Writing is such a damn lonely sickness.
| — | Robert Frobisher, in David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas (via yeahwriters) |
Sometimes you’re not scared, even when you should be. Even when there’s things to be afraid of- there’s always things to be afraid of. Sometimes numbness creates indifference. Lack of sleep. Over stress. I could feel it creeping down into one spiraling mess. Like flushing a toilet.
I had the taste after a nap in my mouth- stale and warm, but not yet rotten. The half-asleep heavy lidded lost feeling that makes you forget where you are, and even who. You’re allowed to be alive and nameless for just a moment, sitting in your own numb indifference.
I try really hard to forget in those few moments. It must mean in the back of my mind I do remember, but I try very hard. Voluntary amnesia. A blank slate for at least two seconds of complete vacant thoughts. But then the names and faces come creeping back in a second. It feels so gradual, like you’re living your life again in that second. It’s a dragging feeling, like putting too many ornaments on a tree.
and the moment of bliss is over.
Writing is like walking around naked. It’s cool to do it in your own home and around people you trust. Publicly, you don’t want to be harassed- Except, it’s even more personal than being naked. It’s baring your soul.
Mkay, seriously guys. We have a fantastic writing blog and you guys aren’t reading it enough. You know I’m terrific and I make good choices, that’s why you follow me. Please please please look at it and love it because I know you’ll love it because you have good taste. Y’all really do.
http://coffeehousecandor.blogspot.com/
xoxo Valerie M.
Day Two
So I buckled down and now, I have day two done. Well, I’ve had it done but I was watching Rebel Wilson interviews because I’m in love with her. This one is really just an extension of the other one. I finish a scene and begin a new one, setting myself up for tomorrow. This one rounded out to be about 470 words, but 365’s a weird number anyway.
Here’s today’s:
Lisa sighed and stepped over, with a tap on the over flowing toilet water and she picked up the dripping hand soap and tossed it in the sink. She opened the lid of the toilet and looked at it puzzlingly. Looking on the other side of the toilet, she saw the plunger. Picking it up, she took it in hand, realizing that she had never done this herself before.
Seeming uneasy, she set the plunger side in the toilet. Pushing it down, her hair went in her face, and the water spilled out on all sides. Using the back of her hand (still wet from washing her hands), she attempted to push her hair out of her face. It fell right back. She reached over to the drawer under the sink and pulled it open.
Rummaging inside, she pulled out a hair tie. Pulling it over her wet hand, she pulled her hair back and tied it back in bun. Lisa took a step closer to the toilet and grasped the plunger with both hands. She looked nervous and confused. Pressing down, the water spilled out more. She let up and plunged down. The miniature toilet rocked slightly and she plunged. Hearing an odd tink in upper part of the toilet, she watched as she plunged again. She heard it again as she pressed down. The descending water called her eyes down as it coughed the water down.
She tossed the plunger to the floor and closed the lid of the toilet seat. She looked curiously at the upper part of the toilet, and opened the top. Peering downward, she saw a hand gun tucked between the toilet and the wall. Lisa eagerly grabbed it and held it.
To me, the gun is an averagely sized black murder machine, but Lisa knows much more about guns than I do. She discharged the clip and saw a full clip. She pushed the clip back inside, and took it with her out of the bathroom.
“Emily?” Teddy called in a loud whisper. I smiled awkwardly, trying to seem attentive. “I have a meeting with Mr. Braxton, until 11:30, if you could just take all calls from my office.” He said, his voice slow and nasally. His eyes slitty and covered by Sarah Palin glasses. Teddy’s face always looks like he’s smelling something awful at all times.
“Thank you for alerting me.” I said with a nod. Teddy started to pull away from the desk. “Oh!” I said shaking my head. “Your wife, Mrs. Palmer called.” I said trying to sound earnest. “It sounded urgent.” His slitty eye lids parted for a moment, looking normal, but for Teddy’s eye lid standards, incredibly surprised.
“Oh, um.” Teddy said fumbling over his words. “Uhh… thank you.” He said turning away nodding.
Oh, and I know the narration is weird, and it’s a first person omniscient type of narration. A little odd but, I like having a specific first person voice, but I have two different tales to tell “like two sides of the same coin”.
If you can’t already tell, I didn’t start at the beginning, because I rarely ever do. I also have a shit ton already written, but I have to rewrite a bunch, and I want it finished by this year.
Day One.
Day One of my 365 writing thing seems to be successful. It’s only about 400 words a day really, but I think that it’s worth doing because it’ll build up over time. Today’s was more like 700 something, because it always starts out that way.
Here’s today’s:
Struggling her way out of the door, stuck in its tracks, she moved down the trailer. The pukey green carpet stained, and smelling more like cigarette smoke with each step. She felt her fingers twitch with need. She hadn’t had a smoke since Saturday, and her nerves driving her to smoke like dry ice. Breaking for the kitchen, she felt the quiet creep on her with every move of hers crashing around her like a torrid storm. The creak of the weak floor, and she watched the floor bow and sink as she stepped onto the wannabe tile, peeling at the corners. Opening the fridge, she smelt the souring milk and the fuzzy containers.
The hum and bubbles of the fish tank sitting in the window of the kitchen sink caught her attention, and she shut the fridge. Taking a few steps, she looked into the tank. A dirty tank, with two no more than average goldfish treading murky water lamely. Looking up at the top of the tank, she saw one fish belly up, vibrating against the tank cleaner. It was slightly bloated and faded, but the little corpse stunk, and Lisa’s nostrils flared pulling her head away from the tank slightly. Glancing over to her left, she grabbed a paper towel, and set it down next to the sink.
Pushing her lips together and stopping the air in her nose, she opened the top of the tank. The two living fish remained unmoved. Lisa set the top down to her left. Craning her body upwards, she saw the top’s angle on the dead fish. Grabbing the paper towel, Lisa lifted herself on to the counter, her feet in the sink, her body just on the edge of the sink. She turned her head to her left and took in a deep breath, exhaling loudly. She turned back, swallowing her excess saliva and moving herself in closer.
The live goldfish drifted steadily down ward, as Lisa hesitantly hovered her hand over the water. She sighed and tapped her dead fish with the paper towel covering her hand. It quietly drifted an inch from the humming cleaner, turning back onto its stomach, it’s eyes brown and filmed over with caked murk. One of it’s fins missing, and a few scales. Lisa made a grossed face when she felt the tainted water touch her fingers through the paper towel. She grabbed it, feeling the dead fish mush and squish in between her fingers. A squishing sponge like feeling through the paper towel, and held it in her palm, it starting to wet the paper towel in her hand. She quickly removed her feet from the sink and jumped off the counter. She moved down the trailer, through the living room, not taking her eyes off the dead little fish in her hand.
She glanced up for just a second, making her way around the wayward furniture and into the hallway. Making her way into the hallway, she passed the little bedroom, and looked up for a second more to turn the doorknob. She opened the door, and squeezed her way in. The shower directly behind her and the sink only about a foot away.
Taking another step, she opened the miniature toilet. Looking back at the dead little fish in her palm, she opened the paper towel covering it. She looked it over closed the paper towel over it again, and she lowered it into the toilet. She nodded, pursing her lips and closed the lid, and flushed it.
Taking a step over to her right, she turned on the sink, letting the hot water run. The toilet was still flushing, and it made a gargling noise. Uneasily, she opened the lid of the miniature toilet. The paper towel, and the fish caught at the bottom, and the toilet filling. Lisa reached over and flushed the toilet again. The water started in the toilet again, and the bunched paper towel was only slightly nudged at the bottom. The water started trickling over the top. Lisa tapped the lid of the toilet. She sighed, and shook her head putting her hands in the hot water. Hearing the toilet gargle she hit the soap dispenser it squirted into her hand just before slipping over the edge and falling onto the floor.
“Fuck.” She whispered to herself.
Not really much to the story, but it’s sort of a foreshadowing of sorts. I like it so suck it. And that’s what fucking matters, right? I’m getting started on today’s share because it’s the second. I had a late start, as per everything.
End result of day one of Nanowrimo, was 2,105. It’s 2:36 am. This post has a lot of numbers. Good luck merry Nano people! Goodnight.
Well, another article written and now an essay to write of my own. This one’s about distractions. LIKE TUMBLR. Won’t be posting anymore today, so plz read ma blog because I love you.
xoxo, brosexual,
Val.
Ermahgerd! Link! -> http://coffeehousecandor.blogspot.com/
Hey all. So that blog. Yeah. You guys should look at it it and like love it, and share it with your bros n stuff.
Here da link-> http://coffeehousecandor.blogspot.com/
It’s Monday & I wrote my writing article. Which sounds super redundant but the the blog totes isn’t. Check it out.
xoxo, brosicle,
Val
Loook! The link -> http://coffeehousecandor.blogspot.com/
