giraffe

Now you're splitting hairs. I kind of like the osteoporosisly furred coat or the ostentibly melodramatic fur coat. Hmmm Think I'll move on to another thought. lol

giraffe

Midnight, when you catch a breath let us know how your show is going.

midnightpoet

Hey all...just caught up on what you all have been up to and...WOW!....You all blow my mind over and over again. Great stories, all of them, but to comment on each individually would be more than my poor, just-waking-up brain could handle. I'm really enjoying the shorter stories. Maybe I'm strange, but I think you can say so much more with omission than with painting every little detail. Of course, those who used the 321 word count did amazing, too.

In TWXXXIV, Marius asked why we do this...and everyone had some really great answers...but that led me to want to pose a question that I've been wondering about for a while...essentially, How do you write? What is the process you go through when taking a list and count and turning it into something else? Where do your ideas come from/what inspires you? What's your editing process? (maybe I'm just a little too curious)...

Anyway...keep up the great work, guys. I have officially started production week, so I'll try to keep up with you guys, but I'm not sure I can.

midnightpoet

Oh, giraffe, as far as how the show's going...it's WONDERFUL! I actually have a story about it written in my notebook from statistics class using this word list...I've got to type it up and edit it.

giraffe

Can't wait to hear about that real life experience. I've worked in theater too.

Doug

midnight: Never should have given that 321 option..lol. This one is 321 not including title, but I'm thinking about a poem or "poemesque" approach next and it will be 123...

Jeb

Jeb was repairing the water line on the frappe’ machine at the smoothie kiosk when his heart shuddered and then stopped. The details were foggy, but the aftermath was clear.

Jeb, a registered plumber, had spent his life amassing a vast fortune, but always gave his spare time freely spending most of it at a free clinic doing plumbing tasks for nothing more than a thank you. Jeb never led an extravagant life. His Christmas tree was adorned with garland she scrounged from an old building he was working on.

Jeb never did feel the pain of his heart attack. His spirit rose and Jeb’s thoughts turned to a pleasant muse of his past life that played out like an old nickelodeon. Flashes of images synchronized in a steady stream of flickers danced in his head. The bits and pieces swirling through his head would surely strangle him, but as they finally slowed, Jeb felt calmness.

Then the darkness came.

Jeb could no longer see or feel anything. Grey had replaced the bright glimmers he had felt. All that remained was an emptiness that culminated in Jeb wondering what malice had beset him. Would he remain in apathy feeling nothing? Unlike the beautiful wondrous images he had experienced before, the darkness felt oppressive and ostensibly could go on forever.

Just when Jeb felt that the darkness would overtake him and drown him into a life of eternal depression a small sliver of light in the distance caught his eye. As the light grew stronger, Jeb could feel himself being pulled towards the now overflowing brightness. Brilliant hues of color brushed his vision like brushstrokes on a freshly painted canvas.

Jeb had found peace.

A young boy struggles against a tide of hopelessness. His days numbered by his own admission. His lowest point had been met and the strangulation of structure would certainly finish him off.

Jeb was now his Guardian Angel…

Qsilv

Damn.... Doug... you're good.......................

Doug

Well, that was a quick turnaround. Midnight asked how we get inspiration and how we write. My writing is sparked by thoughts that leap out at me. I can sit down and knock out an idea that hits me like a bullet or it may smolder there for days and I work on it. I just got done saying I thought a poem would be next and THIS HAPPENED!

Dear Santa:

I thought I would get an early start on next year’s culmination of greed and extravagant wants and needs. I did not strangle my little sister yet, but I tell you she’s b-e-gg-i-n-g for a noose of garland for an Easter bonnet.

If you were already musing over your gift giving Ho-Ho’s for 2010 I have a few suggestions:
-the naughty list is an apathetic exercise in futility.
-synchronized pole dancing IS an art form and NOT a naughty job!
-maliciousness is next to godliness. It says so in my bible.

Ostensibly, I’d prefer the I!pad, but I hear bad things about how they fit.

Xoxo,

Charlene

Ps. My little brother could use a Gorilla glue binky. He never shuts up!!!


123 words....

Doug

Q: Thanks! Oh, one more thing. Please no rewrites on mine. lol.

Qsilv

you're safe... I'm out of time! ; >

but -- you're pushing it with that particular use of "ostensibly"
BUT -- that "maliciousness is next to godliness" cracked me up... I'm swiping it

Doug

another good "word tangle". You may "swipe" it as long as I get the credit. lol. It's off to bed for me.

Doug

midnight: I really hated this word list. Maybe that's why it's been chewing away at my brain and fostering some creativity. Thanks, I think

Dragon

I don't know about the others but I have different ways of writing depending on the word list. Some word lists instantly inspire me and I have to sit down and write something right away. Others I have a hard time with. The ones that I'm having the worst time with I'll just kind of try to mull over 2 or 3 of the words on the list and see where that gets me. Sometimes a sentence will come to me and I'll base the whole story around it. Other lists get into my brain and won't leave me alone. I've had times where I compose almost the whole story in my head and will go over and over it until I have to simply sit down and type it out (sometimes I have to get up out of bed in the middle of the night because my brain just won't let me sleep until I get the story out of it!).

giraffe

Doug. Jeb is excellent, but Dear Santa? Very wierd. You either have a precocious 6-yr old with a vocabulary like that, or a very disturbed college student writing to Santa about a blue binky. It's a fun read, tho.

Dragon, When I write these, I usually start out with no idea of what the story is. One word on the list will inspire a sentence and then it just evolves and I'm surprised at what the muse offers. Other times I'll get an idea like 'I want to write a story about a dead whore. Hmmm' then make the words fit into it. But it always changes due to the list.

marius

Where Angels Work

He stepped back to get a better view and saw her perched on his chair. She was young, maybe nineteen. They exchanged pleasantries and then a look on her face spun out quick words. “What you said yesterday! I get that his life was hard, but he had malice. That’s something evil.”

Anthony nodded. He pushed up his bottom lip and eyed the garland. How extravagant to decorate a kiosk! He spoke quietly, "Can people have malice? I’m not sure, but they often behave with it."

She made a motion as if to strangle him. "It's the exact same thing!"

“Is it?" he asked. Anthony patted the Terpsichore Muse statuette. His favorite. "It's easy to write people off as evil and if you've noticed, the minute someone or something is labeled evil, all kinds of unfortunate things happen."

Ostensibly, they had finished this conversation yesterday, but pain had other ideas about that. "He hurt people! On purpose! Isn’t that evil?" Little gasps of noise came from her throat. "I want it to make sense!"

Anthony synchronized his watch with the credit card machine time and then gave his full attention. His face was old and pock-marked, but ... his eyes. At that moment Sara wanted to climb into them and live there forever.

He touched her hand. “Sara, I can’t make sense of pain. I believe we are supposed to think of everyone with compassion. When we can do that, we set a direction that no matter what happens, our lives will most surely culminate in the joy of knowing how to love.”

Sara smiled. Not because of what he said. No, with Anthony it was the way he used his voice to say things that words couldn’t say; that’s what made her smile. She bit at her finger and complimented the kiosk decorations, and later, when she walked to her car, people turned to stare at her without knowing why.

marius

oops ... 321 words without Title.

[Got apathetic about trying to use word ‘apathy.’ It’s not in the story. (wink)]

marius

Doug, great stories. Like "Jeb" best, but the other is fun! And, tee hee, I have also, um, er .... "hated" midnight's word list. (Sorry midnight.)

However, that brings up thoughts about midnight's question, how do we write. Think my problem with the present word list is that words give me feelings and I go from there. In this word list there are three words that make it hard to create a tone that is different from the tone the words themselves seem to set: strangle, malice and apathy.

In the last story I tried very hard to twist those words around and create a different feel. It wasn't easy. Tee hee, my vote is that we should be able to use opposite words to get opposite tone. So malice might become love, apathy - care, and stangle - hug. Hey, you never know what you can get until you ask! (giggle.)

marius

Correction: stangle isn't a word, but sounds like it should be. I stangled myself when I stayed up WAY too late.

Goodnight all! ; )

giraffe

123 w/o title. This is either sick humor or pathetic. It's a mood.

(A TREE)

A newspaper kiosk, a street lamp, a neon sign
flashing ostensibly, reflected in a puddle of water
and my dirty shoes plodding on to some strange muse.

The extravagance is over. It culminated in
extreme apathy. It strangled me. I didn't
want it anymore.

I broke a heel two blocks ago so now I limp
through these rainy streets and lonely faces
filled with malice and malcontent.

I know somehow that trudging on will
award me with the winner's garland
at the finish line and maybe a clean dress.

I'm getting so tired of having to synchronize
my broken shoe with these bawdy glances
of disapproval and lust. So I sing

"I think that I shall never see
a poem lovely as....

giraffe

Marius. Angels. Very mysterious story - especially the title. It makes vague sense and leaves imagination open. I like that.

I had trouble with a few words on the list too, but they weren't the ones you mentioned. I don't see anything wrong with switching to opposite meanings if necessary. That could be a crutch though, and should be used only when absolutely necessary. What are they gonna do? Fire you?