot she had to look down to find one of those plastic holds first. And with her arms beginning to get tired, seeing that the ground was so far away wasn't helping matters one bit.
Why had she agreed to go rock climbing with Alice? Sure, Carrie had read a book about it, as her friend had so helpfully pointed out, but since when did that translate into any sort of skill?
"Come on, Carrie!"
She braved a look—Alice was waving her arms and grinning. Good thing she wasn't belaying. Alice could be rather exuberant at times, and Carrie shuddered to think what would happen if she was in charge of the ropes and got a sudden urge to throw her hands in the air.
"I think I want to come down!" Carrie shifted her weight; her left leg started to jiggle uncontrollably. "Scratch that. I want to come down, now!"
"Aww! But you’re almost there!"
Alice’s pleading wouldn’t sway her, not this time, Carrie told herself. It was her lack of resistance, after all, that had got her here in the first place. She had been stuck in the same spot for several minutes. Her arms hurt, her leg had mutinied, and she had a sneaking suspicion she was developing a blister on her palm. There was no was she was making it any higher.
Back on the ground, she felt a twinge of guilt at the disappointment on Alice’s face. It wasn't her friend's fault that she failed miserably at sports. Carrie undid the knot and handed the rope to her, lips turning upwards in a wry smile. "Your turn. Bet you can't do any better."
Alice smiled in return. "You're on!" She strode up to the wall and leaned back her head, making a great show of surveying possible routes. The effect was pretty funny, like the exaggerated movements of a silent film, and Carrie laughed.
***
Ye gods, this is crap. Not to mention short and going absolutely nowhere. Ah well—the challenge didn't specify that it had to be good, or long, or complete. *sigh*
Not a great start, but I think I'll get better with practice. Probably. Maybe. Possibly. ;)
Saturday, June 7, 2008
First Post!
Today, on the Locution and Megatokyo Creative Writing forums, Marrow posted a writing challenge, which reads thus:
Outside motivation, however, can often help (a bit like a kick up the backside to get one going). As I've found in contests on the Megatokyo forums, when other people are expecting you to finish something it keeps you writing even when you think it isn't good, or when you just don't feel like writing that day. The threat of public shame, whether real or imagined, is apparently a great motivator.
So, let's get going! Hopefully I shan't bring shame to my name. ^_^
Hi people. I have a little challenge for you all. Are you ready? I hope you're ready. Here it comes!I have created this blog for that purpose—starting tomorrow I'll begin posting a piece of creative writing every day for 30 days. Why embark on such madness? Like quite a few people (such as Marrow himself) I don't write as much as I'd like. I get caught up in perfectionism, in writing the best story I can, so when most of my ideas and efforts fall short of my (admittedly too high) standards, I end up writing nothing at all. And the whole point is to get better and grow as a writer, which proves a bit difficult when there isn't any actual writing going on.
I challenge you all to write something creative every day for the next 30 days. Every day you will then post your creation in a blog for everyone to see. It does not have to be heavily polished, but it does have to be new work. The idea is just to get creativity flowing, which I know from personal experience can be a real bitch to do.
I was planning to do this regardless of whether or not anyone else joined in, but then I thought to myself that it might help if other people were doing it, too. That way we could keep track of how each of us is doing throughout the challenge. Plus, we would be able to leave crits in each other's comment boxes.
As a final note, I'd like to mention that you do not have to all start at the same time. I'm planning to start today, but you do not have to. Ideally, you would start around the same time, but it does not have to be exactly the same day.
Let me know what you all think about the idea. Maybe some of you will join in...?
Note: the blog I created for this challenge (for myself) can be found here.
Outside motivation, however, can often help (a bit like a kick up the backside to get one going). As I've found in contests on the Megatokyo forums, when other people are expecting you to finish something it keeps you writing even when you think it isn't good, or when you just don't feel like writing that day. The threat of public shame, whether real or imagined, is apparently a great motivator.
So, let's get going! Hopefully I shan't bring shame to my name. ^_^
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