Sunday, June 2, 2019

Nameless Atmosphere

Venexia

The place is haunted, someone said. Or perhaps it's just for the show.
The atmosphere is eerie, another added, chuckling.
They all agreed.
“What's the place called?”
No one knew.
“Let's call it Nameless.”
Everyone laughed and their laughter echoed throughout the pitch-black galleries and archways.
They got closer to one another. Just in case, they thought collectively without actually saying it.
Where are the scary ghosts, someone asked in a jesting tone.
No one thought it was funny.
That's when they noticed the dark shadow snaking its way towards them and they knew it wasn't just for the show.
PICK TWO: 
stunted growth, bath, passive, pelt, atmosphere, nameless, tendency

Sunday, May 26, 2019

Zone

Kronbelt

A crow perched on a branch of a dead tree. The tree had been dead for a long time.
The crow gazed at the town below. The town was nearly dead. The helipad hadn't been used in years. The lighthouse was off.
The crow watched as they buried one more. Man, woman?
Six people were left alive. They didn't know yet, but they would soon be dead, all of them.
The crow perched on the dead tree and watched them.
The town would soon be his and he would finally be able to get rid of this ridiculous crow disguise.

Sunday, May 19, 2019

Slurp

Tatty Soup


Slurp!
Hey, that's not the way I brought you up.
Slurp...
I won't say it again.
Slurp?
I warn you.
Slurp. Slurp.
Stop it.
Slurp, slurp, slurp.
OK, that's enough. I've had it.
A thunder of stomping feet approached the kitchen while the kids scattered in all directions. Johnny stayed behind, sitting at the table, daring his mother.
Who was it? Come on. Who was it?
No slurping now? Spit it out. Who was slurping?
When the mother finally gave up, Johnny looked at his cup. It was almost empty.
The others' cups were almost full.
He sneered.
Slurp.

Sunday, May 12, 2019

Jack

Waterland

Home sweet home, Jack thought. The day was coming to an end and no one knew where he was. His caravan was his home, at least the home he loved. The place was not much to look at. It desperately needed a bit of paint. The door was gone. That was a long story. However, he was home. When the snake decided to nestle in his bed, Jack wished he had a door. As a result, he spent the night pointing a lamp at the non-existent door and thinking of snake patterns to paint on the side of his caravan.

Sunday, May 5, 2019

Heart Attack

Octoberville


"Yes, I hired it.”
“You hired a heart attack?! How can we hire a heart attack?”
“Talk to it and settle for an amount. Easy.”
The prosecutor looked at the judge. The judge shrugged.
“When did you talk to this heart attack then?”
“Two months ago.”
“And it said it would kill your boss?”
The defendant nodded.
“Are there many heart attacks around doing hit jobs?”
“No, there's only one.”
“And what's its name?”
“Cock-eyed Paulie.”
“Ah, that's why your boss is still alive.”
The room burst into laughter.
A few weeks later, the prosecutor died of a heart attack.

Sunday, April 28, 2019

Potato Chips

BWC Village


"Do you have any potato chips?" The young man looked at the fruit stand.

"Does it look like I have potato chips?!" said the vendor, pointing at the different crates packed with fresh fruit.

"I don't know. Perhaps. One never knows!"

"When you look at my stand, do you see any possibility, as remote as it might be, of me selling potato chips? Be honest. I mean... look. Bananas, coconuts, melons, pears, apples, kiwis, oranges. Do you really think I would have potato chips as an option?"

"Potato chips go well with everything, even fruit!"

"Go away. Just go away..."

Monday, April 22, 2019

Camp NaNoWriMo!

I'm alive! I didn't die of boredom as it usually happens while revising a story. I'm still following Verona's method. I did the first read through and tracked weak and strong aspects of my story. And I feel encouraged. Surprisingly enough, I'm actually looking forward to continuing revising. *checks for fever* Nope, all good! Now, onwards to the next steps!

Sunday, April 21, 2019

Charge

Bridgetown

The end of the bridge approached quickly and the jeep charged off the edge of the platform. 
"There goes another pilot," said the chief engineer, crossing his arms over his chest. 
"We need a different solution for this," said the director. "We cannot afford losing more pilots and, what's worse, jeeps. We are stretching our resources thin as it is. I told you that it was a bad idea to test the brakes system at the bridge. It's too high." 
"Yes, but you also said that you wanted to reorganize the staff, didn't you?" 
The director sulked and walked away.

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Emotive

Roche


The old bridge stretched out, tired. The sky wept softly while a feisty seagull fought against the wind. He wanted the place to be beautiful and special and vibrant, but nothing could survive there. He tried... He even wanted to rebuild the bridge so others could come over but each time he set new stones on it, they would just be taken away by the water, over and over again. He fought as much as that lonely seagull. He didn't want to give up. But he was alone. It was with a heavy heart that he walked away that day…

Sunday, April 7, 2019

Street Corners

Tokyo 3.1


The blinding sparkle of local street lights contrasted with the deep shadows of dark street corners.
The army tank looked eerie.
Everyone knew they were about to lose the war.
The others were all over town with their soldiers and their heavy artillery, blocking the roads and asking for ID as if they owned the place. The others controlled the comings and goings while everyone tried to lead a normal life in the middle of utter chaos.
What gave them hope was the fact that someone was somehow setting those tanks on fire. One by one. They'd never give up.
Pick Two: standard, graffiti, blinding, blithering, pony, sparkle, amuse, fire

Monday, April 1, 2019

Let's Get this Show on the Road


Camp NaNoWriMo starts today and it's time to put those Novel Revision classes to good use. This year, I am revising "Just Before Dawn", the story I have written during NaNoWriMo last November.


Syllabus for How to Revise Your Novel
Instructor: Verona Lorgsval in Second Life, Victoria Lynn Osborne in Real Life

Week 1. Despair: The Novel you got. Here we will be printing out your novel. And doing the first read through and tracking down your novel.
Week 2. Promises Promises, Finding your biggest first draft wrecks.
Week 3. The Hunt for the slippery Scene. An Interlude.
Week 4. Promises Promises the plot you got.
Week 5. Conflict and What Matters.
Week 6. Sharpening Your Characters Bringing Fictional Folk Into Focus.
Week 7. How to Triage Your World.
Week 8. Wrapping up Triage Final Details of Target, Promises, Story and Theme.
Week 9. How Manuscript Surgery Works.
Week 10. Theme and Story Take Two.
Week 11. Plots and Subplots.
Week 12. Committing to your Characters.
Week 13. Tracking and Completing Conflicts.
Week 14. Simple Time Dealing with Time Crises and Modifying In-scene Story Structure.
Week 15. Complex Time: Time Between Time.
Week 16. Becoming Consistent.
Week 17. How to Cut the Manuscript.
Week 18. Cosmetic Surgery I. Line Editing with Style, Grace, and Commas.
Week 19. How to Improve Dialogue, Description, Action, and Flow.
Week 20. Beginnings, Ending, Pace and Step-by-step.
Week 21. How to Survive and Thrive with your Type-In.
Week 22. Surgical Review: Streamlining the In-Depth Revision Process.

If you're doing Camp and you are a Second Life resident, join us at Milk Wood (Writing Group).

Ongoing events (all SLT):

Dashes - Mon-Fri at 6am and 6pm
500 Word Snatches - daily at 1am and 8am
Speculative Writing course - Thurs at 2pm
Fox Rocks (writing poetry) - Sat at 9am

Also:
The Inspiration Booth for locations to visit and get inspired by
The Lady Bug hovering above the writing table for prompts
Bunny plots throughout the sim for even more prompts

At the moment, we meet at Milk Wood's Camp. But feel free to enjoy the public areas of the sim as you like.

Have fun writing and exploring!

Sunday, March 31, 2019

Confluence

Nostos Deer

Trains are fascinating. The other day, I watched a webcam of a train traveling through amazing landscapes. The tunnels were the best. I finally saw the proverbial light, yep. That made me chuckle. I hardly ever spotted anyone though. Except that one time when a man was throwing another off a balcony. I wonder if anyone else noticed that. Well, the video wasn't live. It was a live broadcast of a recorded trip, whatever that means. Nothing I could do. I wonder if that man is alive. The confluence of circumstances is tough sometimes. But trains are indeed absolutely fascinating.

Friday, March 29, 2019

Milk Wood Renewed



Milk Wood was founded by Harriet Gausman in 2007 and is the home of the Virtual Writers group in Second Life.


It has been my writing home since 2012, when I started writing on a regular basis after my Real Life took a tumble.

We all know how impermanent Second Life is. However, twelve years later, Milk Wood is very much alive and kicking.

Daily writing sessions, classes, get-togethers and the occasional party, not to mention the participation in Camp NaNoWriMo (in April and June) and NaNoWriMo (in November) during which there are a lot of workshops, writing sprints and scrimmages (word wars).

At the moment, we have several daily writing sessions (at 1am, 6am, 8am, 6pm), a weekly poetry writing session (Saturdays at 9am), and a weekly class on Speculative Writing (Thursdays at 2pm). All times are SLT.

The sim was recently upgraded from a homestead to a full sim. That meant that it could be fully revamped. Harriet worked very hard, for more than a month, to turn it into an even more amazing place than it was before.

When we stroll around, it is very clear that the sim was created by someone who writes as well. Every little detail is a resource we can use for our writing, every sound, every color, every shape.

Apart from the different social areas, where anyone can sit down and write or simply chat, there are a number of houses, cottages, huts that we can rent to help support the sim. As Harriet states in the Rental Covenant notecard, "We do not seek to profit by Milk Wood, but are obliged to cover the high sim costs through rentals."

And last Sunday, we had the relaunch party! It was a lot of fun to see familiar faces and new faces as well. Great music, great people, lots of smiles and fireworks.

Now, back to work!

Feel free to drop by for a visit. Milk Wood is open to all. Walk around and explore the different social areas and, why not, grab a seat with us and do a bit of writing!

Sunday, March 24, 2019

Why Can't You Be More Like Your Sister?

The Tower by Rebeca Bashly

Kneel and don't move.
Be obedient and don't move.
Smile and don't move.
Never answer back and never look up.
Look down and never up.
Do this. Do that. And never look up.
I'm unique. I'm beautiful.
Why can’t you be more like your sister? Why?
Look at her. So unique and beautiful. She looks up and never down.
She's independent and smart. She is everything everyone would like to be.
But not you. No, not you. You can't. You won't.
Kneel and don't move.
You'll never be your sister. Never.
I'm unique and so beautiful, just like my sister.

Sunday, March 17, 2019

Kill

NeverlandX

The innkeeper tossed some logs in the fireplace. The room was warm enough but being slightly warmer always made people drink more. More drinking meant more money. And he needed a lot of money. He was desperate to rescue his daughter. He considered telling everyone. But he didn't. If he told them, he'd go to Hell. He had crossed the line before when he and the blacksmith's wife... Well...
What the innkeeper didn't suspect was that the blacksmith knew how to drive one of those things that had landed in his back yard. And his daughter... She was already dead.



Sunday, March 10, 2019

Wordy

Home


The little mouse grabbed a book.
It's nice, isn't it? To dive into a story and enjoy it. Yes, he loved books!
“The red doesn't match your white fur coat though,” he whispered to himself. “Don't lick your finger to turn the page, you idiot! Look what you've done. The page is all... You've killed something again. Yes, you did.”
So, he ripped a few pages off.
Humans are strange beings. They keep all these books on shelves. Why? At least he used them to wipe his paws clean... after reading the stories. No need for those words anymore!

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

Camp NaNoWriMo April 2019



Camp NaNoWriMo is fast approaching and it's time to start preparing for it.


This year, I'll revise the story I wrote last November during the NaNoWriMo. I'll use the method I've been learning about at the Novel Revision classes, a course taught by Verona Lorgsval (Second Life name), Victoria Lynn Osborne (in Real Life).

My story is called Just Before Dawn and it's a thriller/mystery.

A partially burnt body is found in the woods near a half-abandoned commercial area. Sal, a former police detective turned private investigator whose office is located at the commercial area, decides to snoop around. Things take a bad turn when the police start asking her some strange questions.

I'm not much of a graphics/image person, but I have been working on a tentative cover. And this is what I came up with.



I think it's OK. So, for now, I'll stick to this one.
Photo courtesy of Marcelo Silva. Click the link to see the original. I kept the tones/colors/framing/etc. and edited it by adding a layer with orange splashes to the right and the title/author name.

26 days until revising begins!

Sunday, March 3, 2019

Bob's Ticket

Milk Wood

Bob hated sitting at the tickets' booth.
For some reason he couldn't understand, whenever it was his turn to sell tickets, there was a drop in sales. He was so frustrated. It wasn't his fault that half of his ribcage was showing, as a matter of fact, half of his whole skeleton.
When he joined the Side Show Carnival, everyone was amused because one side of him was kind of missing. It seemed fitting. 
However, when sales dropped, they got angry and sent him abroad for plastic surgery. He never came back. He is now happily married to an osteologist.
(PICK TWO: bob, stitch, eaten, pittance, delete, trumpet, rib cage, ticket, Ziegler)


Sunday, February 24, 2019

Sharp

Milk Wood

Someone said “To destroy is always the first step in any creation.”
So, he grabbed his sketchbook and drew. Whatever he drew, he destroyed.
The smile on his sister's face for each time she made him look stupid. The ice-cream business of his friend who bullied him as a kid. The records his cruel cousin stored alphabetically. And he went on and on.
Then, he drew New York. He didn't know why. He had nothing against New York.
So, he drew himself a pair of thick glasses and he never touched the sketchbook again.
New York survived with minor damages.

Sunday, February 17, 2019

Mug

Milk Wood

The mug was empty.
The cop sniffed it, after pulling it closer with a pen. He shook his head.
Then, they went through the whole house. Nothing looked out of place, except that one mug.
The cop sniffed it again.
“Whose drink was this?”
The old man shrugged, looking away.
“Your wife's?”
He couldn't remember, he said. Old age, you know.
When the police combed through the house again, they found it, the tin.
This was not a case of amnesia, but a case of death by hot chocolate, hot chocolate seasoned with a slight scent of almonds.

Sunday, February 10, 2019

Transmission

Milk Wood

The image on TV was broken. It went from color to black and white, and back to color again.
The master was saying “In a mad world, only the mad are sane.” And then, the TV went blank.
She hummed the sound of static, but there was only silence.
Suddenly, her dream started playing on TV, the exact same dream she had the night before, that sweet dream of revenge.
She looked at her hands. They were tinted red.
“What have I done?”
She sighed, stood up, and slammed her fist on the TV.The master was still speaking.

Sunday, February 3, 2019

Your Lion

Tatty Soup

The family of sheep grazed placidly. Their life was simple. They slept, they ate, they slept, and everything in between. It was a normal sheep life.
Except for that black one. There's always one who thinks he's different.
The family rolled their eyes each time he tried to roar. The neighbor sheep laughed and called him “your little lion”. Mother sheep was absolutely furious.
The day the neighbor sheep were taken away to be slaughtered, begging for mercy, the little lion roared. The humans smiled and thought that was so cute, and spared the family's life.
Who's laughing now, huh?
(Pick Two - judge, delivery, your, lion, unicorn, cherry, incense, if)


Sunday, January 27, 2019

The Devil

Pure Dreams


The Devil was sitting on the Birthday cake!
She looked around.
Could the others see him too?
The Devil then went from the cake to the cookies.
Why, you little...
The Devil looked at her, sneering.
She couldn't believe no one was freaking out.
The Devil chewed slowly, still sneering.
“Would you like some tea with that?” she said out loud.
Everyone looked at her.
“It's the Devil!”
“You're crazy.” And they laughed.
He was gone.
But, the next year, she could swear, she saw the Devil again, mocking her from afar.
Perhaps her end was near.

Sunday, January 20, 2019

Adult

LEA 20

His first apartment was decorated in a simple, elegant way. The scent of vanilla welcomed her as she entered the living-room. A few books were scattered on the shelves, displayed to counterbalance the other objects. It looked like a setting, but he was proud of it, she could tell. A pot of white flowers and twin candles almost tricked her into believing he was a nice guy. He wasn't. She had to run, screaming through the hallways. No one opened the door. No one helped her. And, at the hospital, she could still recall that sickening vanilla scent, welcoming her...

Sunday, January 6, 2019

Corner

Black Kite

Go to your corner, they said. And I did. I went to my corner. I was only a child and I had to obey.
Today, I am not a child anymore.
When they say, go to your corner, I laugh and walk away.
Today, I am an adult and my corner is not their corner. My corner is my place and it's my world and it's my people. My corner is not obeying anymore, no.
When they say, why have you changed so much, I laugh and walk away.
Today, I choose my corners and smile and live and shine.

Reflect and Engage

Betelgeuse

Life would never be the same. He was leaving everything behind. He wanted that, but he feared it as well.

As he approached the exit, he looked back and he saw the carnivore plants he had created and grown. They stood motionless and eerie behind the glass wall.
For a split second, he wished he could give up and go back to doing his magic and growing the most unusual plants. But he couldn't. So, he left.
A week later, he received an urgent appeal. He had to go back. The plants, in a fit of anger, were eating everyone.
(Pick Two: Reflect, Pounce, Gymnastics, Obsolete, Engage, Girls, Easier)

Sunday, December 30, 2018

Irritation

Betelgeuse

Christopher's general state of irritation annoyed everyone. The temple was supposed to bring inner piece. Yet, Christopher's constant sarcastic remarks made the community wish they could do something about it.
“The statue. Pathetic. A feeble attempt at being modern.”
The members shrugged.
“That little stupid heart at the so-called feet of the statue. Idiotic.”
The others looked away.
“And the colors. Pink or something.”
It was purple.
So, the others grabbed Christopher and locked him in the catacombs.
He would join the other one they had locked down there five years ago. They'd get along just fine.

Sunday, December 23, 2018

Merry Christmas!


Milk Wood

NaNoWriMo ended successfully. It is now time to rest.

For the first time, I have printed the novel out. To see the whole text, to feel the weight of my novel, was a rather strange and, at the same time, exhilarating feeling. 169 pages, with the tentative title Just Before Dawn, are about to be revised.

In the meantime, I am attending a course on Novel Revision taught by published author Verona Lorgsval in Second Life, Victoria Lynn Osborne in Real Life. 

Those who follow my blog know that I have been taking part in NaNoWriMo since 2013. This means that I have several novels written and waiting to be revised.

The problem is... I hate revising. I find it boring. So, I inevitably give up on the revising and move on to a new project.

The Novel Revision course is making me want to revise my latest book, also a strange yet exhilarating feeling. The materials have been gathered, the text printed and now... let the show begin... after Christmas!

I wish everyone who stops by this workshop I call my blog a 
Merry Christmas. 
May you have a wonderful time with those you love!

Belt

Betelgeuse

The conveyor belt carried a collection of distorted torsos. They had been hanging at the exhibition dock for a few weeks.
“Is this what they'll eat?”
The others nodded. “Ripe and packed with proteins, sir.”
“Don't you think the meat is too ripe? How do you expect those damn humans to work properly if you give them this?”
The others looked alarmed.
“Sector 6 is proud to provide quality food. Would you like to taste the meat?”
“Well, no. You taste the meat.”
Ward 2 became packed with Sector 6 personnel for a few damn weeks.

Sunday, December 9, 2018

Polar

Izzie's


“A polar front is approaching...” and I didn't hear anything else.

Nowadays, it's either too cold or too hot, too windy, too stormy, too something, too whatever.
The polar front is just another weather (aka stressful) event that comes for a visit to this quiet little country in the South of Europe.
The weather website mentions temperatures of 15C (that is 59F).
I think that's OK. 15 degrees is not that polar.
Now that I think of it... if it starts to snow here, I'll have to write something else about how silly I was for believing the Internet.

Monday, December 3, 2018

Weather Aliens

Asalia House

An army of clouds traveled fast over a gray sky. Fat drops splashed on the mossy tiles and created a stream of water that flowed determined towards the end of the terrace. It was impossible to predict when the rain would finally stop. 

He hated the rain. He couldn't stand the dampness. He especially loathed having to struggled not to fall as he crossed the terrace. That terrace had been a disaster for him several times. The slippery floor looked rather nice, shiny. However, he hated it wholeheartedly. 

Then the rain stopped and hot temperatures took over. It was great at the beginning. People felt like they were on an eternal vacation. 

However, constant cuts in the water flow, restrictions on watering gardens and lawns, the long lines to get water from the local fire brigade trucks, all this made him wish he had the rain back, that dreaded rain he had cursed so often. 

But the rain never returned. 

Scientists tried artificial clouds, weather changing techniques, micro-management of weather systems, but nothing changed. 

Everyone hated the sun. Everyone hated the heat. Everyone hated the blue sky, that beautiful blue sky. 

When the aliens arrived, no one noticed it at first. Their ships were silent and none of them uttered a single sound. 

Then, people thought that was the last thing they needed. Were they being invaded? Were they going to become slaves and work in alien mines? Were they going to die? 

The aliens took a huge piece of some unknown mineral and placed it in the middle of the desert (one of the deserts). The mineral looked like a giant menhir and it pulsated, shining a green glow around it. It pulsated for 4 days. 

And then, a few clouds appeared. Everyone cheered. 

More clouds appeared, traveling faster over the blue sky, turning it into a light gray tone. 

And after two weeks of expectation, the first drops of rain. 

The terrace became slippery again. And he was happy. 

As a matter of fact, he never thought he'd be this happy. The tour of duty was almost over. This was his 5th. The perks were good and he had volunteered four times. The first time was always compulsory for everyone. It was a tour of adjustment. Most of them would do several tours if they could accommodate to the local ways. 

He had to admit that, at first, it was rather perplexing, but as time flew by, he had fun and even started taking part in the local activities. 

After the 3rd tour, he decided he had enough. He was tired. He wanted to go back home. 

But that's when the problems started back then, the constant rain, the flooding, the destruction of the environment. It was driving him crazy. 

Nevertheless, he was told to stay on for a bit longer. The plan was for him to stay a week or two. Then, the plan changed, and he had to stay for 3 months. Then, everything changed again and he was told to stay indefinitely. 

He hid the processor well. At least, he tried to. The damn thing became problematic when it started to interfere with the Internet connections of his neighbors. 

A new processor, more updated, was to arrive quickly. It never did. So he had to hide his processor in the middle of the local forest, away from everything and everyone. 

Some kids almost found it one day. He had just buried it when the kids appeared. He hid behind a slope nearby. He didn't want to get arrested for being some sort of freak wandering about alone in the forest, or worse spying on kids. He threw a few stones in the direction of the road. The kids' curiosity was too big and they followed the noise. At some point, they lost interest, as kids do, and walked away. He had to dig the damn thing up and walk deeper into the forest to hide it. 

When the aliens appeared, the processor was in his pocket and no one, in a radius of a km, had Internet. It was a small price to pay for the rain, he thought. 

When the aliens packed up their gear and left, as silently as they had arrived, he was left in charge of the green standing stone. 

Yet, he still managed to slip a message to the unit captain. 

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Sunday, December 2, 2018

Too Much

Water Reserve

A mother came to me.
She was holding a photograph.
It was her daughter's.
A mother came to me with tears in her eyes.
She wanted to tell me about the stories.
She wanted to tell me about the singing. The painting.
“My daughter, you see...”
And she held the photograph close to her chest as if that would bring her daughter back.
“I'm writing a book, you see...”
And she poured her soul into it.
A mother came to me and whispered.
“It was too much...”
And I thought, it was. It was too much pain.
100 Word Stories