Rebellious NaNoWriMo month concluded with success. The hype was not as intense as when I write new material, but the goal was to get some revising done. That was achieved.
Friday, November 29, 2019
Sunday, November 24, 2019
Option
 |
| Milk Wood |
"No," shouted the elderly lady, forking up a luscious pumpkin pie.
"Yes," replied another.
The living-room of the Club was packed. All the ladies talked at the same time, tea cups held in a precarious fashion.
Suddenly, the door bell rang...
The rest of that night was spent at the police station where an important decision was made.
No more meetings after a night out at the local pub. The neighbors were such twats.
That was actually the word they wrote on a piece of paper, when they got back, and glued it to the neighbors' door, chuckling like teenagers.
Sunday, November 17, 2019
Who Cares?
 |
| Whispering Wind |
The chair faced a big wooden crate. Fragile. Fragile could mean a lot of things, he thought. Glass. He sat down and leaned forward. Rare wine. He sat back. Do not open it, they said. He stared at it and pondered. He wanted to open it... Porcelain. He tilted his head and tried to read the label. It was wet and blurry. "Screw them..." He stood up and opened the crate. It was filled with ideas, special ones too. The crate was filled with books, something extremely rare those days. He sneaked one out and closed the crate again, smiling.
Sunday, November 10, 2019
Boom
 |
| Home |
Boom, and the moon was gone. No one believed it could happen, but it did. The so-called brotherly neighbors from next door, meaning the next galaxy or wherever they came from, threatened to do it and everyone laughed, not a care in the world. Then, it happened. Those damn little green jerks. Ever since they moved in with all that scientific progress, new ideas, new concepts, new gadgets, life was a lot more complicated. That resonant boom was only outmatched by the roaring sound of space ships exploding as they left Earth. Oops! "Should we prepare for war?" someone asked.
Sunday, November 3, 2019
Heart
 |
| Milk Wood |
The regulars at the bar took sneaky glances at the blonde woman who had just walked in. Her long hair swayed as she conquered the room, an aura of certainty about her. The tight turtleneck made her perky breasts tease risky thoughts into everyone's minds. She pulled up a chair and sat down, facing the room, her feet up on the table in front of her. Wasn't it such a pleasant little coincidence that the chair had a heart on its back? She smiled. Everyone smiled back. A few waved with enthusiasm. No one knew she had the chainsaw ready.
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
NaNoWriMo 2019
The annual writing frenzy starts in a couple of days!
I was tempted to start a new story... again... But I have been working so much on revising - learning how to do it, getting motivated to do it and actually doing it... albeit slowly - that I've decided I would honor my efforts and keep working on my Work In Progress.
As a result, and for the first time since 2013 when I started taking part in the NaNoWriMo, I will be a Rebel.
I aim to follow the guideline of 30 minutes of work being the equivalent to 500 words of writing.
To win NaNoWriMo, you must write at least 50k words. This means I am looking at 50 hours of revising throughout the month and about 2 hours each day.
As always, the Virtual Writers, the writing community I belong to in Second Life, will meet daily at Milk Wood. We will also have a large number of workshops and resources to help everyone along this crazy adventure!
“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs
and developing our wings on the way down.”
Kurt Vonnegut
Sunday, October 27, 2019
Tool
 |
| Asalia House |
"Useless," said Reggie.
“It's good for our plans,” said Ronnie.
“The tractor's rusty.”
“No, look.”
And Ronnie grabbed a rusty wrench.
“And what is that?”
“Reggie, please. I have no clue.”
Reggie sighed.
"You're so negative. We'll lift it in the air and everyone will be horrified."
"I bet they will and we'll have a concussion too."
"Ghosts don't have concussions, silly."
"Really?"
Reggie grabbed a random part of the tractor and threw it at Ronnie's head.
Meanwhile, a few meters away, the farmer and his son were watching, amused.
"They are at it again! They should get a life!"
Sunday, October 20, 2019
Sturdy
 |
| Sands of Time |
The cave hideout stank of bacon. Whoever was there had cooked himself a hearty meal.
The treasure, however, had to be moved.
He tiptoed inside. A lamp sat by the side of the entrance and lit the way.
When he reached the spot, he shoved a few chests aside.
“It's not here.” In a frenzy, he dug through the sand. “It's not here.”
That's when a sturdy little man waltzed in.
"You want the cave? You can have it. I bought myself a new crib." And he waltzed away.
Throwing a pebble at his head didn't do a thing, unfortunately.
Sunday, October 13, 2019
Smutty
 |
| France Portnawak |
“So, here is where he writes his smutty books.”
“He writes smutty books, the vicar?!”
“You didn't know?!”
“No!”
Silence took over the whole room. They crossed their arms in sync and tilted their heads.
“The desk is huge.”
“It is.”
More silence ensued.
"I wonder how long it would take to destroy it?"
"A few minutes?"
They nodded.
"We need to find a creaky window."
"Boring."
"So... What then?"
Silence.
"OK, grab his books. We can read them out loud during mass."
And the two glided on to the next room, sneering. This Halloween promised to be great fun.
Sunday, October 6, 2019
Diary
 |
| Whispering Wind |
The page of her diary stared back at her, empty, looking for comfort. The meltdown drained her energy and got a hold of her willingness to fight back. The diary would always bring her some comfort. Not today. The past would never change and she was too tired to change the present so her future could make more sense. Smile, she thought. And what she saw was a distorted and pathetic face. Don't smile. It's better. Just keep calm. She took a deep breath and sat back. The page of her diary stared back at her, empty, looking for comfort.
(void, intertwine, den, get, fudged, meltdown, Tan)
Sunday, September 29, 2019
Net
 |
| Wintersweet |
No one had ever seen such a gigantic bug. The Mayor met with the police to come up with a plan. There was panic in town. And then came the models. The bug's wings flapped and flapped, creating a swoosh that made every aspiring model in town shake their manes. The others looked perplexed. The town was on the verge of collapse and they struck poses? Suddenly, the bug flapped its wings faster and everyone ran for shelter. Well, not the models. The bug flapped away, while the models waved their arms in the air. No one saw them again!
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Void
 |
| Wintermoon |
“Tell us a story.”
They shifted in their seats. The idea was to listen to stories at the beach, not tell stories, people thought.
“Just any story.”
People tiptoed away.
The host waited. It was such a nice day.
“Come, have a seat here.”
Everyone left except for a little girl.
“Do you have a story to tell?”
The little kid nodded and pointed at a scar on her chest. It was huge.
She smiled and said "But I still have my heart in here!"
"That's a great story," said the host, thinking it was all worth it after all.
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Dresser
 |
| Wintersweet |
"This is not a dresser. It's a cupboard."
The seller tried to convince her that it was a dresser, a modern dresser, a modern looking dresser. The seller talked a lot. He also smiled a lot. No, he sneered. That made her uncomfortable. He tried to convince her that the shelf standing next to the supposed dresser belonged to the package although it looked completely different. In fact, it wasn't a shelf at all. It was a coat rack.
She didn't appreciate being tricked.
It was difficult to stuff all the pieces of the seller inside his stupid modern dresser.
Sunday, September 8, 2019
Furrow
 |
| Home |
Something was different. She could feel it. She turned the pages slowly, trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn't see any difference, but she knew something had changed. Then, suddenly, she turned to page 22 and there it was. A whole paragraph was different. It had nothing to do with the rest of the story. She frowned. She turned to page 23. Everything looked fine. She turned back to page 22. The paragraph was gone. She slammed the book shut and put it back on the shelf. The writing demons were out again. And so it started.
Sunday, September 1, 2019
Halfway
 |
| Octoberville |
The priest stared at a silent room packed with anxious people. Suddenly, a truck arrived. Three men, heavily armed, entered the room. Halfway through the aisle, one of them raised his gun and fired a totally unnecessary warning shot. The crowd remained in silence. “Everybody out.” They stood up and walked quietly. “Where are you taking them?” asked the priest. “None of your business.” When the crowd got to the truck, the three men had disappeared. The priest drove the vehicle down a ravine a few miles away. They had bought some time to run and now they had guns.
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Partners
 |
| Octoberville |
The business was blooming. They sold all sorts of plants to all sorts of people, even to a very important film and TV production company. Every time they crossed paths, they'd nod civilly. But she knew. She knew very well what he was up to. When she found him among the lines of lavender pots, looking rather blue, she smiled and left him there. The lavender would take care of that one problem she wouldn't mention. And he would never steal from her again. She vaguely recalled him saying he was allergic to... mushrooms. Was it mushrooms? She nodded... civilly.
Sunday, August 18, 2019
Lady
 |
| Asalia House |
The writer hammered the story on his laptop. The damn plot wasn't working. His main character, Lady Whatever (name not yet settled), had just hidden the corpse of her husband under her bed. The writer tried to convince the character that that was a bad idea. Lady Whatever gave him the finger and continued with her merry life. He grinned. That character had to go. Lady Whatever, who was pretty smart, hid under her bed. The stench was so bad, that the writer gave up. Let her be, he thought. And the story was a success, believe it or not.
Sunday, August 11, 2019
Speed
 |
| Asalia House |
Flying at an average speed was his skill. He did it easily. The day he decided to get rid of her, they jumped on his small plane and took off. She was looking forward to this adventure. He saw that in her annoying little beady eyes. “The plane doesn't have doors, how cute,” she said as they flew higher and higher. Yes, it is very cute, he thought, especially now that that damn flock of whatever birds they were was flying too close to his plane. Silence. Good thing he had a parachute on. Did she have one too? Nope.
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
Writing Is Not Always... Writing!
 |
| Milk Wood |
Milk Wood celebrated the end of Camp NaNoWriMo with a party organized by me and DJ Book (Buquo Resident).
Everyone worked hard throughout July and we all deserved a bit of music to relax. The theme was Summer Fun and the tunes were great!
“Every secret of a writer’s soul,
every experience of his life,
every quality of his mind,
is written large in his works.”
— Virginia Woolf
Sunday, August 4, 2019
Vindictive Bruises
 |
| Tierra de Fuego |
The pilot wanted to land the plane. He wanted to drop every single passenger safely at the airport. He checked his flight plan and was confident he could do just that. He greeted them one by one. He smiled and exchanged a few words of encouragement with those flying for the first time. Mid-air, the stewardess said someone wanted to talk to him. He left the cabin and... saw her. He knew right there and then that the passengers weren't safe. He was going to kill a few and bruise a bunch.
“Where is she sitting, again?” he asked, sneering.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)